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■-,   V. 


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THE 

CONTEMPORARY 
REVIEV\^ 


VOLUME  XXXV.    APRIL— AUGUST,  1879 


STRAHAN  AND  COMPANY  LIMITED 

34,  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON 
1879 


"J-  - 


v\V 


FACE 

r-y  tlie  J:ev.   It.  F.  Ijttlcdale, 

I 

37 

■iiiiTyrwliitt  .         .....  51 

.i-lmanAWis <>6 

.uiaock."    ByJ.  R.  Pretyniau,M..-\.      .        .  77 

'  .^ofnl.     By  W.  Fairlic  Clarke,  JI.D.        .  01 

le,  Corr.  Inat.  France.     IV 107 


^ilver.     By  Stqihen  WilluimBon 
.  [f,  and  the  Fxeaiotu  Metels.    By  U.  H.  Patterson 

I  ;y  Robert  BnrTi>nan 

TUouijUt  in  RnanjL    By  T.  S.,  St.  Petersburg    . 


121 
131 
153 
157 


i>tory,  &c     Under  the  direction  of  Kev.  Professor  Checthani   .  173 

<:>,  (icology,  &c.  „  „        ProfesaorT.  G. Bonney,  F.E.S.  181 

.  History  „  ,,        Professor  S.  K.  Oardiner     .  IW 

.8.  Xovcli, Poetry,  &c        „  „        Matthew  Browne        .        .  180 


MAY,  1879. 

i.ial  riiiloaopby  and  Religion  of  Comte.     By  Professor  Kdward  Caird.    I 

Wuixis  on  Mr.  Fronde.     By  Edward  A.  Freeman,  D.C.I*,  LL.D.    . 

.    iMit  Egypt    Conolnding  Palter.    By  K.  8tuart  Poolo,  Corr.  Inst.  I-rance 

:»•:  tlic  Study  of  Natural  Histoiy.     By  Professor  St.  George  Mivart 

( 'tioiiuercial  Depression  and  Reciprocity.     By  Professor  Bonamy  Price 

Mr.  Browning's  "Dramatic  IdyUs."    By  Mrs.  Sutherland  ()rr        .        .        . 

Kugliab  Agrieolture.     By  James  E.  Thorold  Bogers 

Origcn    and    the  Beginnings   of    Christian    Philosophj-.       By   the  Kev.    Canon 

Wartcott.    I 

Contemporaiy  life  and  Thought  in  Fiance.     By  Gabriel  Monod 

political  lifiB  in  Germany.     By  Fricdricli  von  Sclmltc 

Contemporary  Books  :~ 

I,  Church  History,  &c.        Under  the  Direction  of  Rev.  Professor  Cheetlianx 

II.  Essays,  Novels,  Poetiy,  Ac.  „  ,,  Matthew  Browne  . 

IIL  Hist<M7  ttd  Literature  j  Professor  K.  H.  Palmer 

of  the  East    .        . 


214 
237 
251 
26!) 
289 
30:t 

^24 
339 
SCI 

370 
374 

380 


$)illant&nt  9rtM 

DALLANTVNK  AND  HANSON,   ROtNBUItGII 
CHANPOS  STRCKT,  lA.VDON 


•  • 


iv  CONTENTS. 


Jl'XE,  1879. 

The  British  Empire  in  India  :  A  Review  of  the  Life  autl  Works  of  Garcin  de  Taasy. 

By  I.  von  Dollinger,  D.D.,  D.C.L 38a 

The  Origin  of  the  Week.     By  R.  A.  Proctor 404 

Conspiracies  in  Kussia.    By  Karl  Blind 422 

English  Views  of  Catholicism  Fifty  Years  Ago  and  Kow.     By  the  Very  Rev,  Canou 

Oakeley 458 

The  Barbarisms  of  Civilization.     By  Professor  F.  W.  Newman        ....  471 

Origon  and  the  Beginnings  of  Chiistiau  Philosophy.  By  the  Kcv.  Canon  Westcoti  II.  48!> 

The  New  Bulgaria.     By  An  Eastern  Statesman 503 

The  Social  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Comte.    By  Professor  Edward  Cuird.    II.    .  520 

The  Boers  and  the  Zulus.     By  Sir  Benjamin  Pine,  late  Lieut. -Governor  of  Natal      .  541 

Contemporary  Life  and  Thought  in  Russia.     By  T.  S.,  St.  Petersburg      .        .  571 

JILY,  1870. 

Benjamin  Frauklin.    By  Thomas  Uughes,  Q.C. 581 

The  Last  Jcmsh  Revolt.    By  Ernest  Renan 595 

Compulsory  Providence  as  a  Cure  for  Pauperism.    By  the  Rev.  W.  L.  Blackley      .  COS 

Why  is  Pain  a  Mystery  ?    By  I.  Bumey  Yco,  M.D .  C30 

The  Social  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Comte.     By  Professor  Edward  Caird.    HI.  .  648 

Geography  and  the  Universities.     By  the  Rev.  Geoi;ge  Butler  ....  671 

What  are  Living  Beings?    By  Professor  St.  George  Mi\-art 688 

Choral  and  Other  Narcotics.    By  B.  W.  Richardson,  M.D 71t> 

Contemporary  Life  and  Thought  in  Turkey.     By  An  Eastern  Statesman  .        .        .  740 
Contemporary  Books  :— 

1.  diurch  History.  &c.     Cuder  the  Direction  of  Rev.  Professor  Cheetham  756 

II.  Modem  History  ,,  ,,  Professor  S.  R.  Gardiner  760 

IIL  Books  of  Travel  ,,  Professor  E.  H.  Palmer  .  762 

IV.  Essays,  Novels.  Poetry,  &C.  ,,  „  Matthew  Browne  .        .  765 

Al'OrST,  1871*. 

The  Rehgious  Condition  of  <Jcnnany.     By  Professor  von  Schulte     ....  77^ 

Cheap  Justice.     By  Henry  Crompton 801 

An  American  Divine  ;  Horace  Biiahuell,  D.D.    By  Rev,  fJ.  S.  Drew  .  815 

The  Classical  Controversy  :  Its  Present  Aspect.     By  Professor  Bain        .         .         .  832 

Indian  Religions  Thou-^ht.     By  Pi-ofessor  Monier  Williams.     HI 843 

The  Progress  of  Education  iu  England,     liy  Francis  Peek 862 

Conspiracies  in  Russia.     By  Karl  Blind.     II 875 

Iutem|)erance  and  the  Liceusiug  System.     By  Alexander  Balfour    ....  1>03 

Coutemiwrary  Life  and  Thought  iu  France.     By  Gabriel  Mouo<l      ....  923 

Contemporary  Books ; — 

I.  Classical  Literature     I'nderthe  Direction  of  Rev.  Prebcndar>' J.  Davies,  MA,  943 

II.  Literature    of   the    \  i  u      »r  n-  »i  a  «-. 

Middle A"es  i  '*  "  J.Ba88Miaiinger,M.A.  .        .  9o4 

HL  Science  „  ,.  R.  A.  Proctor,  B.A.  .  959 


'mE  PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE 
ENGLISH  CLERGY. 


*MuUo  tempore  dUes  qitod  doeeoi,  ft  ate  non  tenuHfat* 
qwn-UHiIani  doceas  quod  nocfox,  SiW  a»te  tUict  quoU 


"VTONE  of  the  changes  which  have  been  effected  in  the  Church  of 
Xl  England  fiince  the  accession  of  William  IV.  is  more  salutary 
or  remarkable  than  that  which  has  passed  over  the  education  of  tlie 
clergy.  It  is  within  the  recollection  of  all  elderly  men  that  in  their 
younger  days  there  was  practically  no  professional  training  at  all  so 
much  as  procurable  by  the  great  majority  of  candidates  for  Holy 
Orders.  Not  only  were  there  no  theological  colleges  in  existence,  but 
the  Divinity  Schools  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  did  nothing  whatever 
to  promote  advanced  study  amongst  men  with  a  direct  bent  towards 
theological  pursuits,  far  less  to  insure  that  the  ordinary  student  should 
be  fairly  equipped  for  beginning  a  clerical  career.  Nor  was  the 
matter  much  improved  by  the  examinations  for  Holy  Ordere  conducted 
by  bishops  and  their  chaplains;  for  besides  that  bishops,  then  as  now, 
were  selected  by  the  Crown  for  any  reason  save  professional  erudition 
(a  fact  which  drew  down  Mr,  Disraeli  the  novelist's  censure  a  genera- 
tion ago,*  though  Lord  Beaconsfield  the  Premier  does  not  seem  to  mind 
it),  and  could  therefore  scarcely  be  expected  to  appoint  their  own 
examining  chaplains  on  the  score  of  scholarship ;  the  obvious  difSculty 
presented  itself  to  such  Ordinaries  as  recognized  the  defect  and 
desired  better  things,  that  a  strict  examination,  applied  to  men  who 
had  never  enjoyed  opportunities  of  learning,  could  do  nothing  except 
supply  additional  proofs  of  ignorance,  and  cause  the  desertion  of  all 
dioceses  where  such  an  ordeal  had  tp  be  faced.  The  net  result  was 
that  the  clergy  of  the  English  Church,  alone  of  all  important  Christiaii 
bodies  havuig  a  stated  ministry,  began  their  professional  education 
just  as  officers  in  the  army  used  also  to  do,  not  until  after  receiving 
their  commissions  and  entering  on  the  discharge  of  their  duties,  but 
•  See  Tanered,  book  ii.  chap.  iv.  (1845). 
VOL.  ZXXT.  B 


2  THE  COXTEMPORAR  Y  REVIEW. 

nith  the  very  important  drawback  as  compared  with  their  mifitaiy 
c<^Tal%  that  tbev  had  no  such  school  provided  for  them  as  even  the 
lea«t  ffmart  regiment  with  its  disciplinary  routine  neceflBaiily  proved,  so 
that,  if  they  happened  to  spend  their  earlier  years  of  ministiy  in  an 
ni-worked  parish^  as  was  then  only  too  probable  and  common,  they 
got  into  a  groove  of  incapacity  from  which  they  never  sabseqnently 
«merged«  How  it  chanced  that  the  most  ignominions  collapse  did  not 
follow  on  the  pursuit  of  such  a  method,  and  that  persevered  in  ever 
since  the  accesMon  of  the  House  of  Hanover,  is  a  curious  and  interest- 
ing question,  but  is  beside  the  present  inquiry,  which  is  twofold, 
namely,  whether,  after  all  the  unquestionable  improvement  which 
has  taken  place,  and  the  much  higher  average  level  of  professional 
acquirements  now  attained  by  the  main  body  of  the  clergy  of  the 
Established  Church,  the  existing  system  of  instruction  is  snfiSicient  in 
kind  and  in  degree* 

One  very  discouraging  fact  meets  us  at  the  outset  of  the  inquiiy, 
which  shows  that  there  is  something  wrong.  It  is  that^  tinlike  the 
medical  profession,  which  supports  several  magazines  and  journals  de- 
voted to  its  technical  pursuits,  and  to  promoting  scientific  research,  and 
still  more  unlike  the  theological  faculty  in  Protestant  Germany,  which 
teems  with  literary  productiveness  of  the  same  kind,  there  is  absolutely 
not  one  magazine,  review,  or  similar  publication  of  repute  and  ability 
in  Kngland  devoted  exclusively  to  theological  science  and  learning. 

It  is  quite  true  that  this  is  far  from  being  an  unmixed  evil,  for  the 
frequent  occurrence  of  important  theological  articles  in  reviews  and 
magazines  which  are  of  a  general  character,  appealing  to  the  public  at 
large,  testifies  to  and  promotes  intelligent  lay  interest  in  subjects  of 
the  kind,  which  is  exactly  what  Continental  Europe,  Avhether  Catholic 
or  Protestant,  cannot  show;  while  the  free  admixture  of  secular  literary 
papers  in  such  periodicals  asare  presumably  designedto  be  mainly  clerical 
is  a  warrant,  so  far,  that  a  breadth  of  culture  is  still  maintained  which 
will  check  ovor-professionalism,  and  that  tendency  to  mark  o£P  the 
clergy  into  a  caste  separated  by  interests  and  pursuits  from  other 
citizens,  which  has  wrought  untold  mischief  in  countries  of  the  Latin 
obedience.  Nevertheless,  it  is  not  well  that  the  higher  and  abstruser 
aspects  of  theology  should  excite  so  little  interest  amongst  the  clergy 
4iH  is  implied  by  the  fact  as  stated,  though  I  am  not  unwilling  to  think 
that  the  institution  of  honours  in  the  Divinity  Schools  at  the  Uni- 
vei-sities  may  in  a  few  years  cause  some  improvement  in  this  respect,  by 
gradually  creating  a  body  of  men  who  have  once  given  care  and  time 
to  inquiry  of  the  sort,  and  will  therefore  be  less  likely  to  neglect  it  in 
after-life.  And  it  is  at  least  arguable  that  additional  stimulus  would 
bo  applied  in  this  direction  by  the  severance  of  theological  studies 
from  any  necessary  connexion  with  the  clerical  profession,  by  the 
encouragement  of  competition  for  honours  in  the  Divinity  School  on 
the  part  of  students  who  have  no  intention  whatever  of  taking  Orders, 


I 


I 
I 


I 


"I 

I 


■         PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.  b 

and  even  bj  the  throwing  open  of  theological  degrees  to  laymen, 
precisely  as  degrees  in  law  are  now  obtainable  by  men  who  have  no 
pnrpose  of  ever  practising  as  solicitors  or  barristers.  At  present.,  how- 
ever low  the  standard  of  theological  knowledge  may  be  amongst  the 
clergy,  it  is  yet  so  far  liigher  than  that  which  even  the  educated 
laity  have  commonly  reached,  that  there  is  little  inducement  for  the 
former  to  push  their  fitudles  further,  in  order  to  lift  tliemselves  above 
the  range  of  a  criticism  which  shall  be  not  merely  carping,  but  intel- 
ligent and  discriminating.  And  without  pausing  to  dwell  on  the  I'oom 
there  is  in  the  Church  at  the  present  day  for  any  number  of  Marias 
llercators,  or  to  enlarge  upon  the  literary  services  done  to  religion 
by  laymen  like  the  late  Mr,  George  Warington  and  the  still  li\nng 
ilr.  Romanes,  it  is  suflSciently  evident  from  the  attitude  of  Church 
Congresses  and  Diocesan  Conferences,  that  we  are  probably  nearing  a 
orisifi  which  will  bring  laymen  much  more  directly  into  contact  with 
Cliurch  organization  and  government  than  is  now  the  case ;  and 
without  discussing  here  the  merits  of  such  a  change,  it  is  at  least 
obviously  e^cpedient  that  the  element  eo  introduced  shall  be  com- 
petent to  the  discharge  of  any  functions  intrusted  to  it,  and  shall  not 
enter  upon  its  work  in  that  condition  of  tmfathomable  ignorance  upoil 
every  topio  even  indirectly  connected  with  religion  which  has  marked 
all  save  an  infinitesimal  and  uuinfluontial  minorityof  the  lay  delegates 
in  the  synods  of  the  discstablifihed  Iiieh  Church, 

A  more  immediate  reason  than  even  this  presents  itself  for  desiring 
the  spread  of  theological  knowledge  amongst  the  educated  laity.  It 
is  happily  becoming  common  for  membera  of  this  class  to  ofier  thcra- 
selvee  for  the  ofHce  of  lay  readers,  with  episcopal  licence,  and  their  use- 
fulness in  this  capacity,  as  also  in  those  of  the  superintendentship  of 
Sunday-schools,  the  instruction  of  higher  gi'oups  in  these  same  schools, 
the  conduct  of  cottage-lecturee,  and  the  holding  of  mission  services, 
with  permission  to  preach  under  licence,  would  be  very  materially 
increased  by  the  qualification  which  a  degree  in  theology  would  con- 
note, if  invariably  made  a  real  test,  or  recognizing  certificate,  of 
attainmetntfl,  and  not,  as  now,  a  mere  voucher  for  academical  seniority 
backed  by  fees,  nor  yet  a  formal  ratification,  under  the  plea  jure 
dignitaiUi  of  the  nomination  by  the  ilinister  of  the  day  of  some  one, 
perhaps  wholly  unversed  in  theological  studies,  to  liigh  rank  and 
oflice  in  the  Church.  It  is  clear,  at  any  rate  to  my  mind,  that  one 
neceGsary  conclusion  from  the  altered  conditions  of  modem  society  is, 
that  the  Universities  of  to-day  cannot  undertake  the  office  which  the 
"University  of  Paris  discharged  in  medioeval  times,  that  of  being  the 
guardians  and  arbiters,  to  a  great  extent,  of  theological  orthodoxy, 
and  that  they  can  treat  theology  in  no  other  fashion  than  as  a  branch 
of  human  knowledge,  for  whose  study  they  offer  »pecial  facilities,  and 
in  which  their  diplomas  and  certificates  attest  a  certain  degree  of 
progress.     And  what  might   reasonably   follow  in  turn    from  thi» 

B  2 


TUE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


conoluBioD  18,  that  we  eliouldeee  liere»  ae  in  Bonn  and  Tiibuigen.  wbero 
a  Crttbolic  nnd  a  Protestont  Faculty  of  Theology  subRiat  at  the  Uiuver- 
sitiea  side  by  side,  certain  chairs  and  lectures,  such  as  Hebrew, 
Biblical  Greek,  Textual  Oriliciam,  and  Christian  Archaeology,  common 
to  all  students  in  theology,  leaving  each  communion  which  chose  to 
erect  a  faculty  for  itself  in  connexion  with  the  University  at  Ubcrty 
to  constitute  its  own  chairs  of  Dogmatic,  Pastoral,  and  Morn  I 
Theology  fur  its  members,  only  requiring  that  the  occupants  of 
such  chairs  should  be  men  who  would  compare  on  equal  terms  with 
the  ablest  of  their  colleagues.  I  am  persuaded  that  it  would  bo 
a  gain  to  the  nation  if  its  reh'gious  teachers  of  all  the  chief  deuomiua- 
tions  had  opportimities  of  receiving  the  highest  intellectual  training  of 
the  time,  under  circumstances  which,  without  interfering  with  their 
loyalty  to  their  own  communions,  would  lift  them  out  of  the  narrow- 
ness and  lack  of  culture  almost  inseparable  from  the  seminary  system, 
however  worked.  This  principle  is  virtually  in  operation  already 
nearer  homo  than  Gennany,  for  the  Established  Kirk  nnd  the  Frco 
Kirk  of  Scotland  have  each  of  them  Facidties  of  Theology  in  Edinburgh, 
though  one  only  has  official  couuexiou  "with  the  Univei-sity;  and  the 
Episcopal  Church  of  Scotland  has  lately  removed  its  Divinity  School 
from  the  rural  seclusion  of  Glenalmond  to  the  same  city.  It  is  not 
unw^orthy  of  mention,  too,  that  some  of  the  most  serious  additions 
made  of  late  years  to  scientific  theology  by  Komau  Catholic  diviuea 
have  come  from  professors  at  Bonn  and  Tubingen,  such  as  Mohler^ 
Euhn,  Klee,  and  Dicringer;  wliilo  nothing  of  permanent  value  has 
issued  from  the  seminaries  in  France,  where  no  stimulus  of  competi- 
tion and  criticism  exists ;  so  that  it  is  not  altogether  unreasonable  to 
suppose  that  greater  activity  in  this  department  of  learning  -would  bo 
manifested  in  the  English  Universities  were  such  a  scheme  carried  out. 
It  is,  I  trust,  not  requisite  to  argue  at  length  that  no  study  can  bo 
adequately  pursued  even  in  its  lower  branches  unless  a  certain  number 
of  minds  be  constantly  engaged  upon  its  higher  forms,  in  pushing  its 
conquests  further  in  advance,  in  working  out  fresh  lines  of  thought, 
atid  in  illustmting  more  fully  the  teachings  and  discoveries  of  former 
labourere  in  the  same  field.  This  ia  recognized  as  eminently  true  of 
medical  science,  and  if  it  had  been  acknowledged  as  equally  true  of 
law,  English  jurisprudence  would  be  in  a  less  anomalous  and  chaotio 
condition  than  it  now  is.  Till  within  these  few  years  past,  the  pursuit 
of  tlie  higher  departments  of  theology  has  been  left  in  this  country 
entirely  to  voluutaiy,  unassisted,  and  sporadic  effort,  and  so  far  tho 
professional  training  of  the  clergy  has  been  quite  inadequate.  It  is 
too  early  to  pronounce  definitely  upon  tho  practical  merits  of  tho 
Honour  Schools  in  theology  which  have  been  lately  instituted,  though 
they  must  needs  work  some  improvement;  but  allowing  them  to 
achieve  to  tho  very  fullest  extent  alt  that  their  promoteVs  dare  even  to 
hope,  they  go  but  a  very  short  way  towards  solving  the  problem  of 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY 


I 


: 


efRciently  training  the  main  bodj  of  t]»G  English  clergy  for  tlioir 
ordinary  duties.  That  body  cousiste  of  about  twenty-three  thousand 
jicreona,  and  requires  a  yearly  Bupply  of  at  kaet  six  hundred  to  fill 
vacancies  and  new  charges.  It  is  not  to  be  expected  tliat  more  tlian 
a  very  small  minority  of  these  will  ever  drcara  of  competing  for 
honours  In  theology,  or  aim  at  more  than  passing  the  compulsory  exujui- 
nations  with  the  least  possible  effort.  So  far  as  they  are  directly  con- 
cerned, therefore,  this  improvement,  valuable  in  itself,  is  inoperative. 
Next,  a  very  weighty  fact,  more  than  likely  to  escape  the  attention  nf 
enthosiafltiG  educationists,  has  to  be  steadily  borne  in  mind,  namely, 
that  a  taste  and  capacity  for  the  liigher  forms  of  theology  aro  quite  aa 
rare  as  for  abstruse  mathematics  or  for  philological  discovery.  The 
number  of  men  in  the  clerical  profesfeion — not  necessarily  dull  or 
i^iorant — who  have  absolutely  no  mental  faculty  whatever  for  so 
much  as  comprehending,  not  to  say  assimilatiug,  purely  theological 
ideas  at  all  is  very  large,  and  by  no  means  confined  to  the  humbler 
stations  of  the  Church,  for  some  of  them  aro  to  bo  found  even  in  the 
most  exalted  positions.  This  is  no  new  fact ;  it  is  akin  to  colour- 
blindness and  to  the  lack  of  musical  car;  it  always  has  been  so.  and 
probably  always  will  be  so,  and  the  inference  is  that  the  teaching  to 
be  imparted  to  this  class  must  be  adapted  to  their  receptive  powers. 
Thirdly,  although  it  is  true  that  there  is  no  kind  of  knowlcdp^o  which 
may  not  be  pressed  into  the  service  of  religion*  and  be  useful  at  one 
time  or  another  to  a  clergyman,  and  while  theoretically  every  bmnch 
of  divinity  ought  to  be  familiar  to  those  who  undertake  the  cfiieu  of 
religions  teaching,  yet  there  are  certain  departments  of  theology  which, 
on  the  one  hand,  aro  useless  if  no  more  than  a  mere  superficial  smattei- 
ing  be  attained,  and  on  the  other,  have  only  a  very  indirect  bearing  on 
the  ordinary  routine  work  of  a  parochial  clergyman.  Such,  for  example, 
are  Hebrew  and  the  textual  criticism  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament.  I 
am  not  to  be  understood  as  depreciating  the  importance  of  these  studies, 
or  as  desiring  aught  than  that  all  who  show  any  capacity  for  pursuing 
them  with  success  should  do  so  to  the  full.  But  the  mere  rudiments, 
if  not  serving  as  a  starting-point  for  additional  study,  are  of  tho  very 
tilenderest  value, — ^iu  truth,  as  regards  Hebrew,  more  misleading  than 
entire  ignorance,  as  too  many  uncritical  and  worthless  volumes  aro 
oxtant  to  v»'am  us, — and  contribute  nothing  to  the  mental  development 
or  tho  general  utility  of  a  teacher ;  while  tho  time  occupied  in  com- 
municating these  nidiments  is  a  very  appreciable  fraction  of  tho 
whole  much  too  brief  available  period  of  training,  and  tlio  effect  of  too 
discursive  a  range  of  subjects  is  far  from  advantageous  to  minds  of 
small  literary  capacity.  Hence  it  is  necessary  to  draw  more  definitely 
than  is  now  usual  a  hue  between  compulsory  and  optional  subjects  in 
courses  of  readhig,  doing  all  that  can  reasonably  or  feasibly  be  carried 
out  for  the  encouragement  of  the  latter. 

Yet  again,  not  merely  are  theologians  rare,  but  even  the  very  taato 


6  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

for  reafiing  at  all^  the  literary  bent  itself,  is  by  no  means  univ^ersally 
diffused  amongst  the  clergy.  They  do  not  differ,  it  is  true,  in  this 
respect  from  any  equally  large  number  of  men  selected  from  the  so- 
callod  educated  classes,  nor  oven  from  the  other  learned  profeBsions. 
I  believe  that  the  proportion  of  medical  practitioners  who  make  no 
attempt  to  keep  abreast  of  the  advancea  of  medical  science,  and  of 
banisters  and  solicitors  who  wonld  be  anything  but  safe  as  legal 
advisers,  is  quite  as  large  as  that  of  the  unintylligcnt  residuum  amongst 
the  clergy.  Kiit  thorois  this  verysenons  difference  in  the  eases,  that  the 
incompetent  lawyer  or  doctor  is  likely,  nay,  almost  certain,  to  be  very 
seriously  injured  in  pocket  when  liia  deficiencies  are  once  discovered. 
Ho  may  buy  the  goodwill  of  a  Incrative  practice,  or  be  started  by 
friendly  patrons  in  a  promising  career,  but  he  cannot  keep  it  long 
without  personal  diligence  and  merit,  nor  prevent  rival  competition 
from  carrying  off  his  best  clieuta.  But  in  the  clerical  profession  the 
incompetent  pastor  is  secure  from  this  kind  of  danger.  So  long  as  his 
inefficiency  is  decent  and  respectable,  he  is  secure  in  liia  incumbency, 
whether  it  be  the  gift  of  a  patron  or  a  matter  of  bargain  and  sale ; 
and  what  is  even  more  seriouSj  distinction,  nay,  eminence,  in  theological 
learning  and  pastoral  efficiency  is  no  title  whatever  to  prefermont, 
especially  in  the  higher  grades  of  the  ministry,  nor  ia  the  presence  of 
the  very  opposite  qualities  the  slightest  bar  to  advancement.  No 
doubt,  there  are  every  now  and  then  in  the  medical  and  legal  ranks 
obscure  Har^'eys,  Hunters,  and  Jenners;  Cokes,  Manefields,  and  Lynd- 
hursts,  who  for  lack  of  golden  opportunity,  or  from  a  shy  and  retiring 
temper,  have  never  become  known,  but  live  and  ilie  in  neglect  and 
poverty.  And  contrariwise,  second  and  third-rate  men  not  infre- 
quently come  to  the  front,  though  they  rarely  obtain  the  very  liigheat 
prizes  of  their  professions.  But  when  a  lawyer  or  doctor  once  does 
become  known  as  a  eoimd  and  careful  adviser,  as  learned  and  capable 
in  his  calling,  his  fortimes  are  for  the  most  part  secure,  and  wealth,  if 
not  rank  and  influence,  ar&  within  his  grasp  ;  nor  does  he  run  any 
risk  of  beuig  neglected  by  chents  or  patients.  This  rule  does  not  liold 
good  in  the  smallest  degree  of  the  clerical  calhng.  wherein  aclniow- 
ledged  eminence  is  usually  less  prosperous  than  colourless  mediocrity. 
In  the  Rev.  Dr.  Cazenove's  essay  on  **  Some  Aspects  of  the  Reforma- 
tion," there  are  a  few  striking  extracts  from  the  Chronicle  of  Jacob 
A\*impheling,  a  Roman  theologian  who  Hved  from  1450  to  1520,  and 
who  vainly  endeavoured  to  promote  those  reforms  in  the  Latin  Church 
which  would  have  prevented  Luthcr*s  revolt.  Amongst  Wimpheling's 
complaints  of  abuses,  is  that  theological  knowledge  in  his  day  was  not 
only  no  recommendation  for  preferment,  but  was  a  positive  obstacle 
to  obtaining  it,  especially  in  the  case  of  canonriea,  a  statement  con- 
firmed by  Eck,  Luther's  famous  adversary,  whose  words  are:  "Hand 
facile  theologis  ad  praibeudas  patet  aecensus."  But  in  modern 
England,  there  died  between  April  30,  1865,  and  August  7, 1800,  three 


I 


I 

L 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.  7 

of  the  most  learned  and  distinguished  clergymen  whom  the  Chm-ch  of 
England  has  produced  within  this  century,  none  of  whom  ever  attained 
even  the  titular  and  barren  distinction  of  an  honoraiy  canonry,and  of 
whom  the  most  prosperous  held  only  a  petty  and  obscure  country 
vicarage,  the  gift  of  a  college  pupil ;  a  second  died  without  having 
ever  risen  above  the  grade  of  a  curate ;  and  the  third  spent  nearly 
half  his  entire  life  where  he  died,  in  the  position  of  warden  of  an 
obscure  almshoose,  on  a  salary  of  twenty-seven  pounds  a-year,  an 
office  in  which  both  his  successors  have  been  laymen,  so  that  it  was 
not  even  an  ecclesiastical  benefice  at  all,  however  humble.  They  were 
John  Keble,  Isaac  Williams,  and  John  Mason  Neale ;  and  at  the  time 
of  their  deaths  not  fewer  than  thirteen  episcopal  sees,  including  at  least 
four  out  of  the  five  principal  ones,  were  occupied  by  prelates  whom 
not  flattery  itself  could  credit  with  even  a  superficial  acqtiaintance 
with  the  primer  of  theology,  while  there  was  certainly  no  such 
eminence  displayed  by  the  gpreat  majority  of  the  remaining  half  of  the 
episcopate,  who  might  be  more  leniently  estimated,  as  to  bring  up  the 
average  attainments  of  the  whole  bench  to  a  respectable  leveL'  And 
an  inquiry  into  the  deaneries  and  canonries  of  that  time  would  lead 
to  very  similar  results. 

So  it  was  in  Cowper's  day,  as  he  has  not  failed  to  tell  us: 

"Chmoh-laddets  an  not  alwajs  mounted  beat 
Br  learned  clerks  and  Latinista  prof  esa'd. 
The  exalted  prize  demands  an  upward  look^ 
Kot  to  be  found  by  poring  on  a  book. 
Small  skill  in  Latin,  and  still  less  in  Greek* 
Is  more  than  adequate  to  all  I  seek. 
Let  erudition  race  him,  or  not  flrrace, 
I  give  the  bauble  but  the  second  place; 

Let  reverend  churls  his  ignorance  rebuke. 
Who  starre  upon  a  dog's^ar'd  Pentateu<^, 
The  paxBon  knows  enough  who  knows  a  duke." 

Nor  was  his  judgment  lighter  on  the  Crown  patronage  and  letters 
missive  which  conferred  the  mitres  of  his  day : 

"  The  wretch  shall  rise>  and  be  the  thing  on  earth 
Least  qualified  in  honour,  learning,  worth. 
To  occupy  a  sacred,  awful  post. 
In  which  the  best  and  worthic^  tremble  most. 

Behold  your  Bishop !  well  he  plays  his  part* 

Christian  in  name,  and  infidel  in  heart. 

Ghostly  in  oflBce,  earthly  in  his  plan, 

A  slave  at  Court,  elsewhere  a  lady's  man. 

Dumb  as  a  senator,  and  as  a  priest 

A  piece  of  mere  church  furniture  at  best.*' 

And  then,  to  show  that  he  did  not  deny  the  possibility  of  exceptions, 
he  adds : 

*'  For  Providence,  that  seems  ooncem'd  to  exempt 

The  halloVd  Bench  from  absolute  contempt. 

In  spite  of  all  the  wrigglers  into  place. 

Still  keeps  a  seat  or  two  for  wortn  and  grace ; 

And  therefore  'tis  that,  though  the  sight  be  rare. 

We  lometimes  see,  a  Lowth  or  Bagot  there." 


8 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


TliiugB  have  not  since  altered  so  con8picuously  for  the  better  m  this 
rcBpect  that  any  tcinponil  inducnment  to  ahidy  can  be  honestly  hidil 
oat  to  the  young  ecclesiastic,  as  it  may  fairly  be  to  the  medical  or 
law  studeutj  uiid  thus  one  {jreat  Bpur  to  exertiou  is  absent.  Further, 
the  ordinary  conditions  of  clencal  life  are  for  the  moBfc  part  less  con- 
ducive to  intelltjctual  exertion  than  those  of  the  other  learned  profes- 
Bions,  The  physician  mnst  earn  his  living  liy  sncccss  in  actual  battle 
with  disease,  and  must  in  the  course  of  his  vocation  deal  nearly  as 
much  with  men  as  with  wonieu  and  childieu.  The  lawyer  has  rival 
lawyers  to  contend  with,  not  merely  in  respect  of  his  own  interests, 
but  in  those  of  his  clients,  ami  uidesa  he  keep  his  wits  sharply  whetted, 
ho  cannot  fullil  his  obHgations  to  those  who  employ  him.  But  the 
parson,  who  is  theoretically  the  chief  literary  and  intellectual  element 
iti  each  paiiah,  and  intended  ix)  bo  its  teacher,  occupying  a  higher 
social  and  educational  level  than  the  echoolmnstor,  lives  too  generally, 
if  in  tlie  counti-y,  wholly  apart  from  his  male  parishionerR,  of  whom 
he  sees  but  little,  is  very  oftiMi  Rurrounded  entirely  by  small  farmei-s 
and  others  of  a  similar  grade,  who  have  no  interest  whatever  in  literary 
pursuits,  thus  havinp;  absolutely  no  educated  neighboum  to  compare 
notes  with  except  some  clergyman  situated  just  like  himself;  and  eo, 
if  he  be  like  the  average  pass-man  of  the  Universities,  the  ordinary 
student  of  tlie  tlieological  colleger,  witii  no  very  great  hunger  for 
learning,  and  no  formed  habits  of  reading,  he  is  much  more  likely  to 
come  down  to  the  meuta.1  level  of  his  flock  than  to  pull  it  up  even  the 
very  slightly  higher  ascent  on  which  he  is  himself  posted;  and  thus 
will  not  do  his  teaching  work  nearly  so  well  as  the  average  school- 
master.  And  if  he  be  a  town  clergyman,  working  as  town  clergymen 
are  expected  to  work  in  the  present  day  wherever  Church  reform  has 
set  in*  ho  has  rarely  time  or  streugth  fur  independent  study  after  all 
the  claims  of  daily  services,  schools,  guilds,  classes,  visitations,  and 
attendance  to  the  calls  on  hia  time  and  attention  by  a  multitude  of 
applicants  of  every  sort^  have  been  satiiified.  It  is  not  an  uncommon 
thing  for  a  clergyman  of  the  stamp  here  indicated  to  begin  his  work- 
ing day  at  hiili'-past  six  in  the  morning,  and  not  be  free  from  the  last 
demands  on  his  leisure  till  eleven  at  uight,  without  having  liad  ono 
iinbroken  hour  to  himself  in  the  iutei-vaL 

The  conclusion  to  Lo  drawn  from  these  facts  is,  that  the  teaching 
given  to  future  clergymen  during  their  period  of  training  ueetla  to  bo 
terae,  incisive,  and  systematic  in  its  compulsory  portions,  Uy  make  as 
deep  an  impression  as  possible  on  the  memory,  and  to  be  so  clearly 
defined  as  to  avoid  the  vagueness  and  haziness  which  are  sure  to  tako 
possession  of  inactive  minds,  if  made  to  traverse  a  wide  range  of  long 
books  with  the  mere  aim  of  passing  somehow  through  an  examination 
at  the  end  of  a  certain  term,  and  that  in  most  cases  such  a  brief  one 
as  the  broken  one  year  or  two  years  which  form  the  usual  course  of  a 
theological  college,  according  as  the  students  are  graduates  or  literates. 


I 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY. 


■ 


This  niafcter  of  incisivenese  needs  to  be  dwelt  upon  all  the  more  wlien 
the  cnse  of  literates  has  to  be  considered,  whether  non-iinivoraity  men 
^\\o  have  entered  as  students  at  theological  coUegea,  or  those  of  the 
jll  lees  cultured  class  who  are  sometimes  ordained  by  biahops  on 
personal  gronnds,  without  any  Bpecial  test  at  all  Piivothat  of  satisfying 
an  eacdcr  examination  than  that  proposed  to  other  candidates.  Ex- 
porierice  has  made  us  famih'ar  with  the  very  slender  results  obtained 
by  primary  schools  in  tenching  reading,  writing,  and  the  simpler  ndes 
of  arilhmetic,  in  any  thorough  and  effective  fashion  to  children  of  the 
labouring  classes  within  the  very  short  time  devoted  to  their  educa- 
tion ;  and  the  amoimt  of  Greek  and  Latin  which  an  average  pass-man 
at  the  Universities  has  contrived  to  assimilate  after,  say,  eleven  years, 
since  he  quitted  the  care  of  a  governess,  and  passed  through  the 
ascending  stages  of  preparatory  school,  public  school,  and  college,  is 
not  worth  taking  into  account.  It  is  not  to  be  expected,  therefore, 
that  such  a  method  of  teaching  as  may  passably  suffice  to  sxipplement 
the  general  training  in  tone,  manners,  and  culture  of  some  kind, 
superior  for  social  purposes  to  mere  book-learning,  to  Avhich  men  who 
have  passed  through  the  Universities  have  been  presumably  subjected, 
will  be  powerful  enough  to  compensate  iu  any  degi*ee  for  its  absence 
in  the  case  of  tliose  who  have  been  less  fortimate. 

This  is  a  ti*uth  which  the  Roman  Gmrch  has  seized,  and  to  which 
it  owes  the  professii^nal  efficiency  of  its  clergy.  It  has  been  its 
policy — in  the  long  run  a  most  disastrous  one,  though  with  much 
plausible  argument  in  its  favour — ever  since  the  counter-Reformation 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  and  still  more,  ever  since  the  French  Revo- 
lution, to  separate  the  education  of  its  future  clergy  from  that  of  their 
fellow-citizens  as  early  and  as  long  as  possible.  The  young  divinity 
students,  now  recruited,  at  any  rate  in  France,  almost  exclusively  from 
the  peasant  class,  arc  caught  when  mere  boys,  scarcely  more  than 
chil(h*en,  and  are  trained  fur  several  years  (eight,  I  think,  often)  iu 
p€tiu  ftminairfSy  either  wholly  apart  from  lads  intended  fur  Iny  careers, 
or  else  in  a  separate  department  of  the  same  institution,  and  on  quite 
a  different  footing.  Thence  they  are  transfLrred  to  the  grands  s^mi- 
naire^y  exclusively  ecclesiiistical,  where  they  have  to  puss  five  yeara 
more  iu  professional  studies,  classified  as  philosophy,  moral  and  dogmatic 
theology,  and  BibUeal  Uterature.  And  great  pains  are  taken  to  uso 
just  what  we  lack,  namely,  text-books  of  a  very  clear  and  incisive 
rast — such,  for  example,  as  the  Catechisms  of  the  Seminary  at  Mechlin 
— illustrated  by  carefully  methodical  and  systematized  lectures.  The 
effect,  on  one  side  of  it,  is  doubtless  bad,  in  that  the  ordinary  Roman 
priest  hits  very  much  the  air  of  a  manufactured  article  turned  out  to 
pattern  by  the  hundred,  has  little  or  no  originality  or  spontaneity, 
knows  nothing  wliatever  outside  the  very  narrow  range  of  the  studies 

iposed  by  his  enperiors,  is  too  ''cocksure"  of  everything,  and  is 
Viltogether  unable  to  sympathize  with  or  even  understand  the  educated 


10  THE  CONTEMPORA  R  Y  RE  VIE  W, 

lay  mind-  But  ou  tlie  other  hand,  he  does  know  what  they  Lave 
meant  liim  to  learn,  and  he  seldom  forgets  it.  He  is  not  the  stuff 
■whom  they  aaiII  select  to  make  a  preacher  of  conferences  in  a  gi*eat 
cathedral,  a  director  of  conscioucc  for  penitents  of  high  station, 
or  to  assume  the  training  office  in  his  turn ;  but  he  will  be 
thoroughly  vemeJ  in  the  ordinary  routine  of  liis  parish  duties,  will 
know  all  the  fannulated  doctrines  of  his  (liurch  in  their  mmpler  and 
broader  forms,  foreign  as  all  higher  theological  speculation  will  be 
to  his  habits  of  ihouglit,  and  will  bo  able  to  preach  homely  sermons 
in  no  couteniptible  fashion.  There  may  be  very  reasonable  doubt  as 
to  tlie  soundness  of  the  theory  which  has  guided  his  training,  there  is 
no  question  at  all  that  he  is  turned  out  a  fairly  serviceable  implement 
for  the  Ivind  of  work  he  is  to  have  intrusted  to  him.*  It  is  impossible  to 
say  so  much  for  the  ordinary  English  literate  or  pass-man  after  hiH  much 
shorter  and  less  formal  course  of  instruction.  The  Anghcau  priesthood 
differs  in  the  theory  of  its  functions  from  that  of  the  Onental  and 
Latin  Churches  in  two  very  important  particulars.  In  the  lirst  place, 
it  is  in  no  senee  a  caste  apart  from  other  citizens^  but  is  expected  to 
dwell  with  and  amongst  them»  sharing  in  their  concerns,  and  not 
merely  living  for,  yet  divided  from,  them.  And  next,  it  is  primarily  a 
teaching  body*  The  teaching  or  prophetical  office  has  fallen  into 
practical  abeyance  in  the  Eastern  communions ;  and  rich  as  Latin 
Christendom  has  been  in  great  preachers  (notably  in  France,  wliich 
bos  far  surpassed  England  in  this  reBpcct),  yet  the  sacerdotal  element 
has  from  various  causes  assumed  much  greater  prominence  there  than 
the  prophetical,  and  plenty  uf  room  and  work  can  be  found  fur  an 
inferior  grade  of  clergy  who  can  just  go  correctly  through  the  per- 
formance of  certain  rites  and  ceremonies,  but  are  competent  for  very 
httle  more.  But  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  place  in  the  Church 
of  England  for  men  of  this  stamp,  suice  the  chief  pastoral  work  of  her 
clergy,  occupying  far  more  of  their  time  than  the  performance  of 
public  worehip  (even  inclusive  of  preachiiig)  and  what  is  called 
eurphce-duty,  is  in  serving  as  tho  instructors,  advisers,  helpers,  and  in 
many  respects  confidants  of  their  parishioners;  an  office  full  of  com- 
plexities and  difficulties,  and  therefore  needing  all  the  more  jealousy  in 
the  admission  of  those  who  are  to  fill  it;  since  an  ignorant  man  cannot 
fitly  teach,  and  a  man  who  is  unrefined  in  ideas  and  habits  will  not 
exercise  influence  with  rich  or  poor — less  indeed  with  the  latter  than 
with  tho  former,  as  they  are  less  wiUing  to  make  allowaucea.  All 
experience  teaches  that  au  urdearaed  clergy,  drawn  from  a  humble 

*  It  should  bo  said  that  m  a  French  pamplilet  issued  eince  thU  papor  has  been  in 
type,  "Pourquoi  lo  clnrg6  francs  est-il  ultxamontjun ?"  (Paris:  Dontu,  1879),  it  is 
aiUgodthat  tlio  bishupSj  in  order  to  kei.-p  tUu  ulor^  ignorant  of  Ihuir  ri^^hta  and  privi- 
legoSj  take  caro  that  the  U.iu:hinj7  in  the  siimlaarids  ahall  be  "insufiidont,  incomplete, 
and  leeblo ;"  th&i  the  **  thooloj^ical  lecturer  are  cut  down,  canon  law  uxcludt>d  from  tho^ 
coarse,  Biblical  exe^^ts  supcrncially  trc;ito],  and  Iha  studenta  finally  sont  out  with  a 
inoaprft  bundle  of  knowledge,  in  which  neithur  history,  archoxilogy,  nor  patrology  forms 
apart,"— P.  30. 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.  11 

flocial  grade,  is  a  grave  misfortune  to  a  Church,  and  is  at  once 
powerless  to  affect  the  educated  classes  of  society,  and  very  pre- 
carious in  its  hold  upon  the  lower,  a  fact  which  is  brought  home 
to  ourselves  by  the  comparative  weakness  of  the  Welsh  Church,  where 
such  an  element  was  till  very  lately  dispropoi-tionately  large.  It 
is  therefore  desirable  not  only  to  keep  this  element  as  small  as  po&- 
eible  in  the  Church  of  England,  but  to  minimize  the  chances  of  mischief 
from  individuals  of  it  by  extreme  precision  of  teaching,  leaving  much, 
less  to  their  own  bias  and  study  than  can  safely  be  done  with  others. 
Exactly  in  proportion  as  they  lack  width  and  variety  of  acquire- 
ments and  culture,  they  should  know  with  greater  accuracy  what 
they  do  learn,  and  the  subjects  enjoined  upon  them  should  be  most 
carefully  adapted  to  the  kind  of  duties  which  they  will  have  to  per- 
form. Because  they  have  not  had  the  best  education,  they  need  the 
exactest  information.  There  is  not  much  to  draw  out,  and  all  the 
iQore  has  therefore  to  be  put  in. 

It  is  well  to  digress  for  a  moment  here  to  answer  the  objection  to 
the  language  I  have  used  about  literates  as  a  class,  that  it  is  inconsis- 
tent with  the  democratic  principle  which  has  prevailed  in  the  Christian 
Church  in  all  its  healthiest  periods,  of  drawing  its  ministers  freely  from 
all  grades  of  society,  and  opening  the  road  to  the  highest  dignities  for 
the  very  humblest.  Certainly  that  principle  ought  to  prevail,  but  not  by 
admitting  unfit  men  into  the  ministry  on  any  sentimental  pleas,  rather  by 
restoring  to  the  poor  those  educational  endowments  which  a  false  Liber* 
alism,  by  the  modern  scheme  of  competitive  examinations,  has  thrown 
exclusively  into  the  hands  of  the  rich,  who  can  afford  to  pay  for  pri- 
vate tutors  and  crammers  for  their  children,  enabling  them  to  defeat  in 
any  contest  for  prizes  those  poorer  students  who  have  only  the  common 
teaching  of  a  class  or  their  personal  exertions  to  rely  on.  The  poor 
lad  of  medieeval  times  who  rose  to  be  archbishop  or  Pope  had  in  most 
cases  enjoyed  precisely  the  same  educational  advantages  as  his  high- 
bom  competitors,  had  been  taught  in  exactly  the  same  schools,  by  the 
same  masters,  and  probably  been  trained  for  long  yeara  in  the  same 
monastery.  But  now  there  is  too  often  all  the  interval  between  a 
primary  school  or  a  cheap  commercial  academy,  supplemented  or  not, 
as  may  be,  by  a  far  too  short  sojourn  at  some  theological  college ;  and 
Eton,  Winchester,  Rugby,  or  Marlborough,  succeeded  by  Oxford  or 
Cambridge,  and  finally  supplemented,  not  merely  replaced,  by  Cuddes- 
don  or  Chichester.  That  a  remedy  can  be  found  for  this  evil,  which  is 
not  confined  by  any  means  to  the  clerical  profession,  I  cannot  doubt, 
nor  yet  that  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  direction  of  a  federation  of  all  the 
schools  in  the  country,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest  grades ;  but  so 
long  as  it  exists  it  would  be  idle  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  fact  that,  as  a 
rule,  the  literate  of  the  day  is  likely  to  be  an  inferior  article,  and,  if 
admitted  to  the  ministry  at  all,  must  be  more  specially  trained  than 
any  other,  while  even  graduates  have,  for  the  most  part,  been  taught 


IS 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


theii'  religion  carelessly  and  badly  at  home,  at  scbools,  and  at  the 
University,  so  ciiiinot  make  amends  in  a  single  year's  stndy. 

Now  the  fault  >vliich  runs  throiig-li  the  courses  of  study  prescnbed  to 
candidates  for  Holy  Orders  in  .ill  tlie  most  important  Divinity  Schools, 
such  as  tiiG  Uuiveraities  of  Oxford,  Cambridge,  Duiham,  and  Dublin, 
King's  College,  London,  and  the  leading  theologiual  collugea,  is 
that  they  luive  one  and  all  been  apparently  drawn  up  from  the 
purely  academic  point  of  -vnow,  in  a  ficholastic  spint,  and  as  if  a 
literaiy,  rather  tliau  a  practical  goal,  lay  before  the  candidatew.  Tbo 
subjects  and  books  prescribed  arc  often  excellent  of  their  kind; 
those  in  the  Honour  School  at  Oxford,  in  particular,  merit  high  praise, 
and  if  the  object  were  to  train  men  to  become  writers  or  lecturei*a  on 
certam  theological  topiew,  addressing  themselves  to  the  learned  few,  it 
might  not  be  easy  to  improve  much  upon  them ;  but  they  fail  signally 
to  meet  the  daily  needs  of  a  parochial  clergy,  and  especially  of  the 
less  shidious  and  intellectual  candidates,  wlio  cannot  be  trunted  to  go 
on  aequiiing  special  Itnowledgo  after  their  last  examination  for 
Orders  has  been  passed. 

It  is  well  to  state  first  tho  ordinary  ronHne  of  clerical  work  in  any 
well-organized  parish,  and  then  to  snnimarize  the  com-se  of  instruction 
which  is  supposed  to  equip  men  adequately  for  discharging  it.  There 
will  be  (I)  the  conduct  of  public  worsliip,  inclusive  of  (2)  administra- 
tion of  the  sacraments,  and  (^V)  preaching;  (-1)  pubHc  catechizing;  (5) 
Kupcrvision  of,  and  probably  tcaclnng  classes  in  Sundaj'  and  week-day 
schools;  (6)  Biljle,  choir,  confirmation,  communieaut,  and  Sxniday- 
fichool-teachcr  classes;  (7)  holding  mission  services  in  outlying 
districts;  (8)  pastoral  visitation,  specially  of  the  Rick;  (9)  parish 
guilds  ;  (10)  vestry  buniness  ;  (11)  superintendence,  direct  or  indirect, 
of  parochial  charities,  district  \nsitors,  pfuny  banks,  etc.;  (12)  advice 
and  counsel  given  in  temporal  and  spiritual  mattere  to  all  appUcauts; 
(13)  controvei-sy,  either  defensive,  to  prevent  chssidenta  from  di'awing 
otr  parishioners  to  other  communions  ;  or  aggressive,  by  endeavouring 
to  ^^■in  converts  to  the  Church  ;  (14)  organization  of  lay  help. 

This,  though  a  wide  range  of  duties — in  Avliich,  however,  no 
account  has  been  taken  of  ruridecaual  or  diocesan  responsibilities — 
is  yet  a  clearly  defined  one,  and  no  person  who  scans  it  intelligentK'' 
can  long  be  in  doubt  as  to  the  outlines  of  a  training  which  will  really 
prepare  for  it.  Now  let  us  take  tlie  various  courses  of  study  iu  all  the 
schools  whicli  supply  the  Homo  Chnich,  excluding  the  five  misHionaiy 
colleges,  as  outside  the  present  inquii*}-,  and  see  how  they  propose  to  do 
the  work.  First,  then,  let  the  lately  iiiHtituted  Preliminary  Exami- 
nation for  Rely  Orders,  conducted  by  the  Theological  Faculty  at 
Cumbriilgc,  bo  considered,  because  several  bishops  now  accept  it  as 
qualifying  f(n*  ordination,  and  because  it  is  also  avowedly  intended  to 
act  on  the  theological  colleges,  in  order  to  raise  their  standard  of  ac- 
quirements and  eificiency,and  therefore  presmnably  contains  references 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.  IJ 

to  all  that  18  judged,  by  those  who  have  framed  and  those  who  accept  it, 
to  be  esseniial  for  a  well-taught  ordinand  to  know.  It  is  of  this  sort : — 

1.  Old  Testament,  selected  portions,  together  with  questions  on 

"Introduction  "  and  criticism,  opportunity  being  given  for  show- 
ing acquaintance  with  the  Hebrew  and  Septuagiut, 

2.  New  Testament  in  Greek,        do.  do. 

3.  The  Creeds,  and  Thirty-nine  Articles,  history  and  contents. 

4.  The  Prayer  Book,  history  and  contents. 

5.  Ecolesiastical  History,  selected  portions. 

6.  A  selected  work  or  works  of  some  Latin  ecclesiastical  writer, 

together  with  a  passage  for  translation  into  English  from  some- 
unspecified  Latin  author. 

Two  books  of  the  Old,  and  two  of  the  New  Testament  are  usually 
Bet,  and  that  a  year  or  two  previous  to  the  examination.  Thus,  the 
specially  defined  course  for  1879  is  as  follows: — 1.  Psalms xlii. — Ixxii. 
Lives  of  David  and  Solomon.  2.  St.  Matthew  and  Romans.  3  and  4. 
As  above,  no  text-books  being  named.  5.  Church  History  to  Council 
of  Nice,  inclusive;  History  of  English  Church  from  1509 — 1558. 
6.  Book  rV.  of  Venerable  Bede's  HUtoria  Eecles.  Gent.  AngL  7.  An 
optional  paper  in  Butler*fi  Analogy. 

The  examinatioi  papers,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  experience 
and  distinction  of  the  examiners,  drawn  from  both  of  the  greater 
Universities,  are  very  searching  and  thorough  of  their  kind,  and 
leave  no  doubt  possible  that  men  who  are  put  in  the  fii*st  class 
know  a  good  deal,  and  that  men  who  pass  at  all  are  by  no  means 
ignorant. 

For  students  who  aim  higher,  Cambridge  has  now  a  Theological 
Tripos.    The  subjects  for  1879  are  as  follow : — 

1  and  2.  Hebrew  Scriptures  and  Septuagiut.  Psalms,  Book  II., 
Hosea. 

3.  Greek  Testament,  St.  Matthew,  Acts  xiii. — xxviii.,  Galatians. 

4.  Origen,  Contra  CeUum,  v.,  vi.  Socrates,  Hist,  EccL  iii.,  iv. 

5.  Tertullian,  Adv.  Praxeam,   Augustine,  De  Civitate  Dei,  iv.,  v. 

6.  Life  and  Times  of  St.  Chrysostom,  St.  Bernard,  and  Archbishop 

Laud. 

7.  Hooker,  EccL  Polity^  ii.,  iii.,  iv.    Paley,  Ilorce  Panlince. 

At  Oxford  the  examination  for  pass-men  in  Divinity  in  "  the  rudi- 
ments of  faith  and  religion,"  as  it  is  technically  called,  is  so  slight  as 
to  scarcely  need  attention.  It  consists  (1)  of  the  Old  and  New  Tes- 
tament ;  (2)  Gospels  and  Acts  in  Greek ;  (3)  the  Thirty-nine  Articles; 
(4)  one  or  more  books  of  Old  and  New  Testament  for  special 
study;  (5)  some  period  of  Ecclesiastical  History.  Tho  honour 
course,  however,  is  a  veiy  advanced  one  of  its  kind,  and  is  as  follows 
for  1879:— 

I.  Btblia  5acra.— Subject  matter  of  Exodus,  I.  and  II.  Kings,  Isaiah, 
St.  Luke,  St.  John,  Romans,  or  else  Ephesians,  and  Pastoral  Epistles. 


u 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Optional  subjects,  Hebrew  or  Septuagint,  Exodus,  i. — xxiv.,  Psaltna 
IxxiiL — cl.,  Isaiah  i. — xxxv. 

II.  TIi<ivlogia  Do'jmatka  ahjue  SymhoUccu — S.  Athanasiiis,  De  Incarna- 
iione  Verli,  Vincentii  Lirinensis  Commonkoinum,  Heurtley,  Dc  Fide  et 
Symholo,  Pearson  on  tbe  Creed,  Bull,  Dcfenno  Fidei  NicwjKV,  books 
iii,  and  iv,  Tlie  TLirty-nine  Articles,  Hardwick'e  History  of  Thirty- 
nine  Articles, 

III.  Historia  Ecclesiattica  et  Pafriglica. — Eusebius,  Hi^t,  EccL  iii,  and 
iv»  Canons  of  First  Four  General  Councils.  Briglit's  History  of  the 
Church  from  x,l>,  313  to  A,D.  451.  Beda,  Hisl&r,  Eccles.  Hardwick's 
Church  History,  Reformation  Period. 

IV.  Apologetica, — Justin  Martyr,  Dialogus  cum  Tryphone.  Butler's 
Analogy,     Davison  on  Prophecy,    Mozley  on  Miracles, 

V.  Liiuryica, — St-  Cyril  of  Jerusalem,  Catecfifses^  xix. — xxiii.  The 
Ancient  Liturgies.  The  Book  of  Common  Prayer ;  vnih.  special 
reference  to  its  sources  and  eucccssivo  modifications.  Hooker,  Ecck 
Polity ,  V. 

VI.  Criiica  Sacra, — AVestcott  on  the  Canon  of  New  Testament,  Scriv- 
ener, Introduction  to  Criticism  of  New  Testament.  Gospel  of  St.  Luke, 
critically  studied.     Hosea,  critically  studied. 

This  is,  of  its  land,  a  better  range  of  study  than  the  corresponding 
honour  coiu^e  at  Cambridge,  and,  as  might  be  expected  from  tho 
dilFtireuccs  between  the  two  Uiiiver6itii.'8,  has  much  more  of  theology 
proper,  and  of  original  texts  (which,  even  if  only  scraps,  at  any  rate 
keep  men  from  mere  second-hand  reading),  and  not  quite  so  much  of 
mere  grammar  and  philology.  But  it  comes  to  nearly  the  samo 
practical  result,  and  similarly  omits  speculative  theology,  Christian 
antiquities,  and  all  works  by  Roman,  Lutheran,  or  Calvinifit  divines, 
often  writing  on  subjects  for  which  no  good  Anglican  text^books 
exist;  as  for  example: — Mohler*s  Symholii\  Perrone's  Prcelectiones, 
Ritsehls  Lehre  von  der  Reclitfertigung,  and  Gillespie's  Necessary  Exist- 
ence of  God, 

lu  Durham,  the  examination  in  1879  for  an  ovduiary  Licence  Li 
Thf^ology  -will  be  : — 1.  SS.  Mark  and  John,  the  Acts  of  tho  Apostles, 

1.  Corinthians,  Galatians,  Colossians,  Philemon,  and  St.  James,  in  Greek, 

2.  Ecclesiastical  lIistor>'  to  A.D.  451.  3.  History  of  Church  of  Eng- 
land, 1509 — Ii?88,  4.  Prayer  Book  and  Tliirty-nine  Articles.  5. 
BibHcal  Criticism  and  Intei-prctation  (optional). 

For  Honours  in  Theology,  in  addition: — L  If.  Corinthians,  in  Greek. 
2.  Hebrew  Grammar,  and  some  portions  of  Scripture  to  be  appointed 
by  tho  Hebrew  Lecturer.  3.  St.  Cyrils  Catecheses  (half).  4.  Eusebius 
Hist,  EccL,  book  iv.  5.  St.  Augustine,  De  Doctrina  Christiana,  6. 
Hooker's  Eccl,  Polity,  i,  and  iv,     7.  Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes, 

In  Dubliuj  where  the  system  of  examinations  in  the  Divinity  School 
is  of  much  longer  standing  than  in  any  Enghsh  Universities,  though 
with  the  slenderest  results  ou  theological  aptitude  or  study  in  tho  Iiish 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY,  15 

Church,  students  must  pass  four  examinations  at  least,  two  in  the 
junior  and  two  in  the  senior  year,  in  addition  to  having  attended  six 
terms  of  lectures,  before  receiving  the  final  testimonium.  The  two 
chief  examinations,  at  the  close  of  each  year's  course,  are  of  this 
sort: 

Junior  Year. — 1.  Holy   Scripture, — Four    Gospels,    and  Act-s,      2 
Greek  Testament, — Gospels  and  Romans.    3.  Evidences. — ^Paley's  Evi 
dences,     Butler's  Analogy.    Lee  on  Inspiration,  selected  portions.     4. 
Socinian  Controversy. — rPearson  on  the  Creed,  Acts  ii,  and  viii.    Magee 
on  the  AtonemeTit,     5.  Ecclesiastical  History. — Selections  from  Robert- 
eon's  History  of  the  Church, 

Senior  Year. — 1.  The  Bible,  in  the  A.  V.  2.  II.  Corinthians  and 
Hebrews,  in  Greek-  3.  Selections  from  Hardwick's  History  of  Refor- 
motion  and  from  King's  History  of  Irish  Church,  4.  Book  of  Common 
Prayer,  with  Procter's  Commentary.  Potter  on  Church  Government, 
L — ^iv.  5.  Selected  portions  of  Harold  Browne  and  of  Burnet  on  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles, 

There  is  no  distinct  honour  examination,  but  only  competitions 
for  certain  prizes,  rarely  more  than  two  in  number,  which  of  course 
extend  to  but  a  very  small  minority  of  the  students. 

So  far  the  Universities,  in  which  theology  is  necessarily  only  one  out 
of  many  departments  of  activity.  Now  let  us  turn  to  all  the  sixteen 
minor  institutions  where  it  occupies  the  chief  or  the  sole  place.  And 
first  let  us  take  what  is  almost  a  University  in  conception  and  opera- 
tion, King's  College,  London. 

Graduates  in  Arts  of  all  British  Univei'sities,  after  passing  an  exami- 
nation in  the  Bible,  the  Acts,  and  CathoHo  Epistles  in  Greek;  the 
history  of  Articles  and  Prayer  Book ;  Hooker,  book  i. ;  and  Pearson, 
Arts.  I. — III.,  are  admitted  as  matriculated  students,  and  can  obtain  the 
Theological  certificate  in  one  year  of  three  terms,  on  passing  the 
final  examination.  Non-graduates  must  attend  for  six  terms  or  two 
years,  and  pass  three  examinations,  one  at  entrance,  one  at  the  close 
of  the  junior  year,  and  a  third  at  the  close  of  the  senior  year.  The  sub- 
jects are  as  follows  : — 

I.  (1)  Tischendorf,  Synopsis  of  Greek  Testament,  I,  and  II, ;  (2) 
General  Scripture  History  ;  (3)  Church  Catechism,  with  explanations ; 
(4)  Two  Greek  and  two  Latin  books,  with  grammar  questions;  (5) 
English  Composition. 

II.  Dogmatic  Theology, — History  of  Articles,  and  special  examination 
in  some  portion  of  Articles  lectured  on.  Hooker,  book  i.  Pearson, 
on  the  Creed,  Arts.  I. — HI. 

Greek  Testament. — Tischendorf,  Part  II,  Acts  and  Catholic  Epistles, 
with  general  questions.     Special  examination  in  portions  lectured  on. 

Old  Testament, — Examination  in  lectures  on  about  naif  of  Old 
Testament. 

Ecclesiastical  History. — Examination  in  portions  lectured  on. 


IG 


THE  CONTEMPORA  RY  RE  ME  W. 


Pasforal  Theology, — History  of  Prayer  Book,  and  fipecial  examijiatioii 
in  portions  lectured  ou. 

Hebrew, — Grammar  and  translation,  -with  questions  on  lectures. 

Laliu. — Cicero  de  Naturj^eoruin,  I.aiid  11.  Latin  Prose  Composition. 

Public  Reading, 

III.  Dogmatic  Theologt/, — Thirty-nine  Articles.  General  and  Special 
Examination  ;  Pearson  on  tliti  Creed,  Arts.  IV, — XII.  Hooker,  book  v. 
Bntlcr,  Aualoj^y  and  Sermons. 

Greek  2tf/tomtf/*/.^Paidinc  EpLsfclcs ;  Piiuciplca  of  Textual  Cnti- 
cism. 

Old  Testament. — Examination  in  lectures  ou  remaining  half  of  Old 
Testament.  i 

Ecclesiastical  History. — Examinations  in  poi-tions  lectured  ou, 

Pagtoral  Tlieology, — Prayer  Book  (portions  lectured  on)  and  Homi- 
letics.  m 

Hebrew  and  Latin, 

In  a  respectable  list  of  books  recommended  to  students,  the  following' 
are  marked  us  practically  indispensable  for  them  to  procure,  all  others 
being  merely  suggested  for  reference  iu  libraries  :— Browne  on  Thirty- 
nine  Articles ;  Harvey,  Eccl.  Avglicamv  Mndex  Caiholiciu ;  Van  dor 
IIooght*8  Hebrew  Bible;  GeseniuSjyAe^aw/'iw;  Angus's  Bible  Handbook  ; 
Pndeaux,  Coune^rion  of  Sacred  and  Profane  History ;  Sacred  Geography  ; 
Tiscbondorfs  Smaller  Greek  Testament;  Burton's /iis/ary  of  Cl^'i^tian 
Church ;  ^lartineau's  Ehgllah  Cfmrck  History  to  the  Reformation; 
Procter  ou  the  Cotmnon  Prayer.  . 

At  Queen's  College,  Birmingham,  the  course  for  \.\'^  oerilucato  in 
Theology  is  identical  with  that  for  the  Cambridge  P.u'.minary  Exami- 
uation. 

At  St.  David's  College,  Lampeter  (which,  even  more  than  King's 
College,  is  of  the  nature  of  a  University  rather  tlian  of  a  merely 
techuical  school,  inasmuch  as  it  can  confer  degrees),  the  Btntlies  in  the 
Faculty  of  Arts  are  carried  on  simultaneously  with  those  in  Theology, 
The  special  work  for  the  degree  of  B.A,  in  the  theological  school,  in 
187!',  is  tho  Four  Gospels  (vica  vocc)\  the  Acta;  Epistles  to  Ejiliesians, 
Pliilippiaus,  Colossians,  Philemon,  Theasalonians ;  Butler,  Analofty, 
Part  II.;  Thirty-nine  Articles;  Prayer  Book;  Cliurch  History  of 
First  Three  Centuries ;  Ilistoiy  of  Reformation  ;  Scripture  History ; 
and  an  alternative  of  selected  books  either  iu  Hebrew  (Psalms  xlii. — 
Ixxii. ;  2  Sam.  xv, — end)  or  Greek  (Plato,  Phtrdo),  Those  who  com- 
pete for  honours  must  road  in  addition  tho  whole  Greek  Testament, 
Epistles  of  St.  Ignatius,  Butler's  Analogy^  and  English  Church  History 
to  tho  Reformation,  For  the  B.D.  degree,  in  1879,  the  course  is  tho 
Greek  Testapent,  an  alternative  of  Hebrew,  Psalms  xlii. — Ixxii.,  or  St. 
Augustine's  Confessions,  i. — iii.,  and  Hooker,  book  v.  Welsh  is  also 
included  in  the  course  of  studitfe,  as  also  are  Pastoral  Theology  and 
the  Composition  of  Sermons,  ^ 


1 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.         17 

At  Cliichester,  the  course  of  four  terms  in  the  year  1878  comprised 
fielected  portions  of  Greek  Testament  ;  the  Old  Testament ;  the 
Prayer  Book;  Church  Histoiy,  Primitive  and  Anglican;  Browne  on 
the  Articles;  Pearson  on  the  Creed ; Sutler's  Analogy;  Hooker, 
book  V. ;  Church  Catechism  and  Pastoral  Theology ;  Lectures  on  the 
Early  Fathers,  and  Composition  of  Sermons.  Oral  instruction,  and 
books  specially  recommended,  according  to  the  capacity  of  individual 
pupils,  are  chiefly  relied  on  at  this  college ;  and,  if  I  do  not  mistake, 
opportunity  is  afforded  for  acquiring  some  knowledge  of  ecclesiastical 
law,  though  this  is  optional. 

At  Cuddesdon,  which  is  not  open  to  any  students  save  those  who 
have  passed  the  final  examinations  at  Oxford,  Cambridge,  Durham, 
Dublin,  and  King's  College,  London,  the  course  is  usually  of  a  year  s 
duration, '  divided  into  four  terms.  It  comprehends  lectures  on  the 
Bible,  Doctrine  and  Liturgy  of  the  Church  of  England  (specially 
Thirty-nine  Articles,  Hooker  and  Pearson),  Church  History,  and  the 
elements  of  Hebrew.  Portions  of  the  Early  Fathers  and  Church 
Historians  are  read  in  connexion  with  the  lectures,  and  the  students  are 
trained  in  the  composition  and  delivery  of  sermonis.  There  is  also  a 
weekly  Meditation  or  Instruction  given  in  the  chapel. 

At  Gloucester,  the  course  for  graduates  is  of  three  terms,  for  non- 
gradtiales  six,  and  an  examination  at  the  end  of  each  term  must  be 
passed  by  those  who  desire  the  certificate.  The  course  of  lectures  is 
in  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  Doctrine  and  Liturgy  of  the  Church 
of  England,  Church  History,  and  Hebrew;  also  sermon-writing  and 
public  readin-gl'  The  chief  books  used  are  Alford's  Greek  Testament; 
Elhcott's  Ilulkvdh  Lectures ;  Van  Oosterzee's  Theology  of  New  Testa^ 
ment ;  Shedd's  History  of  Christian  Doctrine ;  Procter  on  the  Common 
Prayer;  Parker's  First  Book  of  Edward  VL;  Harold  Browne  on  the 
Articles;  Robertson's  Church  History,  and  Massingberd's  History  of 
English  Reformation.  There  i&  also  training  in  parochial  work,  in- 
cluding district  visiting,  Sunday  and  night  schools,  and  cottage 
lectures. 

At  the  London  College  of  Divinity,  Highbury,  the  course  (except 
for  men  already  well  educated)  is  for  three  years,  the  longest  of  any, 
but,  from  a  large  endowment,  also  much  the  cheapest  to  resident 
students.  The  Cambridge  Preliminary  Examination  is  the  standard 
aimed  at,  and,  judging  by  the  number  of  men  from  this  college  who 
have  been  creditably  classed  there,  with  a  considerable  measure  of 
success.    The  course  of  study  at  the  college  itself  is  this : 

First  year — Preparatory  Greek  and  Latin  class;  Grammar  and  Eng- 
lish Compositions ;  Lectures  on  Rawlinson's  Ancient  History,  with 
special  reference  to  Biblical  History  and  Prophecy,  and  the  basis  of 
Ecclesiastical  History;  Lectures  on  Medisaval  History;  Geography 
-of  Palestine;  Old  Testament,  Gospeb  in  Greek;  Opuscula  of  St. 
Augustine;   Patres  Apostolici  or  Eusebius;   Paley's   Hor<je  Paulina'; 

VOL.  XXiV.  0 


18 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


EccIesiaBtica]  History  uf  first  Three  Centunee;  TLirtj-uine  Articles^ 

Text  and  Scriptural  bearings. 

Second  year :  Later  Ecclesiastical  History ;  History  of  Chnrcli  of 
England ;  Paley's  Evidences ;  Butler  s  Analogy ;  Pearson  on  the  Creed  ; 
Greek  Testament ;  Septnagint ;  Hebrew ;  Old  Testament  Exegesis  ; 
A  Latin  Subject. 

Third  year:  Greek  Testament;  Hebrew;  Critical  History  of  Bible  ; 
Tliirty-nino  Articles,  considered  historically  and  theologically;  St^ 
Jiw^i^txn^  De  Doetrina  ChrUtiana;  Prayer  Book;  Hooker;  Compofid- 
tion  and  Deliver^'  of  Sermons;  Systematic  ta*aining  in  Reading.  The 
students  also  work  iu  schools,  mission-room  services,  workhouse  visita- 
ttons,  8iQ. 

At  tiio  Clergy  School,  Leeds,  the  course  of  study  in  books  consists 
of  the  Old  and  Xew  Testament,  Prayer  Bot»k,  Thirty-nine  Articlea, 
and  Creed ;  Church  History  of  first  four  centuries ;  English  Church 
History,  to  eeveuteonth  century  inclusive,  aud  Butlers  Analogy,  But 
the  distingiiiHliing  feature  at  this  school  is  the  stress  laid  on  practical 
matters.  Not  ouly  are  there  "Parochialia"  lectures  on  sermon-writing, 
■chool-teaching,  the  conduct  of  public  wornhip,  and  also  devotional 
addresses,  but  each  student  has  a  parish  district  in  Leeds  to  look 
after,  nader  tlio  direction  of  the  priest  in  charge,  lias  opportunities 
of  becoming  experienced  in  delivering  mission  addresses,  and  teaching 
cIsMes  of  all  sorts,  and  iu  conducting  mission  services  and  teaching 
in  schools  himself,  so  that  no  one  can  possibly  pass  through  the 
training  at  Leeds  without  getting  a  considerable  insight  into  a  great 
deal  of  town  parish  work.  This  is  a  wliolly  admirable  plan,  and  in 
some  rcHpects  superior  to  the  method  at  most  other  schools. 

At  Lichfield  the  course  is  for  two  years,  or  six  terms  of  twelve 
weeks  each,  for  non-gruduates,  one  year  for  graduates,  and  a  shorter 
time  for  such  graduates  as  do  not  seek  the  college  certificate. 
The  studies  pursuod  are  these : — Bible,  OKI  Teatanieut  in  English, 
New  TcHtamont  in  Greek;  Prayer  Book,  with  examination  of 
Primitive  and  Mediajval  Liturgies  ;  Doctrines  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land, in  Creeds,  Articles,  and  Htnudard  Divines;  Church  History, 
Primitive,  Medimval,  and  Modem;  Evidences;  Canon  Law;  the 
pilnr-iplt.H  of  flio  more  important  English  sects;  and  elouioiitary  in- 
Mtriiutiun  iu  Hebrew  aud  Greek.  The  principal  boolcB  ui  actual  use 
are  Eusebius,  EecL  IJtgt.  (in  English) ;  Uardwick's  Reformation,  and 
BomotimeR  his  Mi<hUc  Ages;  Butka-s  Analogy  and  Sn'mons ;  Paley'a 
ErUaurs ;  PeurHon  on  the  Creed;  Bluut's  Scriptural  Coincukncee ; 
Smith's  StmlenCa  ^fanmtU  of  Old  and  New  Testavicnt ;  Blunt's  Anno- 
tated l^ayer  Bouk;  BlnnrB  Church  Law;  Professor  J,  J.  Blunt's 
Dutiea  of  the  Parish  Prlt'st,  No  text-book  on  the  Thirty-nme  Articles 
is  proscribed,  but  a  special  course  of  lectures  is  devoted  to  them. 
RoRidos  nil  this,  tho  Btudente  nro  practistd  iu  public  readii»g,  and 
huvo  to  read  the  Loesous  iu  turn  at  daily  chapel;  iu  public  speaking. 


PROFESSTOXAL  STUDIES  OF  TEE  CLEHGW 


19 


by  means  of  debates,  miseion-room  lectures,  &c.;  in  writing  sermons 
and  theological  essays;  in  Smiday  and  night-fichool  teaching,  and  m 
catechizing;  and  in  a  knowledge  of  the  elementary  laws  of  health 
and  disease,  imparted  by  a  physician.  This  is  one  of  the  most  prac- 
tical aud  Bcnsiblo  courses  to  be  found  in  England,  and  lays  stress 
on  sevenil  important  points  not  widely  enforced. 

At  the  Chaucellor's  School,  Lincoln,  non-graduates  are  prepared 
for  the  Cambiidgo  Preliminary  Examination,  already  set  down ;  but 
lectures  are  relied  on  rather  than  text-books  for  the  local  studies, 
which  are  as  follow: — Old  Testamejit:  Introduction,  and  selected 
books;  Dr.  Smith's  StudenCs  Old  Testament  Ilistoiy ;  Kay,  Perowue, 
or  Jennings  and  Lowe  on  Psalms  ;  Mason's  Hebrew  Grammar,  New 
Testament:  Gospel  and  Epistles;  Wordsworth  and  Alfords  Greek 
Testaments;  Carr  on  St.  Luke;  Vanghan  on  Romans.  Westcott's 
Bible  in  the  Church  ;  Tristram's  Land  of  Israel;  Dictionary  of  BibU, 
Church  History,  Ancient :  Robertson,  vols.  i.  and  ii.;  English — Perry's 
StudenCit  Histort/  of  the  Chnrch  of  England;  Lumby's  History  of  the  Creeds; 
Harold  Browne  and  Hardwick  on  Articles ;  Pearson  on  the  Creed ; 
Wordsworth's  77i«y?/tt7(«^w^/wa?ii«;  Hooker,  books  iii.  aud  v.  Prayer 
Book ;  Procter,  or  Evan  Daniel,  with  references  to  Scudamore's 
Notitia  Eticharietii'a^  and  to  the  ancient  Liturgies.  One  or  two  books 
in  patristic  Latin  are  read,  and  there  are  volmitary  classes  in  Butler  s 
Analo<^ll,  the  elements  of  Moral  Philosophy,  and  in  pastoral  work; 
find  candidates  are  expected  to  read  Bishop  Sanderson's  Dc  OlUgaCwne 
ComcientifT, 

At  St,  Aldan's,  Blrkei^head,  the  coureo  is  of  two  years.  Junior 
year:  Old  Testament  (hulf) ;  New  Testament,  Goe2>elB;  Church 
History;  selected  period  of  Ancient  History,  Reformation,  and 
Cliurch  of  England;  Thirty-nine  Articles;  Prayer  Book;  Lectures 
on  CTirisHan  Ministry;  Latin,  and  Hebrew.  Senior  year:  Rerauining 
Books  of  Old  and  New  Testament,  Connexion  and  General  View; 
Development  of  Chiistian  Doctrine;  Evidences  (Paley  and  Butler) ; 
History  and  Comparative  View  of  Articles;  Rubrics  and  reading  tho 
Services;  Pastoral  Theology, including  preaching;  Latin  and  Hebrew 
as  before.  Tho  leading  text-books  in  use  arc — Mosheim;  Bishop 
Short's  Ilistory  of  the  Church  of  Etigland;  Browne  on  the  Thirty- 
nino  Articles;  Procter  on  Common  Prayer;  Butlers  Analogy;  Palcy's 
Evid^iCCJi.  Students  are  further  recommended  Smith's  Old  and  New 
Testament  Histories, Canon  Westcott's  works.  Cony  beare  and  Howson's 
St.  Paul,  Hardwick  and  J,  J.  Blunt  on  tho  Reformatioo,  Pearson  on 
ibo  Creed,  Prayer  Jk'uk  Inferleaved,  J.  J.  Bhmt's  Duties  of  Parish 
Priest,  Bridges  on  Chnstian  Ministry^  Oxenden  on  Pastoral  OJi€e. 

At  St.  Hecfl,  the  Cambridge  Preliminary  Examination  is  a  standard 
recommended,  but  not  enforced.  Four  terms  of  fourteen  weeks  each 
are  necessary  for  the  certificate,  and  students  who  choose  to  remain 
to  study  during  a  fifth  may  do  bo  free  of  charge  for  tuition.    Tho 

0  2 


20 


CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


course  w.  Old  Teetament  in  Englieb,  New  Testament  in  Greek  and 
English;  Church  Iliatory;  Paley's  Evidences;  Pearson  on  Creed,  Arts. 

I. XII.;  Butler's  Analogy;  Procter  on  Common  Prayer;  Browne  on 

Articles;  Ayres  abridgment  of  Home's  Introduction  to  tlie  BibU; 
Palcy'a  EriJencrx;  Theophihis  Anglicanus ;  Sermon-writing;  Pa«toraI 
Theology;  Reading  in  church;  a  good  deal  of  school-work  in  Greek 
and  Latin  ;  and  as  the  college  is  specially  meant  for  men  with  amall 
means  and  imperfect  training,  there  are  lectures  during  the  three 
vacations  of  the  year,  for  all  who  choose  to  avail  themselves  thereof, 
besides  special  attention  being  given  to  any  advanced  students,  who 
can  go  beyond  the  routine  of  the  appointed  studies. 

At  Salihbury  the  course  is,  I  am  inclined  to  believe,  one  of  the  most 
ncholarhf  of  all  now  competing.  The  principal  works  in  iise  for  lectur- 
ing from  are  these: — Old  Testament:  Wordsworth's  Commentary; 
Perowne's  Psalms;  Armfield's  Gradual  Fmlms ;  Septuagint  Psalter, 
Stier  and  Thcile.  New  Testament :  Scrivener,  Wordsworth,  Alford, 
Adams,  Lightfoot,  and  Ellicott.  Peai-son  on  the  Creed;  Browne  on 
Thirtj'-nine  Articles;  Keble's  Hooker.  Prayer  Book:  Palmer's  OWjr?nrit 
Liturfjicijs ;  Neale's  Greek  Liturgies;  Maskell's  Monnmenta;  Parkers 
Liiurgiex  of  Edward  VL ;  Bluut's  A  nnotaled  Pfxiger  Book ;  Prayi'r 
Look  h\ierUai*edj  Procter  and  Whnatley.  Ecclesiastical  History : 
Eusebius;  Stubbs's  Mosheira;  Blunt  (firet  three  centuries);  Robert- 
son; Collier's  History  of  Church  of  England ;  Bishop  Short-,  ditto; 
Hook's  ArchlnshopB ;  Patres  Apostolici;  portions  of  Tertullian,  St. 
C^T)rian,  St.  Augustine,  St.  Jerome,  St.  Chrysoetom,  and  St.  Gregory 
the  Great ;  Bingham's  Chnstian  A  ntiqniiica ;  Smith's  Dictionary  of 
Bible;  the  Summa  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas;  J.  J,  Blunt's  Parish 
Priest;  J.  H.  Blunt,  Dirfctorium  Pastorale;  Gcorgo  Herbert's  Country 
Parson  and  H ey gate's  £'mZ'fr  Hours;  Palcy's  Jfor<e  Paulinfv;  Sander- 
Bon,  De  Ohligatione  ConscieniicB ;  Palmer's  Treatise  on  the  Church, 
Extempore  preaching  is  taught,  and  there  ifl  much  stress  on  Hebrew. 
This,  besides,  is  the  only  college  which  definitely  takes  up  Christian 
Antiquities  as  a  subject, — though  Bingham  is  too  bulky  a  text-boolc, 
and  some  little  manual  like  Gucrieko's  or  Polliccia's  would  do  better 
for  most  students, — or  which  touches  the  theology  of  the  Latin  Church 
at  all,  except  controversially,  for  it  introduces  that  wonderful  monu- 
ment of  learning,  genius,  and  system,  the  Summa,  of  wliich  every 
theologian  <iught  to  know  at  least  tlie  main  scope. 

At  tho  MisBiou  College,  Southwark,  the  CambriLlgo  Preliminary 
Examination  is  the  standard,  and  there  are  besides  lectures  on 
Dogmatic  and  Pastoral  Theology,  Eccleaiasiical  History,  Church  Law, 
iloral  PiiiloRophy,  and  Logic,  this  latter  subject  being  found  nowhere 
else,  and  M»«ral  Philosophy  at  Lincoln  alone  besides. 

At  Truro,  iho  cuurso  is  as  at  Liucohi,  with  pastoral  training  like 
that  at  Leeds. 

At  Wells,  the  course  is  for  ono  year  for  graduatcp,  and  two  for  uon- 


PROFESSIOISrAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY. 


21 


graduates.  The  btudiea  are,  the  Bible,  Common  Prayer,  llio  Thirty- 
niiK?  Artiolets  Ecclesiastical  History,  Ilooktpr,  Pearson^  aud  Butler, 
Pastoml  Theology,  and  private  lectures  iu  Hebrew  aiid  patristic 
literature.  The  stiidents  have  opportunities  of  teacbiog  in  echooLs, 
visiting  the  eick  and  poor,  sermon-wnting.  public  reading,  aud  Chiuch 
music,  the  last  a  feature  seemingly  peculiar  to  Wells. 

It  will  be  obserN'cd  that  the  courses  of  titudy  in  these  Colleges  do 
not  matorially  differ  from  tliose  proscribed  by  the  Uuiversities,  and,  in 
fact,  the  higher  is  the  reputation  of  any  of  them  as  a  teaching  institu- 
tion the  more  does  its  system  confoi-m  to  that  of  the  ancient  seats  of 
learning,  save  that  Pastoral  Thc*ology  and  Ilomiletics  occupy  a  larger 
place ;  and  there  is  in  all  alike  an  unfortunate  absence  of  the  higher 
forms  of  speculative  theology,  as  also  of  non-Anglican  and  many  other 
reCfut  worka  of  repute,  to  which  the  attention  of  at  any  rate  the  most 
advanced  students  and  candidates  for  lionours  ought  cert^iinly  to  bo 
drawn.  Nor  is  it  probable  that  any  bishop  would  think  of  requiring, 
or  even  recommending,  a  young  man  who  had  taken  a  ilrst-clnsa,  nay, 
a  good  Rccond-class  in  theological  honours  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge, 
to  supplement  his  reading  by  a  year  at  a  theological  college ;  for  ho 
already  kuows  more  than  all  pupils,  except  a  very  few  of  the  best, 
from  these  iustitulioue.  It  would  be  hard  to  exaggerate  the  stride 
in  the  improvement  of  clerical  education  Bince  1840  which  all  this 
represents,  or  to  be  too  deeply  grateful  for  it.  Nevertheless,  I  am 
constrained  to  Bay  agaiii  that  it  '\h  insufliciently  practical  for  the  most 
part,  and  that  its  defects  are  not  in  any  appreciable  degree  remedied 
by  diocesan  examinations  for  Orders,  \vhieh  follow,  or,  to  speaJc  more 
exactly,  have  <lictated,  the  very  same  lines  as  a  rule  (even  in  the 
examination  for  Priests'  Orders,  which  the  Colleges  do  not  touch), 
merely  throwing  in  some  particular  book  or  books  to  represent  the 
private  fancies  aud  bias  of  the  ordaining  bishop,  as  for  example  in 
Loudon,  where  the  chief  diflerentiating  item  is  "Waterland's  very 
unimportant  treatise  on  the  iloly  Eucharist.  The  same  injudicious 
selection  ie  made  in  Ely;  while,  strangel}^ enough,  Waterland's  really 
valuable  work  on  the  Athanasian  Creed  finds  a  place  nowhere. 

In  any  case,  most  theological  colleges  are  at  a  disadvantage,  as  com- 
pared Avith  medical  schools,  and  to  some  extent  even  with  lawyers' 
offices  or  chambers,  as  places  of  professional  training,  in  that  the 
young  candidate  for  Orders  is  brought  face  to  face  -wnth  books  only; 
whoreas  the  medical  student  meets  in  the  hospitala  the  very  diseases 
with  wliich  ho  must  deal  out  in  the  world,  and  the  deeds,  briefs,  and 
buaiucBa  wliich  a  yomig  man  in  a  busy  legal  ofEce  or  pleader's 
chambers  sees  and  handles  are  exactly  the  same  in  kind  as  those  ho 
>v"  'to  deal  with  when  practising  on  his  own  account.  But 
: -Kea  intensify  this  disadvatitago — only  to  be  cured  by  a  term 
'hio  in  a  parish  before  ordination — by  failing  to  realize 
■  problem ;  and  treat  their  candidates,  on  the 


/ 


^2  THE  COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

wholly  aboat  aa  -wwelv  a«  the  Bntish  Medical  Conncfl  would  do  were 
it  to  coTifine  the  atteiition  of  etadeDts  in  all  m^cal  Echools  of  the 
Unit*^  Kingdom  to  the  pubKcations  of  the  Sydenham  Society,  and 
oth^r  remainji  of  medical  archaeology,  dealing  with  ench  names  as 
Gal';Ti,  Hippocrates,  and  Paulns  -l^gineta,  and  perhaps  coming  down 
\ij  special  favour  to  Linacre,  YesaKoa,  Ambroise  Pare,  and  Jerome 
Car'lan  in  the  sixteenth  century,  but  touching  no  modem  names; 
rerjuiring  a  careful  description  of  the  Black  Death  of  1340,  and  asking 
nothing  about  cholera,  phthisis,  or  diphtheria  :  or  as  the  Council  of 
Legal  Education  might  do  by  demanding  from  candidates  familiarity 
with  the  Pandects  and  Novels  of  Justinian,  with  the  processes  of  trial 
in  Athens  and  Rome,  with  the  growth  of  the  Canon  Law,  and  the 
history  of  the  French  Parliaments ;  and  not  asking  a  syllable  about 
English  legislation,  jurisprudence,  or  procedure.  Their  motto  is  too 
ofV:n  like  that  on  Mudie's  parcels — "  Books,  to  be  kept  dry." 

A.  Art  of  Teaching. — First  of  all,  then,  the  capital  defect  which  runs 
through  nearly  all  of  the  courses  summarized  above  is,  that  whereas 
the  English  clergy  is  Cas  has  already  been  pointed  out)  pre-eminently 
n  fjia/rlii.ng  body,  yet  scarcely  any  stress  whatever,  except  at  Highbury, 
Lidif|/r]f],  Leeds,  and  Wells,  seems  to  be  laid  on  instructing  them  in 
fh'!  Art  of  Teaching;  while  even  there,  save  at  Leeds,  the  progress 
seems  to  depend  on  the  goodness  of  the  out-schools  where  they  work, 
Jirid  wliere  the  methods  in  use  may  very  possibly  be  defective.  Much 
pains  are  spf.rit  in  making  them  learners,  in  training  and  developing 
their  receptive  faculties,  but  whether  they  will  ever  succeed  in  com- 
munieatiiig  io  others  the  information  they  have  acquired  themselves 
is  h'h  to  haphazard  ;  though  the  truth  that  there  is  no  necessaiy  con- 
nrrxion  between  the  teaching  and  learning  faculties  is  not  only 
familifir  to  every  one  who  has  even  cursorily  glanced  at  the  education 
<|uestion,  but  serves  as  the  basis  of  the  principle  on  which  the  training 
II  nd  certifying  of  school  teachers  in  normal  colleges  is  conducted.  It 
is  rnoro  than  possible  for  a  young  man  to  pass  an  exceptionally 
brilliant  examination  in  theological  honours,  yet  to  be  quite  incapable 
of  sn<;of'ssfiilly  catcchi/ing  in  public ;  of  keeping  up  the  interest  of 
a  BililoclasH  j  of  being  clear  and  terse  in  explaining  difficulties  to 
candidates  for  confirmation  and  first  communion;  of  coaching  Sunday- 
school  teachers  for  their  coming  week's  work.  To  this  defect  is  mainly 
duo  tlio  comparativo  weakness  and  inefficiency  of  Church  Sunday- 
schools  as  compared  with  those  managed  by  Nonconformists;  and 
sharpening  tho  witi*  of  the  future  clergy  should  be  made  the  first  and 
})rincipal  aim  of  their  teachers,  that  they  may  hold  their  own  against 
all  comers. 

B.  I^nblio  Ministry, — Next,  whereas  the  Roman  seminaries  are  very 
careful  in  teaching  their  students  how  to  recite  their  office,  to  perform 
Divine  service,  and  to  celebrate  tho  Sacraments  correctly,  training 
them  how  to  say  Mass  according  to  tho  intricate  rubrics  of  the  Missal, 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY. 


23 


I 


I 


and  8o  forth  ;  contitiriwisc,  tUo  English  candidate  is,  uu.ess  I  mistake, 
left  to  pick  up  his  knowledge  merely  by  attendance  at  church  himself, 
reading  lessons  in  chapel,  and  seeing  what  others  do,  and  thus  often 
blunders  paiiifidly  in  Iiis  earlier  ministenal  years.  Further,  whereas  a 
cathedral  type  of  service  in  parish  churches  is  becoming  exceedingly 
common,  especially  in  the  north,  whore  the  musical  tastes  of  the  people 
are  very  marked,  the  provision  made  for  teaching  even  the  elements 
of  church  music  is  altogether  insufHcient  to  meet  the  growuig 
demand,  and  seems  to  be  included  in  the  course  at  Wells  alone.  And 
no  provision  is  evident  for  training  in  extempore  prayer;  often  most 
useful  in  mission  and  other  occasional  services,  as  also  at  the  bedsides 
of  the  sick,  who  sometimes  object  to  prayers  read  from  a  book. 

C  Preaching. — There  has  been  a  marked  improvement  in  this  par- 
ticular of  late  years,  and  several  of  the  theological  cuUeges  devote 
much  attention  to  it,  but  it  ^vill  be  confessed  by  even  the  most  friendly 
Clitics  that  a  great  deal  remains  to  be  done  before  the  AngUcan  pulpit 
can  become  the  power  it  ought  to  be.  It  is  not  difficult  to  lay  one's 
finger  on  the  more  salient  defects.  Of  course,  it  is  idle  to  expect  that 
twenty  thonsand  men  can  be  taught  to  preach  able  and  eloquent 
sermons,  for  oratory  of  good  quality  is  one  of  the  rarest  of  gifts,  and 
neither  Parliament  nor  the  Bar  can  produce  a  larger  proportion  of 
accomplished  speakers  relatively  to  their  numbers  than  the  Church 
can,  while  nothing  approaching  tho  weekly  strain  of  tlie  pulpit  is 
required  from  even  the  most  eminent  and  frequent  civil  orators.  But 
a  much  higher  average  level  is  quite  attainable  by  the  clergy  than 
they  have  yet  reached,  as  waa  shown  in  London  very  lately,  during 
and  after  the  Lambeth  Conference,  in  the  sermons  preached  by  tho 
American  bishops,  which  attracted  much  attention  for  their  stnictural 
superiority  and  for  the  fluency,  ease,  and  dignity  with  which  they 
were  delivered;  whereas  nothing  strikes  American  Churchmen,  coming 
here   full    of   interest  and  enthusiasm  for  the  Mother  Church, 


over 


witli  80  much  surprise  and  disappointment  as  the  dull,  pointless,  and 
ill-delivered  sermons  which  they  too  frequently  hear.  This  is  a  com- 
plaint which  has  been  made  several  times  to  myself  by  visitors  from 
the  United  States.  Their  own  superiority  is  due  to  the  careful  study 
of  rhetoric  and  elocnti<m,  which  nro  made  leading  parts  of  their  edu- 
cation from  boyhood,  and  to  the  operation  of  a  Canon  of  their  Church, 
which  makes  proof  of  propriety  and  efTectiveness  in  the  deliveiy  of 
sermons  an  indispensable  pre-reqiiisito  for  ordination  (Tit.  L,  Can.  iv., 
sect.  6),  It  does  not  seem  sufficiently  borne  in  mind  in  this  country 
that,  save  by  the  few  who  are  bom  orators,  Rhetoric  needs  to  be  for- 
mally studied,  in  order  to  learn  how  to  marshal  statements,  arguments, 
and  apostrophes  most  effectually  for  purposes  of  persuasion,  and  that 
a  sermon  is  not  identical  with  a  short  essay  on  a  religious  topic,  but 
must  be  constructed  on  rules  of  its  own,  which,  however,  are  not  such 
as  to  dispense  with  a  study  of  Logic  also,  that  the  reasoning  may  be 


THE  CONTEMPORjXRY  REVIEW. 


sound  aa  well  as  winning.    Above  all,  it  needs  to  converge  to  a  point 
at  its  close,  to  drive  one  idea  fairly  home,  to  conccntmte  all  its  force 
on  a  eingle  topio  ;  to  do,  \\\  sUoit,  what  is  done  in  the  moat  consum- 
mate  fashion  in  the  Bermons  of  Dr.  Newman,  which  contrast  in  this 
respect  ^^*ith  the  deeply  pioua,  but  bo  to  speak,  dispereive  and  divari 
eating  diecom-eeB  of  one  of  his  oUlett  Burviving  contempoi-aries  and 
friends.     The  next  poitit  insuflicieiitly  attended  to  is  eimplicity  of 
diction.     There  is  a  story  of  ArchbiBhop  Whately  coming  out   of 
churoh  after  liHteniiig  to  a  Bonuon,  and  Baying,  '*  That  man  ia  just  my 
opposite.     I  have  been  trying  these  forty  years  to  say  hard  things  iu 
easy  words,  and  here  has  ho  been  trying  for  foity  minutes  to  say  easy 
things  in  the  hardent  wordHiK'  could  get."     1'he  number  of  dictionary 
words  m  actual  use  amongst  the  most  hi;jjhly  educated  classes  in  Eng- 
land may  be  estimated  at  about  fifteen  thousand;  those  in  use  amongst 
the  Dorsetshire  peasants  are  about  four  hundred,  for  all  the  purposes  of 
life.    That  means  that  they  will  understand  about  one  word  iu  forty  of 
book-language,  excluding  mere  pronouns,  prepositinnR,  and  other  hko 
elements  of  speech.     What  that  practically  comes  to  may  be  tested  by 
any  clergyman  who  will  try  to  read  a  German  book  by  means  of  his 
knowledge  of  English  only,  or  a  Spanish  one  through  the  mediuta 
of  a  little  French,  and  then  he  will  begin  to  understand  what  hia 
own  sermons  have  been  too  probal^ly  like.     Papers  analogous  to  those 
set  in  Greek  and  Latin  composition  ought  to  bo  given  to  students  for 
simpUfication,  till  they  learn  how  to  eipross  their  ideas,  without  any 
change   or  dimitiution  of  meaning,  in  the  easiest  possible  words,  not 
neccBsarily  in  a  Teutonic  word  rather  than  a  Romance  one,  but  in  the 
simplest,  and  most  familiar  they  can  find.     So,  too,  they  ought  to  get 
long-winded  narratives  to  condense,  terse  ones  to  amplify,  and  obscure 
ones  to  clear  up,  and  be  gradually  led  on    to  coherent,  fluent  (not 
*' fluid"),  and,  above  all,  pithy  extempore  preaching.     It  needs  models 
to  show  such  Btudent^^  what  to  aim  at,  and  four  types  of  clear  simplicity 
in  style  are  happily  accessible  in  Augustus  tlaio's  Alton  Sermons,  Neale's 
Sackcille   Collrge  Sermons,   Kingsley's    Vilioge  Sermons^  and  AValsham 
How*B  Plahi  I ['(jn/^,  which  might  very  well  bo  proposed  for  imitation 
in  this  respect.     There  Ih  a  great  deal  more  which  needs  to  be  said  on 
this  topic,  especially  as  to  the  expediency  of  making  the  bishop's  licence 
to  preach  an  exception,  and  not  the  niloj  confiiung  it  to  the  more 
capable  candidates;  but  the  only  remark  which  Bpace  will  now  permit 
to  be  made  is  that  every  aermou  should  be  practical,  and  intended  to 
lead  up  to  some  direct  attitude  of  mind  or  positive  action  on  the  part 
of  the  hearers,  and  not  bo  a  vague  assemblage  of  pious   common- 
places with  no  definite  aim. 

D.  Sj/stematic  Theology. — The  next  point  for  consideration  is  that  the 
current  teaching  in  Systematic  or  Dogmatic  Theology,  which  concerns 
the  matter  which  the  clergyman  lias  to  commmiicate  to  his  congrega- 
tion and  classes,  just  as  the  previoUB  details  have  to  do  vnih  his  nietliod 


PROFESSIOXAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY. 


25 


«nd  manner,  is  quite  nitsultud  for  the  puqjoses  of  cleanicsa,  incisive- 
nea-;.  and  Bimplicity.     In  the  firet  j>Iacc%  tLerc  is  scarcely  any  attempt 
niadd  to  set  a  general  conspcctiia  of  theology  before  the  student,  that 
be  may  grasp  it  as  a  whole,  recognize  its  harmonious  unity,  and  learn, 
by  noting  the  connexion  and  intcr-dependence  of  all  the  tenets  \vhit;Ii 
furni  the  cycle  of  Christian  behef.  the  8enso  of  ecale,  and  of  what  is 
called  the  "proportion  of  faith;"  the  only  sure  safeguard  agahist  tlio 
eectarian  spirit,  which  all  but  invanably  arises  and  displays  itself  in 
the  exaggeration  of  some  ont*  article  of  heliof.  to  the  undue  depres- 
sion of  some  or  all  of  the  others;  as  is  suiBciently  demonstrated  by 
Koroan    teaching  on  Church  Unity,  Lutheran   on  Justification,  and 
Calvinifitic  on   tho    Divine    Sovereignty.      And   only  thus,   also,   can 
preachere  follow  the  proper  order  in  teaching  their  flocks,  now  verj'  often 
instructed  at  much  length  in  the  secondary  doctrines  of  Christianity, 
while  the  primaiy  and  fnndamental   ones  are   passed  over,  which  is 
like  beginning  to  build  a  house  at  the  roof.     The  student  now  gets 
his  doginatic  teaching  in  fragments,   often  disconnected ;  he  gets  it 
from  books  suited  only  to  scientific  theologians  and  beyond  his  own 
powers — though  ho  cannot  get  any  high  speculative  teiielnng  at  all, 
however  he  may  desire  it ;  he  gets  it  in  too  buUcy  a  fonn,  and,  worst 
of  all,  he  gets  it  from  the  negative  and  controversial  side,  instead  of 
tlie  positive  one.     The  net  result  is  that  tho  ordinary  clergj'man  of 
avei'age  intelligence  and  acquirementspractically  knows  almost  nothing 
of  theology,  and  literally  cannot  tell  what  the  teacliing  of  the  Churcli 
of  England  is  on  almost  any  question  whatever,  even  if  it  be  as  respccta 
some  point  not  in  dispute  amongst  the  competing  sehools.     The  most 
widely  used  text-book  in  use  now  at  examinations  for  Orders  is  Bishop 
Harold  B^o^^*ue'8  E.rposition  of  the  Thiritf-nine  Article^^  a  book  which  has 
many  merits,  but  whose  equally  obvious  defects  have  probably  had 
quite  as  much  to  do  with  its  popularity.     But  apart  from  any  question 
as  to  whether  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  were  ever  meant  or  fitted  to  be 
used  as  a  complete  compendium  of  theology  for  clerical  instruction  (a 
view  which  would  have  been  repudiated  by  Archbishops  Laud  and 
Bramhall,  Bishops  llaU,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Sanderson,  Bull,  and  Stilling- 
fleet),*  the  two  facts  that  many  of  the  Articles  are  worded  negatively 
and  with  reference  to  now  dormant  polemical  debates  of  their  day, 
and  that  Bishop  Browne's  work  occupies  more  than  eight  bundled 
largo   octavo  pages,  bo  that   practically  only  chosen   selections  from 
it  are  usually  set  for  study  or  examination,  show   that  something 
of   a  more   general    and    positive    character,    and    also    simpler   and 
briefer  in  treatment,  is  wanted    for   the  oidinury   divinity   student. 
Similarly,  it  is  rare  to  teach  more  than  a  mere  fragment  of  Hooker,. 
or  than  the  three  first  Articles  in  Pearson  on  the  Creed,  neglecting 

•  Land,  on  Tradition,  xir.  2j  BramluUl,  Sekitm  Guarded,  vol.  u.  p.  470;  Hall, 
Calholie  Projwfitton*,  ?•  8  ;  Taylor.  Further  F.xplieation  of  On<jinal  Sin,  §  C ;  Sanderson,. 
Pa»  KteUaia^  pp.  51,  52  ;  BuU.  Yindiea^oti  o/  (?i«  Church  of  EnQland,  27;  SUllingfleel^ 
OfVMiulJ  o/  ProtefCaml  iielb/ion,  2,  xi 


26 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  remaiQiDg  nine,   whicb   occupy  more  tban  half  the  work,  and 

cannot  be  regarded  as  of  minor  importance.  The  troth  is  that 
Pearson,  though  one  of  the  very  best  books  of  its  kind,  is  too  learned, 
echolastic,  and  toagh  generally  for  the  less  intellectnal  and  scholarly 
class  of  students,  and  theyliad  much  better  be  given  sometliing  easier 
and  briefer  to  read.  Who  would  think  of  setting  an  ordinary  pass- 
man in  mathematics  or  moral  sciences  down  to  read  Sir  William 
IIamiIton*S  Treatise  on  QnoUrnion^  or  Boole's  MathematxcM  Theory  of 
Logic  and  ProlahllitusJ  There  are  books  at  hand  which,  without 
one's  undertaking  to  warrant  every  phrase  in  them,  would  do  what  ia 
needed  efficiently  enough.  Such  are  Slartensen's  Christian  Dof^mat'tct, 
Dishop  Forbes  on  the  Kicaie  Creed  and  Explanation  of  the  Articles  (a 
book  of  u  far  higher  order  than  Bishop  Browne's,  though  much  simpler 
and  shorter) ;  Canon  Xorris's  RmJiments  of  Tlteology^  and  Prebendary 
Sadler's  Church  Doctrine — Bihle  Truth;  the  last  named  being  a  triumph 
of  terse  simplification.  Tliey  are  one  and  all  clear,  brief,  mainly  afliiv 
mntive,  and  based  on  the  lines  of  the  Creeds  rather  than  of  the  Articles, 
and  their  use  as  text-books  would  materially  lessen  the  haziness  and 
ignorance  too  common  amongst  the  clergy  now,  even  on  fundamental 
articles  of  the  Creeds.  And  if  something  of  a  more  scientific  character 
be  desired  for  advanced  students,  Owen*s  Introduction  to  Dogmatic 
Theoioffif  will  serve  very  well  for  that  purpose. 

E,  Church  UiMory. — There  is  a  very  unpractical  view  of  ecclesias- 
tical history  seemingly  prevalent.  Tlie  first  three  centuries  are  the 
favourite  ground  for  expatiation,  and  nest  to  them  the  era  of  the 
Reformation.  But  tliero  is  neither  any  treatment  of  the  subject  as  a 
whole,  perhaps  from  its  extent,  nor  yet  any  sufficient  care  evident  in 
selecting  what  is  of  more  immediate  interest  and  utility  to  a  modem 
English  parochial  clergyman.  WImt  conceivable  use  can  there  be  in 
loading  his  memory  exclusively  with  details  about  Montanists,  Valen- 
tiuians,  Carpocratians,  and  other  vanished  sects,  with  the  particulars  of 
tho  Decian  persecution,  the  pagan  reaction  under  Julian,  or  even 
"with  the  earlier  events  of  the  Reformation  era,  when  he  is  taught 
nothing  of  the  rise  of  Methodism,  of  the  atheistic  revolt  in  France 
eighty  years  ago,  of  tho  Couutcr-Rcfurmatian,  or  of  tho  history  and 
fortunes  of  the  sister  and  dangliter  Churches  of  the  Anglican  commu- 
nion, in  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  America,  of  the  existing  state  of  foreign 
rrutcBtuntism;  nay,  of  tho  aiiniilH  of  the  Church  of  England  itself  since 
the  accession  of  tho  Houhc  of  Hanover,  and  notably  in  respect  of  the 
Evangelical  and  High  Church  revivals  of  1790  and  1833  T?  At  beet, 
each  school  teaches  one  or  two  fragments  or  periods,  and  its  students 
know  no  other,  nor  are  these  fragments  the  same  everywhere  or  every 
yuan 

F*  Polemici, — This  consideration  is  intimately  bound  up  with  the  Libt, 
and  mainly  regards  the  absence  of  any  adequate  knowledge  as  to  the 
history  and  tonot8  of  the  chief  NoucoafornuHt  bodii^s  which  a  clergyman 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  TEE  CLERGY.         27 

18  likely  to  find  in  active  rivalry  with  himself  or  his  neighbours.     Ho 
seldom  knows  anything  about  either  their  merits  or  their  defects,  where 
they  agree  with  and  where  they  differ  from  the  Church  of  England, 
and  he  has  almost  certainly  been  taught  nothing — except  at  Lichfield, 
where  the  subject  is  a  ^eciaHty  of  the  present  PrincipaVs — of  the  way 
to  meet  their  arguments  or  to  present  the  claims  of  his  own  communion 
before  them  in  the  most  attractive  manner.     Something  of  the  kind 
has,  indeed,  been  imperfectly  attempted  in  respect  of  Roman  Catholi- 
cism, but  at  this  moment  there  is  no  clear,  brief,  and  trustworthy 
handbook  to  meet  that  branch  of  controversy  in  its  newer  and  more 
subtle  forme,  nor  yet  for  the  still  more  shifting  aspects  of  modem  scepti- 
cism and  physical  materialism;  and  no  compendious  and  telling  defence 
of  the  Church  of  England  on  the  general  issue,  to  put  into  the  hands 
of  inquirers  or  waverers,  or  to  supply  the  parson  himself  with  argu- 
ments to  be  used  orally,  is  extant;  though  a  painstaking  and  meri- 
torious contribution,  at  least,  to  the  subject  was  made  many  years  ago 
by  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln  in  his  Theophilua  Anglicamis,     But  apart 
from  failing  to  cover  a  great  deal  of  the  ground,  or  to  meet  the  newer 
forms  of  controversy,  it  is  not  the  product  of  a  very  logical  mind,  and 
therefore  does  not  always  supply  effective  arguments.    Still,  it  is  good 
enough  to  deserve  more  frequent  use  than  is  actually  made  of  it. 
And  yet,  on  any  reasonable  hypothesis,  the  Chm"ch  of  England,  which 
technically  claims  the  allegiance  of  every  English  citizen,  ought  to 
see  that  the  clergy  know  and  can  uphold  the  reasons  on  which  she 
bases  that  claim,  and  so  may  not  merely  keep  any  of  her  children  from 
straying  out  of  her  fold,  but  may  induce  as  many  converts  as  possible 
to  enter  it,  for,  as  Archbishop  Whately  has  said,  *'  If  our  rehgion  be 
false,  we  are  bound  to  change  it;  if  it  be  true,  we  are  bound  to  pro- 
pagate it."    But  she  does  not  see  to  it,  nor  give  them  any  polemical 
teaching  except  in  the  now  largely  obsolescent  Articles;  and  they  do 
not  ordinarily  perform  either  function.    If  they  are  to  attempt  them 
with  any  hope  of  success,  their  preparation  ought  not  to  be  in  con- 
troversial books  only,  but  a  valuable  hint  should  be  borrowed  from 
the  Roman  mode  of  training,  wherein  oral  debate  is  practised,  and 
the  student  has  to  meet  and  answer  the  arguments  of  an  opponent, 
who  is  equipped  with  the  current  pleas  of  some  hostile  form  of  theo- 
logical opinion. 

G.  Moral  Theology, — Yet  another  subject,  and  that  of  first-rate  im- 
portance, is  absent  from  nearly  all  the  courses.  It  is  Moral  Theology, 
that  whole  vast  department  of  divinity  which  is  engaged  with  laws, 
morals,  duties,  sins,  and  the  entire  practical  application  of  religion  to 
the  concerns  of  life  and  conduct.  From  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
necessarily  bound  up  on  one  side  with  Casuistry,  which  has  got  a  bad 
name,  by  no  means  wholly  undeserved,  by  reason  of  the  cobweb- 
spinning  of  Rabbinical  teachers  in  ancient,  and  Jesuit  ones  in  modem, 
times,  it  has  fallen  into  neglect  and  even  disrepute  amongst  the 


S8 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


imtliirilvine:  majority,  who  nre  unable  to  discern  between  the  use  of  n 
thing  and  its  abu^e.     Nevertheless,  no  effectivo  pulpit  teaching  of  a 
hortatory  kind  ia  possible  where  Moral  Theology  is  not  studied^  and 
it  is  to  neglect  of  it  that  are  due  tho  meagreness,  feebleness,  and 
vague  indirectness  of  uiostsermonsamongfit  us  which  either  profess  to 
inculcate  social  duties,  to  warn  against  coromou  forms  of  sin,  or  even 
to   do  eo  much  as  expound    and    explain   the   Ten    Commandments 
themselves  in  the  spirit  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.     It  is  not  too 
much,  to  say  that  there  are,  conseqnently,  many  hundreds,  perhaps 
some   thouRands,   of  Anglican  pulpitrf   from  which    no   plain-^spoken, 
incieive,  wholesome,  masculine  homilies  on  practical  matters  of  right 
and  wrong  are  heard  from  one  year's  end  to  another.    And  as  regards 
Casuistry  itself,  if  it  were  possible  to  get  rid  of  the  thing  by  avoiding 
its  name,  and  shutting  our  eyes  to  it.  something  might  be  said  for  the 
consistency,    whatever    might  be  thought  of  the  wisdom,  of  those 
who  act  in  this  fashion.     But  all  that  Casuistry  means  is  the  practical 
application  to  individual  cases  of  the  general  principles  which  Moral 
Theology  lays  down ;  and  every  one   who  is   called   on  to  advise 
another  usefully  in  any  matter  iuvolvmg  moral  doubt  is  compelled  to 
be  a  casuist,  whatever  ho  may  please  to  cull  himself  or  his   counsel. 
And  there  is  thus  no  excuse  for  wholly  omitting  a  department  of  study 
adorned  in  the  Church  of  England  by  such  names  as  those  of  Jeremy 
Taylor  and  Robert  Sanderson  ;  while  it  is  further  to  be  remarked  that 
the  University  of  CambriJge  is  least  of  all  justified  in  excluding  it  from 
tho  Theolngical  Tripos  subjects,  seeing  that  Iho  real  title  and  scope 
of  the  chair  of  Moral  Philosophy,  now  occupied  by  tho  Rev.  T,  11, 
Ilirks,  is  the   *'  Knightbridge   Profepsorship  of  Moral    Theology  and 
Casuistical  Divinity/'  and  that  it  was  known  as  the  *'  Professomhip  of 
Casuistry"  down  to  Dr  Whcweirs  tenure  of  the  office.     There  are 
nrlinirable   reasons   for   ru fusing   to    accept   tlio   Liguorian   casuistr}* 
now   authoritatively  curreiit   in   the    Roman  Church,  and  embodied 
in  French  books  unsuitable  for  English  use,  but  often  consulted  by 
men  who  know  not  where  else  to  look;  yet  I  am  unable  to  see  bow 
it  is   posnihlo   for   a   clerg^'man   who   is  to  be   a   useful   adviser  to 
his  people  in  spiritual  perplexities,  to  do  without  some  knowledge  uf 
thesubject,  whether  taught  liim  from  the  first,  or  pahifully and  gradually 
picked  up  hy  experience.     Ono  practical  illustration  is  worth  a  buHhel 
of  generalities.     It  so  happens  tbat  I  have  for  several  years,  by  no 
choice  or  action  of  my  own,  been  constantly  applied  to  personally 
and  by  letter,  to  solve  cases  of  conscience  wliich  have  come  before 
parochial  clergymen  for  tho  most  part  uidcnown  to  me,  in  the  ordinary 
courHO  of  their  duties,  but  which  nothing  in  their  profcHsional  educa- 
tion has  helped  them  to  handle.     One  such  case  was  this,  brouglit  me 
lately  by  an  entire  stranger.     "  I  have,"  ho  said,  *'  a  number  of  young 
women  in  my  congregation,  employed  in  drapery  and  haberdaKhery 
shops.     Tliey  tell  me  that,  by  tlic  usage  of  the  trade,  it  is  a  frequent 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.         29 

practice  when  a  customer,  obvioiislj  ignorant  of  the  real  quality  and 
value  of  goods,  objects  to  some  article  as  not  good  or  expensive 
enough,  and  it  happens  to  be  the  best  and  dearest  in  stock,  not  to 
confess  that  they  have  no  better,  but  to  go  as  if  in  search  of  a  superior 
article,  bringing  back  a  piece  of  the  very  same  quaHty  of  goods, 
perhaps  the  identical  sample  which  has  just  been  rejected,  and  oflEer 
it  to  the  customer  at  a  higher  price.  A  shopwoman  who  should 
refuse  to  act  in  this  fashion  would  not  only  be  dismissed  from  her 
employment,  but  word  would  be  in  all  probability  sent  round  to  every 
house  in  the  trade,  warning  them  against  taking  her  on,  as  being 
troubled  with  inconvenient  and  unprofitable  scruples.  They  ask 
rae  what  they  are  to  do,  with  starvation  for  themselves  and  those 
dependent  on  them  staring  them  in  the  face,  if  they  disobey  orders. 
What  am  I  to  say  1"  There  is  a  great  lack  of  text-books  for  English 
use  on  this  topic,  for  Taylor's  Doctor  Dubitantium,  and  Sanderson's  De 
ObligcUione  Conscientice^  are  two  centuries  old,  and  have  had  scarcely 
any  successors,  though  I  have  lately  seen  a  Nonconformist  book  of 
repute  in  its  day,  and  reprinted  even  so  recently  as  1819,  entitled 
"  Religious  Cases  of  Conscience  answered  in  an  Evangelical  Manner," 
with  an  appendix  of  replies  to  thirty-two  questions,  by  Samuel  Piko 
and  Samuel  Hayward,  two  Dissenting  ministers  of  the  last  century. 
One  side  of  the  subject,  however,  is  ably  treated  in  the  work  on 
ChrUHan  Ethics  by  Dr.  Martensen,  the  same  eminent  Lutheran  theo- 
logian whose  Christian  Dogmatics  I  have  ah*eady  mentioned  and 
I'ecommended. 

H.  Experimental  Theologt/. — Once  more,  there  is  one  weakness  with 
which  the  Church  of  England  for  the  last  three  centuries  and  a  half 
has  been  but  too  truly  reproached,  the  extreme  rarity  of  men  and 
women  whom  she  has  so  reared  that  they  have  won  from  those  who 
marked  them  the  title  and  the  reverence  due  to  Saints,  I  will  here 
quote  a  passage  from  a  modern  writer,  who  is  not  likely  to  be  biassed 
in  favour  of  those  communions  which  have  been  happier  in  this  respect 
than  ours,  rather  than  use  my  own  words : — 

"  None  have  a  stronger  claim  to  universal  gratitude  than  those  saints  of 
Ood  who  have  kindled  their  names  like  beacon-lights  upon  the  hills,  to  show 
what  lofty  re^ons  the  foot  of  man  can  reach,  what  pure  air  the  life  of  man 
can  breathe.  Others  have  improved  the  conditions  of  living,  these  have 
enhanced  the  blessedness  of  life  itself.  Others  have  brightened  the  gloom  of 
things  seen  and  temporal,  these  have  fixed  onr  hearts  on  things  lasting  and 
eternal  And  such  was  he  of  whom  I  am  to-day  bidden  to  speak.  The 
transcendent  merit  of  Thomas  Wilson,  Bishop  of  Sodor  and  Man,  is  that  in 
an  age  of  godlessness  he  was  pre-eminently  a  saint  of  God.  He  was  not  a 
man  of  genius;  he  was  not  a  man  of  great  attainments;  he  was  not  a  man 
of  keen  sagacity ;  he  was  not  a  remarkable  orator ;  he  was  not  a  distinp:uished 
author ;  but  he  was  something  higher  and  better  than  if  he  had  been  a!l  these 
at  once,  for  he  was  *  the  last  survivor,*  if  not '  of  the  saints,*  yet  certainly  of 
the  saints  of  the  English  Ohurch — the  last  of  those,  too  few  in  number,  in  our 
Beformed  communion,  on  whom  that  glorious  title  can  be  bestowed." 


do 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


So  epolce  Canon  Farrar,  in  1877,  whou  delivering  one  of  the 
Conferences  on  "Classic  Preachers  of  the  English  Church/*  in  St. 
James's,  Piccadilly, 

"  Piidet  ha?c  opprobrin.  nobis 
Et  dici  potuiBsei  et  Hon  potulsso  rufelli.*' 

Something  may  bo  due  to  national  temperament :  but  I  cannot 
readily  persuade  myself  that  a  country  whose  higher  imaginative 
literature  is  nvalled  in  extent  and  intrijisic  worth  by  that  of  ancient 
Greece  alone  ;  whose  thinkers  and  discoverers  iu  the  Eelds  of  abstract 
science,  of  psyeliology,  of  etliics,  and  of  pliiloaopliy,  have  been  so 
many  and  illustrious;  which  has  given  birth  to  so  much  adventurous 
daring  amongst  her  soldiers,  her  sailors,  and  her  explorers;  whose 
pioneers  in  philanthropic  effort  have  been  so  eminent;  which  has. 
in  a  word,  exhibited  the  enthusiasm  of  humanity  under  such  numerous 
and  various  forms,  Bhoiild  not  possess  the  raw  material  of  saints  iu  at 
least  as  great  abundance  as  Egj^t  produced  from  the  degenerate 
Macedo-Copts  of  fifteen  centuries  ago,  or  as  Italy  amidst  the  deei> 
moml  degi'adation  of  tho  Renascence,  when  Borgias  were  far  com- 
moner than  Savgnarolas, 

The  cause,  I  am  satisfied,  must  be  sought  in  the  prevalence  of  a  defec- 
tive and  misleading  theology,  tolerated,  if  not  encouraged,  amongst 
"US;  but•^vithout  raising  directly  controversial  issues,  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  a  large  part  of  the  blame  lies  in  the  neglect  of  that  which  is  techni- 
cally called  "Experimental  Theology/'  which  means  the  practical  appli- 
cation and  realization  iu  daily  life  of  the  principles  of  ilystical  Theology, 
itself  concerned  with  the  hidden,  contemplative,  and  spiritual  aspects 
of  personal  rehgion.  There  is  a  rich  fund  of  material  of  this  kind  to 
be  found  amongst  the  greater  Puritan  divinen,  though  the  harsher 
elemeutfi  of  their  creed  too  often  mar  it,  and  also  amongst  many  of  the 
eminent  writers  of  the  Latin  Church;  but  Anglican  books  of  the  kind 
have  been  too  few,  and  little  was  done,  save  fitfully  and  sporadically 
by  individual  effort,  since  the  Reformation  till  quite  our  own  day,  to 
direct  the  studies  of  the  clergy  into  this  patli,  or  even  to  impress  on 
themselves  the  dignity,sanctity,and  responsibihtics  of  their  high  calling. 
A  clergy  whoso  own  ideal  falls  conspicuously  short  of  saintlinesa  can- 
not train  its  flocks  to  the  higher  life,  and  its  ideal  must  continue  to 
fall  thus  short,  unless  not  only  is  Experimental  Theology  brought 
definitely  before  its  attention  as  a  necessary  part  of  ita  own  reading 
and  life,  but  also  a  sedulous  attempt  be  made  to  kindle  it  into 
enthusiasm,  as  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  bound  to  enlarge  the  limits  of 
their  Master's  kingdom,  instead  of,  as  now  for  the  most  part,  incul- 
cating lessous  of  cautious  respectability  and  judicious  compromise.  In 
the  College  of  Foreign  Missions  at  Paris,  every  means  is  employed 
to  kindle  the  zeal  of  the  students,  and  to  put  before  them  as  the  most 
desirable  goal  and  ending  of  their  lives,  not  preferment,  not  repute, 
not  temporal  success  of  any  kind,  but  martyrdom.     Contrariwise,  I 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.         31 

have  heard  again  and  again  said  of  the  missionaries  trained  at  St. 
Angostine's  Canterbury,  that  they  are  always  welcome  to  colonial 
bishops,  because  of  their  assured  caution  and  sobriety,  qualities  which 
are  excellent  titles  to  home  benefices  in  parishes  already  well  organized, 
but  are  not  those  which  mark  a  Paul  of  Tarsus,  an  Athanasius, 
or  a  Xavier,  and  never  did  and  never  will  propagate  the  Gospel, 
though  they  have  oflen  smoothed  the  road  to  an  English  mitre,  and 
then  induced  its  wearer  to  devote  his  newly  acquired  powers  solely  to 
the  persecution  and  suppression  of  that  enthusiasm  which  is  a 
rebuke  to  his  own  more  calculating  temper,  and  which  he  now 
regards  as  a  more  dangerous  explosive  than  nitro-glycerine ;  but  whose 
lack,  in  the  judgment  of  such  opposite  critics  as  the  late  Sir  James 
Stephen  and  John  Henry  Newman,  has  been  the  most  crying  defect  of 
the  Church  of  England.  Such  men  can  see,  admire,  and  dilate  on  the 
glory  and  nsefolness  of  enthusiasm  in  the  distant  past ;  they  can  be 
almost  tearful  in  their  panegyrics  on  ascetic,  missionary,  or  reforming 
zeal  in  earlier  generations ;  they  can  hold  up  a  John  Baptist,  a  Tele- 
machuB,  a  Boniface,  a  Francis  of  Assisi,  a  Luther,  a  Bradford,  a  Wesley, 
as  objects  of  admiration;  they  can  severely  blame  those  who  resisted,  or 
even  failed  to  appreciate  them ;  and,  in  short,  they  build  the  tombs  of  the 
prophets  with  surprising  skill  and  alacrity.  But  when  it  comes  to  any 
display  of  exactly  similar  qualities  at  this  moment,  inasmuch  as  this 
display  is  quite  incompatible  with  the  golden  law  of  keeping  things 
quiet  and  not  interfering  with  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil, 
their  mood  changes;  and  when  that  very  truth  of  the  necessity  of 
enthusiasm  to  the  well-being  of  a  Church  which  they  preached  a 
little  before  is  pressed  on  them,  their  reply  is  substantially  that  of  the 
incompetent  domestic,  who,  when  told  that  the  tea  is  not  good,  and 
that  the  water  it  was  made  with  cannot  have  been  hot  enough, 
answers,  "  Please  'm,  the  kettle  have  boiled,"  the  circumstance  that 
the  said  boiUng  took  place  an  hour  before,  and  that  the  water  has 
been  cooling  ever  since,  being  too  insignificant  for  mention..  How 
much  worse  if  the  cooling  have  been  artificially  hastened ;  as  with  us, 
where  teachers  are  not  content  to  let  increasing  years  and  worldliness 
do  their  too  frequent  work  in  quenching  youthful  ardour.  And  the 
result  is  that  we  have  complaints  like  that  publicly  made  by  one  of 
the  Bishops  a  short  time  ago,  that  the  majority  of  the  candidates  who 
present  themselves  want  easy  eesthetic  places,  with  all  the  difficulties 
smoothed  away,  and  will  not  look  at  a  curacy  where  hard  work, 
especially  of  a  rough  mission  character,  just  what  ought  to  charm 
and  attract  a  young  active  man,  is  to  be  encoimtered.  So,  too,  our 
Selwyns,  Grays,  Feilds,  Pattesons,  and  Mackenzies  are  rare,  but 
"  returned  empties  "  are  a  drug  in  the  market.  Well  Avould  it  have 
been  for  the  Church  of  England  and  her  rulera  if  they  could  have  laid 
to  heart  that  wise  saying  of  Richard  Cecil's,  which  stands  the  very 
first  in  liifl    Remains  :  "  I  have  often  had  occasion  to  observe  that 


32 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


a  warm  bliiiiflenng  man  Joca  more  fur  the  world  tban  a  frigid 
wise  man.  A  man  who  gets  into  a  habit  of  inquiring  about  proprieties, 
and  expediencies,  and  occasions,  often  spcndfi  his  life  withont  doin/^ 
anything  to  purpose.  The  state  of  tliG  world  is  such,  and  so  much 
di'ppndrt  on  action,  that  every  tiling  seems  to  say  loudly  to  every  man — 
'Do  something; — do  it — do  it  I'"  There  is  improvement  visible  in 
respect  of  this  study  of  experimental  theology,  and  some  of  the  courses 
Bummanzod  above  show  a  recognition  of  the  side  of  the  clerical  office 
which  looks  towards  God  as  well  as  of  that  pastoral  part  of  it  which 
has  to  do  with  man,  but  a  great  deal  is  still  wanted  to  give  it  neces- 
sary prominence,  and  to  wipe  off  the  reproach  of  which  I  have  spoken. 
I.  Ecclesiastical  Law, — From  the  highest  range  of  spiritual  thought 
down  to  the  most  earthly  temporal  uccidouts  of  the  Established  Church 
on  its  civil  side  is  a  sudden  plunge,  but  when  we  have  made  it,  we 
still  find  the  old  story  of  neglect  and  omission  of  necessary  topics  in 
the  education  of  the  clergy.  They  are  not  usually  taught  either 
Canon  or  modem  Church  Law,  and  often  make  the  most  grievous 
blunders  from  want  of  acquaintance  with  eomeof  its  most  nidimentary 
find  commonplace  provisions.  This  is  another  of  the  things  wliich 
they  manage  better  in  France.  A  careful  study  of  the  Canon  Law  of 
the  Roman  Chiu-ch,  in  a  compendious  treatise,  forma  part  of  the  course 
through  which  the  young  seminarist  has  to  pass;  but  amongst  us  even 
long  experience  as  an  incumbent  does  not  necessarily  bring  with  it 
vmpirical  knowledge  of  the  law  to  compensate  for  the  lack  of  theo- 
retical instruction  ;  and  it  depends  on  the  mere  haphazard  of  some 
particular  contingency  arising  or  not  whether  serious  trouble  will  be 
avoided.  Take,  for  example,  that  fniitful  source  of  irritation,  the  law 
of  burial.  Every  one  must  remember  instances  of  clergymen  past 
middle  age,  and  therefore  presumably  experienced,  having  refused  to 
read  the  burial  service  over  Nonconformists,  on  the  plea  of  their  beinj 
unbaptized,  from  not  knox^ang  that,  whether  as  a  question  of  theoloj 
or  of  law,  Dissenting  baptism  is  regarded  as  perfectlv  valid  by  the 
Church  of  England,  a  fact  one  would  antecedently  expect  to  be  familiar 
to  the  rawest  deacon  just  ordained.  If  this  be  so»  it  is  easy  to  picture 
the  bewilderment  and  mistakes  <jf  a  young  and  inexperienced  clergy- 
man* left  in  solo  charge  of  a  |v\rish  vnxh^  perhaps,  a  hostile  church- 
wanlen  or  a  litigious  vestryman,  and  knowing  nothing  whatever  of 
his  iucuinbent's  rights  and  duties,  his  own,  or  the  powers  of  the  conten- 
tious laity.  He  does  not  know  such  siiuplo  things  as  who  has  the 
custody  of  the  keys  of  the  church,  who  has  control  o\-or  the  bells, 
who  has  charge  of  tlie  ultar-pUte  and  other  movable  goods ;  much  h 
uiy  lufttters  which  involve  real  difficulties  and  are  iu  the  aiigbteeil 
degree  open  to  dispute,  sucli  as  the  exercise  of  the  scanty  remains 
diMpline  aflfecting  the  laity,  when  any  parialuoQer  is  giving  noto- 
tiooB  scandal  as  an  open  c\-il  Hver,  and  jet  rlaimiag  has  righto  aa 
a  chutvliman.    ^Vud  though  it  be  true  that  the  lawB 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY.         33 

80  thorny  and  abstrose  a  branck  of  jurisprudence  that  even  legists  of 
eminence  and  high  position  have  made  the  most  patent  errors  of  bare 
fiact  in  their  interpretation,  yet  such  a  working  knowledge  of  their 
main  provisions  and  simpler  outlines  as  will  prevent  any  serious 
mistakes  in  the  ordinary  parochial  routine  is  quite  accessible  in  a  brief 
and  simple  form,  as,  for  instance,  in  Messrs.  Blunt  and  PhilHmore's 
Book  of  Church  Law — ^in  use  at  Lichfield  and  Southwark — which  com- 
presses into  a  single  small  volume  all  that  the  average  clergyman 
needs  to  know,  and  at  once  gives  him  to  understand,  should  he  find 
any  difficulty  unsolved  by  it,  that  here  is  a  contingency  which  makes 
it  necessary  for  him  to  take  legal  advice.  Whether  it  would  be  pos- 
sibl©  to  supplement  the  nmstery  of  its  bare  text  by  students  with 
lessons  on  parochial  government  and  routine,  and  also  with  expository 
lectures,  in  which  the  way  of  dealing  with  possible  complications  as 
they  arose  would  be  set  forth  by  a  skilled  ecclesiastical  lawyer,  is  a 
question  which  seems  not  unworthy  of  attentive  consideration. 

These,  then,  omitting  minor  details,  of  which  there  are  several  I 
have  not  touched  on,  show  that  there  is  a  considerable  discrepancy, 
even  in  the  best  theolo^cal  colleges  (which  can  be  more  special  than 
the  Universities),  between  what  is  actually  taught  and  what  is  prac- 
tically needed  for  the  equipment  of  the  parochial  clergy.  Various 
attempts  are  made  here  and  there  to  supply  in  some  degree  a  few  of 
the  omissions  given  above,  but  not  in  any  general  or  systematic  man- 
ner, so  that  it  often  depends  on  the  particular  college  to  which  the 
student  goes  whether  he  will  learn  anything  Avhatever  of  certain 
topics.  Moreover,  it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  the  best  method  is 
always  pursued  in  respect  of  even  those  studies  on  which  most  stress 
is  laid.  I  do  not,  as  a  rule,  find  amongst  the  younger  clergy  whom  I 
meet  that  intimate  and  localized  familiarity  with  the  Authorized 
Version  of  the  Bible  in  its  whole  extent  which  is  well-nigh  indispen- 
sable for  successful  preaching,  catechizing,  and  discussion.  This  is  of 
far  greater  practical  value  for  the  ordinary  cleric  than  even  a  tolerable 
knowledge  of  the  original  language  and  textual  criticism  of  some 
four  or  five  selected  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament, — deeply 
important  as  New  Testament  Greek  must  always  be, — and  the  results 
of  such  study  might  be  more  surely  and  readily  attained  by  the 
bulk  of  candidates,  and  be  spread  over  a  much  wider  area,  by 
obliging  them  to  master  the  Bible  in  that  recent  Oxford  edition  by 
Messrs.  Cheyne,  Driver,  Clarke,  and  Goodwin,  which  gives  in  the  form 
of  footnotes  all  the  important  various  readings  of  the  text  and  sug- 
gested amendments  of  the  translation. 

But  even  assuming  the  introduction  of  all  the  improvements  sug- 
gested in  this  paper,  and  the  consequent  remodelling  of  the  Divinity 
curriculum  almost  everywhere,  a  difficulty  would  yet  remain  in  the 
unrestrained  power,  now  lodged  in  the  hands  of  the  bishops,  of  dispens- 
ing with  every  educational  requirement  except  the  meagre  provisions 

YOU  XXXV.  .  D 


34 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  Canon  XXXIV.,  namely,  that  tho  candidate  "be  able  to  yield  an 
account  of  his  faith  m  Latm,  according  to  tho  Articles  of  Religioa 
.  ,  .  and  to  confirm  the  same  by  sufficient  testimonies  out  of  the 
Holy  ScriptnrcH,''  and  that  canon  interpreted  as  loosely  as  may  bo,  so 
that  Ordinaries  can  ordain  men  how  and  where  they  please.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  attendance  on  any  theological  course  what- 
ever, whether  at  a  University  or  a  special  training  college,  is  thus  not 
compulsory  in  any  diocese,  though,  as  a  fact,  most  bishops  now  exact 
it ;  and  it  is  only  too  true  that  there  are  many  clergymen  who  have 
been  admitted  into  Holy  Orders  in  the  Northern  Province  within  the 
last  twenty  years,  on  grounds  with  which  competent  learning  has  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do,  and  who  could  not  even  now,  in  all  probability, 
satisfy  any  moderately  sufficient  examination.  Things  are  mending, 
no  doubt,  and  tho  agreement  of  several  bishops  to  accept  the  prelimi- 
nary examination  at  Cambridge,  as  well  as  holding  independent  ones  of 
their  own,  must  tend,  as  it  spreads  to  more  dioceses,  to  equalize  the 
character  and  incidence  of  examination  everywhere.  But  the  danger 
fltill  remains  fiKvays  imminent,  and  any  bishop  who,  from  temperament, 
or  perliapB  from  a  really  conscientious  motive,  sometimes  that  of  over- 
taking an  insufficient  supply,  and  providing  pastors  of  some  sort  for 
destitute  panshes,  declines  to  act  in  concert  witli  his  colleagues  in  this 
respect,  is  practically  unfettered,  and  may  be  the  means  of  flooding 
his  own  diocese  and  aOTccting  others  with  Ulitfrate  ministers,  whose 
only  moral  title  to  ordioation  has  been  real  or  simulated  agreement 
with  ilia  0W31  theological  views,  when  they  have  got,  in  proverbial  lan- 
guage, the  length  of  his  foot.  lu  the  American  Church  this  peril  is  pro- 
fessedly guarded  against  by  canons  (perhaps  ideal)  enacting  a  minimum 
of  attainment  which  much  exceeds  that  of  the  English  code,  namely, 
that  a  postulant  cannot  even  be  received  as  a  candidate  till  he  has  given 
proof  of  his  knowledge  of  the  Enghsh  language  and  literature,  and  at 
least  the  fii-st  principles  and  general  outlinen  of  logic,  rhetoric,  mental 
and  moral  philusophy,  physics,  and  history,  and  the  Latin  and  Greek 
languages  (Tit,  I.,  Canon  4,  §  ii.).  Thus  admitted,  ho  must  be 
further  examined,  if  for  deacon's  orders,  in  knowledge  of  tho  Bible, 
Prayer  Book,  and  Ai-ticles.  For  priest's  orders,  his  knowledge  of  the 
Ilebrew  and  Greek  texts,  of  Christian  ovidouces,  ethics,  and  systematio 
divinity  ;  and  of  Cimrcli  history,  ecclesiastical  pohty.i.e.  the  history  and 
contents  of  the  Prayer  Book,  and  the  constitutions  and  canons  of  tho 
American  Church,  are  tested  at  three  separate  examinations ;  and  dis- 
pensations from  the  learned  languages  are  very  charily  granted,  under 
these  restrictions ;  The  candidate  must  first  apply  to  tho  bishop,  and, 
if  his  consent  bo  obtained,  then  a  special  testimonial,  signed  by  two 
presbyters  and  alleging  exceptional  merit  on  the  candidate's  part,  in 
regard  to  mental  power  and  peculiar  aptitude  for  teaching,  must  bo 
laid  before  the  standing  committee  of  the  diocese,  and  au  alllrmalivo 
vote,  on  its  part,  of  at  least  two-tliirds  of  its  members  ia  requisite 


PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OF  THE  CLERGY. 


before  the  bishop  can  grant  the  dispenBation  (Tit.  I.,  Canon  2,  §  vL  1, 
2,  3,  4)  ;  but  the  bishop  may,  on  his  own  rcspoufiibility,  dispense  with  a 
knowledge  of  Hebrew,  though  not  ivith  that  of  Greek  and  Latin. 

Thtre  are  some  A'aluable  suggestions  here,  notably  in  respcot  of  the 
requisition  of  knowledge  of  English  literature,  a  condition  by  no 
means  always  fulfilled  in  this  country  even  by  University  graduates, 
and  one  -which  might  most  advantageously  be  made  compulsory  in  all 
cases,  notably  in  that  of  literates,  who  ought  specially  to  be  required 
to  exhibit  some  knowledge  of  those  great  Anglican  divines,  too  Hltlc 
studied  now,  who  are  also  recognized  as  English  classics.  I  thiuk 
there  is  one  grave  tlisadvantage  in  a  central  examination  such  as  that 
at  Cambridge^  in  that  it  tends  to  lessen  freedom  and  variety,  and  to 
impose  one  type  of  theology  on  all  candidates  alike.  Diocesan  exami- 
nations, which  are  compulsory  by  American  Church  law,  and  may  not 
be  pretermitted  on  any  plea  of  adequate  certificates  otherwise  ob- 
tained, can  be  made  very  valuable  as  preventives  of  mechanical  samc- 
ncfis ;  but  the  existing  power  of  bishops  should  be  serioufily  curtailed 
in  these  two  respects :  first,  there  ought  to  be  a  minimum  of  attain- 
ments below  wliich  tliey  should  have  no  authority  to  adnut  candidates 
to  ordination  at  all ;  and  next^  one  or  more  examiners  appointed  by  a 
cetitral  Board,  and  not  by  the  local  Bishop,  should  take  part  in  every 
diocesan  examination  along  vnXh.  the  local  examining  chaplains,  and 
certify  that  no  insufficiently  prepared  candidate  was  Huflered  to  pass, 
least  of  all  on  the  plea  of  personal  piety,  remembering  always  that 
the  piety  of  a  man  who  will  not  take  pains  to  fit  himBelf  for  the 
ministry  is  more  than  doubtful,  while  his  incapacity  as  a  teacher,  if 
after  aU  his  pains  he  cannot  pass  a  fair  and  not  too  difiicidt  test-,  is 
not  at  all  doubtful,  and  that  it  is  better  to  let  one  parish  go  without 
any  curate  for  a  year  or  two,  than  to  give  an  unfit  candidate  oppor- 
tunity for  doing  mischief  in  a  dozen  or  more  parishes  for  perhaps  forty 
years  in  Orders.  Nevertheless,  it  shoidd  be  always  borne  in  mind  that 
practical  faculty  and  common-sense  are  of  far  more  use  in  the  ordinaiy 
work  of  the  clergy  than  mere  book-learning,  which  may  coexist  with 
utter  inefficiency  in  the  pastoral  office ;  which  has  not  prevented  the 
Evangelical  ministry  in  Germany,  thougli  perhaps  collectively  tho 
mo«t  learned  pastorate  in  the  world,  from  losing  all  social  influence ;' 
and  of  which  St.  Bernard  has  wisely  said  that  'a  learned  pastor  who 
is  not  a  holy  one  does  not  nourish  one  with  his  abundant  learning  so 
much  as  he  starves  one  by  his  barren  life'"  (Serm.  76  in  Cant.). 

To  the  natural  question  whether  tho  requirements  made  in  this  paper 

•  la  HfJwi,  &  city  now  containing  nver  a  uuHion,  for  the  lost  consufl  in  1876  gave  itfi 
yUnfrtian  m  966^72.  the  eniinf  chnrch  accommodation  is  for  40,000.  and  it  is  opened 
mr  Dr.  Brflckner,  on  vminmt  Erangt^ical  thealogian,  that  this  supply  is  ftix  in  ezcem  of 
toe  demand.  Tho  church  sittings  in  the  diocese  of  London  (cx.Muding  thoeo  parts  of  the 
metxopolifi  which  are  in  Winchester  and  Eocheater),  for  a  population  of  iJ,7iKi,(X)0,  ore 
more  than  400,000,  and  the  Nonoanformist  ones  of  aU  kinds  uearljr  aa  many  more,  and 
jet  this  supply  is  <iuit«  ixudt^oate  to  the  demand. 

D  2 


.^_ij 


86 


TlfE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


are  not  really  unattainable  without  a  ranch  longer  course  of  study 
than  can  now  be  feasibly  exacted,  and  whether  they  would  not 
pei-ilously  enhance  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  candidates  for  Holy 
Ordere  at  all,  I  reply  that  I  appeal  rather  for  a  rearrangement  of  the 
curricula  tlian  for  their  extension,  and  that  thoroughly  simple  and 
brief  text-books,  such  aa  partly  exist  already,  and  would  doubtless  be 
Boon  produced  for  the  rest  if  a  demand  for  them  arose,  would  make 
the  subjects  more  quickly  and  easily  mastered  than  now, — as,  for 
example,  Mr.  Sadler's  Chttrck  Doctrine  cuiild  bo  thoroughly  learnt 
in  a  tweutieth  of  the  time  that  Browtic  on  the  Articles  will  reriuii-e, — 
while  a  final  stimulus  might  be  ultimately  provided,  by  requiring 
every  clergyman  before  institution  to  his  first  benefice  to  give  proof 
that  he  had  not  forgotten  during  his  service  as  a  curate  the  information 
he  was  forced  to  produce  as  a  condition  for  ordination.  And  only  by 
some  such  measures  as  these,  in  my  judgment,  whatever  it  be  worth, 
can  the  professional  eflSciency  of  the  great  mass  of  the  clergy  be 
insured,  so  far  as  previous  study,  apart  from  actual  practice,  can  insure 
it.  If  it  be  judged,  however,  that  the  aims  of  this  paper  are  quite 
unattainable  without  a  longer  course  of  study  than  two  years,  then  it 
becomes  the  duty  of  English  Clmrchmen  to  couBider  how  to  meet  tbo 
twofold  obstacle  of  the  poverty  of  most  candidates  for  Holy  Orders, 
and  the  unendowed  position  of  neariy  all  theological  Colleges.  The 
diligence  and  the  progress  of  the  generality  of  the  students  is  favour- 
ably rcpoited  by  their  teachera,  who  add  that  the  rate  of  advance  is 
much  more  mpid  and  assured  in  the  second  year  than  in  the  first,  so 
that  there  is  every  rcnaon  to  believe  that  a  third  year's  study  would 
make  a  surprising  difierence  in  acquirements.  It  seems,  therefore, 
that  few  wiser  applications  of  money  to  Church  purposes  could  be 
made  than  an  endowment  for  thir(Uyear  men  in  theological  colleges, 
leaving  them,  as  now,  to  defray  their  own  expenses  for  two  years, 
thtis  stopping  the  way  against  a  mendicant  student-class,  which  might 
otherwise  be  generated.  Assuming  that  one-third  of  the  men  would 
prefer  ordination  at  the  end  of  two  years,  so  as  to  begin  eaniing,  this, 
at  the  present  rates,  woidd  demand  an  outlay  of  £40,000  a  year,  or 
£100  each  for  the  support  and  tuition  of  four  hundred  candidates ;  a 
very  trifling  expenditure  if  distributed  in  proportion  over  all  the  dio- 
ceses, and  more  beneficial  by  far  to  religion  than  the  erection  of  three 
or  four  new  churches  annually,  if  these  churches  are  to  be  served  by 
an  imperfectly  educated  clergy. 

ElCHARD  F,  LiTTLEDALE. 


CARNIVOROUS  PLANTS. 


THERE  18  a  beautiful  and  suggestive  thought  of  Leibniz',  that 
there  are  three  modes  of  life  on  this  earth,  the  sleeping  life  of 
plants,  the  dreaming  life  of  animals,  and  the  waking  hfe  of  man. 
Anv  one  who  has  passed  through  the  heart  of  a  great  city  at  earUest 
dawn  in  sonimer,  and  who  has  stood  in  the  heart  of  a  great  forest  at 
noon,  will  feel  at  once  the  beauty  of  the  analogy,  ^vill  have  traced  in 
himself  the  impulse  to  tread  softly  and  speak  low  in  the  deep  wood- 
land quiet,  with  its  continuous  hum  of  insect  life,  as  if  he  alone  were 
awake  in  the  midst  of  a  sleeping  and  dreaming  world. 
But  it  is  in  this  dim  sleeping  world  of  plants, 

**  Wliere  only  homlcsa  lightn*  not  lieartA,  are  brokon. 
And  weop  but  the  sweet- wiit«red  Bammer  showers. 
World  of  white  joya,  oool  dews^  and  peace  unspokon," 

that  we  are  beginning  to  realize,  not  only  the  wonderful  functions 
that  plants  perform,  but  the  strange  activities  that  are  at  work  to 
enable  them  to  perform  those  fimctions.    Accustomed  as  we  are  to 
look  npon  the  life  of  plants  as  lower  and  lees  developed  than  that  of 
animaky  we  have  stiD  to  remember  that  it  is  by  their  humble  agency 
that  great  miracle  is  wrought  which  as  yet  baffles  our  scientific 
the  mysterious  passing  of  the  inorganic  into  the  organic,  of  what 
we  arc  accustomed  to  call  "dead  matter"  into  Hving  tissue,  with 
"organs  of  reproduction  that  take  hold  upon  eternity/*     Animals  have 
no  power  of  assimilating  inorganic   matter  as   food.      The  higher 
organism  can  only  feed  on  the  lower.     It  is  by  the  frail  iDstnimentality 
of  the  plant  that  the  stupendous  energies  of  the  inorganic  world  are 
-       yoked  to  the  car  of  life,  it  is  tlie  child's  palm  of  the  leaf  that  moulds 
^H  them  into  obedience  to  the  laws  of  organic  being,  the  humble  finger 


38 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  the  grass  tliat  ie  fashioniug  the  living  world  out  of  the  dust  of  the 
ground . 

I*  propose,  therefore,  to  give  a  brief  survey  of  some  recent  discoveries 
in  vegetable  physiology  in  connection  with  carnivorous  and  puiri- 
veroufi  plants,  and  the  strange  contrivances  by  which  they  are  enabled 
to  perform  their  functions  as  revealed  to  ua  by  the  laborious  researches 
of  modem  uaturaHHte. 

The  existence  of  this  curious  order  of  plants,  whose  very  name  seems 
to  convey  a  paradox  and  embody  a  physiological  heresy,  was  first: 
suggested  by  the  American  botanists,  Messi-s.  Curtis  and  Canby,  in  1834 
and  18G^,  confirmed  by  Asa  Grey,  and  made  by  Sir  JoBcph  Hooker 
the  subject  of  his  inaugural  address  before  the  British  Association  in 
1874  ;  while  shortly  after  Mr.  Dar\vin  published  the  results  of  fifteen 
years'  exhaustive  researches  on  the  peculiarities  of  some  of  the  leading 
representatives  of  insectivorous  plants. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  for  me  to  remind  even  my  unscientific 
readers  that  a  plant  supplies  itself  -with  carbon  from  the  air,  decom- 
posing the  carbonic  acid  by  means  of  the  sunlight  acting  in  some  way 
on  the  chlorophyll,  or  gieen  colouring  matter  of  the  leaf;  whilst  it 
obtfl.ina  water  and  nitrogen  from  the  soil  by  means  of  its  roots.  But 
in  tlie  order  of  plants  we  are  now  considei-ing  the  roots  are  either  alto- 
gether wanting,  as  in  Aldrovanda  vesiculosa,  or  very  poorly  developed, 
Fcmng,  apparently,  merely  as  suckers  to  secure  a  constant  supply  of 
juoisturo  for  the  secretioua.  The  necessaiy  nitrogen  is  accordingly 
obtained  by  absorbing  animal  matter,  either  by  a  process  of  digestion 
analogous  to  that  of  animal  life,  or  by  simple  absorption  of  putrified 
and  decomposed  elements. 

Most  of  us  are  familiar  with  the  little  marsh-plant  called  Sun-dew 
{Drosera  rotundifoUa)  common  in  upland  bogs  and  very  poor  Boil,  with 
its  small  round  leaves  fringed  with  crimson  liaii-s,  each  headed  with 
a  tiny  drop  of  cool  sparkling  dew  through  all  the  burning  heats  of 
summer,  whence  its  poetical  name  of  sun-dew.  Mr,  Smnburne  sings 
of  it  sweetly  enough — 


A  littlo  marah-pTant,  yellow  grreon, 
And  pricked  nt  lip  with  l*;ndfr  red  ; 
Trtad  cloee,  and  eithor  way  you  tread, 

Borne  faint  black  water  set«  Ijotweon, 
Lost  you  should  harm  the  ti^uder  head' 

Tou  call  it  Sou-dew ;  how  it  rtows. 
If  witli  iU  colour  it  hath  brcath« 
n  life  taste  Bwoet  to  it,  if  death 

Fain  iU  soft  p«>ta.l,  no  man  IrnowB ; 

Man  has  do  fiig^lit  nor  sunsc  thai  saith." 


Alas  for  the  poot  I  if  only  he  had  been  naturalist  enough  to  know 
the  voracious  and  predatory  habits  of  the  tender  thing  of  which  he 
mngs,  the  "soft  petal  "  being  in  reality  a  cruel  and  elaborately  baited 
tmp.     The  roiuuto  drops  of  harmless  dew  which  adorn  every  hair,  or 


CARNIVOROUS  PLANTS. 


80 


tentacle,  as  Mr.Darwin  calls  the  crimson  filaments,  from  the  uso  to  wbicli 
theyare  applied,  is  in  reality  a  drop  uf  very  viscid  eei^retion  eurroimding 
an  extremely  sensitive  gland.  Attracted  either  by  the  glitter,  or  pos- 
sibly by  some  honeyed  odour,  or  wbatovGr  mysterious  instinct  it  is  that 
draws  tho  child  to  the  unwholesome  sweet,  insects  alight  on  the  loaL 
If  the  delicate  feet  of  the  smallest  gnat  do  but  touch  one  of  the  drops 
of  dew  at  the  end  of  a  single  filament,  its  doom  is  sealed.  Caught 
by  tbe  tenacious  secretion,  with  the  sensations  one  would  imagine  in 
this  strange  world  of  insect  peril  of  a  child  stuck  up  bodily  to  a 
gigantic  bullVeye  to  whose  attractions  it  has  incautiously  yielded,  in 
vain  it  endeavours  to  escape.  Slowly  the  filament  begins  to  bend  at 
its  base,  transmitting  at  the  same  time  a  motor  impulse  to  the  fila- 
ments next  it,  that  in  tlieir  turn  begin  to  converge  with  pitiless  pre- 
cision on  the  luckless  victim,  which  is  carried  to  the  next  inner  row 
of  tentacles,  and  so  on  to  the  next,  with  a  curious  sort  of  rolling 
movement,  till  it  reaches  the  centre  of  the  disc,  the  glands  at  the 
same  time  pouring  out  an  acid  secretion.  By  degrees,  the  central 
glands  acting  centrifugally  on  the  rest,  all  the  tentacles  become 
closely  inflected  on  tho  prey,  wliich  is  bathed  on  all  sides  in  the 
secreted  acid,  while  the  disc  of  the  leaf  often  becomes  strongly  in- 
cur>*ed,  forming  a  sort  of  impromptu  stomach,  the  wholo  movement 
taking  place  in  a  period  var3^ng  from  four  to  ten  hours.  AVhen  the 
insect  alights  ou  the  centre  of  the  leaf,  the  ^hort  central  filaments  are 
not  infiected,  but  tlie  glands  transmit,  not  only  motor  power  to  tho 
external  filaments,  but  also  some  influence  which,  before  they  are 
brtjught  into  contact  with  the  prey,  causes  them  to  secrete  more 
actively,  and  the  secretion  to  become  acid.  According  to  Dr.Nitschke, 
insects  are  generally  killed  in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  suffocated 
in  tho  secretion. 

The  number  of  insects  which  thus  meet  their  death  must  be  pro- 
digious. On  one  leaf  alone  Mr.  Darwin  found  the  remains  of  thirteen 
fiiee.  and  as  a  single  plant  has  some  six  or  seven  leaves,  and  the  plant 
itself  \a  very  abimdant,  the  t^lc  of  the  slain  must  be  enormous.  Tlie 
commonest  victims  are  small  flies  (Diptci-a),  but  the  Rev.  H.  M.  Wilkin- 
80D,  on  one  occasion,  observed  a  large  dragon-fly  ^vith  his  body  finnly 
held  by  two  leaves. 

The  length  of  time  for  whicL  a  leaf  remains  inflected  varies  with  tbe 
nature  of  the  matter  embraced.  If  it  is  a  particle  of  inorganic  matter, 
cinder,  paper,  quill,  moss,  or  any  object  not  yielding  nitrogenous 
matter,  not  only  is  tho  inflection  of  tho  filaments  comparatively 
languid,  but  the  leaf  quickly  re-expands  after  a  period  of  seventeen 
hours  or  so,  while  flies  or  other  objects  capable  of  supplying  the  plant 
with  the  necessary  nitrogen  remain  closely  embraced  for  periods 
varying  from  five  to  ten  days,  ^Vhen  the  leaves  begin  to  re-expand, 
tho  glands  cease  to  secrete,  and  become  dry,  the  remains  of  the 
poor  digested  fly,  bleached  and   dried,  being  thus   exposed  to  be 


40 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


can-ied  away  by  the  wind  so  as  to  disencumber  the  leaf.  After 
the  expansion  is  complete,  the  glands  again  begin  to  secrete,  and 
as  soon  as  the  full-Mzed  drops  are  formed,  the  leaf  is  ready  for  re- 
newed acti«.>n.  its  vitality  being,  however,  generally  consumed  after 
a  certain  number  of  captiu'es,  when  its  place  is  taken  by  the  younger 
leaves. 

The  extreme  senBitivcucBs  of  the  glands  and  the  curious  specialities 
of  that  Bonsitiveness  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  facts  about  the 
plant.  One  or  two  touches,  or  even  sharp  taps,  with  a  solid  object, 
produce  no  inflection  whatever;  and  as  in  high  winds  the  plant 
must  be  often  brushed  by  blades  of  grass  and  other  leaves,  this  insen- 
sibility  is  of  great  importance  to  the  plant  to  prevent  its  being 
brought  into  useless  action.  But  the  slightest  repeated  strokes  with  a 
camel's  hair  brush,  or  the  lightest  contmued  pressure,  produce  in- 
llection.  A  particle  of  the  thin  end  of  a  woman's  hair  weighing  only 
y  g  j  „  tj  of  a  grain»  and  largely  supported  by  a  dense  fluid,  so  that 
practically  the  pressure  must  be  infinitesimal,  is  suflicient  to  produce 
decided  inflection.  On  the  other  hand,  the  repeated  strokes  of  a  heavy 
shower  of  rain,  or  the  contuiued  pressure  of  drops  of  water,  produce 
no  inflection  whatever.  That  this  curious  adaptation  of  the  motor 
impulse  of  the  plant  to  its  circumstances  is  of  service  to  it,  Darwinists 
and  teleologiste  would  be  ahko  agreed.  But  when  Mr.  Dar\viu  proceeds 
to  endeavour  to  explain  it  by  suggesting  that  it  is  a  sort  of  habit  the 
plant  has  formed,  he  has  recourse  to  a  Deus  ex  machina  far  more 
arbitrary  and  incomprehensible  than  the  grossest  conception  of  the 
teleologist.  Just  as  people  often  speak  of  time  as  the  source  of  all 
decay,  meaning  thereby  the  causes  that  Lave  their  action  in  time,  so 
Mr.  Darwin's  "habit"  can  only  bo  the  product  of  cei-tain  mechanical 
laws  of  pressure  and  molecular  action  which  make  up  the  habit  of  the 
plant.  In  what  -way  the  mechanical  impact  of  liritiids  differs  from  that 
of  solid  bodies,  so  that  the  one  produces  no  molecidar  action,  and  even 
considerably  less  than  yg^Tfo  ^^^  grain  of  continued  impact  from  the 
other  produces  movement,  on  any  theory  we  are  utterly  ignorant. 

Moderate  heat  increases  the  excitability  of  the  plant.  A  tempera- 
ture of  120°  to  125°  Fahrenheit  excites  the  tentacles  to  quick  move- 
ment; but  a  momentnr}'  immersion  in  water  of  130°  temporarily 
pamlyzes  them.  This  heat  rigidity,  as  it  is  called  by  Sachs,  is 
induced  in  the  Sensitive  plant  by  exposure  for  a  few  minutes  to  a 
teniperatnre  of  1^0°  Fahr.  (40°  Cent.). 

These  remarkable  extemal  movements  of  Drosera  are  accompanied 
by  as  remarkable  molecular  changes,  and  still  more  perplexing  in 
their  nature  and  origin.  No  sooner  is  a  gland  brought  into  action, 
either  by  direct  contact^  or  by  some  influence  transmitted  from  the 
central  glands,  or  by  the  absorption  of  minute  quantities  of  nitro- 
genous fluids,  then  the  homogeneous  purple  fluid  which  fills  the  cells 
of  the  glaud  and  pedicel  becomes  aggregated  into  variously  shaped 


^ 


I 


CARNIVOROUS  PLANTS. 


4t 


I 


of  purple  matter  Bu&penijed  in  an  almost  colourless  fluid. 
The«e  littlo  maesee  of  protoplasm  Incessantly  change  their  shape  and 
position,  being  never  at  rest ;  and  are  now  spherical,  now  oval,  now 
({uito  irregular,  with  necklace-like  or  club-formed  projections.  After 
the  purple  fluid  has  become  aggregated,  the  layer  of  white  gmnular 
protoplasm  which  Hows  round  the  walla  of  the  cells  can  be  mucli  more 
clearly  seen,  till  the  granules  coalesce  with  the  central  masses.  The 
current  flows  at  an  irregular  rate  up  one  wall  and  down  the  opposite, 
round  and  round.  Sometimes  it  censes,  and  the  movement  is  in  little 
M-aves,  whose  crests  toss  across  the  whole  width  of  the  cell,  and  then 
sink  dovm  again.  Altogether  jMr,  Darwin  may  well  remark  that  one 
of  these  cells,  with  their  ever-changing  central  masses  and  with  the 
layer  of  protoplasm  flowing  round  the  walls,  presents  a  wonderful 
scene  of  vital  activity.  As  the  tentacles  re-expand,  the  aggregated 
masBes  dissolve  again  into  the  ordinary  purple  fluid. 

As  the  process  of  aggregation  can  be  induced  by  the  pressure  of 
insoluble  matter,  it  is  evidently  independent  of  the  absorption  of  any 
matter,  and  must  be  of  a  molecular  nature.  That  tho  central  glands 
when  irritated  transmit  some  influence  to  the  exterior  glands,  causing 
them  to  send  back  a  centripetal  influence  inducing  aggregation, 
which  always  travels  from  the  gland  down  the  pedicel,  is  an  instance 
of  reflex  action  altogether  new  in  vegetable  physiology.  But  the 
exact  nature  aad  origin  of  the  process  of  aggregatit)n  and  of  the 
motor  impulse  is  wrapped  in  the  greatest  obscurity,  Mr.  Darwin  allow- 
ing that  no  satisfactory  theoi*y  can  be  formed  of  either-  On  the  whole 
he  seems  to  think  the  latter  is  allied  to  the  aggregating  process,  that 
the  molecules  of  the  cell-walls  approach  each  other  in  the  same  way  as 
the  "plaetidulea''  witliin  the  cells,  so  producing  inflexion.  But  since, 
when  the  central  glands  are  irritated,  tho  motor  impulse  is  transmitted 
centrifugally,  while  aggregation  only  takes  place  centripetally,  and 
therefore  later  in  time,  and  on  the  other  hand  aggregation  can  take 
place  without  any  mechanical  movement  at  all,  it  seems  diflficult  to 
derive  the  one  from  the  other. 

That  Drosera  has  not  only  the  power  of  absorbing  matter  already  in 
solution,  but  also  of  rendering  it  soluble,  in  other  words  of  digestion, 
another  fact  hitherto  unsuspected  in  the  physiology  of  plants,  llr. 
Darwin  has  proved  by  a  long  series  of  experiments.  The  fact  itself 
was  suggested  to  him  by  observing  that  the  leaves  remained  clasped 
much  longer  over  organic  than  over  inorganic  bodies,  such  as  bits  of 
glass,  wood,  cinder,  &c.  For  the  benefit  of  our  unscientific  readers, 
who  may  be  ignorant  of  the  processes  of  animal  digestion,  it  may  be 
as  well  to  state  that  the  digestion  of  albuminous  substances  is  effected 
by  means  of  a  ferment,  pepsin,  togetlier  with  a  weak  hydrochloric 
acid,  neither  pepsin  nor  an  acid  alone  having  any  such  power.  The 
same  holds  good  in  all  points  of  the  digestive  powers  of  the  Suu-dew. 
Not  only  does  the  secretion  of  the  glands  become  acid  on  mechanical 


42 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


irntation,  but  thw  acid  ulone  is  iucapable  of  clToctiDg  digestion,  the 
proper  ferment  being  only  found  when  nitrogenous  matter  is  present, 
just  as  with  animals,  according  to  ScLaflf.  mecbauical  irritation  excites 
the  glands  of  tlie  stomach  to  secrete  an  acid,  but  not  pepsin.  On  the 
other  band,  the  neutralization  of  the  acid  by  an  alkali  immediately 
arrests  the  digestive  action  of  the  plant.  The  plants  in  Mr.  Darwin's 
possession  were  put  on  the  most  cunously  vaiied  diet — white  of  egg, 
raw  and  cooked  meat,  areolar  tissne  from  the  visceral  cavity  of  a  toad, 
fragments  of  a  cat's  ear,  slices  of  a  dog's  tooth,  boiled  cabbage, 
cheese,  pollen,  bits  of  human  nails,  bulla  of  hair,  &c.  Out  of  this 
fantastic  bill  of  fare,  which  sounds  much  as  if  it  had  issued  from  the 
gastronomic  brain  of  one  of  ilacbeth's  witches,  and  which  would  cer- 
tainly have  bewildered  digestive  organs  less  intelligent  than  Drosera's, 
the  plant  always  selected  the  substances  containing  nitrogenous 
matter.  The  most  marked  in  the  phenomena  they  presented  were  the 
minute  cubes  of  white  of  ^gg  and  of  raw  meat.  The  former  after 
two  days  were  often  completely  dissolved,  and  most  of  the  liquefied 
matter  absorbed ;  the  latter  exliibited  the  same  phenomena  as  when 
submitted  to  the  action  of  gastnc  juice. 

Of  the  substances  rejected  by  the  plant,  some  of  them  containing 
nitrogenous  matter,  viz.,  epidermic  productions,  fibro-clastic  tissue, 
mucin,  pepsin,  urea,  cliitine,  cellulose,  chlorophyll,  starch,  fat,  and 
oil,  it  is  remarkable  that,  as  far  as  is  known,  they  are  all  siibstances 
not  attacked  by  the  gastric  juice  of  animals.  It  would  seem  also, 
that  the  Sun-dew  has  an  especial  point  in  common  with  us,  that  it  is 
occasionally  guilty  of  that  sui  which  St.  Augustine  regretfully  owns 
to  in  his  Confessions — **  FuU  feeding  sometimes  creepeth  upon  Thy 
sen'ant,  0  Lord;"  for  some  of  the  leaves  died  from  the  effect  of  a  sur- 
feit on  cheese  and  raw  meat. 

As  it  digests  seeds,  and  pollen,  and  boiled  vegetables,  it  must  be 
looked  upon  as  is  in  some  measure  a  vegetable  feeder  as  well  as 
carnivorous  in  its  habits. 

The  extraordinary  sensitiveness  of  its  organization  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  the  absorption  by  a  gland  of  only  the  rSToVtfoo  ^^  *  gi*aiu 
(■0000033  mg.),  that  is  a  little  less  than  the  one-twenty-raillionth 
of  a  grain  of  phosphate  of  ammonia,  is  sufficient  to  cause  the  teiitacle 
beaiiug  this  gland  to  bend  to  the  centre  of  the  leaf.  But  we  scarcely 
see  why  this  fact  should  have  seemed  at  first  so  incredible  to  Mr. 
Darwin,  as  even  this  minute  quantity  must  be  large  when  compared, 
say,  \vith  the  infinitesimal  dimensions  of  tho  solid  particles,  which, 
striking  on  the  olfactory  nerves  of  a  dog,  and  effecting  all  the  com- 
plicated reflex  action  of  sensation,  enable  it  to  follow  the  scent  of  game, 
or  track  its  owner  for  miles. 

The  moot  point  which  some  objectoi-s  have  raised,  whether  after  all 
the  plant  is  benefited  by  the  capture  of  flies,  whether  the  process  is 
not  a  purely  pathological  one,  has  been  set  at  re«t  by  a  series  of  cxperi- 


44 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REMEW. 


on  tlie  groniid,  and  are  bilobefJ,  the  two  lobcH  standing  at  an  anglo 
of  rather  less  than  a  n'ght  angle,  like  a  butterfly  -vvith  its  wings  only 
partially  expanded.  Each  leaf  is  bordered  with  a  row  of  sharp 
ppikes,  which  when  the  leaf-lobes  are  cloeed  interlock  like  the  teeth  of 
a  ratr-trap.  Three  minute  filaments  placed  triangularly  ko  aa  neces- 
sarily  to  intercept  the  path  of  any  insect  alighting  on  the  loaf, 
project  from  the  upper  surface  of  each  lobe.  Let  an  insect's  tender 
wing,  or  delicate  feet  just  brush  one  of  these  filaments,  and  instantly, 
as  by  some  secret  Ppring,  the  valves  of  tho  leaf  approach  one  another 
and  the  spikes  intercross.  If  it  is  too  small  a  fly  to  afford  nourishment 
to  the  plant  it  can  squeeze  itself  through  the  narrowing  bars  of  its 
prison  house,  and  escape,  when  tho  leaf  expands  again  after  some 
eight  and  thirty  hours,  for  a  more  desirable  prey.  But  if  the  captive 
is  fat  and  nourishing,  the  old  haunting  story  of  the  prisoner  who  finds 
tlie  walls  of  his  cell  gradually  closing  in  upon  him  comes  true,  not  in 
gloomy  human  dungeons,  but  down  among  tho  starry  moss,  and 
windy  lights,  and  lovely  glancing  things,  and  all  the  wide  peaceful- 
ness  of  upland  nature.  Slowly  the  walls  of  his  leafy  prison  approach, 
the  intercrossing  spikes  interlock  Uke  the  teeth  of  two  combs,  the 
lobes  themselves  become  sKghtly  concave,  and  the  prisoner  is  grad- 
ually but  irresistibly  crushed  to  death.  Occasionally  an  active  beetle 
with  his  wits  about  him,  rapidly  giiaws  his  way  through  the  walls  of 
hia  living  grave,  and  escapes  as  other  prisoners  have  done.  But 
generally  his  lifeless  corpse  can  bo  traced  bulg^g  out  between  th© 
two  partitions,  so  closely  proFsed  together  that  if  separated  by  force, 
they  reclo&e  with  quite  a  loud  snap. 

The  curious  adaptation  of  the  plant  to  its  wants  is  shown  iu  tho 
specialLxod  character  of  the  sensitiveness  of  tho  filaments.  With  tho 
Sun-dew,  the  insect  being  already  held  fast  by  the  tenacious  secretion, 
leisurely  action  is  possible,  and  the  plant  is  accordingly  sensitive  to 
the  least  continued  pressure,  but  not  to  a  momentary  touch.  With 
the  Dionaaa,  on  the  contrary,  tho  action  haa  to  be  instantaneous,  and 
we  find  the  filaments  sensitive  to  the  least  stroke  but  uidifferent  to 
a  slight  continued  pressure.  A  morsel  of  hair,  the  tenth  part  of  which 
would  have  caused  inflexion  in  Drosera,  was  cautiously  lowered  on 
one  of  the  sensitive  filaments,  and  allowed  to  rest  there,  but  did  not 
produce  the  least  movement.  On  tho  other  hand,  a  cautious  touch 
from  an  inch  of  very  delicate  human  hair  fixed  into  a  handle  instantly 
caused  the  lobes  to  approach  one  another. 

But  though  quicker  in  its  first  movements  than  Drosera,  it  seems  far 
more  sluggish  in  its  after-operations.  Thirty-eight  hours  elapse  before 
tlio  leaf  completely  opens  again,  even  when  it  has  caught  nothing. 
Bat  even  over  a  small  fly  a  leaf  generally  remains  closed  some  teu 
days,  80  that  tho  full  use  of  the  marginal  spikes  becomes  at  once 
apparent,  securing  the  leaf  only  closing  as  a  rule  over  prey  suificient 
for  its  purpose.     Oflen  a  leaf  does  not  ogaiu  expand,  but  withers. 


CARNIVOROUS  PLAXTS. 


43 


■merits  Tecermy  conducted  by  Mr.  Francis  Darwin.*  ITo  placed  in  bis 
green-houee  a  number  of  plants  iu  eoup-plates  divided  into  two  com- 
parlmeuts,  and  carefully  covered  over  witb  muslin  bo  tbat  no  extraucotiB 
flies  could  get  at  them.  The  plants  in  one  compartment  were  left  to 
gain  their  nourishment  through  their  roots  and  leaves  iu  the  way  that 
other  plauta  do ;  iu  the  otlaer  compartment  the  plauts  were  regularly 
fed  at  frequent  intervals  with  roast  meat  of  about  5^5  of  a  grain  in 
■weight. 

The  experiment  was  virtually  begiin  on  the  /ith  of  July,  and  by  the 
end  of  Augiiet  the  plants  had  flowered  and  nearly  all  the  seed  capsules 
were  ripe.  They  were  then  gathered,  the  plants  from  three  of  the 
plates  dried,  and  tho  two  sets  compared  in  respect  to  their  nimiber, 
weight,  and  size,  the  number  of  capsules  produced,  and  tho  weight  of 
the  contained  seeds.  The  reKults  obtained  are  conclusive.  The 
nnmber  of  the  fed  plants  compared  to  the  unfed  was  in  the  proportion 
of  149  to  100,  though  at  first  the  latter  were  slightly  in  excess.  But 
it  was  in  the  structures  relating  to  reproduction  that  the  difference 
between  the  two  sets  was  the  most  marked,  the  nmnber  of  the  seeds 
being  as  100  to  241'5,  and  their  weight  as  100  to  379-7,  iu  other  words, 
the  fed  plants  were  able  to  produce  nearly  two  and  a-half  as  many 
seeds,  and  nearly  four  times  as  gi'eat  a  weight  of  seeds,  as  tho  unfed. 
In  only  one  respect  was  the  advantage  on  the  side  of  the  latter,  the 
unfed  being  slightly  taller,  but  only  in  the  proportion  of  100  to  99*9. 
Similar  researches  have  been  recently  carried  out  in  Germany  by 
301.  Reiss,  Kellcrman,  and  Von  Kaumcr, — the  only  difference  being 
that  the  plants  were  fed  on  insects  instead  of  roast  meat,  but  with  the 
€amo  result  of  pro\-ing  tlie  power  of  some  plants  to  assimilate  pre- 

^viou8ly  elaborated  protopksm  with  such  advantage  to  themselves  as 
to  produce  more  and  larger  seeds,  and  bigger  roots. 
To  conclude,  however  anomalous  the  conception  may  soem,  a  plant 
of  Drosera  with  the  edges  of  its  leaves  turned  inwards  so  as  to  form 
pi  temporary  stomach,  with  the  glands  of  the  closely  inflected  tentacles 
pouring  forth  their  acid  secretion  which  dissolves  animal  matter  after- 
wards to  be  absorbed,  may  be  said  to  feed  like  an  animal.  But 
anlike  an  animal  it  drinks  by  means  of  its  roots;  and  it  must  drink 
largely  so  as  to  retain  sometimes  as  many  as  260  drops  of  viscid 
fluid  on  one  leaf,  exposed  dming  the  whole  day  to  the  heat  of  a 
glaring  sun. 
I  Let  us  now  pass  on  to  a  yet  more  remarkable  plant,  the  Dioncea 

I  mu*cipul<t,  or  Venus*  Fly-trap,  belonging  to  the  same  family  of  the 

I  Proseracea*,  and  only  found  in  the  eastern  part  of  North  CaroUna, 

growing  like  the  Sim-dew  in  marshy  places.  Introduced  in  1708  by 
the  English  naturalist  Ellis  to  the  notice  of  Linnaius,  he  rightly 
denominated  it  miramlum  natunr.  The  leaves,  springing  direct  from 
the  root  with  their  fohaceous  pedicels,  spread  themselves  in  a  rosette 
Journal  oi  the  TtinntHin  Society  t  Boto&y,  vol.  zrU.,  No.  93.    1878. 


46 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


descriptions  of  the  Drosopliyllum  of  Portugal  and  Morocco,  the  g^aut 
plant  of  this  order,  of  Roridiila,  or  Byblis,  or  Drosera  hinatay  though 
each  of  these  present  interesting  pecularitiee ;  but  we  will  pass  on  to 
the  wholly  miallied  order  of  Lentabiilariacea3  (Butterworts)  which  also 
present  the  double  characteristic  of  a  vegetable  trap  and  carnivorous 
habits. 

PinguicuJa  vulgaAa  is  found  in  mountain  marshes,  its  rather  tliick 
obloDg  Ugfat  green  leaves,  one  and  a-half  inches  long,  being  set  with 
glandular  hairs  that  secrete  an  extremely  viscid  fluid,  to  which  a 
number  of  little  insects  adhere.  The  edges  of  the  leaves,  thick  as 
they  are,  have  the  power  of  closing  in  on  their  prey  -with  au  ex- 
ceedingly slow  movement,  the  secretion  being  greatly  increased  and 
rendei'ed  acid  by  nitrogenous  matter  as  in  the  Sun-dew.  The  quick- 
ness with  which  the  leaves  re-expand,  often  in  less  than  twenty-four 
hours,  is  perplexing.  But  the  usefulness  of  the  movement  to  the 
plant  notwithstanding,  is  shown  by  its  transforming  the  leaf  into  a 
sort  of  channel,  into  the  incurvations  of  which  the  hard  mountain  rains 
securely  wash  the  captured  flies,  as  well'as  by  the  gradual  movement 
often  pushing  a  larger  fly  into  the  centre  of  the  leaf,  and  so  bringing 
it  into  contact  with  a  greater  number  of  secreting  glands. 

The  UtriculancB  again  present  us  with  the  curious  spectacle  of 
elaborately  constructed  traps,  either  above  ground  or  subterranean, 
or  plunged  beneath  the  suifaco  of  stagnant  ponds  and  peculiarly  foul 
ditches.  The  aquatic  species,  destitute  of  roots,  with  their  fantastically 
shaped  yellow  flowers,  are  provided  with  minute  translucent  bladders 
attached  to  their  pinnatifled  leaves,  at  flrst  thought  to  be  air-floats, 
till  closer  observation  found  they  were  full  of  water,  and  were,  in  fact, 
engines  for  capturing  the  entomostracan  crustaceous  larvae  and  other 
minute  animals  that  swarm  on  stagnant  water.  My  space  does  not  allow 
my  describing  the  highly  complex  structure  uf  these  curions  little 
mechanisms,  with  their  delicate  transparent  little  trap-door  openingfrom 
without,  but  hermetically  sealed  from  within,  the  apprf>ach  to  it  pro- 
tected by  large  bristles  which  ward  off*  any  creature  of  dangerous 
dimensions  that  might  bo  tempted  to  force  an  entrance.  It  seems 
that  mischievous  curiosity,  an  unreasoning  propensity  to  poke  one*8 
nose  into  holes  and  comers  where  it  has  no  business,  is  a  passion  that 
pervades  the  universe,  and  iims  animalcules  iuto  miscliief  as  well  as 
men.  To  give  the  httlo  trap-door  a  furtive  poke,  and  see  what  is 
behind  it,  seems  quite  irresistible  in  the  end,  oven  when  considerable 
suspicion  and  warijiess  has  been  evinced ;  and  once  touched,  it  springs 
open,  and  claps  to  again  behind  the  unfortunate  prisoner,  who 
after  vainly  swimming  round  and  round  the  walls  of  his  watery 
dungeon  at  length  dies  of  asphyxia  and  exhausted  oxygen.  Mrs. 
Treat,  who  has  carefully  obBer\'ed  these  plants,  regards  tlie  bladder 
as  a  stomach  that  digests  its  prey;  but  on  tliis  pouit  Mr.  Darwin  is 
exceedingly  sceptical,  since  small  cubes  of  white  of  egg  remained 


i 


CARNIVOROUS  PLANTS. 


47 


tmaltered  for  three  days  and  a  half  in  the  bladder,  exhibiting  none  of 
the  familiar  phenomena  of  digestion.  But  he  allows  the  possibility 
of  the  bladders  secreting  some  ferment  hastening  the  process  of  decay, 
after  the  analogous  fact  stated  by  Brown,  in  his  Natuml  History  of 
Jamaica,  that  meat  soaked  in  "water  mingled  vnih  the  milky  juice  of 
the  Papaw,  soon  becomes  tender,  and  passes  quickly  into  a  state  of 
putridity.  At  any  rate,  there  seems  to  bo  no  question  that  the  curious 
little  quadrifld,  or  foiU"-armed  processes  which  star  the  interior  surfaoe 
of  the  bladder  absorb  putrid  matter.  "Without  dwelling  therefore  on 
the  Soutli  American  Utrictilarta  vwutaimy  wliose  bladders  form  little 
eubterranean  cisterns  for  the  capture  of  minute  terrestrial  creatures, 
the  Brazilian  Utricularia  imUimhifoHa,  an  aquatic  plant>  but  only 
growing  in  the  water  which  collects  at  the  bottom  of  the  leaves  of  a 
large  Tillandsia,  the  runner  by  which,  as  well  as  by  seed,  it  propa- 
gates itself,  being  always  found  directing  itself  towards  the  nearest 
TOlandsia ;  or  the  Brasdlian  Genliaea  ornatOy  where  the  adaptation  of 
means  to  an  end  is  far  too  complex  for  me  to  describe  in  brief  hmits, 
we  will  proceed  to  the  Nepenthes,  and  Sarraceuiacea?,  which  like  the 
Utricularia?  are  diflerentiated  by  the  absorption  of  putrid  matter  rather 
than  by  the  true  digestive  processes  of  Drosera,  Dionoea,  and  Pinguicula. 

The  Nepenthes  or  pitcher-plants,  inhabitants  of  the  tropical  parts  of 
India,  Australia,  and  the  Seychelles,  partake,  however,  apparently  of 
both  characters.  The  leaves  of  this  plant  form  themselves  into  the 
moBt  graceful  urns  and  Elniscan  pitchers,  which  aro  at  once  traps, 
reservoirs,  and  organs  of  digestion.  Some  rest  upon  the  ground, 
others  are  balanced  in  the  air  at  the  end  of  long  twisted  footstalks. 
To  complete  the  likeness  this  leafy  pottery  bears  to  the  work  of  men's 
hands,  they  possess  a  dehcate  hinged  lid  sometimes  closing  the  orifice, 
sometimes  half  open,  and  sometimes  thrown  back  as  if  merely  to  attract 
attention  to  the  opening.  In  the  latter  case,  not  having  to  serve  as  a 
bait,  the  lid  has  no  nectar-secreting  glands ;  but  in  the  other  cases  the 
interior  surface  of  the  Hd  and  throat  is  covered  with  glands  that 
secrete  a  sweet  tluid  to  attract  the  prey  to  the  mouth  of  the  pit  of 
destruction.  Below  are  two  distinct  zones,  the  upper  one  smooth, 
fihppery,  and  glandless,  where  the  imfortunate  insect  realizes  the  truth 
of  Artemus  Ward's  remark  that,  when  any  one  takes  to  going  down 
hHU  all  things  are  greased  for  the  occasion,  and  the  lower  aqueous 
zone,  where  multitudes  of  minute  glands  exude  a  limpid  liquid,  into 
•which  the  insect  ultimately  slips.  Inorganic  matter  produces  no  effect 
on  the  glands,  but  the  presence  of  organic  matter  causes  the  glands  to 
secTote  more  rapidly;  and  the  action  of  the  fluid  on  white  of  egg  or 
tneat  being  the  same  in  character  as  the  secretion  of  Drosera.  though 
fer  feebler,  would  seem  to  indicate  that  it  performs  some  digestive 
fnnction* 

This  function  disappears  in  the  Sarraceniacea?,  which,  it  has  been 
saggeetedj  might  be  designated  putrivorous  plants  in  contradistiuctioa 


48 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


to  tbe  etnctly  carnivorous  plants  ■nnth  tlie  digestive  apparatus,  since 
the  former  only  absorb  putrid  matter.  The  representative  type  of 
this  order,  the  Sarracenia  of  Linuseus,  a  native  of  Carolina,  is  a  marsh 
plant  like  Dionrea,  with  no  apparent  stem,  the  leaves  forming  cxirious 
trumpet-like  shapes,  taperijig  towards  the  base,  the  posterior  lip  of 
the  wide  orifice  running  up  into  a  tongue-like  vertical  process. 
Mistaking  it  for  a  lid  on  the  authority  of  the  celebrated  botanist,, 
Morison,  LinnoiUB  and  his  disciples  fabled  that  it  closed  tlie  orifice  ia 
hot  weather  so  as  to  prevent  the  ovaporation  of  the  water  contained 
in  these  leafy  coi-nucopitc^  and  which  he  contemplated  as  a  kindly 
provision  the  great  Mother  had  made  to  quench  the  thirst  of  little 
birds.  Alas  for  this  amiable  teleology  I  More  recent  obBcrvationa, 
especially  the  careful  researches  of  Dr.  Mellichamp,  an  American 
botanist,  conducted  especially  on  the  Sarracenia  variolaris^  in  which 
the  orifice  of  the  trumpet  is  always  closed  by  a  lid-like  process,  and 
guided  by  the  suspicious  circumstance  of  the  accumulation  of  putrid 
and  decaj*ing  animal  matter  always  found  in  their  leafy  formations, 
have  proved  not  only  that  the  liLpiid  of  the  resei-voir  ifl  not  rain-water, 
but  a  vital  secretion  from  the  plant  itself;  but  also  that  it  acts  as  a 
strong  anaesthetic  on  living  flies,  and  after  death  produces  rapid 
putrefaction.  After  half-a-minute*s  immersion  in  this  terrible  bath 
they  appear  to  be  dead,  but  if  rescued  recover  in  from  half-an-honr  to 
an  hour's  time.  From  the  rapid  putrefaction  of  their  remains,  Dr. 
Mellichamp  concludes  that  the  fluid  is  not  digestive,  an  opinion  in 
which  Sir  Joseph  Hooker  coincides,  while  cotifessing  the  utter  ignor- 
ance of  science  as  to  the  way  in  which  the  plant  absorbs  the  quantity 
of  decaying  nitrogenous  matter  with  which  it  elaborately  manures 
itself,  and  which  must  paKS  into  its  system  through  the  tissues  of  the 
leaf  instead  of  by  its  roots. 

But  whatever  obscurity  still  rests  on  this  point,  one  point  is  at  least 
clear  that  Linnreus'  benevolent  drinking  fountAins  are  in  reality  per- 
fidious traps.  Nectar-secreting  glands  stud  not  only  the  orifice  of  the 
trumpet,  but  both  sides  of  a  winged  membrane  which  mns  along  the 
whole  face  of  it,  so  that  the  unsuspecting  insect  is  conducted  by  a 
double  "  primrose  path  of  dalliance "  to  the  mouth  of  the  pit. 
Within,  conical  shaped  hairs  pointing  downwards  form  a  velvet 
carpet  for  the  desceudhig  feet,  but  turu  into  a  wall  of  bristling  spears 
the  moment  the  insect  attempts  to  retrace  its  steps.  Below  this  again 
the  sUppery  surface  forms  a  glissade,  and  lastly  in  the  gulf  itself^  into 
which  the  victim  is  precipitated,  long  stiff  downward  pointing  hairs 
converge  and  intercross,  like  pitiless  arms  outstretched  on  all  sides 
to  sink  the  drowning  creature  deeper  and  deeper  in  the  deathful 
waters. 

Yet  even  in  the  face  of  all  tlus  apparatus  of  death,  the  entomologist 
Charles  Riley  tells  us  there  are  some  creatures  that  turn  the  tables  and' 
prey  upon  the  formidable  plant.     A  tiny  caterpillar  spins  delicate 


CARNIVOROUS  PLANTS. 


49 


tlirea^  across  the  orifice,  so  savin  g-  many  an  insect  from  the  fatal 
consequences  of  its  insatiable  love  of  sweets,  while  it  devours  the 
outer  tiBsue  of  the  plant.  And  a  large  bustUng  diptera  resembling 
our  common  bluebottle  penetrates  with  impunity  right  into  the 
precincts  of  death,  and  deposits  its  voracious  larvaj  in  the  midst  of 
the  putrid  mass,  which,  when  they  have  exhausted  their  stolen  larder, 
fall  upon  one  another,  the  strong  devouring  the  weak,  and  in  this 
admirably  direct  way  securing  the  survival  of  the  fittest. 

It  will  be  seen  in  this  brief  sur\'ey  of  this  comparatively  recently 
discovered  region  of  vegetable  physiology  that  much  remains  to  bo 
discovered  and  still  more  to  be  accurately  defined.  Judging  from 
some  researches  of  Mr.  Darwin's  on  saxifrages,  primroses,  Pelargtjnia, 
and  other  plants  yvi^h  glandular  hairs,  proving  their  powers  of  absorb- 
ing nitrogenous  matter,  further  investigation  will  elicit  some  interesting 
results. 

Two  points  which  have  doubtless  already  suggested  themselves  to 
the  reader  remain  to  be  touched  upon  however  briefly  and  imperfectly. 

The  first  is  that,  in  studying  such  marvellous  contrivances  as  thoso 
we  have  passed  in  rapid  review  with  all  their  complex  adaptation  of 
means  to  an  end,  we  are  forcibly  impressed  with  the  sense  of  the 
inadequacy  of  any  natural  law  at  present  discovered  to  account  for 
their  existence,  and  are  driven  irresistibly  into  recognizing  a  creative 
intelligence  at  work.  Accepting  the  law  of  natural  selection  along 
iU  broad  lines,  and  recognizing  in  it  one  of  the  greatest  onward  steps 
of  modem  times  to  a  truer  understanding  of  nature,  in  applying  it  to 
Buch  complex  contrivances  as  these  we  have  been  studying,  we  aro 
met  by  two  apparently  insurmountable  difficulties.  Natural  selection 
can  only  act  by  preserving  the  slight  modificalions  of  structure  which 
prove  useful  to  the  organism  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  accumu- 
lating slight  advantageous  differences  till  they  result  in  important 
modifications  of  structure.  But  some  of  the  complex  mechanisms  we 
have  been  reviewing  can  only  be  useful  to  the  organism  in  their  last 
and  highly  elaborated  phase.  In  Dioncea,  for  instance,  its  power  of 
catching  a  fly  depends  upon  the  rapidity  with  which  the  lobe  closes, 
and  the  precision  with  which  the  marginal  spikes  touch  and  intercross. 
The  first  slow  beginnings  of  movement,  the  first  faint  approximation 
of  the  lobes,  would  be  of  no  use  whatever  to  the  plant.  By  what 
agency  then  is  this  endless  flight  of  useless  steps  leading  up  to  the 
useful  result  preserved  t  Certainly  not  by  natural  selection,  as  that 
by  its  very  definition  is  only  the  survival  of  the  serviceable,  of  that  which 
is  of  immediate  advantage  to  the  plant  in  the  struggle  for  existence. 

Again  in  Diono^a,  and  in  a  less  degree  in  its  aquatic  representative 
Aldrovanda,  we  have  to  meet  the  fact  that  both  are  apparently  dying 
out.  Granting  for  a  moment  that  they  coxdd  have  been  gradually 
developed  irom  the  action  of  the  environment  on  the  organism,  it  is 
diflScnlt  to  see,  aa  all  sorts  of  small  flics,  or  cmstaceanB  are  grist  to 

VOL.  XXXV.  fi 


L 


50 


TEE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tlieir  mill,  what  change  in  conditions  persistent  and  strong  enongh 
to  bnng  such  complex  mechanisms  into  existence,  should  now  cause 
these  eame  conditions  to  be  too  weak  and  intermittent  to  perlorm 
the  infei-ior  task  of  preserving  them.  "Final  causes"  maybe  and 
probably  is  only  an  expression  of  our  ignorance ;  but  still  it  seems 
better  to  stick  to  an  expression  of  our  ignorance  than  adopt  an 
inadequate  cause,  the  symbol  not  of  ignorance  but  of  falsity. 

The  second  point  which  has  also  doubtless  forced  itself  on  the  atten- 
tion of  the  reader  in  reading  of  so  many  perfidious  contrivaucee  is  the 
difficulty  of  resisting  an  imprcesion  of  the  cnielty  of  Nature.  It  cer- 
tainly is  startling  to  find  her  adopting  the  worst  and  most  cniel 
inventions  of  man ;  and  it  is  diflScult  to  prevent  a  fecHng  at  times  that 
when  studied  in  deta.i!  she  witnesses  rather  to  an  evil  than  a  good  in- 
telligence. This  difficulty,  which  when  resolved  into  its  constituent 
elements  is  none  other  than  the  old  original  difficulty  of  the  existence 
of  pain  and  death,  I  fear  must  remain  a  difficulty  till  we  reach  a  world 
where  space  has  four  dimensions,  and  where  inextricable  knots,  so  plen* 
tiful  in  this  world,  are  mathematically  impossible.  But  let  us  at  least 
be  careful  not  to  enhance  the  difficulty  by  unconsciously  impoiting  into 
it  considerations  and  feelings  and  relations  drawn  from  a  higher  piano 
of  existence  ;  true  in  that  liigher  plane,  but  false  in  a  lower  one.  In 
tluit  sleeping  and  dreaming  world  of  plants  and  animals  that  never 
wakes  to  moral  consciousness,  there  is,  properly  speaking,  neither 
treachery  nor  cruelty,  nor  love  nor  hate,  any  more  than  a  door  is 
cruel  that  slams  upon  one's  finger,  or  a  slippery  stone  is  treacherous 
because  one  trips  and  breaks  one's  leg.  And  as  to  the  amount  of  pain 
inflicted  on  the  insect  world — death  from  asphyxia  is  as  merciful  as  the 
ordinary  slow  death  from  cold  and  starvation.  The  only  insurmount- 
able difficulty  would  be  the  presence  in  Nature  of  gratuitous  and 
purposeless  pain.  But  at  least  Damdnism  has  helped  us  here,  showing 
us  the  purpose  which  the  struggle  for  existence  with  its  interminable 
conflict  and  death  snbser^'-ee  in  working  out  the  good  of  the  race  and 
the  survival  of  the  fittest. 

May  we  not  say  that  in  the  discovery  of  flesh-eating  plants  we 
have  made  ono  more  step  towards  linking  animal  and  vegetable  life 
together  into  one  chain  of  being,  and  grasping  the  unity  of  plan  im- 
pressed on  the  work  of  one  supreme  creative  Intelligence  who 

"  of  one  stuff  made  na  all, 
BaptiEed  tu  all  in  one  jfreat  Bcquent  plan. 

Where  deep  to  ever  vaster  deep  may  call. 
And  all  their  large  cixprcssiou  find  in  man  P" 

And  in  this  constant  suffeiing  and  dying  that  othere  may  live  and  gain 
fuller  completion,  may  we  not  find  some  faint  shadowing  forth  of  the 
great  law  of  sacrifice,  which  ChriHtianity  reveals  as  the  very  life  of 
God,  and  the  realizing  of  which  is  the  highest  life  of  man  % 

Ellice  Hopkins. 


B2 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


athletes  and  Rophista  as  llissus  ;   and  on  the   present  system,  and  Tnth 
the  present  national  j;Socj  she  never  will  have  anything  else. 

It  is  now  vigorously  asserted  in  Oxford  by  Prof.  Max  Muller  and 
others,  that  the  Arts  of  Grceec  were  a  part  of  the  life  of  Greece;  and 
that  if  studied  they  lead  to  better  understanding  of  the  history  and 
philosophy  of  Greece  ;  both  of  which  are  still  of  considerable  importance 
to  the  modem  world. 

It  seems  good  under  these  cireumHtances  to  recur  to  the  earlier,  or 
Periclean,  or  Pheidian  age  of  Athens;   which  has  always  been  held  in 
Greece  and  eisewberc  to  have  at  least  approached  the  Hellenic  ideal   of 
human  life.    Its  intellectual  teaching  was  far  simpler  and  less  systematic 
than  the  sophistic  of  later  days.     An   inventive   eye  is  seldom  very 
learned,  and  a  great  scholar   once  said  to  us  that  a  learned  age  cannot 
be  very  inventive.       So  that  there  are  necessary  and  insuperable  diflcr- 
encea  between  that  time  and  our  own.     AVe  do  not  mean  to  e.\tol  it  at 
tbc  expense  of  our  own,      A  Christian  standard  of  common  life  docs  un- 
doubtedly   produce   a  higher  level   of   ordinary  raorality,  and   that  we 
possess.       But  Greek  life  aimed  at  an  intellectual  standard  j  and  that 
was  set  up  before  all  Greeks,  just   as   right   living  is   set  up  before  all 
Christians.      They  had  less  superfluity  of  books ;   their    ideal   of  living 
was  lifcj  not  cost  or  luxury,  or  even   learning.     Pericles  expressed  that 
ideal    practically   by   tlie    words — <l>iXoK:aXov/iEMynp  jiu/    JuTfAtiac,   Koi 
(^iXoffo^oi^uj*  oi'Ei/  ^taAoKtac-    Por  the  present  we  have  only  to  do  with  tlic 
first  of  these  pithy  antitheses.     It  may  seem — perhaps  it  did  seem — rather 
daring  in  the  builder  of  the  Propylaea,  the  Parthenon,  and  other  public 
works  then  of  late  years  to  tidk  about  economy  ;  in  our  own  times  the 
expression   would   be   as   impossible   as  the  buildings.      Nevertheless  he 
said  it  without  contradiction.      Such  enormous  expenditure  was  held  to 
be  justified  by  the  results.      Athens  cared  so  much  for  the  beauty  of  her 
own  handiwork  as  to  thiuk  it  cheap  at  any  cost,  and  rate  it  as  a  national 
delight  or  source  of  happiness,  to   be   freely  shared  with  all  tireeec,  and 
indeed  all  mankind,  for  honour's  sake.      For  good  or  evil  on  either  side, 
this  seems  to  be  the  great  difference  between  the  three  arts  of  Archi- 
tecture, ScnlptiirCj  and  Painting,  in  Athens  and  in  England;   that  Athens 
enjoyed  them  very  much  ;  and  England  only  pays  for  them,  and  that  not 
very  much.      It  is  quite  true  that  England  has  not  so  great  reason  to  care 
for  the  two  decorative  arts  as  Athens  had  in  the  time  of  Pheidias.     Then 
they  were  sacred  ;  now  t]»ey  are  suspected;  and  not  less  now  than  thirty 
years  ago,  for  they  have  incurred,  perhaps  deserved,  fresh  obloquy  since 
then.      And  again,  the   Pcriclean  ngc  and   race  pursued   lines  of  art  in 
which  they  sincerely,  naturally,  and  nationally  delighted  ;  and  our  schools 
neglect  or  oppress  pure  laudscape,  which  is  the  chief  branch  of  grapliic 
art  for  which  Englishmen  really  care,  from  high  or  genuine  motive. 

Now,  if  the  condition  of  Art  is  a  fallen  one  since  the  days  of  Pheidias, 
it  began  to  fall  very  soon  after  his  dcys,  and  certainly  by  no  fault  of 
ours.     That  in  some  true  sense   it    culminated  with  him  will  not   be 


PHEIDIAS   IN    OXFORD. 


53 


denied.  The  causes  of  its  decline  appear  to  be  its  connertioDj  then, 
with  idolatry ;  in  after  days  with  impurity.  It  stands  accused  of  both 
in  our  own  time.  This  evil  connection  was  established  in  Greece  and 
by  Greeks ;  and  is  no  fault  of  ours,  except  in  as  far  as  our  artists  admit 
the  snggeations  of  evil  thoughts^  or  pander  to  them.  A  well-written  and 
trenchant  indictment  on  this  score  has  lately  been  set  forth ;  and  though 
unfortunately  the  wroug  leader  was  selected,  and  Mr.  Burue  Jones 
waa  made  the  object  of  accusations  which  he  no  more  deserves  than 
Pheidias,  a  great  deal  of  truth  was  sharply  told  about  the  motlern 
Itcnaissancc  school,  wliich  wc  may  again  have  to  refer  to. 

But  as  the  purity  of  Pheidian  art  will  hardly  be  disputed,  we  have 
first  to  deal  with  ita  relations  to  Idolatryj  Iconolatry,  or  that  use  of 
risible  symbol  in  Divine  worship,  and  in  our  thoughts  of  God,  which 
He  hfts  forbidden  by  revelation,  and  has  taught  a  few  chosen  sages  or 
favoured  races  to  avoid  in  all  ages.  We  do  not  intend  to  go  of  our- 
sclve*,  or  be  led  by  anybody  else,  into  first  principles  anterior  to  the 
Second  Commandment;  but  to  take  that  as  an  expression  of  the  will  of 
God,  which,  like  others,  needs  explanation  as  to  details  of  obedience. 
It  certainly  exercised  the  miud  of  the  Hebraic  division  of  the  Early 
Church ;  and  the  severest  sense  of  its  prohibitions  is  expressed,  perhaps, 
by  Tertullian,  De  Idofatrid.  No  representation,  he  seems  to  say,  is  to  be 
attempted  of  anything  whatever.  Then  he  finds  himself  in  rough  collision 
with  the  great  symbolisms  or  mental  images  of  the  Hebrew  Law,  even  to 
the  Brazen  Serpent.  He  at  once  justifies  it  as  a  symbol  of  the  sacrifice 
of  the  Lord  for  mankind  ;  and  then,  without  noticing  any  distinction 
between  symbolism  and  idolatry,  returns  to  the  charge  in  a  way  which 
shows  that  he  considered  all  representation  and  image-making,  graphic 
or  glyptiCj  entirely  involved  with  idolatrous  image-worship  ;  in  which, 
for  the  time,  he  may  not  have  been  far  wrong.  Nevertheless,  the  excep- 
tional symbols  Divinely  prescribed  to  the  Hebrew  Church,  and  continued 
into  our  own,  are  proof  of  the  Christian  interpretation  of  the  Second 
Commandment,  as  allowing  some  use  of  symbolic  forms ;  and,  in  point 
of  fact,  human  intercourse  and  instruction  can  hardly  go  on  without 
them.  At  least,  letters  arc  derived  from  hieroglyphics,  and  they  from 
symbolic  pictures. 

In  a  rude  age,  or  among  untaught  people,  the  distinction  between  actual 
representation  to  the  eye  and  symbolic  appeal  to  thought  by  a  visible 
image,  is  never  understood,  however  valid  in  fact.  The  image  is  tiJcen 
as  really  like  the  God ;  perhaps  as  good  as  the  God,  having  his  special 
power  in  it.  That  is  the  fetichistic  or  simply  idolatrous  view.  Aj^other 
class  of  men  say,  the  image  makes  us  think  of  certain  attributes  of  the 
God,  and  gives  us  a  clearer  notion  and  more  devout  emotions  about 
Him.  That  ia  the  view  of  high  heathenism,  Brahmiuic  or  Hellenic: 
and  the  difference  between  it  and  the  Christian  sentiment  seems  to  be 
that  of  shallower  and  deeper  reverence.  Wc  feel  that  He  is  not  as 
man ;  not  to  be  thought  of  or  projected,  in  form  or  shape ;  that  He  is 


64 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


b^? 


cognosciblcby  man  only  as  far  as  He  is  pleased  to  show  Himself  to  mau, 
and  if  by  auy  symbols,  by  such  ouly  as  are  taught  or  appointed  by  Him- 
self. Our  knowledge  of  Him,  what  wc  call  it,  ends  in  mystery:  even  in 
loving  sclf-mauifestatiou,  Hia  name  is  Seerct. 

St.  Paul  probably  knew  Pheidias,  by  name  and  history :  but  whether 
he  did  or  not,  the  29tb  and  30th  verses  of  Acta  xvii.  have  direct  refer- 
ence to  him  as  a  representative  of  Greek  sculpture.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  all  the  best  of  it  was  employed  on  images  of  gods  or  heroes ;  or 
that  St.  Paul's  spirit  was  stirred  within  liim  when  he  saw  so  many : 
that  the  Holy  Spirit  bade  him  speak,  when  he  saw  the  city  "full  of 
idols"  (margin,  v.  16).  And  he  then  and  there  said  that  God  dwelleth 
not  in  temples  made  with  hands ;  and  that  forasmuch  as  we  are  the 
offspring  of  Godj  we  ought  not  to  think  that  the  Godhead  is  like  unto 
gold  or  silver,  or  stone  graven  by  art  and  men's  device  :  yet  that  God 
had  winked  at,  condoned  the  ignorance  which  had  so  erred  about  Him. 
It  will  be  seen  that  this  is  virtually  the  same  argument  which  Minucius 
Felix  used  aftenvards,*  and  that  it  directly  attacks  that  unspiritual 
anthropomorphism,  which  was  at  the  root  of  high  Hellenic  iconolatry. 
Man  is  made  in  God's  image,  it  is  true;  but  he  is  not  to  make  God's 
in  his  own.  Nevertheless, said  the  Apostle, — careful  to  comfort  the  Greeks 
for  their  fathers,  and  not  denying  or  unconscious  of  the  greatness 
of  their  fathers'  works, — that  ancient  time  of  ignorance  till  now  God 
has  winked  at :  the  fathers  were  ignorautly  worshipping  Him  all  the 
time ;  and  He  is  now  declared  and  revealed.  And  this  he  said  on 
Mars'  Hill,  below  the  Parthenon  and  its  Agalma ;  exactly  at  the  centre 
of  the  world's  idolatry;  because  there  the  greatest  image-makers  of  the 
world  had  douc  their  noblest.  Had  Rafael  ever  visited  Athens,  his 
cartoon  would  have  represented  something  more  than  an  academic 
apostle  bawling  under  a  conventional  colonnade.  He  would  not  have 
failed  to  produce  some  great  imagination  of  the  contrast  between  the 
worn  Syrian  ready  to  perish,  testifying  against  the  Avhite  temple  in  its 
fresh  antiquity,  with  its  500  years  counted  but  as  yesterday. 

The  new  effort  in  Oxford,  we  say,  is  to  connect  the  study  of  archaeo- 
logical art  with  her  otherwise  not  incomplete  teaching  in  history, 
mctaphysic,  and  theology.  And  it  is  an  important  fact  in  all  three, 
which  Professor  Zeller  has  douc  most  to  establish,  and  to  which  we 
must  proceed,  that  the  Phcidian  period,  and  even  Pheidian  art,  are 
impressed  by  an  underlying  Monotheism,  This  Professor  Euskiu  has 
said  also,  with  equal  truth  and  eloquence  :  both  in  the  *"'  Queen  of  the 
Air,"  and  "  Aratra  Pcntclici."  But  we  mean  to  assert  besides,  that  the 
highest  aj^  is,  and  always  has  been,  inapplicable  to  all  the  grosser  forms 
of  idolatry.  Neither  Zeus  of  Olympia,  for  example,  nor  Athene  of  the 
Parlheuon,  were  ever  expected  to  work  niiruclea  by  Greeks.  Nor  were 
they  thought  of  as  anything  but  gold  and  ivory  works,  by  Pheidias,  son 

•  OcUv.  c.  9.  : — "  What  imago  alionld  I  mRke  of  God  when,  if  yon  think  aright,  man  is 
binuielf  the  image  of  Gwl  ?**    fire.  a.  d.  220.  — ■ • 


L. 


i 


PHEIDIAS   IN    OXFORD, 


55 


I 


of  Charmides,  of  such  a  Dome.  Greek  superstition  existed  :  but  it 
was  no  more  artistic  or  creative  than  the  wcakucss  of  any  other  race. 
It  vent  into  incantations,  and  pharuiaka,  and  miuor  mysteries. 
Now,  one  of  the  best  of  Goethe's  many-sided  ironies  is  the  remark,  that 
miraculous  pictures  are  generally  rather  bad  paintings.*  Though  said 
on  quite  another  matter,  it  has  often  been  applied,  and  unhappily  not 
without  reason,  to  the  present  use  of  images  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church;  and,  indeed,  to  Christian  iconolatry  from  the  seventh  century 
downwards.  It  is  sometimes  used,  we  believe,  in  artistic  and  literary 
circles,  to  imply,  as  by  a  side-wind,  that  the  Christian  use  of  art  degrades 
beauty  into  ugliness.  But  it  only  proves  this  :  lliat  religious  fanaticism 
docs  not  enable  untaught  persons  of  feeble  mind  to  distinguish  between 
the  two,  or  to  care  for  true  beauty  iu  religious  woi*sliip,  more  than  in 
anything  else.  \Vc  shall  sec  that  it  applic-s  to  many  races  and  creeds  ; 
mud  imquestionably  to  classical  times,  as  well  as  Christian.  The 
Hellenes,  whom  Goethe  delighted  to  honour,  were  capable  of  worshippiug 
actual  sticks  and  stones,  and  endowed  the  very  rudest  Xoaua  with 
imaginary  power.  As  Ku&kiu  says,  there  was  a  great  diHereuce  between 
the  Olympian  Zeus,  and  an  olive-wood  statue  which  would  fall  on  its^ 
knees  in  supplication  if  you  pulled  it  off  its  stand ;  and  we  apprehend 
there  is  exactly  the  same  interval  and  distinction  between  Cimabuc's 
Madonna,  which  Florence  delighted  in  as  a  symbol,  and  the  Black 
Virgin  of  Ypresj  which  Belgium,  it  seems,  still  worships  as  a  dcity.f 
Goethe  was  writing  on  literature  at  the  time.  His  later  style  and 
standard  of  thought,  with  its  classic  charm,  had  been  found  less  to  the 
taste  of  the  world  than  the  iiturm  und  Dranrj  of  his  earlier  writings; 
and,  as  jNIr.  Lewes  says,  he  found  that  instead  of  following  him  the 
public  went  after  his  most  extravagant  imitators.      So  he  wrote — 

*'  Schulcr  macht  sich  der  Schwurmer  genup,  und  riihret  die  Mcoge, 
Wenn  der  verDuuitige  Mann  eiiuelnc  Liebende  zHhlt, 
Wuuderthutige  BUUer  siud  meist  uur  echlechte  Gt^iuulde: 
Werko  dee  Geists  und  der  Konst  sind  fiir  den  Pubel  nicht  da." 

It  is  true  enough ;  and  the  words  really  mean,  as  far  as  ihcy  apply  to 
art  and  religion,  that  untaught  people  are  not  fit  to  judge  of  either 
without  guidance ;  and  are  in  want,  not  only  of  sound  leaders,  but  of 
sense  to  follow  them.  But  there  were  Greeks  and  Greeks  in  the  days  of 
Pbeidins  ;  or  the  same  Greek  became  a  changed  man  under  ditl'crcnt 
circumstances.  Fheidias  did  not  despise  the  popular  intuition :  he 
thought  weU  to  be  present  when  Greece  was  first  admitted  to  sec  Zeus  at 
Olympia,  and  to  hear  what  the  judgment  of  the  crowd  might  be.  No 
one,  probably,  expected  that  the  sight  of  the  charmed  gold  and  ivory  would 
cure  his  immediate  complaints;  but  Polybius  and  Quiutilian  after  him, 
really  thought  they  experienced,  and  seriously  expressed  a  genuine 
feeling  that    fheidias  had  added  something   to   Zeus — that   is  to  say, 


*  Lewea'  Life.  p.  313.     F^.  1804. 
f  8m  s  woodent  ia  Mr.  Wjke  Baylisa's  MessA^o  of  Beauty,  |i,  173,  and  test. 


66 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tohuraan  conceptions  of  divinity.*  The  motive  andeSbrta  of  Aft  were 
then  high  and  sacredj  and  therefore  works  of  Art  were  submitted  to 
popular  criticism.  Sincere  interest  in  the  subject  made  the  people's 
judgment  worth  having,  and  Plicidias  wanted  to  hear  it.  Artists  had 
not  to  fall  back  on  technical  excellences  and  esoteric  beauties,  and  request 
the  world  to  receive  their  work  in  silence.  However,  there  is  a  list  of 
feticliistic  images,  forms  monstrous  and  shapeless,  which  were  worshipped 
by  educated  Greeks  in  the  fifth  century,  b.c.  At  Athens  there  was  the 
strange  archaic  Athene  Polias,  said  to  have  fallen  from  heaven,  aud 
specially  connected  with  the  Panathensea.  There  were  the  Hcrmje  aud 
the  fish-tailed  Glaucus,  and  Pan,  aud  all  his  retinue.  And  it  seems  to 
have  been,  on  the  whole,  thus  r  that  some  men  thought  a  beautiful  statue 
gave  them  a  notion  of  divine  beauty — au  excusable  frailty;  and  others 
tliought  a  certain  fig-tree  block,  or  formless  pillar,  had  DiWnc  power  to  heal 
and  to  do.  This  we  take  to  be  the  distinction  between  symbolic  aud  fetich- 
istie  idolatry  :  and  bad  unscrupulous  men  were  specially  tempted  to  the 
latter.  For  the  Ijctter  sort  of  Greeks,  retaining  conscience  aud  moral 
certainty  of  the  distinction  between  right  and  wrong,  looked  for  God  as  for 
a  moral  Being  to  keep  them  right  j  but  the  tendency  and  temptation  of 
the  lower  Sophist  school  aud  the  able  men  it  produced  was  eitlier  to 
ignore  just  gods  altogether,  or  to  treat  them  as  fetiches,  as  unknown 
powers  with  unknown  tastes  ;  assailable  empirically  and  on  no  principle,  by 
cercraouiiil  and  lustration ;  willing — perhaps  to  be  compelled — to  help  any 
robber  who  would  give  them  a  share  of  his  plunder.  Against  this  for  a 
certain  period,  and  to  a  certain  class  of  men,  the  dramatist  and  sculptor 
acting  together,  were  genuine  preachers  of  the  great  doctrines  of  right 
living;  aud  from  their  joint  ministry,  as  Mr.  Watkiss  Lloyd  says,  "it 
became  peculiai'ly  characteristic  of  the  Hellenic  world  to  rely  in  faith 
on  the  aEsthctically  t>cautiful  for  guidance  to  the  essentially  good  and 
infallibly  true."t  Yet  he  goes  on  to  say  that  Athenian  feeling  re- 
mained subject  to  low  conception  of  the  relations  of  religion  and  mora- 
lity. As  ceremonial  and  the  efficacy  of  special  rites  gained  ground, 
fetichiatic  confusion  of  the  block  or  the  image  with  the  god  would  gain 
ground  also.  Superstition  cares  not  for  beauty,  and  the  unscrupulous 
man  is  superstitious.  A  Greek  might  think  to  get  the  gods  on  his 
unjust  side  ;  and  such  a  person  would  not  begin  with  trying  to  bribe 
Athene  Promachus  or  Olympian  Zeus.  They  were  new  and  startling 
forms,  and  awakened  something  like  awe  or  apprehension  of  higher 
things  ;  they  were  not  to  be  got  round  by  Eumolpids  or  hereditary 
priesthoods;  and  the  hereditary  priesthoods  did  not  love  Pheidias.  What 
fluited  the  Athenian   scoundrel    were    ancestral   Xoana,  which  tradition 


♦GO.  MtlUer,  Do  Phidia  Vita,  p.  48.  Joveni  Olympitun  Fhidiffi  Plinio  t«ete,  nemo 
ifiiDulAbatnr,  rjuippc  ijui  Qiiinctiitiauo  auctore  arljecisac  alu|uiil  ctiam  recepiip  religioni 
videbatur  adeo  uiajc-atas  njteria  deum  seqoAvtt.  Quint  loBtit.  xii.  10.  Tolyb.  Ekc.  rxx.  14. 
3L  Suidiu,  s.v.  4>etdiaT  ajid  Liv.  xJv.  2(1.  Polyhius  speaks  of  tUt*  elTect  ou  .Emiima  Pauliii  ; 
who  u  a  KomaD  would  care  much  less  for  inio^cfi  than  a  Greek 

t  Age  of  Periclesy  vol.  ii.  p.  192  sqq.  cb.  xlviii. 


I 


PHEIDIAS   IS   OXFORD. 


57 


said  had  really  knelt  or  winked^  and  whose  attendants  knew  tlie  proper 
approaches  and  fees.  There  was  Diana  at  Kphcsus,  and  au  Apollo  at 
Delphi,  both  ugly  enough,  but  the  god  waa  warranted  to  be  in  them. 
In  short,  such  beauty  as  the  Pheidian  sculptures  possessed,  tending  to  call 
out  pure  awe  and  vague  conceptions  of  a  nobler  existence,  was  altogether 
agaiust  gross  superstition  and  immoral  conceptions  of  Deity.  We 
caonot  say  how  far  the  persecution  and  death  of  Pheidias  may  not 
have  been  urged  on  by  the  fetichist  or  family  priesthoods ;  they  can 
hardly  have  felt  much  regard  for  him,  for  every  idea  conveyed  by  his 
work  went  against  their  power  and  profits. 

The  difference  between  superstitious  aud  religious  worship  will  always 
be  found  to  be — that  the  first  thinks  to  bribcj  propitiate,  and  get  power 
with  its  god  ;  and  believes  this  ]>ossible  through  the  adherence  or  in- 
herence of  the  god  to  this  or  that  stock  or  stone.  The  religious  wor- 
shipper, Greek  or  Goth,  thinks  that  the  only  effectual  way  to  approach 
God  i^  to  be  as  like  Him  as  possible;  and  that  His  ultimate  form  is  that 
of  a  mysterious  Perfection.  But  it  w  the  stronger  side  of  the 
Greek  worship  of  Beauty,  that  the  Greek  did  indeed  consider  human 
beanty  symbolic  of  Divine.  His  peculiar  and  childlike  characteristic  of 
wanting  to  see  a  visible  sign  or  image  of  all  things,  had  not  been 
checked  by  God's  de&nite  revelation  of  Himself  as  Secret.  He  knew 
not  that  the  graven  image  was  forbidden ;  he  was  not  responsible  with 
the  Hebrew  and  Christian.  And  there  is  no  doubt  that  his  desire  and 
imaginative  faculty  of  seeing  signs  of  God  in  Nature,  among  other  things, 
made  him  studv  Nature  alwavs  and  in  all  forms,  with  an  enthusiasm,  au 
aspiration,  and  continued  success  which  have  never  been  surpassed.  Alany 
of  VA'iockelmans  views  about  climate  aud  its  genial  influences  in  Greece 
are  true  enough,  aud  Miiller  rightly  adopts  them.  Beauty  aud  delicacy 
of  feature,  fine  form  of  throat  and  chest,  must  be  assisted  by  delightful 
,irarrath  of  climate ;  aud  the  Athenian  clearness  of  air  (noted  from 
'Euripides  to  Milton,  and  last  by  Lady  Strangford)  was  no  doubt  con- 
ducive to  fine  senses  and  subtle  temperament.  But  Attica  only  pro- 
duced one  Pheidias ;  and  the  spirit  of  graphic  thought  is  something 
more  than  azote  or  oronc.  Greek  Art  only  ministered  to  religion  for  a 
limited  time,  and  never  ministered,  properly  speaking,  to  superstition^ 
which  knows  no  beauty,  and  thinks  more  of  demons  than  angels.  The 
degraded  Athenian,  rich  or  poor,  who  thought  to  prevail  with  his  gods 
by  money  or  ceremonial,  was  virtually  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  as  a 
laxxarone  or  a  Fakeer.  He  fell  away  from  the  cult  of  Beauty  as  sym- 
bolic of  Divinity,  as  far  as  the  Neapolitan  does  from  right  adoration  of 
t]ie  Holy  Trinity. 

Nor  did  the  nobler  idolater  fare  much  better  in  his  reliance  that  the 
Beautiful  would  necessarily  guide  him  into  the  Tme.  It  helped  to  do 
so,  while  he  sought  it  by  the  rules  of  temperance  and  moral  right ;  but 
for  a  practical  test  and  standard,  under  strong  temptation,  it  would 
not  avail.     Right  is  never  so  beautiful  when  one  is  going  wrong ;  aud 


58 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfV. 


it  waa  asserted  and  impo»cd  by  the  bauds  of  the  dread  goddesses,  witL 
torch  and  snaky  scourge.  A  religion  uf  beauty  cannot  get  on  with 
Eumenides.  Greece  turned  her  back  on  such  unattractive  sanctions 
of  morality,  and  applicil  to  Dionysus  aud  Aphrodite,  and  other  deities 
not  too  severely  fair.  A  prevailing  superstition  uudermines  morality, 
because  it  teaches  men  to  think  they  can  evade  its  sanctions. 
It  destroys  the  sense  of  Spiritual  Beauty  as  belonging  to  God,  by 
nourishing  foolish  tcrnors  and  senseless  conceptions  of  Him.  But  when 
it  has  done  its  "work, — when  morality  and  beauty  arc  both  made  inde- 
pendent of  religion,  then  social  and  national  life  is  undermined,  and 
all  three  ^vill  fall  together. 

The  adherence  to  certain  ancestral  and  rude  methods  of  repre- 
senting gods  and  heroes,  with  refusal  to  improve  in  artistic  skill 
by  study  of  Nature,  at  once  and  for  ever  distinguishes  Eastern 
and  Greek  idolatry ;  aud  it  is  also  the  crucial  division  between 
the  use  aud  abuse  of  Beauty  for  religious  purposes.  Hie  art  of 
Egypt  wa3  like  that  of  a  hieratic  Rome  for  splendour  and  greatness ; 
and  hatl  its  own  solemn  symbolisms  of  immortality  and  retribution.  But 
it  never  advanced  :  not  even  to  desire  to  have  an  Isis  as  fair  as  a  Greek 
Juno,  or  Osiris  really  like  Apollo  in  veritable  marble.  No  Egyptian  within 
the  historic  period  cared  for  the  difference.  Progress  in  sculpture  or 
painting  seems  to  have  been  virtually  forbidden  in  very  early 
dynasties,  almost,  in  fact,  from  the  Pyramid  period  of  Lower  Egypt. 
(See  Rawlinson's  Herodotus,  vol.  ii.  pp.  292-309.)  There  is  no  real 
progress  in  sculpture  from  that  time  to  that  of  the  19th  or  Rameseau 
dynasty,  which  is  generally  considered  the  great  period  of  Egyptian  art.*^ 
Superstition  has  no  objection  to  stiffness,  and  never  draws  from 
Nature.  ^Vllcn  Hadriau  deified  Antinous  he  was  obliged  to  set 
up  a  rigid  pseudo-Egyptian,  representation  of  him ;  and  Egyptian 
archaisms  began  to  prcvuil  in  Romnu  temple-sculpture  in  the  early 
decadence,  just  as  the  brief  Byzantine  Renaissance  of  Venice  came 
close  upon  the  decaying  Gothic.  Egypt  would  consent  to  worship  the 
Emperor's  favourite.  But  it  was  only  on  condition  of  his  being  deprived 
of  his  natural  beauty. f  The  Greek  alone  dared  to  look  continually 
on  Nature  for  Beauty,  and  having  found  her,  to  declare  her  to  be 
symbolic  of  the  Divtue.  When  he  lost  heart  and  liope  of  the  Divine 
his  thoughts  of  beauty  fell  to  earth  and  there  were  defiled,  ever  worse 
and  worse. 

We  may  fully  agree  with  Goethe  then,  that  beauty  and  high  art  have 

•  The  sitting  figure  of  a  Mcmpliite  scribo  in  the  Louvre  la  lefurrotl  to  ae  a  masterpiece 
of  the  earliDr  pcriotl ;  aiiparcntly  progreasive  in  t-hnracter,  ftiul  unBurpaaswl  in  later  tiiufa. 

1  Winckelmau  :  Artn  chez  1«8  Auciuiis,  Fn^uch  id.t  vul.  i.  p.  A?,  with  reference  to 
stAtuoi  in  the  Burlicrini  Villa  GarilciiH  nnit  in  the  Villa  Borghcso  ;  with  "  anc  poeitioii 
mide  et  lea  bras  pcDilaus  \  plonih,  comme  lea  plus  ancknncs  rigares  Egy[>tieDne».'  Even 
the  very  beautirul  has  richer  with  the  loins,  now  in  llie  Villa  A Uiani  (Parker  Phut.,  98U, 
PSI,  i;]t33 ,  see  lUso  2i\'li\,  2832):  is  a  Gra-ciscd  rcndtriug  uf  the  Egyptian  posture 
with  upraised  hand.  We  notice  n  hii^hly  interesting  apology  or  defeucc  of  Antinoua,  in  the 
Coitthitl  Mttfftttine,  which  is  at  all  events  to  bo  rmd  ana  ooasidered. 


PHEIDIAS   IN  OXFORD, 


59 


» 


nothing  to  do  with  fetichism  or  gross  superstition,  and  were  no  more 
concerned  with  either  in  the  best  time  of  Athens,  than  at  any  otiier  time. 
And  it  seems  to  us  that  that  period,  and  its  brief  continuance^  prored  alike 
the  dependence  of  beauty  ou  religion,  and  the  utter  impossibility  of  a 
reii^on  of  beauty.  Beauty,  as  Plato  can  see  it  on  earth,  is  the  beauty 
of  the  Sophron,  the  man  who  is  harmoniously  balancedi  equally 
adjusted — in  one  word,  who  is  right.  He  is  like  the  gods ;  therefore 
Bome  ideal  of  him  in  marble  may  be  our  symbol  of  the  gods.  This  would 
do  well  enough  while  men  believed  faithiully  in  Sophrosyne,  and  thought 
▼irtne  a  thing  divine.  But  then  the  practical  contradictions  were  aw^]. 
Aldbiades  was  handsomest  of  Greeks :  and  the  best  atijusted  man  in 
Athens  was  nearly  the  plainest,  in  Socrates'  day.  The  fairest  women 
never  had  been  the  ideal  of  moral  perfection.  In  short,  the  worship  of 
the  beautiful  as  a  moral  guide  w:is  a  liigh  speculation  to  which  you 
might  rise,  after  a  life's  discipline  faithfully  bome;  a  hard  thing  indeed 
for  fierce  and  ea^er  men  to  aim  at.  The  Greek  quest  of  true 
Sophrosyne  was  indeed  a  quest  of  spiritual  beauty,  according  to  men's 
lights :  but  by  the  time  it  was  understood  and  proclaimed,  few  cared  to 
follow  it.  In  the  -Eschylean  period  men  seemed  (to  Aristophanca 
among  others)  to  be,  or  lately  to  have  been,  able  to  follow  virtue, 
religion,  and  beauty,  as  the  same  thing.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
without  taking  much  trouble  to  distinguish,  the  men  of  Marathon  had 
been  in  full  relation  with  all  of  them.  Such  a  state  of  things  produced 
the  men  who  produced  the  Parthenon  sculpture  :  that  art  was  witness 
for  all  the  councils  of  purity  and  high  theism  within,  and  minister  to 
all  splendour  of  idea  and  material  without. 

The  Athenian  Theatre  has  always  been  considered  a  part  of  history, 
thus  far,  that  undergraduates  are  expected  to  know  something  about  it. 
But  they  may  not  perhaps  think  enough  of  the  great  tragedies  as  acted 
plays,  or  spectacles  really  seen  of  men.  Their  effect  depended  on  the 
eye  as  well  as  on  the  ear.  They  are  inscjjarably  connected  with  art, 
because  they  were  arranged,  like  the  Panathenaic  processions,  as  living 
sculpture ;  idealizing  like  them  the  flower  and  beauty  of  Athens  en- 
gaged in  religious  liturgy  ;  by  sweet  articulate  song,  and  rhythmic  form 
and  motion.  In  the  Phcidian  age  of  high  tragedy,  this  worship  of  beauty 
and  delight  was  most  noble  of  all  Ethnic  worships,  and  had,  indeed,  its 
underlying  Monotheism  in  the  Unity  of  morality  ^  as  Zcller  has  shown. 

But  even  the  earliest  Greek  decadence  is  a  melancholy  subject. 
After  Mr.  W.  W.  Lloyd's  book,  we  know  much  more  of  its  progress. 
Its  history  is  world  history :  its  causes  belong  to  metaphysics  and 
theology ;  the  parallel  and  significant  declension  of  its  art  throws  a 
garish  light  on  all.  The  gradual  loss  of  the  Monotheistic  idea  in 
theology,  the  consequent  failure  of  morality,  no  longer  felt  as  the  one 
will  for  m^Q  of  the  one  Ouov  :  the  unscrupulous  chase  for  pleasure,  and 
the  assertion  of  man  as  measure  of  all  things  in  morals  and  metaphydcs, 
have   their  connected  parallels  in  art.     It  ceased  to  be  the  exponent 


60 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  men's  highest  spiritual  tboughts,  hecause  tlicy  ceased  to  exist ; 
because  Athens  fell  away,  under  stress  of  trialj  from  the  standard  of 
faith  and  morality  which  really  had  once  been  hers.  The  greatest 
exjiaiiisiaQs  of  Greek  imagiuation  cud  with  Sophorlcs,  Homer,  in  the 
youth  of  bis  race,  like  other  poetSj  had  begun  with  gladness;  .Eschylus 
went  on  to  its  manhood  of  glory  and  self-sacrifice  and  belief  in  a 
Righteousness  ;  but  the  age  of  triumph  and  delight  cndH,  with  the 
invading  Spartan  and  the  noisome  pestilence.  So,  with  Sophocles, 
there  are  the  transitions  of  deep  tragedy,  where  the  glorious  siuucr  feels 
the  heavy  hand  of  forgotten  Gods  :  and  with  Ji^uripides  the  age  of 
philosophy  begins.  Poetry  is  coloured  witL  doubt,  and  warns  of  great 
problems  to  be  faced.  Art  declines,  and  rapidly,  from  deity  no  more 
believed,  to  tangible  athletes  and  unequivocal  pornography.  Neverthe- 
less, and  through  allj  the  Athenian  who  is  not  personally  deUvered  to 
evil  knows,  that  as  sure  as  the  sinewy  limbs  and  maiden  face  of  the 
Sophrou  are  fair,  the  upper  powers  are  still  fairer;  and  has  hope  that  in 
virtue  and  the  golden  mean  of  rightneasj  is  their  likenesa  and  the  way 
to  them.  And  if  he  lays  too  much  stress  on  comeliness,  he  knows 
that  the  ugliest  man  in  Athens  is  nearest  to  true  nearness  to  the  gods. 
It  docs  seem  highly  expedient  that  the  Oxford  classman  in  Litcrso 
Humaniorca  should  know  something  of  Greek  religion;  and  such 
knowledge  will  certainly  have  its  value  in  the  Theological  School.  The 
worst  ig,  that  both  on  the  Christian  and  the  other  side,  it  has  been 
treated  entirely  as  idolatrous  mythology.  Nevertheless,  if  it  he  so  and 
we  are  to  study  it,  we  must  know  something  about  its  idols  :  the  student 
must  see  with  his  own  eyes  what  they  were  like  at  different  periods.  Now 
in  Germany  this  is  done  in  the  simplest  and  most  effective  way.  In  Berlin, 
Leipzig,  and  Di-esden, — in  short,  every  important  university, — there  are 
collections  of  excellent  casts  of  ancient  works,  in  groups  rcprcficntativc  of 
periods,  a  smaller  or  larger  room  being  generally  allotted  to  each  period. 
There  are  good  handbooks  and  catalogues,  among  which  Dr.  Hermann 
Hettner's  Museum  dcr  Gypsabgiisse  zu  Dresden  may  be  mentioned  aa  one 
of  the  best  (Dresden:  E.  Bloehmanu  und  Sohn,  187^).  Lectures  are 
delivered  on  the  casts  of  each  period  by  artists  and  professors  ;  and  not 
only  every  student  who  is  a  tolerable  draughtsman,  but  every  student 
who  will  pay  attention  and  use  his  eyes,  will  sec  what  the  ideal  of 
human  art  rose  to  with  Phcidias  :  the  earliest  archaism  from  which  it 
rose  in  the  Lions  of  Mycense ;  its  progress,  in  the  .^giuetan  marbles  : 
the  earlier  and  later  sculptures  of  tlic  Parthenon  :  and  the  decline  (in 
aim  though  not  in  execution),  through  tlie  Praxitelcan  and  later 
schools.  So  much  knowledge  would  be  obtained  with  so  little  trouble, 
by  men  engaged  in  reading  their  tragedians  and  their  Thucydides,  that 
it  seems  as  if  the  movement  now  headed  by  Professor  Max  Muller 
ought  really  to  find  favour  with  the  Oxford  Executive.  And  we  may 
be  forgiven  if  wc  say  that  this  is  not  only  the  Hebdomadal  Council  and 
the  higher  ofhcial  authorities,  but  more  especially  the  examining  body, 


P  HEIDI  AS    IN   OXFORD. 


61 


I 


CTiefly  consisting,  as  it  should  and  must^  of  College  Tutors  :  for  the  firet 
distribution  of  eudowmeut  in  reward  of  meritorious  study  must,  we 
suppose,  continue  to  be  on  the  results  of  a  defined  curriculum^  though 
special  ei^cellcace  in  special  study  ought  to  hare  its  later  encourage- 
ments, and  has  not  got  them  yet 

Examining  tutors  might  read  O.  K.  MiiUer's  Phidias,  and  the 
ehapters  in  art  in  Mr.  W,  W.  Lloyd's  "  Age  of  Pericles ;"  perhaps  even 
•trmy  into  the  Elgin  Room  at  the  British  Museum  with  Lucas's  Partheuon. 
Visitors  are  few  indeetl  at  present  to  those  great  relics,  the  central  sculp- 
ture of  the  world.  Their  custodians  are  apparently  selected  for  impartial 
absence  of  interest  in  the  relics  entrusted  to  their  care.  "  Nobody  comes 
here,"  said  one  of  them  to  us,  "  but  riding-masters  and  that,  that  wants 
to  see  the  horse  procession/'  Mr.  J.  A.  Symonds'  beautiful  description 
of  that  bas-relief  will  be  remembered ;  but  this  struck  us  as  a  curious 
testimony  in  favour  of  Greek  Realism.  It  has  been  often  repeated ; 
and  by  no  one  more  admirably  than  the  lamented  Major  Whyte- 
Mclrille;  whose  criticisms  on  the  excellent  seat  and  imperfect  bitting 
and  handling  of  Greek  horsemanship  desen'e  to  be  long  remembered, 
as  they  will  be  by  both  riders  and  draughtsmen.  It  docs  indeed 
enable  us  to  call  this  sculpture  central  and  insurpassable,  that  it  has 
realized  the  highest  known  ideal  in  detail ;  and  struck  the  loftiest  mark 
with  the  greatest  exactness.      It  is  beautiful,  and  it  is  right. 

We  well  know  how  great  a  difference  there  is  between  the  study  of 
Art,  and  of  Works  of  Art.  The  former  means  to  learn  to  draw  and  to 
colour ;  it  belongs  to  the  artist,  and,  we  think,  to  the  skilled  or  truly 
educated  critic ;  and,  as  has  often  been  said,  it  is  daily  becoming  more 
necessary  for  students  of  natural  science,  who  require  delineation  and 
reprcacntative  symbols,  as  well  as  phonetic  or  word-symbols.  But  the 
proper  study  of  Works  of  Art  treats  them  not  only  as  standards  of 
excellence  but  as  documents  of  History ;  and  in  this  sense  they  have 
an  importance  of  their  own  as  evidence  or  record,  which  is  quite 
independent  of  their  beauty.  There  cannot  possibly  be  a  ruder  or  baser 
scrawl  than  the  Graffito  Blasfemo  of  the  Palace  of  Severus  j  but  its  im- 
portance in  both  history  and  theology  is  very  considerable.  Painting 
and  scolptUTC,  from  the  Parthenon  to  Pompeii,  do  uudoubtedJy  bear 
witness  to  the  religion,  morals,  tastes,  aspirations,  and  inner  and  outer 
life  of  the  generations  of  men  who  produced  them.  Only  to  study  them 
firom  casts  or  photographs,  with  attentive  reading  of  their  literature,  will 
give  a  new  sense,  not  only  of  the  reality  of  History,  but  its  continuity. 
This  will  lead  the  student  right  into  a  picture,  which  he  only  sees  at 
pfesent  in  far  perspective,  like  a  model-map.  The  Parthenon  is  not 
only  the  glorious  wreck  of  a  great  achievement :  it  connects  the  histories 
of  Greece,  Rome,  Venice,  and  England.  He  who  has  seen  it,  or  even 
good  photographs  of  it  in  its  present  ruin,  may  think  of  it  as  the  central 
standard  of  Arts  to  yEmilius  Paulus,  to  Cicero,  and  all  Roman  men  of 
culture.     He  may  restore  in  thought  its  unharmed  glory  to  the  daya 


62 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


of  Hadrian  and  afterwards,  when  it  was  to  Homans  what  St.  Mark's 
or  the  Doge's  Palace  may  be  to  England  now.  He  may  trace  its 
successive  desolations  by  Byzantines,  Turks,  Venetians,  and,  for  better 
reasons,  by  ourselves.  Standing  in  tbc  Elgin  Room,  one  has  before  cue 
autograpli-liolograplis  by  the  baud  of  PLcidias,  and  that,  too,  as  they 
stood  in  his  Ergasterinm  for  the  eyes  of  Pericles,  finished  to  perfec- 
tion iu  portions  which  were  unseen  from  the  ground  ;  which  remained 
unseen  by  Athenians,  after  being  raised  to  their  right  place  iu  the 
tympana  of  the  temple  fronts.*  Ouc  can  hardly  suppose  but  that  any 
thinking  lad  might  thus  gain  a  new  and  graphic  sense  of  truth  in  reading 
his  histories,  and  realise  the  continued  bearing  of  the  lives  of  Pericles 
and  Pheidias  on  bis  own. 

If  Oxford  has  not  yet  paid  much  attention  to  Athenian  Art,  she  may 
say  with  truth  tliat  Thucydidcs  took  no  notice  of  it  either,  and  wrote  the 
Pentecoutaetcris  between  the  Persian  and  Peloponuesiau  Wars  without 
a  word  of  the  temples  and  agalmata,  which  rose  with  such  bewildering 
rapidity  as  well  as  beauty  during  that  time.  The  exiled  Athenian,  who 
had  seen  CEgospotami,  aud  who  wrote  the  story  of  Syracuse,  may  be 
excused  for  taking  no  comfort  from  architecture  or  sculpture.  Oxford 
has  followed  her  favourite  historian's  example  too  literally  :  but  it  is  in 
great  measure  his  faultj  aud  she  may  well  repair  her  error.  Another 
wing,  or  a  park-front  to  the  University  Museum  would  afford  plenty  of 
room  for  a  Gallery  of  Art  and  Archieology ;  and  that  not  only  for  the 
archaism,  progress  and  dccadcuce  of  Greek  work,  but  for  the  history 
and  still  survi\*iug  records  of  Greek  Art  in  Rome.  It  is  through 
Rome  and  Byzantium  that  the  skill  and  the  models  of  Attic  work 
have  been  preserved  for  the  Gothic  races,  and  that  transference  is  an 
important  part  of  the  history  of  the  human  mind.  It  cannot  be  learnt 
frithout  well-arranged  collections  in  chronological  order,  mainly  con- 
sisting of  casts  and  photographs,  but  iucluding  means  for  the  study 
of  coins,  ivories,  and  fictile  works.  Tbe  cost  of  tbese,  tbougli  it  may  be 
considerable,  will  by  no  means  equal  their  educational  value. 

Wlien  the  Museum  was  built,  chiefly,  it  may  be  said,  through  the  i)cr- 
sistent  laboui's  of  Dr.  Aclaud  aud  Professor  Ruskin,  a  kind  of  alliance  was 
established  between  Art  and  Science,  Both  wanted  encouragement  in 
Oxford,  and  they  got  it  ;  though  in  very  different  shares.  The  Slado 
Professorshij),  though  a  place  of  honour,  aud  more  than  doubled  as  to 
appliiuiccs  aud  assistance  by  the  munificence  of  its  first  holder,  is  not  of 
itsflf  enough  to  invite  a  first-rate  painter,  or  reward  a  first-rate  critic. 
And  we  cannot  help  observing  that  getting  the  lion's  share  of  advantages 
from  the  University  has  evoked  a  rather  leonine  appetite  in  her 
scicutific  teachers,  who  are  casting  off  the  old  conucctiou  with  art, 
and  want  everything,  like  Rome  with  her  Greek  allies.  An  Art-wing  or 
side  to  the  Museum  appears  very  desirable,  formidable  as  it  looks 
at  first  sight.      A  school  of  drawing  in  the  wide  sense  should  not  be  far 

•  See  Mr.  W.  "W,  Lloyd'a  Ago  of  Fericlet,  cliApier  on  the  Parthenon. 


PHEIDIAS  IN    OXFORD.  63 

distant  firom  good  physiological  collections ;  for  the  scientific  study  of 
Art  and  iUustratiye  teaching  on  Natare  will  always  cross  and  interweave 
with  each  other.  We  know  not  what  might  be  done  by  rearrangement 
of  the  lower  floors  of  the  Randolph  Gallery,  but  it  certainly  seems  to  us 
that  Chautrey's  casts  are  accommodated  with  rather  unnecessary  space 
and  splendour^  and  that  their  value  is  rather  ethico-historical  than 
artistia  They  are  more  illustrative  of  English  enthusiasm  for  the  Bathos^ 
than  desirable  as  sculptural  standards. 

Anyhow,  a  long  studio  or  gallery,  with  groups  of  casts,  characteristic 
of  different  periods,  with  specimens  of  pottery  at  hand,  and  small 
cases  illustrating  coins  and  medals,  ought  not  to  cost  very  much,  and 
would  at  once  have  its  effect  on  education.  Authorities  are  not  far  to 
seek  from  which  excellent  students'  manuals  may  be  compiled ;  and  Dr. 
Hettner's  catalogue  is  an  example  of  how  much  information  may  be 
conveyed  in  a  smaU  space.  We  do  not  see  why  the  Taste  Paper  of 
Literse  Humaniores  Examinations  should  not  have  an  Art-side  from 
Liibke,  or  Welcker,  Woltmann,  Rio,  Crowe,  and  Cavalcaselle ;  or  why 
a  certain  percentage  of  archaeological  questions  should  not  be  added  to 
the  Andent  History  Papers.  Mr.  W.  W.  Lloyd's  "  Age  of  Pericles  " 
will  open  a  vein  of  convenient  inquiry  to  the  Examiner,  as  its  great 
virtue  is  the  illustration  of  a  period  in  which  Art  is  so  especially 
connected  with  History. 

There  must  be  something  wanting,  after  all,  in  the  historical  studies 
of  Oxford,  when  the  great  archaeological  work  of  Seroux  d'Agincourt  lies 
unedited,  unnoticed,  and  unknown  in  the  Bodleian  Library.  It  has 
been  our  harmless  habit  to  dig  in  that  quarry  for  five  or  six  consecutive 
years ;  and,  to  the  best  of  our  knowledge,  nobody  ever  wanted  to  look 
at  the  book  excepting  ourselves.  We  do  not  remember  any  instance  of 
anybody's  taking  a  volume  of  it  away  from  our  own  kindly-assigned 
table  all  that  time,  and  that's  the  truth.  Now  this  book  excels  most 
others,  to  our  mind,  in  this  respect ;  that  its  teaching  is  chiefly  pictorial. 
The  author  has  written  a  scholarly  text,  which  well  bears  out  the  name 
of  his  book,  "  Histoire  de  I'Art  par  les  Monuments."  This,  though  still 
of  great  value,  requires  re-editing  or  re-writing  ;  but  D'Agincourt  well 
knew  that  future  artists  and  historians  would  enlarge  sufficiently  on  his 
plates.  Lord  Lindsay  is  perhaps  their  best  commentator  in  the  English 
language,  though  every  writer  on  the  earlier  periods  of  the  three  Arts 
makes  use  of  them.  Age  by  age,  and  race  after  race,  with  occasional 
error  in  date,  but  with  a  vast  amount  of  useful  guidance,  we  have  Greek, 
Roman,  Etruscan,  Romanesque,  and  Byzantine,  Lombard-Gothic  and 
Northern-Gothic ;  Renaissance,  both  Roman  and  Barbaric — ^before  our 
eyes  in  their  chief  remaining  works,  drawn  to  scale,  and  illustrated  with 
appropriate  text.  It  is  an  important  work,  which  Oxford  artists  and 
historians  should  soon  begin,  to  employ  the  photograph  as  Mr.  Parker 
has  done  in  illustrative  chronology  ;  and,  taking  D'Agincourt's  plan,  to 
form  a  collection  of  prints  direct  from   the  object,   for  reference  from 


64 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfV. 


Lis  work  ;  or  form  a  new  edition  of  it,  correct  to  present  date,  and 
with  reference  to  late  discoveries.  The  travelliug:  fellowships  which 
are  proposed  would  be  a  valuable  adjunct,  as  they  would  in  time 
provide  skilled  and  learned  men,  accustomed  to  travel  and  adventure, 
who  would,  at  all  events,  secure  undisputed  evidence  of  the  present 
state  of  things,  and  give  the  student  an  adequate  idea  of  the  interest 
and  the  difliciillies  of  Monumental  History.  This  reproduction  of  a 
Corpus  like  D'Agincourt's  from  the  original  sources  of  information  is 
clearly  a  work  of  the  time.  For  aught  we  sec,  it  could  be  commenced 
at  once,  and  would  be  a  valuable  part  of  the  special  education  of 
travelling  Fellows. 

The  whole  auUject  of  the  transition  of  the  civilized  races  of  Europe 
through  Greek  and  Roman  styles  to  the  early  Italian  Renaissance  (or 
beautiful  Gothic),  or  to  the  Northern  Mediteval  <or  grotesque  Gothic), 
and  so  to  thelatterRenaissancCjisapart  of  the  inner  historyof  man, neces- 
sary to  be  understood  in  its  relation  to  the  outer  surface  of  events.  All 
these  names  are  of  what  we  call  Styles ;  and.  Styles  are  the  outward 
symbolism,  conscious  or  unconscious,  of  the  manners  or  morals,  the  Ethics 
major  and  minor,  of  great  races  and  great  men  j  and  if  History  is  worth 
studying  for  its  bearing  on  the  present  and  the  future,  this  is  what 
makes  it  so.  At  all  events,  political  history  is  utterly  incomplete  with- 
out this.  We  are  always  complaining,  with  how  much  or  how  little 
reason  is  known  to  God  only,  of  want  of  faith  in  His  Revelation  of 
Himself  to  meu.  But  the  records  of  all  His  past  dealings  are  treated 
with  equal  inattention,  and  secular  history  is  uo  more  believed,  below 
the  stagnant  surface  of  assent,  than  what  we  call  Hebrew  history,  and 
what  Christians  look  on  as  the  record  of  a  covenant  of  terms  and 
promises  made  with  men  by  their  Father.  It  seems  all  unreal 
together ;  it  is  aa  hard  to  understand  the  numbers  led  by  Xerxes  as  the 
numbers  led  by  Moses, — we  know  no  more  in  fact,  of  the  countless 
rlKTOvii:,  TrXdffrai,  ^aXKorujroi,  and  six  or  seven  other  kinds  of 
craAsmen,  who  worked  under  Pheidias,*  than  we  know  of  the 
bricklayers  of  Babcl.  Great  historical  junctures  may  be  made  to 
look  aij  unlikely  as  miracles.  Reality  must  always  depend  on  the  eye, 
for  seeing  is  believing,  and  the  study  of  monuments  gives  ua  something 
we  can  sec. 

It  would  of  course  add  another  difficulty  to  us  who  hold  the  Christiau 
faith,  if  all  its  churches  were  in  ruins  ;  because  it  would  shew  na  that 
the  world  had  altogether  forsaken  us.  Still  those  ruins  would  be 
important  historical  monuments;  and  have  a  pathos,  for  a  Pagan  or 
Agnostic  generation  in  possession  of  their  endowments,  which  would 
probably  be  the  deepest  feeling  of  which  it  would  be  capable.  Such  a 
feeling  we  all  experience,  at  Furness,  or  Bolton,  or  Fountains — and  we 
naturally  think  it  peculiar  to  Gothic  ruins  ;  because  subtle  associations 

•  \i0oupyol,  ^tfttts,  x/>^Of  ftA\aKT^pis  kolI  iV^airos,  i^uypd^,  xowiXraf,  ropeuraU — 
Plutarch,  PerieUa^  13. 


PHEIDIAS   IN    OXFORD.  Go 

of  onr  own  land  mingle  with  it.  There  the  wallflowers  smell  sweet, 
and  the  foxglove  clasters  dappled  bells,  and  the  short  turf  is  full  of 
thyme  or  violets,  such  as  lean  over  our  own  shepherd  streams. 
Gothic  ruin  is  easier  to  appreciate  than  Greek :  it  takes  both  study 
and  travel,  and  perhaps  a  little  artistic  training,  to  appreciate  the 
effect  of  one  of  the  ruins  of  all  Time.  He  brings  low  the  cloud-capt 
towers  and  goi^eous  palaces ;  but  there  is  a  confessed  awe  about 
those  which  have  made  the  longest  stand :  and  when  like  the  Par- 
thenon they  are  central  buildings  of  the  world,  representing  wide 
civilisations,  and  the  great  deeds  and  sufferings  of  many  races,  that 
feeling  is  redoubled.  The  glorious  sculpture  and  colour,  the  frieze  of 
Athenian  knighthood,  beauty,  and  sacrifice,  the  ivory  and  gold  of  the 
towering  Agalma,  are  hardly  missed  as  one  sits,  a  stranger  in  place  and 
time,  among  the  marble  blocks  which  long  defied  time  not  in  vain,  only 
to  be  ghattered  by  brute  rage  of  war.  All  the  immeasurable  loss 
matters  not — ^the  great  landscape  with  its  world-wide  associations,  the 
rich  all-embracing  light,  the  tender  colours  of  two  thousand  years  are 
enough  for  us.  Sculpture  we  think  is  necessary  to  our  wild  Gothic, 
not  here,  in  the  desolated  centre  of  all  sculpture.  We  miss  the  wallflower 
scent,  and  the  tall  foxglove ;  but  here  grows  the  soft  acanthus,  "  gift  of 
the  dust  of  Greece,"*  itself  the  symbol  of  immortality,  rising  from  decay 
among  the  potsherds  of  the  earth  :  type  of  forgotten  glory  which  is  not 
lost  before  God ;  pledge  of  St.  Paul's  hope  of  forgiveness,  and  yet  greater 
glory  for  the  fathers  whose  ignorance  He  winked  at.  *'  Yet  shall  ye  be 
like  to  the  wings  of  a  dove,  that  is  covered  with  silver  wings,  and  her 
feathers  like  gold.'' 

R.  St.  J,  Tyrwhitt,  Ch.  Ch. 

*  Stones  of  Venice,  i.  p.  26. 


VOL.  XXXV. 


OVER-PRODUCTION. 


DTTTtING  the  last  few  years  the  whole  iniluatrial  state  of  England 
lias  been  subject  to  a  series  of  extreme  antl  rapid  changes.  Six 
or  seven  years  ago  tltcre  was,  or  was  supposed  to  be,  almost  uo  limit  to 
the  demand  for  all  kiada  of  manufactured  goods.  The  blast  furnaces  of 
Cleveland  and  Glasgow  could  not  turn  out  iron  fast  enough  to  supply 
the  eager  demands  of  shipbuilders  and  engineers.  Tlie  coal  mines  of 
Wales  and  Northumberland  were  insufficient  to  satisfy  the  requirements 
even  of  our  own  country.  It  seemed  for  a  time  as  if  coal-owners  and 
pitmen,  ironmasters  and  puddlcrs  alike,  had  but  to  demand  any  price 
they  thought  proper  for  their  goods  or  their  labour,  and  the  public, 
much-desiring  and  long-suffering,  were  only  too  glad  to  pay  that  price. 

Wages  went  up  "  hy  leaps  and  bounds,"  and  at  the  same  time  the 
prices  of  most  things  wUicli  the  wage-receiving  class  consume  went  up 
at  a  paraUcl  rate.  Persons  with  limited  iixed  incomes,  whose  fortune, 
or  misfortune,  it  was  to  live  withiu  the  manufacturing  districts,  found 
by  painful  experience  that  their  incomes  would  not  purchase  as 
much  as  before,  either  of  the  material  comforts  of  life,  or  of  the  more 
intangible,  though  scarcely  less  necessary,  advantages  for  which  they 
dei"tendDd  on  the  sen'icea  of  others.  Tiic  classes  interested  in  ninnufac- 
tures,  on  the  other  haudj  whether  as  employers  or  employed,  found 
themselves  on  the  borders  of  an  El  Dorado  of  unexampled  wealth,  the 
only  difficulty  being  that  of  seizing  the  profits  quickly  enough,  and  of 
arranging  about  the  division  of  the  spoil  when  secured. 

But  a  change  came  over  the  spirit  of  the  dream.  Gi*adually  the 
cuormous  profits  of  irou  steamship  and  cngiuecriug  ventures  diminished. 
The  ultimate  victim,  the  great  mass  of  consumers,  at  length,  in  a  quiet 
but  vciy  definite  way,  struck  against  paying  more  for  wliat  it  consumed 
thau  the  real  worth  of  tlic  articles.      The  tide  which  had  risen  so  high 


0  VER-PRODUCTION. 


67 


^S&eBcd;  and,  as  it  went  down,  left  many  a  fair  barque  stranded  and 
•wrecked,  until  of  late  in  manufacturing  fiims  prosperity  and  security 
have  seemed  a  rare  exception,  while  insolvency,  or  at  least  the  fear  of 
it,  Las  become  the  rule. 

WliAt  have  been  the  causes  of  tlie  great  and  sudden  decline  in  our 
manufacturing  prosperity  ?  By  what  means  may  the  present  state  of 
distress  be  alleviated  or  removed  ?  Tliese  ai'e  questions  of  vital  import- 
ancCj  questions  to  which  many  answers  have  been  given  of  greater  or 
less  wisdom  and  clearness.  The  object  of  the  present  paper  is  to 
examine  some  of  tlie  views  which  have  been  put  forward,  and  in  so 
doing  to  throw  out  some  hints  which  may  perhaps  serve  as  a  help  to 
fuller  and  clearer  answers  than  have  yet  been  given. 

It  has  been  very  loudly  and  confidently  alleged  that  the  chief  cause 
of  the  present  inactivity  of  trade  is  "over-production."  This  view  has, 
perhaps,  been  the  most  jwpular  one,  and  has  usually  been  coupled  with 
the  further  theory  that  the  true  remedy  must  lie  in  reducing  production, 
the  hope  being  expressed  that  the  limitation  of  supply  will  speedily 
produce  an  increased  demand,  and  that  by  this  means  the  golden  dayi 
will  be  brought  back. 

In  order  to  examine  this  view  satisfactorily  it  will  be  necessary  to  lay 
our  foundations  very  cleai'ly,  and  to  premise  one  or  two  very  elementary 
^oonomical  propositions,  familiar  though  they  arc  to  most. 
^  llVhat,  then,  do  we  meau  by  production?  Briefly,  wc  may  define 
production  as  the  process  of  imparting  to  some  natural  object,  by  humaa 
agency,  some  property  of  usefulness  which  iu  its  natural  state  that  object 
did  not  i>0Bsess.  This  property  may  be  only  its  removal  from  a  place 
wliere  it  is  useless  to  a  place  where  it  is  useful.  The  natural  object  so 
mcrcased  in  value  wc  may  call  a  product  or  commodity. 

What,  further,  is  the  object  of  production  ?  The  ultimate  object  ia 
all  cases  is  human  enjoyment ;  that  the  property  affixe<i  to  the  natural 
object  in  question,  or  the  natural  object  with  the  property  affixed  to  it, 
may  conduce  to  the  comfort,  the  nourishment,  or  the  pleasure  of  some 
human  being. 

What,  thirdly,  is  meant  by  over-production  ?  Strictly  speaking,  tliere 
is  then  only  over-production  of  any  particular  thing  when  more  of  that 
thing  is  produced  than  sulhccs  for  the  utmost  necessities  or  desires 
of  those  human  beings  who  are  in  a  position  to  enjoy  that  particular 
product. 

In  a  primitive  state  of  society  the  articles  produced  arc  few  in 
number  and  simple  in  character.  Food  of  tlie  plainest  kind  obtained 
by  cultivation  of  the  soil  or  by  the  chase,  clothing  of  equally  rude 
description,  these  constitute  the  chief  products  of  iudustr)-.  All  that  is 
consiuned  by  each  family  or  tribe  is  ]}roduced  by  its  own  members. 
The  influence  of  affection,  or  the  stern  authority  of  a  master,  assigns  to 
each  person  his  appointed  task  ;  and,  according  to  the  fitness  of  each, 
to  <n\o  ilip  ctxYo  of  tlie  Hocks,  to  another  the  tillage  of  the   soil, 

t2 


m  THE    CONTEMPORARY   RE  VIE  IK 

and  to  otLcrs  the  spinning  of  the  wool  and  tlie  weaving  of  the  cloth. 
In  such  li  community  there  may  be  little  wealth,  even  the  necessities  of 
life  may  at  times  be  scantily  supplied,  there  will  probably  be  little 
advance  in  science,  and  nothing  that  can  be  called  literature;  sweetness 
and  light  and  culture  may  be  conspicuous  by  their  absence,  but  one 
evil  will  assuredly  be  unfelt — there  will  be  no  such  thing  as  "over- 
production." For,  should  it  so  lmj>pen  that  for  a  time  more  food  i« 
produced  than  is  required,  those  members  whose  chief  duty  is  the  pro- 
duction of  food  will  direct  their  energies  to  some  other  branch  of  labour, 
and  a  similar  trauaference  will  take  place  if  the  excess  be  in  any  other 
product.  If  all  the  wants  of  the  society  be  at  any  instant  over-supplied, 
all  the  members  will  diminish  their  hours  of  labour,  or  else  employ  their 
spare  time  in  inventing  new  grants,  which  will  require  new  industries  to 
supply  them. 

As,  however,  the  numbers  of  a  community  increase,  and  as  their 
knowledge  of  the  refinements  and  luxuries  of  civiliaed  life  is  enlarged, 
it  becomes  not  such  a  simple  matter  to  ascertain  the  exact  instant  when 
any  given  product  is  being  produced  in  excess.  The  introduction  of 
machinery  and  the  consequent  extinction  of  small  manufactories  in 
favour  of  large  ones,  the  increased  facilities  of  transport  and  communi- 
cation which  render  it  possible  for  manufacturers  in  one  country  to 
supply  the  whole  world,  tend  constantly  to  render  it  more  and  more 
difficult  to  regulate  any  given  production  by  calculations  as  to  the 
amount  likely  to  be  required.  Moreover,  the  greater  degree  of  skill 
and  technical  training  required  in  the  workman  and  the  larger  amount  of 
fixed  capital  required  by  the  employer,  constantly  increase  the  difSculty 
of  transferring  cither  capital  or  labour  from  one  employment  to 
another.  It  is  thus  possible  that  production  may  go  on  in  any  given 
manufacture  considcnibly  beyond  the  real  requirements  of  the  world. 

Such  over-production  must  before  long  give  some  certain  sign  of  its 
existence.  The  following  illustration  may  serve  to  suggest  the 
symptoms  by  which  it  is  ordinarily  manifested. 

Every  person  must  live.  In  spite  of  Dr.  Johnson's  views  to  the 
contrary,  this  is  accepted  by  all  as  true,  in  rcgartl  at  least  to  their  own 
case.  In  order  to  live  each  person  needs  at  least  food  and  clothing  and 
house-room.  The  higher  his  station  in  society  the  more  numerous  are 
his  wants  in  addition  to  these  bare  necessaries.  He  has  not  skill  to 
produce  for  himself  all  the  things  he  wants,  and  if  he  had  the  skill  he 
would  not  have  the  time,  for  his  energies  would  be  frittered  away,  and 
his  time  wasted  in  the  multitude  of  different  occupations.  A  tacit 
agreement  is  accordingly  made  that  each  man  shall  devote  himself  to 
that  work  for  which,  citlicr  by  position  or  natural  ability  or  inclination, 
he  is  best  fitted  ;  that  he  shall  produce  as  much  by  his  labour  as  will 
supply  his  own  wants  in  that  particular  kind  of  product,  and  as  much 
more  as  he  can  exchange  with  others  for  the  things  nhicli  they  produce, 
and  he  wants.     Thus  each  man  lu  a  civiliacd  community  produces  some 


0  VER-PRODUCTION, 


one  thing  while  he  consumes  many;  the  distinction,  in  fiict,  so  often  made 
between  producers  and  consumera  is  for  the  most  part  fictitious.  Even 
the  man  who  lives  on  his  means  is  in  a  very  important  sense  a  producer, 
for  it  is  his  capital  invested  remuneratively  that  is  used  for,  and  is 
Becessary  to,  the  production  carried  on  by  those  to  whom  he  has  lent 
it.  Every  man  must  produce  so  much  by  his  labour  or  capital  as  will 
replace  the  capital  employed  in  the  i)roduction,  supply  his  own  wants  in 
that  particular  product,  and  leave  a  surplus  sufficient  to  exchange  for 
all  the  other  things  which  he  requires. 

This  exchange  is  carried  on  by  the  intervention  of  money,  which,  for 
the  purpose  of  this  discussion,  may  be  considered  as  simply  a  set  of 
counters  of  no  value  or  use  to  their  possessors,  save  for  a  universal 
agreement  to  take  them  in  exchange  for  goods.  The  number  of  these 
counters  given  for  any  article  is  called  its  price,  and  at  any  given  time 
the  values  in  exchange  of  different  articles  may  be  estimated  by  their 
prices. 

The  process  by  which  the  price  of  any  given  article  is  determined 
may  be  illustrated  by  an  imaginary  case.  Suppose,  for  instance,  that  in 
a  given  open  market  there  arc  only  fifty  loads  of  coal,  while  sixty  house- 
holders desire  a  load  apiece  at  the  price  they  have  been  accustomed  to 
pay.  The  owners  of  the  coal  finding  the  demand  so  brisk,  ask  for  a 
higher  price.  Some  of  the  poorer  householders  cannot  afford  to  buy  a 
whole  load  at  this  liigher  price,  and  consequently  the  whole  demand  ia 
now  for  less  than  sixty  loads.  The  coal-owners  will  continue  to  raise 
their  price  until  the  purchasers  arc  just  able  and  willing  to  take  the 
6fty  loads  at  that  [irice.  Unless  the  sellers  have  a  monopoly,  or  all 
act  iu  combination,  they  will  dispose  of  their  coals  at  this  price ;  for,  if 
they  ask  a  higher,  some  of  the  coals  will  remain  unsold  in  virtue  of  the 
coutiuued  diuiiuutiou  of  the  demand. 

Thus  if  there  be  at  any  time  less  coal  in  a  given  free  market  than  the 
public  require  at  the  current  price,  the  price  will  rise.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  the  supjily  of  coal  be  in  excess  of  the  demand  the  price  will  fall, 
the  price  finally  settling  at  that  level  at  which  the  public  will  pay  for 
all  the  coal  that  is  offered.  Tliis  final  level  is  affected  also  by  the  fact 
that  the  amount  offered  will  depend  considerably  on  the  price  obtain- 
able. Suppose,  for  instance,  that  in  the  above  illustrative  case  the  coal- 
owners  were  at  first  obtaining  a  reasonable  profit  on  their  transactions — 
that  is,  a  prolit  Mhich  was  snilicient  to  induce  them  to  continue  the 
process  of  mining — when  the  price  rises  their  profits  will  be  at  onee 
increased,  and  there  will  thus  be  a  greater  inducement  than  before  to 
invest  fresh  capital  in  coal-mining  operations:  fresh  pits  will  be  sunk, 
old  ones  will  be  reopened,  more  coal  will  be  won,  and  the  supply 
of  coal  in  the  market  will  be  materially  increased.  The  supply  will 
thus  obviously  become  equal  to  the  amount  demanded,  before  the  price 
has  risen  so  high  as  it  would  on  the  former  supposition  of  a  constant 
supply.     It  may  even  happen  that  the  influx  of  capital  and  labour  may 


90  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  ^^^ 

be  so  great  that  the  j»rice  of  coal  shall  after  a  time  sink  below  its 
former  level,  in  vphicli  case  the  new  capital  and  some  of  the  old  will  be 
unrcmuneratively  employed,  and  will^  as  soon  as  possible,  cease  to  be 
employed  in  coal-mining  at  all.  Tlius  a  rapid  rise  of  price  in  any 
commodity  is  apt,  after  a  sliort  time,  to  produce  a  depression  and  thi» 
again  a  rise,  just  as  a  solitary  wave  produced  by  a  disturbance  in  still 
water  spends  itself  in  a  number  of  succeeding  waves  of  less  or  greater 
violence  and  height. 

"What  has  been  said  in  the  case  of  one  product  applies  equally  to  any 
thing  that  is  offered  freely  in  an  open  market.  Among  other  commo- 
dities, and  not  the  least  important^  muat  be  mentioned  the  labour  of 
those  who  have  nothing  else  to  offer,  of  those  who  are  commonly^ 
though  somewhat  improperly,  called  the  working  classes.  An  indication 
of  the  amount  required  of  any  given  commodity  is  afforded  by  the  price 
which  it  will  command  in  an  open  market.  If  that  price  suddenly  falls 
below  a  remunerative  level  it  indicates  over-production  in  that  direction. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  price  rapidly  rises,  it  indicates  under- 
production, 

K  in  any  given  manufacture  or  manufactures  this  indication  of  excess 
of  production  exist  at  any  time,  it  becomes  an  important  question  to 
decide  whether  the  capital  and  labour  thus  unrcmuneratively  employed 
shall  cease  altogether  to  be  employed,  or  whether  it  is  more  desirable 
that,  as  far  as  possible,  they  shall  be  turned  into  other  channels :  whether, 
in  fact,  it  is  possible  for  over-production  to  exist  universally,  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  whether  over-production  in  one  or  more  branches  of  industry 
is  not  a  sure  sign  of  under-production  in  some  other  branches. 

In  order  to  consider  this  question  in  as  simple  a  form  as  possible,  let 
us  imagine  a' society  whose  wants  and  productions  arc  limited  to  three 
branches — food,  clothing,  and  fuel. 

By  arrangement,  voluntary  or  compulsory,  the  members  of  this  society 
will  be  divided  into  three  classes  of  persons,  employed  respectively  in 
producing  these  three  classes  of  commodities-  The  man  who  produces 
food  will  work  so  long  as  to  raise  food  for  his  own  use,  and  enough 
surplus  to  exchange  with  others  for  the  clothing  and  fuel  which  he 
requires.  The  inten^entiou  of  money  diJiguises,  but  does  not  alter  in 
essence,  this  process.  The  money  which  each  man  receives  for  what  he 
produces  may  be  looked  upon  merely  aa  a  State  certificate  of  the  amoimt 
of  work  he  has  done. 

If  too  large  a  number  of  persons  be  employed  in  producing  food,  they 
will  presently  find  that  tlicir  labour  does  not  procure  them  the  neces- 
saries of  life,  since  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  whole  amount  of  surplus 
food — that  is,  food  not  required  for  the  producers'  OAvn  use — is  large  in 
proportion  to  the  whole  amount  of  surplus  fuel  or  clothing,  they  will  be 
obliged  to  give  a  great  deal  of  food  for  a  very  little  clothing  or  fuel. 
Disguised  by  the  intervention  of  money  this  fact  would  appear  in  a  great 
lowering  of  the  price  of  food,  or  raising  of  the  prices  of  clothing  and  coals. 


O  VER'PRODUCTION. 


71 


Such  an  over-production  could  be  remedied  by  a  diminution  iu  the 
amount  of  tWl  produced,  or  by  an  increase  in  the  amount  of  the  other 
products.  In  a  perfectly  free  community,  both  processes  would  probably 
be  adopted.  Sokne  of  the  food  producers,  presumably  the  least  skilful, 
would  shift  their  taleuts  to  other  less  crowded  spheres  of  labour,  a  balance 
would  be  effected,  and  each  fairly  industrious  workman  would  be  able  to 
produce  enough  to  gain  a  satisfactory  living. 

It  is  impossible,  in  fact,  that  there  should  be  at  the  same  time  too 
much  surplus  food  to  exchange  for  fuel  and  clothing,  too  much  coal  to 
exchange  for  food  and  clothiug,  and  too  much  clothing  to  exchange  for 
fuel  and  foodl  General,  or  rather  universal,  over-production  is  impossible, 
unless  every  individual  is  fully,  and  more  than  fully,  supplied  with  all 
that  is  necessary  to  render  life  happy  and  comfortable;  and  this  reasoning 
will  evidently  apply  if  there  be  a  thousand  wants  and  a  thousand 
corresponding  industries. 

If  then,  in  any  civilised  state,  there  be  at  any  time  so  much  produc- 
tion in  any  large  branch  of  industry  that  stocks  remain  on  band  unsalc* 
able,  it  does  not  at  all  necessarily  imply  that  there  is  more  even  of  that 
particular  kind  of  produce  than  mankind  would  gladly  consume,  still 
less  that  there  is  a  general  over-production  of  wealth ;  but  it  shows 
ordinarily  that  the  industrial  forces  of  the  world  are  being  wastefully 
and  disproportionately  applied,  that,  in  fact,  there  is  under-production  of 
some  other  thing  as  well  as,  and  partly  iu  consequence  of,  that  parti« 
cular  over-production. 

AMiat  is  really  the  meaning  of  the  cry  of  distress  which  comes  from 
Lancashire,  from  Sheffield,  from  Northumberland,  from  most  of  our 
manufacturing  towns  and  districts  to-day  ?  Is  it  not  that  the  workman 
cannot  get  the  necessaries  of  life  in  return  for  his  share  of  the  value  of 
the  articles  which  he  assists  in  producing  ?  Is  not  the  real  distress 
caused  by  the  impossibility  of  getting  milk  and  meat  in  exchange  for 
the  wages  received,  rather  than  by  the  superabundance  of  cotton  iu  one 
district  or  coal  in  another?  When  every  want  of  every  industrious  man 
and  woman  in  the  country  is  satisfied,  and  more  than  satisfied,  there  may 
be  general  over-production,  but  until  that  time  arrives,  any  symptom  of 
over-prodnction  in  one  thing  can  only  be  a  symptom  of  under-pro- 
duction in  some  other,  a  beacon  of  warning  to  us  to  direct  our  capital 
and  our  labour  into  other  channels  than  those  in  which  they  are  now 
employed. 

It  is  of  course  possible  that  tmder  a  system  of  free  trade  there  may 
be  over-production  in  all  or  almost  all  the  articles  produced  by  the 
dwellers  in  any  one  country.  Thus  England  produces  more  coals,  iron, 
aud  calico  than  suffice  for  English  use ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
Lome-grown  food  is  totally  insufficient  for  home  necessities.  It  is  con- 
ceivable that  in  England  we  may  have  been  producing  our  staple  manu- 
factures in  too  large  quantities.  If  this  be  so,  it  does  not  follow  that 
we  have  produced  more  than  other  nations  would  gladly  possess,  but 


72 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEff 


that  Tvc  have  manufactured  more  than  they  can  pay  for  in  food  or  other 
articles  which  we  require. 

We  may  certainly  infer  from  the  state  of  depression  of  trade  now 
existing,  either  that  there  has  been  large  over-production  in  many 
brandies  amon^  ourselves,  or  that  tlic  competition  of  foreigners  has 
driven  lis  out  of  the  field.  The  latter  siipi>ositiou  appears  hardly 
admissible  to  any  Inr^c  extent,  in  face  of  the  admitted  and  obvious 
fact  that  commercial  distress  exists  to  as  large  an  extent  in  similar 
branches  of  trade  in  other  countries.  We  are  driven  then  to  the  con- 
clusion that,  in  some  way,  and  to  some  extent,  there  has  been  what  is 
called  over-production  of  some  of  our  chief  products;  which  must,  as  we 
have  seen,  be  simply  the  index  to  under-production  in  other  things. 

As  a  remedy  for  tlie  existing  state  of  low  wages  and  profits,  it  has 
been  very  strongly  nr^cd  tliat  all  the  mines,  and  factories^  and  workshops 
in  the  kingdom  should  by  common  consent  work  short  time,  and  that 
the  amount  of  production  being  thus  limited,  the  demand  would  rise, 
profits  would  rise,  and  wages  would  rise  with  them. 

This  view  lias  heeu  put  fortli  especially  as  a  temporary  expedient,  good 
for  the  present  (listrcss,  but  it  has  also  been  advocated  as  a  general 
principle  by-  which  tlic  atatua  of  the  working  classes  can  be  permanently 
raised. 

Fi'om  the  first  |>oint  of  view,  provided  thai  we  could  be  sure  thai 
foreigners  woufd  not  rush  hi  to  Jill  ttp  the  gap  caused  by  our  diminished 
supply,  there  is  much  to  be  said  for,  and  but  little  against,  the  scheme, 
which  but  for  that  probably  fatal  clement  of  foreign  competition  would 
stand  a  fair  clmncc  of  success. 

In  looking  at  it  as  a  suggestion  for  the  permanent  arrangement  of 
our  industry  in  the  future,  widely  different  considerations  come  into 
play,  and  widely  dift'crcnt  results  may  be  predicted.  To  give  the  plan 
the  slightest  chauce  of  ];erniaucut  success,  it  must  of  course  be  adopted 
universally  in  all  manufactories  of  the  same  kind  which  at  all  come  into 
competition  wiib  one  another.  For  a  factory  with  a  given  number  of 
machines  working  only  half  time  will  only  produce  the  same  amount  of 
goods  as  a  factory  of  half  the  size  working  full  time;  while  the  expense 
of  production  in  the  first  case  will  exceed  that  in  the  second  by  the 
interest  on  half  the  fixed  cai)ital  in  the  larger  factory.  Thus  a  manu- 
facturer working  full  time  will  liavc  such  an  advantage  in  point  of 
cheapness  of  production  over  one  who  works  half  time  or  short  time 
that  before  long  the  latter  is  sure  to  be  ruined. 

In  order,  however,  to  secure  permanence,  short  time  must  not  only 
be  universally  established  in  any  one  manufacture,  but  must  be  co- 
extensive with  the  whole  manufacturing  field.  For,  if  short  time  be 
introduced  into  any  one  or  more  branches  of  manufacture  and  not  into 
others,  the  profits  of  the  capital  employed  in  the  former  branches  will 
immediately  sink  below  tliose  of  the  capital  employed  in  the  latter, 
unless  the  wages  of  the  workmen  arc   at  once    reduced  in    a    larger 


O  VER-PRODUCTION. 


79 


■ 


proportion  than  that  in  which  the  time  is  shortened.  The  latter  siippo- 
sitiou  is,  of  course,  not  contemplated  by  those  who  have  been  most 
earnest  in  advocatiug  the  sclicme,  and  may  therefore  he  dismissed  from 
consideration.  The  capital  becoming  less  profitable  will  gradually,  in 
spite  of  the  friction  which  opposes  its  How,  find  for  itself  other  and 
better  employment.  The  number  of  workmen,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
these  trades  of  lighter  toil  and  shorter  hours,  will  have  a  tendency  to 
increase,  and  thus  before  long  wc  shall  have  less  capital  to  provide 
wages  and  more  workmen  to  demand  tliem,  the  speedy  effect  of  which 
must  be  a  reduction  in  the  amount  paid  to  each  man,  in  spite  of  any 
arbitrary  rules  of  trades  unions  or  other  bodies  to  the  contrary.  The 
scheme  would  as  infallibly  break  down  as  any  scheme  for  keeping  at 
different  levels  two  parts  of  a  pond  which  communicate  with  one 
another. 

It  should  be  understood  that  these  remarks  will  not  apply  to  a 
shortening  of  the  hours  of  labour,  when  by  such  diminution  the  efficiency 
of  the  labourer  is  increased ;  but  only  to  a  diminution  below  a  fair 
day's  woric  for  a  competent  workman,  intended  simply  to  diminish  the 
Amount  produced. 

"  Kestriction  of  production,"  to  have  any  chance  of  success,  must  be 
universally  adopted.  The  whole  wealth  of  the  world  will  thus  be  dimi- 
nished. The  sum  total  of  the  material  eujoymeuts  and  comforts  of  all 
classes  will  be  diminished,  and  in  this  diminution  the  working  classes 
will  assuredly  not  have  the  last  nor  yet  the  smallest  share.  To  say 
nothing  of  the  impracticability  of  so  universal  an  agreement  to  restrict 
production,  the  scheme  can  only  be  described  as  a  wild  chimaera,  false 
in  theory  and  hurtful  in  results,  and  most  hurtful  to  those  whom  it 
most  professes  to  benefit. 

The  scheme  has,  however,  thus  much  of  truth  at  the  bottom,  that  the 
remedy  for  over-production  in  any  one  manufacture  must  be  the  diminu- 
tion of  the  amount  produced.  This  diminution  will,  however,  be  better 
cfl'ccted  by  reducing  the  number  of  labourers  and  the  amount  of  capital 
employed  in  the  particular  trade  considered,  than  by  enforcing  shorter 
hours  for  men  and  smaller  use  for  machines.  The  most  efficient 
labourers  and  the  most  profitably  employed  capital  must  be  retained  in 
the  trade,  and  the  rest  must  be  allowed  to  go  to  some  other  occupation. 
Tliat  tlus  process  cannot  be  eftected  without  much  suffering  and  loss 
is  a  fact  to  be  deeply  deplored,  but  furnishes  no  reason  for  opposing 
the  process.  A  mistake  of  the  magnitude  which  we  seem  as  a  nation 
to  have  committed  cannot  be  remedied,  any  more  than  revolutions  can 
be  made  with  rose-water.  The  law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  is  as 
|X)werfu]  and  as  beneficent  on  the  Avholc  in  the  business  as  in  the 
uatiiral  world.  It  should  be  the  object  of  philanthropists  and  econo- 
foists  to  mitigate  the  sufferings  of  those  whom  this  law,  inexorable  iu 
it»  operationi  compels  to  leave  the  work  to  which  they  have  been 
accustomed.     All  lawful  means  should  be  used   to  provide  sucji  with 


74 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV 


other,  aiid  more  advantageous,  fields  of  cmploynient  ;  but  the  most 
cruel  kiuducss  possible  is  that  which  is  displayed  ia  the  attempt  by 
ai'bitrary  rules  to  forbid  men  to  sell  their  labour,  or  to  use  their 
capital  on  the  best  terms  -ffhich  they  can  obtain.  Such  rules  can  only 
result  in,  at  least  to  some  extent^  the  substitution  for  the  law  of  the 
survival  of  the  fittest  of  the  very  different  law  of  the  smrvival  of  the 
unfittest,  a  law  of  wliieh  the  consequeuces  will  not  be  altogether  advan- 
tageous, even  to  the  nnfittest  themselves.  The  natural  friction  which 
impedes  the  flow  of  capital  and  labour  from  one  chann<^'to  another  is 
great  enough  witliout  having  its  power  for  harm  increased  by  artificial 
obstacles  placed  in  the  course  of  the   stream. 

To  return,  however,  to  the  alleged  fact  of  existing  over-pro- 
duction in  some  of  our  manufactures.  No  one  will  affirm  that 
as  a  nation  we  have  of  late  been  over-producing  all  articles  of 
wealth,  using  that  word  in  the  strictly  economical  sense.  It  is  patent 
on  all  hands  that  the  necessaries  of  life  arc  not  too  plentiful  among  us^ 
and  that  only  a  select  few  have  enough  of  its  comforts  and  Iuxuimcs. 
What,  in  fact,  is  the  object  which  induces  our  operatives  to  labour,  and 
our  capitalists  to  employ  them,  but  the  desire  for  other  things  which 
they  trust  that  their  wages  or  their  profits  will  enable  them  to  procure? 
The  alleged  over-production  of  English  manufactures  dimply  implies  a 
great  and  ovcriH>weriug  desire  on  the  part  of  those  engaged  in  them  for 
other  things  which  they  do  not  produce;  and  further  implies  that  they 
are  uuable  to  procure  these  other  things  with  the  results  of  their 
own  labour. 

During  the  last  year  or  more  the  money  value  of  our  imports  has 
considerably  exceeded  that  of  our  exports — that  is  to  say,  the  rest  of 
the  world  has  not  been  willing  to  give  us  all  the  food  and  other  articles 
which  we  reijiiirc  frora  them  merely  in  exchange  for  the  goods  we  have 
been  able  to  make  and  offer.  Wc  have  been  obliged,  in  addition,  to 
pay  some  of  the  money  wc  have  stored  up  in  former  years,  Aa  a  nation 
we  have  been  to  that  extent  growing  poorer.  Wc  have  been  consuming 
more  than  we  have  produced ;  and,  on  the  whole_,  must  therefore  have 
been  nnder-producing  rather  than  over-producing.  Such  a  process  as 
this,  whether  iji  the  case  of  a  nation  or  au  individual,  can  have  but  one 
termination  if  carried  on  long  enough — national  or  individual  bank- 
ruptcj'.  It  is,  theu,  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  us  to  consider  what 
course  can  be  adopted  to  prevent  the  continuance  of  the  present  state 
of  ti*ade. 

One  suggestion  that  may  be  made  at  the  outset  is,  that  the  remedy 
will  certainly  not  be  found  in  ihc  entire  cessation  of  work,  wliich 
ap|)ears  to  be  setting  in  on  all  bands  Just  now.  Better  far  for  l>oth 
capital  and  labour  to  receive  inadequate  remuneration  for  what  it 
pruduces  than  to  cease  to  produce  at  all.  Even  if  stocks  accumulate, 
the  world  will  need  them  some  day  ;  and  if  the  goods  arc  honest  and 
unadulterated  they  will  fetch  something,  and  bring  that  proverbial  half 
loaf  which  is  so  much  better  than  no  bread.      On  economical  grouuds. 


O  VER-PRODUCTION. 


75 


apart  from  moral  consideratious^  industry  misdirected  is  better  than  no 
industiy  at  ah. 

Yet  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  a  more  excellent  way  will  be  found 
in  the  transference  of  lalwur  and  capital  from  those  branches  which 
seem  to  be  overstocked  into  others  where  the  national  wants  appear  to  be 
greater  and  less  fully  satisfied.  We  have  seen  that  the  symptom  of 
over-production  w  excessive  lowness  of  price  in  comparison  with  tlic 
coet  of  production.  This  symptom  at  present  exists  in  regard  to  many 
of  our  largest  industries — the  coal,  iron,  and  calico  trades  for  instance. 
But  there  is  a  large  class  of  articles  of  food  of  which  the  prices  have 
for  some  years  been  steadily  going  up,  and  show  no  symptom  of  falling, 
article*  such  as  meat^  milk,  vegetables,  and  fruit,  which  form  a  great  part 
of  the  necc^ssarics  of  life  to  all  except  the  very  poorest^  and  the  tolerable 
abundance  of  which  is  an  absolute  necessity  to  any  population  which  is 
long  to  retain  its  vigour  and  health.  What  a  very  different  command 
of  the  comforts  and  necessaries  of  life  would  the  present  low  wages  give 
to  the  operative  classes  if  the  prices  of  such  articles  as  the  above  could 
be  reduced  to  what  they  were  thirty,  twenty,  or  even  ten  years  ago. 

Tliese  articles,  it  may  be  noticed,  from  their  very  nature^  can  never 
be  the  subjects  of  exportation  or  importation  in  the  same  sense,  or  to 
the  same  citcnt,  as  coals,  coru^  or  calico.  Each  uatiou  must  mainly 
depend  on  its  own  resources  for  their  production.  This  will  be  less  the 
case  as  the  means  of  communication  improve;  but  vegetables  and  meat 
brought  across  the  Atlantic  cannot,  without  some  change  in  our  present 
methods  of  carriage  as  great  as  that  fi*om  coaches  to  railroads,  do  more 
than  prevent  the  prices  of  these  things  from  rising  above  a  certain  high 
level.  We  must  look  to  ourselves  and  to  very  neighbouring  countries 
for  our  supply,  and  chiefly  to  ourselves  alone.  What  has  been  our 
course  in  tliis  respect  in  recent  years  ? 

Between  the  years  1861  and  1871,  in  spite  of  the  large  increase  in 
the  total  population  of  England,  there  was  scarcely  any  increase  in  the 
niral  population.  In  some  districts  there  was  even  a  decrease.  This 
shovs  that  during  that  time  the  labour  of  the  country  was  drifting  from 
agricultural  to  manufacturing  pursuits,  and  the  proportion  of  the 
produce  of  agriculture  to  that  of  manufactures  was  continually  changing. 
The  population  to  be  fed  remained  the  same  or  increased ;  there  was 
no  similar  increase  in  the  provision  made  at  home  for  supplying  them 
with  food. 

Nay,  further,  the  great  extension  of  manufacturing  towns  and  works 
tended  in  another  way  to  diminish  the  sources  of  food  supply. 
Dwellers  in  or  near  London,  or  in  agricultural  districts,  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  enormous  amount  of  absolute  waste  of  land  for  food-pro- 
ducing or  any  healthy  purpose,  that  is  entailed  by  the  presence  of  the 
factories  in  and  around  such  towns  as  Manchester  and  Sheffield,  or  the 
works  of  various  kinds  that  line  the  banks  of  such  rivers  as  the  Tyue 
and  the  Tees.  Thousands  of  acres  of  naturally  fertile  laud  and  many 
miles  of  naturally  fertilising  streams  are  rendered  barren  aud  useVc%!& 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


by  poUntions  which,  it  may  be  believed,  are  only  accidents  belonging 
to,  and  not  the  essence  of,  these  great  national  industries.  In 
such  districts  cottage-gardening,  to  the  extent  that  may  be  seen  iu 
Surrey  or  Hertfordshire,  is  absolutely  prevented  by  the  almost  everlast- 
ing canopy  of  filthy  smoke,  and  the  sulphurous  vapours  which, 
"  Noxious  Vapours  Acts'*  notwithstanding,  defile  the  air  and  blast  the 
trees.  In  such  districts  the  husbaudmuu  ncedeth  truly  long  patience, 
and  too  often  his  patience  is  rewarded  only  with  a  scanty  crop  and 
blackened  corn. 

In  these  different  ways  we  have  for  years  been  stetidily  diminishing 
our  food  supply,  and  steadily  increasing  our  supply  of  other  things, 
which,  whatever  else  they  may  do,  will  certainly  not  keep  ns  alive  in 
famine.  One  means  of  relief  to  our  present  state  may  perhaps  be 
found  in  the  attempt  to  some  extent  to  reverse  this  process^to  increase 
our  supply  of  food,  and  to  turn  as  far  as  we  can  our  surplus  labour  into 
the  direction  of  its  production. 

Of  course  we  shall  be  told  that  the  agricultural  interest  is  as  depressed 
as  the  manufacturing  interests,  and  that  an  additional  influx  of  labour 
will  tend  to  depress  it  lower.  This  argument  would  be  fair  were  it  not 
that  the  question,  or  rather  questions,  of  land  tenure  come  in  the  way  of 
the  operation  of  the  laws  of  supply  and  demand.  At  present  the  pro- 
prietors of  land  get,  M'e  may  concede,  but  a  low  interest  on  the  price  the 
land  wouhl  fetch  in  the  open  market,  the  tenant  farmers  get  hut  small 
profits,  and  the  agricultural  labourers  have  to  be  content  with  shamefully 
low  wages.  Hut  this  rather  proves  that  the  whole  system  of  our  agricul- 
ture is  wasteful  and  corrupt,  than  tliat  it  is  impossible  to  make  our  land 
produce  more  food.  The  question  of  the  right  of  absolute  private 
property  in  laud  of  which  there  is  only  a  limited  quantity  altogether,  Is 
not  an  easy  one  to  discuss,  and  is  certainty  not  ripe  for  a  practical 
legislative  settlement  at  present.  The  smaller  questions  of  the  retention 
or  abolition  of  the  law  of  priniogcuitnre ;  the  simplification  and 
cheapening  of  the  process  of  transfer  of  land  and  of  division  of  land 
into  portions  of  difi'erent  sizes,  so  as  to  render  possible  the  existence  of 
a  class  of  peasant  proprietors,  such  as  has  carried  France  so  triumph- 
antly through  the  strain  of  the  great  war,  and  the  recent  trade 
distresses  ;  the  compulsory  granting  of  leases  which  shall  afford  security 
to  the  farmer  against  ba-sty  and  causrless  ejection  ;  the  enforcement  of 
compensatiou  for  unexhausted  improvements  at  the  termination  of  the 
lease  :  such  (juestions  as  these  arc  for  legislators  to  consider  deeply,  and 
to  decide  wisely.  By  resolving  these  questions,  and  iu  addition  by 
preventing  all  ncnillcss  and  Immifal  pollutions  of  our  rivers,  our  land, 
and  our  atmosphere,  for  the  mere  purposes  of  private  gain,  much  may  be 
done  to  remedy  the  under-production  of  wholesome  food,  and  theu  we 
shall  have  little  to  fear  from  the  over-production  of  other  things. 

AV.  Steadman  Aldis. 


THE    DISENCLOSURE   OF   THE   "ANGLICAJf 

PADDOCK." 


I 


"I^OW  that  there  is  a  tmce  in  the  great  controvei'sial  conflict  which 

X 1      raged  both  within  and  without  the  Anglican  Choich  on  the  two 

points^  briefly  stated,  of  the  nature  of  the  two  Sacraments  and  the 

doctrine  of  "Apostolical  Sncceseion/'it  is  possible  to  judge  of  the  results 

of  that  conflict.   Two  of  these  results  may  be  said  to  be  a  weaiiness  of 

mind  with  regard  to  the  controversy,  and  a  general  agreement  on  the 

great  fundamental  doctrines  of  the  Trinity,  the  Incarnation,  and  the 

Atonemcuf.  and  the  necpsaityof  the  two  Saci'amentfi.    A  greater  unity 

of  belief  and  opinion  exiets  among  English  Christians  than  perhaps  is 

generally  supposed,  or  than  has  existed  for  many  generations.    Thus, 

for  example,  putting  aside  some  few  and  small  sections  of  the  Anglican 

Chnrch  and  of  the  Nonconformist  body,  we  may  enter  the  churches  of 

•*IltgU  Church"  or  **Low  Churcli"  persuasions,  and  the  chapels  of 

iHoncouformist  congregations,  and  hear,  if  the  writer  may  judge  from 

hia  own  experience,  sermons  which  might,  as  regards  their  doctrine, 

have  been  interchanged.    At  two  Baptist  chapels,  each  in  distant  parts 

of  the  kingdom,  the  writer  has  heard  discourses  which,  while  they  did 

CTfdit  to  the  abihty  and  learning  of  the  preachers,  might  have  been 

Jelivored  without  offence  in  the  pulpits  of  the  Established  Church, 

SpUTgeon  himself,  to  judge  by  some  of  his  reported  sermons,  often 

ohoR  as  a  clergyman  of  the  Estabhshed  Church  might  well  preach. 

<^rAVaganc'e    or    recklessness    of   statement,    one-sided    teaching, 

^o/enct?  of  denujiciation  against  differing  persuasions,  ignorant  and 

nuit,  narrow-minded  sectarian  bigotry  of  opinion,  tere  now 

in  our  pulpits.     One  may  pretty  commonly  hear 

octrines  of  Christianity  practically  enforced  by 

lurch  and  chapel.    Why,then,thu8  far  agreeing, 

lievcra  practise  inter-commuuiou  1    Why  ehould 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


they  not  worship  together,  and  join  in  that  great  symbol  of  unity,  the 
breaking  together  of  the  loaf  of  the  Lord's  Supper  ?  Surely  thia 
agreement  in  the  great  doctrinea  of  Christianity  is  of  more  importance 
than  agreement  on  the  nature  of  the  Sacraments  or  on  the  doctrine 
of  "  Apostohcal  Succession;"  and  might,  if  party-spint,  passion,  and 
interest  permitted,  form  a  sufficient  basis  of  common  worship  and 
Chiistian  intercourse. 

The  breach^  however,  which  parts  asunder  Christians,  thus  far 
agreed,  remains,  and  is  one  of  the  most  signal  and  lamentable  exploits 
of  the  spirit  of  discord.  Men  agreed  upon  the  most  solemn  and  most 
comfortiiig  tniths,  accepting  the  Scriptures  as  containing  the  un- 
doubted Word  of  God  and  as  the  great  external  guide  of  belief  and 
practice,  neither  join  together  in  worship  as  those  veiy  Scripturea 
ordain,  nor  even  to  a  great  extent  in  the  intercourse  of  common  and 
daily  Ufe.  The  rift  inms  right  down  through  all  the  strata  of  the 
community.  Members  of  the  Established  Church  for  the  most  part 
remain  aloof  from  the  society  of  even  orthodox  Dissenters,  nor  can 
the  latter  be  said  generally  to  eutei-tain  veiy  friendly  feehngs  towards 
the  members  of  the  Establislied  Church, 

This  great  division  of  the  Christian  population  of  the  kingdom 
reaches  down  even  to  the  grave.  In  our  cemeteries  we  see,  as  we  pass- 
by  them,  two  separate  buildings,  each  devoted  to  the  obsequies  of  thd* 
respective  section.  If  we  enter  their  groiuids,  we  may  observe  ft 
strict  line  of  demarcation  drawn  between  the  plots  in  which  tho 
members  of  those  two  gieat  divisions  are  respectively  laid  to  rest. 
Surely  this  spectacle,  in  which  the  mutual  alienation  of  the  two  great 
divisions  of  our  Christian  people  is  stereotyped  in  stone,  gravel  walks, 
and  iron  fencing,  must  be  painful  to  all  religious  minds,  while  all 
enemies  of  the  common  faith  can  poiut  to  it  \y\t\i  a  smile  or  a  sneer. 
The  great  religious  and  even  social  division  existing  among  Christians 
in  this  country  must,  one  would  think,  astonish  an  intelligent  heathen 
who  should  come  amongst  us  and  observe  our  habits  and  manners ; 
but  we  oureelves  are  so  accustomed  to  it  that  we  can  hardly  look  at  it 
abstractedly  and  in  its  true  and  sad  import,  and  seem  almost  to  regard 
it  as  a  part  of  the  necessary  and  fixed  order  and  course  of  things, 
although  it  took  its  rise  no  longer  than  about  two  hundred  yeare  ago  \* 

While,  however,  this  alienation  of  feeling  and  practical  separation 
exists  between  the  adherents  generally  of  the  Established  Church  and 
the  Trinitarian  or  Orthodox  Nonconforraisis,  a  considerable  number  of 
educated  CTiurchmeu  are  yet  ready  to  recognize  as  brethren  in  tlie 
faith  the  members  of  the  Romish  and  of  the  Greek  Churches,  with 
whom  they  differ  in  matters  of  doctruie  more  important  than  those  in 
which  they  differ  from  the  great  body  of  Tiinitarian  Nonconformists  I 
They  believe,  in  fact,  that  the  Romish  Church  and  the  Greek  Church 
are  more  fatally  Avrong  in  fundamental  doctrine  than  the  Trinit^irian 
Nonconformists ;    and  yet  because  those  Churclies  are  supposed  to 


JJISEXCLOSVRE  OF  THE  ^*  ANGLICAN  PADDOCK,"    79 


^ 


-what  18  termed  the  "  Apostolical  Succession,**  tliey  regard 
tliem  as  tnie  brunches  of  the  CLiistian  Church,  while  they  deuy  that 
character  to  the  aforesaid  Noucojiformist  comniunionB. 

Yet  that  the  doctrine  of  "ApostoHcal  Succession"  has  not  always 
been  held  in  the  Established  Church  as  a.  necessary  note  of  a  tmo 
Church,  is  evident  from  various  facts.  Pre"\aously  to  the  Act  of  Uni- 
formity of  1()<>2,  there  were  continuous  instances  iu  which  Presby- 
terian miniaters  were  admitted,  without  re-ordination,  to  benefices  in 
the  Anglican  Cliurch,  and  received  into  communion  with  its  members. 
It  was  that  Act  of  the  secular  legislature,  not  of  tlie  spiritualty, 
which,  by  making  episcopal  ordination  indispensable,  has  cut  us  off 
from  commtmion  with  other  Reformed  Clmrches,  both  here  and  in 
other  lands,  and  baa  fortified  the  enclosure  of  the  "  Anglican  Pad- 
dock;' That  '*  Apostohcal  Succession"  is  not  necessary  to  the  con- 
stitntion  of  a  Christian  Church  was  evidently  the  opinion  of  Bishop 
Cosin,  who  held  the  sec  of  Durham  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  and  wlio 
is  an  authority  to  whom  High  Churchmen  often  appeal.  This  estimable 
prelate's  sentiments  on  the  subject  may  be  gathered  from  the  follow- 
ing extract  from  his  will,  dated  1672 : — 

"  In  wliat  part  soever  any  Cluirches  are  extant  hearing  tlio  name  of  Clirist, 
mul  professing  the  true  Catholic  failh  and  religion,  worMliippirig  and  culling 
upon  God  tlio  Father,  the  Son.  and  tbo  IIolv  Ghost  with  one  heart  and  voice, 
if  I  be  now  nctnally  hinriered  to  join  with  tlieni,  cither  by  distance  of  countries 
or  variance  among  men,  or  by  any  hindrance  whatsoever,  yet  always  in  my 
mind  and  aEfection  I  join  and  unite  with  them,  which  I  desii'e  to  be  chiefiy 
understood  of  Protestant  and  the  best  Reformed  Churches." 

The  bishops  who  were  appointed  iu  Scotland  in  the  year  1661  were 
apparently  of  tlie  same  opinion  on  this  subject  with  their  contem- 
porary Anglican  prelate ;  for  there  is  no  evidence  to  sliow  that  they 
required  the  Presbyterian  clergy,  over  whom  they  were  placed,  to  bo 
re-ordained,  ajid  to  receive  the  mystic  virtue  of  the  "  Succession."  Here 
the  negative  e\'idence  is  conclusive ;  for,  had  these  bishops  insisted 
on  the  re-ordination  of  their  Presbyterian  subordinates,  such  a  stonn 
of  opposition  would  have  been  raised  as  would  surely  have  found  its 
place  in  tho  annals  of  the  period,  particularly  in  the  pages  of  the 
observing  Bishop  Buniet,  himself  a  man  of  Scottish  birth.  In  Ireland 
at  the  same  period  Archbishop  Bramhall  showed  himself  to  have  been 
of  the  same  opinion  with  regard  to  tho  non-necessity  of  episcopal 
ordination  for  tho  due  discharge  of  ministerial  functions;  for  on  hia 
appointment  to  tho  see  he  proposed  that  the  Presbyterian  ministers. 
whom  he  found  in  possession  of  benefices,  sliould  be  rc-ordained, 
merely,  aa  he  expressly  stated,  in  order  tliat  they  might  be  enabled 
It? gaily  to  claim  the  dues  of  theii-  benefices,  and  not  as  though  they 
were  disqualified  for  the  exorcise  of  the  pastoral  office. 

At  a  later  period,  in  the  year  1710,  Archbishop  Wake  of  Canter- 
bury, who.  V  ith  a  truly  cathohc  spirit  desired  the  inter-communion  of 


80 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  Anglican  Clmicli,  not  only  -with  tlie  Gallican  but  abo  \vith  the 
French  Ruformf-'d  Church,  wrote  to  M.  Le  Clerc.  a  niiiiiater  in  the 
latter  conunmiion,  in  the  folloAving  terms,  wliich  show  that  the  writer 
had  uo  sj^mpathy  ^nth  those  who  stickled  for  the  necessity  of  "Apos- 
tolical Succession."  I  translate  hia  Latin,  which  \vill  be  found  iu  a 
note  below.* 

"I  nin  ready  to  symbolize  with  the  Kefornied  C"IinR-hoH,  nltlmiij^h  tlicy  differ 
in  some  respecLs  from  our  ('hiirch  in  England.  I  cmiltl  wish  indeed  that  they 
had  all  iif  them,  retained  episcopacy  iii  a  rnoJeiato  fnrai.  (jod  forbid  that  I 
shoidd  be  .so  hard-bcarted  aa  to  think  that  all  iritcr-coiuuiuiiiou  betweou  them 
and  UH  ought  lo  be  broken  off  on  account  of  wimt  you  nmst  pardon  me  for 
CftlUn^  such  a  defect,  <jt  that  with  snme  violent  writers  in  our  comnninion  I 
should  jirniiounoo  them  aa  devoid  of  all  real  and  valid  sucranienlfl,  and  ao 
scarcely  Chtistians  at  all.  1  should  wish  to  obtain  at  any  price  a  closer  union 
aiuong  all  the  Ueforraed." 

That  the  necessity  of  tljis  **  succession  "  is  not  a  reoeived  doctrine 
of  the  Anglican  Chmch,  appears  also  from  the  fact  that  from  the 
Refornnitioii  down  to  our  own  days  the  Bishops  of  Winchester  recog- 
nized the  French  Protestant  Cljuvches  in  the  Channel  Islands  as  under 
tht-'ir  juriadictiou,  and  the  pastors  of  those  churches,  though  not 
episcopally  ordained,  as  competent  to  exercise  the  pastoral  office. 
Thu9,  iu  these  islands  Presbyteiian  congregations  formed  actually  a 
part  of  the  diocese  of  an  Euglieh  bishop  and  wore  embodied  in  tho 
Anglican  Church.  Yet  this  notion  of  the  necessity  of  Apostolical 
Sncceesion,  though  without  countenance  iu  the  forrnidaries  or  sauotioi» 
from  the  precedents  of  the  Anglican  Churchy  and  repudiated  by  several 
of  its  higln-st  authorities,  is  the  causo  of  the  alienation  of  a  large  body 
of  educated  Churchmen,  both  lay  and  clerical,  from  religiouiets  iu  this 
country  with  whom  thoyare  at  ono  on  the  vital  and  fiiudaraental 
truths  of  Christianity,  and  agreed  in  rejecting  the  traditions  and  in- 
ventions with  wliich  the  Papal  Church  has  obscured,  neutralized^  and 
counteracted  those  truths. 

The  fault,  however,  of  this  great  division  of  the  Christian  population 
of  England  lies  not^  as  wc  have  hinted,  wholly  at  the  door  of  tho 
members  of  the  Anglican  Church.  Among  the  nonconforming  Chris- 
tians there  is  still  to  be  found  too  much  of  that  "hcen  hatred  and 
round  abusc,^'  **a  Httle  "  of  which,  some  forty  years  ago,  a  leading 
Nonconformist  teacher  recommended  his  co-rehgionists  to  exhibit 
towards  the  EetabHshed  Church  and  its  clcrg^'.  Many  of  the  Noncon- 
formists, including  men  of  much  popular  talent  and  of  great  acti\'ily 
in   agitation   by  pen,  pulpit,   platform,  and  conference,  have  beea 

*  "  Ecclosiaa  Rcformattts,  et«i  in  aliqutbua  a  noetrft  Anglicaui  dissenticntcs,  libenter 
complector.  Optarem  cquidcin  rr<riuK!U  episcopale  hcuo  tcmporatum  aT>  iis  omnibua  fuiss 
rutontmn.  Absit  ut  ejjo  tain  forrei  pwtoria  sioa  ut  ob  (.'juamodi  defectum  (aic  nuhi 
absque  omni  mvidiii  appellarc  Uooat)  aliquus  eamiu  a  commnniono  uostril  abaci ndt^ndiu 
crodoin;  aut.  cum  furioBiB  qnibuAdiim  inter  nos  aeriptoribus,  ens  nulla  vera  ac  vulida 
Bocnunonta  habere,  ideoque  rix  ChriBtiiinris  esse  i^ronuntiein.  Unionem  arctiorcm  int«r 
omnes  Befommtoa  procuraro  qnoria  ptvtio  volk'in.''  The  whole  of  thia  letter  may  be 
found  in  the  &ixUi  vuluuie  of  flli^cdiuiui's  Eccleaiiibtical  liiatory*  at  pp.  SOO,  201. 


DISENCLOSUIiE  OF  THE  'ANGLICAN  PADDOCKS   81 


making  a  violent  attack  on  tho  establisliment  and  the  endowmeiitB  of 
the  Anglican  Church.  They  are  iudiguunt  ut  it«  temporal  privileges 
and  rejoice  over  its  spiritual  disabihties.  They  raise  the  cry  of 
religious  equality,  although  in  the  matter  of  liberty  they  are  better 
off.  They  cherish  an  undisguised  envy  of  the  social  status  of  the 
clergy.  They  are  angry,  according  to  one  of  their  own  organs,  at  the 
application  of  the  term  "clergyman"  to  Anglican  priests,  while  ono 
of  their  own  ministers  might  be  tei-med  the  "Dissenting  parson." 
Surely  this  is  wrong  and  even  childish.  Surely  it  is  unworthy  of  men 
who  have  a  heavenly  calliug  and  whose  "  citizensliip  is  in  heaven." 
The  Christian  Church  is  described  by  ita  inspired  teachers  as  an  army 
fighting  under  CTirist's  banner  against  ein,  the  world,  and  the  devil, 
against  spiritual  ignorance  and  imbelief ;  and  here  we  have  members 
of  it  quanelling  about  names  and  figbtiug  together  over  the  commis- 
sariat  I  Our  Nonconformist  brethren  are  openly  jealous  of  tho  political 
dignity  and  status  conferred  by  our  traditional  institutions  upon  the 
chief  pastors  of  the  Established  Church.  They  hate  to  see  them 
sitting  as  lords  spiritual  in  Parliament.  They  say  that  this  "  lordship" 
tends  to  unspirituaUze,  to  secularize  them.  They  forget,  however, 
that  the  exaltation  of  the  chief  pastors  of  the  Church  to  this  dignity  waa 
intended  as  the  homage  of  the  State  to  religion.  Even  before  the 
toleration  and  establishment  of  Christianity  by  Constantine,  the 
bishops  occupied  a  considerable  civil  status  in  the  estimation  of  the 
Christian  population  of  the  Roman  Empire  in  beiug  made  judges  in 
questions  of  civil  right  between  Cliristiiins,  in  pursuance  of  St.  PauVs 
(lirections  to  the  Christians  of  Corinth ;  and  Constantine  simply  con- 
firmed their  civil  position  by  giving  to  their  decisions  the  force  of 
law.  To  this  act  of  the  first  Christian  Emperor  of  Rome  the  civil 
dignity  of  bishops  is  to  be  traced.  But  an  exalted  civil  status  has  by 
no  means  necessarily  the  effect  of  **  unspiritualizing"  and  "scculariz- 
itig"  the  holders  of  it.  whether  clerical  or  lay.  A  bishop  who  should 
tlius  be  deteriorated  by  his  civil  elevation  would  have  been  already 
very  watiting,  not  merely  in  spirituality  of  character,  but  in  good 
sense  and  balance  of  mind,  and  the  fault  would  lie  at  the  door  of  his 
Domiuatore  as  well  as  at  his  own  door.  Christians  are  citizens  not 
only,  though  primaiily,  of  a  heavenly  polity,  but  also  of  a  worldly 
one;  and  it  is  in  the  necessity  of  well  discharging  the  duties  of  this 
double  citizenship  that  their  trial  often  chiefly  lies.  The  notion  that 
the  two  capacities  are  incompatible  is,  indeed,  the  fallacy  which  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  the  monastic  system,  which  was  in  truth  mere 
spiritual  selfishness  and  *'other-worldhness."  Christians  maybe  and 
constantly  are  called  upon  to  discharge  the  duties  of  earthly  citizen- 
ahip,  DO  matter  whether  ui  a  higher  or  a  lower  degi'ce — whether,  for 
instance,  as  lord  chancellors  or  special  constables ;  and  to  say  that 
Christian  ministers  may  not  tmdertake  civil  duties  is  to  maintaui  that 
noxious  distinction  which  separates,  as  a  caste,  Christian  ministera 
VOL.  XXXV.  a 


82 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


from  Chnstinn  lajinen.  No  effect  in  tbe  way  of  "  unepintualizing  " 
or  "Bccnlariziiig"  has  been  produced  upon  many  a  civil  dignitary  of 
the  laity^  living  or  dead;  nor  upon  many  a  minister  of  the  Church 
advanced  to  temporal  dignities.  No  such  effect  was  produced  on  men 
like  Bishop  Andrewes,  or  on  Ken  or  Frampton,  and  the  other  non-juring 
bishops,  who  for  conscience'  sake  gave  up  their  digiiitiea  and  retired 
into  poverty  and  obscurity.  Although  no  consistent  Chiistian  will 
care  gi-eatly  about  worldly  honours,  yet  no  reason  exists  why  ho 
should  refuse  them  when  offered  by  authority  from  ref9pect  for  religion 
or  for  purposes  of  public  policy.  The  great  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles 
valued  and  turned  to  acconnt  his  Roman  citizenship,  which  at  that 
time  was  a  great  honour  in  the  civilized  world,  quite  as  great 
as  amongst  us  is  the  position  of  an  alderman  or  of  a  member  of 
Parliament, — an  honour  which  had  to  be  **  obtained  with  a  gi'cafc 
sum,"  He  used  his  privilege  of  eitizenehip,  not  merely  as  a  means  of 
self-preeervatictn,  but  as  an  aid  to  him  in  the  furtherance  of  Iho 
Gospel.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  religion  is  recommended  to  the 
orduiary  mind  when  its  ministers  are  seen  to  be  treated  with  respect 
by  authority  and  clothed  with  secular  dignity.  There  is  truth  as  well 
as  satire  in  the  meaning  of  Pope's  saying — 

"  A  saiat  In  ompe  is  twice  a  saint  in  lawn." 

No  example  is  more  beneficial  and  attractive  than  that  of  a  man  of 
saintly  character  in  high  place.  He  is  eminently  a  city  set  on  a  liill, 
seen  and  admired  by  all  men.  It  is  no  detraction  from  the  mentfl  of 
enthusiastic  but  benevolent  and  eloquent  Fenclon  to  say  that  hie 
example  woiUd  have  been  lees  edifying  and  his  reputation  less 
extended  had  he  not  been  noble  by  birth  and  noble  as  Duke  and 
Archbishop  of  Canibray.  In  this  position  he  preached  well,  wrote 
well,  lived  with  minplioity,  and  laboured  with  diligence  for  the 
advancement  of  religion  and  piety,  often,  in  his  walks  aboiit  Cambray, 
collecting  around  him  a  chance  assemblage  of  rustic  hearers,  ani 
giving  them  Bpiritual  iiiRtniction  and  kindly  advice.  Of  course  ho 
might  have  done  all  this  in  a  humble  position  in  life  ;  but  unquestion- 
ably the  exalted  post  which  he  filled  gave  him  greater  advantages  for 
the  effective  discharge  of  his  spiritual  labours  of  duty  and  love.  It 
was  generally  regarded  as  a  great  opportunity  lost  for  recommending 
Christianity  to  the  people  of  Hindostan,  when  the  first  Bishop  of  Cal- 
cutta, the  excellent  Middlcton,  was  allowed  by  the  Government,  from 
motives  of  policy  and  commercial  interest,  to  land  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hooghly  as  a  private  passenger  from  England.  The  natives 
argued,  not  nnnatnraliy,  that  if  the  ruling  powers  treated  thus  dis- 
respectfully the  chief  minister  of  their  religion,  it  had  but  little  tiUo 
to  their  reppcct.  Secular  dignities,  just  as  wealth,  intellect,  and  other 
gii^s  of  nature  or  Pro^ndence,  greatly  as  they  may  be  abased,  aro 
still  powerful  instruments  for  the  highest  pnrpopes.     These  worldly 


DISENCLOSURE  OF  THE  ''  ANGLICAN  PADDOCK;'    83 


adTmntages  are,  as  Bacon  observes,  "  impedimenta  ^-irtutiB,"  the  bagw 
gage  or  materiel  of  virtue ;  and  though,  as  he  also  observes,  they 
Bometimes  act,  like  the  baggage  of  an  army,  as  "impediments,"  they 
are  yet  means  and  appliances  which  virtue  can  and  does  employ  with 
beneficial  effect  in  the  fiirtherance  of  her  objects. 

The  religious  enemies,  however,  of  the  Estabhahed  Church  grudgo 
tlie  secular  dignities,  the  social  status,  the  emoluments  of  the  clergy. 
They  cannot  conscientiously  accept  all  the  formularies  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church,  and  therefore  they  cannot  share  in  its  temporal 
advantages.  Truly,  they  cannot;  and  this  brings  me  to  my  point, 
that  those  formularies  should  be  so  altered  as  to  allow  all  Trinitarian 
and  Orthodox  Xonconforraists  to  accept  them,  and  so  to  be  in  a  position 
to  share  in  the  honom^  and  endowments  and  social  status  of  the  National 
Church,  which  would  then  become  more  truly  national  than  it  now  is. 
The  ••x\nglican  Paddock"  would  thus  be  beneficially  disenclosed  in 
the  interests  of  both  parties.  The  great  proportion  of  Protestant 
Nonconformists  would  be  able  to  outer  the  enclosure  and  participate 
in  those  secular  advantages  and  prospects,  the  exclusive  possession  of 
Tvhieh  they  now  appear  to  envy;  the  clergy  of  the  Anghcan  Church 
of  all  shades  would  be  benefited  by  the  enlargement  of  their  ideas, 
and,  in  a  multitude  of  cases,  by  the  relief  of  their  consciences,  which 
now,  to  the  writer's  knowledge,  arc  burdened  by  the  obligation  to 
accept  and  use  formularies  with  which  their  convictions  are  at 
variance  ;  the  Established  Church  would  be  strengthened  by  tho 
infosion  of  new  and  vigorous  blood ;  and,  above  all,  what  is  the 
grand  consideration  after  all,  tlie  cause  of  Chiistianity  would  bo 
immensely  advanced  by  the  union  of  those  sections  in  the  advocacy 
of  the  common  faith,  and  by  the  direction  of  their  energies,  not  to 
mutual  hostility,  but  to  the  warfare  of  the  Christian  calliug,  and  to 
the  defence  of  their  common  Christianity  against  the  simultaneous 
asaaults  of  its  various  and  mutually-opposed  enemies.  Concessions 
mnst  no  doubt  bo  made  on  either  side ;  Churchmen  must  give  up 
their  exclusiveness,  Nonconformists  must  abate  their  bitterness;  but 
in  such  a  cause  what  real  CTiristians  would  not  be  willing  to  make  all 
the  concessions  and  sacrifices  which  may  be  requisite  ? 

It  may  be  of  more  than  a  mere  historical  interest  to  trace  some  of 
the  attempts  which,  in  the  past,  have  been  made  towards  what  I  will 
now  term  this  **  disenclosure."  When  the  flaming  zeal,  or  rather  the 
fanatical  loyalty  and  rehgious  resentments,  of  the  first  House  of 
Commons  of  Charles  IT.  devised  the  purposely-exclusive  terms  of  the 
Uniformity  Act  of  1602, — the  real  Enclosure  Act  of  the  Anglican 
Paddockj — the  Lords,  though  ineffectually,  attempted  to  soften  the 
important  clause  so  as  to  admit  the  moderate  Presbyterians  to  Church 
prefermento.  Five  yeare  after^vards  (1667)  an  attempt  was  made  by 
Sir  3Iatthew  Hale  and  a  few  other  of  the  wiser  men  of  that  age, 
lay  and  clerical,  to  alter  the  same  clatise  in  favour  of  the  Presbyterians, 

o2 


84 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


"Bat,"  eaya  Burnet,  ** whatsoever  advantages  the  men  of  compre- 
hexiaion  might  have  in  any  other  respect,  the  majority  of  the  House  of 
Commons  waa  so  possessed,  that  when  it  was  known  that  a  Bill  was 
to  be  offered  to  the  House  for  that  end,  a  very  extraordinary  vote 
passed,  that  no  BDl  to  that  purpose  should  be  received."     In  the  reigu 
of  James  H.,  when  both  Churchmen  and  Nonconformists  wero  tem- 
porarily united  in  defence  of  their  common  faith  against  the  King's 
attempts  to  re-establish  Popery,  an  understanding  was  entered  into 
between  the  leaders  of  the  Church  and  the  leaders  of  the  Noncon- 
formists, that  measures  should  be  taken,  when  the  common  danger  had 
passed  over,  for  comprehending  the  latter  in  the  Established  Church. 
The  seven  bishops,  in  their  celebrated  petition  to  James,  expressed 
their  willingness  "  in  relation  to  the  Dissenters,  to  come  to  such  a 
temper  as  shall  be  thought  fit  when  the  matter  comes  to  be  considered 
and  settled  in  Parliament;"  tliis  "temper,"  in  the  language  of  the 
day,  importing  an  admission  of  Dissenters  by  an  extension  of  the  terms 
of  clerical  conformity.    Accordingly  in  1089,  after  the  expulsion  ot 
James  H.,  a  Bill  for  the  comprehension  of  Nonconformists  was  brought 
into  the  House  of  Lords,  and  parsed  by  them  ;  but  when  it  came  down 
to  the  Commons  it  was  got  rid  of  on  the  grounds  stated  by  Burnet,  as 
thus  :  "  they  set  it  up  for  a  maxim,  that  it  was  fit  to  keep  up  a  strong 
faction  both  in  Church  and  State;   and  they  thought  it  was   not 
agreeable  to  that  to  suffer  so  great  a  body  as  the  Presbyterians  to  be 
made  more  easy  or  more  inclinable  to  unite  to  the  Church"  1     At  the 
same  tune  a  proposal  for  the  revision  of  the  Book  of  Cojnmon  Prayer  iu 
a  sense  favouiable  to  the  Nonconformists  was  brought  before  the  Con- 
vocation of  the  Clergy,  but  was  laid  aside  through  the  opposition  of 
the  High  Church  party.     It  may  bo  mentioned  that  among  those  who 
joined  in  this  proposal  were  some  of  the  most  eminent  prelates  and 
ihvines  of  the  Church  at  that  tune,  including  Patrick,  Sharp,  Tillotsou, 
8tillingfleet,  and  Burnet.     This  was  the  last  serious  attempt  made  to 
promote  religioua  unity  in  England — defeated,  as  on  former  occasions, 
by  tlie  joint  forces  of  political  fuctiou  and  religious  intolerance.    Smce 
then,  and  during  the  present  century,  some  of  the  leading  spirits  of 
Nonconformity,  hke  Tarquin's  Sibyl  iu  the  old  story,  have  gone  on 
raising  their  terms^  and  now  no  longer  demanding  comprehension  \jx 
the  Established  Cliurch,  thoy  raise  the  cry   "Down  with  itl  "     This 
purpose  of  destruction  they  hope  to  accomplish  by  the  combined  aid 
of  a  variety  of  confederates.     There  are  the  Destructives  of  the  State, 
Leaded  by  an  ex-premien   There  arc  the  Ritualists  of  the  Church,  who. 
reckoning  on  the  security  of  their  lifo-iiiteresffl,  desire  the  "  disestab- 
lishment and  disendowment"  of  the  Church  in  order  that  they  may 
have  a  Romanizing  Free  Church  of  their   own,   exempt  from  the 
authority  of  the  Pope ;  there  are  the  Romanists ;  there  are  the  avowed 
infidels.     Upon  the  aid  of  these  heterogeneous  aUies  the  dcfitructivo 
NoQCouformist  leaders  naturally  rely  in  their  anti-ecclesiastical  strate- 


DISENCLOSURE  OF  THE  ^^  ANGLIC  AX  PADDOCKS    85 

getics;  but  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  they  will  be  supported  in 
these  bellicose  operations  by  the  ^eat  body  of  their  bretliren. 

After  all,  however,  one  chief  cause  both  of  the  failure  of  former  de- 
ngns  of  doctrinal  reform  and  religious  reunion,  and  of  the  non-rovival 
of  similar  designs,  has  been  our  constitutional  sluggishness,  our  **  native 
phlegm,""  and  the  state  of  indecision  in  which  the  Engheh  mind  has 
loved  to  dwell,  its  habitual  tolerance  of  anomalies,  and  the  disregard  of 
logical  consistency  with  which  other  nations  charge  us.  The  established 
religion  was  described,  in  1772,  by  Lord  Chatham,  with  some  of  the 
exaggeration  indeed  necessary  in  the  manufacture  of  a  pointed  saying, 
as  comprising  **a  Calvinistic  creed,  a  Popish  liturgy,  and  an  Arminian 
clergy.*'  The  established  religion  was  indeed  born  of  a  compromise, 
tnade  under  Elizabeth,  between  the  doctrines  of  the  Romish  religion 
and  those  of  the  Reformation,  with  the  politic  view  of  pacifying  the 
Reformers*  party  without  alienating  the  adherents  of  the  Romish  per- 
suasion. Neither  of  these  parties,  indeed,  were  satisfiod  with  this 
cozDpromiBe;  and  Puritanism  and  Popish  plots  were  its  consequences. 
The  nation,  however,  characteristically  acquiesced  in  it.  In  virtue  of 
this  compromise  we  have  the  Lutheran  17lh  Article,  that  on  original 
BID.  and  that  on  justification  by  faith  alone,  placed  in  the  formularies 
side  by  side  ^-ith  the  medieval  doctrines  of  the  opus  operatum  in  infant 
baptism,  of  the  absolving  power  of  the  priesthood,  and  the  power  of 
bishops  (Oret  claimed  in  the  eleventh  or  twelfth  century)  to  ^ve  the 
Holy  Ghost  in  Ordination,  Strange  combination  of  the  Augsburg  Con- 
fession and  the  Romish  Missal  I  In  one  place  we  have  the  Real  Presence 
apparently  recognized,  in  another  place  we  have  it  expressly  denied. 
The  maint&iners  of  the  opus  operatum  doctrine  of  infant  baptism, 
and  those  who  reject  it,  can  each  of  them  appeal  to  expressions  in 
the  formularies  as  favouring  their  respective  views.  The  established 
rehgion  is,  to  a  great  extent,  a  jumble  of  conflicting  doctrines,  as  it  is 
described  in  a  quotation  from  one  of  Latimer's  sermons  :  "  It  is  but  a 
mingle-mangle,  a  hotch-potch;  I  cannot  tell  what,  partly  Popery  and 
partly  true  religion.  They  say  in  my  country,  when  they  take  the 
hogs  to  the  pig-trough,  *  Come  to  the  mingle-mangle,  come,  pnz,  come.' 
Even  so  do  they  make  a  mingle-mangle  of  the  Gospel."  After 
Latimera  time  all  this  "mingle-mangle**  was  increased  by  Eliza- 
beth's settlement  of  the  formularies,  and  by  the  revision  of  the  Prayer 
Book  in  1662,  which  was  reactionary  in  the  direction  of  mediaeval 
doctrine. 

The  consequence  of  this  confusion  is  similar  to  that  of  the  conflict- 
ing precedents  of  our  common  law,  which  often  make  it  impossible  to 
ascertain  what  the  state  of  the  law  is  on  a  given  point.  In  like 
manner  it  is  in  some  points  impossible  to  determine  what  is  the 
doctrine  of  the  Anglican  Church ;  and  one  can  only  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  it  is  self-contradicting.  The  discrepancies  between  the 
Prayer-book  and  the  Articles  have  often  been  noticed.    It  has  been 


86 


TEE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


ETiggested  that  tlieae  discrepancies  were  not  perceived  when  the 
Articles  and  Prayer-book  were  first  placed  in  juxtaposition,  and  on 
equal  assent  was  required  to  both  of  them;  but  that  these  dis- 
crepouciee  were  left  to  Le  worked  out  by  a  more  thoughtful  geuora- 
tion  like  the  present. 

In  this  state  of  doctrinal  compromise  the  Anglican  Church  has 
continued  to  the  presi^nt  day ;  and  its  contiuuauco  in  this  state  cau 
be  accounted  for  only  by  the  slothful  indifference  to  logical  con- 
sistency which  characterizes  the  national  mind,  as  though 

"  Truth  were  for  it  too  serious  an  ondeavoar. 
Content  to  dwell  in  "  equipoise  *'  for  ever." 

This  compromise,  however,  cannot  much  longer  continue  in  an  age  of 
inquiry,  in  an  age  when  religious  earnestness  and  cultivated  thought 
are  brought  to  bear  upon  religious  questions  more  searchingly  and 
powerfully  than  in  any  former  age. 

Uudoiibtedly  this  state  of  compromise  effects  a  sort  of  conipreheu- 
Bion  and  niodus  vivendi  for  differently-minded  religionists ;  but  it  is  not 
a  comprehension  rightly  come  by,  or  satisfactory  to  the  inteUigent 
and  oonBcientious  mind.  Such  a  mind  may  in  certain  portions  of 
conflicting  formularies  recognize  statements  to  which  it  fully  assents, 
but  in  other  portions  it  must  find  statements  which  cau  only  by  great 
violence  done  to  tho  accepted  meaning  of  terms  be  twisted  into  an 
apparent  agi'cement  with  its  own  convictions  of  truth.  Great  is  tho 
misgiving  and  the  pain  of  epiiit  caused  to  a  Christian  minister  by  the 
conflict  of  his  convictions  with  the  statements  of  formularies  which  he 
uses  in  his  ministrations.  The  writer  can  state  that  the  late  Mr, 
Gorham,  after  the  conclusion  of  hia  contest  with  Bishop  Philpotte, 
and  towards  the  end  of  his  life,  felt  that  his  own  arguments,  though 
in  law  successful,  on  the  grotind  of  the  baptismal  formularies,  were 
not  satiBfactoiy.  The  writer  saw  not  long  since  a  letter  to  a  mutual 
friend  from  an  intelligent  Evangehcal  incumbent,  which  gave  a 
painful  picture  of  hu5  state  uf  mind  after  reading  a  leanied  and  ablo 
work  urging  a  "Revision  of  the  Liturgy.'*  The  earnest  minister  who 
goes  on  using  religious  fovmularicB  to  which  hie  con^actions  are 
oppoeed  must  sufier  not  only  pain  of  mind,  but  also  a  distortion  of 
the  moral  sense,  and  a  lo88  of  usefuhiess  iu  the  pastoral  office.  And 
there  is  this  further  great  drawback  to  our  present  coniprehenaion  by 
compromiBG,  that  it  opens  the  door  to  accusations  of  dishonesty  from 
opposing  parties  in  the  Church  each  against  the  othei*,  and  from 
othera  without  the  Clmrch  against  both  parties.  Dean  Stanley  has 
observed,  in  one  of  his  pamphlets,  that  when  the  two  parties  in  the 
Chtirch  break  out  into  controversy  with  one  another,  each  party 
rouses  "  the  sleeping  dogs"  of  a  literal  interpretation  of  the  conflicting 
formularies,  and  charges  the  other  with  dishonest  conformity.  He 
went  on  to  say  that  if  such  aa  interpretation  were  insiated  on,  "  they 


DISEXCLOSURE  OF  THE  '^  ANGLICAN  PADDOCK:'    87 


mnf  t  all  go  out,  from  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  the  humblest 
curate."  The  Dean  seemed  to  tliink  that  this  would  be  a  practical 
rtduclto  ad  ohurdttm  of  a  literal  interpretation.  The  present  writer 
•wonld  submit  that  it  ia  a  logical  conclusion  fi'om  the  Dean's  owti 
premises. 

The  wnter  must  here,  in  passing,  diwclaira  any  intention  or  wish  to 
attempt  the  easy  task  of  "  drawiug  an  indictment*'  against  the 
Estubhshed  Church  or  its  clergy,  lie  fully  reooguizes  the  great 
services  which,  in  spite  of  drawbacks,  it  has  rendered  to  the  nation — 
its  gi'and  theological  Htemture,  the  ability  and  learning  of  many  of 
its  clergy,  both  in  higher  and  lower  stations,  at  the  present  day ;  the 
zeal  and  self-nbandonment  of  many,  of  which  he  has  personally 
known  some  stiiking  examples;  and  that  "Church  of  England  piety," 
earnest,  sober,  and  consistent,  which  has  attracted  the  notice  and 
called  forth  the  unqnalified  admiration  of  eminent  persons  without 
its  pale.  It  has  been  observed  that  by  means  of  the  ancient  standards 
of  doctrine,  the  Nicene  and  Athanasian  Creeds,  and  the  Glona  Patri, 
retained  in  its  formularies,  the  Established  Giurch  has  beneficially 
exercised  no  little  influence  indirectly  on  the  doctiinal  attitude  of 
Nonconformist  communions  around  her.  No  candid  observer  can  deny 
its  missionary  acti^^ty,  or  that  its  great  means  of  usefuhiess  are,  by  the 
clergy  and,  I  may  add,  by  their  families,  employed  to  the  spiritual, 
■moral,  and  temporal  benefit  of  the  commimity.  The  wiiter  believes 
that  its  usefulness  will  be  greatly  increcu^ed  by  such  an  extension  of 
its  doctrina'  basis  as  will  reHeve  the  consciences  of  many  of  its 
.ministers,  draw  within  it  a  large  nmnber  of  religionists  now  with- 
tiut  its  pale,  and  remove  stumblingblocks  from  the  path  of  those  who 
re  within  it,  and  many  occasions  of  intestine  and  suicidal  con- 
roversy. 

To  a  echctne  of  ccmprehension  by  extension  it  may  be  expected 

that  pa^^es  at  both  poles  of  the  religious  hemisphere  will  meet  in 

objecting.    Such  is  the  frequent  fate  of  attempt*  at  pacification.   The 

•arty  within  the  Established  Church,  denominated  Rituahstic,  would 

bject  to  the  elimination  of  those  passages  in  the  Litm'gy  which  afford 

hem  the  standing-ground  on  whiah  they  can  maintain  their  tenets. 

The  party  without  the  Church,  who  clamour  for  its  "  disestablishment 

|and  disendowment,'*  would,  it  appeai-s,  oppose  such  comprehension,  as 

tending,  by  the  removal  of  doctrinal  anomalies,  to  tlie  preservatiou 

icf  the  Established  Church.     Is  it,  then,  true  that  these  religionistfl, 

while  beUe\nug  that  the  Clmrch  teaches  in  its  formularies  certain  fatal 

errors,  would  yet  insist  on  their  retention,  simply  because  they  see 

hat  their  retention  would  hasten  its  downfall  T     Is  it  the  fact  that 

'ChristianB,  bcheving  that  the  English  Church  contains  in  her  formn- 

'lan'es  particular  doctiiues  perilous  to  men's  spiritual  mtereste,  and 

f-txhich.  as  they  believe,  are  sprung  from  the  father  of  hes,  would  yet 

perpetuate  them  till  such  time  as  they  think  they  can  destroy  the 


88 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Clmrcli  Establishment  ?  that  they  would  bind  the  Church  to  go  on 
teaching  wliat  they  beHeve  to  be  false  in  order  that  they  may  more 
Bpeedily  procure  her  disestablishments  Such  policy  seems  hardly  to  be 
from  above.  It  seems  rather  to  be  akin  to  the  maxims  of  the  Floren- 
tine statesman,  to  the  Jesuitic  code  which  teaches  that  "the  end  justifiee 
the  means/'  and  to  the  notion  of  **  doing  evil  that  good  may  come." 

I  do  not  desire  to  reproach  such  religionists — 1  would  only  ask,  ia 
not  such  policy  as  this,  on  their  own  religious  principles,  a  "  destroying 
those  for  whom  Christ  died?  "  Is  it  consistent  with  the  interests  of 
Christian  truth  or  the  claims  of  Cbristian  charity? 

An  ally  of  this  party  lately  said,  and.  I  think,  with  truth,  that 
ominous  "  cracks  **  are  Bounding  in  the  fabric  of  the  Church  Esta- 
bhsbment.  Benefices  are  being  resigned.  Patrons  sometimes  have 
difficulty  in  finding  presentees;  nor  can  patronage  be  sold  well,  as 
of  yore.  "Great  prizes"  in  the  Church  are  not  sought  with  the 
eagerness  of  old.  The  Bame  interest  as  before  is  not  felt  in  the 
Church  in  regard  to  the  peisons  who  shall  be  appointed  to  vacant 
Bees,  Bishoprics  are  not  so  great  an  object  of  desire  as  in  past  days, 
and  are  even  refused  or  Tesigued.  Not  is  the  office  held  in  the  same 
reverence  with  which  it  was  regarded  within  the  recollection  of  thou- 
Bands  still  living.  The  late  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  Dr.  Jeune,  risked 
the  prophecy  that,  '*if  ho  lived  ten  years  longer,  he  should  be  the  last 
Bishop  of  that  see.*'  He  did  not  hve  ten  years  after  this  utterance; 
but  it  showed  the  estimate  which  an  acute  and  powerful  mind  formed 
of  the  chances  of  the  duration  of  the  Established  Church.  After  the 
death  of  Bishop  "Wilberforcc  it  was  well  observed  that  only  by  his 
wonderful  eloquence,  activity,  and  pereonal  influence,  the  Church  of 
England  had  been  saved  from  the  fate  with  which  it  was  threatened. 
Young  men  of  education  commonly  show  a  decided  disinclination  to 
enter  into  holy  orders,  and  their  fathers  commonly  prefer  for  them 
other  occupations  in  Kfe.  Few  only  of  the  distinguished  and  promis- 
ing yoimg  members  of  the  Universities  will  undertake  clerical  fimctions, 
which  forty  and  even  thirty  years  ago  attracted  a  considerable  pro- 
portion of  this  class.  The  conflicting  nature  of  the  formularies  repels 
logical  and  conscientious  miutls  from  the  expression  of  assent  to  them. 
A  great  right  honourable  controversialist  once  asked  in  tliia  Review 
the  question,  "Is  the  Church  of  England  worth  Preserving?"*  Let 
those  whose  memories  extend  forty,  thirty,  or  even  twenty-five  years 
back,  imagine  stich  a  question  coming  from  an  attached  member  of 
that  Church  I 

Far  indeed  is  the  present  writer  from  desiring  the  catastrophe  por- 
tended by  these  signs  of  the  times.  On  the  contraiy,  ho  behevea  that 
the  Estabhshed  Church  is  indeed  "worth  preserving"  as  an  original 
part  of  our  national  institutions,  intertwined  with  our  past  hiatory,  our 
traditions,  associations,  memories,  and  habits;  as  a  source  of  g^eat 
•  CoNTEUPORABT  E«viEw>  July,  1875. 


DISENCLOSVRE  OF  THE  '^ ANGLICAN  PADDOCKr    89 


I 

I 
I 


good  in  spiritual,  bocIuI,  and  temporal  respects  to  the  people  of  this 
country  ;  and  as  capable,  through  a  timely  revision  of  her  formularies, 
and  extenfeion  of  her  area,  of  becoming  a  Htill  greater  blesHing  to  tlie 
nation.  Her  power  for  good  in  the  parochial  sj'stem,  ramified  over  the 
whole  country',  her  endowments,  the  educated  intelligence  and  social 
Btatua  of  the  parochial  clergy,  and  the  large  private  wealth  possessed 
among  them,  and  liberally,  often  munificently,  used  for  religious  pur- 
poses and  in  promoting  the  temporal  welfare  of  the  poorer  classes,  give 
the  Established  Cliurch  advantages  for  useJxdness  such  as  no  other 
National  Church  in  the  world  enjoys,  advantages  which  a  far-seeing 
wisdom  would  not  throw  away,  and  so  make  *'  a  ruin  in  the  land  "  and 
destroy  one  of  its  ancient  glories.  Reform  is  better  than  destruction. 
It  is  easier  to  break  down  than  to  build  up ;  and,  according  to  the  old 
saying.  "Church-work  goes  up  upon  cnitches  and  comes  down  post- 
haste." If,  however,  the  Established  Church  is  to  be  preserved,  certain 
reforms  and,  if  I  may  use  the  word,  simphfications  of  her  heterogeneous 
and  complex  formularies  must  be  carried  out,  so  as  to  extend  her  com- 
munion. Those  who  have  had  opportunifies  of  learning  the  real 
sentiments  of  the  educated  and  sober-minded  but  iindemonBtrativo 
laity  of  the  Church  will  agree  with  the  present  writer  in  believing  that 
there  is  a  wide  dissatisfaction  vA\\\  the  fonnularies  in  many  particular, 
as  they  now  stand.  For  two  instances  out  of  several  that  might  bo 
quoted,  I  would  ask  how  many  of  such  laity  really  beheve  in  the 
efficacy  of  godfathers  and  godmothers,  or  would  approve  of  the  unin- 
telligible or  materialistic  petition  in  the  Baptismal  Service.  "Sanctify 
this  water  to  the  mystical  washing  away  of  sin"?  The  body  of  laity 
in  question  would  hail  with  satisfaction  the  excision  of  these  and  other 
repulsive  particulars  from  the  formularies.  They  would  be  glad  if  they 
had  any  means  of  enforcing  their  sentiments  on  the  subject,  and  would 
willingly  support,  if  they  saw  any  chance  of  success  in  supporting,  a 
movement  in  favour  of  such  excision.  They  have  no  belief  in  the  super- 
natnral  powers  or  ''sacramental  energy**  of  the  priesthood,  in  stated 
confessions  and  absolution,  or  in  spiritual  regeneration  by  infant 
baptism,  or  in  sponsorial  stipulations  for  infants,  or  in  the  real  presence 
of  Christ's  body  under  the  form  of  consecrated  bread  and  wine,  or  in 
e  "  giving  of  the  Holy  Ghost  "  in  Ordination.  They  know  and  feel 
ter  than  to  beheve  in  such  dogmas.  Though  they  arc  attached  in  the 
to  their  Church,  they  would  gladly  see  such  doctrines  purged 
it,  and  endure  the  retention  of  them  only  because  they  feel  that 
they  cannot  get  rid  of  them,  and  practically  have  no  redress.  They 
say  in  despair,  "  What  can  we  do  .'  how  can  we  help  the  existence  of 
such  doctrines  in  the  Church-services?  The  Bishops  will  not  stir  in  the 
matter,  and  the  House  of  Commons  naturally  hates  all  theological 
debates.'"  Thus  they  suffer,  in  silence.  pubUcly,  though  not  privately. 
An  expurgation  of  the  formularies  in  the  sense  here  intended  woiild 
content  such  persons,  would  retain  in  the  Anglican  Church  many  of 


90 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  more  earnest  minds  who  constantly  quit  its  communion,  and  would 
throw  its  doors  open  to  thousands  who  now  feel  compelled  to  remain 
without. 

Such  a  comprehension,  such  a  diseuclosure  of  the  **  Anglican  Pad- 
dock," would  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  passionate  partisans  of  the 
Eitualistic  section,  for,  though  they  theuaselves  would  be  relieved  of 
the  burden  of  subscription  to  articles  from  which  they  dissent,  they 
would  lose  their  standing-ground  in  the  formularies.  As  Httle  would  it 
be  approved  by  those  pohtical  Nonconfonnists  who  unhappily  desire 
to  fix  in  the  Established  Church  dogmas  which  they  themselves  believe 
to  be  false  and  pernicious.  It  would  however  be  accepted  heartily  by 
the  moderate,  sensible,  serious,  and  sober-minded  members  of  the 
Church,  and  by  candid-minded  members  of  other  Protestant  Tiinita- 
rian  denominations  amongst  us ;  it  would  work  towards  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  Established  Church,  and  towards  the  farthemnce  of  the 
Christian  Faith  not  only  in  England,  but  also  in  tliose  large  portions  of 
the  globe  to  which  her  infiuence  extends  in  religious  as  in  other 
matters. 

The  winter  is  well  aware  that  his  notions  of  Christian  comprehension 
will  by  some  be  thought  too  narrow.  He  submits,  however,  that  '*  the 
line  mtist  be  drawn  somewhere  " — while  he  would  have  it  dra>\ni  much 
lower  than  it  has  been  drawn  by  those  who  at  different  past  times  framed 
the  Articles  and  Litm*gy  of  the  Established  Church,  and  settled  its 
present  terms  of  clerical  conformity. 

It  has  been  argued  that  Church  comprehension,  founded  on  an 
extension  of  the  doctrinal  basis  of  the  Eatabhshed  Church,  would  lead 
to  controvemea  inimical  to  "  the  peace  of  the  Church."  Valuable 
however  as  peace  may  be,  truth  is  still  more  valuable ;  and  peace 
efl'ected  by  a  compromise  of  truth  with  error  has  been  found  by 
experience  to  be  no  peace  at  all,  but  a  feud  constantly  recuriing. 

It  has  also  been  argued  that  the  Established  Church  is  a  complex 
orgauisra,  composed  of  heterogeneous  materials;  and  that  the  touch  of 
reorganization  would  destroy  it.  It  has  been  compared  to  an  ancient 
fabric  which  hangs  together  as  it  is,  but  which,  if  a  stone  of  it  were 
meddled  with,  would  at  once  collapse.  If  this  comparison  expressed 
a  fact,  the  writer  would  join  with  the  destioictives,  and  would  say. 
Let  it  be  destroyed,  and  let  a  better  edifice  be  raised  in  its  stead.  He 
diflbeUeves,  however,  that  the  fabric  is  in  the  rotten  and  rickety 
condition  thus  described.  On  the  contrary,  he  maintains  that  by  a 
timely  renewal  of  its  foundations  and  strcngtheniug  of  lia  supports  it 
may  be  preserved  to  the  sphitual  and  secular  benefit  and  glory  of  the 
nation. 

J.  R.  Prettman. 


HOW    TO     MAKE    OUR    HOSPITALS     MORE 

USEFUL. 


IN  a  recent  number  of  this  Review*  an  article  by  Mr.  William  Gilbert 
was  published,  entitled,  "  The  Abuse  of  Charity  in  London :  The 
case  of  the  Five  Boyal  Hospitals/'  The  author  points  out  with  great 
clearness  and  force  the  enormous  value  of  the  endowments  possessed  by 
the  five  Royal  Hospitals,  and  the  comparatively  small  results  that  are 
accomplished  by  all  this  wealth.  In  the  main,  we  have  no  doubt 
Mr.  Gilbert  is  right.  So  far  as  the  two  Royal  Hospitals  for  the  relief 
of  the  sick  poor,  St.  Bartholomew's  and  St.  Thomas's,  are  concerned, 
we -can  endorse  his  statements.  Our  object  in  this  article  is  to  show 
what  direction  reform  should  take,  and  how  much  more  might  be  done 
for  the  sick  poor — and,  indeed,  for  the  nation  at  large — by  these  and 
other  similar  institutions,  if  they  remodelled  themselves  according  to 
the  requirements  of  the  present  day. 

Taking  then  St.  Bartholomew's  and  St.  Thomas's  as  our  starting- 
point,  and  accepting  Mr.  Gilbert's  statements  respecting  their  wealth, 
we  propose  to  consider  the  direction  in  which  medical  reform  has  been 
lately  tending,  and  the  plans  which  might  be  developed  by  such  re- 
sources  as  they  possess. 

Whether  these  great  hospitals  are  fulfiUing  the  terms  of  their  charters 
is  a  point  which,  as  Mr.  Gilbert  shows,  may  fairly  be  questioned.  But 
even  if  we  grant  that  they  ought  to  be  allowed  some  latitude,  that  they 
ought  not  to  be  too  strictly  tied  down  to  the  letter  of  their  charters, 
stiU  it  must  be  conceded  that  the  innovations  which  have  been  intro- 
duced are  of  a  very  important  kind. 

Of  these  we  shall  mention  two.  In  the  first  place,  large  medical 
schools  have  been  attached  to  the  hospitals ;  and,  in  the  second  place, 
a  new  department  has  been  introduced  for  the  relief  of  out-patients. 

*  GoNTEUPOKART  Rkvixw,  March,  1878. 


92 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


We  are  far  from  saying  that  these  changes  are  hurtful,  or  that  they 
have  not  been  called  for  by  the  social  requirements  of  the  nation.  We 
only  assert  that  they  arc  innovations. 

Indeed,  it  seems  very  natural  that  schools  of  medicine  should  form 
themselves  round  the  great  hospitals.  It  is  for  the  good  of  the  nation 
that  those  who  have  a  desire  to  practise  as  medical  men  should  be 
thoroughly  and  skilfully  trained  ;  and  who  arc  so  capable  of  giving  this 
training  as  the  physicians  and  surgeons  to  the  chief  hospitals?  They 
must  of  necessity  have  large  experience ;  they  have  great  facilities 
for  noting  the  progress  of  disease,  and  for  observing  the  effect  of  re- 
medies; and  they  need  the  help  of  many  hands  to  enable  them  to  carry 
out  the  minute  care  which  their  patients  require.  What,  therefore,  is 
more  natural  than  that  the  staff  of  such  a  hospital  should  gather 
around  it  a  circle  of  pupils?  But  these  pupils  arc  in  turn  very  useful  to 
the  hospital.  They  perform  a  multitude  of  minor  offices  for  the  patients, 
such  as  dressing  their  wounds  and  applying  their  bandages,  which  would 
otherwise  require  an  increased  staff  of  nurses.  Nor  is  this  all.  In  all 
eases,  surgical  and  medical  alike,  they  take  notes  from  day  to  day,  and 
register  the  results  of  treatment  in  a  way  which  enables  the  hospital  to 
contribute  vcrj'  materially  to  the  advancement  of  medical  and  surgical 
science.  Again,  if  a  hospital  has  around  it  a  large  number  of  students 
drawn  from  diffei-ent  parts  of  the  country,  the  name  of  the  institution 
is  spread  abroad,  its  fame  risca,  and  the  number  of  its  supporters  is  in- 
creased. In  these  ways  it  is  obviously  for  the  advantage  of  a  hospital 
to  have  a  medical  school  attached  to  it.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore, 
that  the  governors  of  St,  Bartliolomcw's  and  St.  Thomas's  have  been 
pleased  to  see  medical  schools  growing  up  around  thcni,  aud  that  they 
have  been  willing  to  meet  the  authorities  of  the  school  half-way.  Thus 
the  hospital  has,  as  it  were,  taken  the  school  into  alliance  with  itself, 
and  the  school  has  become  almost  an  integral  part  of  the  institution. 
It  is  seai'cely  fair,  therefore,  that  the  school  attached  to  a  large  hospital 
should  be  called,  as  Mr,  Gilbert  calls  it,  *^  a  private  speculation."  It  is 
in  truth  a  part  of  the  public  inHtltntion,  over  which  the  governors 
exercise  control  j  it  submits  to  their  regulations  ;  and  it  could  at  any 
time  be  shut  up  by  their  orders.  If,  therefore,  the  governors,  having 
regard  to  the  more  efficient  care  which  the  patients  derive  from  the  school 
and  its  teachers,  choose  to  assist  it  out  of  the  funds  at  their  dis|K>sal,  they 
have  a  right  to  do  so,  and  no  one  has  any  ground  of  complaint.  The  great 
object  for  which  the  institution  exists  is  thereby  materially  advanced* 

This  is  one  of  the  chief  innovations  whicli  have  been  introduced  into 
these  great  hospitals.  Wc  believe  it  to  be  quite  within  the  spirit,  if 
not  within  the  letter,  of  their  charters ;  and  it  conduces,  in  no  small 
degree,  to  the  welfare  of  the  patients  and  of  the  nation  at  large.  Care 
must,  of  course,  be  taken  that  the  patients  do  not  suffer  in  any  way 
from  the  proximity  of  the  anatomical  rooms,  or  any  of  the  other  build- 
ings whicli  are  necessary  for  medical  teaching.      But  if  due  caution   is 


HOSPITAL  REFORM, 


90 


exercised  on  this  point,  the  achlition  of  such  a  school  ought  to  be  nothing 
but  an  advantage  to  our  great  hospitals. 

The  other  innovation,  to  which  I  shall  now  allnde,  is  the  establish- 
ment of  the  out-patient  departments, 

•  That  tlic  physicians  and  surgeons  to  a  hospital  should  sec  some 
patients  besides  those  who  reside  under  ita  roof  is  almost  a  necessity. 
That  there  should  be  some  sort  of  out-patient  department  can  scarcely 
be  avoided ;  because,  when  patients  are  discharged,  it  often  happens 
that  they  need  to  be  kept  under  observation  for  a  time,  and  to  be  supplied 
with  medicines  until  their  recovery  is  complete.  If  we  have  in  view 
such  large  hospitals  as  St.  Bartholomew's  and  St.  Thomas's,  we  can 
easily  understand  how  these  patients  would  soon  become  so  numerous 

tas  to  require  to  l>e  placed  under  some  definite  regulations.  Thus  au 
out-patient  department  is  formed,  but  it  is  at  first  of  a  strictly  limited 
character,  and  the  patients  are  seen  by  the  ordinary  visiting  physicians 
and  surgeons,  under  whose  care  they  have  been  when  they  were  inmates 
of  the  hospital,  not  by  auy  s|>ccial  otticcrs  appointed  for  the  purpose. 
But  what  could  be  more  obvious  than  to  extend  this  deportment  so 

•  that  poor  persons  should  be  admitted  to  it,  who  needed  medical  advice 
and  medicine,  but  were  not  so  ill  as  to  require  to  l>c  received  into  the 
wards?    Certainly,  before  the  State  undertook  to  provide  for  the  medical 

■  wants  of  the  sick  poor,  it  must  have  been  futile  to  raise  any  objection  to 
such  an  extension  of  the  charity.  So  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and 
the  sick  poor  of  the  neighbourhood  begau  to  flock  to  the  out-patieut 
departments. 

This  speedily  necessitated  the  appointment  of  special  officers — 
assistant  physicians  and  assistant  surgeons — under  whose  care  these  out- 
patients were  to  be  placed.  To  advance  from  these  begiuuings  to  the  out- 
patient departments,  as  they  arc  at  present  organized,  was  only  a  natural 
I  development.  As  the  number  of  such  out-patieuts  increased,  it  became 
necessary  to  classify  them,  and  thus  special  dejiartmcnts  were  formed  ;  and 
the  reputation  of  the  physicians  and  surgeons  presiding  over  these  depart- 
ments tended  rapidly  to  augment  the  total  number  of  the  out-patients. 
■  This  i«  what  has  happened  not  only  at  the  two  Royal  Hospitals,  which 
we  have  named,  but  also  at  Guy's  and  at  the  other  older  hospitals. 
Half  a  century  ago  their  out-patient  departments  were  of  the  most 
Umited  kind  :  now  they  reckon  their  out-patients  by  tens  of  thousands. 
And  yet  within  this  period  tlic  wages  of  the  working  classes  have  riseu 
40  or  50  per  cent. 

Of  course  the  many  general  and  special  hospitals  which  have  been 
started  during  the  last  fifty  years  have  also  adopted  the  model  of  the 
existing  hospitals.  This  was  only  what  wa.s  to  be  expected.  How  could 
they  have  entered  into  competition  with  them,  uulcss  they  offered  equal 
idvantages?  So  that,  if  we  look  round  the  whole  circle  of  the  hospitals, 
e  shall  find  at  the  newer,  no  less  than  at  the  older,  that  there  are  large 
[out-patient  departments. 


94  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  ^M 

Thus  it  lias  come  to  pass  that,  in  the  course  of  a  single  generation, 
the  character  of  our  hospitals  has  been  materially  altered,  and  their  out- 
patient departments  have  become  a  most  onerous  part  of  their  work. 

AMien,  a  few  years  ago,  it  was  stated  that  the  number  of  out-patients 
at  the  various  Loudon  hospitals  was  not  less  than  one  million^  the  state- 
ment was  received  with  incredulity.  But  now  it  is  fully  admitted,  for 
it  has  been  verified  by  many  independent  inquiries,  and  it  has  been  found 
that  in  other  large  cities  throughout  the  country  the  same  proportion 
holds  good. 

NoWj  as  the  cost  of  each  out-patient  may  be  estimated  at  1*.  (Jd.^  it 
is  obvious  that  these  out-patient  departments  have  added  very  seriously 
to  the  expenses  of  the  liospitals. 

But  arc  the  out-i»aticut  dcpnrtmciits  either  necessary  or  desirable  ? 

To  a  small  and  strictly  limited  extent  they  are,  as  we  have  said,  neces- 
sary. Besides  the  necessity  that  those  who  have  left  the  hospital  relieved, 
but  not  fully  cured^  should  be  kept  under  observation  and  treatment,  it 
may  also  be  conceded  that  there  is  a  grade  uf  the  struggling  rxxir,  who 
are  just  above  the  level  of  parochial  relief,  but  who  are  not  in  a  position 
to  pay  anything  for  themselves,  to  whom  the  hospitals  may  properly, 
extend  the  hand  of  charity.  But  both  of  these  classes  arc  strictly 
limited ;  and  beyond  these  limits  a  free  charitable  out-patient  depart- 
ment is  certainly  by  no  means  an  unmixed  good.  For,  beyond  these 
limits,  who  arc  the  persons  who  resort  to  it  ?  Tliey  are,  for  the  most 
part,  well-to-do  working  people  with  trifling  maladies.  That  a  very 
large  proportion  of  them  are  of  this  class  has  been  shown  by  careful 
investigation;  and  that  the  vast  majority  are  affected  by  only  trivial 
complaints,  every  one  who  has  served  on  the  staflP  of  a  large  hospital 
knows  only  too  well.  Now,  these  persona  have  not  such  a  claim  upon 
charity  that  our  great  hospitals  need  go  out  of  their  way  to  open  special 
departments  for  them.  Indeed,  they  belong  to  a  section  of  society  to 
whom  charity  should  be  administered  with  great  discrimination  ;  for 
inasmuch  as,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  they  do  not  require  it,  it  is 
likely  to  do  them  more  harm  than  good. 

We  have  said  that  there  is  a  class  of  struggling  poor  to  whom  the 
hospitals  may  well  extend  the  hand  of  charity^  and  we  have  indicated 
the  limits  of  that  class.  It  seems  probable  that  under  the  Huctuatious 
of  trade,  and  the  many  exigencies  of  social  life,  there  must  always  be 
persons  in  this  position,  at  least  in  the  great  cities.  Still,  as  far  as  our 
means  of  judging  have  yet  gone,  it  appears  that  if  the  provident  system 
were  fairly  established,  such  a  class  would  speedily  melt  away.  Some 
few  would  pass  under  the  care  of  the  parochial  medical  officer,  but  the 
greater  number  would  find  it  for  their  advantage  to  keep  up  their 
provident  payments,  even  in  their  straitened  circumstances.  Tlio  report 
of  the  Charity  Organization  Society,  upon  the  social  position  of  the  out- 
patients at  the  Royal  Free  Hospital,  contains  the  following  statement : — 
"  With   regard  to  Class  3  (those   who   arc  described  as  '  proper  appli- 


HOSPITAL  REFORM. 


95 


cants'}  wc  arc  bound  to  state  that  in  the  opinion  of  those  who 
conducted  the  investigation,  the  whole  body  of  the  out-patients  is  really 
dirisible  iuto  two  sections:  (I)  those  who  might  reasonably  be  expected 
to  pay  somctbiag  for  their  medical  relief,  and  (2)  those  who  ought  to 
be  referred  to  the  parish.  So  much  allowauce  lias  been  made 
in  respect  to  the  cases  which  have  been  called  proper  applicants, 
that  it  may  be  confidently  asserted  that  many  of  them  could  pay  a  trifle 
for  themselves,  while  the  rest  would  have  no  difficulty  whatever  in 
obtaining  a  paribh  order ;  and  now  that  so  many  improvements  have 
been  introduced  into  the  administration  of  parochial  medical  relief, 
there  need  be  no  hesitation  in  referring  them  to  the  parish."  In  proof 
of  the  correctness  of  this  statement  we  may  mention  that  when  the  St. 
George's  Dispensary,  in  Mount  Street,  was  placed  upon  the  provident 
principle,  a  guarantee  fund  was  subscribed  to  meet  the  case  of  persons 
who,  although  not  entitled  to  Poor  Law  relief,  might  be  unable  to  make 
the  payments  at  the  dispeusary.  Of  this'  fund  no  use  whatever  has  been 
made.  The  class  whom  it  was  intended  to  benefit  had.  no  existence 
except  in  the  imaginations  of  the  beuevoleni  persons  who  advocated 
their  cause.  Further  experience  may,  and  very  probably  will,  confirm 
this  result^  and  sliow  that  there  is  no  such  class  as  that  which  we  have 
called  the  struggling  poor,  to  whom  the  doors  of  the  hospitab  should 
stand  open.  But  at  present  we  would  rather  err  in  making  too  large 
an  allowance  than  in  drawing  the  line  too  close. 

Bat,  it  may  be  asked,  if  the  out-patients  at  the  metropolitan 
hospitals  now  amount  to  a  million,  and  if,  as  we  affirm,  they  ought  to 
be  very  much  reduced  in  number,  what  is  to  become  of  this  multitude 
of  aick  folk  ?  Though  they  may  be  above  the  level  of  charity,  and 
though  their  maladies  may  only  be  trivial,  still  they  need  some  medical 
attendance,  and  how  are  they  to  get  it  ? 

Ten  years  ago  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  answer  this  question,  or 
at  least  the  answer  would  have  been  unsupported  by  experience.  But 
DOW  we  cau  reply  that  this  large  class  of  the  community  ought  to  hv'. 
provided  for  by  means  of  provident  institutions  on  the  principle  of 
mutual  assurance,  and  we  can  point  to  many  places  where  this  is  being 
done  in  a  satisfactory  way. 

There  are  now  so  many  provident  medical  institutions  or  Provident 
Dispeusaries  scattered  throughout  the  country  that  there  is  no  need  to 
explain  in  detail  what  is  meant  by  them,  or  how  they  carry  on  their 
work.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  members  are  enrolled  as  in  a  club ; 
that  they  ituy  a  »mal]  weekly,  monthly,  or  quarterly  subscription ;  and 
that  in  return  they  are  entitled  to  medical  attendance  and  medicine, 
when  they  are  ill.  It  is,  in  fact,  an  insurance  against  the  medical 
expenses  of  sickness,  and  this  insurance  is  open  to  all  who  belong  to 
that  special  grade  of  society  for  whom  the  Provident  Dispensary  is 
intended.  This  gratle  is  clearly  defined.  A  fixed  rate  of  weekly  earn- 
ings is  taken  as  the  upward  limit.     This  i-ate  varies  in  different  places 


1K>  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

according  to  the  nature  of  the  industry  in  which  the  working  i)copIe  are 
engaged,  and  according  to  their  wages.  In  some  agricultural  districts 
it  is  placed  as  low  as  20«. ;  while  in  some  large  cities  it  is  placed  as 
high  as  40*.  This  is  the  upward  limit.  The  downward  limit  ia  alwaySj 
the  same ;  no  one  who  is  in  receipt  of  parochial  relief  is  eligible  as  ft 
member.  Thus  the  boundaries  of  the  class  are  marked  out  with  con- 
siderable accuracy ;  and  it  is  necessary  that  the  managers  should  adhere 
strictly  to  tlic  limits  tliey  have  laid  down  for  themselves;  otherwise 
Provident  Dispensaries  are  liable  to  serious  abuse.  But  within  these 
limits  all  arc  eligible.  None  are  refused  because  they  arc  ill^  or  because 
their  work  is  attended  by  special  dangers.  lu  fact,  all  the  maladies  of 
the  working  classes,  short  of  those  which  require  admission  into 
hospital,  can  be  treated  at  Provident  Dispensaries. 

The  payments  which  arc  required  at  these  dispensaries  are  so  small  that 
they  come  within  the  reach  of  the  great  mass  of  the  working  classes. 
Speaking  generally,  one  shilling  a  month  may  be  said  to  be  the  amount 
which  is  required  at  most  Provident  Dispensaries  in  order  to  make  a  man, 
his  wife,  and  his  whole  family  members.  Mr,  George  Howell  has  told 
ua*  that  it  is  a  high  average  to  set  down  the  earnings  of  the  skilled 
London  workman  nt.  35i.  per  week.  Let  us,  tbercfore,  estimate  them  at 
30j?.  Surely  out  of  j£G  a  mouth  one  shilliog  might  be  set  aside  for  the 
family  subscription  to  the  Provident  Dispensary-  And  if  the  system 
of  provident  raeJical  relief  became  general,  there  can  be  uo  doubt 
that  the  scale  of  payments  might  be  reduced  to  a  yet  lower  figure. 
Moreover,  if  it  became  general,  there  would  be  uo  great  difficulty  in 
bringing  the  special,  as  well  as  the  general,  hospitals  within  the  range 
of  the  system,  so  that  -working  people  might  have  the  benefit  of  a 
specialist's  advice,  when  it  was  needed.  Again,  if  this  system  were 
cordially  adopted  throughout  the  country,  it  would  be  easy  to  give 
such  facilities  that,  wherever  a  working  man  went,  he  might  find  a 
Provident  Dispensary  to  "which  he  might  be  transferred.  Thus,  it 
might  not  only  supply  the  medical  wauta  of  the  working  classes  as 
efficiently  as  they  are  now  provided  for  by  the  charitable  hospitals,  but 
upou  a  much  more  ccrtaiu  and  definite  plan. 

Such  Provident  Dispensaries  as  these  have  been  rapidly  multiplied 
during  the  last  eight  years;  not  that  they  were  altogether  unknown 
before  that  time,  for  some  have  existcjl  for  thirty  or  forty  years,  but 
since  the  changes  which  were  made  in  the  Poor  Law  by  Lord 
Cranbrook's  Act  of  18(38  they  have  received  a  larger  amount  of  public 
attention  and  i)ecuuiary  support.  The  old  Poor  Law,  by  the  harshness 
of  some  of  its  enactments,  and  by  its  want  of  discrimination  between 
different  classes  of  sick  and  infirm  paupers,  excited  public  sympathy  on 
their  behalf,  and  led  to  the  establishment  of  many  charitable  hospitals  and 
kindred  institutions.  But  these  defects  were  removed  by  the  Act  of  18G8, 
At  the  present  time,  the  provision  made  for  the  sick  and  infirm  paupers 

*  CONTFJirOBABV  Ei-VIEW,  JuD©,  1878. 


■ «L 


HOSPIT^IL  REFORM. 


97 


I 


fe 


leaves  little  or  uotbiag  to  be  desired.  The  iufirmarics  which  have 
been  built  under  the  Act  are  constructed  according  to  the  best  plans, 
and  are  furnished  with  every  appliance  for  the  scientific  treatment  of 
the  sick.  As  Mr.  Gilbert  truly  says  in  speaking  of  the  Poplar  aud 
Stepney  Sick  Asylum,  "  in  excellence  of  construction  and  sanitary 
appliances  no  hospital  can  excel  it;  no  cost  has  been  spared  in 
thoroughly  adapting  it  for  hospital  uses."  In  like  manner,  the  provi- 
Bioa  for  slighter  cases  has  been  much  improved,  and  is  now  carried  on  in 
a  most  satisfactory  manner  through  the  forty-six  Poor  Law  Dispensaries 
scattered  over  the  metropolitan  area.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  for 
those  sick  persons  whose  poverty  brings  them  under  the  action  of  the  Local 
Government  Board  an  excellent  aud  efficient  system  has  been  provided. 
There  is,  therefore,  no  need  for  our  charitable  hospitals  to  make 
provision  for  this  class  of  sick  persons.  The  State  has  already 
provided  for  them  iu  a  very  efficient  manner  ;  and  it  is  best  and 
wisest  to  leave  them  iu  the  bauds  of  the  Poor  Law  medical  officers,  who, 
in  virtue  of  their  office,  and  from  their  relation  to  the  parochial  system 
at  large,  can  often  do  more  for  them  aud  obtain  for  them  more 
permanent  relief,  tlian  the  medical  officers  of  even  the  wealthiest 
charitable  hospitals.  Wc  may,  therefore,  conclude  that  sick  paupers  of 
all  sorts  may,  without  the  least  hardship,  be  left  to  the  medical  provision 
which  has  been  made  for  them  under  Act  of  Parliament. 

If,  now,  wc  were  to  deduct  from  the  total  number  of  out-patients 
those  who  properly  belong  to  the  pauper  class,  being  in  receipt  of 
parochial  relief,  we  should  find  that  they  amounted  to  a  very  consider- 
able number.  From  the  best  information  within  our  reach,  there  is 
reason  to  Ijelieve  that  they  would  constitute  about  fifteen  ])er  cent,  of 
the  total.  This  would  at  once  make  a  great  reduction  in  the  out- 
patient departments. 

But  of  whom,  or  of  what  class,  is  the  remainder  composed?  Here 
again  recent  investigations  help  us  to  give  something  like  an  exact 
answer.  Almost  fifty  per  cent,  have  been  found  to  belong  to  that  class 
who  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  contribute  towards  the  expense  of 
their  own  medieal  treatment.  In  other  words,  they  do  not  in  ordinary 
circumstances  require  gratuitous  assistance,  and  to  Kuch  persons  charity 
should  be  administered  wilh  great  care  and  discrimiuation. 

Now,  if  we  deduct  these  large  percentages  from  the  total  number  of 
the  hospital  out-patients,  there  will  remain  only  about  one-third  who 
can  in  any  way  be  considered  proper  applicants  for  charity.  In  fact, 
the  out-patient  departments  ought  to  be  reserved,  as  we  have  said, 
firstly,  for  those  who  have  been  treated  in  the  wards,  aud  whom  the 
physicians  aud  surgeons  desire  still  to  keep  under  observation  ;  secondly, 
for  those  who  may  be  deemed  suitable  for  admission,  and  may  be 
awaiting  their  turn  ;  thirdly,  for  those  who  may  be  sent  to  the  hospital 
for  consultation,  or  who  may  for  some  special  medical  reason  be 
allowed  to  attend;  and  fourthly,  for  poor  persons  of  that  limited  social 
VOL.  XXXV.  n 


98 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIF, 


grade  whom  we  have  described  as  the  stniggUug  poor, — thoac  who  are 
above  the  level  of  parochial  relief  on  the  one  hand,  but  who,  on  the 
other,  from  some  exceptional  causcj  cannot  reasonably  be  expected  to 
pay  anything  for  their  own  medical  attendance,  and  to  whom  charity 
may  properly  be  extended.  In  short,  the  admission  to  the  ont-paticnt 
departments  should  depend,  firstly,  upon  the  medical  necessities  of  the 
case,  and  secondly,  upon  the  social  condition  of  the  applicants. 

By  thus  jpemodelling  the  out-patient  departments,  the  hospitals 
would  save  a  large  sum  of  money,  and  many  who  are  now  employed 
in  seeing  out-patients  as  assistant  physicians  and  assistant  surgeons 
would  find  their  occupatiou  almost  gone.  Cei'tainly  it  would  not  be 
necessary  to  have  so  large  a  staff  at  each  hospital  as  at  present. 
There  would,  therefore,  be  both  money  and  skilled  labour  at  the 
disposal  of  the  governors.  How  could  these  be  better  employed 
than  in  helping  to  develop  a  system  of  Provident  Dispensaries 
grouped  around  each  hospital,  and  aer\ed  in  part,  if  not  in  whole, 
by  the  junior  members  of  the  staff?  At  present,  when  a  Provident 
Dispensary  is  about  to  be  opened,  the  first  and  foremost  difliculty 
that  it  meets  with  is  the  competition  of  the  free  medicfll  charities 
in  the  neighbourhood.  The  second  difficulty  is,  that  a  certain 
sun;  must  be  raised  by  subscription  to  meet  the  primary  expenses,  and 
to  carry  it  ou  until  it  is  thoroughly  established.  These,  we  may  say, 
are  the  only  obstacles  in  the  way  of  such  institutions.  But  if,  as  wc 
have  suggested,  the  great  hospitals  woultl  themselves  undertake  to  open 
Provident  Dispensaries  in  their  several  disitricts,  neither  of  these 
difficulties  would  be  felt.  They  would  not  even  present  themselves  to 
view.  There  would  be  no  competition  from  the  hospitals — competition 
would  be  changed  into  cordial  co-operation ;  and  there  would  he  no 
need  to  nsk  for  special  subscriptions,  because  llic  money  saved  by  the 
reduction  of  the  out-pntient  departments  would  suffice  to  act  on  foot  a 
proportionate  number  of  Provident  Dispensaries,  Further,  if  the 
hospital  authorities  retained  in  their  own  hands  the  appointment  of 
physicians  and  surgeons  to  these  pro\ddent  institutions,  they  might 
obtain  the  co-operation  of  all  the  best  medical  men  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  also  retain  tlicm  in  relation  with  tlie  great  centres  of  medical 
learning.  That  this  would  have  a  good  effect  in  stimulating  them  to 
keep  themselves  up  to  the  requirements  of  the  day,  and  raising  the 
whole  level  of  medical  treatment  throughout  the  district,  we  cannot 
doubt.  Nor  would  it  be  without  a  bencficinl  effect  upon  the  hospitals 
themselves,  for  the  junior  stafl'  would  thus  be  considerably  increased, 
and  there  would  be  a  larger  number  to  choose  from  in  making  the 
higher  appointments,  while  the  Provident  Disitcnsarics  wouhl  fumisli 
a  better  field  for  the  practical  training  of  the  medical  »tndcnt« 
than  the  present  out-patient  departments  supply.  They  would  afford 
experience  in  the  /tome  visitation  of  the  sick  poor,  and  in  the  treat- 
ment of  many  simple  but    common   ailments,   the  absence    of  which 


HOSPTTAL  REFORM. 


m  an  adontted  defect  ia  the  iiMliBiliuB  givca   voder  tfe 
srxmgeaMnts. 

-  Wherefiff  a  ftotidmt  DkycnMiy  ins  beei  opoMd  at  a 
iiiliiifr  firaaft  the  fine  lawKfai  charitiei,  aad  vkemcr  it 
niiriinnj  wralfd,  thr  indwitfiil  rliwi  hare  afaovano  dHmcimatioa  to 
mmk  llw^trri  m  amaben.  We  mar,  thucfote,  feri  asarrd  tlut  if  the 
^anwfi,  nore  particalaTiy  dM»e  who  are  tfe  govemois  aad  s^- 
of  the  ciwritahle  htfatikj  voald  aie  their  inflaence  to  cfcate 
•jitem  of  pKorident  wirdiral  relief  the  workiB^  cisMes  voald 
mat  bedov  toifivedate  their  c6arti> 

To  cuTj  oat  thn  olqect,  the  fint  step  woold  be  to  pot  the  oot-patieaft 
dc^artneats  aader  loaie  aoch  liaiitirlHmT  as  ae  have  soggcsted,  and  then 
to  «<KKf**  the  enting  BRwrident  IM^ensanes  oC  the  ncighbottrhood  to 
iSbc  hoqatals,  or,  if  need  be,  to  open  £teah  Rnmdeat  Dbpeiaariea. 
Ai  aoiae  of  the  great  metzopolitaa  hoapitib  this  might  be  easfly 
cSected;  for  example,  tikcre  aie  already  tfafce  or  ibar  Rwidmt 
I>iqKasarieB  grouped  aroaad  St.  Gecage's  Hospital,  and  the  gtiieuaas 
of  tiie  ho^atal  hare  shova  soiae  disposition  to  eonnder  the  questioa 
<tf  adnmustratiTe  zefonn.  Nov,  if  this  disposition  vent  so  fiir  as 
elect  ually  to  cnrtail  the  oat-patient  department,  aad  to  rcier  the 
workixig  dMaes  to  the  l^orident  Di^teasaries,  the  fbndameatal  prin- 
ciples of  the  gefotatt  ve  adroeate  vonld  be  at  once  established.  The 
^Dvemon  of  the  hospital  might  indeed  proceed  to  affiHate  these 
Aorideot  Dispensaries,  and  in  retnm  might  demand  aoaie  advantages  ibr 
the  jnnior  members  of  their  staff  and  for  their  mrdiral  students.  Bat 
if  anj  one  shoold  object  that  it  is  not  the  province  of  a  hospital  to 
establish  Provideat  Di^eassvies,  (v  even  to  accept  them  in  a  sobsidiaiT- 
velatkm  to  itsdf,  then  ve  shoold  replj^  that,  even  vithoat  such  active 
■aiMtsarr.  their  cardial  oo-opcntion  and  firiendfy  feeing  vonld  sapplj 
all  tiiat  is  needed.  The  indnstrial  class  voold  in  this  var  feck  that  thej- 
arcve  no  longer  treated  as  obiects  of  charitj,  bnt  that  ail  their  minor 
aibnents  vcre  met  bj  their  provident  payments,  and  that  it  vas  otdj- 
when  overtaken  by  prolonged  or  serioos  illness  that  thej  had  to  rd  y  on 
the  generositjr  of  their  ridier  nei^boors.  In  saying  this,  ve  sssnay 
that  the  provident  payments  vonld  cover  all  the  cost  of  treatment  at 
the  dispensaries,  and  there  can  be  little  donbt  that,  if  the  system  b&> 
came  general,  such  voold  be  the  case.  At  present  Provident  Dispen- 
earies  have  to  ad^  for  the  benevolent  aid  of  the  npper  classes,  bnt  that  is 
chiefiy  becanse  a  comparatively  smaU  number  of  vorking  peo|de  hare 
enrolled  diemselves  in  them ;  and  the  namber  is  small  just  because  of 
the  competition  of  the  free  medical  diarities.  Bat  if  this  competition 
oonld  be  dianged  into  friendly  Go-operation^  Provident  Dispensaries  vonld 
aoon  become  entirely  self-snpporting  institntions.  As  an  example  of 
vhat  the  vorking  classes  may  do  for  themselves  by  means  of  soch  insti- 
tntions, even  nnder  the  existing  state  of  things,  ve  may  point  to  the 
Boyal  Victoria  Dispensary,  Northampton.     From  its  report  of  the  year 


100 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


1877  we  learn  that  the  amount  received  in  payments  from  members  vas 
£2356  7s.  Sd,f  these  payments  having  iucreased  more  thaa  twenty 
per  cent,  during  the  last  four  years.  On  the  other  hand,  the  amount 
received  from  honorary  subscribers  was  merely  j£184  7s.  6d.  At  thia 
rate  of  progress,  it  is  evident  the  institution  may  soon  be  independent  of 
even  that  small  amount  of  assistance.  Though  the  Victoria  Dispensary  at 
Northampton  has  been  singularly  successful,  many  others  might  be 
mentioned  which  have  attained  a  fair  degree  of  prosperity.  These  facta 
are  sufficient  to  show  that  the  provident  system,  if  it  were  relieved 
of  the  difficiUties  with  which  it  has  now  to  contend,  would  be  capable  of 
doing  all  that  we  have  claimed  for  it. 

In  IVfanchester  a  most  interesting  experiment  is  now  being  tried. 
An  Association  has  been  set  on  foot,  called  "  The  Manchester  and 
Salford  Provident  Dispensaries  Association/'  the  object  of  which  is  to 
open  a  Provident  Dispensary  in  each  district,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
induce  the  charitable  hospitals  to  co-operate  with  it,  by  restricting  their 
out-patient  departments,  and  by  referring  the  working  classes  to  the 
dispensaries  for  the  treatment  of  all  their  trivial  ailments.  At  present 
the  Association  has  opened  six  Provident  Dispenstiries,  and  four  of  the 
principal  medical  charities  in  the  town  are  acting  in  conjunction  with  it. 
Lists,  containing  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  applteauta  for  out- 
patient relief  at  these  four  charitable  institutionsj  arc  forwardc<l  to  the 
office  of  the  Association,  The  cases  are  then  investigated,  and  those 
that  arc  found  to  be  al>ovc  the  level  of  charitable  assistance  are  referred 
to  the  Provident  Dispensaries. 

Tlie  report  for  1877  says: — "  The  diapeuaaries  arc  becoming  better 
known  by  the  working  classes ;  and,  as  the  members  are  learning  by 
experience  that  by  small  weekly  payments  they  can  obtain  whatever 
medical  assistance  they  may  require,  at  a  cost  proportionate  to  their 
income,  they  arc  becoming  much  more  willing  to  continue  their 
subscriptions,  even  when  there  is  no  immediate  prospect  of  any  benefit 
being  required  in  return.  Their  confidence  in  the  system  could  not  be 
developed  by  any  mere  explanation  of  its  advantages,  but  only  by  its 

proved  adaptability  to  their  circumstances The  Med  lock  Street 

Dispensarj'  has  been  self-supporting  during  the  last  year  and  a  half.  The 
other  five  dispensaries  required  a  subsidy  from  the  funds  of  the  Associa- 
tion. The  payments  of  the  members  at  these  six  dispensaries  during 
1877  amounted  to  £23Ga  4».  5d.^  and  the  sum  received  by  the  medical 
staff  was  £1411." 

Certain  genera!  jirinciplcs  have  been  adopted  in  investigating  the 
cases  of  applicants,  but  no  hnrd-and-faat  nikrs  arc  laid  down.  The 
special  circumstances  of  each  case  are  considered,  and  care  is  taken  to 
treat  with  consideration  all  applicants  upon  whoTn  immediate  hardship 
would  be  inflicted  by  a  too  rigid  adherence  to  the  rule. 

The  effect  of  these  systematic  investigations  has  been  that  those  who 
have  no  claim  upon  charity  hesitate  to  ask  for  it.     "  In  1875,  when  the 


HOSPITAL  REFORM, 


101 


investigations  were  first  made,  ^^  per  cent,  of  the  people  seen  were 
found  to  be  able  to  pay  the  dispensary  charges  \  iu  1876  the  proportion 
fell  to  21  per  cent.,  and  in  1877  to  19  per  cent.  It  is  evident,  therefore, 
that  persona  who  have  no  right  to  medical  charity  are  ceasing  to 
apply  for  it." 

Even  those  medical  charities  which  stand  aloof  from  the  Association 
finve  nevertheless   found  it  necessary  to  make  some   inquiry  into  the 
tecial  couditiou  of  their  out-patients.     Thus  the  Association  is  doing  an 
indirect  as  well  as  a  direct  good. 

"  It  has  been  pointed  out,"  the  report  says,  "  that  the  Infirmary, 
the  Children's  Hospital^  the  Clinical  Hospital,  and  the  Hospital  for  In- 
curables, are  the  only  chanties  which  co-operate  with  this  Association  by 
refusing  to  assist  those  wlio  can,  by  the  payment  of  one  penny  per 
week,  procure  medical  assistance  through  the  Provident  Dispensaries* 
Whilst  it  is  to  be  regretted  that  such  should  be  the  case,  it  is  a  matter 
for  congratulation  that  the  principle  is  becoming  more  generally  acted 
upon ;  that  it  i»  wise,  not  only  in  the  interests  of  the  hospitals  and  the 
medical  profession,  but  of  the  patients  themselves,  to  give  medical 
assistance  to  those  only  who,  after  inquiry  at  their  own  homes,  are 
found  to  be  unable  to  procure  it  for  themselves.  Many  working  people 
arc  unable  to  obtain  this  assistance  for  themselves  so  long  as  they  have 
to  pay  the  fees  required  iu  ordinary  private  practice,  but  most  of  them 
could  procure  it  through  the  Provident  Dispensaries.  If,  then,  it  should 
he  the  case  that  any  of  the  medical  charities  are  refusing  to  take 
cognizance  of  this  Provident  DisjKJnsary  class  by  giving  relief  to  all  but 
tfaofte  who  can  pay  private  fees,  they  are  uccdlessly  teaching  a  large 
section  of  the  community  to  rely  upon  charity  rather  than  upon  their 
own  exertions.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  these  patients  would  suffer 
by  being  referred  to  the  dispensaries,  as  by  far  the  greatest  number  of 
persons  applying  as  out  and  home  patients  at  the  charities  are  subject  to 
mere  ordinary  and  well-known  complaints,  which  can  }>e  treated  by  any 
qualified  practitioner." 

In  conclusiou,  the  Council  of  the  Association  "  ask  for  support  because 
they  think  that  this  system  is  the  only  effectual  remedy  which  has  yet 
becu  discovered  for  the  abuse  of  the  free  charities,  because  it  is  not 
only  just  but  advantageous  to  the  medical  profession,  and  because  it  is 
of  great  and  lasting  service  to  tlic  poor." 

This  experiment,  which  is  being  carried  out  at  Manchester,  is  of  the 
most  important  kind.  Unhappily,  the  institutions  which  stand  aloof 
from  the  Association  hinder  the  good  work.  But  enough  is  being  done 
to  show  how  beneficial  would  be  the  cflfect  of  a  general  and  harmonious 
system.  The  medical  charities  would  be  relieved  of  the  excessive  number 
of  out-patients,  the  misuse  of  charity  would  be  prevented,  and  a  very 
large  number  of  jiersons  would  be  encouraged  to  provide  for  themselves 
by  I>ecoming  members  of  the  dispensaries.  In  ^uch  a  town  as  Man- 
chester the  fact  that  the  payments  to  the  dispensaries  amounted  in  one 


103 


THE   CONTEMPORARY    RE  FIE  IF. 


year  to  £5363^  is  of  vciy  great  value  ;  and,  if  all  the  medical  charities 
were  working  iu  harmony,  this  sum  might  well  be  trebled  or  quadrupled. 
Every  prondent  institution,  be  it  of  wliat  kind  it  may,  is  a  stone  added 
to  the  foundations  of  our  social  fabric.  The  more  we  can  induce  those 
who,  although  net  able  to  pay  the  usual  professional  fees,  can  afford  a 
low  mutual-assurance  rate,  to  enrol  themselves  in  such  societies,  the  more 
we  give  firmness  and  stability  to  the  working  classes,  which  form  such 
an  important  element  in  the  nation. 

The  success  of  this  experiment  at  Manchester  has  been  such  that 
Birmingham  has  taken  the  m^atter  into  serious  consideration,  although, 
at  present  nothing  beyond  preliminary  inquiries  has  been  accomplished. 

The  great  difficulty  which  has  met  the  Manchester  Association  is  the 
want  of  co-operation  on  the  part  of  the  medical  chai'ities,  and  the 
Birmingham  Committee  seem  to  hesitate  before  eucomiteriug  similar 
obstacles.  Tlie  first  step,  therefore,  towards  any  general  reform  is  to 
secure  the  goodwill  of  the  governors  of  the  medical  charities.  Where 
there  arc  a  dozen  such  charities  in  a  single  town, the  difficulty  is  sufficiently 
great ;  but  when  we  turn  to  the  metropolis,  where  there  are  more 
than  a  hundred,  it  becomes  almost  insupcjablc.  We  must  not,  there- 
fore, wait  till  all  are  favourable  to  these  changes.  Let  a  few  set  the 
example,  and  the  rest  will  Follow  iu  due  time. 

To  what  hospitals  can  we  look  to  take  the  lead  in  these  measures  of 
reform  so  naturally   as  to  the  lloyal   Hospitalsi   St.  Bartholomew's  and 
St.  Thomas's?     They  have  a  position  and  a  standing  which  would  make 
their  action  felt  throughout  the   whole  series  of  the  medical  charitie»jrf 
and  they  have  endowments  which  raise  them  above  the  fluctuations 
"Tohmtary   contributions,"      Each  of  these  great  hospitals  forms  the 
medical  centre  of  a  large  and  populous  district.     If  the  governing  body 
of  6ne  of  tliese  hospitals  were  inchued  to  put  itself  at  the  head  of  t 
movement  for  hospital  reform,  there  would  be  no   obstacle   in   its   way 
which  would  be  worth  mentiouiug.     At  St.  Bartholomew's,  the  returns 
show  that   there   arc    a   humlred   and  forty  thousand   out-paticnta  per 
annum.      Now  if  we  say  that  each  out-patient  costs  on  an  average  6rf. 
for  drugs  alone,  or  that  the  total  cost  of  each  out-patient  is  Is,  6d.,  we 
shall   probably    be  taking  an  estimate   which  is  well  within  the  hounds 
of   truth.*     At  this  rate  the   out-patients   at  St.  Bartholomew's  coat^^^ 
^£3500    (>cr  annum   for  drugs    alone;    or  i;iO,500   per   annum,  if  we-^" 
include  their  total  expense.     But  at  least  two-thirds  of  this  sum  would 
be  saved  by  adopting  such  plans  as  we  have  suggested,  luid  how  could 
it  be  employed  to  greater  advantage  than  in  forming  new    Provident 

*  Since  this  wu  written  Dr.  Robert  Bridges  baa  published,  in  the  14th  Tolame  of  tbo  SL^ 
Bartbolrtmew's  Hospital  Reports,  a  detailed  acoount  of  the  oiit*paticnt  dcikartment.  H  ^ 
saya  tbo  number  of  out-patienta  approachos  nearer  200,000.  Ou  the  other  baud,  ho  sel 
dowu  the  cost  vf  drugs  at  a  niueh  luwer  figure  Ihaa  1  hrive  yiveu  above.  I>r.  Bridges' 
paper  is  a  very  ini[>ortaiit  one,  and  should  bo  cArefnlty  read  by  tul  vbo  are  iDtcreetod  in  tiie 
MiDJeot  of  br)«pit«l  out-patieut  rcforui.  The  picture  uliich  it  girea  of  the  mauner  in  wfaidi 
"medical  charity"  ia  adiuiniatercd  in  the  Coauidty  Department  of  ,St.  Bartholomew*! 
Hospital  ibowB  bow  urgently  aome  change  is  needed. 


HOSPITAL  REFORM. 


lOi 


m 


the  na^JbottAood,  pcondia^ 


tlieai^    mud    Aiding  then  hw 


rnndl  « 


TkM,    Sc 


br  the 


oTli^ 


memben  hare  joined  to  make  them  seli^^niqiportii^  ? 
Barthoiomew'ft  mig^t,  mficr  makiag  jamiMian  ior  «  Iwwir 
d^AitBient,  sornmnd  itKlf  vith  a  gra^  of  dnpcnnneiy 

be  onder  its  ovn  control,  officered,  in  sotte  miBtamxt  at 
janioir  members  of  its  owb  tiUM,  sad  stteaded  by  its 
students ;  sad,  while  daing  this,  it  wcmkd  fnnvide  §or  the 
sick  poor  of  the  distiict  in  s  &r  more  helpful  snd  dersting 
tiisa  it  now  does  by  its  indiicniDuiste  zclief.     On  the  other 
}aog  ss  it    cxenaaes  its  shnndsnt    chsntf,  without 
question  to  the  recipients,  no  provideat  nedicsl 
tain  itself  in  the  neighboarfaood. 

What  we  hsve  thns  sketched  ftft  St.  BsitUoskew's,  nu^  ia  fike 
be  done  by  St.  Tbomss's,  by  Gov's,  bv  sll  the  greet  geucrsl 
Each  of  theK,  bj  cnrtatliiig  its  oot-patieBt  dcyartasemt, 
would  find  the  means  of  opening  a  pt^yurlitaiate  wmbrr  of  IVwideat 
Dispensanes,  and  in  truth  it  would  not  slways  be  neaeassir  &r  the 
hoiphal  to  nzidertake  the  apening  of  soch  diipunaanni  Safyosiiig  it 
were  one  of  the  nneDdowed  b^Mptalff,  one  of  those  which  are  sapported 
br  voluntary  contiibutionfty  snd  which  hare  difficulty  enough  in  kequiig 
their  wsids  open,  such  an  institution  might  saw  at  least  three- 
qwtften  of  the  mocej  that  is  now  expended  i^ob  its  oiit  patlft 
department,  if  only  it  would  act  in  friendly  co-operadau  with  such 
Fravident  IHspensaziee  as  beneroient  persons  mi^t  c^ien  in  its 
nei^bourhood.  Few  hosintals  make  more  urgent  appeab  for  funds 
than  the  liondon  Hospital,  Wbitechapel  Road ;  yet  it  is  said  that  a 
pcorident  medical  institution,  which  was  lately  opened  in  the  neigh- 
honrhnndj  was  unable  to  maintain  itself  in  ooEOsequeuce  of  the  competi- 
tion  of  the  London  Hospital.  In  like  manner^  the  MaryMxme 
Prondcat  Dispensary,  which  had  existed  for  forty  years,  was  recently 
dosed,  becaose  it  could  not  hold  its  own  agsinbt  the  Wclbcck  Street 
Pi^Mmiiaiy  and  the  Middlesex  and  University  College  Hospitals.  In 
this  way,  Tery  few  of  the  existing  Provident  Dispensaries  have  had  a 
£ur  ehaaoe.  Working  men  win  not  pay  even  a  penny  a  week  for  that 
which  they  are  pressed  to  rec«ve  as  a  free  gift.  If  the  medical 
chanties  were  to  put  a  just  limit  on  their  out-patient  departments,  not 
only  would  a  host  of  fresh  Provident  Dispensaries  be  set  on  foot,  but 
tkcMB  already  existing  would  become  at  once  flourishing  institutions, 
•ad  we  should  Uieu  see  what  the  system  of  provident  medical  relief  could 
really  do  for  the  country.  The  committee  of  the  Metropolitan  Hospital 
Fund,  in  a  recent  letter,  state  '*'  that  the  accounts  of  the  various 
medical  charities  show  a  deficiency  of  nearly  ^75,000/^  But  if  the 
plans  we  have  suggested  were  adopted,  this  deficiency  would  be  speedily 
removed.  A  writer  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  (July,  1877)  estimates 
the  number  of  working  mcu  iu   London  at  C9G,147,  and  of  working 


104 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


women  nt  461,529.  Now.  if  we  take  tliese  ti;;iirrs  as  tlif^  hnsis  of  our 
calculation,  and  reckon  the  men  at  one  penny  and  the  women  at  one 
halfpenny  a  week  (exclusive  altogether  of  the  children),  the  total 
would  amount  to  more  than  i:2O0,i500  per  annum.  Thus  we  see  how 
much  tlie  working  classes  might  do  for  themselves  iu  this  matter  with- 
out the  slightest  hardship,  and  to  how  large  an  extent  the  charitable 
hospitals  might  he  relieved.  All  that  is  needed  is  a  well-devised 
system,  and  criniial  c(j-o|)enitiou  on  the  part  of  the  hospitals. 

But  if  a  system  of  Provident  Dtspcnsariea  became  general,  and  if  the 
industrial  ckfescs  fcnnd  tliiit  by  this  means  they  were  able  to  provide  for 
themselves  in  tlic  lesser  ailn\ents  of  lifc^  they  M'ould  not  stop  here. 
The  feeling  of  independence  whicli  hnd  been  created  in  them  would  in- 
duce them  to  go  still  fnrtlicr.  Tlicy  would  wish  to  provide  for  them- 
selves, at  least  in  some  degree,  even  wiicn  they  were  overtaken  by  more 
Hcvere  illness.  Provident  hospitals,  partially  or  wholly  self-supporting, 
would  spring  up  iu  connection  with  Provident  DispcnsarieSj  or  arrange- 
ments would  he  made  whereby  the  provident  members  miglit  be  received 
into  existing  hospitals  at  amall  and  fixed  rates  of  payment.  Thus  the 
"British  workman  would  have  some  share  iu  providing  for  himself  iu 
almost  all  tlie  ailments  of  life.  Indeed,  this  is  what  has  actually 
happened  in  several  jilaces.  At  Torquayj  a  small  hospital  has  recently 
heeu  opened  in  connection  with  the  Provident  Dis[)i'usary.  At  Devon- 
port,  the  out-paticut  dci)artnicnt  of  the  lioyal  Albert  Hospital  is  con- 
ducted upon  the  provident  principle,  and  patients  are  admitted  into  the 
wards,  when  they  require  it,  in  vii'tue  of  their  provident  payments.  At 
the  North  Statlbrdshire  Hosintal  the  workpeople  of  the  surrounding 
districts  make  regular  contributions  to  the  funds,  and  have  a  claim  for 
admission,  if  it  becomes  necessary,  At  Battersca,  the  progress  of  recent 
medical  reforms  has  been  wl41  illustrated.  Aliout  four  years  ago,  a 
dispensary  which  had  been  earned  on  for  twenty  years  u  pon  the  charitable 
system,  was  converted  into  a  provident  institution.  The  success  which 
followed  this  change  was  such,  tlmt  a  few  mouths  ago  a  desire  was  expressed 
for  a  hospital  to  be  founded  on  the  same  principle,  where  the  members 
would  obtain  the  benefit  of  in-patient  treatment.  As  a  means  of 
meeting  this  want.  Canon  Erskiue  Clarke  secured  a  suitable  house  on 
the  verge  of  VVandsM'nrth  C^ommon,  on  a  spot  which  is  four  miles  from 
the  nearest  general  hospital.  This  house  will,  it  is  hoped,  eventually  be 
opened  for  the  reception  of  patients,  each  of  whoin  will  pay  according 
to  a  fixed  scale,  llic  out-patient  department  of  the  ho9])ital  will  be 
carried  on  as  a  Provident  Dispensary  for  the  surrouudiug  district.  Of 
course,  a  ftind  raised  hy  special  donations  is  required  at  starting,  but  when 
once  the  institution  is  iu  ftdl  operation,  it  will  be  the  aim  of  the  managers 
to  make  it  as  nearly  self-supporting  as  possible.  It  is  obvious  that  such  a 
hospital  is  only  suited  to  the  well-to-do  working  class,  of  whom  there 
arc  a  large  number  iu  and  around  Battersca.  The  sick  jmupers  must 
still  use  the  excellent  provision  which  is  made  for  theiu  by  the  Local 


i 


HOSPITAL  REFORM. 


105 


GorernmcDt  Board,  but  for  the  industrious  and  thrinng  poor  such  a 
hospital  as  wc  have  described  ought  to  be  an  unmixed  boon^  raising  and 
strengthening  their  moral  character,  while  it  provides  in  the  best  possible 
way  for  their  medical  necessities. 

Sup}K)sing  that  the  measures  we  have  recommended  arc  desirable,  who 
arc  the  proper  persons  to  initiate  them?  Not  the  medical  men.  They 
mav  influence  the  decision,  no  doubt :  but  tlicv  cannot  decide  the  matter. 
At  some  hospitals  they  are  allowed  no  part  whatever  in  the  manage- 
ment, and  at  all  the  ultimate  decision  upon  sach  a  change  as  this  must 
rest  with  the  whole  body  of  the  govenuirs,  amongst  whom  the  medical 
men  form  a  very  small  minority.  And,  in  truth,  the  question  ia  not  one 
upon  which  the  medical  officers  are  specially  qualified  to  judge.  Unless 
i\\ey  have  taken  pains  to  inform  themselves,  they  have  no  more  know- 
ledge of  the  social  position  of  their  out-patients  than  other  persons. 
They  attend  the  hospital  or  dispensary  to  treat  the  sick,  not  to  investi- 
gate their  circumstances.  They  have  neither  the  time  nor  the  inclina- 
tion to  act  as  inquiry  officers.  Indee<l,  it  often  hap|icns  that  their 
interest  lies  all  in  the  other  direction.  They  have  no  wish  to  curtail  the 
Dumbex  of  their  patients,  because  the  larger  the  number  the  wider  is 
the  field  of  exjierience,  and  the  more  chance  there  is  of  "good" — that 
is,  interesting  and  instructive— cases  presenting  themselves. 

The  paid  officials  of  the  hospital  cannot  be  expected  to  take  an  active 
part  in  bringing  about  a  change  of  this  kind,  for  it  is  contrar)*  to  their 
interests.  They  naturally  desire  nothing  so  much  as  the  growth  and 
extension  of  the  institutions  with  which  they  are  connected  ;  and,  un- 
happily, the  public  have  got  into  the  way  of  mcnstiriug  the  goo<l  which 
a  hospital  is  doing  by  the  number  of  persons  who  resort  to  it.  Hence 
we  can  hardly  open  a  newspaper  without  seeing  advertisements  of  the 
hundreds  or  thousands  who  attended  this  or  that  hospital  during  the 
pa*t  week  or  the  past  year.  But  this  is  a  very  fallacious  test  of  the 
real  usefulness  of  such  institutions,  for  we  are  not  told  to  xvhat  class  the 
applicants  belonged,  nor  do  we  know  whether  the  medical  relief  they 
obtained  was  equal  to  the  pauperizing  influences  to  which  they  were 
eubjpcted.  It  is  to  the  whole  body  of  the  subscribers  to  our  medical 
charities  that  we  must  look  for  reforms,  more  especially  to  the  councils, 
boards,  and  managing  committees  to  whom  the  subscribers  entrust  their 
anthority  ;  and  I  am  persuaded  that,  as  public  opinion  becomes  more 
matured  ujjou  this  subject,  the  managers  of  hospitals  and  dispensaries  will 
find  \i  for  their  advantage  to  make  special  arrangements  to  meet  the 
case  of  those  who  arc  uell  able  to  pay  a  small  sum  for  their  own  medical 
attendance. 

But  would  such  a  movement  be  acceptable  to  the  medical  profession  ? 
To  this  question  an  affirmative  answer  may  confidently  be  given.  For 
many  years  past  the  reform  of  the  medical  charities  has  been  discussed 
in  the  medical  journals  and  reviews,  with  a  growing  disposition  to  such 
changes  as  wc  have  advocated.      Indeed,  it  may  be  said  there  is  now 


lOG 


THE  CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


but  little  difference  of  opinion  amongst  medical  men  on  this  subject. 
If  any  one  is  interested  in  this  inquiry  he  will  tiud  iu  Sir  Charles 
Trevelyan's  pamphlet  upon  "  Metropolitan  Medical  Relief,"  a  variety  of 
documents  embodying  the  opinions  of  Sir  William  Giill,  Dr.  Acland, 
Sir  llutherfurd  Alcockj  Mr.  Prescott  Hewett,  Mr.  T.  Holmes^  and  many 
other  representative  men. 

With  the  endowments  and  subscriptions  which  tlie  metropolitan 
hospitals  and  dispensaries  can  show,  a  magnificent  system  of  medical 
relief  might  be  constructed.  The  cost  of  systematic  inquiry  and  classi* 
fication  would  be  comparatively  trifling  ;  the  payments  derived  from 
the  patients  would  be  considerable ;  and  these,  together  with  the  en- 
dowments and  subscriptions  to  which  wc  have  alluded,  would  enable  the 
medical  charities  to  perform  their  work  in  a  way  which  would  be  a 
model  to  the  civilized  world,  and  would  be  constantly  tending  to  upraise 
the  lower  ranks  of  society.  Tlie  investigation  into  tlie  condition  and 
circumstances  of  the  applicants  would  enable  the  managers  to  apply 
the  relief  to  each  individual  case  in  a  way  which  is  ai  present  impossible ; 
and  thus  the  charity  administered  by  the  hospitals,  if  it  were  confined  to 
a  smaller  number,  would  be  more  thorough,  more  judicious,  more  truly 
beneficent. 

Nor  need  there  be  any  delay  iu  putting  these  proposals  into 
practice.  A  simple  resolution — or  a  series  of  resolutions — at  the  next 
auuual  general  meeting  of  any  given  hospital  woidd  effect  all  that  is 
necessary  at  that  particular  institution. 

It  is  not  a  case  which  need  wait  for  an  Act  of  Parliament,  or  for  an 
alteration  of  charters.  If  a  majority  of  the  subscribers  were  unanimous 
upon  the  subject  a  beginning  might  be  made  without  delay.  If  such  a 
bcgiuuing  were  made  by  one  of  the  leading  hospitals,  the  example  would 
speedily  he  followed  by  others,  for  public  opinion  upon  this  subject  has 
advanced  so  much  of  late  years  that  it  is  now  ready  for  the  iutroductiou 
of  a  widespread  system  of  reform.  If  London  took  the  lead,  the  pro- 
vincial towns  and  rural  districts  would  not  be  slow  to  follow.  Thcu  a 
system  of  Provident  Medical  Kelief  would  become  general,  and  the 
effect  which  this  would  have  upon  the  moral  and  social  condition  of  the 
people  it  would  be  hard  to  calculate.  Many  plans  have  been  devised 
of  late  ycai*s  for  encouraging  general  habits  of  forethought  and  thrift. 
These  have  no  doubt  been  very  useful  iu  their  mcat^ure  and  degree,  but 
a  system  of  Provident  Medical  Relief  would  l>e  even  more  far-reaching 
in  its  consequences.  It  might  be  brought  home  to  almost  every  indivi- 
dual; families  might  be  trained  to  regard  it  almost  as  a  necessity,  aud 
thus  it  would  not  only  bring  about  an  improvement  in  the  administra- 
tion of  our  charitable  hospitals,  aud  iu  the  arrangements  which  are 
made  for  the  care  of  the  sick  poor,  but  it  would  strengthen  and  elcvutc 
the  whole  tone  of  the  working  clatscs,  uud  through  them  would  excrdac 
no  slight  influence  upon  our  national  character. 

VA'm.  Fairl[£  CiUKiur. 


ANCIENT   EGYPT. 


rvr. 


TllE  Nineteenth  Dynasty  closed  in  anarchy :  the  first  king  of 
the  Twentieth  restored  the  Monarchy,  and,  after  a  short  reign, 
left  the  reconstruction  of  the  Empire  to  hia  son  Hamscs  III.,  the  lost  of  the 
^reat  Pharaohs.  This  king  has  bequeathed  to  posterity,  in  the  inscriptions 
and  sculptures  of  his  temple  at  Medeenet  Uaboo  in  Wcstera  Thebes, 
and  iQ  the  statistical  Harris  Papyrus,  abujidant  materials  for  the  history 
of  his  reign.  These  materials  have,  however,  not  received  as  much 
attention  as  they  deserve  from  the  difficulties  they  present  :  the 
style  of  the  texts  is  usually  very  inflated,  and  wanting  in  a  clear  histor- 
ical outline.  It  shows  the  luxuriance  of  a  declining  age.  Hence  these 
large  materials  have  not  all  been  properly  combined,  and  the  incidents  of 
the  reign  are  differently  related  by  the  modem  authorities.  Here  it  is 
only  neoessar)'  to  deal  with  what  is  well  ascertained ;  for  this,  Lappily,  is 
enough  for  the  present  purpose,  which  is  the  illustration  these  monuments 
-and  texts  afford  of  the  relatious  of  the  Egyptians  and  the  maritime 
nations  of  the  Mediterranean.  Wars  with  these  nations,  allied  with 
others  of  Libyan  race,  occupied  the  earlier  years  of  the  reign  of  Ramses. 
Bccent  archseologists  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  maritime 
enemies  of  Egypt  were  to  be  identified  with  well-known  pre-IIellenic 
nations.  Dr.  Brugsch  has  thrown  doubt  upon  the  subject,  and 
advanced  a  new  theory  that  they  were  of  Colchian  and  Carian  stock. 
It  is,  however,  certain  that  they  inhabited  the  islands  and  coasts  of 
the  Mediterranean,  and  probably  only  those  of  its  eastern  1>asiu. 
Consequently,  the  Egyptian  evideucc  bears  ujwn  the  state  of  Greek 
cotiutrics,  if  not  of  Greek  or  kindred  nations,  some  centuries  before  the 
First  Olympiad  (b.c.  776),  where  sober  criticism  had  agreed  to  place  the 
starting-point  of  Greek  history.  The  effect  of  Dr.  Brugsch's  criticism 
is  that  we  must  not  now  speak  of  Achssans  or  Sikcls  as  enemies  of 


108 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


Egypt,  but  of  Akaiu^ha  and  Sliakalasba,  iising  tlie  terms  of  the 
hieroglyphic  texts  without  attempting  to  decide  on  their  classical 
equivalents.  To  use  such  equivalents  betorc  the  judgment  of  Egyptolo- 
gista  has  been  pronounced  on  Dr  Brugseli's  theory  wouhl,  of  course, 
be  begging  tiic  question.  Perhaps,  however,  the  reader,  from  a  mere 
statemeut  of  the  facts,  may  form  au  opinion  of  the  relative  probability 
of  his  theory,  and  that  which  it  is  intended  to  supersede. 

The  wars  of  Ramses  are  part  of  a  long  series  which  had  for  their 
object  the  defence  of  Egypt  against  successive  invasions,  usually  from 
the  west.  Though  thus  defensive  in  their  general  character,  one  or  more 
may  liavc  been  a  counter-attack  on  tlic  territory  of  the  enemies.  Tlie 
special  value  of  the  records  of  Ramses  III.  is  that  they  comprise 
sculptured  representations  of  these  foreign  races  that  are  almost  "wantiug 
elsewhere.  This  is  why  the  problem  of  the  relations  of  Egypt  and 
primitive  Greece  has  its  solution  in  the  time  of  that  monarch  rather 
than  in  any  other  during  the  period  of  the  invasions. 

There  is  not  much  difficulty  as  to  the  date  of  the  invasions  of  Egypt 
in  the  reign  of  Ramses  III.  The  accession  of  this  king  may  be  placed 
between  d.c,  1300  and  b,c.  1250,  these  being,  in  all  probability,  the 
limits  of  uncertainty.  If  the  Exotlus  took  place  nuder  Menptah,  as 
shown  to  be  most  likely  in  the  last  article,  b.c.  1280  would  be  the  latest 
possible  date  for  the  accession  of  Ramses  IIT.,  and  the  chronology  of 
subsequent  reigua  will  scarcely  allow  an  earlier  period. 

The  Egyptian  documents  would  lose  nearly  all  their  interest  if  we 
could  not  use  them  to  discover  the  historical  elements  of  Greek 
tradition.  The  first  question,  tliercforCj  is  what  Greek  sources  we  may 
venture  to  employ  in  our  comparative  inquiry  ? 

Those  who  still  think  that  there  are  no  historical  elements  in  what 
the  Greeks  related  of  the  nge  before  the  First  Olympiad ,  may  be  reminded 
that  it  is  unreasonable  to  imagine  a  sharp  transition  from  pure  myth  to 
pure  history.  Between  the  night  of  myth  and  the  day  of  history  there 
must  have  been  in  Greece,  as  elsewhere,  a  twilight  of  tradition.  No 
criticism  could,  however,  extract  the  light  of  history  from  the  darkness 
of  myth  in  the  native  stories  of  the  traditional  nge,  without  the  aid  of 
independent  external  records  of  a  juircly  historical  character.  Until 
lately  this  aid  was  wanting,  and  hence  the  despair  of  sober  critics,  who, 
like  Grotc,  refused  to  believe  iu  the  possibility  of  Greek  history  before 
the  First  Olympiad.  Lately  the  needed  aid  has  been  aflforded  by  the 
Egyptian  records,  and  more  recently  by  the  startling  discoveries  at 
Mycenaj.  The  Egyptian  records  give  us  the  condition  of  the  eastern 
Mediterranean  in  the  thirteenth  ceutur}'  before  our  era;  the  discoveries 
at  MyccniE  prove  that  the  ancient  ]iowcr  and  splendour  of  that  city 
at  an  age  long  before  the  time  to  which  we  had  assigned  the  infancy 
of  Greek  art,  is  a  historical  fact,  not  a  mythic  fancy.  Art, 
be  it  remembered,  as  a  measure  of  civilization,  is  positively  historic. 
With   these    aids,   cautiously  used,    the    liistory    of    tlie   early   popula- 


ANCIENT   EGYPT. 


109 


I 


tioas  of  Greece  may  be  carried,  up   at  least  tive   ccutiirics    before  the 
First  Olympiad. 

Out  Greek  written  sources  may  lie  best  liiuitetl,  in  the  present  state 
of  knowledge,  to  the  Homc^ric  poems.  There  is  so  much  evidence  that 
the  myths  tiod  undergone  change  by  tlie  age  of  the  tragedians,  that  we 
cannot  safely  use  any  but  the  earlier  sources:  of  the^e  the  Homeric 
epics  are  not  alone  the  most  ancient,  but  arc  also  amply  sufficient  for 
our  present  purpose. 

The  first  point  to  be  determined^  as  nearly  as  may  be,  is  the  date  of  the 
Iliad  and  Odyssey.  Their  authorship  is  beyond  our  scope;  and  it  may 
be  admitted  without  argument  that  they  cannot  be  widely  apart  iu  time. 

These  poems  are  earlier  than  the  use  of  coinage,  which,  in  Asia 
Minor,  may  be  carried  up  to  about  b.c.  700  (Head,  Coinage  of  Lydia^  11). 
Probably  before  this  date  there  was  a  time  daring  which  unstamped 
pieces  of  metal  circulated  in  Asia  Minor  as  a  rough  medium  of  exchange. 
Thus,  while  the  certain  lowest  date  thus  obtained  is  about  b.c  700,  the 
probable  one   is  within  the  previous  century. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  know  nothing  of  the  Olympic  festival.  It 
may  be  presumed,  therefore,  that  they  are  at  least  anterior  to  b.c.  770, 
which  wc  know  was  not  the  date  of  the  institution,  but  was  the  begin- 
ning of  a  reckoning  by  Olympiads.  It  is  true  that  for  some  time 
after  the  First  Olympiad  the  festival  was  merely  local,  but  could  even 
ftuch  a  local  meeting  have  failed  to  strike  the  imagination  of  a  poet  who, 
like  the  writer  of  the  Odyssey,  must  have  been  well  acquainted  with 
what  went  on  in  Elis  ? 

The  foreign  geography  of  the  i)oem8  affords  evidence  of  their  age, 
partly  positive  and  partly  negative  in  character.  In  their  whole  horizon 
there  is  but  one  great  foreign  monarchy,  Egypt,  and  its  capital  is  Thebes, 
cited  as  the  highest  type  of  wealth  and  warlike  power,  lliis  could 
scarcely  apply  to  any  time  much  after  the  Empire,  which  closed  about 
B.C.  1200,  certainly  to  none  after  the  one  prosperous  later  reign  of 
Shishak  or  Sheshonk  I.,  which  began  about  b.c.  970,  and  probably 
lasted  twenty-one  years.  After  his  time,  until  the  middle  of  the  seventh 
century  b.c,  Egypt  was  powerless,  and  Thebes  was  deprived  of  its  prepon- 
derance and  shorn  of  its  glory.  Hence  we  are  justified  in  placing  the 
poems  not  much  after  the  middle  of  the  tenth  century  b.c,  when  the 
memory  of  the  Empire  was  yet  fresh,  and  its  greatness  had  been  for  a 
moment  restored.  Assyria  nowhere  appears  in  the  poems,  lliis  seems 
to  exclude  the  ages  of  the  two  Assyrian  Empires.  Now  the  earlier 
AMyrian  Empire  reached  the  Mediterranean,  and  partly,  at  least,  reduced 
Phoenicia  to  submission  under  the  first  Tiglath  Pilcaer  (b.c.  cir.  1130- 
lOyO) ;  but  his  reign  ended  in  disasters,  and  it  was  not  till  the  age  of 
the  Second  Empire  that  the  Assyrian  armies,  under  Assur-nazir-habal, 
in  nbout  b.c  8G6,  again  penetrated  to  the  Phoenician  coast,  at  this 
lime  making  all  the  great  mercliant-cities  pay  tril>ute.  If  we  may 
renture  to  rely  on  exceptionally  strong  negative  evidence,  this  absence  of 


no 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


the  great  anil  menacing  power  of  Assyria  from  Iloracric  geograpby  would 
point  to  a  time  at  which  the  First  Empire  had  paesed  ont  of  the  memory 
of  man,  and  before  the  Second  had  won  Phosnicia^  that  is,  between 
B.C.  1000  and  about  n,c.  866. 

The  archaeological  evidence  of  the  poems  points  in  the  same  direction. 
The  descnption  of  portable  objects  of  art  is  undoubtedly  denvcd  from 
contemporary  works :  they  were  of  Phoenician  fabric.  The  most  remarkable 
of  these,  the  shield  of  Achilles,  can,  from  the  fidness  of  the  description,  he 
compared  with  Phoenician  works  of  similar  character  of  which  we  know 
the  dates  within  not  very  wide  limits.  Tlic  metal  bowls  from  Cyprus 
figured  by  General  Cesnola,  with  one  exception,  show  decided  Assyrian 
influence,  and  arc  not  likely  to  have  been  executed  before  the  rule  of 
the  Sartjonidea  which  began  d.c.  721.  The  similar  bowls  from  Nemrood, 
which  show  an  earlier  style,  are  probably  of  the  date  of  the  king  in 
whose  palace  they  were  stored,  Assur-naKir-habal,  who  reigned  from 
B.C.  882  to  857.  In  this  whole  scries  of  Phoenician  works,  the  s\ibjeets 
are  such  as  those  which  adorned  the  shield  of  Achilles,  although  we 
must  make  allowance  for  poetic  amplification  as  well  as  condensation  of 
many  subjects  in  one  great  typical  picture.  In  tlic  centre  we  sometimes 
see  the  sun  and  stars,  in  the  concentric  friezes  such  incidents  as  a 
city  besieged  by  a  twofold  army,  cattle  swimuiing  in  a  river,  bulls 
attacked  by  lions,  and,  as  a  border,  the  wavy  lines  of  the  ocean.  A  shield 
from  Cyprus  presents  a  scene  of  lions  seizing  bulls.  A  very  early 
Egypto-Pho2nician  bowl  shows  us  a  sacred  dance.  This  last  work  alone 
seems  anterior  to  even  the  Nemrood  Ijowls,  otherwise  wc  have  no  metal- 
works  of  this  older  date  which  can  be  compared  with  the  shield  of 
Achilles.  It  may  be  safely  said,  on  archfeological  grounds,  that  the  de- 
scription of  this  sliichl  cannot  refer  to  anytliing  mucli  anterior  to  B.C.  900. 

On  this  evidence,  taken  altogether,  the  Homeric  poems  may  be 
referred  witli  great  probability  to  the  earlier  part  of  the  ninth  century, 
a  date  a  Httlc  before  the  beginning  of  the  period  to  which  Grote 
would  assign  them,  between  b.c.  850  and  776. 

The  importance  of  this  date  is  obvious,  for  unless  the  Homeric  i)oems 
are  within  traditionid  reach  of  the  age  of  tlie  wars  of  Ramses  III. 
they  are  useless  for  the  purpose  of  comparison.  If,  however,  these 
wars  took  ])lacc  between  b.c  1300  and  1250,  and  the  probable  date  of 
the  poems  is  early  in  the  ninth  century,  the  experiment  of  comi>arison 
is  not  unreasonable.  In  an  age  of  oral  tradition  a  jwriod  of  at  least  a 
century  may  be  allowed  for  the  recollection  of  earlier  events,  and  thus 
the  interval  between  the  facts  of  l^^yptian  history  and  the  Homeric 
allusions  to  them  may  not  much  exceed  two  Iiundred  and  fifty  yeai's. 
Thougli  it  may  thus  he  argued,  that  while  iu  speaking  of  historical 
matters,  these  poems  may  be  true  of  a  century  before  they  were 
written,  yet  we  must  rcjieat  tliat,  in  describing  acttud  objects,  csjieeially 
such  as  were  portable,  they  must  describe  the  art  of  their  time.  Virgil 
wrote  as  an  archaeologist,  not  so  the  older  poet. 


ANCIENT   EGYPT, 


111 


^ 
^ 


^ 


It  ■would  be  diHlieartcuiug  to  try  and  construct  history  out  of  Homer 
liad  wc  no  aid  beyond  tliat  of  our  Egy])tiaa  sources.  The  discoveries 
at  Mycenaj  ha^'C  finally  proved  that  there  is  a  historical  basis  in  the 
poemSj  aud  afford  us  what  wc  may  call  the  material  side  of  the  Greek 
evidence.  It  ia  needless  here  to  repeat  more  than  the  result  of  a  previous 
inquiry  ns  to  their  date.*  They  are  of  the  tenth  centurv  b.c.j  if  not 
older.  Tlicy  present  the  works  of  art  and  weapons  of  vhich  the  poet 
speaks,  with  such  modifications  as  might  be  expected  in  an  earlier  period. 

Having  thus  cndcavourwl  to  obtain  the  dates  of  our  documents,  wc 
cannot  immediately  compare  them.  There  is  still  another  preliminary 
TTork.  It  is  worse  than  useless  to  talk  vaguely  of  the  nations  with  whom 
the  Egyptians  warred.  TVe  must,  as  far  as  we  can,  define  the  Egyptian 
geography  of  the  Eastern  Mediterranean.  All  that  is  certain  or 
highly  probable  may  be  stated  in  a  small  space,  and  it  is  quite  enough 
for  the  main  lines  of  the  theory.  A  list  of  the  Egyptian  names 
of  their  rhirf  Mediterranean  enemies  will  be  given  at  the  end  of  this 
article. 

Tlie  attacks  which  the  maritime  nations  made  on  Egypt  are  like  the 
barbarian  invasions  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Nations  which  seem  to 
have  been  before  unknown,  with  but  three  exceptions,  suddenly  appear, 
and  pej-sistently  strive  to  conquer  and  to  occupy  tlie  Delta.  Tliey  arc 
savages,  and  all  their  men  arc  warriors.  They  bring  their  women  and 
children  with  them.  Like  the  Northmen,  they  are  equally  at  home  on 
sea  and  on  land.  The  neighbours  of  Egypt  either  join  them  or  arc  carried 
away  by  their  resistless  stream.  It  is  not  the  least  of  the  achievements 
of  the  Egyptians  that,  attacked  on  their  western  and  then  on  their 
eastern  border,  and  menaced  along  their  defenceless  northern  coast, 
they  again  and  again  beat  back  the  invaders,  or  drove  them  out 
when  tbcy  bad  settled  in  the  Delta,  although  in  the  end  success  was  not 
wholly  with  the  defenders. 

The  Egyptians  divided  mankind  into  four  races,  who  are  portrayed 
in  the  mural  paintings  of  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings.  These  are  the  red 
Egyptians,  the  yellow  'Aamu  (Slicmites),  the  black  Negroes,  and  the 
white  Tamehu,  the  Libyans,  and  other  races  of  the  Mediterranean,  or 
at  least  of  its  eastern  portion.  It  is  to  the  Tamehu  that  all  the  maritime 
enemies  of  the  Egyptians  belong.  They  are  represented  as  fair,  with 
aquiline  nose,  blue  eyes,  short  red  beard,  and  hair  formally  curled. 
Tills  tyjie  is  maintained,  with  some  variations,  m    the    greater   or  less 

nlinc  profile,  the  longer  beard  of  some,  and  tlic  partly  or  wholly 
faces  of  others,  indicating,  perhaps,  a  scantier  beard,  throughout 
representations  of  the  individual  nations  of  this  race,  the  type  some- 
times approaching  the  characteristics  of  the  higher  Aryan  races,  some- 
times in  the  prominence  of  the  nose,  and  the  largeness  of  the  lips, 
remindiug  us  of  the  Shemitc.     The  nose,  liowever,  in  these  instances,  is 

pjccd  in  the  bridge,  and  has  not  the  Shemitc  droop  at  the  tip,  and 


*  CuxTCiirORAHY  Rtvi.Av,  Jannftiy  1876,  p.  344,  sqq. 


112 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIV, 


the  forms,  generally,    are  muclt    harsher.      These  comparisons  areH 
course  made  between  Egyptian  representations.  .^| 

One  of  tlie  nations  of  the  stock  of  the  Tamehu  appears  iii  pictarers 
of  the  Old  Monarchy,  wliere  mc  see  the  Ilebu  (Lebu),  or  Libyaua^ 
pcrfonning  feats  of  strengtii.  It  is  very  remarkable  that  at  ihis  period 
they  are  represented  as  a  brown  and  not  as  a  •white  racCj  whereas,  in 
the  HC'iilpturca  of  the  Twentieth  Dynasty  they  have  a  type  which  is  tiiat 
of  the  Tamehu,  who  are  painted  light  iu  the  pictures  of  the  Tombs  of  the 
Kings.  Did  the  type  change  in  the  interval  through  the  arrival  of  a  lighter 
population  ?      Certainly  the  typical  Libyan  races  of  our  time  are  fair. 

The  Tamehu,  or  "white  men,  are  divided  into  two  races,  the  Taheunu, 
or  Libyans,  comprising  tht;  Rcbu  (Lcbu)  and  other  cognate  north 
Africans,  and  the  islanders  and  coastmeu  of  the  northern  Mcditerrauean, 
who  are  not  qualified  by  any  general  term,  but  are  linked  together  by 
the  designation  "of  the  sea"  following  their  names.  It  may  be  possible 
to  separate  the  nearer  and  remoter  of  these  nations,  and  to  indicate 
which  of  them  were  islanders  and  wliich  coastmcn,  but  this  is  at  present 
difficult,  and  would  draw  out  the  article  to  an  unreasonable  length. 

Under  Thothmes  III.  we  have  the  first  hint  of  the  coming  conflict. 
In  a  panegyrical  inscription,  Amen,  the  god  of  Thebes,  enumerates 
the  nations  of  the  known  world  as  given  by  him  to  the  King  of  Egypt 
to  be  subdued:  these  include  the  Tahcnnu,  coupled  with  "the  isles  of 
the  Tana,"  a  nation  whose  name  is  written  in  later  texts  Taanau.  The 
term  Tahenmi,  as  just  noticed,  describes  the  white  nations  of  the  north 
coast  of  Africa  :  tlie  Taanau  appear  later  as  maritime  enemies  of  Egypt. 
Thus  early,  therefore,  the  commercial  or  warlike  activity  of  Egypt  had 
come  iu  contact  with  one  of  the  seafaring  nations  who  afterwards 
invaded  the  country. 

It  isnotj  however,  until  the  time  of  Ramses  XL,  while  he  was  co-regent 
with  his  father,  Setee  I.,  that  we  read  of  an  actual  conflict,  and  this 
conflict  is  an  invasion  of  Egypt.  The  Shardana  and  Tuirsha,  maritime 
nations,  with  the  aid  of  the  Libyans,  broke  into  the  Delta.  This  is  the 
first  instance  of  those  great  confederations  which  characterize  the 
history  of  these  wars.  Of  course  a  confederation  of  small  organized 
states  against  a  powerful  enemy  is  frequent  in  all  histoiy,  and  in  no 
pai-t  of  history  more  so  than  in  that  which  tells  of  the  conquests  of 
Egypt  and  Assjrria.  The  confederations  of  the  Canaanitcs  against  the 
Israelites  are  equally  characteristic.  The  confederation  of  uncivilized 
tribes  is  far  less  usual :  it  may  be  said  to  be  the  exception  rather 
than  the  rule.  Yet  it  is  the  characteristic  of  all  these  invasions  of 
Egypt,  and  it  is  equally  the  characteristic  of  the  icgcndary  wars  of 
Greece,  and  was  not  lost  in  the  historic  times,  until  the  state  had  taken 
the  place  of  the  nation.  Its  last  Greek  expression  was  the  confederation 
against  Xerxes.  The  same  instinct  is  seen  in  the  legendary  wars  of  Italy, 
where  its  last  expression  was  the  confederation  of  the  Italic  tribes  iii_ 
the  Social  War^ 


ANCIEXT  EGYPT. 


113 


MTio  were  the  Tuirsha  and  the  Slianlana  ?  The  general  opinion  of 
E^ptologiata  has  identified  them  with  the  Etruscans  and  the  early 
S&rds,  though  it  would  be  unwise  to  fix  their  position  at  this  time  to 
Etruria  and  Sardinia.  M.  Maapero,  in  fact,  has  considei'ed  these 
settlements  to  have  been  due  to  their  successive  repulses  from  Egypt. 
Angles  came  from  Danish  Angeland,  and  gave  their  name  to 
England,  So  Etruria  and  Sardinia  may  merely  be  the  final  homes  of 
Etruscans  and  Sards.  The  identification  of  the  Tuirsha  with  the 
Etruscans  is  by  no  means  hazardous.  The  ordinary  form  of  the  name 
is  thought  by  M.  de  Rouge  to  be  an  exact  representation  of  the  Turscc, 
Turscer,  of  the  Oscau  version  of  the  Eugubine  Tables,  whence  Tuscus 
and  Etniscus  (Rtn\  Arch.,  N.S.,  xvi.  92).  It  may  be  that  the  Biblical 
Tarshish,  rather  than  Tiraa,  originally  meant  the  same  race  (Ibid,  94'). 
If  so,  the  ancient  maritime  fame  of  the  Tyrrhenians  would  explain  the 
expression  "  Ships  of  Tarshiah."  It  would  equally  account  for  tho 
Tuirsha  taking  the  head  of  the  second  maritime  confederacy,  that 
ngainst  Menptah.  The  identification  of  the  Shardana  with  the  Sards 
is  philologically  sound ;  its  historical  probability  depends  upon  the 
question  who  were  the  Tuirsha,  and  the  nations  afterwards  associated 
with  both. 

lUmscs  II.  defeated  the  invaders  and  incorporated  in  his  body-guard 
tlie  Shardana  who  were  taken  prisoners. 

The  great  war  of  Menptah,  when,  about  seventy  years  later,  the  mart* 
time  enemies  of  Egypt  took  up  again  the  enterprise  whicli  Ramses  bis 
father  had  crushed,  is  the  second  invasion  in  the  series.  It  is  much 
more  formidable  than  the  earlier  one.  Tlic  confederacy  is  larger  than 
before.  The  Tuirsha  take  the  lead.  Allied  with  them  are  three  mari- 
time uationsj  tho  Shardana  and  Shakalasha  being  now  named  with  tho 
Akaiushaj  who  appear  in  this  war  alone  j  and  the  Roka  (Lcka).  Ttie 
king  of  the  Rebu  (Libyans)  joins  them  with  tho  forces  of  two  other 
nations,  one  of  whom  is  the  Libyan  Mashuasha.  The  Shakalasha  have 
beeu  identified  with  the  Sikels,  a  view  wbich  derives  some  support  from 
their  close  association  in  the  Egyptian  texts  with  the  Shardana,  if  the 
Shardana  were  Sards;  for  Sikels  and  Sards  were  probably  natural  allies, 
and  may  have  beeu  neighbours  before  their  occupation  of  Sicily  and 
Sardinia.  The  Akaiusha  "  of  the  sea  '^  but  not  of  islands  are,  of  course, 
Achseans ;  but  Dr.  Brugsch  has  recognised  them  in  the  Colchiau  Achujaus  ; 
and,  for  the  presetit,  Dc  Rouge's  identification  must  be  reserved  for 
future  discussion.  The  Reka  or  Lcka  are  of  great  importance,  as 
figuring  also  in  the  confederacy  of  tho  Hittitcs  of  the  Orontcs  valley 
againat  Ramses  II.  They  arc  thus  a  link  between  the  eastern  and  tho 
western  wars  ;  and  if  they  are  the  Lyeians,  their  final  settlement  in 
Lycia  is  suitable  to  these  historical  ap])earauces.  Of  the  Libyan  races, 
it  may  be  added  that  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  Mashuasha  are 
the  Maxyes  of  classical  geography. 

ITie  invasion  seems  to   have  taken  the  King  of  1-gypl  by  surprise, 

VOL.   XXXV.  I 


114 


THE    CONTEMPORARY     REVIEW. 


The  enemies  had  already  advanced  as  f ar  aa  the  south  of  the  Delta,  nmP 
settled  there  l)efore  the  E{^x)tian  army  met  them  at  Prosapis.  They 
were  routed,  and  thus  the  second  war  ended.  The  narrative  of  Men- 
ptah  shows  circumstances  of  barbarity,  such  aa  mutilation  of  the 
ulain  on  the  pretext  of  counting  them,  which  are  unusual  in  Egyptian 
wars,  except  in  this  remarkable  series,  from  this  invasion  onwards. 
They  were  wars  with  nations  not  far  above  the  savage  state  ;  and  t^ 
Egyptians  fought  for  their  national  existence.  ,^| 

A  fresh  incursion  of  this  kind  appears  to  have  marked  the  disastrons 
close  of  the  Nineteenth  Dynaaty,  for  the  next  war  in  the  series,  the 
first  of  those  which  occupied  the  earlier  years  of  Ramsca  III.,  was  the 
conaequeuce  of  a  loug  Libyan  occupation.  It  is,  therefore,  here  that  the 
thread  of  Egyptian  historj'  is  resumed :  the  lost  article  had  brought  it 
down  to  the  close  of  the  Nineteenth  Dynasty,  though  it  has  been  neces- 
aary  to  retrace  our  steps,  in  order  to  present  all  the  known  wars  of 
Egypt  with  the  maritime  nations  in  one  view. 

It  ia  in  the  sculptures  of  the  temple  of  Ramses  III.  at  Medeenet 
Haboo  that  wc  see  the  maritime  enemies  of  Egypt,  and  can  compare 
their  aspect,  their  dress,  and  their  arms  with  what  Homer  tells  ua  of 
the  early  Mediterranean  nations.  Whether  these  invaders  were  Greeks 
or  not,  they  lived  in  the  Greek  islands  and  neighbouring  coasts;  and 
these  pictures  of  1  hem  stiiud  nearest  to  the  time  of  Homer  as  illustration 
of  what  he  describes.  mk 

The  earliest  war  of  Ramses  ITT.  was  similar  to  that  of  Menptah.  The 
Libyan  Mashuasbaand  Eebu  (Lcbu),  with  other  tribes,  no  one  of  which 
can  be  certainly  identified,  had  again  settled  in  Egypt,  in  the  west  of  the 
Delta.  That  this  must  have  been  during  the  troubles  at  the  close  of 
the  Nineteenth  Dynasty  seems  evident,  from  the  statement  that  when 
Ramses  attacked  them  in  his  fifth  year  they  had  been  already  "  many 
years"  in  the  country.     Again  they  were  driven  out. 

It  is  not  certain  that  the  maritime  nations  took  any  part  in  the  war 
last  mentioned.  In  the  next,  the  fourth  invasion,  they  attacked  Egypt 
from  the  cast  by  land  and  sea.  This  is  the  most  instructive  of  all  the 
campaigns,  for  it  clearly  proves  the  strength  of  the  enemy  on  both  elements, 
even  when  deprived  by  land  of  the  aujiport  of  the  Libyans,  who  seom 
not  to  have  recovered  from  their  recent  disaster.  The  date  was  in  the 
eighth  year  of  Ramses.  The  enemies  were  the  Pelesta,  Tekkariu,  Taanau 
(Daauau),  Tuirsha,  Shakalasha,  and  Uashasha,  maritime  nations  of  the 
Mediterranean.  The  Pelesta  were  first  identified  with  the  Philistines, 
then  with  the  Pclasgi:  pcrhai)s  they  are  both.  The  idea  that  the  great 
Philistine  settlement  in  Palestine  had  its  origin  at  this  time  is  worth 
attention.  The  race  is  marked  among  tliose  around  it  by  striking 
peculiarities.  Its  wars  with  the  Israelites  have  the  same  savage  charac- 
ter as  those  of  the  maritime  races  with  the  Egj'ptians ;  the  parallel 
being  true  to  the  detail  of  niutiiatiou  of  the  slain.  Yet,  like  the  Shar- 
dona,  the  Pliilistines  were  faithful  mercenaries  of  David  their  conqueror^ 


4 


ANCIENT  EGYPT. 


il5 


I 
I 


u  not  bis  very  bodr-^ard.  In  the  Bible  the  Pbilistiucs  do  not  appear 
aa  a  uatiou,  or  at  least  aot  as  a  warlike  iiatiou,  before  the  time  of  the 
Judges ;  and  this  agrees  with  the  theory  that  their  migration  from  the 
I«le  of  Caphtor,  probably  Cyprus,  took  place  at  the  time  of  Ramses  III. 
Nor  is  their  conneetion  in  the  ethnic  table  of  the  tenth  chapter  of 
Genesis  in  race  or  habitat  with  the  Lchabim,  or  Lubim,  less  significant. 
It  well  aecorda  with  their  place  among  the  nations  whOj  in  all  other 
confederacies,  had  the  aid  of  the  Libyans.* 

Tlie  Tekkariu  have  been  identified  with  the  Teucrians.  If  this  is 
correct,  we  need  not  follow  those  who  make  them  Teucrians  of  Troy. 
It  is  evident  from  the  Teucrid  origiu  of  the  kings  of  SalamJs  of  the 
House  of  Euagoras,  that  there  was  a  Teucrian  stock  in  Cyprus,  wlicthcr 
allied  to  Trojans  or  not  we  cannot  tell. 

The  Tuirsha  and  Shakulosha  have  been,  as  already  noticed,  thought  to 
be  the  Etruscans  and  Sikels. 

The  Taanau  (Daanau)  have  been  identified  with  the  Dauai  or  Dau- 
nians,  and  the  Uashosha  with  the  Oscans.  The  Daunians  and  Oscans 
go  well  together,  like  the  Sards  and  Sikels. 

The  iuvadeni  lauded  on  the  Syrian  coast,  and  conquered  the  Hittites  of 
the  Orontes  valley,  the  people  of  Carchemish  and  iVradus.  Tlicse,  no 
doubt,  had  confederated  to  repel  the  invasion,  as  they  were  leagued  be- 
fore against  Ramses  II,  Having  encamped  Ju  the  conquered  country,  and 
levied  forces  among  its  population,  the  northerners  passed  into  Egypt  by 
land,  supported  by  their  fleet.  At  a  fort  on  the  eastern  Egyptian  border 
they  were  met  by  the  army  of  Ramses,  while  the  two  ftcets  fought  a 
battle  at  sea.     The  Egyptians  achieved  a  complete  victory. 

Yet  one  more  invasion,  the  fifth,  had  to  be  met  before  these  per- 
aisteut  enemies  were  repelled.  In  the  eleventh  year  of  Ramses,  the 
Libyans  agaiu  invaded  Egypt,  aided  by  the  Tuirsha  and  Reka  (Lcka), 
and  were  again  defeated. 

Theneeforwartl  we  hear  no  more  of  these  terrible  invaders.  The 
Empire  was  secured  by  the  energy  of  Ramses,  or  some  other  movement 
drew  them  away.  Ramses  was  thus  able  to  carry  a  war  of  reprisals 
into  the  enemy's  country,  and  subdued  islands  of  the  Mediterniuean, 
and  perhaps  also  the  southern  coast  of  Asia  Minor.  In  his  list  of 
conquered  towns.  Dr.  Brugsch  with  reason  identifies  names  of  places  in 
Cyprus,  and  more  conjeeturally  in  Asia  Minor. 

A  few  words  must  be  added  on  the  arms  and  manners  of  these 
nationsj  as  learnt  from  the  Egyptian  sources. 

The  Pelcsta,  the  Tekkariu,  the  Taanau,  and  the  Uashasha,  are  cha- 
racterized by  a  helmet  or  cap  in  the  form  of  a  crest  rising  at  once 
from  the  head.     The  Tuirsha  have  pointed  helmets,  the  Shardana,  roflnd 

♦  M.  Cli»bM  objects  to  the  identificmtion  of  Iho  Pelcita  with  tbe  Philiatinea  on  the  ground 
Uut  the  type  of  the  people  of  AakaJon,  u  represented  on  a  sculpture  of  Raruaej  U.,  is  tlis- 
iincUy  AxUtie.  [Ant,  liUt,  2nd  ed,  2S4,&.)  la  it,  however.  cerUin  that  the  great  PMlirtino 
mimtion  lud  been  aecomplUhed  at  thU  time  ?  The  double  identilic«tion  with  P«LMgi 
tM  PbilistinM  mudb  the  beit. 

I  2 


I 

i 


116 


THE    CON  TEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


helmets,  decorated  with  a  crosecnt  nnd  a  ball  rising  from  the  ci-owu. 
The  pointed  helmet  or  cap  ia  fouiul  on  very  early  Etruscan  and  Cyprian 
figures.  The  herid-gear  of  the  Pelesta  and  their  allies  looks  like  the  proto- 
type of  the  Greek  crested  helmets.  Tlie  spoil  of  the  Akaiusha  included 
a  kind  of  armour,  which  ia  not  expressed  by  a  ^mtten  word  but  by  a 
symbolj  which,  in  Dc  Ilougii's  opiuionj  represents  a  greave.  If  this 
is  correct,  and  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  that  the  symbol  can  be 
anything  but  the  picture  of  a  greave  with  its  strap,  then  the  Akaiusha 
can  only  be  the  well-greaved  Acha?aus  of  Homer.  The  buckler  of 
all  the  nations  is  round  and  smalh  The  usual  weapon  of  offence  ia  a 
short  aud  very  broad  two-edged  sword,  tapering  to  its  point,  but  long; 
swords  were  taken  in  spoil  from  a  Libyan  nation,  who  alone  seem  to 
have  used  the  how.  Tlie  javelin  ia  a  common  weapon,  the  spear  an 
unusual  one.  This  would  he  characteristic  of  nations  H\nng  rather  by  the 
chase  thuu  trained  for  war,  and,  indeed,  the  same  may  be  inferred  from 
the  use  of  the  short  sword  rather  than  the  long  one.  The  material  of 
the  swords,  and  the  heads  of  the  spears,  whenever  stated,  is  bronze. 
The  body-armour  is  a  corslet  of  bronzCj  or  a  kilt,  probably  of  thick 
linen,  but  perhaps  of  bronze. 

The  shipsj  unlike  the  Egyptian  galleys,  are  high  in  prow  and  stern, 
both  of  which  terminate  in  a  bird's  head,  nnd,  like  the  PIgyptian,  have 
a  single  mast  and  square  sail.  The  wives  and  children  of  the  invaders 
in  the  second  war  with  Ramses  III.  are  carried  in  primitive  ox-cars, 
square  in  form,  made  of  wood,  as  well  as  of  wicker-work,  and  having 
two  solid  wooden  wheels. 

We  know  little  of  the  civilization  of  these  nations.  It  was  certainly 
much  lower  than  that  of  the  Egyptians^  and  the  objects  of  art  enume- 
rated in  booty  taken  from  tliem  may  have  been  merely  a  recapture  of 
M'hat  had  been  previously  seized  in  Egypt.  Yet  they  were  not  Taerc 
savages.  Their  power  of  organizing  and  of  making  long  voyages  and 
land  marches  shows  a  higher  condition.  It  may  Ije  inferred  from 
their  carrying  their  wives  and  children  with  them  that  they  had  no 
settled  state  for  the  protection  of  their  families,  and  did  not  fear 
to  bring  them  into  the  dangers  of  war.  It  is  an  eiTor  to  call  these 
expeditions  piratical ;  they  were  not  made  for  warUke  gain,  nor  for 
))ooty,  though  war  and  plunder  were  inseparable  from  them.  It  was 
the  pressure  of  growing  population  that  caused  them,  as  it  caused  the 
conquest  of  the  Roman  Empire  by  the  barbarians. 

Before  the  Homeric  poems  can  be  compared  with  the  information  of 
the  Egyptian  sciilptures  aud  texts  it  may  be  reasonably  ai<ked  how  far 
the  geography  of  the  Iliad  and  that  of  the  Odyssey  extends.  It  mav 
be  noticed  that  the  Odyssey  seems  to  show  a  greater  acquaintance  with 
the  West  than  the  Ilindj  and  to  be  more  precise  in  what  it  relates  of 
Egy])t,  It  ia  as  if  the  centre  of  the  poet  were  further  east  in  the  jjoem 
of  Troy  than  in  the  story  of  Odysseus.  But  it  may  be  affirmed  of  the 
geography  of  both  poems  that  its  horizon  includes  Greece  with  western 


• 


ANCIENT  EGYPT, 


117 


I 


and  southern  Asia  Minor  and  shows  some  acquaiutaiicc  vith  Egypt* 
uid  the  intervening  islands^  and  less  with  Libya.  Italy  and  Sicily  are 
lands  of  shadows.  Prolmbly  it  comprises  the  whole  eastern  Mediterranean 
as  far  as  the  AdriatiCj  to  the  west  of  which  all  is  obscurity.  The  Sikel 
nationality  appearsj  and  their  character  is  that  of  slave-dealers,  but  their 
country  is  not  fixed:  there  is  a  possible  allusion  to  the  grim  smile  of 
the  piratical  Sardinian. 

II     It  is  therefore  reasonable  to  compare  tlie  Iliad  and  Odyssey  with  the 
Egyptian   records  of  the  maritime  nations.      Of  course  in  the  interval 
l>etweeD  Ramses   III.  and   the   poems  the  maritime    nations  may  have 
moved  farther  west  and  passed  out  of  the  epic  geography.     Still,  on  the 
^rhole,  we   should  expect   that    the   view  in   both  cases    would   not   be 
altogether  different. 
H      Proof  of  this  assumption   is   afforded   by   tlie    feigned    story    which 
Odysseus    twice    tells    at    Ithaca,    a    story    like    an    incident    in    the 
maritime   invasions   of  Egypt   told    by    the  invaders.      An   islander   of 
Crete,  he  was  impelled  with  a  desire  to  go  to  Egypt,  and  having  joined 
a  party  of  pirates  he  sailed   to   the  river  Nile,  where  he  harboured  his 
nine  ships  curved  at  both  ends,  if  we  may  so  read  veuQ  afXfpu\i<r<Tai:,\ikQ 
those  of  the  maritime  foes  of  Egypt.      In  a  niglit  descent  his  comrades 
slay  the  men  of  the  country  and  carry  off  the  womeu  and  children.    At 
dawn  the  neighbouring  city  is  aroused,  and  the  whole  plain  filled  with 
Iiorse  and  foot.     The   depredators  flee ;    some  arc   slaiu  with  brazeu 
weapons,  others  carried  away  to  work  iu  forced  labour,  like  t!ic  captives 
of  RatDses  III,     The  leader  throws  down  his  arms  and  Iwgs  the  king 
to  spare  him,  who  takes  him  into  his  car  and  carries  him  home.      In 

I  Egypt  he  remains  seven  years  and  amasses  great  wealth,  according  to 
the  longer  vei*sion  of  the  tale.  Similarly  Kapur  the  Libyan  king 
throws  down  his  arms  when  attacked  by  Ramses  III.,  no  doubt  iu  his  car, 
1^  fur  so  the  Egyptian  kings  always  made  war  in  the  plains.  The  incideut 
B  is  not  irrelevant,  for  it  shows  that  the  Ijihyan  chief  expected  quarter, 
though  it  seems  he  did  not  receive  it ;  aud  this  is  a  proof  that  these  wars 
of  Ramses  III.,  savage  as  they  were,  did  not  reach  the  ferocious  condi- 
tions of  those  of  the  kings  of  Assyria.  Like  the  hero  of  the  tale  of 
Odysseus  the  captives  were  sometimes  allowed  to  settle  in  Egypt  aud 

f  become  imjx>rtaut  colonists. 
The  arms  of  the  Homeric  warriors  are  the  same  as  those  of  the 
enemies  of  Egypt,  with  such  difference  as  time  and  variety  of  race 
would  explain.  The  comparison  would  be  difficult  had  we  not  the 
discoveries  at  Myccnie  for  illustration,  which  undoubtedly  stand  much 
nearer    the    date  of  Ramses  III.   than   do   the  poems,   aud  we    may 

m  •  Tbe  deecription  of  the  harbour  of  Pbaroe  woidJ  be  strvugly  in  favour  of  bis  view,  were 

B    it  not  for  the  expresRion 

^K  AlyOrrov  Tpordpoiffe 

^P  rhoaw  &»ivB\  iiiffof  re  Tramjfieptij  y\atf>vpy}  yrjOi 

^m  i^vLircv,  i]  Xtyt/t  oc^n  inwtijiffdf  6Ttffdtv, 

H  But  vby  is  not  Aegyptns  bcrc  tbe  Nile,  ami  tlio  motttb  of  tbti  Cftnopic  timncb  ? 


I 


118 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


with  certaiu  reserves  use  the  still  more  ancient  remains  firom  the 
TroatL 

The  Homeric  names  of  the  sword  and  similar  weapons  arc  curious  as 
indicative  of  their  origin.  Hi'^oc  of  no  certain  Greek  derivation  is 
probably  the  Egyptian  sef{i)t  the  sword.*  Ma^ot^a  the  dirk,  again  not 
proved  to  be  Greek,  may  be  from  the  Hebrew  mecherahj  J^??*  '^j  ^  ^ 
most  probable,  that  difficult  word  is  to  be  rendered  "  sword/'  though  wc 
need  not  follow  the  Rabbins  in  deriving  tbe  Hebrew  from  the 
Greek,  as  where  the  occuiTencc  in  the  song  of  Jacob  is  thus  com- 
mented on  by  Rabbi  EHczcr,  "  He  (Jacob)  cursed  their  sword  in  the 
Greek  language"  (Jl^aV  pz'^a  Uy^U  j-|>*  bbp^,  PirkefR.  Eliezer.SB), 
thus  showing  his  extreme  anger  with  Simeon  and  Levi.  "'Ao/j  or  aop 
and  <pa<syavin'  arc  obviously  Greek. 

The  bronze  swords  from  Myecnse  show  two  types,  one  a  very  long  and 
narrow  two-edged  weapon,  originally  over  three  feet  iu  length,  without 
the  hilt.  One  blade  measured  3ft.  2in.,  and  mast  therefore  have  been 
originally  with  the  hilt  4ft.  long.  The  Egyptian  monuments  do  not 
show  in  their  pictures  of  the  maritime  enemies  any  swords  of  this  type, 
but  in  the  list  of  the  booty  taken  from  the  Mashuasha  we  find  "  swords 
of  5  cubits  115,  swords  of  3  cubita  124."  (LHhnichen  Hist.  Inschr.  sxvii.)t 
If  we  take  the  mcasnres  to  be  by  the  royal  cubit  they  would  represent 
respectively  BJft.  and  a  little  over  5ft.  ;  if  the  lesser  cubit,  which  does 
not  seem  to  have  been  the  official  measure|  is  intended,  these  dimensions 
would  be  reduced  to  7ft.  4in.;  and  about  4ft.  2in,  The  last 
dimenaion  is  that  of  the  longest  swords  for  Mycena;.  The  longer 
weapon  was  probably  a  sword-blade  fixed  in  a  long  shaft  like  a  sword- 
bayonet  attached  to  a  rifle. 

The  shorter  sword  from  Myceusc,  which  is  the  far  rarer  type, 
appears  to  have  been  broad  at  the  lower  part,  tapering  to  a  point,  and  in 
one  case  about  a  foot  long  in  the  blade  (Schliemann,  Mycena,  282),  but 
we  cannot  say  with  certainty  what  was  its  average  length.  The  maritime 
and  Libyan  enemies  of  the  Egyptians  carry  a  sword  of  this  form. 

The  rare  one-edged  sword  of  Mycenae  has  tlie  shape  of  a  falchion  in 
the  Egyptian  pictures,  where  it  is  not  a  common  weapon.  It  is  not 
certainly  recognized  in  the  Homeric  poems, 

Homer  knew  rather  the  short  spear  than  the  javelin  ;  the  enemies  of 
Egypt  carry  a  spare  javeliu ;  they  rarely  hold  a  spear.  The  spear-heads 
of  Mycense,  having  lost  their  shafts,  may  beluug  to  either  class  of  spear. 

The  bow  is  not  so  common  as  other  weapons  of  oflfence  in  the 
Homeric  poems ;  in  the  Egyptian  pictures  it  is  characteristic,  as  already 
remarked,  of  the  Libyan  nations. 


»  The  Arabic  K^f  a  sword,  which  is  a  iSemitic  word  (cf.  the  Hebrew  ^)  U  not  likely 
to  bo  the  ori^u  of  the  Greek  word,  as  wc  do  not  tmco  it  in  tliia  sense  in  PaJoatine. 

t  Thesti  uiiiiDnHiuna  nre  so  cxtraonliuary  thiit  it  intiy  be  weU  to  meiitiaD  that  they  are 
ttooeptod  by  Chnbas  {Sui.  HUi.^  2nd  ed.,  244)  nnd  Brus»ch  {HUrog,-d€mot.  H'Grter^Hch^ 
1213). 

+  Dc  KoagtJ,  Chrtitom.f  E<j,  II.  120,  from  wliich  the  diraenaiona  are  computed. 


ANCIENT   EGYPT. 


119 


The  Homeric  shield  is  evideutly  verylargCj  unlike  the  shields  of  the 
enemies  of  Egypt.  Tlie  solitary  shield  from  Dr.  Schliemanii'a  excava- 
tious  in  the  Troad  is  small  and  round,  so  also  is  a  shield  from  Cyprus, 
which  is  probably  of  about  the  seventh  century  a.c.  One  of  the 
Tcry  remarkable  gold  signet  rings  from  Myceucc  shows  a  warrior  covered 
by  an  enormous  shield.  The  Etruscan  shields  arc  round,  but  far  larger 
than  those  portrayed  on  the  Egyptian  mouumeuta  as  borue  by  the 
maritime  peoples. 

In  the  Bible  are  indications  confirmatory  of  the  Egyptian  records.  At 
the  time  of  the  Exodus  (before  b.c,  1300)  there  was  war  on  the  Philistine 
coast.  During  the  interval  between  the  Exodus  and  the  conquest  of 
Canaan  some  mysterious  scourge,  "the  hornets,"  weakened  the  Canaanites 
and  made  their  conquest  easier.  Was  this  the  overthrow  of  the  Hittites 
and  Amorites  of  the  Orontcs  valley  by  the  maritime  confctleracy  in  the 
time  of  Ramses  III.,  probably  within  forty  years  after  the  Exodus,  which 
TTouId  have  prevented  these  northern  Canaanites  from  joining  in  the 
southern  and  northern  leagues  against  Joshua  ? 

Let  UB  now  look  at  the  broad  historical  features  of  the  ages  in  which 
the  records  have  beeu  reviewed,  though  any  but  a  brief  outline  would  tend 
to  disturb  the  progress  of  inductive  research.  In  the  time  of  the  Ramcs- 
sides,  from  about  b.c.  1400  to  1250  roughly,  the  Mediterranean  nations 
were  passing  from  a  stage  which  was  probably  that  of  hunters  into  that  of 
warriors  seeking  more  fertile  lands.  In  the  age  of  Homeric  tradition  they 
had  attained  the  settled  stage,  and  the  few  who  retained  the  old  restlessness 
were  pirates.  The  three  stages  are  easily  paralleled  in  the  history  of 
the  Northern  nations  of  Europe.  If  the  Homeric  poems  do  not  describe 
the  same  races  as  do  the  Egyptian  records,  they  describe  but  another 
phase  of  the  history  of  the  same  part  of  the  world.  Yet  the  reader  will 
do  well  to  hesitate  before  he  abandons  the  interpretations  of  De  Rouge, 
which  have  a  solid  coherence  in  themselves,  and  are  singularly  consistent 
with  Homeric  tradition,  in  favour  of  Dr.  Brugsch's  novel  views,  which 
thoQgh  they  begin  with  a  contradiction  of  his  predecessor  end  in  a  com- 
promise. If  he  IS  curious  to  pursue  the  inquiry  he  will  see  in  the  list 
appended  to  this  article  that  a\\  prhftd  facie  probability  is  in  favour  of 
the  system  of  De  Roug^.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  controversy  will 
not  be  allowed  to  rest  imtil  it  has  been  finally  settled.  The  prolonged 
ailencc  of  Egyptologists  on  this  vexed  question  woidd  throw  a  lasting 
discredit  on  their  critical  skill  and  their  interest  in  the  gravest  problems 
suggested  by  the  ancient  Egyptian  texts  and  monuments. 


Li$t  of  Principal  Maritime  and  Libyan  Enemies  of  Effypt 


De  Rouge,  ^c. 

Achseana 

Maxyes 


Bruysch. 

Achipans  of  Caucasus 

Maxyes 


120 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


De  Rouge,  ^c. 

Brugach, 

Pelesta 

(  Pelasgi           I 
(  Philistines      ) 

Prosoditae 

Rebu  (Lebu) 

Libyans 

Libyans 

Beka  (Leka) 

Lycians 

Ligyes 

Shakalaslia 

Sikels 

Zagylis,  people  of 

Shardana 

Sards 

Sardones,  Chartani 

Taanau  (Daanau) 

Daunians^  Danai 

Tcneia,  Taineia,  people 

Tahennu 

Libyans 

Marmaridie                [of 

Tekkariu 

Teucrians 

Zyges,  Zygritffi 

Tnirsha 

Etruscans 

Taurians 

Uashasha 

Oscans 

Ossotes. 

Reoinald  Stuart  Poole. 


BAD  TRADE,  AND   ITS  CAUSE, 


THE  DISCREDITING  OF  SILVEE. 


ENGLAND  has  now  entered  upon  the  sixth  year  of  commercial 
and  manufacturing  distress  and  decadence.  There  is  as  yet 
not  a  single  ray  of  light  shooting  up  through  the  dark  mercantile 
horizon.  A  crisis  without  parallel  in  the  experience  of  the  present 
generation  not  only  rests  upon  us^  but  intensifies  as  time  rolls  on. 
When  a  condition  of  affairs  baffling  all  experience  acquired  in  previous 
times  of  prostration  exists,  it  is  surely  our  paramount  duty  to  investi- 
gate and  to  inquire  whether  this  prolonged  distress  may  not  be  traced 
in  large  measure  to  some  special  or  peculiar  cause. 

My  object  in  writing  this  paper  is  to  call  attention  to  the  serious 
injury  inflicted  on  our  commerce  by  the  discrediting  of  silver;  and 
my  contention  is,  that  the  practical  cutting  off  of  silver  from  the 
world's  money  has  been  at  the  root  of  much  of  our  distress  during 
late  years,  and  is  now  one  of  the  chief  hindrances  to  the  return  of 
prosperity.  Undoubtedly,  our  declension  in  1873,  1S74,  and  part  of 
1875,  was  the  natural  revulsion  from  undue  extension,  and  from  the 
unduly  high  prices  paid  for  labour,  and  the  products  of  our  industiy. 
Since  1875  these  causes,  however,  have  ceased  to  operate.  It  is 
undoubtedly  true  that  hostile  tariffs  and  the  competition  of  several 
nations  (particularly  the  United  States)  have  greatly  curtailed  the 
demand  for  our  manufactured  goods  which  previously  existed  withiu 
their  borders ;  but  we  have  a  large  and  open  field  almost  to  ourselves 
in  many  quarters  of  the  globe ;  and  the  lamentable  fact  is,  that  in  these 
regions,  peculiarly  our  own,  trade  continues  to  languish  as  it  does 
elsewhere,  and  the  demand  for  our  goods  is  greatly  restricted  and 
diminished. 

It  will  not  be  questioned  that  the  large  increase  of  the  world's 
money,  dile   to  the  Australian  and  Califoraian  gold  discoveries,  led  to 


122 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


a  great  extension  of  the  world's  commerce.  The  interchange  of  com- 
modities was  marvellously  stimulated;  labour  had  for  many  years 
a  greatly  augmented  recompense;  the  material  comfort  and  welfare  of 
mankind  were  greatly  promoted ;  real  and  personal  property  increased 
enormously  iu  value  all  over  the  civilized  world  ;  the  foreign  commerce 
of  England  alone  rose  from  je25O,OO0,O<X)  in  1852  to  .£050^000,000  in 
1875  ;  tlic  foreign  commerce  of  many  other  nations  rose  in  like  pro- 
portion. From  the  surplus  gains  of  our  comracrcc  iu  those  years  we 
invested  many  liuudreds  of  millions  of  pounds  sterling  in  State  and 
Corporation  bonds,  railways,  aud  iiiduatrial  euterprizcs,  and  in  property 
and  mortgages  in  foreign  countries — leaving  us  inimeasui*ably  wealthier 
aA  a  nation,  notwithstauding  many  foolish  investments,  such  as  Turkish, 
Peruvian,  and  Paraguayan  bonds.  It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  so  great 
prosperity  aud  increase  of  national  wealth  had  proceeded  from  a  cause 
apparently  so  inadequate  to  produce  results  so  fabulous.  Such^  however, 
was  in  large  measure  the  result  of  the  enlarged  resenoir  of  the  world's 
money  created  by  the  accession  of  gold  from  the  Australian  aud  Califoruian 
mines.  It  acted  as  a  stream  of  warm  blood  impelled  through  all  the 
arteries  of  the  world's  commerce,  vitally  and  powerfully  stimtdating  the 
vast  orgauisms  of  trade  and  industiy. 

We  Iiavc  in  this,  our  late  national  experience,  a  direct  coutradiction 
to  the  theories  of  some  political  economists  who  assert  that,  after  all, 
international  commerce  is  only  barter,  and  that  money  has  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  its  extent  or  volume.  The  very  small  measure  of 
truth  underlying  this  assertion  has  led  many  intelligent  minds  astray. 
It  is  because  the  largely  increased  supjjly  of  money  had  guaranteed  to 
men  and  nations  the  payment  of  large  international  balances  that  the 
volume  of  the  world's  trade,  prior  to  1874-,  had  augmented  with  such 
marvellous  rapidity.  And  now  it  is  in  great  measure  because  the  world 
has  of  late  greatly  restricted  aud  diminished  the  capacity  of  its  money 
reservoir  that  distress  aud  calamity  augment  and  intensify  around  us. 
A  large  portion  of  the  life-blood  of  commerce  has  bceu  artificially 
congealed.  The  whole  organism  has  felt  the  shock ;  but  the  fiuauciai 
intellect  has  become  so  beclouded  aud  benumbed  as  not  to  have  fully 
realized,  even  yet,  the  cause  of  the  deadeuiug  paralysis  which  has 
overtaken  it. 

Let  us  present  for  considcraliou   the  diagnosis  : — The  world,   of  late 
years,  traded  on  an  eflcctive  metallic  capital  estimated  at  j£l,'iOOjOOO,000. 
Of  this,  we  have  good  evidence  for  believing  that  about 
.£750,00O,iM^>  were  Gold  Coins  and  Bullion 

and         .€€50,000,000     „      vSilver  Coins  and  Bullion. 

Now,  we  assert  that  the  world,  of  late,  has  been  committing  the 
suicidal  act  of  discarding,  discreditiug,  and  cuttiug  ofl'  from  performing 
its  wouted  functions  one  of  the  two  agents  or  solvents  for  the  liquida- 
tion of  biilauces  of  international  indebtedness.  In  other  words,  the 
world,   acting   under   the  legal   injunctions   of  the   leading   monetary 


J 


THE    DJSCREDIT/XG    OF   SILVER. 


las 


tb 


™^*Trs,  has  divorced  from  its  mouetary  system  that  sil^'er  whichj  from 
Ci/ne  immemorial^  has,  conjointly  with  gold,  formed  its  '*  money." 
"  ixjespread  sufcricg  has  been  tJie  iueWtable  result  of  its  folly. 

Our  unwise  legislation  of  181(5,  which  made  gold  sole    legal   tender 

iSngland,  has  been  the  underlying  cause  of  all  this  evil.   For  ycArs  wc 

P*-**.yed  upon  the  currencies   of  Europe;  and   often  swept   away   large 

^^antities  of  silver  for  transmission  to  India,  where,  ^vith  an  admirable 

^^*tjtradiction  in   our  monetary'  lesdslation,  we   have  enforced   a   silver 

Currency.  While  availing  ourselves  of  the  stores  of  silver  belonging  to  our 

Continental   neighbours,  we  constantly  vaunted  about    the   suj)eriority 

^f  our  gold  uurrency,  and  stimulated  them  to  follow  our  short-sightod 

ciample.     Even  a  Liberal  Chancellor  of  the   Exchequer   (Mr.   Lowe) 

boaated  in  full  Parliament,  in  the  year  18G9,  that  he  had  made  a  convert 

of  Ptbucc      Germany,  however,  stole  a  march  on  France  in  the  insane 

ctreer  which  we  had  pointed  out  to  them  as  the  high  road  to  success,  and 

m  1874  decreed  the  demonetization  of  silver  and  its  substitution  by  gold. 

Prance,  which  had,  in  conjunction  with  the  States  of  the  Latin  Union, 

proridod  for  the  world  an  equilibrium  or  par  of  exchange  between  the  two 

metals,  by  means  of  her  free-mintage  system  and  making  both  metab 

ftill  le^al  tender  on  the  ratio  of  15^  of  silver  to   1   of  gold,   thereupon 

sn&pended  the  free  coinage  of  silver.     France  was  driven  to  this  act  by 

the  unwise  mouetary  legislation  of  powerful   neighbours.      The  par  of 

exchange  provided  betwixt  gold  and  silver  money  was  thereby  lost  to 

the  world.    Silver  was  dethroned.    Vt'ta  to  the  knife  waa  declared  againat 

that  metal.     Gold  now  reigns  supreme  and  omnipotent. 

The  results  have  been  disastrous  in  the  extreme.  The  hard  money 
capital  of  the  world  has  been  practically  reduced  from  j£  1,400,000,000 
to  j£*$00,000,000,  and  yet  men  arc  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  greatly 
reduced  interchange  of  commodities,  ami  the  greatly  reduced  prices  now 
paid  for  property,  for  goods,  and  for  labour ! 

A  large  and  influential  committee  of  merchants  in  Liverpool  is  now 
inTestigating  this  question,  and  the  following  are  the  conclusions  they 
have  arrived  at  in  so  far  as  the  effects  of  the  discrediting  of  silver  on  the 
world's  commerce  are  concerned  : — 


l5t-^**Thatthe  recent  shrinkage  in  value  of  the  worlds  silver  money,  measured 
in  gold,  is  very  large,  and  there  is  every  reason  to  fear  tliat,  with  the  prospect 
before  ua,  the  depreciation  will  continue  to  mcrease. 

2nd. — "  Thai  there  has  been,  besides,  much  diminution  in  Uie  value  of  invest- 
ments of  Kngltsh  capital  in  the  pubHc  ftmds,  railways,  &c.,  of  silver-using 
countries. 

Srd.-^*'  That  we  are  now  compelled  to  look  upon  the  silver  of  the  world  as  in 
large  measure  cut  oflf  from  its  previous  sphere  of  usefulness  as  one  of  the 'two 
agents  for  the  Uquidation  of  international  indebtedness. 

4th. — *'  That  the  serious  diminution  of  the  world's  money,  caused  by  the  disuse 
of  silver,  may,  in  the  future,  lead  to  frequent  panics,  through  the  inadequate 
supply  of  gold  for  the  world's  wants. 

•ith. — '*  That  the  uncertniiuy  regarding  the  course  of  exchanges,  in  the  future, 


124 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


largely  prevents  tie  fivrtlier  investraent  of  English  cnpitiil  in  the  public  funds  of 
ailver-iiaing  countries,  or  iu  railways,  industrial  enterprises,  and  comraercinl 
credits. 

Cth. — '*  That  the  friction  and  harasRment  now  attending  busineaa  with  silvcr- 
UEJng  countries,  hh  India,  Chinii,  Java,  Austria,  Chile,  Mexico,  and  others, 
naturally  lead  merchanta  to  curtail  their  operations  in  tbe  ex]]ort  of  our  manu- 
iaclured  goods,  and  to  restrict  the  euiployraent  of  English  capital  in  such  basineaBi 

7th. — "  That  this  is  a  most  serious  (juestion  for  Indiii,  which  many  believe  to 
be  »o  impoverished  as  not  to  be  able  to  hear  increased  taxation. 

8th. — **  That  tlie  depreciation  of  silver  seriously  affects  tlie  power  of  silrer- 
osing  SlatPS  to  purclinsc  Kngliah  inaiiuriietures,  and  leads  to  increased  taxation, 
thus  fnrthcr  curtailing  the  trade  which  has  hitherto  been  carried  on  in  Kngliah 
commodities."* 

Thpse  conclusions  by  wo  means  exhaust  tha  category  of  untoward 
results.  The  picture  could  be  greatly  heightened  in  colouring,  but  they 
are  eiioup;h  fur  our  pnrposcj  accounting  as  they  do  for  the  greatly  tlimi- 
nisLcd  demand  there  now  is  for  our  textile  fabrics,  railway  materials, 
machinery,  and  other  things  from  vast  and  populous  regions  of  the 
globCj  whose  money  is  now  useless  to  us,  and  unsuitable  for  the  dis- 
charge of  our  trade  accounts.  Merchants  are  at  their  wits*  end.  They 
arc  shut  up  to  refuse  credits  iu  silver-using  countries.  They  are  battled 
in  all  their  exchange  calailations.  They  arc  driven  to  restrict  their 
operations.  The  malign  and  adverse  inHucnce  acts  and  reacts.  The 
distress  intensifies.  Manchester  warehouses  arc  filled  to  repletion  with 
unsaleable  stocks.  Iron  rails  go  down  to  a  point  lower  than  ever  known. 
Many  good  opportiinitics  for  dcvclopirig  the  resources  of  other  countries, 
and  of  investing  English  capital,  pa^s  unheeded  and  unavailcd  of.  Men 
inquire  what  will  the  silver  dollar  or  the  rupee  be  worth  six  mouths  or 
six  years  hence  in  the  London  market  j  and  the  deduction  from  late 
monetary  legislation  prompts  the  reply  that  there  is  no  bottom  to  the 
fall.  India  may  be  mined — our  investments  may  be  worthless ;  and 
the  inevitable  conclusion  is  that  we  must  minimise  our  risks,  restrict  our 
operations,  draw  in  our    capital  from   silver-using    countries,  and  let 


*  The  Special  Conixnittee  of  Ibquiry  at  fiverpool  was  nominatetl  a  few  we«kii  agohy  the 
Chamber  of  (Voromcrce,  but  tlic  Kt.Ie<tiiKn  wan  not  cnnfinwi  to  niembcrf  of  that  body.  The 
CommittL'c  aunibcrs  scveutceix  iiicrcbunts  and  baiikeis — nieD  holding  positions  of  the  highest 
influence  in  the  community.  Since  thcao  pages  were  writtcu  they  have  investigatcu  the 
main  fact*  regnidin^  tho  |iro(hiction  of  the  two  prcciotiB  inetala,  and  they  have  round  that 
wbereas  the  Bap[jly  of  silver  from  the  injiie&  of  tbe  world  early  thia  century  waa  in  relation 
to  gold  aa  3  to  I,  the  relative?  production  waa  reversed  twcnty-tive  years  aco,  when  the  yield 
of  cold  amounted  to  x;i3,0*iO»OttO  per  annum.  At  the  preficnt  time  the  jirodnction  is  reduced 
to  ic»a  than  £19,000,IKin  of  gokt — while  Bilvor  ia  also  falhng  ulf,  and  may  now  be  taken  at 
about  £13,300.000. 

Their  investigations  arc  not  yet  concluded,  but  the  Committee  have  Twhcn  this  note 
u  bcini;  written)  jioaacd  the  following  additional  HeaolutiouB,  which,  witiiont  attempting 
to  fureshaduw  their  idtimate  conclusions,  must  inevitably  point  to  the  necessity  for  the 
rehabiUtation  of  silver  in  tho  world  : — 

"That  the  recent  great  fall  in  the  price  of  s-ilvcr  is  priiicijially  to  be  attribntcd  to  the 
■UFpeusiou  of  frcc-mintagc  in  France  and  tlie  .Statis  of  the  Latin  Union,  cunsixjuunt 
upon  the  adverse  netioti  of  (Jennany  in  demonotiziug  silver. 

"That  tho  bimetallic  syatcra  of  France  and  tlie  ttthcr  .States  of  tlie  Ijitin  Union,  in 
conjunction  with  free-mintage,  prior  to  in?'',  tended  to  provide  an  equilibrium  between 
the  two  metals,  and  to  give  stability  to  all  exchangee  betwixt  Kngland  and  silver-using 
oonntries.'' 


THE    DISCREDITING    OF  SILVER, 


125 


m. 


^mgi  take  their  chance.     The  Economht  and  Mr.  Giffcn  prophesied 

''irce  years  ago  that  trade  would  soou  raeud.       They  ridiculed  our  fears 

aad  what  they  called  onr  heroic  remedies.     But  the  world  now  knows 

tnoy  were  prophets  who  prophesied  pleasant  things  because  meu  loved  to 

"AV'e  it  so. 

But  where  can  an  adequate  remedy  for  all  this  mischief  and  evil  bo 
"*viiid?  Our  reply  is:  Restore  again  to  its  proper  place  the  metal  that 
"^^^  been  dethroned.  Let  it  have  a  joint  sway  with  gold  in  a  fixed  and 
^^rminate  proportion,  established  ou  a  broader  and  surer  basis  than 
^r  before.  In  other  words,  rehabilitate  silver  to  the  rank  of"  money*' 
**^  conjunction  with  gold,  in  Europe,  Asia,  and  America.  Let  England, 
**iince,  the  States  of  the  Latin  Union,  the  United  States  of  America, 
^d  India  adopt  the  bi-metallic  money  system,  by  solemn  international 
^^reaant,  and  the  difficulty  is  solved.  Tl»e  congealed  life-blood  will 
'^gain  dissolve  and  flow  through  the  arteries  of  commerce.  The  lost  par 
'^f  exchange  with  silver-using  countries  will  be  established  more  effec- 
tively than  ever  before.  India  will  be  rescued  from  impending  bank- 
*liptcy.  The  sun  of  prosperity,  now  gi-catly  obscured,  will  shine  agaia 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  And  the  sum  of  human  happiness,  so  far  as 
material  comfort  is  concerned,  will  again  be  greatly  augmented. 

On  the  other  hand,  do  nothing;  follow  still  longer  the  teachings  of 
the  iaisaez  afier  prophets  of  1876,  and  our  misfortunes  arc  prolonged; 
and  the  gloom,  which  now  as  with  a  thick  mantle  covers  our  distressed 
industries  and  commerce,  Incomes  intensified. 

Let  it  be  remembered  that  the  evils  which  now  exist  were  all  foretold 

I 'With  marvellous  exactitude  by  the  advocates  of  bi-metallism.  lu  1869 
^Ir.  Ernest  Seyd,  in  his  able  pamphlet  entitled  the  "  Depreciation  of 
I^abonr  and  Property  which  would  follow  the  Demonetization  of  Silver/' 
'Warned  European  financiers  of  the  dangerous  character  of  the  projects 
■which  wexc  then  the  subjects  of  discussion.  His  warnings  were 
"Unheeded.  Surely  this  incontrovertible  fact  entitles  the  Bi-ractallic 
School  of  Economy  to  demand  a  more  dispassionate  consideration  of 
the  remedial  measures  they  propose  than  has  up  to  this  point  been 
accorded  to  them  by  the  leaders  and  guides  of  public  opinion. 

P        Aversion  from  touching  their  currency  laws  is,  on  the  whole,  a  safe 
state   of  mind   for   a  people   to  cherish.     It  Is,  moreover,  easy  to  be 
orthodox,  and    it   requires  some  degree  of  moral   courage   to   face  the 
charge  of  heresy.     This  is  the  only  explanation   that  can  be   offered 
for  the   impatience  with  which,  in  almost  every  quarter,  a  fair  hearing 
haa  been    hitherto   refused  to  the  advocates  of  the  bi-metalHc  money 
ysten).     The  aversion  was  senteutiously  epitomized  by  the  late  Mr. 
hot    in   the   Economist   of  30th  December,  1876,  in  the  following 
s: — "The   English    people,    rightly   or    wrongfij   [mark  the  true 
nglish    obstinate  orthodoxy  in   the   tise  of  the   word   wrongly]   will 
never     consent    to    change    their    eurrencv" !        That    this    was    the 


deteinuaed  attitude  of  the  Eui 


miud  has  ou  such-like  cvideucc  or 


1S6 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


reasoning,  re-echoed  by  the  press,  been  apparently  taken  for  granted  by 
our  rulers,  and  the  assumption  is  the  only  excuse  for  their  recent  course 
of  action.     It  doubtless  accounts  for  the  fact  that  at  the  late  Monetary 
Conference  held   in    Paris,   our   delegates    appeared   with    instructiona 
binding  them  "  to  take  no  part  in  any  vote  whic}i  would  call  in  question 
the  niaiutcnancc  of  our  single  gold  standard."     Thus  it  has  happened 
that    England,    the    greatest   monetary  Power,    rendered    abortive   a 
Conference  which,  if  it  had  been  prepared  ex  ammo  to  consider  the 
questions   presented   for   solution    by  the    United    States,   might   have 
rendered  the  very  highest  service  to  mankind. 

But  time  keeps  rolling  on.  No  daylight  appears.  Adversity 
intensified  lifts  up  her  voice  and  becomes  a  hard  but  yet  a  true  teacher. 
What  if,  after  all,  it  be  found  tlmt  England  has  not  even  dispassionately 
considered  the  question,  while  certain  financial  dogmatists  have  pro- 
claime<l  that  she  has  emphatically  pronounced  against  the  bi-metallic 
money  system  ?  1  put  this  as  au  interrogation,  1  desire  that  it  shall 
be  considered  on  good  grounds  as  au  affirmation.  England  has  tmt 
pronounced  against  the  international  adoption  of  bi-mctalliam.  The 
press,  led  by  the  Eeopwmistj  has,  it  is  true,  been  against  us ;  but  there 
are  now  hopeful  signs  that  a  better  state  of  mind  is  beginning  to 
prevail.  The  English  people  arc  ever  ready  to  adopt  such  wise  and 
salutary  measures  as  are  most  likely  to  advance  their  material  pros- 
perity; but  the  question  is  too  technical  for  popular  diseunsioa,  and 
not  having  been  submitted  to  the  popular  judgment  it  is  an  utter 
fallacy  to  maintain  that  the  English  people  have  taken  any  resolution 
whatever  in  regard  to  it.  From  absolute  knowledge  I  aver  that  the 
ranks  of  the  bi-metallists  have,  during  the  past  few  months,  been  greatly 
augmented,  and  that  our  views  have  of  late  in  many  influential  quarters 
made  very  important  and  satisfactory  progress.  It  is  no  breach  of 
confidence  to  say  tlint  one  of  our  deputies  to  the  Paris  Conference 
writes  to  me  that  he  finds  mucli  less  aversion  from  our  views  in  the 
City  than  he  imagined  had  existed,  and  my  belief  is  that  if  the  Govern- 
ment had  had  any  idea  of  the  preparedness  of  the  public  mind  calmly 
and  rationally  to  face  tliis  question,  the  instructions  given  to  the  Paris 
delegates  would  have  been  couched  in  terms  altogether  diOcrcnt  from 
those  they  carried  with  them  across  the  Channel. 

Nature  again,  which  it  was  popularly  imagined  for  some  time  had 
pronounced  against  our  cause,  has  come  to  our  assistance.  The 
Nevada  mines  have  really  all  along  been  uttering  a  plea  for  bi-metallism. 
It  ought  to  be  known  that  the  ore  produced  from  these  mines  yields 
almost  exactly  50  per  cent,  value  in  gold,  and  50  per  cent,  value  ia 
silver.  That  is  to  say,  the  weight  of  the  pure  metal  when  smelted  is 
aboiit  fifteen  or  sixteen  of  silver  against  one  of  gold.  This  ought  to 
have  been  received  as  the  language  of  encouragement.  She  now  speaks 
in  accents  of  warning,  for  the  yield  of  gold  from  the  mines  of  the 
world  is  markedly  falling  off.     The  annual  value  ia  now  only  about 


THE    DISCREDITING    OF  SILVER, 


137 


£18,000,000,  against  .€22,000.000  a  few  years  ago,  and  ^33,000,000  iii 
the  yew  1852.  Tlie  yield  of  silver  ia  also  falling  off.  The  American 
yield  of  Rilver  in  1878  was  *37,00f),000,  and  the  yield  of  gold 
$87,000,000,  while  the  estimates  for  1879  aio  j>ointing  to  considerably 
diminished  quantities  of  both  metaU.  These  important  facts  have  not 
escnped  the  attention  of  Mr.  Giflen,  the  sttitisticiau  of  the  Board  of 
Trade,  ^fr.  Giflen  in  187()  was  one  of  the  propagators  of  the  ialsscz 
alter  doctrine  in  rcganl  to  the  demonetization  of  silver.  He  is  now 
calling  public  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  gold  supplies  are  markediv 
falling  oJf.  He  deprecates  the  further  disuse  of  silver,  and  hints  at 
the  necewity  for  our  Government  turning  their  attention  to  the  serious 
questions  involved  in  the  diminution  in  the  supply  of  money.* 

I  will  now  proceed  to  deal  with  the  difficulties,  real  or  imaginary, 
which  are  popularly  understood  to  be  a  barrier  to  the  rehuhilitation  of 
sOrer  m  "  money,"  in  addition  to  thoac  which  I  have  already  incidentally 
disposed  of. 

First. — It  ia  objected  that  it  ia  beyond  the  pTcrogative  of  nations  to 
fii  a  ratio  of  valuation  or  exchangeability  Ijetween  the  two  metals ;  and 
that  it  is  practically  impossible  for  them  to  do  so. 

To  this  objection  we  reply  that  it  is  as  much  within  the  sphere  of 
national  prerogative  to  choose  both  metals  for  money  aa  to  elect  one ; 
and  seeing  that  it  is  of  world-wide  importance  that  both  gold  and  silver 
shall  continue  to  be  used,  it  is  impossible  to  form  the  unit  ''  money  " 
out  of  the  two  metals  except  by  means  of  a  fixed  legal  ratio  or  propor- 


*  statistics  have  been  pnbliahed  allowing  the  downward  tendency  of  the  prices  of  many 
oornmoditiefi  of  Utc,  nud  it  is  silej];ed  that  dccroosing  rahiea  miiat  lie  Attributed  to  a  rise 
in  the  valoo  of  gold.  Anion^st  these  6^ares  wc  tind  a  [>Iace  naaiirned  to  silver,  and  it  ia 
conttoide*!  that  ita  r&UictMl  value  shews  that  it  has  only  shared  the  fate  of  many  other 
o>intuoditicfr.  The  hofie  is  held  rmt  to  as  tlmt  when  the  tide  of  proipcrity  returns,  silver 
iriU  i'.^'-  \u  iirieo  just  OS  ixirn  or  cotton  may  bo cx[>ected  to  advance.  Such  reasoning  in  &\to- 
get'  .A.     The  statiiftios  tu  which  I  oUudc  refer  LKietlyto  variations  in  tne  prices 

ftf  '  thst  areanuunlly  prodaccdin quantities  more  or  less  adequate  for  immediate 

■"■■  M.     The  prici-a  of  these  comajo<litie8  are  governed  oy  laws  Altogether 
which,  prii>r  to  1876,  governed  the  relatton  between  cold  and  silver 
i,^,  .  .  ...  ^  hich  it  is  uuw  our  effort  to  get  restored  on  a  stronger  nasi s  than  ever 

|S>-  Let  meillu^trati:  this  ditifreDce  and  at  the  same  time  the  hojKileesnoBs  of  tbo 

pre-  -ii  of  silver.    If  we  have  a  twenty  percent,  short  wheat  crop  this  year  in  Kuglaud 

and  f  isiico  (OS  may  occur),  and  if  the  United  iStates'  crop  is  short,  wc  may  see  the  price  of 
^itieat  rise— ovou  in  these  bad  times — from  forty  Hhillings  up  to  tifty-live  shilling  or  sixty 
akillinfla  per  ouarteT.  If  the  Uuttoil  States'  cotton  crop  were  to  fall  off  twenty  per  cent.,  we 
stMaUfiuidouDtvdly  see  the  price  of  cotton  rise  in  the  LircriKxd  market  at  li-a^t  one  penny 
per  lb  "r  .il^niit  the  same  jwr  ceotaze.  But  if  the  yield  of  the  silver-mines  were  to  full  off 
twt  t  this  year,  and  if  Inrlia  hss  no  large  trade  balance  bo  receive  (as  may  be  the 

cftbi  I  "f  seeing  silver  riso  in  price,  we  are  likely,  ootwithstanding  the  dimimahed 

producLiuu,  Ij»  Ret;  it  continue  to  go  markedly  down  as  reckonctl  in  guld— even  much  under 
tbo  presout  quotation.  Whv  ?  sSimply  because  the  laws  which  were  wont  to  govern  the 
rclatioa  between  gold  and  aiirer  bavmg  been  abrogated  or  suspended,  the  discredited  metal 
bttoomov  more  merchandize,  and  miwf  go  down  lu  price  in  the  London  market.  Before 
sUw  WM  discredited  as  money,  it  wa»  maintained  with  very  unimportant  oecillatious  in  a 
fixed  ratio  to  gold,  by  French  monetary  law,  whatever  the  variations  were  in  the  yield  of 
the  mine*.  Tnst  ratio  is  now  lost  to  the  world,  and  silver  will  ere  long  be  only  worth  what 
the  choose  to  jKiy  for  it— iwrhaps  one  shilling  or  two  shilling  per  ounce, 

t'n-  f  "money"  and   "  commodity"  are  distinctly  8eparato<l,  there   can  b« 

no  clciT  I  iijiij^uL  .  i.  the  ffubject.  I  have  considerod  it  best,  in  order  not  to  break  the  conti* 
anitT  of  my  maia  argument,  to  put  these  observations  in  the  form  of  a  foot-note. 


128 


THE    CONTEM POBAEY  REVIEJV. 


tioii  betwixt  them.  ^Ve  allege,  moreover,  in  the  words  of  the  Italian 
Delegates  to] the  Paris  Conference  that  "  since  the  French  law  established 
such  a  relation,  none  but  unimportant  oscillations  occurred  in  the 
relative  value  of  the  two  metals  (till  the  law  was  suspended) :  conse- 
quently if  the  French  law  obtained  by  itself  such  a  beneficent  result, 
n  fortiori  such  a  relation  would  be  established  on  a  basis  that  would 
remain  unshaken,  from  the  date  on  which  nations  as  France,  England, 
and  the  United  States,  agreed  by  iuterualional  law  to  fix  the  relative 
value  of  the  two  metals." 

Second, — It  is  alleged  that  if  a  few  nations  remained  outside  of  the 
iuternational  covenant  they  might  at  any  time  endanger  the  equilibrium. 

We  reply  to  this  objection  that  the  adoption  of  the  bi-metallic 
mouey  system  is  only  proposed  on  the  understanding  that  the  leading 
monetary  Powers  shall  agree  to  it,  and  that  on  a  uniform  ratio.  It  is 
essential  for  absolute  aafctj'  that  France  (perhaps  with  the  States  of  the 
Latin  Union,  Belgium,  and  Italy),  England,  with  her  colonies,  the 
United  States,  and  India  should  adopt  it.  Now  these  countries  arc, 
and  are  likely  to  be,  the  great  absorbents  of  money.  Holland  would 
uudoubtcdly  joiu  us.  Germany  cannot  keep  the  bullion  she  recently 
acquired,  not  as  the  reward  of  industry  but  as  the  spoils  of  war,  and 
can  never  endanger  the  equilibrium.  Russia,  Austria,  Spain  and 
Portugal,  Brazil,  the  South  American  Republics  are  all  intemationallj 
indebted  to  the  leading  monetary  States.  They  arc  consequently  never 
likely  to  be  able  to  play  on  the  currencies  of  the  Great  Powers.  It  is 
much  more  likely  they  will  all  fall  in  with  the  money  system  adopted 
by  the  latter,  as  that  which  will  afford  the  greatest  safety ;  and  we  know 
some  of  them  are  ready  to  do  ao.  M'^e  therefore  say  that  it  is  capable 
of  demonstration  that  uo  power  on  earth  could  upset  the  equilibrium 
established  on  such  a  basis  as  we  projfose;  and  in  the  face  of  tfae 
enormous  advantages  wc  can  point  to  as  likely  to  be  obtained  through 
its  adoption,  we  maintain  that  it  is  a  suicidal  policy  ou  the  part  of 
England  to  hesitate  and  hold  back.  She  is  the  nation  most  deeply 
ititcrested,  and  she  is  suffering  more  than  any  other  from  the  ruinous 
consequences  of  the  mono-metallic  propaganda  which  her  financiers 
imuiguruted. 

Third. — It  is  sometimes  said  that  the  fixing  of  a  ratio,  and  making 
cither  metal  unlimited  legal  tender,  may  be  unfair  to  the  creditor,  as 
the  debtor  will  natiu-ally  discharge  his  obligations  with  the  cheaper 
metal. 

To  this  stock  objection  wc  reply,  that  after  the  adjustment  of  such 
an  international  covenant  as  we  have  iudicated,  tlicre  would  thenceforth 
be  neither  a  cheaper  nor  a  dearer  metal.  It  is  capable  of  mathematical 
demonstration  that  the  ratio  will  remain  absolute  and  unshaken.  An 
ounce  of  silver  will  be  equal  to  the  15th  or  IGth  (or  whatever  the  ratio 
l>e  fixed  at)  part  of  on  ounce  of  gold ;  and  an  ounce  of  gold  will  be 
identical  in  value  and  power  to  15  or  16  ounces   of  silver.     If  silver 


THE  DISCREDITING  OF  SILVER, 


129 


I 


ran  be  made  unlimited  legal  tender  on  such  a  ratio,  it  would  be  absurd 
to  imagiae  that  the  producers  of  it  will  take  less  than  the  ratio 
gn&rantees^  so  long  as  the  mints  of  the  world  arc  open  for  automatic 
coinage  without  charge  into  legal-tcndcr  money.  Nor  would  it  ever 
be  needful  to  pay  more  than  the  legal  ratio  for  bullion,  seeing  that  coin 
of  full  value  woidd  be  available  for  trade  purposes  when  wanted.  When 
the  potency  of  the  IVcnch  equilibrium  during  seventy  years  is  con- 
sidered, and  when  we  reflect  on  the  ver\' small  oscillations  that  occurred, 
notwithstanding  the  very  great  variations  in  the  supply  of  the  two 
metals,  we  surely  ought  to  be  entirely  free  from  apprehension  if  the 
proposed  ratio  be  established  on  the  broad  and  solid  foundations  which 
have  been  suggested.  Once  establish  the  ratio  itith  automatic  coinage 
free  of  charge,  and  the  term  "  price,"  as  applied  to  either  gold  or  silver, 
is  for  ever  abolished.  They  become  "  money."  Men  use  money  to 
acquire  property  or  commodities,  or  to  lend  it  on  variable  terms.  They 
will  never  seil  it.  Consequently,  to  apeak  of  *'  price,"  or  of  the 
"cheaper"  or  "dearer"  metal  thenceforth,  will  be  found  to  be  either 
a  paradox  or  a  misuse  of  terms. 

Fourth. — It  is  said  we  thus  propose  to  create  two  standards,  and  that 
this  is  a  wholly  artificial  arrangement  which  cannot  be  advocated  on 
scientific  grounds. 

We  reply,  that  all  monetary  arrangements  are,  in  a  certain  sense, 
artiticial,  and  that  it  is  no  more  unscientific  for  nations  to  choose  both 
metals  for  their  money  than  to  rest  their  currency  on  one  metal  only. 
Much  may  be  said  on  purely  scientific  grounds  in  favour  of  a  preference 
for  the  use  of  both  metals.  Aud  in  regard  to  the  term  "  standard," 
we  affirm  that  the  world  has  often  suffered  from  the  senseless  jargon  of 
political  economists.  The  term  "standard,"  in  respect  of  money,  ought 
lofpcally  to  have  reference  only  to  the  weight  and  fineness  of  the  coin. 
In  this  sense  only  was  it  understood  when  first  introduced.  As  for  the 
rest,  let  the  eminent  Hamilton,  Secretary  of  the  American  Treasury  in 
1792,  speak  to  us  again,  as  he  did  then,  in  the  foUowiug  words  of 
•world-wide  significance  and  wisdom  : — 

"  Upon  the  whole  it  seems  to  be  most  advisable,  as  has  been  obtierved,  not  to 
attach  the  unit  exclusively  to  cither  of  the  metab:  because  this  cannot  be  done 
eSectually  without  destroying  the  office  and  character  of  one  of  them  as  money, 
and  reducing  it  to  the  situation  of  a  mere  merchandize  ....  To  annul  the  use 
of  either  of  the  metals  as  money,  is  to  abridge  the  quantity  of  circulating 
medium,  and  is  liable  to  all  the  objections  which  arise  from  a  comparison  of  the 
benefits  of  a  full  with  the  evils  of  a  scanty  circulation." 


The  "  unit"  created  by  bi-mctallism  is  legal-tender  "  money,"  composed 
of  the  two  elements  or  metals,  gold  aud  silver,  conjoined  by  an  abso- 
lutely fixed  link  or  ratio  of  relative  value  attached  to  them,  according 
to  our  proposal,  by  the  force  of  international  monetary  law. 

Fyth. — Objections  to  bimetallism  are  sometimes  made  on  the  ground 

VOL.    XIXY,  K 


180  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

that  perhaps  there  may  be  a  very  large  development  in  the  production 
of  one  of  the  metals^  and  not  of  the  other. 

Our  answer  is — ^the  more  the  better  for  the  world.  It  matters  not* 
vhether  the  colour  be  white  or  yellow.  Both  are  "  money,"  and  the 
world  has  ample  room  for  the  employment  of  much  more  money  than 
it  yet  possesses. 

Sixth. — It  is  sometimes  urged  as  an  objection  to  our  views,  that  as 
this  is  a  question  of  "  supply  and  demand,"  we  somehow  contravene 
the  principles  of  Free  Trade  in  our  contention. 

.  To  this  objection  we  reply,  that  it  is  entirely  a  question  of  law,  and 
not  of  demand  and  supply.  Where  law  prevents  the  use  of  a  metal 
in  the  monetary  system  of  any  country,  there  can  be  no  demand  for  it, 
•except  for  manufacturing  purposes.  The  principles  of  Free  Trade  were 
rather  contravened  by  the  innovators  who  fostered  the  propaganda  for 
a  universal  gold  currency  in  Europe,  the  injury- caused  by  whose  teach- 
ings we  are  now  seeking  to  counteract  by  this  plea  for  a  return  to  the 
-world's  old  conservative  method  of  basing  its  currencies  on  both  the 
precious  metals — gold  and  silver. 

I  understand  that  at  the  Paris  Conference  Mr.  Goschen  rightly 
admitted  that  the  ''cost  of  production"  theory  has  no  place  in  this 
'question.  It  would  be  a  waste  of  time  and  space  to  deal  with  this 
or  any  of  the  other  inappropriate  objections  which,  on  reflection,  will 
l)e  seen  to  be  without  force  or  application. 

My  hope  is  now  strong  that  some  of  our  leading  statemen  will  dis- 
cover, and  go  along  with  the  current  of  public'  opinion,  which  in  many 
•quarters  is  now  running  very  markedly  in  the  direction  of  the  views  I 
Jiave  thus  inadequately  advocated.  That  England  is  determined  to 
adhere  to  gold  only  as  "  money,"  to  her  own  enormous  loss  and  prejudice, 
iwill,  I  believe,  be  found  to  be  a  popular  delusion.  Englishmen  in  the 
past,  though  slow  to  move,  have,  in  the  end,  been  ready  to  adopt  any 
'wise  measures  likely  to  promote  their  material  prosperity.  The  time 
lias  fully  come  when  the  serious  consideration  of  our  wisest  men  must 
be  turned  to  our  monetary  legislation ;  and  I  am  not  without  hope  that 
these  few  pages  may  be  at  least  useful  in  turning  the  attention  of  some 
earnest  men  to  what  I  conceive  to  be  the  best  method  of  solving  the 
jnost  vital  economic  question  of  our  time. 


Liverpool,  March  22nd,  1879. 


Stephen  Williamson, 
(Messrs.  Balfouk,  Williamsok  &  Co.) 


K ASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


131 


II. 


TKE  KASTERV  TRADE  A\D  THE  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


f 


1.  SlM(ory  cf  f\f  Suroffa*  C»mm»ret  Imto  iH-iia.  By 
DiTiu  MAcritxiuioir.     LondoD;  1813. 

1.  An  Hijitf>rir«!  Inqnity  inla  the  Produetiom  and  Can- 
tumption  of  the  Prtcieu*  MetitU.  Br  WiixuDI 
Jacob.  rR-S,    TwotoIl    LoDaon;l'MI. 

3.  AujxudiX  to  th4  Brptrt  tff  IV  StUct  CotmmUter  of  tX* 
HoHte  ^  Oommo*»  Hpon  f»*  Drpreeiatittn  ef  allrtT. 
ru-l.PEptT!    187fl. 

OF  the  many  fascinations  which  the  East  has  held  over  the  thoughts 
and  imagination  of  mankind,  the  chief  and  underlying  clement 
has  been  its  reputation  for  vast  wealtli  in  gohl  and  silver.  Tbe  fanciful 
"  Tales  of  the  Genii "  have  been  almost  rivalled  by  the  legends  and 
"  travellers'  tales "  of  Oriental  magnificence — of  the  wealth  and 
pageantries  of  the  Courts  of  the  East,  from  the  **  Persic  pomp"  of 
Horace  to  the  glories  of  the  Great  Mogul  and  the  mediaeval  fables  of 
the  Court  of  Prestcr  John.  In  authentic  history  some  of  the  most 
exciting  and  romantic  chapters  are  those  which  narrate  the  daring  enter- 
prises by  land  and  sea  by  which  the  young  world  of  Europe  strove  to 
reopen  communication  with  the  grand  old  kingdoms  of  Asia  after  the 
earliest  and  direct  routed  through  Syiia  and  Egypt  had  become  closed 
aud  barred  by  the  races  which  overthrew  and  established  themselves 
upon  the  ruins  of  the  Eastern  empire  of  Rome  and  Byzantium.  It  was 
the  fame  of  the  Great  Khan  and  the  Gokleu  Horde  in  the  depths  of 
Upper  Asia  and  of  the  Mogul  Emperors  in  India  which  led  Marco  Polo, 
Mandevillc,  and  other  bold  adventurers  to  undertake  their  marvellous 
expeditions  into  the  unknown  solitudes  of  the  Old  AVorldj — into  the 
realms  of  heathendom,  of  paganism,  and  Mnlionnd,  and  which  first 
brought  back  tidings  of  Cathay,  a  new  world  of  civilization  lying  at  the 
extremity  of  Asia.  It  was  to  reach  the  Indies  and  Cathay  and  the 
fabled  Court  of  Prester  John  that  the  Portuguese  mariners  toiled  and 
Vasco  da  Gama  succeeded  in  circumnavigating  iVfriea,  unknowing  at 
the  outset  whether  that  Continent  did  not  extend  to  the  Southeru  Pole, 
for  the  classic  records  of  its  circumnavigation  by  the  navies  of  the 
Pharaohs  and  Carthage  were  still  unknown  to  reviving  Europe.  It  was 
with  the  same  object  that  Columbus,  forced  to  adopt  another  route  than 
that  just  discovered,  and  conceded  in  monopoly  by  the  Pope  to  Portugal, 
faced  the  wild  Atlantic^  steering  his  little  stjuadrou  through  the  region 
of  the  great  calm  and  of  the  grassy  sea,  and  stumbled  upon  a  New 
World.  And,  well-nigh  forgotten  though  it  now  be,  it  was  the  same 
object — viz.,  to  reach  the  Iiulics,  and  by  a  route  unraonopolized  by 
Spaniard  or  Portuguese,  that  the  ever-memorable  search  for  the  North- 
west {lassage  was  begun  by  the  mariners  of  England  and  the  North, 
who  hoped  to  reach  the  golden  Indies  by  rounding  the  American  Con- 
tinent on  the  north  as  ^Magellan  and  the  Spaniards  had  done  by  the 
mth.     Even  the  North  Cape  was  turned  and  Spitzbcrgen  discovered  in 

K  2 


3 


132  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  ^^^ 

a  similar  search  eastward  along  the  ice-bound  coast  of  northern  Asia. 
The  Indies,  in  short,  were  the  golden  goal  of  daring  discoverers  for 
sereral  centuries  both  by  land  aud  sea. 

At  the  present  day,  although  fable  has  died  oat,and  India  is  no  longer  a 
land  of  gold,  the  importance  of  communication  with  the  East  is  recognized 
as  fully  as  ever ;  aud  the  Eastern  trade,  as  we  shall  sec,  has  played  the 
grandest  rAle  both  in  commercial  aud  monetar}'  affairs  throughout  the 
remarkable  epoch  of  prosperity  which  the  world  has  witnessed  since 
the  birth  of  the  present  generation.  One  of  the  greatest  mechanical 
triumphs  of  the  age  has  been  the  construction  of  the  Suez  Canal — reopen- 
ing a  water-way  between  the  Mediterranean  and  the  Indian  Ocean  in 
better  fashion  than  had  been  done  in  ancient  times  by  the  Pharaohs. 
And  still  the  work  of  opening  communication  with  eastern  Asia  goes  on. 
The  Egyptian  Canal  is  a  vast  improvement  upon  the  route  by  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  round  which  the  navies  of  mediaeval  Europe,  and  more 
recently  our  fleets  of  ludiamcu,  used  to  toil  by  a  six  months'  voyage. 
But  even  the  new  Canal  is  not  enougli  for  the  commercial  wants  of 
Europe  and  the  imperial  interests  of  England.  The  Syrian  route  and 
the  Euphrates  Valley  railway  will  ere  long  carry  the  stcara-car  on  the 
track  of  the  camel  and  the  caravan^  along  the  earliest  routes  of  com- 
merce,— awakening  the  echoes  of  the  long-silent  solitudes  where  once 
stood  mighty  Nineveh  and  Bnbylon,  aud  their  evanescent  successors 
Seleucia  aud  Ctcsiphoii,  aud  restoring  Bagdad  and  Bussorah  to  some  of 
their  old  grandeur  and  more  than  their  old  prosperity. 

Moreover,  this  trade  with  the  East  has  played,  and  still  plays,  an 
important  part  in  connection  with  the  flood  of  the  precious  metals 
which  has  poured  into  the  world  since  the  discovery  of  the  gold-mines 
of  California  and  Australia,  and  the  equally  rich,  though  less  extensive 
silver-mines  of  Nevada — an  influx  of  metallic  wealth  which  has  been  by 
far  the  most  striking  feature  in  recent  history,  aud  which  has  given  to 
Europe  a  Golden  Age  even  more  remarkable  than  the  Silver  Age,  pro- 
duced by  the  discovery  of  America,  three  centuries  ago.  It  is 
impossible  to  understand  the  monetary  events  and  history  of  the 
last  thirty  yeam,  the  most  memorable  period  in  modern  Europe,  and 
probably  the  most  pra'iperoua  which  the  world  ever  experienced,  without 
possessing  a  knowledge  of  the  contemporaneous  trade  with  the  East  and 
of  its  influence  upon  this  tide  of  the  precious  metals.  This  trade 
itself  has  undergone  a  remarkable  expansion  during  the  present 
generation,  constituting  one  of  the  most  striking  effects  of  the  gold 
discoveries ;  aud  this  expansion  of  commercial  intercourse  with  the 
countries  of  Asia  has  proved  the  monetary  salvation  of  the  Western 
world,  while  improving  the  material  condition  of  East  and  West  alike. 
Also,  within  the  last  hulf-dozeu  years  that  trade  has  become  seriously 
complicated — subjected  to  new  conditions,  wbicli  have  chiefly  produced 
the  fall  in  the  vn\\ic  of  silver  which  now  troubles  both  Europe  and 
Amcrieaj  and   which    most    injuriously  affects  the    fortunes    of    India, 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS, 


133 


I 


ft 


togetbcr  with  the  interests  of  many  thousands  of  our  fellow-country- 
men resident  in  that  country. 

For  three  centuries  or  more — ever  since  civilization  began  to  revive  in 
Europe — there  has  been  a  steady  flow  of  the  precious  metals  to  the 
East.  About  the  beginning  of  the  last  century  the  fact  became 
observed  and  commented  upon  by  historical  and  other  writers  of  a  reflec- 
tive cast  of  mind.  But  at  firstj  indeed  for  a  considerable  time,  it  was  a 
mystery.  The  current  was  manifest :  there  it  flowed,  a  flood  of  gold  and 
silverever  running  Eastwards,  breaking  and  disappearing  upon  the  shores 
of  the  Levant  and  the  Indies.  And  as  the  fact  became  investigated,  it 
clearly  appeared  that  this  Eastward  eurreut  of  the  precious  metals  had 
been  long  in  existence,  and  was  a  permanent  phenomenon.  But  how 
was  it  to  be  accounted  for  ?  Easy  as  the  explanation  may  be  nowadays, 
the  fact  at  first  was  simply  recognized  >vithout  bciug  explained.  It  was 
a  myster}'.  Gold  and  silver  seemed  to  be  attracted  to  the  East  in 
somewhat  the  same  inscrutable  manner  as  the  baser  metal  iron  is 
attracted  to  the  Poles. 

What  added  to  the  mystery  wasj  that  this  drain  of  the  precious 
metals  to  the  East  was  a  great  change  from  what  had  been  the  course 
of  things  in  the  ancient  world.  Europe  had  obtained  almost  its  entire 
stock  of  gold  and  silver — which  was  so  large  under  the  first  Eoman 
Emperors — from  the  countries  of  the  East.  The  East  was  proverbially 
the  prolific  mother  both  of  gems  and  of  the  precious  metals.  Classic  poets 
had  long  preceded  Milton  in  singing  "the  Avealth  of  Ormuzd  and  of 
Ind."  Babylon  and  Egypt  had  amassed  vast  stores  of  gold  and  silverj 
while  EuropG  was  still  "the  Dark  Continent,"  a  waste  and  howling 
wilderness.  In  the  royal  ]>alace  wliich  Dio<lorus  saw  at  Thebes — 
doubtless  the  Kamessium — the  King,  the  great  Ramses,  was  depicted 
"  in  glorious  colours,"  ofleriug  to  the  gods  the  produce  of  his  mines 
of  gold  and  silver,  the  quantity  there  recorded  amounting  to  no  less 
than  six  millions  sterling.  And  did  not  the  famous  Semiramis  erect 
a  temple  at  Babylon  to  the  supreme  god,  Bel,  whereon  stood  three 
statues  of  the  chief  deities  forty  feet  in  height,  all  of  beaten  gold, 
with  an  altar  before  them,  forty  feet  long  by  fifteen  in  breadth,  likewise 
of  gold,  and  pleuishcd  by  large  golden  censers  and  drinking-vases  :  the 
cjnantity  of  gold  employed  in  this  single  work  being  equivalent, 
according   to    the   Abbe    Barthelemy,   to   no   less   than  eleven    millions 

ling  !  Was  not  the  great  Median  capital  and  fortress  of  Ecbatana 
a  glittering  mass  of  plated  gold  aud  silver,  the  very  tiles  being  of  silver, 
ihc  capture  of  which  place  yielded  Alexander  the  Great  forty  millions 
sterling  in  the  precious  metals;  and,  after  being  three  times  plundered, 
did  not  its  mere  //^'ArwyicldtoAntiochus  goldand  silverwhieh,  when  coined, 
amounted  to  upwards  of  a  million  pounds  of  our  money  ?  Likewise 
Persepolis  yielded  to  Alexander  twenty-seven  millions  sterling  of  treasure, 
nearly  all  of  it  doubtless  derived  from  its  palaces.  Of  the  gold  aud  silver 
in  their  greatest  seat   of  all — viz.,  Babvlon — there  is  no  record  anioug 


}U 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


tlto  Hpoj'U  won  by  Alcxauder;  tbc  great  Macedouian  doubtless  prc- 
ferriug  to  maintain  intact  tbc  golden  glories  of  his  capital  instead  of 
adding  them,  like  tlie  spoil  of  other  cities,  to  Lis  treasurc-cbest.  Even 
the  little  kingdom  of  Jiulea,  during  its  brief  heyday,  under  Solomon, 
shared  iu  this  abundance  of  the  precious  metals.  The  Temple  and  the 
House  of  the  Forest  of  Lebanon  blazed  with  gold  ;  the  tbroue  was  of  ivory 
covered  fixiii  the  best  gold,  all  the  vessels  of  every  kind  were  of  pure  gold 
— "  none  were  of  silver,  for  that  metal  was  nothing  accounted  of  iu  the 
days  of  Solomon — t!ie  king  made  silver  to  be  as  the  stones  in  Jerusalem." 

Next  to  i'^gyptj  under  its  kings  of  the  ancient  race,  India  and 
Bactria,  or  L'pper  Asia,  appear  to  have  been  the  chief  gold  and  silver 
producing  countries.  "  In  the  north,'^  says  the  Father  of  Ilistorj', 
"  there  is  a  prodigious  quantity  of  gold,  but  how  it  is  produced  I  am 
not  able  to  tell  with  certainty."  The  old  peoples,  whoever  they  were, 
who  occupied  Nortlicrn  Asia  prior  to  the  desolating  conquest  of  that 
region  by  the  Tartars  (about  150  b.c),  although  ignorant  of  the  use  of 
iron,  had  long  ago  worked  the  gold-beds  in  the  Ural  mountains  and 
Siberia,  only  re-discovcrcd  dunug  the  pi*esent  century.  Recent 
travellers  have  come  upon  those  old  workings ;  and  Gmelin,  speaking  of 
the  remains  of  the  works  which  had  belonged  to  old  silver-mines  in 
Eastern  Sibena,  remarked  that  the  lead  with  which  the  sQver  had  co- 
existed in  the  ore  was  all  left,  while  the  silver  had  been  extracted,  and 
only  small  particles  of  it  had  been  sufiered  to  remain  mingled  with  the 
scoria.  As  regards  India,  Herodotus  mentions  a  gold-working  people 
who  lived  near  tlie  sources  of  the  Indus, — probably  iu  the  region  now 
known  as  Chinese  Thibet,  from  which  all  strangers  are  rigidly  excluded 
ny  the  Chinese  Government,  but  which  Andrew  M'ilson  and  other  recent 
travellers  strongly  susiwct  to  be  rich  in  veins  of  the  precious  metala  ; 
and  they  mention  this  suspected  fact  as  probably  explaiuing  the  de- 
termined jealousy  of  the  Chinese  authorities,  Mho  dread  that  a  discovery 
of  this  mineral  wealth  would  occasion  a  large  inilux  of  unruly  foreigners 
into  this  remote  part  of  the  Celestial  Empire.  Speaking  apparently  of 
India  Proper,  but  using  names  unknown  to  us  of  the  present  day, 
Pliny  says,  "  the  Dardaneaus  inhabit  a  country  the  richrat  of  all  India 
in  gold-mines,  and  the  Sclians  have  the  most  abundant  mines  of  silver/' 
'*  In  the  country  of  the  Narteans,  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain 
Capitalia  (the  Viudhya  Mountains?},  there  arc  a  very  great  number  of 
mines,  both  of  gold  and  silver,  iu  which  the  Indians  work  very  exten- 
sively." The  abundaucc  of  the  precious  metals  in  India  in  those  days 
is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that  small,  and  comparatively  |>oor,  as  was  the 
part  of  it  subject  to  the  Persian  monarchy  (not  exceeding  the  Punjab 
and  Scinde),  the  annual  tribute  of  treasures  sent  to  Darius  from  the 
Indian  satrapy,  after  defraying  the  expenses  of  the  local  admiuistration, 
was  jtC0O,U00,  the  largest  tribute  of  any  of  the  provinces  of  the  em- 
pire, the  metropolitan  district  of  Eabylon  excepted.  Moreover,  as 
Herodotus  records,   there   was  always   trade    carried  on    overland    by 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


13S 


» 


^ 
^ 
^ 


Cftravans  between  Babylon  and  India ;  and  vre  also  know  that  the 
commercial  navies  both  of  Babylon  and  of  the  Pharaohs  traded  with 
the  coasts  of  India — doubtless,  according  to  the  customs  of  the  time,, 
bringing  back  gold  aud  silver  as  the  most  prized  fruits  of  the  trade- 
\Ve  may  add  thatj  in  Imlia,  as  in  Upper  Asia,  recent  research  is  bringing 
to  light,  in  tlie  Wynaad  Hills,  one  of  the  gold-reefs  from  whence 
(as  shown  by  the  shafts,  tunnels,  aud  other  signs  of  old  working)  ancient 
India  derived  its  stock  of  the  precious  metals. 

Egypt  and  Babylon — the  two  great  suus  of  the  ancient  world- 
attracted  to  themselves,  alike  by  trade  and  conquest,  the  treasures  of 
gold  and  silver  producc<i  in  the  outlying  portions  of  the  world, — in 
many  of  which  the  population  was  barbarous  or  uncivilized,  and  yet, 
under  the  fascination  which  the  sparkling  metals  exert  even  npoQ 
barbarians^  where  gold  and  silver  were  worked  with  no  small  measure 
of  skill  and  success.  The  invasions  and  far-reaching  conquests  of 
^Vleiander  the  Great  swept  away  and  dispersed  westwards  a  large 
portion  of  the  vast  stock  of  the  precious  metals  thus  accumulated  in  the 
East.  In  regal  fashion  it  had  been  mainly  atorcfl  up  in  ornamental 
forms  in  palaces  and  temples,  with  their  idol  statues  and  altars,  and 
with  countless  vessels  for  sacerdotal  pomp  and  royal  banqueting. 
Alexander  ransacked  the  captured  palaces  and  cities  to  swell  his 
treasure-chest,  tlxrowing  a  large  portion  of  this  spoil  iuto  the  mcltiug 
pot,  and  scattering  coin  and  ingots  with  a  lavishness  unequalled  either 
in  previous  or  subsequent  ages.  He  gave  two  and  a  tliird  millions 
sterling  to  pay  the  debts  of  his  army ;  he  flung  half  a  million  as  a  ready 
gift  to  the  Thessaltansj  he  spent  nearly  three  millions  upon  the  funeral 
of  his  friend  Hepha^tion  ;  while,  in  striking  contrast  to  this  foolish 
prodigality,  he  gave  .£200,000  to  assist  Aristotle  in  his  great  work- 
This  golden  sport  of  jVlexandcr's  sliows  better,  perhaps,  than  aught 
elfic,  the  great  abundance  of  gold  and  silver  in  the  East,  His  satraps 
and  successors  likewise  possessed  vast  treasures  in  specie  :  Harpalus  is. 
said  to  have  possessed  50,000  talents  ;  while  the  treasure  of  Ptolemy" 
Philadclphus  amounted  at  the  least  to  forty-five  millions  sterling — or 
to  180  millions,  if  Appian  could  be  held  as  reckoning  in  the  Koman« 
instead  of  the  Ptolemaic  talent. 

Then  the  Roman  power  arosCj  and  the  metallic  treasures  of  the  East 
were  dra\^u  still  further  to  the  West.  The  conquest  of  Western  Asia 
by  Lucullus,  Sylla,  Crassns,  Pompey,  and  other  generals,  ushered  in  aa 
epoch  of  the  most  gigantic  pei-sonal  fortunes  that  the  world  has  ever 
•eeu.  Indcetlj  they  may  be  measured  even  by  the  magnitude  of  iho 
debta  theu  possible,  and  actually  incurred  from  personal  expeuditore. 
Julius  Cicsar  was  in  debt  to  the  amoimt  of  two  millions  sterling,  anci 
yet  this  circumstance  was  so  little  regarded,  that  it  was  no  obstacle  t<* 
bis  setting  out  on  his  pnctorship  for  Spain.  CraSsus  used  to  say 
"  that  no  mau  could  be  accounted  rich  who  could  not  maintain  au 
army  out  of  his  own  revenues."     Thirty-two  millions  sterling  was  be- 


136  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVJEIV.  ^^^ 

queathcd  to  Augustus  in  legacies  from  frieuds ;  and  Tiberius  at  hi« 
death  left  twenty-two  millions,  which  Caligula  lavished  away  in  a 
single  year.  The  treasure  of  the  world  then  flowed  into  Rome,  either 
in  tribute  or  as  the  spoils  of  war.  But  still  the  East  retained  a  large 
stock  of  gold  and  silver.  Long  afterwards  the  Court  of  llaroun 
Alraschid,  reviving  on  a  small  scale  the  old  splendour  of  Babylon, 
appeared  almost  fabulous  in  its  wealth  and  brilliauce  to  the  poor  and 
partially  dccivilized  nations  of  the  West ;  while  the  treasures  of 
*'  barbaric  pearl  and  gold"  in  India  remained  untouched  until  the 
invasions  of  Mahmoud  of  Ghuzni,  and  the  long  series  of  ruth- 
less conquerors  from  the  North  reaped  the  virgin  wealth  of  the 
peninsula,  and  dispersed  the  golden  spoils  throughout  Western  and 
Upper  Asia. 

The  decline  and  fall  of  Rome  gradually  brought  about  the  discou- 
nection,  both  political  and  commercial,  of  Europe  and  Asia.  The 
irruptiun  of  the  intolerant  but  rapidly  civilized  Arabs,  followed  by  the 
desultory  and  devastating  inroads  of  the  Mongols  and  Seljook  Turks, 
entirely  closed  Syria  and  Egypt  against  Europe  ;  while  the  Ottomans, 
pouring  across  the  Bosphonis  and  Dardanelles,  put  an  end  to  Byzantine 
trade  and  power.  When  the  Syrian  route  became  closed,  a  thiu  stream 
of  Eastern  trade  made  a  way  for  itself  over  the  Hindoo  Koosh, 
through  Bokhara,  to  the  Caspian,  and  thence  by  the  Volga  and  the 
Don  to  the  Black  Sea  at  Constantinople.  But  with  the  capture  'of 
Constantinople  by  the  Ottomans,  this  route  also  was  closed ;  and  the 
entire  trade  Lctwceu  Europe  and  the  East,  which  had  existed  ever  since 
the  days  of  Tyre  and  Sidou,  came  to  an  end.  In  fact,  at  that  timej  the 
leading  Powers  of  Asia  had  transferred  themselves  by  conquest  into 
Euroi)e.  The  Crusades  had  failed,  and  Euroi>e  was  on  the  brink  of 
becoming  politically  a  province  of  the  vast  Eastern  contiuentj  of  which 
geographically  it  is  a  peninsula.  Tlie  Arabs  occupied  Spain,  and  made 
settlements  in  Italy  and  the  Mediterranean  Islands;  the  Turks  held 
South-Eastcrn  Euroj>e  as  the  land  of  their  adoption, — extending  their 
conquests  up  the  valley  of  the  Danube,  and  over  what  is  now  Southeru 
Russia;  while  the  Tartars  ruled  in  Moscow  and  spread  terror  into  the 
countries  of  the  West. 

The  new  era  in  the  trade  with  the  East,  and  whose  com- 
meneemcut  marked  the  birth  of  moclcn»  Europe,  opened  with  the 
discovery  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  by  the  Portuguese,  aud  of 
America  by  Columbus.  Both  of  these  memorable  enterprises  were 
undertaken  for  the  sake  of  opening  a  way  to  the  East,  whose  old  renown 
for  wealth  in  gold  and  silver  had  never  died  out^  and  had  been 
revived  by  travellers'  talcs,  especially  by  Marco  Polo  and  ^fandeville,  oa 
their  return  from  their  marvellous  solitary  expeditions  into  further  Asia, 
Under  the  comparatively  tolerant  rule  of  the  Ottomans,  also,  adron- 
turous  merchants,  reopening  the  Syrian  route,  curried  their  wares  down 
the    Euphrates   to    Bag<lad  aud    Bussorah.       The    Tartars,    too,    were 


MP        EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS.         137 

driven  out  of  Muscovy,  and  the  rising  empire  of  Hussia  at  length 
carried  its  trade  across  the  steppes  of  Upper  Asia  to  the  Wall  of  China. 
Thus,  three  separate  commercial  routes  were  established  between  Europe 
and  the  East ;  and  the  Eastern  trade  continued  to  expand,  until  it  has 
attained  its  present  development  by  the  couittruction  of  the  Suez 
Caual,  and  the  establishmeut  of  the  Ameneau  route  by  San  I'Vaueisco. 

This  new  or  revived  trade  with  the  East,  although  highly  profitable 
to  those  engaged  in  itj  proved  from  the  outset  very  disappointing  as 
regards  the  prime  object  for  which  it  had  been  desired.  It  was  to  reach 
and  tap  the  golden  wealth  of  India  and  Cathay  that  the  daring  Portu- 
guese mariners  toiled  to  surmount  the  "  Cape  of  Storms,"  and  that 
Columbus  stumbled  upon  the  New  World,  which  at  first  appeared  a 
lamentable  obstruction  in  the  jjath  to  the  Indies.  But  this  obstructing 
continent  proved  far  more  fraught  with  the  desired  precious  metals  than 
the  region  which  was  the  real  goal  of  these  l>old  discoverers.  And  when 
the  golden  stores  of  the  lucas,  and  the  still  more  abundant  silver  from 
Potosi  and  the  Mexican  mines,  poured  into  Europe,  the  newly-opeued 
trade  witli  the  East,  instead  of  adding  to  the  metallic  treasure  so  rapidly 
accumulating  in  Eua'ope,  began  to  drain  it  away.  A  portion  of  the  gold 
and  silver,  ever-increasing  in  amount  with  the  Eastern  trade,  passed 
through  Europe  as  through  a  sieve,  on  its  way  to  the  very  countries 
from  whence  it  had  been  confidently  expected  that  a  new  supply  of  the 
precious  metals  would  be  obtained.  Owing  to  the  exhaustion  or  neglect 
of  the  old  mines,  aud  to  the  loss  and  waste  of  the  old  stock  of  gold 
and  silver  accumulated  by  Imperial  Rome,  there  had  been  a  great  dearth 
of  the  precious  metals  in  Europe  for  several  generations  previous  to  the 
discovery  of  America ;  so  that  the  intense  desire  that  then  prevailed  for 
more  gold  and  silver  was  perfectly  reasonable,  even  ^^hen  judged  by  the 
economic  science  of  the  present  day.  But  when  that  want  had  been 
satiated  by  the  ilood  of  gold  and  silver  from  tlic  New  World,  we  can 
hardly  comprehend  the  news  and  policy  of  the  nionarchs  and  their 
counbellors — especially  those  of  Spain  and  Portugal,  the  two  great 
trading  States — by  which  every  effort  was  made  to  restrict  the  golden 
flood  to  their  own  dominions,  instead  of  seeking  profitable  employment 
and  diffusion  of  it  in  trading  with  other  countries  which  were  more  in 
want  of  it.  In  those  days  international  trade,  the  great  diffuser  of  the 
precious  metals,  was  far  too  limited  in  extent  and  capabilities  to  have 
prevented  a  great  fall  in  the  value  of  gold  and  silver  :  but  the  restric- 
tions upon  foreign  trade  imposed  by  the  various  Governments  considerably 
aggravated  the  fall — the  greater  portion  of  the  valve  of  the  treasure  so 
easily  obtained  from  the  New  World  being  lost  in  a  mere  rise  of  prices, 
and  the  only  portion  of  it  which  was  employed  with  full  profit  Ijcing 
that  which,  in  spite  of  governmental  restrictions,  found  its  way  to  the 
East  in  the  channels  of  trade. 

This  outflow  of  the  precious  metals  to  the  East,  at  least  as  a  percep- 
tible or  recognised  fact,  was  undoubtedly  a  great  change  in  the  course 


L 


138 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  eveuts.  The  past  of  Euroi)e  vns  summed  up  in  the  history  of  the 
BomaiL  world,  and  during  that  past,  Europe  had  been  indebttni  to  the 
East  for  the  larger  portion  of  its  stock  of  gold  and  silver.  How  wb»^ 
it  then,  men  asked^  that  the  golden  tide  which  had  previously  flowed 
from  Asia  to  the  West  should  have  turned  so  strikingly  and  persistently? 
Why  should  gold  and  silver  now  be  flowing  back  upon  their  old  foun- 
tains? The  explanation  is  trite  and  simple  nowadays.  For  half  a 
century  past,  the  movements  of  the  precious  metals  have  been  carefully 
watched  and  recorded,  and  the  influences  which  regulate  them  have 
become  well  understood.  At  the  present  day,  the  coming  of  every  gold- 
ship  to  our  shores — often  bearing,  as  but  a  small  bulk  of  its  cargo,  trea- 
sure in  specie  far  exceeding  that  ]x)me  by  the  great  Spanish  galleons  of 
former  times,  whose  course  used  to  be  watched  for  by  hostile  fleets,  or 
hovered  round  by  those  "  water  sharks,"  the  Buccaneers — is  now  re- 
corded in  the  newspapers:  even  every  £1000  in  gold  carried  into  the 
Bank  of  England  is  day  by  day  notified  in  the  journals.  In  truth,  the 
influx  and  efllux  of  the  precious  metals,  and  the  waxing  and  waning  of 
the  stock  of  gold  in  the  gi'cat  national  storehouse  of  specie  in  Thread* 
needle  Street,  is  watched  by  myriads  of  anxious  onlookers.  Our  wholel 
monetary  system  and  its  chief  feature,  the  Bank-rate,  and  with  these  the 
conditions  and  profits  of  our  national  trade  and  industry,  are  greatly 
dependant  upon  the  coming  or  going  of  the  yellow  ore.  Hence  we 
watch  and  record  the  movements  of  the  precious  metals  to  and  fro  tlirough- 
out  the  world.  And  thus,  as  regards  the  Eastern  trade,  we  know  fronts 
month  to  month  the  exact  amount  of  specie  absorbed  by  it ;  while  those 
who  give  attention  to  the  subject  can  tell  "  the  reason  why''  for  the 
going  of  almost  every  ounce  of  the  silver  or  gold  which  so  j)ersi8teiitly 
makes  its  way  to  the  East. 

Such  statistics,  it  is  needless  to  say,  were  not  kept  in  tbo  olden 
time,  nor  were  the  principles  of  commerce  adequately  understood. 
Adam  Smith,  however,  with  his  usual  clearness  of  vision,  perceived  the 
true  cause  of  the  drain  of  specie  to  the  East  which  attended  commercial 
intercourse  with  that  part  of  the  world.  But  his  explanation  of  it  was 
imi>erfect.  He  said  that,  owing  to  the  fertility  of  the  Indian  soil  and 
the  cheapness  of  labour,  commodities  were  there  produced  iu  greater 
abundance  than  iu  Europe,  and  hence  that  the  value  of  the  precious. 
Inetala,  or  tlicir  power  of  purchasing  commodities,  was  higher  iu  India! 
than  with  us.  But  this  is  merely  saying  that  the  precious  metals  were 
scarcer  in  India  thau  in  Europe;  for,  however  abundant  coinn  '  h 
might  be  in  India,  this  would  make  no  diff"erence  in  value  if  the  ^  i-* 

metuls  were  proportionately  abundant,  ^^oreover,  were  Adam  Smith'H 
explanation  adequate,  it  would  follow  (as,  indeed,  he  appears  to  think)^ 
that  the  precious  metals  had  always  been  as  source  in  India  compared] 
with  other  commodities  as  they  were  in  his  time.  Now,  we  think  thi 
is  firm  ground  for  believing  that  tins  was  not  the  case.  It 
hardly  be  doubted  that  the  stock  of  the    precious   metals  iu  India  vn 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS, 


139 


vastly  larger  in  ancient  times  tliau  afterwards^  '^vheu  a  constuut  succession 
of  invaders^  from  Mabmoud  of  Glmzni  to  Nadir  Shab^  plundered  its 
citica  nud  temples,  and  carried  away  immense  spoil  iu  the  shape  of 
treasure.  It  ia  true  that  the  trade  vritb  the  East  had  never  been  so 
specie-yielding  as  men  probably  thought  iu  the  Middle  Ages,  wbeu 
looking  back  upon  the  history  of  Rome ;  for,  although  an  immense 
amount  of  gold  and  silver  came  to  Rome  from  the  East,  this  treasure 
came  not  from  commerce^  but  as  tribute  and  as  the  spoils  of  war. 
Ncverthelessj  there  is  ground  for  believing  that  in  early  times  the  Indiau 
trade  was  occasionally  a  treasure-yielding  one,  even  though  it  were 
ordinarily  accompanied  by  a  drain  of  the  precious  metals  to  that  country 
and  that  the  striking  cliangc  in  tliis  respect  which  took  place  on  the 
reopening  of  that  trade  in  the  Middle  Agea  Mas  owing  partly  to  the  im- 
poTcrishment  of  India  iu  metallic  treasure  by  its  successive  Northern 
invaders,  and  still  more  to  the  great  change  as  regards  the  precious 
metals  which  then  occurred  iu  Europe, 

This  change  in  the  condition  of  Europe,  pi-oduced  by  the  discovery 
of  the  New  World  aud  its  stores  of  gold  and  sdver,  was  of  itself 
adequate  to  affect  the  current  of  the  precious  metals  between  Europe 
aud  the  East,  by  vastly  altering  the  relative  monetary  positions  of  the 
two  regions.  *  As  already  said,  the  commercial  intercourse  between  the 
East  and  West  had  been  very  slight  for  several  generations  before  the 
discovery  of  America.  Compared  with  what  it  had  been  during  the 
Homan  Empire,  or  what  it  has  since  become,  the  Eastern  trade  at  that 
time  may  be  said  to  have  been  wholly  suspended :  so  that  we  can  only 
ixdcr  from  other  f^icts  what  would  have  been  the  course  of  the  precious 
metals  in  the  iifteenth  century,  had  the  Eastern  trade  then  been  in 
operation.  Europe  at  that  time  was  experiencing  au  actual  aud 
Mverc  dearth  of  the  precious  metals.  The  large  stock  of  gold  and 
silver  accumulated  by  Imperial  Rome  (mostly  from  the  East),  apart 
from  the  wear  and  tear  of  centuries,  had  bccu  not  merely  dispersed, 
but  largely  lost  under  the  desolating  incursions  of  the  Barbarians ; 
and  although  both  production  aud  trade  were  then  at  a  low 
ebb  in  our  Continent,  proportionately  lessening  the  requirement  for 
the  precious  metals  as  currency,  the  dearth  of  specie  (at  that  time  the 
only  form  of  money)  was  so  great,  that  it  must  have  served  to  restrict 
those  exchanges  by  which  all  commerce  is  carried  on.  According  to 
Mr.  Jacob's  estimate  or  conjecture,  the  entire  amount  of  specie  in  Europe 
in  1492  was  only  thirty-three  millions,  aud  the  comparative  dearth  or 
scarcity  is  shown  by  ihe  fact  that  the  precious  metah  were  at  that  time 
three  times  dearer — {».e.,  their  value  was  three  times  as  great  as  it  had 
been  iu  the  reign  of  Augustus.  But  in  the  course  of  a  century  after 
the  discovery  of  America  (a.d.  1492-lCOO),  the  stock  of  gold  aud  silver 
existing  in  Enropc  (after  deducting  loss  by  wear  and  by  export)  became 
qujulrupled,  and  in  a.d.  1G40  it  became  ncai'ly  seven-fold  larger  than  it 
wiu(    in    the  days   of  Columbus.      Tlic  result  was  that  prices  became 


140  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

nearly  quadrupled ;  in  other  words,  specie  or  money  fell  to  only  about 
a  fourth  part  of  its  old  value — producing  a  corresponding  change  in  the 
relative  monetary  positions  of  Europe  and  the  East,  and,  so  far  as  trade 
"vras  in  operation,  causing  a  flow  of  the  precious  metals  to  the  East,  so 
contrary  to  the  expectations,  and  disappointing  to  the  desires,  of  the 
European  Governments  and  peoples. 

In  present  times,  when  the  folly  of  our  ancestors  is  much  more 
apparent  than  their  wisdom,  it  is  only  fair  to  observe^  that  three 
centuries  ago,  there  was  one  cause  for  jealously  guarding  the  precious 
metals  which  has  now  almost  disappeared.  In  all  ages,  more  or  lesft, 
the  precious  metals  have  two  distinct  and  opiHJsite  functions  as  money. 
They  are  needed  not  ouly  to  circulate  property,  but  to  store  it.  In  old 
times  reserve-wealth  could  only  be  stored  conveniently,  and  in  a  movable 
form,  in  actual  gold  and  silver;  and  a  considerable  portion  of  these 
metals  was  accordingly  withdrawn  for  this  purpose  from  circulation  aud 
general  use.  Nowadays  however,  the  combined  appliances  of  banking, 
paper-money,  and  finance,  enable  a  vast  amount  of  wealth  to  be  stored 
up,  and  convertible  at  pleasure  into  money,  almost  without  the  use  of 
the  precious  metals.  Apart  from  banking  aud  its  marvellous  appliances 
for  economizing  the  use  of  specie,  there  are  now  a  hundred  fonns  in 
which  reserve-wealth  can  be  stored  u|) — notably  the  Funds,  and  the 
shares  and  debentures  of  joint-stock  companics^and  immediately  re- 
converted into  money  at  pleasure.  But  all  these  things  were  unknown 
in  Kuroix*  three  centuries  ago.  Reserve-wealth  had  to  be  stored  in  the 
form  of  gold  and  silver;  and  hence  the  steady  drain  of  these  metals  to 
the  East  had  an  inconvenient  feature,  which  in  our  time  is  of  little 
account. 

The  world  is  now  experiencing  a  parallrl  to  the  remarkable  influx  of 
the  precious  metals  which  followed  the  discovery  of  the  New  World, 
while  the  flow  of  si)ecie  to  the  East  presents  the  old  phenomenon  on  a 
scale  of  such  unprecedented  magnitude,  and  also  in  such  new  forms,  as 
almost  to  make  it  a  new  eveut.  The  sudden  and  vast  expansion  of  the 
Eastern  Trade  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  century  is  so  great  a  change 
as  really  to  parallel  the  actual  reopcniiijj:  of  that  trade  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  by  means  of  the  new  sea-routes  and  other  channels  of  which 
we  have  already  spoken.  Also,  the  cHccts  which  this  Eastern  Trade 
has  produced,  and  continues  to  produce,  upon  the  value  of  the  prccioiu 
metals,  are  far  greater,  and  in  every  way  more  remarkable,  than  any 
which  have  happened  in  former  times.  Steam-navigation  aud  the 
construction  of  the  Suez  Canal,  together  with  the  great  American 
railway  to  San  Francisco,  have  revolutionized  the  communications  and 
commerce  with  India  aud  China;  wliilc  the  flood  of  gold  and  silver 
from  the  new  mines  has  of  itself  been  a  potent  factor  in  promoting  this 
trade,  and  flnditig  work  for  these  new  and  better  routes,  which  in  turn 
have  provided  a  happy  outlet  for  the  high-gathering  flood  of  the  precious 
metals  in  the  Western  world. 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


141 


Although  the  uuderlying  infiuences  productive  of  tlie  drain  of  the 
precious  metals  to  the  East  are  well  knowu  to  men  of  scicDce,  it  is 
their  overt  si«:u,  rather  than  the  iufluetices  themselves,  whieh  attracts  tlie 
practical  mind  of  the  public.  It  is  the  Balaucc  of  Trade,  ever  in  favour 
of  the  East,  which  is  the  striking  object,  as  undoubtedly,  also,  it  is  the 
proximate  and  direct  cause  of  the  drain.  It  \a  a  remarkable  fact  of 
itself.  Between  the  leading  countries  of  the  West,  the  Balance  of 
Trade,  and  still  more  the  combined  Balance  of  Trade  and  Finance,  is 
constantly  changing  from  year  to  year,  and  there  is  a  perpetual  flux  aud 
reflux  of  the  precious  metals  to  settle  those  balances.  But  with  India^ 
and  the  East  generally,  the  case  is  quite  difierent ;  the  current  of  specie 
flows  always  and  only  in  one  direction,  being  absorbed  and  cngulphcd 
in  the  East  as  in  an  abyss  which  can  never  be  filled  up.  The  Eastern 
trade  is,  indeed,  a  peculiar  one.  Not  merely  in  present  times,  but 
for  centuries  past,  the  East  has  been  what  is  termed  an  "  exporting" 
re^on, — its  eitiwrts  of  merchandise  constantly  exceeding  its  imports. 
In  truth,  it  holds  as  exceptional  a  ]K)6ition  in  the  world  as  the  gold- 
conntHcs  do,  but  in  the  contrary  manner.  California  and  Australia 
constantly  export  the  precious  metals,  as  India  constantly  imports  and 
absorbs  them.  In  the  case  of  the  former  countries,  as  likewise  of  the 
Silver  State  of  Nexada,  the  precious  metals,  being  their  natural  produce 
or  raw  productions,  may  be  regarded  as  part  of  their  merchandise, 
holding  a  place  in  their  ordinary  Balance  of  Trade;  whereas  in  the 
case  of  almost  all  other  countries  gold  and  silver  are  employed  as 
foreign  or  extraneous  commodities  to  settle  the  balance  of  ordinary 
merchandise. 

Coming  to  the  other  part  of  our  subject,  let  us  now  see  what  has 
been,  aud  is,  the  effect  of  the  Eastern  Trade  upon  the  value  of  the 
preciouA  metals — a  consequence  of  the  most  momentous  character 
at  all  times,  but  especially  at  the  present  day.  As  the  circumstances  of 
the  Present  are  naturally  more  interesting  and  important  than  any  in 
the  Past,  and  also  as  the  peculiar  effects  of  the  Eastern  trade  have 
recently  been  displayed  upon  a  grander  scale  and  with  more  striking 
features,  we  shall  only  refer  to  past  history  to  show  how  continuous 
and  long-existing  has  been  the  operation  of  those  influences  upon  the 
value  of  money,  aud  how  beneficial  in  this  respect  (with  the  exception 
of  a  short  period)  this  Eastern  trade  and  its  concomitant  drain  of  the 
precious  metals  has  been  to  Europe,  and  to  the  countries  of  Christendom, 

Heavy  as  was  tlic  fall  iu  tlic  value  of  gold  aud  silver  (then  the  only 
forms  of  money)  which  followed  the  inundation  of  the  precious  metals 
from  America  iu  the  sixteenth  century  and  onwards,  the  fall  was  not 
proportionate  with  the  multiplication  of  the  stock  of  those  metals  iu 
Europe.      Prices   barely  quadrupled,  while  the   gold   and  silver  became 

^cn-fold-  lliere  is  hut  one  possible  explanation  of  this  circumstance — 
BAiuely,  that  the  demand  or  requirements  for  specie  had  simultaneously 
increased   since    1402.     Of  such  requirements^  those  of  trade  are   the 


142 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


chief;  and  that  a  great  expansion  of  trade  did  actually  occur  at  that 
time  is  obvious.  Apart  from  the  genera!  influence  of  an  influx  of  the 
precious  metals  in  promoting  trade  and  production,  creating  more 
buying  and  selling,  and  apart  from  this  increase  of  the  domestic  or 
internal  trade  in  Europe,  we  know  that  two  important  new  branches  of 
commerce  were  theu  opened  and  prosecuted — namely^  the  trade  with 
the  New  World  and  also  with  the  coimtrica  of  the  East.  These 
branches  of  trade  of  themselves  required  and  absorbed  more  money 
(I.e.,  specie) — first  for  producing  the  commodities  for  the  new  markets, 
and,  secondly,  for  fitting-out  the  ships  and  paying  the  crews.  Further — 
which  is  the  chief  point  liere — there  was  the  actual  drain  or  export  of 
gold  and  silver  which  proved  to  be  an  indispensable  requisite  and  inevit- 
able resnlt  of  the  new  or  reopened  trade  with  the  East. 

For  half  a  century  after  Columbus  first  crossed  the  Atlantic  the 
amount  of  the  precious  metals  obtained  from  the  New  World  was  very 
small  compared  with  what  it  thereafter  became,  and  was  quite  insig- 
nificant according  to  our  present  notions.  Yet  it  was  really  larg^' 
relative  to  the  circumstances  of  that  time  ;  and,  as  liistory  records,  it  was 
so  regarded  by  the  nations  of  Europe,  According  to  Mr.  Jacob,  the  whole 
stock  of  gold  existing  in  Europe  in  1493  was  only  thirtj'-thrce  millions, 
and  the  produce  of  the  European  mines,  then  the  only  source  of  supply, 
■was  under  €150,000  a  year  ;  accordingly,  even  the  arrival  of  .€100,000  in 
gold  and  silver  from  the  New  World  produced  a  justifiable  excitement. 
The  conquest  of  Mexico  in  1516  and  of  Peru  in  1520,  when  Cortez  and 
Pizarro  seized  the  hoarded  treasures  of  Montezuma  and  the  Incas,  let 
loose  a  large  hut  transient  supply  of  the  precious  metals  ;  but  it  was 
not  until  1546,  when  the  great  silver-mountain  of  Potosi  was  discovered 
by  the  Spaniards,  that  tbo  supply  of  Rporie  from  the  New  World 
became  both  large  and  permanent.  The  trade  with  the  East,  also,  was 
hardly  in  existence  during  the  first  half  of  the  sixteenth  century;  the 
new  sea-routes  had  been  discovered,  but  that  was  ncarlv  all.  Bv  the 
end  of  the  century,  however  (in  ](>00)j  tbe  export  of  tlie  precious  metals 
to  the  East,  in  connection  with  the  new  trade,  had  amounted  (according 
to  Mr.  Jacob)  in  tlio  aggregate  to  fourteen  millions  sterling, — a  sum 
wliich,  nceording  to  the  same  authority,  was  somewhat  larger  tban  the 
aggregate  produce  of  the  European  mines  throughout  the  same  period 
(r.f.,  1492 — 160O).  Thus,  at  its  very  outset,  the  Eastern  trade  was 
manifestly  dependent  upon  a  new  supply  of  the  precious  metals,  and 
but  for  tliis  supply  could  hardly  have  been  prosecuted  at  all. 

In  the  course  of  the  next  century  (160U17tX))  the  aggregate  export 
of  the  precious  metals  to  the  East  amounted  to  thirty -three  millions,  a  sum 
equal  to  the  entire  stock  of  gohl  and  silver  in  Europe  in  1492.  The 
cstablielmient  of  llic  Dutch  and  English  East  India  Companies  gave  a 
great  impetus  to  the  Eastern  trndc;  and  in  the  following  century  the 
export  of  specie  to  the  East  amounted  to  no  less  than  352  millions,  or 
at  the  rale  of  tlircc  and   a   lialf   millions   a  year  throngliout   the   entire 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


143 


k 


^Slnry-  The  maguitudc  of  this  sum  will  be  clearly  apprehended  whcu 
we  state  thatj  according  to  Mr.  Jacobs  whose  authority  wo  accept  upou 
these  matters,  the  total  existing  stock  of  gold  and  silver  inoTiey  ia 
Christoiidom  [i.e.,  after  deducting  the  amount  of  the  precious  metals 
converted  into  ornamenta,  or  lost,  or  destroyed  by  wear)  was 
380  millious,  in  1810;  which,  allowuig  for  the  100  miUious  yielded  by 
the  mines  between  1800  and  1810j  shows  that  the  total  existing  stock  at 
the  bcginuiug  of  the  present  century  miut  have  been  considerably  less 
than  the  amount  of  gold  and  silver  which  had  been  exported  to  the 
East  during  the  preceding  century  ! 

Wc  now  come  to  a  critical  time  in  the  history  of  tbe  precious  metals, 
and  also  not  only  of  the  trade  with  the  East,  but,  as  has  recently  and 
tardily  become  iHJCOgniaed,  of  the  monetary  and  commercial  condition  of 
the  world  at  large.  In  the  year  1810,  during  the  occupation  of  Spain 
by  the  armies  of  Napoleou,  the  Spanish  colonies  of  South  America  and 
Mexico  revolted  against  the  rule  of  the  motlicr  country.  A  long  period 
of  revolutionary  wars  ensued;  industry  was  paralysed,  the  whole  region 
relapsed  into  a  state  of  chaos^  and  the  working  of  the  mines  both  in  Peru 
and  Mexico  temporarily  ceased.  The  result  was  that  the  world's  supply 
of  the  precious  metals  was  reduced  by  one-htilf,  falling  from  ten  milHocs 
in  1810  to  an  average  of  only  five  millions  during  the  next  twenty  years. 
This  disastrous  change  was  strikingly  roHeeted  in  the  export  of  specie  to 
the  East^  which,  according  to  Mr.  Jacob,  declined  from  three  and  a  half 
xnillionH,  which  it  had  averaged  from  1700  down  to  1810,  to  only  two 
millions  a  year  from  1810  to  1830. 

For  the  ctt^uing  period  we  have  no  statistics   or  reliable  computation 
of  the  exjwrt  of  the  precious  metals  to  the  East  generally  j   wc  must, 
therefore,  eontine  oiu*  statement   to  India,  which  has  always,  and  espe- 
cially in  recent  times,  been  by  far  the  chief  absorbent  of  gold  and  silver 
from  the  Western  world.      Betvrcen   183 1  and   1852,  we  find  from  the 
fitatistics    furnished  by    Colonel    Hyde,    late   Master   of  the   Calcutta 
Mint,  that    the   surplus   of  the   imports  of  silver  over  the  exports  in 
India  amounted  to  twenty-nine  millions  sterling, — which  gives  an  unnual 
average    of  one  and    one-tliird    million   of  silver  absorbed   by  India. 
Soring  tliat  period  there  appears  a  new  element  iu  the  case — namely, 
the   Home  Bills  or  Drafts  drawn  by  our  Government  upon  tlie   Indian 
^   Government,  representing  payments  due  from  the  Indian  Executive  to 
B  this  country.      Doubtless  such  payments   had   always  been  in  existence 
^■^  tome  extent,  under  the  East  India  Company,  although  prior  to  this 
^fRoBe  wc  have  no  oflicial  record  of  them.       These  home  bills,  during  the 
■  period  iu   question,   183i-52,  averaged  one  and    three-quarter  million 
H   a  year.     Acvordingly,  the  exports  of  silver  to  ludia,  together  with  these 
H  home  bills  equivalent  to  specie,  averaged  during  this  period  tiircc  and 
a  half  millions  annually,  just  equal  to    the  average  export  of  specie 
tliroughont  tlie  hundred   nnd    ten   ycnis    ending  with  1810.      Doubtless 
there  wa^  so:uc  export  of  gold  to  India  during  the  twenty  years  ending 


144 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


with  1852,  of  which  we  find  no  official  record.  But,  viewing  the  whole 
case,  it  &eems  evident  that,  caatemporaneously  witli  the  falUng-oflF  ia 
the  world's  supply  of  the  precious  metaU,  there  was  a  stagnation  in  the 
trade  with  the  East,  which  eaunot  be  carried  on  without  a  commensu- 
rate supply  of  specie. 

We  now  come  to  the  concluding  and  by  far  the  most  remarkable  and 
important  epoch  of  the  trade  with  the  East,  during  which  it  has  been  the 
moat  powerful  factorindeterminiDg  thcvalueof  the  precious  ractals  and  of 
money  generally  in  the  Western  world.  Soon  after  1852  the  memorable 
espauaion  of  our  Indian  Trade  set  in.  The  vast  supply  of  new  gold  from 
Cahfornia  and  Australia  created  an  abundance  of  metallic  money  or 
international  currency  ;  and  as  gold  could  largely  take  the  place  of  silver 
in  the  currencies  of  the  Western  world,  a  large  quantity  of  the  latter 
metal  became  available  for  carrying  on  an  increase  of  trade  with  India 
and  the  other  silver-using  countries  of  the  East,  Thus  supported,  ia 
1855-6,  an  immense  expenditure  of  British  capital  was  begun  in  India 
for  the  construction  of  railways.  Mr.  R.  W.  Crawford  stated  in  1876 
that  the  total  expenditure  for  this  purpose  amounted  to  ninety-four 
millions  sterliug,  of  which  sura  fidy-f'uur  millions  were  expended  in 
India.  And  just  as  this  expenditure  was  coming  to  a  close  in  1862,  the 
Cotton  Famine  commenced^  owing  to  the  Civil  War  in  the  United  States, 
whereby  our  cotton  merchants  were  compelled  to  have  recourse  to 
India  for  a  supply  of  the  raw  material  of  our  great  textile  industry. 
Under  these  combined  influences  avast  amount  of  money  was  invested 
in  India,  which  operated  like  a  fertilizing  flood,  increasing  production 
and  exports,  ami  also  enabling  the  population  of  India  to  increase  their 
imports  and  consumption  of  foreign  commodities.  And  thus  the  Foreign 
Trade  of  India  in  mercliandise,  including  both  exports  and  imports, 
which  amounted  to  thirty. seven  millions  sterling  in  the  official  year 
1855-6,  rose  steadily  to  ninety-five  millions  in  the  year  1805-6, — nearly 
trebling  during  those  ten  years,  and  exhibiting  the  most  rapid  increase 
of  trade  that  has  beeu  witnessed  in  any  country  of  the  world. 

Kow,  let  us  see  the  effect  of  this  remarkable  expansion  of  the  India 
trade,  together  with  the  investments  of  British  capital  in  that  country, 
in  creating  an  increased  refjuirement  for  the  precious  metals,  which  were 
contemporaneously  being  pourctl  into  the  world  in  unprecedented  abun- 
dance. There  were  two  separate  factors  in  creating  this  increased  re- 
quirement for  specie — namely,  the  Trade  balance  (the  excess  of  exports 
of  merchandise  from  India  over  the  iraportn  of  merchandise  into  that 
country)  and  the  Financial  balance.  The  former  was  the  larger  and 
permanent  factor  in  the  case,  and  we  shall  deal  with  it  first.  Taking 
the  eleven  vears  ending  M"ith  March,  18Gj,  when  the  Cotton  Famine 
terminated,  we  find  from  Mr.  Waterficld's  statistics  that  the  Trade  balance 
accumulated  in  favour  of  India  during  that  period  amounted  to  207 
millions  sterling,  or  at  the  rate  of  nineteen  mdUons  a  year.  The  entire 
production  of  the  precious  ractals  during  the  same  cleveu  years,  accord- 


EJSTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


145 


I 


I 

I 

■ 

I 


mg  to  Sir  H.  Hay,  was  366  millions  storliiig;  of  which  sum  the  produce 
of  the  new  mines  (i.e.,  the  supply  of  gold  and  silver  iu  excess  of  what 
was  produced  iu  1848)  amounted  to  190  millions.  Accordingly,  had  it 
been  neccssnry  to  pay  the  whole  of  the  Trade  balance  to  India  in  spccic^the 
entire  produce  of  the  new  miucs^  both  gold  and  silver,  during  these  eleven 
jcars  would  have  proved  inadequate  to  the  extent  of  seventeen  millions. 

Tlie  Financial  balance  during  the  same  period  embraced  two  oppasite 
elements — one  in  favour  of  India,  the  other  iu  favour  of  this  countr}'. 
Against  India,  there  was  the  annual  amount  which  the  Indian 
Government  had  to  pay  our  Government  for  the  "  Home  Charges  \'* 
in  favour  of  India^  there  were  the  annual  instalments  of  British  Capital, 
paid  through  our  Government,  for  the  construction  of  railways  in  India. 
In  the  earlier  half  of  the  period  iu  question  (1855-60),  the  railway 
payments  due  from  this  country  appear  to  have  considerably  exceeded 
the  amount  of  the  ''Home  Charges;"  certainly  daring  these  five 
years  India  received  in  specie  the  whole  amount  of  the  Trade 
balance  due  to  her,  and  twenty-six  millions  more, — the  Trade  balance 
during  these  years  being  forty-four  and  a  half  millions,  while  the  actual 
amoimt  of  specie  received  by  India  was  seventy  and  three-quarter 
millions.  In  the  subsequent  years,  however,  the  **  Home  Charges" 
due  frora  India  evidently  exceeded  the  railway-payments  from 
this  country ;  and  iu  striking  the  Financial  balance  there  has  to  be 
added  to  the  "  Home  Charges"  the  private  remittances  of  money  made  by 
Eugltshmeu  in  India  to  their  friends  and  families  in  this  country,  the 
Amount  of  which  cannot  be  accurately  dctcruiincd.  Judging  by  the 
result,  the  aggregate  Financial  balances  during  this  period  (the  eleven 
years  ending  with  1865)  appears  to  have  l)ecn  against  India  to  the 
extent  of  fully  thirty  millions  ;  and  thus,  although  the  aggregate  Trade 
balances  during  the  same  years  amounted,  as  already  stated,  to  207 
millions  sterling,  the  actual  amount  of  specie  received  by  India  was 
176  millions. 

Now,  during  the  same  period  (1855-65)  the  total  produce  of  all  the 
minesj  both  old  and  new,  according  to  Sir  H.  Hay,  was  366  millions 
sterling  (269  of  gold,  and  97  of  silver):  deducting  the  amount  which  the 
old  mines  would  have,  and  probably  did,  yield  during  the  same  period, 
viz.,  176  millions,  we  get,  as  already  said,  190  millions  as  the  produce 
of  the  new  mines — the  addition  made  to  the  supply  as  it  stood  in  1848. 
Accordingly,  the  amomit  of  the  precious  metals  simultaneously  absorbed 
by  the  Indian  trade  (viz.,  176  millions)  was  so  great,  that  of  all  this 
stock  of  new  gold  and  silver  only  fourteen  millions,  or  eight  per  cent., 
-were  left  available  for  the  use  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  A  more 
remarkable  fact  can  hardly  be  exhibited  ;  and  it  suflicicutly  explains 
■why  the  confident  prediction  and  general  expectation  of  a  vast  fall  in 
the  value  of  the  precious  metals  was  not  realised. 

Further,  lot  us  take  the  whole  period  for  which  we  have  officially 
published  statistics — viK.,  from  1855  to  1875.     During  these  twenty-one 

vol..  xxw.  L 


146 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE  H' 


years,  the  ag:grcg:atc  exports  of  merchandise  from  India  amounted  to 
£933,813,000,  and  the  imports  of  merehaudizc  were  £544,207,000 — 
giving  a  Trade  balance  iu  favour  of  India  of  3S8i  millions  sterling. 
How  was  this  enormons  sum  of  money  paid  ?  During  the  latter  years 
of  this  period,  owing  to  tlie  gradual  cessation  of  the  railway-payments 
due  from  this  country,  and  also  the  increase  in  the  amoxmt  of  the  home 
charges  due  hy  India,  the  finaueial  balance  turned  heavily  against  India, 
so  that  the  **  Conncil  Drafts,''  or  bills  drawn  by  the  Home  Govern- 
ment upon  the  Indian  Government  (eqiuvaleut  to  specie,  and  available 
for  settling  the  Ti-ade  balance  M'ith  India),  amoiiutcd  in  the  aggregate  to 
112  millions.  Deducting  this  sum  from  the  Trade  balance,  there 
remains  276i  millions  still  uncovered ;  but  the  total  amount  of  specie 
received  by  India  during  these  twenty-one  years  was  253J  milliouSj 
leaving  2-}^  milliona  unaccounted  for  olhcially,  but  which  doubtless  was 
settled  by  bills  upon  India,  drawn  u|>on  remittances  from  private  parties 
iu  India  to  others  iu  this  country. 

Let  U8  now  sec  the  total  effect  of  the  greatly  expanded  trade  with 
India  between  1855-65  upou  the  value  of  the  precious  metals.  The 
total  produce  of  tlie  gold-  and  silver-mines  during  these  twenty-one 
years,  according  to  Sir  Hector  Hay,  was  G77  millions  sterling  :  deducting 
the  produce  of  the  old  mines  for  a  similar  number  of  years  (about  306 
millions)  there  remains  340  millions  (gold  311,  silver  2\))  as  the 
additional  supplyj  or  produce  of  the  new  mines,  Thus  it  appears  that 
doling  this  period  tlie  Indian  trade  absorbed  or  caused  an  actual  export 
of  73i  per  cent,  of  the  entire  new  supply  of  the  precious  metnls,  leaving 
only  26i  per  cent,  or  ninety  millions  for  general  use — that  is,  to  meet 
the  great  cxpausiou  of  commerce  and  augmented  requiivments  for 
specie  throughout  the  rest  of  the  world. 

Of  the  two  periods  of  Indian  trade  thus  passed  iu  review,  the 
former  and  shorter  one  is  by  far  the  more  specially  deserving  of  notico 
as  regards  the  effect  which  this  Eastern  trade  exerted  upon  the  value 
of  the  precious  metals,  and  of  money  generally,  throughout  the  world.  It 
is  so  for  several  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  peculiarly  the  criiical 
period,  the  time  during  which  the  new  supply  of  gold  Avould,  per  se,  or 
if  unchecked  by  other  circumstances,  have  produced  its  maximum  effect 
iqMja  the  value  of  money.  In  truth,  the  critical  period  was  passed,  as 
soon  as  the  great  expansion  of  the  Eastern  trade  set  iu.  During  the 
four  or  five  previous  years  gold  had  been  pouring  inio  the  markets  of 
the  world  iu  unprecedented  abundance.  Previous  to  the  discovery  of 
the  Califoruiau  gold-fields — we  may  say  in  1848,  for  the  minus  had 
hardly  begun  to  be  worked  iu  that  year — the  total  production  of  gold 
and  silver  was  at  most  sixteeu  milliona  sterling,  oue-half  gold  and 
one-half  silver.  But  iu  1849  the  gold-supply  was  increased  to  about 
twenty  milliona  by  the  Califoruian  gold-fields  ;  and  in  1851,  when  the 
AiiBtraliun  gold -beds  began  to  be  worked,  the  gold-supply  rose  to  no 
less  than  thirty-two  millions — iu  other  words^  the  produce  of  the  tiew 


a 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  MET.LLS. 


147 


'^o)d-miues  atuonTitcd  to  twenty-four  millions,  or  three  times  as  niucli 
AS  the  jield  of  the  old  mines  had  bceuj  aod  the  total  gold-supply 
Taecame  quadrupled  since  1&18.  It  is  important  to  bear  in 
XBind  that  the  yield  of  the  new  mines,  both  in  Califoruia  and 
^ustraliuj  was  largest  at  the  first,  or  as  soou  as  the  tide  of  immigration 
allowed  of  the  full  working  of  the  goUl-fields.  At  that  time  it  was  the 
"  placers  "  or  surface-deposits  in  the  beds  of  rivers,  &«.,  which  were 
'forked — such  operations  needing  only  the  rudest  appliances  (the  rocker 
OT  cradle),  which  any  one  could  use ;  and  from  this  cause,  together 
"witb  the  wide  extent  of  these  purely  surface  dcpasits,  a  much  larger 
population  of  gold-finders  could  get  employment  than  was  the  ease 
afterwards,  when  those  surface-deposits  were  exhausted,  and  when  skilful 
appliances  and  capital  had  to  come  into  the  field. 

Owing  to  these  causes — ^the  easier  finding  of  the  gold  and  the  larger 
■numberof  the  workers— during  these  first  yeaw  the  yields  of  the  precious 
ore  was  larger  than  at  any  subsequent  time.  Further,  it  is  obvious  that, 
C<eteri8  paribus,  the  first  addition  to  the  world's  stock  of  gold  must 
prwhice  a  greater  effect  upon  the  value  of  money  than  any  similar 
addition  afterwards,  because  it  will  bear  a  larger  ratio  to  the  existing 
stock  of  gold.  Say  that  the  existing  stock  is  100  millions,  and 
that  the  annual  supply  be  suddenly  increased  to  the  amount  of 
twenty  millions,  the  first  twenty  millions  being  added  to  the  400 
millions  will  produce  a  greater  effect  than  the  second  twenty  millions, 
irhich  will  be  added  to  420  millions  ;  and  the  third  twenty  miUions^ 
l)eiug  added  to  4K)  millions,  will  produce  still  less  effect,  and  so  on. 
Moreover,  as  already  said,  the  supply  of  gold  was  largest  at  the  first,  and 
thereafter  declined.  From  both  of  these  causes,  therefore,  it  was  in  the 
early  years  of  the  gold-discoveries  that  the  new  supply  would  naturally 
produce  its  maximitm  effect.  Still  further,  it  takes  some  time  before 
employment  can  be  found  for  a  new  supply  of  the  precious  metals — 
before  new  channels  of  trade  can  be  opened,  and  industry  generally  can 
arail  itself  of  its  new  opportunities ;  and  for  this  reason  also  the  new 
mines  were  likely  to  produce  their  maximum  effect  upon  prices  at  the 
outset. 

In  the  years  1852-4,  gold  was  accumulating  in  the  Western 
world  at  a  prodigious  rate ;  and  the  confident  forebodings  of  a 
vast  fall  in  the  value  of  money,  expressed  so  forcibly  by  M,  Chevalier 
90  late  as  in  1858^  appeared  only  reasonable.  Yet  the  all-important 
fact  was  forgotten,  that  an  increased  supply  of  money,  by  facilita- 
ting trade,  tends  to  create  an  increased  requirement,  or  new 
fields  of  employment,  for  it.  And  how  much  the  trade  of  the 
world  increased  during  the  subsequent  period  need  not  be  said.  But, 
as  we  have  shown,  it  was  the  vast  expansion  of  the  Trade  with  the  East 
which  played  the  chief  part  in  creating  the  new  requirement  for  specie, 
and  to  an  extent  which  throws  all  the  other  such  causes  into  the  shade. 
1^  In  truth,  but  for  the  previous  accumulation  of  specie  in  the  Western 

1^ 


i 


W 


148 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


world,  it  seems  impossible  that  so  vast  a  drain  of  specie  as  that  "wbich 
flowed  to  the  P]ast  in  the  years  immediately  subsequent  to  1854  could 
have  been  spared, — the  fact  being,  as  already  shown,  that  during  the 
eleven  subsequent  years  the  Indian  trade  required,  and  India  aetually 
received,  no  less  than  ninety-two  per  cent,  of  the  contemporaueou» 
produce  of  the  new  mines,  leaving  only  fourteen  millions  of  their  produce 
lor  the  increased  wants  of  the  world  at  large.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
the  expected  revolution  and  vast  fall  in  the  value  of  gold  did  not  occur. 

It  is  of  much  less  consequence  to  observe  the  subsequent  period, 
1866-75  ;  because,  although  the  Indian  trade  absorbed  a  much  less  per- 
centage of  ihe  new  gold  nud  silver,  the  existing  stock  of  the  precious 
metals  had  vastly  increased  in  the  interval ;  and  was  so  much  larger  than 
it  was  in  1848  lliat  the  annual  supply,  if  the  requirements  or  conditions 
of  trade  remniiicd  tlie  same,  would  necessarily,  in  1875,  produce  a  much 
smaller  etf'cct  upon  the  value  of  the  precious  metals  than  a  similar 
addition  would  have  done  at  the  beginning  of  the  gold-discoveries.  As 
regards  gulil,  the  annual  supply  in  1875  had  declined  about  a  third,  or 
ten  millions,  below  the  average  maximum  yield  of  the  mines — viz.,  in 
1861-7;  but,  owing  to  the  increased  supply  of  silver  from  the  new 
Nevada  mines,  the  supply  of  gold  and  silver,  taken  togetlier,  still  remains 
about  equal  to  tlic  highest  point  ever  reached. 

The  ctfcct  of  the  Eastern  Trade  upon  the  value  of  the  precious  metals 
has  hiliierto  attracted  but  little  attention  ;  yet,  without  a  pcrccptiou  and 
appreciation  of  the  facts  which  we  have  now  set  forth,  the  events  con- 
nected with  tlic  value  of  money  during  the  last  quarter  of  a  centurj^ 
would  be  wholly  iuexplicuble.  It  has  been  the  drain  of  the  precious 
mctaJa  to  the  East,  to  meet  the  requirements  of  Indian  trade  and 
iuvestments,  which  alone  has  falsified  tlie  confident  predictions  of 
all  the  highest  authorities  as  to  a  stupendous  fall  in  the  value  of  money, 
and  especially  of  gold.  But  one  remarkable  circumstance  still  remains 
to  be  explained — namely,  the  recent  full  in  the  value  of  silver;  which 
event,  likewise,  is  the  very  opposite  of  what  was  expected.  The  euiTeuey  of 
the  East  ia  silver,  and  eonsequeully  it  is  in  silver  that  the  greater  part  of 
the  enormous  payments  of  specie  to  India  have  been  made.  How,  theOj 
does  it  happen  that  it  is  silver,  and  not  gold,  that  has  fallen  in  value  ? — 
fallen,  or  njiiMirently  fallen,*  in  the  "West,  while  its  value  is  still  main- 
tained in  the  East  ? 

\\\wn  the  new  gold-mines  were  discovered  it  was  universally  pre- 
dicted thiit,  while  gold  would  lose  a  great  pwt  of  its  old  value,  the 
value  of  silver  would  be  fully  maintained.  And  had  the  extraordinary 
expansion  of  the  Eastern  trade  been  foreseen,  it  must  have  been  pre- 
dicted that  silver  would  not  only  maiutain  its  old  value,  but  rise  almost 
to  a  famiue-])ricc.      As  is  well  known,  silver  did  for  several  years  rise  in 

•  WhelJier  llirro  hiia  been  uny  real  and  nhsnhitr  fall  in  tlie  value  of  ailvor  even  in  tlifi 
oouutriea  of  tbo  Wvjit«  or  whothur  the  fall  ia  merely  apparent  and  occaaioued  by  a  rue  m  thv 
value  of  gold  (thu  chief  standirtl  money  uf  tkc  West),  is  a  <jn(8tion  which  lica  beyond  tliu 
vcojie  of  tbo  present  lirtiolf. 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS. 


149 


value  compared  to  gold;  althoiigli  we  think  there  is  ground  for  believing 
tliat  the  rise  was  uot  absolute — /.c,  as  measured  in  general  eommodities, 
but    was    only    equal    to,    and     produced    by,     the    contemporaneous 
decline  in  the  value  of  gold.      Be  that  as  it  may,  for  upwards  of  twenty 
years    subsequent    to    1 850,    the    price    of  silver,    as    measured    in 
gold,    stood     considerably    above    its    old    value, — rising   from    59|rf. 
per  ounce  to  62rf.,  and  then   declining   to  its   old   value,  or   a   fraction 
V>elow  it — \\z.y  59J</.,  in  1873.      Considering  the  facts  of  the  case,  this 
rise  in  the  value  of  silver  was  a  very  small   one.      As   we   have  shown, 
l>etween    1858    and    1865,  the   amount  of    silver    exported   to   India 
actually  absorbed  the  entire  contemporaneous  yield  of  the  silver-mines, 
and  forty  millions  more.     In  other  words,  this  drain  of  silver  to   the 
[East  was  equivalent  in  its  effects  upon  Europe  and  America  to  an  entire 
stoppage  of  the  silver-mines,  together  with  an  actual  drain  and  deduction 
of  forty  millions  from  the  existing  currency  of  the  Western  world.     But  in 
1873  the  tables  tiumedj  and  silver  began  to  decline  rapidly  in  value  com- 
pared to  gold — reaching  its  lowest  point  in  1876,  the  year  of  the  Silver 
Panic,  when  the  price  fell  to  47 rf.  per  ounce.    To  some  extentj  doubtless, 
this  fall  in  the  value  of  silver  may  be  ascribed  to  the  recent  comparative 
scarcity  of  gold,  occasioned   by  the  decreased  production  of  the   gold- 
mines.     It  has  also  been  owing  to  ihe  large  increase  in  the    supply  ot 
silver  from  the  new  Nevada  mints ;   and  also  to  the  fact  that^  owing  to 
the  increase  of  wealth,  silver  has  recently  been  gradually  becoming  less 
suitable  as  currency  in  the  leading  countries  of  the  Western  world,  and 
has^  to  a  great  extent,  been  legislatively  demonetized  in  some  of  those 
countries, — viz.,  in   Germany    and  Scandinavia,   and  partially  in   the 
United  States  and  France. 

These  changes  lie  beyond  consideration  in  the  present  article ;  but 
there  remains  a  most  potent  cause  of  the  recent  fall  in  the  value  of 
silver  which  is  directly  connected  with  our  subject.  This  is  the  recent 
restriction  upon  the  flow  of  silver  to  the  East,  in  the  natural  course  of 
trade,  occasioned  by  the  large  increase  in  the  payments  which  th« 
Indian  Government  has  to  make  to  the  Home  Government — which 
payments  are  represented  by  the  "  Council  Bills,'*  or  drafts  issued  b-* 
our  Government  against  the  Government  of  India.  These  Council 
Bills,  being  ecjuivalent  to  specie,  pro  tantOj  enalde  our  traders  to  settle 
the  Trade  balances  due  to  India  without  sending  specie ;  and  thus  the 
requirement  for  silver  has  been  proportionately  diminished.  There  is 
another  circumstance,  but  of  far  inferior  importance,  which  in  its  effects 
is  exactly  similar — namely,  the  increase  in  the  amount  of  remittances 
from  Englishmen  in  India  for  the  support  of  their  families  in  this 
country  :  a  change  which  has  occurred  partly  in  consequence  of  the 
large  increase  of  British  troops  kept  in  India  since  the  Mutiny  of  the 
Sepoys  in  1857,  and  partly  from  thc^  opening  of  the  Suez  Canal, 
whereby  Englishmen  in  India  can  more  readUy  send  home  their 
families  for  health  and  ctlueation,  and  also  can  more  frequently  visit 


fHE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


them   than  vr&s  possible  ivlien  our  only  communication  with  the  Ea&t 
Tvas  by  the  long  sea-voyage  round  tlie  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 

Both  of  these  changes,  which  so  obviously  affect  the  value  of  silver 
by  dirainishiug  the  drain  of  specie  to  the  East,  were  in  progress  for 
several  years  before  they  became  observed,  or  perceptibly  affected  the 
requirements  for  silver  for  the  Indian  trade.  It  was  soon  after  the 
changes  consequent  upon  the  Mutiny  in  1857^  say  in  1859,  that  the 
increase  in  the  two  above-described  kinds  of  payment  due  from  India 
to  this  country  really  commenced :  but  at  that  time  the  investments  of 
English  money  in  Indian  railways  were  at  their  height ;  and  the  pay- 
ments due  from  England  on  this  account  were  so  large  that  they 
entirely  obscured,  aud  hid  from  public  view,  the  increase  of  the  pay- 
ments due  from  India ;  indeed,  in  some  years,  as  already  shown,  the 
Financial  as  well  as  the  Trade  balance  was  in  favour  of  India — so 
that  our  Government,  instead  of  being  able  to  draw  as  usual  upon 
India,  had  to  export  specie  to  that  country.  But  after  18C3,  the  rail- 
way-payments  from  this  country  decreased,  and  they  became  wholly 
exhausted  in  1870  or  tIierral)outs.  Thereupon  the  "  Home  Charges," 
the  amount  annually  due  from  the  Indian  Government  to  England  for 
military  stores  and  other  charges  connected  with  the  Indian  army, 
appeared  at  their  fidl  and  real  amount.  For  a  quarter  of  a  century 
previous  to  1863,  these  charges  (represented  by  the  drafts  or  bills  drawn 
by  the  Home  upon  the  Indian  Government)  had  averaged  only  two 
and  a  quarter  millions  fiterliiig  ;  but  during  the  subsequent  eight  years 
they  averaged  six  aud  a  quarter  millions,  and  during  the  last  bIx 
years,  ending  with  April,  1878,  they  have  averaged  twelve  and  a  quarter 
millions,  that  is,  ten  millions  in  excess  of  their  annual  amount  down  to 
1863,  aud  almost  equal  to  the  contemporaneous  yield  of  the  whole  silver- 
mines  of  the  world.  This  charge  has  been  the  most  i)o\verful  of  all  the 
causes  of  the  fall  in  the  value  of  silver.  Tlic  "Couucii  Drafts,"  being 
equivalent  to  silver,  have  correspondingly  diminished  the  requirement  for 
that  metal,  and  have  prevented  the  large  export  and  utilization  of  silver 
which  would  otherwise  have  occurred  in  connection  with  the  Eastern  Trade. 

Such,  then,  have  been  the  vast  and  beneficial  effects  of  the  Trade  with 
the  East  upon  the  value  of  the  precious  metals^  aud  of  Money  generally, 
throughout  the  Western  world,  alike  iu  past  centuries,  after  the  dis- 
covery of  America,  and  during  the  still  vaster  and  more  remarkable  inflood 
of  these  precious  ores  since  the  discovery  of  the  new  American  and 
Australian  mines.  This  Eastern  trade  has  happily  carried  off  or  found 
profitahk*  employmcut  for  every  spare  ounce  of  the  350  millions 
of  gold  which,  since  181-8,  have  been  poured  into  the  world 
from  the  new  mines  j  entirely  preventing  the  immense  fall  iu 
the  value  of  money  which,  at  the  instant,  appeared  so  inevitable 
and  appalling.  By  preventing  a  fall  in  the  value  of  money,  it  has 
made  every  ounce  of  the  new  gold,  and  until  recently  of  silver,  as 
higfdy  valuable  as  iu  previoua  times  :   thus  maintaining  at  its  full  value 


EASTERN  TRADE  AND  PRECIOUS  METALS, 


151 


I 

I 


the  labour  of  the  miners;  and  saving  the  whole  civilized  world,  not 
merely  from  a  monetary  revolution,  but  from  the  pure  and  heavy  loss 
which  would  have  resulted  from  a  diminution  in  the  value  of  the  vast 
existing  stock  of  gold  and  silver.  Solely  and  directly  in  consequence  of 
the  trade  with  the  Eastj  as  the  new  ^Id  has  flowed  into  Europe  silver 
has  flowed  out ;  and  thus  the  increased  commerce  M-ith  the  East  has  proved 
to  mankind  a  double  blessing :  at  once  augmenting  employment  both  in 
the  Eastern  and  Western  worlds,  and  averting  any  great  change  in  the 
value  of  money.  "  It  is  a  waste-pipe  by  which  nothing  is  wasted.  It  is  a 
channel  by  which  we  not  only  get  rid  of  a  surplus  of  the  precious  metals, 
but  turn  them  to  most  profitable  account.  In  so  far  as  the  new  gold  and 
ailver  mines  shall  remain  productive^  the  prosi»crity  of  the  world  depends 
upon  the  continuance  of  this  drain  of  bullion  to  the  East  Without  it, 
the  new  supplies  of  the  precious  metals  would  be  robbed  of  their  useful- 
ness, through  a  great  fall  in  their  value.  Their  beneficial  effect  would 
be  merely  local  and  evanescent ;  but  with  it  the  whole  world  will  be  par- 
takers in  its  blessings."  So  I  wrote  fifteen  years  ago,  in  my  book  on 
the  Economy  of  Capital.  At  presentj  unfortunately,  this  conduit  or 
waste-pipe  is  narrowed  by  the  *'  Council  Drafts,^' — a  circumstance  natural 
and  pro]>er  of  itself,  but  which  is  highly  disadvantageous  notouly  to  our 
Indian  Empire  but  to  the  world  at  large,  by  producing  a  fall  in  the  value 
of  eilver,  which  not  only  lessens  the  value  of  the  labour  of  the  silver- 
miners  but  oi  the  entire  amount  of  the  vast  stock  of  silver  existing 
throngbout  the  world — the  accumulated  result  and  legacy  of  mauy 
generations  of  past  labour. 

The  recent  fall  in  the  value  of  silver  relatively  to  gold  is  one  of  the 
most  embarrassing  circumstances  of  the  present  time,  especially  in  con- 
nection with  the  interests  of  om'  Indian  Empire.  Aud  it  is  not  a 
needless  warning  if  we  say  to  the  Government  and  other  parties 
concerned,  to  beware  lest,  under  a  natural  impatience  of  this  embarrass- 
ment, they  hastily  adopt  a  change  which,  however  tempting  from  its 
simplicity,  would  be  infinitely  worse  than  the  present  embarrassment. 
Men  are  always  prone  to  believe  that  a  system  which  is  best  for  their 
own  country  is  likewise  best  for  the  world  at  large ;  and  on  more 
than  one  occasion  lately,  when  the  Silver-question  has  been  under 
discussion  in  Parliament,  members  of  the  Government  have  expressed 
themselves  unqualifiedly  in  favour  of  a  single  gold-standard.  Last 
summer,  Mr.  Stephen  Cave,  in  replying  for  the  Government  to  a 
question  put  by  Sir  George  Campbell,  said : — "  No  doubt  a  time  may 
come  when  the  question  of  an  altenrntivc  standard  for  India  must  be 
faced ;  but  I  trust  that  a  double  standard  will  not  be  adopted.^'  And 
in  autumn  a  report  came  from  India,  and  a  rumour  was  current  in  this 
country,  to  the  effect  that  the  Government  had  resolved  to  cut  the 
Gordiun  knot  by  establishing  a  single  gold-standard  for  India,  demone- 
tiung  silver,  the  old  and  existing  currency  of  that  vast  country. 

This  mode  of  viewing  the  question  has  hitherto  found  favour  with 
English  politicians  generally  ;  but  it  is  so  obviously  rash  that  we  feci 


152 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


assured  that  no  one  who  entertains   it  can   hare  counted   the    costs. 

Tlie  system  of  demonetizing  silver  would  lead  to  world-wide  consequences 
of  really  iucalculubic  disaster.  Those  persons  who  talk  so  glibly  of  the 
advantages  of  "  mono-mctalUsm^'  and  a  single  gold-standard  must  be 
totally  blind  to  the  inevitable  consequences  of  the  course  which  they  so 
complacently  advocate  and  extol.  Mere  silver  degraded  from  its  place 
in  the  currency  of  the  world,  or  even  of  Europe,  the  fall  in  its  Talue, 
say  one-half, — although  the  fall  might  be  very  much  greater, — would  be 
cq^uivalciit  to  destroying  ouc-half  of  all  the  silver  in  the  world  !  It  would 
annul  a  vast  outlay  of  capital  and  the  labour  of  generations  of  hard- 
working miners.  Were  it  possible  in  like  fashion — viz.,  by  legislation 
or  CfUct — to  reduce  the  price  of  ordinary  commodities,  such  as  food  or 
clothcsj  or  houses,  in  such  a  ease^  although  the  producers  of  those  com- 
modities would  unfairly  suflcr,  the  eoniraunity  at  large  would  gain  to 
an  equal  extent :  the  usefulness  of  such  commodities  would  remain  un- 
impaired. But  the  chief  usefulness  of  the  precious  metals  nowadays^ 
and  the  sole  usefuhtcss  of  gold  and  silver  coins,  lies  in  their  purehasing- 
|>owcr,  their  value  as  Money  \  henee,  a  demonetization  of  silver  would 
be  proportionately  destructive  to  its  present  usefulness,  and,  we  repeat, 
would  be  cquivulcut  to  a  wilful  annihilation  of  a  vast  jwrtion  of  the 
world's  stock  of  money.  In  proportion  as  this  demonetization  was 
carried  out,  it  would  be  a  voluntary  throwing  away  of  the  vast 
blessings  and  benefits  which  mankind 
the  new  mines  of  America  and  Australia, 
back  into  the  "  hard  times"  which 
truth  into  a  far  worse  predicament, 
country  is  under  a  single  gold-standard  (a  condition  into  which  we 
passed  by  successive  stages  from  a  purely  silver-currency,  the  Act  of 
1816  merely  establishing  by  law  what  was  already  established  in  fact) 
would  be  poncrtcss  to  \vanl  off  from  us  the  effects  of  a  demonetization 
of  silver,  wljieh  still  constitutes  by  far  the  larger  portion  of  the  world's 
stock  of  the  precious  metals.  Our  stock  of  gold  would  be  drawn  upon 
to  supply  the  dearth  of  money  in  other  countries.  Not  to  speak  of 
the  inevituljle  collapse  of  our  monetary  system  as  regulated  by  the 
absurd  ainl  pernicious  Bank  Act  of  1814,  the  burden  of  our  National 
Debt  wonkl  be  vastly  incretwcd,  and  so  would  that  of  every  other 
country,  TbcHC  Debts,  which  amount  to  an  enormous  sura,  would 
thenceforth  Lang  like  a  mill-stone  around  the  neck  of  the  nations.  Add 
to  these  results,  the  restriction  upon  Trade  and  Industry  inseparable  from 
a  dearth  of  Money,  and  any  statesman  who  at  present  i'avoura  the 
general,  or  any  extcndetl,  adoption  of  a  single  gold-standard  may  well 
shrink  back  from  such  a  change,  and  refuse  to  imperil  the  prosperity 
of  his  own  country,  and  of  tlie  civilized  world  at  large,  by  producing  an 
arbitrary  and  artificial  dearth  of  Money, — which  is  the  most  intent 
auxiliary,  we  might  say  the  very  life's  blood,  of  trade  and  industry, 
as  these  arc,  and  must  be,  carried  on  under  a  mature  civilization. 


have    recently    enjoyed    from 

The  world  would  be  plunged 

previously    prevailed,    or    in 

The    fact    that     our     own 


R.   H.  Patteusov. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  ISANDULA. 

{Zuiuiand,  January  2, 1879.) 


IN  the  wilds  of  Isandula^  far  away. 
The  little  band  of  British  soldiers  laj, 
"When  a  warning  voice  cried,  "  Fly  ! 
For  the  savage  swarms  ore  nigh ! 
See,  they  loom  in  war-array 

Against  the  sky  1 
Ere  they  come  in  all  the  might 
Of  their  legions  black  as  night, 
Form  in  order  and  take  flight  from  Isandula." 

Then  our  soldiers  look  in  one  another's  eyes,  . 

Less  in  terror  than  in  wondering  surmise, 
And  a  cold  breath  of  despair 
Seems  to  chill  the  golden  air. 
When  a  voice  of  thunder  cries  : 

"  Men,  prepare  I 
Though  no  human  help  be  by, 
"We  are  here  our  strength  to  try. 

Yea,  to  keep  the  camp,  or  die  in  Isaudula  !" 

So  an  English  cheer  arises  wild  and  shrill, 
As  they  form  and  face  the  onset  with  a  Mill, 
For  clearly  now  each  one 
Can  see  the  black  hordes  run 
Swift  as  wolves  across  the  hill 

In  the  sun — 
They  can  see  the  host  at  la$t 
Coming  terrible  and  vast, 
Like  a  torrent,  rolling  fast  on  Isandtlla  !  .   .  . 


164  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

Soon  npon  them  in  their  living  thouaands  fell 
The  blacks  like  screaming  devils  out  of  Hell, 
Swarming  down  in  mad  desire 
As  our  gunners  open'd  fire — 
At  that  thunder,  with  shrill  yell. 

They  swept  nigher ! 
*'  Fire  I"  again  the  order  ran. 
As  the  bloody  strife  began 
^Vith  the  lion-hearted  van,  at  Isandiila. 

^is  to  struggle  with  the  avalanche's  force  1 
It  enwraps  them,  it  consumes  them,  in  its  course ; 
Round  the  guns  its  dark  floods  flow. 
See,  the  gunners  gasping  low ! 
It  overwhelms  them,  foot  and  horse. 

At  a  blow ! 
"  Retreat  \"  the  voice  hath  cried. 
And  in  order,  steadfast-eyed. 
They  stem  that  sable  tide  at  Isandula. 

Back  to  back,  all  sides  surrounded,  slowly  led, 
Their  fire  upon  the  foe,  they  downward  tread ; 

While  at  last  the  sable  stream. 

Sweeping  on  them,  teeth  agleam. 

Before  their  crimson  lead 
Pause  and  scream  ! 

And  at  that  another  cheer 

Arises  wild  and  clear, 
And  the  foe  fall  back  to  hear,  in  Isandula  1 

But  'tis  only  for  an  instant  they  refrain. 
At  the  challenge  of  that  cheer  they  shriek  again. 
They  swarm  on  every  hand 
O'er  the  little  steadfast  band, 
Till  again,  the  crimson  rain 

Makes  them  stand ! 
Like  a  torrent — nay,  a  sea ! — 
They  roll  onward  bloodily. 
But  no  white  man  turns  to  fice  from  Isandula  1 

Still  as  stone,  our  soldiers  face  the  savage  crew — 
"Fix  your  bayonets  !  die  as  English  soldiers  do  V 
It  is  done — all  stand  at  bay — 
But  their  strength  is  cast  away ; 
And  the  black  swarms  shriek  anew 
As  they  slay ! 


THE  BATTLE  OF  ISANDULA.  155 

Ah,  God !  the  battle-ihioes  ! 
With  their  dead  for  shields,  they  close, — 
Where  the  slaughter  ebbs  and  flows,  iu  Isandula ! 

And  as  £ut  as  one  form  ialls,  another  springs — 
They  are  tigers,  not  like  human-hearted  things — 

Suiging  onward  they  abound. 

With  a  clangour  of  shrill  sound. 

With  a  clash  of  shields,  like  wings 
Waving  round ! 

As  our  brave  men  one  by  one 

Fall  death-smitten  in  the  sun, 
O'er  their  corpses  legions  run,  in  Isandula ! 

"  Save  the  colours !"  shrieks  a  dying  voice,  and  lo ! 
Two  horsemen  breast  the  raging  ranks,  and  go — 

(In  thy  sacred  list,  O  Fame  I 

Keep  each  dear  and  noble  name  !*) 

See,  they  flash  upon  the  foe, 
Fierce  as  flame— 

And  one  undaunte'd  form 

Lifts  a  British  banner,  warm 
With  the  blood-rain  and  the  storm  of  Isandula ! 

"  Save  the  colours !"  and  amidst  a  flood  of  foes. 
At  gallop,  sword  in  hand,  each  horseman  goes — 

Around  the  steeds  they  stride 

Cling  devils  crimson-dyed, 

But  God  !  through  butchering  blows. 
How  they  ride ! 

Their  horses'  hooves  are  red 

With  blood  of  dying  and  dead. 
Trampled  down  beneath  their  tread  at  Isandula ! 

"  Save  the  colours !" — ^They  are  saved — and  side  by  side 
The  horsemen  swim  a  raging  river's  tide — 

They  are  safe — they  are  alone — 

But  one,  without  a  groan. 

After  tottering  filmy-eyed. 
Drops  like  stone ; 

And  before  his  comrade  true 

Can  reach  Ms  side,  he  too 
Falls,  smitten  through  and  through  at  Isandula!  .  .  . 

•  limt.    Nevill   Jomh    Aylmer  Ck>&hiU  (24th   Begt),   Lient.    Teigunoath   Melvill 
(24th  B«gt),  both  killed  wliile  escaping  with  the  ooloura,  Jan.  22, 1 879. 


156  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

Bless  the  Lord,  who  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand> 
Kept  the  remnant  of  that  little  British  band  ! 
But  give  honour  everywhere 
To  the  brave  who  perish'd  there, 
Speak  their  praise  throughout  the  land 

With  a  prayer — 
More  than  sorrow  they  can  daim : 
They  have  won  the  crown  of  Fame ! 
They  have  glorified  the  name  of  Isandula  1 


RoBEBT  Buchanan. 


CONTEMPORARY    LIFE    AND    THOUGHT    IN 

RUSSIA. 


St,  pETKKSBrEG,  March  V2thj  1879. 

FATE  has  of  late  been  very  cruel  to  our  country ;  there  is  no 
calamity  it  spares  us.  With  the  war  hardly  terminated,  and 
the  revolutionary  movements  only  partly  put  down,  we  hare  now  to 
face  the  Plague.  This  last  stroke  fell  on  us  quite  unexpectedly,  and  its 
■worst  feature  is  not  the  evil  it  actually  does,  but  rather  the  panic  it 
produces. 

When  the  first  news  reached  us  of  the  disease  bursting  out  in  a  distant 
comer  of  the  Government  of  Astrakhan,  everybody  was  so  stricken 
by  terror  that  anything  like  calm  reflection  seemed  quite  hopeless.  The 
plague,  or  the  black  death,  as  it  is  called  in  the  native  language,  was 
thought  to  be  only  waiting  for  the  spring  and  the  thawing  of  the 
ice,  to  invade  not  only  all  Russia  but  the  whole  of  Europe.  Nothing 
was  left  us  to  do  but  to  await  death. 

The  most  celebrated  members  of  the  medical  faculty  assembled  here 
nearly  every  day  to  deliberate  upon  the  character  of  the  epidemic,  and 
to  consider  the  means  of  fighting  it.  Our  first  authority  in  that  line  of 
disease.  Doctor  Batkine,  publicly  declared  it  to  be  the  real  Indian 
plague,  saying  nobody  could  have  the  least  doubt  about  it.  The  papers, 
naturally  seizing  every  opportunity  for  communicating  startling  news, 
expatiated  upou  the  subject.  Each  time  their  sensational  telegrams 
were  officially  refuted  they  took  the  greatest  pains  to  insinuate  that  the 
Government  did  not  wish  the  truth  to  be  known,  and  that  their  news 
ought  to  be  believed  despite  the  official  denial.  The  grossest  instance 
of  this  kind  occurred  in  the  case  of  The  Goloa.  Soon  after  the  out- 
break of  the  plague  at  Vetlianka  it  inserted  telegrams  stating  that  the 
epidemic  had  reached  Zsrizine,  which  is  a  large  town,  and  an  important 
commercial  centre  on  the  Volga,  and  that  it  was  making  dreadful 
ravages  there.     The  3^Iinister  of  the  Interior  sent  an  official  reftTtation 


168 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  this  stateracnt  to  the  paper,  and  threatened  it  with  heavy  pcnamw 
for  publishing  false  telegrams. 

For  a  loug  time  public  opinion  sided  with  the  press  against  the 
Goveniment,  most  people  feeling  certain  that  the  journal*  were  right, 
and  that  the  Government  used  its  power  in  order  to  conceal  the  n 
state  of  things.  Nevertheless,  ensuing  events  have  proved  that  for  oi 
the  public  has  erred  in  its  judgment.  Private  information  arrived  i^ 
support  of  the  official  statements,  and  it  became  known  that  no  case  o^ 
plague  had  occurred  at  Zarizine  or  anywhere  beyond  the  limits  of  tl 
Government  of  Astrakhan. 

Notwithstanding  this  fact,  the  papers  continued  to  fill  their  colunms 
with  exaggerated  reports.  Enough  allowance  was  not  made  for  what 
was  being  officially  done.  The  administration  had  roused  itself  to  un- 
usual activity  ;  its  local  as  well  aa  its  rcntral  agents  beginning  a  desperate 
fight  against  this  new  foe.  They  even  acted  in  unity,  a  rather  unusual 
thing,  running  a  kind  of  steeplechase  of  zeal,  where  every  one  was 
anxious  for  the  others,  also^  to  gain  the  victory.  This  competition  at 
first  helped  the  exaggerating  of  the  evil,  lending  itself  to  the  course 
taken  by  the  press.  Each  functionary  who  took  upou  himself  the  task 
of  stopping  the  progress  of  the  plague,  or  of  circumscribing  it  within 
certain  limits,  not  unnaturally  wished  it  to  be  thought  difficult  in  oixlcr 
to  gain  more  honour.  Thus,  the  Governor  of  the  bonier  provinces  desired 
to  persuade  us  all  thnt  he  had  found  the  country  in  a  dreadful  state,  and 
had  rapidly  cured  it  by  enforcing  his  energetic  regulations.  At  the 
same  time,  the  General-Governor  named  specially'  for  affaira  con- 
nected with  the  plague  (Louis-Mclikof),  and  entrusted  with  extraordi- 
nary i>owcra  for  the  purpose,  expected  to  meet  a  formidable  enemy,  one 
that  would  task  all  his  exertions.  He  would  hardly  have  been 
pleased  to  hcn.r  that  the  foe  had  capitulated  tjefnre  his  arrival,  and 
that  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  i\o^  Somethuig  of  the  same  kind  may  be 
said  concerning  the  merlicnl  men  despatched  to  the  theatre  of  the 
disease.  Their  devotion  had  been  so  much  spoken  of,  and  their  courage 
so  much  praised,  that  they  would  have  been  disappointed,  one  may 
almost  say,  to  find  the  epidemic  gone,  and  their  journey  made  useless. 
All  these  diflcrent  reasons  explain  why  reports  of  the  disease  still 
continue  to  pour  in  after  the  plague  itself  is  hardly  worth  mentioning. 
Tlicre  can  be  no  doubt  that  we  shall  be  obliged  for  some  time  yet  to 
come  to  read  bulletins  about  two  or  three  peasants,  lying  ill  in  some 
village  two  tliousand  kilometres  away,  while  we  have  no  excitement 
about  the  patients  suffering  as  much  from  common  diseases  near  us. 

However,  every  day  the  exaggerations  of  the  first  reports  arc  becoming 
more  and  more  clearly  apparent.  Tlic  timorous  arc  rapidly  decreasing 
in  numbers,  and  the  spring  is  being  looking  forward  to  with  much  less 
anxiety.  The  panic  would  never  have  attained  such  proportions  if  it 
had  not  been  for  the  censorahip  and  for  the  Government  adopting  its  usual 
tactics.      If    the  rulers   did  not  so  dreadfully  fear  liberty  of   thought, 


i 


^Extemporary  life  and  thought  in  Russia,     159 

/^^  put  such  rcstrictioiiR  on  the  press,   people — at  homCj   as   well  as 
^**o^(l — would  not  so  easily   credit  bad   news  aud   disbelieve   otUcial 

If  vfc  remember  the  hygienic  condition  in  which  most  of  our  rural 
'^Jiularions  arc  still  living,  and  also  tho  lack  of  medical  statistics 
'^/vcting  them,  it  is  easy  to  account  for  the  great  mortality  in  that 
^IfiA"*  without  recurring  to  the  hypothesis  of  plague.  A  quite  curable 
^idemic  raay,  in  those  districts,  take  a  mortal  character ;  aDd^indecd,  who 
knows  the  exact  numbers  of  poor  {leasants  dying  in  all  tlic  villages 
spread  through  our  vast  country  ?  In  the  south  aud  the  east  of  Russia 
it  is  nothiug  unusual  to  find  cottages  without  chimneys^  where  the 
smoke  has  no  other  issue  than  the  door.  The  narrow,  small  windows 
of  these  dwellings  are  never  opened  during  the  whole  winter,  while, 
like  the  old  Irish  hntsj  the  cot's  only  room  gives  shelter,  not  only  to  the 
faniily  of  its  owner — grown  people  and  children — but  also  to  the  hens 
and  domestic  cattle.  One  can  easily  imagine  how  vitiated  the  air  must 
become  in  such  circumstances,  especially  when  we  remember  that  the 
femily  linen  is  dried  at  the  same  kitchen  rtre,  and  that  work  of  all  sorts 
is  done  there.  At  the  village  of  Vctlianka,  where  the  plague  broke  out, 
another  unfavourable  condition  besides  all  these  was  added.  A  large 
shcry  is  carrieil  on  at  the  place,   and  the  heaps  of  fish,  often  half- 

tten,  which   accumulated  there  in   the  course  of  beiug  salted,  helped 

ill    fiirther  to   poison   tlie  atmosphere.     Malignant  fevers  are  never 

nt   from  these  localities,  aud    uewcomers  often   yield  to  them   after 

"ring  breathed  the  air  for  only  a  few  hours.  Medical  aid  is  nearly 
unknown,  and  notliiug  induces  the  peasants  to  change  their  modes  of 

c.  It  is,  therefore,  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  every  case  which  arises 
under  these  conditions  makes  a  great  number  of  other  victims. 

This  visitation  lias  done  us,  aud  will  do  us,  great  harm  in  stopping 
trade  and  industry ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  will  prove  salutary 
by  revealing  many  hidden  sores,  and  obliging  the  authorities  to  intro- 
duce most  urgently  required  sanitary  regulations.  It  has  already  given 
a  very  strong  impulse  of  that  kind  throughout  the  whole  country.  Every- 
wUcre,  from  the  capital  down  to  the  smallest  provincial   town,  measures 

cleanliness  and  of  better  hygiene  arc  being  discussed,  and  if  only  a 

rtion  of  them  arc  actually  put  into  practice  the  national  health  must  be 
%  great  gainer. 

It  has,  however,  now  clearly  been  made  out  that  the  disease — ^what- 
ever be  its  right  name — has  not  spread  beyond  the  locality  where  it 
made  its  first  appearance.  Four  moutlis  have  elapsed  since  then,  andj 
despite  the  thawing  of  the  ice  on  the  Volga,  foUowetl  by  whole  weeks 
of  warm  weather,  not  one  single  case  of  it  has  occurred  in  any  other 

the  provinces.  At  first  people  were  apt  to  take  for  the  plague 
illness  having  the  slightest  resemblance  to  it.     As  we  have  said, 

nning  news  ran  like  wild-fire  from  different  parts  of  the  empire  to 
'etersburg,  but  the  reports  all  proved  to  be  false.      It  was  always 


160 


THE    COSTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


either  the  typhns  fever,  or  diphtheria^  or  some  other  fever  that  had  been 
mistaken  for  the  plague  ;  and  after  some  time,  reasonable  people  ceased 
to  believe  in  the  hasty  intelligence.  The  panic  is  fast  dwindling,  and 
soon  the  plague  will  cease  to  be  talked  of.  The  sanitary  cordons  and 
quarantines  instituted  by  the  neighbouring  States  have  very  injuriously 
affected  commercial  interests,  and,  unhappily  for  us,  politics  un- 
doubtedly play  a  part  in  these  measures  of  precaution.  Some  other 
nations  have  not  been  sorry  to  seize  this  opportunity  of  the  plague  for 
doing  barm  to  Russia.  However,  when  the  statements  of  the  foreign 
doctors^  sent  to  study  the  disease  on  the  spot,  have  confirmed  the  favour- 
able reports  of  our  authorities,  matter*  will  resume  their  usual  course. 


stat«  of  Uie  Flnanees. 

The  beginning  of  the  year  is  the  season  when  financial  questions 
come  to  the  front.  The  Report  of  the  Controller  of  the  Empire  on  the 
returns  of  the  Budget  of  last  year,  and  the  scheme  of  the  new  Budget 
presented  by  the  Finance  Minister,  are  now  botb  before  the  public. 
These  documents  arc  ven,'  much  discussed  in  the  papers.  This  year 
they  were  awaited  more  eagerly  than  usual. 

The  Controller's  Report  for  1877  was  far  from  being  comforting. 
The  revenue  had  fallen  short  of  the  estimate  to  the  amount  of  nine 
millions,  while  the  expenditure  had  greatly  exceeded  the  sums  allowed. 
The  extra  expenses  caused  by  the  war  and  by  the  military  occupation 
of  Bulgaria  increased  the  difficulties  of  the  situation.  Owing  to  this, 
there  was  not  the  least  doubt  that  the  Budget  for  1879  would  present 
a  large  deficit,  and  everybody  expected  this  as  surely  as  snow  in 
Dcceml)er.  All  the  greater  was  the  general  surprise  when  the  Budget, 
on  being  published,  showed  the  revenue  and  the  expenditure  balanced. 
At  first,  pcHjple  felt  incredulous ;  they  sus[)ccted  a  trick  behind  it. 
How  could  General  Grcig  possibly  have  faced  so  successfully  and  so 
quickly  the  dif^culties  of  the  situation,  and  have  made  to  meet  two 
ends  so  very  far  away  one  from  the  other  ?  The  explanation  of  this 
puezlc  was  soon  discovered  by  experienced  persons,  and  it  proved  simpler 
than  had  been  thought.  The  balaueing  of  the  Budget  is  effected  in  two 
chief  ways,  by  the  natural  growth  of  the  revenue,  and  by  new  taxes  being 
added  to  the  existing  ones.  From  one  or  other  or  both  of  these  sources 
must  be  drawn  the  means  to  defray  the  extra  expenses  caused  by  the  war. 

The  main  increase  of  public  expenditure  in  the  year  1879  is  in  the 
item  of  interests  on  the  loans  contrfictcd  in  1878.  Tlic  total  sum  amounts 
to  nearly  forty-two  millions  of  paper  roubles.  The  ordinary  expenses 
are  but  little  increased.  To  cover  these  forty-two  millions,  five  new 
ta:ccs  have  been  decreed^  and  they  are  expected  to  produce  about  twenty- 
two  n»illions.  These  fresh  imposts  nre — an  additional  tax  on  stamps, 
one  on  fire  insurances,  one  on  cotton,  one  on  the  distilling  of  gin,  and 
one  on  railway  tickets.  The  greatest  portion  of  the  new  revenue  (about 
eight  millions)  is  expected  to  be  drawn  from  the  last  of  these  taxes;  the 


I 


I 


^^NTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA.      161 

^CK^ta  of  first-  and  second-clasa  passengers  being  taxed  at  the  rate  of 
wenty.fire  per  cent.,  and  those  of  the  third-class  at  fifteen  per  cent. 
To  ihc  increase  of  these  twenty-two  millions^  it  is  estimated  there  will 
be  added  twenty-five  millions  more  from  the  natural  growth  of  revenue, 
chiefly  in  the  custom  duties  and  the  wine  excise.  In  these  two  ways 
the  interest  on  the  new  debt  is  covered,  leaving  a  surplus  that  will 
/urrush  means  for  other  necessary  expenses. 

So  far,  all  seems  to  be  very  satisfactory,  and  the  2)arti8ans  of  the 
present  Minister  have  reason  to  rejoice.  But  between  the  anticipation 
«nd  the  reality  there  is  in  finance  often  the  same  distance  as  betwcea 
the  cup  and  the  lip,  where  a  slip  is  said  to  be  always  possible.  The  flaw  in 
the  whole  plan  is,  as  the  reader  will  very  likely  liave  guessed,  the  de- 
preciation of  our  paper-money,  which  is  gradually  getting  worse  every 
month,  and  which  cannot  be  stopped  a^  long  as  the  Treasury  recurs  to 
frcsli  issues.  Even  if  the  Treasury  were  to  cease  pouring  fresh  pajjer  into 
the  market,  the  quantity  actually  current,  being  so  much  beyond  the  public 
■wants,  may  push  depreciation  still  lower.  In  fact,  the  paper-rouble  has 
loet  nearly  twenty  per  cent,  of  value  during  the  last  two  years,  and  the 
talke<i-of  natural  growth  of  revenue  may  be,  in  great  part,  only  the  sign 
of  its  depreciation.  This  ap})ears  clearly  in  the  case  of  the  custom 
duties,  which,  being  paid  in  gold  coin,  arc  in  tlie  Budget  estimated  in 
paper- money,  and,  accordingly,  abow  a  large  increase.  When  the 
domestic  value  of  the  rouble  is  growing  less,  the  sums  standing  in  the 
Budget  do  not  reprci^cnt  the  same  wealth  as  before,  wliile  the  expenses, 
or  part  of  them,  must  suftcr  in  a  contrary  way  from  that  depreciation. 
Things  must  grow  dearer  as  time  passes,  even  though  the  prices  do  not 
immediately  rise  in  proportion  to  the  issues  of  paper;  in  the  course 
of  the  year,  however,  the  difference  will  be  felt.  \A1iat  will  then 
become  of  the  balance  so  satisfactorily  established  on  this  reckoning  of 
the  paper-money  ? 

Another  remark  necessary  to  be  made  here  is,  t^at  one  cannot 
be  perfectly  sure  bcforcliaud  of  the  productiveness  of  the  new  taxes. 
Among  them,  one  is  particularly  unpopular,  and  people  eagerly  cast 
about  how  best  to  escape  it.  We  mean  the  raising  of  the  payment 
for  railway  tickets  ;  in  particular  is  this  so  in  the  case  of  the  third- 
class.  Our  great  distances  make  travelling  very  expensive,  and  the 
additional  tax  seems  very  heavy.  Our  workmen  are  chiefly  peasants, 
•who  spend  half  of  the  year  in  towns,  and  then  go  back  to  their  villages  for 
the  other  months.  The  artisans  lead  a  nomad  life,  adding  to  their  handi- 
craft the  task  of  ploughing  their  fields,  and  they  are  accustomed  to 
wander  from  one  place  to  another.  This  asking  from  them  of  fifteen 
per  cent,  more  for  their  railway  ticket  constitutes  a  grievous  burden. 
TIjt  middle  classes,  in  their  turn,  are  greatly  inclined  to  save  as  much 
as  possible  of  their  travelling  expenses.  Russia  is,  perhaps,  the  land  of 
all  others  where  the  second-  and  third-class  are  the  most  used  by  well- 
to-do  people,  who  could  easily  allow  themselves  the  luxury  of  travelling 
VOL.    XXXV.  M 


162 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REl^EJV, 


first-class.  A  large  majority  of  the  sqnires  Hricg  on  their  lands  never 
thiuk  of  taking  even  second-class  tickets.  After  being  used  to  bad  roatls 
and  uncomfortable  carriages  all  theii*  lives,  railways  appear  to  them 
such  a  splendid  mode  of  conveyance  that  they  do  not  need  to  add 
soft  cushions  and  carpets.  Why  should  we  make  an  unnecessary  gift  to 
the  companies  by  going  second-class  ?  is  their  answer  to  any  question, 
and  they  think  themselves  completely  in  the  right.  What  will 
they  say  and  do  now,  when  obliged  to  pay  fifteen  per  cent,  more  ? 
It  is  to  be  expected  that  many  excursions  not  quite  necessary,  such  as 
calls  on  relatives  or  friends,  will  be  totally  forgone.  On  the  other 
hand,  first-clasii  pas-sengcrs  will  descend  to  the  second-class,  and  second- 
ones  yet  lower  to  the  third.  May  not  all  this  influence  the  produce  of 
the  new  tax,  reducing  it  to  an  insignificant  amountj  while  fosteriug  dis- 
content among  the  public  ? 

It  is  replied  to  this  argument  that  every  new  tax  arouses  discontent, 
and  that  the  nation  must  pay  the  expenses  of  a  war  gone  into  in  pur- 
suance of  the  general  wish.  Everybody  accepts  this  principle  in  theory, 
but  nobody  likes  to  have  it  applied  to  himself,  and  grumbling  accom- 
panies each  payment. 


The  Trial  of  Tacbeatsof. 

The  audacious  theft,  discovered  lasl  spring,  in  the  Landed  Bank  of 
Mutual  Credit,  produced  a  deep  sensation.  This  bank  had  enjoyed  the 
best  reputation  at  home  as  well  as  abroad  ;  not  the  least  doubt  as  to  its 
solidity  or  its  mauagcnient  had  ever  arisen.  The  directors,  as  also  all 
the  members  of  the  administration,  were  men  of  high  station,  much 
i-espectcd,  and  inspired  the  most  absolute  trust.  The  cashier  himself, 
who  proved  afterwards  to  be  no  better  than  a  common  thief,  was  a 
frequenter  of  good  society,  with  the  best  connections.  It  is  true  that  he 
was  known  to  be  without  fortune,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  be  living  like  a 
Nabob  ;  also,  that  he  had  been  scandalously  divorced  from  his  wife,  and 
was  a  libertine.  All  this  did  not  lessen  the  social  esteem  iu  which  he 
was  held,  and  he  continued  to  keep  open  house,  inviting  to  his  fine 
dinners  and  parties  the  aristocracy  of  the  capital.  His  extravagant 
expenses,  especially  in  the  matter  of  gipsy  girls,  to  whom  he  made 
princely  gifts,  awoke  in  the  end  the  suspicions  of  some  people,  who 
thought  fit  to  warn  the  directors  of  the  bank  :  but  these  warnings 
passed  unheeded.  The  periodical  inspections  of  the  eoffers  showed  that 
all  was  safe,  and  the  suspicions  to  which  the  life  of  Tuchentzof  gave  rise, 
seemed  to  have  no  facts  to  re!»t  upon. 

However,  last  spring,  renewed  rumours  that  he  was  spending  enormous 
sums,  joined  to  another  report  that  shares  of  the  Company,  which 
were  thought  to  be  iu  reserve,  were  iu  circulation,  led  the  chiefs  to  dismiss 
him.  When  he  had  to  deliver  up  his  trust  to  his  successor  his  dealings 
came  to  light.  More  than  two  millions  of  roubles  were  missing,  and 
Tuchentzof  confessed  to  ha\ang  taken  theui  at  different  periods  durizig 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA.       163 


the  last  four  jc^irs*  On  heariug  this  announcement  people  did  not 
wonder  so  much  at  his  knavery  as  at  the  cose  with  which  the  thefts 
liad  been  committed.  Numbers  of  tales  relating  the  sly  tricks  to  which 
he  had  had  recourse  circulated  at  the  time  through  the  city.  His  trial 
TTM  eagerly  awaited,  as  it  promised  not  only  to  disclose  interesting  facts 
concerning  the  deed  itself,  but  to  lay  bare  the  hidden  springs  of  the  motives 
which  had  prompted  him  to  commit  it.  It  was  reported  that  very  high 
persons  were  mixed  up  in  the  affair  :  that  he  had  shared  his  illicit  gains 
with  them^  so  buying  their  silence. 

The  trials  which  took  place  last  monthj  did  not  realize  these  ex|)ecta- 
tions.  The  whole  affair  turned  out  quite  commonplace ;  its  only 
curious  pai'ticulars  consisting  in  the  carelessness  and  indifference  Mhich 

■  had  been  shown  by  the  guardians  of  the  public  trust,  Tucheutzof 
could  not  even  boast  of  any  extraordinary  cleverness  or  slyne&s :  it  was 
fiuch  an  easy  task  to  cheat  his  chiefs  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  merit 
in  accomplishing  it.  He  had  only  to  stretch  out  his  hand  and  to  take 
all  he  liked.  The  shares  and  other  property  were  placed  in  scaled  covers ; 
and  only  the  parcels  of  which  the  covers  had  been  unsealed  were  examined 
at  the  inspections.  Tlie  seals  aflixed  were  those  of  the  directors  and 
the  auditors ;  the  cashier  had  no  right  to  break  them,  and  therefore 
they  were  supposed  to  be  safe  :  nobody  had  thought  of  examining  them  I 
Tuchcntzof  took  out  what  he  wanted,  sold  or  pawned  the  scrip^  and  had 
only  to  pay  the  interest  regularly,  never  fearing  a  discoverj'.  When  those 
concerned  in  the  administration  were  asked  by  the  Judges  why  they 
did  not  think  of  such  a  possibility,  even  after  they  had  been  warned 
about    the   cashier's    extravagant    life,    one    of   them — an    honourable 

i  Senator — answered  that  he  could  remember  nothing  about  it,  having 
contented  himself  with  signing  his  name  to  the  accounts.  Another 
replied  that  the  coffers  being  kept  in  a  sort  of  cellar,  he  never  went 
down  because  he  suffered  from  a  pain  in  his  leg.  A  thini  had  no  idea 
cjf  the  technical  routine  of  a  bank,  and  did  not  know  in  what  manner 
its  cheques  and  orders  were  written  and  dealt  with.  This  ignorance  and 
neglect  did  not  however  prevent  tliem  all  from  expecting  large  fees 
for  their  supi)osed  duties  and  taking  them  without  a  scruple.  However, 
they  will  be  severely  punished  for  their    nonchatance:  the  meeting  of 

I  the  shareholders  decided  to  sue  them  for  the  missing  sum,  and  they  will 
hardly  be  able  to  pay  these  two  milhons  without  sacrificing  all  they 
possess.  It  will  be  a  bitter  lesson,  but  if  it  makes  people  more  careful 
about  the  public  interest  it  hardly  ought  to  be  regretted. 

Tlie  excuses  the  prisoner  put  forward  were  worse  than  his  fault.  He 
atfirmed  that  his  wife  was  the  real  culprit ;  that  she  had  been  used  to 
luxury,  and  he  felt  obliged  to  procure  a  continuance  of  it  for  her.  He 
entered  into  disgusting  particulars  concerning  his  wedded  life,  forgetting 
that  the  mud  he  threw  upon  his  wife  flew  back  on  himself.  The 
only  effect  of  the  pleading  was  to  lower  his  character  still  further  in  the 
eyes  of  the  jury,  since  everybody  knew  that  he  was  legally  separated 


164 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


from  bis  wife  years  previously  ;  the  robbery  having  been  perpetrated  long 
after  the  divorce.  He  was  found  guilty,  and  was  Bentenced  to  deporta- 
tion to  Siberia.  Only  a  small  part  of  the  stolen  sum  was  recovered^ 
the  rest  having  been  8peut  in  his  orgies. 

BDforclBr  Payineiit    of  Taxes  tij  Tortore. 

Another  curious  case  has  this  week  been  brought  before  the  Court  of 
Riazau.  A  commissary  of  rural  police,  named  Popof,  was  charged  with 
abuse  of  his  power,  and  with  inflicting  torture  on  the  peasants  for 
arrears  in  the  payment  of  taxes.  The  fact  of  either  a  chief  or  an  agent 
of  the  Government  being  brought  to  account  for  his  bchanour  towards 
those  below  him  occurs  so  rarely  in  llussia  that  it  cannot  pass  unnoticed. 
It  marks  an  important  step  in  the  advance  of  justice  and  cinlizatiou 
among  us,  and  is  the  best  guarantee  for  the  futiu'e. 

The  abuse  of  which  Popof  was  found  guilty  is  one  very  common  iu 
our  villages,  though  it  does  not  often  take  the  extreme  character  of 
torture.  When  corporal  punishment  was  abolished  throughout  the 
empire,  being;  it  was  supposed,  erased  from  the  penal  code,  the 
legislators  could  not  persuade  themselves  to  stamp  it  completely  out, 
but  relegated  it  to  a  corner,  where  it  continued  to  exist.  Tliis  corner 
was  furnished  by  the  rural  self-government  conferred  on  the  peasants 
after  their  emancipation.  The  opinion  tliat  ignorant  people  possess  an 
intuitive  knowkdgc  of  justice,  better  than  that  of  the  upper  classes 
who  arc  spoiled  by  civilization,  is  still  prevalent  in  sorae  cii'cles.  The 
liberated  peasants  were  supposed  to  know  best  how  to  distribute  the  land, 
and  apportion  the  taxes,  between  the  nicmbcrs  of  tlieir  community,  and 
also  how  gcuerally  to  do  justice.  They  had  their  special  executive  ad- 
ministratora  and  their  own  courts,  which  were  chosen  by  themselves. 
These  judges  are  not  obliged  to  possess  any  education,  not  even  the 
first  elements  of  spelling,  much  less  acquaintance  with  the  conimou 
law;  their  conscience  and  common-sense  are  their  only  guides.  It 
was  thought  necessary  to  lesxve  to  these  courts  the  privilege  of  cor(>oral 
punishment  as  being  the  penalty  most  familiar  to  the  class,  and  the 
easiest  for  the  officials  to  apply.  True,  the  power  was  not  conferred 
without  sorae  restrictions  being  added.  The  number  of  blows  to  be 
given,  as  well  aa  the  limitations  bearing  on  the  age  and  sex  of  the 
culprits,  were  fixed  by  law  ;  old  men  and  women  not  being  liable  to 
this  punishment.  But  cvorybody  knows  thnt  such  qualifying  provisions 
arc  a  dead  letter,  unless  there  be  some  one  expressly  appointed  to  watch  the 
enforcing  of  them.  The  judges  and  the  ijailitts  went  on  flogging  whoever 
they  liked,  and  giving  as  many  blows  as  they  thought  fit,  without  being 
subjected  to  any  interference  in  the  matter.  Though  this  corporal 
punishment  was  intended  exclusively  for  breaches  of  the  penal  code,  at 
was  soon  applied  in  cases  of  arrears  in  the  payment  of  taxes  and  dues. 
The  village  is  collectively  responsible  for  the  total  of  the  taxes  im- 
posed on  it,  and  the  hailifls  found  that  flogging  wus  the  best  means  for 
collecting  tlic  required  sums. 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND   THOUGHT  AV  RUSSIA.     165 


The  commissaries  of  police  iu  their  turn,  not  having  the  right  of 
inflicting  this  penalty,  referred  cases  to  the  rural  judges,  asking  them 
to  order  it,  and  it  seems  they  hardly  ever  met  with  a  refusal.  Thus,  while 
real  criminals  were  exempted  from  this  most  degrading  punishment,  poor 
peasants  were  subjected  to  it  at  the  arbitrary  will  of  the  police  and  the 
rural  judges,  for  not  having  the  amount  of  ready  money  asked  from  them. 

The  evidence  went  to  show  that  the  accused  Popof,  being  gifted  by 
nature  with  a  peculiar  ferocity,  took  lively  pleasure  in  such  scenes. 
He  passed  the  sentence  on  individuals  who  were  clearly  exempted  by 
law  in  consideration  of  their  age  or  of  iUncss,  and  in  the  carrying  out 
of  the  sentences  he  transformed  the  chastisement  into  a  real  torture. 
Some  of  the  details  were  nearly  incredible.  By  his  orders  the  rods 
were  heated  in  an  oven  to  make  them  more  flexible,  and  were  sprinkled 
with  salt,  or  else  rubbed  with  a  wet  rag  dipped  in  salted  water.  The 
blows,  instead  of  following  quickly  one  after  another,  were  given  with 
long  intervals  between  (for  instance,  it  was  said,  a  quarter  of  an  hour), 
besides  being  inflicted  with  such  violence  that  the  sufferer  often  lost 
his  senses.  During  the  whole  time  of  the  punishment  the  unhappy 
prisoner,  having  on  only  a  shirt,  was  lying  on  the  floor,  in  an  unhealed 
room  with  several  degrees  of  frost  in  the  air,  while  the  commissary  was 
leisurely  walking  to  and  fro  wrapped  in  furs,  and  inhumanly  rejoicing 
at  his  victim's  sufferings.  The  enjoyment  Popof  derived  from  indulging 
in  this  cruelty  was  so  great,  that  he  never  accepted  any  palliations  or 
excuses  on  behalf  of  those  who  were  condemned  to  undergo  the  punish- 
ment. Even  when  the  commune,  pitying  some  old  or  sick  man, 
deposited  for  him  the  sum  he  was  owing,  the  commissary  took  the 
money,  but  declared  that  the  man  would  be  punished  all  the  same  for 
not  having  paid  it  earlier. 

AH  these  allegations  were  proved  by  eye-witnesses.  The  counsel 
for  the  accused  tried  to  make  out  that  all  the  sentences  had  been  pro- 
nounced by  the  rural  judges,  without  any  personal  wish  or  the  use  of  any 
influence  on  the  part  of  the  commissary.  But  the  jury  were  not  to  be 
bamboozled  in  this  way.  The  verdict  was  against  the  accused,  and  he 
was  condemned  to  three  months'  imprisonment  in  a  fortress.  Tliis 
penalty  may  justly  be  considered  very  lenient  for  such  a  crime ;  but  the 
trial  itself  is  a  novelty  and  will  be  a  warning  to  other  functionaries. 
Hitherto  they  have  deemed  themselves  quite  above  the  law,  and  they 
needed  to  be  reminded  of  iheir  error. 

However,  this  is  not  the  only  moral  pointed  by  the  ease.  What  is 
the  real  worth  of  these  rural  courts,  which  are  the  humble  servants  of 
every  commissary  of  police,  and  what  sort  of  justice  may  the  peasants 
expect  from  them  ?  The  law  they  are  called  to  apply  mostly  favours 
the  suitor  who  otters  the  largest  bribes  or  else  is  on  the  side  of  him  who  has 
most  power.  The  weak  and  the  poor  have  in  fact  nothing  to  hope  from 
Uie  tribunals,  and  resistance  on  their  jiart  to  the  arbitrary  proceedings  of 
the  police  is  out  of  the  question.  Is  it  not  high  time  to  reform  or 
abolish  these  institutions? 


166 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


literature. 

For  a  long  time  wc  have  not  adverted  to  our  literary  activity,  though 
this  has  gained  in  interest  since  the  conclusion  of  the  peace.  In 
glancing  at  the  latest  novels  deserving  to  be  noticed,  we  may  name 
three  authors,  little  kuowu  abroad,  but  who  all  possess  real  talent, — 
Avscenko,  Markevitch,  and  Potiekhine.  They  arc  not  beginners  in  the 
art  of  fiction,  having  adopted  it  long  ago,  but  they  each  present  a 
characteristic  feature  which  distinguishes  them  from  most  of  their 
literary  colleagues.  Instead  of  writing  their  best  works  at  first,  and 
afterwards  deceiving  the  hopes  aroused  by  them,  they  have  followed  a 
course  of  gradual  developmcut,  going  on  improving  their  abilities  by 
experieucc.  Tlic  three  novels  isRUcd  last  year  bearing  thcii'  names  are 
decidedly  the  best  they  ever  gave  us,  aud  each  book  constitutes  in  its 
kind  a  iireeioiis  acquisition  for  our  literature. 

Though  the  subjects  clioscn  by  these  writers  differ  widely  iu  many 
respects,  the  works  have  this  one  feature  in  common — that  they  aim  at 
being  pictures  of  real  manners,  not  mere  fictions.  The  work  of 
Markevitch,  "A  Quarter  of  a  Century  Ago,"  portrays  with  much 
vividness  the  customs,  ideas,,  and  fashions  of  life  at  that  epoch. 
The  author,  whose  youth  was  passed  at  that  time,  aud  who  has,  there- 
fore, only  to  recur  to  his  memory  in  order  to  recall  particulars,  fbels 
a  great  predilection  for  that  period,  ^ihe  past  appears  to  him  rose- 
coloured  ;  the  scenery  of  his  talc,  as  well  as  its  chief  heroes,  arc 
poetically  described.  It  may  be  worth  while  to  sketch  the  plan  of 
the  book. 

At  the  opening  of  the  story  we  are  on  a  splendid  estate  near  Moscow, 
belonging  to  the  old  Prince  Larion  Chatounsky,  His  proud,  aristocratic 
spirit  has  not  allowed  him  to  remain  in  the  sci-vicc  of  a  State  that  did 
not  value  his  abilities,  and  he  has  voluntarily  retired  into  a  kind  of 
batjishment.  He  had  nevej  been  married,  but  he  filled  the  office  of 
guardian  to  his  beautiful  niece  Liua,  his  dead  brother's  daughter,  and 
he  loVL'd  his  pupil  ]itTliap3  a  little  to  excess.  His  sister-in-law,  who 
belonged  to  a  family  of  rich  tradesmen,  was  a  vulgar,  silly,  vain 
woraanj  quite  unable  to  guide  the  charming  girl,  and  so  he  had  to 
really  fill  the  plaro  of  both  her  parents.  Among  the  amusements  of 
the  family  the  performing  of  theatrical  plays  occupied  a  foremost  place, 
aud  as  the  Princess  Agla(5  had  sojourned  some  time  iu  England,  she 
tried  to  put  her  house  on  an  English  footing,  and  also  to  educate  her 
daughter  like  an  English  young  lady.  Shakspcarc  was  naturally  their 
favourite  author.  Accordingly,  they  heard  with  pleasure  that  a  young 
neighbour  of  theirs  named  Goudurof,  who  had  just  fiujshcd  his  studies 
at  the  University  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  who  performed  Hamlet  to  per- 
fection, was  coming  to  call  on  them.  A  plan  for  performing  the  tragedy 
was  immediately  devised,  tho  parts  being  distributed  among  the  numerous 
guests  who  were  always  to  be  found  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  the 
Prince  Chalounsky,      Oondurof  had  just  incurred  a  very   bitter   disap- 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA,    167 


poiDtmcnt,  and  wishing  to  make  himself  thoroughly  acquainted  with 
Slavonic  lands,  he  intended  to  travel  in  these  countries.  But  the 
Emperor  ^Nicholas  did  not  approve  of  the  plan^  and  the  permission  for 
going  abroad  was  denied  him.  Feeling  very  unhappy,  he  went  to  the 
Chatounskys,  and  was  glad  there  to  forget  his  grief  in  performing  the 
part  of  Hamlet.  Lina  naturally  played  OpheUa,  and  ere  long  the 
drama  on  the  stage  got  mixed  and  entangled  with  a  real  one  in  actual 
life.  The  young  couple  fell  in  love  one  with  the  other,  but  Lina's 
mother  had  a  much  moro  brilliant  marriage  in  view  for  herj  while  her 
uncle  did  not  want  her  to  marry  at  all.  The  young  girl,  being  too  well- 
principled  to  act  contrary  to  the  wishes  of  her  relatives,  told  Gondu- 
rof  that  she  would  never  marry  him  M'ithout  their  consent.  This 
made  him  still  more  unhappy,  and  also  angry;  and  the  perplexed  course 
of  their  own  love  romance  ran  side  by  side  with  the  rehearsals,  and  with 
the  final  performance  of  the  English  drama.  After  many  events  have 
happened,  the  lovers  end  by  obtaining  the  assistance  of  the  Prince 
Larion ;  but,  notwithstanding  this,  the  story  of  their  love  had  a  tragic 
end.  Lina's  mother,  supported  by  a  powerful  party  of  high  function- 
aries, found  means  to  remove  young  Gondurof.  A  denunciation 
of  his  subversive  political  views  was  sent  to  the  Governor- General  of 
Moscow.  On  this  orders  were  given  to  arrest  him  immediately,  and  to 
despatch  him  to  Moscow  under  guard  of  the  police.  No  time  was  left 
him  to  pay  a  last  visit  to  the  young  girl  to  whom  he  was  engaged^  or  to 
oommunicate  to  her  the  news.  When  he  arrived  at  Moscow  he  learned 
that  he  was  banished  to  Orenburg,  on  the  confines  of  Asia.  Lina, 
learning  too  abruptly  the  sad  news,  had  a  fit  of  aneurism,  and  though  her 
ancle  skilfully  baffled  the  foul  intrigue,  and  had  Gondurof  brought 
back,  Lina  did  not  recover.  She  died  a  saint,  as  she  had  lived,  and  her 
uncle  could  not  survive  her.  He  ended  his  life  by  suicide,  leaving  the 
others  to  arrange  matters  as  they  liked. 

A  sketch  so  brief  as  this  is  cannot  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
merits  of  the  novel.  Its  success  depends  chiefly  on  the  truth  of  the 
characters,  the  vividness  of  local  colouring,  the  liveliness  of  the  main 
action,  and  the  multiplicity  of  interesting  personages  filling  the  stage. 
The  reforms  of  the  present  reign  have  thrown  the  epoch  represented 
much  farther  back  than  twenty-five  years ;  but  the  time  is  painted 
with  great  fidelity,  and  though  the  chief  heroes  of  the  story  arc  idealized, 
the  dark  aides  of  society  arc  sufficiently  brought  into  view. 

It  is  instructive  to  put  in  contrast  with  the  above  work  the  last  novel 
of  Avaeenko,  which  is  entitled  "  The  Infernal  Life."  It  was  published 
at  the  same  time.  While  Markevitch  devotes  his  pen  to  the  past,  which 
he  tries  to  show  at  its  best,  Avseenko  busies  himself  exclusively  with 
the  present.  He  has  no  partiality  for  the  period,  and  mixes  the 
darkest  colours  on  his  pallet.  The  time  we  live  in  appears  to  him  the 
wont  in  all  the  course  of  history,  and  he  thinks  that  the  perverseness 
of  mankind  has  attained  its   highest  pitch   in  our   days.     No   ideal 


168 


THE    COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


figure?  adorn  and  soften  his  sad  tale ;  and  if  Lis  heroes  are  true  to 
nature^  which  is  undeniable,  ihey  do  not  do  any  honour  to  it.  The 
chief  hero  of  this  book  is  a  barrister^  called  Besbednoi^  who  owes  his 
fortune  about  equally  to  bis  ability  and  to  his  slyne^  and  bad  morals. 
He  never  takes  into  consideration  anything  except  his  own  profit  or  his 
pleasure,  and  goes  straight  forward  to  his  object  without  caring  for  any- 
bcjdy  else's  interest.  He  is  as  fluent  and  prepossessing  as  a  fashionable 
barrister  is  expected  to  be  in  fiction,  and  people  are  generally  Tcry  fond 
of  him.  Before  beginning  his  brilliant  career  in  the  capital,  he  dwelt 
for  some  time  in  a  provincial  town,  where  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a 
pretty  and  intelligent  girl,  Olympia  Olchansky.  He  promised  to  marry 
her  as  soon  as  he  had  the  means  to  do  it,  and  she  never  doubted  his 
wortl.  But  being  of  an  impatient  temper,  she  could  not  wait  indefi- 
nitely, and  a  year  after  his  departure  from  the  locality  she  followed  him 
to  St.  Petersburg.  She  had  no  mother,  and  her  old  weak  father  had  no 
power  to  detain  her. 

Her  unexpected  arrival  in  the  capital  both  surprised  and  rejoiced 
Bcsbednoi,  He  really  loved  Olympta  as  much  as  he  was  capable  of 
loving  ;  and  though  no  prospect  offered  of  a  possibility  of  marrying  her, 
his  mind  was  not  disturbed  by  scruples  on  that  score.  His  career,  in 
fact,  was  at  a  stage  where  a  marriage  with  a  penniless  girl  would  be  par- 
ticularly prejudicial  to  him  ;  but  he  thought  that  Olympia  might  be  j)er- 
fcctly  happy  without  the  ceremony,  and  he  directly  began  trying  to  draw 
her  over  to  that  way  of  thinking.  He  assured  herof  his  love  ;  telling  her 
at  the  same  time  that  their  marriage  must  be  postponed  for  an  indefinite 
j)eriod.  As  Olympia  had  a  beautiful  voice,  he  proposed  to  her  that  in  the 
meantime  slic  should  enter  the  Conservatory  of  Music.  She  acted  on  the 
suggestion,  and  allowed  him  to  help  her  to  find  suitable  lodgings,  and  so 
on.  He  introduced  her  to  some  of  his  female  friends,  who  were  free 
from  every  social  prejudice;  and  when  her  little  store  of  money  was  ex- 
hausted, he  made  her  accept  a  loan  from  him.  By  little  and  little  he 
compromised  her  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  and  finally  finished  by  trans- 
forming  her  into  an  obedient  tool.  However,  these  results  were  not  ob- 
tainedwithout  struggles  and  much  resistance  on  her  part.  Olympia  more 
than  once  revolted,  trying  to  escape  from  the  tjraiinical  sway  exercised 
over  her.  She  fled  from  her  lover,  refused  to  see  him,  and  sought  a 
refuge  in  the  arms  of  her  old  father,  who  had  come  from  his  native 
town  to  save  his  lost  lamb.  But  all  was  in  vain  :  every  struggle  ended 
in  the  barrister's  victory.  The  father  went  home  in  despair;  and 
Olympia  consented  to  take  up  her  abode  in  her  lover's  rilla.  llie  end 
of  the  story  may  easily  be  guessed.  After  some  time  Bcsbednoi  met 
a  rich  heiress,  who  was  willing  to  marry  him ;  and  Olympia  became  a 
Sister  of  Charity,  going  to  hospital  duty  at  the  theatre  of  the  war. 

Around  tlicse  chief  persons  the  author  has  grouped  many  others.  The 
rich  clients  of  Bcsbednoi,  who  gain  their  unjust  suits  by  his  eloquence, 
and  whom   he  flatters,  while  in  his  heart  deeply  despising  them ;  the 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA,     16» 


men  of  busiaess,  in  conjunction  with  whom  he  originates  fraudulent 
companies — distributing  the  shares  among  their  dupes,  young  flats  and 
tmobs,  blase  before  they  have  finished  their  education  ;  and  young  worldly- 
minded  girls  hunting  after  husbands.  All  these  types  are  duly  prc- 
oented  in  the  talc ;  and  some  of  them  have  reached  such  a  depth  of 
moral  degradation  that  even  Besbednoi  seems  pale  alongside  their 
blackness.  A  noble  feeling  or  an  elevated  motive  of  action  rarely 
throws  a  gleam  of  light  on  the  dark  picture  ;  and  at  the  close  the 
reader  is  obliged  to  confess  that  a  great  deal  of  talent  has  been  em- 
ployed to  give  him  the  worst  idea  possible  of  the  modern  state  of  civili- 
sation. Nevertheless,  if  the  reader  looks  aside  for  an  instant  from  the 
actors  to  gaze  on  the  conditions  under  which  they  are  shown  as  living, 
he  must  be  aware  of  the  progress  accomplished  during  the  last  quarter 
of  a  century.  Tlie  choice  of  heroco  and  heroines  is  a  matter  of  taste^ 
and  it  is  difficult  to  believe  that,  with  a  little  good-will,  Avsccnko  could 
not  have  found  around  him  more  lovable  types  than  those  he  painted. 
But  facts  like  the  refusal  of  the  passport  for  a  scientific  journey,  and 
the  arbitrary  banishment  of  Gondurof,  cannot  occur  any  more  in  our 
time;  that  is  worth  something.  Dissolute  barristers  and  deluded  girls 
have  existed,  for  a  long  while,  and  are  likely  to  go  on,  for  we  cannot 
expect  virtue  to  be  a  common  gift ;  but  political  institutions  may  be 
improved,  and  their  improvement  must  affect  public  morals  for  the 
better,  despite  the  pessimist  views  of  particidar  writers. 

The  third  of  the  new  novels  we  have  mentioned,  "  The  Young  Sprouts," 
by  Potiekhinc,  runs  its  course  in  quite  another  social  circle,  and  has 
but  little  in  common  with  the  two  preceding  works.  ITie  author  is  an 
observer  of  rural  life,  and  his  tales  always  relate  to  peasants.  There 
was  a  time  (about  the  year  1840)  when  such  sketches  were  apt  to 
assume  an  idyllic  form ;  the  peasant  heroes  were  virtuous  men,  loving 
God  and  honouring  all  superiors,  content  with  their  humble  lot,  and 
endowed  with  a  delicacy  of  feeling  and  a  nobleness  of  speech  quite 
unknown  to  the  upper  classes.  This  period  was  succeeded  in  our 
literature  by  one  of  excessive  realism — that  fashion  lasting  till  now — the 
low  people  being  painted  with  all  their  vices  and  their  coarseness  of 
language  and  manners. 

The  greatest  merit  of  Potiekhinc  is  that  he  docs  not  belong  to  either 
of  these  schools.  Having  thoroughly  studied  the  types  he  reproduced,  he 
neither  idealizes  them  to  the  point  of  making  them  poetically  unreal, 
nor  does  he  present  them  in  all  their  coarseness.  The  change  brought 
about  in  their  life  by  freedom,  and  the  new  institutions  granted  on 
them,  forms  the  subject  of  his  last  work,  and  the  name  of  you)i</ 
Mproui$  is  given  by  him  to  the  present  generation,  born  free.  His  hero 
ifl  ft  young  peasant^  Theodore,  who  has  a  great  talent  for  all  technical 
arts.  He  does  not  want  to  plough  his  field  like  his  ancestors  before 
him^  but  asks  his  father  to  let  him  go  to  work  at  a  neighbouring  manu- 
factory, where  he  may  better  test  his  abilities*     He  lias  before  lived  in 


170 


THE    COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


another  village,  at  the  house  of  bis  marncd  sister,  and  there  he  made 
the  acqaamtancc  of  the  achoolmaster  who  by  his  teaching  opened  new 
horizons  to  the  young  peasant's  mind.  This  schoolmaster  belongs  to  the 
radical  party,  who  believe  it  to  be  their  duty  to  enlighten  the  people 
upon  the  social  injustice  which  is  done  to  them.  He  talks  very  much  in 
that  sense  to  the  young  man,  and  expects  to  find  in  him  an  obedient 
pupil ;  but,  unfortunately,  Theodore  in  the  meantime  meets  a  girl  who 
inspires  him  with  a  violent  love,  and  after  that  happens  he  only 
dreams  of  getting  rich  and  of  marrying  her. 

Having  with  great  diflSculty  obtained  the  permission  of  his  father, 
ho  goes  to  the  chief  manager  of  the  manufactory,  and  asks  him  for 
work.  Here  we  have  put  before  us  two  curious  representatives  of  the 
old  and  the  new  generation  of  tradespeople.  The  director  is  one  of 
the  tyrants  so  well  depicted  by  Ostrovsky.  Proud  of  his  riches,  he 
recognises  no  limits  to  his  power,  and  he  cannot  endure  the  notion  that  a 
workman  may  discuss  the  amount  of  the  wages  he  pleases  to  grant  him. 
He  never  condescends  to  make  any  formal  agreements  with  his  work- 
men, and  they  are  obliged  to  trust  everything  to  his  sense  of  justice,  if 
they  are  to  enter  the  manufactory  at  all.  The  sou,  on  the  contrary, 
is  imbue<l  with  the  modern  socialistic  and  radical  ideas;  he  deplores 
the  inequality  of  fortunes,  sympathises  with  the  victims  of  his  father's 
despotism,  but  himself  enjoys  very  little  liberty,  and  can  do  nothing  to 
help  his  brethren.  His  only  pleasure  consists  in  telling  them  what  he 
thinks  about  the  bad  organization  of  society^  or,  in  other  words,  in 
revolutionary  propagandism  under  his  father^s  roof,  Theodore  is  much 
perplexed  by  these  opposite  views,  and  is  at  a  loss  how  to  behave  in 
such  circumstances.  At  this  point,  the  interesting  tale  abruptly  stops, 
remaining  unfinished  ;  hut  we  hope  that  the  completion  of  it  will  not 
be  long  postponed.  Will  the  hero  get  entangled  in  the  net  of  the 
revolutionary  propaganda,  or  will  his  good  sense  preserve  him  from  it  ? 

In  every  instance,  the  picture  drawn  by  the  author  is  true  to  nature, 
for  the  life  of  the  peasant  is  no  more  free  from  temptations  and 
dangers  than  that  of  the  classes  above  him.  The  rising  generation  in 
the  agricultural  districts  refuse  to  follow  the  steps  of  their  forefathers; 
they  seek  new  paths,  and  begin  to  prefer  the  more  agitated  life  of  towns 
to  the  calm  existence  of  the  country.  The  rural  commune  puts  a  drag 
on  this  movement,  but  it  will  not  be  able  to  stop  the  tendency  for  ever. 


J 


A  Marrlace  a^Kl  a  Bentlk  in  tlio  Imperial  FrnmUy. 

T\\Q  fites  of  the  season  have  been  abruptly  interrupted  by  unexpected 
mourning  in  the  Imperial  Family.  The  young  Grand  Duke  Viatchea- 
law,  the  son  of  the  Archduke  ConstantinCj  and  nephew  of  the  Emperor, 
has,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  been  suddenly  snatched  away  by  braiu 
disease.  Born  in  Ptdand,  in  18G2,  at  the  time  when  his  father  had 
accepted  the  post  of  Viceroy  of  that  country,  and  still  dreamt  of 
reconciling  it   to   Russia,  a  national   name  was  given  to  the  child,   in 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  ASD  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA,     171 

Odrder  to  propitiate  iLe  Poles.  Some  porsous  pretend  that  the  Graud 
Duke  Coustautioc  seriously  ainied  at  becoming  the  Kiug  of  Polaud  ;  and 
though  this  supposition  is  plainly  false,  it  may  be  admitted  that  he  had 
some  other  grandobjects  iu  view,  and  that  he  reallysought  to  further  peace 
betvccn  the  two  hostile  parties.  Such  hoi>cs  Merc  sooa  overthrown  by 
the  events  which  followed;  butj  nevertheless,  his  youngest  son  remained 
his  favourite,  as  he  also  was  that  of  the  Grand  Duchess.  Great  expecta- 
tions were  founded  on  the  score  of  the  boy's  abilities.  At  the  Court  it 
was  known  that  the  youug  Vjatchcf»law  was  endowed  with  an  intelligence 
beyond  hi*?  years,  and  that  it  was  likely  he  would  be  the  glory  of  the 
family.  The  autopsy  made  after  his  death  disclosed  an  organic  defect 
in  his  brain,  which  made  a  longer  life  impossible. 

So  miicd,  however,  is  the  course  of  this  life,  that,  a  month  ago, 
another  family  event  caused  graud  festivities  to  take  place  at  the  Em[)G- 
ror^s  palace.  The  Graud  Duchess  Anastasie,  daughter  of  the  Czar's 
brother  Michael,  married  the  heir  of  the  throne  of  Mecklenburg-Schwcrin. 
The  nuptials  were  most  splendid.  The  double  religious  ceremony  was 
performed  at  two  o'clock  in  the  aAcmoon,  followed  by  a  dinner  for  all 
the  military  and  civil  functiouarics  who  have  the  right  of  being  presented 
at  the  Court,  The  invitations  included  their  wives  and  daughters,  and  the 
banquet  terminated  by  a  kind  of  bail,  where  the  only  dancewas  a  Polonaise. 
As  the  ladies,  on  such  occasions,  wear  the  national  dress,  consisting  of 
a  while  satin  gown  enibnjidcred  with  gold,  a  long  velvet  train,  and  the 
hair  dressed  in  a  way  called  kokoshnek,  the  common  dances  cannot  be 
gone  through,  a  slow  walk,  like  that  of  a  Polonaise,  being  the  only 
|)06sible  thing.  However,  by  way  of  compensation,  the  nuptials  were 
followed  by  balls  daily  for  two  weeks,  and  the  arrival  of  Lent  itself 
would  not  have  wholly  stopped  them,  if  the  death  of  the  young  Grand 
Duke  had  not  thrown  a  black  veil  upon  society. 

More  VeUtlcal  Assaftslnatloiis. 

The  Reds  cannot  be  quiet  for  long;  they  are  again  to  the  fore.  Tlie 
foul  murder  of  Prince  Krapotkin,  tlie  Governor  of  Kharkow,  is  claimed 
to  be  their  deed  ;  for,  as  usual,  they  boast  of  it,  alleging  that  it  is  a 
praiseworthy  act  of  justice.  Last  Sunday  Prince  Krapotkin  was 
driving  home  from  a  ball  in  a  close  carriage,  when  a  shot  was  skilfully 
fired  through  the  window,  grievously  wounding  him.  The  doctor  could 
not  save  him,  and  after  suflcring  for  three  days  he  died  from  his  wound. 
The  clever  murderer,  after  having  fired  his  deadly  shot,  eacaijcd  ;  and  we 
know  by  experience  how  little  ground  there  is  to  hope  for  his  discovery 
iu  the  future. 

This  crime  has  a  connection  with  another  political  affair,  and  may  justly 
be  considered  as  the  consequence  of  it.  An  attempt  to  free  some  political 
prisoners,  who  were  in  custody  at  Kharkow,  occurred  some  days  before; 
and  the  leader  of  the  riot,  Fomiu  by  name,  had  been  arrested  and 
ordered  to  be  brought  before  a  court-martial  for  trial.       This  announce- 


172 


THE  COSTEMPORARY  REVIEll 


mmAt  to  loi  oa  tlie  Saftndf,  uid  on  the  Sondar 
Pkiace  Knpotkia  vaa  kiDcd.  llwagfc  there  could  be  no  real 
doubi  aboai  Uk  eouieeboH  dl  the  tvo  a&irsy  a  report  attri- 
Imtiiig  the  cruae  to  penanal  icifCBge  was  put  into  circulatiou, 
and  Iband  aovie  bdicrcfa;  fani  the  revolutioDary  party  did  not 
chooK  that  thii  iaiftwiun  ahoald  last.  Ther  hastened  to  pablisb 
and  to  ^vead  thriit,h»Mt  Bnssia  a  pfodamation,  stating  that  they 
claiBied  the  deed  as  their  ovb.  It  is  true  that  a  difference  was  made 
between  the  penaltr  inflicted  on  General  Mesentxef  and  that  in  this  new 
case,  but  the  diflacaee  is  so  slight  pactiealljr  that  it  fa&rdly  needs  to 
be  taken  into  acoomit.  It  is  affirmed  that  the  chief  of  the  gendarmes 
was  seatcncsed  to  death  bj  the  rerolatiooanr  Court  of  Justice ;  while  the 
goTO-nor  of  Kharkov  has  &lkii  voder  the  shot  of  a  Toluucary  avenger. 
As  the  latter  belongs  to  the  sane  caasp  as  the  execudoDers  of  the  sentence 
on  the  General^  we  do  not  see  mnch  practical  distinction  between  them. 
We  fancT  that  the  rictims  chosen  br  the  underground  Court  of  Justice 
will  not  much  care  about  the  particulars  of  their  sentence;  and  will  be 
but  imperfectly  comforted  by  learning  that  they  hare  been  wounded,  not 
by  an  official  execuliouer,  but  by  a  roluntair  avenger  of  society's  wrongs. 

Unfortunately  this  sad  event  has  not  stood  alone.  We  learn  to-day 
that  disturbances  hare  occurred  at  Kier.  Blood  has  again  been  shed. 
The  police  were  informed  that  suspicious  persons  were  living  iu  a  certain 
house  of  that  town^  and  resolved  to  make  a  visit  of  search ;  but  as  soon  a& 
the  geudarmes  reached  the  door  and  summoned  the  lodgers  to  let  them 
in,  they  were  met  by  a  shower  of  projectiles.  This  obliged  them, 
in  their  turn,  to  have  recourse  to  arms.  An  officer  waa  killed  ou  the 
spot ;  another  rcceired  a  sercre  contusion ;  and  three  policemen  were 
wounded.  The  fight  did  not  prove  leas  serious  on  the  other  side:  five 
women  and  eleven  men  were  arrested,  of  whom  four  are  reported  to  be 
grievously  wounded.  A  search  of  the  house  resulted  in  the  discovery 
of  all  the  materials  for  a  printing-office  ;  of  false  seals  belonging  to 
difTerent  administrative  departments  ;  false  papers,  revolutionary  pam- 
phlets, and  a  store  of  revolvers  and  daggers. 

These  events,  taking  them  together^  are  not  of  a  tranquillizing  kind; 
and  if  we  add  to  them  the  fact  that  the  underground  press  continues  to 
flouiish,  mocking  all  the  efforts  of  the  Government,  there  is  some 
reason  to  look  with  anxiety  into  the  future.  The  impunity  with  which  the 
murderers  attack  their  victims — escaping  always  from  the  hand  of  justice 
— is  tlic  saddest  side  of  the  recent  events.  In  these  ways  the  Reds  arc 
encouraged  to  persevere  in  their  tactics,  being  made  bolder  every  day. 
The  Government  replies,  it  is  true,  by  punisliiag  severely  the  culprits  it 
seizes ;  and  in  lliia  May  civil  war  becomes  more  and  more  violent. 
What  will  be  the  end  of  it  ?     Nobody  can  yet  tell. 

T.  S. 


COiNTEMPORABY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES. 


I— CHURCH  HISTORY,  &c. 


(JJtider  lite  DircdUm  o/ihe  Rev.  ProfeBsor  Ciiketium.) 

AT  the  hc»d  of  the  worlca  which  come  before  na  at  present  we  must  pUce  Professor 
Max  MUUer'a  "Hibbcrt  heciurea  "  {LfieturcM  on  the  Oripin  ami  Growth  of 
Relij'\on  ff^  {Uu^trah'd  hy  fhc  Religions  of  ImU a.  London:  Longmans;  Williams 
and  Norgate) ;  for  inqairies  int«  the  very  frromiJ  and  root  of  religion  precede  thofi« 
which  relate  to  existing  forms  of  religion.  It  Li  neodloas  to  say  of  anything  which 
bvarv  the  name  of  Max  MiiUer  that  it  is  learned,  tugenioas,  and  intere.-itLag ;  yet 
tiie  pr«ent  work  seema  to  have  aomewhat  less  freshness  than  most  other  prodnctions 
of  tne accompUshod  writer;  it  has  somewhat  the  air  of  having  been  prodnced  rather 
becanae  he  had  to  say  something  than  because  he  had  something  to  say.  The  Hibbert 
Trast,  even  with  ite  much  wider  couditioui^,  will  probably  not  wholly  escape  the  fate 
which  has  too  often  befallen  the  Bampton  and  the  Hulsean. 

That  Mr.  Mai  Muller  in  lecturing  on  religion  should  to  a  certain  extent  repeat 
himBelf  was  almost  inevitable ;  for  ho  had  already  treatci  the  "  Science  of  Religion  " 
at  some  len^^th.  It  is,  we  think»  unfortunate  that  after  admitting  the  difficulty 
— ^aay.  the  unpoesibility — of  dehuiug  mligiou,  ho  still  attempts  something  very 
lite  a  definition :  for  to  speak  of  a  "  mental  faculty '"  wliicn  "  enables  man  to 
apprehend  the  infinite/'  is  to  hring  in  all  the  eudleas  discussion  about  the 
meaning  of  the  word  '*  faculty'," — for  which  Mr.  MUller  proposes  to  sabstituta 
"the  Kot'uet," — abont  the  intinito,  and  abont  man's  apprehension  of  the 
infinite.  No  doubt  the  temptation  was  great  to  reply  to  critics  of  tho  "  Science  of 
Bdigion."  and  the  discussion  itself  is  ingcnions  enough  ;  but  we  really  cannot  feel 
that  it  helps  us  iu  the  consideration  of  historical  religion.  It  is  with  a  sense  of  relief 
that  we  pass  from  this  abstract  contemplation  of  the  "  infinite"  to  the  clearet*  worda 
of  Mr.  Codrington,  who  writes  from  his  own  exi>erience  and  not  from  his  inner  con- 
acktnsiMfis.  "  The  religion  of  the  Melonesians  consists  ....  in  the  peranasion 
that  there  is  a  supernatural  power  abont,  belonging  to  the  region  of  the  nnseen  .... 
There  is  a  belief  in  a  force  altogether  distinct  irom  physical  power,  which  acts  in  all 
kinda  of  ways  for  good  and  evil."  Here  we  seem  to  hare,  in  few  and  simple  worila. 
th^  root-idea  of  natural  religion,  not  only  in  Polyneiia,  but  everywhere.  Mr. 
Miiller's  illustration  of  tlie  unconscious  "  apprehension  of  the  infinite"  from  the  appre- 
hension of  colours  by  savages,  who  have  only  names  perhaps  for  three  or  four,  aoes 
not  swm  altogether  nappy ;  for  the  sensation  of  colour  is  purely  physical ;  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt  that  savages  have  precisely  the  same  colour  •sensations  that  we  have, 
though  they  are  rarely  equal  to  the  abstraction  of  naming  all  colours  as  such,  apart 
Itoui  coloured  objects:*  but  "the  infinite"  is  an  abstract  concept — if  it  be  a 
coocept—and  not  the  object  of  sea.'tation  at  all. 

It  was  of  course  inevitable,  in  speaking  of  Indian  religion,  that  the  theory  of  solar 
myths  should  be  introduced.  "  t'eople  wonder."  says  the  author,  "  why  so  much  of 
Xhv  old  mrtboloffv,  the  daily  talk,  of  the  Aryans,  was  solar:— What  else  could  it 
have  beenr  "     There  is  here  perhaps  an  allusion  to  Mr.  J.  A.  Symonds,  who  {The 


*  5We  Mr.  Grant  Allen's  interesting  work  on  "  Tlie  Colour-Sense;    its  Origin  and  Dere- 
|i»pni»!Ut."     London  :  Triibaer  and  Co. 


174 


THE  COSTEMPORARY  REVfEW. 


OreA  PoeU,  2nd  Ser.,  p.  25)  does  spealc  aocMwHat  irreTercntly  of  those  who  "fancr 
that  the  eaHy  Greeks  talked  with  moat  '  damnable  iteration  '  aboat  the  weather. 
We  i^ree  with  Ur.  SjmondB,  and  think  that  a  plain  uuawer  may  )>c  given  to  thr* 
question,  "  What  eUe  oonld  thef  talk  aboat  P  "  So  far  as  we  know,  they  talki'J 
about  man  and  his  doin^ ;  an<l  when  that  subject  was  exhausted  they  iuiaglneJ 
other  beings  more  or  le«s  like  man,  and  taUced  about  them  and  their  doings.  Not 
that  we  deny  that  many  myths  hare  their  origin  in  meteorological  phenomena  ;  it 
IB  qnite  clear  that  they  hare ;  but  we  think  that  Professor  Max  Miiller's  followers  hare 
gone  atftray  after  Solariism  in  much  the  same  way  that  De  Broe&es  did  al\er  Fetichium. 
We  are  rery  far  from  beUering  that  a  glowing  ball  in  the  sky — and  the  sun 
can  hare  been  no  more  to  primiure  man — appearing  day  afier  day.  can  have  been 
the  perpetnal  object  of  wonder  and  talk  even  to  "  the  awakening  conscioasnesa  of 
mannnd.** 

We  have  not  hesitated  to  ezpreei  our  dissent  from  Professor  Max  MUller  on  one 
or  two  points :  but  apart  from  these  we  hare  nothing  but  praise.  Tlte  accounts  of 
Fetichism — where  it  will  probably  be  new  to  most  readers  to  discover  that  *'  fetish" 
is  no  savage  word,  but  simply  the  name  (fVi/ifo,  an  amulet)  which  the  Portuguese 
sailors  gave  to  the  object  which  they  saw  savnges  venerate;  of  the  relation  of  the 
Yeda  to  the  hifitorr  of  early  religion,  with  the  curious  particulars  about  its  oral 
transmission;  of  Henotheism.  Polytheism,  Monotheism,  and  Atheinm,  as  they 
appear  in  Indian  thought:  of  ancient  philoeophy  and  ])ractical  religion,  perhaps,  motik. 
ot  all, — are  full  of  interest,  and  could,  probaoly,  have  been  given  by  no  other  person'' 
with  the  same  vivacity  and  fulness  of  knowlwlge  that  has  here  been  imparted  to 
them  by  Professor  Max  MUller.  Even  to  students  of  his  other  workd  these  lectures 
will  ^ve  some  fresh  matter  for  thought«while  to  those  to  whom  the  stndj^  of  oomperativc 
religion  is  new  Lbey  cannot  fail  to  be  in  the  highest  degree  interesting  ana  stima- 
lating. 

Here  and  there  we  meet  with  exiiressions  which  strike  us  with  a  little  sarprise. 
For  instance,  Professor  Miiller  speaks  <p.  231)  of  darkncso  and  sin  aa  "ideas  which 
seem  to  us  far  apart."  Surely  to  those  who  are  familiar  with  St.  John's  Ooapel  the 
ideas  of  darkness  and  sin  are  very  near.  And  not  only  so,  but  in  Christian  writiDM 
and  Christian  ritual  evil  is  porpetiially  identi6ed  with  darkness,  and  good  witn 
light;  tbe  place  uf  dawn  wa^  the  site  of  Paradiiie;  the  west,  which  seemed  to 
swallow  np  the  light,  the  abode  of  the  powers  of  evfl.  l"he  turning  to  the  east  in 
worrthip,  which  is  common  in  chnrche.R  evcrrwhere,  is  but  a  recognition  of  the 
uatuml  symbolisiD  of  the  "  Day-spriug."  We  notice  (p.  39)  ^nitir  for  ^tnic^, 
and  irpda-iyrt  for  nfjatriyn. 

Mr.  John  Pryce's  Ancient  Bi^Uh  Church  (London,  Longmans)  is  a  historical 
essay  which  gamed  the  prize  at  the  National  Eisteddfod  of  1876  Nothing  can  be 
imagined  hotter  adaptea  to  correct  the  notion  which  is,  we  think,  generally'  pre- 
valent in  England,  that  the  productions  encouraged  by  tbe  Eisteddfod  are,  us  a 
matter  of  course,  of  a  loobe  and  rhetorical  kind,  ver)'  much  overvaluing  every  scrap 
of  Welsh  literature,  and  paying  little  attention  to  that  of  the  world  in  general.  Far 
from  being  infected  with  Kclticism,  Mr.  Pryce's  essay  is  a  sober  sketch  of  the  early 
history  ot  the  British  Church— bo  far  as  it  can  be  known — founded  on  a  careful 
examination  of  the  best  authorities.  It  seems  a  little  odd  to  describe  Coel,  tho 
supposed  father  of  tbe  Empress  Helena,  as  king  of  Cclchcgter  ;  us  to  the  antheuticity 
of  the  legend,  Mr.  Prjce  la  no  doubt  quite  nght  in  saying  that  **tho  argumeuttf 
against  Helen's  British  origin  seem  conclusive,  *  If  there  is  any  truth  at  all  in  the 
legend  of  St.  Alban,  he  wonld  seem  to  be  rather  a  Roman  than  a  British  saint— 
though  no  doubt  cultivated  Britunsj  did  sometimes  assume  Roman  names.  Bnt  so 
far  as  we  have  obiierved,  Mr.  Pryce's  errora  are  rare  and  his  merits  considerable. 
Probably  the  little  that  can  be  known  about  the  ancient  British  Church  has  never 
before  been  collected  in  so  convenient  a  form. 

Notliing  is  more  remarkable  in  tbe  liti^mry  history  of  the  last  few  yonr«  than  the 
revival  of  intercei  in  the  eighteenth  century.  Since  De  Tocqucville  directed 
attention  to  the  fact,  that  the  ideas  which  burst  into  light  at  tbe  French  Revolution 
were  prepared  and  incubated  in  the  previous  century,  there  has  been  a  continually 
increasing  body  of  literature  devoted  to  it.  It  wan  for  n  time  much  neglected  ;  the 
ecclesiastical  history,  in  particular,  of  the  eighteenth  century  was  for  a  time  almost 
forgotten  ;  the  Georgian  era  was  a  by-word  in  England  for  all  that  wfia  low 
and  unsatisfactory  in  religion,  in  art.  and  in  poetry.  Tbe  learned  and  able  men  of 
the  Oxford  movement  turned  their  thoughts  to  the  Primitive  Church  and  to  the 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY   CHRONICLES. 


176 


grettt  "  AflKlo-CuthoIic"  divines  iu  England,  utterly  ignoring  the  age  of  their  groat- 
^raadfathera.  Thejr  were  concenieU  rather  with  the  nature  of  the  Church  than  with 
the  refutation  of  Deiam  or  the  establiahineDt  of  morality.  Now,  it  haa  dawned  upon 
men  that  history  is  continaous,  and  that  we  cannot  understand  the  nineteenth 
centnry  without  stadving  the  eighteenth.  Moreover,  a  taste  has  I>eoa  dovolopod 
for  the  hiatory  of  "  culture ;"  we  are  no  longer  content  in  civil  history  with  accounts 
of  parliament*  and  treaties,  bftttlea  and  sieges  ;  or  in  eccleaiastical  history  with 
sucocssiona  of  bishops  or  canons  of  councils ;  wo  want  to  know  what  the  people 
were  like  and  what  they  did,  how  they  talked  and  wrote,  painted  and  hiiilt.  Of 
this  "  coltnre-history'*  Mr.  Lecky's  works  are  in  England  the  most  conspicuous 
examples  :  England  in  the  eighteenth  centnry  especially  he  Has  depicted  with  so 
ranch  learning,  skill,  and  grace,  that  every  one  whofollovra  him,  whether  iu  the  way 
of  civil  or  eeclefliastical  history,  must  risk  an  untiavourablc  comparison.  Notwith- 
standing, the  two  principal  Church  histories  on  our  list,  both  devoted  to  the 
eighteenth  century,  nave  merits  which  will  euablethem  to  hold  their  own,  even  iu 
the  wake  of  no  brilliant  a  predecessor  as  Mr.  Lecky. 

Dr.  Stoughton,  a  veteran  in  the  field  of  Eufflish  ecclesiastical  history,  in  hia 
Ittligion  \n  Emjland  under  Qntyen  Anus  and  the  Oeortjes,  1702-1800  (London  : 
Hodder  and  Stonghton),  aims  at  presenting  "  a  general  view  of  national  life  under 
its  religions  aspecta  during  the  last  csntuir ;"  a  "  comprehenaive  view"  of  religion 
in  England,  "including  the  action  of  Govomment,  the  conduct  of  repre- 
sentative men,  and  the  habits  of  society."  'lliis  is  no  doubt  the  ri^ht 
conception  of  history,  especially  in  the  eighteenth  century,  the  interest  of  which 
consists  rather  in  the  changes  which  gradually  stole  over  society  than  in 
any  striking  events.  Dr.  Stonghton  has  carried  out  hia  purpose  worthily, 
Innia  pleasant  pages  we  pass  from  the  days  when  Queen  Anne  touched  suSerers  for 
the  "  King's  Evil"  and  the  restoration  of  the  Stuarts  was  still  probable,  to  the  days 
when  the  Church  Missionary  Society  was  founded  and  Henry  Martyn  went  forth 
to  the  East.  The  very  mention  of  these  events  shows  how  great  was  the  change 
which  had  passed  over  England  in  the  interval.  There  had  been  no  great  convulsion, 
and  yet  the  ohange  which  passed  over  English  life  in  the  eighteenth  century  was 
searoely  less  than  that  iu  the  seventeenth,  although  in  the'  latt^T  both  Cliurch 
and  Crown  were  for  a  time  swept  away.  At  the  bottom  of  it  all  lies  the  philosophy 
of  Locke ;  even  phenomena  which  appear  most  diverse,  such  as  Berkeley  s  writings, 
took  their  rise  iu  the  intellectual  movement  which  Locke  began.  Philosophy,  how- 
ever. Dr.  Stonghtou  deliberately  eschews;  his  objpct  is  to  depict  events  and  not 
cansort,  to  paint  for  us  religions  life,  and  not  the  hidden  springs  of  that  life  of  which 
even  the  actors  in  it  were  for  the  most  part  quite  unconscious.  Hence  the  Deistic 
controversy,  which  more  than  anything  iuQuenced  English  theology  in  the  days 
between  Bentley  and  Palcy,  and  which  had  such  momentous  consequences  when 
tra.u6ferred  to  the  Continent.  a].>pears  butsHglitly  in  his  pagea.  Butler  is  dismissed 
very  briefly,  nor  is  any  adequate  concej)tion  given  of  his  relation  to  the  controversies 
ofhi«  time.  Watprln'nd  is,  we  think,  scarcely  appreciated.  If  Dr.  Stonghton  had 
been  of  a  philosophical  torn  ho  would  have  seen  more  clearly  than  he  appears  to  do 
the  immense  diilerenco  between  Priestley's  Necessarianism  and  (yulviu's  Predestina- 
tion.  But  nothing  is  easier  or  leas  satisfactory  than  to  find  fault  with  a  book  for 
not  being  a  different  book,  and  Dr.  Stonghton  has  done  what  he  has  attempted  so 
well  that  it  is  ungracious  to  quarrel  with  him  because  ha  haa  not  done  more.  If  all 
writers  kept  as  well  within  their  powers  it  would  be  a  considerable  advantage  to 
Uterature.  He  has  introduced  into  the  picture  of  English  life  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury many  traits  which  will  be  new  to  most;  a  harvest  of  the  smaller  facts  which 
give  life  to  history  has  been  gleaned  from  unpublished  manuscripts  and  scarce  tracts, 
a«  well  as  from  a  considerable  oollecb'on  of  local  Koni.*onformtst  historic^  in  the  poa- 
aesaion  of  the  author.  Some  very  interesting  tonches  are  derived  from  the  writer's 
personal  intercourse  with  leading  Nonconformists  of  an  earlier  generation.  The 
■peoaHy  of  the  work  may  be  said  to  be  that,  while  it  does  not  neglect  the  liistory  of 
toe  Church  in  general,  it  bestows  especial  care  on  the  Christian  life  of  the  Noncou- 
formist  bodies,  for  which  the  eighteenth  century  is  the  period  of  an  important  develop- 
znent.  For  the  benefit  of  future  editions  wo  note  a  few  slips  or  misprints  :  — Evelyn's 
SyiKia  tor  8tjlvii  (i.  -40);  Jacobin  for  Jacobito  (i.  85);  "  Bromley  T.  Roffin"(i.  170) 
is  no  doubt  a  blooding  of  the  name  of  the  Bishop  of  Rochester  with  that  of  his  house 
at  Bromley,  and  if  the  Bishop  is  Atterbury  it  should  be  "  F.  Roflfen"  not "  T.  Boffin ;" 
Brant  Broughton  (i.  249)  is  in  Lincolnshire,  not  near  Warwick ;  Priestly  is  given  for 
Priestley  (ii.  41);  Prettyman  for  Pretyman  (ii.  67);  Rodney  for  Bomney  (ii.  89) ;  Goat 
for  Coxe  (iL  85) ;  Stephens  for  Stephen  (ii.  1^3). 


176 


THE  COSTEMPOBARY  REVIEir. 


«rtbodoc 
to 


thstesa  1)«  said  ut, 

M  be  writes 

Cbanfanea 

c^wcL    ^otloBff,  for 

witlit^lMwttc 

tj«tttiMt  oa  IfaD 

<  viueb  oati  be 

alitlle  is  the 

be  and  of  tbe  aeit  wot^ 

J.AUiejr.BAetor 

ai^  Join  H.  Overtoo,  Ticar 

Ocfori  (London  : 

twtber  a  •erioA  of 

be   indaded    in  the  t«rzn 

il  man  tkaa  aa^  one  wonld 

Certaialy  no  ootoplaznt  can  be 


of  LKboane.  T.i»^>J»»fci".    lale 

»>.  IW  wrilen  a*  acA  cbB  it  a  Uafeorf .  ai^  it 

tT«,  bat  it   aafBcs   aH  that  eaa    fatrily 
biatovT    viuin  ite  penm,  aad  a  nvt 

mdg  tfcat  tena  a  i^fw  it—  bac£  C 
iMte  tbat  the  Pciitic  uuataiwusj  iaaot  aacqaatdytrBatod,<wthatChqnrhnien 
do  aot  get  tbor  diaie  c^  the  ^ory  of  wfaUag  &«  IViiti — a  nefutation  which,  from 
whatever  caaae,  was  auwheie  ao  mMftele  as  in  Baglaad.  Morearer,  the  effect  of 
the  pmpagalioo  of  IViiftacal  ufdaioas  «■  &e  Coobacnct,  whea  ther  had  passed  ^m 
^MfceBflr  ^faip  of  CeBw  ud  ToSand  ut»  the  tcmUe  handi  of  Voltaire  and 
liBBatfif.  if  tnaied  at  sosae  leagth.  IVs  p«riiaft«f  the  moric  is  perhaps  soaelhin| 
of  an  emesceifcoe  on  the  histwjp  of  tibe  Ks^liJi  Chnnch,  bat  it  is  so  intereati^  aac 
BO  well  written  that  we  caaaot  wish  it  awaj.  The  wnters  follow  the  eovrse  of 
English  Deism  on  the  Goatroent^  hot  thcr  aav  aotiriag  of  its  eoatiaeatal  eonrce— 
Ba/le^  Dictionary,  the  great  atotehoaae  of  aoeptieal  writers  for  serenl  generations. 
There  are  exoeOeat  cha]rten  on  "  the  Gbncfa  aad  the  JainbitflB.*'  and  on  the  group 
of  good  Chnidunea — aoainriag  and  ooaSonoiag — who  Mastered  roaad  the  excellent 
BoSert  Ndaon,  whose  "^uta  aad  Festtvak'*is  prohahlj  now  no  longer  one  of  the 
oosninoneet  honseh<M  boo^  as  it  was  within  liring  memonr.  In  the  chapter  on 
"  Latitndinarian  Ghnrchmanshus"  it  was,  we  thinks  a  mistake  to  devote  more  than 
serenty  pa^es  to  an  elaborate  examination  of  the  works  of  !mioteon,  who 
bdongs  whblljr  to  the  preTioos  centory.  He  ia  no  doubt  a  highly  conrenicnt 
person  to  treat  as  s  representatiTe,  but  the  traits  of  Latitudinarianism  in  the 
eighteenth  oentory  might  snrelj  hare  been  adequately  given  without  presenting- 
us  with  so  much  of  Tillotson  s  indiridnality.  The  copter  itself,  however,  is 
excellent,  fihowingthe  woiking  of  the  spirit  of  compromise  and  comprehension' 
from  the  days  of  ^Ilotson  to  those  of  the  "  Feathers*  Tavern"  ^•etitionor?  of  1772. 
A  short  and  pleasant  chapter  h»  devoted  to  the  "  EMayiste" — Steele,  Addison,  and" 
their  fellow^ — and  their  influence  on  the  national  r^igion.  The  accoiint  of  tbo 
Trinitarian  controversy  takes  us  back  to  the  days  when  WaterJand  contended 
against  Samnel  Clarke  b  Arianiem,  and  again  to  the  time  when  Horslev  delivered  ' 
his  vigornas  strokes  against  Priestley's  Unitarianisra.  Under  "  EnthuauLam."  that 
bugbear  of  the  eighteenth  century,  are  included  such  phenomroa  as  Shakerism ;  tho 
French  "propheU"  who  had  arisen  under  the  savant*  persecution  in  the  Cevennet*, 
and  about  whom  there  arose  a  "mighty  noise'*  in  England,  in  1706;  Behmen  and 
hie  EEigliKh  followers,  eepecially  his  incomparable  evpoeitor,  William  Law ;  Mom- 
Tianism;  Methodism  conBidered  on  its  mystic  side;  Biidhop  Berkeley,  WilHazn 
Blake,  and  .S.  T.  CoU'ridge.  "  Church  abuses"  unfortunutuly  supply  nbundant 
matter  for  an  iiitereating  chapter  of  lirty-Bix  pages,  llieevilbof  pluralities^  and  non- 
residence  ;  the  abject  poverty  of  some,  by  the  side  of  the  inordinate  wealth  of  others, 
of  the  clergy  ;  the  shamelesa    canvassing  for  the  higher  preferments   constantly- 

Sractised  even  by  men  of  ^od  repute ;  tho  general  apathy  nnd  carelesancBs  in  the 
isohargo  of  narochiiil  duties ;  the  dull  and  perfunctory  preaching — theftc  things, 
form,  it  must  \m  confoKtted,  a  very  unattractive  picture.  And  yet  the  germs  of  good 
were  present  oven  in  the  worst  tmicsof  the  Church  ;  out  of  this  decaying  mass  came 
forth  the  "  ICvangclical  Revival,*'  of  which  3ir.  Overton  gives  us  so  ailmirable  an 
ncconnt.  The  ski'trhei  of  Wenley  nnd  Whitfield,  their  inBoencc  and  their  adhercnte.^ 
and  n^ain  nf  the  lat^T  ra^^of  Kvnngelicaln  within  the  (Church,  when  Methodism  had' 
left  il,  arc  nxlreinely  good.  Tho  uamcs  uf  Horvoy  of  the  *'  Meditations,"  of  Romaine 
iind  Uonrv  Venn,  of  John  Nowtoii  and  Williani  Cowpor,  of  Scott  and  Cecil,  of 
Joif'ph  Milner  nnd  his  i^rothor  Isaac,  of  the  Thorntons,  Wilberforce,  and  Hannah 
More,  and  of  uthors  whuso  influence  is  sketched  in  this  chapter,  were  still  household 
•woriU  in  Kvnn^olical  circles  when  the  middle-aged  men  of  the  present  day  were  boys. 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES. 


177 


The  chapter  on  "Sacred  Poetry"  is  in  onr  judgment  mncli  loo  long;  a  very  sufficient 
coDccptJOD  of  the  sacred  poetry  of  the  eighteenth  century  might  have  been  given  in 
&  third  of  the  space.  That  on  "  Church  Cries'*  to  a  certain  extent  supplies 
the  want  of  one  on  the  relation  or  Church  and  State,  which  might  perhaps  hare 
been  looked  for.  It  must  be  confessed  that  some  of  the  cnes  which  excited 
the  strongest  passions  when  they  were  fresh  and  new,  seem  a  little  ridiculous  when 
tliey  are  contemplated  in  cold  blood.  In  the  essay  on  "  Church  Fabrics  and  Church 
Service*"  we  have  probably  the  most  complete  account  to  be  louiul  anywhere  of  the 
whitewashed  churches,  the  pews  and  gallene.^.  the  services  and  cnstomn.  tlie  music  and 
Tectaentaa  which  were  common  a  hundred  years  ago.  In  reference  to  tbe  latter,  it  is 
stnuge  to  see  that  after  all  the  suits  relating  to  the  matter,  Mr.  Abbey  is  not 
quite  clear  about  tbe  provisions  of  the  rubrics  and  canons.  On  p.  467  he 
Mcms  to  suppose  that  the  use  of  the  cope  depends  upon  the  "  Ornaments  rubric  ;" 
wbercar  in  fact  its  use  is  prescribed  in  cathedral  and  collegiate  churches  by  the 
same  Injunctions  and  Caoons  which  make  tbe  surplice  and  huod  the  ordinary  vest- 
ments of  the  clergy  in  their  ministrations.  It  is  tne  use  oF  chasuble  and  dalmatic 
which  dci>eudi»  upon  the  "  Ornaments  rubric."  The  most  considerable  omissiou  ia 
the  work  before  us  is  that  of  missionary  work  ;  and  yet  surely  the  progress  of  the 
Church  in  America  and  India  belong  to  the  luatory  of  the  Church  of  England.  A 
more  systematic  account  of  theological  literature  and  learning  is  also  to  be  desired. 
If  space  had  bt^'cn  gained  for  these  by  tbe  omission  of  a  considerablo  portion  of  the 
essays  on  Tillotson  and  on  Sacred  Poetry,  the  book  would,  we  think,  have  gained 
in  value.  We  have  noted  one  or  two  slight  errors.  Pfa»*'  (i.  248)  should 
be  Pt'affi  "erfiW  by  ITioluck "  (i.  2oI)  should  be  *' <juoied  by  Tholuck,'* 
who  is  again  quoted  by  Lechler,  j^.  4.51,  from  which  latter  place  Mr.  Overton 
no  doubt  took  the  passage  in  question.  Hale«  (i.  274)  should  bo  Hale,  though  the 
iiiune  ia  often  written  Halos  by  contemporary  writers.  Jablot/ski  (i.  373,  &c.)  should 
be  Jablonski.  Ke^pjml  (ii.  8)  should  be  Kefctel'  Grin^'y  Gibbons  (ii.  416)  should  be 
Orinling  Gibbons.  Stanlev  (ii.  4o2)  should  be  Stukcley.  Mr.  Overton  is^  we  think, 
nmtaken  in  supposing  (ii.  19)  that  parsons  confined  in  the  Fleet  prison  had  any 
"privilege"  in  respect  of  marriages  ;  as  the  marriage  law  stood  before  1753,  a 
clergvman  who  performed  an  irregular  marriage  was  liable  only  to  ecclesiastical 
penalties,  and  the  Fleet  always  contained  a  supply  of  men  who  hud  neither  benefice 
nor  character  to  lose,  and  were  coni^equently  iudifTerent  to  such  penalties.  A 
marriage  by  a  resnlarly  ordained  priest  was  then  equally  valiiJ,  wherever  and  when- 
ever it  wae  performed.  The  "  State  Trials'*  of  this  i)cnod  contain  some  good 
illxutrations  of  the  working  of  the  old  marriage  law,  as  well  as  of  other  social 
matters.  Keith  no  doubt  t>erformed  many  marriages,  but  not  in  the  Fleet;  his 
chapel  was  in  Cnrzon  Street,  nearly  opposite  the  present  Curzou  Street  Chapel.  Mr. 
Ahiey  notes  (ii.  420)  that  in  1746  the  chapel  of  'Prinity  College,  Cambridge,  "  after 
Saturday  evening  prayers  was  the  scene  of  the  public  Latin  decluniatiuns  ;"  to  the 
best  of  our  belief,  the  declamations  are  delivered  there  under  similar  circumstances 
atill.  These  are  small  matters,  such  as  no  one  can  hope  to  escape  entirely  in  an 
extensive  work ;  and  it  must  be  said  for  Messrs.  Abbey  and  Overton  that  no  other 
period  of  the  history  of  our  Church  has  been  so  well  and  so  fully  illustrated  as  the 
eighteenth  century  is  in  their  book.  They  have  rendered  a  great  service  to  students 
by  making  acceanible  to  all  that  knowledge  ot"  tbe  eighteenth  century  without  which 
any  adequate  understanding  of  the  nineteenth  ia  impossible. 

The  Brst  volume  of  Dr.  Stevens'a  Wffonj  o/ 3fc^^^<2i«m,  published  at  the  Wesleyan 
Conference  Office,  was  noticed  in  tbeao  pagee  in  October.  The  two  volnmes  which 
complete  the  work  carry  on  the  narrative,  the  first  to  the  death  of  Wesley  in  1791 ; 
the  second  to  the  centenary  jubilee  of  Methodism  in  1839,  The  earlier,  Dr.  Stevens 
regards  as  "tbe  forming  ^>criod"  of  Methodism,  in  which  it  begina,  spreads,  and  U 
organised;  the  second,  it«  "twisting  period,"  the  period  of  internal  and  external 
controvcrnes,  issuing  in  settled  polity,  in  augmented  vigour  at  home,  and  in  mis- 
Bionary  seal  abroad.  Whenever  an  anecdote  or  an  incident  could  servo  the  writer's 
purpofee,  he  has  preferred  it,  he  says,  to  "general  remarks."  The  work  deserves 
bign  praise  for  impartiality,  for  research,  and  for  interest ;  but  the  principle  of  com- 
positum  avowed  in  the  preface  results  in  a  general  patcbiness  and  want  of  cohesion, 
and  the  very  conscientiousncsa  with  which  it  is  attempted  to  notice  every  possible 
detail  of  •biography,  robs  the  whole  of  perspective  and  unity.  If  it  may  be  said 
that  a  i^at  historv,  in  breadth  of  view  and  singleness  of  end,  should  resemble  a 
ffreat  picture.  Dr.  Stevens'  book,  among  histories,  is  what  Cruikshank's  big  **  Con* 
demnation  of  Drink"  is  among  paintings, — a  balky  collection  of  little  ones. 
VOL.  xixr,  N 


178 


THE   COXTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


A  fre«h  and  abiding  interest  will  always  live  about  a  man  of  whom  Mr.  Lockj 
judccs  it  ^  DO  rxa|i;g«ration*'  to  Bay  that  "  he  has  had  a  wider  conetnictire  inflaenoo 
ID  the  sphere  of  ptBctical  religion  than  any  other  man  who  haa  appeared  since  the 
aixteentn  ccntnrr;"  and  Dr.  Stevens'  will  lie  found  a  most  readable  compendium  of 
information  concerning  both  his  work  and  his  life,  Mr.  Locky  detects  in  John 
Wesley  something  like  the  veui  of  insani^  which  ran  through  Muhammed,  Loyola* 
and  U«K/rffe  Fox;  but  his  madness  was  like  everything  else  about  him,  very 
methodical,  and  lua  common-sense  and  quiet  humour  are  as  conspicuous  as  his 
enthusiasm.  His  famous  Minute  of  Conference  in  1 770,  on'^the  Arminian  controversy, 
indicated  that  he  looked  with  contempt  on  the  reHncments  which  hare  made  sectj*. 
"  What  have  we  been  disputing  about  for  these  thirty  years?  I  am  afraid  about 
ioordg"     "Con  you  apUt  this  hair? — I  doubt  I  cannot." 

And  the  veied  question  of  the  inconsistency  of  hia  almost  death-bed  declaration, 
"  I  live  and  die  a  member  of  the  Church  of  England,"  with  his  plainly  proved  con- 
ferring of  episcopal  as  well  as  presbyterial  rank,  may  perhaps  best  be  Bcttlod  by 
numbering  him  among  those  who  would  not  re^rd  any  particular  doctrine  on 
ApoetoUou  sacoession  and  the  order  of  the  minib-try  as  of  primary  and  paramount 
importance.  He  exhibits  just  that  sense  of  humour  which  may  be  desiderated  evoa 
in  such  a  magnificent  character  as  that  of  F.  W.  Robertson. 

The  aptness  of  Wesley's  replies  sometimes  look  the  form  of  severe  repartee,  but 
only  whexi  it  was  deserved.  "  Sir,"  said  a  blustering  low-lived  man,  who  attempt^ 
to  push  againat  him  and  throw  him  down :  "  Sir,  I  never  make  room  for  a  fool." 
"  I  always  do."  replied  Weslay,  stepping  calmly  aside  and  passing  on. 

Whatever  opinions  may  be  held  concerning  the  remarkable  character  who  is  tho 
real  hero  of  Dr.  Stevens*  story,  there  is  ample  proof  of  his  foresight  and  genius  for 
organization  in  the  development  of  the  society  or  societies  which  bear  his  name. 
Wesley  died  at  the  head  of  o50  preachers,  with  l40,(yH)  "  members."  The  centenary 
celebration  of  1830.  with  which  the  present  volumes  close,  saw  these  numbeni 
increased  nearly  tenfold.  Not  the  least  astonishing  or  interesting  part  of  the  narra- 
tive of  this  growth  is  the  portion  which  chronicles,  very  fairly,  and  without  tho 
sentimental  exaggeration  too  often  defacing  similar  records,  the  successes  of 
Methodism  in  its  foreign  missions.  Dr.  Stevens'  work  seems  to  be  accepted  by  hia 
brother  MLthodisla  as  a  history  satisfactory  to  theraaelves,  and  it  may  be  recom- 
mended OS  a  useful  book  for  reference,  as  well  us  reading,  to  any  one  wishing  for 
iaformation  conceminf^  the  rise  and  process  of  that  remarkable  revival  of  Anglo- 
Saxou  subjective  religion  which  has  falsified  Luther's  prediction  of  tiie  probable 
dyin^  down  of  such  movements  within  a  period  of  thirty  3*ear8,  and  justifies  by  it« 
vitality  the  soberer  boasting  of  its  adherents. 

The  work  is  illustrated  by  some  good  steel  plates  of  the  great  champions  of  the 
cause. 


Under  the  title  of  The  ChurchnwHshiu  of  John  Weeleu*  and  ihc  It*'hiiionf  of 
Weglcijau  Methodutui  to  the  Chiirfh  of  Sngland^  by  J.  H.  Rigg,  D.D.  (London; 
Wesleyan  Conference  OflSce),  Dr.  Rigg  endeavours  to  prove,  not  to  Wesleyan.s.  who, 
ho  thinks,  need  no  such  proof,  but  to  non-Wosloyan  students  of  ecclesiastical 
history,  that  uU  efforts  on  the  part  of  well-meaning  Anglicans  to  undo  the  gigantic 
blunder,  by  which  Wesleyan  Methodism  was  forced  into  nostility  to  the  Kstabliahed 
Church,  are  vain.  It  is  idle  to  imagine,  he  contends,  that  "the  Methodism  of 
England  would  bo  content,  for  the  sake  of  union  with  the  ancient  and  Kstabliflhed 
Church  of  this  realm,  to  tear  itself  from  uuion  and  communion  ^vith  the  Methodism 
of  all  countries  Ijosides,  and  thus  to  mar  the  integrity  of  the  greatest  sisterhood  of 
Evangelical  Churches  which  the  world  ha^  known."  Dr.  Rigg  writes  warmly,  bat 
with  tomper,  and  not  without  humour.  He  likens  some  Churchmen  to  a  fashionable 
gentleman  who  might  ORftin  and  again  seek  the  hand  of  a  lady  of  middle  rank  antl 
country  breeding,  but  of  good  looks  and  property,  and  notwithstanding  repeated  and 
decisive  refusals,  iwraint  in  his  overtures  with  bland  asi^umption,  continuing  to 
write  letters  as  to  the  time  and  place  of  the  marriage,  as  though  rejection  were  a 
thing  inconceivable. 

If  Metliodist  statistics  arc  to  be  relied  on,  the  world  contains  some  eleven  millions 
of  Methodists,  ns  against  some  ten  millions  of  Anglicans.  But  even  if  this  )^e  so, 
among  these  eleven  millions  are  probably  many  forms  of  faith  and  prautico 
that  would  be  as  alien  from  the  *'  Churehiuanship  c*f  John  Wesley"  oa  any  of  tho 
pliasea  of  ttomauiam  and  Rationaliem  which  Dr.  Rigg  deplores  in  the  Church  of 
England. 

TJus  Etijlinh  Uvjormaita^ ;  Ko\o  it  Oanvo  About  and  Why  wo  bTmhU  Uphold  i7,  by 
Cunniugham  Gcikie,  D.D.,  author  of  "The  Life  and  Words  of  Christ"  (London  : 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES,  179 

Strahan  &  Co.)»  which  haa  now  reached  a  second  edition,  is  the  work  of  an  earnest 
m&n  who  is  favoarahlo  to  the  Reformation.  No  attempt  is  mode  to  gloss  over  the 
bmtality  and  violence  of  Henry  VIII.,  or  to  represent  the  Reformers  as  men  of 
extraordinary  wisdom  and  goodness ;  but  tho  writer  believes — not  without  reason — 
that  wiUi  all  its  shortcomings  the  Reforming  movement  of  the  sixteenth  century  waa 
one  for  which  every  Crghshmen  has  reason  to  be  thankful.  Tho  story  is  told  in  a 
TigOTons  and  lively  way  and  from  good  authorities.  We  ma^  say,  indeed,  thai — 
onleaa  it  be  in  the  admirable  sketch  of  the  late  Professor  J.  J.  Blunt — the  story  of 
the  Beformation  has  never  been  better  told  in  so  moderate  a  compass. 

Dr.  Fleming,  in  his  Early  ChrUtUin  Wiincsecff  or  TettimonUg  of  the  Flrei  C«n(ufi^ 
to  the  Truth  of  Christianiiy  ihondon :  0.  Kegan  Paul  &  Co.)*  designs  to  "give  tho 
reader  some  idea  of  men  who  are  frequently  referred  to  by  writers  and  speakers  on 
the  chums  of  Christianitv."  Those  who  r^d  treatises  on  early  Christianity  have, 
he  thinks,  frequently  no  Knowledge  of  the  authors  whom  they  find  so  abundantly 
qnoted.  The  aim  of  this  volume  ia  to  supply  this  knowledge  in  ench  a  form  as  to  be 
aoonttablo  to  ordinary  readers.  He  has,  wo  thiok,  very  fairly  succeeded,  and  his 
won  will  be  useful  to  those  who  do  not  possciis,  or  are  not  disposed  to  conenlt,  the 
larger  Church  histories,  and  yet  wish  to  know  what  manner  or  men  were  Ignatius 
ana  Polycarp,  Clement  and  Tertullian,  Ambrose  and  Anguntine.  and  many  others 
their  fellows. 

Subterranean  Rome  appears  to  have  a  never-dying  interest;  wc  can  never  hear 
too  much  of  the  labyrinth  beneath  the  earth  which  served  some  generations  of 
Christiana  for  ploceH  of  burial  and  of  worship.  We  gladly,  therefore,  welcome  tho 
first  part  of  a  new  edition  of  Dr.  Northcote  and  Mr.  BrownJow's  lioma  Sottii'auea 
(LoQuon  :  Longmans),  an  edition  so  enlarged  as  to  be  almost  a  new  work.    Tho 

Sart  before  as  contoms  the  general  history  of  the  Catacombs ;  the  second  will  be 
eroted  to  early  Christian  art,  and  the  third  to  the  inscriptions  of  the  Catacombs. 
The  work  is  avowedly  on  exposition  for  English  readers  of  the  results  of  the  invcs- 
tagatiooB— now  extending  over  many  years — of  Commcndatore  dc  Rossi,  which  have 
beeo  published  by  himself  in  his  '*  Roma  Sotterauea,**  uud  in  his  periodical,  the 
"  Bulletin  di  Archeologia  Cristiana."  Amain  reason  for  the  publication  of  the  new 
English  edition  is  that  the  substance  of  Do  Rossi's  third  volume,  published  as  lately 
as  1677,  might  be  incorporated.  The  part  befort^  us  contains  not  only  the  history 
of  the  Catooomhn  them^elvesi,  and  of  tho  researches  in  them  in  modem  times,  but 
also  a  curious  chapter  of  ecclesiastical  history  in  the  investigation  of  the  nature  of 
the  "burial-clubs,  under  the  guise  of  which  Christians  legalized  their  moetinga. 
Those  meetings  were  assimilated  to  those  of  the  pagan  clubs  at  the  graves  of  their 
members.  As  it  is  impossible  within  our  limits  to  give  an  idea  of  the  subjects 
treated  in  the  work  heiorc  us,  we  content  ourselves  with  one  or  two  criticisms  on 

Eoints  of  detail.  As  to  the  derivation  of  the  word  "  catacomb,"  Canon  Venables 
olds  (Diet.  Chr,  Antiq.  i-  29o}  that  "  Catacumbie"  was  simply  the  name  of  a 
certain  ^strict  near  Rome,  and  came  to  be  appUcd  to  the  subterranean  burial-places 
from  the  fact  that  the  one  cemetery  which  remained  accessible  when  the  others  were 
forgotten  was  that  "ad  Cataciirobas."  Onr  authors  think  that  he  has  been  led  to 
this  "by  the  erroneous  8npi>oeiUon  that  tho  earliest  use  of  tho  words  is  by  a  writer 
of  the  seventh  century."  It  seems  tons,  on  the  contrary,  that  his  theory  requires 
an  early  application  of  the  word  to  the  district ;  to  be  complete,  it  requires  proof 
that  "  Catacumba?  *'  was  in  use  before  the  cemeteries  were  formed  ;  biit,  at  any  rate, 
the  earlier  it  can  V>e  shown  to  have  existed,  the  less  i«  the  probability  that  it  ia  a 
barbarous  compound  of  Greek  and  Latin.  It  ia  a  little  amusing  to  see  (p.  357)  the 
confidence  with  which  the  authors  bring  forward  Do  Rossi's  conjectural  restoration 
of  an  inscription  in  which  only  the  beginnings  of  the  lines — in  no  instance  more 
than,  three  words — remain.  It  is,  no  doubt,  an  ingenious  cento  of  Damotine 
pliraseologT,  but  probably  a  skilful  artist  in  such  matters  mtf^ht  construct  a  score 
as  good.  How  "cnm  suis"  (p.  214)  could  be  translated '* with  his  own  money" 
weao  not  understand,  nor  how  "  roquirere "  could  mean  "to  see  the  deed  of  pur- 
chase." The  inscription  in  question  seems  to  have  been  simply  a  direction  where  to 
find  the  plot  itself.  On  p.  208  "obtained  to  defend"  is  an  awkward  rendering  of 
"  meruit  aefendre,"  and  the  insertion  of  the  words  "  the  saints  themselves  "  is  utterly 
nnaothr/rized ;  what  the  inscription  says  is,  in  brief,  that  thongh  SS.  Peter  and 
Paul  were  eastern,  Rome  is  more  worthy  to  retain  tho  relics  of  her  ^reat  citizens.  It 
i;!  noteworthy  that  St.  Peter  as  well  as  St.  Paul  is  claimed  0.1  "  civis,"  in  accordance 
probably  with  the  belief  of  Damasus*stime.    The  reference  here  to  the  quaint  story 

N    2 


180 


THE  COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


toU  IB  Utcr  Amj%  hj  Ciegoij  tbe  Gieat,  \am  i^  npnaeoSaSmm  of  East  and  West 
fov^hi  fiir  the  retict  </  tb  asiaU,  is  VBrdr  frntlwr  ofascore.  Of  misprmta  we  note 
ChamnOoii  (p.  51)  for  Chaaipdte :  aad  P«lu»  (p.  471)  for  Pelasiain. 


In  UemoriaU  oftU  8mo^  tkt  PaUee,  ike  Botfilal,  Ote  Chapel,  W  the  Ber.  W.  J. 
Loftie.  B  JL,  F.S^  (London :  MaauQan  k  Co~J.  wt  luTe  an  admirable  arooant  of  one 
of  the  moet  interestii^  ^>^  ^  TrfiidnM  It  «■•  oa  Febmaiy  12th«  1246,  that 
Henrj  UL  granted  «  eettain  pieee  of  had  *  oofaide  Um  walk  of  oar  city  of  London, 
ia  the  street  called  the  StiaaaL"  to  his  '^twloted  aacleu**  Peter  of  Savoj — who  was  in 
&ct  ancle  of  bis  wi£»,  Kbunr  of  Pmroioe ;  aad  from  that  day  to  thia,  that  piece  of 
land  between  the  Thawf  ant  the  Stxand  has  bone  the  name  of  "the  tiaroj/* 
The  connection  of  the  Saroy  with  the  Dnchj  of  Lancaffter  dates  from  1361.  It 
WAS  prohahl J  in  the  garden  of  the  Savor  that  the  Prorenoe  foae— the  red  rose  of 
Tancaetcr — waa  first  planted:  in  the  Savoj  p*hoe  the  nofortnnatc  King  John  of 
Frmnoe  died ;  Heniy  \1L  tamed  the  the  pauoe  into  a  hospital ;  in  the  earlj  Stewart 
days  the  Masters  of  the  hospital,  being  practically  disendowed,  tanied  an  honest 
penny  by  letting  chamben ;  worthy  Thomas  FoUer  preached  in  the  chapel ;  the 
SaToy  Con^ence  was  held  ia  the  lodgings  of  Sheldon,  bishop  of  London,  who  was 
then  Master  of  the  Savoy;  Hemy  Eilli^rew  enjoyed  a  jovial  mastenhip  there  in 
the  day?  of  Cfaarlea  II.,  and  ncuiy  mined  the  foundation ;  Thomas  Wilson,  the 
famoos  Bitjhop  of  Sodor  and  M^n.  wa<  consecrated  in  the  chapel  in  1698 :  at 
length,  in  170J,  the  hospital  was  dissolved  hv  the  energetic  Lord  Keeper  Wrijtfht. 
The  chapel  continued  to  be  uaed.  and  wa^  ma^e  notorions  in  the  middle  of  the  last 
century  DT  the  resolute  attempt  of  the  miniBter  to  continac  to  perform  marriages  in 
defiance  of  the  Karriage  Act.  In  1773  Gcoive  IIL  issued  a  patent  constituting  the 
Savoy  church  a  Chapel  BoyaL  a  status  which  it  has  ever  since  maintained.  It  will 
be  seen  from  this  sktftch  that  the  place  has  a  history,  and  a  history  of  thia  kind  has 
rarely  been  better  written  than  that  of  the  Savoy  by  Mr.  Loftie. 

If  ever  there  was  a  man  who  might  be  called  a  typical  John  Bull,  that  man  is 
certainly  Archdeacon  Dcuison,  whose  Koit*  of  my  Life  (Oxford  and  London: 
Parker  Si,  Co.)  now  tie  before  us  in  a  third  edition.  He  has  all  the  vigour,  honesty, 
pugnacity,  and  jrcniality,  joined  to  a  certain  prejudice  and  obstinacy,  which  we  are 
fond  of  attributing  to  ourselves  as  a  nation.  And  it  is  to  these  qualities  that  he 
owes  the  popularity  which  he  undoobtedly  enjoys,  both  with  those  who  praise  and 
those  who  blame  him.  Englishmen  like  a  man  who  "  fights  fair,"  and  Archdeacon 
Deniflon  is  eminently  a  fair  fighter,  who  bears  no  malice  when  the  battle  ia  over.  It 
is  pleasant  to  know  of  his  friendly  intercourse  with  his  old  opponent  Mr. 
Ditcher  in  his  latter  days  \  in  fact,  he  never  appears  to  have  any  persona]  dislike 
for  his  numerous  opponents,  unless  it  is  for  those  whom  he  r^ards — rightly  or 
wrongly — as  diahoncHt.  He  report*  his  brother's  saying,  that  he  waa  "  St.  Geoige 
without  the  dra^n;"  this  ia  currently  re])orted  as  "  without  the  drag  on,"  and  from 
its  close  connection  in  the  archdeacon's  pages  with  "  upsetting  the  coach,"  we  cannot 
help  thinking  that  this  is  the  authentic  version.  Tne  archdeacon  is  an  excellent 
illustration  of  the  difference  between  an  able  man  and  a  thoughtful  man;  of  his 
ability  there  can  be  no  doubt,  but  he  is  quite  incapable  of  letting  his  mind  "  play 
freely"  about  any  subject  whatever ;  he  seems  always  to  have  had  decided  and 
unchangiiif^  opinions  on  ever^  subject  that  was  in  his  judgment  worth  thinking 
al)oat  at  all ;  his  life  is  the  vigorous  carrying  out  of  his  opinions  with  the  most 
complete  disregard  for  those  of  others.  He  finds  it  impossible  to  understaud  how 
anyone  can  differ  from  him,  but  the  views  of  those  who  do  nnfortunut*;ly  differ  he 
looks  upon  simply  with  good-natured  contempt;  he  doea  not  dislike  them;  he  is 
sorry  for  them.  It  is  evident  that  the  whole  bent  of  his  mind  is  unscientific  ;  wo 
can  quite  believe  his  amusing  &tory  of  his  scicntitic  performance  iu  the  examination 
for  an  Oriel  Fellowship,  in  which  ne  was  successful  notwithstanding ;  but  an  Oxford 
first-class -man  and  ex-follow  of  Oriel  ought  certainly  to  know  that  ypucrir  does  not 
mean  "  science"  (p.  312).  Wo  have  an  odd  specimen  of  the  "twist"  of  his  mind  in 
what  he  says  of  tlie  education  question  (p.  13).  "  Tliere  have  been  in  tlie  last  2000 
yours  three  principal  instances  of  the  formal  repmliation  by  the  Civil  Power  of  the 
iVust,  and  of  the  Uommission  of  the  Church  in  the  matter  of  education/'  These 
lire— not  a  little  to  onr  surprise — in  the  Jewiali  Church,  the  case  of  Antiochus 
Kpiphancs;  in  the  Christian  Church,  thG  cases  of  Julian  the  Apostate,  and  of  "  the 
Inipwrial  Ooveriimont  of  England  in  Church  and  State,  a.d.  1840 — 1870." 
'I'ho  latter  heinous  offence  consisted  la  the  introduction  of  a  "Conscience 
vvlause/* — ».(?,,    permitting     the    childreo,  in    sohooU     partly    supported    by   a 


% 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES.  181 

Ternmcut    grant,  to   abaeat   thomsclvcs   from   the   directly    religious   ttiacliini^. 

hethcr  the  archdeaoon  would  have  preferred  to  have  purely  secular  schools  in  every 
.paruh,  which  would  be  the  natural  alternative,  does  not  appear.  Now,  what  Juliau 
oii  was  simply  thi^ :  he  urged  that  it  was  iutulerable  for  Christian  men  to  earn  money 
by  teaching  from  the  works  of  pagans,  all  of  whom  acknowledged  a  religion  which 
Cbrutiaus  denounced,  while  many  of  them  even  claimed  the  iuspiration  of  heathen 
deities,  lie  laid  no  restraint  upon  Chrii^tian  teaching,  but  he  would  not  havo 
Clmiitian  teachers  in  Slat©  schools,  unless  they  agreed  not  to  denounce  pagan  myth- 
ology. The  parallel  case  would  be,  if  a  .Christian  Government  were  to  order  that  no 
unbeliever  should  expound  in  schools  either  the  Scripture:,  t»r  works  which  assume  the 
truth  of  the  Christian  revelation — a  provision  to  which  the  archdeacon  would  probably 
not  object.  The  passage  which  he  quotes  from  the  tirst  book  of  Maccabees,  describing 
the  Jews'  adoption  of  (^entile  customs  even  iu  Jerusalem,  has  no  conceivable  bearing 
on  the  subject.  It  is  odd  that  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  the  state  of  the  schools  in 
France  at  the  end  of  the  last  century,  or  in  North  Germany  at  the  present  day,  might 
be  regarded  as  a  good  deal  more  subverHive  of  the  (jospel  than  the  recognition  of  the 
lights  of  eouscienoe  in  English  schools  where  Christianity  is  taught.  He  is,  as  might 
be  expected,  a  keen  advocate  for  the  teaching  of  Latin  and  Greek  iu  schoolti,  about 
which  be  has  some  sensible  hints  to  give ;  and  does  not  seem  to  remember  that  the 
lodCH  of  the  first  French  Revolution  were  ardeat  classicists. 

In  the  }fe/noruiIs  from  Joum<il«  and  Leiters  f%f  Samuel  Clarke  (London  :  Mac- 
miUan  &  Co.)  we  have  a  Tery  interesting  record  of  a  man  who,  in  his  life,  did  much 
good  work  and  exercised  a  very  beneficial  iuHuence.  Born  of  a  respectable  Quaker 
fainUy  he  became  a  London  bookseller  and  publisher,  but  was  driven  by  the  strong 
bias  of  his  mind  for  theological  studies  to  betake  himself  to  Oxford  and  enter 
the  ministry  of  the  Chnwh  of  Kngland.  It  is  to  him  that  the  letters  are  said  to 
have  been  addressed  by  Mr.  iCaurico,  which  ultimately  formed  the  treatise  on  the 
•'  Kingdom  of  Christ,"  though  wo  do  not  soe  this  alluded  to  ia  the  "Memorials.** 
The  prinoipai  scene  of  bis  labours  was  the  Training  College  at  Battorsea,  where  he  had 
made  himself  loved  and  resi>ected  by  his  pupils  in  no  common  degree.  The  portions 
of  letters  and  journals  which  his  widow  has  selected  for  publication  with  admirablo 
discretion  show  a  mind  activOi  earnest,  cultivated,  und  bent  upon  higher  hings. 

The  IngoUinhij  Ltiitet'g  (London :  Cassell,  Petter  &  Galpin)  are  a  collection  of 
.  letters  written  during  the  last  twenty  year?,  principally  in  answer  to  various 
utterances  of  the  bishops,  by  the  Kev.  James  HUdyard,  rector  of  Ingoldsby,  on  the 
ffubjuct  of  Liturgical  Revision.  This  ho  advocates  on  two  grounds,  that  the  services 
require  shortening,  and  that  the  Prayer-book  as  it  stands  is  too  favourable  to 
Bomish  doctrine.  The  second  is  too  large  a  subject  to  enter  on  here  ;  as  to  the  tirst. 
we  must  say  frankl}'  that  the  accumulation  of  Offices  which  until  lately  formed  the 
almost  invariable  "  Morning  Service  "  ia  not  the  best  imaginable  to  promote  the 
devotion  of  a  village,  or  perhaps  of  anVt  congregation.  Now.  however,  that  there 
exists  practically  the  liberty  of  ubiug  the  Communion  Service,  the  Morning  Prayer, 
&&d  the  Litany  at  separate  times,  of  adopting  the  shortened  form  except  for  the 
two  legal  services  on  Sunday  and  on  a  few  special  occasions,  we  do  not  thiidw 
that  there  is  much  occasion  for  complaint.  Mr.  Hildyard,  however,  does  not  think  so, 
and  eontinucs  his  invtnitive  against  long  services  even  since  the  passing  of  the  Act 
of  Uniformity  Amendment  Act.  He  is  a  distinguished  (.Cambridge  scholar,  and  his 
IHters  everywhere  show  traces  of  the  kind  of  culture  which  is  more  rare  in  these 
da^tt  than  it  formerly  was  bv  their  wealth  of  classical  quotation  and  allusion. 
It  IS  impossible  not  to  admire  the  unfailing  vivacity  with  which  he  maiutiiins  acoutro- 
rerwy  which  has  occupied  him  from  the  vigour  of  middle  age  to  the  time  of  grey  hairs. 


I L— GEOGRAPHY,  GEOLOGY,  kc. 

(Ffkfcr  the  Direcihn  o/Frofeasor  T.  G.  Bonnet,  F.R.S.) 

ENG  LISH  students  of  geology  have  long  felt  the  want  of  a  text-book  of  lithology. 
The  ordinary  manuals  of  geology,  as  a  rule,  treat  this  branch  of  the  subject 
sujjerficially,   and  not  seldom  imslca^l  the  student  by  actual  inaccuracies.     It 
becomes  erideut  to  him  before  long  tliat  his  teacher  is  uttering  an  uncertain  sound. 


182 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


and  in  most  cases  be  at  last  abandons  the  task  in  deapair,  and  contents  lumself^  wlien 
liM  Dim  tarn  comes,  with  imparting  to  others  ideas  as  hazy  as  he  rooeived.  Thna 
in  lithol<^,  or  the  study  of  rooks,  Knglish  stndenta  are  generally  distanced  by  their 
oontinent&J  rivais.and  the  rising  generation  has  had  to  Xotik.  for  help  chicdy  to  Germany. 
Thia  reproach  has  been  remov^  by  Mr.  Rutiey  ( Tke  Sttidy  o/Uoekt :  An  ElexMntary 
Texi'hook  of  Petrology  ^hy  Fnkuk  Kutley.F.G.b.  London:  Longmans,  1879),whoha< 
smoothed  the  entrance  into  this  di&colt  but  faisdnating  branch  of  geology,  by 
plaouff  a  osefnl  elementary  text-l*ook  in  the  hands  of  the  student.  Ait«r  two 
short  chapters  on  methods  of  research  and  the  origin  of  rocks,  he  passes  on  to  treat 
of  the  principal  stmctnr&s  developed  in  rock  massep,  of  the  effect  of  these  on  the 
scenery,  and  on  the  causes  to  which  they  are  due.  A  brief  notice  of  some  physical 
topics  comes  next,  and  this  is  followed  by  some  asefnl  practical  hint£  upon  the  method 
QlcoUectiDg. apparatus,  &c., especially  as  regards  microscopic  examiuati:)u.  On  this 
topic  the  o^oary  t«xt-books  of  geology  «re  almost  silent,  and  ercn  the  eo  called  new 
edition  of  Cotta  on  the  Study  of  Bocks  (noticed  in  the  January  No.  of  this  Retiew, 
p.  412)  gires  no  information  of  any  ralne.  We  6nd  next  a  carE^Fol  description  of  the 
principal  rock*forming  mineraU,  and  finally  some  chapters  describing  and  classifying 
the  chief  Tarieties  of  rocks,  both  ^neons  and  sedimentary.  The  literature  of  the 
subiect  has  evidently  been  Tery  c&refolly  studied  by  the  author,  who  has  oonsolted 
the  best  authorities,  to  whom,  especially  Prt>feS8or  Boambiucli,  he  frecjuently  refers  the 
student  for  further  information.  Very  fair  woodcotaof  aome  of  the  more  characteristic 
mineral  and  rock  structures  are  given,  as  well  aa  some  useful  tabular  groupings, 
showing  the  relations  ono  to  another  of  the  igneous  rodcs. 

Here  indeed  we  could  have  wished  that  the  author  had  not  introduced  metamorphic 
rocks  inta  the  table  occupied  by  granite  as  a  centre,  and  had  not  brought  so 
prominently  before  the  student  the  asserted  transitioos  from  granite  to  gneissic 
rock.  In  the  ]>resent  state  of  the  oontroTersy,  and  in  the  un^atisfactorj  state  of 
the  eridence  in  £srour  of  the  asserted  passa^  of  granite  into  gneiss,  it  is  better, 
we  think,  to  teach  the  stodoit  that  granite  luia  tlM  aune  claims  to  be  considered  an 
iffneous  rock  aadiorite.  Botbthe  one  and  the  other  mtay  repnse&t  the  extreme  stag^ 
cu  metamorphoofl  of  aedimentaTy  n>ck,  but  this  Temaiaa  to  be  prorod.  We  are  well 
aware  that  pasngea  of  granite  into  gneiss  are  asserted,  as  passages  between  other 
igneous  and  sedimentary  rocks ;  but  we  renture  to  assert  that  no  case  of  this  has  yet 
been  established  on  satisfactory  eridence,  while  many  that  have  been  instance  d  have 
broken  down  on  examination.  To  bring  therefore  this  idea  of  **  metamofphoeis  **  too 
prominently  befcov  the  mind  of  the  young  student  is  to  give  him  a  bad  start,  and 
to  eneoora^e  him  to  be  carelefs  when  he  should  be  most  carvful.  The  fdaites,  too» 
are  lalher  miperfectly  treated.  We  think  also  that  the  author  would  hare  done  well 
to  giTe  rather  more  promiuence  to  the  olirlne  rocks  by  separating  them  from  the 
other  felsparlees  rocks,  and  indicating  mors  clearly  tlie  rocks  which  are  in  a  com- 
paratirely  unchanged  condition,  and  tbose  which  hare  been  greatly  altered. 

Notwithstanding  these  points  (whioh  ar^-^  to  a  mat  extent  matters  of  opinion)  we 
hare  no  hesitation  in  heartily  recommending  Mr.  Bntleys  book  to  all  who  arc 
struggling  with  the  difficulties  of  Utfaologr,  and  eoimmtnhitiiy  Bn^Ksh  tftudcnts  on 
havug  at  last  obtained  a  good  text-book  m  the  sahjen,wiiiieninthsir  mother  tongne* 


Our  next  book  (J?fna  :  A  BitiM  rfiX^  MommUUm  amdpf  ii$  Mrupiumt,hjG.T. 
Bodwell.  London:  C  K.  Paul  &  Co^  1878),  as  stated  in  the  pn&ee^  is  an  enlarge- 
ment of  an  article  on  Etna  contributed  to  the  "  Kncydopodia  Bntaaniea."  It  is  a  care- 
ful compilation  of  the  history  of  this  subject,  but,  it  may  be  in  consequence  of  ita 
ongin,  IS  less  attraottTe  in  s^le  than  the  weD-known  wort  oa  YesuTius,  by  the  late 
Profassor  Fhittqps.  For  tlua,  kowefcr,  the  mosataia  itsdf  may  be  paitly  to  blame., 
for  then  is  no  episode  in  its  historr  so  foil  of  Taried  iutenst  as  the  de^mction  of 
Poi^Mii  and  the  other horrois  whidi  marked  the  erupiioB  of  Yesmiua  id  kj>.  79. 

The  author  oommenees  with  a  brief  sketch  of  the  hiatoiy  of  Stna  from  the  first 
mention  of  it  by  Pindar,  more  than  twenty-three  oentoriesfluioe.  to  the  aonogr^Eiho 
which  hare  appeared  duringthe  last  few  yean.  To  this  socoeeda  a  Aslch  of  €bm^ 
principal  physical  features  of  the  mountain,  its  wide  field  of  riew — probably  nearly 
40,000  square  miles — its  numerous  minor  coaes,  its  canns,  and  the  varioas  regiMU ' 
or  xoncs  mto  which  iU  surisoe  is  divided.  Vtue  author  here  calls  attentaoa  to  the 
fact  that  more  than  SOOjOOO  persons  lire  on  the  slopea  of  Staa.  TUs  is  the  nMire 
remarkable  seeing  that  only  s  few  iasigni&aUBt  TiBages  are  wrthin  a  dirtaace  of  9^ 
mites  from  the  cone.  Kot withstanding  this  large  oeatnd  uninhabited  ratoe  tho 
of  the  mountnin  is  nearly  double  that  of  BedlbvliUn^  thowh  tSe  an 


area  IS 


COXTEMPOHAHY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES. 


183 


I 


p 


only  grater  by  18  miles.  An  ascent  of  the  moantain  is  thea  described,  almo»t 
too  brietlj  ;  then  there  is  a  brief  sketch  of  the  towns  situate  on  the  plains  of  Etua, 
of  the  recorded  ernptions*  and  of  the  geolojjy  and  mineralogy  of  the  moantain. 
The  Isat 'subject  is  enriched  by  a  note  from  Mr.  P.  Ratley  on  the  microscopic  stmc- 
iare  of  the  lavas  of  Etna,  which  appear  to  be  felspar  basalts,  containing  oUviue»  and 
geoetmlly  of  a  rather  uniform  composition.  This  is  a  judicious  addition,  for  tlie  last 
chapter  strikes  as  as  the  least  satisfactory  in  the  book  ;  sundry  indications  suggest- 
ing that  the  author  is  not  quite  so  familiar  with  geolo<^y  as  ht*  is  with  other  branches 
of  phrsical  science.  For  example,  we  find  it  rather  dimcuU  to  attach  a  meaning  to 
the  phrase  "a  crater  composed  of  a  prehistoric  grey  labrodorito  and  a  doleritic 
lava  '  (p.  Ill),  and  are  disposed  to  dcinar  to  the  propriety  of  calling  labradorite  a 
lime  felspar,  seeing  that  anorthiio  had  a  better  claim  to  the  name.  We  are  also 
much  surprised  to  see  mentioned,  apparently  with  some  degree  of  favour,  the 
"  elevation  "  crater  theory  of  E.  de  Jioaumont,  which  we  had  thought  had  never 
i-ecovered  the  coup  de  ffrdc^  dealt  to  it  by  Lyell,  and  had  for  some  time  ceased  to 
hav«  more  than  a  liistorio  importance. 

These  little  btemishes  excepted,  the  book  api)ear8  to  be  a  very  usefal  one,  and  we 
trust  that  when  it  reaches  a  second  edition,  the  author  will  not  only  remove  them, 
hut  also  enlarge  the  account  of  his  own  observations  of  the  mountain,  and  incorporate 
vome  additional  interesting  facts  given  in  the  well-known  works  of  Lyell  or  Keclus, 
which  we  miss  in  his  volume. 

A  ^onogra^hy  ofth<;  Siluruin  FoBsils  of  ilie  Guvan  District  in  Ayrshire,  by  Prof. 
H.  Alleyoe  J^TiohoIson  and  E.  Ethoridge.  jun..  F.G.S.  Fasciculus  I.  W.  Blackwood 
and  Sods,  1378. — In  this  volume  we  have  a  verr  valuable  contribution  to  the 
palaeontology  of  the  Silurian  i-ocks  of  iScotlaud.  The  vicinity  of  Girvan,  Ayrshire, 
Las  long  b^n  known  as  one  of  the  more  proliHc  localities   for   fossils  in  a  country 

generally  poor  in  organic  remains ;  and  the  authors,  aided  by  a  share  of  the 
overnmeut  grant  dispensetl  bv  the  Royal  Society,  and  by  the  liberalitv  of  Mr.  and 
Itlrs.  B.  Gray,  have  carefully  described  in  this  fasciculus  the  rliizopoua,  octinozoa, 
and  trilobita  which  have  been  discovered  near  Girvan.  The  first  contain  some  very 
intvreiiting  forms,  among  which  we  find  the  genus  eai'cammina,  a  living  arenaceous 
foraminifer  of  great  antiquity,  but  not  previously  known  to  occur  in  rocks  earlier 
than  the  Carboniferous  period.  A  problematical  fossil  named  Girvanella  is 
also  described,  consisting  of  very  minute  wavy  tubes.  Girvanella  is  supposed  to  bo 
rhizopod,  and  to  preserve  some  resemblance  of  a  species  of  Bhizammina  outaiued  by 
the  Ckalicnger  expedition.  The  corals  arc  in  many  respects  remarkable.  The 
Craighead  Umestone  (a  bed  probably  mther  low  in  the  Lower  bilurian  series)  contains 
twelve  species.  Of  the  seven  commoner  forms,  only  one  is  known  to  occur  elsewhere 
in  Britam.  One  new  8i>ecies  from  another  deposit,  named  by  the  author  Caslostylia 
Lindatromi,  is  of  special  interest,  and  is  the  first-known  iostance  of  the  discovery  of 
an  ancient  type  or  perforata!  corals  outside  Sweden.  A  considerable  number  of 
trilobites  are  well  and  carefully  described.  The  beds  above  named  are  the  oldest 
which  are  fossiliferous,  but  another  deposit  probably  does  not  greatly  differ  in  age. 
Another  is  thought  to  be  of  Upper  Llandovery,  and  a  fourth  and  fitlh  arc  certainly 
Upper  Silurian. 

The  work  is  excellently  printed,  and  illustrated  by  nine  plates.  We  heartily  wish 
it  sncoesB,  and  tmst  that  the  authors  may  be  encouraged  to  continae  their  labours 
among  tfaiia  interesting  group  of  rocks. 

Coal :  lit  History  and  Usvs,  by  Professors  Green,  Miall,  Thorpe.  RUcker,  and 
Marshall.  Edited  by  Professor  Thorpe.  London :  Macmillan  &  Co.,  1878. — The 
explanation  of  the  very  composite  authorship  of  this  volume  is  that  the  chapters  of 
this  book  were  delivered  by  the  above  professors  of  the  Yorkshire  College  of  Science 
as  a  aeries  of  lectures  in  connection  with  tho  Gilchrist  Trust.  It  was  thought  that 
tlio  edncational  valne  of  the  lectures  would  be  increased  by  the  selection  of  a  common 
subject,  and  coal  was  a  very  obvious  one  to  be  chosen  by  the  scientific  men  in  the 
north  of  England.  We  have  thus  the  history  of  coal  relat<Kl  in  a  form  at  once 
attractive  and  scientific.  Professor  Green  describes  the  geolo^  of  coal— it*  place  in 
the  series  of  the  stratified  rocks,  the  theories  of  its  formation,  and  the  physical 
^eoffraphy  of  the  surrounding  districts  at  the  time  when  the  coal  plants  fiourished 
in  tte  marshes.  Professor  Miall  gives  an  admirable  sketch  of  the  tlora  and  of  the 
fauna  of  the  Carboniferous  epoch.  The  editor  discusses  the  chemistry  of  coal ;  and 
Professor  Rucker  considers  coal  as  a  source  of  warmth  and  power;  "while  tho 
important  "  coal  question" — how  long  will  our  supply  last,  and  "  what  then  ?"  is  tho 


181 


THE  COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


sabjeet  of  a  thoot^htfiil  esny  b^  Professor  Marahall.  The  result  has  been  tbat  a 
qiuuitity  of  very  interesting  and  ralnable  material  has  been  brought  together,  and  a 
haady-Drx>k  compiled  on  the  eabjeci.  which  is  popularlj  and  pleasantlj  written,  yet 
nevertht^Wss  «tnotlT  scicntitic  in  it»  mode  of  treatmenL  Original  matter  is  of  course 
not  to  be  expected;  but  we  find  here,  within  the  oompa^  p^^J  ^^  means  a  large 
Tolnme.  a  qnantaty  of  most  nsefnl  and  interesting  information,  which  had  prrriomi^ 
been  scattered  tnrongb  many  si^ecial  treatises  and  orif^nal  memoirs.  The  booK 
appears  to  fill  a  gap,  and  in  oar  scientific  literature  will  b«  found  of  much  Talue  to 
more  than  one  claas  of  the  community. 

The  Oeolooy  ofOie  jV.  W.  part  of  Essex  and  fJte  N.E.  pari  of  BerU,  wUh  parf»  of 
CamhridQi'shire  and  Suffolk ;  Memoirs  of  the  Greological  Surrey.  Longmans  Si  Co. — 
This  is  one  of  the  shorter  memoirs  explanatory  of  the  rarioua  sheets  of  the  g(N>1ogioal 
survey  map,  that  illnstrated  by  the  present  book  bein^  No.  17  of  the  one-inch  sc-aie. 
The  district  is  one  the  geology  of  wuich  is  not  particularly  interesting,  though  it 
offers  a  good  many  difficulties  to  the  surveyors,  and  no  doubt  has  caused  them  an 
amount  of  tronble  quite  disproportionate  to  the  apparent  results.  These  are  clearly 
set  forth  in  this  volume,  which,  after  a  brief  sketch  of  the  Cretaceous  beds,  found 
in  the  district,  describes  with  more  detail  the  Kocene  Tertiarics,  a  small  area  of  Red 
Crag,  and  the  Ghicial  and  Post-glacial  de|>o&its.  It  also  contains  uotes  of  many  pit 
sections,  which  ore  of  especiiU  value,  because  these  are  so  liable  to  be  obliterated 
in  the  process  ot  time. 

In  connection  with  the  above  we  may  call  attention  to  an  interesting  essay  on 
The  Post- To-tiary  Deposits  of  Co  nthritf/ft'shire,  byA.  J.  Jukes-Browne  ^Doighton  A 
Co.),  This  little  volume  is  the  essay  which  obtained  the  Sedgwick  Geological  Prise  for 
1876.  The  author  gives  a  carefal  and  lucid  description  of  these  complicated  dopoaits 
in  the  neighbourhowl  of  Cambridge,  and  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  the  valley  of 
the  Cam  and  the  hollow  of  the  north  fnns  are  pre-glacial.  while  that  of  the  south  fens, 
between  Kly,  Newmarket,  and  Cambridge,  is  poi^t-glactal,  and  that  the  valleys 
radiating  from  the  chalk  escarpment  took  ihcir  rise  in  early  post-glacial  times,  when 
the  drainage  system  differed  much  from  the  present 

The  firstpart  of  Volume  XXXV.  of  tho  Qttarti:rhj  Jovntfil  uf  Ow  Geolo- 
gical Society  has  appeared  since  our  last  series  of  notices,  aud  ooutoins 
several  papers  of  exceptioual  interest.  Among  these  is  one  by  Dr.  Dawsou 
on  the  structure  of  that  puicrJing  palieozoic  fossil,  SiTonuiit*pi*ro,  which  ho 
regards  as  a  rhi/.opo(],  like  Kor.oun;  ami  another  on  the  mineralization  of 
certain  paloxizoic  fossils  with  seriK-utinc  and  other  hydrous  silicates,  which  has  an 
obvious  bearing  on  the  controversy  concerning  the  above  organism.  The  author  de- 
scribes fosdils  of  the  Lower  Silurian  age  which  are  iiitiltrated  with  certain  serpentinous 
minerals,  and  notices  some  forms  iimtative  of  Eozoon.  The  evidence,  on  the  whole, 
tends  to  confirm  the  idea  that  Kozbon  is  a  true  organism.  Consiileniblo  additions 
are  mode  to  the  coral  fauna  of  the  Upper  Groenaaud  from  tho  well-known  reef  at 
Haldou,  by  Professor  Duncan  ;  and  the  relations  of  some  dwarf  mesozoic  crocodiles 
with  their  associate  mammals  are  di.scussed  by  Professor  Owen,  who  ]>oiut6  out  that 
tho  former  were  suitably  formed  for  the  capture  of  the  latter.  Dr.  SheibuerdoHcribes 
the  rare  rock  Kojaite  fruiu  the  south  of  Portugal,  which  consists  of  orthooloae  felspar, 
eheolite,  and  hornblende,  with  biotite,  noKcan,  and  swlalitp.  The  Mica-traps  of  the 
North-west  WistriLtsi  f  Kn^land  and  the  Huronian  clay  Hlutosalso  receive  notice ;  and 
there  isahighly  oharacteristicpapcr.by  Mr.J.F.Campbtll,on  Glacial  periods, in  which 
he  oomes  to  the  following  couclu^jiu-u :  "  My  opinion  is  that  the  pre^eut  is  at  least  as 
cold  as  any  period  of  which  there  is  any  geological  record,  aud  tliat  it  has  endured 
ever  since  any  part  of  the  earth's  surface  was  nigh  enough  and  cold  enough  to  be  a 
condenser  of  snow.  I  hold  that  the  record  of  sedimentary  geology  is  continuous^ 
and  does  not  record  periods  of  great  cold." 


III.— MODERN  HISTORY. 

{VndAr  tJie  Direction  of  Professor   S.   R.   Gardinku.) 

MB.  Justin  M'Carthy'a  Uistnry  of  our  Oicn  rini<'?(Chattoand  Wiudus),  of  which 
the  lirst  inatalnient,  reaching  to  the  close  of  the  Crimean  War,  is  now  in  our 
hands,  undoubtedly  deserves  the  success  which  it  has  achieved.     The  subject 
ia  undeniably  attractive,  and  Mr.  McCarthy  has  made  it  still  more  attractive  by  his 


^ 


» 


V  CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES.  185 

{■■gtlio'l  of  dealing  witli  it.  Uo  is  poasesHed  of  a  remarkable  power  of  sketching  out  a 
HBltical  (tituatioii,  picking  out  tbe  inipurtant  and  telling  jiomts,  undthrowiu^  oror 
everything  which  in  any  way  marn  the  unity  of  thn  picture,— a  power  which  ib  the 
more  striking,  as  he  haa  no  tnru  for  whiit  is  usuaJly  termed  granliic  writing.  Battle- 
|iicces  arc  not  to  hi«  taste,  and  while  he  hastend  over  the  tight  on  the  Alma  ub  au 
"  heroic  scramble,"  ho  actually  compreesea  into  four  or  five  Uncs  that  atoru  standing 
at  bay  ou  the  Sutlej,  which  seat  a  thrill  of  anriety  through  every  English  house- 
bold.  It  is  in  such  chapters  as  those  on  Lord  Durham's  mission  to  Canada,  or 
Sir  Robert  Peel's  dealing  with  Free  Trade  in  com,  that  Mr.  M'Carthy  is  seen 
at  his  besU 

Yet,  in  spite  of  all  that  is  good  in  the  book,  or  rather,  perhaps,  because  of  what 
u  good  in  it.  the  impression  left  on  a  thoughtful  reader  is  disappointing.  It  is  iu  uo 
proper  sense  a  history.  It  is  composed  of  a  series  of  sketches,  hanging  together 
so  loosely  that  the  author  has  forgotten  to  tell  us  anything  of  Sir  Bobert  Peel's  great 
free-trade  budgets,  no  unimportant  product  of  that  statciiman's  intellect^  and  argues 
aliont  his  convcraion  to  free  trade  as  if  the  abolition  of  the  corn-duties  was  everything 
with  which  he  had  been  concerned  in  the  matter.  Such  a  slip  as  this,  however, 
might  be  pofscd  over— like  that  other  curious  mistake  when  Mr.  M'Carthy  t«Us  us 
that  in  the  coustitution  set  up  in  France  by  Louis  Napoleon  there  were  "  two  political 
chambers  elected  by  universal  suffrage," — if  he  knew  how  to  direct  our  attention  to 
those  corrents  of  tliought  which  it  is  the  business  of  historians  to  trace  out,  and 
which  form  the  true  unity  of  history.  There,  however,  he  is  entirely  at  fault. 
Take,  for  instance,  his  deprecatory  account  of  Charles  Kingsley — 

**  Homui  capacity  is  limited.  It  is  not  ^^veu  to  mortal  to  he  a  great  preacher,  a  great 
plu]osu\>ber,  »  great  scholnr,  a  gre&t  ifoet,  a  great  bistonAD,  a  great  novelist,  and  au  indefa- 
tigable ooontry  panon.  Charles  Kingsley  never  seems  to  bave  made  up  his  mind  for 
which  of  these caUinga  to  go  in  ospecialfy,  and  being,  with  all  his  versatihty,  not  at  all  many- 
sided,  bat  strictly  one-sided  And  at  most  ono-id^id,  the  restdt  was,  that  while  touching 
sncceaq  at  many  points  he  absolutely  masttired  it  nt  nonv,  since  his  uovel  *  Westward  Hor 
he  never  added  anything  snbstantiid  to  his  reputation.  Ail  this  acknowIe<1gcd,  however,  it 
must  still  be  owned  that,  failiug  m  this,  that,  aud  the  other  attempt,  and  never  achieving 
any  real  and  enduring  snooesa,  Charles  King&lcy  was  on  iutiucncc  and  a  nian  of  mark  iu  the 
Victorian  sgs." 

Xf  Kingbley  really  was  a  mere  seeker  after  success  iu  too  many  directions  to  obtain 
it,  it  would  surely  l>e  instrnctive  to  learn  how  it  was  that  he  becauae  an  inHuence. 
To  know  why  a  man  influences  an  age  is  to  learn  something  about  the  m^e  itself. 
In  the  present  case  the  knowledge  would  be  of  no  slight  importance.  lungsley's 
inflaence  was  owing  to  his  being  a  reconciler  of  contending  ideas.  In  his  ^outh  he 
«tiOod  up  and  said,  "  I  am  a  j»arsun  of  the  Church  of  Kuglaud,  and  a  Chartist."  In 
later  years  he  believed  intensely  in  both  Christianity  aud  Darwiniauista.  Whether 
we  hold  that  the  combination  is  possible  or  impossible  to  a  logical  mind,  the  fact 
that  it  gave  him  au  intluence  is  one  which  no  historian  can  afford  to  pass  over.  It 
t^lls  him  much  about  the  mind  of  England  as  distinguished  from  the  mind  of  France 
which  he  would  not  otherwise  know. 

Mr.  M'Carthy  iu  short  has  written  well  of  many  things  which  happeued  iu 
Kngland,  bat  he  does  not  go  de«p  enough  to  tell  the  history  of  the  nation. 

Captain  Trotter's  Warr^i  Uastlnqt :  a  Biography  ( W.  H.  Allen  &  Co.)  gives  us  an 
■cioellent  antidote  to  Mocaulay's  brillnnt  but  overdrawn  essay.  Most  of  the  infor- 
mation contained  in  the  book  has  appeared  elsewhere  in  some  shape  or  another,  but 
Captain  Trotter  has  rendered  no  slight  service  in  presenting  the  case  for  the  defence 
in  a  concise  and  interesting  form.  If  it  must  still  bo  called  only  the  case  for  the 
defence,  it  is  not  because  Captain  Trotter  either  perverts  the  truth  or  passes  lightly 
over  imf»ortant  facts,  but  because  he  does  not  seem  to  be  aware  that  inferences 
different  trom  his  own  may  be  drawn  from  the  facts  which  he  honestly  gives,  and 
because  he  has  no  notion  ot  the  state  of  mind  which  would  receive  with  abhorrence 
«Ten  those  facts  by  which  be  is  not  himself  shocked. 

Put  in  simple  language  the  case  of  Uastings  was  the  uot  uncommon  case  of  a  man 
who  acts  according  to  the  ideas  of  one  age  and  is  judged  according  to  the  ideas  of 
another.  The  generation  from  which  he  sprang  hardly  understood  political  morality 
aa  exxstiog  beyond  the  limits  of  the  English  nation.  The  generation  which 
impeached  him  was  that  of  Pitt,  who  negotiated  the  first  commercial  treaty,  and  of 
Burke  and  Fox,  the  advocates  of  th3  oppressed  of  every  race  and  of  ever?  colour. 
Hastings  ruled  justly  over  all  men,  blaclc  aud  white,  who  were  committed  to  hia 


18G 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


cliarffe.  Ho  bont  the  whole  forces  of  his  powerful  mind  to  improve  their  conditiotu 
Bttt  Deyondthe  frontier  of  his  charge,  morality  had  simply  no  existence  for  him. 
He  did  not  sin  agaiust  better  knowledge,  becau.se  he  had  no  better  knowledge,  lie 
no  more  iind<?r8to(hl  that  it  was  immoral  to  lead  his  troops  to  attack  the  Kohilhi^ 
than  a  fox-huntor  considers  it  to  bo  immoral  to  causa  pain  to  a  foi.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  service  rendered  by  his  accusers  was  that  they  enlarged  the  scope  of 
morality*.  No  doubt,  as  Captam  Trotter  does  well  to  point  out,  they  exaggerated  hi» 
oCEences  enormously.  The  sentence  of  acquittal  by  the  Ilonse  of  I'eers  was  fully 
justified.  What  was  really  wanted  was  to  make  it  certain  that  no  future  Governor- 
General  should  let  out  his  soldiers  for  hire  without  caring  what  were  the  conae- 
qncncos  of  the  proceeding,  and  that  he  should  not  make  up  H>r  the  de&ciency  of  his 
purse  by  goiug  shares  with  u  native  prince  in  the  proceeds  of  a  high-handed  seizure 
of  money  iu  the  uossession  of  that  prince's  mother  and  grandmother,  whether  a 
court  of  law  would  have  decided  that  the  mouey  was  justly  the  property  of  the  two 
old  ladies  or  not.  But  it  wonld  have  been  hard  to  punish  a  man  syvercly  who  had 
done  these  things  without  the  slightoat  notion  that  he  was  doing  wrong,  and  who, 
much  as  he  sinned,  did  not  sin  against  conscience. 

Capt.  Trotter's  book,  iu  short,  is  unsatisfactory  because  he  does  not  ^  to  the 
ruot  of  the  matter.  His  soul  is  vexed  with  no  grave  jiroblems.  The  KohiUa  afi'air 
gives  him  some  shght  qualms.  He  acknowledges  that  no  impaital  critic  can  look 
back  on  it  with  much  complacenc}-.  But  he  lays  so  much  strt^^ss  on  the  deduc- 
tions which  are  to  bo  made  from  Macaulay's  inaccurate  narrative,  that  he  leaves 
the  impression  that  the  offence  was  not  so  very  bad  after  oU. 

If  however,  Cu-ptaiuTr utter  gives  us  little  help  on  passing  a  tme  judgment  on  hia 
hero,  he  at  least  gives  us  in  the  narrative  the  facts  on  which  our  judgment 
ought  to  be  based.  The  few  lines  which  Hastings  wrote  to  a  friend  on  the  Rohilla 
a^oir  are  quite  enough  to  call  for  a  censare  which  Captain  Trotter  shrinks  from 
pTonouucing.  *'  Such,"  explained  the  Governor-General,  '*  was  my  idea  of  the 
Company's  distress  at  home,  added  to  my  knowledge  of  their  wants  abroad,  that  I 
ahomd  have  been  glad  of  any  occasion  to  employ  their  forces,  which  saves  bo  much 
of  their  pay  and  espouses."  Captain  IVotter  speaks  of  this  as  **  not  a  very  lofty 
motive."     Others  will  probably  sec  in  it  something  worse. 


IV.— ESSAYS,  NOVELS,  POETRY,  &c. 

(JJi^dei'  ilte  Direciloyt  of  MATtirEw  Browne.) 

rpWO  marked  changes  appear  upon  the  surface  of  our  literature  during  the  last 
J_  fMv  years  :  we  may  perhaps  say  three.  One  is  not  very  imjKjrtant,  though  it 
is  signiticant, — it  ia  that  what  might  bo  called  good- sol; iety  jwssimism  haa'  very 
viably  coloured  much  of  our  novel-writing.  Mr,  Herbert  Spencer's  philosophy  may 
bo  Bplit  in  two ;  a  very  good  Ghritttiau  Tneist  may  walk  o0  with  one  half,  and  a. 
lighting  Atheist  with  Uie  other.  Schoneuhatier  cannot  be  treated  iu  the  same 
manner,  but  half  of  him  is  readily  translatable  into  a  liberal  cynicism  tempered 
with  epigram,  which  is  perfectly  good  form;  the  translation  has  taken  place;  and 
our  novels  show  it. 

Another  change  lies  in  the  fuct  that  though,  as  wo  have  before  remarked,  there  is 
0-  lull  in  the  higlier  speculation,  there  is  an  increase  in  the  nunil^er  of  tentative 
books  iu  theology  ana  religious  criticism.  Two  of  these  liooks  have  been  of  a  high 
order,  and  have  been  very  cautiously  dealt  with,  nobody  going  on  to  ask  the  obvions 
question—"  But  why  stop  here  iu  particular,  when  your  theory  is  good  for  a  much 
wider  conclusion  ?"  But  it  remains  to  bo  seen  what  fate  is  in  store,  bo  far  as  reviews 
arc  concerned,  for  the  tentative  works,  which  go  much  closer  up  to  the  breach ;  which 
are  written  by  men  who  have  no  particular  academic  backers  or  claiinetus ,  which  do 
not  put  forward  any  pretence  at  immediate  reconciliation  between  this,  that,  and 
the  other.  It  is  the  writing  that  diwn  pretend  to  concilmto  which  is  just  now  mo«t 
sure  of  "  the  lloor." 

Another  change.  Blight  but  real,  exists  in  the  marked  increase  of  the  tendency  to 
personal  satire  or  caricature.  This  is  iu  part  a  result  of  thesucoesaof  Mr.  Mullock's 
"  Now  Republic."    Wc  have  of  late  noticed  tome  tendency  to  underrate  that  marvel- 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES. 


187 


pie«e  of  parody ;  but  it  innst  be  remembered  in  it«  )>cKal£  that  rery,  very  few 
era  can  catch  the  be^it  points.  The  tide  of  warm  "  appreciation"  has  run  moat 
strongly  in  faronr  of  the  parodies  of  Mr.  Matthew  Arnola,and  especially  the  parodies 
of  his  poetry.  Naturally,  because  hia  poetry  is  well  known.  But  even  here,  criticism 
\lm»  fallen  short  of  its  mark.  There  are  extant  uotice»  of  the  book,  from  highly  intelli- 
gent pens,  which  have  quoted  Mr.  Mallock's  verses  on  pp.  67^70,  and  praised  them 
very  hig^y ;  bnt  they  are  in  fact  not  near  so  good  as  tne  sh&m-jowett  sermon,  or 


The  '•  points"  in  the  verse  aro  obvioos,  and  the  original 


the  sham-Rnskin  address. 
is  the  poem  beginning 

**A  wanderer  is  man  from  his  birth.'* 

None  of  the  parodists  or  caricatnrists  in  our  recent  novels  have  shown  anything 
like  the  subtlety  or  the  resource  of  Mr.  Malluck ;  and,  indeed,  all  of  them  have  boon 
boond  to  content  themselves  with  mere  swallow-flights  compared  with  his. 

Talking  of  parody,  we  may  pass  on  to  observe  that  when  good  it  is  a  very  great 
help  towards  understanding  and  appreciating  an  author.  We  nave  boforo  ns  a  bio- 
gnphy  of  William  Cobbett,  but  no  human  witconld  pot  out  of  a  biography  five  times 
as  good  one- tenth  of  the  knowledge  of  the  man  that  is  to  bo  got  out  oi  the  parody  in 
the  '*  Rejected  Addresses."  It  is  an  interesting  and  highly  mstnictive  fact,  that  in 
the  fate  of  these  very  parodies  wo  have  a  repetition  of  what  we  have  lately  seen  in 
the  fate  of  Mr.  Mallock.  The  Smith  caricatures  of  Wordsworth  and  Sir  Walter 
Soott  have  been  generally  if  not  nuiversally  pronounced  the  best;  and  the  reason  is 
obvious :  the  parody  stares  at  you ;  it  is  vo^tawt  (is  not  that  the  last  idle  importation 
of  the  sort  P)  The  parody  of  Wordsworth  \ij  James  Hogg  is  infinitely  better.  You 
can  scarcely  separate  the  earnest  from  the  joke;  but  then  the  inxitattou,  done  by  a 
poet  (and  perha|)s  an  underrated  one),  is  too  subtle  for  readers  who  have  not  quick 
and  retentive  memories.  The  best  parodies  in  the  "  Rejected  Addresses"  are  decidedly 
those  on  Crabbe  and  Sontliey  (as  the  worst  are  those  on  Dr.  Johnson  and  Lord  Byron); 
bat  their  merit  is  not  readily  caught.    It  ia  only  a  few  who  can  be  expected  to  enjoy 

**  I  am  a  blessed  Glendoveer ; 
*Tiji  mine  to  speak,  and  yours  to  bear ;" 

or  the  extraordinarOy  elaborate  "  apologies"  of  the  preface  tothesham-Crabbepoem* 
because  only  a  few  have  Crabbe  and  Soothey  at  their  fingers'  ends :  and  you  cjvn  no 
more  "  cram"  for  enjoying  a  parody  than  for  enjoying  a  joke.  You  must  bring  your 
rvaources  with  you,  as  the  traveller  to  Trollhatte  was  invited  to  do.  And  from  this 
may  easily  be  inferred,  by  inversion,  the  law  of  excellence  in  parody,  which  is,  that 
irom  a  good  parody  it  ought  to  be  uot^sible  to  reproduce  the  qualitiesof  the  writing 
IMkTOdied.  Of  course  it  would  usually  be  a  matter  of  great  labour  to  do  this,  bnt  the 
soundness  of  the  rule  is  manifest.  It  by  no  means  follows  that  the  parodist  himself 
is  the  man  to  iUustrate  its  action. 


•oaoe 
Low 

forms  the  frontispiece  to  the  finit  volume  Tand  a  list  of  CobbolVs  publications  the 
Appendix  to  the  second.  We  thank  Mr.  Smith  for  his  painstaking  record,  and  hopo 
that  fasttdiona  readers  will  not  be  thrown  off  the  main  scent  too  ofton  by  his  peculiar 
manner,  or  his  hard  and  too  rapid  generalizations.  The  character  of  Cobbett  well 
deserves  stndy  ;  if  we  do  not  find  that  Mr.  Edward  Smith  throws  any  new  light 
npon  it,  he  supplies  us  with  useful  material  in  a  handy  form ;  and  it  is  so  easy  to 
underrate  the  value  of  services  Uke  his,  that  we  will  not  run  the  risk  of  doing  it  in 
this  case  by  going  one  word  further  than  the  observation  tlmt  the  book  does  not 
impreaa  na  as  a  very  pleasant  one,  though  Cobbett  ^s  in  himself  a  moat  attractive 
Buoject,  partiealarly  open  to  agreeable  illustration  by  side-lights  of  all  sorts. 

In  the  Booh  of  English  EUq'ui*  (Sampson  Low  k  Co.)  the  editor,  Btr.  W.  F. 
Miirch  Phillipps,  ha3  got  hold  of  a  good  idea,  but  it  was  a  difficult  one  to  work,  and 
required  very  widely  extended  counsel.  The  volume  is,  as  it  could  not  fail  to  be, 
»  book  to  torn  to ;  but  we  cannot  say  we  think  it  successful,  or  nearly  so.  Of  course 
tastes  will  differ  in  these  matters :  but  we  cannot  see  the  logic  of  giving  seven 
"elegiac**  poems  from  Herrick  and  three  from  Cowley,  while  Andrew  Marvell  is  left 
oat,  and  from  Milton  only  "*  Lycidas"  is  taken.  In  Pope  we  have  a  passage  from 
the  "  Kasay  on  Man,"  while  the  "  Elegy"  is  omitted.  In  Charles  Lamb,  we  have  the 
"  Dead  InUnt;"  but  where  is  "  Heater?"  li  Mrs.  Hemans  was  to  be  admitted  at  all, 
why  hare  we  only  *'The  Uraves  of  a  Household,"  while  "  lieaves  have  their  time  to 


188 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


fall **  ia  rejected?  As  to  Cowper,  we  baveone of  thwte  half-stupid  "  Bills  of  Morta- 
lity"  poems ;  l>«t  where  are  "  The  Poplars  "  and  "  The  Mother'a  Pictnre  "—poems 
berth  admissible  under  the  express  terms  of  the  preface  ?  Henry  Vanghan  we  luUs 
altogether;  and  among  sweet  minor  jmet^  James  Montgomery.  On  the  other  hand, 
we  have  eighteen  pages  from  "Blair's  Grave,"  and  not  a  line  from  Young.  Copy- 
right mysteries  may  have  excluded  Landor,  and  other  (to  na,  nngueasable)  reasons  may 
have  operated  in  other  cases;  but  the  editor's  reason  for  excluding  American 
olegiao  poetry  is,  though  founded  in  truth,  abtrardly  applied — as  he  will 
Birrely  see  himself  in  rcctuling  Emerson's  noble  poem  on  the  death  of  his  brother, 
and  some  of  the  very  beat — the  ren/boat — work  of  Bryant,  Lowell,  and  Longfellow. 
Id  Shakspeare  we  have  not  one — not  o?ie — of  the  so-called  sonnets,  while  we  have 
nine  ^^xtracts  trom  the  plays.  In  short,  we  have  done  our  best  to  make  out  some 
principle  of  selection  for  this  book  and  have  utterly  failed.  Just  think  of  admitting 
"  Sir  Patrick  Sf^ens,"  "The  Twa  Corbies,'*  "Chevy  Chase,"  Kirke  White's 
"  Thanatofl  "  and  **  Athanatos,"  and  excluding  some  of  the  shorter  pieces  of  Milton, 
and  Cowper'a  "  Toll  for  the  Brave !  *'  There  are  four  pieces  from  Tom  Moore,  and 
*^  Oh,  breathe  not  his  name  "  is  not  among  them  :  nor  "  At  the  mid  hour  of  uight  " 
(though  "  Oft  in  the  stilly  night  **  is  here).  There  is  not  a  line  of  Keat«.  In  abort,  wo 
eive  it  up ;  not  having  said  a  tenth  part  of  what  oocure  to  us.  The  first  80  pages  aro> 
devoted  to  "  medieval  and  renaissance  "  poetry. 

A  very  different  verdict  mugt  he  passed  upon  two  collections  of  poetry  which 
reach  us  from  Messrs.  Longman,  (xreen  &,  Co.^s  house.  The  first  is  entitled  A  Fvt'frv 
Boitk  of  EhUr  Poets,  consisting  of  8ongs  and  Sonnets,  Odes  and  Lyrics,  Selected 
and  Arranjjed,  with  Notes,  from  the  works  of  the  Elder  English  Poets,  dating  from 
the  boginmng  of  the  fourteenth  century  to  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,, 
fay  Amelia  B.  Edwards ;  and  the  second  is  A  Pocinj  Book  of  Modern  Poets,  consists 
ing  of  Songs  and  Sonnets,  Odes  and  Lyrics,  Selected,  and  Arranged,  with  Notes^ , 
from  the  works  of  tlie  modem  English  and  American  Poets,  dating  from  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  the  present  time,  by  Amelia  li.  Edwards,, 
These  collections  are  exceedinglv  cheap,  the  print  is  large  and  plain,  ancl 
Misa  A.  B.  Edwards  has  proceeded  upon  principles  of  selection  which  can  be 
made  sense  of.  Of  course  there  is  always  room  for  difference  of  opinion  in  such 
matters,  but  it  was  not  easy  to  go  far  wrong  unless  the  editor  diverged  into  down- 
right eccentricity  or  favouritism.  Mr.  Tennyson  is  excluded  (by  himself  or  his 
publishen*),  but  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  and  Clough  are  here,  and  Mr.  Buchanan  has 
nimself  abridged  '*  Meg  Blanc  ''  for  the  purpose  of  this  selection.  As  an  illustration 
of  the  question  of  difference  of  taste  we  might  record  that  the  poet  has  omitted  tho 
very  passages  which  the  present  writer  likes  best,  especially  that  most  atl'ecting  one — 

'*  Lord  !  with  how  small  a  thing 
Thou  canst  prop  up  the  heart  og&inst  the  grave  !" 

The  recent  modem  singers  (in  English)  are  very  well  represented,  including  the 
American — very  well,  we  mean,  considering  the  cure  that  has  been  taken  not  to 
treapaas.  'There  is  one  poem,  a  powertul  one  too,  by  Caroline  Norton  (Lady 
Stirling-Maxwell),  which  has  never  till  now  been  published.  As  to  the  point  of 
catholicity  and  completeness  wc  prefer  tho  "  elder  *'  selection,  hut  there  the  task  was 
easier,  and  the  editor  was  not  iuHuencod  (us  wo  fear  she  has  been  iu  the  other  case) 
by  the  desire  of  making  her  selection  as  little  like  others  as  possible.  Tho  Notee 
we  cannot  launch  out  upon ;  but  there,  as  miglit  be  expected,  we  feel  least  at  one  with 
Misa  Edwards  :  to  our  fancy  (we  do  not  insist)  there  is  too  much  in  some  directions 
and  too  little  in  others.  If  wc  are  to  explain  '*  Lethe  "  and  call  the  reader's  attention 
to  "vivacity"  or  "sweetness,"  what  are  we  to  leave  untouchetl?  The  editor  will  i 
be  more  vexed  than  the  reader  by  a  few  raispriuta  such,  as  "  maid  Clytie  "  for  "  mad 
Clytie,"  and  some  smaller  matters  in  the  Kotes.  We  have  mode  no  memoranda 
and  can  give  no  list.  These  selections  in  poetry  are  to  be  followed  by  selections 
in  prose.  The  cheapness  of  those  volumes,  tho  excellence  of  the  typo,  and  the 
light  strength  of  the  binding  should  make  them  welcome  friends  in  many  a  sick- 
chamber.  Should  not  some  of  tho  poems  bo  indexed  under  more  than  one  title  ? 
To  give  an  instance — "  Thillida  tiouts  me"  would  be  looked  for  by  ninety-nine 
readers  out  of  a  hnndied  under  the  letter  P,  but  it  is  not  to  be  found  there. 
What  may  bo  called  the  common  "mnemonic"  title  is  always  desirable.  Does 
Miss  Edwairds  really  prefer  "  idol  "  to  '*  viol "  in  tho  Ariel-guitar  verses,  or 
is  the  retention  of  the  oUl  reading  an  accident  ?  In  the  "  Sands  of  Doe  "  **  dark 
wiUi  foam  "  should  be  "  dauk  with  t\  am."    The  drst  vurso  of  tho  '•  Three  Fishers  '* 


^  CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES.  1S9^ 

|«  ttriaiad  as  given  in  the  Chrtetinn  SocialUf,  not  aa  in  the  "PoemH."  Perhaps 
n»  editor  prc^nt  the  first  reading,  aa  wc  do.  In  "  Alexandcr'a  Feast  '*  two  linem 
tkie  silently  omitted — though  they  arc  conventional  in  form,  and  are  retained  by  Mr. 
Palgrave,  who  is  fastidions  enough.  The  omisfiion  of  an  index  of  firat  lines 
ia  a  very  scrions  fanlt,  e^jjecially  as  tome  of  the  titles  are  avowedly  new.  The  poem 
entitled'"  The  Fly,'*  here  marked  anonymona,  is  of  known  autKorshin,  but  we 
cannot  recall  the  name  at  the  moment.  It  was.  however,  some  sncn  man  as 
Thelwall,  or  John  Day-,  some  quaint,  half-Quaker  sort  of  man. 

Here  is  a  book  of  memoirs  and  "  ana  "  mired  up  together,  which  may  l>e  taken  either 
AS  a  volume  for  an  idle  hour  or  a  study  for  the  psychologist.  Tlie  title  ia  long  r— 
The  Irivk  £ar;  tonvyriting  Ant'ciVilcr,  lion'tuoti*,  and  Itioijrttphicnl  Sk'^fcheti  oj  the 
Bench  and  Bar  of  Ireland,  by  J.  Ro^leriok  O'FIanftcati,  Barnster-at-!aw,  Author  of 
**  The  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors  of  Kngland."  "  History  of  the  Munster  Circuit" 
&t\  (Sampson  Low  &  Co.).  But  wo  must  not  omit  the  dedication  ;— "  To  the  Ri(jht 
Honourable  Edward  Sullivan,  Master  of  the  Bolls  iu  Irelaud,  in  token  of  admiration 
for  hU  eciinent  abilities  at  the  bar  and  on  the  bench,  this  work,  relating  to  the 
pTofeaioin  he  adorns,  is  mostrcspectfolly  de<licatedb^  theanthor." — This  is  an  exceed* 
laglj  characteristic  book.  To  the  diligent  and  versatile  reader  it  has  the  diAadvantaoe 
of  containing  too  much  of  what  he  has  read  before.  But  Irishmen  can  hardly  bo 
dnil ;  they  may  be  showy ;  too  ready  to  make  geese  into  swans ;  a  little  unscrupulous 
in  cinestions  of  (shall  we  call  it)  veracity  ;  not  daiuty  in  their  choice  of  topics  of  wit 
or  humour ;  and  apt  to  "  re-repeat "  things  (to  use  a  word  which  we  once  neard  from 
an  Irish  barrister  of  repute^  But  they  arc  nsually  entertaining  and  intensely 
baman.  Mr.  Rotlerick  O'FIanogan  is  all  this,  and  his  anecdotes  are  really  illustra- 
tive of  Irish  character.  The  reader  will  have  to  put  up  with  O'Connell  and  the 
Hoffsn  hat  over  again,  and  the  tinh-wit'e-paraUelogram  (or  parallclopidon  ?)  story, 
■nd  other  old  friends  ;  but  be  will  make  fresh  acquaintances.  That  is  an  adniirablo 
■necflote  of  the  judge  who,  beinff  asked  by  a  learned  brother  whether  he  had  ever 
meeu  anything  hke  the  trcsdSeoU^ce  dress  of  a  certain  lady,  witness  replied,  "  Not 
sioce  I  waft  weaned." 

It  was  of  course  inevitable  that  Messrs.  Macmillan  &  Ca's  series  of  English  Men 
of  Letters  should  contain  a  volume  an  ShoUoy,  however  tired  "the  public"  may 
be  of  the  subject.  In  many  important  respects,  too,  Mr.  John  Addington  Symonda 
vrma  a  gentleman  peculiarly  well  fitteil  for  the  task  of  vrriting  the  memoir.  For  one 
thing,  ne  was  nncommitted,  and,  as  far  as  we  know,  had  taken  no  part  iu  the 
nnmerons  Shelley  fighta  that  have  been  going  on  since  the  first  awakening  of  that  fresh 
interest  in  the  poet  which  has  been  conspicuous  during  the  last  twenty  years.  Thia 
makes  os  sure  of  a  study  which  is  iu  a  good  sense  neutral,  and  Mr.  Syinouds  has 
high  critical  qnalilications  besides.  But  the  |[eueral  result  ia  still  not  satisfactory, 
if  we  have  regard  to  the  prospectus.  There  is  not,  so  far  as  we  know,  an  obscure^ 
■entence  in  the  books ;  and  yet  it  is  certain  that  the  hurried  and  half,  or  less  tlian 
half  instructed  readers  for  whom  they  are  intended,  will  find  them  nn satisfying. 
The  reader  who  cares  jnuch  about  some  of  these  authors  will  kuow  nearly  all  that 
the  manuals  tell  him  (the  criticism  is  another  matter),  and  a  great  deal  more  than 
they  tell  him,  or  pretend  to  tell  him,  aliout  the  works  of  the  authors.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  intelligent  and  curious  reader  who  wants  to  systematize  what  he  haa 
••  picke<l  up,"  will  feel  baffled  and  confused. 

There  is  one  respect,  indeed,  in  which  Mr.  Symonds  was  not  superlatively  well 
fitted  for  his  task.  His  writing  does  not  show  that  he  has  "  tlie  sense  that  handles 
daily  lifi*."  There  is,  on  pp.  109,  110,  some  writing  about  Shelley's  "gloom." 
hatred  of  ordinary  society,  cnecrfulness  in  the  company  of  those  whom  he  liked, 
"  martyrdom/'  and  bo  forth,  which  strikes  us  as  wholly  confused.  Of  course,  no 
man  of  Shelley's  quality  and  activity  of  mind  could  suffer  from  that  sort  of  misery 
which  bites  ita  finger-nails,  or  ask.s  every  hour  "  what  is  the  world  saying  of  me  ?  * 
Bnt  that  he  sunered  acutely  and  continuously  from  remorse,  persecution,  and 
physical  pain,  ia  certain  and  abundantly  clear.  The  witnesses  contradict  each  other, 
Dut  what  then  ?  We  must  oross-examino  them  all,  gentle  and  simple ;  and  when  we 
have  done  that,  we  conclude  that,  barring  mere  form,  the  *'  romantic  persons"  who 
"invert"  Shelley  with  "martyrdom"  are  right. 

Paeeing.  however,  from  topics  which  many  will  think  overdone,  we  find  Mr.  Symonds*8 
treatment  of  his  theme  Buggests  another  which  is  in  the  air  just  now.  For  a  long 
while  past  tolerably  acute  persons  must  have  noticed  that,  in  biographies  and  else- 
whenr,  moral  questions  have  been  discussed,  or  rather  dismi.^sed,  in  curiously  equivocal 


190 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


Iaagnflg<>.  The  terms  of  approcUtioB  faftTe  become  utterly  rootleM  and  pagan.  W^a 
are  patting  in  here  no  pica  for  howtgwU  treatment  of  moral  topics,  or  for  the  as«ump- 
taon  of  theories  alien  to  particular  cases — on  the  contrary.  Bnt  we  are  not  sore  that 
we  would  not»  as  a  mer%  niaiter  of  ^>oIicy,  to  saj  nothing  of  eound-heartednesa,  prefer 
the  bourgeois  treatment  of  the  difficult  passages  in  Shelley's  life  to  the  rootIe«s 
criticism  or  no-criticism  which  is  at  bottom  cynical.  lu  the  brief  discossiou  niKin 
pam  94  abont  "  self-will "  and  *'  Nemesis,"  we  simply  lose  ourselves  in  a  maze  jJT  we 
took  around  for  principles.  It  all  appears  to  como  to  aomethine  Hko  thia  :  Sbeller 
wajj  not  in  harmony  with  his  environment ;  he  rebelled  against  the  "  sanctities  "  of 
the  **  environment ;"  and  therefore  he  had  to  aaffer — sec  Sophocles  and  story  of 
CEdipus.  Moral :  Take  care  to  be  in  harmony  with  your  environment,  or  you  will 
Bofier  for  it.  Meanwhile,  you  can  fall  back  upon  Art,  and  get  up  as  many 
emotions  as  you  can  which  "  burn  with  a  clear  gem-like  flame,"  This  summary 
is  for  those  who  have  culture.  In  the  coarse  vernacular  it  runs  down  with  a  whirr 
to  the  level  of  the  American  who,  having  well  eaten  and  drunk,  interrupted  a  talk 
about  moral  and  spiritual  revivals  with  the  remark :  "  What  this  here  nation  wants 
ain't  so  much  a  great  moral  revival  as  a  new  sort  of  oants  that  won't  bag  at  the  koeea." 
It  is  true  enough  that  the  poor  iwet  could  not  nave  avuidL-d  the  feeling  that  the 
"  doer  of  the  deed  must  suffer  ;"  ne  found  out  that  it  was  bo,  but  in  his  "  remorse  " 
he  must  have  thought  a  good  deal  more  of  Prometheus  than  CEdipus;  and  the 
sting  of  his  pain  was  that  while  he,  who  would  have  died  to  save  the  meanest  cad, 
and  who  had  longed  with  passion  to  do  the  best,  should  suffer  *'  remorse/'  while 
your  George  IV.  or  your  Carrier  suffered  none,  though  tbey  had  lived  ba«e  and 
selfish  lives,  and  scattered  misery  broadcast. 

Among  recent  English  novels,  too  strongly  marked  to  be  put  aside  among  the 
books  which  had  better  be  left  to  take  care  of  themselves,  the  first  place  shomd  be 
given  to  Cari<»uhe,  by  the  author  of  "  The  Rose  Garden."  '*  Unawares,"  Ac.  2  vols, 
(Smith,  Elder  &  Co.).  Cartouche  is  only  a  dog,  who,  however,  plays  the  important 
port  of  bringing  together  the  human  personages  of  the  drama.  The  scenery  of  the 
drama — in  which  there  is  of  course  love  and  marriage— is  chiefly  in  Italy,  and  the 
work  is  very  gracefully  and  quite  innocently  done.  It  is  a  charming  short  story,  as 
a  glance  at  the  chapters  entitled  "  Cartouche  Kills  a  Turkey"  and  "The  Ilex 
Walk  "  will  soon  show  the  reader.  The  narrative  of  the  end  of  poor  Cartouche, 
who  (we  roust  use  the  personal  pronoun)  is  drowned  in  the  Tiber  while  att^^mpting 
to  save  a  baby  in  a  cradle,  will  not  be  got  through  without  tears,  and  looks  as  S 
it  were  in  substance  true. 

A  sufficiently  sjiirited  and  varied  story  is  Old  CharUofi,  bv  H.  Baden  Pritchaid, 
author  of  "  Dangerfield,"  •'  Beauty  Spots,"  &c.  (3  vols,  Sampson  TjOw  A  Co.)* 
The  first  portion  of  the  book  might  be  cut  away  (the  school  life)  from  the  rest,  and 
the  story  is  not  carefully  "  composed ;"  but  novel  readers  might  do  much  worwj  than 
turn  over  "  Old  Charlton".  Mr.  Baden  Pritchard  docs  not  always  do  justice  to  his  own 
faculties,  and  his  work  is  not  delicate,  but  he  can  certainly  put  together  an  amusing 
story.    The  sketching  is  the  best :  for  example,  the  "  Circus  of  all  Nations  "  is  gooa. 

It  is  a  striking  sign  of  the  times  when  a  man  so  palpably  made  for  the  life  of 
contemplation  as  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  is,  in  the  prime  of  his  powers,  attracted 
towards  political  and  social  controversy  of  the  sort  which  demands  a  power  of 
appreriatmg  hard  facts,  which  is,  to  say  the  least,  very  rare  in  the  meditative  mind. 
Wo  have  all  witnessed  a  similar  phenomenon  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Raskin — and,  some 
of  ua  think,  with  all  but  tragic  consequences.  Mr.  Carlyle,  Offaxn,  go  long  as  ho  kept 
to  prophesving  in  the  (more  or  less)  va^e.  and  avoided  reading  newspapers,  as  he 
did,  kept  clear  of  much  trouble  and  pain  to  himself  and  his  friends.  But  the  winds 
and  edoies  have  been  too  strong  for  even  men  like  these,  and  we  have  had  to  stand 
by  and  see  them  all  swept  out  into  noisy  currents,  for  which  such  boats  were  never 
built.  There  haa  been  a  good  deal  of  vacillation  in  Mr.  Arnold;  and  as  it  is  in 
poetry  and  in  pure  literary  criticism  that  he  is  most  in  harmony  with  himself  and 
bis  readers,  sanguine  a^lmirere  of  **ThjT8is"  and  "The  Scholar  Gvpsy"  have 
continued  to  hope  against  hope  that  he  might  yet  some  day,  upon  a  sudden  revnlsion 
of  feeling,  heed  for  good  and  all  that  oracle  of  the  high  "muse  which  his  own  pen 
had  so  finely  worded  : 

"  Bat  fly  onr  paths,  our  feverish  contact  fly  ! 
For  strcmg  the  infection  of  onr  mcntsl  strife. 
Which,  though  it  pves  no  bUas,  yet  apods  for  rest ; 

And  wo  should  win  thee  from  thy  own  fair  life, 
like  OS  distntcied,  and  hke  us  unbU«t. 


CONTEMPORARY  LITERARY  CHRONICLES, 


191 


Soon,  soon  thy  uheer  would  'die. 
Thy  bopej  grow  tiruorniu,  uiil  unlix'd  thy  powers; 

And  thy  clear  aims  be  cross  and  ahiftinK  nioiio. 

And  than  thy  glail  perennial  youth  wonTd  (aAe, 
Padc,  and  grow  old  nt  last,  and  die  like  oars." 


But  time  has  passed— aud 


the  west  anfluahea,"  and  we  have  to 


that 


own 

disappointed.     Yet.  afler  all,  we  are  nariiully  in  the  dark.     The  curtain  nmy 

■one  day  prove  not  to  bu  the  pictaro,  aua  then  we  may  ave  ''  high  midsummer 
pomps."  Kept  from  ua  till  late ;  or,  better  even  than  that,  for  who  cau  reckon  up 
tlioce  fine  high-stmng  natures  ? 

"  Too  quick  despairer,  whercfor*  will  thou  go?'' 

Thyrsi*  "  learnt  a  stormy  note,  of  men  contention-tost,  of  men  who  groan ;" 
"  unbreachable,  the  fort  of  the  long-battered  world  uplifts it«  wall;*'  and  the  most 
cheerful  word  Mr.  Arnold  has  for  tia  all.  at  present,  is  that  wo  must  take  our 
"  nnrest"  aa  a  Bign  that  there  is  something  wanting^  and  then  sit  down,  and—  wait 
till  we  ^et  it. 

Thiii  18  an  acceptable  collection  of  essays,  and  the  carefully  written  preface — au 
I  essay  in  itself — on  the  function  of  literature  in  the  work  of  civilisation,  espooially 
;with  regard  to  the  clement  of  "erpanHion,"  i«  ft  real  key  to  the  author's  intention, 
or,  at  least,  to  what  he  believes  to  be  his  intention  in  the  remainder  of  the  volume. 
Half  of  the  contents  may  be  described  aa  political  and  social  criticism ;  the  remainder 
literary.  In  snch  papers  as  those  on  "Equality,"  "  Uritish  Liberalism,"  and 
"Falkland,"  we  distinctly  hear,  what  we  hope  we  may,  without  otfence,  call  the 
lltatthew  Arnold  drow.  and  we  do  not  like  it.  and  are  not  to  be  convinced  that  he 
[imows,  or  ever  knew,  or  ever  will  know,  anything  iibont  Paritanism  :  or  about  the 
logic  of  Dissent.  Tin's  new  wolf  is  well  got  up,  and  the  (▼Tandmoth**r  looks  good- 
inatnred  ;  bat  after  all,  she  has  great  teeth,  and  the  night-cap  is  just  a  little  awry. 
(There  is  a  fnndamental "  economy  '  in  all  your  "  large  discourse'  of  freedom,  equality, 
id  expansion,  3Ir.  Arnold ;  and  the  dullest  fhawbaoon,  as  he  listens  to  you,  says  in 
"his  heart,  not  "  Let  us  follow  him,"  but  "  What  is  he  up  to  now,  I  wonder  ?" 

Of  the  literary  essays,  the  one  on  "George  Sana"  is  wholly  delightful;  and 
Mr.  Amold'a  verdict  on  the  trojHan  ia  in  striking  agreement  with  that  of  Margaret 
ler.  The  examination  of  Mr.  Stopford  Brooke's"  Primer  of  English  Literature" 
ionld  certainly  not  have  been  reprinted.  What  is  most  true  in  the  criticism  is 
lementary,  and  hanlly  bears  repetition  out  of  the  pages  of  a  mu^zine  ;  while  the 
is  too  often  dogmatic  just  where  dogmatism  is  not  admis-siole,  and  is  sorae- 
Sames  merely  short-sighted.  For  instance.  Mr.  Stopford  Brooke  says  that  "  Milton 
immed  up  in  himself  all  the  higher  influences  of  the  Renaissance."  What  is 
ic  Kood  of  saying  offhand  and  ex  cafhedrd,  as  Mr.  Arnold  docs,  that  this  is  "  not 
n©,  — when  the  word  "higher*' opens  an  absolutely  iatenninable  Keld  for  diecnssion  ? 
Of  conrue  we  cannot  i^o  on  running  over  poiutn  like  this :  but  there  is  one  very 
!rions  matter  to  which  we  shonld  like  to  call  the  attention  of  conscientions  publicists 
rbo  do  not  admire  cither  the  fundamental  assumptions  of  Mr.  Arnold's  mind  or  his 
eoQOomy"  or  his  policy.  To  writers  on  the  otocr  side  we  can  of  course  mnke  nu 
ich  appottl,  and  oar  appeal,  such  as  it  is.  is  quite  imijartial.  Journalists  are  con- 
mtly  to  be  found  speaking  of  Mr.  Arnold  as  a  critic  in  terms  of  incfusive  praise 
rhich  do  not  represent  their  inmost  thoughts  about  him.  Mr.  Arnold  is  proDably 
le  best  e<jnippea  (bo  far  as  literary  accomplishment  goes)  of  living  critics  in  this 
rantry.  He  has  exceptional  dremonic  power,  and  a  keen  eye  for  the  dcemonic 
lement  in  other  writers.  But  he  is  a  doubtful  psychologist  and  logician,  and 
greater  number  of  perverse  pages  might  be  taken  from  his  criticisms  than  from 
lose  of  any  living  writer.  What  can  l:>o  mere  per>'erse  than  twice  iu  one  moderate- 
*  volnme,  to  quote  scraps  of  blundering  abuse  (meant  for  humour)  from  Milton's 
Colasteron,**  as  samples  of  what  the  Puritan  temper  always  was  and  now  is  ? 
Tr.  Arnold  should  either  have  left  it  alone,  or  analyzeu  Milton's  character,  or  quoted 
the  fine  words  of  apology  at  the  end  of  that  unfortunate  treatise.  But  if 
r.  Arnold  were  set  upon  by  masked  assassins  whom  he  beheved  to  be  backed  by 
LOse  who  owed  him  life-long  gratitude,  he  would  probably  defend  himself  with  Borae 
nty,  and  would  hardly  exi>ect  what  he  said  ana  did  to  be  cited  as  proof  of  his  own 
temper**  or  that  of  the  school  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up. 


There  ia  the  trac  poetic  touch  in  Kct/'NoteSj   by  L.  S.  Bcvin^n  (C.  Ke^n 
Panl  &  Co.),  and  if  the  contents  of  the  Utile  volume  were  more  varied,  it  would  be 
riy  altogether  welcome,  considered  as  literature.    We  are  careful  over  the  la&t 


192 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


liiile  clause,  IxiCAusc  tlicre  are  some  of  ne  who  will  tbink  that  the  author  has  piune^' 
her  faith  to  asauiuptions  which  are  already  marltod  to  go.  Apart  from  tbat  poiut, 
which  Ih  opon  to  diHCussiou  [tUouj^h  it  \»  not  an  open  question  with  the  present 
writer),  there  are  places  where  the  execution  is  weak — weak,  at  all  event*, 
compured  with  the  strength  which  is  required  to  make  any  sort  of  song  of  trinmpli 
out  of  the  dogma  that  "progress  doti  never  die."  The  author,  oa  wo  understand 
her,  does  not  at  all  pretend  that  this  is  an  *'  harmonioas"  book  —on  tbe  contrary,  she 
passes  freely  from  key-note  to  key-note,  with  the  help  of  her  dimiuishefl  sevontbH  : 
ner  last  "  strain"  meaning  thftt  "  every  truth  seems  valueless,  save  as  it  fosters  in  the 
mood  of  man  the  growth  and  fruiting  of  persistent  good."  Another  lady  poet  has 
put  the  case  very  differently,  and  in  oar  opinion  upon  tlie  only  safe  footing,  lu  words 
uke  theae : — 

"  HalfbUud  amid  the  stir  of  things, 
But  safe  in  following  out  the  Tftw, 
We  know  nut  >4hat  a  niumeut  hringR, 

Kor  which  way  blows  the  buniiug  straw." 

But  of  course  this  cannot  be  settled  between  us  in  a  parajpapb.  In  the  meanwhile^ 
this  little  volume  (abont  150  pages)  of  poems,  by  L.  S.  Bcvington, — apparently  a  ladj* 
of  alH)ut  thirty  or  thirlj-'five,  or  perhaps  more, — illuati*ate?,  in  graceful,  pointed,  an< 
often  really  poetic  ways,  the  pass  tho»e  of  us  have  come  to  who  have  rcjectod  a 
defined  Theism,  and  looked  about  for  grounds  of  reliance  in  what  it  is  fashionable 
to  call  '*  human  service,"  aud  the  "  laws"  which  bind  to  it.  In  strict  truth,  we  find,  if 
we  look  closely,  tbat  in  all  this  abont  "  the  infinite,"  we  have  here,  though  in  a  loose 
floating  way,  elements  which  cau  be  lofjically  forced  into  a  Theistic  form,  and  that 
all  the  strcTii^h  which  the  conception  of  duty  attains  to  in  these  aspirations  is  got] 
exactly  in  th*?  ald-faahioned  w*w.  Tt  is  only  the  "woolly"  character  of  the  writing,^ 
or  the  thought  (wc  mean  no  orfl^nee)  which  can  make  this  doubtful  for  n  moment.. 
All  we  wish  is  that  the  author  bud  given  us  more  of  her  descriptions  of  nature,  uiul 
more  of  such  simple  music  as  we  find  here: — 

"I  could  have  strircn  for  you,  dear, 

To  save  your  spirit  alrife  ; 
I  could  have  fiufforcil,  ay!  and  died, 

If  you  bad  needed  life  ; 
But  siuoe  you  a<^k  nol>oon  of  mo 
I'll  love  you  verj'  quietly, 

**  I  could  have  beoa  a  saint  for  yon, 
Or  stooped  to  meanest  fame ; 
Tlie  stair  to  heaven  or  path  to  hell 

With  you  were  all  the  s&roc  : 
But  siDOe  you  do  nut  beekoti,  (Ie.tr, 
My  life  shall  wait,  unprovfed,  here. 

**  'Tia  very  hard  to  give  no  gift, 
To  ycani,  and  yet  to  bide  ; 
Tbe  keenest  pain  that  lovers  know 

is  love's  own  patient  pride  ; 
Bnt  since  no  senicc,  dear,  yon  ask. 
My  heart  accepts  the  sterner  task." 

We  are  clad  to  observe  that  the  singer  has  "  this  trust, — that  Love's  Strength  may- 
wrest  all  fair  things  from  final  loss,"— because  we  moat  intensely  share  her  disgust 
with  the  life  of  **  sick  cities ;"  but  wo  do  not  see  what  is  the  use  of  the  capital  letters 
in  "  Love's  Strength,'*  unless  it  be  to  pive  them  all  the  force  of  the  old-fashioned 
monosyllublc,  God ;  ar.d  we  nro  at  nams  to  say  all  the  force,  because  the  author 
appears  to  believe  tbat  the  "thine  tnat  once  was  Chaos**  is  yet  to  "be  God" — the 
capitals  being  again  hers.  What  we  fail  to  understand,  in  her  and  all  her  school, 
is  now  they  get  as  far  as  this  without  the  help  of  a  premiss  that  must  force  them 
farther.  However,  there  is  something  wrong  in  a  book  of  verse  when  it  gets  into 
these  nitfi  at  ulh  And  if  I^.  S.  Bevington  can  give  us  a  little  more  pure  song  like 
the  poem  of  "June,"  without  any  such  "modem"  nhrascology  as  "fullest  sur- 
render" or  "  free  elUorescence  of  things,"  we  shall  all  ue  very  glad.  We  certainly 
do  not  hold  it  poetic  to  call  miduigbt  "  negation's  hour  of  triumph."  Nor  iu  a  poem 
of  only  thirty-two  lines  do  we  want  to  bo  told  that  we  must  "sing  of  evolution:" 
much  less  that  "  though  the  sum  of  force  be  constant,  yet  the  Living  ever  grows." 
Still,  we  close  as  we  began  by  saying  that  there  are  plain  traces  of  the  true  poetic 
tomoh  in  this  volume. 


THE  SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY   AND   RELIGION 

OF   COMTE. 


IT  is  impossible  to  understand  tlie  errors  of  a  great  writer  unless  we 
do  justice  to  the  truth  which  underlies  them.  In  judging  of 
Comte  8  philosophy,  and  especially  of  his  social  philosophy,  this  law  of 
criticism  has  often  been  neglected,  even  by  those  who,  from  their  general 
philosophical  point  of  view,  might  seem  best  qualified  to  appreciate  him. 
Disagreeing  as  I  do  with  most  of  his  conclusions,  I  cannot  hope  to  be 
entirely  successful  in  doing  him  justice.  But  the  attempt  to  do  so  may 
have  its  use,  if  only  in  bringing  to  light  the  relationship  of  philosophies 
which  are  commonly  regarded  as  having  no  connection  with  each  other. 
The  spirit  of  the  time  is  greater  than  any  of  its  expressions,  and  it  moulds 
them  all,  under  whatever  outward  diversity  of  form,  to  a  common  result. 
If  there  is  anything  which  the  history  of  philosophy  teaches  with  clear- 
ness, it  is  that  contemporaneous  movements  of  the  human  spirit,  even 
those  which  appear  to  be  most  independent  or  antagonistic,  are  but 
partial  expressions  of  a  truth  which  is  not  fully  revealed  in  any  one  of 
them,  and  which  can  be  adequately  appreciated  only  by  a  later  generation. 
The  present  is  said  to  he  par  excellence  the  age  of  historical  criticism ;  but 
the  historical  imagination  is  worth  little  if  it  do  not  enable  us  to  dis- 
cover identity  of  Nature  under  the  most  varied  disguises,  and,  instead 
of  being  confined  to  the  fonnulse  of  any  one  philosophy,  to  remould  and 
renew  our  own  ideas  by  entering  into  the  minds  of  others.  In  order  to 
prepare  the  way  for  a  just  appreciation  of  the  teaching  of  Comte,  I  shall, 
in  this  article,  give  a  short  sketch  of  his  philosophy  (and  more  particu- 
larly of  his  social  philosophy)  as  far  as  possible  from  his  own  point  of 
view,  reserving  for  subsequent  papers  all  I  have  to  say  in  the  way  of 
criticism. 

There  are  two  main  thoughts  which  rule  the  mind  of  Comte,  and  arc 
the  sources  of  most  of  the  peculiarities  of  his  system.     The  onq  h,  "  the 

vol.,  XXXV.  o 


194 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


law  of  the  three  stages  j"  the  other  is   the  subordination  of  science  to 
man's  social  well-being,  or,  as    he   expresses    it,  of  the  intellect  to  the 
heart.     The  first  of  these  thoughts  embodies  his  criterion  of  knowledge  ; 
the  second   is  the   princii)lc   by    which  he   seeks  to  systematize  it,  and 
to  estimate  the  relative  value  of  its  parts.     The  relation  of  these  two 
points  in  the  mind  of  Comte  will  be   best   understood   if  we   recall 
his  historical   position  and  the  early  course  of  his  mental  derclopment. 
As  with  most  educated  Frenchmen  of  his  time,  Comte'a  first  thoughts 
on  social  politics  were  suggested  by  the  Revolution;  and  his  youthful 
connection    with  St.   Simon    showed   that   he  shai'ed   in    that   reaction 
against  the  individualistic  philosophy  of  the  Eighteenth  Century,  which 
gave  rise  to  so  many  socialistic  and  communistic  theories.     In  the  school 
of  St.  Simon,  Comtc  learned  the  falsehood  of  the  gospel  of  Rousseau — 
that  last   qniutesscnce   of  the   philosophy  which  found  reality  only  ia 
the  individual,  and  which,  therefore,  idealized  the  natural  man  as  he  is 
apart  from,  and  prior  to,  all  society,  and  regarded  all  social  influence  as 
deteriorating  from  his  original  purity.     The  hollowuess  of  that  tbcoiT  had 
been  written  in  letters  of  blood  on  the  page  of  recent  history,  and  that 
too  plainly  to  be  ignored  by  the  most  hoj)eful  theorist  on  social  snbjects. 
Nor  could  any  one  who  had  read  it  there,  fail  to  perceive  also  the  less 
striking  failure  of  the   same  doctrines  in    their   economical  form.      The 
liberation  of  the  individual  had  not  brought  to  man  political  salvation, 
but  had  rather  revealed  his  essential  weakness  when  emancipated  from 
the  restraints  of  social  order.     "  Laiascr  fairc"  had  not,  as  was  expected, 
introduced  an  economic  millennium,  but  had  rather  given  rise  to  a  struggle 
of  interests,  which,  if  not  moderated  by  any  higher  principle,  might  end 
in  the  dissolution  of  society.     Hence  the  mere  irrational  movement  of 
reaction   drove  the  mass   of  men  to  bind  again  upon   themselves   the 
fetters  which  the  Revolution  had  broken,  and  taught  those  who,  like 
De  Maiatrc,  represented  the  ideas  and  interests  of  the  past,  the  specu- 
lative strength  of  their  position.     De  Maistrc  saw  clearly  that   mere 
individualism  is  anarchy,  and  that  the  moral  education  of  man  is  possible 
only  through   some  binding  social  force.     Nor  was  it   difficult  for  a 
skilful  special  pleader  like  him  to  confound  this  truth  with  the  doctrine 
that  the  only  safety  for  civilization  lay  in  a   renewed  submission  to  the 
mediaeval  order  of  Church  and  State.    On  the  other  hand,  men  who  were 
too  much  imbued  with  the  modern  spirit  to  be  moved  by  this  reactionary 
logic,   were  led   to   detach  the  socialistic  idea  from  the  special  form  it 
had  taken  in  past  history,  and  to  seek  for  some  new  form  of  political 
oi^anization,  in  which  individual  freedom  should  be  again  subordinated 
to  social  order.      Such  men  were  St.   Simon  and  Foiu'icr — not,  in  any 
sense,   great   or  comprehensive  thinkers,  but  writers  wlio  were  effective 
and  influential   for  the  moment   simply  becauBc   tbcy  represented  the 
abstraction    which  was  then   rising    into   favour,    and   which  had    at 
least   this  to  recommend  it—that    it  was  the  opposite   abstraction  to 
that    of    the    Revolutionists,       Comtc    was    too    robust     and    many- 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,      195 


^ 


^ 


I 


sided  to  remain  long  under  tbe  influence  either  of  the  concrete 
or  of  the  abstract  reactionaries — either  of  those  who  sought  to 
retiun  to  the  form  or  of  those  who  sought  to  return  to  the  spirit  of  the 
past.  But  his  temporary  subjection  to  St.  Simou^  and  his  ultimate  revolt 
against  him,  help  us  iti  some  measure  to  understand  that  double  movement 
of  thought  out  of  which  his  system  sprung.  His  subjection  indicated 
that  he  had  seen  the  insufficiency  and  unreality,  the  abstract  and 
uuhistorical  charactcrj  of  the  gospel  of  mere  rebellion.  His  emancipation 
from.  St.  Simon  indicated  his  discovery  that  the  simple  repression  of 
rebellion,  the  mere  closing  up  of  the  ranks  of  society  under  a  social 
despotism,  was  an  utterly  inadequate  solution  of  the  difficulty.  The 
problem  before  him,  therefore,  was  to  do  justice  to  the  element  of  truth 
in  each  of  these  movements, — to  the  social  impulse  on  the  one  hand  and 
to  the  critical  movement  of  intelligence  on  the  other, — and  to  reconcile 
them  in  a  higher  unity.  Socialism  had  taught  him  that  social  enthusiasm 
might  be  separated  from  tlie  religious  and  political  institutions  on  which 
it  had  rested  in  the  past ;  and  the  progress  of  science  seemed  to  teach 
him  that  intelligence  has  a  constructive  as  well  as  a  critical  influence. 
The  solution,  therefore,  was  simply  to  take  the  former,  as  determining 
the  end  and  goal  of  all  practical  cfibrt ;  and  the  latter,  as  teaching  us 
the  proper  means  for  its  attainment.  The  enthusiasm  of  humanity 
guided  by  science,  science  directed  so  as  to  secure  the  highest  happiness 
of  humanity,  vere  thus  the  two  ideas  by  which  the  course  of  his  thoughts 
was  determined. 

In  the  first  place  these  ideas  gave  to  Comte  what  seemed  to  hira  a 
perfect  key  to  the  history  of  the  past.  Man  he  conceives  of  as  a  being 
who  at  first  is  divided  between  weak  social  tendencies  which  bind  him 
to  his  fellows,  and  strong  selfish,  or,  as  he  caUs  ihcm^  personal  instincts, 
which  make  him  their  rival  and  their  enemy;  yet  without  the  triumph 
of  the  former  over  the  latter  there  can  be  no  security  for  his  welfare 
or  even  for  his  existence.  This  triumph  of  social  sympathy  is  the  first 
neoessity  of  civilization ;  and  at  the  l)cginuiug  any  theory  of  life 
most  be  welcome  which  promises  to  secure  it.  The  first  social 
leaders  of  mankind,  even  if  such  an  idea  could  have  presented  itself 
to  them,  could  not  wait  with  patience  till  experience  had  revealed 
to  them  the  true  nature  of  man  and  the  world  he  lives  in.  Their  igno- 
ranee  and  their  benevolent  haste  to  organize  society,  and  to  bind  men 
together  in  the  bonds  of  a  definite  faith,  made  them  eagerly  grasp  at 
tbe  first  explanation  of  the  universe  'which  imagination  suggested  ;  and 
that  first  explanation  was  of  course  anthropomorphic.  "As  they 
watched  Nature,  as  their  eves  wandered  over  the  surface  of  the 
profound  ocean,  instead  of  the  bed  hidden  under  the  waters,  they 
saw  nothing  but  the  reflection  of  their  own  faces.''*  Henco  the  first 
moral  order  and  social  discipline  established  among  men  was  based 
upon  a  theological  explanation  of  the  universe.     Nor  did  the  insecurity 

*  Turgot 

CI     «w 


106 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  the  foundation  seem  for  a  lonp  time  to  Interfere  with  the  firmness  of 
the  superstructure.  The  union  of  men  was  like  the  union  of  an  army — the 
union  of  men  bound  together  for  life  and  death,  though  the  bond  that 
united  them  was  but  a  fairy  talc.  Yet,  in  the  long  run,  it  was  impossible 
that  criticism  should  not  make  itself  heard.  Advancing  experience,  as  it 
disclosed  that  the  world  is  no  plaything  of  arbitrary  willa  but  an  order  of 
^ed  law,  gradually  limited  the  free  play  of  imagination,  and  removed 
the  gods  to  a  greater  and  greater  distance.  When,  therefore,  pheno- 
mena were  seen  to  group  themselves  in  large  genera,  with  permanent 
attributes  and  relations,  Polytheism  rose  out  of  Fetichism ;  and 
when  the  idea  of  the  unity  of  the  world,  and  of  the  general  per- 
sistency of  its  laM's,  began  to  prevail,  tlicology  was  ine^'itably  reduced 
to  the  conception  of  one  overruHiig  will,  which  directly,  or  by 
its  ministers,  controls  the  whole  movement  of  things.  Up  to  this 
point  the  theological  form  of  thought  persisted :  in  one  point  of  view 
it  might  even  he  said  that,  up  to  this  point,  it  was  strengthoiiing 
its  hold  upon  men.  For,  every  successive  concentration  of  the  divine 
power  made  tlie  idea  of  it  a  firmer  and  more  comprehensive  bond  of 
social  order,  until  at  length  the  levelling  and  organizing  genius  of 
Home  laid  the  foundation  of  the  universal  empire,  and  christian  Mono- 
theism broke  down  the  walls  of  division  between  races  and  nations. 

But  this  apparent  advance  of  the  theological  spirit  was  illusive,  for  it 
■was  rcaliy  due  to  au  intellectual  movcracutj  which  must,  in  the  long  run, 
prove  fatal  to  it.  The  conccutratioa  of  Fetichism  into  Polytheism,  and 
of  Polytlicism  into  Monotheism,  was  really  the  gradual  withdrawal  of 
theology  from  the  explanation  of  the  universe,  till,  finally,  it  was  driven 
to  its  last  stronghold,  its  most  general  and  abstract  form.  Hence  the  hour 
of  its  greatest  social  triumph  was  that  which  preceded  its  decisive  full. 
The  same  growing  perception  of  the  order  of  the  world  under  general 
laws,,  which  had  forced  the  theologian  first  to  substitute  a  limited  for 
an  indefinite  number  of  divine  wills,  and  then  to  substitute  one  will  for 
this  limited  number,  necessarily  and  inevitably  awakened  a  doubt 
whether  there  is  in  Nature  any  indication  of  will  at  all.  Monotheism 
had  represented  the  world  as  a  general  order  of  fixed  laws,  only  inter- 
rupted by  exceptional  miracles  j  but  increasing  knowledge  made  miracles 
more  and  more  incrcdiblOj  till  at  last  the  theologians  were  reduced  to 
the  assertion  that  their  (iod  had  once  performed  them,  but  that  he  per- 
formed them  no  longer  When  this  point  was  reached,  it  was  not 
difficult  to  sec  that  the  whole  anthropomorphic  explanation  of  things 
was  on  the  eve  of  disappearing.  A  God  who  was  nearer  man  in  the 
past  than  he  is  in  the  present,  could  not  be  the  God  of  the  future. 

But  even  before  this  period,  the  growing  weakness  of  the  theo- 
retical basis  of  belief  had  begun  to  aflcct  the  practical  life  of  men* 
The  social  order  was  built  upon  thcologj',  and  therefore  the  advance 
of  the  critical  spirit  was  continually  loosening  its  foundations.  Hence 
the   fierce    hostility    of    the    representatives    of    that     order    to    the 


• 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AXD  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.    197 


» 


L 


freedom  of  tbc  iutelligence.  That  hostility,  however,  is  to  be  attri- 
buted not  so  much  to  their  indij^nation  at  unbelief  in  itself,  as  to  their 
alarm  at  the  dissolution  of  social  order  which  was  its  practical  result. 
Nor  was  it  altogether  inexcusable,  so  long  as  tbc  assailants  of  the  old 
faith  were  unable  to  propound  any  theoretical  principles  which  could 
be  made  the  basis  of  reconstruction.  Now  the  metaphysical  principles 
to  which  these  assailants  appealed  were  really  negations  pretending  to 
be  afl&rraations,  the  purely  negative  character  of  which  must  reveal  itself 
so  soon  as  tbeir  victory  was  achieved.  Men  in  whom  tbc  practical 
and  organizing  impulse  was  strongj  who  felt  the  necessity  for  a  moral 
order,  could  not  but  see  that  such  ropes  of  sand  were  no  real  substitute 
for  the  old  framework  of  social  and  political  life,  and  they  were  tlierefore 
tempted  to  shut  their  eyes  to  the  intellectual  claims  of  a  truth  which 
could  be  fertile  only  in  destruction.  Thus  arose  that  fatal  division 
between  the  heart  and  the  intellect  which  has  lasted  down  to  the 
present  day,  and  which  must  last  till  the  intellect  shows  itself  capable 
of  producing  a  system  which  can  more  securely  sustain  the  social  order, 
and  more  completely  satisfy  the  affections  and  spiritual  aspirations  of 
men,  than  the  fictions  of  theology. 

The  truth  of  this  view  will  be  more  clearly  seen  if  wo  examine  the 
nature  of  that  intermediate  system  of  critical  thought  whicli  was  the 
great  weapon  of  attack  upon  theology.  This  system  was,  in  fact,  only 
the  last  abstraction  of  the  theological  authropomorphism  itself.  As  in 
one  department  of  human  thought  after  another  the  knowledge  of  the 
uniform  and  unchangeable  order  of  things  prevailed  over  the  concep- 
tion of  accident  and  arbitrary  eliange,  the  idea  of  will  became  attenuated, 
until  it  ultimately  disappeared  altogether  from  the  explanation  of 
Nature.  But  it  left  behind  a  kind  of  spectre  of  abstraction.  Instead 
of  being  dominated  by  gods,  phenomena  were  supposed  to  be  dominated 
by  essences  and  powers,  which,  however,  were  merely  abstract  repetitions 
of  those  phenomena.  How  abstractions  came  to  be  thus  substautiated 
as  real  entities,  separated  from  the  phenomena  in  which  they  were 
manifested,  might  be  difficult  to  understaud,  if  we  did  not  remember 
that  they  were  but  the  residua  of  what  had  once  been  iudividu- 
aLizcd  pictures  of  imagination.  The  essences  of  the  Schoolmen  were 
but  the  dry  bones  of  the  living  creatures  of  poetry  which  the 
nnderstauding  had  slain.  "  The  human  mind/'  as  Mill  puts  it,  "  did 
not  set  out  from  the  notion  of  a  name,  but  from  that  of  a  divinity. 
The  realization  of  abstractions  was  not  the  embodiment  of  a  word,  but 
the  disembodiment  of  a  Fetich."  Really,  therefore,  these  essences  and 
powers  were  nothing  more  than  the  pure  abstractions,  and  therefore  only 
the  negations,  of  the  gods  whose  places  they  took.  They  had  no  positive 
content  of  their  own.  As  mere  negatives  they  had  no  value  except  in 
relation  to  the  corresponding  affirmatives,  although  in  the  first  instance 
imagination  was  strong  enough  to  give  them  the  semblance  of 
positive  principles    occupying  the  place  of   the  beliefs  they  expelled. 


198 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVTEJT. 


And  it  was  jnst  this  temporary  illasion  which  made  them  snch  powerfiil 
weapons  of  destruction.  For  the  revolutionary  passion  can  never  be 
sustained  hy  negations  which  it  recognises  as  such.  It  is  impossible  to 
march  with  enthusiasm  to  the  attack  upon  the  institutions  of  the  pastj 
without  the  conviction  that  there  is  something  more  to  be  gained  than 
the  destruction  of  those  institutions. 

The  metaphysical  philosophy,  as  the  necessary  forerunner  of  the 
philosophy  of  experience,  gradually  extended  its  destructive  power  over 
all  branches  of  human  knowledge.  At  first  it  laid  its  hand  on  the 
sciences  that  deal  with  organic  nature,  and  of  these,  first  of  all  oa 
those  that  deal  with  the  phenomena  furthest  from  man^  and  least 
subject  to  his  control.  For  man  discovers  that  the  phenomena  of  the 
heavens  are  not  ruled  by  arbitrary  will,  long  before  he  discerns  the 
absence  of  caprice  from  the  general  course  of  Xature.  In  like  manner, 
he  is  sensible  that  inorganic  things  have  fixed  and  unchangeable  rela- 
tions, while  as  yet  the  spontaneity  of  animal  life  seems  to  be  as 
unlimited  as  that  which  he  attributes  to  his  own  will.  And  only  last  of 
all,  does  it  dawn  upon  him  that  his  own  life  also  is  limited  and  controlled 
by  something  which  is  neither  his  own  will  nor  the  will  of  a  being  like 
himself,  whom  he  can  propitiate  or  persuade — something  which  is  both 
within  and  without  him,  to  which  he  must  conform  himself,  seeing  it  will 
not  conform  to  him.  The  last  substantiated  abstraction,  therefore,  which  is 
put  in  the  place  of  the  divine  powers,  is  Nature.  And  Nature  is  only  a 
name  for  the  general  course  of  things,  though  it  is  regarded  by  meta- 
physics as  existing  apart  from,  and  controlling  them.  But  as  Naturo 
succeeds  to  the  place  of  a  God  whom  men  were  conceived  to  be  bound 
to  obey,  but  able  ai*bitrarily  to  disobey,  so  is  it  represented  as  the 
source  of  a  law  distinct  from  the  actual  course  of  human  life,  and  to 
which  it  does  not  necessarily  conform.  The  law  of  Nature,  in  this 
view,  is  a  law  written  on  man's  heart,  but  not  necessarily  realized  in 
his  actions.  In  truth,  however,  it  is  but  the  negation  of  that  order  of 
social  life  which  was  based  upon  the  theologiciil  idea,  though  it  is 
supposed  by  those  who  believe  in  it  to  be  something  more. 

This  becomes  evident  whenever  we  examine  the  main  articles  eon-  ■ 
tained  in  this  supposed  law  of  Nature.  For  these  are  simply  negations 
of  different  parts  of  that  social  order  wliich  was  based  upon  theology.  The 
first  of  these  articles  is  the  right  of  private  judgment — that  is,  the  right 
of  every  iudividual  to  emancipate  himself  from  all  spiritual  authority, 
and  to  judge  of  everything  for  himself.  This  principle  is  merely  "  a 
sanction  of  the  state  of  anarcliy,  which  intervened  between  the  decay  of 
the  old  discipline  and  the  formation  of  new  spiritual  ties."  In  other 
words,  it  is  not  a  new  principle  of  order,  but  the  abstract  expression  of 
the  ungovemed  state  of  mere  iudividual  opinion,  "  for  no  association 
whatever,  even  of  the  smallest  number  of  persons  and  for  the  most 
temporary  objects,  can  subsist  without  some  degree  of  agreement,  intellec- 
tual and  moral,  among  its  members."      In  the  next  place  among  the 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     199 

urticlea  of  tlie  law  of  Nature  stands  the  doctrine  of  equality,  which  has 
a  meaning  only  as  the  negation  of  the  old  hierarchy^  the  old  social  and 
political  order,  but  which,  taken  absolutely,  is  the  negation  of  all  order 
whatever.  For  if  society  is  anything  more  than  a  collection  of  imrelated 
atoms,  if  it  is  an  organic  unity,  it  must  have  different  orgaus  for  its 
different  functions,  and  it  is  as  impossible  that  these  organs  should  all 
be  equal,  as  that  they  should  all  be  the  same.  This  doctrine,  therefore, 
is  but  the  abstract  proclamation  of  social  anarchy.  To  tbese  articles  arc 
couunonly  added  the  doctrines  of  national  independence,  and  of  the 
sovereignty  of  the  people.  The  former  is  nothing  more  than  the  nega- 
tion of  that  spiritual  supremacy  of  the  Church,  which  in  the  Middle 
Ages  mediated  between  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  bound  them 
together ;  but,  taken  absolutely,  it  would  imply  national  isolation  and 
international  anarchy.  The  latter  is  the  transferrence  to  the  governed 
of  that  fiction  of  divine  right  which  was  fornierly  supposed  to  reside  in 
the  governor,  and  it  has  no  meaninf^  except  ns  the  negation  of  that 
fiction.  For  the  people  cannot  rule  themsehes ;  aud  even  to  make  them 
choose  their  ruler,  that  is,  to  moke  the  inferior  and  less  wise  choose  the 
superior  and  wiser,  cannot  be  regarded  as  more  than  a  provisional 
expedient  for  anarchic  times. 

The  articles  of  the  law  of  Nature  then,  like  all  metaphysical  prin- 
ciples, are  merely  principles  of  insurrection  aud  revolt.  They  have  no 
positive  validity ;  for  they  arc  just  the  ultimate  abstractions,  or,  so  to 
speak,  the  speculative  phantoms  of  the  system  which  they  destroy.  As 
it  is  said  that  a  man  dies  when  he  has  seen  his  own  ghost,  so^  according 
to  Comte,  the  destroyer  of  theology  is  just  the  ghost  of  itself,  raised  by 
abstraction.  But  the  ghost  also  vanishes  when  its  victim  is  fairly 
buried,  leaving  the  field  to  the  growing  strength  of  positive  science. 

Positive  science,  then,  is  the  real  cause  of  all  intellectual  progress, 
its  advance  constitutes  the  nisu^  formativus  that  is  concealed  beneath 
the  surface  struggle  of  theology  aud  metaphysics.  For  even  in  the 
■earliest  theological  era,  there  was  a  certain  element  of  positive  science, 
that  is,  of  knowledge  of  the  permanent  relations  of  things.  The  most 
arbitrary  will  is  not  all  arbitrary,  but  presupposes  something  of  a  fixed 
order  without  or  within,  and  therefore  the  anthropomorphic  analogies 
by  which  phenomena  were  interpreted,  still  left  some  space  for  the  idea 
of  law.  And  this  space  was  continually  being  widened,  at  the  expense 
of  the  arbitrary  and  the  accidental.  AVhile  metaphysics  seemed  simply 
to  be  substituting  one  transcendent  explanation  for  another,  it  was  really 
disguising  the  abandonment  of  all  transcendent  explanations  whatever, 
and  the  introduction  of  positive  explanations  in  their  place.  The  doubts 
expressed  in  the  metaphysical  criticism  were  really  due  to  a  growing 
sense  of  law,  which,  when  it  became  clear  and  self-conscious,  produced 
the  podtive  philosophy.  Hence  there  was,  for  a  long  time,  an  intimate 
alliance  between  the  scientific  and  the  metaphysical  spirit,  though  the 
former  was  merely  critical,  and  the  latter  organic.     And  this  alliance 


■ 


200 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


was  the  more  easily  maintained,  because,  in  the  first  instance,  neither 
the  negative  character  of  the  former  nor  the  positive  character  of  the 
latter  was  distinctly  discerned.  Metaphyaic  was  not  seen  to  be  merely 
critical,  because  its  abstractions  were  taken  to  be  real  entities.  And 
science  could  not  be  seen  to  be  organic,  that  i»,  to  contain  the  principle 
of  a  new  organization  of  society,  till  it  rose  from  the  contemplation  of 
the  inorganic  world  to  the  study  of  life,  and  especially  of  human  life. 
History,  however,  shows  that  science  has  always  rcapeil  tlic  fruits  of 
every  victory  won  over  theology  by  metaphysic,  and  on  the  other  hand 
that  metaphysic  has  never  succeeded  in  maintaining  any  position  against 
theology,  which  has  not  been  occupied  by  positive  science.  The  great 
metaphysical  movement  of  the  Greeks  left  for  its  sole  permanent  result 
the  sciences  of  Geometry  and  Astronomy;  while  their  premature  specu- 
lations on  Psychology  and  Sociology  were  suppressed  or  forgotten  by 
the  mcdiasval  church,  which  directed  all  the  intelligence  of  the  world  to 
the  practical  work  of  ci\dliziiig  and  organizing  men  by  means  of  the 
monotheistic  idea.  "When  thought  was  again  awakened,  the  abstract 
metaphysic  of  the  Schoolmen  was  only  the  forerunner  of  the  renewed 
study  of  natural  science,  especially  of  Physics  and  Chemistry,  wliich  at 
first  appeared  under  the  forms  of  Astrology  and  Alchemy;  and  the  vic- 
tory of  Nominalism  over  Ilealism,  in  which  the  scholastic  philosophy 
ended,  was  the  indication  of  another  triumph  of  science.  For  Komi- 
nalism  is  simply  the  negation  of  tlmt  tendency  to  personify  abstractions^ 
which  is  the  essence  of  metaphysic.  Finally,  as  a  consequence  of  that 
development  of  science  which  culminated  in  Newton,  metaphysic  censod, 
to  apply  its  method  to  the  external  world,  and  confined  itself  to  the 
sphere  of  Biology  and  Sociology,  from  which  it  is  now  being  gradually 
driven.  In  the  last  of  these  applications^  its  power  for  criticism  and 
destruction,  and  its  M'eakness  for  reconstniction  and  reorganization ^ 
were  proved  by  the  decisive  experiment  of  the  French  Revolution,  in 
which  the  ideas  of  the  rights  of  man  and  the  law  of  Nature  were  tried 
and  found  wanting.  Since  that  time  political  life  has  fluctuated  between 
the  theological  and  the  metaphysical  principles,  and  therefore  between 
the  opposite  dangers  of  reaction  and  revolution,  finding  no  security  for 
order  but  in  the  former,  and  no  security  for  progress  but  in  the  latter. 
But  the  advance  of  Sociology  into  the  positive  stage,  which  has  been 
inaugurated  by  Comte,  has,  in  his  view,  shown  that  the  opposite  interests 
of  order  and  progress  may  be  equally  secured,  if  only  we  base  both  upon 
a  knowledge  of  the  laws  by  which  the  existence  and  activity  of  man 
are  ruled,  and  not  on  the  fictions  of  the  imagination,  or  on  the  still 
emptier  fictions  of  the  understanding. 

The  aim  of  the  future,  then,  is  one  with  the  aim  of  the  past.  That 
social  passion  which  in  all  great  constructive  periods  of  human  history, 
and  especially  iu  the  !MiddIt;  Ages,  took  hold  of  theological  beliefs,  and 
made  thcui  a  means  to  orgauiae  and  discipline  maukindj  is  still  to  be 
the  guiding  motive    of  all  speculation   and  action.       But  the  system 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     201 

of  thought  which  it  uses  for  this  end  must  inevitably  he  changed. 
Renonncing  the  theological  and  metaphysical  interpretations  of  things, 
which  haTC  been  proved  to  be  either  inconsistent  i^ith  facts,  or  at  least 
incapable  of  being  verified  by  them,  we  must  now  biise  our  effort  to 
improve  man's  estate  upon  the  laws  of  the  consistence  and  succcssiou 
of  phenomena,  as  these  are  determined  by  science.  And  on  the  other 
hand,  as  we  recognise  that  all  the  sciences  tend  to  lose  themselves  in 
the  multiplicity  of  a  universe,  where  every  path  leads  to  the  infinite, 
we  must  seek  also  to  organize  and  discipline  the  hithcjto  dispersive 
efforts  of  Bcicuce,  so  that  they  may  be  directed  entirely  to  the  relief 
and  furtherance  of  man's  estate.  In  this  way  scientific  knowledge  and 
social  benevolence  will  act  and  react,  at  once  limiting  and  8up{>orting 
each  other,  and  amid  all  the  darkness  of  a  universe  which  absolutely  is 
unknowable,  and,  even  relatively  to  himself,  is  only  partially  knowable, 
man  can  yet  give  a  kind  of  unity  and  completeness  to  his  transitory 
existence.  For  all  he  needs  to  know,  is  that  wliich  experience  has 
constantly  been  teaching,  the  uniformity  and  constancy  of  the  laws  of 
phenomena.  By  means  of  this  knowledge,  so  far  as  he  can  obtain  it, 
and  without  any  need  to  penetrate  into  tlic  transcendent  causes  of 
things,  he  can  foresee  many  phenomena,  like  those  of  the  heavens,  over 
which  he  has  no  control  whatever,  and  also  many  phenomena,  like  those 
of  his  own  nature  and  hia  immediate  environment,  which  he  can,  to  a 
certain  degree,  change  and  modify.  And  thus  he  can  learn,  with  ecu- 
tinually  growing  certainty,  what  arc  the  means  he  must  use  to  bring 
within  his  reach  the  highest  good  which  the  system  of  things  allows 
him  to  attain,  detaching  his  tlioughts  and  interests  more  and  more  from 
the  unfathomed  abyss  beyond,  which  he  now  knows  to  be  by  him  un- 
fathomable. 

Is  it,  then,  possible  for  men  to  sketch  out  the  programme  of  an  exist- 
ence limited  to  this  "  bank  and  shoal  of  time,"  to  conceive  it  as  a 
complete  system  in  itself,  and  r^^organistr  aatis  Dieu  tit  roiy  par  le  cul/e 
tyatvinatique  dc  I'hitmanite  7  Can  they,  surrendering  the  belief  in 
"  a  Divinity  that  shapes  their  ends,  rough-hew  them  how  they  will/' 
"  constitute  a  real  providence  for  themselves,  in  all  departments,  moral, 
intellectual,  and  material?"  Comte  answers  that  they  can;  and  in  the 
*'  Politique  Positive"  he  tries  to  exhibit  the  main  outlines  of  that  rocial 
system  of  the  future  by  which  this  end  is  to  be  attained. 

His  starting  point  is — strange  as  at  Jirst  it  may  seem — the  idea  of 
religion.  "  Religion  embraces  all  onr  existence,  for  its  history  there- 
fore must  be  an  epitome  of  the  whole  history  of  our  development.'' 
Beneath  and  beyond  all  the  details  of  our  ideas  of  things,  thi're  is  a 
certain  "  espnt  d'ensemble,"  a  general  conception  of  the  world  Mithont 
and  the  world  within,  in  which  these  details  gather  to  a  head.  If  tliis  con- 
ception or  picture  be  cohcreut  with  itself,  and  if  at  the  same  time 
be  such  as  to  present  an  object  on  uhich  our  affections  can  rest,  and 
an  end  in  the  pursuit  of  which  all  our  powers  and  capacities  may  be 


202 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


exercised,  then  our  life  will  have  that  unity  and  consistency  with  itself 
which  is  necessary  for  the  highest  efficiency  and  happiness.  Such  a 
harmony  of  existence,  in  which  all  its  elements  are  fitly  co-ordinated,  is 
what,  in  Comte's  view,  constitutes  a  religion.  And,  since  man  is  both 
an  individual  and  a  social  being,  this  harmony  is  seen  to  involve  two 
things.  It  involves  a  subordination  of  all  the  elements  of  man's  indi* 
vidual  nature  to  some  ruling  tendency,  and  it  involves  a  certain  adapta* 
tion  of  men  to,  and  a  combination  of  them  with,  each  other.  Further^ 
this  harmony  of  humanity  with  itself  must  also  be  a  harmony  of  man 
with  the  world  in  which  he  exists.  In  other  words,  the  individual  caa 
attain  his  highest  perfection  and  happiness  only  in  so  far  as  he  is,  at 
once  and  by  virtue  of  the  same  principle,  in  harmony  with  the  world, 
with  his  fellow-men,  and  with  himself.  , 

Now,  this  harmony  cannot  be  produced  by  the  sway  of  personal  or' 
egoistic  motives  ;  for  these  are  in  fatal  disagreement  with  each  other,  and 
they  set  each  man  in  antagonism  to  all  other  men,  and  even  to  the 
natural  conditions  of  his  own  existence.  The  regulation  and  harmoniz- 
ing of  tlie  nature]of  the  individuul  man,  therefore,  implies  his  attachment 
or  self-surrender  to  that  which  is  without  him,  and  to  which  he  is  necea-, 
aarily  related — to  some  object  in  that  world  of  persona  and  things  which,] 
hems  him  in  on  every  side,  and  which  must  needs  be  his  enemy  so  long 
he  is  ruled  by  egoism.  Further^  if  the  principle  of  religion  is  thus  to 
be  found  without  and  not  within  the  individual  man,  it  must  be  found 
in  some  object  to  which  he  submits  as  to  a  superior  powcr^  and  on 
which,  at  the  same  time,  his  affections  can  rest.  Submission  and 
love  are  both  necessary  to  religion,  for  if  we  have  merely  the 
former^  the  utmost  we  can  feel  is  resignation  to  a  fatality ;  and  this, 
though  it  involves  a  certain  limitation  of  the  selfish  tendencies,  can 
never  overcome  them,  or  substitute  a  new  motive  for  them.  To 
retain  the  energy  of  egoism  and  combine  it  with  resignation  to  a  power 
greater  than  ours,  we  must  love  that  power  to  which  we  submit 
Finally,  this  submission  and  self-surrender  must  be  consistent  with  a 
certain  relative  sense  of  independence,  for  no  feeling  is  really  powerful 
which  docs  not  result  in  action.  Hence,  to  submission  and  love,  we 
wc  must  add  the  belief  that  we  can  make  ourselves  useful  to  that 
Being  to  whom  we  submit  and  whom  we  love.  Only  thus,  when  vene- 
ration for  that  which  is  above  us,  is  combined  with  love  for  that  which 
is  the  conHtaut  source  of  good  to  us,  and  with  benevolence  towards  that 
which  needs  our  help,*  can  we  rise  above  the  unreal  and  imperfect  unity 
of  sclfisljiiess  into  the  perfect  unity  of  religion.  Or,  to  put  it  more  shortly, 
in  Comte's  own  language,  "the  principal  religious  diGGculty  is  to  secure  that 
the  extcnml  shall  regulate  the  internal  without  aftccting  its  spontaneity;" 
to  secure,  that  is,  that  the  free  subjective  principles  of  love  and  benevolence 
shall  attach  to  the  power  to  which  we  believe  our  existence  to  be  subordi- 
nated. For  if  our  faith  be  not  one  with  our  love,  or  if  our  love  be 
•  Cf.  Goethe's  •' Throe  Hevercncei." 


I 


I 


I 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,      203 

not  a  principle  of  activity,  we  cannot  be,  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word, 
religions. 

Now  the  difficulty  of  attaining  such  a  harmony  or  unity  of  existence 
cannot  but  be  obvious  to  those  who  live  in  a  period  when  "  the  iutcUigcnce 
is  in  insurrection  against  the  heart ;"  when  what  men  desire  and  love  is 
not  by  any  means  one  with  what,  on  the  authority  of  science,  they 
believe.  If,  howercrj  we  follow  the  course  of  advancing  knowledge,  we 
shall  see  that  this  state  of  things  is  merely  temporary,  and  that  com- 
pleted positive  science  gives  us  back  all  that  in  the  course  of  its  deve- 
lopment it  seemed  to  take  away.  Science,  indeed,  from  its  very  dawn, 
"when  it  discovers  that  there  is  a  fixed  order  and  law  in  the  movement 
of  the  heavenly  bodies,  gives  support  to  one  element  of  religion,  the 
sense  that  we  arc  in  the  bands  of  a  superior  power.  It  reveals  to  man 
&u  ultimate  necessity  which  bounds  and  determines  his  life — a  necessity 
■which,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  he  cannot  modify.  But  as  the 
idea  of  law  is  gradually  extended  to  physical,  chemical,  and  vital 
phenomena,  this  necessity  seems  to  limit  and  control  him  on 
every  side.  Phenomena,  therefore,  can  no  longer  be  regarded  as 
the  expressions  of  the  wills  of  fictitious  beings  endowed  w^ith  the 
qualities  most  admired  in  humanity,  and  therefore  capable  of  being 
loved.  And  the  natural  effect  of  this  is  to  reduce  religion  into  a  mere 
resignation  to  an  irresistible  fate,  which  is  incapable  of  awaking  or 
responding  to  human  affection.  With  the  rise  of  sociology,  however, 
science  changes  its  aspect,  and  begins  to  restore  to  us  more  thau  all 
that  was  contained  in  the  dreams  of  mythology  which  it  has  destroyed. 
Tor  this  culminating  science  teaches  us  to  regard  the  whole  race  of 
man  as  an  organic  and  self-developing  unity,  in  which  we,  as  individuals, 
are  parts  or  members.  Between  our  own  life  and  the  mei"ely  external 
necessity  of  Nature  we  sec  a  spiritual  power  which  modifies  it  and 
adapts  it  to  our  wants.  Between  the  individual  and  the  world  stands 
humanity,  and  the  "  main  pressure  of  external  fatality  docs  not  fall  upon 
the  former  directly,  but  only  through  the  interposition  of  the  latter/' 
In  passing  through  this  medium,  brute  necessity  is  changed  more  and 
more  into  a  saving  providence.  To  be  convinced  of  this  we  need  only 
to  observe  that,  after  we  go  beyond  the  fixed  order  of  the  celestial 
system,  which  is  the  ultimate  necessity  of  our  lives,  and  which  lies 
entirely  beyond  the  reach  of  our  interference,  we  come  u])ou  various 
orders  of  phenomena — physical,  chemical,  and  vital — which  are  capable 
of  modification,  and  are  continuously  subjected  to  it  by  man,  and  even 
by  plants  and  animals.  So  soon  as  life  begins,  order  becomes  the  basis 
of  progress  :  for  the  living  being  not  only  adapts  itself  to  the  medium 
in  which  it  lives,  but  continually  reacts  upon  that  medium,  in 
order  to  render  it  more  suitable  for  its  wants ;  and  in  the  case  of 
man,  inasmuch  as  his  existence  has  a  connection  and  a  continuity  that 
binds  the  whole  race  together  through  the  long  succession  of  ages,  this 
reaction  is  cumulative.     The  life  of  the  individual  in  any  age   is   what 


A J 


204. 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEll\ 


it  is,  by  reason  of  the  whole  progressive  movement  of  humanity  ;  and 
the  later  the  time  of  his  appearance  the  more  he  owes  to  his  race. 
"  The  living  are  always  more  and  more  dominated  by  the  dead/'  On 
this  great  benefactor,  therefore^  his  tlioughts  can  rest,  as  a  power  which 
moderates  and  controls  his  whole  life,  and  which  controls  it  not  merely 
as  a  fate  to  which  he  must  resign  himself,  but  as  a  providence  to  which 
his  love  and  gratitude  are  due.  Nor  will  such  feelingg  be  less  powerful 
because  this  providence  is  one  which  he  can  serve,  and  which  needs  his 
service.  Hence  he  is  led  to  contemplate  his  life  in  all  that  makes  ii 
worth  living,  as  tlic  gift  of  a  "  Grand  Etrc,"  to  whom  during  Lis  short 
term  of  earthly  years  it  is  his  highest  virtue  to  devote  himself,  and' 
with  whom  it  is  his  final  reward  to  become  incorporated.  For  his 
'* objective' '  or  actual  existence  iu  time  has  no  valuable  result,  unless  it 
add  to  the  ^^ subjective'*  existence  of  humanity,  the  influences  and  memories 
which  mould  for  good  the  lot  of  subsequent  generations.  His  religion, 
iu  short,  is  to  consider  himself  as  a  useful  link  iu  the  chain  betweeiL 
the  past  and  future  of  the  race,  a  soldier  of  humanity  in  the  continual 
struggle  whereby  it  adapts  itself  to  its  sphere  of  action,  and  its  sphere 
of  action  to  itself,  so  as  to  realize  au  ever  richer  and  more  harmonious 
social  existence. 

It  is  true  indeed  that  Humanity  has  no  absolute  power,  that  it  is 
hemmed  in  by  a  fatality  which  it  can  only  partially  modify.  "  Tbi^ 
immense  and  eternal  Being  has  not  created  the  materials  which  its  wi 
activity  employs,  nor  the  laws  which  determine  the  results  of  its  action." 
But  it  is  as  vain  to  attempt  to  raise  our  hearts  beyond  tliis  immediate 
benefactor,  as  to  carry  the  mind  beyond  the  circle  of  experience  within 
whicli  it  is  necessarily  enclosetl.  Nay,  it  is  not  only  vain,  but  hurtful. 
"  The  provisional  regime  whicli  cuds  in  onr  day  has  only  too  clearly 
manifested  the  gravity  of  this  danger,  for  diudug  it  the  greater  part  of 
the  thanks  addressed  to  the  fictitious  Being  constituted  so  many  acts  of 
ingratitude  to  Humanity,  the  sole  author  of  the  benefits  for  which  thanks 
were  given."  "  If  the  adoration  of  fictitious  powers  was  morally  indis- 
pensable, 80  long  as  the  true  '  Grand  Etre '  that  rules  our  lives  could 
not  clearly  manifest  himself,  now  at  least  it  would  tend  to  turn  us 
away  from  the  sole  worship  that  can  improve  us.  Tliose  who  would 
prolong  it  at  the  present  day  are  forgetting  its  legitimate  purpose, 
which  was  simply  to  direct  provisionally  the  evolution  of  our  best  feel- 
ings, under  the  regency  of  God  during  the  long  minority  of  humanity." 
Of  this  worship,  the  Christian  doctrine  of  the  incai'uation  might  be  re- 
garded as  au  anticipation,  and  still  more  perhaps  the  mediicval  worship 
of  the  Virgin  ;  for  women,  as  the  sex  characterized  by  sympathy,  are  tlie 
fit  representatives  of  Humanity.  They  mediate  between  Humanity  and 
man.  as  Humanity  mediates  between  man  and  the  world. 

Ihit  the  worship  of  Humanity  is  only  the  general  principle  from  which 
the  new  life  of  "Sociocracy"  must  spring,  it  is  not  "  Sociocracy''  itself. 
"VN^c  have  therefore  to  inquire  wliat  is  the  order  of  life  that  corresponds 


as       I 


I 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,     205 

to  this  new  religion.  How  doc«  it  modify  our  ideas  of  the  relation  of 
men  to  each  other,  and  to  the  world?  And  wliat  light  docs  it  cast  upon 
the  various  forms  of  social  existence,  upon  the  Family,  the  State,  and 
the  Church?  I  can  only  give  a  brief  resume  of  Cointe's  answers  to 
these  questions* 

All  civilization  or  improvement  depends  ultimately  on  man's  control 
over  material  resources,  over  the  powers  and  products  of  Nature.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  reactive  influence  upon  himself  of  the 
effort  by  which  he  appropriates  and  adapts  these  resources  to  his  pur- 
posesj  which  first  civilizes  and  educates  him.  Man  can  only  conquer 
Nature  by  obeying  her  laws,  and  to  obey  these  laws  he  must  know 
them.  Hence  it  is  the  necessities  of  the  practical  life  which  excite  the 
first  efforts  after  scientific  knowledge,  and  it  is  under  the  pressure  of 
the  same  necessities  that  man  first  learns  to  surrender  self-will  to  the 
discipline  of  regular  labour,  and  of  co-operation  with  his  fellows.  We 
might  indeed  imagine  a  different  kind  of  education  for  the  human  race. 
If  mankind  generally,  like  some  of  the  richer  classes,  were  placed  in 
circumstances  in  which,  without  effort  or  struggle,  they  could  at  once 
satisfy  all  their  natural  wants  and  desires,  we  might  imagine  that  social 
sympathies  and  intellectual  tastes  would  soon  prevail  over  all  the  per- 
sonal or  egoistic  tendencies.  For  though  the  latter  were  at  first  far  the 
frtrODgest,  they  would  gradually  die  out  for  lack  of  occasions  for  cjter- 
cisc.  Losing  thus  the  |>owcrful  stimulus  of  self-interest,  which  drives  us 
to  investigate  the  laws  of  Nature,  the  intellectual  activity  of  such  beings 
would  take  an  aesthetic  direction,  and  would  lie  devoted  mainly  to  the 
t«sk  of  providing  forms  of  expression  for  the  social  sympathies,  ^'hese 
social  sympathies  would  become  intense,  for  they  would  occupy  the 
whole  of  life.  But  they  would  in  the  first  instance  be  confined  in  the 
circle  of  the  family ;  for  the  social  life  of  States  gains  its  principal  interest 
from  the  ever-widening  co-operation  which  is  required  in  the  struggle 
for  existence  against  externa]  difficulties.  The  natural  creed  of  men 
would  be  an  ajsthetic  Fetichism  ;  and  this,  in  the  course  of  time,  when 
men  had  learned  to  distinguish  between  action  and  life,  would  be 
changed  into  Positivism  without  needing  to  pass  through  the  long  inter- 
mediate stages  of  theology  and  metaphysics ;  while,  in  the  practical  life, 
the  affection  of  the  family  would  broaden  to  the  love  of  humanity,  omit- 
ting the  middle  term  of  nationality.  Finally,  as  the  heart  and  the 
intelligence  would  continually  gain  a  more  marked  ascendency  over  the 
practical  activity,  it  would  be  natural  that  the  spiritual  power  should 
mle  the  temporal,  and  that  women  should  have  the  supremacy  over  men. 

This  ideal,  however,  only  serves  to  illustrate  by  contrast  the  real 
course  of  things,  which  indeed  continually  advances  towards  the  same 
goal,  but  by  a  far  longer  and  more  stormy  path,  a  path  not  of  un- 
troubled and  peaceful  growth,  but  of  conflict,  division,  and  pain. 
We  shall  find,  however,  as  a  kind  of  recompense  for  this  hard  process  of 
mediation,  th:it  the  final  reconciliation  of  humanity  with  the  world  and 


206 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


■with  itself  is  far  more  perfect  and  conclusive,  as  it  is  a  reconciliation 
which  subonliuatcs,  -while  it  satisfies,  all  the  different  elements  of  his 
nature.  For  a  "  sociality/'  reared  on  the  basis  of  a  fully  developed  yet 
conquered,  "  personality,"  an  art  reared  on  the  basis  of  science,  is  a  far 
higher  ideal  than  such  an  imagined  paradise,  in  which  the  struggle  for 
existence,  with  all  the  intellectual  and  physical  exertion  which  it  involves, 
would  be  made  unnecessary. 

Our  personal  tendencies  are  strongest  at  first,  and  in  their  direct 
action  they  might  lead,  and  do  indeed  often  lead,  to  a  sacrifice  of 
society  to  the  individual,  and  to  the  development  in  him  of  an  extrava- 
gant pride  and  self-will,  by  which  both  heart  and  reason  are  corrupted. 
But  man  soon  finds  that  he  must  stoop  to  conquer;  that  he  must  submit 
his  action  to  the  laws  of  Nature^  if  he  would  make  Nature  the  servant  of 
his  purposes  ;  that  he  must  himself  be  instrumental  to  the  well-being 
of  others  ere  he  can  make  them  instruments  of  his  own  well-being. 
And  in  this  submission  of  caprice  and  passion  to  reason  and  law,  and  of 
his  own  life  to  social  ends,  he  gradually  developes  his  intellectual  powers 
and  social  sympathies  till  they  gain  a  supremacy  over  those  egoistic 
tendencies  to  which  in  tlie  first  instance  they  were  subordinated.  The 
highest  ideal  of  man's  life  is  to  systematize  this  spontaneous  process,  and 
to  turn  into  a  conscious  aim  that  moral  and  intellectual  discipline  of  his 
nature,  which  in  the  past  has  been  tlic  unforeseen  result  of  his  effort 
after  personal  ends.  We  must,  however,  remember  that  this  result  would 
not  have  been  possible  unless  the  beginnings  of  these  higher  tendencies 
had  existed  in  man  from  the  first.  No  empirical  process  coxild  ever 
have  developed  social  sympathies  in  him,  if  he  had  been  by  nature  utterly 
selfish,  any  more  than  it  could  have  produced  reason  in  a  being  who 
was  devoid  of  even  the  germ  of  intelligence.  But  the  whole  history  of 
human  progress  is  just  an  account  of  the  process  whereby  feeble  social 
affections,  using  as  a  fulcrum  the  outward  necessities  of  man's  liic, 
gradually  secure  to  themselves  the  direction  of  all  his  activity,  "  The 
principal  triumph  of  humanity  consists  in  drawing  its  best  means  of 
perfecting  itself  from  that  very  fatality  which  seems  at  first  to  condemn 
us  to  most  brutal  egoism."  For  "  so  soon  as  the  personal  instincts  have 
placed  us  in  a  situation  proper  to  satisfy  our  social  tendencies,  these,  in 
virtue  of  their  irresistible  charm,  commonly  guide  us  to  a  course  of 
conduct  which  they  could  not  have  had  at  first  the  force  to  dictate.^' 

These  principles  find  their  illustration  in  certain  economical  truths. 
In  most  conditions  in  which  human  beings  are  placed,  the  individual  is 
capable  of  producing  more  than  is  immediately  necessary  for  his  wants ; 
or,  in  other  words,  of  accumulating  wealth.  Such  accumulations  make 
social  existence  possible,  and  coming,  by  gift  or  conquest,  into  the  hands 


of  the  heads  of  society,   become 


the]  means 


of   realizinnf  a  division  of 


labour,  by  providing  the  different  classes  of  labourers  with  sustenance 
and  instruments  of  production.  DiWsion  of  labour,  again,  secures  con- 
tinually increased  efficiency,  makes  continually  greater  demands  upon 


i 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,    207 


■  •cicnce  for  guidance,  and  thus  stimulates  the  development  of  the  intel- 
lectual life.  Thus  the  hard  external  conditions  under  which  man's 
activity  secures  the  satisfaction  of  his  M-ants  become  a  beneficent 
necessity,  which  forces  him  to  increase  his  knowledge,  and  to  co-operate 
with  an  ever-widening  circle  of  his  fellow-meu.  This  co-operation, 
indeed,  is  not  always  conscious ;  and,  even  when  it  is  conscious,  it  is  not 
necessarily  accompanied  by  social  sympathy,  as  is  shown  by  the  fierce 
industrial  struggles  of  capital  with  labour  at  the  present  day.  Yet  it  is 
inevitable  that  it  should  in  the  long  run  produce  a  sense  of  the  solidarity 
of  mankind.  "  As  each  one  really  labours  for  the  others,  in  the  end  he 
must  acquire  the  consciousness  that  he  does  so  labour,"  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  being  a  part  in  a  greater  whole  must  produce  a  willingness 
to  ser^e  and  live  for  it.  Thus,  a  movement  beginning  in  the  reactive 
inflneuce  on  man's  acti\*ity  of  the  physical  conditions  of  his  life,  extends 
its  effects  gradually  to  his  intelligence  and  his  heart,  so  that  the  order 
of  the  elements  of  his  nature  becomcSj  as  it  were,  inverted ;  the  first 
becomes  last,  and  the  last  first.  And  instead  of  the  self-concentratioii 
H^of  the  savage  we  have  the  development  of  a  social  impulse,  which  begins 
^"  by  setting  the  family  before  the  individual,  which  goes  ou  to  set  the 
State   before   the   family,    and   which   must    eud   in    setting  humanity 

■  before  all. 
The  way  in  which   this  movement  is  accomplishedj  and  the  form  of 
ftocial  life  in  which  it  must  result,  are  determined  by  principles  that  have 
^kbeady  been  suggested.      The  abstract  elements  of  human  life,  of  which 
^'"ire  have  to  take  account,   are   material,   intellectual,   and  moral  force, 
corresponding  respectively  to    the  will,  the   iutelligeuce,  and  the  heart. 
And  these  again  correspond  to  three  forms  of  association  among  men — 
the   State,   the   Church,  and  the  Family  ;  three  partial  societies,  in  the 
union  of  which  alone  man  can  attain  the  complete  satisfaction  of  his 
Kcomplex  being.      It  is   scarcely   necessary  to   intimate,  however,    that 
^this  general  correspondence  of  the  abstract  and  concrete  divisions  is  not 
meant  to  imply  that  any  one  of  these  forms  of  society  is  purely  material, 
purely  intellectual,  or  purely  based  upon  affection.     The  great  whole  of 
the  universal   society  is  made  up  of  parts  which  are  like  it,  and  are 
themselves  wholes  ;  and  in  every  one  of  thcra  we  can  make  a  division  of 
material,  inteliectual,  and  moral  powers.      Still,  with  this  reservation,  we 

I  may  say  generally  that  the  lx)nd  which  holds  the  family  together  is  one 
|»f  affection  ;  that  the  boud  of  the  State  is  one  of  action,  or  material 
burpofic ;  and  that  the  bond  of  humanity  is  the  spiritual  bond  of  intel- 
Kgenoe.  And  further,  that,  as  in  the  family  the  toue  and  temper  of  the 
Irfaole  society  is  determined  by  the  women,  so  the  tone  and  temper  ot 
the  State  is  determined  by  the  practical  classes,  warlike  or  industrial ; 
and  the  tone  and  temper  of  the  Church  by  the  priesthood^  theological 
or  scientific.  It  is  cue  main  design  of  Comte's  sociology  to  organize 
and  put  in  their  proper  relation  to  each  other  the  tliree  great  social 
»wer9,   which  have  successively  established  their  claims  iu  the  long 


308 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


history  of  human  development.  The  dawn  of  civilization  saw  the 
organization  of  the  family,  under  the  guidance  of  Fetichism.  Poly- 
theism taught  men  to  combiue  in  a  civil  society,  under  the  guidance  of 
a  power  in  which  temporal  and  spiritual  authority  were  confused 
together.  FinallVj  Monotheism  separated  the  secular  and  spiritual 
powerSj  and  established  a  certain  provisional  equilibrium  between  them. 
Metaphysic  was  powerful  only  to  destroy ;  but  by  sapping  the  founda- 
tions of  the  theological  system  it  prepared  the  way  for  Positivism,  by 
which  Family,  State,  and  Church  arc  fiually  to  be  distinguished  and 
harmoniied,  or  fixed  in  their  proper  organic  relations  to  each  otherj  so 
as  to  preclude  for  ever  their  warfare  or  intrusion  upon  each  other's 
provinces. 

In  determiuiug  the  nature  and  relation  of  these  three  forma  of  social 
unionj  Comtc  lays  down  two  principles.  The  first  is,  that  there  ean  be 
no  society  without  a  government,  any  more  thau  there  can  be  a  govern- 
ment, or  effective  power  among  men,  without  a  society.  "A  true  social 
force  is  the  result  of  a  more  or  less  extended  co-operation,  gathered  up 
into  an  individual  orgau,"  It  is  a  result  in  which  many  are  concerned, 
yet  which  finds  its  fiual  expression  through  the  will  of  one.  As  to  the 
former  point,  that  a  social  basis  of  force  is  necessary,  Comto  says  that 
*'  there  is  nothing  individual,  except  physical  force,"  and  even  physical 
force  is  very  limited  when  it  is  merely  individual.  Every  other  kind  of 
power,  whether  intellectual  or  moral,  is  essentially  social,  dependent  on 
the  co-operation  of  many  minds  in  the  present,  and  generally  also  on  a 
slow  accumulation  of  energy  in  the  past.  As  Goethe  said,  "  It  is  not 
the  solitary  man  that  can  accomplish  anything,  but  only  he  who  unites 
with  many  at  the  right  time/'  Nor^  on  the  other  hand,  can  we  have 
social  force  without  govemmcat.  The  concurrence  of  many  can  never 
be  really  effective,  until  it  finds  an  individual  organ  to  gather  it  up,  and 
concentrate  it  to  a  definite  result.  Sometimes  the  individual  comes 
first,  fixes  his  mind  on  a  determinate  purpose,  and  tlicn  gatliers  to  him- 
self the  various  partial  forces  which  arc  necessary  to  achieve  it.  More 
often  in  the  case  of  great  social  movements,  there  is  a  spontaneous 
convergence  of  many  particular  tendencies,  till^  finally,  the  individual 
appears  who  gives  them  a  common  centrCj  and  binds  them  into  one 
whole.  But  in  all  cases  the  cfTcctivc  co-operation,  the  real  social  force, 
is  not  present  till  it  has  thus  euuceutrated  and  individualized  itself. 

The  second  principle  is  one  that  has  been  already  illustrated.  It  is, 
in  Comte'R  view,  the  law  of  tljc  world  that  the  higher  should  imme- 
diately subordinate  itself  to  the  lower.  Thus  the  organic  finds  its  life 
controlled  and  limited  by  the  inorganic  world,  and  man  has  to  work  out 
his  destiny  in  submission  to  all  the  necessities,  jjhyaical,  chemical  and 
vital,  which  are  presupposed  in  his  existence.  Tlie  higher,  therefore, 
can  overcome  the  lower  only  by  obedience ;  if  it  is  to  conquer,  it  must 
at  least  "stoop  to  conquer."  And  this  law  holds  equally  good  in  the  case 
of  the  social  life  ofmau.     As  it  is  the  satisfaction  of  material  wants  that 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AXD  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,      209 


L 


N 


is,  and  must  be,  the  first  motive  of  his  life,  so  it  is  iu  the  effort  to  main- 
taiu  his  outward  existence^  and  to  employ  the  resources  of  Nature  for 
satisfying  his  desires,  that  his  powers  are  first  excited  and  disciplined. 
Heuee  it  is  the  practical  activities — military  or  iudustrial,  according  to 
the  state  of  civilization — which  must  bear  the  immediate  rule  in  hi§  life  ; 
not  because  they  are  the  highest,  but  because  they  are  the  indispensable 
basis  of  everjthiag  else.  Moral  and  intellectual  influences  can  only 
come  in  iu  the  second  place,  to  counsel  and  modify  the  ruthless  energy 
of  the  practical  life.  They  are  essentially  restraining,  correcting, 
guiding,  and  not  in  the  first  instance  stimulating  or  originative  forces. 
It  is  when  they  act  in  this  indirect  way  that  they  arc  really  most 
efficient,  and  their  direct  action,  if  it  were  possible,  would  defeat  itself. 
Their  purity  cannot  be  secured  except  by  their  withdrawal  from  the 
sphere  of  action  and  command  ;  their  power  is  dependent  on  their  self- 
abnegatiou  and  rejection  of  immediate  authority  and  rank.  They  cease 
to  influence  men  when  they  begin  to  dominate.  Nay,  even  if  their 
purity  were  secured,  and  they  could  reign  without  rivals,  we  have  seen 
that  they  would  produce  a  less  beneficent  result  than  when  they  come 
in  as  moderators.  The  purely  "  altruistic"  and  intellectual  being,  in 
whom  personal  motives  did  not  exist,  would  have  a  less  exalted  ideal  of 
life  set  before  him  than  one  in  whom  the  personal  motives  exist  in  all 
tiicir  energy,  but  are  remoulded  in  conformity  with  social  interests. 

On  this  basis  we  have  to  consider  the  order  of  the  Family,  the  State^ 
and  the  Church.  The  family  is  the  first  instrumeut  of  man's  social 
education.  It  takes  him  at  the  lowest  point,  to  raise  him  to  the  highest. 
It  is  the  "  only  natural  transition  which  can  habitually  disengage  us 
from  pure  personality,  to  raise  us  gradually  to  true  sociability."  In  it 
the  man,  according  to  the  above  principle,  must  bear  rule,  though  it  be 
the  woman,  who,  **  par  Faffectuense  reaction  du  couseil  sur  le  commande* 
ment,"  ultimately  determines  the  spirit  of  the  society,  A  shadow  also 
of  the  other  spiritual  power,  the  power  of  intelligence,  often  appears  in 
the  family,  especially  in  the  early  patriarchal  societies,  in  the  customary 
authority  given  to  the  moderating  counsel  of  the  elders,  who  are  beyond 
the  age  for  active  service. 

The  State  is  the  peculiar  sphere  of  the  active  or  secular  power,  which, 
after  being  military,  has  now  become  distinctly  industrial.  During  the 
military  stage,  the  harmony  of  the  difierent  classes  in  the  State  was  less 
difficult  to  preserve,  seeing  that  common  danger  bound  together  the 
soldier  classes,  and  confirmed  their  fidelity  to  their  leaders ;  while,  in 
many  cases,  the  industrial  oflSccs  were  committed  to  slaves,  or  serfs, 
who  were  deprived  of  all  |>olitical  power.  The  change  to  an  industrial 
order  of  political  life  brings  with  it  many  dangers  to  the  unity  of  the 
State,  especially  as  it  has  been  completed  at  a  time  when  the  old  theo- 
logical l^ia  of  belief  is  undermined.  Hence  the  already  difficult  task 
of  organizing  society  on  the  basis  of  individual  freedom,  and  without 
the  external   pressure  of  danger,  is  rendered  still  more  difficult.     The 

VOL.    XXXV.  P 


210 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REIHEIV. 


capitalistsj  who  are  the  natural  leaders  of  an  industrial  society,  have 
often  been  M'autiiig  in  the  cousciousuess  of  their  social  function,  and  in 
their  conduct  towards  their  workmen,  and  towards  each  other,  have 
been  giren  up  to  the  action  of  personal  motives.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  labourers,  or  "  proletaireSj"  filled  with  the  new  sense  of 
independence,,  and  excited  by  revolutionary  doctrines  of  indi\idual  right, 
have  lost  the  sense  of  loyally,  and  have  filled  their  minds  with  Utopiaa 
of  equality,  which  really  involve  the  negation  of  the  division  and  co- 
operation of  labour — ue,,  of  all  social  organization.  The  aim  of  all 
social  reform,  therefore,  must  be  to  bring  back  that  willing  subordination 
to  h^crs  inspired  by  the  sense  of  social  duty,  which  characterized  the 
military  regime  in  its  best  form.  But  this,  in  the  decay  of  theology, 
and  the  consequent  loss  of  influence  by  the  Catholic  Church,  requires 
the  development  of  a  new  social  doctriuc,  based  upon  science,  and  the 
riae  of  a  new  spiritual  power,  to  teach  and  apply  it  to  modern 
society.  The  State  cannot  be  perfectly  organized  without  the  revival 
of  the  Church,  for  it  is  the  wider  spiritual  unity  of  humanity  that 
alone  cau  give  renewed  strength  to  the  bonds  of  material  order  in  the 
State. 

The  great  achievement  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  the  separation  of  the 
spiritual  from  the  temporal  power.  This,  indeed,  was  partly  a  historical 
accident,  but  it  was  also  the  necessary  expression  of  the  true  relation  of 
theory  and  practiccj  which,  in  their  demands  and  requirements,  are 
essentially  opposed,  and  which  therefore  cannot  be  fully  developed 
except  in  relative  independence  of  each  other.  Theory  is  general,  and 
cannot  attain  its  highest  point  unless  it  is  universal.  Practice  is 
particular,  and  its  greatest  success  is  the  fruit  of  concentration  upon 
special  circumstances  and  objects.  Theory  therefore  becomes  stunted, 
and  loses  its  freetlom  and  itiipartiality,  if  it  is  brought  into  close  con- 
nection with  the  narrower  aims  of  the  outward  life.  Practice 
loses  little  by  the  egoism  of  personal  will  and  desire,  and  indeed 
within  proper  limits  requires  it.  To  gain  the  full  benefit  of  this 
distinction,  we  must  adopt  Mith  all  its  consequences  the  mediaeval 
division  of  clergy  and  laity,  Church  and  State.  On  the  one  hand, 
therefore,  we  must  reduce  the  State  to  the  dimensions  of  a  city, 
with  its  proper  complement  of  rural  domain,  "  for  experience  has 
proved  that  the  city,  when  completed,  and  suflicienth--  supported 
by  material  resources,  is  the  largest  political  society  that  can 
be  produced  and  maintained  without  oppression/'  as  it  is  also  the 
society  which  secures  the  most  definite  and  specialized  reaction  of  man's 
social  activity  on  the  physical  medium  by  which  he  is  surrounded. 
Further,  within  the  city  so  constituted,  we  must  have  as  intensive  a 
division  of  labour  as  possible,  the  government  being  concentrated  in 
the  hands  of  those  capitalists  whose  occupations  are  of  the  greatest 
generality  {i.e.,  the  bankers)  ;  the  other  capitalists  (merchants,  manu- 
facturerSj  and  ogriculturists)  taking  their  rank  according  to  the  same 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  REUGIOX  OF  COMTE.      2U 


■'principle;  and  the  proletaircs  following,  also  in  the  order  of  decreasing 
H^nerality.  Finally,  the  various  oflBccs  arc  to  be  handed  down  from  one 
H  generatiou  to  another  according  to  the  principle  of  '  heredite  socio- 
■.•cratique/  each  ofBcial  choosing  his  fiuceessor,  subject  to  the  approval  of 
■  bis  superiors;  for  this,  and  not  the  anarchic  principle  of  the  choice  of 
H  superiors  by  inferiors,  is  the  true  modern  principle  of  government, 
Birhich  succeeds  to  the  old  method  of  inheritance  by  birth.  On  the 
H  other  hand,  the  order  of  the  priesthood  is  to  be  in  everything  the  exact 
m  opposite  of  the  order  of  the  laity.  In  the  first  place,  the  motives  of 
personal  interest  are  to  be  excluded,  so  far  as  possible,  from  their  lives. 

I  There  is  to  be  no  competition  of  trade  among  them,  but  all  spiritual 
TTork  is  to  be  paid  by  salaries  from  the  public,  and  these  salaries  arc  to 
be  fixed  at  so  low  a  rate,  even  in  the  case  of  the  highest  members  of 
the  order,  that  there  shall  be  no  inducement  to  enter  it  from  motives 
of  cupidity.  In  the  second  place,  although  there  will  necessarily  be  a 
certain  subordination  of  rank,  in  order  to  secure  discipline  and  com- 
bined action,  and  all  the  priesthood  will  be  arranged  in  a  hierarchy 
under  the  "  grand  Pretre  de  rilumanite,"yet  there  must  be  no  speciali- 
zation of  function,  or  division  of  labour  among  them.  The  modem 
anarchy  of  science  is,  as  Comte  maintains,  due  to  the  fact,  that 
•cientific  men  are  mostly  specialists;  and  hh  priests  therefore  are  to  be 
trained  in  all  science,  from  mathematics,  through  physics,  chemistry  and 
biology,  to  sociology — for  which  last  all  the  other  sciences  are  to  be 
regarded  as  preparatory.  In  this  way,  the  "  esprit  d'euscmble"  will 
prevail  among  them,  and  science  will  be  preserved  from  its  present  un- 
certain aberrations  into  regions  from  which  no  gain  can  be  brought 
back  for  tlie  furtherance  of  humanity.  Nay,  Comte  appears  to  regard 
even  the  separation  of  Art  from  Science  as  a  stop  toward  anarchy,  and 
demands  that  his  priesthood  should  be  the  artistic  as  well  as  the  philo- 
sophic teachers  of  men.  At  the  same  time  they  must  avoid,  as  the 
most  fatal  source  of  corruption,  all  tendency  to  interfere  more  directly 

•  in  practical  affairs.  Their  business  is  to  *'  modify  the  wills,  without 
ever  commanding  the  acts  of  men,"  and  they  cannot  preacne  the 
universality  which  is  their  characteristic  without  a  complete  renuncia- 
tion of  the  right  to  compel.  The  furthest  point  to  which  they  may  go 
in  this  direction,  is  to  excommunicate,  or  affix  a  social  stigma  on 
offenders;  and  if  more  is  required,  these  offenders  must  be  left  (or  handed 

I  over  ?)  to  the  secular  power. 
Such  a  priesthood  will  be  the  natural  representatives  of  the  unity  or 
solidarity  of  mankind,  as  op|>osed  to  the  particular  interests  of  individuals 
and  classes.  They  will  be  the  representatives  of  the  continuity  of  the 
life  of  humanity,  in  the  past  and  the  future,  as  opposed  to  the  excessive 
claims  of  the  present  hour.      It  will  be  their  duty  to  make  men  conscious 

■  that  their  occupations  are  social  functions,  and  that  everything  that  is 
valuable  in  their  lives  has  been  gained  for  them  by  the  long-continued 
labooTB  of  humanity,  whose  gratuitous  gifts  it  is  their  highest  privilege 

p  2 


212 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


to  preserve,  and  hand  down  incrcnscd  by  their  own  contributions 
to  posterity.  The  clergy  will  thus  be,  aa  in  the  old  system,  the 
nattiral  allies  of  the  women;  for  what  they  have  to  do  is  simply 
to  generalize  and  support,  by  a  complete  scientific  view  of  the 
world  and  of  human  life,  those  lessons  of  the  heart  which  are 
first  learned  by  man  in  the  narrower  circle  of  the  family.  By  their 
encyclopcedic  view  of  knowledge,  the  intelligence,  which  under 
the  dispersive  regime  of  science  has  become  a  rebel  against  the  heart, 
is  to  be  brought  back  to  its  allegiance,  and  the  civic  and  human  relations 
to  be  reconstituted  on  the  type  of  the  family. 

In  impressing  such  a  view  of  life  upon  mankind,  the  Positivist  Church 
will  avail  itself  of  all  the  aids  of  art,  and  will  use  the  power  of  imagi- 
nation to  fill  up  those  voids  and  imperfections  which  sober  science  un- 
doubtedly leaves  in  our  knowledge  of  things.  For  it  is  the  function 
of  poetry  not  merely  to  give  body  aud  subtancc  to  the  necessarily 
abstract  ideas  of  science  ;  it  may  even,  justifiably,  outrun  the  possibilities 
of  knowledge,  though  in  that  case  we  must  not  forget  the  unverified 
nature  of  the  illusions  to  which  we  yield.  In  the  first  of  these  uses 
Art  will  give  precision  and  force  to  the  worship  of  Humanity,  or  of  its 
representative — Woman.  It  will  provide  language  for  those  exercises  of 
prayer  and  praise,  by  which  we  make  vivid  and  real  to  ourselves  our 
union  with  others,  and  dedicate  ourselves  to  a  life  of  "  Altruism."  It 
will  thus  intensify  and  deepen  the  mihjecitve  life,  through  which  past 
humanity  lives  in  ns,  and  enable  us  to  look  forward  with  joy  to  our 
only  personal  reward,  that  of  being  incorporated  in  Humanity,  and  living 
again  in  the  subjective  life  of  others.  For  "  toute  reducation  humaine 
doit  preparer  chacnn  a  vxvre  pour  aulruij  afin  de  vivre  dans  autnd ;" 
which  is  the  true  social  doctrine  of  immortality,  as  opposed  to  the  anti- 
social doctrine  of  an  objective  immortality  fur  ourselves.  The  other  use 
of  poetry,  in  which  it  transcends  the  strict  limits  of  science,  is  to  revive 
something  like  the  early  fetichist  belief  that  everything  lives  and  is 
moved  by  human  desires  and  affections.  Thus,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
inorganic  world,  so  far  aa  we  know  it,  is  governed  by  a  fatality  which 
is  indifferent  to  the  well-being  of  man.  Nay,  in  its  first  action,  it  seems 
to  call  forth  those  tendencies  in  us  which  most  need  to  be  repressed  and 
subdued.  And  it  is  only  by  the  providence  of  humanity  that  this  very 
hostility  and  opposition  of  Nature  arc  made  instrumental  to  the  attain- 
ment of  a  higher  good.  Yet,  the  victory  being  won,  wc  may  be  allowed, 
at  least  in  poetic  rapture,  to  forget  the  discord  between  man  and  the 
world  he  inhabits;  or  to  regard  it  as  existing  only  with  a  view  to  that 
higher  good  which  has  resulted  from  it.  For,  *'  Vexistence  humaine  ne 
s*iy\form€  ffuere  da  temps  qui  exif/ea  sa  preparation  spontanSe,'*  When  we 
consider  Nature  as  summed  up  in  man,  wc  learn  "to  love  the  natural 
order  as  the  basis  of  the  artificial  order/'  produced  by  humanity,  "  so 
as  to  renew,  under  a  better  form,  the  fetichist  affections,"  In  his  last 
work,  Corate  carries  this  extension  of  poetic  license  to  its  furthest  poiu 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     213 

and  bids  us  add  to  our  adoration  of  humanity,  as  the  "  Grand  Etre/'  an 
adoration  of  spacej  as  the  "  Grand  Milieu/'  and  of  the  earth  as  the 
"  Grand  Fetiche  -,"  and  he  vould  have  us  think  of  these  two  as  yearning 
for  the  birth  and  development  of  Humanity.  In  Comte's  system,  there- 
fore, as  in  a  more  familiar  text,  "  the  earnest  expectation  of  the  creature 
waiteth  for  the  manifestation  of  the  sons  of  God ;"  and  that  optimism, 
which  ia  rejected  at  the  beginning  as  truth,  is  brought  in  at  the  end  as 
poetry.  Only,  poetry  is  not,  as  with  the  Apostle,  the  anticipation  or 
foretaste  of  knowledge ;  it  is  the  snccedaneum  provided  because  know- 
ledge is  absent  and  imattainable. 

For  our  purpose  it  is  not  necessary  to  go  beyond  this  point.  The 
minute  prescriptions  of  the  fourth  volume  of  the  "  Politique  Positive" 
add  little  or  nothing  to  the  general  meaning  of  the  system.  The 
podtivist  New  Jerusalem  is  as  definitely  determined  and  measured 
as  the  Holy  City  of  the  Apocalypse ;  but  the  main  interest  of  such  details 
is  for  the  Church  and  not  for  the  world. 

In  subsequent  articles  I  shall  endeavour  to  estimate  the  value  of 
the  philosophy  of  Comte,  and  especially  of  the  social  system,  an  outline  of 
which  has  been  given  in  the  preceding  pages. 

Edward  Gaikd. 


LAST  WORDS   ON   MR.   FROUDE. 


ONE  is  always  disposed  to  let  a  coutrorersy  drop  when  the  disputant 
on  the  other  side  declares  that  he  intends  to  say  no  more.  There 
seems  a  certain  uufaimcsa  in  taking  advantage  of  the  privilege  of  the  last 
word;  yet  it  would  he  still  more  unfair  if  a  disputant  could,  merely  by 
saying  that  he  intended  to  say  no  morCj  cut  off  his  adversary  from  the  right 
of  answering  statements  which,  for  the  sake  of  tmthj  ought  to  be  answered. 
This  is  how  the  case  stands  at  this  moment  between  me  and  Mr.  Froude. 
Mr.  Froude  ends  his  article  in  the  April  number  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century  with  a  declaration  that  he  will  "^  not  be  a  party  in  any  further 
controversy^^  with  mc.  After  this,  one  would  gladly  let  the  matter  end. 
But  that  article  contains  statements  which,  alike  for  the  sake  of  truth 
and  for  the  sake  of  my  own  reputation,  it  is  impossible  that  I  can  leave 
unanswered.  The  article  is  so  plausibly  written  that  I  can  see  what  its 
effect  must  be — I  have  already  seen  what  its  effect  has  been.  Any  one 
who  read  that  article,  and  who  had  not  read  the  writings  to  which  it  is 
an  answer,  would  certainly  be  led  to  draw  several  conclusions  unfavour- 
able tome.  It  might  even  have  that  effect  on  one  who  had  read  those 
writings  but  who  did  not  turn  back  to  refresh  his  memory.  Mr.  Froude  has 
kept  back  his  answer  so  long  that  my  exact  words,  on  almost  every  point, 
must  have  passed  away  from  most  miuda.  One  who  does  not  turn  back 
to  see  what  my  real  words  were  may  well  fail  to  mark  the  wide  difference 
between  what  I  have  really  said  and  what  Mr.  Froude  makes  me  say.  Indeed^ 
Mr.  Fronde's  accusation  of  me — for  it  comes  to  an  accusation  of  me — 
is  so  skilfully  drawn  up  that,  in  reading  it,  I  sometimes  felt  like  Warren 
Hastings  on  his  trial,  and  began  to  doubt  whether  I  was  not  really  the 
monster  which  Mr.  Froude  clearly  thinks  that  I  am.  The  effect  which 
the  article  has  hail  upon  others  1  can  see  by  the  Spectator  of  xVpril  5th. 
I  am  sure  that  auy  writer  in  the    Spectator  means  to  be  fair,  and  sets 


LAST    WORDS    ON   MR.    FROUDE. 


21S 


N 


aown  only  wbat  he  really  thinks.  The  Spectator  sees  perfectly  well  that 
Mr.  Fronde  has  uot  succeeded  in  clearing  himself  from  the  charge  of 
habituid  inaccuracy.  But  the  Spectator  thinks  that  he  has  succeeded 
in  some  other  things.      The  Spectator  says  or  implies — 

First,  that  I  have  "  kept  up  an  attack  on  Mr,  Froude  for  nearly  twenty 
yeaw/'  This  is  a  misconception  of  Mr.  Froude's  ;  but,  I  allow,  a 
natural  one. 

Secondly,  that  I  have  "  denied  that  Mr.  Froude  does  take  trouble  over 
his  work,  or  give  time  to  it." 

Thirdly,  that  1  have  "  thrown  personal  aspersions"  on  Mr.  Froude, 
especially  about  the  Simancas  Manuscripts.  These  two  last  are  mis- 
conceptions on  the  part  either  of  Mr.  Fronde  or  of  the  Spectator,  but 
misconceptions  which  might  have  been  avoided  by  cither  of  them  if  they 
had  attended  to  what  I  really  have  said,  as  distinguished  from  what  Mr. 
Froude  makes  me  say. 

The  Spectator  has  been  led  by  Mr.  Froude  into  the  belief  which  Mr. 
Froude  very  properly  nowhere  expresses  in  so  many  words,  that  I  per- 
sooally  have  kept  up  an  "  attack"  on  him  for  twenty  years.  The  word 
"  attack"  is  invidious,  but  what  is  doubtless  meant  is  that  I  have 
rericwed  his  writings  in  the  Saturday  Review  during  the  whole  of 
that  period.  As  I  have  now  nothing  to  do  with  the  Saturday  Bevieur, 
and  as  a  good  many  of  my  vmtings  in  that  paper  have  been 
reprinted,  there  can  be  no  objection  to  my  saying  what  I  have  written 
there  and  what  I  have  not,  I  was  first  asked  to  review  two  of  Mr. 
Froude's  volumes  at  the  beginning  of  1861^  and  the  first  article 
written  iu  consequence  ap[>eared  on  January  the  18th  of  that 
year.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  I  once,  in  an  earlier  article,  inci- 
dentally and  playfully  referred  to  Mr.  Froude.  It  is  not  unlikely  that 
I  may  have  done  so  more  than  once.  But  Mr.  Froude  evidently 
thinks  that  I  have  reviewed  his  volumes  from  the  begiiiniug ;  8«cl 
this  is  not  the  case.  I  formally  reviewed  no  volume  earlier  than 
those  numbered  VII.  and  VIII. — the  first  pair  of  the  reigii  of  Elizabeth.. 
I  certainly  did,  in  reviewing  that  pair  of  volumes,  make  some  refer- 
ence to  the  earlier  volumes.  Indeed,  Mr.  Froude  might  almost 
have  seen  from  those  references  that  a  new  hand  was  at  work.  I 
do  not  know  who  wrote  the  earlier  reviews  of  Mr.  Fronde's  History, 
and,  if  I  were  to  guess,  I  should  most  likely  make  some  mistake ;  but 
they  read  very  much  as  if  they  were  not  all  the  work  of  the  same 
writer.  If  one  man  did  write  them  all,  it  is  plain  that  his  opinion  of 
Mr.  Froude  changed  greatly,  and  came  much  nearer  to  mine,  as  he  went 
on.  Still  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  Mr.  Froude  making  this  mistake. 
He  may  have  been  led  into  it  by  a  passage  which  he  does  not  quote,  but 
from  which  he  extracts  a  single  word.  Mr.  Froude  says,  and  the 
Spectator  echoes  him  : — 

"When  my  'History  of  England'  was  completed  in   1869,    the    Reviewer, 
evidently  the  same  person  who  had  been  bo  long  busy  with  me,  spoke  of  me  as 


216 


TBE   CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


having  been  his  xrictim  for  fourteen  years.     The  word  exactly  expressed  my 
ditJon,     Victims  are  genenilly  innocent  and  helpless." 

The  word  "  victim,"  quoted  by  itself,  as  Mr.  Froude  quotes  it,  certaiuly 
sounds  ug-ly.  But  I  think  that  the  Spectator  at  least  will  allow  that  it 
does  not  sound quileso  ujjlyiu  the  wayia  wliichthe  word  really  wasused; — 

*'  Mr.  Proude's  Hiator)%  both  in  its  raerita  and  its  defects,  snggebts  so  many 

points  for  reflection,  that  it  is  hard  to  know  when  to  leave  o(f  reviewing  it * 

But  we  have  not  time  nor  spaw  for  everything.     Before  we  Hnally  part  Avitb  one 
who  has  been,  if  in  some  measure  a  victim,  in  some  measure  also  a  companion,  for 
80  many  years,  we  must  still  in  one  more  notice  mark  some  points  of  detail  in  thi 
last  volume,  and  take  one  last  general  look  at  the  work  wliose  det4icbed  parts  have 
now  for  fourteen  years  been  accumulating  on  our  shelves."* 

Now  I  do  uot  say  that  Mr.  Froude  had  beeu  either  victim  or  com- 
panion, in  the  sense  that  waa  meant,  for  fourteen  years.      To  have  said 
so  would  have  bccu  untrue  of  myself  personally,  though  I  might  con- 
ceivably have  said  so,  as  speaking  in  tlie  person  of  the  Review.      Still! 
Mr.  Froude  might  not  unnaturally  be  led  to  think  that  I  was  the  onljT* 
person  to  whom  he  Imd  been  either  victim  or  companion;    but  he  wmi 
mistaken  in  thinking  so.    But  when  my  real  words  were  playful,  and  not 
wholly  uufnendly,   he  had   no   right  to    take   a   single    word  by  itaelf, 
and  to  commcat  on  it   in   the  way  which  has  clearly  imposed  on  the 
Spectator, 

The  second  point  in  which  the  Spectator  has  been  misled  by  Mr, 
Fronde's  way  of  speaking  is  the  charge  that  '*  I  Lave  denied  that  Mr. 
Froude  took  trouble  over  his  work  or  gave  time  to  it.''  It  is  wonder- 
ful how  much  the  mere  art  of  the  priuter  can  do,  even  when  there  is  no 
direct  misquotation.  I  never  said  anything  like  what  the  Spectator 
clearly  believes  that  I  said.  What  I  did  say  was  that  Mr.  Froude  "  rushed 
at  a  particular  period  without  any  preparation  from  the  study  of  earlier 
periods."  Mr.  Froude  puts  the  words  *'  without  any  preparation"  in 
italics.  He  cries  out  at  the  word  "  rusbed,"  and  tells  us  that  he  gave 
seven  years'  preparation  to  his  book.  I  do  uot  iu  the  least  doiiht  it. 
It  is  plain  on  the  face  of  it  that  Mr.  Froude  must  have  gone  through 
a  pretty  long  preparation,  and  that  his  work  must  have  co&t  him  much 
pains,  work,  and  trouble.  But  what  I  said  was  that  he  rushed  at  it 
" without  auy  preparation  from  earlier  periods"  This  is  perfectly 
consistent  with  any  amount  of  preparation  given  to  the  particular  period 
iu  hand.  What  I  say  is,  wliat  I  have  often  said,  that  Mr.  Froude 
began  to  work  nt  the  sixteenth  century  without  the  needful  knowledge 
of  earlier  centuries.  I  think  iJiat  this  is  proved  both  indirectly  by  liis 
main  work,  and  directly  by  the  smaller  writings  in  which  he  has  dealt 
with  thoic  earlier  centuries.  I  thiuk  that  I  have  brought  abundant 
proofs  of  Mr.  IVoude's  very  slight  acquaintance  with  those  earlier  cen- 
turies. Mr.  Froude  naturally  thiuks  otherwise,  and  I  shall  never  con- 
vince him  ;  so  it  is  no  use  arguing  the  point,  especially  as  I  know  that 
I  have  all  who  understand  the  earlier  centuries  on  my  side. 

•  Sttlurday  Hit'tto,  February  5,  1^70. 


LAST  WORDS    OS    MR.    FROUDE, 


217 


> 


» 


Thirdly,  the   Spectator  infers  from   Mr.   Froudc  that  I  have  thrown 
personal  aspersions"  on  Mr.  Froudc.    Mr.  Froude  says  : — 

"  He  hjw  used  tlio  occasion  for  an  invective  upon  n\y  wliole  literary  life,  and 
my  jiersouul  chnracter  and  l»istory  :   he  lias  described  me  as  dishonest,  care- 
of  truth,  destitute  of  any  rcapectablo  quality  save  facility  in  writing  which  1 
turn  to  a  bad  purpose,  and  hopeless  of  amendmeut." 

"  Careless  of  truth/'  in  the  only  sense  with  which  I  am  concerned,  I 
believe  Mr.  Froudc  to  be ;  "  dishouest"  I  do  not  believe  him  to  be,  and 
I  have  never  said  so.  And  I  have  allowed  him  something  better  than 
mere  facility  in  writing.  I  have  spoken,  with  as  much  admiration  as  any 
of  his  friends  could,  of  many  passages  ui  liis  History  which  showed  much 
more  than  mere  facility  in  writing,  Besides  this,  I  have  more  than  once 
insisted  on  a  distinct  historical  service  which  Mr.  Froude  has  done  to  the 
times  which  he  took  in  baud.  I  will  quote  one  instance  where  1  have  done 
M>,  because  it  falls  in  with  part  of  what  I  have  said  as  to  Mr.  Froude's 
ignorance  of  earlier  times.  In  one  of  my  first  notices  (January  30, 
1864),  in  which  I  thought  it  right  to  bring  together  a  gowl  many 
uutauces  of  Mr.  Froude's  inaccuracy,  I  mentioned,  among  others,  his 
notions  of  the  reign  of  Ed^vard  the  First.     ^Ir.  Froudc  had  said  : — 

**  England  would  nut  be  meddled  witli  till  tjcotlnnd  was  first  conciuered — and 
bow  effectually  Scotland  could  resist  invasion  hud  been  proved  by  the  experience 
of  Edward  the  First.     Edward  struggled  for  thirty-four  years,  and  failed  at  last."' 

In  my  comment,  praise  and  blame  are  about  equally  mingled  : — 

*'Mr.  Froude,  then,  believes  that  Edward  the  First's  Scottish  wars  took  up  the 
whole  of  his  reign,  instead  of  merely  a  comparatively  small  portion  towards  the 
end.  This  is  the  more  unpardonable,  ns  this  vulgiir  error  is  exactly  parallel  !o 
the  vulgar  error  which  he  hns  himself  exposed  with  regard  to  his  own  hero. 
People  in  general  fancy  that  the  wholt*  reipn  of  Edward  was  spent  in  warring 
with  Scots,  and  that  the  whole  reigu  of  Henry  was  spent  iu  beheading  wives  and 
pulling  down  churches.  Now,  though  Mr.  Froudc  hi\a  fulled  in  the  attempt  to 
justify  these  favourite  amusements  of  hisgreat  model,  he  has  successfully  shown 
that  such  occujmtions  did  not  take  up  the  whole  of  his  time.  So  neither  did  tlu^ 
great  Edwiird  struggle  for  anything  liko  thirty-four  years,  nor  can  he  be  fairly 
said  to  have  failed  at  Ust." 

But  it  is  a  far  more  important  matter  if  I  had  made  what  Mr. 
Froude  calls  an  "  invective/'  and  what  the  Spectator  calls  "  aspersions," 
on  his  personal  character.  I  have  done  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  for  the 
best  of  all  reasons,  that  I  know  nothing  about  his  personal  character. 
Mr.  Froude  is  to  me  simply  the  writer  of  certain  books.  Whatever  I  have 
said  about  him  has  arisen  naturally  from  his  writings.  I  l>elicve  those 
writings  to  bci  iu  more  ways  than  one,  mislcadiug  and  dangerous,  and  I 
have  spoken  accordingly.  But  of  Mr.  Froude,  apnrt  from  his  writings, 
1  kuow  nothing,  except  one  or  two  facts  which  areknowu  to  every  one. 
Mr.  Froude  thinks  that  I  feel  for  him  ''  personal  dislike,"  if  not "  fanatical 
hatred."  Such  a  feeling,  iu  any  strictly  personal  sense,  is  impossible  on 
my  part.  1  never  saw  Mr.  Froude;  I  never  had  any  dealings  with  him, 
except  that  I  thiuk  he  and  I  ouce,  long  ago,  exchanged  a  pair  of  very  formal 
letters;  be  has  never  done  me  personally  cither  good  or  harm.     The  only 


218 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


things  that  I  have  said  that  ccMild  be  twisted  into  an  "  invective"  or 
"  aspersions"  on  his  personal  character  are  two.  I  charged  liim 
with  "  fanatical  hatred  towanls  the  English  Chiirchj  at  all  times  and  in 
all  characters/'  I  do  not  think  that  these  words  were  too  strong. 
Mr.  Fronde's  hahitnal  way  of  speaking  of  the  English  Church  and  its 
ministers  in  all  ages  is  a  ^vay  of  speaking  which  I  should  be  sorry  to 
nsc  of  Kuddliist  Lamas  or  of  Mussulman  Mollahs.  I  said^  what  is 
certainly  true,  that  1  know  nothing  to  be  compared  to  Mr.  Fronde's 
ecclesiastical  bitterness.  I  said  that  I  guessed  that  such  "  a  degree  of 
hatred  must  be  peculiar  to  those  who  have  entered  her  ministry  and 
forsaken  it,  perhaps  peculiar  to  the  one  man  who  first  wrote  '  Lives  of 
the  Saints/  and  then  'Shadows  of  the  Clouds/"  The  reference  is  to 
publicly  known  facts  in  Mr.  Fronde's  life — -facts  which  do  seem  to  rae 
to  have  had  their  effect  on  his  writings.  I  see  nothing  here  of  personal 
"invective"  or  "  aspersion/'  but,  if  any  impartial  judge  thinks  otherwise, 
lam  sorry  tliat  I  wrote  those  words.  So  with  regard  to  Mr.  Fronde's 
treatment  of  his  brother's  writings.  I  ace  that  what  I  have  said  has 
pained  Mr.  Fronde.  1  am  so  far  sorry  for  it ;  but  I  do  not  admit  that  I 
said  anything  beyond  fair  criticism.  I  know  that  the  friends  of  Mr.  R. 
H.  Fronde  were  deeply  pained  by  what  Mr.  J.  A.  Fronde  wrote  in  his 
"  Life  and  Times  of  Thomas  Bccket,"  I  cannot  say  tliat  I  was  pained^ 
because  I  never  knew  Mr.  K.  H.  Froude.  lie  was  to  me  neither  a  friend 
nor  a  kinsman,  nor  a  man  in  whom  T  had  any  personal  or  party  interest. 
But,  as  a  student  of  twelfth-century  history,  I  do  owe  him  a  certain 
measure  of  thanks  as  a  pioneer  in  one  of  my  subjects  of  study.  Therefore, 
if  not  pained,  like  his  personal  friends,  I  was  indignant,  because  I 
thought  that  he  was  unworthily  treated,  and  that  the  treatment 
was  the  more  unworthy  because  it  came  from  tlie  hands  of  his 
own  brother.  "Wbcu  I  spoke  of  "  stabs  in  the  dark,"  I  meant  that  the 
victim — I  must  use  the  word — was  in  the  dark.  Very  few  of  Mr. 
Fivjude's  readers  would  know  that  it  was  his  own  brother  of  whom 
Mr.  Fronde  was  speaking  in  a  way  which,  brother  or  no  brother,  I 
hold  to  be  wholly  undeserved.  But  if  any  impartial  judge  thinks  that  I 
ought  not  to  have  mentioned  the  fact  of  the  kindred  between  the  two 
writcrflj  I  regret  having  done  so, 

ItMien  I  read  all  that  Mr.  Fronde  has  said  on  this  head,  I  thoroughly 
nnderstaud  the  impression  which  his  article  must  have  on  any  one  who 
does  not  stop  to  recall  the  real  facts  of  the  case.  I  judge  by  the  effect 
which  it  has  had  on  the  mind  of  one  who  clearly  wishes  to  be  fair,  in 
the  person  of  the  writer  in  the  Spectalo>\  It  is  all  so  plausible,  and 
more  than  plausible.  I  say  more  than  plausiblcj  because  I  give  Mr. 
Fronde  the  fullest  credit  for  meaning  every  word  that  he  says.  It  is 
because  he  clearly  means  what  he  says  that  it  is  so  plausible,  lie  plainly 
believes  himself  to  be  an  injured  innocent,  as  he  plainly  believes  him- 
self to  be  an  accurate  historian.  The  truth  is  tliat,  in  controversy  jnst 
as  in  history^  Mr.   Froude  is  pursued  by  his  usual  ill-luck — by  that  hard 


LAST   WORDS   ON  MR.    FROUDE. 


«» 


destiny  wliicli  makes  it  impossible  for  him  accurately  to  report  any- 
thing. His  controrersial  case  against  me  now,  just  like  his  St.  Albans 
Annals;  or  In's  Life  of  Thomas,  is  made  up  of  misconceptions  and  mis- 
qnotaiions  of  every  kind.  As  he  misquotes  his  authorities,  so  he  mis- 
quotes me;  nay,  he  goes  a  step  further  still;  "in  scipsum  postremo 
scevitums,  si  cetera  desint,"  he  misquotes  himself. 

I  will  take  in  order  the  passages  in  which  Mr.  Fronde  makes  any 
charge  against  my  accuracy  or  any  defence  of  his  own.  And  I  will  begin 
with  the  one  case  in  which  I  must  allow  that,  in  some  sort,  Mr.  Froiide 
has  the  better  of  me.  But  I  maintain  that  it  is  emphatically  a  case  in 
which  the  exception  proves  the  rule.  I  maintain  that,  when  the  boy  in 
the  old  story  had  cried  "  Wolf,  wolf,"  for  nothing  so  many  times,  no  blame 
mttached  to  those  who  did  not  help  him  when  the  wolf  really  came.  Mr. 
Froude^s  way  of  quoting  and  referring  is  so  reckless  that,  even  when  he 
is  right,  he  looks  as  if  he  were  wrong.  I  have  therefore  to  confess  that, 
in  one  case,  I  thought  he  was  wrong  when  he  turned  out  to  be  right ; 
but  I  also  submit  that  he  hatl  done  his  verv  best  to  look  as  if  he  were 
wrong.  Mr.  Froudc,  of  course,  makes  the  most  of  this.  1  do  not  blame 
him  for  so  doing.  But^  even  when  he  happens  to  be  right,  he  cannot 
help  doing  a  little  misquotation  by  the  way.     lie  says  : — 

'*  Onco  indeed,  when  he  produced  a  misUikc  which  I  think  lie  said  had  made 
hie  hair  stand  on  end,  I  was  frightened  by  hia  vehemence.  I  supposed  that  he 
most  be  right,  and  I  made  an  ultoraiiou  in  consequence.  I  discovered  afterwards 
that  I  had  been  led,  not  out  of  error,  but  into  it.** 

He  adds  in  a  note  : 

**  I  have  no  copy  of  the  article,  and  quote  fi-om  memory.  It  appeared,  as  well 
as  I  remember,  in  February,  1870." 

By  this  help  I  have  found  the  passage  in  the  Saturday  Review 
(February  5, 1870),  and  1  find  that  there  is  nothing  whatever  about  the 
hair  standing  on  end.    My  words  are  : — 

*'It  is  the  sort  of  blunder  which  so  takes  away  one*a  breath  that  one  tlnnka  for 
the  time  that  it  must  be  right." 

There  is  anrely  some  difference  between  the  perfectly  possible  process 
of  holding  one's  breath  in  surprise,  and  the  impossible  process  of  one's 
hair  standing  on  end.  The  story  is  this.  Mr.  Fronde,  in  vol.  xii.  p.  ICO, 
describing  the  fight  with  the  Armada,  says,  "  the  action  opened  with 
the  Ark  Raleigh  carrying  Howard's  flag.'^  ^Ir.  Froude  gave  no  extract 
or  reference  of  any  kind,  and  took  no  notice  of  the  very  odd  name,  "  Ark 
Raleigh."  I  looked  in  Camden's  "Elizabetha"  (p.  487,  Ed.  1615),  and 
there  for  "  Ark  Raleigh^'  I  found  Area  Rer/ia.  Even  with  a  more  nc- 
curate  writer  than  Mr.  Froudc,  I  might  have  thought  this  enough 
ground  for  beliering  that  the  contemporary  writer  was  right  and  the 
modem  writer  wrong.  Nearly  three  years  afterwards  (January  7,  1873) 
there  appeared  a  very  fierce  article  iu  the  Pall  Mali  Gazelle  taking 
the  Saturday  Reviewer  severely  to  task  for  what  he  wrote  in  January, 
1870,  on  the  strength  of  a  C^endar  of  State  Papers  published  in  1872, 


220 


THE  CONTEMPOJHARV  REVIEW. 


^B  From  that  it  appears  tliat  the  ship  really  was  called  Ark  Raleigh.       It 

^^k  appears  also  from  the  same  article  thai  the  uame  "Ark  Raleigh"  appears 

^H  in  aTolume  of  State  Papers  published  in  1769^  and  seemingly  in  one  or 

^H  two  other  books.      It  is  inferred  that  I  ought  not  to  have  cliarged  Mr. 

^H  Fronde  with  inaccuracy  Mithout   hunting  the  matter   up  in    all    these 

^H  quarter?.      Of  course  it  would  have  been  my  duty  to  do  so  if  I  had  been 

^H  writing  a   history  of  tlic  time;   but   I   submit  that   it  was  rather   Mr. 

^H  Fronde's  duty  to  have  given  a  reference  to  some  one  or  other  of  his 

^H  authorities.     lAlien  a  writer  gives  no  reference,  and  a  reviewer  iiuds  that 

^H  a  respectable  contemporary  writer  contradicts  his  statement,  I  submit  that, 

^H'  unices  the  modern  writer  is  one  of  those  few  whom  wc  cau  trust  without 

^H  references,  the  reviewer  is  justified  in  assuming  the  modern  writer  to  be 

^V  wrong.      Mr.  Froude  further  says  that  he  made  an  alteration — I  know  not 

^B  where  or  in  wliat  shape,  but  I  suppose  in   some   later   edition — in  eon- 

^H  sequence  of  what  I  said.     But^  if  he  knew  his  authorities,  and   trusted 

^H  them,  he  ouglit  not  to  have  made  any  such   alteration.      For   my    owa 

^H  part,  I  hold  that  I  did  a  true  verdict  give  acoordiug  to  such  evidence  as 

^H  came  before  me.    Ocly  it  happened  that  the  verdict  was  one  which  was 

^H  open  to  be  set  aside  by  other  evidence  which  was  not  brought  forward. 
^H  This  is  the  only  error  that  I  confess  to :  I  leave  the  reader  to  judge 

^H  of  its  character.    lie  says  :— • 

^H  **  Mr.  Freeman  goes  on  to  Henry  tho  Eighth,  the  easy  subject  on  which  the 

^H  Sainrdntf  Review  has  for  so  many  years  been  eloquent.     He  has  begun,  it  appear^ 

^H  to  discover  that  there  were  some  features  in  Henry's  character  not  entirely  of  a 

^H  ferocious  kind;   hut  he  has  still  eoraething  to  Icnrn.     *  This  SAme  mnn/ he  soys, 

^H  'robbed    the  churclies  of  their   most   snored   treiiaures.     He   squandered  and 

^H  gambled  away  ail  that  men  before  his  tinin  had  agreed  to  respect/  " 

^m  Did  I   now,   for  the   first  time,  in   1878,  find   out,  as  Mr.  Froude 

^H  implies,  that  there  "were  points   in   Henry's    character   which    were  not 

^H  wholly  black,   or,   in  Mr.  Fronde's  words,  "  not  entirely  of  a  ferocious 

^H  kiiid.^'     Let  me  remind  Mr.  Froude  of  what  I  wrote  eight  years  ago: — 

^H  ''The  execntiona  of  Henry,  doue  in  tlie  face  of  day  according  to  all  the  forms 

^™  of  Iaw%  might  even  contrast  favourably  with  the  deeds  of  Edward  the  Fourth  and 

Kichard   the  Third.      Henry  was  at  least  not  stained   with  the  assassinations  or 

t  secret  deaths  of  brothers,  ne[thews,  and  rivals.  After  so  many  years  of  war  and 
revolution,  men  were  inclined  to  pnt  up  with  a  good  deal  in  a  king,  whose  title 
■yvaa  undoubted,  and  who  at  least  preserved  the  public  peace  at  home,  and  bus 
liiiued  the  national  honour  abroad Henry,  in  his  earher  days,  had  reall' 
done  something  to  win  the  regard  of  his  ])eople,  and  to  tho  last  his  dealings  wi 
foreign  affairs  were  honourable  beside  those  of  Charles  or  Francis,  it  was  not 
wonderful  if  Henry  really  eoiumauded  a  large  share  of  natiotial  respect  and 
confidence.'** 
But  I  need  not  go  beyond  the  very  passage  which  Mr.  Froude  pro- 
fesses lo  quote.  Though  it  appeared  in  this  very  HtnEW,  I  must  give 
it  in  Ml :— 


.le 

P 


"The  apologist  of  King  Henry  haa  hardly  done  the  best  that  might  be  done 
for  his  own  hero,     Mr.  Froude'a  flattering  picture  comes  liardJy  neai-er  to  the 

*  F^rinightljf  Rnktr,  September.  1871,  p.  37fi. 


LAST    WORDS    ON   MR.    FROUDE, 


831 


¥ 


k 


II 


reaJ  man  than  the  vulgar  Bluebeard  portrait  of  whicJi  lie  very  rightly  complains. 
Both  pictures  nlike  slur  over  the  distin^iahing  lines  in  n  character  which  is  in 
truth  a  moat  siugulur  moral  stuJy.  In  Mr.  Fronde's  lofty  contempt  for  ecclesias- 
tical details  be  perhaps  hardly  thought  it  a  fact  worthy  of  his  attention  that 
Uenry  the  Eighth  himself  drew  up  the  statutes  of  some  of  the  cathedral  churches 
which  he  refouuded,  that  he  drew  theni  np  with  his  own  hand,  and  that  the 
statutes  80  drawn  up  breathe  a  spirit  worthy  of  the  most  pious  founders  on  rccorJ. 
That  this  same  man  had  robbed  tliese  very  churches  of  their  ni03t  Hacred 
treasures,  that  he  had  squandered  and  gambled  away  all  tliat  msn  before  his  titne 
had  agreed  to  respect,  that  hi^  hand  liad  been  stretched  oat  to  lay  waste  and  to 
spoil  the  very  resting-places  of  the  dead,  seems  at  tirst  one  of  the  strangest  moral 
contradictions.^ 

Of  this  passage  Mr.  Fronde,  pursued  of  course  by  his  dcstloy,  copies 
just  so  mauy  words  as  might  give  the  impression  that  I  thought  that 
Henry  squandered  and  »ambled  away  all  the  monastic  property.  Yet 
the  very  object  of  the  passage  is  to  show  that  he  did  otherwise,  by 
sp^^aking  of  the  cilhedral  churiihes  whi^h  Henry  r^fouudeJ  out  of 
monastic  property.  The  odd  thing  is  that  Mr.  Proude  had  not  skipped 
the  words  that  imply  this,  but  had  distinctly  noticed  them.  He  alters  my 
words  so  as  to  make  them  apply  to  churches  in  general,  and  not  to  a 
particular  class  of  churches  of  which  I  was  speaking.  But  he  shows  that 
be  had  himself  read  the  passage  in  its  real  meaning.  For  he  goes  on, 
with  singular  self-contradiction,  to  cry  out — 

"  Mr.  Freeman  says  that  all  was  squandered  and  gambled  away.  Did  ha 
never  hear  of  the  new  bishoprics  ?  He  had  himself  spoken  of  the  new  founda- 
tioEts  in  a  previous  sentence.  Did  he  never  hear  of  Edward  the  Sixth's  grammar- 
schools  ?  He  perhaps  refers  to  the  Abbey  plate  and  jewi-ls.  Did  he  never 
attend  to  the  enormous  exertions  of  Henry  the  Eighth  to  put  tho  kingdom  in  a 
rtate  of  defence  against  the  threatened  invasion  of  Spain  and  France  ?  of  the 
castles  which  were  built  at  Deal  and  Dover,  and  many  other  places  besides  ? 
of  the  fortitications  of  Portsmouth?  of  the  fleet?  of  the  survey  of  the  whole 
south  coast  and  the  preparations  made  to  protect  it?  ...  .  Yet  Mr.  Freeman 
■ays  ail  was  squandered  and  gambled  away/'  * 

Mr.  Froude  cannot  seriously  doubt  my  having  heard  of  the  new 
bishoprics.  He  must  at  least  know  that  1  had  heard  of  the  bishopric 
of  Gloucester.  Now  T  cannot  expect  Mr.  Froude  to  look  at  anylhiug 
ao  humdrum  as  my  article  "  England,"  in  the  "  Encyclopadia  Hritaunica;" 
but  it  so  happens  that  there,  at  p.  336, 1  have  mentioned  most  of  the  points 
alx)ut  which  Mr.  Froude  thinks  that  I  still  have  to  learn,  except  the  gram- 
mar-schools of  Edward  the  Sixth,  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  Henry  the 
Eighth,  but  which  I  mention  in  their  proper  place  in  p.  339.  I  there 
further  remark  that  the  pensions  assigned  to  the  ejected  monks  and  nuns 
seem  to  have  been  honestly  paid. 

Next  comes  an  objection  which  is  wholly  beyond  me.       I  am  charged 


*  I  cannot  help  meationiiig  that,  sU-aud- twenty  years  back,  in  the  first  of  tho  many 
Soath-SaxoQ  joanieys  which  my  work  has  made  needful  for  me,  I  came  on  the  Bmall 
cMtle  of  Camber,  familiar  doubtleu  to  Mr.  Fronde,  as  being  a  work,  not  of  the  Cooniieror, 
bnt  of  Henry  tho  Kighth.  It  was  then  strongly  brought  home  to  my  mind,  and  1  have 
■erer  forgotten  it^  ttut  Henry  did  do  eometbiog  for  the  national  defences. 


222 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


■with  "  two  misstatements  and  one  evidence  of  carelessness,"  where  I  can 
see  neither  misstatcmcut  nor  evidcucc  of  carelessness. 

'* '  This  could  not  have  happened,*  Mr.  Freeman  goes  on,  *  to  one  who  had  made 
history  the  study  of  liis  life.  But  Mr.  Froudc,  hy  hia  own  statement,  lias  not 
made  history  the  study  of  his  life.  Mr.  Froude,  in  tliat  singular  confession  which 
he  once  published,  explained  tliat  he  took  to  the  wriliug  of  £nghsh  history 
because  he  lind  nothing  else  to  do.* 

**In  tliis  passage  there  are  two  misst;itements  and  one  e\'idence  of  carelessness, 
which  BO  accurate  a  writer  ought  to  have  avoided.  1  never  made  any  such  state- 
ment. I  never  gave  any  such  explanation  ;  and  the  'confession'  of  whicli  lie  speaks 
as  appearing  on  a  Jly-lcal'  of  L]jc  *  English  in  Ireland,'  is  the  preface  to  the  stereo- 
typi^d  edition  of  the  'History  of  England,'  which  ajipcui-ed  two  years  before.  Mr. 
Fj*eeman,  who  speaks  so  vehemently  of  my  error?,  niiglit  at  least  have  consulted 
the  last  edition  of  niy  work  to  see  which  of  them  I  had  corrected." 

It  is  a  little  hard  that  Mr.  Froudc  should  expect  mc  to  buy  every  new 
edition  of  Lis  books  merely  to  see  whether  he  corrects  his  mistakes.      I 
■wonder  whctlicr  he  docs  na   much  for  me.      But  it   was   most   certainly 
iu  tiic  liy-leaf  of  the  '*  Euglish   iu    Ireland"  that  1  read  what  I    called 
"  'Sir.  Froude^s  confession ;"  and  I  do  not  see  tlie  dillbreucc  l)ctween  my 
summary  of  that  "confession"  and  the  **  confession"  itself.      I  said  that 
^Ir.  Froudt'j  by  his  owa  accouiitj  '^  took  to  the  writing  of  l'!^iiglish  history 
chiefly  because  he  had  uothiug  else  to  do."     Mr.  Froude's  dcstiuy  again 
drives  him   to    leave   out    the   word  "  chiefly."      Surely  my  words  were 
nothing  more  than  a  rendering  into   homelier  Euglish  of  Mr.  Froude's 
own   sayiug  that  "  the  occasion  of  his  undertaking  the  present  work 
was,  as  regards  himself,  au  itnoluntary  leisure  forced  upon  him/'    IIow 
the  leisure  was  forced  upon  him  he  goes  ou  to  tell  us  at  great  length : 
but  that  has  really  nothing  to   do  with  the  matter.     He   adds^  as  a 
second  reason,  "  the  attitude  towards  the   Rcfonuation   of  the  sixteenth. 
century    uhich  had  been  assumed  by  many  iiiflucntin!  thinkers  in    Eng- 
land and  ou  the  Coutinent,"      I  took  this  simply  as  giving  the  rcason 
why  he  chose  one  particular  period  ratluT  than   another.      The  autobio- 
graphy which  follows  is  really   interesting,    and    it   tells  me  at  least  a 
great  deal  that  I  never  knew  before   about  Mr.   Froutle  himself;  but  it 
contains  nothing  to   show    that    Mr.   Fronde's  writings   are   accurate 
narratives.      He  says  that   he   does  not  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say 
that  "  Mr.  Froude,  by  his  omu  statement,  had  not  made  history  the  study 
of  his  life."     1   confess  that  I  htirdly  expect  him  to  know  exactly  what 
I  mean.    But  I  could  show  him,  both  in  England  and  in  Germany,  the 
living  mcu  who  have  done  so.    And  I  think  that  those  men  would  bo 
found  to    know  very   little    about  leisure,    voluntary  or  involuntary,  as 
an  occasion  for  undertaking  their  studies  and  their  writings.      But  Mr. 
Froudc,   interesting   as   his    autobiography   is,    does  not   show    that  he 
prepared  himself  for  studying  and    writing  about    a  later  period  by  the 
needful    .study   of   earlier   perioda.      He  says  iu  a  general  way  that  mv 
evidence  of  his   inadequate    kuowledge   of  those  periods  "is  not  of  a 
I  do  not  expect  that  it  will  be  of  a  convincing  kind 


: 


convincing  kind." 


LAST  WORDS    ON   MR.    FROUDE. 


¥ 


I 


I 


¥ 


to  Mr.  Froude;  for  his  ataudard  and  miuc  differ  so  utterly  on  all 
questions  of  kuowlcdge  and  igiioraucfj  accuracy  and  inaccuracy,  that 
we  hare  no  commoa  ground  on  which  to  argue  the  general  question. 
When  be  comes  to  particular  instances  I  can  better  grapple  with  him, 

Mr.  Froude  quotes,  with  substantial  but  not  literal  accuracy,  part  of  a 
sentence  where  I  say  that  "  the  man  who  insisted  on  the  Statute  Book 
being  the  text-book  of  English  history,  showed  that  he  had  never 
heard  of  peifie  forte  et  dare  ;"  he  leaves  out  the  w.jrds  which  follow, 
*'  and  had  no  clear  notion  of  a  bill  of  attainder."  I  could  say  some- 
thing, and  I  have  elsewhei'c  said  something,  as  to  Mr.  Fronde's  ideas 
about  bills  of  attainder ;  hut  1  will  stick  to  the  instance  which  Mr. 
Froude  chooses.  The  notion  that  he  should  never  have  heard  oi  peine 
forte  drives  Mr.  Froude  to  an  exclamatiou:  — 

"  *  That  1  had  never  heard  !'  It  is  true  that  my  recollection  failed  me  when  a 
demand  was  made  upon  it  in  an  unexpected  furm.  I  fouad  at  Simancas  a  report 
containing,  among  other  things,  a  confused  account  of  the  punishment  of  an 
EDglish  pirato.  He  was  said,  I  think,  to  have  been  put  under  a  cannon.  I  have 
no  doubt  tluit  the  reference  was  to  the  <  peine  forte  ct  dure,'  though  at  the 
moment  it  did  not  occur  to  me ;  but  to  say  that  I  never  heard  of  it  is  mere 
childishness  on  Mr.  Freeman's  part" 

Mr.  Froudc's  recollection  must  have  failed  him  more  than  once. 
There  is  nothing  about  the  man  having  been  put  uudcr  a  cannon,  but 
there  is  something  about  its  being  intended  that  a  cannon  should  be  put 
over  him.  And  in  this  case  this  is  not  a  distinction  without  a  difference. 
The  story  is  given,  with  a  reference  to  "  MSS,  Simancas,"  in  Mr.  Froude's 
eighth  volume,  at  p.  449  of  the  only  copy  that  I  have,  whether  stereo- 
typed or  not  I  do  not  know.      It  bears  date  18G3  : — 

**  Cobham  was  tried  for  piracy  the  next  year  at  the  indignant  requisition  of 
Spain;  he  was  found  guilty,  but  he  e5ca]>ed  punishment;  and  there  was  some 
insincere  shuffling  in  connexion  with  his  prosecution,  for  the  Spimish  ambassador 
was  assiu^  that  a  sentence  had  been  passed  upon  him,  the  description  ol'  which 
might  have  been  borrowed  frum  the  torture  chamber  of  the  Inquisition,  but 
which  aasujedly  was  never  pronounced  in  an  English  court  of  justice. 

"  '  Thomas  Cobham,*  wrote  De  iSilva,  '  being  asked  at  his  trial,  according  to  the 
Qiual  form  in  England,  if  he  had  anything  to  say  in  arrest  of  judgment,  and 
answering  nothing,  was  condemned  to  be  taken  to  the  Tower,  to  be  stripped 
naked  to  the  skin,  and  then  to  be  placed  with  his  shoulders  resting  on  a  sharp 
stooe,  his  legs  and  arms  extended,  and  on  his  stomach  a  gun,  too  heavy  for  him 
to  bear,  yet  not  large  enough  immediately?  to  crush  him.  There  he  is  to  be  left 
tiU  he  die.  They  will  give  him  a  few  grains  of  corn  to  cat,  and  for  drink  the 
foulest  water  in  the  Tower.'  *  His  relations,'  De  Silva  added,  *are  domg  all  in 
their  power  to  prevent  the  execution  of  tlie  sentence.'  Had  any  such  sentence 
been  pronounced  it  would  not  have  been  left  to  be  discovered  in  the  letter  of  a 
fitranger :  the  ambassador  may  perhaps  ia  this  instatice  have  been  purposely 
deceived,  and  hts  demand  for  justice  satisfied  by  a  fiction  of  imaginary  horror/* 

Mr.  Froude  calls  this  a  "confused  account."  There  is  nothing  con- 
fused about  itj  save  the  confusiou  between  refusing  to  plead  aud 
not  answering  when  asked  whether  he  had  anything  to  say  in  arrest  of 
judgement.  The  description  of  the  punishmeut  is  a  perfectly  clear  de- 
scription of  the  ordiuarj'  peine  furte   el   dure.      The   only  thing  at   all 


2:34 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


remarkable  U  tLat  the  '''"weight''  which  was  usually  laid  on  the  sufferer 
was  in  this  case  to  take  the  form  of  n  gun,  Mr.  Frourle  says  that  "  such 
a  aeiitcnce  was  assuredly  iicver  pronouuced  in  an  English  court  of  justice/' 
luul  thinks  fliat  it  niust  have  been  "  a  fiction  of  imaginary  horror." 
Yet  it  is  nothing  but  the  sentence  which  t]»c  law  prescribed  in  certain 
casesj  and  which  was  not  uncommonly  carried  out.  FVoin  Mr.  Froude's 
aruazeracnt  at  the  peine  forte  et  dure  1  inferred  that  he  had  never  heard  of 
the  peine  fori e  tt  dure.  Mr.  Froude  says  that  the  inference  was  *'  mere 
childishness;"  but  surely  it  was  at  least  very  natural. 

This  is  perhaps  the  climax  of  Mr.  Fronde's  hard  destiny,  when  he 
was  thus  driven  to  misquote  himself.  He  then  comes  down  to  the 
humbler  work  of  misquoting  me  : — 

*^  My  ncgUgeuce  comes  next  under  consideration.  *  Lord  ^racnulny,'  Mr. 
Fieemnn  tells  us,  *  clearly  made  it  liia  business  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  places 
of  which  he  had  to  speak.'  ^fr.  Froude  seems  never  to  have  done  aoytliing  of 
the  kind/' 

Ab    Mr.  Froude   quotes,   this  certainly  would  mean  that  Mr.    Fronde 
never  went  to  see  any  place ;  and  Mr.  Froude  again  emphatically  saya^. 
"  yet  Mr.  Freeman  says  never/*     I  must  again  ask  to  be  judged  by  ihft 
whole  passage,  and  not  by  the  words  which  Sir.  Froude  chooses  to  take 
from  the  middle  of  it : — 

"  And  there  is  one  point  in  which  Mr.  l^'roude  shows  a  striking  contrast  to  Lord 
Macaulay.  One  of  ihe  best  points  in  Lord  Macaulay's  History  is  the  vivid  way 
in  wliich  he  brings  before  his  readcra  the  past  history  and  present  state  of  every 
place  which  witnessed  any  event  of  importance  in  his  story.  Lord  JSIacaulay 
clearly  made  it  las  business  to  sec  with  his  own  eyes  the  places  of  which  he  had 
to  speak.  Mr.  Froude  seems  never  to  have  done  anj-thing  of  tlie  kind.  He  can 
vividly  describe  a  place  which  he  has  seen  ;  but  it  is  plain  tliat  a  large  part  of 
the  places  which  Hgure  in  his  story  he  has  never  seen." 

Mr.  Froude  had  clearly  seen  Edinburgh  ;  he  had  clearly  not  seen 
Gloucester.  I  did  not  say  that  Mr.  Froude  never  went  to  see  any 
place  j  1  said  that  he  neverj  as  Lord  Macaulay  clearly  did,  made  it  his 
liabitual  business  to  go  and  see  places.  Mr.  Froude  goca  on  to  say  that 
Lord  Macaulay  was  rich  and  he  wns  poor^  and  that  he  did  go  to  as  many 
places  as  he  could  atlbrd  to  go  to.  Such  an  excuse  must  be  accepted  ; 
butj  till  1  read  that  feentcDcCj  it  had  never  come  into  my  head  to  think 
whether  Mr.  Froude  was  rich  or  poor.  I  merely  compared  what  seemed 
to  mc  to  be  a  literary  merit  in  Lord  Macaulay  with  what  secracd  to  me 
to  be  a  literary  defect  iu  Mr.  Froude.  I  know  ntilhing  of  Lord  Macaulay^a 
wealth  or  poverty,  except  what  may  be  learned  from  his  published  "  Life." 
From  that  it  appeal's  that  at  one  time  of  his  life  he  was  positivclv 
poor. 

Jfr.  Froude  then  goes  on  to  deal  with  tlie  charge  of  *'  fanatical 
hatred"  towards  the  Church  of  England  at  all  ages.  He  quotes,  again 
with  substantial  though  not  quite  literal  accuracyj  a  passage  where  I 
say — 

'*  Besides  all  this,  Mr,  Froude's  treatment  of  later  times  displays  one  charac- 


LAST   WORDS    ON   MR,    FROUDE. 


225 


torie^  wliicli  goes  yet  further  than  all  these  to  disqxialify  lam  for  treating  any- 
subject  of  luedifBval  history.  This  is  his  fanatical  hatred  towards  the  EngUJi 
Church  at  all  times  and  under  all  characters.  Refomied  or  unreformed,  it  is 
all  the  same ;  be  it  the  church  of  Dunstan,  of  Anselm,  or  of  Arundel,  of  Parker, 
of  Laud,  or  of  TUlotaon,  it  ia  all  one  to  Mr.  Froude.** 

Mr.  Froude  comments — 

*'  I  might  hare  expected  much  from  Mr.  Freeman,  but  nil  my  experience  of 
him  could  not  have  prepared  me  for  this  passage." 

Now  I  am  not  bigoted  to  the  particular  phrase  "  fanatical  hatred." 
Perhaps  Mr.  Froude  and  I  might  not  agree  as  to  our  definition  of 
the  pbrasc.  Perhaps  he  might  rescnx  the  name  for  the  ontponrings 
of  some  spirit  yet  fiercer  than  bis  own.  But  as  I  do  not  remember 
to  have  come  across  such  a  spirit,  I  must  speak  according  to  my 
means.  Mr,  Froude  goes  on  to  speak  about  a  particular  set  of 
dogmas  of  which  he  highly  disapproves.  My  point  is  that  I  cannot 
understand  getting  so  angry  about  any  set  of  dogmas.  In  Mr. 
Prondc's  case  the  religious  communion  reviled  happens  to  be  the  Church 
of  England  :  what  I  object  to  ia  the  reviling  of  any  religious  communion 
after  ^Ir.  Fronde's  fashion.  I  object  to  speaking  of  the  ministers  of 
any  such  communion  in  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Froude  habitually  speaks 
of  the  Bishops  of  the  Church  of  England.  I  trust  that  few  people  of 
any  way  of  thinking  would  deem  it  decent  to  speak  in  a  grave  History 
as  ilr  Froude  s|K'aks  through  many  pages  of  his  "  Conclusion,"  winding 
up  with  vol.  xii.  p.  554  of  my — possibly  not  stereotyped — copy.* 
There  are  other  astounding  passages  through  the  book,  some  of  which  I 
have  spoken  of  elsewhere.  It  may  be  through  some  moral  or  intellectual 
defect ;  but  I  cannot  throw  myself  into  this  state  of  miud.  I  have  no 
quarrel  with  the  Turk,  if  he  would  only  keep  out  of  Christian  lands ;  I 
hare  no  quarrel  with  the  Pope,  if  he  would  keep  within  the  Latin-speaking 
lands  of  the  West.  Mr.  Froude  waxes  wrathful  at  the  bare  thought  of 
a  priest  or  a  bishop,  save  only  now  and  then,  when  he  is  overcome  by 
the  poetic  beauty  of  some  particular  character  in  ecclesiastical  lore. 
Then  he  bridles  himself,  and,  by  a  natural  reaction,  gives  us  the  very 
best  things  that  he  ever  does  give  us.  He  must  allow  that  I  have  at 
least  done  justice  to  him  on  this  head.  And  I  certainly  did,  rightly  or 
wrongly,  connect  Mr.  Froude's  amazing  vehemence  on  these  matters  with 
the  known  facts  of  his  own  life.  Many  of  us  have  changed  our  opinions  ; 
but  I  should  have  thought  that  a  lingering  kindnc-ss  to  opinions  which 
one  has  once  held  was  only  natural.  Mr.  Froude's  language  about  the 
English  Church  seemed  to  me  to  be  what  we  might  look  for  in  a  fierce 
polemical  pamphlet,  but  to  be  quite  unworthy  of  a  grave  History.  Still, 
if  he  dislikes  the  words  "  fanatical  hatred,"  I  will  not  insist  upon  them. 

I  cannot  help  smiling  at  one  question  which  is  put  by  Mr.  Froude, 
"  When   have   I   ever  spoken    of    Tillotson  ?"      I    really  do   not  know 

*  After  all,  the  tlieory  of  Bishops  tbere  set  forth,  though  certainly  etraDge,  is  hardly  new. 
SemetbtDg  very  like  it  was  held  by  th«  Abbots  of  lotia. 
VOL.  XXXV.  q 


226 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


■whether  he  has  ever  spoken  of  Tillotson  or  not.  I  conltl  not  say  without 
a  good  fleal  of  search  wliether  lie  has  ever  spoken  of  Dunstan  or  Arundel. 
Till  I  looked  back  to  a  parlicular  passage  'vrhile  writing  this  article,  I 
could  not  have  said  offhand  whether  he  had  ever  spoken  of  Laud.  Of 
Anselm  I  have  complained  that  he  did  not  speak  when  it  was  most  natural 
to  speak  of  him.  Parker  comes  within  Mr.  Fronde's  main  period,  and 
he  fares  accordingly.  But  could  not  Mr.  Fronde  see  that  when  T 
spoke  of  DunstaHj  Anselm,  Arundel,  Parker,  Laud,  and  Tillotson,  I 
simply  chose  the  names  of  Archbishops  who  typified  marked  periods  in 
the  history  of  tlic  English  Church  ?  I  did  not  at  all  imply  that  Mr. 
Fronde  had  said  anytlnng,  good  or  bad,  of  each  of  those  Archbishops 
personally.  I  might  very  easily  have  used  the  shorter  formula,  "  from 
AiVgnstinc  to  Tait,"  and  I  should  certainly  not  have  meant  thereby  to 
imply  that  Mr.  Froude  had  said  anything  personally  disrespectful  of  the 
present  Archbishop. 

Mr.  Froude  further  complains  that  I  said  that,  though  now  a  fanatical 
enemy,  he  had  once  been  a  "  fanatical  votary"  of  the  mediicval 
Church.  He  thinks,  very  truly,  that  I  must  refer  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
a  contributor  to  the  series  of  "  Lives  of  the  Saints,"  publislicd,  he  aays, 
thirty -six  j'cars  ago.  A  long  time  ago  it  certainly  was,  though  I  could 
not  offhand  have  said  the  exact  number  of  years.  Mr.  Froude  asks^ 
Avith  perfect  fairness,  whether  I  have  read  his  own  contribution  to  that  . 
series,  and  whether  there  is  any  trace  of  fanaticism  in  it.  I  must 
answer,  with  perfect  openness,  that,  after  thirty- six  years,  I  cannot  telL  ■ 
T  j>crfcctly  well  remember  the  series  j  I  rcnieralicr  its  general  character; 
I  remember  that  Mr.  Froude  was  understood — rightly,  it  seems — to 
have  been  a  contributor.  I  do  not  remember  this  or  that  particular 
number  of  the  series,  and  I  have  not  the  books  to  refer  to.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  the  others  may  have  been  fanatical,  and  Mr.  Froude's  not. 
If  80,  I  regret  a  not  very  unnatural  mistake.  But  certainly  fanatical 
devotion  to  the  mcdiieval  Church  is  the  general  impression  which  the 
scries  left  on  my  mind.  So  I  remember  the  *'  Tracts  for  the  Times."  I 
remember  their  general  purport  \  I  remember  who  were  the  clucf  authors 
of  the  scries ;  I  do  not,  except  in  the  case  of  one  or  two  which  made  them- 
selves exceptionally  famous,  remember,  after  all  these  years,  particular 
tracts  or  their  authors.  The  point  fs  tlint  to  have  been  a  contributor  to 
either  series  marks  a  nLiii  as  having  been,  not  only  a  member,  but  a  very 
thorough-going  member,  of  a  certain  tlicological  party.  There  is  some- 
thing strange  in  the  change  from  that  state  of  mind  to  tlie  state  of 
mind  shown  by  Mr.  Fronde's  History.  And  the  thing  becomes  stranger 
when  the  i*oad  between  the  two  states  of  miud  lies  through  "Shadows  of 
the  Clouds''  and  the  "Nemesis  of  Faith.''  As  for  the  mere  departing  from 
many  of  the  notions  of  onr  youth,  that  is  common  to  Mr.  Froude  with 
a  great  many  of  us.  If  any  one  choosesj  on  the  strength  of  certain 
youthful  writings  of  my  o^m,  to  say  that  I  was  once  a  fanatical  votaxy  of 
the  mcditcral  Church,  all  that  I  can  answer  is  that  he  is  stating  a  fact 


LAST    IVORDS    OX   MR.    FROUDE. 


\%7- 


I 
I 

I 


ratter  strongly.  Bnt  tlien  I  hare  not  changed  into  a  fanatical  enemy 
of  any  religious  body  or  of  any  set  of  religious  dogmas,  and  I  have  not 
written  the  "  Nemesis  of  Faith"  bctwccnwhiles. 

Mr.  Froude  says  that  he  left  ofl*  writing  "  Lives  of  Saints/'  because  he 
found  himself  '*  in  an  ntmosplicrc  where  any  story  seemed  to  pass  as 
trae  that  was  edifying."  A  very  unhealthy  atmosphere  certainly,  and 
one  which  Mr,  Froude,  like  others,  did  well  to  leave.  The  only  ques- 
tion is  whether  the  remedy  may  not  have  been  worse  than  the  disease. 
Certainly  in  the  "  Annals  of  an  Knglisli  Abbey*'  we  tind  ourselves  in  an 
atmosphere  where  any  story  seems  to  pass  as  true  which  is  unedifyiug. 
We  have  now  reached  Mr.  Froude*s  dealings  with  times  earlier  than 
those  of  Henry  the  Eighth.     On  these  Mr.  Froude  says  : — 

**  Nfr.  Frtioman  is  hard  to  please.  One  moment  ht-  blames  me  for  not  having 
attended  to  earlier  Umcs.     The  next  he  blames  me  for  making  *■  raids'  into  them.'* 

Mr.  Froude,  I  suppose,  sees  some  contradiction  here  ;  but  the  two 
bits  of  criticism  simply  come  to  this,  that  Mr.  Froude  would  do  well 
not  to  write  about  earlier  times  till  he  has  got  them  up  better.  He 
adds : — 

**  Tlif  word  '  raid'  seems  to  imply  that  particuUr  periods  arc  the  reserved 
prof»erty  of  particular  persons,  ■who  claim  to  hnvc  spfciallv  attended  to  them. 
It  will  be  an  unfortunate  day  for  literature  when  a  monopoly  of  this  kind  is 
allowed,  or  when  the  self-constituted  owners  are  permitted  to  treat  as  trespassers 
those  who  wibh  to  look  into  Buoh  periods  for  thi-mselves.'' 

Let  them  look  by  all  means;  it  is  the  very  thing  which  wc  arc 
always  asking  them  to  do.  It  is  the  very  thing  for  which  we  arc 
always  giving  them  the  means  of  doing.  If  Mr.  Froude  will  stoop  to 
read  through  my  History  of  the  Norman  Couqucstj  or  one  volume  of  it, 
or  one  chapter  of  it,  he  will  see  that  I  throughout  give  him  the  means 
of  testing  every  statement,  and  of  coming,  if  he  chooses,  to  a  different 
conclusion  from  mine.  Let  him  look  for  himself  by  all  means ;  the 
more  he  looks  the  better.  All  that  we  ask  is  that  he  shall  not  attempt 
to  write  in  detail  about  those  times  till  he  has  looked  a  little  more 
thoroughly  into  thcoi  than  he  has  done  as  yet. 

Mr.  Froude  goes  on  to  say : — 

'*  The  authorities  with  which  I  have  dealt  in  these  hrief  raid»  arc  easily  acces- 
sible also.  1  can  wish  for  nothing  better  than  that  the  reader  will  be  pleased  ti> 
compare  them,  and  will  then  reconsider  the  langungc  in  whiclt  Mr.  Freeman 
Fpeaks  of  what  1  have  written." 

Tliis  is  exactly  what  I  have  beeu  saying  over  and  over  again.  It  is 
exactly  what  I  wish  to  have  done.  The  process  is  a  very  easy  one.  Any 
one  who  understands  Latin  can  compare  !Mr.  Froude's  "  Annals  of" 
au  English  Abbey"  with  the  original  "  Gc&ta  Abbntum  Saueti  Albani," 
Mr.  Froude  says  that  there  is  no  diflTerence  between  the  two  narra- 
tives, except  that  he  **  substitutes  a  story  in  English  for  a  story  in 
Latin,  a  short  story  for  a  long  one,  and  a  story  in  a  popular  form  for 


228  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW,  ^H 

a  story  in  a  scholastic  one/'  "  These  differences,"  he  adds,  "  appear 
to  me  to  arise  from  tlie  nature  of  the  cose ;"  and  this  would  be 
perfectly  true  if  there  were  no  other  differences  between  the  two  nar- 
ratives. But  my  jKJsition  is  that  the  differences  between  the  two  St. 
Albans  histories  are  much  wider  than  this.  I  say  that,  in  the  great 
mass  of  cases — it .  might  be  dangerous  to  say  in  every  case — Mr. 
Froude's  story  is  essentially  different  from  the  story  in  the  book.  Mr. 
Froude's  story  is  suggested  by  the  story  in  the  book  j  this  is  all  that 
can  be  said.  As  a  rule,  the  details  arc  quite  different.  And,  curiously 
enough,  the  details  which  are  purely  imaginary,  those  which  arc  found 
in  Mr.  Fronde's  narrative  without  anything  to  answer  to  them  in 
the  origiualj  are  largely  of  a  kind  which  suggests^  as  I  before  hinted, 
that  they  pass  as  true  because  they  arc  uucdifying.  I  gave  a 
number  of  select  instances,  by  no  means  all  that  I  could  have  given,  in 
the  Salurday  Review j  September  8  and  September  29,  1877.  Mr. 
Froudc,  it  seems,  has  not  done  me  the  honour  to  read  those  two  notices. 
I  will  therefore  s|x:ak  only  of  the  two  casca  of  whieli  Mr.  Froude  has 
chosen  to  speakj  leaving  the  rest  to  any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble — and 
it  is  rather  an  amusing  process— to  compare  the  two  books,  the  Annals 
begun  by  Matthew  Paris,  and  the  Annals  written  by  Mr.  Froudc,  In  p.  24 
of  the  volume  of  "  Short  Studies"  which  contains  the  "Annals  of  an 
English  Abbey,"  Mr.  Froude  says:  "Sir  Robert  FitzivUliam  laid  claim  to  a 
wood  on  the  Church  estate/'  In  the  "Gesta  Abbatum,"  i.  220,  the 
claimant  is  described  as  "Robertus  FiHusWalteri,  cui  vix  aliqnis  comes  in 
Augliapotuit  ffiquiparari."    In  p.  229,  Rol>ert  is  more  fully  described: — 

**  Incipient^  cnim  tunc  guerra,  con.stitutua  oat  Kobertus  dux  exercitua  iosur- 
geotium  in  rcgoni ;  utide  in  titiilo  litterorimi  suarum  sc  constabulanum  excrcitus 
Dei  nominabat.^' 

That  is  to  say,  Mr.  Froude's  "Sir  Robert  Fitzwilliam"  is  no  other  than 
the  renowned  Robert  Fitzwalter,  leader  of  the  Barons  on  the  march  that 
won  the  Great  Charter — he  whose  name  comes,  second  of  all  men  under 
the  rank  of  Farl,  araonj;  the  twenty-five  barons  who  were  to  enforce  the 
(ircat  Charter.  Mr.  Froude  tells  us,  and  wc  arc  bound  to  believe  him, 
that  FitzwUliam  was  simply  an  nucoiTcctcd  miapriut  for  Fiizwalttr.  Beit 
80 ;  but  such  a  mispriut  c(ndd  not  have  been  left  uncorrected  by  any  man 
to  whom  tlic  name  of  Robert  Fitzwalter  was  a  living  thing.  Let  Mr. 
Froudc  by  all  means  look  a  little  more  for  himself  into  the  original 
records  of  the  thirteenth  century ;  it  is  exactly  what  he  needs. 

Now  I  come  to  the  amusing  story  about  "  pnedictie  rationes."  In 
the  "Gcsta  Abbatum/'  i.  29,  30,  we  read  that  Ablxit  Leofric,  in  a  time  of 
famine,  sold  some  of  the  plate  and  treasures  of  various  kinds  belonging 
to  the  church  and  monastery,  to  distribute  to  the  poor.  It  was  always  a 
moot  point  -whether  bo  to  do  was  sacrilege  or  not.  The  author  of  the 
"  Gcsta" — that  is,  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt,  Matthew  Paris — does  not 
presume  to  decide  whether  the  Abbot  was  right  or  wrong.  But  he 
argues  the  general   question   at  some   length,  and   he   incliuea   to   the 


LAST  WORDS    OX   MR.    FROUDE. 


229 


^ 


^ 


belief  that,  at  all  events,  res&els  dedicated  to  diviue  service  should  uot  be 
alienated.  Of  the  Abbot  personally  be  says  :  "  Si  tamcn  abbas  memo- 
ntos  hoc  faciendo  bene  egerit  novit  ille  qui  nihil  ignorat/^  In  the 
couriie  of  his  ar^mcnt  he  naturally  quotes  the  Gos|)el  narrative 
about  Judas  aud  the  oiutmout.      He  then  end^  his  story  thus  : — 

"  Hcc  inquam,  quia  tunc  temporis  pncdictc  rationes  in  conventu  magnam 
dlsoordiam  Huscitariiat ;  quam  vbc  abbatis  supplicatio  huaiilis  sedavit  et  potestas 
secularis  perterrendo  tcuipcravit/* 

Mr.  Froude,  on  his  principle  of  substituting  a  short  story  in  popular 
form  for  a  long  story  in  scholastic  form,  gives  us  the  following 
version  . — 

"  '  ^Vhether  the  Abbot  did  well  or  ill  in  thw  jndgnient  of  hia,*  snuffled  adiscon- 
itcd  brother, — uorerit  ille  qtii  nihil  ignorat — *  let  IJiiu  determine  whoknoweth 
all  chinga,*  The  apostle  who  thought  most  about  the  poor  was  the  traitor  Judas; 
the  poor  we  had  always  with  us,  and  pious  monks  of  St.  Albans  were  not  to  be 
met  with  erery  day.  There  was  open  enmity  at  last,  and  the  secular  arm  bad  to 
be  called  io.  Leofric,  excellent  as  he  was,  prove<l  rtMUhu$  austerus — a  severe 
master  to  rebellious  servants.  iCough  policemen  came  down  from  London,  and 
chained  up  the  most  refractory  in  their  cells ;  the  rest  were  lefl  to  grumble  in 
private  over  their  shortened  rations." 

A  better  specimen  of  Mr,  Froude't  way  of  dealing  with  the  story 
could  not  be  wished  for.  He  deals  with  this  story  after  his  received 
manoer  of  dealing  with  stories.  Every  detail  is  fictitious  ;  most  of  the 
details,  one  might  say^  are  uuedifyiug.  Of  the  snuffling  brother,  the 
rough  policemen  from  Loudon,  the  chains  of  the  most  refractory,  the 
shortened  rations  of  the  rest,  there  is  not  a  sign  in  the  "  Oeata/' 
And  there  is  no  other  known  record  irom  which  Mr.  Froude  can 
have  got  them.  Tlie  Latin  epithet  given  to  Leofric  is  in  the  teit  not 
applied  to  him^  but  is  applied,  elsewhere  to  another  Abbot.  Now  as 
for  "  praediets  rationes."  I  certainly  never  seriously  thought  that  Mr. 
Froude  took  "  shortened  rations"  to  be  the  proper  translation  of 
"  prodicts  rationes."  But  I  did  and  I  do  think  that  the  notion  of 
"  rations'^  was  suggested  to  Mr.  Froude  by  the  aight  of  the  word 
"  rationes"  in  the  Latin.  I  think  so,  because,  as  I  said  iu  my  articles 
on  the  Life  of  Thomas,  there  arc  other  casea  in  which  Mr.  Froude's 
version  contains  some  statement  which,  as  a  fact,  has  nothing  like  it  in 
the  original;  hut  which  seems  to  be  suggested  by  the  mere  look  of  some 
word  iu  the  original.  The  greatest  case  is  where  Mr.  Froude,  without 
authority,  without  probability,  only  just  within  the  bounds  of  possibility, 
sends  Thomas  to  study  at  Oxford.  There  is  nothing  about  Oxford  in 
any  of  the  books;  but,  not  far  otf  from  the  mention  of  his  studies,  there  is 
a  mention  of  Oiford. 

Of  the  life  of  St.  Hugh  there  is  not  much  to  say.  Mr.  Froude 
says  that  he  rensed  his  account,  and  found  only  "  two  errors,  and 
those  of  au  utterly  trifling  character."  I  have  just  looked  back  to  my 
articie  {Saturday  i?cc/c4F,  March  19,  1870),  and  there  I  find  mentioned. 


230 


THE    CONTEMPORjiRY   REVIEW, 


merely  as  specimens,  at  least  eleven  crrorSj  none  of  which  seems  to  n;c  tu  be 
trifling.  But  then  I  know  that  my  standard  and  Mr.  Fi'oude's  are  not 
the  same.  | 

Mr.  Fronde  fiuther  ventures  to  say  that  '^  1  cait  invent  Tvhen  percep- 
tion fails  mc.''  This  charge  is  serious;  but  I  must  be  allowed  to 
thiak  that  Mr.  Fronde's  evidence  will  hardly  be  thought  convincing. 
His  proof  is  that  I  said  that  Mr.  Froude  "wrote  nearly  the 
■whole  of  Lis  St.  Albans  narrative  in  the  belief  that  the  abbey 
clmrch,  lately  raised  to  cathedral  rank^  wns  a  ruiu  like  Rievaux  or 
Tiatern."  He  asks  what  he  is  to  think  of  me,  because  iu  the  very 
sketch  with  nhieU  I  am  finding  fault  I  had  these  words  under  my  eyes : 
*'  In  the  general  ruin  the  church  of  St.  Albans  was  saved  by  the 
burgesses."  I  certainly  liad  those  words  under  uiy  eyes,  and,  because 
I  had  them  before  my  eycSj  I  said  "  nearly  the  whole  of  Mr.  Fronde's 
St.  Albans  narrative."  I  fully  believed  that,  up  to  the  87th  page  of  that 
narrati%'Cj  Mr.  Froude  had  fancied  the  church  of  St.  Albans  to  be  in 
ruins,  and  that  he  found  out  the  contrary  not  eai'licr  than  the  writing, 
perhaps  only  in  the  revision,  of  the  88th  page.  If  it  be  not  so,  Mr. 
Froude  did  himself  great  injustice  iubis  way  of  expressing  himself.  Up 
to  the  87th  page,  if  he  did  not  believe  that  the  wliolc  of  the  abbey  of  St. 
Albans — the  church,  one  would  have  thought,  included — was  a  mere 
ruin,  he  wrote  exactly  as  if  lie  did  believe  it.  In  p.  6  he  tells  us  that 
''  the  surviving  ruins  convey  a  more  imposing  sense  of  the  ancient  mag- 
nificence than  Melrose,  or  Fountains,  or  Glastonbury."  In  p.  37  we  read 
that  at  a  certain  date  "  began  in  earnest  the  erection  of  those  splendid 
buildings,  amid  the  ruins  of  which  sentimental  Ritualists  sigh  over  the 
ages  of  fiiith  aud  pray  for  their  return."  In  p.  87  we  read  that  Abbot 
"Walllngford  "  contributed  most  towards  the  erection  of  that  magnificent 
pile  of  buildings  whose  ruins  breathe  celestial  music  into  the  spirit  of 
sentimental  pietism."  Wc  have  now  gone  through  "nearly  the  M'holc" 
of  the  nan*ative.  There  is  little  more  than  a  page  left.  In  that  page 
Mr.  Froude  mentions  the  preservation  of  the  church ;  but  he  still  goes 
on  to  talk  about  ruins,  "  ruins  of  the  rest/'  ruins  which  have  "  stood  for 
three  ccntnrioa,"  which  "preach/'  and  so  forth.  What  ruined  buildings 
there  are  at  St.  Albans  to  do  all  this  I  cannot  guess,  unless  he  means  the 
passage  broken  through  between  the  presbytery  and  the  Lady  chapel. 
I  have  been  at  St.  Albans  a  good  many  times,  but  I  never  saw  auy 
ruins  at  all  suited  to  Imvc  this  wonderful  effect  on  the  miud.  In 
fact  the  passage  in  Mr.  Froude's  story  about  the  burgesses  buying  the 
church  reads  very  much  Hkc  an  afterthought  stuck  iu  after  what 
comes  before  and  after  it  was  written.  As  a  piece  of  rhetoric, 
the  conclusion  would  be  much  better  without  it.  Of  course  I 
must  now  believe  that  Mr.  Froude  did  know  throughout  tliat  the 
ehureh  was  standing  j  but  the  kind  of  way  in  which  Mr.  Froude 
wrote  was  certainly  very  likely  to  make  a  plain  reader  think  other- 
wise.    Tlie   drawiiig,    which    he    says    was    in  some  other   place  pre- 


LAST    ffOHDS   0^    Mlt    FROUDE. 


:231 


fixed  to  the  openiug  clinptere^  I  never  saw.  It  is  not  prefixed 
to  it  in  "  Short  Studies,"  the  oiilv  place  where  I  ever  saw  the 
"Annals  of  an  English  Abbey."* 

So  mueh  for  my  power  of  "  invention."  Now  for  oue  word 
abont  that  "  uukuowu  foreign  ecclesiastic^"  the  *'  Bibliop  of 
Lcxoria."  Mr.  Froude  is  pcrhajw  not  likely  to  iinderstaud  how  odd 
it  seems  to  students  of  medieval  history  that  a  man  engaged  on 
subjects  kindred  to  their  owu  should  not  know  that  Lexo\ia  meant 
Lisieux.  But  the  point  was  nut  so  much  that  Mr.  Froude  did  not  know 
what  Lexovia  meant,  as  that  lie  wrote  in  a  grand  kind  of  way,  as  if  a 
place  whose  name  Mr.  Froude  did  not  know  could  not  be  worth  knowing 
about.  But  let  this  pass,  I  must  correct  Mr.  Froude  on  a  more 
important  point.      lie  says — 

"  The  Reviewer  .  .  .  ,  often  as  he  has  told  his  readers  that  I  was  ignorant 
cf  the  modern  name  of  Lexovia,  has  never  hinted  at  the  cause  which  ]L*d  nie  to 
speak  of  Lexovia^"  &c.  &c. 

This  is  not  so.  It  may  be  that  the  Reviewer  has  not  goue  iuto  the 
cause  in  connexion  with  Mr.  Froudc's  namej  but  he  did,  on  July  1, 
1876,  go  rather  minutely  into  it  in  conncxioa  with  a  kindred  statement 
made  in  Fraser'it  Magazijie  by  a  certain  "  J.  A.  F.,"  who  took  u}X)u  hitn 
to  make  a  very  unsuccessful  attack  on  Lord  ^lacaulay.  *'  J.  A.  F.," 
unlike  Mr,  Froude,  knew  that  Lexovia  meant  Lisieux ;  but  he  told  the 
same  story  about  the  alleged  72,000  hangings,  and  he  expressed  his  own 
belief  that  1000  would  be  nearer  the  mark.  The  Renewcr  went  into  some 
figorcsj  founded  on  another  paper  in  the  same  magazine  (since  reprinted  in 
Mr.  A.  H.  A.  Hamilton's  "  Quarter  Sessions  from  Queen  Elizabeth  to 
Queen  Anne  "),  by  which  he  tried  to  show  that  about  54,000  was  a  not 
unlikely  number.  Mr.  Froude  may  not  accept  the  Reviewer's  argu- 
ments ;  but  he  has  no  right  to  say  that  the  Reviewer  has  never  spokcu 
about  the  matter  at  all. 

I  now  come  to  Mr.  Fronde's  great  point,  the  Simancas  Manuscripts. 
In  reading  the  wonderful  stories  which  I  find  that  Mr.  Froude  substitutes 
for  the  statements  of  his  authorities  wherever  I  have  the  means  of  testing 
him,  the  thought  sometimes  came  iuto  my  head,  How  far  can  we  trust  Mr. 
Froude's  statements  when  we  cannot  test  them,  when  no  reference  is 
given,  or  only  so  vague  a  reference  as  "  MSS.  Simancas  "?  Both  Mr. 
Froude  and  others  have  made  a  great  deal  out  of  this  suspicion  of  mine, 
as  if  I  had  charged  Mr.  Froude  with  falsifying,  or  garbling,  or  making 
some  unfair  use  of  the  Simancas  MSS,  I  never  said  or  thought  any- 
thing of  the  kind.     I  did  say,  what  is  surely  true,  that  Mr.  Froude  had 

*  I  hAve  looked  at  the  pasMg«  in  *'  Short  Stndiefc"  once  more,  And  it  etrikefl  mo  as  even 
mnre  ciirioun  thui  I  thought  at  first.  Mr.  Fronde  layB,  **p&rt  of  the  oharch  itself  hu 
used  nnoe  the  Reformation  for  tlie  ProtestAut  aer^nce.  The  niius  of  the  rest  have 
Ac.  &o.  This  miiBt  mean  the  *'  niina  of  the  reat  of  the  church."  Mr.  Fronde 
lerefere  atill  thioka  that  jMu-t  of  the  charch  ia  in  ruius.  la  it  pOMtble  that  Mr.  Froude 
hoa  nerer  been  at  St.  .:Uhaiia,  and  that  it  ia  tho  drawing  which  ho  had  nuulc  which  haa  mis- 
led hisn  ?  The  long,  Io\r*roofcd  oave  of  St.  AHmns  miglii  ciixily  be  co  drawn  m  to  suggest 
a  ffooflen  building. 


282 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJV, 


an  advaatage  iu  the  nature  of  tliis  part  of  liis  materials,  because,  if  he 
made  mistakes,  there  was  very  little  diauce  of  their  being  found  out. 
But  I  never  ehargcd  him,  I  never  suspected  him,  of  wilfully  falsifying  his 
materials.  I  merely  thuugbt  that  it  was  likely  that  Mr.  Froude  would  uae 
one  kind  of  materials  in  the  same  way  in  which  he  used  another.  I 
thought  thatj  if  wc  could  compare  a  page  of  !Mr.  Froude'a  which  has  only 
a  vague  reference  to  Simancas  with  the  actual  materials  at  Simancas,  the 
two  might  very  likely  stand  in  the  same  relation  to  one  another  in  which 
a  page  of  the  '*  Annals  of  an  English  Abbcy'^  stands  to  the  page  which 
answers  to  it  in  the  "  Gcsta  Abbatum."  1  did  not  say  that  it  was  so ; 
indeed,  I  hinted  the  possibility  of  a  chance  the  other  way.  For  I  know 
that  people  who  seem  to  think  that  easy  and  obvious  materiab  may  be 
used  anyhow,  do  sometimes  take  greater  eare  when  they  have  to  deal  with 
special  aud  out-of-the-way  materials.  Still,  knowing  how  utterly  unlike 
to  the  facts  Mr.  Frmide/s  statements  were  when  1  could  test  them,  I 
could  uot  unhesitatingly  accept  Mr.  Fronde's  statements  when  J  could 
not  test  them.  I  had  no  right  to  say  that  they  were  wrong,  but  I 
could  not  feel  certain  that  they  were  right.  That  was  all.  But  it  seems 
that  the  means  of  testing  Mr.  Froude's  statements  were  somewhat 
less  diflBcutt  than  I  had  fancied.  Mr.  Froude  says  that  he  placed 
copies  of  his  Simancas  collections  iu  the  Britisli  Museum  nearly  ten 
years  ago.  I  >vas  not  aware  of  this  fact  till  last  year,  after  I  had  made 
my  reference  to  the  matter  iu  the  Contemporaby  Rkview.  I  then  read, 
in  a  number  of  the  Academy  which  I  received  at  Palermo,  that  Mr. 
Fi*oude's  collections  were  in  the  British  Museum.  Mr.  Froude  now 
says  that  he  "^  gave  notice  that  he  had  done  so  when  he  publiti/ied  the 
last  volumes  of  the  History."  Mr.  Froude  does  not  say  where  tlie 
notice  was  given,  and  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  copy  of  those  volumes. 
It  may  be  in  some  later  stereotyped  edition.  But  in  my  copy  the 
references  throughout  those  volumes  are  to  Simancas,  uot  to  the 
British  Museum.  But  if,  instead  of  "  MSS.  Simancas,"  the  reference 
Lad  been  "  MSS.  British  Museum,"  not  much  would  have  been 
gained.  If  I  am  puzzled  with  something  that  Mr.  Froude  says,  my 
zeal  would  hardly  go  so  far  as  to  carry  me  up  to  Loudon  to  turn, 
over  the  whole  of  Mr.  Froude's  collection  on  the  chance  of  finding 
on  explanation  of  some  particidar  point.  I  do  not  understand 
Spanish,  aud  there  is  the  further  fact,  not  to  be  forgotten,  that, 
after  all,  Mr.  Fronde's  collections  arc  copies  and  not  originals.* 
"What  is  wanted  iu  such  cases  is  such  a  reference,  or  such  an 
extract,  as  may  enable  the  reader  to  test  any  statement  at  once.  If 
the  Master  of  the  Rolls  would  have  Mr.  Froude's  documents  compared 


*  It  docfl  however  haiipcu  tliat  I  have    before  am  at  this  momcut  Bpdoimeiui  of  Mr. 

Froude'a  copiei  conijttrvri  with  specimens  of  ot^pieB  otHcialty  ttuule  at  Sunancoi.     And  it 

uoeds  no  special    knowlctlgc  nf  Sjiauish — one's   ordinary   knowledge  of  other    Jtoniance 

.Jaoguoget  is  enough — to  seo   that    the  tlifTcrcnces  aro  cuuaidoruble.     In  short,  aa  far  as 

TthoK  pogcfl  go,  my  amipiuion  that  Mr.    Froude  as  a  transcnbur  of  mnuuscrijita  would  lit* 

very  like  Mr.  Froude  a8  a  tnuwlatur  or  reporter  cf  printed  m.-ilter  is  fully  coulinuott. 


LAST  WORDS   ON  MR.  FROUDE. 


23a 


Willi  tLc  origiualB,  and  printed  in  a  book,  then  they  would  be 
of  practical  use.  But  sim|)ly  to  send  me,  with  no  further  due,  to 
a  large  collection  of  MSS.  iu  the  British  Museum,  gives  mc  no 
further  help  than  to  send  me  to  the  same  collection  at  Simaucas.  Mr. 
Froude  complains  that  I  have  not  gone  to  the  British  Museum  to  look 
at  his  MSS.  I  can  only  answer,  first,  that  till  last  year  1  did  not  know 
^tthat  they  were  there;  secoudly,  that  I  am  not  going  to  write  the  History 
Bpf  Elizabeth. 

^B    As   for  a  challenge  which  Mr.  Froude  made  to  the  Editor  of  the 

^KBatwrday  Review,  proposing  that   he  should  have  some  kind  of  inquiry 

^R&adc   fts  to   Mr.   Froude^s  way  of   dealing    with    the  MSS.,  as   also 

about    a    "contemptuous    refusal"  which    Mr.  Froude   got    from   the 

Editor,  I    have  nothing  to  say.     I   know  nothing  aboxit  the  matter, 

except  that  I  remember  reading  the  challenge  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 

^But  1  know  not  what  kind  of  lettera  the  Editor  of  the  Saturday  Review 

^Rsiay  liave  written  to  Mr.  Froude  either  in  this  matter,  or  in  another  which 

^be  mentions  earlier  in  his  article.    I  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the 

^bditing  of  the  Saturday  RevieWy  nor  was  its  Editor  ever  in  the  habit  of 

thowixig  me  the  letters  that  he  wrote.* 

And  now  for  a  word  or  two  as  to  the  "  Life  and  Times  of  Thomas 
lecket,"      I   will  strictly  confine    myself  to  the  questions    which  Mr. 
mde  raises  in  his  article.      Out  of  the  many  cases  in  which  I  have 
lown  that  Mr.  Froude  has  made  statements  which  have  nothing  what- 
rer    answering    to  them   in   the   contemporary  writers,    Mr.  Froude 
of  three  only.     The  others,  I  suppose,  will  be  dealt  with  in  his 
promised  volume.    Mr.  Froude,  to  be  sure,  says  that  all  that  I  say  on  other 
points  than  these  three  is  "  vapour/^       It  is    "  vapour"  then  to  trouble 
one^s  head  as  to  w*ho  Tliomas  was,  and  what  position  he  holds  in  the 
general    history  of  the  twelfth  century.      It    is    "  vapour"  to    trouble 
oneself  whether  the  occasions  of  the  dispute  between  Thomas  and  the 
King — the  stories,  for  instance,  of  William  of  Eyuesford  and  Philip  of  Blois 
— happened  as  Mr.  Froude  says  that  they  happened,  or  as  the  contem- 
porary writers  say  that  they  hapi)encd.       If  these  jjoints,  and  a  crowd 
of  others,  arc  "  vapour,"  one  might  have  thought  that  the  other  three 
points   were   "  vapour"   also.       But   let  us  come  to  these  three   points. 
Except  in  one  case,  where  Mr.  Froude  brings  in  a  new  error,  there  is 
really    nothing    to  do    except  to    remind  my  readers  of    what  1   have 
really  said  before,  which  is  natm'ally  a  very  different  thing  from  what  Mr. 
Fronde  makes  me  say. 

Of  Mr.  Froude's  three  points,  t!ie  first  relates  to  his  inference,  from 
a  oeriaiu  passage  iu  Edward  Grim,  that  Thomas^  at  the  time  of  his 
appointment  to  the  archbishopric,  was  ''  known  to  the  world  only  as  an 

*  1  Me  by  cliance  in  Saturday  Rtvieio,  Kebnury  19,   IflTI).  th.it  tbe  Ktlitur  nudu  Mr. 
F^rvode  *&  uiswer  iii  [iriut.  in  wUieli  be  aueaka  M  the  **  comic  ch.iracter"  of  Mr.  I'roudr't 
nrppoCftl.     1  do  nut  kmm  wliutbcr  this  is  tuciamc  ni  the  "contcnii»tnotis  refiUKiI'*  ofwhictt 
Mr.  KroiKle  i>pc«1u. 


234 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVlElf. 


unscrupulous  and  tyranuical  minister."  On  tliis  Lead  I  can  really  do 
notbiug  more  than  to  ask  any  one  who  cares  about  the  matter  to  look 
back  to  what  I  hare  said  about  it,  and  to  compare  it  with  what  Mr. 
Froude  has  said  about  it,  both  now  and  before.  I  will  only  correct 
one  implied  misrepresentation  on  the  part  of  Mr.  P^ude.  Mr.  Froude 
says  :  — 

"  Every  one,  except  Mr.  Freeman,  vi\X\  admit  that  in  these  words  Grim  was 
referring  to  proceedings  on  the  part  of  the  Chaucellor  on  which  his  friends 
looked  back  with  regret,  and  of  which  he  himself  could  give  no  satisiaGtory  expla- 
nation.'' 

I  need  only  quote  my  own  words  in  my   second  article   in   the  CoN- 

TEUPOKARY   REVIEW  :— 

"Edward  Grim  Jamcnta  that  the  temptationa  of  power  and  high  office  led 
Thomas,  churclimao  as  he  was,  to  forget  all  ecclesiastical  rule,  and  to  take  a  part 
in  the  bloo<ly  work  of  a  soldier.  The  censure  is  perfectly  just;  but  it  is  made  on 
■altogether  different  grounds  from  tbose  into  which  Mr.  Froude  has  so  oddly 
twisted  it," 

Tliis  is  all  that  I  need  any  on  this  head.  But  when  Mr.  FroudCj  in 
trying  to  upset  my  argumeutj  briugs  lu  a  new  en'or  of  his  own,  I  must 
{X)int  it  out.  He  objects  to  ray  giving  Thomas,  as  ChanccUorj  a  share 
in  the  restoration  of  peace  at  the  beginning  of  Henry's  reign. 

"  Becky t's  advice  may  have  gone  along  with  that  of  the  great  council  of  the 
realm,  on  which  the  king  acted.  But,  unfortunately  fnr  Mr,  Freeman's  argument, 
Becket  was  not  Chancellor  till  1157;  Henry  succeeded  to  the  throne  in  1154; 
and  Fitzstepiien  expressly  says  that  these  bauds  were  broken  up  and  their  castles 
destroyed  within  three  months  of  his  coronation. 

*'  Miserntione  Dei,  consilio  Cancellarii  et  cleri  et  baronum  regni,  qui  pacis  bonum 
Tolebant,  intra  tres  primos  menses  coronationJs  regis  Wilhelmus  [HV/^Wmuj  of 
course  in  the  original]  de  Ypra  violeutus  incubator  Cuntiae  cum  lachrymis  emi- 
gravit.  Flandrenses  omncs  collectb  impedimentis  ct  armia  ad  mare  tendunt 
Castella  omnia  jx^r  Angliam  corruunt,  praeter  ontiquas  pacis  conservandie  turres 
ct  oppida. 

*'  In  this  passage  the  word  'cancellarius' either  cannot  refer  to  Becket,  or  relates 
to  him  before  his  promotion," 

Now  William  Fitzstephen  does  not  say  that  the  whole  work  was  done 
within  three  months  from  the  coronation ;  he  only  says  that  William  of 
Ypri's  left  the  country  within  that  time.  But  this  is  of  no  conse- 
^uencCj  because  there  is  no  doubt  that  William  Fitzstephen  does  mean 
to  speak  of  Tlionias  iis  Chancellor  within  tlui  first  three  mouths  of  Henry's 
reigUj  and  l)ecau9c  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  is  quite  right  in  so  speak- 
ing. The  ajipointraent  of  Thomas  as  Chancellor  was  one  of  Henry's 
first  acts  after  his  coronation  in  Pcccrabcrj  1154.  Mr.  Froude  of  course 
got  the  statement  that  Tliomas  was  not  Chancellor  till  1157  from  Roger 
of  llowden,  who  undoubtedly  says  so.  Butj  as  Mr.  Froude  doubtless 
reads  Roger  and  all  other  books  in  the  last  cditiorij  it  is  odd  that  he 
did  not  make  the  references  suggested  in  Professor  St ubbs*  note  (i.  210). 
William  Fitzstephen  implies  that  Thomas  was  appointed  Chancellor  at 
the    very   beginning    of    Henry's    reign.       Gcrvasc    (1377)    distinctly 


LAST    WORDS    ON   MB,    FHOUDE. 


285 


■ 
I 


that  it  was  «o.      He  records  the  coronation,  and  oddsj  still  under 

1154:— 

"Egii  [Theodbaldus]  igitur  apud  regcm,  ut  statim  in  initio  regni  cancelUriam 
coocederet  cicrico  suo  Thonis  LoDdonicnai,  cui  anno  praeterito  Contuaricuaia 
eoclcss  dederat  arcliiUiaconatunj.'" 

He  then  records  the  Christmas  conrty  at  which  it  ^vas  determined  to 
drire  straugcrs  out  of  the  laud,  and  to  destroy  the  castles.  His  first 
entry  under  1155  describes  the  carrying  out  of  this  decree  by  the  flight 
of  William  of  Yprcs,  followed  by  the  destruction  of  the  castles.  Here 
is  a  clear  and  evidently  well-considered  narrative;  but  that  is  not  all. 
Roger  might  be  right,  and  Gervase  and  William  might  be  wrong.  Mr. 
Proude  has  taught  us  to  test  such  questions  by  off  cial  documents.  Xow 
in  the  Pipe-roll  of  the  second  year  of  Heory  the  Second  (p.  21)  we  read :— »- 

"  Thomas  Caacelbuius  reddit  coinputum  dc  linna  do  Bercbamstede  do  xviii. 
libru  el  x.  polidis  de  dimidio  anno/* 

This  is  at  Michaelmas,  1156,  Thomas  was  therefore  Chancellor  in 
3[arch,  1 156,  and  as  much  earlier  as  we  please.  Therefore  Roger  is  wrong  ; 
therefore  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Gervase  and  William  are 
right ;  therefore  Mr.  Fronde's  objection  to  my  account  of  Thomas's 
chancellonhip  falls  to  the  ground. 

The  second  point  is  this.  Mr.  Fronde  said  that  Thomas  did  not 
give  Henry  warning  as  to  the  change  in  the  relations  between  them 
lihich  was  likely  to  follow  if  he  accejited  the  archbishopric.  ^Ir. 
Froude  said  that  it  was  certain  that  he  gave  no  such  warning.  I 
showed  that  Herbert  of  Bosham  said  that  he  did  give  such  a 
warning,  and  that  there  was  nothing  in  any  other  writer  to  throw 
doubt  on  Herbert's  statement.  ^Ir.  Fronde  said  that  Cardinal  Henry 
told  Thomas  that  he  "  need  not  communicate  convictions  which  would 
interfere  with  his  appointment."  I  showed  that  there  was  not  a  tittle 
of  cridence  to  show  that  the  Cardinal  said  anything  of  the  kind.  Mr. 
Froude  now  quotes  a  passage  from  William  of  Canterbury,  which  by  an 
odd  chance  I  was  not  able  to  refer  to  when  I  wrote  my  article  at 
Palermo.  But  there  is  nothing  in  this  extract,  any  more  than  in  the 
passages  which  I  did  quote,  which  bears  out  Mr.  Fronde's  assertion. 
Neither  in  William  of  Canterbury  nor  anywhere  else  does  the  Cardinal  say 
a  word  about  "  communicating  convictions."  I  must  leave  this  matter 
abo  with  any  one  who  thinks  it  worth  while  to  compare  my  former 
statements  witli  Mr.  Froudc's  present  and  former  statements. 

The  third  and  last  point  ia  as  to  the  impunity  which  was  enjoyed  by 
tlie  murderers  of  Thomas.  I,  following  Mr.  Robertson,  explained  it  in 
accordance  with  a  distinct  statement  of  law  or  custom  made  by  Arch- 
bishop Richard.  Mr.  Fronde  explains  it  in  accordance  with  an  a  priori 
view  of  his  own.  Again  I  ask  the  reader  to  look  back  and  to  judge 
betwccu  3rr.  Robertson  and  me  on  one  side,  and  Mr.  Froude  on  the 
other.  Mr.  Froude  believes  himself  entitled  to  hold  his  opinion.  The 
right  is  claimed  by  those  who   believe  that  the  earth  is  flat  or 


236  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

that  the  English  people  are  Jews.  Mr.  Froude  says  something  about 
being  bespattered  with  mud.  I  know  nothing  about  the  mud  or  the 
bespattering. 

I  have  now  done  with  Mr.  Froude,  I  trust  for  ever.  He  "  desires 
me  to  take  back  my  imputations.''  I  do  not  exactly  know  what  this 
means ;  but  I  cannot,  even  to  please  Mr.  Froude,  either  alter  the  facts 
of  history  or  acknowledge  that  I  said  what  I  never  said.  I  leave  the 
matter  in  the  hands  of  any  fair-minded  reader  who  will  take  the  trouble 
to  compare  the  things  which  I  have  really  said  about  Mr.  Froude  with 
the  utterly  different  things  which  Mr.  Froude  tells  the  world  that  I  have 
said  about  him.  Mr.  Froude  says  of  me  that,  for  the  future,  I  shall  take 
my  own  course.  I  leave  him  to  take  what  course  he  chooses.  I  shall 
take,  as  I  have  always  taken,  the  course  of  historic  truth. 

Edward  A.  Freeman. 


THE  last  period  of  ancient  Egyptian  liistory  extends  through  about 
seren  hundred  years,  from  the  decline  of  the  Empire^  about  bx. 
1200,  to  the  Persian  conquest  by  Cambyses,  b.c.  527.*  It  bcgiua  with 
the  lo«8  of  the  foreign  provinces.  The  Egyptian  monarchy  thus  shrinks 
from  the  dimensions  of  an  empire  to  those  of  a  kingdom.  Next  the 
kingdom  breaks  up,  resolving  itself  into  an  aggregate  of  principalities. 
Thus  internally  powerless,  its  independence  is  threatened  by  the  great 
Ethiopian  monarchy  on  the  south,  and  by  the  jVssyriau  Empire  on  the 
north-east.  At  length  the  battle-ground  of  the  Asiatic  and  African 
powers  is  shifted  by  the  strength  of  Assyria  from  Syria  to  Egypt  itself, 
and  there  the  Ethiopians  in  vain  strive  to  beat  back  tlie  overwhelming 
force  of  the  Assyrians.  With  the  decline  of  Assyria  and  Ethiopia 
there  comes  a  breathing-time  for  Egypt,  once  more  independent.  But 
Babylonia  inherits  the  policy  and  the  success  of  Assyria,  and  Persia 
with  the  conquest  of  Babylon  takes  up  the  scheme  and  finally  accora- 
plisbes  it,  when  Egypt  is  reduced  by  Cambyses  to  a  province  of  the 
great  Eastern  Empire.  Here  the  history  of  the  Pharaohs  closes.  The 
manly  efforts  of  the  Egyptians  to  recover  their  independence,  in  spite 
of  temporary  aucccss,  have  no  place  in  the  larger  events  of  the 
world's  history.  They  were  little  more  than  provincial  revolts,  and 
ended  in  that  complete  cxhanstion  which  is  proved  by  the  welcome  with 
which  Alexander  was  received. 

The  history  of  the  time  is  less  personal  than  political.  Its  interest 
does  not  centre  in  the  achievements  of  great  conquerors,  but  iu  the 
development  of  political  events.  We  watch  an  oriental  balance  of 
power, which, when  it  is  finally  disturbed, resxilts  in  a  fierce  conflict  of  races, 

*  It  DOT  wcms  certain  on  Egyptian  evidence  that  tlic  conquest  of  Egypt  liy  Cauiliyses 
muH  be  carried  np  from  t.v.  5i6,  long  tbe  received  date,  to  B.C.  £27. 


238 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


iu  \vliicli  nation  after  nattoa  almost  disappears.  This  more  interesting- 
aspect  of  Kistory  is  due  to  tlic  abundance  of  our  materials,  the  stories 
of  tlie  liostilc  nations,  the  Ethiopian,  Egyptian,  Assyrian,  and  Babylonian 
texts,  aad  the  writings  of  spectators  of  the  strife,  the  Hebrew  historians 
and  prophets,  and  the  Greek  historian-traveller,  Herodotus. 

The  events  recorded  or  illustrated  by  these  ample  sources  can  only 
be  treated  in  outline.  This  is,  however,  all  that  is  necessary  for  our 
purpose.  There  is  little  matter  of  controversy  as  to  details,  and  the 
documents  are  accessible  to  all.  What  is  needed  is  a  connected 
historical  outline.  No  sketch  of  Egyptian  history  could  be  complete 
without  an  attempt  to  give  the  student  a  guide  through  the  complicated 
series  of  events  which  arc  crowded  into  the  age  of  decline. 

The  fall  of  the  Empire  seems  to  have  been  wholly  due  to  internal 
causes.  The  exliausting  wars  of  Ramses  III.  forced  him  to  concede  to 
the  Libyan  tribes  the  right  to  settle  in  Egypt,  that  he  might  recruit  his 
armies  from  their  warriors.  Hence  there  grew  up  strong  bodies  of 
mercenaries  useful  to  ambitious  military  leaders.  Tlie  progress  of  social 
decay  was  marked  by  a  great  conspiracy  against  the  king,  in  which  high 
functionaries  plotted  with  the  women  of  his  household.  His  wealth  was 
lavished  in  temple-gifts  and  endowments,  and  contributed  to  increase 
the  power  of  the  priesthood  and  to  aggravate  tlic  discontent  of  the 
people.  So  long  as  the  great  conqueror  lived  the  Empire  was  strong, 
but  with  his  death  it  was  left  to  be  snatched  at  by  several  eoos,  whose 
short  reigns  and  broken  succession  are  proofs  of  their  weakness  and 
turbulence.  Side  by  side  with  the  kingly  power  had  grown  up  a  rival 
pretension.  The  high-priests  of  Amen  at  Thebes  played  the  part  of 
Mayors  of  the  Palace  to  these  faineant  Raracssides  :  they  advanced  by 
sure  degrees,  until  at  last  one  of  tlLCm,  Her-hor,  assumed  the  double 
crown  of  Upper  and  Lower  Egypt,  and  founded  a  new  Dynasty,  the 
Twenty-first.  In  his  time  mc  sec  the  last  traces  of  Egyptian  rule  of  the 
Easteru  provinces  :  they  were  doubtless  lost  by  the  progress  of  the  l^rst 
Assyriau  Empire  (b.c,  1130-1090)  followed  by  the  Israelite  Empire  of 
David  and  Solomon.  Hence  perhaps  the  removal  of  the  capital  from 
Thebes  to  Tauis  on  the  eastern  border,  and  the  alliance  of  the  priest- 
king  with  Solomon,  Tlic  change  of  capital  may  however  have  l)cen 
duo  to  a  political  compromise  with  the  Ramcssidcs,  who  lingered  on, 
and  disappeared  not  long  before  the  Tanite  priestly  house  was  expelled 
by  a  new  intrusive  line. 

A  family  of  Shemitc  chiefs  settled  in  the  Delta  rose  to  high  power  as 
commanders  of  the  mercenaries,  and  at  length  one  of  them,  Sheshonk  L, 
the  Shishakof  the  Bible,  about  b.c.  970,  overthrew  the  Tanites,  securing 
the  throne  by  the  mnri'iagc  of  Ids  second  son  and  ultimate  heir  to  a 
princess  of  that  house,  and  invested  his  heirs  in  succession  with  the 
high  priesthood  of  Amen.  The  family  of  the  pricst-kiugs  fled  to 
Et]iio])in,  and  there  founded  au  inilcpcndcnt  kingdom,  destined  to  play  a 
great  pai-t  in  later  history. 


ANCIENT  EGYPT, 


239 


The  annals  of  the  Twenty-second  Dynasty  record  one  great  eveat> 
the  successful  war  of  Shishak  in  Palestine.  Tlie  notice  iu  Hebrew 
history  has  its  commeutary  in  the  famous  wall-sculpture  of  the  ^reat 
temple  of  Amen-Ra  at  Thebes,  where  Shishak  enumerates  the  long  list 
of  his  conquest*.  This  record  will  not  bear  comparison  with  the  older 
lista  of  the  Empire.  For  nations  and  tribes  we  have  a  series  of  towns, 
but  the  coutributiou  to  Biblical  history  is  most  interesting,  and  we 
perccirc  the  policy  of  Jeroboam  in  the  oecun'cucc  of  Ijcvitical  cities  of 
Israel  as  well  as  towns  of  Judah.  Jeroboam  desired  not  merely  to 
crush  the  house  of  Darid  in  its  own  territory,  but  also  to  destroy  its 
orthodox  influence  in  his  kingdom.  The  most  interesting  name 
in  the  list  is  that  of  Jndah,  strangely  written  Jndah-mclek,  where 
we  should  have  expected  the  word  Judah  in  the  second  place  if  "raelek"  be 
kingdom. 

Hus  for  a  moment  the  Eastern  jwwer  of  Egypt  revived,  but  Ethiopia 
was  irrevocably  lost,  and  the  successors  of  Shishak  wanted  power  and 
energy  to  maintain  his  policy.  Their  history  for  the  next  two  centuries 
is  a  blank.  AVe  know  little  more  than  their  names,  and  that  ultimately 
tbeir  line  broke  up  into  three  royal  or  princely  houses. 

An  event  recorded  only  in  the  Chronicles  may  be  the  key  to  the 
sndden  decline  of  the  house  of  Shisliak.  We  there  read  how  under 
Rehoboam's  second  successor  Asa,  Zerali  the  Ethiopian  invaded  Palestine, 
and  was  defeated  by  the  king  of  Judali.  This  war  is  nowhere  else 
recorded.  The  succe^ion  of  the  priest-kings  is  incomplete,  and  wc  know 
nothing  of  their  history  for  a  century  and  a  half  or  more  later,  Was 
Zcrah  one  of  them?  Did  he  conquer  tlie  family  of  Shisliak,  and  on  his 
reverse  retreat  to  Ethiopia,  leaving  them  to  sunivc  in  peaceful  bat 
impotent  possession  of  Egypt  ?  Some  such  events  must  be  read  between 
the  lines  of  what  wc  know  of  the  history  of  this  age,  and  it  is  precisely 
what  occurred  again  and  again  in  later  timei?.  The  remote  basis  of 
operations  of  tJie  Ethiopian  kings  who  conquered  Egypt  made  their 
tenure  of  the  country  insecure,  and  each  expedition  left  it  rather  paralysed 
than  dependent. 

An  Ethiopian  conquest  is  the  first  event  that  breaks  the'dull  monotony 
of  the  history  of  Shishak's  successors.  The  story  is  well  told  by  the 
conqueror  himself,  in  a  stele  which  is  by  far  the  most  interesting  state 
document  in  the  whole  range  of  hieroglyphic  texts.  It  was  found  at 
Napata,  the  Ethiopian  capital.  Before  speaking  of  its  contents  wc 
most  endeavour  to  form  a  clear  idea  of  Ethiopia,  known  to  the  Egj'ptians 
as  Kesh,  the  Cush  of  Scripture. 

Ethiopia,  the  land  of  the  Upper  Kile,  about  as  far  as  the  junction  of 
the  White  and  Blue  rivers,  is  hanl  to  define.  Its  limits  varietl  iu  anti- 
quity, for  they  depended  more  upon  political  than  gcograi)hical  divisions. 
Roughly  it  consisted  of  two  widely  different  regions.  The  northern 
portion  is  the  narrow  Nile-valley,  obstructed  by  several  cataracts  and 
abut  in  by  barren   rocky  deserts,  the   southern  is  the  broader  valley. 


240 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


"bounded  by  deserts  subject  to  tropical  rains  which  gradually  cha 
prairies.  The  division  may  be  placed,  not  far  from  Napata,  near  which 
the  Nile  takes  a  great  bend,  flowing  south-west  for  a  long  distance  in  its 
upper  course  before  that  site  is  reached.  We  cannot  therefore  divide 
the  two  tracts  from  east  to  west,  as  the  more  fertile  country  is  at  first 
on  the  upper  but  more  uortheru  course  of  the  stream.  Thus  each  region 
contains  about  half  the  course  of  the  Nile  between  the  First  Cataract,  the 
boundary  of  Egypt,  and  the  junction  of  the  AVhite  and  Blue  Nilcs. 
Lower  Ethiopia  is  tbe  poorest  portion  of  tlio  Nile-valley.  Upper  Ethiopia 
is  in  part  a  splendid  country,  of  old  richly  peopled,  and  containing  great 
cities.  The  two  regions  may  be  best  conceived  of  as  corresponding  to 
the  plain  of  the  Delta,  and  to  the  valley  of  Upper  Egypt,  inverted. 
Here  the  narrow  valley  is  the  natural  bulwark  of  the  spreading  country 
beyond.  No  invader  could  advance  from  Egypt  upon  the  Nile,  for  it  is 
no  longer  a  water-highway.  Nor  could  he  move  up  the  long  tedious 
course  of  the  narrow  valley  without  risk  of  being  stopped  at  every  few 
miles  by  a  much  smaller  force.  The  only  practicable  approach  was 
tlirough  the  waterless  dcsortj  which  foiled  the  enterprise  of  Cambyscs. 
Tlie  oldest  royal  capital  was  Napata,  as  the  nearest  point  to  Egypt,  the 
sovereignty  of  which  was  claimed  by  the  kings  wlio  ruled  there.  Wien 
this  pretension  was  finally  overthrown,  Meroe,  probably  recommended 
by  its  central  position,  snccecdctl  to  Napata. 

The  great  table-mountain  now  called  Gebel-Barkal,  and  in  the  inscrip- 
tions tlic  "  Sacred  Mountain,"  was  held  in  reverence  as  early  as  the  time 
of  Ramses  II.  Beneath  it  he  raised  a  temple  to  Amcn-Ra,  the  god  of 
the  ncighbfturing  city  of  Napt,  the  classical  Napata,  and  Noph  of  the 
Bible.  To  this  southern  seat  of  Theban  worship  the  fugitive  high- 
priest  line  of  the  Twenty-first  Dynasty  betook  itself,  and  rcfounded 
there  its  kingdom.  Exactly  when  this  took  place  wc  do  not  know, 
but  it  was  probably  on  the  accession  of  Shishak.  They  do  not  appear 
in  history  until  the  reign  of  Piankhcc  Mce-Anien,  the  king  of  the  famous 
stele  of  Napataj  about  n.c.  750.  ICvcrytliing  shows,  however,  that  at  this 
date  the  Ethiopian  monarchy  was  firmly  established,  and  had  maintained 
by  policy  if  not  by  war  a  hereditary  claim  to  the  rule  of  Egypt,  while 
the  Thebaid  was  actually  its  most  northern  province. 

Ethiopian  civilization  as  wc  see  it  at  this  age  is  Egyptian,  with  some 
curious  variations,  to  receive  in  later  times  a  fuller  development.  The 
priest-king  is  more  distinctly  sacerdotal  n»  his  kingly  character  than  liis 
Theban  ancestors.  He  is  first  priest,  then  kijig,  whereas  the  Pharaoh 
was  priest  because  he  was  king.  Hence  a  growth  of  superstition  and  a 
sacerdotal  cxclusivcncss.  Hence  war  made  in  the  name  of  Amcn-Ra  to 
conquer  Egypt  his  territory.  In  the  importance  the  stele  gi\'e8 
to  the  roval  harccm  there  is  a  first  indication  of  the  place  ultimotelv 
takon  by  the  queen  in  Ethiopia,  wlicrc  we  find  heiresses  ruling  as 
queens  regnant,  not  as  queens  consort,  unlike  the  Egyptian  usage.  Here 
at  least  the  influence  of  the  sulyect  race  is  apparent. 


ANCIENT  EGYPT. 


S4I 


At  tills  very  time  Cush  first  undoubtedly  appears  in  Scripture  aa  a 
great  independent  power.  In  earlier  ages  we  read  only  of  Cushitc  popu- 
lations. In  the  tenth  chapter  of  Genesis  their  settlemeutji  are  givcn^ 
and  we  see  that  the  race  extended  from  Chaldsea  along  the  eastern  and 
southern  coasts  of  Arabia  into  Africa  above  Eg;ypt.  In  later  books  the 
name  Cush  seems  restricted  to  that  branch  of  the  Cushites  which 
inhabited  Ethiopia,  the  other  Cushitc  settlements  appearing  under  the 
names  of  the  races  or  territories  specified  in  the  table  of  Genesis  x.  as 
descendants  of  Cu«h.  As  a  nation  the  Cashites  appear  in  the  armies  of 
Sbishak  and  Zcrah.  If  Zcrah  were  a  king  of  Ethiopia,  the  Ethiopian 
fttAte  is  mentioned  during  its  earliest  period,  but  the  first  certain  notice 
is  that  of  Isaiab. 

The  Burden  of  Egypt,  that  striking  picture  of  the  age  we  had  reached, 
ia  preceded  by  a  prophecy  as  to  Ethiopia.  Tlic  subjects  arc  like,  each 
nation  is  portrayed,  its  coming  judgment  is  predicted,  and  its  future 
turning  to  the  true  religion.  But  the  view  is  strikingly  different.  The 
lofiy  lines  in  which  the  Ethiopians  are  depicted  show  respect  for  a  nation 
l>e-autiful  and  warlike,  whose  piety  would  readily  draw  them  on  Zion,  as 
the  suppliant  Ethiopia  of  the  Ixviiith  Psalm,  and  of  the  later  Isaiah 
(xlr.  14).  Ezckiel  adds  another  touch  in  describing  the  Ethiopians  a& 
free  from  care.  In  the  two  prophecies  first  noticed  in  the  Psalm  and 
in  the  later  Isaiah,  Egypt  takes  a  lower  place  as  an  inferior  people. 
Indeed,  the  Burden  of  Egypt  speaks  with  contempt  of  tlic  weakness, 
vacillation,  and  base  superstition  of  the  Egyptians. 

Compare  this  with  Homer.  The  Ethiopians  stand  in  the  extrme 
limits  of  the  poet's  view  to  the  eastward,  in  a  border-laud  of  truth  and 
fable  beyond  his  knowledge  of  geography.  They  arc  divided  two-fold. 
Memnon,  their  leader,  son  of  the  Dawn,  was  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
who  came  to  the  War  of  Troy.  So  pious  arc  they  that  the  gods  arc 
their  constant  guests,  when  hecatombs  are  sacrificed.  Such  are  the 
gentle  Ethiopians  (a^vfiovn^  AlOw-rrija^)  with  the  general  traits  of 
beauty,  courage  in  war,  and  piety. 

To  return  to  the  state  of  Napata.  Egypt  under  Shishak  was  an 
empire.  Under  his  successors  it  wears  the  semblance  of  an  undivided 
kingdom.  The  descendants  of  Shishak  appear  as  beautifiers  of  the  temple 
of  Amen-Ra  at  Thebes,  and  as  the  heads  of  the  state  at  the  burial  of  each 
successive  sacred  bull  Apis  at  Memphis.  But  the  Ethiopian  king's  nar- 
rative shows  how  all  this  became  a  mere  titular  supremacy  which  at  his 
time  had  fallen  to  pieces.  It  may  have  come  about  in  this  wise.  The 
division  of  Egypt  into  forty-two  provinces  or  nomcs  had  its  origin  in 
local  worship.  So  intensely  local  was  that  worship  that  it  even  led  to 
little  religious  wars  like  those  which  Juvenal  ridicules.  Consequently 
each  nome  had  a  marked  individuality  of  its  own,  and  the  aggregate  of 
the  nomes  could  only  be  held  together  by  a  strong-handed  central 
government.  Thus,  whenever  ancient  Egypt  fell  under  foreign  rule, 
cither  the  natural  instinct  of  the  people  or  the  policy  of  the  stranger,  or 

VOt.  XXXV.  B 


!U2 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


both,  tended  to  rcaolre  the  monarchy  first  into  the  two  kingdoms  of  the 
Upper  and  Lower  country,  then  into  the  uome  principalities.  Egypt  was 
thus  reduced  to  petty  kingdoms  at  the  close  of  the  Shepherd-rule,  and 
to  the  nomes  both  at  the  troabled  end  of  the  Nineteenth  Dynasty  and  in 
the  latter  days  of  Sbishak'a  foreign  line. 

When  the  Ethiopian  king,  Piankhee  Mec-Amenj  resolved  on  his  Egyp- 
tian war,  the  Lower  country  and  Middle  Egypt  were  broken  up  into  a 
number  of  small  principalities,  while  the  Thebaid  was  a  province  of  the 
Ethiopian  monarchy.  Of  the  petty  rulers,  four,  of  whom  three  bear 
names  of  the  family  of  Shishak,  arc  allowed  the  Eg)*ptian  royal  ring,  and 
were  thus  kings;  the  rest  were  independent  governors.  The  wholi 
number  of  tbesc  little  principalities  appears  to  have  been  twenty-one,  or 
little  less  than  that  of  the  uomcs  of  Lower  and  Middle  Egypt.  How 
this  condition  had  been  brought  about  has  been  already  suggested.  It 
must  have  been  sudden,  for  neither  the  monuments  of  Thebes  nor  of 
Memphis  show  any  trace  of  a  breaking  up  of  the  state.  Probably  in 
the  later  days  of  the  house  of  Shishak  the  priest-kiogs  reconquered  the 
Thebaid,  and  the  policy  of  the  defeated  dynasty,  wliich  Iiad  set  up  princes 
in  various  cities  of  Egyj)t  at  the  head  of  mercenary  troopSj  led  to  its 
natural  result,  the  indejjcndeuce  of  every  prince  and  governor  strong 
enough  to  maintain  himself.  It  is  noticeable  that  five  chief  princet 
who  are  selected  with  the  four  kings  for  portrayal  on  the  stele  as  doing 
homage  to  Piankhee  are  each  called  "great  chief  of  the  Mashuasha,"  and 
other  princes  mentioueil  in  the  inscription  are  similarly  qualified,  This 
shows  at  once  the  prevalence  of  the  system  of  military  chicflaius  with 
mercenary  garrisons,  and  the  importance  of  the  Libyan  settlers  of  the 
tribe  called  Mashuasha,  the  fatal  bequest  of  the  wars  of  Ramses  III.  Dr. 
Brugsch,  indeed,  believes  an  Assyrian  supremacy  to  be  the  true  explana- 
tion of  the  problem,  but  this  is  not  proved,  and  the  Ethiopian  invasion 
falls  either  during  the  temporary  decline  of  the  Assyrian  Empire,  M'lion 
the  kingdoms  of  Syria  aud  Israel  presented  ciFcctrnd  barriers  to  its  west- 
ward extension,  or  in  the  next  period  occupied  in  overthrowing  those 
barriers. 

The  immediate  cause  of  the  Ethiopian  king's  expedition  against  Egypt 
was  the  news  that  Tafiiekht,  now  Prince  of  Sais,  had  conquered  Ijower 
and  Middle  Efrypt.  This  chief,  the  founder  of  the  house  of  the 
Psammcticlii,  uJiieh  for  the  last  time  restored  the  Egyptian  kingdom,  was 
a  national  leader.  All  his  rivals  were  drawn  into  his  party  by  force 
or  policy.  That  common  action  of  which  they  had  been  incapable 
was  at  once  theirs  when  Tafnckht  directed  their  movements.  The 
King  of  Ethiopia,  seeing  the  Thebaid  in  danger,  despatched  an  expedition 
which  achieved  a  partial  success ;  following  in  person  he  reconquered 
the  whole  of  Middle  and  Lower  Egypt,  Tafnckht,  when  all  hope  of  re- 
sistance failed,  seuding  his  submission  from  SaTti^. 

Tlic  long  document  which  narrates  these  events  is  full  of  picturesque 
detail.    The  priestly  character  of  Piankhee  is  shown  in  his  cxclusiveness 


■r 


ANCIENT   EGYPT. 


Q43 


and  his  attachment  to  the  worship  of  Amen,  for  he  admits  King  Nimrod 
alone^  whom  he  by  no  means  favoured,  into  his  palace,  as  ho  was  clean 
and  eat  uo  fish,  and  it  is  as  sent  by  Amen  that  he  despatches  his  soldiers, 
enjoining  them  to  lay  aside  their  arms  and  worship  at  Thebes.  There 
is  a  touch  of  savagery  iu  the  king's  story  of  the  slaughter  of  war,  as  in 
the  siege  of  Hermopolis  Magna,  yet  it  is  relieved  by  his  care  for  non- 
combatants  and  children.  But  the  reader's  sympathies  are  with  brave 
Tainekht,  whose  touching  appeal  to  the  conqueror  tells  how  he  had 
fled  to  the  islands  of  the  sea  and  been  forced  by  an  enemy  to  return 
and  hide  himself  iu  sanctuary  at  Sais.  Sick  and  in  rags,  he  satisfies 
his  hunger  and  thirst  with  bread  and  water  alone,  he  goes  not  to  the 
ffeasting-house,  and  the  harp  is  no  longer  played  before  him.  All  hoi)e 
of  his  project  of  an  independent  Egypt  had  vanished,  the  last  cQbrt  had 
been  made  in  some  voyage  to  secure  such  aid  as  tlmt  of  the  lonians  and 
Carians  who  supported  Psammetichus,  his  successor,  in  the  next  century, 
and  the  patriotic  leader  swears  fealty  to  the  half-foreign  Thcban.  He 
disappears  from  the  scene,  but  the  inheritance  of  his  project  was  left 
to  the  succession  of  brave  and  politic  Siiite  princes,  who  finally  achieved 
it,  after  many  years  of  the  greatest  calamities  Egypt  ever  endured. 

The  Ethiopian  conquest  was  not  wholly  repugnant  to  the  Egyptians. 
Kankhee  was  a  Thebau  and  a  priest,  and  already  the  ruler  of  the 
ThebaVd.  He  was  only  heartily  opposed  by  the  patriotic  Sai'tcs,  and 
pcrlinps  by  those  prince*  who  thought  that  an  Assyrian  protectorate 
would  be  the  Ijcst  guarantee  of  the  continued  existence  of  their  petty 
power.  Through  a  space  of  some  sixty  years  the  Ethiopians  continued 
to  hold  the  Thcbaid,  and  from  time  to  time  to  subdue  the  princes  of 
the  Delta.  Tlicir  succession  is  doubtful,  and  it  is  probable  that  the 
greatest  of  their  line,  Tirliakah,  uudcr  whom  their  power  over  Egypt 
rirtually  ended,  was,  in  his  earlier  years,  contcmporai'y  with  one  or 
more  Ethiopian  kings  of  Egypt,  the  Empire  of  Piaukhee  having  for  a 
time  broken  up.  By  the  date  of  Tirliakah,  the  long  wars  had  estranged 
the  two  nations,  and  the  Cthiopian  records  the  couquest  of  Egypt  in  the 
inscriptions  of  temples  at  !Napata,  and  even  at  Thebes. 

Tliis  was  the  age  when  Assyria  and  Ethiopia  came  into  eonOict,  and 
the  petty  wars  against  small  princes  were  changed  for  a  mighty  struggle 
of  two  races,  which  ended  only  with  the  political  extinction  of  the 
Ethiopians,  soon  followed  by  that  of  the  Assyrians,  worn  out  by  the 
ecftteless  activity  of  their  military  rulers. 

At  this  time  Isaiah  foretold  the  downfall  of  the  Ethiopians,  and,  in 
more  precise  terms,  the  calamities  coming  upon  Egypt.  Already  divided 
into  cities  and  kingdoms,  the  Egyptians  would  engage  in  civil  wars. 
llic  princes  of  Zoan,  Tanis,  the  leading  royal  house  of  Shishak's  line, 
and  the  prince*  of  Noph,  Napata,  the  Ethiopian  over-kings,  would 
equally  Ijc  deceived,  and  the  coimtry  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  a 
cruel  lord,  a  fierce  king. 

In  the  constant  g^wth  of  the  Assyrian  power,  which  had  overthrown 

R   ?. 


244 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


kingdom  after  kingdom^  the  sovereigns  of  Syria  and  Palestine  turned 
a  longing  eyr;  to  the  ambitious  Ethiopians.  The  fall  of  Hoshca,  the 
last  king  of  Israel,  in  b.c.  721,  was  the  result  of  an  aUiauce  with 
Ethiopia,  but  it  was  some  years  before  the  two  rival  armies  met.  In 
B.C.  714,  at  Raphia,  on  tlic  Egyptian  frontier,  the  Assyrian  Sargou 
defeated  Shcbek,  the  Ethiopian,  who  fled  away  across  the  desert, 
guided  by  a  Philistine  shepherd. 

It  was  an  unequal  contest.  The  Assyrians  were  close  to  their  basis  of 
operations,  Palestine  was  not  many  days'  march  from  the  Euphrates^ 
and  scarcely  ever  were  they  without  the  aid  of  subject-princes,  terrified 
into  this  policy  by  the  frightful  punishments  of  those  who  dared  to  assert 
their  independence.  The  Ethiopians,  if  defeated,  had  to  regain 
Upper  Egypt  through  the  territory  of  the  princes  of  Lower  Egypt, 
desirous  of  freedom,  and  not  always  disposed  to  risk  the  enmity  of 
AsByria  by  supporting  their  southern  over-king.  Once  iu  the  Thebai'd 
the  Ethiopians  were  safe  for  the  time,  but  their  resources  lay  beyond  the 
barren  traet  of  Lower  Ethiopia,  to  which  their  Egyptian  province 
was  a  mere  outpost.  It  is  a  marvel  that  they  had  the  courage  over  and 
over  again  to  renew  the  contest,  which  always  ended  in  their  failure. 

"When  Sargon  lind  defeated  Shchek  the  princes  of  the  Delta  at  once 
threw  off  his  yoke  and  put  themselves  under  the  protection  of  Assyria.  The 
tremendous  calamity  which  overtook  Scuuaclierih  at  the  moment  when 
Tirhakah  was  advancing  too  late  to  aid  a  vanquished  confederacy,  closes 
for  a  time  the  Assyrian  cxi)cditioua  to  the  west.  Tirhakah  firmly 
estabhshed  himself  iu  Egypt,  and  remained  undisturbed  until  the  rcigu 
of  Esarhaddon,  by  whom  the  wholu  euuntry  was  subdued,  and  the  city 
of  Thebes  sacked.  Twenty  small  tributary  princes  were  then  established, 
and  garrisons  placed  in  the  chief  fortresses  (u.c.  G72).  Tirhakah  twice 
reconquered  Egypt;  and  the  Assyrians,  under  Assur-ban-habal,  as  often 
recovered  the  country,  Thebes  being  twice  taken.  On  the  last  occasion 
Tiriiakah,  wearied  by  the  calamities  of  his  long  reign,  had  retired  to 
Ethiopia,  and  his  successor  had  to  meet  the  attack.  The  punishment 
of  Thebes  was  final.  The  whole  population  was  led  away  into  slavery, 
the  temples  pillaged,  obelisks  carried  as  trophies  to  Nineveh.  It  is  to 
this  lust  and  most  cruel  sack  of  Thebes,  No- Amou,  that  the  prophet  Nahum 
probably  refers  when  he  warns  Nineveh  of  her  approaching  fall,  by  the 
example  of  her  ancient  rival.  Thebes  fell  in  h.c.  66(5  or  (JGo,  Nineveh 
iu  B.C.  625.  "  Art  thou  better  than  No-Amoii,  who  was  enthroned 
among  the  Nile-streams,  the  waters  rouud  about  her,  whose  rampart 
[was]  the  river,  her  wall  of  the  river?  Cush  and  Mizraim  [were]  her 
strength,  and  [it  was]  infinite ;  I'ut  and  Lubim  were  thy  helpers. 
Yet  [was]  she  carried  away ;  she  went  into  captivity"  (Nahum  iii. 
8-10).  No-Amou  lay  on  either  side  of  the  Nile,  here  separated  by  two 
islands.  With  the  prophet,  as  with  the  Arabs,  the  sea  is  the  great  river. 
Ethiopia,  Egypt,  Libyans  (Xfashuasha),  and  other  mercenaries,  supplied 
the  armies  of  the  Ethiopian  king  of  Thebes.     Tlic  lina]  destruction  of  the 


I 


^^^^^^^^r        ANCIENT  EGYPT.  245 

imperial  city,  which  never  afterwards  attained  more  than  provincial 
powefj  was  as  cumplete  as  that  which  afterwards  overtook  her  coa- 
queror  and  rival.  Throughout  the  earlier  period  of  these  wars,  while 
Kgypt  was  not  yet  invaded,  and  Ethiopia  had  only  once  received  a 
check,  the  prophet  Isaiah  ceaselessly  warns  Jmlali  against  the  Egyptian 
alliance.  It  was  rather  Egypt  than  Ethiopia  to  which  Judah  looked^ 
desiring  to  form  a  confederacy,  weak  in  itself,  and  which  could  not 
«tand  against  the  great  king  of  the  East  without  calling  in  the 
unwelcome  support  of  Ethiopia. 

The  yoke  of  Assyria,  now  declining  in  power,  was  soon  thrown  off, 
and  it  is  not  certain  that  the  Ethiopians  ever  after  gained  a  momentary 
influence  in  the  affairs  of  Egypt.  The  SaYte  house,  true  to  its  leadership, 
overthrew  the  other  lines,  and  on  the  ruins  of  what  Herodotus  terms 
the  Dodecarchy  arise  the  last  great  l^gyptiau  kingdom.  The  activity 
of  the  Saitcs  marvellously  restored  the  prosperity  of  Egypt,  but  they 
were  in  advance  of  their  times.  The  long  reign  of  Psamractichus,  the 
true  founder  of  the  Twenty-sixth  Dynasty,  witnessetl  a  great  disaster. 
His  success  was  due  to  his  Greek  mercenaries,  and  the  favour  he  showed 
these  strangers  caused  the  desertion  of  a  great  part  of  the  native  army, 
who  established  themselves  in  furthest  Ethiopia,  where  they  were 
heartily  welcomed  by  the  king  of  the  country, 

Necho,  the  active  successor  of  Psamractichus,  for  a  moment  restored 
the  ancient  Empire.  Niueveh  had  fallen,  and  it  did  not  appear  that 
Babylon  would  fill  her  place  in  the  world.  The  king  of  Egypt  overran 
Palestine  and  Syria,  and  posted  a  strong  force  at  Carchemish.  Here 
they  Avere  disastrously  routed  by  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  the  dream  of 
empire  vanished.  Many  years  passed,  during  which  the  Saites  prospered, 
and  strengthened  their  kingdom  by  sea  and  land.  In  the  east  they 
were  not  strong  enough  to  do  more  than  effect  small  diversions  and 
ceaselessly  intrigue,  as  the  king  of  Babylon  was  repeating  with  even 
more  thoroughness  the  conquests  of  Assyria.  Jeremiah,  like  Isaiah, 
denounces  the  Egyptian  alliance,  which,  however  sincere  on  the  part  of 
the  two  states,  Egypt  and  Judah,  was  sure  to  leave  the  more  eastern 
exposed  to  the  vengeance  of  Babylon.  The  defeat  of  Carchemish  is  but 
the  prelude  to  the  conquest  of  Egypt.  Years  pass,  and  Jeremiah  is 
carried  by  the  exiles  into  Egypt,  where  he  still  predicts  the  long-delayed 
invasion  of  Nebuchadnezzar.  Ezekiel,  in  his  distant  captivity  on  the 
banks  of  the  Chebar,  sees  the  calamity  of  Egypt  and  Ethiopia  near  at 
hand.  Pharaoh,  the  great  crocodile  lyiug  in  the  midst  of  his  rivers^  is 
to  be  drawn  forth  to  perish  in  the  desert.  As  Nahum  warned  Nineveh 
by  the  catastrophe  of  Thebes,  so  Ezekiel  warns  Pharaoh  by  the  downfall 
of  the  Assyrian  king,  the  tallest  and  widest  spreading  of  tlic  cedars  of 
Lebanon.  Nation  after  nation  falls  before  the  sword  of  the  Babylonian, 
and  Pharaoh  and  his  host  at  last  sleep  in  the  pit  among  the  multitude 
of  the  nncovenantcd  slain. 

In   these   predictions  the   geography   of  the   African    monarchies  is 


U 


246 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV 


clearly  indicated.  Pathros,  Upper  li^gypt,  is  markedly  distinguished 
from  Mazor  oi  Mizraim,  properly  Lower  Egypt.  Cusli  aud  the  mcrcc- 
nojrics  ore  spoken  of,  and  the  three  capitals  prominently  mentioucd^ 
Zoan,  No  (Thebes),  and  Noph  (Napata).  Two  successors  of  Necho, 
vanquished  at  Carchcmish,  had  reigned,  and  nearly  forty  years  liad 
passed  before  the  blow  fell  on  Egypt.  The  slight  statement  of  this 
event  in  ancient  history  is  at  length  verified  by  a  fragmen- 
tary cuneiform  record  of  Nebuchadnezzar's  invasions  of  Egypt.  It 
is  to  be  hoped  tliat  fuller  accounts  may  be  found  to  clear  up  thia 
difficult  portion  of  history.  It  is  probable  that  the  fall  of  Apries,  sccoud 
successor  of  Necho,  the  Pharaoh  Hophra  of  Scripture,  aud  the  rise  of 
Amasis,  were  due  to  the  king  of  Babylon;  for  this  story,  as  told  by 
Herodotus,  is  very  improbable  without  the  circiimstance  of  a  foreigu 
invasion ;  but  a  second  expedition  seems  to  have  been  necessary  to 
secure  the  submission  of  Amasis.  (T.  G.  Pinches,  Froceedinffs  8oc, 
Bibl.  Arch.  3  Dec.  1878.) 

A  century  passed  between  the  Assyrian  conquest  and  the  Babylonian, 
and  iu  less  than  half  a  century  later  tlic  Persian  Cambyses  made  Eg3rpt 
a  satrapy  of  his  Empire.     "With  that  event  our  survey  closes. 

A  word  must  be  added  aa  to  the  state  of  Egypt  under  the  Saite 
raonarchs.  It  is  astonishing  to  see  the  new  vitality  which  bloomed  ia 
the  century  of  peace.  The  temples  were  restored,  the  arts  revived  ;  and 
as  if  to  wipe  out  the  memory  of  decline,  the  Egyptians  returned  to  the 
manners  and  style  of  the  old  monarchy.  There  was  much  that  was 
artificial  iu  this  ;  the  visitor  to  the  tombs  of  this  age,  while  he  admires  the 
delicacy  and  finish  of  their  sculptures,  observes  that  they  lack  the  life  of 
the  more  ancient  works.  Yet  in  spite  of  an  innate  weakness  the  Saite 
monuments  far  excel  those  of  the  age  which  preceded  them  from  the 
fall  of  the  Empire.  The  decay  of  religion  is  noteworthy.  It  is  a  time 
when  the  last  remains  of  belief  are  scarcely  traced  under  the 
growth  of  superstition,  Evcrj'thiug  portends  that  ruin  which,  though 
arrested  by  the  healthy  \dgour  of  the  struggle  with  Persia,  during  two 
centm'iea  of  misery  broken  by  occasional  glimpses  of  freedom,  yet  came 
with  the  second  Persian  conquest,  when  Egypt  had  so  lost,  all  life  that 
fihe  soon  welcomed  the  Greek  conqueror  of  her  enemy,  without  the 
slightest  effort  to  regain  her  irccdom. 

Here,  for  the  present,  the  subject  may  be  laid  aside.  It  may  be 
taken  up  with  the  story  of  the  Persian  age,  wheu  the  Greek  historian! 
are  corrected  from  the  Egyptinn  texts,  the  Macedonian  dynasty  aud  its 
administration  of  Egj'pt,  the  influence  of  the  Greek  learning  of  Alexandria 
in  producing  a  new  development  of  lilgyptian  religious  thought,  the 
contact  of  the  Greek  and  the  Hebrew  iu  that  centre  of  learned  activity, 
and  the  Alcxaudrian  school  of  Judaism,  the  policy  of  Cleopatra  aud  ita 
influence  on  the  Roman  Empire.  The  origin  of  mouasticism,  and  the 
Egyptian  and  Alcxandiian  parties  iu  the  Church,  the  history  of  the 
sepai'ation  of  the   Copts   from  the  Grcclcs,  and  the  overthrow  of  both 


■ 


- 


ANCIENT  EGYPT. 


247 


» 


^ 


I 


nation  Bud  rulers  by  the  ^Muslim  iuvasion,  eud  this  second  period  of  the 
liistory  of  Egj'pt^  during  which  Greek  influence  is  always  the  central 
force.  There  yet  remains  the  story  of  how  firom  Byzantine  art  of  Constan- 
tinople, tempered  by  the  influence  of  the  Persian  and  the  Copt,  and 
reg^ulatcd  by  the  wants  of  the  Arab  mind,  there  grew  up  on  the  ruins  of 
old  Egypt  that  fair  art,  rich  in  fancy  but  not  lacking  imagination^ 
•which,  after  passing  through  the  same  oi*der  aud  phases  as  Gothic,  is  yet 
maintnining  a  liugoring  existence  under  the  coarse  discoui*agcmcnt  of 
Turkish  rule.  For  the  rest,  before  and  after  those  six  centuries  in 
wliich^  under  FatimeesEiyyoobecs  and  Meralooks,  Egypt  once  more  held 
imperial  sway,  and  the  splendours  of  Cairo  recalled  the  ancient  glories  of 
Thebes,  the  history  of  the  country  is  but  that  of  the  Arab  world.  Since 
the  Turkish  conquest,  indeed,  all  history  ceased  until  the  rise  of  the  ruling 
house,  which,  in  spite  of  many  crimes  and  its  vulgar  contempt  for  the 
beauties  of  Arab  life  and  Arab  art,  has  brought  Egypt  once  more  into 
the  rank  of  nations,  and,  if  well  advised,  may  yet  revive  her  ancient 
strength.  These  are  the  subjects  of  the  Greek  and  the  Muslim  periods, 
with  which,  at  some  future  time,  the  thread  of  our  story  of  Egypt  may 
be  taken  up  again. 

'  J  ritf 
One  of  the  objects  of  these  articles  has  been  to  draw  attention  to  the 
value  of  Egyptian  and  other  ancient  texts  in  illustration  of  the  Bible,  and 
to  indicate  the  etfects  of  a  serious  comparative  study.  This  is  a  matter 
which  affects  the  clergy  very  nearly,  aud  therefore  the  series  cannot  be 
closed  without  drawing  attention  to  a  paper  in  the  last  Number  of  this 
Review,  in  which  a  clergyman  directly,  and  by  implication,  pronounces 
against  the  importance  of  Hebrew  in  the  education  of  his  order.* 

«  "The  Proressionol  Stuclit's  of  the  Euglish  Clergy,"  Contkmporahv  Ke^'Iew,  April, 
1879.  By  Pr.  Uttlcdalc  Tli*  foUoiring  extracts  are  necesaaiy  tobocitedmanpport  of  tho 
poaiium  takm  above. 

*' AltboQ^li  it  Ib  true  that  there  U  no  kind  of  koowlcdge  which  ma^'  not  be  pressed  into 
tbc  Mrrice  of  rchgion,  and  \te  nscfnl  at  one  time  or  another  to  a  clerffyman,  and  while 
tlMonticaUy  erery  branch  of  divinity  ought  to  U;  fiuuiiiar  to  those  w-ho  undertake  the 
office  of  rel^OQfi  teaching,  yet  there  arc  certain  departments  of  theology  which,  on  the  one 
haad,  an  umIcm  if  no  mon*  thao  a  mere  inperticial  ^imattering  be  attained,  and,  on  the  other, 
have  onl>'  a  very  indirect  bearing  on  the  ordinary  routiuc  work  of  a  parochial  cler^^'mou. 
Socii,  for  example,  are  Hebrew  and  the  textual  criticism  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament. 
I  am  Dot  to  b«  nnderatood  as  depreciating  the  importance  of  thcac  studiea,  or  as  desiring 
aagftit  than  that  all  who  ahow  any  capacity  for  piinuiug  them  with  success  should  do  so  to 
tlie  fnIL  Bat  the  mere  radinieats,  if  not  serving  as  a  starting-point  for  additional  study, 
an  of  th«  Tory  alenderest  value,— in  truth,  as  regards  Hebrew,  more  misleading  than  entire 
igaonooe,  as  too  many  uucriticd  aud  worthless  volumes  are  extant  to  warn  us, — and  con- 
tr^pat«  nothing  to  the  mental  dcvdupment  or  the  genera!  utility  of  a  teacher;  while  the 
tiOM  oocvpicd  in  communicating  these  rudiments  is  a  verj'  A]>prcciahlo  fraction  of  the  whole 
too  brief  available  period  of  trainiuu',  and  the  cITect  of  too  discursive  a  range  of 
\mi%tax  from  advantageous  to  minds  o7  small  liternr}'  capacity.  Hence  it  is  neccsauy 
iw  more  definitely  than  is  now  usual  a  line  between  compulsory  and  optiuual  subjeota 
Tsea  of  reading,  doing  all  that  can  reasonably  or  feasibly  be  carried  out  for  the  encou- 
ngcsnent  of  the  latter,"— P.  fi. 

'*It  is  by  no  meant  certain  that  the  besi  method  is  always  pursued  in  respect  of  even  those 
atndies  en  which  most  stress  is  bid.  I  do  nut,  a^  a  i-ulc,  find  amongst  tnc  younger  clergy 
«rbom  I  meet  that  intimate  and  l<H:alit(ed  familiarity  with  the  AuthoriBe<l  Veision  of  the 
Bible  in  ita  whole  extent  which  is  vell-nigh  indis|>ensable  for  successful  preaching,  catc< 
chisio^  and  discussion.  This  is  of  far  greater  practical  value  fur  the  ordinary  clenc  than 
even  a  tolerable  knowledge  of  the  original  langnoge  and  textual  criticism  of  some  four  or 


248 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


If  the  clergy  are  to  be  mere  State  fuDctioiiaries,  it  is  by  no  means 
necessary  that  they  slioiild  be  learned  ;  but  if,  like  the  great  Churchmen 
of  all  ages,  they  are  to  be  leaders  of  meu,  they  must  be  learned ;  and  if 
learned,  must  be  acquainted  with  Hebrew  or  some  Semitic  language*.. 
Without  such  knowledge  they  can  neither  understand  the  Old  Testamenti 
nor  the  New,  nor  explain  the  relation  of  the  two.  The  whole  con- 
troversy as  to  the  meaning  of  faith  will  be  unknown  to  them,  and  they 
will  accept  apparent  hut  not  real  contradictions  as  matters  of  belief. 
Ignorant  of  Semitic  life,  they  will  explain  away  the  Sermon  on  the 
Mountj  and  so  deprive  us  of  Christian  ethics.  They  will  not  understand 
the  history  of  the  early  centuries  of  the  Church  ;  nor  know  why  they 
are  not  the  heretics  they  profess  not  to  be.  They  will  force  on  their 
congregations  interpretations  long  disavowed,  unless  a  Pan-Anglican 
Synod  should,  with  the  aid  of  foreign  Churches,  from  time  to  time 
register  and  endorse  the  march  of  criticism.  The  more  they  sink 
beneath  the  intellectual  level  of  the  laity,  the  more  will  they  hide  them- 
selves in  a  cloud  of  invincible  ignorance,  and  be  despised  or  hated, 
according  to  their  intellectual  weakness  or  their  personal  influence,  until 
at  length  the  priest  shall  disappear  before  the  protest  of  the  indignant 
prophet. 

The  Church  of  England  for  the  last  twenty  years  has  been  advancing 
in  a  far  different  direction.  Ever  since  the  production  of  Smith's 
"  Dictionary  of  the  Elble,'''  learned  men  have  been  sought  out  for  pro- 
motion, and  the  last  instance  has  been  the  appointment  of  one  of  the 
widest  in  knowledge  and  the  wisest  in  its  use  to  a  high  dignity  of  the 
Church.  The  encouragement  of  learning  has  not  been  without  its 
effects  on  theological  candidates),  and  a  backward  tendency  would  dis- 
credit their  zeal  and  be  a  fraud  upon  the  State. 

But  hoWj  it  may  be  asked,  can  the  general  body  of  theological 
students  acquire  a  Semitic  language,  besides  New  Testament  Greek  ? 
The  only  answer  is,  if  a  knowledge  of  the  Authorised  Version  is,  as  all 
admit,  one  of  the  first  requirements,  let  it  be  a  knowledge,  and  let  other 
training  give  way  to  it.  Otherwise,  you  take  away  the  Bible  from  the 
clergy  and  the  laity  at  one  blow.  Let  something  of  Church  History, 
oflen  a  dangerous  an<l  disheartening  study  in  youth,  be  left  to  maturer 
years  ;  let  a  more  reverent  spirit  be  inculcated  by  not  pressing  into  im- 
mature minds  Aryan  definitions  of  the  mysteries  of  religious  belief. 
Conceive  for  yourselves  the  training  of  St.  Paul,  of  A  polios,  of  Origen, 
and  lop  ofl'  at  least  the  useless,  often  profane  and  mischievous,  specula- 
tion of  the  schoolmen.  What  is  needed  is  a  sound  knowledge  of 
Hebrew,  or,  if  that  cannot  be,  of  the  easiest  of  the  Semitic  languages, — 
that   M'htch   may  be  called  the   sacred  tongue  of   the   New  Testament, 

five  wlticbed  bookt  of  the  Old  and  Now  Testament, — deeply  impDrtant  as  Xew  Tcatamciit 
Greek  miut  always  hv, — aui)  the  ro«ulta  uf  Huch  study  might  bi;  more  surely  aud  readily 
attained  by  the  buik  of  candidates,  mid  bo  spread  over  a  inuuti  wider  area,  by  obliging  them 
to  maator  the  Bible  in  that  ret-eut  Oxford  edition  by  Mtrsdrs.  C'heyne,  Driver,  Clarke, 
Goodwin,  which  gives  in  the  furm  of  foot-notes  alJ  the  imjH>rtant  variolic  readings  of  the  ieitt 
vid  inggested  amendmeiita  of  the  tnuaUtion."— P.  33. 


^^^  ANCIENT  EGYPT.  249 

Syriac;  and  let  the  Greek  of  the  New  Testament  be  thoroughly  studied 
in  relation  to  Syriac,  if  not  to  Hebrew.  A  couple  of  years  passed  in 
these  pursuits  would  produce  a  new  generation  of  men  stronger,  wiser, 
and  more  charitable  than  tlic  generation  of  whom  we  are.  It  ia  well 
that  the  teacher  should  be  mighty  in  the  Scriptures  ;  it  is  well  that  he 
should  be  able  to  render  a  reason  for  the  faith  that  is  in  him ;  but  if  he 
have  not  charity,  all  this  will  avail  nothing.  The  common  bond  of 
learning  has  saved  many  a  scholar  from  failing  in  this  chief  Christian 
grace.  It  has  made  a  stem  theologian,  like  Dr.  Pusey,  show  tender 
kindness  to  young  men  whose  position  was  in  the  other  ]K)le  of  dog- 
matics. It  binds  together  Greek  and  English,  and  even  Latin  scholars, 
Churchmen  and  Dissenters,  Christians  and  Hebrews.  Nowhere  has 
charity  so  triumphed  as  here  :  give  us  an  ignorant  clergy,  and  you 
deprive  us  of  our  last  hope  of  an  Eirenikon. 

Of  course  indolence,  ignorance,  and  fanaticism  will  raise  their  old 
cry  that  the  parish  parson  has  no  time  amid  the  pressing  wants  of  his 
people  for  learning,  and  that  his  Hebrew  will  be  aoon  forgotten.  Tlie 
English  clergy,  second  to  none  in  their  zealous  work,  have  always  found 
time  for  healthy  recreations,  which  have  saved  them  from  becoming 
picturesque  mystics.  Semitic  learning  is  the  stumbling-block ;  but 
why  should  they  not  keep  up  Hebrew^  as  well  as  Greek  and  Latin? 
Besides,  what  is  here  claimed  is  simply  a  thorough  grounding  in  a 
Semitic  language  as  a  key  to  Semitic  thought  and  expression.  This 
once  well  taught, — and  nowhere  in  the  world  better  than  at  Cambridge, 
not  even  at  Lcipsic, — even  slioiild  the  cares  of  the  flock  and  the  diffi- 
culties of  U\-ing  prevent  the  student  from  maturing  into  the  scholar,  yet 
the  true  elements  of  knowledge  wit!  no  more  leave  him  iu  the  Semitic 
than  in  the  classical  lield.  The  contention  that  Hebrew  is  useless, 
because  as  generally  taught  it  produces  no  results,  ia  clearly  a  fallacy. 
The  proposal  to  fall  back  upon  Cheync  and  Driver's  excellent  edition  of 
the  Authorised  Version  in  lieu  of  critical  study  is  good  enough  for 
such  girls  as  lack  the  piety  of  their  Hebrew  sisters,  and  the  force  of 
many  Englishwomen  whom  Miss  Swanwick  has  encouraged  to  achieve 
Greek. 

The  project  of  introducing  into  clerical  training  those  feminine 
disabilities,  against  which  women  have  for  once  and  all  revolted,  can  only 
spring  from  the  fear  of  learning,  the  great  bugbear  of  modem  theo- 
logians. Yet  a  dispassionate  review  of  what  has  been  the  effect  of 
Oermau  and  Dutch  criticism,  selected  as  the  least  orthodox,  leaves  the 
mind  convinced  that  the  true  gain  to  religion  far  outbalances  any 
fancied  loss.  What  do  we  not  owe  to  Ewald  alone?  Cheyne  and 
Driver's  Bible  is  crowded  with  references  to  German  scholarship.  For 
to  German  scholarship  it  is  mainly  due  that  this  edition  presents  the 
materials  for  a  better  text,  and  thus  one  more  safe  as  a  guide  for  the  clergy. 
In  such  a  text  many  difficulties  juay  disappear,  and  the  bitter  springs 
of  some   controversies  be  dried  up;    but  need   we  therefore   lament? 


260  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

To  look  for  a  moment  beyond  thelogical  results  of  learning,  let  it  never 
be  forgotten  that  criticism  struck  a  fatal  blow  at  the  odious  Hindu 
custom  of  Suttee  by  discoyering  that  it  rested  on  a  false  reading  in  the 
sacred  literature  of  India. 

It  is  with  no  hope  of  convincing  Dr.  Littledale  that  these  words  have 
been  written.  He  requires  his  ideal  candidate  to  cram  so  much  technical 
knowledge,  in  order  to  preach  well  and  confute  all  heretics,  that  a 
true  acquaintance  with  Scripture,  absolutely  necessary  to  the  teacher^ 
and  only  to  be  learnt  from  the  original  languages,  must  be  put 
off  to  a  more  convenient  season.  But  it  may  be  well  to  protest 
in  the  name  of  the  laity  against  the  artificial  production  of  a  new 
species  of  clergyman,  not  only  unacquainted  with  Scripture,  but  taught 
that  this  unacquaintance  is  a  qualification  for  his  high  post. 

Let  it  not  be  written  upon  the  sepulchre  of  the  Church  of  England — 
*'  Ye  have  taken  away  the  key  of  knowledge :  ye  entered  not  in  your- 
selves, and  them  that  were  entering  in  ye  hindered." 

Reginald  Stuart  Poolk. 


:> 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF   NATURAL  HISTORY. 


NATURAL  HISTORY,  as  commonly  understood,  refers  to  the  study 
of  animals  aud  plants.  A  profound  truth  is  contained  iu  this 
popular  acceptation  of  the  term.  Per  in  order  that  cither  animals  or 
plants  may  be  thoroughly  understoodj  both  require  to  be  studied ;  while 
the  two  together  constitute  a  group  of  natural  objects  which  may  be 
considered  apart  from  the  non-living  Morld.  Animals  and  plants  taken 
together,  then,  form  the  subject-matter  of  a  distinct  science,  Biology 
— the  science  of  living  bodies. 

The  study  of  the  Natural  History  of  living  creatures  has  of  late 
assumed  a  greater  importance  than  it  was  ever  before  thought  to 
possess.  Recent  advances  in  science  seem  also  to  indicate  that  this 
history  needs  re-writing  from  the  standpoint  which  our  most  expert 
and  zealous  biological  explorers  Iiave  succeeded  iu  attaining.  No 
scientific  questions  have  perhaps  excited  greater  interest  than  those 
which  concern  the  problems  of  animal  or  vegetable  lifc^  the  origin  of 
such  life,  and  the  origin  of  its  multitudinous  forms. 

Apart,  however,  from  such  interest  iu  it  as  may  be  due  to  contro- 
Tcrsies  of  the  day,  the  love  of  this  study  is  one  which  must  grow  upon 
men  as  they  advance  iu  the  knowledge  of  their  own  organisation,  owing 
to  tlic  very  conditions  of  their  existence.  For  man  is  so  related  to 
other  living  creatures^  that  fully  to  understand  himself,  he  must,  more 
or  less  thoroughly,  understand  them  also. 

Every  increase  iu  the  knowledge  of  the  organic  world  has  its  effect 
upon  the  study  of  man,  and  helps  liim  not  only  towanls  a  better  know- 
ledge of  his  own  organisation,  but  also  helps  in  the  pursuit  of  his  own 
happiness  and  in  the  fulfilment  of  his  duty. 

To  man  alone  is  at  the  same  time  apportioned  the  physical  enjoy- 
ment, the  intelicctnal  apprehension,  and  the  seathctie  appreciation  of 
that  marvellous  material  creation   which  on   all  sides  surrounds  him^ 


252 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


■wlik'h  iniprcRses  him  hy  its  many  active  powers,  and  of  which  he  aloae 
forms  tlie  self-conscious  and  rellectlvc  portion. 

His  connection  with  it  is,  indeed,  most  intimate,  partaking  as  he  docs 
all  the  orders  of  existence  revealed  to  liira  by  his  senses — inorganic  or 
orgauie,  vegetative  or  antinal.  Thcuiineral  matters  of  the  earth'ssolid  crust, 
the  chemical  constituents  of  oceans  and  rivers,  even  the  ultimate 
materials  of  remote  sidereal  clusters,  contribute  to  form  the  substance 
of  Ilia  body.  The  varioua  activities  of  the  vegetable  world  have  their 
counterpart  in  the  actions  of  that  body.  When  we  study  the  laws  of 
growth,  as  in  a  creeping  lichen  or  gigantic  eucalyptus,  or  the  actions  of 
roots  or  leaves,  Avheu  we  follow  the  course  of  the  spore  dropped  from  a 
fern  frond,  or  when  wc  investigate  the  meaning  and  action  of  flowers  of 
whatever  kind,  wc  come  upon  processes  which  the  luimau  body  is  also 
destined  to  perform,  liut  the  animal  world  eapccinlly  coucerus  mau, 
since,  being  an  animal  himself,  he  shares  the  pleasures,  pains,  appetites, 
desires,  and  emotions  of  the  sentient  myriads  which  people  earth,  air, 
and  water.  His  frame,  like  theirs,  thrills  responsively  to  the  cease- 
leas  throbbiugs  of  that  plexus  of  ever-active  agencies,  lifeless  as  well  as 
living,  which  we  call  the  Cosmos.  Thus  man  plainly  shares  in  the 
most  diverse  powers  and  faculties  of  las  material  fellow-creatures,  aud 
he  sees  also  reflected  by  such  creatures,  in  varying  degrees,  those 
different  kinds  of  existence  which  unite  iu  him.  Man  sees  this  reflec- 
tion, and  in  so  seeing  recognises  as  existing  iu  himself  a  faculty  much 
above  every  power  jjossessed  by  any  other  orgauism.  Unlike  even  the 
highest  of  the  brutes,  he  not  ouly  feels  the  Cosmos,  but  he  thinks  it. 
He  is  not  only  involved  with  it  iu  an  infinity  of  relations,  but  he 
recognises  and  reflects  upon  many  of  such  relations,  their  nature  aud 
their  reciprocal  bearings.  "The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man;"  but 
to  follow  cut  that  study  completely  wc  must  have  a  cortaio  knowledge 
of  the  various  orders  of  creatures  in  the  natures  of  which  mau,  in 
diflercnt  degrees,  pEirticipatca.  Man's  intellect  is  indeed  supreme, 
nevertheless  it  cannot  be  called  into  activity  unless  first  evoked 
by  sense  impressions  which  he  shares  with  lowly  animals  ;  nor  can  liis 
intellect,  even  after  it  has  been  aroused  into  activity,  continue  to  act 
save  by  the  constant  renewal  of  sense  impressions — real  or  imagined. 
Such  impressions  give  rise,  in  him,  to  imaginations,  rerainiscences,  antici- 
pallousj  aud  emotions,  whicli  serve  as  materials  for  the  exercise  of 
intellect  and  will ;  and  as  these  imaginations,  reminisccuecs,  anticipa- 
tions, and  emotions  are  possessed  also  by  brutes,  it  is  to  the  study  of 
such  creatures  that  we  must  have  recourse  to  obtain  one  of  the  keys 
needed  to  unlock  the  mystery  of  man's  existence. 

In  addition  to  the  above  considerations,  the  organic  world  is  of 
course  useful  to  us  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Man,  as  lord  over  all  other 
organisms  which  people  the  globe,  rightfully  disposes  of  them  for  his 
profit  or  pleasure,  fiuding  in  the  investigation  of  their  various  natures 
an   inexhaustible  field  for  his  iutetlectual   activity,  and  in  their  forms 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATUllAL  HISTORY 


253 


aiwi  relatioDS  a  stimulus  for  his  dcep-scaled  apprehension  of  beauty. 
Thus,  many  considerations  and  influences  concur  to  impel  us  to  the 
study  of  Nature,  and  especially  the  Natural  History  of  the  many  living 
creatures  which  are  so  variously  related  to  us. 

But  a  Natui-al  History  which  shall  include  both  animals  and  planta 
must  be  a  history  of  creatures  of  kinds  so  various  that  their  number 
baffles  the  power  of  the  imagination,  as  a  little  reflection  will  suffice  to 
febow.  Beasts  alone  are  numerous,  but  xery  much  more  so  is  the  group 
of  reptilca.  Serpents  and  lizards,  indeed,  so  swarm  in  the  hottest 
regions  of  the  globe  that,  in  spite  of  the  multitude  of  forms  ah-cady 
described,  it  is  not  impossible  that  nearly  as  many  more  remain  to 
be  discovered.  More  than  ten  thousand  different  kinds  of  birds  have  been 
now  made  known  to  us,  and  fishes  arc  probably  not  less  numerous  thau 
all  the  other  above-mentioned  animals  taken  together.* 

Beasts,  birds,  reptiles  and  fishes,  however,  considered  as  forming  one 
group,  constitute  but  a  comparatively  small  section  of  the  world  of 
animals.  Creatures  allied  to  the  snail  and  oyster,  but  all  of  diflcreut 
kinds,  exist  in  multitudes  which  are  known  to  us,  but  doubtlcs  also 
in  multitudes  as  yet  unknown.  Worms  form  a  division  so  varied  in 
nature  and  so  prodigious  in  number,  that  the  correct  appreciation  of 
tbeir  relations  one  to  another  and  to  other  animals — their  classification 
— form.H  one  of  the  most  difficult  of  zoological  problems.  Coral- 
forming  animals  and  coguate  forms,  together  with  star-fishes  and  their 
allies,  come  before  as  two  other  hosts;  and  there  are  yet  other  hosts  of 
other  kinds  to  which  it  is  needless  hen'  to  refer.  Yet  the  whole  mass 
of  animals  to  which  reference  has  yet  been  made  is  exceeded  (as  to  the 
number  of  distinct  kinds)  by  the  single  group  of  insects.  Every  land- 
plant  has  more  than  one  species  of  insect  which  lives  upon  it,  and  the 
same  may  probably  be  said  of  at  least  every  higher  animal — and  this  in 
addition  to  other  parasites  which  are  not  insects.  The  lowest  animals 
have  not  yet  l>cen  referred  to,  but  the  number  of  their  undiscovered 
kinds  which  may  exist  in  the  ocean,  and  in  tropical  lakes  and  rivers, 
may  be  suspected  from  the  variety  we  may  obtain  here,  in  a  single  drop  of 
stagnant  water.  Recent  researches,  moreover,  have  shown  us  that  the 
depths  of  the  ocean,  instead  of  being  (as  was  supposed)  lifeless  as  well 
as  still  and  dark  abysses,  really  teem  with  animal  life.  From  those 
profound  recesses  also  creatures  have  beeu  dragged  to  light,  forms  which 
■were  supi>osed  to  have  long  passed  away  and  become  extinct.  And 
tbia  leads  us  to  yet  another  consideration.  It  is  impossible  to  have  a 
complete  knowledge  of  existing  animals  without  being  acquainted  with 
ao  much  of  the  nature  of  their  now  extinct  predecessors  as  can  be 
gathered  from  the  relics  they  have  left  behind.      Such   relics  may  be 


*  Tlie  Dumber  of  kinds  of  fishes  described  by  ichthyologists  only  alMXit  equals  the 
Dumber  of  birds.  Bat  then  ornithologists  reckon  anch  sutall  differences  as  making  a 
UitliDcbun  of  kind,  that  if  ichthyologists  pursued  a  miuilar  coudk.-  the  iiuinbor  of  fisae« 
reckoned  as  dutmct  would  bo  much  m  excoM.  licsidcs,  there  aro  probably  innny  more  new 
kinds  of  fitbes  to  discover  tban  there  are  of  birds. 


254 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIV, 


bones  or  shells  imbedded  in  muddy  deposits  of  ages  bygone,  aud  which 
deposits  have  now  turned  to  rock,  or  may  consist  of  but  the  impress  of 
their  bodies,  or  only  a  few  footprints.  Rich  as  is  the  animal  popula- 
tion of  the  world  to-day,  it  represents  only  a  remnant  of  the  life  that 
has  been ;  and  small  as  our  knowledge  may  ever  be  of  that  ancient  life 
(from  imperfections  in  the  rocky  record),  yet  every  year  that  knowledge 
is  increased.  What  increase  may  we  not  also  expect  hereafter,  when  all 
remote  and  tropical  regions  have  been  explored  with  the  care  aud 
patieuce  already  bestowed  on  the  deposits  which  lie  in  the  vicinity  of 
civilised  populations  ? 

But,  besides  the  forms  of  animal  life  which  are  thus  multitudinous, 
acquaintance  must  also  be  made  with  myriads  of  vegetable  forms  in 
order  to  understand  the  Natural  History  of  animals  and  plants. 
Numerous  as  are  the  different  kinds  of  trees,  shrubs,  creepers, 
other  flowering  plants,  ferns,  aud  mosses  peculiar  to  each  great 
region  of  the  earth's  siu-facc,  the  total  number  of  the  lowest  flowcrless 
forms  is  yet  greater.  Known  aca-weeds  of  large  or  moderate  size 
are  numerous,  but  some  naturalists  think  there  are  still  more  yet 
unknown.  But,  however  that  may  be,  their  number  is  small  compared 
with  the  swarms  of  minute  algaj  and  fungi  which  are  to  be  found 
in  situations  the  most  various.  For  not  only  do  fiuigi  live  upon  the 
surface  of  other  plauts,  but  they  peneti'ate  within  them,  aud,  as  "mould," 
deprive  the  stoutest  timber  of  its  substance  and  resisting  power*  they 
devastate  fields  of  promising  grain,  destroy  the  hope  of  the  vine-grower, 
and  ruin  our  homely  garden  produce.  And  as  certain  animals  are  destined 
to  nourish  themselves  on  cei'tain  plants,  so  do  diflereut  kinds  of  these 
lowly  plauts  nourish  themselves  on  different  animals.  Ulcers  and  sores 
may  supjjort  their  ajjproprintc  vegetation,  the  growth  of  which  has 
caused  havoc  in  many  an  hospital  ward,  with  an  atmosphere  teeming 
(as  it  often  teems)  with  their  minute  reproductive  particles.  Analogous 
particles  of  other  plants  even  form  no  insiguitieant  part  of  our  coal-fields, 
as  the  produce  of  coral  animals  has  built  up  large  tracts  of  land  in  the 
State  of  Florida  and  elsewhere,  and  as  a  vast  deposit  is  accumulating 
on  the  floor  of  the  Atlantic  from  the  ceaseless  rain  of  dead  microscopic 
shells  whi(;h  have  lived  in  its  surface  waters. 

Again,  to  know  living  animals  thoroughly  it  is  necessary  also  to  he 
acciuainted  with  extinct  animals,  so  we  cannot  have  an  adequate 
conception  of  the  world  of  plants  without  an  acqaintauce  with  its  foaail 
forms — forms  some  of  which  afl'ord  eviilencc  of  startling  climatic  changes^ 
as  do  the  fossil  vines  and  magnolias  of  the  Arctic  region. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  if  the  multitude  of  living  forms  is  so  grcaty 
why  should  the  Natural  History  of  plauts  and  animals  be  treated 
simultaneously?  lias  not  the  progress  of  fciciencc  been  accompanied  by 
an  increasing  division  of  labour,  and  is  it  not  wise  of  naturalists  to 
devote  their  whole  lives  to  some  special  group  ?  To  this  it  may  be 
replied,  that  modern  science  tends  loth  to  unite  and  to  separate  the 
several  departments  of  inquiry.     The  area  to  be  explored  is  so  vast,  and 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY 


255 


contains  such  rich  variety,  that  no  hnmati  miud  can  hope  to  master  the 
whole  study  of  cither  auimals  or  plants.  On  this  account  some  natu- 
ralists arc  no  longer  content  with  being  exclusively  ornithologists 
or  eutomolc^sts,  or  with  devoting  themselves  to  single  primary 
groups  of  birds  or  insects,  but  spend  their  whole  time — and 
wisely  so — upon  some  still  more  subordinate  section  of  zoology. 
NeTerthele**,  such  students  should  also  give  time  to  wider  study, 
without  which  they  cannot  really  understand  the  apecial  groups 
to  which  they  are  devoted.  Such  suMivision  moreover  has,  as 
Goetlie  remarked^  a  narrowiug  tendency.  Indeed,  the  necessity  for 
each  student  to  understand  various  branches  of  science  is  constantly 
ng.  A  certain  knowledge  of  astronomy  and  chemistry  has 
e  necessary  to  the  geologist,  and  of  geology  and  chemistry  to 
the  biologist.  Again,  the  progress  of  knowledge  has  more  and  more 
rcvealetl  tbe  intimate  connection  which  exists  between  the  two 
great  groups  of  Hung  creatures — animals  and  plants.  So  intimate, 
indeed,  is  this  connection  now  seen  to  be  that,  in  spite  of  the  manifest 
differences  between  most  animals  and  plants,  the  jjosition,  or  even 
the  existeuce,  of  the  line  which  is  to  divide  these  organisms  is  a  matter 
of  dispute.  It  has  thus  become  manifestly  impossible  to  understand 
adequately  the  creatures  belonging  to  one  of  these  groups  without  a 
oertain  acquaintance  with  those  belonging  to  the  other  group.  The 
powers  which  auimals  possess  cannot  be  satisfactorily  understood  with- 

>out  a  knowledge  of  the  corresponding  jiowers  of  plants.  Our  knowledge, 
for  example,  of  animal  nutrition  and  reproduction  would  be  very  incom- 
plete unless  we  had  a  conception  of  these  processes  generally,  and 
■  therefore  of  the  modes  in  which  they  take  place  in  plants  also.  On 
these  accounts  it  is  desirable  that  both  the  great  groups  of  living 
creatures  should  be  considered  conjointly,  and  the  study  of  living 
organisms  treated  as  one  great  whole. 

An  objection  of  an  opposite  nature  may,  however,  be  made  to  the 

I  plan  here  advocated.  It  may  be  objected  that  plants  and  animals 
should  not  be  (XJtisidercd  separately  from  minerals,  but  that  all  terres- 
trial productions  should  be  treated  of  as  one  whole,  and  their  substantial 
composition  and  powers  exhibited  as  diverging   manifestations  of  one 

I  great  unity.  In  support  of  this  objection  may  be  urged  that  very 
increasing  inter-relation  and  cross-dependency  between  the  sciences 
ivhieh  have  been  just  referred  to.  It  may  be  contended  that,  though 
animals  and  plants  do  indeed  require  to  be  treated  as  one  whole,  yet 
they  do  not  form  a  really  isolated  group  for  the  following  reasons.  The 
laws  of  mineral  a^^cgation  iu  crystals  arc  imitated  in  the  growth  of 
certain  animals.  The  ultimate  constituents  of  the  organic  and  inor- 
ganic worlds  arc  the  same.  The  physical  forces — light,  heat,  and  elec- 
tricity— arc  both  needed  by  and  are  given  off  from  living  organisms, 
as  manifestly  by  fire-flies,  warm-blooded  animals,  and  the  electric  eel. 
The  diverse  manifestations  of  life  are  thus,  it  may  be  said,  merely  due 
to  the  play  of  physical  forces  upon  very  complex  material  conditions. 


256  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

To  this  it  may  be  replied  that,  at  least  practically,  the  living  world 
docs  constitute  a  domain  apart,  ami  the  Natural  History  of  animals  and 
plants  (or  Biology)  a  very  distinct  science^  for  all  that  it  reposes  upon 
and  is  intimately  connected  with  the  sciences  of  non-living  matter.  It 
may  also  be  contended  that  there  really  is  a  fundamental  distinction 
between  the  activities  of  even  the  lowest  living  creature  and  all  merely 
physical  forces.  For  even  if  the  several  separate  actions  of  organisms 
can  be  performed  by  inorganic  bodies,  yet  no  inorganic  body  displays 
that  combination  of  forces  which  characterises  any  living  being.  The 
very  composition,  again,  of  tlie  organic  world  ditfcrs  strikingly  in  its 
complexity  from  that  of  the  inorganic. 

Assuming  theu^  provisionally,  that  animals  and  plants  mav  together 
be  reasonably  separated  off  from  tlie  non-living  world  and  treated  as  one 
whole,  we  find  that  whole  to  present  remarkable  characters  of  both  change] 
and  pcrraaucncc.  Individual  organisms,  at  longer  or  shorter  intervals, 
disappear  and  are  replaced  by  othei*s  like  them,  and  sucli  succcssioa 
has  in  some  cases  endured  for  very  prolonged  periods.  In  most  casea^] 
however,  kinds  as  well  as  individuals  have  arisen,  had  their  day  and 
died,  and  have  been  auceecdcd  by  kinds  more  or  less  divergent ;  and  this 
process  of  replacement  has  occurred  agaiu  and  again.  Has  the  whole 
scries  of  successions  also  liad  its  beginning,  or  has  vegetable  life  cternallv 
flourished  ou  our  planet  and  eternally  nourished  race  after  race  of 
diverse  animal  tribes?  The  answer  to  this  question  (as  far  as  it 
can  be  answered  by  Physical  Science)  is,  of  course,  to  be  sought 
in  the  Natural  History,  net  of  organic  beings,  but  of  the  earth 
and  other  planets  of  our  system.  But  let  it  be  granted  that  the  dura- 
tion of  terrestrial  life  is  only,  when  estimated  by  sidereal  epochs,  as  the 
up-growth  of  a  day  ;  yet  measured  by  any  more  familiar  standard  its 
nutiquity  is  such  as  the  imagination  refuses  to  picture.  More  than  this: 
even  the  various  kinds  of  animals  and  plants  have  had,  and  have,  at  least 
a  relative  constancy  and  permanence.  Nature,  as  wc  see  it,  does  not 
present  a  scene  of  confused  and  evanescent  forms  in  a  state  of  Protean 
change.  Were  such  the  case  our  existing  classifications  could  not  have 
been  devised.  Our  minds  perceive  that  the  living  world  possesses  certain 
permanent  characters,  and  it  suggests  conceptions  not  only  of  "  order," 
"causation,''  "  utility,"  "  puj'pose/'  but  also  of  "  types'^  and  "creative 
ideas,"  to  attempt  to  estimate  the  value  of  wliich  would  be  to  enter  upon 
philosophy;  for  the  value  to  be  assigned  to  such  conceptions  depends 
upon  the  system  of  philosophy  whicli  any  one  may  deem  the 
more  reasonable.  The  advocacy  of  any  system  of  philosophy  would 
be  quite  out  of  place  in  this  Essay.  Here  a  single  observation  must 
suffice.  Those  who  believe  that  the  First  Cause  of  all  creatures  which 
live  or  have  lived  is  a  Divine  lutelHgencc  having  a  certain  relation  of 
analog)'  with  the  intelligence  of  man,  must  also  believe  that  all  creatures 
respond  to  the  ideas  of  such  creative  Intelligence.  They  must  also 
further  believe  that  in  so  far  as  tiie  ideas  we  derive  fi-om  the  study  of 
creatures  arc  true  ideas — that  is,  truly  correspond  with  their  objects — 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY. 


26r 


such  ideas  must  respond,  however  imperfeetly,  to  tlic  eternal  ideas  of 
such  a  Diviue  lutelligeucej  aiiice  thiuga  which  agree  with  the  same  thing 
must  in  so  far  agree  with  one  another. 

Ilemote  as  such  questious  may  appear  to  be  from  the  study  of 
Natural  History,  they  have  during  the  present  century  much  occupied* 
the  attentiou  of  distinguished  naturahsts.  They  have  also  been  the 
occasion  of  investigations  which,  as  wc  shall  shortly  sec,  have  borne 
fruit  the  value  of  which  all  scientific  mcu  now  admit.  Tliese  investi- 
gations have  called  forth  a  new  conception  as  to  the  whole  mass  of 
liviug  creatures,  aud  of  their  relations  one  to  another — a  conception 
which  renders  inadequate  all  previous  pictures  of  the  world  of 
organic  life. 

From  our  present  standpoint,  that  world,  and  indeed  the  entire- 
tmivcrsc,  may  be  not  inaptly  symbolized  by  a  waterfall,  such  as  that  of 
Temi,  with  its  look  of  changelcssness  due  to  unceasing  changes,  them- 
selves the  result  of  a  permanence  not  at  first  apparent.  The  well-known 
rainbows  above  the  great  clouds  of  suu-lit  spray  look  like  iixed  aud 
almost  solid  structures.  Though  the  spectator  knows  that  the  same 
fulling  water  cannot  be  seen  for  many  seconds,  aud  t!mt  the  pcraistcucc 
of  the  elements  of  colour  must  be  even  less,  yet  an  impression  of  per- 
sistence and  stability  remains  which,  though  in  some  respects  au  itlusiou^ 
is  not  altogether  false.  Though  the  physical  elements  are  fleeting,  yet 
both  the  cascade  and  its  iridescent  arcs  are  persistent — idcaUij  in  the 
mind  which  apprelicnds  them,  and  realhj  iu  those  natural  laws  and  that 
definite  arrangement  of  conditions  which  continually  reproduce  the 
ceaseless  flux  accompanying  their  persistence. 

Similarly  the  ocean,  with  its  obvious  changes  of  tides  aud  currents, 
storms  aud  calms,  has  been  a  type  of  ehangefulness  ;  and  yet  viewed  in 
eomparisou  with  the  upheavals  and  depressions  of  the  earth's  solid 
surface  there  is  a  relative,  though  by  no  means  absolute,  truth  in  the  words: 

**  Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thy  azure  brow; 
Such  us  creutiun's  dawn  beheld,  thou  roUest  now  T* 

But  science  reveals  a  succession  of  changes  far  from  obvious  which  have 
taken  place  since  the  first  fluid  film  condensed  from  the  hot  vapour  of 
iheearth^s  primeval  atmosjjherc.  Such  are,  changes  in  its  composition, 
its  temperature  and  its  living  inhabitantSj  from  the  time  when  it  swarmed 
with  extinct  predecessors  of  our  present  crabs,  cuttle-fishes,  and  star- 
fishes ;  and  aftcrwanls,  when  huge  reptiles  dominated  in  it,  till  they 
yielded  place  to  the  whales  and  dolphins  of  a  later  epocli,  and  till  at 
last,  after  untold  ages,  the  canoes  of  the  earliest  races  of  mankind  begnft 
at  lost  to  ripple  its  waters. 

With  the  advent  of  man  began  a  succession  of  ideal  changes.  For 
the  growth  of  knowledge  causes  our  ideas  of  each  part  of  the  universe  to 
alter  and  grow  more  exact,  just  as  the  aspects  of  objects  change  as  they 
may  be  viewed  through  a  succession  of  less  refracting  and  more  trans- 
parent media.      How  different  was  the  ancient  conception  of  the  ocean 


258 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


^U  as  a  fimd  boundary  ebcircUng  the   fiat   plane  of  the  earth,    ^m  that 

^H  ubtaiue<i  by  Columbus  when,  having  traversed  an  unknomi    cx?ean   and 

^B  reached  a  new  world,  he  exclaimed  "//  mondo  e  poco  f     To-day  dccp- 

^B  ttea  explorations  arc  giving  us  new  conceptions,  and  its  Natural  History 

^H  needs  re-writing  from  a  fresh  stand-point 

^H  The  whole  universe  of  fixed-stars  and  nebulae  may  abo  be  conceived  as 

^H  a  vast  fountain  of  light  and  motion.      For  though  (save  for  the  occasional 

^H  temporary  brightness  of  some  world  in  conflagration,  and  save  for  the 

^H  apparent  diurnal  revolution  of  the  Leavens)  it  is  apparently  ehangeleaa; 

^H  yet  reason  exhibits  it  to  us  as   an  area  of  ceaseless  change.    Indeed,  as 

^H  races  of  living  beings  succeed  each  other^  so  we  may  fancy  that  the  falling 

^H  together  of  worlds  and   systems  may  generate  new   suns  and   worlds, 

^H  like  the  fresh  flowers  of  a  new  spring. 

^H  But  if  the  image  of  the  ocean  as  reflected  iu  the  mind  of  man   Las 

^H  i*cpcatcdly  changed  in  the  course  of  Qges,  this  is  still   more   the  esse  as 

^H  regards  the  stany  vault.     A  collection  of  visible  divinities ;  a  hieroglyphic 

^H  to  be  puzzled  over  by  the  soothsayer ;  a  concentric  series  of  star-studded 

^H  cr^'stal  spheres;  and  finally,  the  more  and  more  consistent  mind-pictures 

^H  of  Copernicus  and  Galileo,  Kepler  and  Newton  !      If  it  is  difficuU  now 

^H  to  realize  the  cbange  of  view  introduced  by  the  discovery  of  Columbus, 

^1  it  is  almost  impossible  to  do  so  with  respect  to  that  which  was  occasioned 

^H  by  the  acceptance  of  heliocentric  astronomy,  and  which  of  course  rcu- 

^H  dered  a  new  description  of  the  heavens  inevitable. 

^H  These  coufiderations  may  serve  to  prepare  us  for  analogous   chan 

^H  with  respect  to  oui*  present  subject- — organic  nature.     This  likewise  h 

^B  not    only    its   real  elements  of   pennaDcnee  and   change,  but  also  its 

^B  ideal   changes,  due  to   the   diHerent    modes   in    which   it  has  ])rr$;entcd 

^H  itself  to  men^s  minds  at  diflerent  stages   of  discovery.      Such  changes 

^H  render  necessary  fresh  descriptions  at  successive   epochs,  and   one  such 

^H  epoch  is  that  iu  which  wc  live. 

^"  Animals  and  plants  must   always,  to  a  greater  or   less   extent,  have 

occupied    the    attention    of   mankind.      It   is  probable  that   a  certain 
amount  of  pleasure  was  felt  even  in  j>rinieval  times   in  observing   living 

t  beings.  The  child  of  to  day  delights  in  the  companionship  and  obser- 
vation of  animals,  and  in  the  childhood  of  the  human  race  animals 
were  regarded  as  objects  of  interest  nnd  curiosity  as  well  as  of  utility 
in  furnishing  food  and  elotliitjg.  That  such  was  the  case  seems  evident 
from  the  portraits  which  have  come  down  to  us  of  the  reindeer  and  the 
mammoth  (the  extinct  woolly  elephant),  traced  on  bones  by  the  flint- 
workers,  their  contem])oraries. 
Indeed,  the  earliest  of  our  race  could  not  avoid  a  certain  »tudy 
of  animals  the  capture  of  which  they  needed  for  their  ford  or 
clothing.  But  in  addition  to  attention  due  to  such  needs,  many 
phenomena  of  animal  life  are  well  fitted  to  strike  a  savage  mind,  and 
this  the  more  from  that  sharpness  of  the  senses  which  the  ludcr  races  of 
men  pos^cs8.  The  earliest  hunters  nmst  have  observed  the  Imhils  cf 
their  prey,  and  have  iucidcntaDy  noticed  in  their  pursuit  peculiarities  of 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY, 


2oQ 


P 


k 


other  creatures,  "which  were  uot  those  they  pursued;  but  were  related  to 
them  as  enemies  or  dependents. 

la  temperate  rcgious  certain  pheuomcna  of  animal  and  plaut  life 
must  very  early  have  forced  upon  man's  attention  their  regular  recur* 
rcDce,  coiucidcntly  with  that  of  the  seasons.  For  with  the  annual 
reappearance  of  certain  constellations  men  must  have  noticed  such  ortlerly 
recurrence  of  (lowers  and  fruits,  and  the  return  of  migrating  birds. 
The  obtrusive  note  of  the  cuckoo^  and  the  quick  gliding  flight  of  the 
swallow^  must  have  early  been  irelcomed  as  the  harbingers  of  approach- 
ing summer. 

In  this  way  a  series  of  recurring  changes — a  cycle  of  pheuomcna — 
must  have  come  to  be  observed.  In  other  words,  botli  permanence  and 
change  must  have  been  noted  as  existing  simultaneously  in  the  organic 
world. 

Such  conceptions  must,  of  course,  have  been  of  the  most  incomplete 
aud  rudimentary  character,  since  the  mind  can  only  bring  back  from 
the  obser^'ation  of  the  external  world  that  which  it  has  gained  the 
power  of  apprehending.  The  traveller  who  is  ignorant  of  history  and 
natural  science  comes  back  from  imperial  Rome  or  sacred  Athens, 
from  the  impressive  solitude  of  Carnac  or  the  busy  quays  of  Trieste,  but 
little  the  richer  intellectually  for  the  many  instructive  objects  which 
bave  met  his  unappreciuting  gaze.  Thus,  with  the  cultivation  or 
debttsement  of  men's  minds,  the  mental  images  and  intellectual  concep- 
tions they  form  of  Nature  necessarily  undergo  corresponding  changes, 
and  the  surrounding  conditions  of  scene  and  climate  must  also  lai*gely 
influence  their  interest  in,  and  their  conceptions  of,  natural  objects. 

The  ancient  Egyptians,  enclosed  in  their  narrow  limestone  valley, 
boanded  by  desert  sands  and  the  hot  and  rivcrloss  Red  Sea,  do  not 
•eem  to  have  been  favourably  circumstanced  for  the  development  of  a 
;;reat  love  of  Nature.  Yet  their  frescoes  show  that  apes,  antelopes, 
leopards,  giraffes,  and  other  strange  beasts  were  objects  of  careful  at- 
tention ;  and  Solomon's  taste  for  natural  knowledge  may  have  found  ita 
parallel  amongst  Egyptian  priests  long  anterior  to  the  scientiBc  glorj*  of 
Alexandria. 

The  Greeks,  more  happily  situate  in  their  l>cautiful  land,  botanically  so 
wealthy,  and  which  is  split  up  into  so  many  islands,  and  has  a  coast  line  so 
irre^lar  through  many  estuaries,  can  hardly  have  failed  to  appreciate 
Drganic  nature,  seeing  that  they  loved  not  only  human  beauty,  but  that  of 
earth,  sea,  and  sky  also.  But,  however  that  may  be,  it  is  certain  that 
it  wa«  there  that  Natural  History  tirst  attained  a  cousidcrable  develop- 
ment under  an  august  master.  It  was  congruous  that  the  people  who 
•o  early  attained  a  sociiU  culmination  in  art,  the  drama,  history, 
rhetoric,  and  poetry,  constituting  them  the  models  and  teachers  of 
mankind  for  thousands  of  years  to  come,  should  have  also  led  the  way 
in  Biological  Science. 

Ariatotle,  the  first-known  true  man  of  science,  must  be  considered 
(from  his  knowledge  of  recondite  points  of  anatomy,  and  from  his  sketch 


260 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  animal  classification)  to  have  bceu  one  who  bore  within  him 
in  germ  the  biology  of  later  ages.  Such  a  man  could  not  have  ariseu 
among  a  people  to  whom  the  investigation  of  Nature  was  new  or  un- 
welcome. 

The  legal  Roman  spirit  seems  to  have  had  little  inclination  for  tlie 
study  of  Nature,  yet  in  Pliny  we  meet  with  the  proto-martyr  of  science. 
The  great  song  of  Lucretius  is  full  of  aynipntliy  with  organic  life  in  all 
its  forms;  and  poetry  like  that  of  the  Georgics  must  have  been  intended 
for  minds  alive  to  rustic  beauty  and  the  harmonies  of  rural  life. 

Whether  such  incipient  scientific  culture  as  existed  in  classical  times 
would  or  would  not^  if  left  to  itself,  have  soon  ripeued  into  that  of  the 
modern  world,  cannot  be  proved.  The  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  how- 
ever, made  retrogression  inevitable.  It  may  be  that  such  retrogression 
has  had  its  scientific  compensation.  For,  judging  of  the  source  by  the 
outcome,  the  tribes  which  issued  from  the  glades  of  the  great  Hyrcanian 
forest  must  have  brought  with  them  a  deep,  innate  love  of  natural 
beauty.  As  the  floods  of  tumnltuoais  invasion  subsided,  and  were  suc- 
ceeded by  disturbances  compai-ativcly  local,  Teutonic  homesteads  began 
to  appear  on  sites  which  seem  to  have  been  in  part  chosen  from 
a  love  for  the  picturesque.  Soon,  one  by  one,  also  arose  tlie  monastic 
cradles  of  mediaeval  civilisation,  sometimes  nestling  in  leafy  dells  by 
streams  or  lakes,  sometimes  perched  on  mountain  crags  with  difHculty 
accessible. 

With  the  advent  of  the  thirteenth  century  came  tlic  first  pj'.le  dawn 
of  that  renaissance  ivhich,  rapidly  maturing,  burst  on  the  world  in  its 
full  blaze  three  centuries  later. 

It  was  then  that  the  naturalistic  spirit  began  to  assume  that  pre- 
dominance which  it  has  ever  since  retained.  Discovery  on  discovery  in 
evciy  department  of  science  opened  out  fresh  vistas  on  all  sides  to  the 
gaze  of  eager  students,  and  the  immensity  of  the  task  before  inquirers 
became  more  manifest  to  them  at  each  step  made  in  advance. 

The  past  also  began  to  acquire  a  new  significance,  for  the  study  of  it 
(as  made  known  in  terrestrial  deposits)  suggested  the  modem  view  of 
the  mutability  of  the  earth's  surface.  No  doubt  in  very  early  times  the 
occanional  discovery  of  fossil  shells  and  bones — disclosed  by  some  laiul- 
slip — may  have  led  to  vague  surmises,  as  the  finding  of  ek'phants'  bones 
(many  of  which  so  much  resemble  human  bones)  may  Lave  given  rise 
to  tales  of  giants,  AVith  the  iidvanee  from  primeval  to  classical  times 
clearer  notions  arose,  and  Pythagoras  {accortling  to  Ovid)  firomulgatcd 
the  most  rational  view  as  to  the  excavating  action  of  rivers,  the  upheaval 
and  submergence  of  land  and  similar  phenomena. 

But  iu  the  Middle  Ages  these  views  seem  to  have  faded  from  view,  so 
that  when  in  the  sixteenth  century  fossil  remains  began  to  be  col- 
lected in  Italy  and  their  significance  correctly  a]>proeiatecl,  an  important 
revolution  in  men's  minds  commenced. 

In  spitc»  however,  of  the  gradually  clearer  apprehension  of  the  fact 
that  many  living  forms   had  become  extinct,  the  belief  in  the  fixity  of 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY 


61 


l^of 


K 


the  different  kind^  of  aaimals  aud  plants  was  accepted  as  a  matter  of 
course.  There  were,  however,  exceptions  to  this  belief  as  to  fixitj  which 
coDtiuued  to  be  made,  as  they  had  beeu  made  duriug  the  Middle  Ages. 
During  those  ages  creatures,  such  as  worms  aud  fliesj  had  Ijcen  supposed  to 
be  spoutaueously  geuerated  by  the  actiou  of  the  sun  on  mud  aud  iu  other 
ways,  and  creatures  which  were  erroneously  supposed  to  be  hybrids  had  also 
been  supposed  to  have  been  occasloually  geuerated.  With  tliesc  exceptions, 
however,  all  animals  were  supposed  to  have  existed  unchanged  and 
without  fresh  creations  since  their  first  furmatiou  after  the  beginuing 
of  the  world. 

The  interest  felt  in  all  the  natural  sciences  continued  to  increase 
through  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  and  therewith  went 
ou  a  rapid  augmentation  in  the  number  of  known  species  of  auimals  aud 
plants. 

Much  gratitude  is  due  from  us  to  the  great  compilers  of  those  cen- 
turies whose  jwudcrous  works  were  treasure-houses  of  the  natural  history 
of  their  day.      Conspicuous  above  all  was  Aldrovaudus,  whose  thirteen 
lio8   began  to  appear  in  1610,  to  be  followed  in  the  next  century  by 
the  richly  illustrated  folios  of  Seba. 

Thus  the  way  was  gradually  prepared  for  a  decisive  step  in  advance, 
marking  the  first  great  epoch  in  the  modern  natural  history  of  living 
beings.    Such  a  step  was  the  introduction  of  a  pood  elassificatiou. 

It  is,  of  course,  difficult  to  acquire,  aud  impossible  to  retsun  and 
propagate,  a  thorougli  knowledge  of  any  very  numerous  set  of  objects, 
tmleas  they  are  systematically  grouped  according  to  some  definite  plan 
of  dajanfieatiou.  Ou  this  account  the  study  of  liviug  creatures  (to  the 
▼ast  number  of  which  attention  has  been  directed)  stood  iu  especial  need 
of  some  couveuieut  arrangement,  if  only  for  the  puqiose  of  serving  as 
a  r/ifmoria  technica. 

Attempts  at  a  classification  of  liviug  beings  had  been  made  by  many 

turalist^  from  Aiistotle  downwards,  and  amongst  the  more  recent,  that 
of  John  Ray*  (1628-1705)  may  be  honourably  distinguished.  But  it 
was  not  till  1735  that  a  classification  was  put  forward  which  marked 
that  epoch  in  the  study  of  natural  history  above  adverted  to.  It  was 
promulgated  by  the  publication  of  the  Systema  Naturm  of  Linnjeua. 
His  genius  also  did  away  with  that  obstacle  to  natural  science,  a 
cumbrous  nomenclature,  by  devising  an  admirable  plan  of  naming.f  He 
divided  all  living  creatures  into  two  great  series  of  successively  sub- 
rdioate  groups  (one  series  of  animals,  the  other  of  plants),  the  animal 
mad  vegetable  kingdoms.  He  defined  his  various  gi*oups  of  cither  king- 
doms by  certain  resemblances  and  difFerencei*  in  form  and  structure,  and 
thongh  his  arrangement  of  plants  has  been  mainly  discarded,  and  his 
arrauigement  of  animals  much  cliauged,  and  further  subdi%^ided,  yet  the 
principles  he  intit)duced  aud  many  parts  of  his  actual  classification  have 


*  8cehi»  Mcthoduspiantarum  not-o,  1C82,  and  his  Animalium  qundruptdum  ct  aerpmtini 
jfneru,  1693. 

f  Pn>nitilgmt«d  by  tiim  iu  the  tenth  edition  othiaSyttema  Natnra,  pubLiahod  atStockholra 


262 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


been  and  will  be  maintained.  For  his  reform  in  nomcndahirc  above 
referred  to  we  owe  him  hearty  thanks.  Till  then,  the  mode  of 
naming  animals  and  plants  was  at  once  cumbrous  and  little  instmctirc, 
a  descriptive  phrase*  being  often  employed  to  designate  a  particular 
kind. 

Tlie  system  of  naming  which  Linnaeus  densed  was  a  binomial  system 
which  is  now  universally  adopted.  By  it  every  kind  of  living  creature 
bears  a  name  made  up  of  two  words.  These  (like  the  family  and  Chris- 
tian names  of  a  mau]t  indicate  two  things.  The  word  which  comes  first 
indicates  to  which  smaller  group  or  "  genus"  the  designated  animal  l>e- 
longs.  The  second  word  indicates  which  kind  or  "species"  (out  of  the 
few  or  many  kinds  of  which  such  smallest  grouli  or  "  genus"  may  be 
com[>nsed)  of  the  genus  the  designated  animal  may  be.  Thus,  for 
example,  the  name  borne  by  the  sheep  is  Ovis  ar'tes — that  is  to  say,  it  is 
the  kind  aries  of  the  group,  or  genus,  orw.  The  word  pointing  out  the 
group  to  which  the  animal  is  referred  is  termed  the  "  generic^'  name ; 
the  word  jwinting  out  the  kind  is  called  the  "  specific"  name — Orw 
being  the  name  of  the  genus  and  aries  being  peculiar  to  the  species. 
This  great  reform  has  been  of  very  great  benefit  to  the  study  of  natural 
history. 

As  has  been  already  remarked,  Linnieus's  classification  of  animals  and 
his  classification  of  plants  have  not  shared  the  same  fate.  The  former 
has  been  modified  and  enlarged,  the  latter  has  been  discarded.  For 
this  there  has  been  a  valid  reason.  Classifications  may  be  of  many 
sorts.  We  may  classify  any  one  given  set  of  objects  in  a  variety  of 
ways  according  to  the  way  wc  choose  to  consider  them. 

But  there  arc  two  fundamental  diflcrcnces  with  respect  to  clasii-ifica- 
tion.  An  arrnngemcnt  may  be  intended  merely  for  convenient  reference, 
or  it  may  be  intended  to  group  the  creatures  clnssified  according  to  their 
real  affinities.  A  classification  intended  merely  for  convenient  reference 
may  be  made  to  depend  upon  characters  arbitrarily  chosen  and  easily 
seeUj  and  which  may  stand  alone  and  not  coincide  with  a  number  of 
other  distinctions.  For  examplcj  when  beasts  were  airanged  in  a  group 
of  "quadrupeds"  (having  for  their  common  character  the  possession  of 
fonr  limbs),  such  an  arrangement  excluded  from  the  group  whales  and 
porpoises  (which  are  really  most  closely  related  to  other  beasts),  while  it 
includetl  lizards  and  frogs,  which  arc  of  natures  very  distinct  both  from 
beasts  and  from  one  another.  Hnt  a  classification  may  be  made  to  rest 
on  distinctive  characters,  which  coincide  with  a  great  number  of  other 
diatinetionw,  and  so  lead  to  the  as.sociation  of  creatures  which  are  really 
alike,  and  which  will  be  found  to  present  a  greater  and  greater  num- 
ber of  common  characters  the  more  thoroughly  they  are  examined.      A 

*  Thas,  for  cxiunplc.  ono  kind  of  bat  was  called  by  Scba,  "  ctuiU  volfm*  rrmatemii 
orientalii,"  and  n  kinKHwer  is  tormod  **  todua  virittU pectnrc  rubra  rojtfm  iyWo." 

t  It  IB  not  improlwble  tliAt  LiniuHUS  was  influcuceil  in  tbis  reform  by  the  then  roceut  JD- 
feroduction  of  family  aamea  into  Swecleu.  Hia  father  woa  the  first  of  his  r*oe  to  take  oifaft. 
and  ho  cho«e  tbo  name  IJuhjdub  as  his  surname. 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY, 


363 


•ysiem  of  classification  of  this  latter  kind  is  called  a  "natural  system/' 
becaase  it  represents  and  leads  us  directly  to  understand  the  inter- 
relations  of  different  creatxires  as  they  really  exist  in  Nature. 

A  natural  system  has  also  other  advantages ;  it  not  only  serves  as  a 
tneuioria  techniea  as  well  as  a  mere  artiHcial  system  may  do^  bui  it  also 
aenres  (since  it  must  become  modified  in  details  as  our  knowledge 
increases)  as  a  register  of  the  knowledge  existing  at  the  time  of  its 
promulgation^  and  also  as  a  help  to  discovery ;  for  since  by  such  a 
system  these  animals  are  grouped  together  by  a  great  number  of  common 
characters^  it  leads  us  (when  any  new  animal  or  plant  comes  under  our 
Qoiicc)  to  seek  for  certain  phenomena  when  once  we  have  observed 
others  with  which  such  expected  phenomena  are,  according  to  our 
supposed  clossificatiou,  associated.  Thus  a  natural  system  serves  to  guide 
oain  the  path  of  investigation.  Now  Linnzeus's  classification  of  animals 
wu«  to  a  considerable  extent^  natural,  and  therefore  has^  to  a  considexable 
extent,  persisted.  But  his  classification  of  plants  reposed  upon  varia- 
tions in  the  mure  internal  (reproduutivc)  parts  of  fiowcrs  (stamens  and 
pistil)  as  other  anterior  and  less  celebrated  systems  had  reposed  on  the 
form  of  the  coloured  parts  of  flowers,*  or  on  such  parts  together  with 
their  green  cnvclopct  (or  calyx),  or  only  upon  the  form  of  the  fruit.J 
The  genius  of  Linnseus  was  not,  however,  blind  to  the  imperfection  of 
his  own  classification,  for  he  himself  procIaimcd§  that  a  natural  system 
"  was  the  one  great  desideratum  of  botanical  science." 

The  desideratum  was  supplied  at  a  memorable  era.  In  1789 
Antouy  Juasieu||  inaugurated  this  botanical  revolution  by  publishing 
his  Genera  Plantarum,  and  therein  that  natural  system  of  classification 
of  plants  which  has  since  (with  but  small  modification)  been  generally 
adopted. 

The  great  French  naturalist,  Buffon,  did  not  live  to  witness  the  pub- 
lication of  the  last-mentioned  work.  Had  he  lived  to  study  it,  he  might 
hare  gained  a  truer  insight  into  the  importance  of  biological  classification, 
and  have  endeavoured  to  improve  on  Linnffius's  system  instead  of  con- 
tenting himself  with  criticising  and  despising  it.  In  spite  of  his 
defective  appreciation  of  the  importance  of  a  good  arrangement  and 
nomenclature,  Buffou  greatly  aided  the  progress  of  Natural  History,  not 
only  by  his  eloquent  descriptions  of  the  animal  world  and  his  zeal  for 
the  discovery  of  new  forms,  but  still  more  by  his  suggestive  speculations. 
Amongst  these  latter  may  be  mentioned  his  theories  of  the  earth,  of  the 
process  of  generation,  his  view  as  to  the  relations  between  the  animals 
of  the  old  world  and  of  the  new,  and,  most  striking  of  all,  hia  enunciation 
of  the  probability  that  species  had  been  transformed  and  modified.  In 
spite  of  much  that  was  erroneous  in  his  ideas  his  suggestions  have  borne 
good  fruit. 

»  RivinuB,  lfi90.  f  Magnol,  1720.  %  K»mel,  1693.  §  Phil.  Bot.  77. 

1  The botuuGftl  expert  will  of  coarao  iindcratand  that  wbat  is  due  to  Antony  Jossieua 
oacltf  Bernard  is  not  here  forgotten ;  but  however  great  woa  his  merit  aud  prepondenmt 
Itts  ihara  in  prodnoiDg  the  grand  romilt,  it  wu  none  the  less  by  the  nephew  that  these 
iVRilt*  were  embodied  and  poblisUed  in  the  work  above  referred  to. 


204 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


Almost  siniullancoiisly  with  the  promulgation  of  a  natural  system  of 
plautSj  George  Cuvier  was  labouring  to  complete  a  zoological  task 
similar  to  the  hotanieal  one  eflected  by  Jus^ieu.  Cuvier,  nvailing  him- 
aelf  of  the  work  of  Linnjeus,  clal)orated  his  Rrgne  Animal,-  and  carried 
aoology  by  his  untiring  researches  and  encyelopte<lic  knowledge  to  the 
highest  perfection  possible  in  his  day.  He  did  this  not  only  as  regards 
living  kiuds,  but  also  with  respect  to  extinct  species,t  whidi  he,  for  the^H 
first  time,  restored  in  imagination,  giving  figures  of  what  were  theii'^^f 
probable  external  forms.  As  then,  Linnaeus,  by  his  nomenclature  and 
■Bystcm  of  zoological  classification,  made  one  important  step  in  the  pi"o- 
gress  of  modern  biology,  so  a  second  step  was  efi'cctcd  by  the  arrangement 
of  all  known  animals  and  plants,  in  a  truly  natural  system,  by  Jussien 
and  Cuvier. 

A  further  advance  was  at  the  same  time  rapidly  approaching,  for 
^multaueously  witii  the  perfecting  of  the  knowledge  of  sti'uctnral 
anatomy  as  so  many  matters  of  fact,  a  movement  of  deep  signifieanee 
was  stiiTing  the  minds  of  men  in  Germany — a  movement  which 
resulted  \n  the  birth  of  what  has  been  called  "philosophical  anatomy." 
With  this,  the  names  of  Okcn,  Goethe.  GeoftVeySt.  Hilaire,  and  Owen  are, 
with  ot]iei*s,  indissolubly  associated.  According  to  this  "philosophical 
anatomy,"  it  is  possible  for  men,  from  a  judicious  study  of  living  creatures, 
to  gather  a  conception  of  certain  formative  "^  ideas"  which  have  governed 
the  production  of  all  animals  and  vegetables.  These  ideas  were  con- 
ceived as  either  ideas  in  God  or  as  ideas  existing  somehow  iu  a 
Pantheistic  universe.  The  "ideas"  were  supposed  to  be  nowhere  actually 
realized  in  the  world  around  us,  but  to  lie  approximated  to  in  various 
-degrees  and  ways  by  the  forms  of  living  creatures.  The  naturalists  of 
this  school  trium|>hantly  refilled  the  old  notion  that  all  the  structure** 
■of  living  beings  were  sufficiently  explained  by  their  wants.  Thus  they 
pointed  out  the  absurdity  of  supposing  tliat  the  bones  of  the  embryo's  skull 
originate  in  anuich  subdivided  condition,  iu  order  to  facilitate  parturition. 
when  the  skulls  of  young  birds^  which  nre  hatched  from  eggs,  also  arise 
in  a  similarly  subdivided  condition.  Many  other  similar  popular  instances 
of  final  causation  iu  animal  structure  they  similarly  explained  away.  Some 
of  the  views  put  forth  by  leaders  of  the  movement — as,  for  example,  by 
•Oken — were  extremely  fantasticjj  and  were  connected  with  the  philosophic 
dreams  of  Hegcl  and  of  Schclling,  Otlicr  of  their  views,  however,  wcit 
'both  siguificaut  and  Iruitful,  for  they  directed  special  attention  to  such 
facta  as  the  presence  in  some  animals  of  rudimentary  structures. 
JRudimentary  structures  are  minute  Btructurcs  whioh  some  animals  have 
[e.g.,  the  wing  bones  of  the  Xcav  Zculaml  Ajitcryx),  and  which  are  minia- 

*  The  first  edition  of  tUe  B^gne  Animwl  did  not  appear  till  1BI7.  but  *  preHminary  work 
in  one  volume,  eritille*!  "Tableau  Eltmcntairc  do  IHiatoiie  iVatnrellc  dea  Adudaiix.*' 
ap[Njn.rc'd  in  Paris  tu  IT'l^fl. 

t  Kin  lirat  trcatme  on  foBsiln  wan  his  Memoir  ou  Mcgalonyx,  puhliihcd  in  IT^fl  From  that 
timu  hecontioaed  to  piiHliah  memoirs  on  fossil  forms,  till  in  IHll  his  classical  work,  th' 
"Uaeemens  KoBnilea,  "  made  iU  aupcArance. 

t  Thus  he  represented  the  tcctti  as  being  the  Angers  and  toes  of  tho  head. 


Oy  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY 


265 


ft 


rare  representatives  of  parts  wliich  are  of  largo  size  ami  of  great  use  in 
other  auimaU.  Other  such  signifieaut  facts  are  those  of  animal  develop- 
ment^ as  when  Goethe  discovered  iu  the  skull  of  the  human  foetus  a 
separate  bone  of  the  jaw,  which  is  no  longer  separate  even  at  birth,  and 
vrhich,  before  his  time,  was  supposed  only  to  exist  in  lower  animals. 

Thus  fresh  interest  was  lent  to  a  most  important  study,  which  may 
be  said  to  have  been  initiated  by  Caspar  Friedrieh  Wolffj*  which  was 
further  developed  by  Pauderf  and  Diillingerj  and  carried  to  great  per- 
fection by  Van  BaerJ:  and  Rathkc.  The  study  in  question  was  that 
of  auimal  development — that  is,  a  study  of  the  phases  which 
diflbrcut  auimcls  go  through  in  advancing  from  the  egg  to  their  adult 
condition.  It  had  of  course  been  long  known  to  all  that  such  animals 
as  the  frog  and  the  butterfly  uiuicrgo  great  changes  during  this  process, 
but  the  study  of  development  revealed  to  us  the  strange  fact  that 
animals  geuerallyj  before  birth,  also  undergo  great  changes,  during  which 
each  such  creature  transitorily  resembles  the  permanent  condition  of 
other  creatures  of  an  inferior  grade  of  organisation. 

Philosophical  anatomy  and  the  study  of  development  were  both 
highly  provocative  of  research,  tending  as  they  did  to  destroy  conceptions 
on  which  men's  minds  liad  previously  reposed,  without  at  the  same  time 
substituting  any  other  satisfactory  aud  enduring  mental  resting-place. 
They  thus  prcjMircd  the  way  for  that  great  mo<lcrn  advance — the  con- 
ception of  organic  evolution,  or  the  development  from  time  to  time  of 
new  kinds  of  animals  and  plants  by  ordinary  natural  processes — a  con- 
ception the  promulgation  and  general  acceptauce  of  which  constitutes 
another  great  epoch  in  the  cultivation  of  Natural  History. 

But  as  the  Liunsean  movement  was  despised  by  Buffbn,  so  was  philo- 
aophical  anatomy  despised  by  Cuvier.  Each  of  these  great  naturalists 
jeeuis  to  have  been  so  attracted  by  the  brilliance  of  such  faces  of  the 
many  faceted  form  of  truth  as  they  clearly  saw,  that  they  became 
more  or  less  blinded  to  other  of  its  faces,  in  themselves  no  less  brilliant 
aud  captivating. 

But  if  philosophical  anatomy  aud  the  theory  of  Wolff  had  to 
encounter  strenuous  opposition,  still  greater  was  the  opposition  which 
met  the  etforts  of  those  who  first  asserted  organic  and  specific 
erolation. 

Before  the  theory  of  evolution  was  distinctly  enunciated  it  had 
had  its  prophetic  precursors,  even  as  far  back  as  the  days  of  Aristotle. 
In  modem  times,  Buffon,  as  has  lH?en  already  said,  threw  out  sugges- 
tions concerning  the  transformation  of  species,  and  Goethe,  Geoffrey  St. 
Hilaire,  aud  Dr.  Erasmus  Darwin  also  euteriaiacd  similar  views.  But 
it  was  not  till  the  beginning  of  the  nineteenth  century  that  the  doctrine 
of  evolution  was  (in  modern  times)  unequivocally  put  forth.      It  was 

*  In  ]859  in  &  dissertation  as  Doctor,  at  Hallc,  he  {mt  furword  his  Tkeoria  Otnemtioni*^ 
embodying  rery  many  new  and  accarate  inTe&tigatiuiis. 
+  "Hist«>na  Metamorphoaeoe,"  1S17. 
J  "  Kntirickeliingi-C;«cbiclitcaer  Thiere."  1827—1837. 


260 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


80  put  forth  by  Lamarck*  iu  the  year  1802.  He  declared  that 
existiug  animals  had  beea  derived  froua  autccedent  forms  according 
an  innate  law  of  progression,  the  action  of  which  had  been  modihcd  by 
habit,  by  cross-breeding,  and  by  the  influence  of  climatic  and  otl 
surrounding  conditions.  His  views  were  acccpt«;d  by  few,  and 
countered  much  ridicule;  but  the  gradual  modifications  of  o^xiAi 
which  were  being  brought  about  by  philosophical  anatomy  and  the  atu« 
of  development  prepared  the  way  for  his  more  happy  successors.  M 
a  considerable  interval  he  was  followed  by  Alfred  Wallacet  and  Charles 
Darwin,J  who  attributed  the  origin  of  new  species  to  the  occiirren< 
and  parental  transmission  to  oti'spriug  of  indefinite  minute  variationi 
no  two  individuals  being  ever  absolutely  alike.  Such  variations  thi 
conceived  ns  taking  place  in  all  directions,  but  as  being  reduced 
certain  lines  by  the  destructive  agencies  of  Nature  acting  upon  creatui 
placed  in  circumstances  of  severe  competition,  owing  to  the  tendency 
every  kind  of  organism  to  increase  in  a  geometrical  ratio.  This  d( 
structive  action  together  with  its  result  was  termed  by  these  authors 
Natural  Selection,"  but  the  whole  process  has  been  more  aptly  desig- 
nated by  the  phrase,  "  the  survival  of  the  fittest," 

The  doctrine  of  evolution,  however,  has  been  accepted  and  advocated 
by  other  writers,  who  deny  that  "  Natural  Selection"  can  be  the 
cause  of  the  origin  of  species.  They  say  that  such  origin  must 
due  to  whatevci'  produces  individual  variation,  and  ultimately  to  iuhci 
capacities  in  the  organisms  themselves.  Thus  Owcn^  has  declared  tl 
"derivation  holds  that  e\*ery  species  changes  in  time,  by  virtue 
inherent  tendencies  thereto;"  and  Thcophiius  Parsons, ||  of  Harvj 
University,  in  1860,  put  forth  a  similar  view.  In  this  countn' 
same  theory  was  independently  put  forward  and  advocated  at  mu< 
length  iu  1870*f  by  the  author  of  the  present  paper.  In  the  work 
referred  to,  the  objections  to  "  Natural  Selection"  were  fully  gone 
into,**  and  the  theory  maintained  that  external  stimuli  so  act  on  intcri 
predisposing  tendencies  as  to  determine  by  direct  seminal  modiiicati 
the  evolution  of  new  specific  forms. 

We  may  then  conceive    the    evolution   of  new  specific  forms  to 
beeu  brought  about  iu  one  or  other  of  the   six  following  ways. 
change  may  have  been  due  ; — 

(1.)  Entirely   to  the  action  of  surrounding  agencies  upon   organ! 
which  have  merely  a  passive  capacity  for  being    iudefiuili 


*  Lo  hia  **ReKArohea  oa  the  Orguiixation  of  the  I^Tinu  Bodies"  (1802)1  m 
" rhi1o«opbic  Zooiotfiquf "  (1  BOO) ;  and  also  in  the  mtroduotM>n  to  his  "Hist.  Kftl. 
Animaox  saiu  Vertrbrcs"  (IHtA). 

t  .Tmirual  of  Liunean  Society,  vol.  iii.,  July  Ut,  Ifi&S  ;  and  *' XatunlSeleCiioQ.*' 
millau.  1871. 

X  .loanuJ  of  Linnoan  Society,  vol.  iii.,  July  lat.  1B58 ;  and^'lXe  (Mgin  of  Snecifla  l«r 
Meaiia  of  Natural  Salection.*'    John  Murray.     1H69. 

J  "AiiaUiiny  of  \'crt -briiteai,"  voL  iii.  Loacmans.  ISMI. 


I  American  Joanial  of  8ciejic«  and  Art,  July,  1(160 
H   "(icnesii  of  S|M:ciea."     MacmiUan,     IH7((. 
"  Seoaiao   "  Lcaaona  from  Nattirc."    J.  Mnrrav. 


ON  THE  STUDY  OF  NATURAL  HISTORY.  267 

varied  ia  all  directions^   but  which  have  no  positive  inherent 
tendencies  to  vary,  whether  definitely  or  indefinitely. 
(2.)  Entirely  to  innate  tendencies    in   each  organism    to    vary    in. 

certain  definite  directions. 
(3.)  Partly  to  innate  tendencies  to  vary  indefinitely  in  all  directions, 
and  partly  to  limiting  tendencies   of  surrounding  conditions, 
which    check    variations,    save    in   directions    which    happen 
accidentally  to  be  favourable  to  the  organisms  which  vary. 
(4.)  Partly  to  innate  tendencies  to  vary  indefinitely  in  all  directions, 
and  partly  to  external  influences  which   not  only  limit   but 
actively  stimulate  and  promote  variation. 
(5.)   Partly  to  tendencies  inherent  in  organisms,  to  vary   definitely 
in  certain  directions,  and  partly  to  external  influences  acting 
only  by  restriction  and  limitation  on  variation. 
(6.)  Partly  to  innate  tendencies  to  vary  definitely  in  certain  directions, 
and  partly  to  external  influences  which,  in  some  respects,  act 
restrictively,    and    in    other   respects    act    as    a    stimulus    to 
variation. 
It  is  this  last  hypothesis  which  appears  to  have  the  balance  of  evidence 
in  its  favour. 

Bat  whatever  view  may  be  accepted  as  to  the  mode  of  evolution^  a 
belief  in  the  fact  of  evolution  has  given  an  impulse  to  natural 
science  the  effect  of  which  can  hardly  be  over-estimated.  By  this 
belief  the  sciences  which  relate  to  life  have  been  all  more  or  less 
modified,  for  light  has  been  thrown  by  it  on  many  curious  facts 
concerning  the  geographical  and  geological  distribution  of  animals  and 
jj^ants.  The  presence  of  apparently  useless  structures — such  as  the 
wing  of  the  Apteryx  (before  referred  to)  or  the  foetal  teeth  of  whales 
which  never  cut  the  gum — become  explicable  as  the  diminished 
representatives  of  large  and  useful  structures  present  in  their  more  or 
less  remote  ancestors. 

The  curious  likenesses  which  underlie  superficial  differences  between 
animals  become  also  explicable  through  '^  evolution." 

That  the  skeleton  of  the  arm  of  man^  the  wing  of  the  bat,  the  paddle 
of  the  whale,  and  the  fore-leg  of  the  horse  should  each  be  formed  on  the 
same  type  is  thus  easily  to  be  understood.  The  butterfly  and  the 
shrimp,  different  as  they  are  in  appearance  and  mode  of  life,  are  yet 
oonstructed  on  one  common  plan,  of  which  they  constitute  diverging 
manifestations.  No  d  priori  reason  is  conceivable  why  such  similarities 
should  be  necessary,  but  they  are  easily  explicable  if  the  animals  iu 
question  are  the  modified  descendants  of  some  ancient  common  ancestor. 
We  here,  then,  see  an  explanation — ^possibly  complete — of  the  theories 
of  philosophical  anatomy.  That  curious  series  of  metamorphoses  which 
constitutes  each  animal's  development,  as  recently  explained,  also 
receives  a  new  explanation  if  we  may  regard  such  changes  as  an  abbre- 
viated record  or  history  of  the  actual  transformation  each  animal's 


268  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

ancestors  may  have  undergone.  Finally,  by  evolution  we  can  understand 
the  singtdarly  complex  resemblances  borne  by  every  adult  animal  and 
plant  to  a  certain  number  of  other  animals  and  plants.  It  is  through 
these  resemblances  alone  that  the  received  systems  of  classification  of 
plants  and  animals  have  been  possible ;  and  such  classifications  viewed 
in  the  light  of  evolution  assiune  the  form  of  genealogical  trees  of  animal 
and  vegetable  descent.  We  have  thus  a  number  of  facts  and  laws  of 
the  most  varied  kind  upon  which  evolution  throws  a  new  light,  and 
serves  to  more  or  less  clearly  explain.  Evidently,  then,  with  the 
acceptance  of  the  theory  of  evolution,  the  natural  history  of  animals  and 
plants  needs  to  be  rewritten  £rom  the  standpoint  thus  gained.  And 
though  there  is  no  finality  in  science,  yet  there  is  much  reason  to 
suppose  that  a  long  period  will  elapse  before  any  new  modification  of 
biological  science  occurs  as  great  as  that  which  has  been  and  is  being 
efiected  through  the  theory  in  question. 

St.  George  Mlvart. 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND 
RECIPROCITY. 


THE  commercial  distress  continues.  The  suffering  it  creates  is 
scarcely  abated.  It  began,  it  may  be  said,  with  the  American 
financial  crisis  in  1873 ;  it  then  spread,  more  or  less,  over  the  whole 
world,  especially  amongst  the  nations  most  distinguished  by  civilisation, 
by  industrial  energy,  and  by  commercial  ability.  It  has  visited  mankind 
with  a  depression  unequalled  for  width  of  range  and  intensity  of  suf- 
fering and  duration.  Great  populations  are  bowed  down  with  markets 
destitute  of  buyers,  with  profits  diminished  or  extinguished  altogether, 
with  wages  ever  sinking,  labourers  thrown  out  of  employment,  their 
families  reduced  to  misery,  great  factories  and  mines  ceasing  to  work, 
merchants  and  shopkeepers  paralysed  with  losses,  the  once  well-off 
brought  to  poverty  by  failing  dividends,  impoverishment  working  its  way 
into  well-nigh  every  household.  These  are  fearful  events :  still  more  is 
a  depression,  prevailing  for  so  many  years  in  an  age  marked  by  unprece- 
dented industrial  and  commercial  power,  a  phenomenon  calculated  to 
excite  wonder.  By  what  causes  can  such  a  desolation  have  been 
brought  about  ?  Civilisation  never  was  so  strong  before,  with  powerful 
machinery  for  the  production  of  wealth.  At  no  preceding  time  has  such 
a  breadth  of  cultivated  land  been  applied  to  the  support  of  human  life. 
The  instruments  for  distributing  wealth — ships  and  raih'oads — were  never 
so  abundant.  The  nations  of  the  world  have  been  welded  together  into 
a  compact  whole,  and  distant  lands  been  made  close  neighbours  to  each 
other  by  inventions  which  a  century  ago  would  have  filled  every  mind 
with  astonishment.  By  what  conceivable  force  has  it  come  to  pass, 
amidst  resources  so  many  and  so  mighty,  that  impoverishment,  destitu- 
tion, and  misery  have  raised  their  heads  in  every  region  of  the  globe  ? 

An  eager   search  for  the  causes  which  have  generated  so  terrible  a 
calamity  has  occupied   the  thoughts  of  countless  minds.     The  press  of 


270 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVlEfV. 


every  couutry  has  abnunded  witli  suggested  explanationa  of  tLc  disaster. 
Parliaments  mid  Chambers  of  Commerce  have  eagerly  debated  the 
source  of  so  much  suffering.  All  classes  of  society,  the  rich  aud  the 
workiug  men,  have  ardently  discussed  tlic  dark  problem ;  every  kind  of 
theory  has  been  brought  forward  for  rendering  biich  distress  intelligible. 
Men  of  the  highest  ability,  statesmen  and  traders,  great  employers  and 
leaders  of  unions,  have  poured  out  explanations,  and  have  founded  on 
them  the  proposal  of  remedies :  nevertheless,  it  cannot  be  yet  said  that 
a  clear  understanding  of  the  real  nature  of  the  depression  and  of  its 
originating  cause  has  been  reached  aud  generally  recognised.  A  further 
investigation  sccma  not  only  allowable  but  needed. 

In  the  first  platCj  What  is  the  mcauiug  of  the  expression — commer- 
cial depression  ?  Want  of  buyers,  deficiency  of  buying  power,  markets 
unable  to  take  ofi'  the  goods  made  aud  repay  their  cost  of  production. 
Makers  and  sellci's  arc  depressed ;  they  cannot  find  the  indispensable 
buyers.  But  why  are  buyers  few  aud  weak  ?  Because  there  is  an  im- 
mense diminution  of  the  means  of  piu-chasing.  In  wliat  does  purchasing 
power  consist?  lu  goods  to  give  in  exchange;  the^e  are  the  things 
with  which  buying  is  made.  Money,  it  is  true,  whether  of  coin  or 
paper,  is  the  actual  instrument  of  buying  and  selling ;  but  money  is 
only  a  tool  for  exchanging  purposes,  and  mnst  itself  be  procured  by  the 
buyer  by  a  previous  sale  of  liis  own  goods.  Every  [lurchase  with  money 
implies  a  pi*evions  sale  of  goods  for  acquiring  the  money  j  hence  each 
such  purchase  is  only  half  a  transaction.  The  hatter  sells  his  hat  for 
sovereign,  and  with  that  sovereign  buys  a  pair  of  shoes ;  the  hat  has 
been  exchanged  for  shoes.  It  was  the  hat  M'hielj  bought  the  shoes;  and 
the  great  truth  stands  out  clear  that  all  power  of  buj'ing  resides  ulti- 
mately in  commodities. 

Hence  we  can  answer  the  question,  Wliy  is  there  commercial  depres- 
sion? Because  there  are  few  commoflities,  few  goods  to  buy  with.  Thus 
trade  becomes  stagnant,  mills  and  factories  arc  paralysed  or  work  on  a 
smaller  scale,  money  markets  are  agitated,  banks  and  great  firms  break, 
fixim  one  single  cause — goods  to  buy  with  are  deficient.  Those  who 
formerly  had  produced  wealth,  and  with  it  procured  money  wherewith 
to  purchase,  no  longer  possess  such  wealth  :  they  have  no  goods,  or  few, 
and  the  markets  arc  struck  Mith  jjalsy,  and  makers,  both  masters  aud 
labourers,  arc  visited  -with  serious  loss  or  ruin,  simply  through  lack  of 
buyers.  This  explanation  places  us  at  the  heart  of  the  eoramercial  de- 
pression. Mannfacturcrs  and  sellers  cannot  dispose  of  the  commodities 
they  have  produced,  because  the  usual  purchasers  have  few  or  no  goods 
wherewith  to  buy.  The  question  immediately  arises.  How  came  it  to 
pass  that  the  buyers  and  consumers  lost  their  power  of  jturchasing, 
have  fewer  goods  to  give  in  exchange  'i  In  consequence  of  a  general 
fact  which  was  itself  the  result  of  many  possible  causes.  There  has 
been  over-consumption,  more  has  been  consumed  and  destroyed  than 
was    made   to   replace    tl»e    conbumpliou.      Over-consumption   did    the 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND  RECIPROCITY. 


27i 


I 


TOiAchicf.  It  left  a  net  dimiuution  of  the  stock  of  commodities  to  ex- 
change, and  thereby  brought  consumers  and  would-be  buyers  to  poverty. 

But  vbat  is  over-consumption  ?  Are  not  all  things,  all  wealth,  con- 
sumed? They  are;  all  articles  made  are  consumed  and  destroyed; 
some  very  swiftly,  such  as  food,  coals,  and  the  like ;  others  very  slowly, 
snch  as  engines,  buildings,  ships,  and  generally  all  fixed  capital.  So  far, 
consumption  is  universal,  and  over-consumption  is  a  phrase  which  cannot 
be  used.  But  here  a  distinction  comes  into  play,  which  explains  the 
uature  and  essence  of  over-consumption.  All  consumable  things  divide 
themselves  into  two  classes — first,  capital ;  and  secondly,  luxuries  or 
enjoyments.  The  test  which  discriminates  between  the  two  is  this — 
capital  is  consumed  and  destroyed,  but  is  restored  in  its  integrity,  if 
business  is  sound,  iu  the  wealth  produced  ;  luxuries  disappear,  aud  leave 
nothing  behind  them.  The  food  and  clothing  of  the  labourers,  the 
manures  bought  and  laid  out  on  the  land,  the  wear  and  tear  of  the 
ploughs,  are  all  reproduced  in  the  wheat  grown.  The  consumption  of 
the  hounds  and  huntsmen  generates  nothing  but  enjoyment.  Capital, 
wc  know,  is  the  sum  total  of  all  the  things  which  are  neces.sary  for  the 
production  of  wealth  :  and  it  is  clear  that  if  the  capital  thus  destroyed 
is  rcstore<l  in  full  in  the  products  realised,  the  making  power  of  the 
uation  will  remain  undiminished,  its  possession  of  wealth  will  continue 
the  same,  its  buying  and  selling  will  go  on  as  usualj  and  no  commercial 
depression  will  make  its  appearance.  The  natiou  will  retain  its  prospe- 
rity; there  will  be  the  same  quantity  of  commodities  to  be  exchanged. 
But  now  reverse  tJie  process.  Let  a  portion  of  the  capital  destroyed  be 
not  replaced  by  the  jiroducts;  the  necessary  consequence  will  l)c  tliat 
with  lessened  producing  power  there  will  be  a  diminution  of  the 
wealth  made.  The  nation  will  now  l)c  poorer;  it  has  less  to  consume. 
The  cause  is  at  once  visible — the  capital  has  been  destroyed  and  restored 
only  in  part:  this  is  true  over-consumption. 

>[cre  truisms,  we  shall  be  told — everybody  knows  them.  Perfectly 
true ;  but  truisms  are  the  sj)ecial,  the  greatest  forces  of  political  economy. 
Much  more,  yet  truisms  are  everlastingly  forgotten;  they  are  the  last 
things  which  occur  to  the  minds  of  even  able  and  intelligent  men  for  the 
explaining  of  economical  phenomena.  They  arc  not  clever,  not  subtle 
Cfkongh ;  they  belong  too  much  to  everybody ;  but,  by  being  passed 
over,  they  leave  facts  and  their  causes  unexplained. 

And  now  let  ua  cast  our  eyes  around  ua,  and  try  whether  we  can 
discover  over-consumption  enough  to  account  for  the  magnitude  and 
irity  of  the  commercial  depression.  But  before  doing  this,  it  is 
fable  to  make  a  few  remarks  on  some  explanations  which  have  been 
largely  insisted  on  as  revealing  the  origin  of  the  suffering.  The  most 
popular  is  over-production  :  too  many  goods,  it  is  said,  have  been  made. 
The  demand,  the  natural  demand,  of  the  markets  has  been  exceeded  ; 
unsaleableness  and  loss  are  the  inevitable  consequences.  It  is  true  that 
ibcrc  bfis  been  over-prodnctioDj  and  it  is  perhaps  still  slightly  going  on; 


im 


272 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVJEff. 


but  it  was  tlic  second,  not  the  first  stage  of  tlie  uia]ady.  Speculative 
ovcr-productiou  is  a  very  common  oceurreuce,  Tlie  wealth  of  a  particular 
market  is  over-estimated;  adventurers  pusli  forward,  the  market  becomes 
glutted,  aud  loss  ensues.  But  such  over-production  doe«  uot  last  long;  it 
speedily  corrects  itself,  and  speculation  of  this  kind  never  is  found 
existing  in  all  markets  at  the  same  tJmc,  Now  the  leading  feature  of 
the  depression  is  its  universality ;  it  shows  itself  in  almost  all  countries 
simultaneously;  and  this  is  decisive  agaiust  over-production  being  its 
origin.  General  over-iiroduction  is  impossible  till  the  millennium 
arrives,  when  every  man  shall  have  wealth  and  enjoyment,  shall  be  rich, 
to  the  utmost  extent  of  his  desires,  aud  uo  one  will  be  willing  to  work 
ill  order  to  obtain  more. 

Many  of  iLe  working  classes  have  laid  the  blame  of  the  suffering  on 
the  misconduct  of  mauufacturcrs  who  have  adulterated  tlieir  goods  aud 
driven  off  consumers  from  buying  them.  But  this  ^^planation  is  a 
complete  mistake.  The  unworthy,  the  insane  behaviour  of  such  mis- 
doers  cannot  be  too  severely  reprobated ;  but  it  would  not  create  a 
universal  depression.  English  calicoes,  unsaleable  in  China,  could  not 
create  stagnation  of  trade  iu  America,  in  FraucCj  aud  iu  Germany ;  ou 
the  contrary,  it  would  tend  to  impart  increased  activity  to  rivals  who 
uow  could  compete  with  especial  credit  against  British  makers  in  foreign 
lands. 

Another  explanation  of  the  commercial  distress  has  recently  come 
forward  iu  some  quarters ;  aud  mucli  stress  has  been  laid  upon  it  by- 
Lord  Bcacouslicld,  iu  a  speech  iu  the  House  of  LoiHJs,  ou  the  depression 
of  agriculture.  "  Gold/'  it  is  alleged,  "  is  every  day  appreciating  iu 
value,  aud  as  it  appreciates  in  value  the  lower  become  prices."  The 
miues  of  the  world  furuish  dimiuishiiig  supplies  of  the  metal  in  which 
prices  are  estimated  ;  it  is  beeomiug  scarcer,  whilst  the  wants  for  coiu,  as 
trade  develops  itself  iu  new  countries,  arc  contiuually  increasing.  The 
metal  is  scarcer  aud  iu  greater  demand ;  its  value  rises,  and  consequently 
less  of  it,  as  price,  is  given  for  commodities.  Traders  encounter  lowering 
prices,  and  arc  plunged  into  losses. 

Such  is  the  theory';  but,  even  if  the  facts  on  which  it  is  founded  were 
established  it  would  furnish  no  real  explanation  of  a  commercial  depres- 
sion :?o  protrnotcd.  Gold,  it  is  affirmed,  is  appreciated;  but  wliat  is  the 
proof  of  the  truth  of  this  assertion?  There  are  vciy  few  facts  harder  to 
prove  or  disprove  than  an  increase  or  decrease  of  the  value  of  gold  com- 
pared with  that  of  other  commodities.  The  process  for  discovering  the 
existence  aud  the  miiguiludc  of  such  a  fact  is  most  difficult.  To  show 
that  the  mines  have  poured  smaller  quantities  of  the  metal  into  the 
world  by  itself  alone  is  no  proof  at  all  that  its  vEilue  has  mounted  up  ; 
the  actual  cxisteucc  of  that  rise  of  value  must  be  demonstrated;  aud  a 
change  in  the  aupply  affords  no  such  proof.  Tlie  effect  of  the  lessened 
production  must  be  distinctly  shown ;  aud  how  is  this  to  be  done  ?  Gold, 
in  a  country  where  it  is  the  standard,   measures   every  value  of  every 


COMMEIWIAI.  DEPRESSJOX  AND  RECIPROCITY 


273 


I 


«inmodity,  for  all  have  their  prices  given  in  gold.  A  change  in  the 
value  of  goUl  affects  every  price ;  and  that  there  has  been  such  a 
general  change  of  prices  must  be  shown  by  every  price  being  equally 
altered.  But  a  fatal  difficulty  besets  this  calculation.  The  price  of 
every  article  can  varj*  in  two  ways.  In  exchanging  it  for  gold,  the  value 
of  the  gold,  ou  the  one  side,  may  have  changed,  and  less  or  more  of  it 
vrill  be  given  for  the  commodity.  But  at  the  very  same  time,  on  the  other 
side,  the  value  of  the  commodity  also  may  have  altered,  from  causes 
coanceted  with  its  production ;  and  so  two  forces  may  be  telling  upon  it 
at  the  same  momeut,  and  they  may  be  acting  iu  opposite  directions.  The 
changed  value  of  the  metal  may  be  lowering  the  price,  whilst  the  new 
circumstances  of  the  article  sold  may  be  sending  it  up.  Thus  tho 
inrestigator  encoimters  conilictiDg  phenomena  leading  to  opposite  con- 
clusions, whilst  the  validity  of  his  proof,  that  there  has  been  appreciation 
or  depreciation,  depends  absolutely  on  his  establishing  that  all  prices 
have  alike  been  affected  by  the  change  iu  the  value  of  gold.  To  arrive  at 
a  conclusion  that  is  trustworthy,  he  must  deal  with  the  contradictory 
evidence  given  by  the  articles  whose  prices  have  moved  in  what  he 
considers  the  wrong  direction.  He  must  look  into  their  history^  and 
|Hiint  out  the  forces  which  in  each  case  have  becu  more  thau  a  match  for 
the  altered  value  of  gold.  In  these  investigations,  such  articles  are  always 
numerous — and  vast,  complicated,  and  of  uncertain  issue  is  the  task 
to  attain  a  result  which  can  be  depended  upon  as  true.  It  was  largely  and 
confidently  held  that  the  new  discoveries  of  Californian  and  Australian 
gold  had  created  a  great  depreciation  of  gold.  1  am  compelled  to  confess 
that  in  presence  of  counter-movements  of  price  iu  so  many  important 
articles  of  general  consumption,  I  have  never  been  able  to  feel  that  that 
proposition  had  been  made  good. 

The  variation,  then,  iu  the  supply  of  the  metal  is  iu  nowise  sufficient 
evidence  of  a  corres2)onding  change  of  prices,  cspeciaily  in  a  case  like  that 
before  us;  when,  as  another  writer  has  pointed  out  iu  the  Pall  Mall 
Gaxetle,  April  2,  1879,  "  the  average  annual  production  of  gold  in  all 
quarters  has  been  very  little  less  than  it  was  twenty  years  ago.  For  the 
seven  years,  1872 — 1878,  there  was  a  diminution  of  8  per  cent. ;  not  a 
decrease  likely  to  produce  such  a  fall  of  jO  to  HO  jier  cent,  in  general 
prices  as  we  see  around  us."  Then  there  arises  the  critical  question- 
Have  no  forces  come  into  play  to  counteract  the  tendency  of  a  diminished 
supply  to  cause  appreciation  ?  "  Fifty-nine  millions  of  gold  were  added 
to  the  banking  reserves,  which  are  specifically  a  support  aud  stimulus 
to  credit  aud  trade."  Other  machinery  also  has  been  brought  to  combat 
the  hypothetical  increased  value  of  the  gold ;  other  contrivances  to 
perform  the  same  work,  so  as  to  render  nugatory  the  reduced  supply. 
'"'In  the  United  Kingdom  there  are  several  more  bank  offices  now  thau 
in  1872.  In  the  leading  Continental  countries  the  increase  of  such 
facilities  has  been  far  greater  ;  aud  the  same  is  true  of  all  North,  aud  of 
a  large  part  of  South  America."     A  Parliamentary   Comrailtce,  even 

VOL.   XXXV.  T 


1^74 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


under  the   authority  of   the   Prime  Ministctj  would  have  but  scanty 
materials  for  establishing  the  fact  of  au  appreciation  of  gold.  ' 

But  a  far  stronger  reason  can  be  given  for  discounecting  a  rariation 
in  the  value  of  gold  from  the  creation  of  the  commercial  depression  -which 
lias  so  long  prevailed.  Granted,  let  us  say,  that  there  is  appreciation — 
that  gold  is  worth  more  of  all  other  commodities — that  all  prices  have 
dropped,  because  a  smaller  quantity  of  gold  has  the  same  power  in 
exchanging  that  the  larger  previously  possessed.  What  possible  effect 
can  «nch  an  event  produce  in  engendering  a  long-continued  commercial 
depression?  The  appreciation  attacks  all  prices  alike;  all  articles  of 
every  kind  now  sell  for  less,  save  where  circumstances  incident  to  the 
article  itself  battle  against  the  fall  of  nominal  value.  All  commoditicsj 
everything  for  sale,  stand  iu  identically  the  same  position  towards  each 
other.  The  seller  of  tea,  with  less  money  received,  can  buy  as  ranch 
bread  or  clothing  as  before,  for  they  too  stand  at  a  lower  price.  A 
universal  reduction  of  all  prices  has  no  importance.  A  sovereign  docs  its 
work  with  precisely  the  same  efficiency,  whether  it  is  worth  ten  shilling^ 
or  thirty.  The  change  of  prices  creates  no  poverty ;  there  is  the  same 
quantity  of  wealth  in  the  country  as  before,  save  only  iu  respect  of  the 
Qse  of  gold  in  the  arts.  Gold  ornaments  become  dearer  in  the  future; 
that  is  all.  Commercial  depression,  we  have  seen,  means  diminished 
power  of  buying ;  who  can  buy  one  pftrticle  the  less,  because  all  prices 
have  gone  up  or  down  ?  If  a  man  sells  at  a  smaller  figure,  he  also  buys 
at  the  same  reduction.  Trade  can  be,  will  be,  so  far,  as  brisk  as  erer, 
the  artistic  employment  of  gold  excepted.  Coin  is  only  a  tool.  It 
brings  no  riches  to  a  nation;  no  buying  ijower.  The  great  service  it 
Tenders  to  men  is  to  get  over  the  difficulties  of  real  barter.  If  appre- 
ciation or  depreciation  of  gold  drove  society  to  barter,  then  the  ^\\\ 
would  be  enormous ;  but  a  change  of  value  acts  only  on  the  manner  of 
using  the  tool  of  exchange.  A  greater  or  less  weight  of  metal  has  to 
be  employed,  and  there  ends  the  matter.  What  conceivable  depression 
of  trade  is  found  in  altering  the  weiglit  of  a  tool,  however  universal 
it  be? 

Nevertheless,  a  change  in  the  value  of  the  currency,  especially  if  it  is 
siuldcn  and  large,  always  produces  very  grievous  havoc,  but  not  commercial 
depression.  It  creates  thorough  disturbance  in  the  relations  which 
dehiors  and  creditors  bear  to  each  other.  It  henefitR  one  class,  and 
equally  injures  the  other.  The  debtor  who  is  pledged  to  pay  a  certain 
number  of  sovereigns,  if  there  has  been  appreciation,  is  compelled  to 
purchase  those  sovereigns  with  a  larger  qnantit}'  of  Lis  wealth  :  he  loses. 
On  the  otJicr  hand,  his  creditor  is  now  able  to  purchase  more  goods  with  the 
same  coin  ;  what  the  debtor  loses  he  wins.  Thus  great  disorder  arises, 
much  suffering  and  uncsiKctcd  gain.  The  National  Debt  then  comes 
forward  with  great  power.  The  taxpayers,  Mho  have  to  supply  twenty- 
eight  millions  of  sovereigns,  or  their  worth,  every  year,  are  compelled  to 
give  more  of  their  wealth  to  procure  the  means  of  paying  their  taxes; 


I 


$ 


I 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND  RECIPROCITY.       27b 

and  their  numbers  reuder  the  accming  mischief  very  serious.  Still,  the 
point  to  be  insisted  on  here  is  that  no  permanent  commercial  depression 
can  spring  from  tbit>  source.  There  is  no  dimiimtiou  of  the  national 
wealth,  no  weakened  power  of  buying  in  the  aggregate.  The  means  of 
one  set  of  persons  are  reduced  ;  those  of  another  arc  proportionally 
enlarged.  No  explanation  of  a  long  commercial  depression  can  Ix;  derived 
from  an  altered  value  iu  the  currency. 

Let  U8  now  endeavour  to  trace  out  that  over-consumption  which  is  the 
true  parent  of  the  sufferings  of  the  world.  First  of  all,  great  famines  have 
fiUIen  on  important  nations.  China  and  India  have  been  plunged  into 
miser)'  too  fearful  almost  to  relate.  England  too  has  been  visited  with 
calamities  of  the  same  order.  Six  bad  harvests  iu  ten  years  count  for 
much  indeed  of  the  acknowledged  depression  of  the  agricultural  busi- 
ness. And  what  generates  over-consumption  comparably  with  a  famine? 
The  expenses  of  cultivation  have  been  incurred ;  labourers  have  been 
fed  and  clothed  ;  their  fuinilies  have  been  supported ;  horses  have  con- 
sumed hay  and  corn ;  ploughs,  carts,  and  other  machinery  have  been 
bought,  and  their  wear  and  tear  incurred;  manures,  coals,  and  other 
materials  have  becu  used  up ;  the  consumption  has  been  vast. 
But  when  harvest-time  came,  if  an  ordinary  season  had  met  the 
rejoicing  farmers,  the  gathered  crops  would  have  restored  everything 
which  had  been  consumed  as  capital,  besides  bestowing  profits  on  the 
occupiers  of  the  land.  The  stock  wherewith  to  contiuuc  tlie  production 
of  wealth  would  have  l>een  restored  undimiuished,  and  a  surplus,  for  enjoy- 
ment or  for  saving,  would  have  gladdened  the  sons  of  labour.  But 
what  occurred  in  actual  fact  ?  The  weather  interfered,  and  no  crop  was 
won.  The  consumption  of  the  tillage  had  been  incurred,  but  it  was 
unreplaced  by  fresh  products.  Capital  was  destroyed  and  lost ;  and 
if  ruin  did  not  overtake  the  cultivators,  a  second  consumption  of  capital 
waa  necessary  fur  one  crop.  Can  it  be  a  matter  for  wonder  if  such 
countries  became  poor — if  their  powers  of  buying,  of  exchanging,  were 
shattered  ?  India  and  China  arc  grand  eustomcrs  of  England,  and  the 
throb  of  agony  propagated  itself  across  the  ocean  to  this  little  island. 
Lancasliirc  and  Yorkshire  felt  the  weight  of  the  blow :  their  people  had 
to  learn  the  fearful  lesson,  that  they  lived  by  receiving  in  return  for  giving, 
and  that  where  there  was  notliiug  oficred  there  could  be  nothing  sold. 

France,  too,  suffered  agricultural  disasters.  Her  beetroot  and  silk 
crops  failed  a  few  years  ago,  and  the  ravages  of  the  phylloxera 
destroyed  the  capital  which  had  been  expended  on  the  cultivation  of  her 
Tinea.  The  value  of  the  wealth  which  thus  i>ciished  has  been  estimated 
at  many  millions  of  pounds  sterling — a  large  contribution  to  the  creation 
of  depression. 

War,  too,  has  exercised  its  peculiar  function  with  great  vigour  in  the 
causation  of  commercial  distress  and  its  attendant  misery  among  great 
populations.  War,  economically,  is  pure  waste ;  it  docs  nothing  but 
destroy.      It  calls   away  vast  bodies  of  men  from  productive  labour  ;  it 


4 


a 


276 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEU 


fecdsj  clotliesj  and  maintains  them,  whilst  they  produce  nothing  to 
restore  the  consumption ;  it  uses  up  immense  supplies  of  wealth  in 
military  stores  which  are  rapidly  destroyed ;  it  disturbs  and  arrests 
industry  where  its  armies  pass,  stopping  the  trafiEic  of  railways 
and  roads  and  other  necessary  instruments  of  industrial  energj*.  Who 
cau  measure  the  waste  inflictetl  on  France  by  the  Franco-German  war  of 
1870,  or  the  consumption  of  German  wcfilth?  Huge  armaments  now 
spread  over  many  countries  keep  up  the  irrational  and  destructive  waste, 
harassing  people  with  severe  taxation,  which  is  paid  with  the  wealth 
they  produce  and  is  consumed  upon  economical  idlers  who  make  no 
return  for  what  they  devour.  Can  any  une  feel  surprised  if  trade  lan- 
guishes, and  suffering  weighs  down  great  industries,  wlieu  soldiers  arc 
extinguishing  the  wealth  wherewith  to  buy? 

America,  too,  writes  a  page  in  the  melancholy  history,  and  it  is  one 
which  is  singularly  full  of  instruction,  America  opened  the  decennial 
period  which  occupies  this  discussion  with  a  kind  of  over-consumption 
whicli  not  only  annihilated  the  wealth  on  which  it  fell,  but  further 
engendered  sources  of  additional  distress  which  swept  in  ercr- 
widcuiug  undulations  over  the  most  distant  lands.  She  created  a  most 
reckless  and  unjustifiable  excess  of  fixed  capital,  without  giving  the 
slightest  thought  to  the  nature  of  the  process  she  was  practising,  to  its 
conditions  and  its  consequences.  She  built  innumerable  railways,  for 
the  most  part  in  wild  regions  where  no  trade  or  population  as  yet 
existed  which  called  for  such  outlay  and  could  restore  the  destroyed 
wealtli  by  development  of  commerce. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance  to  undei'stand  the  conditions  on 
which  fixed  capital  is  created.  Unlike  famines,  it  is  an  act  of  the 
human  will:  man  sets  up  fixed  capital  at  his  own  pleasure;  he  is 
responsible  for  its  effects.  Of  all  the  causes  which  have  generated  the 
commercial  distress,  which  is  ao  wide  and  so  enduring,  fixed  capital 
probably,  in  its  various  stages,  and  they  arc  many,  has  exercised  the 
strongest  influence.  Fixed  capital  consists  of  instruments  required  for 
production  which  do  not  replace  all  their  cost  at  once,  but  only  a  por- 
tion of  it  each  succeeding  year.  Thus  a  merchant-ship  is  fixe<l  capital. 
It  is  supposed  to  generate  a  profit  every  voyage,  a  small  part  of  which 
is  assigned  to  the  repayment  of  the  outlay  spent  on  building  the  vessel. 
It  will  require  annual  repairs  for  wtnir  and  tenr;  tliese  are  debited  to  the 
cost  of  working  the  ship.  In  the  course  of  a  ccrtaiu  period  of  time 
all  the  original  cost  is  repaid,  the  ship  is  worn  out,  and  a  new  one  is 
built.  There  will  be  a  surplus  advantage  if  after  repayment  of  the 
cost  of  construction  the  ship  is  still  efficient,  and  goes  ou  working. 
Tt  is  now  a  tool  that  costs  nothing. 

It  is  clear  from  this  analysis  that  there  is  over-consumption  in  the 
construction  of  all  fixed  capital.  For  a  time,  more  or  less  long,  more 
wealth  has  been  consumed  than  is  made;  the  dififercnce  is  a  diminution 
of  means.     The  machine  made>  no  doubt,  restores  that  diminution,  but 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND  HEUPROCirW 


of  the  workers  wlio  built  the  ship 


¥ 


¥ 


only  gradually.  The  maiiitcnniK 
^ne ;  except  the  portions  successively  restore*!,  this  is  clearly  a  loss  of 
wealth.  Bread  and  meat  have  been  catcu,  and  there  is  nothing  wherewith 
to  buy  more.  But  there  arc  two  very  distinct  kinds  of  over-consumption  : 
one  impoverishes^  the  other  docs  not.  Both  use  up  wealth,  and  it  dis- 
appears ;  but  one  kind  destroys  wealth  which  can  be  spared ;  the  other 
lessens  the  stock  of  productive  capital.  Over-consumption,  which 
lessens  capital,  generates  poverty ;  that  which  uses  up  savings  does  no 
harm.  The  employer  and  the  workmen  may  dispose  of  their 
profits  and  wages  in  any  way  they  choose,  without  injury  to  the 
public  wealth.  The  capital  is  restored  by  the  results  of  the  business 
— the  share  of  the  things  made  accruing  to  each  man  lies,  econo- 
mically, at  his  absolute  disposal.  He  can  devote  them  to  ueeessarie« 
or  to  luxuries,  or  he  may  throw  them  into  the  sea;  no  harm 
to  wealth  thence  arises.  He  remains  wlierc  he  was;  not  richer,  but 
not  poorer.  Or  he  may  save  a  piirt  of  this  share  of  products 
which  belongs  to  him ;  that  is,  he  may  convert  them  into  capital 
by  applying  them  -as  instruments  for  increasing  industry.  No  im- 
poverishment ensues  ;  for  they  were  his  to  fling  away,  if  he  chose,  Ou 
the  contrary,  he  cnriehca  himself  and  his  country.  He  has  made  the 
means  of  producing  wealth  larger ;  he  has  increased  future  wages  and 
profits  for  himself  and  others ;  and  he  has  done  this  with  income  which 
trade  had  given  him  to  consume  in  any  way  whatever. 

We  are  now  in  a  position  to  perceive  the  magnitude  of  the  blunder 
of  which  the  American  people  were  guilty  in  constructing  this  most 
mischievous  quantity  of  fixed  capital  in  the  form  of  railways.  They 
acted  precisely  like  a  landowner  who  had  an  estate  of  .€10,000  a  year, 
and  spent  £20,000  on  drainage.  It  could  not  be  made  out  of  savings, 
for  they  did  not  exist ;  and  at  the  eud  of  the  very  first  year  he  must 
Bell  a  portion  of  the  estate  to  pay  for  tlie  cost  of  his  draining.  In 
other  words,  his  capital,  his  estate,  his  means  of  making  income  whereon 
to  live,  was  reduced.  The  drainage  was  an  excellent  operation,  but  for 
him  it  was  ruinous.  So  was  it  with  America.  Few  things,  in  the  long  run, 
enrich  a  nation  like  railways ;  but  so  gigantic  an  over-eonsuraptiou,  not 
oat  of  savings  but  out  of  capital,  brought  her  poverty,  commercial  depres- 
sion, and  much  misery.  The  new  railways  have  been  reckoned  at  some 
50,000  miles,  at  an  estimated  cost  of  €10,000  a  mile ;  they  destroyed  300 
millions  of  pounds'  worth,  not  of  money,  but  of  corn,  clothing,  coals,  iron, 
and  other  substances.  Tlie  connection  between  such  over-consumption 
and  commercial  depression  is  only  too  visibly  here  that  of  father  and  son. 

But  the  disastrous  consequeuces  were  far  from  ending  here.  The 
over-consumption  did  not  content  itself  with  destroying  the  wealth  used 
up  in  making  the  railways  and  the  materials  of  which  they  \icre  com 
posed.  It  sent  other  waves  of  destruction  rolling  over  the  land.  The 
demand  for  coal,  iron,  engines,  and  materials  kindled  prodigious  cxcite- 
mcut  in  the  factories  and  the  shops  ;    ]aboure]*s  were  called  for  on  every 


278 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


side;  wages  rose  rapully  ;  jn'ofits  shared  tlie  upward  movement;  luxurious 
spending  overflowed  ;  prices  advanced  all  round ;  the  recklessness  of  a 
prosperous  time  bubbled  over,  aud  this  subsidiary  over-consumption 
immensely  enlarged  the  waste  of  the  national  capital  set  in  motion  by  the 
expenditure  on  the  railways  themselves.  Onward  still  pressed  the  gale ; 
foreign  nations  were  carried  away  by  its  force.  They  poured  their  goods 
into  America — so  overpowering  was  the  attraction  of  high  prices.  They 
supplied  materials  for  the  railways,  and  luxuries  for  their  constructors. 
Their  own  prices  rose  iu  turn,  their  business  burst  into  unwonted 
activity,  profits  and  wages  were  enlarged,  and  the  vicious  cycle  repeated 
itself  iu  many  countries  of  Europe.  Over-consumption  advanced  with 
greater  strides;  the  tide  of  prosperity  rose  ever  higher,  and  the 
destruction  of  wealth  marched  at  greater  speed. 

England  took  a  prominent  share  in  the  excited  game.  In  no  slight 
degree  is  she  answerable  for  the  American  rush  into  railway  construc- 
tion. It  was  carried  out  by  means  of  bonds,  and  England  bought 
largely  of  those  bonds.  It  has  been  asserted  that  she  purchased  these 
bonds  to  the  incredible  cxteut  of  150  millions  sterling.  Biit  with  wliat 
did  she  pay  them  ?  With  iron  rails,  locomotives,  aud  other  products  of 
her  industry.  And  what  did  she  get  iu  return?  Pieces  of  paper, 
debts.  Her  wealth  was  diminished,  and  she  paid,  in  addition,  the  same 
penalty  as  the  Americans,  Her  manufacturers  were  stimulated  by  this 
artificial  activity  of  trade  to  exaggerated  production.  Iliglier  wages 
and  profits  were  distributed  over  the  nation,  and  an  immense  impulse 
was  given  to  luxurious  and  needless  consumption.  The  approach  of  the 
avenging  depression  was  accelerated,  it  might  seem,  almost  intentionally. 

But  these  American  operations  did  not  satisfy  English  ardour.  The 
passion  for  lending  raged  with  great  vehemence.  England  showered  her 
.oans  over  many  regions  of  the  globe  ;  loans,  be  it  repeated,  always 
made  in  goods,  in  commodities  produced  at  great  cost;  and  lost  to  Eng- 
land in  exchange  for  acknowledgments  of  debt.  England  lent  ironclads 
to  Turkey,  military  resonrccs  to  Bosnia,  articles  for  wasteful  consump- 
tion to  Egypt,  innumerable  gratifications  to  American  Republics.  Her 
colonies  carried  off  rails  and  locomotive  stores  and  clothing  for  their 
advancing  populations — and  no  better  application  of  wealth  could  have 
been  made.  Future  customers  for  English  trade  were  thus  provided, 
men  who  would  enlarge  English  industry  with  ever-expanding  demands 
for  its  products,  demands  expressed  in  corn  and  wool  sent  across  the  ocean 
to  pay  with.  Nevertheless,  the  fact  remained  always  the  same — England 
stripped  herself  of  her  wealth  iu  cxclinnge  for  nothing.  And  it  made  no 
difference  for  the  time  whether  the  loan  was  granted  to  a  solvent  or  to 
an  insolvent  borrower,  whatever  might  be  the  result  later;  whether 
interest  was  ever  remitted  or  not,  in  all  cases  alike  England  was  emptied, 
and  paper  documents  substituted  into  the  vacimm,  whatever  might  be 
subsequently  their  value, 

Germany   was    caught    by    the    same    whirl    of  ovcr-cousumptiou. 


COMMERCLiL  DEPRESSION  AND  RECIPROCITY 


27^ 


I 


* 


Soldieriug  aud  war  did  their  wasteful  work  :  nor  has  the  former  stopped 
its  devastations.  A  more  severe  depression  fell  on  Germany  than  on 
any  otlier  country,  escept  perhaps  America.  A  harassed  Minister  is 
proposing  to  obtain  resources  for  the  snpjwrt  of  countless  legions  of 
armed  soldiers  by  increasing  the  over-consumption  of  wealth  by 
augmented  duties  at  double  cost — the  cost  of  the  articles  consumed,  and 
the  extra  cost  of  compelling  them  to  be  provided  at  home.  Theu  a 
very  unlooked-for  surprise  added  largely  to  her  woes.  The  gold  of  the 
French  indemnity,  which  was  expected  to  be  her  salratiou,  proved,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  Germans,  to  be  a  great  aggravation  of  their 
sufi'erings.  W^hat  could  that  gold  do  for  Germany,  so  long  as  it 
remained  in  the  country,  except  place  German  property  in  different 
hands  ?  There  was  already  gold  enough  in  Germany  to  perform  that 
senicc.  Germany  ubtaiucd  thereby  no  increase  of  useful  wealth.  However, 
it  did  execute  its  function  of  transferring  property  to  new  possessors,  and 
with  painfully  mischievous  energy.  First  of  all,  by  its  help,  the  Govern- 
ment betook  themselves  to  building  fortresses,  purchasing  military  stores, 
and  bringing  up  the  army  to  the  highest  standard  of  efiiciency.  Did  the 
fortresses  and  the  guns  restore  the  food  and  materials  consumed  in  their 
coubtructiou  ?  Guns  and  fortresses  were  excellent  machines  for  making 
the  national  wealth  disappear;  they  could  do  nothing  to  repair  the 
terrible  waste  of  the  Avar.  Further,  much  of  the  idle  gold  was  lent  to 
•pcculative  traders  who  reckoned  on  an  active  demand  from  now  pros* 
perous  Germany.  They  enlarged  their  factories  and  increased  the  stock 
of  goods.  Much  gold  had  been  paid  to  individuals  in  payment  of 
Government  debts ;  these  mcu  came  forward  as  buyers :  and  the  eternal 
tale  was  repeated — raised  prices,  increased  wages,  abundant  profits^ 
active  consumptiou  of  every  kind  of  wealth.  Then  followed  the  natural 
consequence,  so  touchingly  described  by  the  Neue  Stettiner  Zeitung,  as 
quoted  in  the  Times  :  "  Five  long  years  of  unexampled  depression  are 
the  bitter  penalty  we  have  had  to  pay  for  one  intoxicating  year  of  joy.'* 
Over-cousumptiou  worked  its  will  ou  unhappy  France :  but  the 
blunder  was  not  commercial.  Armaments  and  war  impoverished  France 
as  they  did  Germany,  but  with  the  severe  additional  aggravation  that 
the  war  was  carried  ou  within  her  territory.  German  industry  lay 
undisturbed,  if  excited  ;  French  trade,  besides  what  the  war  itself  cost, 
was  harassed  with  interruption  and  lass  at  every  point.  Labourers 
were  hurried  away  from  their  fields,  manufacturing  towns  fell  into  the 
bands  of  the  enemy,  and  their  works  impeded ;  railways  were  filled  with 
carriages  conveying  soldiers,  aud  trucks  containing  military  stores ; 
commercial  lines  of  communication  were  broken  ;  French  harbours 
blocked  against  Freueh  ships  ;  with  many  other  like  disasters.  The 
over-consuming  force  was  immense;  but  it  encountered  a  resistance 
thot  was  heroic.  After  the  deeds  of  violence  ceased  and  a  gigantic 
indemnity  had  been  paid,  the  French  people,  with  instinctive  genins^ 
applied,    with    most    painful    effort,    the   one    remedy    which  political 


280 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVlEiV 


economy  pointed  out  for  tbc  cure.  AVithout  knowing  political  economy 
they  practised  what  it  prescribed.  They  could  do  thisj  I>ecau8e  political 
economy  ia  common  sense.  Prance  saved.  She  under-consumed  for 
enjoyment ;  the  surplus  she  gave  away  to  the  augmented  taxation,  which 
then  cost  her  nothing.  Thus  France  has  come  forth  from  the  com- 
mercial depression  with  a  freshness  and  strength  which  have  called 
forth  the  astonishment  and  the  admiration  of  the  world. 

Such  was  the  over-consumption  which  prevailed  over  the  greater  part 
of  the  human  race.  It  destroyed  more  than  it  re-made  ;  it  diminished 
wealth  rapidly,  but  it  was  accompanied  by  increased  activity  of  trade,  by 
great  commercial  prosperity.  The  co-existence  of  these  two  facts,  appa- 
rently so  contradictory,  was  rendered  possible  by  the  process  of  attacking 
the  wealth  which  still  sur\nvcd,  and  fiHiii^  up  the  gaps,  caused  by  the 
consumption,  by  fresh  extra  consumption.  Had  mankind  been  resolved 
to  carry  out  the  process  to  its  last  end,  the  whole  wealth  of  the  world 
would  have  been  destroyed  in  some  three  years  amidst  universal  enjoy- 
ment; and  the  great  populations  would  have  died  out  like  locusts.  All 
would  have  been  devoured. 

This  over-consumption,  which  was  the  first  stage,  with  its  accompanying 
commercial  inflation,  generated  the  second  stage  in  the  history  of  the 
great  depression — over-production.  The  excited  demand  for  goods  to 
consume — paid  for  by  fresh  sacrifices  of  the  stUi  existing  capital — raised 
priceSj  wages,  and  profits  to  an  unprecedented  height :  it  seemed  to  be 
unlimited.  Thus  additional  machinery  for  production  started  up  upon 
every  side;  new  mines  were  opened,  new  factories  built,  new  steam 
engines  set  to  work^  new  railways  opened,  multitudes  of  new  labourers 
called  away  from  the  fields  to  man  new  mills,  "  Since  1871— 72,"  justly 
remarks  the  Pall  Mall  Gazeliej  "we  have  passed  through  a  complete 
revolution  in  our  iron  aTid  coal  industries.  The  number  of  blast- 
furnaces for  the  production  of  pig-iron  increased  in  1873-7-4  from  870 
to  D59."  I^hcn  mark  the  extent  of  the  over- production  as  shown  by 
the  stoppage  of  work  when  the  excited  buying  had  disappeared,  and 
trade  had  to  deal  only  with  ordinary  demands.  "  There  were  in  1878 
only  454,  or  about  half,  at  work.  Between  1871  and  1873  the  number 
of  collieries  at  work  in  the  United  Kingdom  advanced  from  3100  to 
3627,  and  at  the  end  of  1875  had  still  further  advanced  to  4501.  In 
the  three  yeari,  1875,  1870,  1877,  no  fewer  than  270  of  these  collieries 
failed;  and  in  1S77 — 1878  the  collapse  was  still  more  rapid»  In  the 
four  years,  1871  to  1875,  tlic  number  of  persons  engaged  in  coal-mines 
rose  from  351,000  to  537,000 — an  extension  of  employment  rapid  and 
violent,  almost  beyond  example  ;  and  since  1875,  and  at  present,  we  are 
struggling  to  restore  the  wholesome  equilibrium  which  we  lost  eight 
years  ago."  That  stniggle  has  been  vehemently  rcsistotl  by  the  working 
classes.  Tliey  refused  to  acknowledge  the  fact  that  the  machinery  for 
producing  was  va-i^tly  in  excess  of  the  power  of  buying,  and  that  the  sale 
of  the  products  could  no  longer  yield  the  same  remuneration  to  labour. 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND  RECIPROCITY 


281: 


Priiey  betook  thcmsdvcs  to  war.  'Sir.  Bcvau  in  the  Ttmett  tells  us  that 
'there  were  last  yeai*  no  fewer  than  277  strikes  iu  Great  Britain  against 
181  in  1877;  but  how  many  of  these  distressing  battles  were  victorious? 
Four  only.  In  17  the  operatives  obtained  a  compromise  ;  in  256  the 
strikers  were  defeatetl.  What  eau  show  more  clearly  how  idle  it  is  to 
fight  with  words  and  arbitrary  ideas  against  the  stern  realities  of  the 
nature  and  fjicts  of  trade  ? 

And  noAv  what  are  the    remedies  by   whose   help   we  may  hope  to 
lessen  and  ultimately  to  put  an  end  to  the  painful  suiferings  inflicted 
by  this  unprecedented  roramereial  depression  ?     One   in   particular   is 
advocated  with  great  warmth   by   the   leaders   of  the  working  classes. 
Work  short  time,  they  cry ;  produce   less.     The  fact  they  take  their 
stand  on  is  true.     Even  up  to  this  very  day  there  is  more   produced 
than  can  be  sold,  except  at  such  a  loss  as  would  lead  to  the  closing  of 
the  workshops.     Tlie  advocates  of  short  time  acknowledge  this  fact.    They 
admit  that  the  business  can  no  longer  yield  them  the  same  weekly  wage, 
'riiev  consent  to  a  reduction  of  wages  :  but   they  demand  that    it  shall 
take  the  form  of  their  working  for   five  days  a  week   only   instead  of 
six,  and  of  their  receiving  less  money  at  the    week's    end,   but    at    the 
same  rate  of  wage  per  day  as  they  had  been  earning  heretofore.     Ilicy 
Trill  thus  fight  the  evil,  they  say,  from  which   the  depression   in   trade 
has  come — over-production.      Buyers    will    be  found    for    the    smaller 
qoADtity  of  goods  produced  :  they  will   receire   lower  wages,  but   they 
will  have  given  less  work :  they  will  maintain  the  standard  of  the  daily 
wage  unchanged,  and  when  better  times  come  they  will  recover  their 
rfd  position.     But  this  language  does  not  state,  in   full   completeness, 
the  problem  calling  for  consideration,  and  it  tacitly  makes  an   assump- 
tion which  is  positively  untrue.      It  is   assumed   that    the  cost   of  the 
production  of  the  goods  now  made  in   five  days  will  be  the  same   as 
when  the  mill  worked  six.     The  idea  is  that  the  working,  the  wage,  the 
goods,  their  price,  of  one  day  a  week  shall  be  given  up  :   what  happened 
in  the  five  days  will  go   on   unchanged    as  before.      This  is  a  complete 
and  Tcry  grave  mistake.     The  goods  now  made  in   five  days  will  cost 
more  to  make,  will  be  dearer  to  the  employer  than  Afhcn  they  were  pro- 
duced in  a  mill  working  one  day  more.  An  employer  has  many  more  charges 
I  to  cnconnter  than  wages  and  cost  of  materials  :  interest  on  his  own  and 
borrowed  capital,  rent  of  buildings,   expenses  of  superintendence   and 
office-work,  the  pumping  out  of  the  water  in  the    mine  by   an    engine 
which  never  stops,  and  other  items  of  the  same  kind.     These  expenses 
now  fall  on  the  goods  of  five  days  only  instead    of  six  :  they   swell   the 
cost  of  their  production,  and  then  what  is  the  necessary  consequence  ? 
Their  price  must  be  raise^l,  or  the  loss  on  the  business,    already   unen- 
durnblc,  will  become  still  heavier.     The  selling  price  must  necessarily 
'  he   raised   if  the   business   is    to  continue:  and   what  will  be  the  effect 
of  such  a  demand  ?     The  number  of  buyers  will  assuredly  be  lessened : 
some  more  will  drop  away  from  the  market  :  again  over-production  re- 


282 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


appears  :  a  further  sliorteniug  of  linie  to  four  diiys  forces  itself  on 
discussion  ;  and  the  same  circle  of  l>afEcd  proposing  is  repeated.  And  ia 
the  foreign  rival  to  ha  forgotten  V  He  will  be  delighted  with  these  raised 
prices;  he  will  not  merely  threaten,  as  he  docs  now — he  will  smite. 
In  these  latter  days  he  has  in  inauy  places  been  advancing  with  long 
strides.  \Vc  have  been  told  of  many  large  contracts  which  have  been 
sent  to  foreign  countries  for  execution  because  Euglish  workmen  Lave 
distinctly  rejected  a  moderate  reduction  of  wagesj  which  would  have 
brought  them  work  and  Avagcs  and  repelled  foreign  competition.  Let 
short  time  send  up  prices  all  i-ound,  and  the  invasion  of  England  by 
foreign  goods  will  be  at  hand.  There  is  no  cure  hero ;  but  there  is 
something  of  a  very  different  kind.  There  is  punishment  for  those  who 
should  practise  sucli  folly.  If  the  principle  is  sound,  it  applies  to  all 
trades  ;  and  if  all  which  are  distressed  take  to  this  kind  of  short  time,  then 
those  who  buy  of  them — and  none  are  so  numerous  as  the  working 
classes — will  find  that  prices  are  higher  in  the  shops,  and  that  they  must 
pay  more  for  what  they  consume.  They  will  lose  immensely  more  than 
a  day's  wages  in  the  week.  Well  was  it  said  of  their  counsellors — that 
they  were  advising  the  workmen  to  commit  suicide. 

In  ti'uthj  this  policy  bctraj's  a  profound  ignorance  of  the  fact  that 
commercial  depression  means  deficiency  of  buyers^  aud  this  in  turn 
means  less  to  buy  withj  fewer  goods  to  exchange.  To  make  that  littlo 
still  less  woidd  be  simply  ruinous.  The  true  course  to  pursue  to  bring 
this  suffering  to  an  end  is  to  produce  more,  to  divide,  amongst  all,  as  many 
products  of  industry  aa  is  possible.  Of  course  industry  cannot  continue 
at  a  permanent  loss  :  more  goods  will  not  be  made  than  can  be  sold  ; 
but  to  make  as  many  as  possible  that  can  besold^  that  will  be  exchanged, 
is  the  only  way  to  cnricli  masters,  workmen,  and  the  whole  people 
together.  To  accomplish  tlus  great  result  in  the  presence  of  disturbing 
forces  all  must  make  sacrifices.  Employers  must  be  content  with  dirai-. 
nishcd  profits  and  workmen  with  reduced  wages ;  then,  starting  from 
that  pointj  wealth  will  increase  gradually,  as  capital  is  increased  by- 
saving,  and  more  commodities  come  up  for  division.  Tlte  sunshine  will 
then  not  be  far  off. 

The  proposal  of  a  second  remedy — one  stranger  yet,  moro  hopelessly 
indefensible  than  that  wc  have  just  discussed— is  now  surging  up  in 
many  quarters  in  England.  Let  there  be  Reciprocity — Reciprocity  will 
heal  England^s  woes.  It  is  impossible  to  escape  feeling  a  blush  of  shame 
that  in  tlie  England  we  now  live  in,  with  her  trade  of  to-day  compared 
with  that  of  thirty  years  ago,  such  a  cry  should  come  from  the  lijjs  of 
eminent  and  able  men.  What  is  become  of  their  common  sense  ?  How 
have  they  become  infatuated  ?  Not  one  single  argument  has  been  brought 
forward  in  support  of  Reciprocity  which  desenes  an  answer  on  its  merits, 
which  is  anything  but  a  mere  shadow.  Even  its  advocates  virtuuliy 
confess  that  it  is  indefensible — for,  from  very  shame,  they  disdain  all 
idea  of  supporting  Protection  when  they  insist  on  Reciprocity.    Yet  what 


J 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AXD  RECIPROCITY.       283- 


: 


I 


I 


is  Reciprocity  ?  Simply  and  nakc<lly — a  dcmaiul  Tor  Protection. 
Foreign  nations  protect  their  niauufactiircrs,  England  must  protect  hers. 
Foreign  countries  decree  that  English  goods  shall  appear  in  their  mnrkets. 
on  dearer  and  inferior  terms  than  the  native ;  let  foreign  goods  be  so 
liaudicapped  that  they  shall  be  sold  scantily  and  with  dit&culty  iu 
England ;  or,  better  still,  not  at  all.  These  commercial  doctors  rcpol 
the  reputation  of  being  called  Protectionists,  for  they  know  thatProtec- 
tion  is  irrationalj  and  refiisc  to  have  such  a  woi*d  associated  with  their 
names.  So  they  have  invented  another.  It  has  a  diflcrent  sound  ;  yet 
Reciprocity  is  only  Protection  with  an  apology.  Expel  the  Protective 
element  from  their  advieCj  and  they  would  instantly  commit  it  to  the 
waste-baa  ket. 

Let  us  then  proceed  to  the  root  of  the  matter — Protection.  What 
is  Protection  ?  Oh  !  at  once  exclaim  the  Reciprocity  men,  don't  ask 
that  question  of  economists ;  they  arc  not  practical.  AAliut  know  they 
of  business,  its  ways  and  its  laws  ?  the  industrial  loss  of  great  nations 
18  not  to  be  put  under  the  feet  of  theorists  and  their  jargon.  Speak  to 
the  great  manufacturer,  the  mighty  merchant,  the  omnipotent  banker — 
they  know.  Be  it  so,  let  it  be  replied.  Let  the  appeal  bo  made  to 
common  sense,  the  common  sense  of  the  man  who  never  looks  into  a  book, 
to  the  sagacity  of  an  A.  T.  Stewart,  the  intuition  of  an  Arkwright.  Let 
common  sense  decide,  and  common  sense  alone ;  let  both  sides  be 
sternly  forbidden  to  bring  iu  thcoiy  and  doctrine  j  the  practical  man 
will  sorely  need  such  a  prohibition.  And  be  it  also  remembered  that 
common  sense  is  the  essence,  tlie  very  core  and  substance  of  Political 
Economy,  the  sole  authority  for  what  it  uttere,  the  one  single  instru- 
ment by  which  it  reaches  the  knowletlge  which  guides  the  conduct  of 
every  sensible  trader  and  manufacturer.  Political  Economy  is  not  afraid 
of  common  sense;  it  would  be  nothing,  not  worth  notice,  without  such 
a  foundation  for  its  teaching. 

It  is  natural  that  in  a  season  of  great  commercial  suffering  the 
man  who  6nds  that  the  goods  which  he  has  produced  at  great  cost 
cannot  be  sold  because  a  foreign  competitor  has  better  and  cheaper 
goods  of  the  same  kind  iu  tlie  market,  should  cry  in  the  bitterness  of 
bis  heart — What  right  has  such  a  stranger  to  be  here  ?  Is  he  to  be  per- 
mitted to  take  the  bread  out  of  the  mouths  of  Englishmen  of  the 
highest  merit,  much  risking,  hard  working,  employers  and  labourers  ? 
More  natural  vet  if  the  Government  of  that  forcisrner  shuts  the  doors  of 
the  markets  of  Ids  nation  to  English  goods ;  is  not  that  an  act  of  war, 
to  be  met  with  retaliation?  Quite  natural  again  that  a  Bismarck, hard 
up  for  money  wherewith  to  pay  his  soldiers,  and  to  provide  them  with 
guns  and  powder,  should  think  heavy  duties  laid  on  foreign  merchan- 
dize a  capital  contrivance  for  filling  the  German  Exchequer.  "Why 
should  he  trouble  himself  with  the  thought  that  he  thereby  inflicts  on 
ercry  German  the  loss  of  more  money  than  if  he  had  proceeded  by 
direct  taxation?      Direct  taxation  is  a  method  hard  to  prairtiae,  very  apt 


284 


THE  CONTEMPOEARY  REVIEU 


to  create  uuplcasontncsSj  very  visible  to  the  payer,  aiul  very  quick  at 
stirring  his  heart.  Pooh,  pooh,  for  Political  Economy  ;  let  it  talk  to  llic 
winds,  they  arc  its  fit  audience. 

All  this  is  very  natural ;  hut  is  it  the  language  of  common  sense? 
That  is  the  qucsticin.  Protection  finds  that  certain  goods  which  alone 
are  bought,  or  in  prcdorninatiiig  quantities,  in  the  English  markets  are  of 
foreign  make.  It  finds  further  that  the  English  factories  must  be  re- 
duced or  given  up  altogether.  It  then  declares  that  this  is  wrong,  that 
it  cannot  he  sufTcred  that  English  industries  should  be  annihilated  by 
foreign  competitors,  and  tlieu  it  imposes  a  tax  on  the  foreign  articles  on 
tlieir  entrance  into  England,  whereby  they  are  made  dearer  than  the 
English,  and  so  the  English  ones  are  bought  by  the  English  people.  The 
crucial  question  at  once  arises  :  "NVby  should  the  question  ever  arise  in 
buying  and  selling — where  were  the  goods  made  ?  This  question  must 
be  directly  and  categorically  answered;  the  answer  must  be  distinctly 
given  without  evasion.  Common  sense  absolutely  declares  that  it  can 
find  no  reason  for  such  a  question.  Common  sense  aflfirms  that  to  make 
the  place  of  their  productioUj  their  uationality,  a  consideration  affecting 
theia*  sale  in  the  market  is  a  theory — nothing  less,  a  doctrine  brought 
from  withoutj  a  jjrinciplc  utterly  unconnected  with  trade.  Some 
authority,  derived  from  common  sense.  Protection  must  assign  for  this 
regard  for  the  nationality  of  the  articles  bought,  or  it  is  out  of  court. 
As  a  naked  assertion  it  merits  no  notice  from  any  one. 

And  what  is  the  counter  view  of  Free  Trade?  It  says  that  every 
buyer,  from  the  very  nature  itself  of  trade,  of  exchanging,  possesses  a 
perfect  liberty,  is  entirely  free  to  buy  any  goods  he  chooses  in  the 
market,  and  upon  any  terms  he  chooses;  if  the  liberty  is  interfered  with 
it  asserts  that  this  interference  cannot  and  docs  not  come  from  the 
nature  of  trade,  but  from  considerations  derived  from  a  thoroughly  dis- 
tinct source.  It  affirms  that  a  buyer  has  nothing  else  to  consider  in 
purchasing  but  the  quality  and  the  price  of  the  goods  before  him,  and  is 
free  to  make  his  choice  witliout  c^itcrnal  restraint.  Trade  it  declares  to 
be  nothing  else  whatever  but  an  exchange  of  goods  of  equal  value  :  that  is 
its  only  function.  It  may  be  tlmt  considerations  derived  from  mr»ral9, 
politics,  as  in  war,  or  other  indeiicndcnt  source,  may  call  upon  the  Stale 
to  interfere  wttli  its  course;  and  trade  ennnot  say  No  to  such  control. 
But  it  does  call  for  such  a  reason  :  aud  so,  again,  it  asks  of  Pro- 
tection, "What  right  have  you  on  grounds  of  trade — and  that  is  the 
only  one  you  profess  to  stand  upon — to  interfere  with  my  trading  liberty 
out  of  regard  to  the  place  where  the  goods  are  made  ?  You  must  answer 
that  in  terms.      But  this  is  what  Protection  has  never  done. 

But  it  might  appeal  to  Ilinnanity.  AVould  Free  Trade  wish  to  sec 
80  many  worthy  feUow-countrynicn  brought  to  starvation?  On  this 
point  the  aubwer  is  tw<jh>ld.  There  is  first  the  ease  when  the  industry 
has  never  been  yet  set  up.  Upon  that  Free  Trndo  speaks  clearly  and 
decidcdlv.      Tlic  rule  of  coudnct  is  ttiat  on  M-hich  htmscholds  have  been 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND  RECIPROCITY,     285 


I 


I 


worked  since  the  world  begun — the  women  to  do  the  needle- work,  the 
mcu  to  lift  the  weights.  By  that  method  there  is  more  good  service 
done  and  more  weights  carried  than  by  any  other :  greater  results  in 
return  for  the  food  and  wages.  So  it  is  with  nations.  Let  each  produce 
those  goods  for  which  it  has  the  greatest  aptitude  :  the  goods  made  will 
be  more  and  better,  and — which  lies  in  the  essence  of  all  trading — there 
will  be  the  same  employment  for  the  populations  with  greater  results. 
If  silks  can  be  more  cheaply  produced  in  France,  even  with  only  equal 
quality,  England  would  be  as  great  a  fool  to  manufacture  silks  as  to 
make  clarets.  Let  France  make  the  silks,  and  that  part  of  the  English 
people  which  would  have  made  silks  will  now  manufacture  those  English 
goods  with  which  the  silks  will  be  bought.  Thus  more  silks  and  more 
cotton  cloth  will  be  made  in  the  two  countries  taken  together,  and 
equal  employment,  and  subsequently  more,  provided  for  each  country. 
If  the  Frenchmen  sell  silk  to  England,  they  must  buy  an  equal 
amount  of  cotton  or  other  goods :  for  England  cannot  buy  unless  she 
sells  to  an  equal  value.  I  may  be  allowed  to  quote  a  passage  written 
elsewhere ; — 

"The  truth  stands  out  in  clear  sunshine.  Free  Trade  cannot  and  does  not 
injure  domestic  industry.  Under  Free  Trade  foreign  coimtriea  give  in  every  case 
as  much  employment  to  English  workmen  and  capittilists  as  if  nothing  had  been 
bonght  abroad.  Euglisli  goods  of  the  same  value  must  be  purcliased  by  the 
foreigner,  or  ihe  trade  comes  to  an  end.  There  must  be  an  equal  amount  of 
Engli&h  goodi  m.ide  and  sent  away,  or  England  ^vill  never  obtain  the  foreign  com- 
modities. Free  Trade  never  does  hanii  to  the  country  which  practises  it,  and 
that  mighty  fact  alfno  kills  Protection.  Let  those  who  are  backsliding  into  Pro- 
tection be  asked  for  a  cat^oricat  answer  to  this  question: — Can  and  will  the 
foreigner  give  away  liia  goods  without  insisting  on  receiving  hack,  directly  cr 
indirectly,  an  equal  quantity  of  that  country's  goods?  Let  the  question  be 
poshed  home — and  all  talk  about  injury  to  domestic  industry  must  cease." — 
Chapters  on  Practical  PolUical  Economy,  p.  307. 

But  many  deny  that  trade  is  always  an  exchange  of  goods  of  equal 
ralue,  and  they  appeal,  as  proving  the  truth  of  their  denial,  to  the 
immense  excess  often  exhibited  of  imports  into  England  over  her 
exports.  Want  of  space  forbids  a  detailed  examination  of  this  asser- 
tion here  ;  but  a  few  remarks  will  suftice  to  show  its  inaccuracy.  Those 
who  take  their  stand  on  the  wide  discrepancy  between  imports  and 
exports,  as  being  a  phenomenon  of  pure  trade,  must  hold  that  the 
diflerence  in  value  is  made  up  by  a  remittauee  of  money  ;  they  cannot 
sappose  that  foreign  countries  make  a  present  to  England  of  the  excess 
of  commodities  imported  iuto  her  harbours.  But  they  fail  to  perceive 
that  this  remittance  of  money  conclusively  proves  the  truth  they  attack. 
It  establishes  equilibrium  :  large  imports  are  balanced  by  small  exports 
plus  money.  Only  that  England  should  send  a  perpetual  stream  of 
money  away,  ever  flowing,  never  ceasing,  is  an  inconceivable  absurdity ; 
and  where  could  she  get  that  money  from,  that  gold,  but  from  foreigners 
buying  her  goods?     The  excess  of  imports  into  England  is  very  easily 


286 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


-explained  -upon  a  different  principle.  Those  imports  in  cxeess  are  iifW 
trade  at  all;  they  arc  payments  of  debts,  nothing  else.  Immenise 
suras  are  annually  due  to  England  for  interest  on  loans  lent  to  foreign 
nations  aud  colonies,  and  for  profits  accruing  on  huge  invcstmenls 
abroad,  whether  in  foreign  securities  or  agriculture  or  comraercc: 
■'These  are  not  exchanges  of  igoods  for  goods,  of  buying  luid  scllingj  but 
^ods  sent  to  pay  debts  due  to  England.  Reciprocity  can  derive  no 
^elp  from  this  inequality  between  imports  and  exports  to  support  Uj^j 
csanse.  "41 

■  Here  common  sense  now  puts  the  critical  inquiry — Who  pays  the 
Protection  duty  imputed  ou  the  foreign  goods,  or  else  the  increased  price 
for  the  English-made  articles  realised  by  the  aid  of  the  duty?  The 
English  buyers — Protcftiou  is  compelled  to  answer — the  English  con- 
aimers.  So  then,  coutinues  common  sense,  the  action  of  Protection  is 
simply  to  impose  a  tax  on  the  people  of  England  for  the  support  of  a 
certain  number  of  persons  who  otherwise  could  not  obtain  a  livelihood 
from  the  business  tliey  are  carrying  on.  This  is  a  Poor  Rate,  pnre  and 
simple.  ^ 

There  remains  the  second  case — when  an  industry  has  been  developed 
under  Protection,  and  would  come  to  an  end  under  Free  Trade.  This  is 
a  practical  problem  to  be  left  to  the  statesman.  That  business  ought  not  to 
be  maintained  by  Protection  :  it  has  no  right  to  tax  tlie  country  per- 
manently for  its  Bupi>ort.  The  transition  period  will  be  painful — it  is  for 
the  statesman  to  deal  with  it.  Only  one  remark  may  be  added.  Not  a 
few  tradiis  have  been  expected  to  be  cleared  away  when  the  prop  of 
Protection  has  beeu  removed,  and  yet  have  sustained  themselves  manfully 
in  the  free  air  of  heaven.  The  nilk  trade  of  England  is  an  instonee  of 
this  kind. 

A  few  words  will  suffice  ou  Reciprocity,  for  it  is  a  distinct  proposal  to 
impose  Protection.  But  this  proposal  has  an  absurdity  which  is  pecu- 
liarly its  own.  Reciprocity  is  demanded  as  a  counterblow  to  Protec- 
tion practised  against  England  by  foreign  countries.  France,  it  is  said, 
adopts  Protection  against  England,  let  England  retort  with  enacting  Pro- 
tection against  France.  Rut,  ludicrously  enough,  Protection  is  not  said 
by  the  advocates  of  Reciprocity  to  be  a  wise  policy  :  ou  the  contrary,  it  is 
virtually  admitted  that  it  is  not  capable  of  defence.  Thus,  under  the 
pleasant  sound  of  a  pretty  word,  the  cry  becomes — Let  us  do  ourselves 
harm,  bccansc  it  will  harm  the  Frcnclimen  also.  Let  a  tax  be  laid  upon 
the  people  of  England,  because  it  will  do  harm  to  French  trade;  and  this 
imposition  of  a  tax  on  tltc  English  pcoplcj  this  diminution  of  English 
trade  with  France,  are  gravely  proposed  as  correctives  for  a  commercial 
deprcsision,  for  a  distressing  stagnation  of  trade.  Wonderful,  indeed,  is 
such  an  idea.  To  demand  Protection  on  the  ground  that  it  is  a  policy 
good  in  itself,  and  capable  of  l)ciiig  defended,  is  a  reasonable  issue, 
meriting  discussion  :  but  to  recommend  that  a  bad  thing  should  be  done, 
l>ecausc  it  would  be  bad  also  for  our  competitors,  is  a  policy  hard  indeed 


COMMERCIAL  DEPRESSION  AND  RECIPROCITY,      287 


N 


^ 


10  characterise.    To  do  onrsclvcs  good  is  not  pretended  :  harm  for  harm, 
bloir  for  blow,  to  our  own  additional  hurt^  is  all  that  is  thought  of. 

But,  ia  truth,  there  i^  a  capiUl  blunder  involved  in  the  cry  fov 
Reciprocity,  of  which  those  who  utter  it  do  not  seem  to  be  conscious. 
They  confound  into  one  tiro  acts  which  have  no  connection  whatever  with 
each  other.  England  repealed  the  protective  doty  on  French  silks  ;  »ho 
thereby  relieved  herself  of  a  inx,  and  created  more  wealth  and  a  larger 
trade.  Fmnce  protects  ber  cotton  factories  against  the  English,  thereby 
bringing  two  losses  on  herself — a  diminution  of  trade,  and  the  still 
•eitcrer  one  of  supporting  a  portion  of  her  population  at  the  expense 
of  the  wliole  Frencli  people.  Therefore,  Reciprocity  exclaims — Since 
France  refuses  to  buy  our  cottons  we  will  not  buy  her  silks.  But 
■what  connection  have  cottons  with  silks  ?  None.  The  question  who  should 
make  silks  for  England  was  settled- by  England  on  its  own  merits.  It 
was  clearly  the  true  policy  for  England  to  buy  cheap  and  not  dear  silks. 
So  ends  that  matter ;  England  pursued  the  rational  course.  AA'hat 
France  does  in  the  matter  of  cottons  docs  not  touch  the  English  decision 
about  silks  in  any  way.  England  suffers  a  diminution  of  trade  by  the 
lack  of  intelligence  of  the  French  on  silks,  and  that  is  all.  AVhy  should 
she  injure  herself  by  silks  because  the  French  injure  her  by  cottons  ? 
Hcciprocity  has  for  its  sole  intelligible  principle:  Let  us  do  some  harm 
to  the  French.  Perhaps  a  less  costly  method  of  hurting  her  might  be 
found  than  by  altering  our  excellent  regulations  about  the  supply  of 
silks  for  our  wants. 

A  few  words  in  conclusion.  What  means  must  be  adopted  for  bringing 
the  oommcrcial  depression  to  an  end  ?  Reverse  the  practice  which 
caused  it.  Over-consume  no  longer,  but  increase  the  production  of 
wealth  by  every  possible  effort.  You  will  not,  of  course,  produce  goods 
whose  cost  of  production  no  buyers  can  be  found  to  repay ;  hut  attract 
buyers  by  making  that  cost  as  small  as  you  can.  If  this  practice  is 
carried  out  along  the  whole  line  of  manufacturing,  the  racans  of  buviug 
will  be  enlarged;  and  more  buying  and  a  return  of  prosperity  will  be 
accomplished.  Let  capitalists  and  labourers  join  in  a  hearty  determina- 
tion to  make  every  exertion  to  produce  largely  and  cheaply.  And  let 
them  save.  Let  luxurious  consumption,  excessive  drinking,  and  nil  other 
waste  be  put  aside;  and  let  capital  be  vigorously  accumulated.  And 
let  not  the  dangers  of  foreign  competition  be  forgotten  by  a  nation  whose 
grealncss — nay,  the  existence  of  a  large  part  of  her  population — depend 
on  her  being  able  to  sell  her  products  over  the  hreadth  of  the  whole  earth. 
Finally,  let  the  manufacturers  and  workmen  listen  to  the  questions  put 
to  thcno  by  Mr.  C.  O.  Shopard,  United  States  Consul  at  Bradford,  in 
hla  admirable  Report  to  the  Assistant-Secretary  of  State  at  Washington: — 

"1,  Can  and  will  England's  artisans  live  as  cheaply  ns  their  competitors? 
2.  Will  ihcy  accept  the  same  wages?  3.  Will  they  give  more  labour  for  the 
wages  1     A,  Will  ail  claSMS  live  within  their  means  ?     5.  Will  youiig  people  be 


288  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

content  to  commence  life  where  their  fathers  began  instead  of  where  they  left  off? 
6.  "Will  Knglish  manufacturers  keep  pace  with  tihe  wants  and  adrancement  of  the 
age  ?  7.  Will  they  encourage  and  adopt  new  scientific  and  labour-saving  improve- 
ments ?  8.  Will  they  stimulate,  foster,  and  disseminate  both  general  and  tedmical 
education? 

More  solemn^  more  all-important  words  were  never  addressed  to  any 
people.  "  Should  a  negative  answer  be  returned  to  these  queries^  the 
three  consequences  which  must  quickly  and  inevitably  follow^''  arc 
told  by  Mr.  Shepard.  '^  Further '  dejection  in  business^  as  compared 
with  which  the  present  will  seem  but  moderate  depression.  Greatly  in- 
creased suffering  and  destitution.  An  emigration  such>  perhaps^  as  has 
never  been  known."* 

BONAMY    FbIGE. 

*  Some  valuable  suggestions  of  remedies  in  detail  will  be  found  in  the  able  Paper  on  tiie 
Depression  of  Trade,  read  by  Darld  Chadwick,  Esq.,  M.P, ,  at  the  Social  Science  Congrai 
at  Cheltenliam,  October,  1878. 


MR.  BROWNING'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS. 


I>ramaHe  UglU.    By  Bobkbt  Bsomrtm. 
London:  Smitb,  Elder  &  Co.  1879. 


MR.  Browning's  "  Dramatic  Idylla"  contain  all  that  the  terms 
properly  imply ;  very  little  of  that  which  popular  association  con- 
Beets  with  them ;  and  though  the  graceful  unrealities  suggested  by  the 
word  Idyllic  could  never  be  looked  for  in  any  work  of  his^  he  has 
exceeded  forecast  in  the  opposite  direction.  The  concentrated  vigour 
of  his  latest  volume  may  startle  even  those  who  have  learnt  by  long 
experience  that  his  genius  is  incapable  of  attenuation^  and  that  writing  six 
short  poems,  instead  of  one  long  onc^  means  with  him,  not  the  suspen- 
sion of  constructive  effort,  but  a  constructive  effort  multiplied  so  many 
times.  It  justifies  the  stereotyped  opinion  concerning  him  by  dealing 
chiefly  with  the  unusual  in  character  and  circumstance,  and  with 
emotions  more  startling  than  sympathetic.  It  belies  it  in  so  far  that 
the  unusual  in  its  pictures  adds  often  not  only  to  their  impressiveness, 
Imt  to  their  truth,  recalling^  as  they  do^  forgotten,  rather  than  improb- 
able aspects  of  human  life ;  and  rough-hewn  possibilities^  rather  than 
over-specialized  forms  of  hiunan  feeling.  That  the  result  is  on  the 
whole  somewhat  stem  and  sad  will  be  approved  or  disapproved  according 
to  the  temperament  of  the  reader.  It  seems  superfluous  to  say,  what  is 
implied  by  the  shortness  of  these  poems,  that  they  are  free  from  all 
tedious  elaboration ;  or  to  add  that  the  intellectual  matter  which  they 
contain  is  strictly  subordinate  to  their  dramatic  form. 

"  Pheidippides"  differs  from  the  five  other  Idylls  as  the  classical 
conventionalities  of  a  Greek  subject  differ  from  any  possible  romance  of 
northern  life.  It  differs  also  in  this  respect,  that  though  the  most 
historical  in  treatment,  it  is  the  most  pathetic.  It  is  an  episode  in 
the  life  of  an  Athenian  "  runner,"  who  was  despatched  to  Sparta  to 
invoke  aid  against  the  Persian  invasion,  and  covered  the  distance  of 
150  miles  in  48  hours ;  and  who  ran  again,  and  for  the  last  time^  from 

VOL.  ZXXV.  U 


290 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVlEfV. 


Mai'fttlioii  to  Athens  to  tell  the  result  of  the  battle.  The  earlier  feat 
ia  lecordcd  by  Herodotus,  and  referred  to  hy  other  writers^  together 
with  the  arabiguons  reply  of  Sparta,  and  the  meeting  with  Pun  at  Mount 
Parues,  and  reeciving  from  him  a  promise  of  assistance.  Luciau 
mentions  the  death  of  the  messenger  in  tlie  act  of  announcing  the 
victory.  Mr.  Browning  has  filled  in  this  outline  of  semi-raythical  fact, 
and  placed  Pheidippides  before  us,  not  only  in  the  passion  of  hi:* 
patriotic  impulse,  but  in  all  that  poetry  of  vwible  motion  with  which 
the  Greek  imagination  would  have  clothed  him. 


Archons  of  Atheas,  topped  by  tho  tettix,  aee,  I  roturu ! 

See,  'ti?  myself  here  stAnding  alive,  no  spectra  that  speaks  f 

Crowned  with  the  myrtle,  did  you  conunand  me,  Athens  and  yoii. 

''  Run,  Pheidippides,  run  and  race,  reach  Sparta  for  :ud ! 

Persia  has  come,  we  are  here,  where  is  She  ?'*     Your  command  I  obeyed, 

I*:m  and  raced  :   like  stubble,  some  Hold  which  a  fire  nms  through, 

Was  the  space  between  city  and  city  ;   two  days,  two  nights  did  I  burn 

Over  tho  hills,  under  I  ho  dales,  down  pits  and  up  iM'aks. 

Into  their  mui^t  I  broke  :  breath  served  but  for  "  Persia  has  come ! 

Persia  bids  Athens  proiFer  slavo8*-tributo,  water  and  cnrth; 

Kozed  to  the  gi*ound  is  Eretriii — but  Athens,  shall  Allien.**  sink, 

Drop  into  dust  and  die — the  flower  of  Ileliua  utterly  die, 

Die,  with  tho  wide  world  spitting  at  Sjwirtn,  the  stupid,  the  standcr-by  ? 

Answer  ma  quick,  what  help,  what  hatid  do  you  stretch  o'er  destructloa'ii 

brink  ? 
IIow, — when  t     No  care  for  ray  limbs  ! — there's  lightning  in  all  and  some — 
Frcyh  and  fit  your  message  to  bear,  once  lips  give  it  birth  V 

O  my  Athens— Sparta  love  thee  ?     Did  Sparta  respond? 
Every  face  of  her  leered  in  a  furrow  of  envy,  mistrust, 
^ralice, — each  eye  of  her  gave  me  its  glitter  of  gratified  hato! 
Gravely  they  turned  to  take  counsel,  to  cast  for  excuses.     I  stood 
tv*uivcring,- — the  limbs  of  me  fretting  as  fire  frets,  an  inch  from  dry  woo«l 
"  Persia  has  come,  Athens  asks  aid,  and  Btill  they  debate? 
Thunder,  thou  Zens  \     Atliene,  arc  Spartans  a  quarry  beyond 
Swing  of  thy  apear?     Phoibos  and  jVrtemia,  clang  Uiem  *  Ye  must  I*  " 

j\o  bolt  launched  from  Olumpos  ?     Lo,  their  answer  at  last ! 

**  Has  Persiii  come, — does  Athens  ask  aid, — may  Sparta  befriend  ? 

Nowise  precipitate  judgment— too  weighty  tho  issue  at  stake! 

Conut  we  no  time  lost  time  which  lags  through  respect  to  the  Gods ! 

Ponder  that  precept  of  old,  '  Xo  warfare,  whatever  the  odds 

In  your  favour,  so  long  as  ibc  moou,  half-orbed,  is  unable  to  take 

Fulf-circle  her  state  in  the  sky  I*     Already  she  rounds  to  it  fiiat : 

Atheas  most  watt,  patient  as  we — who  judgment  suspend."* 

Athens, —  except  for  tliat  sparkle, — thy  name,  I  had  mouldered  to  ash  ! 
That  sent  a  bhize  through  my  blood;   off,  off  and  away  was  I  back, 
— Not  one  word  to  waste,  one  look  to  lose  on  the  false  and  the  vile  I 
Yet  "  O  Gods  of  my  land  !**  I  cried,  as  each  hillock  and  plain, 
Wood  and  stream,  I  know,  n;inied,  ruslilng  past  thorn  again, 
**Havc  yo  kept  faith,  proved  minJful  ol' honours  wo  paid-you  erewhiie 
Vain  waa  the  filleted  victim,  tho  fulsome  libation  I     Too  rash 
Love  in  it?*  choice,  paid  you  so  largely  service  so  alack  !" 


3/fl.  BROIVNING'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS. 


291 


nc  beautiful  imagery  which   illustrates  the  first  race  is  repeated  in 

»ti3C  second. 
He  flan^  clown  his  shield, 
Ran  like  t\rc  once  more  :  and  the  sjiuce  'twjxt  the  Fciinol-field 
And  Athens  was  stubble  again,  a  field  which  a  tire  runs  through. 

The  metre  itself,  which  Mr.  Browning  emplovs  for  the  first  tiraCj 
denotes  this  hleudiitg  of  athletic  force  and  heroic  inspiration,  and  seems 
to  tlirob  with  the  unresting  flight  and  rythuiic  footfall  of  the  "  day- 
long runner"  who  runs  for  his  country's  life.  An  element  of  more 
personal  interest  is  supplied  by  the  hope  which  speeds  Phcidippidcs  on 
his  last  errand.  Pan  has  promised  him  release  from  "  the  racer's  toil," 
and  he  can  only  construe  such  a  release  into  freedom  to  marry  the 
maiden  whom  he  loves ;  but  the  promise  is  more  poetically  fulfilled  in 
the  death  which  overtakes  him  in  the  hour  of  his  crowning  achievement 
and  of  his  country's  triumph  ;  the  heart  bursting  as  from  excess  of  joy. 
The  "  Rejoice"  which  is  his  dying  salutation  to  the  Archons,  and  its 
consequent  adoption  in  memory  of  the  event,  belong  to  the  historic  basis 
of  the  story.  The  Greek  conception  appears  to  us  too  strictly 
maintained  in  the  first  verse,  where  an  invocation  to  Pan  is  per- 
plexingly  involved  with  an  address  to  the  other  gods ;  while  towards 
the  end  of  the  poem  its  rounded  cadences  here  and  there  break  up  into 
pants,  like  the  action  of  a  mechanism  of  which  the  spring  is  broken. 
But  on  the  whole  the  language  ia  singularly  little  strained  by  its 
adaptation  to  classic  thought ;  and  its  majestic  body  of  sound  conveys 
a  simplicity  of  meaning  very  rarely  found  tinder  like  conditions.  Mr. 
Browning's  known  dramatic  faculty  of  so  paving  the  way  to  his  climax 
that  our  utmost  surprise  has  in  it  a  sense  of  the  inevitable,  has  a 
ready-made  expression  in  this  scries  of  incidents,  creating  as  they  do  a 

Pti>n!cion  of  feeling  to  which  the  catastrophe  is  at  once  a  shock  and  a 
f ;  but  it  makes  its  own  subjects  in  the  other  Idylls,  and  is  the 
^  apparent  in  proportion  as  their  psychological  interest  is  more  pro- 
iced.  The  most  striking  instance  of  this  kind  of  effect  occurs  in 
u^n  Relph." 
"  ^fartin  Relph"  is  the  confession  of  an  old  man  guilty  in  his  youth  of 
witnessing  a  judicial  murder,  which  a  signal  from  him  might  have  pre- 
vented, and  who  ever  since  has  striven  to  exorcise  the  memory  of  t!ic 
fact  by  rehearsing  it  publicly  at  the  place  and  on  the  anniversary  of  its 
occurrence.  This  rehearsal,  sobbed  forth  in  a  mingled  stream  of  uar- 
rativc,  ejaculation,  and  protest  is  the  echo  of  an  anguish  deeper  evcu 

■than  its  ostensible  cause ;  and  its  lest  wonls  flash  a  sudden,  yet 
rxpected  meaning  upon  it.  The  man's  soul  is  wrestling,  not  with  the 
memory  of  a  deed,  but  with  the  phantom  of  a  motive.  He  brands 
himself  as  fool  and  coward  for  what  he  has  done  ;  but  the  terms  fool  aud 
cowanl  arc  only , the  weapons  with  which  he  fights  ofl'  the  thought,  too 
clamorous  to  be  silenced,  too  ten'ible  to  be  distinctly  expressed,  that  he 
was  something  more.       He  liked,  perhaps    hved^  the  condemned   girl. 


292 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Living,  she  would  have  belonged  to  another  man.  That  very  luan  was 
flying  towards  the  place  of  execution,  staggering,  stumbling,  strainiug 
every  nerve, waving  aloft  the  signal  of  her  attested  innocence;  witlioiit 
voice  to  cry,  without  an  eye  to  see  liini  but  his  who  faced  the  assembled 
crowd.  Was  it  simple  horror  wliich  struck  tliat  one  witness  dumb  withiu 
sight  of  tlic  piiiioDcd  victim,  and  the  terrifii;d  hwkers-on,  the  levelled 
muskets,  and  the  already  present  reprieve,  through  the  brief,  breathless, 
ultra-conaciouii  moment  which  determined  the  destiny  of  two  lives? 

From  head  to  foot  in  a  serpent's  twlno  am  I  tiglitened  :  /  touch  ground  ? 
No  more  tfean  a  gibbet's  rigid  corpse  which  the  fetters  rust  around  ! 

Can  I  apeak,  t-an  I  breathe,  can  I  burst — aught  else  but  see,  see,  only  see  ? 
And  see  l  do — for  there  comes  in  sight — a  niau,  it  sure  must  be ! — 
Who  staggeringly,  stumblingly,  rises,  falls,  rises,  at  random  dings  his  weight 
On  and  ou,  anyhow  onward — a  man  that's  mad  he  arrives  too  late  ! 

Else  why  does  he  wave  a  something  white  high-flourisJied  above  his  head? 
Why  does  not  he  call,  i.*ry, — curse  the  fool  ! — why  throw  up  his  arms  instearl  ? 
O  take  this  list  in  your  own  face,  fool !      Why  does  not  yourself  shout  ^'  Stay'. 
Here's  a  man  comes  rushing,  might  and  main,  with  aomi'thing  he's  mad  to  say?" 

And  a  minute,  only  a  momentj  to  have  hell-tire  boil  up  in  your  brain^ 

And  ere  you  can  judge  things  right,  choose  heaven, — time's  over,  repentance  vnin ! 

Mr.  Browning  has  thrown  not  only  all  his  power  into  this  situation, 
but  all  his  subtlety  into  the  open  verdict  which  is  our  final  impression 
of  it.  Pie  does  not  indeed  imply  that  the  jealousy  nt  once  confessed 
and  disclaimed  is  what  the  narrator  tries  to  think  it — a  figment 
of  his  own  brain,  born  of  the  ingenuity  of  a  terrified  remorse ; 
but  be  allows  the  very  circumstances  of  the  event  to  justify  a  doubt  if 
that  feeling  could  be  held  responsible.  We  may  at  least  imagine  that 
the  latent  motive  triumphed,  if  triumph  it  did,  through  the  fact  of  its 
indistiiictucss;  though  memory,  which  knows  no  perspective  but  its  own, 
might  reject  the  compromise.  The  episode  refers  to  some  troublous 
period  of  the  last  century,  of  which  one  or  two  passages  reflect  the  coarse 
moral  tonCj  as  well  ns  the  social  and  political  disorder  which  rendered  it 
possible.  A  rcginiciit  is  quartered  in  a  village.  Its  intended  move* 
ments  have  become  known  to  the  enemy.  Treason  is  suspected;  au 
example, — in  other  words,  a  victim  required.  This  is  found  in  the  person 
of  au  innocent  f^irl  whose  letter  to  her  affianced  husbnnd  is  captured, 
and  distorted  into  au  evidence  of  gnilt.  She  is  sentenced  to  die 
unless  her  loyally  be  established  within  a  week.  The  burden  of  proof 
falls  on  the  lovcr^  and  no  figure  in  the  drama  is  so  pathetic  as  this  man 
struggling  against  every  Iiindrauec  which  sulfishness  and  stupidity  can 
devise  for  the  official  acktiowledgmcnt  of  that  which  nobody  disbelieves; 
and  whose  maddest  endeavours  ouly  briug  him  to  the  side  of  the  woman 
he  would  have  saved  in  time  to  die  with  her.  When  the  smoke  of  the 
united  volley  clears  away,  the  frantic  figure  baa  disappeared.  It  is 
found  face  downwards  in  afield  still  ludf  a  mile  distant;  tlie  hand  clench- 
ing its  signed  and  sealed  paper  ;  some  blood  about  the  lips.     The  mortal 


2 


MR,  BROH'XLXG'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS, 


29» 


pkapy  of  this  retrospect  is   nowhere  more  fully  expressed  than  iu  tlie 
ypSb  which  tells  us  that  it  is  over. 

H^.  cowurd  it  is  and  coward  shall  be  !  Thero*»  a  frieDd,  now  !    Tbiuiks  !   A  ilrluk 
■f  water  I  wanted:  and  now  I  can  walk,  get  home  by  myself,  I  think. 

Like  "  Martin  Relph/^  Ivan  Ivilnovitch  and  "  Ned  Bratts"  read  back- 
wards with  singular  dramatic  effect ;  but  witli  this  distinction,  that  iu 
the  latter  the  event  is  foreshadowed  by  natural  circumstance  ;  in  the 
former  by  au  artistic  device.  The  picturesque  aud  rapid  action  of  the 
Russian  Idyll  is  symbolised  by  an  axe,  the  description  of  which  stands 
as  a  literary  frontispiece  to  it.  This  axe,  which  is  spoken  of  as  in  use 
among  Russian  workmen  at  the  present  day,  is  a  peculiar  instrument, 
combining  with  its  own  special  properties  those  of  many  other  carpenter's 
tools,  and  loses  something  of  dramatic  suitability  by  the  practised  skill 
implied  in  such  a  construction.  But  the  versatility  thus  suggested  is 
part  of  its  dramatic  use.  It  can  do  all  kinds  of  carpenter's  work.  It 
can  on  occasion  do  more.     Iviin  Ivauovitch  is    wielding   such  au  axe. 

Kis  mighty  strokes  are   shaping  a  tree-trunk  into  a   mast.      He  stands 
fore    us    with    the   blue   eyes  and   '' honey- coloured"    beard    of  the 
northern  giant    he  is   iuteuded  to  be.     The  time    is    that   of  Peter  the 
Kreat.     The  place,  a  Russian   village,  for  which   space  has  been  barely 
Rescued  from  the    forest  solitudes  extending  on  cither  side  of  the  road 
from  Petersburg  to  Moscow.     The  ice  and  snow  of  a  Russian  winter  are 

Ethe   ground.      Suddenly  there  is  a  "hurst  of  hells;"  a  trampling  of 
ofs  ;   and  a  sledge  bearing  what  looks  like  the  dead  body  of  a  ncigh- 
ur's  wife  dashes  up  to   the  spot;   the   horse  stumbling  and  falling  iu 
the  act.     The  neighbours  gather  around.     The  woman  has  only  fainted  ; 
^  long-drawn  scream  announces  her  return  to  consciousness;  by  degrees 
pKr  tale  is  told.     They  were  about  to  return  together — shc^  her  husband 
and  her  three  children,  from  the  distant   village  io   which  he  was  sura- 
inone<l   perhaps  a  month   ago  to   help  iu   building  a  church.      But  fire 
broke  out ;   all    hands    were   needed   to   suppress   it ;   and   Dmitri  must 
heeds  despatch  his  wife  and  little  ones  homeward  in  al!  haste  and  alone. 
^hje  infant  iu  her  arms,  the  two  elder  boys  warmly  packed  at  lier  feet  ; 
old  Droog  to  carry,  aud  a  rising  moon  to  light  them  on  the  wcll-knowii 
way — what  liarm  coidd  come  to  them  ?     The  good  horse  gallops  bravely; 
for  the  moment  he  is   young  again.      But  presently  there  is  a  sound — a 
soughiug.     Droog's  ears  fly  back  to  listen.      It  is  the  wind — he  knows 
Bft,   and    plunges   on    again.      But   there    is    no    wind  ;   the    breath  goes 
Btraight  up  from  their  lips ;  and  there  is  still  the  sound  !     Low,  less 
Bdw,  louder,  not  to  be  mistaken  ;  the  tread  of  wolves'  feet  in  the  snow. 
And  now  they  arc  in    sight.      They   press   onwards,    line    upon   line,  a 
wedge-like  mass  wideuiug  iu  the  advance;    through  the   unnatural  day- 
light born  of  the  moon  and  snow  ;  through   the  cruel  pines  which  bend 
^o  branch  to  hinder  or  conceal ;  distant  still,  but  still  gaining  on  their 
Krcy.     Aud  now  one  has  reached  the  aledge.      Her  life  shall  be  yielded 

^ \ : 


294 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV 


before  her  children's.  They  arc  safe  if  they  will  only  lie  still.  Bui 
Stcpiiu  will  not  be  still,  lie  was  always  the  naughty  one;  saHcn  and 
puny  \  the  worst  of  her  little  brood.  She  has  loved  him  with  heart  and 
soul.  But  how  save  Lim  in  spite  of  himself?  He  will  not  be  ad\*iscd. 
He  is  mad  with  fear.  And  now  his  brother  is  shrieking.  She  tugs,  she 
struggles.  If  she  must  lose  oncj  it  is  the  strong,  not  the  weak  whom 
the  Tsar  rcquirca.  Perhaps  her  hands  relax.  Perhaps  they  get  en- 
tangled. Stepkn  IS  gone.  But  she  escapes  with  two.  She  is  still  % 
rich  mother.      Some  have  no  boy.     Some  have,  and  lose  him. 

God  knows  which 

Is  worse  :  how  pitiful  to  see  your  wcuklicgpiDe 

And  pale  and  pass  away  I 

She  is  all  but  contcut.  But  hark — the  tramp  again — not  tlic  band, 
— no — the  numbers  are  less — the  race  is  slack.  Some  alas  !  arc  feasting, 
some  ore  "full-fed."  Bat  there  are  enough  to  seize  the  fresh  prey. 
Their  eyes  are  like  points  of  brass  as  they  gleam  iu  their  level  line.  One, 
the  same,  is  at  their  head  again.  She  dashes  her  fist  into  his  face;  he 
may  crunch  that  if  he  will.  Tercntii  is  gathered  into  her  lap  ;  her  very 
heartstrings  tie  him  round.     The  bag  of  relies  hangs  safe  about  his  necL 

'Twas  through  my  arras,  crossed  arms,  lie — nuzzling  now  with  anont. 
Now  ri[jj)iug,  tooth  and  claw — plucked,  pulled  Tercntii  out, 
A  prize  indeed  !      1  saw — bow  could  I  else  but  see  ? — 
My  precious  one — I  bit  to  hold  buck— pullud  from  me  I 

But  the  babe  is  safe !  He  will  grow  into  a  man.  He  will  wreak  ven- 
geance upon  the  whole  brood.  She  outwits  them  yet.  Day  dawns  on  the 
farthest  snow.  Its  rosy  light  is  upon  it.  Home  is  all  but  reached. 
Yet  again -no — thank  Heaven — not  the  band;  but — yes;  one  is  in 
pursuit  !      She  sees  him  in  the  distance 

one  apeck,  one  spot,  one  ball 

growing  bigger  at  every  bound.  It  is  the  same  again.  She  plucks  him  by 
the  tongue;  she  will  tear  at  it  till  she  wrenches  it  out.  It  has  but  given 
him  a  fresh  taste  of  flesh.  She  falls  on  the  infant's  body.  She  cover* 
it  with  her  whole  self.  The  teeth  furrow  her  shoulder.  They  grate  to 
the  very  bone.  What  more  could  a  mother  do  ?  The  babe  ib  scooped 
from  under  her  very  lieart.     At  that  moment  sense  forsakes  her. 

Thisj  then,  is  the  u])8hot  of  the  story.  She  has  surrendered  her  children 
to  be  devoured,  and  lives  to  tell  it;  yet  she  scarcely  perceives  the  extent 
of  her  revelation.  Recalling,  rather  than  relating,  the  horrors  of  the 
night,  she  is  perhaps  herself  blinded  by  the  sophistries  which  have 
covered  her  escape;  and  with  the  retrospect  comes  also  a  reaction. 
Sheltered,  revived,  with  kindly  faces  beaming  upon  her,  regret  itself  is 
meltiug  away  in  the  sweet  consciousness  of  her  securi^.  She  weeps, 
relieving,  almost  happy  tears.  It  is  to  Iv*\n  IvAnovitch  that  her  narra- 
tive has  been  especially  addressed.      His   knee  has  propped  her  head 


i 


MR.  BROlt'NiyG'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS, 


295 


^^nia  large  paternal   liaiuls  have  smoothed   }ier  hair  as  she    lay.      lu  one 
^■Dixed  impulse  of  yearning  gratitude  and  beaedietiou  she  has  slipped  ou 
to  her  kuees  before  him. 

I  Solemnly 

Ivin  ros€,  raised  his  axe, — for  fitly,  aa  she  knelt, 
Her  liend  lay:   welt-upnrt,  cacli  ^ide,  her  arms  hiiug,- — dealt 
I^iglilning-swift  ilnind(T-6troi)^'  one  blow — uo  need  of  n»oi'e  ! 
H^dless  sbe  knelt  on  still :   that  pine  was  sound  at  core 
(Neighbours  "were  used  to  say) — cast-iron-kerncled — which 
Taxed  for  a  second  stroke  Ivan  Ivnnovitch. 
The  man  was  scant  of  words  a^  strokes.     "  It  bad  to  lie  : 
1  could  no  other :  Gud  it  was  Lade  *  Act  for  me  !  * " 
Then  stooping,  peering  round — what  is  it  now  he  lacks? 
A  proper  Btri]>  of  bark  wherewith  to  wipe  his  axe. 
Which  done,  lie  turns,  jjjoes  in,  closes  the  door  behind. 
The  others  mntc  remnin,  watching  the  blood-snake  wind 
Into  a  hiding-place  among  the  splinter-heaps. 
voinan  not  devoid  of  feeling,  but  in    whom  even  maternal  feeling 
smpled  out  by  the  fear  of  suflcring  and  death,  belongs,  like  the  axe 
rAn   IvA.novitch,  rather  to  modern   times;  but   there   arc   all  the 
,..v^ents  of  ancient  ti'agcdy  in  the  conception  of  such  a  woman,  flying 
from  the  death  she  dare  not  face^  to  the  Nemesis  which  awaits  her    iu 
the  uplifted  arm  of  a  friend;  and  we  must  ascend  to  the  annals  of  the 
Greek  gods  to  find  an  attitude  of  moral   simplicity  at  once    so    childish 
and  90  sublime  as  that  in  which  the  blow  is  dealt.      The   second   scene 
iu  which  Ivku  Ivknovitch  apjMjars  is  a   natural  sequel  to  the  first ;  but 
Mr.  Browning  has  invested  it    also    with   the   conditions   of  a  complete 
dramatic  8uri»rise.      The  body  is  removed  to  the  village  court  of  justice, 
aw  open  space  in  front  of  the  churchy  from   which  the    snow    has   bccu 
cleared ;  and  the   Pope,  the  Sturost,  and   the   Pomcschik    (Lord),  come 
forth  to  pass  judgment  on  the   transaction.      The   Lord   unhesitatingly 
pronounces   it  murder.      He    doubts   the  woman  having   been   guilty 
from    a   legal    point    of  view,  though  she    stood    condemned    by  the 
liigher  standards  of  virtue ;  and  if  she  had  been  so,  he  denies  its  justifiying 
an  arbitrary  assumption  of  the  right  to  punish  her.      He  takes  the  side 
of  social  order  and  educated   common  sense.     The   Pojk?  reverses  this 
judgment.      He  is  an  aged  man ;  so  old,  he  says,  that  the   number  of 
hia  years  escapes  him  ;  and  if  he  were  true  to  fact  instead  of  to  poetry, 
he  would  certainly  confirm  it.      Both  the  wisdom  and  the  weakness  of 
age  would  place  him  on  the  side  of  social  prescription,  to   which  faith 
and  custom  would  add  all  the  dignity  of  moral   sanction,    and   all    the 
^weight  of  Clmstian  command.      But  ^L:.  Browning's  purpose  did  not 
Hbequire  this  kind  of  truth.    It  needed  not  the  stereotyped  minister  of  any 
Christian   church,  but  a  priest   of  that    primitive    natural    religion,   of 
which  Ivjin  Ivanovitch  is  the  soldier ;  and  this  priest  declares  that  he  has 
ivcd  from  the  dreams  of  youth  into  the  visions  of  oid  age ;  through  the 
»nn8  f/f  law  to  its  essence  in  the   great    Spirit   whence   it    flows  ;  and 
lat  by  that  essential   law   of  liuman  duty   the   apparent   murderer  is 


29G 


THE  CONTEMPOliARY  REVIEir. 


justified.     Life,  Le  says,  is  God's  supreme  gift  to   mau  ;  maternity,  its 
highest  trust  and  its  crowning  responsibility. 


A  mctlier  bears  a  claild:  perfection  is  complet*- 

So  fjir  in  such  a  birtli.      Enabled  to  repeat 

The  miracle  of  lif<^, — herself  ^vas  bom  so  just 

A  tyi>e  of  womnntind,  that  God  sees  fit  tu  trust 

Her  with  tho  holy  task  of  giving  lifp  in  turn. 

Crowned  by  this  crowning  pride,— how  say  you,  should  she  spurn, 

Kegality— discrowned,  unchilded,  by  her  choice 

Of  barrenness  exchanged  for  fruit  which  made  rejoice 

Creation,  though  life's  bclf  were  lust  in  giviug  birth 

To  life  more  fresh  and  fit  to  glorify  God's  earth  ? 

How  say  you,  should  tlic  hand  God  trusted  with  life's  torch 

Kindled  to  light  tlie  world — aware  of  sparks  thai  scorch 

Let  fall  the  Biime  ?     Forsootli,  her  (lesli  :i  tire-Hake  stings  : 

The  mollier  drops  the  child  !     Among  what  monstrous  things 

SImll  she  bo  classed  ?     Bccausg  of  moilierhood,  each  miib 

Yields  to  its  partner  place,  sinks  proudly  iii  the  scide : 

His  strength  owned  weakness,  wit — folly,  and  counige — fear, 

Beside  the  foniale  proved  malc*9  mistress — only  here. 

The  fox-dam,  huuger-piued,  will  slay  the  felon  sire 

Who  dares  nssjiult  her  whelp  :   tho  l)eavcr,  stretched  on  fire, 

Will  die  without  ti  groan  :  tio  pang  avails  to  wrest 

Uer  young  from  where  they  hide — her  sanctuary  breast. 

What's  here  then  ?     Answer  me,  tliou  dead  one,  as  I  trow, 

Standing  at  God's  own  bar,  he  bids  thee  answer  now  ! 

Thrice  crowned  wast  thou— each  crown  of  pride,  a  child  — thy  charge. 

Where  are  they  .'     Xjost  ?     Enougli :  no  need  that  thou  enlarge 

On  how  or  why  the  loss:  life  left  to  nVutr  "  lost"' 

Condemns  itself  beyond  appeal.     The  soldier's  post 

Guards  from  tho  foes  attack  the  camp  he  eentinels  ; 

That  he  no  traitor  proved,  this  and  this  only  tells — 

Over  the  corpse  of  him  trod  foe  to  focV  success. 

Yet^-one  by  one  thy  crowns  torn  from  ihec — thou  no  less 

To  scare  the  world,  shame  (iod, — livedst !     I  hold  he  saw 

The  unexampled  sin,  orJuined  the  novel  law, 

Whereof  first  instrument  was  fir^c  intelligence 

Found  loyMl  here.      I  hold  that,  failing  human  sense, 

The  very  e:u:th  liad  oped,  sky  fallen,  to  efface 

Humanity's  new  wrong,  motherhood's  first  disgrace. 

Ivirtli  oped  not,  neither  fell  the  sky,  for  prompt  was  found 

A  niim  and  man  enough,  head -sober  itnd  heart-sound, 

Keatly  to  hear  God's  voice,  resolute  to  obey. 

Iviin  Iviuiovitch,  I  hold,  baa  done,  this  day. 

No  otherwise  than  did,  in  ages  long  ago, 

^[oses  wlieti  he  made  known  tho  pnr[»ort  of  that  fiuw 

Of  fire  athwart  the  law's  twain-tables!      I  proclaim 

Ivan  Ivimovitch  God's  servant  1 

At  Avhich  nauR* 
Uprose  that  creep)  whisper  fron^  out  the  crowd,  is  wont 
To  swell  and  surge  and  sink  when  fellow  men  confront 
A  pimiphraent  that  falls  on  fellow  flcsli  and  blood, 
Appallingly  beheld — shudderingly  understood, 
No  less,  to  be  the  right,  the  just,  tlie  merciful. 
*'  God's  servant,"  hissed  the  cro^vd. 


MR.  BROWNING'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS.  29/ 

The  Lonl  reluctontly  yields  the  point,  and  suggests  that   since   the 
culprit  is  absolved^  no  time  be  lost  in  informing  him  of  it — 

And  next — as  mercy  rules  the  hour — ^methinks  *t\vere  well 
You  signify  forthwith  its  sentence,  and  dispel 
The  doubts  and  fears,  I  judge,  which  busy  now  the  head 
Law  puts  a  halter  round — a  halo — ^you,  instead ! 

Ivkn  Ivknovitcb  need  no  longer  skulk  in  concealment — 

So,  while  the  youngers  raised  the  corpse,  the  elders  trooped 
Silently  to  the  house  :  where  halting,  someone  stooped, 
Listened  beside  the  door  ;  all  there  was  silent  too. 
Then  they  held  counsel;  then  pushed  door  and,  passing  through. 
Stood  in  the  murderer*s  presence. 

Ivan  Ivanovitch 
Knelt,  building  on  the  floor  that  Kremlin  rare  and  rich 
He  deftly  cut  and  carved  on  lazy  muter  nights. 
Some  five  young  feces  watched,  breathlessly,  as,  to  rights, 
Piece  upon  piece,  he  reared  the  fabric  nigh  complete. 
Stescha,  Ivan^s  old  mother,  sat  spinning  by  the  heat 
Of  the  oven  where  his  wife  Katla  stood  baking  bread. 
Ivan's  self,  as  he  turned  his  honey-coloured  head. 
Was  just  in  act  to  drop,  'twixt  fir-cones,— each  a  dome,— 
The  acooped-out  yellow  gourd  presumably  the  home 
Of  Kolokol  the  Big :  the  belJ,  therein  to  hitch, 
— An  acorn- cup — was  ready  :  Iviin  Ivanovitch 
Turned  witli  it  in  his  mouth. 

They  told  him  he  was  free 
As  air  to  walk  abroad.     "  How  otherwise  V  asked  he. 

The  shortest  and  slightest  of  the  six  poems  alone  separates  the  thril- 
ling excitements  of  "  Ivkn  Ivknovitch"  from  the  grotesque  tragedy  and 
saturnine  humour  of  "  Ned  Bratts/'  which  latter  composition  carries 
with  it  a  full  taste  of  the  author's  quality,  not  only  in  that  humour 
itself,  but  in  the  fact  that  he  has  chosen  to  make  it,  as  far  as  outward 
arrangement  goes,  the  last  impression  of  the  book.  Nothing  indeed 
could  surpass  the  ingenuity  with  which  he  contrives  to  scarify  fastidious 
sensibilities  without  violating  by  a  word  the  natural  and  historical  con- 
sistency of  a  really  edifying  transaction ;  and  his  obvious  delight  in  the 
achievement  compels  our  sympathy.  The  subject  belongs  to  a  fertile 
and  curious  class  of  mental  phenomena  ;  the  effects  of  religious  con- 
version on  natures,  which  religion  cannot  transform,  but  which  simply 
adopt  it  as  a  new  platform,  on  which  their  old  energies  may  be  more 
satisfactorily  displayed.  Such  effects  have  been  more  often  illustrated 
by  fact  than  fiction  ;  and  it  remains  perhaps  for  Mr.  Browning's  genius 
to  clothe  them  in  their  more  serious  dramatic  possibilities.  Mean- 
while, he  gives  them  in  a  reductio  ad  absurdum  in  the  ease  before  us. 
Ned  Bratts  is  a  notorious  publican  and  sinner  of  Bunyan's  time,  whose 
imagination  has  been  fired  by  reading  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress"  while 
still  in  the  full  bloom  of  his  iniquity.  It  has  been  borne  in  upon  him 
that  Christian,  or  as  he  calls  him,  Christmas,  is  himself;  and  since,  as 


298 


r//£  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Lc  faucies,  it  is  too  late  for  Lira  to  go  through  all  the  stages  of  the 
Pilgiim's  journey  to  heaveUj  he  determiues  to  take  a  short  cut  to  it  by 
giving  up  hiiUEclt  and  his  wife  Tabby  to  justice,  and  being  hanged  with 
lier,  lie  carries  out  tliis  intention  at  a  Special  Assize  which  is  held  in 
the  town  of  Bedford  on  the  first  day  of  its  Summer  Tair;  and  just  as 
the  heat,  the  crowding,  and  the  excitement  of  the  Court-house  are  at 
their  highest,  the  bulky  couple  force  their  way  into  it,  book  iu  haud^ 
and  Ned  opens  the  catalogue  of  their  joint  transgressions.  We  can 
picture  to  ourselves  some  of  the  features  of  this  double  occasion  :  its 
cynical  ci-uelties,  its  riotous  mirth  ;  the  fires  of  genxiine  religious  passion 
smouldering  beneath,  llut  when  to  this  are  added  the  iuBuenccs  of  a 
temperature  that  would  suspend  the  existence  of  our  more  delicate 
nineteenth  ccnturj-,  hut  only  serves  to  madden  the  blood  of  the  seven- 
teenth, we  acknowledge  that  tlic  poet's  own  words  are  required  to  do 
justice  to  liis  conception  : — 

'Tivas  Bedford  .Special  Assize,  one  ilafi  Midsuiunicr's  D;iy  : 
^^  A  broiling  blasting  Jiuio, — was  never  its  like,  men  say, 

^K  Corn  stood  slRaf-npo  already,  and  trees  looked  yellow  aa  that; 

^H  Ponds  drained  dust-dry,  tlio  cattle  lay  foaming  around  each  flat. 

^H  Inside  town,  dogs  went  mad,  and  folks  kept  hibbing  beer 

^H  AVhile  the  parsons  prayed  for  rain.     *Twas  liorriblo,  yea — but  tpieer. 

^H  Queer — for  the  sun  laughed  gay,  yet  nobody  moved  a  hand 

^^  To  work  one  stroke  at  his  trade  :  as  given  to  understand 

That  all  was  come  to  n  ^top,  work  and  such  worldly  ways, 

And  tlic  world^s  old  self  about  to  cud  in  a  merry  blaze. 

Midsummer's  Day  moreover  was  the  first  of  Bedford  Fair; 

So,  Bedford  Town's  tag-rag  and  bobtail  lay  bowsing  there. 

TA'ithiii  the  Court, 

....  [their  Lordships  toiled  rmd  moiled,  and  a  deal  of  work  was  donej 

(I  warrant)  to  juj'tify  the  mirth  of  the  crazy  sun, 

As  this  und  t'otlier  Iou1,str\ick  dumb  nt  tlie sudden  show 

Of  red  robes  and  white  wigs,  boggled  nor  answered  '*Boh!" 

When  asked  why  he,  Tom  Styles,  shotdd  not — because  Jack  Nokes 

Had  Rtiilen  tlio  horse — be  hanged  :  for  Judges  must  have  their  jokes, 

And  loula  nuist  make  allowance — let's  say.  for  some  blue  fly 

Wliicli  fmncturcd  a  dewy  Fcalji  where  the  fri/^lea  stuck  awry — 

Else  Tom  hnd  llccred  scot-free,  so  nearly  over  and  done 

Was  the  main  of  the  job.     Full-nicnsure,  the  gentles  enjoyed  their  fun, 

As  a  twoiity-five  wcro  tried,  innk  puritans  caught  at  prayer 

In  a  cow-hoiitc  and  laid  by  ihe  heels, — liuve  at  em,  devil  may  care  !*^ 

And  ten  were  prescribed  the  whip,  and  U\\  a  brand  on  the  chrek, 

And  five  a  shtof  the  nose — just  leaving  enough  to  tweak. 

Well,  things  ut  jolly  high-tide,  amusement  steeped  in  fire. 

While  noon  smote  fierce  the  roofs  red  tiles  \o  heiu-t's  desire, 

The  Court  a-simmer  with  smoke,  one  ferment  of  oozy  flesli, 

One  spirituous  hinnming  musk  mount-mounting  until  itfimesli 

Entoiled  all  heads  in  a  fluster,  and  Serjeant  Tostlethwayte 

— Dashing  the  wig  oblique  as  be  mojtpcd  hid  oily  pate — 

Cried   "  Silence,  or  I  grow  grease  !     No  loophole  lets  in  uir  ? 

Jurymen,  g*iilty.  death  !   Gainsay  mc  if  you  dare!" 

—  Things  nt  tliis  pitch,  I  say, — what  hiddmb  wiUiout  the  doers 


MR.  BROWNING'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS.  :>0a 

What  Uiaglis,  Bhrieks,  hoots  and  yells,  what  rudest  of  uproars  ? 
Bounce  through  the  barrler-throiig  a  bulk  comes  rolling  vast ! 
Thumps,  kicks, — no  manner  of  use! — spite  of  them  rolls  at  last 
Into  the  midst  a  ball  which,  bursting,  brings  to  view 
Publican  Black  Ned  Bratts  and  Tabby  his  big  wife  too : 
Both  in  a  muck-sweat,  both  ....  were  never  such  eyes  upliit. 

The  attitude  c^  the  penitent  is  as  resolute  as  his  mode  of  appearance. 
There  is  no  mock  humility  about  it.  He  pelts  his  misdeeds  at  the 
Judge's  ears  with  undisguised  sastisfactiou  at  their  thoroughness,  and 
undisgnised  contempt  for  the  law  which  could  leave  them  so  long  un- 
detected whilst  exerting  itself  to  discover 

whether  'twas  Jack  or  Joan 

Robbed  the  hen-roost,  pinched  the  pig,  hit  the  King's  arms  with  a  stone. 

He  means  to  expiate  what  he  has  douc  ;  he  stifles  his  oaths  before  he 
has  quite  enjoyed  their  flavour^  and  pays  a  farther  tribute  to  the  decencies 
of  the  occasion  at  what  appears  for  him  its  thirstiest  moment — 

Tab,  help  and  tell !     Fni  hoarse.     A  mug  !  or— no,  a  prayer ! 
Dip  for  one  out  of  the  Book !     Who  wrote  it  in  the  Jail 
— He  plied  his  pen  unhelped  by  beer,  airs,  I'll  be  bail ! 

But  the  retrospective  zest  with  which  he  enumerates  their  robbings, 
murderinga,  and  improprieties  of  every  kind  savours  far  more  of  com- 
mission than  of  expiation ;  and  his  mode  of  tackling  the  imaginary 
Apollyon  in  his  path  (supposing  himself  to  be  in  time  for  him)  exhibits 
all  the  activity  of  an  unregeuerated  flesh. 

Soon  I  had  met  in  the  valley  and  tried  my  cudgels  strength 

On  the  enemy  homed  and  winged,  a-straddle  across  its  length  ! 

Have  at  his  horns,  thwick — thwack  :  they  snap,  see !     Hoof  and  hoof — 

Bang,  break  the  fetlock-bones  !     For  love's  sake,  keep  aloof 

Angels !     Tm  man  and  match, — this  cudgel  for  my  flail, — 

To  thresh  him,  hoofs  and  horns,  bat's  wing  and  serpent's  tail  1 

He  cannot  quite  be  Christian,  but  he  can  be  Faithful.  Everything  fits. 
Vanity  Fair  is  Bedford  Fair;  and  St.  Peter's  Green  stands  for  the 
Market-place.  They  flay  him,  and  flog  him,  and  stab  him;  they 
knock  him  about  as  if  he  had  nine  lives,  but — 

ha,  ha,  he, 

Who  I  olds  the  highest  card! 

A  chariot  and  pair  are  hiding  behind  the  crowd — he's  in  it,  up,  and 
•way — to  heaven  by  the  nearest  gate — the  gibbet  will  do  it  for  him — 
awords  and  knives  are  not  handy,  but  the  gibbet  is  close — 

Then  hang  me,  draw  and  quarter!     Tab — do  the  same  by  her 
He  is  the  most  vigorous  compound  ever  invented  of  Christian  martyr 
and  pugilist  dying  game. 

The  request  was  not  likely  to  be  refused.  Master  Bratts  had  con- 
fessed to  many  deeds  of  which  no  one  doubted  his  commission,  and  his 
having  eluded  their  just  penalty  so  long,  would  not,  if  he  had  wished  it, 
bave  constituted  a  plea  for  mercy.     The  idea  that  in  his  zeal  he  had 


300 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REMEll 


overstated  his  case  would  not  occur  to  the  contemporary  mind,  though 
it  may  present  itself  to  the  rcjulcr  of  his  advcuturcs.  The  Chief  Justice 
considered  it  only  due  to  liis  truthfulness  tu  grant  what  he  adducetl 
such  excellent  reasons  for  desci-ving;  so  the  pair  were  handed  over  to 
the  Sheriff  and  dealt  with  as  they  desired;  the  '^  two  dozen  odd*' 
seutenccsj  previously  passed^  being  remitted  by  his  lordship  with  a  view, 
we  may  suppose,  to  the  good  day's  work  which  had  already  been  done 
without  them. 

This  ending  is  not  only  natural  in  itself,  but  au  almost  uecessary 
fulfilment  of  tlie  dramatic  conditions  of  the  story.  The  atmosphere  is 
pregnant  from  tlic  first  with  something  at  ouce  horrible  and  grotesque; 
and  when  Ned  Bratts  and  his  Tabby  have  rolled  on  to  tlie  scene  and  off 
it  for  the  last  time,  we  feel  that  that  something  has  assumed  its  most 
appropriate  form,  and  no  other  eoneUision  would  have  been  legitimate. 
Yet  it  finds  us  only  half  prepared.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  convert  is 
so  closely  identified  wit!x  the  vapours  of  heat  and  beer,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  judge  beforehand  Iiow  far  it  will  carrj'  him  ;  the  more  so, 
that  the  possibility  of  a  collapse  is  constantly  present  to  himself.  Half 
his  urgency  to  be  hung  ''out  of  hand"  lies  in  the  knowledge  that  he 
may  change  his  mind  if  he  is  not.  Such  qualms  have  come  to  him 
before,  but  they  have  not  outlived  the  night.  Even  now  the  glories  of 
the  chariot  which  will  lift  liini  above  the  clouds  wavers  in  the  prospec- 
tive brightness  of  to-morrow's  bear-baitingj  and  the  brawl  on  Turner's 
Patch  by  whicli  it  will  be  crowucd  ;  ami  even  now  the  Iron  Cage  stares 
him  in  the  face,  and  the  lost  man  inside,  and  that  last  woi*st  state  of 
him  who  warred  against  the  light;  nud  though  such  an  image  might 
well  turn  the  scale,  we  receive  a  decided  mental  shock  in  discovering  that 
it  was  i[itended  to  do  so,  and  that  the  apparent  farce  is  in  fact  a  tragedy. 

We  need  scarcely  say  that  the  self-satire  of  tins  conversion  implies  no 
denial  on  Mr.  lirowiiing's  part  of  the  relative  seriousness  it  might 
possess.  So  much  is  guaranteed  to  it  by  the  majestic  figure  of  John 
Bunyan,  and  by  the  historic  character  of  the  religious  challenge  which 
resounded  in  that  year  1672,  from  the  precincts  of  llcdford  jail.  Tab 
Bratts  lias  visited  the  tinker  therc ;  and  his  spoken  words  have  effected 
in  her  a  leas  equivocal  reformation  than  the  fiery  symbolism  of  the 
"  Pilgrim's  Progrcf>s"  could  produce  in  her  husband.  She  goes  to  him 
with  no  friendly  intent.  The  blind  daughter  who  carries  his  laces 
from  house  to  house  has  lately  avoided  hers.  These  laces  are  excep- 
lioimlly  strong  and  invaluable  for  the  uidaivfu!  purposes  of  their  trade  ; 
and  neither  she  nor  Master  Uratts  is  inclined  to  dispense  with  them 
because  the  profligacy  of  their  mannei's  is  likely  to  offend  the  bearer. 
She  enters  John  Bunyan's  cell  with  all  the  insolence  i^he  can  command  ; 
but  tlic  strength  which  meets  her  is  not  of  twr  world,  and  the  attitude 
of  defiance  is  soon  exchanged  for  one  of  supplication — 

Down  on  my  mmrow-liones  !   Then  all  at  once  rose  he  : 
His  brown  hair  burst  a-sprond,  his  eyes  were  suns  to  see  ; 


MR.  BROWNING'S  DRAMATIC  IDYLLS,  301 

Up  went  his  hands ;  "  Through  flesh,  I  reach,  T  read  thy  soul ! 

So  may  some  stricken  tree  look  blasted,  bough  and  bole, 

Champed  by  the  fire  tooth,  charred  without,  and  yet,  thrice-bound 

With  dreriment  about,  within  may  life  be  found, 

A  prisoned  power  to  branch  and  blossom  as  before. 

Could  but  the  gardener  cleave  the  cloister,  reach  the  core, 

Loosen  the  vitsd  sap :  yet  where  shall  help  be  found  ? 

Who  says  *  How  save  it  ?* — nor  *  Why  cumbers  it  the  ground  ? 

Woman,  that  tree  art  thou  !     All  sloughed  about  with  scurf, 

Thy  stag-horns  iright  the  sky,  thy  snake-roots  sting  the  turf  1 

DruakenneaB,  wantonness,  theft,  murder  gnash  and  gnarl 

Thine  outward,  case  thy  soul  with  coating  like  the  marie 

Satan  stamps  flat  upon  each  head  beneath  his  hoof! 

And  how  deliver  such  ?     The  strong  men  keep  aloof, 

Lover  and  friend  stand  far,  the  mocking  ones  pass  by, 

Tophet  gapes  wide  for  prey :  lost  soul,  despair  and  die ! 

What  tlien  ?     •  I^ook  unto  me  and  be  ye  saved  I  *  saith  God  ; 

*■  I  strike  the  rock,  outstreats  the  life-streams  at  my  rod  ! 

Be  your  sins  scarlet,  wool  shall  they  seem  like, — although 

As  crimson  red,  yet  turn  white  as  the  driven  snow !'  " 

She  remembers  no  more  but  that  it  was  by  means  of  the  blind  girFs 
guiding  hand  that  she  regained  her  home ;  and  that  the  same  hand 
bestowed  the  book  as  "father's  boon"  upon  her. 

"  Tray"  is  an  anecdote  of  canine  devotion,  for  the  publishing  of 
-which  no  motive  was  needed  but  its  possibility ;  though  it  raises,  and 
in  a  manner  disposes  of,  a  question  of  considerable  importance.  A 
dog  plunges  into  the  river  to  rescue  a  drowning  child ;  then  dives  for  a 
second  time,  and  after  a  lengthened  disappearance,  the  water  being  deep 
and  the  current  strong,  emerges  again  with  her  doll.  The  facts  are 
described  with  all  the  force  of  contrast  in  the  comments  of  supposed 
bystanders,  who  welcome  the  familiar  mystery  of  "  animal  instinct"  in  a 
deed  to  all  appearance  as  intelligent  as  it  is  heroic ;  and  allow  the 
"  good  dog"  to  risk  its  life  in  their  stead  with  a  quite  undisturbed 
aense  of  human  superiority.  The  absurdness  of  this  attitude  loses 
nothing  in  the  sarcastic  spirit  in  which  it  is  conceived,  and  we  must 
protest  in  the  name  of  "  vivisectionism"  against  the  concluding  lines, 
humorous  as  they  are — 

And  so,  amid  tlie  laughter  gay. 
Trotted  my  hero  off, — old  Tray, — 
Till  somebody,  prerogatived 
With  reason,  reasoned  :  "  Why  he  dived, 
Ilis  brain  would  show  us,  I  should  say, 

"  John,  go  and  catch — or,  if  needs  be, 

Purchase  that  animal  for  nic  ! 

By  vivisection,  at  expense 

Of  balf-an-hour  and  eighteen  pence, 

How  brain  secretes  dog's  soul,  we'll  see  !'* 

We  are  not  aware  that  any  one  since  La  Mettrie  has  thus  proposed 
to  catch  '*  thinking  in  the  act"     But  Mr,  Browning's  readers  will  not 


302 


THE  CO^TEMPORARY  REVfEU 


resent  some  acerbity  of  zeal  in  bis  defence  of  tlie  weaker  but  "  hvlnj 
fellow -creature*'  which  Nature  and  poetry  have  so  deeply  consecrated  to 
their  tenderness ;  and  Tray's  virtues  will  find  abundant  sympathy  ereu 
among  those  who  hold  exploded  theories  concerning  them. 

In  *'  Halbcrt  and  Hob"  a  fierce  sou  is  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with  a 
father  generally  as  fierce  as  himself.  He  is  about  to  fiing  him  out  of 
the  house,  and  has  ah'cady  dragged  Inm  to  a  certain  turn  in  the  stairs, 
when  the  old  man,  who  has  become  passive  at  the  first  grip  of  hi« 
hand,  tells  him  that  they  arc  repeating  step  by  step  a  sceue  in  which 
years  ago  he  and  liis  own  father  were  the  actors,  and  bids  him  listen  to 
the  warning  voice  by  which  he  was  then  turned  from  the  completion  of 
his  parricidal  deed.  The  words  take  their  effect.  It  is  Christmas 
night.  They  pass  it  silently  together.  ]>awu  finds  the  father  dead  in 
his  chair,  and  the  son  terrified  into  a  premature  and  harmless  senility. 
This  episode,  whiclk  we  need  hardly  say  is  related  in  all  the  rugged  im- 
pressiveuess  of  which  it  is  capable,  strikes  us  simply  as  a  study  of  here- 
ditary character,  heightened  by  coincidences  of  time  and  circumstance^ 
which  seem  tlie  more  draaiatic  in  proportion  as  we  admit  them  to  be 
natural.  But  Mr.  Browning  appears  to  sec  in  it  something  more.  He 
presents  it  as  an  instance  of  supernatural  interference  in  the  lives  and  in 
the  hearts  of  men  ;  and  its  last  lines  contain  an  assertion,  for  the 
answer  to  which  we  must  appeal  fi'om  him  to  himself.      He  says, 

'^  Is  there  any  reason  iu  nature  for  these  hard  hearts?*'  O  Lear, 
That  a  reason  out  of  unturo  must  turn  them  soft,  seems  clear  I 

But  the  collective  labours  of  his  literary  life  have  negatived  the  words. 
They  all  tend  to  show  what  infinitely  varied  products  may  emerge  from 
the  chemistry  of  the  huumn  iniud^  and  how  little  we  cau  say  of  any 
action  or  reaction  of  human  feeling  that  it  is  not  natural.  To  externa- 
lize the  mystery  of  Nature  in  some  intangible  manner  lies  in  the  very 
language  of  poetry,  even  of  the  jioetry  which  recognises  no  personal 
God  ;  and  a  genius  at  oucc  so  reverent  and  so  critical  as  Mr.  Brown- 
ing's is  always  in  danger  of  building  up  with  one  Imud  a  theory  wliich 
he  will  knockdown  with  the  other.  Still,  we  would  ratlier  believe  that 
in  the  present  ease  he  expresses  himself  dramatically,  and  that  not  evcD 
the  relative  meaning  of  his  utterance  is  to  be  chargetl  upon  him.  There 
arc  at  least  not  wanting  in  this  very  volume  lines  in  which  the  idea  of 
continued  divine  intervention  is  merged  in  a  larger  view  of  the  eajiabili- 
tics  of  human  existence;  to  the  stud)'  of  which  it  remains,  whatever  its 
philosophic  outcome^  his  not  least  valuable  coutributiou. 

A.  Orr. 


ENGLISH   AGRICULTURE. 


IT  is  generally  admitted  that^  at  the  present  time^  all  branches  of 
industry  and  trade  are  suffering  from  a  depression  which  has  had 
no  parallel  since  the  gloomy  period  which  preceded  Sir  Robert  PeeFs 
administration.  The  cry  of  distress  comes  from  nearly  every  quarter. 
Profits  hare  fallen^  till  we  are  told  that  manufacturers  and  traders  are 
liring  on  their  capital.  Wages  have  fallen^  and  the  organization  of 
trade  unions  has  not  only  been  powerless  to  arrest  the  decline,  but  has 
cren  facilitated  the  process  of  reduction.  Traders  tell  us  that  they 
never  had  so  much  difficulty  in  stimulating  a  ready-money  trade,  or  in 
getting  in  Christmas  biUs  where  credit  is  given.  Nobody  seems  to 
prosper  but  lawyers  and  accountants^  the  latter  a  monstrous  growth 
of  our  monstrous  bankruptcy  law.  At  the  same  time  heresies  on 
economical  subjects,  long  since  dead,  as  we  fondly  imagined,  are 
leviTing,  not  merely  in  the  talk  of  political  adventurers,  but  in  the 
Jtcsolntions  of  Chambers  of  Commerce,  and  in  the  utterances  of  railway 
chairmen.  The  West-end  tradesmen  of  London  are  more  bitter  against 
the  ^'  Co-operative"  shops  than  ever,  no  doubt  because  retail  business 
18  becoming  increasingly  unprofitable ;  for  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  the 
aggregate  of  all  the  sales  effected  at  all  these  shops  can  represent  more 
tlian  an  infinitesimal  fraction  of  all  the  business  done,  in  ordinary  times, 
by  the  retail  traders  of  the  metropolis.  The  depression  of  trade  is  most 
noticeable  in  the  takings  of  such  dealers  in  articles  of  consumption  as 
invite  purchase  in  crowded  thoroughfares.  I  heard  a  short  time  since 
from  a  tobacconist  in  the  Strand  that  his  receipts  from  sales  had  fallen 
lately  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  pounds  a  month.  The  excise  has  not 
fallen,  but  grief  is  said  to  be  thirsty.  The  income-tax  on  trade  returns 
lias  not  been  perceptibly  diminished^  but  it  must  be  remembered  that 
trade  profits  are  interpreted  by  those  who  return  them  on  averages,  and 


304 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVJEIV. 


the  trader  naturally  attempts  to  treat  an  iacorae  tax  as  a  charge  ou  liis 
calling,  to  be  recouped  in  extra  prices  to  the  consumer.  Nor  is  there 
any  sign  that  the  mischief  is  diminishing.  On  the  coutraryj  the  most 
experienced  interpretera  of  trade  in  the  future  look  gloomily  on 
the  prospects.  There  arc  some  who  say  that  we  have  only  entered  into 
the  valley  of  humiliation,  and  counsel  us  to  he  ready  for  worse  times 
and  sharper  privations.  Money  is  likely  to  be  cheap,  for  there  is  no 
enterprise  for  which  savings  can  be  borrowed.  There  is  plenty  of 
capital,  but  industry  is  crippled.  We  know  that  the  South  African 
War  will  be  prodigiously  costly,  and  that  it  cannot  be  put  on  the 
finances  of  India,  or  the  exchequer  of  the  Cape  colonists.  But  the 
prospect  of  great  indebtedness  in  the  future,  added  to  great  indebted- 
ness incurred  ou  behalf  of  peace  and  honour  at  present,  produces  no 
jipiJi'cciablc  effect  on  the  price  of  Consols.  If  trade  were  brisk,  the 
present  state  of  the  finances  would  induce  very  different  phenomena  in 
the  money  market. 

There  is  one  palliation  to  this  universal  calamity.  Food — i.e.,  the 
necessary  food  of  the  people — is  cheap  beyond  parallel.  But  it  is  not 
supplied  from  onr  own  agriculture.  The  difference  between  the  reputed 
value  of  exports  and  imports  is  enormons,  and  to  some  men's  minds  is 
alarming  and  portentous.  It  is  supposed  that  England  is  being 
depleted  of  her  wealth.  Of  course,  little  reliance  can  be  placed  on  the 
estimated  values  of  imports,  and  still  less  ou  those  of  exports.  It  is 
certain,  too,  that  whatever  may  be  the  values,  the  exports  |jay  for  the 
imports.  But  many  persons  arc  unaware  of  the  enormous  indebtedness 
of  the  British  colonies,  India,  and  foreign  countries  to  English  bond- 
hahlers,  and  of  the  fact  that  much  of  what  figures  as  imports  is  in  reality 
interest  ou  colonial  and  foreign  securities  held  in  the  United  Kingdom. 
That  we  are  not  exporting  these  securities  in  order  to  pay  for  food  and 
other  commodities  is  pretty  certain,  for  in  such  a  case  we  should  see  a  de- 
cline in  tlie  value  of  English  secui'ities.  That  we  may  be,  owing  to  the 
necessity  of  procuring  these  supplies,  pressing  sales  of  goods  abroad  is 
probablcj  though  it  may  be  concluded  that  the  agency  which  exchanges 
goods  for  food  would  have  its  operations  crippled  if  the  exchange  were 
not  effected.  That  wc  do  not  sell  as  much  as  we  could,  if  foreign 
tariffs  were  modified,  is  incontestable ;  but  it  is  certain  that  wc  shoidd 
sell  much  less  if  wc  followed  the  example  of  our  neighbours. 

The  depression  in  the  price  of  agricultural  produce  is,  we  aj'e  told, 
ruining  the  farmers.  That  English  agriculturists  arc  passing  through 
a  stage  of  depression  and  positive  loss  is  unfortunately  too  true,  and  it 
is  equally  true  that,  owing  to  the  habit  which  farmers  long  have  had  of 
grumbling  even  in  the  bt^st  of  tiincs^  less  attenti<in  has  been  paid  to 
their  complaints  than  the  public  good  demands.  But  there  is  evidence 
fts  to  the  present  state  of  things  which  is  irresistible.  Farms  are  beii 
thrown  up  on  all  sides.  Sometimes  we  are  told  that  this  is  due  to 
excessive  game-preserving,  as  it  very  well  may  be.      But,  at  the  present 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE 


905 


P 


^ 


k 
P 


moment,  it  is  rumoured  that  the  Oxford  Colleges  which  let  land  at 
rack-rent  arc  iu  uji  ill  a  case  as  gamc-prescrviug  squires  are.  But  the 
Fellows  of  Oxford  Colleges  uever  preserve  game  iu  the  fashion  which 
aome  people  have  adopted.  It  is  certain  that  they  are  the  last  people 
who  would,  if  they  could  help  it,  dispossess  a  tenant  who  paid  his  rent 
with  decent  regularity.  Agaia,  one  reads  in  the  papers  that  abate- 
ments of  rent,  varying  from  15  to  5  per  cent.,  have  been  made  by 
generous  landlords,  whose  liberality  has  been  duly  chronicled  and 
lauded,  though  probably  prudence  has  been  influential  in  counselling 
the  reduction  quite  as  much  as  kindliness  has  been. 

The  English  landowner  is,  in  relation  to  his  tenant,  in  a  peculiarly 
fortunate  position,  owing,  no  doubt,  to  the  great  influence  which  the  land- 
owner has  in  passing  the  laws  which  regulate  the  relations  between  the 
owner  and  the  occupier  of  land.  In  the  first  place,  he  has  a  secured 
debt,  which  must  be  satisfied,  after  the  dues  to  the  Exchequer  and  the 
wages  of  labour  are  paid,  before  any  other  creditor  can  get  a  sixpence. 
The  cflect  of  the  law  is  not  merely  to  secure  the  landowner,  but  to  injure 
the  tenant,  by  indirectly  raising  rent  above  its  natural  amount.  The 
Scotch  farmer,  in  his  form  of  the  law,  that  of  hypothec,  says,  and  says 
with  reason,  that  tltc  prior  claim  of  the  landlord  induces  such  persons 
to  compete  for  farms  as  can  only  be  said  to  gamble  with  agricultural 
industry,  and  thereby  to  put  the  prudent  and  competent  farmer  at  a 
disadvantage.  The  Scotch  tradesman  says^  and  with  equal  reason,  that 
the  law  of  hy[)othcc  renders  his  dealing  with  a  Scotch  farmer  peculiarly 
risky,  and  of  course,  though  risks  must  be  paid  fur,  risks  of  an  artificial 
kind  discourage  business.  Again,  the  landlord  puts  the  first  payment 
of  local  rates  on  his  tenant.  He  always  says,  to  be  sure,  that  local  rates 
operate  in  reduction  of  rent.  Some,  no  doubt,  do  so  absolutely,  as  for 
example,  a  tithe-rent  charge.  Some  do  so  unequally,  as  in  poor,  road, 
and  other  county  rates,  partly  because  the  liouses  and  grounds  of  country 
gentlemen  are  rated  at  absurdly  low  sums,  on  the  ridiculous  ground  of 
the  "hypothetical  tenant,"  when  they  should  have  been  estimated  from 
\he  view  of  the  relation  of  the  house  and  grounds  to  the  status  of  the  cer- 
tain successor ;  partly  because  the  occupier  is  always  at  a  disadvantage  in 
quitting  his  holding,  and  therefore  iSfpro  tanio,  disabled  from  transferring 
the  tax.  The  best  answer  to  this  argument,  which  even  the  Duke  of 
Argyll  has  adopted,  is  to  suggest  that  the  tenant  should  deduct  all  local 
taxation  from  his  rent,  leaving  the  landlord  to  make  a  fresh  bargain 
with  him.  If  the  contention  of  the  lauded  interest  is  correct,  such  an 
arrangement  would  be  uo  loss  to  that  iuterest.  But  it  is  certain  that  if 
the  proposal  were  seriously  made,  it  would  not  be  met  in  the  Houses  of 
Parliament  with  a  spontaneous  and  universal  acceptance. 

Again,  the  law  confers  on  the  landowner  not  only  such  a  progressive 
Ivenefit  as  arises  from  that  increased  capacity  or  fertility  of  the  soil  which 
comes  from  natural  causes,  and  of  which  no  sensible  person  would  wish 
to  deprive  him,  but  also  enables  him  to  appropriate  such  special  improve- 

VOL.  XXXV.  X 


306 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


ttients  as,  having  been  made  hy  the  outlay  of  the  tenant,  are  not 
recoverable  from  that  in  which  they  arc  invested.  There  is  no  wonl 
'iphich  implies  more,  and  yet  has  been  more  loosely  interpreted,  than 
fertility.  It  is  supposed  to  be  a  quality  of  the  soil,  and  from  one  point 
of  view  it  is,  for  no  cultivation  can  take  place  without  laud,  and  some 
qualities  of  land,  are  for  reasons  of  climate,  or  from  the  absence  of 
certain  elements  in  the  soil,  or  because  the  ground  is  bare  rock,  abso- 
lutely infertile.  But  fertility  lies  quite  as  much,  from  another  point  of 
view,  in  the  capacity  of  the  cultivator,  or,  in  logical  phraseology,  as 
much  in  the  subject  as  in  the  object.  The  alluvium  of  California^  the 
Lprairies  of  Illinois  and  Ohio,  were  just   as  fertile,  from  the  one  point 

\i  view,    wheu   they  were  wandered  over  by  hunting  tribes,  as  they 

^are    now,  when  they  arc  occupied   by  thri\nng  and  energetic  American 

iculturists.     The  hop  lands  of  Kent,  Surrey,  and  AVorcestcr  pos- 

jed  the  natural  qualities  which  make  them  so  valuable  before  the 

lop,  in  the  latter  end  of  the  fifteenth  century,  was  introduced  from 
'olland,  as  they  now  are,  wheu  the  cultivation  of  the  plant  has  been 
carried  to  perfection  in  the  selection  of  stocks  and  in  the  dressing  of  the 
soil.  It  is  intelligence,  at  first  the  special  intelligence  of  one  or  a  few 
men,  and  finally  the  diffused  or  common  iutelligeuce  of  all  who  arc 
engaged  in  this  peculiar  industry,  which  has  confcrre<l  what  may  be 
called  subjective  fertility  in  certain  districts. 

It  is  from  such  fertility  that  rents  have  been  developed  and  increased, 
le  first  person  who,  in  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
introduced  winter  roots  from  Holland,  the  great  school  of  agricultural 
invention  at  that  time,  gained  all  the  benefit  of  the  venture  himself.  If 
he  were  a  tenant,  his  landlord  had  no  means  of  appropnatiug  his  invention, 
or  his  capacity  for  making  profit  by  the  invention.  As  soon  as  the  process 
was  diffused  among  all  agriculturists,  the  landlord  came  in  necessarily 
and  naturally  for  his  share  of  the  profit.  Tn  England  the  result  of  this 
improvement  was  that  the  population  was  doubled  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  At  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  another  improvement  was 
borrowed  from  Holland.  Some  English  agriculturists  betook  themselves 
to  the  cultivation  of  artificial  grasses,  as  they  arc  called.  In  the  reign 
of  George  I,  the  tiny  newspapera  of  the  time  contain  the  advertisements 
of  seedsmen  calling  attention  to  the  new  grasses — rye,  clover;  and 
Kiintfoin.  The  same  result  followed :  the  skill  of  one  farmer  became 
in  due  time  the  skill  of  all  farmers,  and  rents  increased  with  the 
diffusion  of  intelligence  in  agriculture.  Similarly  the  population  was 
doubled  in  the  eighteenth  century.  It  is  a  practice  with  many  people 
who  know  nothing  of  the  history  of  agriculture  to  5i)eak  of  the  sudden- 
ness of  mechanical  inventions  and  the  slow  progress  of  agricultural 
improvement.  But  the  fnct  is  tliat  the  slowness  lies  in  the  diffusion  of 
the  process  of  agricultural  improvement.  If  any  one  were  at  the  pains 
to  fiud  out  what  was  the  produce  of  n  plot  of  land  three  centuries  ago, 
and  compare  it  with  the  produce  of  the  same  plot  at  the  present  time. 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE. 


307 


k 


he  would  be  able  to  measure  the  growth  of  agriculture.  He  could 
ftrrive  at  a  solution  of  the  questioa  iu  a  still  more  rapid  way  if  he 
compared  the  rent  of  the  plot  at  the  remote,  with  the  rent  of  the  plot 
at  the  present  time.  No  value  has  risen  between  now  and  the  Middle 
Ages  in  such  a  proportion  as  rent  has;  and  the  cause  is,  that  present 
fertility  is  due  to  the  diffused  intelligence  of  agriculturists. 

It  is,  therefore,  of  the  highest  interest  to  landowners  that  everv 
eticouragemeut  should  be  given  to  those  processes  by  which  intelligence 
is  faronght  to  bear  on  agricultural  operations,  and  that  intelligence  may 
be  extended  to  as  many  persons  as  can  possibly  share  it,  under  the  most 
favourable  conditions  conceivable.  For  it  is  peculiar  to  agricultural 
operations  that  they  have  no  secrets.  The  farmer  works  in  the  light. 
He  cannot  preserve  his  property  in  his  art,  iu  so  far  as  this  consists  iu 
hiding  :»kiil  and  method  from  imitation.  No  furmer  can  protect  his  own 
craft  by  a  patent.  No  law  of  trespass  can  prevent  his  neighbours  from 
naing  their  eyes  and  profiting  by  the  use.  Fortunately,  too,  the  farmer 
incites  publicity  to  his  operatious,  and  can  hardly,  if  he  were  so  minded, 
keep  the  process  dark  to  which  his  results  are  due.  It  is  possible  that 
some  farmers  make  a  mystery  of  the  manure  which  they  use  in  dressing 
land,  and  the  quantities  which  they  employ.  But  it  may  be  supposed 
that  the  mystery  is  very  penetrable.  Further,  the  value  of  their  products 
is  determined  by  absolote  and  naked  competition.  Better  prices  mean 
better  qualities.  The  farmer  is  the  one  tradesman  who  has  no  fancy  price, 
can  employ  no  tricks  of  trade.  A  pair  of  boots  made  in  Clerkenwell 
or  Paddiugton  may  be  sold  at  fifteen  shillings  in  the  place  of  their 
origin,  and  at  thirty  shillings  iu  Regent  Street,  but  the  price  of  a 
quarter  of  wheat  iuMai'k  Lane,  Peuzancc,  or  Edinburgh  is  not  differen- 
tiated by  any  consideration  whatever,  except  by  the  number  of  pounds  to 
the  bushel  and  the  feel  of  the  grain. 

When  the  Corn  Law  agitation  was  at  its  height  there  was  nothing 
which  the  wise  and  shrewd  men  of  that  generaciou  insisted  on  more 
empliatically  than  the  two  economical  facts,  that  free  trade  iu  food 
woald  not  lower  rents,  but  heighten  them ;  would  not  lower  wages,  but 
heighten  them.  The  advocates  of  protcctiou  were  as  peremptory  and 
impatient  as  the  Duke  of  Argyll  is  now,  when  he  resents  and  mis-states 
the  arguments  of  Mr.  Bear  and  others  iu  favour  of  the  fanner's  freaiom. 
It  was  an  unhappy  and  mischievous  hindrance  to  wise  legislation  more 
than  thirty  years  ago  that  we  had  to  convert  people  to  the  due  recogni- 
tion of  their  own  iuterests,  and  the  same  hiudraucc  will  be  operative 
now,  a!id  for  the  same  occult  causes.  To  those  who  remember  the  days 
of  the  Anti-Corn  I^aw  agitation,  it  is  plain  that  the  reaibtauce  to  change 
was  in  reality  due  quite  as  much  to  the  fear  that "  territorial  iutluence" 
would  be  exlinguiMhed  by  the  trade  iu  food,  as  to  the  dread  that  rents 
would  fall.  Bat  territorial  influence  has,  happily  or  unhappily,  not 
diminished,  aud  the  prwliclions  of  the  Free  Traders  as  to  the  effect  of 
the  change  ou  rents  aud  w^igcs  have  been  triumphantly  verified. 

X  2 


808 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


The  income  tax  is  the  worst  tax  which  has  ever  been  iuvented  or 
imposed.  It  is  unjust,  iinmoralj  delusive.  But  it  oi>erate8  iu  one 
direction  with  8cienti6c  precision,  and  if  there  could  be  found  any 
excuse  for  an  impost  which  has  done  more  to  degrrade  the  bistoricml 
integrity  of  Englishmen  than  any  other  fiscal  expedient  whatever,  not 
excepting  lotteries,  it  is  in  the  evidence  which  this  tax  gives  as  as  to  the 
rise  in  rent.  This  rise  during  the  last  twenty  years  is  21  per  cent.,  as 
we  learn  from  the  increase  in  the  return  on  farmers'  rents.  The 
ordinary  statement  that  land  is  a  bad  investment  because  it  only  pays 
from  2J^  to  3  per  cent,  on  cost  price  is  to  be  corrected^  therefore,  by  ihe 
fact  that  iu  the  purchase  of  laud  the  regular  rise  in  its  value  has  been 
as  regularly  anticipated  by  vendor  and  purchaser,  and  that  what  people 
pay  for  is  not  merely  the  present  value,  but  the  prospective  increase  in 
value. 

A  part  of  this  rise  in  rent  is  due  to  the  diffusion  of  agricultural 
skill— I.e.,  to  the  increased  power  of  the  farmer  to  produce  equal  quan- 
tities of  produce  at  less  cost,  or  greater  quantities  at  equal  cost.  That 
this  growing  power  of  agriculture  is  the  cause  of  the  rise  in  rents,  no 
person  who  has  studied  the  history  of  agriculture  can  for  a  moment 
doubt.  The  fact  was  obscured  for  a  time  by  the  existence  of  the  Corn 
'Laws,  and  the  eflect  of  these  laws,  the  uncertainty  of  foreign  supply. 
Under  such  cireumstauccs,  land  which  would  not  iu  the  presence  of 
foreign  competition  have  yielded  rent,  or  even  profit,  under  the  im- 
perfect agriculture  then  known,  was  taken  iuto  cultivation,  because  iu 
the  presence  of  restriction  and  uncertainty,  it  might  be  and  often  was 
profitable  to  till  it.  But  when  the  Corn  Laws  M'ore  repealed,  and  the 
English  farmer  was  only  protected  by  the  cost  of  freight  from  foreign 
parts,  the  invariable  law  of  prices  in  these  industries  whose  products  are 
various,  but  which  are  all  in  regular  demand,  came  into  operation.  The 
price  of  wheat  fell,  it  is  true,  but  the  price  of  other  kiuds  of  grain  was 
increased.  This  fact  is  proved  by  the  tithe  averages,  which,  taken  from 
the  prices  of  the  three  kiuds  of  grain — wheat,  barley,  and  oats — have  been 
iu  excess  on  an  average  during  the  last  thirty  years  of  the  values  which 
were  treated  under  the  commutation  as  normal.  But  if  the  rise  in  the 
price  of  barley  and  oats  has  more  than  compenfiated  for  the  fall  in 
wheat,  still  raorc  have  other  products  of  agriculture  risen  in  price 
Meat  and  dairj-  produce  are  nearly  if  not  quite  double  the  prices  at  which 
they  stood,  when  the  energies  of  the  tenant  farmers  were  concentrated 
on  the  yield  of  wheat,  and  before  railway  communication  enabled  the 
country  to  forward  its  supplies  to  the  towns. 

It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  rise  in  rents  lias  been  assisted  by  the 
competition  for  farms,  and  that  this  competitiou  has  had  not  a  little  to  do 
with  the  rerluctiuu  of  the  farmers'  profits.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that 
within  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years  capitalist  callings  have  been 
flcrionsly  overcrowded; — that,  for  example,  there  is  an  inordinate  competi- 
tion between  producers  and  traders  for  an  amount  of  business  which  has 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE. 


309 


» 


1^ 

^  -1 


not  increased  proportionately  to  the  number  of  persons  who  strive  to 
share  it.  Now  where  the  product  of  any  industry  or  trade  is  valued  on 
the  strictest  principle  of  competition,  business  profits  will  fall,  till  the 
competition  of  traders  and  producers  is  checked,  or  till  habit  induces 
cmpitalists  to  acquiesce  in  lower  rates  of  profit  than  before.  Thus,  it  is 
nid  that  much  of  the  depression  which  prevails  in  the  textile  industries 
IS  to  be  traced  to  over-production,  which  must  mean  production  at  snch 
lov  rates  of  profit  as  do  not  remunerate  the  capitalist,  and  the  accumula- 
tioaof  such  a  supply  of  labour  as  tempts  the  employer  to  save  himself 
from  a  further  depreciation  of  profits,  by  reducing  wa^es.  The  competition 
of  retail  traders  is  not  of  the  same  kind.  Custom  has,  in  the  distribution 
of  goods,  to  a  large  extent,  regulated  retail  pricc-s,  as  is  proved  by  the  fact 
that  the  same  article  is  sold  at  very  different  rates  to  different  classes  of 
persons,  and  in  different  but  not  distant  localities.  Retail  traders,  in 
(ad,  generally  compete  against  each  other,  not  by  lowering  prices,  but 
by  extending  businesa.  Here  the  remedy,  as  stated  above,  is  the  co- 
operative shop. 

The  farmer  is  under  the  8harj>cst  conditions  of  competition  in  dia- 
posing  of  his  produce.  His  goods  are  sold  by  the  higgling  of  the 
maritet.  A  customary  price  is  unknown  to  butchers  and  bakers  when 
tbey  purchase  cattle  and  flour,  however  much  their  customers  may  sua- 
pect  that  they  are  the  Wctims  of  artificial  charges  in  dealing  with  such 
traders  in  retail  trade.  Aud  more  than  any  other  producers,  they  are 
forced  to  sell ;  for,  with  few  exceptions,  their  produce  does  not  improve 
with  keeping,  or  is  costly  to  keep.  The  price  of  the  English  farmer's 
wheat  is  fixed  by  foreign  supply,  plus  the  cost  of  carriage ;  that  of 
bis  meat  and  some  kinds  of  dairy  produce  by  the  same  conditions.  His 
industry  is  regulated  by  an  cvcr-widcning  market.  But  though  he  ia 
acute  enough  in  interpreting  the  best  price  which  he  can  get,  he  is  very 
helpless  iubargainingfortheuseof  that  from  which  his  produce  is  obtained. 
It  is  probable  that  no  occupation  is  so  hereditary  as  that  of  a  farmer  of 
agricultural  land.  The  number  of  persons  who,  not  being  the  sons  of 
farmers,  learn  the  art  of  agriculture,  is  certainly  very  small.  Of  course 
the  sons  of  fanners  seek  other  callings,  but  one  son  generally  looks 
forward  to  succeeding  to  his  father's  occupation  and  to  the  same  holding. 
I  hare  talked  to  many  farmers  who  have  been,  from  father  to  son, 
tenants  of  the  same  estate  for  centuries.  Nor  is  there  any  occupation 
which  so  generally  disables  the  person  who  has  been  brought  up  to  it 
from  following  any  other,  as  the  pursuit  of  agriculture  does.  To  fail  in 
this  calling  is  to  be  precluded  from  other  callings,  except  to  a  very 
limited  extent,  for  sometimes  a  farmer  who  has  not  been  successful  in 
own  business,  becomes  a  land  agent,  or  land  valuer,  or  a  bailiff  in 
luiabandry.  Hence  the  competition  for  farms  has  been  eager.  Farmers 
ftllow  themselves  to  be  bound  by  covenants  which  are  often  of  the  most 
absurd  character,  but  which  are  traditional  in  lawyers'  and  land-agents' 
and    submit,     though     not   without    deep    misgivings,    to   the 


310 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


indefinite  ravages  of  ground  game.  That  the  risks  of  the  farmer 
calling's  have  increasedj  that  the  cxcreisc  of  his  skill  is  chcckedj  and  that 
he  has  been  forced  by  excessive  competition,  under  very  adverse  cir- 
cumstances, into  ofFering  more  for  his  holding  than  will  leave  him 
a  reasonable  prospect  of  fair  profit,  is  asserted  by  farmers  themselves, 
and  cannot  be  gainsaid  by  dispassionate  observers,  cither  on  foot  or 
principle. 

But  it  may  be  confidently  said,  and  abundautly  proved,  that  there  is 
no  interest  the  success  of  which  is  more  advantageous  to  a  community 
than  that  of  agriculture.  The  British  farmer  is  on  the  whole  more 
skilled  in  his  own  art  than  any  agriculturist  iu  the  world, — i.e.,  under 
favourable  circumstances,  no  cultivator  of  the  soil  in  any  European 
country  produces  so  much  from  an  equal  area  as  he  does.  His  live 
stock,  though,  with  the  exception  of  sheep,  it  is  comparatively  scanty, 
is  of  the  highest  quality.  Any  one  who  has  seen  the  agricultiu*e  of 
France  and  Germany  knows  bow  far  larger  is  the  yield  of  English  arable, 
and  how  much  better  as  a  rule  is  its  quality.  But  this  yield  is  only 
obtained  under  favourable  circumstances,  and  these  circumstanees,  taking 
the  whole  produce  through,  are  so  rarely  accorded  that  the  critics  of 
British  agriculture  tell  us  that  the  soil  of  this  country  does  not  pro- 
duce half  what  it  might  imdcr  better  tillage,  or,  as  we  may  more 
accurately  say,  under  fairer  conditions  of  tenure;  and  some  enthusiasts 
aver  that  the  possible  productiveness  is  far  greater  than  double  the 
actual  yield. 

The  success  with  which  agriculture  is  practised  is  the  mensure  of  that 
part  of  the  population  which  is  set  free  for  other  employment,  or  may 
subsist  at  leisure.  If  human  labour  could  procure  only  barely  enough 
for  human  subsistence,  no  one  could  be  spared  from  the  labour  of  pro- 
curing subsistence,  there  would  be  no  rent,  no  manufacture,  except  such 
domestic  industry  as  could  be  pursued  during  tlic  intervals  of  agricul- 
tural toil.  But  the  indest  agriculture  always  produces  far  more  than  is 
necessary  for  the  subsistence  of  the  cultivator,  and  improved  agriculture 
many  times  more  than  is  enough.  Hence  the  i>ossibility  of  opulence 
depends  primarily  on  the  success  with  which  agriculture  is  practised, 
and  the  growth  of  opulence  depends  on  improvements  in  agricultural 
processes.  Now  when,  owing  to  the  limited  area  of  the  soil  from  whirh 
agricultural  i)roduce  may  be  obtained^  or  to  discouragements  inflicted  on 
the  process  of  agricultural  improvement,  nations  are  forced  to  rely  on 
foreign  imports,  they  have  to  submit  to  such  restraints  on  the  process  of 
exchange  as  the  fiscal  necessities  of  foreign  governments,  or  the  selfish- 
ness of  powerful  interests  may  impose,  in  addition  to  whatever  other 
disadvantages  foreign  trade  involves.  And  for  reasons,  too  obviotis  to 
require  explanation,  the  hindrances  which  foreign  tariffs  put  on  the 
producers  of  manufactured  goods  are  far  more  serious  and  more  general 
than  those  which  arc  imposed  on  the  traflBc  in  raw  materials.  The 
impulse  which  induces  a  Government  to  listen  to  the  interested  fabc^ 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE, 


311 


N 


I 


loods  of  protectionist  manufacturers  docs  not  extend  so  far  as  to  affect 
the  importation  of  raw  materials,  iu  tliuse  cases,  at  least,  where  the  raw 
material  is  of  foreign  origin.  There  is  Lardly  a  civilised  community- 
which  does  not  put  Lea\y  duties  on  our  manufactures,  but  there  are  few 
or  none  who  do  not  welcome,  or,  if  they  could,  would  not  stipulate  for, 
a  free  exportation  of  any  raw  material  iu  which  we  possess  a  practical 
monopoly,  aud  which  is  esseutial  or  highly  advantageous  to  their 
indostries.  It  is  not  likely  that  Bismark's  protective  tariff  will  impose 
beftvy  duties  on  English  coal,  in  order  to  encourage  the  production  aud 
consumption  of  German  lignite  or  German  wood. 

The  most  valuable,  because  the  most  certain,  free,  and  intelligible 
trade  is  the  home  trade.  We  may  dissent  from  some  of  the  arguments 
on  which  A.dam  Smith  maintained  the  superior  advantage  of  the  home 
to  the  foreign  trade,  but  we  may  liud  many  which  are  amjjly  sufficient 
to  justify  hifl  inferences.  But  there  is  no  part  of  the  home  trade  which 
is  80  certain,  so  regular,  and  so  satisfactory,  as  that  between  the 
agriculturist  and  the  manufacturer  for  home  consumption.  Tlic  tnith 
was  disguised  when  this  country  had  a  practical  monopoly  of  foreign 
tnde  and  consumption,  when  British  products  were  so  necessary  that 
they  overcame  the  barriers  of  hostile  tariffs,  and  even  total  prohibition. 
But  the  conditions  are  changed.  This  country  has  formidable  rivals  in 
every  branch  of  industry.  Despite  the  mischief  which  their  protective 
tariff  does  them,  the  inventiveness  of  the  Americau  people  (doubtless 
assisted  by  the  cheap  Patent  Law  which  they  possess,  as  contrasted  with 
the  rapacious  jobl>ery  of  our  own  office]  is  fast  making  protection  auper- 
daous  in  many  manufacttircs.  Mr.  David  Wells  has  shown  that  in  the 
process  of  sugar-refining — though  here  the  allegations,  justly  founded,  of 
tlic  English  sugar-refiners  against  the  indirect  bounties  of  European 
conntrie«  do  not  apply — the  Americans  have  outstripped  the  English. 
American  cotton  stufis  are  energetically  competing  with  our  products 
even  among  our  best  customers,  the  half-civilised  races  of  the  Old  and 
New  World.  We  hear,  though  perhaps  on  no  very  good  authority,  that 
Belgium  is  rapidly  rivalling  us  in  machinery.  At  any  rate,  exaggerated 
as  many  of  these  statements  may  be,  there  is  reason  to  conclude  that 
with  our  manufactures  only,  we  should  really  be  in  the  condition  of  an 
adverse  balance  of  exchange, — a  state  of  things  which  all  economists  have 
deprecated  as  retrograde, — and  that  we  are  saved  from  an  eveu  more 
ruinous  depreciation  of  English  manufactures,  mainly  from  the  enormous 
indehteduess  of  foreign  countries  to  England,  an  indebtedness  which 
must  be  liqitidatcd  by  a  real  balance  of  imports. 

In  the  present  depression  of  trade  nothing  is  more  conspicuous  than 
that  of  sgricidture.  Those  who  know  most  about  the  farmer's  condition 
tell  us  that  his  capital  is  nearly  exhausted,  and  that  his  spirit  is  well- 
nigh  gone.  Living  as  I  do  iu  a  town,  the  trade  of  which  is  largely 
connected  with  a  wide  agricultural  district, — Oxford  is  more  remote  from 
other  considerable  places  than  any  other  English  town,  aud  la  therefore. 


312 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


apart  from  its  academical  associationSj  a  typically  agricultural  town, — I 
hear  complaints  far  and  wide  of  the  iudebteduess  and  poverty  of  the 
agriculturistSj  and  reiterated  assurances  that  unless  something  be  done, 
and  that  apeedilyj  to  relieve  agricultural  distress,  the  mischief  which  is 
now  menacing  will  be  irremediable.  High  rents,  low  prices,  scanty 
produce,  increased  cost  of  labour,  and,  it  is  added,  lower  quality  of 
labour  rendered  for  larger  wages,  have,  it  is  said,  made  the  farmer's 
calling  a  losing  one.  Nor,  it  is  further  said,  will  his  condition  be 
alleviated  by  a  temporary  remission  of  rent.  What  he  wanta  is  to  hold 
hia  hind  at  a  fair  market  value,  in  the  estimate  of  which  he  has  no 
objection  to  competition,  but  in  the  tenure  of  which  he  demands  that 
he  shall  be  secure  from  capricious  eviction,  from  an  unfair  appreciation 
of  his  rent,  and,  above  all,  that  he  should  be  encouraged  to  high  fanning 
by  adequate  compensation  for  such  bonil  fide  improvements  us  are  made 
by  hia  own  capital,  and  in  which  the  present  state  of  the  law  gives  liira 
BO  protection  whatever,  and  from  the  ravages  of  ground  game. 

The  institution  of  private  pirqjcrty,  as  every  one  knows  who  has 
studied,  in  a  merely  superficial  manner,  the  history  of  law,  owes  its  origin 
to  the  instinct  winch  even  a  nidimcntary  society  feels,  that  no  industry 
will  be  eflcctive,  provident,  and  continuous  in  the  absence  of  security. 
The  first  kind  of  projwrty  which  human  societies  recognise  is  that  of 
the  products  of  labour.  The  last  which  they  acknowledge  is  the  full 
ownership  of  laud.  It  is  less  than  a  ccutury  and  a  half  since  the  last 
relics  of  a  custom,  by  which  the  assent  of  the  tenant  to  a  landlord's 
conveyance  was  necessary,  were  done  away.  No  society  can  or  will 
recognise  that  the  right  of  property  in  land,  and  the  power  of  using  it 
at  discretion^  is  as  extensive  as  the  ownership  over  movable  goods.  It 
is  guaranteed  by  the  fact  that  land  will  not  he  used  to  the  full  for  the 
good  of  the  owner  immediately,  and  for  the  good  of  the  community 
indirectly,  unless  the  irulividual  owner  has  adequate  motives  for  turning 
it  to  the  best  account.  licticc  the  possession  of  land  is  always,  and 
must  always  be,  proper  compensation  being  made  to  the  owner,  rcsum- 
able  at  the  discretion  of  the  community,  and  in  the  interests  of  the 
community.  If  an  illustrattou  may  be  taken  from  a  custom,  now  obsolete, 
but  once  general  over  all  kinds  of  movable  goods,  the  State  cannot, 
and  will  not,  relinquish  its  right  to  the  jun^vcyancc  of  land.  It  will  for 
domestic  reasons  override  the  most  sacred  truditions  of  the  past,  the 
most  cherished  sentiments  of  the  present.  It  is  important  to  remember 
this  at  a  time  when  the  moj»t  fantastic  theories  of  the  right  of  pro- 
perty in  land  are  advocatc<i,  and  are  not  Ttnnaturally  met  by  theorie* 
equally  unwarrantable  and  equally  mischievous,  as  to  the  right  of  the 
State  to  appropriate  the  whole  natural  increase  in  the  value  of  land,  the 
appropriation  of  which  by  the  owner  is  and  sliould  be  his  reward,  in  that 
great  partnership  of  landlord  and  tenant  from  which  agricultural 
improvement  alone  can  be  exiiccted. 

But   the   tenant  is  us  mucli  in  need  of  security  as  the    laudowner. 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE, 


313 


tud  it  IS  in  the  factSj  first,  that  he  does  not  olitaiii  that  sccnrity  in  the 
contract  for  the  continuous  use  of  land  which  is  essential  to  the  adequate 
cinployvient  of  Lis  capita],  and  next  that  it  is  matter  of  tho  highest 
public  interest  that  he  should  obtain  such  a  security  as  would  encourage 
him  in  his  outlay,  that  the  fimdauieutal  fallacy  of  the  Duke  of 
Argyirs  defence  of  the  existing  system  lies.  It  is  true  that  at  the 
moment  of  the  contract  for  the  occupation  of  land  the  farmer  is 
a  free  agent.  He  can  take  it  or  leave  it  alone  at  his  pleasure.  No  one 
forces  him  to  become  a  tenant  of  this  or  that  man.  Of  course  even  this 
statement  of  his  situation  is  hypothetical,  for  a  man  cannot  easily  aban- 
don his  calling,  and  therefore  may  be  forced  to  make  disadvantageous 
terms,  and  the  policy  of  English  law,  which  permits  the  accumulation  of 
land  in  few  hands,  and  hiudors  the  natural  distribution  of  it,  puts  a 
direct  but  artificial  power  into  the  discretion  of  the  owner.  Perhaps,  if 
the  laws  of  the  United  Kingdom  had  not  violated  natural  justice  and 
obvious  expediency,  by  permitting  settlements  on  certain  persons,  niucli 
of  the  dilEculty  in  the  way  of  agricultural  farming  M'ould  have  been 
obviated.  Bat  immediately  after  the  contract  is  entered  on,  the  tenant 
is  in  a  position  of  disadvantage,  and  the  dii^advantage  increases  with  the 
efficiency  of  his  industry,  and  the  vigour  with  which  he  applies  his  art 
towards  iuduciug  the  greatest  possible  fertility  on  the  land  which  he 
occupies.  Perhaps  the  nature  of  a  contract  for  tlie  occupation  of  land 
in  its  most  exaggerated  features  was  best  seen  in  the  Irish  cottier  rents. 
Here  the  land  was  let  by  auction.  The  policy  of  England  had  made 
nearlv  everv  Irishman  a  cottier  tenant,  and  the  olTcr  of  rent  was  far  in 
excess  of  what  could  possibly  be  paid.  The  landlord  did  absolutely 
DOthing  for  the  laud  from  which  he  derived  his  rent.  But  to  call  the 
cottier's  rent  a  free  contract  is  an  abuse  of  terras.  It  would  be  as 
reasonable  to  say  that  the  price  which  Bishop  Hatto  in  the  legend 
wished  to  procure  from  the  starving  inhabitants  of  the  German  town 
was  a  free  contract  value.  When  such  a  condition  of  things  occurs,  all 
hamau  societies  would  allege  that  the  ownership  of  private  pro^wrty 
mnst  be  modified  or  suspended. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  occupier  of  land  is  placed  at  a  disadvantage 
immediately  on  the  acceptance  of  the  contract  for  occupation,  and  that 
this  disadvantage  increases  with  the  excellence  of  the  work  which  he 
docs.  For  quite  apart  from  the  fact  that  he  must  suffer  a  loss  when  he 
is  dislodged  from  his  occupation,  however  carefully  he  tries  to  protect 
himself  against  irrecoverable  outlay,  every  intelligent  agriculturist  is 
aware  that  high  farming  is  the  only  kind  of  cultivation  which  can  be 
profitable  j  in  other  words,  that  the  only  agriculture  which  pays  is  that 
which  puts  land  into  the  best  possible  heart.  Now,  it  is  much  more 
easy  to  exhaust  land  th«u  it  is  to  improve  it,  to  get  it  out  of  coudilion 
than  to  get  it  into  condition.  But  the  motive  to  bring  land  into  con- 
dition is  discouraged  by  insecurity,  by  the  sense  that  whatever  the 
cultivator  of  the  soil  may  have  expended  on  this  necessary  process  lies 


3U 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


at  the  mercy  of  his  landlord's  caprice  or  greed,  Nor  is  it  any  aoswer 
to  say  that  English  tenants  prefer  an  annual  holding  to  a  lease.  For  in 
a  lease  the  discouragement  ia  only  postponed,  as  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  practical  working  of  a  Scotch  lease  allow.  The  English  tenant 
farmer  prefers  aa  annual  holding  to  a  lease,  because  many  English  land- 
owners do  not  take  advantage  of  the  outlay  of  their  tenants,  while  a 
lease  would  imply  that  they  intended  to  do  so  at  the  termination  of  the 
lease,  and  that  iu  the  revision  of  the  lease  the  tenant's  expenditure 
would  be  added  to  the  landlord's  property.  That  the  Legislature,  in 
passing  the  absurd  and  abortive  Agricultural  Holdiugs  Act,  was  deter- 
mined, quite  apart  from  the  contracting  clauses,  to  insist  that  the  most 
costly,  the  most  important,  and  tlie  most  operative  part  of  the  tenant's 
outlay  should  remain  at  the  mercy  of  the  landowner  is  shown  by  the 
fact  that  the  Act  took  out  of  the  Schedule  of  Unexhausted  Improvement*' 
that  operation  which  is  necessary  in  order  to  bring  land  into  good  con- 
dition for  profitable  agriculture. 

It  is  very  probable  and,  cteteris  pai'ibtts,  may  be  considered  as  certaia 
that,  were  solid  seciirity  given  against  loss  on  dispossession,  and  loss  by 
the  confiscation  of  unexhausted  improvements,  rents  would  rise.  Xo- 
body  believes  that  it  is  expedient  to  let  land  at  less  than  the  market 
rate  of  rent,  and  just  as  hitherto,  in  the  purchase  of  land,  buyers  calcu- 
late the  prospect  of  an  incroascd  annual  value  iu  the  price  which  they 
are  willing  to  give  for  land,  so  the  tenant  farmer  would  be  willing  to 
pay  an  addittonid  price  for  security  against  loss.  It  has  been  argued 
that  the  advantage  which  is  claimed  for  the  tenant  would  appear  in  hia 
rent.  But  whatever  increase  might  be  effected  would  not  be  an 
equivalent  to  tlie  advantage  which  the  tenant  would  find  in  being  able, 
without  peril  to  himsell',  to  develop  the  fertility  of  his  holding  to  the 
uttermost.  Nor  is  it  at  all  diflicult  for  experts  to  distinguish  in  any 
readjustment  of  rent,  which  uuder  this  system  would  have  to  Ix;  made 
at  stated  periods,  between  the  tenant's  outlay  and  that  value  which  is 
added  to  land  by  the  diffused  intelligence  of  agriculturists  in  the  prac- 
tice of  their  art.  As  long  as  tenant  farmers  are  at  the  mercy  of  land 
agents,  and  as  long  as  they  take  landlords  into  their  counsels,  they  will 
be  told  that  there  is  no  distinguishing  between  the  one  and  the  other 
kind  of  increment  But  a  jury  of  farmers,  a  con^eil  des  prudhommea^ 
would  have  no  difficulty  in  arriving  at  a  decision. 

Some  legislation — which  shall  result  in  a  bonfl  fide  Agricultural  Hold- 
ings Act,  with  compensntion  or  security  to  tenants  accorded  in  the  fullest 
measure,  and  with  corresponding  clauses  protecting  the  landowners 
against  any  abuse  on  the  part  of  the  tenant  iu  dealing  with  the  land- 
is  absolutely  necessary  in  order  to  save  the  capital  of  the  farmer  from 
extinction,  and  the  art  of  agriculture  from  arrest  or  decline.  Such  a 
measure  should  be  enacted  by  the  consent  of  all  parties,  for  the  present 
condition  of  things  is  a  national  calamity  of  unexampled  magnitude  and 
menace.     There  arc,  and  there  wiii  be,  men  who  arc  content  to  sacrifioe 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTimE. 


815 


I 


N 


the  public  good  to  private  interest^  and  to  refuse  pressing  reforms 
because  they  di'ead  that  the  iuflueuce  which  they  wield  under  the 
existing  system  will  be  imperilled.  But  if  it  be,  as  it  seems  to  be, 
certain,  that  a  great  and  an  all-important  national  indtistry  is  endan- 
gered by  the  present  practice,  it  is  equally  certain  that  the  remedy  must 
come,  and  that  if  it  be  forced  upon  the  landowners  from  witliout  and 
against  their  will,  they  will  be  left  in  the  end  as  powerless  as  the  Scotch 
landlords  are  said  to  l3e  left  in  Scotch  politics,  and  the  Irish  landlords 
in  the  face  of  the  Home  Rule  movement.  The  liighcst  wisdom  in  the 
art  of  government  is  that  which  yields  an  untenable  position.  The 
farming  interest  will  be  ruined,  and  rents  must  experience  a  serious  and 
permanent  decline  ;  or  security  must  be  given,  and  rents  will  recover 
their  old  level,  or  even  be  increased.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  some 
public-spirited  and  far-t^cciug  landowners  have  not  had  the  courage  to 
try  what  a  lease  would  do,  in  which  the  tenant's  genuine  outlay  were 
efficiently  secured  to  him,  the  landlord's  interests  were  protected  from 
mismarngement  or  dishonesty  on  the  part  of  the  tenant,  and  provision 
were  made  for  periodical  revalnations,  in  which  the  landlord's  portion, 
if  any,  of  the  natural  increase  in  the  value  of  land,  could  be  distin- 
guished from  the  special  value  which  has  been  induced  by  the  tenant's 
Ijersonal  and  individual  outlay. 

It  is  singular  that  landowners,  who  resist  with  such  earnestness  the 
claims  of  a  tenant  to  obtain  compensation  for  his  irrecoverable  but 
valuable  property,  should  forget  that,  with  far  less  reason,  they  have 
loing  ago  obtained  an  analogous  security  against  their  own  creditors.  In 
strictness  there  is  no  more  complete  conveyance  on  condition  than  a 
mortgage  is.  The  mortgagor  transfers  his  estate  to  the  mortgagee  on 
the  nnderstanding  that  if  a  payment  be  not  made  at  a  given  date 
the  mortgagee  shall  l)e  entitled  to  the  property  which  is  pledged  under 
the  deed.  But  from  very  early  times  an  equitable  intcrprctatioji  has 
been  induced  on  these  bargains,  and  the  mortgagor  has  been  protected 
against  the  risk  of  losing  his  estate  by  an  act  of  his  own  improvidence 
and  negligence.  But  if  a  landowner  is  to  be  saved  from  the  effect  of 
his  own  errors,  aforiiori  a  farmer  should  be  protected  from  loss  incurred 
by  the  exercise  of  his  own  enterprise,  perseverance,  and  skill.  If 
a  landowner,  the  transfer  of  whose  estate  from  him  to  some  other 
person  would  represent  only  a  private  loss,  is  to  be  secured  against  the 
risk  of  that  loss,  much  more  should  an  agriculturist,  the  discouragement 
of  whose  skd!  is  not  only  a  personal  loss,  and  a  very  grievous  one,  but 
a  national  loss  of  the  most  serious  and  alarming  kind,  be  encouraged  to 
press  bis  skill  to  the  very  utmost,  and  to  be  put  into  the  position  of, 
fairly  and  without  any  exceptional  advantages,  striving  to  make  head 
against  the  competition  which,  more  than  in  almost  any  other  calliugj 
flzea  the  value  of  his  products  by  the  higgling  of  the  market.  I 
remember  that  some  years  ago  an  eminent  nobleman,  who  had  good 
reason   to   know  the  facts  of  the  ease,  admitted  to  me  that  the  great 


316 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


growtli  of  Laucaftliire  indtiatry  was  due  to  tlic  almost  universal  custom 
of  letting  land  on  chief,  that  is,  on  a  perpetuid  leasCj  in  •which  the 
tenant  secured  all  the  advantages  of  his  outlay,  and  that  lie  believed  that 
in  tlic  absence  of  this  custom  the  growth  of  the  great  Lancashire  towns 
would  have  never  taken  place. 

An  ordinary  lease  is  no  remedy.  Of  course  there  may  be  extra- 
ordinary leases.,  in  M'hich  a  tenant,  in  consideration  of  a  very  low  rent, 
covenants  to  make  certain  permanent  improvements,  and  in  -which 
he  thereby  is  repaid  in  the  reduction  of  natural  rent.  But  in  the 
nature  of  things  these  tenancies  arc  rare,  it  being  much  more  the 
laTidowner\s  interest  to  make  the  improvement  himself.  If  there  were 
cases  in  which  such  leases  were  likely  to  be  granted,  it  would  be  by 
corporations,  especially  those  of  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Colleges. 
But  it  is  the  practice  of  these  bodies,  )vho  have  every  interest  to  secure 
during  the  tenure  of  their  fellowships  the  utmost  benefit  of  the  estates 
which  constitute  their  endowments,  to  borrow  the  money  needed  for 
the  improvement,  as  the  least  expensive  way  of  meeting  the  charge- 
But  in  a  lease  for  a  term  of  years,  as  is  frequently  said,  the  first  few 
years — especially  in  Scotland — arc  not  remunerative,  because  the  tenant 
is  at  work  in  gettiiif^  liis  hind  into  condition.  During  the  middle  of 
his  lease  lie  docs  obtain  the  fnll  value  of  his  outlay,  if  his  bargain  has 
been  judicious,  the  seasons  on  an  average  favonrablcj  and  the  price 
of  produce  reasonably  good.  But  during  the  last  years  of  his  lease  be 
has  every  motive  to  get  the  mosst  he  can  out  of  the  land,  and  to  bring 
it  ngain  into  that  coDditiou  in  M*hich  he  found  it.  It  may  be  said  that 
the  practice  is  dishonest  or  unfair,  but  law  and  custom  are  quite  as 
frequently  responsible  for  dishonesty  in  the  conduct  of  business  as 
human  nature  is.  If  the  landowuer  forces  the  tenant  to  a  game  of  hide 
and  seek,  he  must  expect  the  risks  of  the  game,  and  must  put  up  with 
them. 

But  the  interests  of  the  public  are  even  more  important,  if,  indeed, 
they  can  be  estimated  separately,  than  those  of  the  farmer.  Tlicre  is 
no  loi-s  so  total  as  that  of  a  declining  agrienlture,  an  artificial  barren- 
ness induced  on  the  national  estate.  English  agriculture  prospered  ia 
spite  of  her  trade  ;  it  prospered  by  reason  of  her  trade ;  it  is  paralysed 
because  its  capital  ia  exposed  to  tlic  risk  of  rapine  under  the  forms  of 
law.  The  paralysis  of  credit,  -when  successful  kuavery  poisons  the  very 
springs  of  trade,  ia  in  its  nature  temporary,  and  appals  one  more  by 
its  suddenness  and  intensity  tlian  it  docs  by  the  continuity  of  its  force, 
A  market  may  he  closed  or  narrowed  by  the  malignity  of  a  protective 
tariff,  or  by  the  ravages  of  war  and  pestilence.  But  the  world  is  wide, 
and  trade  is  alwnys  finding  new  tiehls  for  its  operations.  A  prexligal 
tiovernment  may  waste  the  means  of  the  nation  which  in  a  moment  of 
frenzy  or  folly  trusted  itself  to  evil  guidance,  and  from  which  it  may 
not,  till  n  favourable  time  occurs,  sliake  itself  free.  But  the  opportunity 
is  given  to  the  nation  sooner  or  later,  and,  in  the  intenal,  it  can  sharpen 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE, 


317 


w  energies  by  reflection,  aud  countervail  its  losses  by  tbrift  and  self- 
denial.  But  the  disease  which  destroys  a  uational  industry  of  the  most 
important  and  naturally  progressive  cliaracter,  which  Las  till  recent 
timoa  been  nn  example  to  all  analogous  industry^  is  as  dangerous  as  it 
is  insidious.  If  the  cause  is  to  be  found,  aud  the  remedy  can  be 
applied,  the  mischief  should  be  met  without  delay.  Efue  reddendum 
e9t,  however  much  prejudice  may  be  shocked,  power  taken  away,  and 
pride  abased. 

The  home  trade  is  the  most  important  branch  of  the  nation  a  busi- 
ness. If  this  be  flourishing,  foreign  trade  will  liardly  languish.  But 
no  activity  in  the  latter  will  compensate  for  decline  in  the  former.  At 
the  present  moment  agricultural  distress  is  the  cause  of  much  of  the 
depression  from  which  the  people  is  suffering.  It  is  idle  to  say  that 
the  present  anxiety  is  coufinedi  even  principally,  to  the  cotton,  iron, 
and  ooal  industries.  There  is  no  form  of  productive  industry  which 
is  not  more  or  less  affected.  The  last  miserable  four  years  do  not 
exhibit  their  losses  in  the  growth  of  the  pul)lic  debt,  aud  the  decline  of 
the  public  revenue,  in  the  masses  of  unemployed  capital,  aud  in  the 
wholesale  destruction  of  cretlit  only.  The  nation  is  by  many  millions 
poorer  than  it  was,  and  its  poverty  is  most  intense  in  those  directions 
where  prosperity  was  most  required,  where  prosperity  has  been  destroyed, 
and  where  prosperity  is  least  easily  recoverable.  The  farmer's  capital 
has  been  lost,  and  to  talk  to  him  of  beneficial  leases  aud  free  contracts 
is  to  mock  him  with  fictions,  the  hoUowucss  of  which  he  kuows — to 
point  out  the  Loudon  Tavern  to  a  wayfarer  whose  pockets  are  empty, 
aud  whose  appetite  is  keen.  There  is  only  oue  process  which  will 
restore  him,  if  it  be  not  too  late,  aud,  with  his  restoration,  that  of  the 
industries  which  thrive  when  he  thrives,  and  this  process  is  the  grant 
of  security  to  his  capital.  Under  such  a  reform  his  enterprise  would 
second  his  intelligence.  Without  it  his  intelligence  has  no  fair  field 
for  action,  because  the  spirit  of  enterprise  is  cowed.  Simultaneously, 
too,  with  a  prosperous  agriculture,  trade  would  revive  in  that  direction 
where  mauufucturing  iudustry  has  its  surest  market,  and  i*eaps  its 
quickest  returns. 

llie  distribntion  of  wealth  in  a  country  is  more  important  than  its 
production  ;  is  infinitely  more  important  than  its  accumulation  in  large 
masses.  A  country  whose  productive  powers  arc  weak  cannot^  indeed, 
be  rich  ;  but  one  which  merely  exhibits  the  phenomena  of  vast  wealth 
in  few  bauds  may  be  very  poor.  But  that  community  is  strongest, 
most  able  to  bear  sacrifices,  and  least  liable  to  be  bowed  down  by 
rcreraea,  in  which  the  production  of  wealth  is  active,  but  in  which  the 
distribution  of  wealth  is  also  general.  When  Washington,  on  removing 
the  custom  of  primogeniture  in  Virginia,  was  urged  that  the  change 
would  put  down  all  the  carriages  and  four,  and  answered  that  there 
would  be  many  more  carriages  and  two,  he  affirmed  the  doctrine  that 
nations  were  opulent  in  proportion  to    the  extent  to  wliich  wealth    nas 


318 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE  IV. 


distributed,  and  opulence  diffused.  The  general  distribution  of  wealth 
in  France  is  one  of  the  causes  whv  that  country  suffers  less  from  a 
reverse,  and  recovers  more  rapidly  than  other  countries  do.  The  rapid 
increase  of  wealth  in  the  United  States  is  assisted  by  the  fact  that  the 
natural  distribution  of  wealth  is  not  hindered  by  any  eustonr  or  law. 
The  great  extent  of  fertile  land  easily  worked,  the  tribute  of  labour 
which  the  Old  World  pays  to  the  States,  and  the  great  advantages  of 
climate  and  situation  which  the  Republic  enjoys,  might  well  have  been 
neutralised  by  a  debt  created  in  the  most  lavish  fashion,  by  a  correucy 
which  ought  to  hare  paralysed  the  operations  of  trade,  and  byan 
insane  protective  tariff.  But  in  the  United  States  it  is  possible  to 
treat  the  pauperism  of  adults  as  a  crime,  because  wealth  is  so  generally 
distributed,  and  the  debt  is  being  paid  off  with  astonishing  rapidity. 
Tl^e  onlinary  agriculture  of  France  is  poor,  its  herds  of  cattle  and 
other  live  stock  are  inferior,  and  labour-saving  maehiues  arc  very  scantily 
employed  iu  the  tillage  of  the  Hoil.  Eut  it  is  na  doubt  the  cose  that 
France,  with  a  lessened  territory,  and  under  t]ic  pressure  of  these 
adverse  times,  which  in  various  degrees  have  affected  the  induHtry  of 
nearly  all  civilised  countries,  has  exhibited  more  elasticity  than  any 
other  European  nation,  and  this,  though  the  French  have  been  heavily 
weighted  with  the  costs  of  the  war  of  1870.  Any  one  who  com 
pares  the  present  industrial  condition  of  France  Math  that  of  Germany 
can  sec  that  gains  and  losses  are  not  always  to  be  measured  by 
numerical  quantities  of  money  received  and  paid. 

Perhaps  the  United  Kingdom  is  the  richest  country  in  the  world.  It 
certainly  possesses  more  loanable  capital  than  any  other,  and  hoi 
besides  nearly  all  its  own,  a  vast  amount  of  debt  owing  by  the  Bri 
Colonies  and  foreign  countries.  It  possesses  huge  masses  of  itiiactiB 
divilitB,  It  is  the  principal  centre  of  financial  operations.  It  has  learnt 
the  art  of  making  its  currency  the  most  efficient  of  any.  Its  shipping 
is  enormous,  some  say  excessive,  and  that  here  the  competition  of 
capitalists  has  induced  a  depression  of  freight  charges,  which  has 
reduced  the  iirofit  of  shippers  to  zero.  It  goes  on  saving,  too,  de^pite^H 
the  very  Morst  bai:kniptcy  l^w  which  the  civilised  world  exhibit*,^^! 
a  law  which  appears  designed  to  give  the  largest  latitude  to  fraud, 
and  to  offer  the  gmvest  tliseCuragcments  to  integrity.  Whatever  may 
be  the  distress  of  manufucture  and  trade,  there  is  no  reason  to 
believe  that  in  the  aggregate  the  inhabitants  of  these  islands  arc  con- 
suming their  capital.  The  price  of  bun^  fulo  securities  does  not  fall, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  rises.  Colonial  (iovernraents  can  borrow  at  rates 
which  arc  far  below  that  of  advances  on  the  best  securities  in  the  colony 
itself,  as,  for  example,  on  the  mortgage  of  real  estate.  Wealth  is  still 
being  accumulated  in  England,  and  pcrhajis  parsimony  is  engaged  m 
adding  to  realised  wealth  as  much  as  would  be  added  if  industry  and 
trade  were  prosperous.  But,  on  the  other  hnnd,  there  is  no  country, 
except    India^  in   which    the   extremes   of  wealth    and   poverty   arc  so 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE, 


8ig 


» 


■ 


markedly  contrasted  as  in  Eagland.  There  is  no  country  in  which  so 
luany  people  live  from  hand  to  raoutli,  so  many  who  have  no  other 
property  than  that  of  their  power  to  work  for  wages,  none  in  which  so 
many  people,  uader  the  pressure  of  bad  times,  are  so  rapidily  reduced  to 
destitution.  The  fact  is,  law  and  custom  in  this  country  favour  the 
accumulation  and  hinder  the  distribution  of  wealth,  and  therefore 
render  the  country  peculiarly  liable  to  the  worst  and  most  immediate 
effects  of  reverses  in  industry  and  trade. 

There  is,  however,  we  repeat,  no  part  of  the  industry  of  this  country 
which  is  so  seriously  affected  as  that  of  agriculture,  and  there  is  only 
one  cause  for  this  phenomenon,  the  uncertainty  which  is  artificially 
imposed  on  the  fanner's  calling.  In  itself  it  runs  many  risks.  An 
finkindly  spriug,  a  wet  harvest,  may  depress  the  hopes  of  the  farmer's 
grain  crops;  continued  drought  or  untimely  frosts  may  do  serious 
damage  to  his  roots.  Generally,  however,  Nature  provides  some  com- 
pensation for  the  injuries  she  inflicts,  and  the  gain  on  one  side  may 
balance  the  loss  on  the  other.  But  there  is  no  remedy  for  tlie  uncer- 
tainty which  an  evil  custom  may  induce  on  the  farmer's  calling,  except 
the  removal  of  the  custom;  and  when  the  evil  is  detected,  when  the 
demand  for  relief  becomes  more  general  and  more  increasing,  and  when 
those  who  are  not  themselves  immediately  interested  in  agriculture 
begin  to  see  that  the  fire  in  the  house  of  Ucalegon  endangers  their  own, 
it  is  time  that  selfish  pleasures,  stupid  pride,  the  determination  to  assert 
indirect  influence  by  keeping  the  tenant  constantly  within  the  risk  and 
terror  of  loss,  should  be  made  to  give  way  to  justice  and  the  public 
good.  If  it  once  becomes  a  public  conviction  that  certain  institutions  in 
this  country  cannot  be  maintained,  except  at  a  great  and  growing  public 
]o9a,  the  institutions  will  fall  with  the  mischief  w^hich  they  create.  No 
sane  man  in  this  country  has  the  slightest  wish  to  dispute  the  validity  of 
property.  No  sensible  man  would  desire  to  restrain  bargains  for  the  use 
of  property.  But  it  is  quite  easy  for  i>eople  to  see  that  certain  laws  and 
customs  may  give  an  unfair  advantage  to  one  of  the  contracting  parties, 
aod  that  certain  facts  inherent  in  the  nature  of  the  contract  may  render  it 
necessary  that  the  law  sliould  corrccc  anomalies  which  have  no  parallel 
in  other  countries,  because  the  usages  which  give  occasion  to  these 
anomalies  are  also  without  parallel.  It  is  quite  possible  that  at  no  very 
distant  date  the  English  people  may  make  up  its  mind  that  what  every 
economist  of  repute  has  condemned,  the  English  law  by  which  estates 
arc  inherited  and  settled,  induces  mischief  so  intolerable  an<l  loss  so 
disastrous,  that  it  must  be  peremptorily  and  irreversibly  abrogated.  The 
law  of  landlord  and  tenaut  has  effected  permanent  discontent  in  Ireland, 
and  will  speedily  have  similar  results  in  Great  Britain.  Now  there  is 
nothing  so  disastrous  to  any  influence  in  society  as  to  l)c  put  into  a 
condition  in  which  it  must  yield  to  menace  what  it  has  denied  to  justice. 

The  ])roduce  which  is  obtained  by  enterprise  and  capita)  from  land, 
in  the  cultivation  of  which  the  agriculturist  knows  that  he  will  reap  the 


320 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


reward  of  his  own  outlay  is   astonislviiig,  ijo  much  so  that  Lord  Derby'd 
prediction  of  what  this  country   could   )>roducc,  if   it  were  adequately 
cuUivatcdj  is  probably  u  good  deul  below  the  mark.      I  Lave  seen  maiu- 
taiued  on  less  thau  fifty  acres  of  laudj  a  hundred  sheep,  half  a  dozen 
cowsj  thirty  leau  pigSj  and  plenty  of  poultry,  and  I  have  beeu  iuformed 
by  the  owner  of  the  estate  that  the  whole  of  this  stock  was  maiutaiued 
on  the    produce  of   the  laud.      I  have  seeu  growing  on   this   laud,   rye- 
grass aud  vetches  in  a  dense  massj  five  feet  high,  through  wliich   the 
sc^ythe  could    hardly  force  its    way,   and    iu  the   same  year   the   owner 
scarcely   knowing,  with  all  his  stock,  what  to  do   in   August   with  the 
residue  of  his  last  year's  mangolds.      Wheu  this  estate  was  purchased, 
the  letting  value  of  the  land   was  set  down    at   not  more  thau  fifteen 
shillings  au  acre,  so  exhausted  was  it.      Of  course  one  is  told  that  such 
cultivation  does  not  pay.     But  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  cultivation  does 
not  pay  when  tho  land  is  got  into  the   condition  iu  which  it  is,  by  the 
stock  which  is  kept  upou  it.      It  ia  easy  to  see  how  it  could  not  be  made 
to  pay,  if  the  tenant  were  discouraged  from  improvement  by  uncertainty 
as  to  whether  he  should  get  back  his  outlay.      But  in  the  case   quoted 
the  owner  asstirts  that  he  farms  at  a  profit,  and  should  farm  at  a  greater 
profit,  if  the  hands  he  hires  had  not  been  debilitated  by  low   wages,  and 
denioralisiid  by  bad  farming  elsewhere,  aud   the  discoateut,  aud  perhaps 
the  dishonesty,  which  the  feud  between  the  farmers  and  the  farm  hands 
has  stimulated.     Por  it  is  saidj  aud  it  may  be  well  believed,  that  the 
efficiency  of  the  farm  labourer  is  decliuing.      Such  a  result  is  not  to  be 
wondered   at.       Farms    have   for    years    past   been    depicted    of  those 
who,  under  a  voluntary  system  of  emigration,  arc  likely  to   be  the  most 
active,  enterprising,  aud  trustworthy  anioug  the  farm  labourers,  aud  the 
stocks  left   behind  arc  by  piirity   of   reasoning  likely    to    be    the   least 
efficient.     It  is  not  for  nothiug  that  pauper  lunacy   is  so  seriously  oa 
the  increase,  and  ia  becoming  so  alarming   a  burden  to  industry.      That 
the  movement  ou  behalf  of  the    agricultural  labourers'    wages  was   not 
uudertakeu  too  soon  appears  to  me  to  be  self-evident.    Thai  the  struggle 
was  carried  on  in  a  manner  which  embittered  both  parties  was  to   bo^^l 
expected,  especially  whcu  we   remember   that    farmers  are  likely  to  be!^^| 
influenced   by   class   prejudices    to   a    greater  extent   thau   most  other 
employers  of  labour,  and  can  detect  more  speedily  than  other  employers 
what  ia  likely  to  ensue  from  a  general  rise  iu  wages.  But,  unfortunately, 
the  English  farmer,  owing,  no  doubt,  in  a  great  degree  to  his  peculiarly 
defenceless  position,  did  not,  by  acknowledging  the  fair  demands  of  the 
labourer,  make  the  change  iu   the  situation    the  ground  for  requiring  a 
reduction  in  rent,  but  has  gone  on  raising  rent  by  a  ruinous   competi- 
tion for  precarious  occupancy,  aud  has  made   common  cause    with  one 
who  is,  economically  speaking,  his  natural  enemy,  the  landlord,  against 
the    farm   labourer,   who  is,   from  the   same  economical    aspect  of  the 
situation,  Lis  natural  pai'tuer  iu  the  business  of  husbandry.      For   it  is 
clear  that  as  the  diminished  cost   of  cultivation  is  the    true    cause    why 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE, 


881 


I 

f 


% 


^Kkt  has  increased,  8o  anything  which   adds  to   the  cost    of  eultiratton, 
and  especially  dearer  labour,  should  have  its  effect  in  diminishing  rent. 

Even,  however,  if  high  cultivation,  such  as  has  been  indicated  above^ 
is  not  followed  by  business  profit,  a  rejoinder  constantly  made,  and  as 
constantly  denied  by  tliose  who  have  uo  motive  to  deceive  tliemselves  or  to 
be  misled,  it  maybe  said,  and  justly,  that  the  rejoinder  comes  naturally 
from  the  mouth  of  a  tenant  farmer,  who,  cultivating^  land  on  a  precarious 
nnd  discouraging  occupancy,  sees  in  the  success  of  those  who  arc  secured 
in  the  profit  of  their  outlay,  an  argument  which  the  laud  agent  or 
valuer  may  suggest  to  the  landowner,  that  a  little  more  rent  may 
be  squeezed  out  of  the  tenant.  It  has  been  stated  above  that  the  general 
diainclinatiou  of  the  English  teuaat  farmer  to  accept  a  lease  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  he  fears  lest,  under  cover  of  fairness,  he  may  be  induced  to 
risk  his  owb  capital  on  such  current  improvements  as  will  make  him, 
on  the  expiration  of  the  term,  liable  to  a  fresh  turn  of  the  screw.  It  is 
probable  that  the  Duke  of  Argyll  would  not  even  compel  tenants  to  take 
a  beneficial  lease,  in  which  rent  should  be  lowered  in  order  to  recoup 
outlay,  when  it  would  be,  as  a  rule,  much  cheaper  and  more  satisfactory 
for  the  landowner  to  make  the  permanent  improvements  himself.  And 
if  the  lease  is  not  beneficial,  and  if  the  tenant  is  active  and  enterprising, 
he  is  likely  to  find,  and  he  knows  it  to  be  likely,  that  he  will  be  made 
to  pay  interest  on  his  own  outlay.  The  Income  Tax  Act,  however,  is 
tenderer  to  the  tenant  than  his  landlord  is.  In  order,  we  may  suppose, 
not  to  discourage  him  from  such  improvements  as  arc  and  should  be 
tenant's  outlay,  but  which,  it  must  be  repeated,  ought  to  remain  his 
property,  it  taxes  bim  on  half  his  rent  only,  though  it  used  to  be  sup- 
posed that  the  farmer's  income,  roughly  taken,  was  equal  to  his  rent. 

Even  if,  however,  the  profits  of  high  farming  with  full  security  for 

outlay  were  low,  and  it  has  been  said  that  (owing  partly  to  the  di(Kcalty 

which  a  farmer  has  in  betaking  himself  to  any  new  employment,  partly 

to  the  very  general  liking  there  is  for  the  life  of  the  agriculturint)  these 

profits  are  likely  to  be  low,  the  farmers  of  another  generation  most 

hear   with   conditions   of  wliich  they  are  tliemselves  in  great  measure 

the   cause,  and  for  which,  if  we  arc  to  draw  an  inference  from  the 

number  of  farms  now  advertised  as  vacant,  there  will  soon  be  A  more 

or  less  efficacious  remedy.      Still,  high  cultivation  adds  to  the  aggregate 

of  national   wealth.      It   would    be   infinitely  the   better    for   EngUnd 

if  men  got  bare  interest  on  the  money  they  invest  in  agricnlture,  or  oven 

that  the   savings  of  the  nation  should  be  invented  in  bettering 

lish    land    than   that    they   should    be   forwarded    to   the    ban  km  [it 

Bepublics  of  the  New  World,  or  to  the  swindling  Governments  of  the 

Old.     The  holder  of  foreign  bonds  has  doubtlessly  no  feeling  except  for 

liimself.      It  is  nothing  to  him,  aa  long  an  liis  interest  is  paiil,  that  bo 

ot  his  money  to  the  depraved  and  rapacious  Government  of  Turkey, 

or  to  the  dishonest  profligate  who  misrules  Egypt.      He  i»ay*,  or  ftelf, 

H^j»/>/i  o/c/,  when  the  money  with  which  the  loan,  bseed  on  the  tecurit/  of 

^B     vou  XXXV.  r 


322 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


the  Egyptian  tribute,  aucl  for  wbicli  Turkey  does  no  service  whatever, 
is  extorted  from  tlie  hunger  and  rags  of  the  E^ptiau  peasant.  But 
perhaps  thero  ia  some  comfort  in  the  Nemesis  whicli  occasionally  visits 
his  investments,  and  niiikcs  him  grieve^  not  over  the  misery  which  he 
has  caused,  but  over  the  losses  wliich  he  feels.  But  the  kindliest  moralist 
need  feel  no  compassion  for  the  man  wlio,  with  his  eyes  open,  with  the 
pleasure  of  his  venture  before  him,  and  with  no  remorse  that  he  is  doing 
any  hnrm  to  anybody  but  himself,  betakes  himself  to  the  function  of 
improving  the  fertility  of  land  in  his  own  country.  It  may  be  said  that 
if  all  the  savings  of  the  English  people  which  from  1825  to  now  have 
been  bestowcil  by  over-trusting  confidence  on  foreign  loans  and  under-' 
takings,  and  on  projects  which  adventurers  have  puffed  into  fi-ands,  had 
been  laid  out  in  English  land,  as  much  of  them  would  have  been,  uudcr 
other  conditions  than  those  which  now  regulate  the  regulations  of  landlord 
and  tenant  in  the  United  Kingdom,  M-e  should  be  now  free  from  dcpeudcuce 
on  foreign  supply,  English  agriculture  would  have  advanced  to  a  stjige 
which  it  may  not  reach  for  a  century,  and  we  shoidd  be  witnessing  a 
iliffLTfut  stiite  of  things  from  what  we  now  see — a  bankrupt  farming 
interest,  and  a  restless  and  dissatisfied  peasantry. 

It  cannot  be  the  interest  of  the  English  people  that  the  fanner 
should  be  reduced  to  the  condition  of  the  Irish  cottier,  to  offer  a  rent 
which  he  cannot  possibly  pay,  and  to  Jiold  his  land  under  such  a  tenure 
as  effectually  disables  and  discourages  him  from  improvement.  The 
remedy  for  his  present  condition — which  it  is  an  absurdity  to  speak  of  as 
the  result  of  two  or  three  years'  bad  harvests,  and  of  the  competition  of 
a  foreign  producer  who  is  not  weighted  by  the  heavy  conditions  which 
depress  the  English  agriculturist — ought  to  be  lifted  above  the  range  of 
party  questions,  or  if  it  is  still  to  continue  a  party  question,  is  far 
more  urgent  than  the  extension  of  the  franchise  and  the  redistribution 
of  seats,  however  intrinsically  important  this  reform  may  be.  If  the 
present  Government  caunot  or  will  not  offer  anything  beyond  the 
miserable  and  delusive  sham  which  appears  in  the  Statute  Book  as  the 
Agricultural  Holdings  Act,  thrir  rivals  ought  to  do  so.  If  the  Whig 
aristocracy  will  not  accede  to  the  adoption  of  a  necessai-y  and  imjiera- 
tive  reform,  the  Liberal  members  for  the  boroughs  must  make  common 
cause  with  the  farmers  in  the  counties,  and  insist  that  the  general  good 
of  the  nation  must  not  he  any  longer  sacrificerl  to  irrational  caprice, 
and  to  a  pedantic  assertion  that  the  rights  of  property  arc  being  invaded^ 
when  the  rights  of  property  arc  really  being  secured.  As  there  is  no 
property  iu  vice,  ao  tlierc  should  be  none  in  rapine. 

^rhe  concession  of  such  a  tenant  right  as  is  indicated  iu  these  pages 
is  illustrated  in  detail  by  the  excellent  exposition  of  the  tenant's  case  by 
Mr.  Bear  and  others,  and  coidtl  have  only  oue  inconveuieucej  the  emanci- 
pation of  the  tenant  farmer  from  the  caprices  of  the  landowner,  the 
game  preserver,  and  the  land  agent.  But  to  every  one  else  it  would 
do  incalculable  aud  pcrnmncnt  good.      It  would  secure^  by  strengthening 


ENGLISH  AGRICULTURE.  323 

the  home  trade^  the  manufacturer  from  many  of  the  risks  which  now 
affect  his  market^  risks  which  have  given  rise  to  the  paradox  that  his 
losses  are  due  to  cosmic  causes.  It  would  make  the  farmer,  who 
manages  his  land  with  common  enterprise,  industry,  and  courage, 
opulent,  and  quite  capable  of  grappling  with  foreign  competition.  It 
would  give  a  stimulus  to  local  trade,  and  revive  many  a  decaying  town. 
It  woidd  eventually,  and  probably  in  a  very  short  time,  raise  the  land- 
lord's rent,  for  people  are  willing  enough  to  pay  for  that  security  which 
is  the  fundamental  condition  of  prosperity.  It  would  raise  the  labourers' 
wages,  and  arrest  the  needless  outflow  of  emigration,  for  farmers  would 
gladly,  pay  for  what  secures  their  profits,  and  labourers  would  have  a 
greater  intere^st  in  the  increased  wages  which  they  might  obtain  from 
the  competition  of  employers,  than  they  can  have  in  the  enforced 
improvement  of  their  condition  by  the  machinery  of  a  trade  union  and 
a  strike.  For  it  is  the  invariable  effect  of  an  economical  reform  that  it 
benefits  all  who  come  within  the  range  of  the  operation  which  the  reform 
affects,  and  there  is  no  reform  the  benefits  of  which  are  more  universal 
than  that  which  emancipates  the  oldest,  the  most  deeply-rooted,  the 
most  profitable,  and  the  most  necessary  of  the  industiies  which  civiliza- 
tion has  adopted  and  improved,  and  which  a  barbarous  law  has  crippled 
and  retarded. 

James  E.  Thorold  Rogebs. 


T  2 


ORIGEN    AND    THE     BEGINNINGS    OF 
CHRISTIAN   PHILOSOPHY. 

I. 


ALfttar  nf  iU»oUtioH  comctr-timg  Origem  and  iX*  e\i^ 
oTkUOpimiont  .  .  .  ie«l.  XBy O. RtTBT, in<r«rKrdi 
Biiihop  of  OroiDore,  j 

ItviT.  P.l).,  (Iliihop  of  ATTono'iM  +  1791)[  OriftmUmm^ 
19W 

SoaMTzst.  K.  F. :   Ori^tnet  mfitr  dit  OmnUakrtm  J*r 

Tbouuiu-.    G-  ;   Oru/enf,  1B37 

KiDSrxiririHG.  E.  B.':    Ongtiut,  184L 
UvBiB,  J.  I   PhUotttpkit  d.  KirclicDvliter.lSSQ. 

THE  progress  of  Cliristianity  can  best  be  represented  as  a  series  of  Wc- 
tories.  But  when  we  speak  of  victories  we  imply  resistance,  sufteriug, 
loss:  the  triaraph  of  a  great  cause,  but  the  triarnph  through  effort  and 
sacrifice.  Such,  in  fact,  has  beeu  the  history  of  the  Faith  ;  a  sad  and 
yet  a  glorious  succession  of  battles,  oftcu  hardly  fought,  and  sometimes 
indecisive,  between  the  new  life  luid  the  old  life.  We  know  that  the 
struggle  can  never  be  ended  in  this  visible  order  ;  but  we  know  also 
that  more  of  the  total  puwers  of  iiuraanityj  and  mare  of  the  fulness  of 
the  individual  mau  arc  brought  from  age  to  age  uithiu  the  domain  of  the 
truth.  Each  age  has  to  sustain  its  own  part  in  the  conflict,  and  the 
retrospect  of  earlier  successes  gives  to  those  who  have  to  face  new 
antagonists  and  to  occupy  new  positions,  patience  and  the  certainty 
of  hope. 

In  this  respect  the  history  of  the  first  three  centuries — the  fii*st  com- 
plete period,  and  that  a  period  of  spontaneous  evolution  in  the  Christian 
body — is  au  epitome  or  a  figure  of  the  whole  work  of  the  Faith.  It  ia 
the  history  of  a  three-fold  contest  between  Christianity  and  the  Powers 
of  the  Old  World,  closed  by  a  three-fold  victory.  The  Church  and  the 
Empire  started  from  the  same  point  and  advanced  side  by  side.  They 
met  in  the  market  and  the  house  ;  they  met  in  the  discussions  of  the 
Schools;  they  met  iu  the  institutions  of  political  government;  and  in 
each  place  the  Church  was  triumphant.  In  this  way  Christianity 
asserted,  once  for  all,  its  sovereign  power  among  men  by  the  victory  of 
common  life,  by  the  victory  of  thought,  by  the  victory  of  civil  orgauixa- 
tion.  These  first  victories  contain  the  promise  of  all  that  later  ages 
have  to  reap. 

The  object  of  this  and  a  following  paper  is  to  iudicate  some  features 
in  the  second  of  these  victories,  the  victory  of  thought.    And,  before  going 


^^  ORIGEN  ASD  CHRISTIAS  PHILOSOPHY.  325 

further,  wc  would  ask  tbe  reader  to  observe  that  this  victory  of  thought 
is  the  second,  and  not  the  first,  in  order  of  accomplishment.  The  succes- 
sion involves  a  principle.  The  Christian  victory  of  common  life  was 
wrought  out  in  silence  and  patience  and  nameless  agonies.  It  was  the 
victory  of  the  soldiers  and  not  of  the  captains  of  Christ's  army.  But  in 
due  time  another  conflict  had  to  be  sustained,  not  by  the  masses,  but  bv 
great  men,  tbe  consequence  and  the  completion  of  that  which  had  gone 
before. 

It  is  with  the  society  as  with  the  individual.  The  discipline  of 
action  precedes  the  eflbrt  of  reason.  The  work  of  the  many  prepares 
tlie  medium  for  the  subtler  operations  of  the  few.  So  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  period  during  which  this  second  conHiet  of  the  Faith  was  waged 
was,  roughly  speaking,  from  the  middle  of  the  second  to  the  middle  of 
the  third  century, 

This  period,  from  the  accession  of  Marcus  Aurelius  (a.d.  161)  to  the 
accession  of  Valerian  (A,D.*2t)3)  was  for  the  Gentile  world  a  period  of 
unrest  and  exhausliou,  of  ferment  and  of  indecision.  The  time  of 
great  hopes  and  creative  minds  was  gone.  The  most  conspicuous  men 
were,  with  few  exceptions,  busied  with  the  past.  There  is  not  among 
them  a  single  writer  who  can  be  called  a  poet.  They  were  lawyers,  or 
antiquarians,  or  commentators,  or  grammarians,  or  rhetoricians.  One 
indeedj  the  greatest  of  all,  Galen,  would  be  ranked,  perhaps,  in  modern 
times,  as  a  "  positivist."  Latin  literature  had  almost  ceased  to  exist  : 
even  the  meditations  of  an  Emperor  were  iu  Greek.  The  fact  is  full  ol 
meaning.  Greek  was  the  language  not  of  a  people,  but  of  the  world. 
Local  beliefs  had  lost  their  power.  Even  old  Rome  ceased  to  exercise 
an  unquestioned  moral  supremacy.  Men  strove  to  be  cosmopolitan. 
They  strove  vaguely  after  a  unity  iu  which  the  scattered  elements  of 
ancient  experience  should  be  harmonized.  The  effect  can  be  seen 
both  in  the  policy  of  statesmen  and  in  the  speculations  of  philo- 
sophers, in  Marcus  Aurelius,  or  Alexander  Severus,  or  Decius,  no 
leas  than  iu  Plotiniis  or  Porphyry.  As  a  necessary  consequence, 
the  teaching  of  the  Bible  accessible  in  Greek  began  to  attract  seriou* 
attention  among  the  heathen.  The  assailants  of  Christianity,  even  if 
they  affected  contempt,  showed  that  they  were  deeply  moved  by  its 
doctrines.  The  memorable  saying  of  Numenius,  "  What  is  Plato 
but  Moses  speaking  in  the  language  of  Athens  V"  shows  at  once 
the  feeling  after  spiritual  sympathy  which  began  to  be  entertained, 
and  the  want  of  spiritual  insight  in  the  representatives  of  Gentile 
thought.  Though  there  is  no  evidence  that  Numenius  studied  or  taughl 
at  Alexandria,  his  worth  express  the  form  of  feeling  which  prevailed 
there.  Nowhere  else  were  the  characteristic  tendencies  of  the  age 
more  marked  than  in  that  marvellous  city.  Alexandria  had  been  from 
ita  foundation  a  meeting-place  of  the  East  and  West— of  old  and  new — 
the  home  of  learning,  of  criticism,  of  syncretism.  It  presented  a  unique 
example  in  the  Old   World  of  that   mixture  of  races  which  forms  one 


826 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


of  the  most  important  features  of  modem  society.  Indians,  Jews, 
Greeks,  Romans,  met  there  on  common  ground.  Their  characteristic 
ideas  "were  discus3e<l,  exchanged,  combined.  The  extremes  of  luxury 
and  asceticism  existed  aide  by  side.  Over  all  the  excitement  and 
turmoil  of  the  recent  city  rested  tbc  solemn  shadow  of  Egypt.  The 
thoughtful  Alexandrine  inherited  in  the  history  of  countless  ages, 
symi)atliy  with  a  vast  life.  For  him,  ay  for  the  priest  who  is  said  to 
have  rebuked  the  pride  of  Solou,  the  anuals  of  other  nations  were  but 
episodes  iu  a  greater  drama  in  which  he  played  his  part  with  a  fiill 
consciousness  of  its  gra^ideur.  The  pyramids  and  the  tombs  repeated 
to  him  the  reproof  of  isolated  assumption  often  quoted  fxom  Plato  by 
Christian  ajwlogists  :*  "  You  Greeks  are  always  cliildrcn  ;  you  have  no 
doctrine  hoary  with  age."  MTiile  it  was  so  with  the  thoughtful 
Alexandrines,  others  found  in  restless  scepticism  or  fitful  superstition  or 
fanatical  passioUj  frequent  occasions  for  violence.  All  alike  are  eager  for 
movement,  sympi^tliisiug  with  change,  easily  impressed  and  bold  in 
giving  utterance  to  their  feelings,  confident  iu  their  resources  and  tnist- 
ing  to  the  future. 

We  have  a  picture  of  the  people  from  an  imperial  pen.  The 
Emperor  Hadrian,  who  himself  entered  the  lists  with  the  professors  at 
the  Museum,t  has  left  in  a  private  letter  a  vivid  account  of  the 
impression  which  they  produced  upon  him  as  he  saw  them  from  the 
outside.  "  Tbcre  is"  [at  Alexandria],  he  writes,^  "  uo  ruler  of  the 
synagogue  among  the   Jews,  no   Samaritan,  no  Christian,  who  is  not 

also   an   astrologer,   a   soothsayer,  a    trainer The  inhabitants 

arc  most  seditious,  iuconatautj  insolent ;  the  city  is  wealthy  and  pro- 
ductive, seeing  that  no  one  lives  there  in  idleness.     Some   make  glass, 

others  make  paper The  lame  have  their  occupation  ;  the  blind 

follow  a  craft  \  even  the  crippled  lead  a  busy  life.  Money  is  their 
god.  Christians,  Jews,  and  Gentiles  combine  unanimously  in  the 
worship  of  this  deity " 

One  element  in  this  confusion,  indicated  by  Hadrian,  is  too  remark- 
able to  be  passed  over  without  remark.  The  practice  of  magic,  which 
gained  an  evil  prominence  in  the  later  Alexandrine  schools,  was  already 
coming  into  vogue.  Celsus  compared  the  miracles  of  the  Lor<l  with 
'^  the  feats  of  those  who  have  been  taught  by  Egyptians."}  Such  a 
passion,  even  iu  iti*  gmsscr  forms,  is  never  without  some  moral,  we  may 
pcrbapa  say,  some  sjuritual,  importance.  Its  spread  at  this  crisis  can 
hardly  be  misinterpreted.  There  was  a  longing  among  men  for  some 
sensible  revelation  of  the  unseen  j  and  a  conviction  that  such  a  revela- 
tion was  possible.  Y.ycn  Origen  appears  to  admit  the  statement  that 
demons  were  vanquished  by  tbc  use  of  certain  names  which  lost  their 
virtue  if  translated, ||  and  he  mentions  one  interesting  symptom  of  the 
genend   excitement  which  belongs  to    the  better    side  of  the  feeling. 


•  Comjp.  Potter,  Clem.  Albx.  Strom,  i.   15,  p.  35«. 
X  Vopiacufl,  Satnm,  c.  8.  %  Orig.,  c.  Crli.  5.  CB. 


+  Spartianus,  Hadr.  p.  10. 
II  Ibid,,  T.  45. 


ORIGEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


327 


•'Many/*  be  says,  *'erubraceil  CLristianity,  as  it  were,  against  their 
will.  Some  spirit  turned  their  mind  (ro  liyt/ioi'i/iJ*')  sudUeulv  trom 
liatiug^  the  Word  to  being  ready  to  die  for  it,  and  shewed  them  Tisiuns 
either  waking  or  sleeping,"*  One  who  is  reckoned  among  the  martyrs 
whom  Origeu  himself  trained  furnliihes  an  example. f  Basilides^  a 
young  soldier,  shielded  a  Cliristian  maiden  from  insult  on  her  way  to 
death.  She  promised  to  reeompcnsc  him.  A  few  days  after  he  con- 
fessed himscH'  a  Christian.  He  said  that  Potamirena,  such  was  the 
maiden's  name,  had  appeared  to  him  three  days  after  her  martyrdom, 
and  placed  a  crovt*n  upon  his  head,  and  assured  him  that  he,  in  answer 
to  her  prayers,  would  shortly  share  her  victory.  So  then  it  was  that 
argumentative  scepticism  and  stem  dogmatism,  spiritualism,  as  it 
would  be  called  at  the  present  day,  and  materialistic  pantheism,  each  in 
its  measure  a  symptom  of  instability  and  spiritual  unrest,  existed  side  by 
aide  at  Alexandria  in  the  second  century,  just  as  may  be  the  case  in  one 
of  our  cities  now,  where  the  many  streams  of  life  converge.  But  iu  all 
this  Tariety  there  was  a  point  of  agreement,  as  tlicre  is,  I  believe,,  among 
omrsclvea.  Speculation  was  being  turned  more  and  more  in  a  theo- 
logical direction.  Philosophers  were  learning  to  concentrate  their 
thoughts  ou  questions  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  religion.  In  very 
different  schools  they  were  listening  for  the  voice,  as  Plato  said,  "of  some 
divine  Word." 

It  is  easy  to  see  what  was  the  natural  office  of  Christianity  iu  such  a 
society.  Alexandria  offered  an  epitome  of  that  Old  World  which  the 
Paith  had  to  quicken  in  all  its  parts.  The  work  had  been  already 
recognised.  Early  in  the  second  century  manifold  attempts  were  made 
there  to  shape  a  Christian  solution  of  the  enigmas  of  life  which  thought 
and  experience  had  brought  into  a  definite  form.  The  result  was  seen 
ia  the  various  systems  of  gnosticism,  which  present  in  a  strange  aud 
oepeLlent  dialect  many  anticipations  of  the  Transcendentalism  of  the 
it  generation.  Such  speculations  were  premature  and  ended  iu 
fisilurc ;  but  they  rendered  an  important  service  to  Christian  philosophy. 
They  fixed  attention  upon  those  final  problems  of  life,  of  which  a  reli- 
gion which  claims  to  be  universal  must  take  account.  How  did 
rational  creatures  come  into  being?  How,  that  is,  can  we  reconcile  the 
co-existence  of  the  Absolute  and  the  finite  ?  And  again:  How  did  rational 
creatures  fall  ?  how,  that  is,  can  wc  conceive  of  the  origin  of  evil  ? 
Or,  indeed,  are  not  both  these  questions  in  the  cud  one?  and  is  not 
limitation  itself  evil  ?  To  some  perhaps  such  questions  may  appear  to 
lie  wholly  foreign  to  true  human  work,  but  they  were  the  questions 
which  were  uppermost  in  men's  minds  at  the  time  of  which  wc  speak  ; 
und  for  the  sake  of  clearness  it  will  be  well  to  distinguish  at  ouce  the 
tlircc  different  types  of  answers  which  are  rendered  to  them,  two  partial 
and  tentative,  answering  respectively  to  the  East  and  AVe&t,  the  Gnostic 
and    Neo-Platonic :   the     third   provisionally    complete  for   man,    the 

•  c  Cm,  i.  40.  +  Euseb.  ff.  £  vi.  5. 


328 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


Christian.  The  differences  will  be  most  clearly  seen  if  we  refer  the 
other  ^answers  to  the  Christian  as  a  standard  of  comparison.  As 
against  the  Gnosticj  then,  the  Christian  maintained  that  the  universe 
■was  ci*eatcdj  not  by  any  subordinate  or  rival  po-wcrj  but  by  an  act  of 
love  of  the  One  Infinite  Ciod,  and  tliat  evil  is  not  inherent  in  matter  hnt 
due  to  the  will  of  free  creatures.  As  against  the  Neo-Platonist,  he 
maintained  the  separate,  personal  existence  of  God  ns  one  to  be  ap- 
proached and  worshipped,  Who  thinks  and  loves;  the  reality  of  a  redemp- 
tion eonseqncnt  od  the  Incarnation;  the  historical  proprss  of  the  sum 
of  life  to  an  appointed  end,  As  against  both,  he  maintained  that  God 
is  immanent  in  the  world^  and  Koparate  though  not  alien  from  it:  that 
the  world  was  originally  and  essentially  good :  that  it  has  been  and 
is  disturbed  by  unseen  forees :  that  man  is  the  crown  and  end  of 
creation. 

And  yet  further:  Gnostic  and  Platouist  despaired  of  the  world  and 
of  the  mass  of  men.  BotJi  placed  safety  in  flight:  they  knew  of  no 
salvation  for  the  multitude.  The  Christian,  on  the  otljcr  hand,  spoke, 
argued,  lived,  with  the  spirit  of  a  conqueror  who  possessed  the  power  of 
transfiguring  to  nobler  service  uhat  he  was  charged  to  subdue.  Others 
sought  for  an  abstraction  which  was  beyond  and  above  all  compre- 
hension and  all  worship,  an  abstraction  which  ever  cscnped  from  them  : 
he  had  been  found  by  One  who  came  down  to  earth  ami  Ijccamc  flesh.* 
Others  laboriously  framed  systems  designed  to  meet  tlic  wants  and  the 
intelligence  of  the  few  r  he  nppcalod  to  all  in  virtue  of  a  common  divine 
faculty  and  a  common  God-given  freedom,  of  a  universal  message  and  a 
universal  fact.  Others  looked  forward  for  pcaecj  to  the  advent  of  what 
tliey  called  "  The  Great  Ignorance,"  when  each  crcatiu*e  should  obtain 
perfect  repose  by  knovinng  notliing  better  than  itself:  he  had  already 
begun  to  know  the  calmness  of  joy  in  absolute  surrender  to  One 
iufinitely  great. 

The  development  and  co-ordination  of  these  conceptions,  of  these 
realities  wasj  orrathcr  is,  necessarily  gradual.  But  it  is  of  importance  to 
notice  that  from  the  moment  wheti  philosophers  expressed  their  diffi- 
culties. Christian  teachers  undertook  to  meet  them  on  their  own  lines. 
Christinn  teachei*s  did  not  lay  aside  the  philosopher's  mantle  in  virtue 
of  their  office,  but  rathcf  assumed  it.  At  Alexandria,  a  Christian 
"  Seliooi" — the  well-known  Catechetical  School — arose  by  the  side  of  the 
iluseura.  In  its  constitution  no  less  than  in  its  work  this  School  bore 
a  striking  if  partial  resemblance  to  the  "schools  of  the  prophets"  under 
the  old  Dispensation,  It  waw  not  eeelesiastieal  in  its  organisation.  Ita 
teachers  were  not  necessarily,  or  always  in  fact,  priests.  Its  aim 
not  to  perpetuate  a  system,  but  to  gain  fi-esh  conquests.  From  obscure 
beginnings  the  work  went  on.  Great  thought,  great  principles  found 
utterance ;  and  then  a  master  was  raised  up  not  unworthy  to  comhiue 
and  quicken  them. 

•  Conip.  Kingjtley,  Th(  MofiU  of  AU^aiitfritf.  p.  100. 


OHIGEX  ASD  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


329 


The  first  famous  names  which  occur  in  connexion  with  the  School, 
those  of  Pantaeuus  and  ricmcnt,  might  well  detain  lis.*  Both  men  were 
led  to  tlie  Faith  through  tlie  study  of  Philosophy.  Both  continued  the 
study  as  Christians,  They  had  learnt  the  needs  of  men  by  their  own 
experience,  and  by  that  they  interpreted  what  they  had  found.  The 
scanty  notices  of  Panlaenus  which  have  been  preserved  suggest  the  idea 
of  a  man  of  originality  and  vigour,  who  combined  action  with  thought. 

Clement  again  is  perhaps  in  intuitive  power  the  greatest  in  the 
line  of  Catechists.  Ii  would  be  easy  to  collect  from  his  writings  a  series 
of  pregnant  passages  containing,  with  some  significant  exceptions,  an 
outline  of  the  system  of  Origcn  ;  but  he  had  himself  no  sense  of  a 
system.  The  last  book  in  his  Trilogy  is  fitly  called  "  Miscellanies." 
He  appears  also  to  have  wanted  practical  energy,  and  even  if  this  asser- 
tion seems  to  be  a  paradox,  I  believe  that  this  defect  accounts  for  his 
intellectual  failure.  His  successor^  Origen,  supplied  that  which  was 
wanting.  He  did  not  stop  at  writing  Miscellanies.  He  was  filled  with 
the  conception  of  a  vast  moral  unity;  as  a  necessity,  therefore,  he  felt 
that  the  truths  by  which  this  unity  was  established  must  form  a  unity 
also.  It  is  then  to  him  rather  than  to  his  predecessors,  or  perhaps 
it  may  be  more  true  to  say  to  his  predecessors  in  him^  that  we  must 
look  if  we  wish  to  gain  a  right  notion  of  typical  Christian  thought  at 
Alexandria,  a  right  notion  of  the  beginnings  of  Christian  philosophy. 

Origen  was  of  Christian  parentage.  The  son  of  a  martyr,  he  earned 
himself  the  martyr's  crown,  tlirongh  the  continuous  labours  of  seventy 
years.  In  his  case  no  s]>arp  struggle,  no  violent  change,  no  slow  process 
wrought  the  conviction  of  faith,  lie  did  not,  like  Justin  Martyr,  or  his 
immediate  predecessors,  Pantrenus  and  Clement,  find  in  Christianity 
aiicr  paiuliil  wanderings  that  rest  which  he  had  sought  vainly  in  the 
schools  of  Greek  wisdom.  He  did  not,  like  Tertullian,  follow  the  bent 
of  an  uncontrollable  and  impetuous  nature,  and  close  in  open  schism  a 
life  of  coorageoas  toil.  He  did  not,  like  Augustine,  come  to  the  truth 
through  Iieresy,  and  bear  even  to  the  last  the  marks  of  the  chains  by 
which  he  had  been  weighed  dowu.  His  whole  life,  from  first  to  la&t, 
was  faaliioued  on  the  same  type.  It  was  according  to  his  own  grand 
ideal  "one  unbroken  prayer^'  (/i/a  irpaoivyji  ffia'£vo/«e'i')|),  one  ceaseless 
effort  after  closer  fellowship  with  the  Unseen  and  the  Eternal.  No 
distractions  diverted  him  from  the  pursuit  of  divine  wisdom.  No  per- 
secution checked  for  more  than  the  briefest  space  the  energy  of  his 
efforts.  He  cndurcfl  "  a  double  martyrdom,"  perils  and  sufferings  from 
the  heathen,  reproaches  and  wrongs  from  Christians;  and  the  retrospect 
of  what  he  had  borne  only  stirred  within  him  a  humbler  sense  of  his 
ifhortcomiugs. 

In  Origcn  wc  have  the  first  glimpse  of  a  Christian  boy.  He  was 
conspicuous,  "even  from  his  cradle:"    "a  great  man  from  his  child- 


Comp.  Alexnuder  A|i.  EuscK  //.  E.  vi.  14. 


330 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


hood,"^  is  the  judgment  of  Lis  bitterest  enemy.  Ffom  llie  first  the 
range  of  his  training  was  complete.  His  fatlicr  Lconidas,  after  pro- 
viding carefully  for  his  general  edncation,  himself  instructed  him  in 
Holy  Scripture.  The  boy's  nature  answered  to  tlie  demands  which  were 
made  upon  lam.  His  eagerness  to  penetrate  to  the  deeper  meaning  of 
the  written  Word  gave  early  promise  of  his  characteristic  power  ;  and  it 
is  said  that  Lconidas  often  uncovered  his  breast — ^liis  breast,  and  not, 
bis  brow — pectuit  factt  theohynm  ^as  he  lay  asleep  and  kissed  it, 
though  it  were  already  a  dwelling-place  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 

AVheu  Origen  Lad  reacLod  his  seventeenth  year  the  persecution  under 
Scvcrus  broke  out.  Lconidas  was  thrown  into  prison.  Origen  was 
only  hindered  by  the  loving  device  of  his  mother  from  sharing  his  fate. 
As  it  was,  he  wrote  to  strengthen  his  father  with  the  simple  words : 
"  Take  heed  I  let  no  thought  for  us  alter  your  purpose."  Lconidas  waa 
martyred  ;  his  pi-opcrty  was  confiscated ;  and  the  young  student  at 
once  entered  on  the  career  of  independent  labour  which  closed  only 
with  his  life. 

At  first  Origen  supported  himself  by  teaching  grammar,  the  cus- 
toraarj'  subjects  of  a  litcrar}'  education.  But  immediately  a  richer  field 
was  opened  to  him.  The  Catechetical  School  in  which  he  had  worked  under 
Pautajuua  ami  Clement  was  left  without  a  head,  owing  to  the  fierceness 
of  tbe  persecution.  For  a  time  Origen  gave  instruction  in  Cliristianity 
privfitely  to  those  heathen  who  wished  to  learn.  Hifi  success  was  such  that 
before  he  was  eighteen  he  was  appointed  to  fill  the  vacant  post  of  honour 
and  danger.  IMartyi's — Euscbius  cunmcratcs  seven — passed  from  his  class 
to  death.  His  own  escape  seemed  to  be  the  work  of  Providence.  Marked 
and  pursued,  he  still  evaded  his  enemies.  His  influence  grew  with  his  self- 
devotion,  and  further  experience  of  his  new  work  stirred  him  to  larger 
sacrifices.  He  had  collected  in  earlier  times  a  library  of  classical 
authors.  This  he  now  sold  for  an  annuity  of  four  obols — sixpence — 
a  day,  that  he  might  need  no  assistance  from  the  scholars,  who  were 
grieved  that  tliey  miglit  not  lidp  him.t  So  he  lived  for  more  than  fivc- 
and-twenty  years,  labouring  almost  day  and  night,  and  oflering  such 
an  example  of  absolute  scU-dcnial  as  won  many  to  the  faith  of  which 
he  showed  the  power  in  his  own  person. 

AVhilc  Origen  was  thus  engaged,  his  principles  were  put  to  a  severe 
test.  Ammouius  Saecas,  the  founder  of  Neo-Platonism,  began  to  lecture 
at  Alexandria.  His  success  ahoM-ed  that  he  had  some  neglected  forms 
of  truth  to  make  known ;  and  Origen  became  one  of  his  hearers.  The 
situation  was  remarkable,  and  full  of  intcresjt.  The  master  of  Christianity 
was  a  learner  in  the  school  of  Greeks.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that 
Origen  was  deeply  iuilucnccd  by  the  new  philosophy,  which  seemed  to 
him  to  unveil  fresh  depths  in  the  Bible;  and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  this 
eoniicxiou,  which  lasted  for  a  considerable  time,  gave  occasion  to  those 
suspicions  and  jealousies  on  the  part   of  some  members  of  the  Church 

•  Eu«eb.  H.  E.  vi.  2;  Hieron.  Ep,  84,  l»^{ad  PammacA,  et  Octan,).     tEawib.  If.  £  \i.  S. 


ORIGEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY.  331 

at  AJcxaudria,  wliicli  at  no  long  interval  Iwira  bitter  fniit.  Origen, 
hovrever,  ^as  clear  and  steadfast  as  to  his  purpose,  and  be  fouud  at 
Ica&t  some  sympathy.  For  when  iu  later  yeara  he  was  assailed  for 
^viug  his  attcution  to  the  opinions  of  heretics  and  gentiles,  he 
defended  himself  not  only  by  the  example  of  Pauttenus,  but  also  by 
that  of  Hcraclas,  his  fellow-student  in  the  school  of  Ammonius,  who 
"while  now/*  he  writes,  "a  presbyter  at  Alexandria,  still  wears  the 
dress  of  a  philosopher,  and  studies  with  all  diligence  the  writings  of 
the  Greeks/^ 

Au  anecdote  whicli  is  told  of  the  time  of  his  early  work  may  seem 
in  this  respect  as  a  sjTubol  of  his  lifc.f  A  heathen  mob  seized  him  one 
day  and  placed  him  on  the  steps  of  the  Temple  of  Sernpis,  forcing  hira 
to  offer  palra-branches  in  honour  of  the  god  to  those  who  came  to 
worship.  lie  took  the  palras,  and  cried  out,  "  Come,  take  the  palm, 
not  the  palm  of  the  idol,  but  the  palm  of  Christ.*'  ^ 

The  way  of  Greek  wisdom  was  not  the  only  unusual  direction  in 
which  Origen  sought  help  for  that  study  of  Scripture  to  which  he  had 
consecrated  his  life.  He  turned  to  the  Jews  also,  and  learnt  Hebrew,  a 
task  which  overcame  the  spirit  of  Erasmus,  as  he  tells  us,:f  even  iu  the 
excitement  of  the  Renaissance.  About  the  same  time,  whcu  he  was  now 
fully  equipped  for  work,  lie  found  assistance  and  impulse  from  the 
friendship  of  Ambrose,  a  wealthy  Alcxaudrine  whom  he  had  won  from 
heresy  to  the  Truth.  Origen  draws  a  lively  picture  of  the  activity  and 
importunity  of  lus  friend.  !Meals,  rest,  exercise,  sleep,  all  had  to  be 
sacrificed  to  zeal,  which  may  be  measured  by  the  fact  that  he  fur- 
nished Origen  with  .seven  clerks  to  write  at  his  dictation. § 

TTiis  period  of  happy  and  incessant  labour  was  at  last  rudely  inter- 
rupted. After  working  publicly  at  Alexandria  for  twenty-eight  years, 
\nth  short  intervals  of  absence  on  foreign  missions,  Origeu  was  driven 
from  the  city  to  which  he  was  bound  by  every  sacred  tie,  and  never 
visited  it  again.  There  is  no  need  to  attempt  to  unravel  the  circum- 
stances which  led  to  the  catastrophe.  It  is  enough  to  notice  that  no 
word  of  anger  escaped  from  the  great  master  when  he  showed  after- 
wanls  how  keenly  he  felt  the  blow.  Thenceforth  the  scene,  but  not  the 
character,  of  his  work  was  changed ;  and  he  was  enabled  to  carry  on  at 
CsBsarea  for  twenty  years  longer,  with  undiminished  influence,  all  the 
tasks  which  he  had  begun.  Ambrose  was  still  with  him,  aud  his 
reputation  even  attractal  Porphyry  for  a  brief  visit. 

At  length  the  end  came.  In  the  persecution  of  Dccius  he  was 
imprisoned,  tortured,  threatened  with  the  stake.  Vrom  the  midst  of 
his  feuflerings  he  wrote  words  of  encouragement  to  his  fellow-confessors. 
His  persecutors  denied  him  the  visible  glory  of  the  martyr's  death, 
but  already  exhausted  by  age  and  toil  he  st^nk,  three  years  afterwards, 
under  the  effects  of  what  he  had  suffered   (a.d.  253). 

•  Epitt.  »p.  Etueb.  ff.  E.  vL  !».         t  Epii.h.  Bfer.  C4,  1,  p.  524. 
t  tpi»t.  »5.  S  Etueb.  B.  E,  vi.  2:i. 


832 


THE    COiSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


He  was  buried  at  Tyre;*  and  liis  tomb  was  lumonrod  as  long  a*  the 
city  survived.  When  a  cathedral  named  after  the  Holy  Sepulchre  waa 
built  there,  his  body  is  said  to  have  occupied  the  place  of  greatest 
honour,  being  enclosed  in  the  wall  behind  the  Hijjh  Altar.t  The  same 
church  received  in  a  later  age  (a.i>.  IIKO)  the  remains  of  Darbarossa ; 
hut  the  name  of  the  great  theologian  prevailed  over  the  name  of  the 
great  warrior.  Burehard,  who  visited  Tyre  in  the  last  quarter  of  the 
thirteenth  century  (c.  1283),  saw  tlic  inscription  in  Origcu's  memory  iu 
a  building  which  was  amazing  for  its  splendour.^  Before  the  close  of 
the  century  the  city  was  wasted  by  the  Saracens  j  but  if  we  may 
trust  the  words  of  a  traveller  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century 
(c.  1520),  the  inscription  was  still  preserved  on  "  a  marble  eoluEuu, 
sumptuously  adorucd  with  gold  and  jewels."^  Not  long  after,  at  the 
end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  place  where  Origen  lay  was  only  known 
by  tradition.  Tbe  tradition,  however,  still  lingers  about  the  ruins  of 
the  city  ;  for  it  is  said  that  the  natives,  to  the  present  time,  point  out 
the  spot  where  "  Oriunua^'  lies  under  a  vault,  the  relic  of  an  ancient 
church  now  covered  by  their  huts.|j 

Origcu's  writings  are  commensurate  iu  range  and  number  with  the 
intense  activity  of  his  life.  They  were,  it  is  said,  measured  by  thou- 
sands, and  yet,  as  he  argued,  they  were  all  one,  one  in  purpose  and  in 
spirit  ;  and  it  is  almo-t  amusinj^  to  observe  the  way  in  which  he  writes 
to  Ambrose,  who  urged  him  to  fresh  labours,  pleading  that  he  has 
already  broken,  iu  the  letter,  the  command  of  Solomou  to  "  avoid 
making  many  books. "^  But,  he  goes  on  to  argue,  multitude  really  lies 
iiL  contradiction  and  inconaiatency.  A  few  books  which  arc  charged 
with  errors  are  many.  Many  books  which  arc  alike  inspired  by  the 
truth  are  one.  "  if,  then,"  he  emicludes,  "  I  set  forth  anything  as  the 
trutli  which  is  not  the  truth,  tlien  1  sliall  transgress.  Now,  wldlc  I 
strive  by  all  means  to  counteract  false  teaching,  I  obey  the  spirit  of  the 
precept  which  seems  at  first  to  condemu  nic." 

This  claim  which  Origen  luiikes  to  ou  essential  unity — ^  unity  of 
purjjosc  and  spirit — in  all  his  works  is  fully  justified  by  their  character. 
Commentaries,  hrmiilics,  essays,  tracts,  letters,  arc  alike  animated  by 
the  same  free   an<l   loltv  strivings  towards   a  due   sense    of  the  Divine 

•  William  of  Tyre  (c.  1180),  HiM.^  xiii.  1:  Im-c  (Tyms)  ct  Originui  corpus  occaltat,  aicat 
oculnta  tide  ctioin  lioclie  (it»<t  inspicere. 

t  C<itovicii8  (1A!i8];,  Itin.  Uitr.  p.  Vl\ :  pone  sltirc  mucimmn  magni  Originis  corpus  oon- 
ilitiuii  fcruut. 

X  BurchariluB,  I'trcript.  TfrrtrSancttup.  2.'»  (*</.  Laurrnt):  Originis  ibidem  in  cccleai»S«icti 
Sepulcri  reqiiiescit  in  niuro  oouclusus.  C'ujus  tituluin  ibiJent  ni<li  (tltecUition  of  1587  ndd« 
ft  ugi).  Snnt  ibi  cnliunpnAe  mormoreao  ct  aliornm  lapiilum  tani  mognoc,  quod  stopor 
cat  uidere. 

Ji  Bart.  Ho  Saligniaco,  Jtin.  liter,  ix.  10:  In  tcinplo  Sancti  Sepulcri  Oritfinis  doctoria,  oha 
magno  iu  honorc  sprvantur,  quoi*uni  titiiltia  est  in  colunmii  marniorea  luagnu  anmutu  gem- 
in&ruin  et  tturi.  It  ifl  not  ituUkuly,  1  fear,  tlmt  this  statement  is  A  faUu  rendering  <rf 
Ilurchard*8  notice.  Burcliarira  itook  was  very  wiikly  kurwn  in  the  sixteenth  ceutury.  Th« 
statements  of  Adricbpnin8t7*AM(r.  7*.^'.  Tr.  oirr,  Ii4),  which  are  repeated  by  Hact  au<l  others,,^ 
hsve  uo  independent  value  whatever. 

I!  PruU,  Atu  Pfmniciem,  219,  300,  quoted  by  Piper,  Zttehr.  fUr  A'cAjkA.  1876,  p.  206. 

•1  In  Joh.  V.  y'rrr/. 


ORIGEN  ASD  CIIIUSTIAX  PHILOSOPHW  333 

Alajcj*ty,  Biid  the  same  profouud  devotion  to  the  teaching  of  Scripture. 
It  w  uo  less  remarkable  that  in  all  these  (liferent  departincuts  of 
literature  hU  inllucDCC  was  decisive  and  perraaaeiit.  In  this  respect 
Ills  n*putati(>n,  however  great,  falls  below  the  truth.  Those  parts  of  his 
teairhiiig  wliieh  failed  to  iiud  geiieral  acccptaucc  were  brought  iuto 
prominence  by  the  animosity  of  Jcromcj  who  himself  often  silently 
appropriated  the  other  parts  as  beloiigiag  to  the  common  heritage  of 
ibc  CItiircii.  OrigeHj  in  a  word,  first  laid  down  the  Hues  of  a  sy»tcnuttic 
atudy  of  the  Bible.  Both  in  criticism  and  in  interpretation  his  labours 
marked  an  epoch.  There  were  homilies  before  his,  but  he  fixed  the 
tyi*e  of  a  popular  exposition.  His  llexapha  was  the  greatest  textual 
enterprise  of  ancient  times.  His  treatise  on  First  Principles  was  the 
earliest  attempt  at  a  systematic  view  of  the  Christian  faith. 

But  we  must  not  linger  over  his  writings.  Writings  are  but  one 
clemcnl  of  the  teacher.  A  method  is  often  more  characteristic  and  more 
iuHucutial  than  doctrine.  It  was  so  with  Origen  ;  and,  iti  his  ease,  we 
fortunately  possess  a  vivid  and  detailed  description  of  the  phni  of  study 
which  he  pursued  and  enforced.  Gregory,  surnaraed  Thaumaturgus,  the 
Kroudcr-workcr,  from  his  marvellous  labours  in  Pontus,  after  working 
under  him  for  five  years  at  Caesarea,  at  a  later  time  delivered  a  farewell 
address  in  his  presence  (c.  233  a.d.)*  In  this  the  scholar  records  with 
touching  devotion  the  course  along  whicli    he  had   been  guided  by  the 

»mwn  to  whom  he  felt  that  he  ow^^-d  his  spiritual  life.      He  had  conic  to 
Byria  to  study  Roman   law  in  the  school  of  Bcrytus,  but  on  his  way 
^crc  he  met  with  Origen,  and   at   once   felt    that  he  had  found  in  him 
the  wixlom  for  which  he  was  seeking.      The  day  of  that  meeting  was  to 
him,  ia  his  own  words,  the  dawn  of  a  new  being;  his  soul  clave  to  the 
;       master  whom  he  recognised,   aud   he   surrendered  himself  gladly  to  his 
I       guidance.      As  Origen  spoke    he   kindled    within   the  young  advocate's 
breast  a  love  for  the  Holy  \>*ord,  the  mo*t  lovely  of  all  objects,  and  for 
I^H  himself,  the  Word's  hendd.      *'  That  love/'  Gregory  adds,  "  induced  me 
^f  ti>  give  up  country  aud  friends,  the  aims  which  1  had  proposed  to  myself, 
the  study  of  law  of  which  1  was  proud.   I  had  but  one  pa.ssion — philosophy 
I       — and  the  go<llikeman  who  directed  me  in  the  pursuit  of  it."t 

Origen's  first  care,  so  his  scholar  Gregory  tells  u*?,  was  to  make  the 
I  character  of  n  pupil  his  special  study.  In  this  he  followed  the  example 
j^H  of  Clement. t  He  ascertained  with  delicate  and  patient  attention  the 
^B  capacities,  the  faults,  the  tendencies,  of  him  whom  he  hud  to  teach. 
^H  lUink  growths  of  opinion  were  cleared  away ;  weaknesses  were  laid 
^^  open  ;  every  effort  was  used  to  develop  endurance,  firmness,  patience, 
]  thoroughness.  "  In  true  Socratic  fashion  he  sometimes  overthrew  ns 
I  by  argument,"  Gregory  writes  ;  "  if  he  saw  us  restive  and  starting  out 
of  the  course The  process  was  at  first  disagreeable  to  us,  and 

In  tba   following   noraj/rftphi  I  have  cmlctvoared  to  pre  ihorti)'  the  subst/ince  of 
pry'idMcriptioD  m  aia  Oral  to  panegyrics, 

t  Patu$.  c.  b.  X  Coup.  Strom,  t,  X,  8,  p.  3S0. 


884 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


painful ;  but  so  he  purified  lis  .  ►  .  .  and  .  ,  ,  .  prepared  us  for  the 
rccejition  of  the  words  of  truth  .  .  .  /'  ""  by  probiug  us  and  questiouiug 
us,  aud  offi^riiig  (jrobleins  for  our  solution/'*  In  this  way  Origeu 
taught  his  scliohirs  to  regard  language  as  designed  not  to  furnish 
materials  for  display,  but  to  express  truth  with  the  most  exact  accuracy 
aud  logic ;  as  powerful,  not  to  secure  a  plausible  success,  but  to  teat 
beliefs  with  the  strictest  rigoui*. 

This  was  the  first  stage  of  iatellcctual  discipline,  the  accui'atc 
preparation  of  the  instruments  of  thought.  In  the  next  place,  Origen 
led  his  pupils  to  apply  them,  first,  to  the  '^  lofty  aud  dirine,  aud  most 
lovely"  study  of  external  Nature.  Here  he  stood  where  we  stand  slill, 
for  he  made  j^eomctry  the  sure  and  immovable  foundation  of  his 
tcachiDg,  and  from  this  rose  step  by  step  to  the  heights  of  heaven  and 
the  most  sublhne  mysteries  of  the  universe.  Gregory's  language  implies 
that  Origon  was  himself  a  student  of  physics;  as,  iu  some  degree,  the 
true  theologian  must  be.  Such  iuvestigations  served  to  show  man  in 
his  just  relation  to  the  world. f  A  rational  feeling  for  the  vast 
grandeur  of  the  external  order,  "the  sacred  economy  of  the  universe," 
as  Gregory  calls  it,  was  substituted  for  the  ignorant  and  scuBeless 
worid(M'  witli  which  it  is  commonly  regarded.  The  lessons  of  others,  he 
writes,  or  his  owu  observation,  enabled  him  to  explain  the  conuc\ion, 
the  dillcrcnccs,  the  eliangcs  of  the  objects  of  sense. 

But  physics  were  naturally  treated  by  Origen  as  a  preparation  and 
not  a?  an  end.  Moral  science  came  next;  aud  here  he  laid  the  greatest 
stress  upon  the  method  of  experiment.  His  aim  was  not  merely  to 
analyse  and  to  define  and  to  classify  feelings  and  motives,  though  he 
did  this,  but  to  form  a  character.  For  him.  ethics  were  a  life,  aud  not 
only  a  theory.  The  four  cardinal  virtues  of  Plato — practical  wisdom, 
self-control,  righteousness,  courage — seemed  to  him  to  require  for  their 
maturing  careful  and  diligent  introspection  and  culture.  And  here  he 
gave  a  commentary  upon  his  teaching.  His  discipline  lay  even  more 
in  action  than  iu  precept.  His  own  conduct  was,  iu  his  scholars' 
minds,  a  more  influential  persuasion  than  his  arguments,  t 

So  it  was  that  Origen  was  the  firat  teacher  who  really  led  Gregory 
to  the  pursuit  of  Greek  philosophy,  by  bringing  speculation  into  a  vital 
union  with  pruciice.§  Oreg^ory  saw  iu  him  tbc  iuspiring  example  of  one 
at  once  wise  and  holy.  The  iiolde  phrase  of  older  masters  gained  a 
distinct  meaning  for  the  Cliristian  disciple.  In  failure  aud  weakuess  he 
was  enabled  to  perceive  that  the  cud  of  all  was  "  to  become  like  to  God 
with  a  pure  mind,  aud  to  draw  norir  to  Him  aud  to  abide  iu  Him." 

Guarded  and  guided  by  this  couvictiou,  Origen  encouraged  h\% 
scholars  iu  theology  to  look  for  help  in  all  the  works  of  human  genius. 
They  were  to  examine  the  writings  of  philosophers  and  poets  of  every 
nation — the  dogmatic  atheists  alone  excepted — with  faithful  candour  and 


Pan^.  c  7.        t  M  c.  B. 


fU, 


S  hU  cc.  U|  18. 


OHIGEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


335 


wise  catholicity.  For  them  tliere  Tvas  to  be  no  sect,  no  party.  Aud  in  their 
arduous  work  they  had  ever  at  hand  in  their  master  a  friend  who  knew 
the  difficulties  of  the  ground  to  be  traversed.  If  they  were  bewildered 
in  the  tangled  mazes  of  contiieting  opinions,  he  was  ready  to  lead  them 
with  a  firm  hand.  If  they  were  in  danger  of  being  swallowed  up  in  the 
quicksands  of  shifting  error,  he  was  near  to  lift  them  up  to  the  sure 
resting-place  which  he  had  himself  found.* 

Even  yet  the  end  was  not  reached.     The  hierarchy  of  sciences  was 

uot  completed  till  Theology,  with  her  own   proper  gifts,  crowned  the 

succession    which    we  have   followed    hitherto,    logicj    physics,    ethics. 

New  data  corresponded  with  the  highest  philosophy ;  aud  Origen  found 

in   the  Holy  Scriptures  and  the  teaching  of  the  Spirit  the  final  aud 

absolute  spring  of  Divine  Tmth.     It  was  in  this  region  that  Gregory 

felt  his  master's  power  to  be  Supreme.      Origcu's  sovereign  commaud  of 

the  mysteries  of  *'  the  oracles  of  God,"  gave  him  perfect  boldness  in 

dealing  with  all  other  MTitings.      "Therefore/'   Grcgoi*y   adds,   "there 

was  no  subject  forbidden  to  usj  nothing  hidden  or  inaccessible.     We 

were  allowed  to   become  acquainted  with  every  doctrine,  barbarian  or 

Greek,  on  things  spiritual  or  civil,  divine  and  humnn,  traversing  with  all 

freedom,  and  investigating  the  whole  circuit  of  knowledge,  and  satisfying 

ourselves  with  the  full  enjoyment  of  all  the  pleasures  of  the  soul.  .  .    "f 

Such,  in  meagre  outline,  was,  as  Gregory  tells  us,  the   method  of 

Origen.       He  describes  what  he  knew,  and  whit  his  heu'era  knew.      I 

know  no  parallel   to   the  picture  in  ancient  times.     And  when  every 

allowauce  has  been  made  for  the  partial  enthusiasm  of  a  pupil,  thj  view 

which  it  offers  of  a  system  of  Christian  training  a:-'ta.ally  reil  z;I  exhibits 

a  type  which  we  cannot  hope  to  surpass.      M ly  we  n>t  say  that  the  ideal 

of  Christian  education  and  the  ideal    of   Ciiristian   philosophy  were 

fashioned  together  ?     And  can  we  wondiir  thit,  under  that  comprchcu- 

sive  and  loving  discipline,  Gregory,  already  train^^d   in  heathen  schools, 

first  learnt,  step  by  step,  according  to  his  own  testimuny,  what  tlie  pursuit 

of  philosophy  truly  was,  and  came  to  know  the  solemn  duty  of  forming 

opinions  which  were  to  be,  not  the  amuscmeut  of  a  moment,  but  the 

solid  foimdations   of  lifelong  work  ?      Have  we   yet,  perhaps  wc  ask, 

mastered  the  lessons  ? 

The  method  of  Origen,  such  as  Gregory  has  described  it,  in  all  its 
breadth  and  freedom  was  forced  upon  him  by  what  he  held  to  be  the 
deepest  law  of  human  nature.  It  may  be  true  (and  he  admitted  it) 
that  we  are,  in  our  present  state,  but  poorly  furnished  for  the 
pursuit  of  knowledge ;  but  he  was  never  weary  of  proclaiming  that  wc 
arc  at  least  boru  to  engage  in  the  endless  search.  If  wc  see  some 
admirable  work  of  man^s  art,  he  Kaya,}.  wc  arc  at  once  eager  to  investigate 
the  nature,  the  manner,  the  end  of  its  production;  and  the  contempla- 
tion of  the  works  of  God  stirs  us  with  an  incomparably  greater  longing 
to  learn  the  principles,  the  method,  the  purpose  of  creation.     ''This 

•  iil.  c.  14.         t  IJ-  c.  1.1.         t   De  Princ.  ii.  4,  p.  105. 


336 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


desire,  this  passion^  has  without  doubt,"  be  coutinuess,  "  beeu  implanted 
in  UR  by  Ciod.  And  as  the  eye  seeks  the  light,  as  our  body  craves  food, 
BO  our  mind  is  impressed  with  the  characteristic  aud  uatural  desire  of 
knowing  the  truth  of  God  and  the  causes  of  what  wc  observe."  Such 
a  desire,  since  it  is  a  divine  endowment,  carries  with  it  the  protuise  of 
future  satisfactiou.  lu  our  present  life  we  may  not  be  able  to  do  more 
by  the  utmost  toil  than  oblain  some  small  fragments  from  the  infinite 
treasures  of  divine  knowledge,  still  the  concentration  of  our  souls  upon 
the  lovely  vision  of  Truth,  the  occupation  of  our  various  faculties  in 
lofty  incjuiries,  the  very  ambition  with  whicli  wc  rise  above  our  actual 
powers,  is  in  itself  fruitful  in  blessing,  aud  fits  us  better  for  the  reception 
of  wisdom  hLTcaftcr  at  Kotne  later  stage  of  existence.  Now  wc  draw  at 
the  best  a  faint  outline,  a  preparatory  sketch  of  the  features  of  Truth ; 
the  true  aud  living  colours  will  be  added  then.  Perha])Sj  be  concludes 
most  characteristically,  that  is  the  meaning  of  the  words  "  to  every  one 
that  hath  shall  be  given ;"  by  which  we  are  assured  that  he  who 
has  gained  in  this  life  some  faint  outline  of  truth  and  knowledge,  will 
have  it  completed  in  the  age  to  come  with  the  beauty  of  the  perfect 
image. 

Such  wordsj  thrilling  alike  by  their  humiUly  aud  by  their  confidencej 
noble  in  the  confeSvsion  of  the  actual  wcakm^ss  of  man,  and  invigorating 
by  the  assertion  of  his  maguificeut  destiny,  can  never  grow  old.  They 
live  by  the  inspiration  of  spiritual  genius,  and  through  them  Origen 
comes  iutu  vital  coutact  with  ourselves.  He  was  himself  greater  than 
bis  actions,  than  his  writings,  than  his  method.  The  philosopher  was 
greater  than  his  system.  He  possessed  the  highest  endowment  of  a 
teacher.  He  was  able  to  give  to  the  innumerable  crowd  of  doctors, 
confessors,  martyrs,  who  gathered  round  htm,  not  merely  a  tubulated 
scries  of  formulas,  but  a  living  energy  of  faith.  Ho  stirred,  quickened, 
kindled,  as  Gregory  says,  tlios;;  who  approached  him.  He  com- 
municated not  his  words,  but  himself;  not  opinions  so  much  as  a  fire  ol 
love.  Even  Erasmus  found  in  this  the  secret  of  his  charm.  "  Ho 
loved/'  he  says,*'^  "  that  of  which  lie  spoke,  and  wc  speak  with  dcliglit  of 
the  things  whieli  we  love/'  In  the  face  of  this  purifying  passion, 
Origcn's  errors,  however  we  may  judge  of  them,  arc  details  which 
cannot  finally  all'cet  our  judgment  of  the  man. 

During  his  lifetime  there  was  undoubtedly  a  strong  party  opposed  to 
him.  His  enemies  represented  a  principle — hierarchical  flupremacy— 
and  not  only  a  personal  anttpathy-  Tlieir  bitterness  was  a  proof  of  his 
influence.  But  even  after  his  eondemuatiou  at  Alexandria  his  spiritual 
sujiremacy  was  undisturbed.  Dionysius  carried  his  spirit  to  the  patri- 
arclial  throne.  Pamphilus,  the  martyr,  solaced  his  imprisonment  hj 
Avriting  his  dcfcTicc.  Even  Jerome,  before  personal  feelings  had  warped 
liis  jiulgmentj  styled  him  "  confessed  by  the  Master  of  the  Churche* 
after  the  Apostles."     "  I  could  wish,'^  he  says,  "  to  Jiavc  his  knowledge 

•  Ptvf.  in  Orig.  0pp. 


ORIGEX  A\D  CHIUSTIAX  PHILOSOPHY. 


337 


of  the  Scriptures,  even  if  I  had  to  bear  the  ill-will  which  attaches  to 
his  name/' 

ISo  loDg  as  he  was  rctncmbcrcd  as  a  living  |}Ower  he  was  honoured  by 
e    admiratiou  of  the   leaders    of  Christian    thought.      But    as    time 
^nt  ou,  the  fasliiuu  of  the  Church  changed.    The  frectiom  of  speculation 
Traa  confiiietl,  perhaps  necessarily  confined^  within  narrower  limita.     The 

ecn  who  professed  to  follow  Origcn  misinterpreted  and  miarcprescntod 
Di.  For  others  he  wastue  personification  of  opinions  which  had  bceu 
pronounced  heretical  by  those  who  hadauthority.  Here  andtherc,  however, 
a  bold  voice  was  still  raised  in  his  defence.  "  1  do  not  choose,"  said  abishop, 
when  appealed  to  to  join  in  the  condemuatiou  of  his  writings,*  **  to  do 
outrage  to  a  man  who  has  long  since  fallen  to  sleep  in  honour  ;  nor  am 
I  bold  enough  to   undertake  a   calumnious  task   in    condemning   what 

those  before  us  did  not  reject "     The  historian  (a  layman)  who 

baa   preserved  tlic  anecdote,  pauses  for  a  moment  to  point  its  moral. 

■''Men/'  he  writes,  "of  slender  ability,  who  are  unable  to  come  to  the  light 

by  their  own  fame,  wished  to  gain  distinction  by  blaming  their  bettera, 

....  Such  men's  accusations    contribute,  1  maintain,  to  establish  his 

repatatioD And     they    who    revile    Origen   forget    that     they 

calumniate  Athanasius  who  praised  him ''t 

But  no  individual  devotion  could  turn  the  tide  of  opinion  which  had 

Kt  in  against  Origen  l)efore  the  close  of  tlie  fifth  century.      It  eorre- 
ended  with  an  intellectual  revolution.      For  three  centuries  or  more 
Platonic  idealism  had  been  supreme.      Aristotelian   realism  was  now  on 
the  point  of  displacing  it.      The  signs  of  the  change  can  be   noticed   in 
theology  and  in  polities.      In  one  sense  it  was  necessary  as  a   condition 
for  the  development  of  medievalism.      The  institutions  of  the  past,  which 
carried  with  them  the  noblest  memories  and  symbolized   the   old  order, 
wcTC  now  emptied  of  their  true  life,  and  therefore  not  unmeet  to  fall  by 
the  hands   of  an  alien   Emperor.      It  was  the  singular  and   signifieaut 
^fortune  of  Justinian  to  strike  a    threefold  blow   at    the  past — to  close 
Hihe  Schools  of  Atliens,  to  abolish  the  Cousidship  at  Rome,  to  procure  a 
Hbrmal  condemnation  of  Origen.      By  a  happy  coincidence  he  warred  in 
Veach  case  with  the  dead,  and  he  was  not  unworthy  to  ivagc  sueli  a  conflict 
which  could  bring  no  fruit  and  no  glory.      It   would  be  idle  to  suppose 
that    such   a   man    could    either  sympathise  with    or    understand    the 
difiieuUies  or  the  thoughts  of  Origen.      l^^r  good  and  for   evil   he   was 
■wholly  cast  in  the  mould  of  formulas.      He  knew   nothing  higher  than 
an  edict.      With  less  knowledge  than   Henni-  VIII.,  he  aspired  to    be   a 
defender  of  the  Faith,  and  ended  by  compromising  his  reputation  for 
lOrthodoxy.       The    B|>eetaele    is    for    a    moment    one    of    unspeakable 
Isadness,  Origen  condemned  on  the  impeachment  of  Justinian.      But  the 
life  of  the    martyr    triumphed  over    the   anathemas   of   the  persecutor. 
^Jastinian  could  flatter  himself  that  he  killed  again  that  which  had  no 


y.^.-TT^. 


*  TUcotimnB,  **tbc  biahopof  Scytbin.*'    f^ucr.  B.  S. 
i  Id.,  vi.  Kk 


12. 


VOL.  XXXV. 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


life  "because  it  was  false ;  but  Origcn — the  preacher  of  humility  and 
patience  and  reverence  and  hope  and  absolute  devotion  to  tlie  Divine 
Word — slept  on  calmly  in  the  tomb ;  and  when  "  Greece  rose  from  the 
dead/'  as  it  has  bet^n  linely  expressed,  ""  with  the  New  Testament  io  her 
hand/*  he  rose  too  to  disclose  once  again  fresh  springs  of  Truth.  "  1 
have  read,"  writes  Erasmus  to  our  own  Colet  in  1504,  "  a  great  part  of 
the  works  of  Origen  ;  and  under  his  teaching  I  think  that  I  have  made 
good  progress  \  for  he  opens,  so  to  speak,  the  fountains  of  Tlieology,  aud 
indicates  the  methods  of  the  science." 

Even  while  Origen  was  still  held  to  be  under  the  ban  of  the  Church, 
he  exercised  a  strange  fascination  by  the  memories  of  his  name. 
His  salvation  was  a  question  of  the  Schools^  and  was  said  to  have  been 
the  subject  of  revelations.  An  alibot,  so  tlie  story  ran,  saw  him  in 
eternal  torment  with  the  chief  ha;resiarchs,  Alius  and  Nestorius.  On 
the  other  hand,  it  was  alleged  that  it  had  been  made  known  to  St. 
Mechtildis*  that  "  the  fate  of  Samson,  Solomon,  and  Origen  was  kept 
hidden  in  the  divine  eounscls,  lu  order  that  the  strongest,  the  wisest, 
and  the  most  learned  might  be  filled  with  salutary  fear."  Pious  of 
Mirandula  maintained  in  the  face  of  violent  opposition,  that  it  was 
"more  reasonable  to  believe  in  his  salvation  than  not."  A  learned 
Jesuit  has  composed  an  imagiuaiy  account  of  his  trial  before  the  Court 
of  HeavcUj  with  witnesses,  advocates,  aud  accusers,  in  which  he  finally 
gives  him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt,  "  Tlicre  is  a  perplexed  contro- 
versy," writes  a  German  chronicler  of  the  fifteenth  century,  "  in  which 
sundry  people  engage  about  Samson^  Solomon,  Trajan,  and  Origen, 
whether  thry  were  saved  or  not.     That  I  leave  to  the  Lonl." 

Such  notices  serve  far  more  than  a  momentary  surj)rise.  Tliey  ^how 
that  Origen,  though  practically  unknown,  still  kept  his  hold  ou  the 
interests  of  men;  that  he  was  still  an  object  of  personal  love;  that 
there  is  in  the  fact  of  a  life  of  humble  self-sacrifice  something  too 
majestic,  too  divine,  to  be  overthrown  by  tlie  measured  sentence  of  an 
ceelcsiastieal  synod. 

EuooKE  F.  Westcott. 


See  Bftyle,  JHcf.  Orufine,  Note  D. 


CONTEMPORARY   LIFE   AND   THOUGHT 
IN  FRANCE. 


Park,  AfM  leth,  1879. 


9vmm AKY —PoIUict :  IMOi 

PnkUcQt  of  the   (?hambr 
oribelOth  Maj 


uHi«a  or  theTiri>«i>nt  time— Ttni|fUBlloa  of  the  Uanhol — M.  Jaloi  Or^rj— M.GcDitMU^ 
robcr— M.  Wottdineton'*  Cabintt— The  AnioMty— The  propoMd  Impeacbmnt  ofthe 
ij— Th«  CftU  of  U.  ae  U&ic^te— Tbe  Return  of  the  Chambers  to  Pkrit— AdminUtrmtivc 


I  Conflict  with  Um  Clerical  Partj^-Pkra  Undnthe.    Literut, 

RoUimn— *'Tbr  French    Arrar   in    is 
BMm«/*  bjUiebclrt—SMiiHy  for  the  Study  oTQiicitiocui  rcUtinr  In  the  llifchnr   E^octttioti— Historlcat 


— "  Frrnch  I'olitk-*  In  H«,"  bj  M.  Rotbmn- 


AdminUtrativc 

irr:  M.  Renan's  Beci-ption  at  ths 

Tbr  Fnfoch   Armr  In   ls;tf,"  by  M.  Trocbu — "La 

i«r   Eaa 


Aatnw, 


by  MM.  LKtniv,  Ch^ruol.  Cliautclaaae,  Uicbel,  uul  Perretiii— The  Urothrn  do  QoDcoort,  and  lh*lr 

on  tb«  Utb  Cratur;— M.  Sutir;    SwwUtts  :  D'Osmd,  Dfipit.  Thearlct,  anil  Biehmtlt.    P^Ht  z  BaOTlUe. 

,  Pat^  Amaaieu:  "La   PiUi:  '^apidme"  of   Victor  Hofo.     Tkr  Tknttrt :    ^  Bo;    BU»:"    LadUlaa 

:  *  WAmaaautiT."    Music:  fkrliot  and  his  Correapcmaence;  Oabols,  LeArre,  Godanl ;  uia  Cooc«rU 

al  Ih*  Htepodrant.    SrkAiiiei*!  ^  Pielmrit.    Otttttary :  Daomler.  Coatore,  Priault,  Due,  Vc  Sacj,  8t. 


T 


HE  first  tLrcc  months  of  the  year  1879  have  been  fruitftil  in  events 


the  ultimate  consequences.  Pessimists  aud  optimists  can  freely  indulge  in 
the  pleasures  of  prediction.  Wc  more  modestly,  not  attempting  to  lift 
the  veil  and  look  aheadj  shall  confine  ourselves  to  considering  what  has 
l)een  accomplished,  and  |>ointing  out  the  immediate  subjects  of  dread 
or  hope  conceivable  to  those  who  wish  prosperity  aud  peace  to  France. 
The  movement  impelling  France  for  some  years  past  in  the  direction 
of  a  Republic  has  been  more  rapid  and  dccp-scatcd  than  the  most  far- 
sighted  had  supposed.  The  senatorial  elections  of  January  5tli,  which, 
according  to  the  most  favourable  computations,  were  only  to  give  the 
Bcpublican  party  in  the  Senate  a  majority  of  twenty-five  voices, 
resulted  in  a  majority  of  fifty  and  more.  Moreover,  they  were  welcomed 
with  real  enthusiasm.  It  seemed  as  though  henceforth  every  cause 
of  strife  between  the  public  powers  was  removed,  and  as  though  the 
Republican  Government  would  be  able  to  continue  its  progressive  aud 
pacific  course  without  let  or  hindrance.  This  charming  dream  was 
evidently  one  of  those  pia  vota  we  form  in  the  morning,  which  are 
dissipated  by  the  full  light  of  day.  In  his  speech  at  the  banquet  at 
the  Louvre  Hotel,  M.  Oambetta  took  a  clearer  view  of  the  situation, 
when  he  said,  "  The  time  of  danger  is  ovcr^  the  time  of  difficulties  is 
about  to  begin.''  There  was  no  further  reason  to  fear  any  violent 
action  against  the  form  of  government  on  the  part  either  of  the 
executive  or  of  the  reactiouary  parties ;  but  it  was  still  very  difficult  to 
get  the  four  steeds  yoked  to  the  car  of  the  State  to  pull  well  together; 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies  ardent,  inexperienced,  panting  for  actlou,  fur 

z  2 


3M) 


THE  CONTEMPORABY  REVIEW, 


rcfornij  ami,  above  all,  for  the  removal  of  the  funetioiiariea  who  hai! 
opposed  the  Republican  caudidatcs  after  the  16tb  ^lay ;  the  Senate  calm, 
satisfied  with  the  present  condition  of  tilings,  anxious  to  enjoy  it,  to 
wipe  out  the  recollection  of  bygone  struggles  and  proceed  with  wise 
deliberation  ;  the  Ministry  roniposed  of  incongruous  elements,  some  like 
M,  do  Freycinet  and  M.  de  Marcere  in  sympathy  with  the  majority  in  the 
Chamber,  others  like  M.  Dufanre  out  of  sympathy  with  the  majority 
in  the  Senate  j  lastly,  the  ^Marslial-Prcsident,  who  found  himself  at 
the  head  of  a  Government  none  of  whose  convictions  or  aspira- 
tions he  could  share,  and  who  only  carried  out  the  acts  he  had 
to  subscribe  to  with  the  strongest  repugiiauce  and  a  sort  of  feeling  of 
humiliation. 

After  ten  days  given  up  to  the  joys  of  viclorj%  the  difficulties  of  the 
situation  began  to  be  apparent,  when,  on  the  16th  January,  M.  Dnfuure 
and  M.  de  Marcere  came  to  read  the  collective  declaration  of  the 
Ministry  to  the  Chambers.  The  substance  of  that  declaration  was  such 
as  to  satisfy  the  Republican  majority,  but  its  tone  was  so  constrained, 
cold,  and  surly,  as  to  occasion  visible  depression  in  the  Clmmbcr  of 
Deputies.  It  was  wrongly  interpreted,  as  signifying  the  Minislry'a 
resolve  not  to  yield  to  Die  most  lawful  requirements,  and  as  inaugurating 
a  policy  of  Conservative  resistance,  instead  of  one  of  Democratic  progress. 
For  a  moment  it  might  have  seemed  as  if,  yielding  to  this  fit  of  unjust 
ill-humour^  the  Chamber  were  about  to  overthrow  the  Ministry,  but  it 
soon  became  conscious  of  the  immense  mistake  it  would  be,  as  regards 
the  country  which  had  just  been  appointing  Republican  senators,  to  turn 
out  the  Ministry  to  whom  these  elections  were  due.  It  Mas  evidently 
M.  Dufaurc'a  person  that  reassured  the  electoral  body,  and  rallied 
it  to  the  Republic.  The  new  senators  were  mostly  partisans  of  the 
Ministr)',  to  overthrow  it  ivoidd  be  to  engage  iu  hostility  with  the  scna. 
torial  majority,  which  had  just  been  hailed  with  acclamation.  The 
interpellation  of  January  50th  ended  in  the  victory  of  the  Ministry, 
which  obtained  a  majority  of  IClO  voices. 

In  spite  of  this  victory,  M.  Dnfanre  had  too  just  an  appreciation  of 
the  situation  and  of  the  parliamentary  requirements  not  to  wish  to 
resign  the  office  in  which  he  had  rendered  signal  service,  but  in  which 
henceforth  he  could  only  be  a  bar  to  further  progress.  At  the  same 
time  he  felt  that  the  very  person  of  the  President  of  the  Republic  made 
the  regular  course  of  affairs  impossible.  With  fine  tact  ho  saw 
that  the  changes  that  were  to  be  made  in  the  administrative  bo<ly  would 
compel  Marshal  MaclNIahon  to  resign,  and  that  the  Marshal's  reliremcnt 
would  furnish  him  with  the  natural  opportunity  of  resigning  his  post  as 
head  of  the  Cabinet,  This  was  jtist  wliat  occurred.  Tlic  Marshal  refused 
to  sign  the  recall  cf  the  four  heads  of  the  corps  d'armee.  Iu  a 
letter  full  of  dignity,  and  which  appeared  quite  natnral  on  the  part 
of  a  soldier,  more  concerned  for  the  interests  of  the  army  than  for 
those  of  politics,  he  tcnJcrcd  his  resignation.      The  two  Chambers  met 


CON  TEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     3H 


I 


I 

I 
I 
I 


ia  Congress,  ami  ia  a  single  sitting,  witboiit  the  smallest  disturbance  or 
noise,  M.  J,  Grevy  was  elected  and  proclaimed  President  of  the  French 
Republic  for  seven  years. 

This  peaceable  revolution  suggests  divers  reflections.  The  first 
impression  was  one  of  almost  universal  astonishment  and  admiration  at 
the  case  with  which  the  mechanism  of  so  new  a  Constitution  worked, 
and  the  calm  dignity  of  the  Republican  party,  so  long  accused,  not 
unjustly,  of  a  liking  for  noisy  and  tumultuous  manifestations.  Thcre- 
npon  the  people  congratulated  themselves  on  not  having  to  wait  for 
tlic  expiration  of  1880,  the  fear  being,  should  Marshal  MacMahou 
reach  the  term  of  his  Presidency,  that  the  last  months  of  his  government 
would  be  marked  by  all  manner  of  intrigues,  intrigues  of  the  reactionists 
to  overturn  the  Ilcpublic  and  of  the  Ilcpublicans  in  connection  with  tlie 
nomination  of  the  new  President.  Many  dreaded  more  especially  the 
candidature  of  M.  Gambetta,  whicli  had  already  been  announced. 
M.  Grevy's  nomination  ]jut  oQ'  that  posailjility  till  188G.  Finally,  the 
election  of  a  Republican  President  seemed  likely  to  insure  the  loiig-wished- 
for  harmony  between  the  public  powers.  But  at  the  same  time  there 
were  those  who,  less  disposed  to  confidence,  asked  themselves  whether  the 
retirement  of  the  President  before  the  expiration  of  his  term  of  olKcc  was 
not  a  bad  omen  for  the  future,  and  whether  the  facility  with  which  the 
transfer  of  jjowcr  had  been  effected  was  uot  in  itself  a  danger.  Would  not 
the  impatient  Republicans  in  the  Chamber  be  inclined  to  takfi  advantage 
of  the  first  opportunity  to  turn  out  M.  Grevy  as  the  Marshal  had  been 
turned  out,  and  had  not  events  proved  that  the  Constitution  of  1873  had 
aimed  at  impossibilities  in  pretending  to  convert  a  Republican  President, 
chosen  for  his  personal  merits,  his  intelligence^  and  his  character,  into  a 
Constitutional  sovereign  ?  Finally,  on  what  basis  was  a  Ministry  to  be 
formed,  seeing  that  the  majority  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  belonged 
to  the  pure  Left,  whereas  tliat  in  the  Senate  belonged  rather  to 
ihc  Left  Centre,  and  that  both  these  bodies,  as  the  outcome  of 
the  election  were  entitled  to  a  share  of  lufluencc  in  the  choice  of 
Ministers? 

For  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  the  character  and  actions  of  M.  Grdvy 
bave,  fortunately,  removed  these  difliculties  and  a|)prchcnsious.  His 
■imple,  firm  character,  and  Iub  unmistakably  Republican  convictions 
were  calculated  to  reassure  the  most  exacting  members  of  the  Left  in  the 
Chamber;  whiLtt  his  reserve,  his  couccrn  for  legality,  and  likewise 
a  certsun  natural  indolence,  rcudei*ed  all  fear  of  his  exceeding  his  con- 
stitutional role  unnecessary.  It  is  very  fortunate  that  ^L  Grevy,  at  heart 
a  lawyer,  should  take  this  scrupulous  view  of  his  duties,  for  if  wc  were 
in  a  period  of  Constitutional  formation  instead  of  Constitutional  appli- 
cation, there  would  be  good  TL'ason  to  fear  his  influence  and  views. 
M.  Grevy  is  a  man  of  rectilinear  mind,  who,  in  polities,  takes  less 
OQimt  of  the  requirements  and  possibilities  of  practice  than  of  principles 
and  theories.     At  the  Constituent  Assembly  nud  the  Tjegislativc  Asscra- 


342 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


bly  in  1848  he  had  almost  always  voted  with  the  Advanced  Left,  an5 
never  showed  any  foresight  excepting  ou  the  day  when  he  proixjsed, 
as  it  happens  in  vain,  that  the  President  should  be  appointed  hy 
the  Chamber.  In  1873  lie  neither  concealed  his  repugnance  to  the 
system  of  two  Chambci*s,  nor  refrained  from  criticising  a  Constitution 
wliich,  in  his  eyes,  had  the  dcfectj  in  reality  the  raeritj  of  being 
full  of  compromises,  of  counterweights^  of  mutual  guarantees,  and 
of  making  facts  and  not  a  priori  ideas  its  starting-point.  M.  Grcvy^s 
ideal  government  remains  that  of  the  constitution  of  1793;  a  single 
Assembly,  whereof  the  ^Ministers  are  merely  the  delegates,  always  liable  to 
recall,  and  a  President  of  the  Republic,  who  is  merely  the  President  of 
the  Council  of  Ministers.  Happily,  the  Constitution  is  made,  M.  Grcvy 
has  nothing  to  do  but  apply  it,  and  this  he  will  do  faithfully  and 
scrupulously.  He  will  uot  be  a  President  addicted  to  fiue  phrasc-s  and 
brilliant  representations,  but  an  honest  one — true  to  his  duties  and 
to  his  country.  His  boiu'geois  mode  of  life  and  simple  manners  have 
not  only  been  made  game  of,  but  calumniated  ;  but  since  his  election  the 
ridicxde  and  the  calumnies  have  ceased  iu  presence  of  the  public  life 
of  ft  good  man  who  has  nothing  to  conceal. 

At  the  same  time  that  M,  Grevy  Mas  elected  President  of  the  Re- 
public, M.  Gambctta  was  appointed  President  of  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies.  M.  Gambetta's  refusal  to  accept  the  leadership  of  the 
Ministry,  and  his  desire  to  succeed  M.  Grcvy  as  President  of  the 
Chambe]',  were  made  the  subject  of  comments  anything  but  good- 
natured.  Some  regarded  it  merely  as  a  mode  of  putting  forward 
his  candidature  for  the  Presidency  of  the  Republic ;  others,  as  a  means 
of  escaping  the  necessity  of  giving  an  opinion  or  voting  on  all  weighty 
and  compromi.fing  questions.  To  me,  M,  Garabetta's  behaviour  appeared 
dictated  by  a  very  just  appreciation  of  the  situation.  M.  Gam- 
bctta could  not  accept  the  leadership  of  a  Ministiy,  first  of  all  because 
his  name  would  have  been  a  terror  to  a  portion,  not  only  of  the 
country,  but  even  of  Europe;  because  his  personality  would  have  taken 
the  lend  before  the  President  of  the  Republic;  and,  finally,  because 
in  a  transition  period  like  the  present  he  could  neither  have  been  true 
to  himself  nor  free  to  carry  out  bin  ideas,  and  wnutd  have  worn 
himself  out  without  benefit  to  his  country.  Nor  co\ild  he  simply 
remain  in  the  Chamber  as  President  of  the  Budget  Committee  and 
leader  of  the  majority;  he  had  long  been  accused  of  having  too  much 
inrtucnce,  of  having  everything  in  his  hands,  of  hindering  the  action 
of  the  GoA-crnment  and  the  Ministry.  "Ulaereos,  as  President  of  the 
Chamber,  he  no  longer  exercises  the  same  influence  on  everyday  political 
life,  he  retains  merely  a  directing  and  moderating  power  over  legis- 
lative affairs.  At  the  same  time  it  is  true  that,  next  to  M.  Gr^vy, 
he  occupies  tlic  highest  post  in  the  Republic,  aud  some  may  think  that 
he  has  taken  possession  of  it  a  little  too  ostentatiously,  by  hastening 
to  occupy  the  hotel  formerly  inhabited  by  M.  de  Momy,  and  fitting  it 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     343 

up  in  too  luxurious  a  manner ;  also  it  is  true  that  for  fear  of  compromiMng 
bimself  in  the  future^  as  he  irould  do,  he  avoids  taking  an  active  part  iu 
Parliamentary  contests.  But  a  man  of  M.  Gambctta's  value  cannot  help 
bcin^  the  necessarv  candidate  for  the  Presidency  of  the  Republic,  and  it  is 
uel!  he  sliould  husband  hb  popularity  and  iuflueuce,  which  may  any  day 
become  indispensable  to  the  country.  He  has  therefore  performed 
the  part  of  a  good  citizen  as  well  as  of  an  able  pfjlitician,  wise  in  his 
ambition^  by  desiring  the  Presidency  of  the  Chamber.  He  has 
justified  this  choice  by  the  manner  in  which  he  has  fulfilled  his  new 
dntics.  His  8:;verity,  by  many  considered  excassive,  has  csitablished 
perferct  order  in  a  Parliament  accu9tomcd  to  uproar  and  scandalous 
interruptions ;  the  work  of  the  bureaur  has  become  more  active  and 
more  regular,  and  more  than  once,  without  its  being  outwardly  apparent, 
he  has  exercised  a  moderating  and  conciliatory  iullucucc  ou  the  decisions 
of  the  majority. 

The  wisdom  of  M.  Grcvy  and  M.  Gambctta  has  shown  itself  iu  the 
formation  of  the  Ministry,  for  every  one  knows  that  the  President 
of  the  Republic  consulted  the  President  of  the  Chamber  on  the  subject. 
M.  Dufaure  persisting  in  his  intention  of  retiring,  M.  Grevy  nevertheless 
wished,  as  far  as  possible,  to  keep  the  members  of  the  old  Ministry,  so 
U  to  give  the  country  a  stronger  feeling  of  stability  and  quiet,  and  like- 
wise to  have  a  Ministry  corresponding  with  the  majority  both  in  the 
Senate  and  the  Chamber.  MM.  Waddingtou,  Leon  Say,  de  Freycinet, 
lie  Marcere,  Gresley,  retained  their  portfolios ;  M.  J,  Ferry,  as  Minister  of 
Public  Instruction,  Jaureguibcrry  of  Marine,  Lc  Royer  of  Justice,  Le- 
pere  of  Agriculture,  were  the  only  new  members  of  the  Cabinet.  The 
le^timate  desire  to  give  Europe  a  pledge  of  tlic  peaceful  iutentions  of 
the  French  Government  was  the  cause  of  M.  Waddington's  being  made 
President  of  the  Council.  The  choice  perhaps  was  not  quite  a  happy  one. 
Hi*  clear  and  sound  intelligence,  his  uprightness  of  character,  no  doubt 
render  M.  Waddington  worthy  of  the  highest  postj  and  as  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs  he  displays  superior  capacity,  but  to  manage  a  Ministry, 
the  administrative  departments,  and  a  Parliamentary  majority  all  at  once, 
requires  outward  qualities  in  which  he  is  wanting — readiness  of  speech, 
promptne^^s  of  decision  and  action^  something  winning  and  sympathetic 
that  attracts  approbation,  or  a  natural  authority  that  commands  it.  Until 
now  M.  Waddington  has  filled  the  ptjst  to  which  he  luvs  been  called  very 
properly  J  but  the  influence  of  his  personality  has  not  made  itself  felt 
either  in  the  Chamber  or  iu  the  Government.  He  fills  his  place  in  the 
Ministry  worthily,  but  he  does  not  preside  over  it. 

The  situation,  it  must  also  be  owned,  is  not  easy,  and  the  difficulties 
I  have  often  pointed  out  arc  sensibly  apparent  now.  By  virtue  of  his 
ideas,  character,  and  antecedents,  M.  Waddington  belongs  above  all  to 
the  Left  Centre.  He  directs  a  Ministry  consisting  for  the  most 
part  of  elements  of  the  pure  Left,  and  must  look  to  the  Left  for  his 
chief  support  in  the  Chamber.      He  is  thus  obliged  to  adopt  a  political 


H       CIUUI     SU^ 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


course  that  would  not  exactly  be  his  were  he  ii  perfectly  free  agent.  His 
task  would  be  relatively  easy  had  he  to  deal  with  a  Chamber  accustomed 
to  the  Parliamcutary  regime,  and  instinctively  comprehending  the  need  of 
discipline.  Rut  the  present  majority  is  founded  on  the  union  of  the 
Lefts  ;  on  the  luiiou,  tliat  is,  of  all  who  are  attached  to  the  Ilcpublieau 
form,  and  who  fou{:^ht  against  the  ^liuiatcrs  of  May  24,  1873,  and 
May  16,  1877.  This  sliows  the  lictcrogencous  elements  whereof  tlmt 
majority  is  composed  ;  excellent  as  an  opposition  majority,  but  in  no 
sense  a  Governmental,  still  less  a  Ministerial  one.  N'or  can  it 
become  such  but  on  the  condition  of  clearly  uiulerstanding  the  truth  of 
the  situation — the  impossibility  of  having  a  Ministry  differing  from  the 
actual  one,  and  of  resigning  themselves  to  a  scries  of  compromises, 
members  of  the  Left  Centre  accepting  measures  they  would  perhaps  not 
have  proposed,  and  members  of  the  Extreme  Left  postponing  to  some 
future  time  projects  of  reform  which  arc  still  premature.  But  to  get 
some  members  of  the  Left,  who  imagine  that  because  the  Republic 
ia  victorious,  nothing  [trcvcuts  the  immediate  carrying  out  of  every 
reform  and  cverj'  measure  included  in  their  electoral  circulars,  to  under- 
stand this  is  very  difficult.  Were  tliis  disposition  of  mind  confined 
to  the  Extreme  Left  it  would  be  of  no  great  consctiucncc.  One  would 
do  without  them  ;  that  is  all.  But  a  considerable  proportion  of  a  far 
more  important  group,  the  Republican  Union,  consists  of  mediocre 
and  positive-miuded  men,  wlio  know  nothing  of  politics,  and  tremble  at 
the  notion  of  appearing  too  w  cak,  too  moderate,  not  pure  enough,  not  firm 
enough  in  principle,  uud  who  give  a  grudging  support  to  the  Ministry 
without  caring  to  consider  whether  they  could  tbnn  one  more  likely 
to  live.  And,  in  point  of  fact,  since  its  formation  the  Ministry  lias 
been  engaged  not  in  fighting  its  adversaries  of  the  Right,  who  arc  too 
weak  for  attack,  but  iu  persuading  its  own  partisans  not  to  desert.  There 
will  never  be  a  real  Government  majority,  nor  a  real  Republican  Par- 
liamentary Government,  until  such  time  as  the  elections  shall  have  been 
made  on  a  Ministenal  question,  and  we  have  a  solid  and  coherent 
Ministerial  majority,  a  condition  we  arc  far  from  haWng  reached 
yet.  The  Right  is  not  a  Government  party  ;  it  is  a  Iwdy  absolutely 
hoatile  to  the  Republic,  and  ready  to  join  the  Extreme  Left  iu  order 
to  turn  out  the  Ministers  and  create  disturhaiice,  but  itself  incapable  of 
founding  anything.  As  to  the  Left,  it  is  divided  into  four  parties,  no 
longer  corresponding  to  anything  real — Left  Centre,  Left,  Republiean 
Union,  Extreme  Left.  This  subdivision  makes  all  negotiations  between 
the  Ministry  and  the  Republican  majority  very  troublesome.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  advanced  section  of  the  Republican  Union  will  soon  join 
the  Extreme  Left,  and  the  reasonable  section  the  LeiL  The  Parliamentary 
situation  will  then  be  more  clearly  defined.  The  clectious  of  April  Cth 
show  how  far  we  still  arc  from  any  political  stability,  lustewl  of 
dividing  themselves  into  partisans  and  opponents  of  tlie  Ministry,  all 
the  candidates  fake  their  stand  on  the  grouiul  ui'  general  principles ;  they 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  JN  FRANCE,     345 

themselves  ready  to  vote  either  with  the  Repuhliean  Union, 
Ith  the  Left,  or  with  the  Hight.  Finally,  some,  whilst  saying  they  are 
satisfiod  with  the  Ministr\',  demand  reforms  never  included  in  ifcs 
programme. 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  lead  such  undisciplinetl  soldiers.  llithertOj 
however,  not  without  some  diffieulties,  the  Ministry  has  succeeded.  It 
bas  triamphcd  on  the  two  most  serious  questions,  that  of  the  amnesty 
and  of  the  impeachment  of  the  Ministers  of  May  16  ;  but  in  both 
CMca,  up  to  the  lost  moment,  the  issue  of  the  debate  was  doubtful.  In 
pro|>osing  to  pardon  all  the  condemned  Communists  with  the  exception 
of  the  principal  leaders  and  those  who  luid  eommitte<l  crimes  violating 
the  common  law — assassination,  theft,  arson — the  Government  was 
going  as  far  as  circumstances  permitted  in  the  paths  of  clemency. 
To  want,  as  the  Extreme  Left  did,  and  a  hnndrcd-and-fivc  members  of 
the  Republican  majority  demanded  by  their  votes,  that  the  amnesty  should 
be  extended  to  all  without  exception,  was  gratuitously  to  expose  the 
Republic  to  serious  daugei-s,  to  authorise  the  reactionists  to  accuse  the 
Republicans  of  connivance  with  the  Communist  insurgents,  or  at  any 
rate  of  kindncsst  owaids  them;  to  render  it  possible  for  apologies  for 
the  Commune  to  appear  in  the  public  press;  to  run  the  risk  of  open- 
ing Parliament  to  former  members  of  the  Commime,  where  their 
apologies  for  an  insurrection  everlastingly  hateful  would  provoke 
perpetual  disturbance.  If  the  Communist  party  were  cutircly  distiuct 
from  the  Republican,  if  the  Republican  majority  aud  the  Republicau 
press  had  dways  expressed  decided  reprobation  for  the  Commune,  the 
aumesty  might  have  been  still  more  general ;  but  considering  the  indul- 
gence, and  even  the  •ecret  regard  showji  for  the  Commune  by  certain 
advanced  Republicans,  and  the  pretention  of  the  Communists  to  have 
been  only  the  most  decided  representatives  of  the  Republic,  to  have  even 
aaved  it  by  their  rising,  it  was  necessary  for  the  Republican  Government 
to  separate  from  them  entirely,  and  show  that,  whilst  reopening  the 
amniry'i  gates  to  the  great  mass  of  culprits,  the  insurrection  remained 
in  their  eyes  an  abominable  crime.  The  Republic  has  so  often  been 
identified  with  the  revolution  that  it  is  necessary  for  the  Republican 
party  actively  to  repudiate  all  joint  responsibility  with  the  revolutionists. 
The  eafety  of  the  Republic  is  at  stake,  aud  to  compromise  it  for  the  sake 
of  a  few  sincere  fanatics  to  whom  Tl»c  amnesty  doca  not  extend  would  be 
strange  indeed. 

The  question  of  the  impeachment  of  the  Ministers  of  May  16th  was 
more  serious  than  that  of  the  amnesty.  In  reality,  no  one,  not  even 
amongst  the  ExtremcLeft,was  very  strongly  in  favour  of  plenary  amnesty. 
People  knew  that  it  would  frighten  the  country  and  cause  a  reaction. 
It  was  demanded  more  for  the  sake  of  being  true  to  old  electoral  promises  ; 
but  It  was  not  made  a  jwint  of.  The  impeachment  of  the  Ministers,  on 
the  contrary,  answered  to  the  all  but  unanimous  wish  of  the  Republican 
party,   especially    of  the    Republicau    electors    of    those   Departments 


316 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


which  had  been  the  victims  of  xinendurahle  persecution  in  1877.  But, 
at  the  same  tiiaej  it  wa:f  a  furtuiiatG  iuspiratiou  that  made  tlie  Miuistry^ 
oppose  the  impeachment.  However  guilty  the  Ministers  of  May 
16th  and  Nov.  11th  had  been,  however  base  it  was  of  MM.  dc  Broplie 
and  dc  Fourtou  to  turn  justice  into  a  political  tool,  to  buy 
consciences  and  strain  every  law,  it  would  have  been  a  crying 
injustice  to  strike  tliose  political  delinqTients  at  the  very  moment  when 
those  who  bad  risen  in  armsagaiust  every  one  of  tlie  country's  laws  were 
being  pardoned.  Moreover,  though  M.  Brisson's  able  report  laid  bare  the 
criminal  intentions  of  the  Minister  of  1877,  and  tlieir  inclination  for  a 
covp  (Telatj  there  was  no  positive  and  palpable  fact,  no  step  in  that 
direction  which  could  be  brought  forward  as  a  motive  for  condemnation  ; 
and  the  culprits  always  hnd  the  resource  of  saying  that  the  object  of 
their  military  preparations  was,  not  a  coup  dU'tat,  but  the  repression  of 
a  possible  rising.  Finally,  this  question  of  the  preparations  for  a  coup 
d*ita(  could  not  be  thorouglily  sifted  without  carrying  the  inquii-y  into 
the  ranks  of  the  army,  which  would  have  presented  serious  incouveniencc 
from  the  point  of  view  of  discipline.  The  Ministry  was  thus,  fortunately] 
moved  to  request  in  the  name  of  the  public  tranquillity  that  the  prosecution 
should  be  abandoned,  and  to  prououuce  the  culprits  sutKcicntly  punished 
by  the  iusignifieauce  they  have  relapsed  into,  and  the  contempt  wlicre- 
with  they  have  covered  t!icniselvcs.  It  was  not  without  difficulty  that 
the  majority  in  tlie  Chamber  was  brought  to  adopt  this  view.  It  only 
yielded  in  face  of  the  certainty  that  the  Ministry  would  resign  if  placed  in 
a  minority.  The  self-restraint  it  exercised  on  that  occasion,  though 
somewhat  tardily,  proves  it  to  be  capable  of  reflection  and  political 
wisdom.  But  the  number  of  Deputies  not  afraid  to  vote  against  the 
Ministry,  at  the  risk  of  provoking  a  crisis,  shows  wc  arc  still  liable 
to  surprise. 

The  other  difficulties  encountered  by  the  Ministers  were  far  less  serious. 
The  fall  of  M.  de  Marcerc,  which  to  a  few  superficial  obaer\'ers  looked 
menacing^  did  but  strengthen  them.  M.  dc  Marcerc  was  not  very  sympa- 
thetic to  his  colleagues  ;  with  their  assent,  so  to  speak,  the  Chamber 
turned  him  out;  and  liis  fall  is  to  be  ascribed,  not  to  the  ridicidous  affair 
of  the  inquiry  on  the  Prefecture  de  Police,  but  to  personal  questions 
needless  to  dwell  upon.  The  war  waged  on  !M.  Leon  Say,  relative  to  the 
conversion  of  the  5  per  cent.  Stock,  which,  during  four  days,  seemed 
decided  upon,  and  was  then  pronounced  iuopiiortuiie  liy  the  Government, 
calmed  down  after  an  energetic  declaration  from  tlie  Minister  of  Finance. 
Moreover,  his  personal  respectability,  placed  him,  in  the  eyes  of  all  who 
knew  him,  above  suspicion. 

With  rcgaitl  to  the  question  of  the  return  of  the  Chambers  to  Paris, 
the  Ministry  and  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  were  agi'ced,  and  the 
opposition  proceeded  from  the  Senate.  From  a  political  poiut  of  view 
the  advantages  of  the  Chambers  meeting  outside  Paris  are  great.  The 
present  existence  of  the  Republic  is  due  to  tlie  sojourn  of  the  Chambers  at 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     347 

Venailles.  If  all  the  crises  we  Imvc  gone  tlirongh  had  occurred  in  Paris, 
it  is  ray  certain  they  would  have  first  provoked  popular  mauifestations^and 
then  risings,  in  which  the  Republic  wonld  have  perished  ten  times  over. 
In  proof  of  which,  we  have  but  to  read  the  history  of  the  Republic  of  1845, 
with  its  i)criodical  insurrections  and  manifestations,  over  again.  A 
learned  Magazine,  the  Revtte  Critiquej  has  pxiblished  a  very  curious 
letter  from  Tliomaa  Paine  to  Danton,  in  which  he  demonstrates  to  him 
that  the  Republic  will  never  survive  in  France  if  the  Assembly  continue 
to  sit  in  Paris ;  and  wherein  he  explains  to  him  how  the  Americans 
were  led  to  make  Washington;  and  not  one  of  the  large  towns  already 
exiksting,  their  scat  of  Government.  But  strong  as  these  arguments  may 
be  from  a  political  point  of  view,  the  sitting  of  Parliament  at  Versailles  is 
rery  inconvenient,  all  the  Ministries  and  central  Admiuistrations  being 
in  Paris^  with  no  possibility  of  removal.  Ou  the  other  hand,  the  chances 
of  a  crisis  are,  for  the  present,  tliought  to  be  very  much  smaller  than 
they  were;  and  such  arrangements  might  easily  be  made  at  Versailles  to 
admit  of  a  return,  should  the  nccei?sity  arise.  But  what  still  keeps  the 
Senate  there  is  likewise  a  practical  question — that  of  a  suitable  building 
to  meet  in.  The  Palace  of  the  Luxembourg  is  occupied  by  the  Muni- 
cipal Council ;  moreover  the  Senate  wishes  to  be  near  the  Chamber  of 
IDeputies,  that  their  equal  im|>ortance  may  be  clearly  recognised.  As 
■nyn  as  it  is  no  longer  a  question  of  priuciplc  but  only  one  of 
UtiGtiee  that  has  to  be  considered  it  is  probable  that  afler  the  Par- 
liamentary recess  the  two  Chambers  will  not  be  long  before  they  come 
to  an  agreement. 

Far  more  serious  than  small  matters  of  detail  like  these  was  the 
question  of  the  changes  to  be  introduced  into  the  administrative, 
judicial,  and  military  staffs.  M.  Dufaure  had  been  8i)ecially  attacked 
for  his  dislike  Ui  cliangcs  of  the  kind,  and  the  sort  of  superstitious 
jiMpect  he  had  for  things  as  they  were,  A  fraction  of  the  Repub- 
lican party,  on  the  other  hand,  persistently  demanded  that  all  the 
officials  suspected  of  attachment  to  the  fallen  regimes  should  be  recalled, 
I  and  their  places  filled  by  men  devoted  to  the  new  institutions.  Had  their 
demands  been  attended  to,  the  State  would  have  been  deprived  of  a  number 
of  useful  servants,  whose  places  would  have  been  supplied  by  new  men, 
lignorant  of  the  duties  entrusted  to  them,  and  incapable  of  adequately 
fulfilling  tliem.  Tlic  Republic  would  no  longer  have  been  the  go- 
vernment of  the  country  by  the  country,  but  the  tyranny  of  a  partyj 
it  would  have  been  badly  served  and  compromised  by  its  bad  servants  i 
finally,  in  a  country  where  the  Administration  plays  such  an  im])ortant 
part  as  in  France,  the  most  complete  disorder  would  have  been  the  eon- 
qnence  of  such  a  change  of  staff.  The  new  Ministry  thoroughly 
understood  the  requirements  of  the  case ;  it  resolutely  sacrificed  the 
functionaries  whose  hostility  to  the  Republic  might  prove  an  obstacle  or 
danger  to  the  new  institutions  -,  it  replaced  them  by  the  most  able 
en,    and    not    by   the    most    ardent   Republicans ;     it  retained    all 


siS 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  RF.VIEIV. 


the  faithful  and  comjjctcnt  functionnripR,  whatever  their  personal 
opinions.  Almost  all  the  appointments  the  Ministry  has  ma<le  arc 
excellent ;  uo  otie  coiild  find  serious  fault  with  them.  The  energy 
and  prudence  with  which  the  Waddiugtou  Cabinet  has  acted,  under 
the  cireumstauces,  have  greatly  contributed  to  strcugthcu  its  position  ia 
Parliament. 

No  less  advantageous  to  it  was  the  activity  it  displayed  iu  the  pre- 
paration of  all  the  laws  relating  to  business ;  the  quiet  and  hard- 
working tone  of  the  debates  iu  the  Chambers ;  and,  fiuallyj  the  laws- 
prescnt^'d  by  M.  Jules  Ferry,  which  gratify  to  the  princiiml  passion  of 
deputies  aad  electors — the  auti-clcrical  passion.  By  one  of  these  laws 
the  Superior  Council  of  Public  InstrucfciaUj  which  for  the  last  five  years 
had  beeu  an  instrmncnt  of  uueulightcued  reaction,  is  reorganized  and 
formed  solely  of  competent  men  connected  with  education.  This  other 
iawj  far  more  important,  restores  to  the  State  the  exclusive  right  of 
cotiferring  University  degrees,  which  give  access  to  the  liberal  professions, 
the  bar,  tlic  medical  profession,  &c.;  and  it  deprives  members  of  unautho- 
rised  religious  boilics  of  the  right  of  teaching.  This  last  measure,which  in- 
augurates a  sj>ccics  of  CultHrfiauipf  in  France,  is  the  subject  of  violent 
protestation  on  the  part  of  tlur  l)ishops  and  tlie  believing  Catholics,  and 
is  censured  by  many  Liberalsj  who  wish  even  the  Jesuits  to  have  liberty; 
but  it  mecta  one  of  the  vital  demands  i)f  ijie  moment.  It  is  certain 
that  the  Republic  can  only  live  by  annulling  the  clerical  iuflucuce  ;  and, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  conflict  with  tlic  Church  may  he  the  cause  of  its 
downfall.  We  shall  return  to  this  important  question  mIicu  the  Ferry 
laws  come  to  be  discussed  in  Parliamcjit,  It  is  a  hard  moment  for 
the  French  clergy  and  clericals.  After  being  for  thirty  years  under 
the  special  protection  of  the  dominant  party,  and  free  to  persecute  thoee 
who  dared  to  attack  them,  it  seems  strange  to  them  to  have  to 
submit  once  more  to  the  authority  of  the  counnon  law.  It  seems 
especially  hard  to  them  no  longer  to  exercise  the  tyrannical  sway  they 
have  80  long  exercised  over  public  teaching,  and  to  see  the  Stato 
Professors  free  to  express  their  opinions  unreservedly  on  religioiu 
qiieations.  Thus,  a  member  of  the  University,  signing  himself  Pierre 
Victor,  has  just  published  rather  a  daring  book,  though  interesting  on 
account  of  its  sincerity,  on  "  L'Evangile  et  Fllistoire"  (Charpentier)  j 
whilst  M.  E.  Eurnouf,  the  former  director  of  the  Kcole  d'Atljencs,  has 
made  "Lc  Catholicisme  Contemi)orain''  (Charpcnticr)  the  subject  of  a 
very  comprehensive  and  :^everc  study.  The  Protestants  arc  seeking  to 
take  advantage  of  this  movement  iu  favour  of  their  own  Church,  and, 
thanks  to  the  freedom  to  be  grautcd  to  religious  meetings,  they  may 
possibly  attract  a  considerable  number  of  the  faithful,  for  even  iu  the 
ranks  of  the  frcc-thiukcrs  tliey  meet  with  support.  Meu  like  M. 
Renouvierj  convinced  that  Catholicism  is  exposing  France  to  serious  dan- 
gers, and  yet  that  the  French  people  absolutely  requires  a  form  of  worship 
and  a  Church,  are  lending  their  aid  in  endeavouring  to  separate  the  rural 


J 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     3W 


* 


* 


JUS  from  the  Komisb  Churcli,  Two  journals  have  just  beeu 
started  to  further  this  object:  tlie  Signaij  edited  by  a  talented  young" 
lawyer,  M.  ReveilJaud ;  and  the  Rt/onnaiem-  Anti-Clvricai  ei  Rt'publi* 
coin,  edited  by  M.  L6on  Pilatt.  These  two  decidedly  Republican 
papers  hope  to  make  Protestantism  benefit  by  the  political  current  now 
prevailing  in  France.  Perc  Hyacinthe,  now  M.  Loyson,  also  hopes  that 
present  circumstances  may  prove  favourable  to  his  scheme  of  a  Catholic 
reformation.  He  holds  a  seivice  in  a  buihliug  formerly  u  theatre, 
and  now  turned  into  a  church  ;  and  to  which,  by  his  great  orutoiical 
talent,  he  attracts  numerous  hearers.  He  is  even  said  already  to  have 
some  gcnuiuc  followers,  but  1  consider  it  very  doubtful  whether  he 
will  arrive  at  any  definite  result.  Sincere  Catholics^  even  the  least 
fanatical;  arc  unjustly  severe  on  this  loyal  and  courageous  man  who 
dared  to  leave  his  coiivcut  to  marry,  braving  the  worst  iusidts  and 
the  most  outrageous  slanders ;  and  who,  witliont  hesitation,  sacrlRced 
the  high  position  conferred  upou  him  at  Geneva,  because  the  State  did 
not  respect  the  liberty  of  his  opiwnents.  It  is  difEcult  to  understand 
thn  real  doctrines  of  a  man  patronised  by  the  Primus  of  Scotland 
and  still  pretending  to  be  a  Catholic ;  who  attacks  both  Pope  and 
Protestants,  and  unibrtunately  lias  neither  power  nor  originality  of 
thought  enough  to  feed  his  eloquence.  His  merit  is  the  having 
raised  the  protest  of  conscience  agaiust  the  superstitions  that  dishonour 
Catholicism  ;  but  he  has  neitlier  the  intcllccUiuI  power  nor  the  force 
of  activity  that  constitute  a  reformer. 

Those  who  feel  themselves  most  directly  attacked  by  this  raising  of 
bucklers  nguiust  Catholicism  arc  the  Jesuits,  who,  expelled  in  the 
eighteenth  ccntuiy,  have  little  by  little  in  the  course  of  the  last  forty 
years  rciusiuuatcd  themselves  into  France,  number  hundreds,  direct 
important  educational  establishments,  and,  through  their  ])upils  and 
those  women  whose  spiritual  directors  they  are,  exercise  undeniable 
influence.  The  legitimate  monarchy  was  not  very  favourable  to  them, 
and  the  Government  of  Charles  X.  had  prohibited  them  from  teach- 
ing. It  was  Louis  Philippe's  Government  and  the  Empire  that 
allowed  them  to  regain  an  influence  it  is  very  difficult  to  divest  them  of 
without  infringing  rights  in  some  sense  pi*escriptivc.  A  book  of  Jean 
Wallon's,  *'  Jesus  et  les  Jcsuites"  (Cliarpenticr),  recapitulates  in  a 
lirely  and  piquant  form,  combined  with  a  good  deal  of  erudition  and 
some  eccentricity,  the  vicissitudes  of  the  celebrated  order,  and  its  action 
up  to  the  lime  of  the  Vatican  Councils,  and  reproduces  the  famous 
letters  of  P.  Thcincr  to  his  German  friends,  wherein  he  relates  the  cruel 
manner  iu  which  he  was  paid  for  his  devoticm  to  the  Papacy  and  Pius 
IX.  Even  iu  the  French  Academy  the  clericals  are  losing  the  supremacy 
tbcy  have  so  long  exercised.  The  time  is  not  far  distant  when  MM. 
Kenan  and  Taine  could  not  even  dream  of  presenting  tliemselves,  iu  spite 
we  univcrsully  recognised  as  the  two  first  writers  France  now  pos- 
it the  eiul  they  were  admitted  almost  without  op{>ositiou^  and  at 


350 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


M.  Rciian's  reception,  on  the  3rd  April  last,  the  Academy  heard 
lauguage  it  uas  little  accustomed  to.  In  his  speech,  as  in  the  books 
that  erewhile  most  scandalized  some  of  his  colleagues,  M.  Ileuan 
expressed  himself  strongly  convinced  of  the  permanency  of  the  religious 
sentiment  in  humanity,  spoke  very  respectfully  of  religion,  but  with 
profound  scepticism  of  all  religious  and  philosophical  dogmas,  dared 
to  express  his  doubts  as  to  the  existence  of  the  soul  and  of  God,  and 
placed  the  scholar  who  devotes  his  life  to  the  pursuit  of  scientific 
truth,  and  the  saint  who  dies  a  martyr  to  his  faith,  on  the  same 
level.  M.  Mezieres,  who  replied  to  51.  Rouau  iu  the  name  of  the 
Academy,  did  not  think  liimself  obliged  to  protest  against  his  doctrines : 
whilst  criticising  with  reason  certain  of  "his  conclusions,  and  an  excess 
of  scepticism  which  threatens  to  deprive  science  itself  of  all  credit,  he 
spoke  of  the  new  academician's  works  on  religious  history  with  the  respect 
and  admiration  they  deserve.  His  point  of  view,  if  not  identical 
with  M-  Kenan's,  came  at  least  very  near  it.  It  was  the  first  time 
religious  questions  had  been  alluded  to  at  the  Academy  not  in  terma 
borrowed  from  the  Catechism  of  the  sacristies,  or  by  having  recourse  to 
the  vague  and  vuinicaniug  formulas  of  worldly  religiousness,  but  in  the 
manly  language  of  modern  criticism.  This  seance,  at  which  homage 
Avas  done  to  one  of  tlie  greatest  scholars  of  our  day,  Claude  Bernard, 
will  mark  a  date  in  the  history  of  the  Academy. 

The  f»rdour  of  the  conflict  in  which  the  Republic  and  Clericalism  are 
engaged  has  momcjitarily  checked  the  controversies  between  Republicans 
and  Bouapartists,  Moreover,  the  representatives  of  the  latter,  both  iu 
the  Chamber  and  the  Press,  are  such  wretche*!  and  ridiculous  speci- 
mens that  no  serious  notice  is  taken  of  them.  It  merely  provokes  a 
laugh  when  M.  Paul  dc  Cassagnac  proclaims  the  Empire  to  be  the  present 
representative  of  traditional  monarchy.  It  is  certain  that  fionapar- 
tism  will  not  again  become  a  danger  to  France,  till  the  Repub- 
licans govern  the  country  ill,  or  alarm  it  by  violent  and  illegal  mani- 
festations, as  did  the  Rordcaux  electors  who  voted  for  Blanqui,  though 
he  was  in  prison  and  ineligible. 

Whilst  the  Republicans  are  beginning  to  desist  in  their  strife  with  the 
Empire^  its  old  servants  arc  revci*ting  to  the  history  of  the  past  to 
clear  themselves  fi'ora  personal  responsibility  in  the  events  which  en- 
tailed the  ruin  of  the  country.  M.  Rothan,  formerly  consul  at  Ham- 
burg, has  resumed  his  history  of  "  La  Politique  fran^aisc  en  1866.'' 
"Without  contributing  many  new  facts,  he  lias  thrown  light  upon 
the  indecision  akin  to  folly,  of  the  Imix:rial  diplomacy  in  the  war 
of  1866.  He  shows  more  particularly  that  the  Government  had 
been  perfectly  well-informed  by  its  agents  in  Germany  as  to  the 
real  state  of  things,  and  that  it  acted  in  entire  contradiction  to 
their  indications  and  advice,  actuated  by  confused  and  childish 
conceptions  and  chimerical  dreams.  M.  Rothan  wouhl  have  found 
his  judgmcutji    confirmed  iu   the    book    by    M.    Servais^  the  Luxem- 


h 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND   THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE,     351 

bourg  Minister  of  StatCj  on  "Luxembourg^  et  le  Traile  ilc  Loiiilrcs 
de  1867"  (Plon),  in  which  the  author  uhows  that  France  might  in 
1H66,  without  striking  a  blow,  have  obtained  a  rectification  of  the 
ffoutiers  from  Prussia,  but  that  the  Emperor,  by  his  exaggerated  as  well 
a»  shifting  ambition,  rendered  all  his  diplomatists*  efforts  useless.  In 
his  carefiil  and  learned^  but  rather  tiresome  work,  on  "  L'Etat  et  I'Eglise 
au  Concile  du  Vatican"  (Garnier,  2  vols.),  M,  Emile  Ollivier  has  like- 
wise done  the  Empire  an  ill-turn  by  coufirming  what  Prince  Napoleon's 
indiscretion  had  already  disclosed — namely,  that  France  lost  the  chance 
of  an  alliance  with  Austria  and  Italy  through  wishing,  in  July,  1870,  to 
remain  in  Rome,  which  she  waa  obliged  to  quit  a  few  weeks  later — with- 
out compensation.  The  knowledge,  now  unquestionably  ascertained, 
of  the  part  Clericalism  played  in  the  defeats  of  1870,  is  surely  not 
calcnlated  to  restore  to  it  the  country's  sympathies.  However,  all  these 
posthumous  recriminations,  interesting  as  they  are  from  a  historical 
point  of  view,  arc  of  small  practical  use.  Whatever  the  causes  of  the 
defeats,  the  whole  of  France  is  morally  responsible  for  them.  The  im- 
portant thing  now  is  to  prevent  the  recurrence  of  similar  catastrophes 
by  giving  the  nation  1x»ttcr  institutions,  more  solid  instruction,  a  more 
elevated  and  more  moral  character.  To  this  patriotic  work  General 
Trochu,  a  man  whose  practical  energy  was  not  equal  to  the  circum- 
stances, but  whose  intellectual  capacity  aud  upright  nature  it  is 
calumny  to  question,  devotes  all  his  thoiighta.  In  the  voluntary 
retreat  to  which  he  has  nobly  condemned  himself,  he  has  never  ceased 
to  think  of  the  French  array,  which  ought  at  the  present  day  to  be 
both  an  instrument  of  defence  to  the  country  and  a  means  of  national 
education.  In  his  book  on  "  L'Armee  franyaise  en  1879"  (Hetzel), 
he  pronounces  his  opinion  on  the  innovations  introduced  into  our  mili- 
tary system,  and  expounds  what  he  considers  should  be  the  predomi- 
nant idea  in  the  reorganization  of  the  army.  He  is  above  all  conWnced 
of  the  necessity  of  having  military  instiintioti,9  which  maintain  a  mili- 
tary spirit  in  the  nation  and  a  national  spirit  in  the  army,  lie  riglitly 
distinguishes  the  warlike  spirit,  eager  for  war,  glorious  actions,  rapid 
and  brilliant  promotion,  from  the  military  spirit  which  is  founded  on 
discipline,  unwearied  toil,  absolute  devotion  to  country  and  tlag.  He 
deplores  the  fatal  habits  introduced  into  the  French  army  by  the 
Algerian  campaigns,  and  demonstrates  that  an  army  can  be  better 
trained  in  a  time  of  peace  by  a  strictly  regulated  camp  or  barrack  life, 
than  in  irregular  warfare  where  a  lucky  stroke  passes  for  a  master- 
piece of  strategy.  What  General  Ti'ochu  wishes  for  France  is  a  system 
analogous  to  the  German,  but  more  rigorous  and  more  complete, 
in  which  the  one  year's  voluntary  service  should  be  abolished,  aud  the 
•ervicB  reduced  to  three  years,  in  which  great  sacrifices  should  be  made 
to  train  and  keep  good  sub-otEcers,  to  insure  the  iutellectual  and  moral 
development  of  the  officers  and  strengthen  the  links  that  connect  the 
different   members  of  the  army.     M.  Trochu's  book   is  not  only  the 


352 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEU 


work  of  a  most  able  military  theorist,  but  likewise  that  of  a  refined 
writer,  an  acute  thinker,  and  intercourse  with  whom  is  alike  charming 
and  beneficial. 

Another  work  wliicli,  tlioiigh  written  some  time  ago,  appeals  to 
present  interests,  and  may  furnish  useful  ideas  to  those  on  whom  the  task 
of  organising  the  French  Democracy  devolves^  is  the  first  rolume  of 
the  posthumous  works  of  Miehelet,  just  publishcdj  '' Le  Bancjuct" 
(C.  Levy).  lu  1851-,  worn  out  by  tlie  enormous  exertions  he  had 
undergone  in  composing  his  History  of  the  KevolutioUj  cut  to  the 
heart  by  the  events  of  1851—1852,  which  had  enslaved  and  degraded 
France,  his  dearest  friends  exiled  to  the  four  winds,  Michelet 
had  fallen  dangerously  ill.  Rest  and  southern  air  were  prescribed 
for  him.  lie  spent  the  winter  at  Ncrvi,  near  Genoa,  on  the 
Ligurian  coast.  There,  in  straitened  circumstances,  unable  to  work, 
subsisting  entirely  ou  milk,  he  studied  the  country  and  tlie  people 
about  him,  and  was  struck  and  moved  by  their  misery.  From  this  miscrv 
to  that  of  Italy,  thence  to  all  the  misery  of  the  world,  his  thoughts 
trn%'ellcd  fast,  lie  next  set  himself  to  think  how  one  could  satisfy 
the  desires  and  uecdsj  not  ouly  material,  but  intellcetual  and  moral, 
of  the  suHbring  masses,  to  whom  Socialism  oflers  nothing  but  decep- 
tive chimeras.  Out  of  this  twofold  pre-occupatiou  grew  the  book 
which  Madame  Mitihelet  has  uow  published.  In  the  first  part, 
"^  Lc  Pays  dc  lu  Faim/^  we  have  the  touching  picture  of  the  Nervi 
life;  in  ihc  second,  "  Lc  Hauquct/'  Michelet  enumerate^  all  that 
a  people  requires.  lie  dwells  above  all  ou  two  points :  }>opular 
books,  which  may  be  read  again  and  again  and  always  with  advan- 
tage, and  fetes  that  should  form,  as  in  Athens,  part  of  the  very  nation's 
life,  one  of  its  noblest  manifestations.  Miehclct's  wishes  do  not 
take  the  form  of  practical  propositions,  realisable  at  once,  they  arc 
fine  dreams  rather^  pia  vota  ;  but  those  who  wish  to  create  a  social 
state  in  M'Lit.'h  the  people  may  enjoy  the  instruction,  well-being,  and 
elevated  pleasures  to  which  every  living  creature  is  entitled,  must 
slifirc  in  the  feeling  t1mt  inspired  them. 

As  regards  popular  instruction,  no  fault  can  be  found  with  the  third 
Republic*  Primary  schools  multiply  on  all  sides;  the  Chambers  have 
just  voted  the  foundation  of  Normal  schools  in  idl  the  Departments  for 
ihe  training  of  male  and  female  teachers;  higher  j)rimary  schools,  corre- 
sponding in  some  sense  to  the  German  Real  Schuku,  are  to  be  established 
in  all  the  chief  towns  of  the  anondhsements,  and  perhaps  of  the  cantons  ; 
fiually,  girls'  schoola  are  to  be  started,  the  State  at  last  recognising 
tlic  duty  of  interesting  itself  in  the  education  of  women,  as  much  as  in 
that  of  men.  Nor  is  the  higher  instruction  overlooked  by  the  prcfleut 
Government;  but  until  now  the  progress  in  that  direction  haft 
chieOy  consisted  in  the  creation  of  new  professorships,  of  no  great 
use  when  the  pupils  themselves  are  wanting,  and  the  whole  orga- 
nisation is  defective.     The  important   Society,  founded  two  years  ago 


CONIEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  L\  FRANCE,     353 


by  M.  Boutmy,  for  the  Study  of  QuestioQS  of  the  Higher  Educatiou  will 
certainly  coutribute  to  hasten  the  reform  of  our  Faculties.  It  haa  just 
brought  out  a  volume  of  studies  of  the  highest  interest,  ou  the  orgaaiza- 
tion  of  higher  education  in  different  countries  of  Eurojx^.  Those  on  the 
Bonn  University  and  on  the  study  of  law  in  the  Austrian  universities^ 
■re  more  specially  interesting  The  report  of  M.  Lavisse,  general 
■ecrctary  to  the  Society,  with  which  the  volume  concludes,  whilst  making 
some  apparent  concessions  to  the  prejudices  current  in  France,  points 
boldly  to  a  reform  of  the  examinations,  and  to  the  requiring  all  who 
aim  at  beconiiug  teachers  to  go  through  a  complete  course  of  study 
in  the  Faculties  of  Letters  or  Sciences,  as  the  means  of  restoring  the 
French  Faculties  to  life.  This  Society,  which  confines  itself  to  studying 
the  questions  under  consideration,  and  does  not  pretend  to  apply  the 
reform,  strongly  supports  the  liberal  views  of  the  Government,  and  vet 
in  nowise  interferes  with  its  independence. 

The  progressive  ideas  represented  by  the  above  Society  find  an 
echo  now  in  almost  the  whole  of  the  French  Universities,  where 
the  more  serious  studies  daily  attract  new  labourers.  The  veterans 
set  the  example.  M.  Duruy,  who  has  so  nobly  succeeded  in  finding 
compensation  for  the  loss  of  power  and  honours  in  retirement 
and  study,  and  who  deserved  to  be  enrolled  among  their  members, 
as  he  has  been,  by  two  sections  of  the  Institute,  has  just  published 
a  sixth  volume  of  his  fine  "  Histoire  dcs  Romaius'^  (Ilachette).  The 
reign  of  Septimus  Sevcrus  and  the  picture  of  the  decline  of  the 
Empire  are  the  two  most  remarkable  chapters  in  the  volume,  which 
brings  us  to  the  reign  of  Diocletian.  M.  Cheruel,  a  contemporary  of  M, 
Doruy's,  and,  like  him,  a  pupil  and  secretary  of  Michelet's,  crowns  his 
long  studies  on  the  eighteenth  century  by  the  publication  of  a  "  Uistoirc 
dc  France,  pendant  la  Minorite  de  Louis  XIV."  (Hachette),  the  two 
first  volumes  of  which  have  just  appeared.  It  is  surprising  to  sec  how 
many  new  things  remain  still  to  be  said  about  a  period  which,  one 
might  have  thought,  was  thoroughly  well  known.  The  archives 
of  Foreign  Aftairs,  the  collections  of  the  Bibliotheque  Nationale,  the 
despatches  of  the  Venetian  ambassadors,  have  furnished  M.  Cheruel  with 
an  ample  harvest.  Thanks  to  his  book,  aud  the  * '  Correspondance  de 
Mazarin,"  which  he  is  publishing  in  the  "  Collection  des  Documents 
inedits,"  Marariu  will  now,  for  the  first  time,  become  really  known. 
^\^lat  M.  Cheruel  is  doing  for  Mazariu,  M.  Chautelauzc  is  doing  for 
Cardinal  de  Retz,  Mazarin's  great  enemy.  \Vc  have  already  referred  to 
tlie  two  volumes  relating  to  the  Chopcau  ad'air ;  he  has  just  devoted  a 
third,  no  less  piquant,  to  Cardinal  Retz's  missions  to  Rome,  to  the 
question  of  the  infallibility,  and  his  intrigues  in  the  conclaves  (Didier). 
M.  Michel  iurnishcs  a  very  attractive  portrait  of  one  of  the  most 
eminent  and  sympathetic  men  of  Louis  XIV.'s  reign,  "  Vauban"  (Plon). 
The  hitherto  unpublished  letters  contained  in  this  volume  make  one 
long  for  the  publication  of  the  entire  correspondence,  miUtary  and  private. 

VOL.   XXXV.  A  A 


854. 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


The  French  have  often  been  charged  with  taking  too  little  intereAt 
in  foreign  liistory.  M.  Perrens  helps  to  exculpate  tlicm  by  the  publi- 
cation of  his  remarkable  "  Histoire  de  Florence"  (Hachcttc).  The  first 
three  volumes  are  the  most  important  work  yet  produced  on  the  first 
centuries  of  the  celebrated  Tuscan  city.  The  fourth  volume,  lately  pub- 
lifihed,  deals  with  the  splendid  period  of  the  RepubliCj  the  fourteenth 
century — the  age  of  Mllani,  of  Duutc,  of  Boccaccio.  The  tyranny  of 
Gauthier  de  Ericuncj  Duke  of  Athens^  forms  one  of  the  most  dramatic 
episodes  of  this  period,  M.  Perrens  has  treated  it  with  great  fulness 
and  a  lively  dramatic  touch. 

In  referring  to  the  French  historical  movement,  I  have  already 
pointed  to  the  important  turn  the  studies  on  the  eighteenth  century 
have  taken  of  late.  The  moment  was  well  chosen  by  M.  Edmond 
de  Goncourt  for  remodelling  and  re-editing  the  work  he  originally 
published]  in  conjuoction  with  his  brother,  under  the  title,  "  Les 
Mattresses  dc  Louis  XV/'  Stripped  of  a  great  deal  of  pretcutioui 
and  useless  ornament,  enriched  with  a  mass  of  new  documents,  and 
in  part  entirely  re-writtcn,  the  work  now  forms  three  distinct  books: 
"  La  Duchcsse  de  Chateauroux  et  ses  ScEurs/'  ''  Madame  dc  Pom- 
padour/' "  Ija  Duban-y"  (Charpentier).  Joined  to  other  works  by  the 
same  authors,  "La  Ferame  an  XVIII"***  Si&cle,"  "  Marie  Antoinette," 
and  "Portraits  Tntimca  du  XVIII'""  Siecle,"  these  volumes  constitute, 
80  to  speak,  the  moral  and  social  history  of  the  whole  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  Though  their  fondness  for  anccdotical  detail  has  here  and  there 
made  them  accept  doubtful  testimony,  the  brothers  de  Goncourt  have, 
generally  si>eaking,  shown  a  great  deal  of  critical  discernment  and  ex- 
cellent historical  judgment.  They  were  the  first  to  reject  the  fictitious 
letters  of  Marie  Antoinette  circulated  by  M,  Feuillet  dc  Conches. 
And  they  have  entered  so  thoroughly  into  the  mind  of  the  eighteenth 
century ;  have  revi>'cd  it  with  their  magic  spirit  and  picture8<|ne  style, 
more  varied  than  a  painter's  brush  1  Tliey  know  the  ins  and  outs 
of  the  age;  have  sounded  its  characters  to  their  very  depths.  They 
have  so  cleverly  combined  the  gravity  of  the  events  and  the  frivolity 
of  the  actors.  They  will  serve  as  guides  to  all  who  wish  to  handle  this 
period,  and  i\r.  Masstm  hns  paid  them  just  tribute  in  publishing  the 
"  Memoircsdc  Bernis."  They  were  the  first  to  strip  Choiscul  of  the  repu- 
tation of  being  an  honest  man,  which  he  had  usurped,  and  draw  a  faith- 
ful portrait  of  MadameDubarry,in  which  Louis  XV.'s  last  favonriteappears 
much  less  contemptible  than  she  had  been  hitherto  considered,  MM.  dc 
Goncourt  can  teach  us  more  about  the  eigliteenth  century  than  many  more 
serious  historians,  and  the  method,  psychological  it  might  be  termed, 
which  they  have  introduced  into  motlern  history,  is  sure  to  win  many  db- 
ciples.  Of  these  M.  J.  Soury,  author  of  the  "  Portraits  du  XVIII'"''  Si&cic  " 
(Charpentier)  is  one,  who  though  wanting  the  light  touch  and  spicy  origin- 
ality of  the  de  Goncourts,  is  more  orderly  in  his  manner  and  more  skilled 
iu  the  art  of  composition.      He  lacks  their  quaintness  and  obscurity,  and 


^ 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.    355 


if  his  style  be  not  very  persoual,  it  is  formed  on  excellent  models,  and 
the  woof  is  close  and  brillLant.  His  portraits  of  Freron  and  of  Kestif 
de  la  Dretoane  are  admirable  pieces  of  literary  criticism.  Why  did 
he  think  it  necessary  to  preface  them  by  a  rather  pedantic  philosophical 
introductiouj  informing  us  that  he  submits  literary  criticism  to  scientific 
laws ;  that  he  classes  it  as  a  new  science — Peiholot/it  ?  To  answer  to 
the  particular  taste  of  the  times  uo  doubt,  which  runs  the  risk  of 
becoming  a  mania.  Everything  is  to  be  referred  to  a  scientific  source, 
Fortunateljj  M.  Soury  did  not  write  his  preface  till  his  book  was 
finished,  and  the  book  Ls  nowise  pedantic.  It  is  as  pleasant  as  it  is 
•olid,  and  in  many  places  profound,  without  ever  becoming  heavy  or 
tiresome.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  travel  through  the  eighteenth  century 
with  gtiides  like  M.  Soury  or  M.  Ed.  de  Goncourt,  and  then  contemplate 
it  in  the  full  tide  of  life  in  M.  Quantin's  charming  editions  of  its  lighter 
story-tellers,  Voisenon,  Boufflcrs,  CrcbilloD,  and  that  inimitable  novel 
"  Manou  Lescant,"  whose,  one  might  almost  say,  naive  imtnorality  ia 
redeemed  by  the  touching  expiation.  These  graceful,  frivolous  works, 
the  true  likeness  of  a  vanished  society,  are  doubly  enjoyable  in  these  ex- 
quisite volumes,  on  which  modern  typography  has  lavished  all  its  arts. 
Nothing  can  be  more  touching  than  the  pious  zeal  of  M.  Ed.  de 
Goncourt  in  continuing  and  perfecting  the  work  begun  with  his  brother; 
never  was  closer  collaboration  or  more  complete  fusion  of  two  talents  seen 
in  literary  history.  The  survivor  has  drawn  the  new  novcl,*^  Les  Frt-rca 
Zemganno  "  (Charpentier),  lie  has  just  published,  from  his  very  heart. 
Under  the  mask  of  realism  and  in  his  picture  of  the  life  of  two  clowns, 
one  crippled  by  an  accident,  to  whom  the  brother  devotes  his  life,  he 
has  analysed  the  feelings  that  bound  him  to  his  brother  Jules.  This 
it  is  that  constitutes  the  Goncourts*  superiority  over  the  novelists 
who,  tike  them,  call  themselves  realists  and  take  them  as  guides.  Tliey 
do  not  mutilate  Nature,  nor  look  out  for  the  base  and  the  commonplace, 
bat  if  here  and  there  they  have  been  led  away  by  the  desire  to  astonish 
the  multitude  or  imitate  the  b.id  taste  of  the  times,  they  soon  recover 
themselves  by  virtue  of  the  artistic  and  poetical  feeling  inextin- 
guishable in  them,  and  as  real  and  natural  as  vice  and  follj\  In 
the  present  dearth  of  works  of  imagination,  this  novel  is  most 
welcome.  The  "Comtesse  Metella,"  by  M.  d'Osson  (Levy),  is  a  pleasing 
but  improbable  tale  that  betrays  the  pen  of  a  1>eginner  and  a  woman  ; 
*' Le  FiU  dc  Coralie,"  by  M.  Albert  DcJpit  (OUendorf),  contains  scenes 
of  real  dramatic  power  and  good  descriptions,  but  the  characters  are 
drawn  rather  with  the  breadth  of  touch  adapted  to  ttie  stage  than  with 
the  delicacy  and  precision  betittiug  the  novel.  Even  the  action  is  divided 
u  in  a  play,  and  marked  by  corresponding  abruptness,  by  sous-entendua 
and  a  rapid  and  summary  turn.  Finally,  the  chief  personage,  Mme. 
Dubois,  or  Coralie,  formerly  one  of  tlie  demi-monde,  but  now,  out  of  love 
for  her  son,  the  most  proper  of  provincial  ladies,  is  so  improbable 
a  character  as  to  destroy  all  interest  and  illusion.      After  citing  a  new 


356 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


volume  by  M.  A.  Theurictj  containing  two  charmingly  fresh  and  grace- 
ful stories,  impreguated  with  forest  socuts  and  the  calm  of  provincial 
lifcj  "  Maison  des  Deux  JJarbeaux"  and  the  "  Saug  des  Finoel** 
(Ollcudorf),  and  "Madame  Andre"  (Dreyfus),  a  novel  by  M.  Richepin, 
containing  admirably  written  pages,  careful  analyses,  and  acceuls  of 
burning  passion  but  revolting  and  disgusting  in  its  immorality,  we  have 
mentioned  all  worthy  of  note. 

Poetry  has  fared  no  better  than  fiction.  The  publication  of 
Theodor  de  Banville's  complete  works  (Charpentier)  enables  us  to 
appreciate  the  prodigioua  skill  of  a  rliymestcr  who  toys  with 
the  difticulties  of  French  versification  like  a  juggler  with  his  balls  and 
rings.  Tn  the  midst  of  these  feats  of  a  witty  and  ingenious  writer,  wc 
meet,  it  is  true,  with  some  notes  of  real  poctrj'.  We  find  more  in 
the  works  of  J.  Autran,  of  which  a  complete  edition  has  likewise  just 
been  published  (C.  Ldvy),  though  here,  too,  amidst  the  hum  of  dull 
bourgeois  inspiration  such  notes  are  rare.  Atteutiou  deserves  to  be 
drawn  to  a  volume  of  "  Poesies,"  by  M.  Lucien  Pate  (Charpentier), 
wliose  grace  and  purity  of  style  occasionally  recalls  Audre  Chenicr,  and 
who,  in  speaking  of  Comeille,  has  nearly  caught  the  true  Cornelian  ring, 
"  Les  Grandees  Luttes/'  by  M.  Marc  Amauieu  (Fischbacher),  is  a  very 
ambitious  work  in  which  the  young  poet  has  endeavoured  to  handle 
the  highest  historical  and  philosophical  themes.  His  poem  "  Robur" 
is  a  long  dialogue  on  tbc  existence  of  God.  Unfortunately,  M, 
Amauieu  lacks  individuality  as  a  writer;  he  imitates  V.  Hugo  not 
unskilfully,  but  the  imitation  of  \'.  Hugo  is  the  most  dangerous  of 
all.  Exagtfcratious  that  can  be  put  up  with  in  the  master,  because 
accompanied  by  sublime  beauties  and  strokes  of  genius,  are  ridiculous 
and  tiresome  in  his  disciples-  Nor  does  the  master  liimsclf  always 
escape  being  tircsoinc.  Hin  late  poem,  "  La  Pitie  Supreme"  (Levy),  bears 
painful  testimony  to  the  decline  of  his  powers.  The  idea  is  fine  of  the 
poet  bestowing  his  pity  not  only  on  the  unhappy  but  also  on  the  wicked. 
He  who  has  always  cursed  the  tyrants  in  the  name  of  the  oppressed,  now 
implores  pardon  for  them,  as  tlic  victims  of  theirown  omnipotence  that  cor- 
rupts them,  and  of  flatterers  who  pervert  them.  In  some  passages,  such  as 
the  one  aboiit  Louis  XV.  when  a  chihl,  the  liou's  claw  is  still  discernible  ; 
but  as  a  whole  the  poem  is  far-fetched  and  dull,  in  a  word — tedious. 

Fortunately,  the  old  poet  is  reaping  new  triumphs  from  his  earlier 
works,  whose  beauties  the  defects  of  the  later  bring  out  all  the 
more  stmngly.  "  Ruy  Bias/'  revived  at  the  Theatre  Fran9ais,  and 
interpreted  by  Sarah  Bernhart,  Coqucliu,  Mounet  Sully,  Fevre, 
has  had  a  greater  success  even  than  at  the  Odeon  in  1872.  The 
beauty  of  the  form  has  made  V,  Hugo's  pieces  take  their  place  as  classical 
works  ;  they  may  be  full  ofi  mprobabilities,  may  be  lyrical  rather  than  dra- 
matic in  clioracter,  bnt  people  no  longer  feel  obliged  to  discuss  them,  they 
arc  content  to  admire  tlicm.  This  revival  of"  lluy  Bias"  will  be  the  only 
great  theatrical  success  of  the  season.      Victor  Chcrbulicis's  twofold  en^ 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE,      357 


: 


dcavour  to  adapt  his  novels  to  the  stage  has  not  bcca  fortunate.  The  odd, 
exotic,  complcXj  aud  mysterious  personages  that  interest  us  iu  Lis  books, 
produce  a  doubtful  and  rather  paiuful  impression  on  the  stage.  Cher- 
buliez's  very  far-fetched  aud  laborious  cleveruess  is  not  suited  to  the 
theatrical  drama,  and  he  makes  all  Lis  eharaetcrs  speak  in  the  aamc 
refiued  and  often  pretentious  manner.  Nevertheless,  Ladislas  Bolski 
has  been  more  successful  than  Samuel  Urohl ;  but  owing  not  so  much  to 
the  superior  qualities  of  the  novel  as  Ut  the  character  of  the  Comtcsse 
Rolska  which  did  not  exist  in  the  novel.  So  true  is  it  that  nothing  is 
more  ditlicult  than  to  make  a  play  out  of  a  novel.  The  whole  composi- 
tion, the  mauuer  of  introducing  the  characters  and  making  them  act,  is 
different ;  so  also  the  reader's  point  of  view  from  that  of  the  spectator. 
This  was  manifest  when  M.  Zola's  "  L'Assomuioir"  was  put  upon  the  stage. 
The  piece  had  been  much  talked  of  beforehand,  exorbitant  prices  were 
given  for  seat«(,  and  when  it  came  to  the  performaneCj  the  play  turned  out 
to  he  nothing  but  a  coarse  drama  of  the  boulevard,  like  any  other,  in 
which  the  virtuous  workman  and  the  fine  talker  and  the  bad,  drunken, 
lazy  workman  arc  set  side  by  side,  and  the  traditional  traitor  is  the 
cftusc  of  all  the  misfortunes  in  the  story.  The  effrontery  and  boldness 
of  the  novel,  the  naturalism  that  was  so  much  talked  about,  the  coarsc- 
neasof  language,  the  atrocious  and  powerful  representation  of  the  most 
abject  vice,  laid  bare  without  any  pretence  of  concealment,  arc  absent  from 
the  piece.  The  audience  would  not  have  endured  thccn.  They  would  not 
have  sat  through  a  piece  in  which  there  was  not  a  single  character  they 
could  sympathise  with,  and  whose  sole  interest  lay  in  the  psychological 
analysis,  in  a  moral  dissection  carried  out  with  euld  immodesty. 

The  musical  season  has  been  much  more  brilliant  than  the  thealricaL 
The  popular  concerts  at  the  Chatelet  and  the  Cirque  d'Hiver  have  con- 
tinued to  be  a  series  of  triumphs  for  Berlioz  ;  the  ''  Damnation  dc  Faust" 
aud  *'  Romeo  aud  Juliet'^  have  even  figured  on  the  Conservatoire's  pro* 
grammes,  and  the  whole  of  the  programme  of  one  of  the  great  festivals 
at  the  Ili]»podrome  was  furnishe<l  by  Berlioz.  The  publication  of  the 
"  Corrcspondanee  dc  Berlioz"  (Levy)  has  given  fresh  stimulus  to  the 
public  curiosity  concerning  everything  relating  to  this  great  aud  unfor- 
tunate musician.  His  letters  show  him  to  have  been,  as  he  has  desciibcd 
hiDiself  in  his  memoirs^  a  man  of  extreme  sensibility,  which,  in  the 
fcn'our  of  youth,  amounted  almost  to  madness,  and  after  a  series 
of  modifications  and  undeserved  failures,  soured  his  character  and 
rendered  it  unsympathetic.  Berlioz  had  more  scnslbUity,  than  senti- 
mcut,  more  ncn*e  than  heart ;  his  rage  at  not  being  performed  at  the 
Opera  made  him  approve  of  the  hissing  of  Tajiuhauser.  Though  he 
admired  Wagner,  he  was  glai'ingly  unjust  towards  his  colleagues;  but 
with  these  defects  what  devotion  lie  showed  to  art,  what  worship  for  eveiy- 
thing  that  is  beautiful!  How  touching  his  refusing  the  ease  and  rest 
offered  him  abroad,  because  it  was  in  Prance  and  for  France  he  wished  to 
fight  and  triumph  1     With  what  dignity  he  rejected  the  compromises  he 


368 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


considered  unworthy  of  his  geuius !  AVhat  a  nol)lc  example  bis  laborious 
career  is  to  the  young*  men  who  now  tread  in  bis  steps  I  How  much  easier 
their  lot!  Tbcybaveno  difficulty  iu  finding  musical  societies  to  bring  out 
their  works;  the  Govemmcnt  and  the  City  of  Paris  offer  prizes  for  com- 
petition. Three  new  dramatic  sympKouies  were  played  in  Paris  this 
winter,  formed  on  the  model  of  similar  works  by  Berlioz,  and  iu  whicb  hia 
influence  no  less  than  tlmt  of  the  other  chief  of  modern  muaie,  Wagner,, 
was  visible.  M.  Dubois'  ''  Paradis  Perdu"  is  a  conscientious  well- 
written  work,  but  so  full  of  reminiscences  as  to  resemble  a  piece 
of  naosaic;  M.  Lefevrc's  ""  Juditli"  is  far  cleverer  in  the  workman- 
shipj  and  reveals  an  artistic  nature  of  great  delicacy  and  elevation. 
The  work  that  shows  the  greatest  promise  is  M.  Godard's  "  Tasse;"  it  is 
more  youthful  and  imperfect  than  the  other  two,  but  full  of  inspiration. 
The  harmony  of  the  voices  and  the  orchestra  is  not  always  perfect ;  some 
parts  are  tedious  and  weak,  but  a  masterly  inspiration  breathes  through 
every  page  uf  this  symphony,  and  has  at  once  raised  a  young  and  modest 
musician  only  known  to  amateurs  by  a  few  exquisite  romances  and  some 
original  pieces  of  chamber  music,  to  the  rank  of  one  of  the  celebrities  of 
the  daj^  The  Concerts  de  I'Hippodrome,  attended  by  a  concourse  of 
12,000  people,  and  held  in  an  immense  hall — very  well  adapted  for  instra- 
mental  music  but  unfavourable  for  the  voice — gave  our  living  composers 
an  opportunity  of  getting  their  works  performed  under  their  own  direction. 
Saint  SacDs,  Faure,  Leo  Dciibcs,  played  their  best  compositions  there; 
Massenet  had  more  success  with  selections  from  tlie  "  Roi  de  Lahore" 
than  he  ha<!  at  the  Opera  ;  and  V.  Joncieres,  the  most  determined  of 
OUT  young  AVagnerians,  succeeded  iu  winning  applause  for  what  passed 
unnoticed  at  the  Opera  and  made  up  for  the  failure  of  "  La  Heine  Berthe." 
The  musical  season  is  over  for  the  present^  and  painting  and  sculpture 
are  about  to  have  their  turn.  "We  had  a  foretaste  in  Fcbrxiary  of  the  yearly 
salon,  in  the  exhibitions  of  our  two  leading  artistic  clubs,  the  Cercle  Artis- 
tique  et  Litteraireof  the  Rue  Saint  Arnaud,  and  the  Union  Artistique  on  the 
Place  Vcndome.  live  former  matle  rather  a  poor  show.  Among  the  well- 
known  painters  Carolus  Duran  exhibited  some  bad  ]X>rtrait8 ;  F.  Baudry, 
who  has  been  so  chary  of  liis  pictures  since  his  labours  at  the  Opera, 
contributed  a  fellah  woman,  questionable  aa  to  the  drawing,  and  unworthy 
of  his  great  talent ;  Hennersent  a  pretentious  and  unfaithful  likeness  of  the 
pianist  Kctteu,  but  made  up  tor  this  poor  specimen  of  his  work  by  a 
delicious  female  head  in  a  red  hood,  Bastieu  Lepage  exhibited  some 
portraits  of  arid  precision  as  regards  ih^  drawing,  but  admirable  iu  relief. 
Pnsini  sent  a  mosque  interior  of  wonderful  colour  and  depth ;  Bcmier  a 
landscape,  as  usual  excellent.  Among  the  contributions  of  the  younger 
painters  there  was  nothing  worthy  of  note  but  a  charming  sea-piece  of 
Lan9yer*s,  and  a  temps  de  broniUard  tt  Bergk  by  Lepic,  a  large  canvas, 
striking  iu  its  truthful  brutality.  The  exhibition  in  the  Place 
Vcnd6mc  was  much  more  brilliant,  and  comprised  a  masterpiece  of 
Bonnat'sj  the  portrait  of  M.  Lesseps  ;  a  little  gem   by  Carolus  Dorau, 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.      359 


the  portrait  of  ^f.  Jadiu ;  aud  other  iutci-csting  works  by  Meissouuicrj 
Horlainoif,  Jacquet,  Lefcvre.  Amougst  the  Mork  of  the  youuger  gcuera- 
tiou  should  be  noted  two  Oriental  scenes  by  M.  B.  Constantj  showing  his 
progress ;  a  sea-piece  of  ^I.  Courant's,  original  and  vigorous  in  eolour, 
wluch  is  one  of  his  best  works;  two  pretty  genre  pictures  by  M.  GroSj 
of  solid  workmanship;  two  historical  scenes  by  M.  Lc  Blaut^  the  subjects 
taken  from  the  war  of  La  Vendee,  eseelleut  as  regards  composition  and 
colouring.  M.  VaysoUj  who  has  never  met  with  due  appreciation,  exhibits 
au  enchanting  "Marchand  de  Fleurs."  On  the  other  hand,  M.  Duez  does 
not  improve ;  M,  Roll,  who  reaped  undeserved  success  in  1877  from  his 
large  picture  of  "  L'lnondatiou,"  exhibits  at  both  clubs  pictures  of  repul- 
sive brutality  and  ugliness;  M.  Berne  Bellecour,  grievous  to  say,  sinks 
lower  aud  lower.  Among  the  scul pi urc,  t !ie  busts  of  M .  Saint 
Marceaux  may  be  noted,  as  superior  works  of  a  delicacy,  tenderness,  and 
force  of  expression  worthy  of  the  greatest  masters. 

The  world  of  art  has  incurred  several  noteworthy  losses  in  the  last 
few  months,  though  the  artists  whose  deaths  we  allude  to  had  long  ceased 
to  occupy  any  place  amongst  contemporaries.  Daumier  was  blind. 
Couture  and  Preault  were  living  ou  a  reputation  that  dated  thirty  years 
back.  Daumier  was  fitted  for  something  better  than  a  caricaturist.  He 
preferred  the  fashionable  fame  an  inferior  style,  inwhich  he  displayed  qua- 
lities that  bordered  on  genius,  gave  him.  There  was  something  of  Hogarth, 
Michael  Angelo,  and  Shakspeare  iu  his  eouccptLons,  distinguished  as 
they  were  by  a  gloomy  and  impressive  fancy.  His  drawing  of  the 
massacre  of  the  Itue  Transuonaiue,  another  entitled  '^  L'Empire  c'est  la 
Fail,"  which  represents  an  immense  plain  filled  Avith  dead  bodies,  are  pages 
of  epic  history.  Daumier  certainly  helped  to  bring  on  the  revolution  of 
1848  by  80  making  game  of  Louis  Philippe  aud  his  ministers  as  to  render 
them  odious.  His  caricatures  of  judges  and  lawyers  are  a  scries  of 
profound  and  trenchant  satires  on  the  world  of  the  law  courts.  Couture 
owed  his  renown  to  a  single  work,  '*L'Orgie  Romaine,"  a  large  clever  com- 
position, in  which  too  little  notice  was  taken  of  the  weak  drawing  and 
poor  colouring.  iVfter  that  his  power^  like  Barbicr^a  after  producing 
*'  Les  lambcs,"  seems  to  have  foraaken  him.  A  picture  much  talked 
about  but  never  exhibited,  "L'Enrolement  en '92,'-'  was  a  copy  of  a  print 
by  Raffet.  Preault,  who  owed  his  reputation,  less  perhaps  to  his  sculp- 
tures than  to  his  caustic  biting  wit,^ — his  "mots  a  la  Preault"  against  the 
Institute,  or  the  Government  of  Louis  Philippe,  which  circulated  iu 
all  the  studios  and  beerhouses  where  artists  aud  writers  met, — was 
nevertheless  gifted  with  great  qualities,  a  vigour  of  chisel,  a  power  of 
conception  which,  with  less  vanity  and  more  industry,  might  have 
produced  better  things.  His  "  Mareeau,"  his  " Christ  mort/'  his  " Soldats 
gauloisdu  pout  d'lena/'  his  figure  of  Eternal  Silence  in  the  cemetery  of 
Montmartre,  remain  to  prove  that  Preault  had  in  him  the  qualities  of 
au  artist  of  the  highest  order  which  were  never  completely  developed. 
In  M.  Due,  architecture  has  likewise  lost   au  artist  of  great  merit,  to 


360  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

whom  Paris  ottcs  one  of  her  finest  modem  monuments,  the  new  Palais 
de  Justice.  The  French  Academy,  from  whose  ranks  M.  Thiers,  M. 
de  Lom^nie,  and  M.  Dupanloup  disappeared  in  such  rapid  succes- 
sion, has  just  lost  two  other  members,  M.  de  Sacy,  a  clever  writer, 
a  pure  man  of  letters,  a  ghost  of  the  seventeenth  century ;  and  M.  St. 
Ben^  Taillandier,  a  political  writer  of  merit,  who  had  devoted  the 
greater  part  of  his  career  to  making  France  better  acquainted  with  the 
Sclavonic  countries  and  with  Germany.  Finally,  Parisian  journalism  has 
lost  one  of  its  veterans,  M.  de  Yillemessant,  who,  though  nothing  more 
than  a  writer,  was  an  able  man  of  business.  He  succeeded  from  1854 
to  1879  in  making  the  Figaro — a  journal  of  scandalous  anecdotes  and 
doubt^l  jests — one  of  the  powers  of  the  press,  the  monitor  of 
devoutness  and  gallantry,  and  the  chief  organ  of  the  Conservative  party, 
flattering  neither  to  the  Conservatives  nor  to  the  devout. 

G.    MoNOD. 


POLITICAL  LIFE  IN  GERMANY, 


Bonn,  April  17M,  1870. 

O&rmmiy  vid  Iho  TrcaW  of  Pnjme — ^Thc  Bninsirtrk  Saoentunn— Thf  Mrotliiff  of  tbe  RHchftta^;— Vote  on  tli« 
BBu*bni«nt  of  the  Son»liflt  Member*— PriiK«  UUm&rk's  New  Commorclar  PdUct— PvltamcQUr]- Gototb- 
ment  iropo«<ibIe  ia  (icmiiuK— UinHurk  tb4  Centre  of  Uie  PoUUcal  Syitcm— Pwttioo  of  AlMce-Lomuu— 
Tb«  Cotinict  between  Uic  UllramoDt«iic*  uid  the  SUl«. 

IN  the  January  Number  of  the  Contemporary  IIevikw  we  gave  an 
epitome  of  German  life  up  to  December,  1878  ;  this  we  would  now 
supplement  by  an  account  of  the  events  of  political,  economicalj  and 
social  interest  that  have  transpired  in  the  four  months  since  then. 

The  foreign  policy  of  the  German  Empire  has  uudergone  no  change; 
one  important  factj  howeverj  requires  mciitiuii.  A  convention  between 
Prussia  and  Austria,  signed  on  the  1 1th  October,  1878,  and  made  public 
in  January,  1879,  annuls  one  clause  of  the  Peace  of  Prague  of  August 
13th,  1866,  between  these  two  Powers.  Article  V.  of  that  Peace  ran 
thus  : — "  His  Majesty  the  Emperor  of  Austria  makes  over  to  his  Majesty 
the  King  of  Prussia  all  the  rights  acquired  by  him  in  the  Peace  of 
Vicuna,  18G1,  over  the  Duchies  of  Holstcin  and  Schlcswig,  Avith  the 
stipulation,  thai  if  the  inhtthltaais  of  the  northefn  pt'ovincts  of  Schieswi^, 
of  their  own  accordj  ejrpress  a  wish  to  be  united  to  Dtnmarkj  they  should 
be  sttrrendered  to  Denmark." 

This  clause  certainly  gave  to  the  Emperor  of  Austria  alone  the  right 
to  demand  the  vote;  but  he  bad  clearly  no  interest  in  it,  as  it  is  now  a 
well-known  fact  that  the  clause  was  inserted,  not  by  the  desire  of 
Austria,  but  through  the  influeuce  of  Napoleon  111.  From  a  political 
point  of  view  it  would  be  a  matter  of  indifference  to  Austria  whether 
some  100,000  Danes  more  or  less  belonged  to  Prussia  or  not.  But  to 
Prussia  it  was  far  otherwise.  On  every  opportunity,  whether  fitting  or 
not,  the  single  Danish  delegate  in  the  German  Rtrichstag  would  bring 
np  the  clause  of  Article  V,  In  the  Danish  Parliament  attention  was 
aUo  |)eriodically  drawn  to  it.  The  inhahitaiils  of  these  provinces  were 
thus  kept  in  a  state  of  perpetual  uncertainty  whether  they  were  to 
remain  Germans  or  to  become  Danes.  Prussia  had  repeatedly  endea- 
voured to  carry  out  Article  V.,  if   Denmarlv  was  prepared   to   give  the 


362 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIW 


required  guarantees  for  the  niaintenauee  of  the  German  nationality  in 
those  districts.  TI»csc  cflbrts  proving  fruitless,  Prussia  next  turned  to 
Austria,  and  made  an  agreement  Tvitli  her  which  will  have  the  good 
result  of  freeing  the  inlmbitants  of  the  pro\*inces  from  uncertainty,  and 
of  setting  aside  tlic  clause  which  might  have  led  to  yet  fiirthcr  difficul- 
ties. The  convention  itself  is  an  indisputable  proof  of  the  friendship  of 
Austria.  This  the  Ciermiiu  people  have  felt,  and  the  sympathy  manifested 
in  the  great  calamity  that  has  overwhelmed  SEcgcdin,  contributions  sent 
in  from  every  part  of  UcmiauVj  concerts  held  for  the  benefit  of  the  suf- 
ferers, &c.,  ])rovc  that  the  nation  fully  reciproctites  the  kindly  feeling. 

Anotlier  question  of  lionie  jiolicy  has  advanced  a  stage.  Duke 
'W'illiam  of  Brunswick,  born  April  25th,  1806,  is  unmarried,  and,  accord- 
ing to  existing  German  law,  his  heir  would  be  I'lrnest  Augustus,  Uuke 
of  Cumberland,  son  of  King  George  V.  of  Hanover,  who  died  on  the 
12tli  of  June,  1878.  But  King  George  did  not  recognise  the  changes 
eflectcd  in  ISGf),  and  his  sou  has  niaintaiued  his  claims  to  Hanover,  in 
a  tlocumcut  addressed  to  the  King  of  Prussia.  This  state  of  affairs  ha* 
caused  the  States  of  Enniswick  to  pass  a  law,  which  the  Duke  has 
sanctioned  and  made  publicj  by  wbieh  provision  is  made  for  the  Regency 
in  case,  on  the  dcmisic  of  the  Duke,  his  successor  should  not  be  allowed 
to  assume  the  government.  It  is  superfluous  to  ask  whether  the  Duke 
of  Cumherlaud  will  finally  abandon  his  claims  to  Hanover,  acquiesce  iu 
the  changes  "which  have  been  made,  and  so  secure  to  himself  the  succession 
to  the  Duchy  of  Brunswick.  If  he  docs  not  do  this  he  will  never  be 
Duke  of  Brunswick,  and  in  all  probability  tlie  country  will  fall  to  Prussia, 
which,  in  the  event  of  the  dying  out  of  the  male  Guelph  line  of  the 
House  of  Bninswickj  has  the  next  right  of  inheritance. 

On  tlie  12th  of  February  the  German  Reichstag  entered  on  a  new 
Session.  The  observations  made  by  us  in  the  articles  iu  the  Contum- 
POKAiiv  Review  for  December,  1878,  and  January,  1879,  indicated  that 
this  Session  would  be  one  of  exceptional  importance.  From  the  very 
outset  the  disorganisation  of  parties,  desfrihcd  by  us,  made  itself  keenly 
felt;  while  the  choice  of  the  second  president,  after  the  one  first  chosen 
had  declined,  required  the  vote  to  be  three  times  taken.  An  apparently 
trifling  cause  led  at  onec  to  unexpected  unanimity,  the  result  of  which 
aroused  the  fear  of  a  speedy  dissolution. 

In  accordance  with  the  law  against  Social  Democrats  (see  Contem- 
POHARV,  January,  pp.  390,  391),  the  Ministry  had  declared  Berlin  and 
some  adjoining  districts  to  be  in  a  partial  state  of  siege,  and  bad 
banished  a  number  of  Socialists^  and  amoug  them  two  members  of  the 
Reichstag  from  Berlin  and  its  neighbourhood.  On  the  opening  of  the 
Reichstag  these  two  at  once  presented  themselves.  The  Attorney- 
General  appealed  through  the  Government  to  the  Reichstag  to  permit 
the  legal  prosecution  of  these  two  members  because  they  had  conae  to 
Berlin  iu  defiance  of  the  prohibition,  and  thereby  made  themselves  hablc 
to  the  pcnaltiea  of  the  law  against  Socialists.      It  is  inconceivable  how 


■    *  *u\ 


J 


* 


POLITICAL  LIFE  IN  GERMANY,  363 

Goverumeut  could  take  such  a  step,  because  uo  member  of  tbc  Reich- 
stag had  ever  thought,  iu  passing  that  law,  of  giving  the  police  the  power, 
by  an  order  of  lianisbmcnt,  to  exclude  members  from  the  Reichstag, 
thus  possibly  enabling  them,  by  \'irtue  of  a  law  the  execution  of 
which  rests  iu  the  hands  of  those  who  decide  the  cause,  to  violate 
a  fundamental  principle  of  the  Constitution.  The  House  almost  with 
one  voice  negatived  the  raotiouj  and  the  majority  immediately  passed  a 
resolutioa  to  the  effect  that  the  interpretation  of  the  law  giveu  by  the 
Government  was  erroneous. 

Still  more  decided  was  the  opposition  to  the  Government  and  to  the 
Chancellor  with  regard  to  the  steps  taken  by  Prince  Bismark  relative  to 
the  subject  of  taxation. 

In  the  January  number  of  the  Contesiporahv,  p.  388-99j  we   have 
described    the    situation.      At    the    close    of   December,    1878,    Prince 
Bismark  addressed  a  memorial  to  the  Bundcsrath,  iu  which  he  set  forth 
Lis  views  on  the  regulation  of  the  commercial  and  financial  affairs  of  the 
Empire.     The  principal   points   referred   to   were   the  following  : — The 
protection  of  national  labour  and  of  national  products  in  every  depart- 
ment :  consequently  import  duties  for  all  goods  except  those  which  must 
necessarily  be  exempted  in  the  interests  of  home  industry ;  tariffs  fixed 
not  by  conventions  but  by  law,  in  particular  a  duty  upon  the  importa- 
tion of  corn,  cattle,  and  wood,  for  the  protection  of  agricultural  interests, 
a  duly  upon  iron,  &c.     Thi?  document,  which  proposcMl  ii  complete  revo- 
lution in  the  economic  system   hitherto   pursued,   caused  the  greatest 
excitement  in  many  parts  of  Germany.      Afldrc?ses,  expressing  approval 
of  the  scheme,  flowed  iu  from   towns,  companies,  unions,  which    saw  in 
the  proposed  changes  the  revival  of  their  iron  and  coal    industries.     A 
numl>er  of  agricultural  unions  chimed  in,   because  the   smalt  farmer 
believed  he  would  be  benefited  by  the  duties  on  foreign  corn  and  cattle. 
Bat  there  was  no  lack  at  the  same  time   of  counter-demonstrations. 
Outcries  and  warning  voices  arose,  not  only  from  the  seaport  towns   of 
Bremen,   Hamburg,   Lubcck,    Dantzig,   and   others,   whose   trade    and 
prosperity  must  suffer  through  the  diminution  of  the  imports,  but  also 
firom  various   other  towns,    provinces,    and    unions.      Meanwhile,    the 
situation  became  gradually  more  clear.     The  commercial  and   shipping 
treaty    with    Italy    extended   to   the   end   of  1870.       With    Austria- 
Hungary  a  commercial  treaty  was  concluded,  which   was  to   hold    good 
from  16th  December,  1878,  to  the  Slst   of  December,  1879,  aud   this 
was  ratified  by  the  Reichstag  ou  the  25th  of  Pebniory  ;  this  does  not 
interfere  with  autonomous  legislation. 

Tlic  Commission  which  was  appointed  to  inquire  into  the  cultivation, 
mantifacture,  and  trade  in  tobacco,  and  the  other  for  inquu"y  into  the  iron 
and  steel  industry,  as  well  as  that  for  textile  fabrics,  have  completed 
their  work,  and  laid  the  result  of  their  inquiries  in  the  form  of  propo- 
sitions before  the  Bundcsrath.  A  Special  Commission  was  appointed  for 
the  prcparatioii  of  a  new  customs  tariff,  under  the  presidency  of  Baron 


3G1 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfV, 


Varnbiiter,  and  the  new  tariff  lias  been  made.  The  Bundesrath  have 
lost  no  time,  and  the  proposed  laws  relating  to  the  cnstoms  tariff,  with 
the  tariff  itself,  and  the  duty  on  tobacco,  are  already  laid  before  the 
Drputies,  who,  on  the  4tli  of  April,  began  their  recess,  -which  lasts  to 
tlie  end  of  the  month.  A.  few  words  will  suffice  to  show  the  nature  of 
tlic  changes  proposed.  These  do  not,  indeed,  amount  to  the  imposition 
of  a  duty  on  everything,  but  they  form  an  immense  contrast  to  the 
preWous  state  of  things.     We  will  illustrate  this  by  a  few  examples  : — 

Article.                            Dutt  on  evtrt  100  Kilograms. 

hoposed  New  Tanff.  QUI  Tariff. 

Ootton-ynrn  and  goods          from  12  to  250  m.  from  12  to  86  m. 

Raw  iron 1  m.  free  till  1873  ;   only  60  pf. 

Iron  goods    ....     from  1  m.  50  pf.  to  CO  m.  free  till  1 873 ;  from  1  tu  5  m. 

Grain,      wheat,     oats,  \  ,  £_ 

,  P  >  1  lu.  free, 

peas,  oeans,  &c.  .     .  j 

Rye,     barley,      maize,  \  ^^     .  ^^^ 

buckwheat       ,     .     .  )  ^ 

Malt 1  m.  20  pf.  free. 

Glass  and  glass  ^vares  ,  3  to  30  m.                      4  to  24  m. ;  partly  free. 

Hops 20  m.  10  m. 

Coffee 42  m.  SO  m. 

Tea 100  III.  48  m. 

Petroleum     ....  G  m.  free. 

On  tobacco  the  rise  is  still  greater.  It  is  proposed  to  raise  the  duty  on 
tobacco  leaves,  &c.,  to  120  m.  on  every  100  kilogr.  (the  old  tariff  being 
24-  m.) ;  and  on  manufactured  tobacco^  cigars,  and  cigarettes  to  make  it 
270  m.  (previously  120  m-)>  ^'^d  on  other  kinds  200  m.  (previously  42 
to  120  m.).     Tiie  duty  for  that  grouu  in  the  country  is  also  doubled. 

AVe  Mill  not  indulge  in  conjectures,  when  six  or  eight  weeks  will 
bring  before  us  the  liual  decision.  Let  us  make  two  remarks  only. 
It  appears  to  us  that  as  Prince  Bismark  will  bring  the  whole  weight  of 
his  iuflueuce  to  bear  to  secure  the  adoption,  without  any  iniportant 
modifications,  of  the  proposed  changes,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the 
issue.  This  we  may  the  more  safely  assume,  because  already  there  arc 
notable  instances  of  men  having  changed  tlieir  views  in  a  very  short 
space  of  time,  and  this  in  the  case  of  men  whose  familiarity  with  the 
subject  would  have  seemed  to  render  such  a  change  inconceivable.  Thus 
it  is  said  that  Baron  Schorlemcr  Alst,  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  IJltra- 
montancsj  approves  of  the  tariff,  though  he  liiuiself  at  a  meeting  of  the 
members  of  the  Reichstag  in  October,  IH78,  for  the  discubsion  of  ques- 
tions of  [jolitical  economy,  gave  his  opinion  most  decidedly  and  emphati- 
cally against  duties  on  corn,  and  said  lie  would  never  agi*ee  to  them. 
A  similar  rumour  is  current  of  Dr.  Hammachcr,  who  on  the  same 
occasion  expressed  himself  in  favour  of  commercial  treaties  with  con- 
vention tariffs,  and  repudiated  the  principle  of  protective  duties. 

Our  second  remark  is  based  on  rercntly-ncquired  experience,  that  the 
refusal  to  do  a  thing  at  the  right  time  has  afterwards  to  be  paid  for 
doubly.      If  the  Ufichstug  and  the  (lovcrnnicnt  hatl  agreed   in  1877  to 


I 


■ 


POLITICAL  LIFE  I\  GERMANY'.  863 

ic  continuaucc  of  the  then  moderate  duty  on  iron  and  steel  goods,  tlio 
whole  of  the  subsequent  agitation  would  have  bceu  avoided,  and  Gerraany 
would  have  been  spared  corn  and  cattle  duties  and  the  experiment  of 
changing  her  wliole  commercial  system.  Ciermany  must  import  about 
10  per  ccut.  of  the  grain  tliat  is  needed.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  say  at 
present^  therefore,  whether  the  duty  will  bring  an  actual  rise  in  prices 
or  not ;  this  the  future  must  decide.  One  thing,  however,  is  already 
clear.  The  depressed  condition  of  trade  is  caused  for  the  most  part  by 
the  over-production  of  the  years  1871-4,  by  the  taxation  of  a  number 
of  fabrics,  especially  in  the  iron  trade,  and  partly  also  by  the 
deterioration  in  some  branches  of  trade,  in  consequence  of  which 
German  goods  have  beeu  shut  out  of  the  market.  If  the  new  tarifi' be 
accepted,  an  improvement  will  take  place  in  some  branches,  especially 
in  the  manufacture  of  raw  iron  ;  other  persons  wliosc  business  it  is  to 
obtain  raw  material  cheap  for  exportation  will  find  themselves  in  bad 
ease,  unless  the  system  be  adoptetl  of  giving  compensation  for  the  import 
duty  by  drawback  on  exports  even  if  the  raw  material  has  not  been 
brought  from  abroad.  Whether  tobacco  will  be  able  to  stand  the  pro- 
posed duty  without  considerably  lessening  the  consumption,  it  is  im- 
possible to  say.  In  addition  to  the  imports  wc  have  nicntiunedj  there 
have  also  beeu  propositions  for  raising  the  duty  on  beer,  &c.  We  defer 
the  discussion  of  all  these  points  to  a  future  article,  in  which  wc  shall 
have  also  to  speak  of  other  new  laws. 

We  have  had  fresh  proof  during  the  current  session  of  the  Reichstag 
that  motions  of  the  highest  importance,  the  non-anccptaocc  of  which 
would  seem  to  threaten  the  dissolution  of  the  House,  m:iy  just  be  dropped 
without  any  apparent  effect  at  all.  It  is  not  easy  for  an  Englishman  to 
realise  how  it  is  ]>ossible,  for  instance,  for  a  Bill  which  the  Ministry  sup- 
jKjrts  with  all  its  strengthj  to  be  rejected  by  an  immense  majority 
without  any  further  consequences.  But  any  one  who  hearts  in  mind  the 
condition  of  things  iu  Gerraany,  and  especially  the  state  of  parties  there 
as  explained  by  us  in  the  December  number  of  the  Contempoharv 
(p.  I6i) — 169),  will  l)e  able  to  understand  how  this  is  possible,  and  it 
will  become  still  more  clear  from  a  consideration  of  thf?  two  following 
points. 

First,  That  in  the  German  Empire  no  such  thing  as  a  parliamentary 
Minititry  exists,  or  could  exist. 

Second,  Tliat  Prince  Bismark  is  the  centre  of  the  whole  system. 
Let  him  complain  as  often  as  he  will,  that  as  President  of  the  Prussian 
Ministry  he  has  no  voice,  that  each  Minister  of  a  depai'tmcut  acts  inde- 
pendently, it  is  nevertheless  certain  that,  apart  from  purely  technical 
questions,  about  which  he  does  not  trouble  himself,  everything  depends 
uj)on  him.  This  is  &lmwn  by  the  present  state  of  affaii's.  Two  years 
ago  the  whole  Prussian  Ministry  was  for  free  trade ;  now  it  is  for  pro- 
tection, sincx*  that  is  the  side  on  which  Prince  Bismark  hns  declared 
himself.    And  it  is  the  same  lu  everj'thing.    If  the  Bcichtitag  has  come 


: 


366 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


to  some  decision  with  which  Bismark  is  ou  the  whole  satisfied^  or  which  he 
allows  to  pass  hecause,  as  a  very  practical  politician,  he  sees  that  nothing 
would  he  gained  by  a  dissoluiiou,  or  that  by  giving  way  he  can  carry 
out  other  plans  to  which  he  attaches  more  importance,  then  the  defeat 
of  the  troveruuient  has  uo  further  conscqucuce  ;  it  does  not  even  disturb 
the  good  understanding  between  the  parties — nay,  sometimes,  as  we 
have  seen  in  tlie  last  five  years,  it  even  confirms  it.  We  have  just 
passed  through  an  experience  of  this.  kind.  At  the  assembling  of  the 
Reichstag  a  law  was  proposed  relating  to  the  penal  jurisdiction  of  the 
Reichstag.  The  object  of  this  law  was  to  put  a  check  on  the  excesses 
of  free  speech.  On  the  one  hand  sharper  disciplinary  measures  within 
the  Rciclistag  itself  were  pra])osed,  from  the  prohibition  of  the  publica- 
tion of  the  debates  to  the  withdrawal  of  the  mandate  ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  punishment  by  a  court  of  justice.  Ex[>eriencc  lias  certainly  shown 
that  the  order  of  business  hitherto  observed  affords  no  sufficient  check 
upon  digressions  of  speech  which  there  is  a  twofold  reason  for  repressing: 
first,  they  are  apt  to  become  dangerous,  because  the  shorthand  reports 
arc  officially  printed,  und  there  is  no  leg-al  penalty  for  such  publications  ; 
and,  secondly,  absent  parties  are  subject  to  libellous  attacks,  from  which 
they  ought  to  be  shielded.  It  has  repeatedly  happened  in  the  Reichstag, 
and  still  more  often  in  the  Prussian  Landtag,  that  members  have  assailed 
outside  pcraous  in  the  most  casual  and  reckless  mauner.  It  has  become 
a  regular  practice  of  the  Ultramontane  party  to  drag  into  the  debate 
Government  olHeials  obnoxious  to  thcm.selves,  and  to  indulge  in  any  kind 
of  scaudal  in  relation  to  them.  The  opportuuity  is  taken  when  the 
salary  of  the  Minister  coucerned  is  brought  forsvard  iu  the  debate  on  the 
budget,  to  make  these  recriminations,  and  the  result  is  not  only  to  pro- 
loug  the  debates  on  the  budget  to  a  very  unnecessary  length,  but  to 
make  them  among  the  most  objectioiiablc.  The  principle  of  the  pro- 
j)osed  altenitious  is,  therefore,  unquestiouably  sound  ;  and  there  is  little 
doubt  that,  if  the  Reichstag  sets  the  good  example,  the  Prussian  Landtag 
will  follow.  13ut  it  would  be  daugerous  to  allow  words  spoken  in 
Parliament  to  come  under  the  cognisance  of  a  court  of  justice,  and  every 
Parliament  will  rightly  repudiate  such  au  idea,  so  long  as  the  main- 
tenance of  discipline  by  the  House  itself  has  not  been  proved  to  be 
utterly  impracticable.  The  Reichstag  declined  to  adopt  the  Bill  after 
the  first  readiug^  but  authorised  the  Cummissiou  for  the  ordering  of 
business  to  make  suitable  propositions  on  the  subject.  To  this  the 
Government  agreed,  and  thus  the  dauger  of  a  conflict  was  avoided.  The 
sharper  exercise  of  discipline  by  the  President  during  this  session  may  be 
regarded  as  oue  result  already  seciu-ed  by  the  Rill. 

The  position  of  the  province  of  Alsace-Lorraine,  ceded  to  Germany 
by  France  in  the  Peace  of  May  10, 1871,  presents  some  points  of  interest. 
This  province  has  not  been  incorporated  with  any  single  German  State, 
but  is  Imperial  land;  the  Empcior  excroising  over  it,  in  the  name  of  the 
Gernian  Kmpirc,  the  rights  of  a  sovereign.     The  administration,  which 


POLITICAL  LIFE  IN  GERMANY.  367 

IS  con<luctcd  according  to  certain  French  laws  allowetl  to  remain  in 
force,  with  the  addition  of  some  new  laws,  is  under  the  responsible 
central  direction  of  the  Imperial  Chancellor,  who  has  in  Berlin  a  special 
bureau  for  Alsacc-Lon*aine,  with  an  Under-Secretary  of  State  as  his 
colleague  at  its  head;  under  this  is  an  Ober-Priisident  in  Strasbiu'g,  who 
has  the  immediate  control  of  affairs.  For  the  representation  of  the 
province  there  is  a  provincial  committee  chosen  from  the  representatives 
of  the  three  Circles.  By  a  law  of  May  2nd,  1877,  this  committee 
acquired  the  right  to  pass  provincial  laws  for  Alsace-Lorraine,  including 
the  yearly  budget  for  the  pi'ovince.  so  that  the  Reichstag  from  tliat  time 
has  not  interfered  at  all  with  the  legislation  of  the  province.  There  are 
now  in  Alsace-Lorraine,  apart  from  the  Germans  who  have  settled  there 
since  1871,  and  from  the  officials,  two  political  parties,  which  may  be 
described  as  follows  :  The  firet,  which  is  known  as  the  party  of  protest, 
consists  of  those  persons  who  are  radically  averse  to  the  annexation,  who 
will  hear  nothing  of  reconciliation  with  Germany,  and  whose  great  hope 
is  that  the  province  may  be  restored  to  France  either  by  the  free  act 
of  Germany,  or  as  the  result  of  a  successfwl  war  made  by  France.  They 
persistently  negative  and  oppose  every  proposition  that  comes  from  the 
side  of  Germany,  and  seem  bcTit  on  making  the  administration  of  the 
province  so  irksome  and  annoying  to  the  Germans,  that  they  may  be 
glad  to  give  it  up,  lliat  such  conduct  is  politically  foolish,  because 
nsclebs  aud  opposed  to  the  true  interests  of  the  province,  it  needs  no 
argument  to  show.  So  long  as  the  province  belongs  to  Germany  it  is 
its  true  poUcy  to  do  all  in  its  power  fo  secure  the  sympathy  of  the 
Empire,  and  to  turn  this  to  account.  Merc  opposition  can  have  no 
result.  The  other  party,  who  call  themselves  "  Autonomists,"  have 
perceived  tlus,  and  they  direct  all  their  endeavours  to  get  the  whole 
admiuistratiou  of  the  province  carried  ou  on  the  spot,  in  Strasburg,  not 
in  Berliu.  M.  Schneegans,  the  member  who  represents  this  party,  pre- 
sented a  memorial  which  led  Prince  Bismark  to  give  an  unreserved 
expression  of  his  views.  AVithout  conceding  all  that  was  asked,  he 
admitted  the  justice  of  the  representation  of  the  uusatisfactorinesa  of  the 
existing  state  of  affairs,  aud  laid  down,  partly  with  the  express  consent 
of  the  Emperor,  and  partly  from  his  own  point  of  view,  certain  plans 
which  he  intended  to  introduce  to  the  Buudesrath  for  the  reform  of  the 
administration.  The  main  point  was  this,  that  a  Stadtholder,  who  must 
not  be  a  prince  (it  had  been  proposed  by  the  Autonomist  party  that  the 
then  Crown  Prince  of  the  Empire  and  of  Prussia  should  be  made 
Regent),  should  hold  the  supreme  authority  iu  Strasbtu'g  (with  the 
exception  of  certain  sovereign  rights  reserved  to  the  Emperor),  uud  tliat 
he  should  be  assisted  by  one  Minister.  The  Proviucial  Committee  might 
be  increased  by  the  addition  of  other  members  ;  but  he  would  not  consent 
to  a  purely  local  administration  so  long  as  the  dallying  with  France 
continued,  and  while  the  clerical  and  protesting  element  was  in  the 
majority.      It  may  be  expected,  therefore,  that  changes  iu  this  direction 


Ju. 


368 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


will  be  made.  Tlic  present  unsatisfactory  position  of  Alsace  Lorraine  in 
the  Bundcsrath  cau  hardly  be  maiutaiucd.  The  Imperial  Chancellor  is 
right  when  he  says  that  if  the  German  States  aud  the  Reichstag  would 
agree  to  such  an  alteration  of  the  Constitution,  it  would  in  fact  amount 
to  an  increase  of  the  Prussian  votes  in  the  Bundcsrath  ;  because  it  is  not 
to  be  snpposed  that  the  Emperor  would  inilueuce  the  representatives  of 
Alsace  and  Lorraine,  otherwise  than  as  King  of  Prussia  he  influcufed  the 
Prussian  representatives.  Moreover^  it  must  he  allowed  to  be  an 
anomalous  thing  thatj  while  the  smallest  German  principality  has  at 
least  one  vote  in  the  Bundcsrath,  Alsace-Lorraiupj  the  population  of 
which  would  give  it  the  sixth  place  among  German  provinces,  has  no 
voice  at  all.  The  ditiicuUy  lies  in  its  character  as  an  Imperial  pro- 
vincCj  subject  to  the  Emperor.  It  would  certainly  have  been  best  if 
in  1871  the  new  province  had  been  at  once  attached  to  Prussia;  hut 
probably  the  way  was  not  clear.  At  any  rate  this  is  not  possible  now; 
aud  the  only  course  that  remains  is  to  go  forward  in  the  patJi  iudicatah 
It  rests  with  the  iiihnbitants  of  tin*  province  to  prove  to  Germany  by 
the  elections  to  the  Reichstag  that  they  may  Ue  trusted  with  a  com- 
pletely independent  adniiiiistration,  and  with  an  extended  representation, 
without  fear  that,  throupjli  the  excesses  of  the  clerical  and  auti-Germau 
party,  the  new  privilej^es  may  have  to  be  withdrawn  almost  as  soon  as 
given.  No  reasonable  politician  will  ever  entertain  the  idea  that  Ger- 
many will  of  her  own  accord  surrender  Akace-LorrainCj  but  wc  think 
that  France  is  prudent  enough  not  to  enter  on  a  war  which  might  be 
at  least  as  likely  to  issue  in  further  losses  to  her  as  in  the  recoverv  of 
Alsace-Lorraine, 

Wc  cannot  speak  of  Germany  without  being  reminded  of  the  contro- 
versy of  the  Ultraraoutanes  with  the  State.  In  this  "  Culturkampf ' 
there  is  very  little  new  to  record.  The  Roman  Curia  has  several  times 
exercised  itself  in  writing  long  letters  to  Berlin^  which,  to  use  Prince 
Bismark's  expression,  contained  nothing  "  tangdjle/'  and  which  were 
answered  with  the  same  adroitness  in  saying  nothing.  Leo  XIII.  wotdd 
but  cannot ;  by  his  declaration  that  the  States  of  theChurch  are  a  necessity, 
he  has  recently  shown  that  he  has  entered  on  the  same  course  as  his 
predecessors.  A  letter  written  by  him  to  the  deposed  Bishop  of  Cologne, 
which  was  published  at  the  cnrl  of  I>eccmber  last,  was  certainly  much 
milder  than  previous  papal  briefs.  The  Prussian  ^liuister,  Dr.  Falk, 
rccognisc<l  in  the  Landtag  the  peace-loving  disjvosition  of  the  new  Pope, 
but  nothing  farther  came  of  it.  The  most  recent  attempts  also  made  by 
the  Ultramontancs,  who  in  the  last  session  of  the  Prussian  Landtag, 
again  petitioned  for  the  withdrawal  of  the"Maigesctzc,"and  denounced  the 
school  laws  and  the  pvoccediugs  of  the  Minister,  were  without  result. 
Dr.  Falk,  the  Minister  of  Worship,  with  his  clear,  pointed,  and  conclusirc 
speech,  made  such  short  work  of  them  that  nothing  haei  since  been  heard 
of  his  resignation  ;  and  fresh  proof  h its  been  given  of  the  determinatioa 
of  the  Government  not  to  relax   the   law,  and  to  require  as  a  couditioa 


POLITICAL   LIFE   IN   GERMANY. 


3fi9 


any  tuodtis   vivendij  a  recognition   of  the   law.     The  consent  of  the 
ntre  to  the  proposed  duties  will  effect  no  change.      Bismark  knovrs  too 
■well  that  the  Ultramontane   Deputies  will  be  obliged   to  accept  thcscj 
because  their  constituents  will  demand  it ;  but  it  is  their  great  endeavour 
■o  stand  forth  as  the  true  representatives  of  popular  interests.     In  order 
to  show  thisj  they  have  brought  forward  a  motion  for  a  further  reduction 
of  rents,   and  for  fresh   limitations  of  the  practice  of  usury — a  scheme 
nrhich  the  Conservative  side  Las  adopted  with  some  moditications.    Mean- 
while in  other  directions   the  party  is  making  a  fiasco.      The  Bishop  of 
Ratisbon  has   at  length  felt  himself  couatraiued  to  declare  the  appear- 
ances of  the  Mother  of  God  in  Metterbuch  to  be  a  hoax^  altliough  the 
TPrincess  Taxis,   sister  of  the  Empress  of  Austria,   had   already   had  a 
i^hapel  built  upon  the  favoured  spot. 

P    Qaite  recently  an  action  was  brought  before  the  Court  in  Saarbriickcn 

(Province    of   the    Rhine)    against    the   parents    of  the    children   who 

jprofesaed  to  have  seen  the  Mother  of  God  in  Marpingcn,  and  against  a 

pinmbcr    of   other    persons — pastors,  doctors,   peasants,    &e. — who   had 

fostered  the  delusion.     The  proceedings  have  disclosed  a  state  of  things 

whicli  would  have  seemed  incredible.      The  Court,  in  its  sentence  of  the 

h\i  of  April,  acquitted  the  accused,  because  they  did  not  seem  to  have 

ijid  any  design   of  making  gain  by  their  proceedings ;  but  it  has  ruled 

hat    intentional  deception    and    fraud   will  be  treated  as  a  moral  mis- 

eineanour.    Whether  the  appeal  made  by  the  Attorney -general  will  lead 

>  a  condemnation  is  a  matter  of  indifference.  The  action  has  opened 
he  eyes  of  every  man  capable  of  thinking  and  not  altogether  infatuated, 

>  the  precipice  to  which  fanaticism  and  religious  extravagance  must 
cccssarily  lead  ;  yet,  in  spile  of  this,  the  Bishop  of  Ermlaud  (East 
*russia)  is  allowing  the  same   deception  to  go  on   in   Dictriehswald, 

ny  one  who  is  fully  acquainted  with  the  present  situation  must  come  to 
he  conviction  that  the  Ultramontane  party  has  reached  its  zenith,  and 
as  already  liCf^n  its  downward  course.  The  people  arc  becoming  at 
mgth  weary  of  perpetual  agitations ;  the  Peter's  pence  flow  in  more 
tily  in  spite  of  the  recent  demands  of  the  Bishops ;  the  law  is  being 
mforced. 

We  may  also  regard  it  as  a  sign  that  the  conflict  is  flagging,  that  the 

Tins  in  Ahrweilcr  (Province   of  the    Rhine)  have   obtained  permission 

m  the   Minister  to  carry  on  their  girls'  school  from  the  end  of  May, 

der  the  direction  of  one  lay  governess  and  eight  former  nuns.      These 

will  have  to  lay  aside  the  dress  of  their  order,  for,  from  this  time, 

l&ly  nursing  sisterhoods  are  to  be  allowed  in  Prussia. 

FaiEORICB    TON    ScBtTLTS. 


VOL.    XXXV, 


B   B 


CONTEMPOEAFY   BOOKS. 


I.— CHITECH  HISTORY,  &c. 


{Under  the  Direction  of  the  Rev.  Profeseor  CnBrrHAU.) 

TjjE  firat  work  on  owr  list  is  Pcrefjrtnue  Proteus  :  Aa  Investijjation  into  certain 
Relations  subnistinp  between  De  Mnric  rtft'tjrini,  the  Tt'o  Epistleg  of 
Ckhient  fo  Ihc  Corinth  ions,  llic  K^nxiU  to  Dintpieiuji,  thf!  Bihfitffmui  of  Phutiuti, 
and  other  Wrifinp^.  "By  J.  M.  Cott^irill.  (Edinburgh:  T.  and  T.  Clarfe,  1879.1 
Tn  the  nnml>or  of  the  Church  Quartcrhj  for  April  1877.  there  appeared  a  rerauTkable 
article  on  the  Epiatle  to  Diognefntt  and  the  O-miion  ^>  the  GcufiU'g,  attributed  to 
Justiu,  the  oVyect  of  which  appeared  to  be  to  throw  doubt  upon  their  jfeunineness, 
not  only  as  works  of  Jnatin  bat  as  works  of  primitive  Christian  antiquity. 
and  to  bint  that  if  not  actually  forced  by  Henry  StephcuK,  the  printer,  he  was  ul 
least  consciona  of  some  fraudulent  dealing  in  connection  with  them*  Little  was 
said  abonb  the  second  of  the  two  writings  mentioned,  and  the  main  brtmt  of  the 
attack  icW  upon  the  EiHutlc  io  Dio(/)}t-ii'P,  the  first  four  chapters  of  which  wen? 
examiiUMl  minutely  line  byline,  and  a  mabs  of  pamllels  prcMluced,  making  out  ibat  tbp 
so-called  Epistle  was  really  a  cento  made  up  from  writingH  of  various  dates  from 
Philo  down  to  Photius. 

A  continuation  of  this  article  was  to  have  followed,  bnt  the  author,  Mr.  CotteriH 
of  Fortobello,  found  bis  theory  grow  under  his  Imnda,  and  inMcail  of  confining  him- 
self to  the  pfl;?03  of  a  magazine,  he  has  now  published  a  iKinsiderablo  volume. 
extending  the  charge  of  forgery  to  a  whole  group  of  writings,  only  the  principal  of 
which  arc  named  on  the  title-page.  Wo  bavo,  in  fact,  before  us  what  is  probably 
the  boldest  and  most  swtvning  charge  of  the  falsification  of  ancient  docomenttf  pnt 
forward  since  the  time  of  the  Jesuit  llardouin. 

Tlio  reader's  tir.^t  qucistion,  no  doubt,  will  be,  Is  all  this  to  be  taken  seriously?  It 
might  very  well  be  Bupposed  to  be  an  clahonite  hoax.  Th'xB,  however,  it  preilv 
certainly  is  not.  The  author  writes  quite  ns  if  he  was  in  earnest,  and  (unless  lie  harf 
caught  something  of  the  spirit  which  he  attributes  to  H.  St<?phen8),  it  would  Ik*  strauAfO 
if  so  much  lubour  and  learning  were  cxpondod  merely  in  an  attempt  to  m^'ntify 
the  pnblic.  At  the  same  time  it  does  not  follow  that  all  the  author's  earnt*Htne6ii 
should  communicate  itself  to  his  readers-  They  arc  not  bound  to  take  his  paradoxus 
seriously  because  he  intondH  them  t-o. 

As  long  as  scepticism  was  confined  to  the  EpUilc  to  Viognetuf,  it  bad  not  a  little 
to  say  for  itself.  The  writing  was  cue  which  opjiears  to  have  been  unknown  If 
Eusobina,  Jei"ome,  and  Thotius.  It  was  contained  m  a  single  MS.,  and  that  MS.  now 
lost.  The  circumatn  ices  under  which  it  was  first  published  were  not  very  clear. 
In  character  it  is  vague  and  general,  with  no  definite?  marks  of  dat«.  Tliough  ani- 
mated by  a  certain  elo<piencc,  there  is  nothing  to  i-how  conclusively  that  this 
eloqnotice  springs  directly  from  the  subject.  It  is  quite  within  the  bounds  of  jkir- 
sibility  that  it  miylit  be  imly  a  rhetorical  oxerciKe,  and  it  is  not  on  the  faco  of  it 
incredible  that  it  might  have  been  composed  as  late  aa  the  revival  of  learning. 

It  Ih  a  different  matter  wlien  wo  come  to  such  a  work  as  the   Firgt  Eyirth  of 

•  Mr.  tViltutill  now  seems  to  tfaiuk  that  he  has  traced  tlic  actual  fernery  up  to  Nicephonw 
Callistus,  the  By?««tiiic  historiAn. 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS,  371 

iU  to  i}i€  Corinihlaa*.  This  ^s  frequently  mentioneil  anil  quoted  from  the 
•«coad  ceutnrv  onwards.  Ila  contents,  though  not  remarlcably  detiuite  and  pointed, 
h&rmonize  witn  the  date  at  which  it  ia  8uppoK«<l  to  have  been  writton.  Dnt,  what 
IB  of  the  most  imp^jrtanco.  it  is  found  in  tnree  distinct  MSS.,  one  bearing  all  the 
mai^a  by  which  documente  of  the  kind  are  usually  assigned  to  a  date  as  early  a»  the 
Kfth  centory,  another  dated  a.d.  1056,  and  the  third,  a  Syriaa  version,  datod  a.o. 
1170. 

It  is  certaioly  a  bold  idea  to  set  down  a  writing  like  this  as  a  for^ry  of  the  time 
of  the  Renaissance.  But  whatever  may  hs  their  justice,  our  author  has,  at  any 
rate,  the  cour^^  of  his  opinions.  He  has  an  answer  really  for  most  of  the  objec* 
tions  that  can  be  urged  a;^inst  him.  The  npistlc  i.s  roppatcdly  qnoted,  and  the 
qaotations  correspond  to  the  tert  of  the  ^ISS.  But  a  forger  would  naturally  take 
care  to  introduce  them.  The  MsiS.  "have  every  appearance  of  belonging  to  the 
datea  to  which  they  are  respectively  a8sii;ued."     But "  this  follows  necessarily  if  such  ] 

was  the  forger's  intention,  and  if  he  had  the  skill  to  carry  out  that  intention."     We  ! 

mi^ht,  porhans,  po  on  to  point  ont  that  each  of  the  three  MSS.  contains  other  | 

wntingj)  be!*iaes  the  Epiatles  of  Clement,  and    that  the   text  of   then*  ('\<7.,  the  \ 

Codex   Alexandrinus  of  the   New  Testament,  or   the  version   hound  up  wiUi  the  i 

8yriac)  in  so  characteristic  and  peculiar  as  to  be  quite  beyond  the  invention  of  the  i 

most  skilful   forger  at  a  time  when  the  characU^r  of  dilfereut  texts  had  been  so  i 

imjierfectly  analysed.     To  this  the  answer  would  probably  I'Q  that  the  argument  is  ^ 

not  just,  or  that  the  Biblical  portions  of  the  text  wore  copied  from  a  genuinel3'  ancient  Ji 

MS-,  but  that  this  does  not  prove  that  the  rent  is  genuine. 

It  is  said  that  nothing  was  ever  written  that  was  not  capable  of  being  answered,  I 

and  no  doubt  it  is  possible  to  go  on  giving  anHwern  such  as  these.  But  the  qnestion 
ia.  Which  are  the  greater  improbabuities  ?     Those  wliich  attach  to  the  supposition  l 

that  the  cptMtle  or  epistles  are  >:unutne,  or  those  which  attu^.'^h  to  the  assumption  that  I 

thev  are  forged  i*  \Ve  answer,  most  emphatioally.  the  latter.  It  is  not  only  that 
the  Biblical  portions  of  the  MSS.  are  peculiar,  but  the  phenomena  of  the  text  ,■ 

presenter!  by  A.  C.  S.  nf  tlie  F^pistlos  nt'  Clement  themselves  are  such  us  to  ho  far  ,' 

l>eyond  the  reach  of  fabrication  by  any  forger,  ancient  or  modern.  When  we  are  told 
that  these  Ejxistles  ore  forgeries  the  ground  is  nearly  cut  away  from  under  the  objec- 
tor s  fret.  The  theory  is  refuted  before  it  is  raised.  Tiie  improl)abilitiesadduoeiby 
Mr.  Cott«riU  are  as  nothing  compared  to  those  iu  which  his  own  theory  is  eutnnglcd. 

We  believe  it  woiild  l»e  possible  to  show  this  in  detail.  A  certain  number  of 
cunoas  foct-s  have  been  a/lduced,  not  one  of  which,  so  far  a^*  we  can  see.  is  without 
parallel  or  reasonable  explanation.  Many  of  the  instances  given  are  .simply  onll  and 
void — mere  commonplaces  that  might  be  found  iu  all  timet)  and  in  all  writers. 
Others  are  probably  duo  to  direct,  though  iinackuowledge<l,  (^notations,  which 
were  very  fretiueut  in  untiquitr'.  as  would  be  abundantly  shown  by  the  relations  of  Ter- 
toUian  or  Kpinhauius  tj  Ireuiuus.  The  occasional  failure  to  verify  quotations  (thn 
instances  of  which  are,  however,  somewhat  doubtful)  is  a  ]ihenomenon  met  with  not 
hy  any  means  infrequently,  Ijoth  in  the  Old  and  New  Tostnmont,  and  elsewhere. 
We  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  all  Mr.  Cotteriirs  instances  will  necessarily  come 
under  one  or  other  of  those  heotls,  nor  can  we  profess  to  have  given  them  a  very  oloso 
etady,  Life  is  short  and  art  is  long,  and  plain  people  have  not  time  to  spare  to  go 
npon  every  wtld*goose  chase  upon  which  it  may  l»e  sought  to  lead  them.  We  can 
only  regret  that  a  writer  of  so  much  taleut  and  so  much  learning  should  misspend 
both  so  egregiously.  His  book  is  useful  as  a  warning  not  to  lay  too  much  stress 
npori  verbal  ooincidencca.  In  this  respect  it  is  monumcntAl,  but  on  most  others  it  is 
a  failure. 

From  a  literarr  point  of  view  the  hook  is  also  much  less  of  a  success  than  it  might 
have  been.  The  author  ha.s  abnudauce  of  literary  skill,  and  his  origij\al  article  in 
the  Church  Qmtrtfrhj  was  well  put  together,  clear,  and  easily  intelligible.  We 
cannot  .nay  as  much  for  the  present  volume.     The  mystery  is  Ifept  up  far  too  long;  i 

indeed  to  the  end  it  is  not  fully  revealed.    The  reader  seems  to  be  intentionally  kept  ], 

in  the  dark.     He  does  not  know  where  he  is  being  led  or  what  it  is  sought  to  prove.  ) 

And  though  this  might  not   have  been  such  bad  policy   if  the  detailed  reasoning  j 

had  been  worked  out  clearly  and  thoroughly,  this  is  by  no  means  the  case.    The  i 

points  do  not  stand  ont  in  any  relief.     Back  references  and  references  to  passages  > 

Chat  are  not  ffiven  are  constantly  occurring.      Subjects  run  confusedly  into  one  j 

another  ;  matter  is  thrown  into  appendices  which  ought  to  have  been  an  integral  j 

part  of  the  work.     In  fact,  the  book  has  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  "  fortuitons  j 

concourse  of  atoms."    Ideas  eeem  to  be  put  down  in  the  oraer  in  which  they  arose  in 

fi  B  2 


372 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  antUor'u  mind.  He  seems  to  forf^et  that  their  connection  and  coherence  is  likely 
to  be  much  loss  clear  to  the  reader  tnan  they  nro  to  himself.  There  is  none  of  that 
deliberate  renasting  and  orderly  doveloj-'ment  which  a  snbject  of  so  mach  intricncy 
needed.  The  book  wonld  have  to  be  rewritten  in  order  to  be  really  effective.  We 
ithould  not,  however,  a,dvise  the  author  to  rewrite  it.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  may 
be  able  to  iipply  his  real  learning  and  ability  iu  a  more  profitable  direction. 

There  is  Romethinpf  pathetic  in  the  publication  of  The  IfortVn  Supnev:  Vnin4ipim1 
TenrJiutff  (Ijondou:  Seeloy,  Jackson,  &  Halliday).  The  writer,  tno  Rev.  Charles 
Hebert.  D.D.,  tella  iie  in  hia  dodicMtion  to  the  Laivcruity  of  Cambridge,  that  it :« 
"after  forty -five  years'  service  as  a.  rainister  of  Christ  iu  the  Church  of  England" 
that  "  he  huaibly  presents  this  work  to  the  consideration  of  her  dignitaries  and  her 
members  iu  genertil."  The  object  of  the  work  seems  mainly  to  be  to  confirm  the 
opinion  of  Chillingworth,  that  there  are  "popes  against  popes,  councils  again(«t 
coancils,  fathers  against  fathers,"  so  thnt  except  on  ihf^  rock  of  Scripture  he  ran 
Hnd  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  his  foot.  Dr.  Hebert,  in  two  thick  volumes,  haa  coUe.'t<Nl 
and  trauHlatcd  an  immense  number  of  passages  bearing  more  or  lestn  on  the  doctrine 
and  ritual  of  the  Eucharist,  taken  from  a  great  variety  of  writers,  ranging  from 
Clement  of  Rome  to  Cauou  Liddon.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  1-WO  octavo  paijres, 
though  they  form  two  very  thick  volumes,  are  not  nearly  sniEcient  to  include  all  the 
passages  relating  to  the  Eucharist  which  occur  in  considerable  writers  during, 
eighteen  oenturiea.  And  the  passages  extracted  are  not,  bo  far  as  we  ran  discovc 
chosen  on  any  definite  principle.  There  arc,  for  instAuce,  aevcml  extract*  fro 
Oyprian,  but  we  do  not  find  th«  well-known  passage  iu  Firmilian's  letter  to  Cyprlau 
describing  the  manner  in  which  an  ecstatic  woman  attempted  to  consecrate  the 
Euchamt.  And  Keveral  other  pas-sages  might  be  mentioned,  generally  given  ia 
treatises  on  the  Eucharist,  which  do  not  appear  in  Dr.  Hebert's  book.  Oa  the  otlier 
hand,  severiil  pasangea  ap]>ear  which  do  not  seem  to  have  any  bearing  on  thr- 
Eucharist  whatever.  For  instance,  ho  gives  the  story  of  the  statne  erected  at  Fanea* 
(printed  IVneas)  in  honoar  of  the  Lord,  by  the  woman  who  was  healed  of  on  iaime  of 
blood,  and  appears  to  know  nothing  of  the  highly  probable  exi>lanQtion.  that  thf* 
statue  represented  an  emperor — perhaps  Hadrian — ^with  the  province  personified  as  a 
woman  kneeling  at  his  feet,  and  the  inscription  "  To  the  Saviour.  *  or  the  like- 
common  enough  on  imperial  statues. 

We  wonld  fain  Hpeok  well  of  a  work  which  hag  evidently  been  one  of  lov©,  bnt  truth 
compels  ua  to  say  that  Dr.  Hebert  is  by  no  means  a  competent  translator  and  anno* 
tator  of  the  passagea  which  ho  cites.  Opening  at  random,  we  stumble  on  the  follow- 
ing (i.  78) : — '*  Why  do  we  dedicate  the  tourth  and  sixth  after  the  Saturday  to  stand- 
ings, and  the  preparation  day  to  fastings  Y"  This  professes  to  be  a  translation  from 
Tertullian.  What  the  passage  really  means  is,  "  AVuy  do  wo  dedicate  the  fourth  unJ 
sixth  days  of  the  week  [Wednesday  and  Friday]  to  stations  [special  devotioutd 
oliservances],  and  Friday  [the  preparation  for  the  Sabbath,  i.e.,  Saturday]  to  foiit- 
ings?"  The  passage  is  a  perfectly  plain  one.  On  the  opiioaito  page,  in  an  extmet 
from  the  "  De  Corona''  (which  ia  rendered  "  On  the  Crown,"  instead  of  "  On  the 
Soldier's  Wreath"),  we  fmd  the  seutence.  "  We  make  offerings  for  the  dead,  for  the 
birthdays,  on  the  anniversaries ;"  an  English  reader  wonld  oardly  conjecture  that 
thi»  refers  to  the  oblations  for  the  dead  on  the  day  of  their  death ;  the  "  birthday"  of 
a  saint  was  the  day  on  which  he  left  this  life  and  was  bom  into  a  better  world.  In 
tlio  same  extract  '*  Paecha"  is  interpreictl  *'  Good  Friday,"  instead  of  "  Easter-Day." 
The  earlier  part  of  the  some  extract  is,  to  Bay  the  least,  very  awkwardly  rendered. 
He  8i>eaks  (i.  410)  of  **  the  chest  of  box-wood,  of  ivory  ;"  it  should  be  "  the  pyx  or 
casket  of  ivory ;"  vviiov  hod  lost  its  etymological  signification.  **  Orationes"  are 
not  *'  orations  *  (i.  470),  bnt  prayers  or  collects.  Dr.  Hebert  also  fails  in  another 
(joality  very  necessary  for  such  a  work  as  that  which  he  has  undertaken — criticism. 
For  instance,  he  does  not  seem  at  all  aware  that  tho  treatise  on  the  "  Handing  down 
of  the  Liturgy,"  ascribed  to  Prochis,  Archbishop  of  Constantinople  in  the  fifth 
centuxy,  is  now  generally  believed  to  be  the  work  of  a  much  later  writer.  In  the 
translatioiL  of  the  extract  from  this  treatise  are  several  faults.  The  writor  is  not 
speaking  of  an  "exposition,"  but  of  a  "  setting  forth"  or  "  edition"  of  the  Liturgy. 
The  Apostles  should  not  be  described  as  "  secretly  informing,"  but  aa  '" promptinff" 
or  "  dictating  to"  Clement— referring  of  course  to  the  Clementine  liturgy  of  th^ 
"  Apostolical  ConBtitntiouB,"  Chrjrsoatom  is  not  described  as  '*  cutting  out '  but  as 
"cutting  down"  most  parts  of  Basil's  liturgy-.  The  little  dissertation  on  litargies 
(i.  362)  IS  very  confused ;  the  writer  seems  to  have  set  sail  on  the  wide  sea  of  litargies 


he 


i 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


378 


» 


And  liturcical  writings  without  chart  or  compass.  On  the  whole,  though  we  greatly 
respect  tne  spirit  wnich  led  Dr.  Hebert  to  aovote  his  later  years  to  a  dillicult  work, 
we  are  at  a  loss  to  conceive  what  class  of  readers  can  be  benefited  by  it. 

Under  the  title  of  Fi>»r  Lt'ciurfis  on  Some  Eiiorls  of  Earhf  Cli  itreh  TlUtory  (London  : 
Longmaa},  187V)),  Dean  Merivale  gives  ua  aamirable  BtuJics  of  the  four  great  Latin 
Fathere— Ambrose,  Augustine,  Leo,  aud  Gregory.  The  subjoct  is  bo  treated  aa  to 
give,  in  a  very  vivid  ana  forcible  way.  the  leading  points  of  Church  Hiatory  fromtha 
middle  of  the  fonrth  to  the  end  of  the  sixth  century.  It  is  not  oninstructive  to  note 
with  what  scant  resjwct  the  veteran  historian  treats  some  of  the  auperfititiona  which 
weaker  minds  find  vencrahle  and  imposing. 

In  HafenbocVs  Huit<n'ij  of  the  Reforvuttiofit  chiejfy  in  Gerfnanv  and  Stoitzerland, 
Messrs.  Clark,  of  Kdiuburgh»  have  made  a  valuable  a^Klition'to  their  Foreign  Tlieo- 
logical  Library.  It  is  translated  from  the  fourth  German  edition,  which  has  been 
carefnlly  revised  bv  the  author.  Dr.  Hugenbach's  point  of  view  is  that  of  a 
liberal-mindetl  Lutheran,  and  his  narrative  is  clear  and  interesting.  He  occupies  a 
middle  point  between  those  who  write  for  profesHional  students — a  numerous  class  in 
Germany — and  those  who  simply  adapt  well-known  raatcriala  for  popular  use.  The 
work  is  not  60  well  suited  for  popularity  us  D'Aubigiie's  well-known  History,  but  it 
is  shorter,  as  well  as  more  careful  aud  accurate.  On  the  Zwingliau  or  Oerman- 
8wii»s  ileformation  ia  particular  it  gives  information  which  is  probably  not  accessible 
to  English  readers  in  any  other  form. 

The  volume  calle<l  South  Afri«\  and.  itn  MUalou  Fields^  by  the  Rev.  J.  B.  Carlyle, 
late  of  Natal  (London  :  James  Niabet  &  Co.,  1879),  owed  its  origin  to  a  meeting  in 
Edinburgh  of  friends  of  South  African  Missions,  who  deputed  to  Mr.  Carlylo  the  task 
of  collecting  the  statistics  of  the  various  missionary  enterprises  in  South  Africa. 
This  he  has  done  with  great  complet^^uess,  aud  having  added  information  respecting 
the  ooontry  itself  and  the  races  among  whom  the  various  missions  have  laboored,  the 
whole  is  published  under  the  title  quoted  above. 

It  is  a  noticeable  mark  of  the  Catholic  spirit  created  by  actual  contact  with 
heatheniim  that  Mr.  Carlyle  describes  with  the  most  perfect  Drotherliness  no  fewer 
than  thirteen  different  missions,  undertaken  by  the  vorions  English,  American,  and 
Earopean  Protestant  Commaniona.  All  are  treated  as  fellow -workers  in  the  great 
field,  with  the  most  entire  absence  of  that  jealousy  or  hoartbtirniug  which  divides 
Uie  various  sections  of  the  Church  of  Christ  at  home.  The  only  qniUitication  of  this 
Gncttcal  onion  is  a  temperate  criticism  of  the  action  of  some  missionaries  of  the 
Society  for  the  Fropaffation  of  the  Gospel,  who  have  not  been  content  to  go  out  to 
nnoccnpied  regions,  but  in  their  injudicioas  zeal  have  invadc<l  missions  already 
formed  and  working  BnccesafuUV'  Pity  that  they  should  not  have  more  of  the 
OiVO&toUc  spirit  which  refuses  to  ouild  on  other  men's  foundations,  and  rejoices  in 
Qirist  being  preached  though  not  by  themselves. 

The  volume  opens  with  a  sketch  of  the  various  mission  fields,  which  gives  a  largo 
amount  of  information  respecting  them.  A  glance  at  the  various  native  races 
follows,  in  which  the  Zulus,  now  only  too  famUiar  to  us,  figure  prominently.  Mr, 
Carlyle  has  no  very  high  opinion  of  Cotewayo,  and  seems  to  thinlc  it  right  to  inter- 
fere of  course  forcibly,  to  put  down  the  tyranny  ho  exercises,  but  in  this  he  will 
hardly  carry  his  readers  with  him.  Peace  bos  its  victories  not  less  renowned  than 
war,  iind  it  will  remain  a  question  if  it  would  not  have  secured  without  bloodshed  more 
in  the  end  than  can  be  hoped  for  from  ritlea  and  gunpowder. 

The  work  uccoinplishcd  by  each  missiou  euoplies  a  number  of  interesting  chapters, 
from  which  we  learn  that  the  total  number  o^  native  adherents  of  the  South  African 
Mi&aiuns  collectively  are  al-'out  lSO,i.K.K),  of  whom  alwut  3o,i)0*)  are  communicants. 

All  who  arc  interested  in  missionary  work  will  find  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  book  a  well 
axrftuged  manual  ofthemissionsin  the  great  field  of  which  he  treats.  Tlie  information  is 
brought  down  to  the  last  few  months,  and  the  various  toj)ios  on  which  ho  much  has 
been  said  of  late  in  connection  with  missions  among  i>artiouIar  races  are  discussed 
with  moderation  and  good  feeling.  Some  of  the  glimpses  given  of  Natal  history,  in 
iicular,  are  very  interesting  at  this  time. 


374 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


IL— ESSAYS,  NOVELS,  POETRY,  &c. 

{Under  th^  JEWrMtion  of  Matthew  Browsb.) 

A  WELCOME  aejiiuel  to  the  recently  pnLUalied  "Life  and  Letters  of  James  Hintoo,' 
edited  by  EUice  Hopkina,  will  htf  found  in  Chajtiert  on  tlw  Ait  ojThinhlng  a 
other  EfifatfA,  Ijy  the  late  Jamea  Hinton.  With  an  Introdaction  by  Shadworth. 
Hodgson.  Edited  by  C.  H.  Hinton  (C.  Kegan  Paul  tfeCo.)  Some  of  the  uapm  hare 
already  been  iu  print,  and  great  interest  attaches  to  some  letters,  whicli  originalljr 
appeared  in  the  Chriatinn  Spudator  (about  eighteen  years  ago) — an  udmirable  pioneer 
periodical  which  WU3  before  its  time;  too  good  for  the  ouly  public  likely  to  find  it 
out;  and,  during  the  Hhort  space  for  which  it  waa  Ira  own  to  the  present  writer, 
heroiciilly,  generously,  and  discriminatingly  edited.  In  a  preface  written  with  much 
grace,  modesty,  and  sonud  judgment,  Mr.  C  H.  Hiatoa  snppUea  what  ia  really  onfl! 
of  the  most  interesting  chaptcra  in  the  volume.  Shyly  nrofepsing  to  have  sa" 
nothing,  he  haa  told  nn  much  of  his  distiiiguiwhed  father.  He  calls  attention  to  t[ 
fact  that  no  extracts  have  been  giveu  fi-om  a  series  of  volumes  which  contains  Sir. 
James  Hinton's  work  from  1857  to  186.>,  aud  again  from  1801'  to  1870. 

*' These  volumes,"  he  continues,  "would  form  the  mo^tavailablesource  to  wlx^cver  wished 
to  make  a  study  of  the  course  and  bearings  of  my  father's  inquiries,  hut  are  hardly  ada|>ted 
for  j^oneral  perusal,  as  they  are  more  a  record  of  his  tliotjglits  in  the  process  aud  order  of 
development  than  an  exposition  of  the  resolis  at  which  he  arrived.  In  order  to  make  tlicir 
couteuta  accessible,  it  is  necessary  to  bring  tngethur  into  uue  part  what  are  oftea 
separated  b^'  many  pages,  aud  to  collate  tliem  with  later  and  unprintcd  mauuscrijits. 
book  thus  fonned,will,  1  hope,  some  timebt*  produced." 

The  book  tobe  "  thus  foruied"  is  Uie  book  that  is  wanted;  but  the  task  of  forming 
it  will  need  a  good  deal  of  "  dry  light,"  perhaps  quite  as  much  of  that  as  of  intellec- 
tual sympathy. 

Among  the  titles  of  the  papers  contained  iti  this  misccllaneoualy  composeii  volume 
are  such  as  llieae  :  "  The  Analog)*  between  Mental  and  Organic  Life ;  *  "  Profewor 
Tyndall  and  the  Religious  Emotioaa  ;"  "Free  Will;"  "  (jenius,"  The  scientific 
papers  are  in  our  opinion  the  moat  satisfactory,  and  of  these  we  give  the  list: — 
" Un  the  Proximiite  Cause  of  Functional  Action;*'  *' Un  Physical  Morphology,  or 
the  Law  of  Organic  Form  ;"  "  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer's  Priuciplesof  Biology;"  vOn  the 
Relations  between  Chemical  DetomjKJsition  and  Nutrition.''  It  is  from  no  scien- 
tific prejudice  that  we  say  we  think  Mr.  Hinton  is  seen  at  his  best  in  the^ie  paperm. 

There  was  a  puBsage  in  the  "Life  aud  Letters"  in  which  the  accomplished 
editor  quoted  Mr.  Hinton  as  one  day  saying  to  her  that  ahe  was  welcome  to 
take  and  use  any  of  his  ideas.  In  the  present  volume  we  tind  Mr.  Hinton 
acknowledging  with  the  utmoHt  acrui)ulosity  his  obligation  to  Sir  William  Gull  for 
a  single  observation  i>n  a  leiif.  IVrhiips  this  may  serve  as  a  correction  of  anv 
doubtful  construction  which  may  have  l)een  read  into  the  former  passage  by 
loosely  jointed  minds.  The  world  ia  none  too  Bcmpulourt  in  .such  matters, — far 
otherwise, —aud  ouly  too  ready  to  juiup  at  any,  the  remotest  hint  of  a  sanction 
for  unjustifiable  use  of  the  labours  of  others.  What  Mi».  Hinton  said  to  Misc 
ElHoe  Hopkins  about  uhing  his  ideas  was  noble  and  good.  Dt.  Amott  ref\i»e<i 
to  patent  the  watcr-be<l,  aud  that  was  noble  and  good.  Uut  ho  would  not  havo 
liked  to  Ree  BomclxHly  else  taking  credit  by  name  for  the  invention.  Woplswortli 
contributed  a  line  or  two  (shocking  bad  lines)  to  Coleridge's  **  Ancient  Mariner/ 
but  it  was  no  secret;  and  the  tendency  to  literary  larceny  is  so  rife  at  presenfc' 
that  there  is  reason  to  be  thankful  for  any  rebuke  of  it,  however  casual. 

In  spite  oi  the  apparently  endless  involutions  and  doublings  of  Mr.  Hinton's 
mind,  a  lime  umst  at  last  have  come  when  the  ultimate  tendency  of  his 
speculations — at  all  events  in  the  region  of  ethics -must  huve  declared  it*eU 
irrevocably  to  others,  if  not  to  himsolf.  Had  not  the  hour  struck  or  begun  tjj 
strike  when  the  pnd  cam*?  ?  Had  he  not  iH'gun  to  susp<vt  it  himsflf  J*  Ha*^!  thi> 
diacovery,    if  such    discovery   there    was,   brought   him  (for   the    time)    nnmiied 

Eleiasare,  or  doubtful  pain  r'  Were  not  aouie  of  the  peculiarities  of  hia  writing, 
ia  '*  fiuxional  method  of  tliinkiug"  as  he  called  it,  and  his  readinesa  to  wind 
old  thought  upon  new  reels,  attributable  in  the  later  years  of  hia  life  to  a  little 
aecret  uneusiness?  Not  distnist  of  the  truth  as  he  saw  it,  but  unwillingueKs 
(the  word  sounils  harsh,  but  is  not  meant  so)  to  commit  hiniHeU'  to  all  he  fore- 
saw it  led  to  ?     The  questiou  is  not  as  to  his  *'  theology  "  i>roper,  if  he  avowed 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


375 


I 


■ny,  but  as  to  hia  ethical  programme.  Among  certain  sections  of  the  classes  among 
whom  his  early  lot  was  cast,  one  might  occasionAlly  hear,  upon  the  premature  with- 
drawal of  a  good  man  from  this  world,  thecommentthatitwa3**amcrcy/'  for  it  spared 
him  pain  which  he  could  not  have  escaped  if  he  had  lived.  We  think  there  is  an 
overwhelming  case  for  the  theory  that  llintou  had  como  to  a  partiujr  of  the  ways — 
Vnew  it — ami  then  sank  under  burdens  which  oth^^ricuft'  he  might  nave  borne.  It 
9eems  to  ua  that  a  more  pathetic  story  was  hardly  ever  told.  The  outside  world 
knows  little  of  the  interior  tragedy  of  the  restless  lives  of  those  who  are  pre- 
eminexitiy  investigators  and  enthusiasts  for  truth.  Of  course  it  would  he  unwise, 
€Tea  if  it  were  very  practicable,  to  show  here  the  ways  in  which  Mr.  Hinton,  at 
about  the  time  of  his  death,  ma^'  have  begnu  to  feel  tnat  ho  muRt  either  make  a 
"  return"  u|>on  himself,  or  go  out  into  the  ivilderuess  once  more.  Besides,  the  secret 
is  in  our  opmion  an  ojieu  one  to  eyes  that  are  open. 

"A  abort  and  popular  account  of  all  the  principal  socialistic  schemes,  from  the 
Reformation  to  the  present  day  [in  fact],  a  short  nistory  of  Socialism,  regarded  a.s 
a  couiseoutive  movement ....  adapting  itself  to  prevailing  social  conditions,  and  passing 
suooessively  through  the  imaginative,  the  critical,  and  scientific  staffes  of  an  evolu- 
tionary process/'  This  h  a  summary  of  the  author*s  own  account  of  a  book  entitled, 
Utopiag ;  or^  Schevu'g  of  Soct'il  Impruvf'iiumt,  from  Sir  Thomas  More  to  Karl  Mane, 
hy  theKev.M.  Kaufmann,M.A.,  Author  of  *'Socialiam:  ItH  Nature,  its  Dangers,  and  its 
Remedies  Considered  "  (C.  Ke^can  Paul  &  Co.),  and  the  volume  is  undoubtedly  a  useful 
one.  More's  "Utopia,"  Bucuti'd  "  New  Atlantis. "  Camuunella'a  "  City  of  tlie  Sun," 
Fottrier,  Cabot,  Owen,  Proudhon,  Lassalle,  and  Karl  Afarx — these  titles  and  names 
win  convey  some  notion  of  the  contents  of  the  volume,  though  not  at  all  a  com- 
plete one.  Of  course  there  is  a  limit  to  what  can  be  got  into  '270  pages,  and  it 
IS  impossible  to  please  everybody,  but  some  of  ur  would  have  been  glad  to  spare 
a  few  of  the  author's  general  observation.'),  and  to  receive  in  their  place  information 
a  little  fuller  and  more  picturesque. 

Mr.  Kaufmann*8  general  conclusion  is,  that  "the  proper  attitude  towards  Socialism 
is  to  regard  it  as  a  movement  of  mankind  towards  progress,  which  requires  to  be 
checked,  and  to  be  conducted  into  safe  channels."  This  is  a  very  safe  and  amiable 
conclnaion,  but  the  writer  of  this  paragraph  holds  that  it  is  utterly  futile.  Any 
"  scientific"  attempt  at  the  reconstniction  of  society  upon  socialistic  prinoiples  must, 
by  inevitable  lo^c,  end  in  man  himself  as  the  only  providence  of  man— ^and  so  in 
atheisju;  and,  in  spite  of  all  this  cunt  (fur  cant  it  is)  about  loving  one  another,  it 
cannot,  by  any  ix>asibility,  leave  a  corner  for  love.  It  must  end  in  a  piggery  of 
plenty  and  pleasantness,  in  which  the  State  or  the  community  i'l  all.  No  "  scientific** 
socialistic  scheme  has  succeeded  in  evading  the  population  problem — nay,  rather,  every 
aocialislic  thinker,  not  to  say  every  scientific  socialist^ees,  at  a  glance,  that  there, 
and  there  only,  is  the  aiir,  and  so  he  Hies  at  the  throat  of  the  problem  to  begin 
with.  Mr.  Kaufmann  utters  one  sentence  about  Fourier's  views  of  the  "  gradual 
improvement  in  the  position  of  women,"  and  then  rides  of!  euphciuiatically  with, 
"JJut  we  cannot  here  enter  upon  this  question."  Of  course,  hu  is  fully  entitled  to 
limit  his  own  scope  in  the  present  work ;  but  those  who  see  no  middle  faith 
between  Individualism  and  Socialism,  and  who  look  with  hatred  and  diagnst  upon 
every  form  of  the  latter,  cannot  be  expected  to  relish  his  way  of  handling  the 
8ul»ject. 

It  is  too  obvious  to  roauire  arguing  that  Individualism  and  Theism  on  the  one 
hand,  and  Socialism  onu  Atheism  on  the  other,  stand  or  fall  together.  Wo  do 
not  find  them  always  united  in  fact,  but  in  logic  they  are  inseparable.  Proudhon 
maintained,  and  unanswerably,  that  "  the  hypothesis  of  a  God"  was  essential  to 
him  OS  an  '*  economist ,"  that  the  **  God-idea  was  "  pre-eminently  social,"  and  then 
went  on  to  explain  that  his  "  God-idea"  wa^i  "  a  necessary  dialectical  tool."  Very 
ncoessar^  indeed,  we  might  reply,  with  irony.  To  every  form  of  Socialism  or  Com- 
munism it  might  be  said.  **  Wnoaocver  shall  fall  upon  tnia  stone  shall  be  broken,  but 
on  whomsoever  it  shall  fall,  it  will  grind  him  to  powder," 

From  Me-Hsrs.  Triibuer  &  Co.  came  to  us,  not  long  ago,  Mental  Travels  in  Imagined 
Lande,  by  Henry  Wright.  The  purely  critical  portion  of  thin  little  l)ook  contains 
Aome  hits,  but  when  we  arrive  at  last  at  the  Utopia  of  Nomunniburgh,  we  liave  to 
fall  back  pretty  often  upon  our  sense  of  humour,  if  we  are  to  read  on.  There  are 
theatres  in  the  city,  but  in  the  plays  represented,  "  half-shades  of  good  and  bad  are 
not  allowed  to  Iwwilder  the  minda  of  the  audience ;"  the  Government  stamps 
out  such  "  half-Bha«lep."     Men  and  women  fall  in  love,  just  as  they  do  here  and 


376 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV, 


now,  and  yet  *'  family  ties  arc  not  considered  more  close  or  binding  than  the  ties  ol 
citizenship,  and  the  proverb  'blood  is  thicker  than  water'  dots  not  apply  there.** 
How  this  result  iu  to  ue  reached  U'  men  and  women  are  to  love  each  other,  is  not 
explained.  Still  more  oddly  and  incousisteutly,  it'  any  breach  of  the  received  sooial 
order  in  a  certain  particular  occurs  at  !Nomuuuiburgh,  the  woman  is  simply  told 
to  go  and  sin  no  more,  while  "  all  punishment,  both  social  aud  legal,  i«t  visited  on 
the  stronger."  llicre  is  something  approaching  broad  burlesque  in  this  cmdrf^ 
reininiscenco  of  old-world  chivalry  nung  pell  mell  into  the  social  conditions  of 
Nomunuiburgh.  In  fact,  to  read  through  these  "  Mental  IVavels"  with  a  wakeful ' 
eye,  is  to  glance  in  small  oomj^^asK  at  most  of  the  inevitable  incousititencies  of  all 
such  schemes — schemes  in  which  the  motive  power  is  dispensed  with — the  walls  of 
resistance,  which  send  the  ball  back,  thrown  down — and  then  everjrthing  goes  on 
as  before,  the  old  data  of  social  dynamics  being  smuggled  iu,  one  by  one,  under 
cover  of  phrases  which  mean  nothing.  Upon  tlie  life  of  the  city  of  Nomunnibnrgli 
as  it  stands  drawn  hero  we  do  not  pretend  to  look  with  much  favour,  but  if  the 
author  will  come  fun^'tird  with  a  treatise,  informing  those  who  live  in  a  Nomuimibtugii 
of  another  kind,  how  they  cau  nevertheless  acquire  "  all  things  richly  to  enjoy,**  we 
shall  gladly  attend  to  him. 


Opening  Studies  in  ihe  Literature  of  Northern  Europe,  by  Edmund  W.  Uosse.  Author 
of  "  Ou  V  iol  and  Flute,"  and  "  King  Krik,"  with  a  frontispiece  designed  and  etched 
by  L.  Alma  Tadema,  A.K.A.  (C.  Kegan  Paul  (feCo.),  aud  turning  to  the  preface  (we 
always  read  prefaces,  and  with  religious  care)  we  came,  the  very  first  thing,  upon  this 
sentence  ; — "  There  would  be  little  instruction  to  be  found  in  the  study  of  foreign 
poetry,  if  it  did  not  throw  Bido-Ughts  upon  onr  own  poetic  history."  Doca  thit'J 
sentence  express  what  the  accomplished  author  intended  to  say  P  Laying  whatever 
stress  may  be  necessary  upon  the  word  histor}%  and  upon  the  word  instraction  (aa 
distinguished  from  stimulation  or  elevation  for  example),  we  fail  to  make  anything  of 
it  i  because,  for  one  thing,  we  cannot  conceive  any  foreign  poetry  however  alien  which 
should  not  throw  some  ^side-light  upon  onr  own  poetic  history" — side-light  being  a 
very  Inrge  word.  Suppose  we  were  to  come  upon  a  poetic  literature  new  to  us  in 
BOmo  obscure  Polynesian  island,  there  might  bo  no  personal  links  between  the 
"foroign"  pocte  aud  ours  ;  but  yet  if  the  poetry  had  a  history,  as  it  must  have,  how 
could  we  escape  catchiug  "side-lights  upon  our  own  poetic  history  P"  But,  in  the 
second  place,  supposing  we  could,  why  would  there  be  "  little  iostructiou"  in  the 
study  ol  the  foreign  poetry?  Begffing  pardon  for  our  captiousuef>8  in  putting  these 
questions,  we  are  entirely  at  one  with  Mr.  Gosse  in  his  view  of  the  value  of  the  plan 
of  looking  at  these  foreign  poeta  in  a  European,  and  not  a  (merely)  local  light.  Ilii 
interesting,  at  all  events,  to  have  the  Dutch  Vondel  and  the  Knglifsh  Milton  placed 
side  by  side,  in  order  that  we  may  examine  their  treatment  of  the  some  sort  of  theme : 
and  so  in  other  cnsea. 

For  the  miscellancoufi  character  of  the  contents  of  this  volume  Ur.  Gosse  offers  an 
apology,  or  at  lea:^t.  gives  a  reason.  Hv  ha»  taken  up  poetic  figures  and  poetic  works 
which  specially  iiitercste<l  himself,  and  relies,  not  without  good  grounds,  upon  their 
interesting  others.  The  book,  indeed,  is  one  to  be  thankful  for,  and,  on  the  whole, 
delightful.  Readers  who  wish  to  "  follow  connecting  links"  and  **  glance  over  the 
historical  plan."  Hr.  Goase  refers  to  his  sketch  of  the  literature  of  Denmark,  in  the 
new  edition  of  the  E^^dojxBdtaBritannioi.i^wX  the  forthcoming  articles  iu  the  same 
work  u|wn  the  htcraturoa  of  Norway  and  Sweden.  This  is  satisfactory  in  itself,  but 
perhaps  a  severe  taste  would  have  excluded  some  chips  in  porridge  which  hardly  even 
historical  or  biographical  "links"  that  have  to  be  iotight  can  make  much  of: — e^^ 
**  In  the  same  year  Hooft  and  his  wife  paid  the  Krombalghs  a  visit  at  their  house  m 
Com  Street,  Alkmaar.  and  when  thoy  rcinrncd  brought  Tesaeltjchade  back  with  them 
to  Mindcn,  while  her  hu»>band  effected  a  change  of  house  into  a  better  locality  in  Long 
Street"  What  was  the  nnit  ?  how  many  rw)ms  were  there  ?  and  how  about  the  little 
tiff  that  Hooft's  wife  had  with  the  Krombalffhs  Y 

Pftesing  over  theee  weighW  matters,  we  gladly  go  on  to  obeerve  that  to  give  these 
"Stndiee  in  Northern  Literature"  to  the  world  of  general  readers,  including 
those  who  Are  lu^t  without  some  special  knowledge  of  their  own  in  snch  topics,  woa** 
good  work.  Bjiirnsou,  Ibsen,  Paludan-MUller  were  familiar  names ;  and  the  "  OerA^ 
Linda  Boalc/*  Tesselschade,  and  Vondel  were  not  altogether  strange.  Nor  were ' 
Hotberff's  Gomediee.  The  aooonnt  ol  the  Danish  Theatre  is  venr  charming,  and  we 
almoet  Ibrgive  the  gentle  violence  by  whidi  the  sketch  of  the  *'  Lofoden  Islands  "  ie 
wedded  in  among  the  purely  liteiaij  papers.    Mr.  Gosse  translates  a  large  x>ortion 


CONTEMPOIhiRY  BOOKS. 


377 


I 


of  the  poetry  lie  critioifies  or  doacrib^a,  and  presents  ua  in  au  Appendix,  rcuicliiog 
forty  paffcs,  with  the  original  toxt  of  whatever  he  haa  rendered  into  EugUsb.  Re- 
mcmoenng  the  fetters  of  strict  "  imitation*  (as  to  fonu)  with  which  Mr.  Gossc  luia 
Vound  himself,  the  reader  who  possesses  the  version  of  "  Arne,"  puhUhhed  by  ilr. 
Struhjui  in  186tJ,  may  profitably  compare  Mr.  Gobso's  rendering  of  BjiJrnson'a  lyric, 
*'  I  Skog«n  Smoo^tten  gik  Dagen  lan^,"  with  the  much  freer  and  more  musical  and 
afiectiaK  traualation  in  the  former  volume.  In  the  judgment  of  the  present  writer 
thit  lync  is  one  of  utterly  unaarpaasuble  beauty.  Conipare  with  it,  however,  some  of 
the  hnest  lines  Mr.  Eobert  Buchanan  haa  produced — "Londou  Poems,"  I86t>,  p.  1^1, 
beginning — 

"And  too  late  oomea  the  reTelatioa" 
and  ending — 

"  A  pipe  wberoon  to  play** 
We  can  promise  that  no  one  who  takes  the  trouble  to  make  these  references  will  regret 
the  labour.  It  is  iropossihlo  to  read  either  the  Bjcimson  or  Biiobanun  linu^  without 
tears,  and  though  the  thought  is  not  the  same  in  both,  the  kinship  uf  the  root  idea  is 
both  Mubtle  and  strong.  Howewr  pleasant  this  book  is,  we  are  entitled  to  ispeak  with 
seTcrity  of  the  extreme  poverty,  not  to  say  slovenliness,  of  its  Contents,  and  the 
total  want  of  an  Index.  A  good  Table  of  Contents  would  have  doubled  the  value  of  the 
eeaays  and  sketches,  and  it  would  have  been  no  great  stretch  of  good  nature  towards 
the  reader  if  the  extracts  in  the  Appendix  had  referred  him  back  to  the  pages  on 
which  the  translations  occurred. 

The  hves  of  musicians  are  nearly  always  pleasant  reading,  in  spite  of  the 
nambvpamby  extravagances  of  those  who  write  them.  It  is  not  everybody  who 
baa  the  free,  bold  touch  of  Hr.  Haweis,  or  who  can  strengthen  by  reference  to 
gcsieral  principles  passages  which  would  otherwise  be  weak.  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  truth  in  the  words  of  one  of  Chopin's  critics,  when  he  called  the  young 
muaician's  gift  **  un  talent  do  chambro  do  malade;"  but  the  fuscinutton  and  the 
power  are  undeniable;  though  the  power  is,  to  quote  a  great  unmortal,  "a  power 
girt  about  with  weukue^a,"  and  the  head  of  the  toue^poet.  like  that  of  the  master  in 
won3-maeic,  is  "bound  with  ]>ansies  overblown."  We  have  l>efore  ua  Frvdenc 
Chopit^  hU  Life,  Letterg,  and  U'crku,  by  Moritz  Karosowski.  With  a  portrait  of 
Chopin,  and  fac-similo  of  the  Ori^nal  Draught  of  lua  Prelude  in  E  minor,  <Jp.  28, 
No.  4.  Translated  liy  Emily  Hill.  {William  Reeves) ;  only  the  "fac-simile  of  the  prelude 
in  E  minor"  is  wantint*  in  our  ropy.  The  portrait  of  this  astonishing  yonng  Polish 
composer  is  very  characteristic  and  full  of  instruction.  Whether  his  character  has 
more  weakness  or  btreugth  in  it  would  be  too  nice  a  question  for  casual  discussion  ; 
hot  he  was  ae«uredly  not  a  mauly  man.  There  was  no  true  force  in  his  breaking 
chairs  when  enrace*!  with  his  pupils,  and  there  was  something  intensely  mean  in  his 
allowing  George  Sand  to  write  to  his  mother  the  letter  he  was  bound  to  ^vrite  him- 
self. His  character  is  painted  with  painful  truthfuluesa  in  "  Lucrezia  Floriani," 
and  however  pnzzUng  it  may  be  to  partizon  friondd  of  Chopin,  impartial  thinkers 
will  not  aa-ept  their  angry  reading  of  hia  relations  with  the  great  writer.  When  a 
man  or  woman  of  genius  puts  itn  actual  likeuebs  into  a  book,  it  is  usually  done  under 
a  sort  of  spell ;  the  left  hand  does  not  know  what  the  right  hand  does.  Of  course, 
however,  this  does  not  apply  to  mere  squib- portraits  like  Disraeli's  Croker.  Wise 
men  will  couclnde  that  George  Sand  did  a  good  thing  for  /n'm,  when,  at  her  age  and 
with  ("hildren  of  her  own,  she  rofujied  to  marry  him— even  apart  from  all  question  of 
her  own  avowed  principles  of  action.  There  is,  indeed,  but  little  use  in  discusaiug 
such  matters ;  for  the  whole  of  the  story  is,  in  the  nature  of  things,  inaccessible. 
Bat  a  word  of  caution  was  necessary,  as  this  memoir  takes,  indeed  parades,  a  highly 
sentimental  mrtiTAu  view  of  the  matter.  George  Sand  was  a  laay  "  of  a  certain 
ap?/'  but  still  handsome,  very  strong,  and  of  unusnal  firmness.  steaiUness,  and  sim- 
pUcity  of  character ;  with  another  faith  and  code,  she  might  have  been  Lady 
Fan^nawe  or  Lncy  Hutchinson— the  Bass  rock  <.lid  not  stand  tirmer.  Chopin  was  a 
rery  delicate  man— almost  boy — who  would  (it  ia  frankly  admitted)  break  chairs 
when  in  a  passion,  and  take  oflonoe  at  a,  shadow.  Besidea,  no  was  a  Roman  Catholic, 
and  never  gave  up  the  moral  code  of  that  faith.  Hu  waa  always  ill,  and  full  of 
auperstitions  fancies ;  while  George  Sjiud,  a  very  healthy  woman,  was  a  resolute 
Bohemian.  Poor  Chopin  loved  civUized  luxury,  loved  it  even  to  effeminacy  and 
morbidity  ;  while  George  bond's  dying  worda  (about  her  own  gmve)  were  "  Laissca 
la  verdure."  Chopin  would  run  away  and  hide  at  the  sight  of  a  dirty  face ;  George 
Sand  would,  with  her  own  hand,  nurse  the  foulest  wretch  in  a  lazar-houae.  What 
doe«  common  sense  say  to  all  that  ? 


78 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIRIV. 


One  can  ncc  Utile  to  attrftft  Tiaaty  rea4?rfl  in  the  Tolnme,  but  there  mn-^t  \n*  a 
oonsiderablo  nnblic  of  studious  and  thoughtful  ppraons,  to  whom  w*»  are  «afe  in 
commeuding  The  Poctirftl  W'orki  of  Hohcrt  Sfcjthen  Hawhyt;  Viror  of  3/(>n/*''»«irtir, 
ComwalU  now  first  collected  and  armnged.  with  a  prefatory  notice  by  J.  G.  Godwin, 
(C.  Keeau  Paul  &  Co.) 

There  is  an  **  experience*'  known  to  every  quick-sighted  reviewer,  which  it  la  not 
i-asy  to  indicate  in  five  wordn.  A  packet  ot  bookfl  comes  to  him  for  examination,  in- 
cluding probably  some  volumes  of  verse.  Perhaps  he  looks  first  of  all  at  these,  and 
f  r^rms  rough  estimates  of  them  all,  but  lays  them  aTtide  for  "  the  morning'a  refiection/* 
01*  rather  tor  the  freshness  and  rested  calmneas  of  the  morning'w  impression,  Abont 
half  a  dozen  of  these  volumes  are  verse.  He  feels  pretty  sure  tliey  are  of  the  sort  that 
Itad  better  be  left  to  sink  ur  nw'im  by  themselves  ;  about  two  or  three  he  is  in  doubt ; 
abont  one»  we  will  suppose,  he  instantly  decides  that  the  work  is  individual,  and 
shows  signs  of  high  culture,  though  there  is  not  much  to  say  about  it.  On 
looking  carefully,  in  the  morning,  at  the  five  or  six  volumes  that  promised  pretty  well, 
he  finds  in  nearly  every  case  that  his  first  judgment  was  too  easy,  and  that  they 
are  worthless.  But  thodccideilimpreHflion  about  the  one  peculiar  volume  remains,  and 
Homcthing  induces  hiui  to  put  the  book  on  the  Hhelves,  with  n  sort  of  feeling  that  he 
will  kuow  more  about  the  author  and  his  writings  one  of  these  days.  That  in  exactly 
what  took  place  with  reganl  to  a  former  and  smaller  collection  of  poems,  by  th& 
"Viojir  of  Morwenstow,  which  reacheil  the  hands  of  the  present  writer  many  years  ago ; 
he  put  the  book  by  in  a  comer,  and  the  worhl  his  lately  hoard  moro  than  was  neceManr 
about  its  author.  There  was  in  the  f«)rmer  volarae.  as  there  in  in  this,  a  frank, 
<|uaiut,  mediaeval  something  or  other,  which  blended  ho  curiously  with  the  results  of 
modem  culture,  and  a  taste  evidently  formed  largely  on  Byron-Moor©  models,  that 
the  curiosity  of  the  reader  was  piqued— oue  wanted  to  know  something  aboat  the 
man  himself,  especially  as  an  almost  childish  love  of  praise  disclosed  itself  here  and 
there,  and  some  of  tlio  writing  was  really  good.  In  tlie  present  enlarged  collection, 
with  n  fine  portrait,  the  same  frank  love  of  praise  is  exhibited.  **  It  would  cheer  me," 
wrote  Mr.  Hawker,  late  in  life,  *'  if  my  poems  could  be  made  tangible,  formy  littlcones 
to  bo  able  to  say,  'This  my  father  wrote.  These  thoughts  were  his.  He  had  good 
images  once  in  nis  mijiJ.'"  Well,  Mr.  Hawker  had  "gcwd  images  ouce  in  his  mmd." 
iSorae  of  the  ballads  and  the  "  Quest  of  the  Songraal"  show  gift«  of  an  order  not 
much  cultivated  nowadays,  but  j^enuine;  and  the  stroutf  human  feeling  of  the  man, 
with  his  intense  simplicity  of  faitli,  would  alone  make  tnc  book  interesting,  even  to 
thoae  who  had  not  glanced  at  the  queer  bjogTaj)hical  controversies  about  aim.  As 
for  the  quointnens  and  the  simplicity,  let  the  followinc  abbreviated  footnote  to  one  of 
the  poems  speak  for  itself : — "  1  recommend  the  slanuerertj  of  God's  senrants  .... 
to  read,  carefully  aud  thoroughly,  the  works  of  Gretser.  published  in  Latin,  in 
■eventeen  folio  volumes,  at  Ratisbou,  1731-41.  R.  S.  H.,  Yicor  of  Morwcostow, 
Shrove  Tuesday,  1849." 

Jlr.  Hawker'.^  likenet^s  is  an  interesting  study  to  the  physiognomist,  and  above  all 
to  the  cranioscopist.  Such  a  head  is  rarely  seen  in  any  religions  communion  hut 
the  Romish  or  the  very  *' high"  Anglican.  His  grandfather  was  Dr.  Robert 
Hawker  the  Calvinist — author  ot  a  book  which  was  once  held  precious  as  mbies  in 
thousands  of  serious  honsehold?,  which  still  sells  largely  in  the  provinces,  and  may 
still  be  found  here  and  there,  treasured  as  a  classic  by  the  side  of  "Hcrvey's  Medita- 
tions." or  (to  take  a  leap  from  fillh-rate  to  fir?t-rate  iMjoks  of  the  sort)  ''Ba&ter's 
Saints*  Rest,"  or  "  Howe  s  Tiiving  Temple." 

Mr.  R.  S.  Hawker  is  one  more  illustration  of  that  tendency  of  the  High  CalviniH 
type  to  become  High  Church  within  a  generation  or  two,  which  the  curious  in  such 
matterB  may  have  noticed.  He  died  in  the  Romish  communion.  The  reasons  an* 
not  far  to  seek,  but  the  fact  is  noteworthy. 

With  much  regret  that  this  Revikw  could  not  spare  the  space  for  the  whold  of 
any  one  of  Mr.  Hawker's  longer  poems,  wo  qnotc  a  verse  or  two  of  a  fox-hunin-; 
ballad  :— 

**0n  the  ninth  of  November,  in  the  year  fifty-two. 
Three  jolly  fox  hunters,  iill  aona  of  true  blue. 
They  ro<le  from  Pencarrow,  not  fearing  a  wet  coat, 
To  take  their  diversion  with  Arswtt  «>f  Tuttjolt. 

Wlicn  Monday  was  come,  right  early  nt  mom, 
John  Aruott  arose,  aud  lie  took  down  his  horn; 
Ho  save  it  a  fiouhsh  so  loud,  iu  the  hall. 
£Iftcn  heard  the  gUd  samnions  and  came  at  the  coll. 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


379 


I 


I 


^^^^^H  Tbuy  heard  It  with  pleasttio,  but  Webb  was  first  dreued, 

^^^^^H  Huaolriui;  to  give  a  cold  pig  to  the  rcat  ; 

^^^^^V  Bold  Bub  aud  tho  Britun,  tney  buttiuod  down  stairs — 

^^^^^m  It  wat^mfrait^  tUought  they  negltcted  their  pra^ert. 

^^^^^B  Tbej  pricked  it  Alon^  to  Beckct  and  Thorn, 

^^^^^K  And  tbore  tlie  oKl  tb>gB  they  set  out,  I'll  be  swora; 

^^^^^"  Twas  UiiigwuiHl  and  RaUv,  with  capital  nceiit« 

^^r  BoU  Pnuo«ft«  aud  Madcap — good  fitxl  how  they  went!*" 

One  Mark  John  was  a  jeifter,  or  prufestuoual  fool,  aud  Mr.  Hawker  addd  tbii  very 
simple-hearted  note  coacurniug  him  : — 

**  Tlie  Uftt  of  the  Jesters.  He  lived  with  tlic  bounds,  aud  ran  unth  the  boaoda.  and  rare 
wmB  the  ran  when  John  was  not  in  at  the  dcatli.  His  oflice  it  waa  by  many  a  practical  jukt.* 
to  MP  we  Mr.  Aracott^s  rucsts  ;  among  them  swalluwing  live  mice  aud  aparrow-iumubUug 
bad  freqneut  place.  **  There  they  go,"  alioutcd  John,  when  the  fox  waa  found,  and  the  dogs 
went  on  in  full  cry- "  there  they  gu,  like  our  madam  at  home  !" 

The  man  who  wrote  thih  bunting  8ong  believed  uiost  devoutly  that  no  anbaptiifed 
creature  could  ever  bavo  the  beatiHc  vision,  aud  wrote  sacred  ballads  for  cottagers,  to 
remind  them  of  their  duties  to  their  babies  in  thia  regard  I  Mr.  Godwin's  pre* 
fatory  memoir  represents  him  as  abenefactorto  Monvenstow,  and  altogether  be  must 
hare  been  a  moat  original  fellow.  If  be  had  lived  ages  ago,  and  been  a  IJruid  con- 
wrtttd  to  Christianity,  he  would  have  been  very  conservative  of  DruiiUo  ntcs  and 
customs,  and  would  have  reverted  on  his  death-bed  to  the  ancient  pagan  faith. 
About  hiii  superstitiousness — which  appeara  to  have  been  extreme — there  was  some- 
thing decideoly  heathenish. 

There  are  some  dramas  among  recently-published  books,  and  a  few  of  them  are 
too  good  to  be  passed  over,  though  none  aro  of  commanding  merit.  Mr.  Mcrivale 
wrote  to  the  Tun^pti  few  months  ago  a  letter  about  dramatic  literature,  in  which,  as 
we  rememlwr  him,  he  complained  of  the  ditficulty  there  was  in  getting  plays  read  as 
literAture.  It  was  not  the  old  complaint  of  what  bappfus  to  plays  sulmiitte^l  to 
nuuiAgers  by  outsiders,  bat  another  matter.  Mr.  Me ri vale  had,  one  time,  sent  a 
drama  to  a  London  publisher,  favourably  dinposetl  towards  him,  and  it  had  Ijeen 
returned  by  the  publisher  with  the  remark  that  be  was  no  judge  of  theatrical  matters 
(this,  we  think,  was  the  su1>stance  of  the  passage).  But,  wrote  Mr.  Merivale,  what 
he  wanted  was  to  get  the  play  read  aa  literature — and  that  was  the  difficulty.  Now 
it  ia  quite  true,  we  suspect,  that  both  pubUshera  and  reviewers  are  apt  to  turn  away 
from  dramatic  writing,  and  the  rea^ous  arc,  HOme  oftbeiu  at  least,  all  but  obvious. 
In  reading  a  drama  fur  the  first  time  the  mind  has  to  fill  u])  so  many  gaps  that  the 
perusal  is  a  work  of  much  labour,  demanding  lime,  quiet,  and  coiicentrutetl  applica- 
tion. These  are  not  always  at  one's  service.  If,  imleed,  a  drama  be  of  high  and 
commanding  quality,  it  is  all  but  sure  to  got  read  —though  oven  to  this  rule  there 
ve  strong  exceptions.  However.  Kiugsley's  "Saints'  Tra^eily."  Taylor's  "  l^hilip 
Van  Artevelde, '  and  even  dramatic  poijms  of  lower  rank,  like  Ht^lps's  "OuHta  the 
Serf,"  are  works  of  a  sort  that  at  once  arrest  the  attention.  VVe  may  say  that 
three  thingR  especially  are  necessary,  if  a  play  is  to  get  read.  The  story  must 
be  eaay  to  tuke  into  the  mind.  The  historic  or  other  background  most  be  such  that 
the  reader  can  immediately  set  up  in  bis  brain  the  nccosaary  theatre  and  scenery, 
and  the  dialogue  muitt  at  once  &i^f.  These  conditions  are  not  easily  satisfied,  even 
by  a  writer  who  has  a  strong  aud  over-mastering  dramatic  faculty. 

Among  the  dramatic  pieces  before  us,  two  have  attracted  us  for  more  than  a 
passing  glance.  The  first  is  Bii'tn  Born^  a  Tragedy. by  J.  T.  K.  (Longmans);  the 
second  is  Mn-rtin  Luther,  a  Trageily,  in  tivo  acts,  by  George  Moore,  author  of 
'•  Klowers  of  Passion,"  and  Bernard  Lopez,  collaborateur  de  Scribe,  Mary  Augnste 
ljtfTh.act  Theophile  Gautier,  Alexander  Dumas  ptVe,  Ac.  (Hemingt^in  and  Co.) 
**Brian  Boru  "  attracts   us  by  tho  modei*ty  and  brevity  of  the  preface ;    "  Martin 

itlier,".  by  the  leugtli  aud  splasbiness  of  tlie  preface,  which  (wo  speak  of  the  latter 
i)  consists  of  a  long  correspondence  l>etwcen  Mr.  Beruanl  Loi>ez  and  Mr.  CJeorge 
Moore.  In  both  cases  the  story  is  told  with  considerable  vivacity,  and  the  "  situa- 
tions" are  good.  In  both,  too,  there  is  effective  writing ;  and  in  "  Brian  Boru"  there 
aro  faint«  here  and  there  of  thinga  worth  doing— for  example  :^ 

**  Who  is  this, 
Tliat  foots  it  on  the  hill  so  royally, 
As  it  the  siglit  of  hiui  woidd  beod  our  knees  V 


880 


THE   CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


Again — 

"  HoW ! 
I  am  no  more  a  Bnppliaut !    At  tlie  last 
I  throw  the  rags  of  supplicatiou  off. 
And  wrap  my  courage  1*011011  me  like  a  queen." 

Withont  knowing  more  than  that  this  is  "  a  first  and  tentative  effort/'  it  ia  impos- 
sible to  Bay  more  of  "  Brian  Boru"  than  that  we  could  conceive  it,  aftor  much  catting 
down,  made  into  an  effective  acting  play  t  but  theu  the  "  local  colour/'  of  which  the 
author  admita  the  absence,  would  nave  to  be  supplied.  For  writing  a  good  closet 
dmnia  the  author  does  not  appear  to  us  to  have  the  power. 

Certainly  "  Martin  Luther'  Is  no  closet  drama,  and  in  its  present  form  it  would 
not  betoleratod  hj  an  English  nndience  in  a  theatre,  any  more  than  a  sham  prayer- 
meeting.  There  is  no  want  of  "  local  colour'*  here,  and  the  anthors  have  gone  so 
far  ns  to  explain  how  parts  may  l>c,  in  actors'  phrase,  '*  doubled,"  and  that  the  pub- 
lishers are  authorised  to  treat  with  mauagers  on  the  terms  of  reprcsentittion ! 

But  to  return  to  the  point  started  by  Mr.  Merivalo.  There  is  nothing  in  eithor 
of  these  dramas  which  would  induce  a  busy  publisher  or  a  busy  reviewer  to  read 
them  carefully  through,  ^vith  an  eye  to  the  fornuilntion  of  any  elal>orat«  judgment. 
In  one  case  we  have  an  Irish  story  of  the  eleventh  century,  and  the  author  tells  you 
to  your  face  that  big  reading  does  not  snpnly  liim  with  materials  for  "  local  colour/' 
in  the  other,  when  we  note  the  delibt;ration  with  which  the  authors  liave  set  tbem* 
selves  to  make  playwrights'  capital  out  of  the  story  of  Luther,  we  turn  away,  hope- 
less. It  is  ouite  true  that  the  drtunatist  must  ue  impartial,  but  be  must  not  be 
6ashy  and  inaiOTerent. 


IIL—HISTORY    AND    LITERATURE    OF    THE   EAST. 

( UndoT  the  Direelwn  of  Professor  B.  H.  Falmjuu) 

TllK  career  of  Yakoob  Beg,  which  stimulated  Mr.BDulger(Ya/iWot  5tjy,  Katthyart 
byD.  (J.Boulger:  W.H.  AUenA  Co.,  Loudon,  1878)  to  write  a  book  on  Kaahgar, 
is  rather  an  episode  thiiu  the  chief  subject  of  his  history,  and  may,  indeed,  be 
disposed  of  in  few  worda.  Born  in  1820  of  a  resj^ectable  Tajik  famil3r  in  a  little  town 
of  Khokand,  he  owed  hia  first  employment  to  his  sister's  marriage  with  the  Governor 
of  Tashkent.  His  first  considcraolc  exploit  was  the  gallant  but  unavailing  defence 
of  Ak  Mufijid  against  the  RuHsians  in  18o3;  and  then  was  not  more  notable  for  bis 
gallantry  than  for  the  ready  transfer  of  his  services  from  one  to  another  of  the  pre- 
tenders to  the  throne  of  Khokand,  until,  in  l«iJ4,  he  was  attached  to  BuzurgKhan, 
the  Khoja  pretender  to  Kashgar  on  the  destruction  of  the  Cliinese  power,  who 
crossed  the  frontiers  with  a  party  numbering  but  sixty -eight,  and  whose  cowanlioo 
and  faithlessness  to  his  chief  servant  were  htly  rewarded  by  deposition  from  hie 
scarcely  won  throne  before  the  end  of  1805,  and  a  few  months  later  by  banishment. 

The  dcBtruction  of  the  Chinese  power  dates  from  1862,  and  was  caused  by  a  ruvolt, 
due  to  obscure  causes,  of  the  Tunganis— who  seem  tn  differ  only  in  religion  from  the 
main  body  of  the  Chinese  nation — but  slaugbteredtbcir  Buddhist  fellow-countrymen 
\rithout  mercy,  as  they  coiUd  not  be  supposed  to  regard  with  favour  a  stranger,  even 
of  theirown  faith,  who  Imd  intcrvenetl  to  robtliem  of  their  hard-won  independence. 
Yakoob  Beg  found  it  nocessaTy  to  reduce  them  to  order  by  regular  operations  in 
18<37,  and,  unfortunately,  under  the  iniluence  of  sectarian  jealousy,  renewed  the  war 
in  lb69,  80  exposing  himKcll'  to  the  full  force  of  Chinese  invasion  ;  depriving  himself 
of  the  aid  Tuuganis  might  have  given  in  his  armies,  and  giving  Russia  a  pretence  for 
ijcizing  Ili,  as  though  saving  it  from  his  clutches  for  China,  the  ancient  oyer-lonL 
Alter  this  fatal  war,  he  remained  substantially  at  peace,  till  in  the  autumn  of  187ti 
thfl  Chinese  reiijtpenred  in  great  force  north  of  the  Tien  8ha4i,  and  forced  him  to  take 
the  lieid  in  the  spring  of  the  next  year.  Uut-mancuuvred  and  out-norabered  he  bow 
himself  like  a  gallant  soldier ;  even  the  desertion  of  a  largo  part  of  liis  army  did  not 
break  his  spirit,  and  ho  was  btill  on  the  defensive  at  Korla  wnen  he  was  assaflsiaatod 
in  May,  1877,  but  a  few  weeks  after  his  last  defeat  atToksoun, 

It  is  hard  now  to  understand  why,  for  a  time,  Yakoob  Beg  occupied  so  large  a 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


881 


I 


place  in  the  Kngli^h  mind.  To  Knssia,  indeed,  occupied  in  diHint«|7ratia^  the  Klmuat«8 
of  Central  Asia,  he  was  of  importance,  on  account  of  the  weight  he  might  throw  into 
the  scale  at  the  extremity  of  her  Kmpire,  and  tolhia  cause  we  mavprobahly  attribute 
the  etkgeruesH  with  which  she  soieed  the  commanding'  position  of  lli :  and  Ku^land, 
therefore,  was  interested  in  him  as  a  possible  ally  in  a  war  with  Ktissia  :  but  there 
never  waa  ground  for  the  fancy  pictures  of  the  Atbalik  Ghazi  and  his  State,  and 
the  adTantages  to  be  drawn  from  intercourse  with  both.  As  his  chosen  title  proved, 
he  was  a  bi^te<l  Mohammedan  -,  obHcrvance  of  Mohnmmedun  law  and  cuxiomf)  was 
enforced  with  narrow  riyour ;  and  thoui^h  undoubtcJly  he  was  a  man  of  eicejitional 
ability,  no  point  about  his  internal  ndminiiilratiau  eoems  novel  or  deserving  of  special 
notice.  IntercoiirMj  with  foreign  States  he  would  tolerate,  but  desired  it  only  so  far 
as  it  might  strengthen  hia  military  powers  ;  and  he  seems  to  have  preferred  English 
to  RasBians  only  because  they  were  larther  away,  had  done  less  harm  to  Islam,  and 
could  do  leas  harm  to  him. 

But  enough  of  Yakoob  Beg.  Of  more  interest  and  more  irajwrtance  to  tlie  political 
fitadent  is  the  past,  present,  and  future  of  Chioe^e  rule  in  Eastern  Tnrkeston. 
Corresponding  exactly  iti  latitude  with  the  Spauii^h  peninsula,  it  has  also  a  climate 
closely  resembling  that  of  parts  of  Spain,  and  sJiuilar  varied  mineral  wealth  ;  but 
whereaa  the  one  country  is  washed  on  all  sides  b}'  seas  which  pluce  it  in  communica- 
tion with  all  the  world,  the  other  is  hemmed  in  by  barriers  of  mountain  and  desert, 
which  almost  hermeticalU-  seal  it  against  the  Pnterprising  traveller.  Its  population 
is  almost  entirely  Turanian  in  blood,  though  Mohammedan  in  faith,  until  it» 
reconquest  by  the  Chinese  in  l7o3  brought  back  many  settlers  of  the  ancient  Buddhist 
faith.  Its  history  ht^fore  that  conquest  is  now  matter  of  only  antiqnariau  interest. 
The  rivalries  of  the  Karataghluc  and  the  Aktaghluc.  the  black  and  the  white 
mountaineers,  whose  inlluence  respectively  on  Tarkand  and  the  South,  Kashgar 
and  the  North,  are  the  only  survivals  of  more  ancient  days,  which  may  still  anect 
the  foture. 

Korth  of  the  Tien  Shan  lies  the  district  of  Hi,  Kuldja,  or  Jungaria,  sometimes 
snbiect  to  the  rulers  of  Kashgar,  whose  territorj*  it  commands,  but  held  in  the  Brst 
hall  of  the  lost  century  by  Calmucs,  who  ruled  Kashgar  through  a  dependent  Prince. 
Invited  by  one  of  two  rivals  for  the  supreme  power  in  lli,  the  Chinese  made  themselves 
masters  of  that  territory,  and  then  allowed  their  agent  to  foment  discord  in  Kuahgnr, 
which  facilitate*!  the  subjugation  of  that  country  also.  VHien  resistance  ceased,  the 
Chinese  promptly  set  about  developing  the  resources  of  their  new  territory,  and 
raised  it  to  a  jjitch  of  prosperity,  and  drew  from  it  revenues,  beyond  the  belief  of 
persons  now  visiting  Kashgar.  Carefully  planned  imgation  works  economised  the 
scanty  rainfall,  and  extended  the  cultivation,  now  existing  only  in  belts,  round  and 
between  the  principal  cities,  far  along  the  southern  9lo|>eB  of  the^rien  Shan,  while  the 
variooB  mineral  de]K>sita  were  extensively  worked,  and  a  mountain  road  through  the 
Hu2&rt  Pass,  constructed  with  great  labour,  and  kept  in  repair  b>- relays  of  workmen, 
maintainedthe  communication  between  the  Govpmor-(  icncrul  at  lli  and  his  lieutenant, 
the  Araban,  at  Yarkand.  The  country  was  garrisoned  by  an  enormousChinoRC  army, 
and  the  highest  civil  offices  were  held  by  men  of  the  same  race ;  but  the  administration 
of  justice  and  the  collection  of  revenue  were  left  U>  native  officers.  So  long  as  a  man 
kept  quiet  and  paid  bis  duea,  the  rulers  cared  nothing  about  his  religion  or  morality  ; 
tUe  Amban  and  the  Mohammedan  Wang  worke<l  well  together,  and  the  foreigners 
might  be  trusted  to  protect  the  taxi)ayer  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Wang:  but  this 
sUUe  of  peaee  was  disturbed  by  a  new  clement  introduced  by  Chinese  policy. 

The  desire  of  the  Chinese  to  promote  trade  with  the  West  encouraged  many 
merchuits  of  Kliokand  to  settle  in  their  cities,  and,  by  degrees,  the  recognised  chiefs 
o£  IhaseoommuuitiVu.  under  the  title  of  Akaakals,  were  allowed  to  free  themselves 
from  the  control  of  the  Waujfs.  One  check  on  their  power  of  intrigue  was  thus 
removed,  and  their  opportumties  of  doing  mischief  were  increased  when  about  1817 
the  Khan  of  Khokund  was  bribed,  by  a  subsidy  and  permission  t*^  levy  dues  on 
Andijani  trade  in  Kushgar  through  the  Aksakals,  t^  keep  the  eriled  Khoja  dynasty 
~^''  ;  of  course  the  Khan  kept  his  bargain  only  till  oU  things  seemed  in  train 
successful  revolt,  and  in  1820  the  Khnja  Jehangir  was  encouraged  to  make  a 
for  the  throne.  At  firat,  the  revolt  was  successful,  but  soon  it  was  put  down 
with  the  utmost  sexerity,  and  with  this  severity  passed  away  the  concord  between 
the  ruling  and  the  subject  peoples.  Unhappily,  tne  Aksakals  were  allowed  the  same 
opportunities  of  doing  mischief,  if  at  much  personal  risk  ;  and  many  other  raids  and 
ruongs  followed,  causing  misery  to  the  people,  but  leaving  the  Cuinese  masters  in 
Kashgar,  till  the  Tnng&ni  insurrection  in  1862  cut  off  tlieir  communication  with 


382 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


Ohina,  and  incited  the  native  Kashgaria  to  riae  tn  earnest :  the  heroic  defence  of 
Chinese  garriaons  was  useless,  and  too  coantr/  on  both  aides  of  the  Tien  Shan  passed 
uway  from  ChiiiCRe  Bway.  aa  it  seemed,  for  ever. 

Now,  aji  we  have  seen,  the  Chinese  have  returned,  and  by  the  end  of  1877  were 
mastera  in  Kashj^ar.  To  us  who  may  again  have  to  meet  the  Cbinese  on  the  seaboanl 
it  is  important  to  notice  that  the  vctorans  of  the  Tunganis  war  seem  to  be  drilled  on 
Bouie  European  model,  to  h3  well  armed  with  mo<lern  weapons,  which  they  handle 
well,  Jiud  to  bo  led  by  men  of  ability,  trained  in  modern  fltratt*gy.  Those  who  would 
judi^'G  of  their  chances  of  permanent  prosperity  in  Kashgar  will  observe  the  express 
declaration  of  the  PcUln  Gazette  that  the  people  wore  allowed  to  retnrn  t*j  their  fields, 
and  spared  the  expected  massacres,  a  statement  to  be  reconciled  with  Kntidian  rc|>ortH 
by  rememberinjj  that  the  hitter  spoke  of  masaacrea  in  cities,  and  no  presumably 
among  the  garrison.  And  the  student  of  Asiatic  politics  will  note  that  they  at  once 
claimed  from  Russia  the  retrocession  of  Hi,  ami  have  never  ceased  to  press  their  claims. 

*'Thns  at  the  present  time.'*  concludes  Mr.  Boulger,  "there  remain  bat  three 
Asiatic  powers,  and  any  two  may  impose  their  will  on  the  third.  To  which  then  of 
the  western  riviils  is  the  influence  of  Cnina  likely  to  be  given  ?  From  England  she  has 
met  nothing  hut  oiH*n  hostility,  and  by  Kngland  her  vassal  states  of  Nepal.  Bnrmah, 
Siam  have  been  euconraged  in  revolt.  From  Kussiashe  baa  met  none  but  pretended 
friendship,  a  frieudiihip  which  she  most  see  has  imposed  nothing  but  sa^Titices.  and 
is  now  iUu.struted  by  the  resolute  retention  of  Ui,  a  territory  which  indeed  Russia 
has  ruled  well,  ami  dares  not  surrender,  for  fear  of  the  shock  such  surrender  would 
give  to  her  prestige.  Let  then,  England  return  from  her  evil  courses  and  China  will 
be  her  frieud  for  over." 

.Such  is  Mr.  Boulder's  couulunion,  and  tliis  conclusion  we  do  not  intend  to  discuss. 

From  internal  evidence  we  should  infer  that  Mr.  Boulger  is  greatly  interested  in 
China,  but  is  ignorant  of  the  langiiages  and  the  nations  of  Oentnil  Asia,  save  through 
his  reading  for  the  work  we  have  lieen  noticing.  We  may  therefore  i»uiut  out  one  or 
two  seeming  errors  before  laying  aside  this  interesting  hook.  In  one  page  he  carefoUv 
instructs  us  that  a  Tajik  is  of  the  Persian  race,  as  opposed  to  the  Turk  or  the  Tartar, 
so  conclasively  disproves  the  descent  from  Timnr  wliich  on  the  page  before  he  has 
inclined  to  assign  to  the  Tujik  Yakoob.  We  read  cf  the  "  Ameer  of  Affghani.^tan'*  in 
1760  ;  the  tirst  Amir  was  Doyt  Mahomed,  who  did  not  venture  to  assume  the  royal 
title  of  Shah ;  on  his  death  it  was  doubtful  whether  or  not  hia  uticcessors  would  be  as 
modest.  What  appendage  to  the  title  of  Amir  gave  it  the  sanctity  which  Mr. 
Boulger  ascribes  to  it  we  cannot  tell,  hut  are  pretty  contidunt  that  a  rigid  Soonui  Uks 
ihe  Atalik  fJhar.i  would  not  have  put  tlie  h*:ad  of  the  .Sultan  on  his  coins  even  if 
Abilnl  Aziz  hod  sent  him  the  dies. 

It  may  be  safely  laid  down  aa  a  law  that  no  man  ever  writes  poetry  in  any  lan- 
guage other  than  his  own  to  any  good  pur|wse,  save  as  an  exercise.  The  perfect 
iKtet  must  be  purely  natTiral:  for  this  there  must  be  absolute  occonl  between 
nis  hahits  of  thought  and  of  erpression.  One  of  tlie  world's  greatest  linguists  onoe 
a88crt*;d  that  no  man  could  ever  develop  his  thongbts  to  any  great  extent  in  more 
than  one  tongiie;  and  it  is  certainly  true  that  there  is  no  distinguiHhed  living  writer 
whose  best  works  are  of  himself  bi-lingual.  The  highest  ])raise  which  can  bonwanled 
to  pf>ei!is  in  Kuglirth  by  iutelUj^eut  natives  of  foreicfn  countries,  is  generally  that 
which  Dr.  Johnson  awarded  to  female  preaching.  Still  there  arc  degrees  even  m  that. 
which  is  not  of  the  Hniinhinn,  brightest ;  and  among  the  most  creditahic  of  such  per- 
formancos  maybe  classed  the  Thr  Vinton  of  Smtutvn,  and  ntlmr  Poems,  by  the  late 
Shoshec  Chunder  Rai  HaWidoor.  of  Caicutta  (Calcutta:  Thacker,  Spink  A  Ga). 
It  would  indued  have  bt'en  ii  preat  i)lf'asure  to  pronounce  the  work  faultless,  since 
the  perfect  mastery  of  Kn^di«h  by  a  native  of  India  is  something  which  excites  kind 
and  encouniging  feelings.  It  intimates  homage  to  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  the 
tonifuo  of  .SlmkKi)eare,  poHsibly,  hy  those  familiar  with  the  divine  Sanskrit;  bettor 
still,  it  suggests  the  jwDssibility  of  [leifect  intimacy  and  sympathy  between  tJie  Eng- 
lish and  the  natives  in  India;  and  the  disappearance  of  that  detestable  and  habitual 
<legradation  of  the  Indian  by  which  so  many  Anglo-Indians  degrade  themselves.  Kor 
the  time  is  at  Inind  when  the  existence  in  India  among  the  English  reaidonts  of  a 
class  corresponding  to  the  Abolitionists  of  America,  in  sympathy  for  Uie  dark  rac«s, 
will  be  as  much  a  political  necessity  as  its  absence  is  at  present  a  shame  to  our 
humanity. 

Tlie  *'yiBiouofSnmem"aaapocm  iawell  outlined, happily  conceived,  nndabounding 
in  brilliant  pictures  and  hnes  ;  being  consistently  Indian  in  every  detail.     The  ploti 

simple.   Bruhma,  or  Brahma,  learning  that  hi?  worship  is  neglected  on  onrth,  send^ 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


383 


PaTana,  the  god  of  wind  and  messenger  of  heaven,  to  aBcertain  the  cause  of  this  in- 
ditference.  FaTana  returning,  re|>»irU  tn  the  lyofla  that  the  corruptions  whicli  hnd 
<7«pt  into  their  reli^on  and  the  nso  of  Christianity  had  weakened  the  old  faith.  In 
a  rage,  the  entire  Pantheon  Bailies  foiih  in  battle  array  to  attack  the  intruders,  Imt  is 
eonfronted  by  a  .Seraph,  whu  overwhelni:*  the  ioe  with  a  glanct',  informing  the  old 
god  a  that — 

"  Jehovah  will  no  longer  lieai* 

Your  lavlesn  presence  here ; 
For  He's  sole  King,  must  ever  reign ! 

Hence  to  the  alMdea  of  night ! 

Hcnoeto  the  hrimatone  sod  ! 
The  land  where  darknesa  rci;;ns  anblestf 
And  weary  spirits  never  rebt ; 
Where  Riimers  be,  sinners  »w»y 

From  hallnw'd  ground  far  driven  ; 
Imniprtid  life  to  yc  l>eIong, 
Go  tuste  itnmurtal  pains. 
With  rghfl  and  wails  and  bL-utpheniies, 
Amid  the  funeral  screams  of  hell.'' 

Though  not  perfectly  simplified  or  polished,  this  poem  ia  conceived  iu  a  spirit  of 
sjnipath^  and  jcindnesH.  and  will  be  liked  by  all  who  are  truly  ruli^ious   without 
hang  stnctlj  critical.     One  could  readily  conceive  that  the  "  Vision  uf  Sumeru."  aud 
many  other  of  the  smaller  poems,  mi^ht  have  been  far  better  iu  Hindi :  ko  much  do 
they  seem  like  good  vrork  not  very  well  trnu»lated. 

We  have  received  a  valuable  contribution  to  mytholoi^ical  literature  iu  Dvuioaohujij 
nitd  Dtn'il-lorc,  by  Jtoncure  Daniel  Conway  (Chatto  A  Windns  :  1879).  Acomplete 
history  of  the  devil  and  all  his  augelf,  with  timt  of  nil  the  lurid  horrors  and  smoky 
phantoms  accompanying  them,  would,  if  written  with  the  accuracy  which  even  the 
mob  who  read  with  boac  now  exact,  Ix?  a  tremendous  task.  It  would  be  a  hiatorj-  of 
religion,  of  superstition,  of  occult  philosojth^*,  of  half  the  popular  legends  known, 
and  would  make  deep  inroads  on  poetry.  As  the  reverend  author  wlmits,  "any  attempt 
to  catalogue  the  evil  spectres  which  have  hauuted  mankind  wore  like  trying  to  count 
the  shadows  cast  upon  the  earth  by  the  rising  sun."  The  older  demouograL>hers, 
snch  as  Bodtuns,  and  Bakker  iu  \utiM'<nilt:  Unchtiitie,  satisfied  themselvett  by  siniidy 
giving  all  they  could  collect,  and  by  eutertaining  the  reader  with  iutermiuable  stories. 
But  in  an  age  when  even  many  soundly  religions  people  have  grave  or  quiet 
miaf^vinga  as  to  a  p«;rsonal  ilevil,  the!*c  marvellous  legends  are  simpW  regarded  as 
iidrj-t&lM.  As  history  and  theories  of  evolution  are  becoming  ponnbir,  the  stories 
tose,  however,  none  of  their  intorest,  only  the  interest  is  traDsterroil  to  another  field, 
that  of  explaining  aud  itlustruting  change  or  [irugress.  The  thinking  world  is  as 
much  interested  as  ever  in  the  history  of  the  diabolical  idea,  itstrenienilousiutiuencv 
OQ  mankind  is  still  too  apparent  to  be  treated  with  indifference;  but  fuith  in  the 
details  is  now  lost  in  examination  of  a  leading  fact,  as  belief  in  the  Klohtm  became 
absorbed  in  the  unity  of  Yahveh.  Such  is  the  ground  taken  by  Mr.  Conway,  an 
honest  and  sincere  Rationalist,  yet  one  who  is,  like  most  of  the'  Boston  Unitarian 
clergymen,  too  deeply  penetrated  by  a  conviction  of  what  is  good  and  pure  in 
Chnstianity  to  believe  that  God  could  ever  allow  man,  iu  his  lielplessness,  to  be 
tempted  and  tormented  by  a  devil.  His  book  is  not  an  attempt  to  tell  ull  that  might 
be  told  about  Demonology.  and  herein  lies  its  merit  and  its  fault.  Recognising  the 
im}iosaibility  of  detailing  the  devil  with  all  that  is  devilish,  he  has  subordinated  the 
innumerable  illustrations  to  a  theory  of  development  which  is  well  enough  conceived, 
whatever  other  thooristn  may  think  of  it ;  and  it  is  this  very  fidelity  to  tnc  principle 
or  theory  which  induced  classificatton  or  method,  which  leads  him  to  indulge  in 
many  pages  of  disquisition,  which  some  readers  will  wish  had  been  devoted  to 
mere  facts.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  admitted  that  this  diwiuisition  never 
degenerates  into  idle  rhapsody  or  padding.  Thousands  of  renders— and  we  may 
well  say  thousands  of  a  nook  of  which  three  thousand  copies  have  already  l«?en 
■old — will  prefer  Mr.  Conway's  preaching  to  his  facts ;  others  who  do  not,  will  b** 
vf  the  eUss  who  are  capable  of^drawiug  their  own  conclusions.  In  fact,  there  is 
mn<^  good  writing  among  these  disquisitions,  a  vast  fund  of  huuiauityt  un- 
deniable earnestness,  and  a  delicate  sense  of  humour,  all  set  forth  in  pure  £!nirlish. 
It  is  much  to  say  that  we  have  found  the  nine  hundred  pages  of  these  two  Targe 
Tolomea,  withont  exception,  interesting. 

Tlie  early  religions  were  generally  without  a  devil.    The  Hindus,  notwithstanding 


384 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  liEV7Em 


their  Rakhsfaas  aud  fiends,  maintain  that  their  vast  Pantheon  contains  no  aacH 
creature.  The  gods  were  both  good  and  eril.  There  were  pnnishin^  demoos/j 
demons  of  Btorma  and  of  deatli,  but  no  such  quintessence  of  malignity,  dtsccit/ 
anti-eodness,  cmelty  and  petty  meanness,  as  is  incarnate  in  the  Christian  Satan* 
In  **7*Af'  Sl-'tch'Jioofc  vf  Mrinh^r  KaA**  8atan  is  represented  as  vindicating  his  nxfitni* 
fft'/jv  on  tho  ground  that  ho  represents  the  necoasary  suffering  and  pain  attea* 
dant  upon  the  destruction  of  tlie  old,  loading  to  hijcher  l>eauty  in  toe  new,  or' 
creation  ittjulf.  but  is  promptly  snubbed  by  the  author,  who  iufomis  htm  tliat  ha 
is  ^nothing  of  the  kind,  but  " only  the  irausiioi-y  vyl'ineof  of  the  ruins  of  the 
tempest  and  the  pestilence."  The  old  religions  represented  the  devil  as  he  repre- 
sented himself  to  the  writer :  Christianity  has  made  him  an  altstract  of  the  revolting, 
Mr.  Conway,  beginning  with  Dnalism,  proceeds  to  the  degradation  of  divinities  and 
ex-godfl  into  devils,  and  then  finds  eansee  for  the  cristencc  of  others  in  hunger,  heat, 
cold,  the  elements  and  auimals.in  enemies  aud  baiTcnness,  ohstavles.  illusion. darkne-ss, 
disease  and  death.  From  these  he  proceeds  to  a  history  of  the  decline  of  demons  i 
and  their  geuemlizatiou  as  shown  in  art  and  in  the  decay  of  mythologies.  The  I 
next  step  is  of  course  an  account  of  the  principal  types  of  demons  or  devils,  such  at 
the  serpent  and  dragon.  Hence  we  have  connections  and  affinities  with  these — such 
as  Fat«,  Diabolism,  or  the  direct  connection  of  incarnate  evil  with  demons,  and  his- 
tories of  degraded  jx>wers.  such  as  Ahriman,  Elohim,  Yisramitra,  the  consuming  fire, 
and  others.  The  second  volume  is  in  part  occupied  with  the  numerous  deductions*} 
from  these  types  through  the  Middle  Ages  down  to  the  present  day.  The  great  merit 
of  the  work  consists,  not  merely  in  great  research  and  a  shrewd  selection  of  striking 
exami)les  and  interesting  illustrations,  but  in  the  clearness  with  which  Mr.  Conway  i 
develops  lii^  ideas.  Its  demerit  is  an  exaggerated  eusoeptibility  to  simile,  and  %■ 
readiness  to  assume  dcrivationa  and  connections  without  proving  them — the  great 
sin  of  all  symljoUsts  from  Crouzer,  Godfrey  Higgins,  anu  Faher,  down  to  Inmazu 
Not  that  we  would  class  Mr.  Conway  with  these  blunderers ;  on  the  contrary,  he  haa 
tried  hard  to  avoid  their  comjMin^,  but  lie  often  uncousciuusly  falls  into  their  fault — 
the  fault,  it  is  true,  of  a  poetic  mind,  but  one  to  be  guarded  against  when  one  is  not 
writing  poetTy.  We^  should  do  inixistice  to  this  work  did  we  not  mention  that 
Mr.  Conway  writes  like  a  man  without  prejudice  against  aught  save  tyranur. 
Abstractly  speaking,  his  freetlora  from  bigotry  is  almost  naively  amnsing.  Had  hd 
been  a  ralvinist  he  would  probably  have  prayed,  as  did  the  Scotch  clergyman,  for  \\sm 
conversion  of  "  the  puir  deil."  As  it  is,  nc  seta  forth  his  own  very  brood  faith  in  the 
following  words,  wita  which  he  concludes  his  first  volnme  : — 

"It  ia  too  late  for  man  to  be  interested  in  au  *  Omnipofcont'  Poreonalityr  whoae 
]M>wer  is  mysteriously  limitctl  at  the  preeiw*  point  when  it  is  needed,  and  whose  moral 
government  is  auoUier  name  for  nuiu's  own  control  of  nature.  NeverthoIcH  this 
Oriental  iteflsimism  is  the  Panline  theory  of  Matter,  ivad  is  the  speoalatire  protoplB«ni 
out  of  which  has  f>een  evolved  in  many  shapes  that  |>erBOui6cation  whica  remaiiu 
for  our  cousidoration — the  DeviL" 

These  bo  jjlain  words,  but  we  have  thought  it  best  to  cite  them,  that  tho  reader, 
whether  heterodox  or  orthodox,  may  know  exactly  what  he  may  expect  in  this  in- 
teresting and  singular  work. 


THE  PROFESSIONAL  STUDIES  OP  THE  CLEECiV, 

To  the  Editor  of  0ie  Contemporabv  Retixw. 

SiTt,— T  have  to  acknowledge  an  error  of  some  importance  in  my  acooniit  of  tho  various 
courses  of  thcolos^cjd  study  now  pnreued  in  the  different  Divinity  Schools  of  Kiigloud. 

In  describing  the  subjects  for  the  Theolojrical  Tripoa  at  Cambridge,  I  set  down  only 
the  variable  portions,  omitting  the  JUed  and  more  important  jkart  of  the  course,  which 
make  it  fully  equal  in  character  and  valuo  to  tho  Theological  Hunoiu-  CourM  at  Oxford. 
I  cannot  charge  mysolf  entirely  with  the  mifitike.  as  I  applied  to  Cambridge  for  th« 
list  of  subjects,  and  was  furnished  uHtb  no  more  thiin  I  set  down.  I  have  sioiilarly 
omitted  to  credit  Kind's  College,  London,  with  having  lately  added  Logic  ur  MonJ 
PhiloMphy  to  it«  curriculum  ;  while  1  leom  that  Logic  is  also  th«  alternative  of  two 
compulsory  subjects  nt  Latupetur. 

I  am  glad  to  make  these  corrccUonB,  and  trust  that  if  I  have  done  unintentional 
it^'ustioe  elsewhere,  that  tt  may  be  brought  to  my  uutiee. 

Your  obedient  servant,    R.  F,  LnTLBOAX«. 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA : 


A  REVIEW  OF   THE   LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF    GARCIX    DE   TASSY.* 


THE  Academy  is  accustomed  ou  the  anniversary  of  its  foundation  to 
recall  the  memory  of  those  of  its  members  who  have  died  during  the 
past  year.  On  the  present  occasion  a  name  occurs  among  them,  for 
irhich  I  hope  to  gain  the  special  interest  of  this  honoured  assembly. 
His  work  transcended  the  usual  narrow  circle  of  learned  labour;  he 
took  an  international  position ;  he  was  the  interpreter  and  spokesman 
of  a  great  people,  one  of  the  most  energetic  and  influential  of  the  many 
learued  intermediaries  between  East  and  West.  His  name  is  closely 
bound  up  with  a  popular  movement^  already  in  its  beginnings  powerful 
and  full  of  promise,  and  will  long  be  named  and  honoured  even  more 
on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  than  of  the  Seine,  where  he  lived 
and  died. 

Joseph  Heliodore  Oarcin  de  Tassy,  bom  at  Marseilles,  January  25th, 
1794,  came  to  Paris  as  early  as  1817,  where  he  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  received  into  the  school  of  the  first  Orientalist  of  his  day,  the 
illustrious  and  many-sided  Sylvestre  de  Sacy.  It  was  here  that  his 
determination  was  matured  to  devote  himself  wholly  and  permanently 
to  Oriental  studies.  Sacy,  who  soon  recognised  the  value  of  the  young 
zaao,  induced  the  Government  to  erect  in  1828  a  new  chair  for  the 
Hindostanee  languages,  which  had  not  before  been  taught  in  Paris,  and 
to  appoint  Garcin  professor.  For  fifty  years  he  worked  on  unwearied, 
and  imdisturbed  by  all  the  political  changes  and  catastrophes,  by  word 
of  mouth  and  by  writing,  for  the  extension  of  a  knowledge  of  Oriental 
language  and  literature,  and  for  promoting  the  harmony  of  East  and 
"West.  Numerous  students  have  gone  forth  from  his  lecture-room  into 
all  parts  of  the  world ;  many  of  them  are  now  liring  and  working  in 

*  An  address  delivered  before  the  Boyal  Bavarian  Academy  of  ScicDces  at  Maaicb, 
March  2B.  1879. 

VOL.  XXXV.  C    C 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Euglaud,  and  still  more   in   India^  where  he  is  held  in  gratcfol  honour 
and  the  journals  have  made  his  portrait  familiar. 

Every  educated  Frenchman  looks  with  pride  on  the  Institute  of 
France,  in  its  five  diWsions,  as  the  intellectual  ornament  of  liis  country, 
and  a  creation  which  finds  no  parallel  in  any  other  nation.  He  sees  in  it  « 
universal  corporation,  embracing  every  department  of  science,  cvciy 
sphere  of  iutellcctual  aspiration.  It  is  through  his  reception  into  one 
of  its  branches  that  a  scholar  receives  in  the  eyes  of  his  countrymen 
his  consecration  and  the  patent  of  his  scientific  rank.  In  the  sad 
times  of  the  second  Empire  it  was  the  sole  remaining  fortress  of  intel- 
lectual freedom ;  and  although  the  literary  opposition  of  the  whole 
Constitutional  school  was  concentrated  and  brought  to  a  point  there, 
the  Government,  elsewhere  so  harsh  and  imperious,  shrank  from  making 
any  violent  assault  on  the  learned  Corporation.  His  recci^tion  into  the 
Institute,  of  Mhich  he  was  a  member  for  above  forty  years,  forms  a 
brilliant  epoch  even  in  Garciu's  life.  He  was  elected  in  1838  into 
Talleyrand's  place.  The  Academy  might  well  be  congratulated  on  this 
exchange ;  for,  if  hia  prcdceesjsor  has  signalized  himself  by  the  sajing 
that  "  language  was  given  to  men  to  conceal  their  thoughts/'  he,  on 
the  contrary,  was  full  of  a  noble,  gentle,  yet  courageous  sense  of  truth. 
1  know  few  Frenchmen  in  whom  national  idiosyncrasy  and  narrowness 
were  so  thoroughly  subordinated  to  cosmopolite  feeling  and  an  unselfish 
love  of  humanity.  Nor  was  there  in  him  any  trace  of  that  pnrtly 
personal,  partly  national  vanity,  which  wc  so  often  smile  at  a«  a 
French  infirmity. 

Garcin^s  writings  consist  either  of  grammatical  matter  or  of  transla- 
tions from  the  Persian,  Arabian,  and  Indian.  His  special  preference 
was  for  the  language  and  speculations  of  Sofism.  His  reputation  in 
India  rests  chiefly  on  two  out  of  his  many  works,  which  are  also  the  mort 
noteworthy  and  instructive  fur  us.  The  one  is  his  "  History  of  Hindoo 
and  Iliudostance  Literature,"  published  in  a  second  and  greatly  enlarged 
edition  in  1870;  the  other  ia  his  collection  of  annual  Reports  on 
Hindostauee  Language  and  Literature.  The  first  is  a  repository  in 
three  stout  volumes  of  a  literature  to  a  ^eat  extent  still  very  young, 
but  very  copious  in  the  domain  of  poetry  and  of  religious  matlcns 
related  to  the  Persian  and,  like  it,  permeated  with  the  ideas  of  Sofism, 
as  it  is  peculiar  to  Islam^  but  yet  finds  its  basis  in  Brahmini^m.  1^ 
literature  cannot  indeed  be  compared  for  importance  and  value  to  the 
old  Indian,  the  Sanscrit  works ;  but  it  is  the  intellectual  mirror  of  so 
many  millions  in  a  middle  stage  of  culture,  and  it  is  only  to  be  wishd 
that  it  might  receive  more  attention  than  hitherto  in  Gcrmauyj  for  oar 
associate  Trumpp,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  tbe  only  pcTBon  wlto  has^ 
seriously  taken  it  In  hand, 

Garcin^B  second   work  comprises  those  Introductory  Dii»courBes  and 
Kcporta  on  Indian  Language,  Literature,  and  Life,  with  which  Lc 
tvery  year  to  open  his  course.     They  began  in  1850,  and  were  at 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA, 


387 


I 


I 


I 


short  addresses,  but  grow  into  reviews  of  the  whole  intellectual  life 
aud  development  of  the  Indian  Empire.  His  lucid  and  interesting 
ReportSj  based  on  Indian  authorities,  which  he  constantly  quotes^  deal 
with  the  question  of  laiiguage,  so  important  for  India,  the  state  of  the 
serial  press^  the  movements  in  the  religious  sphere,  mission  work,  the 
labours  of  literary  societies,  and  the  efforts  of  the  Government  for 
school  and  jxjpular  education.  Tlicrc  was  nothing  of  the  kind  in  India, 
aud  50  much  the  morn  eagerly  were  hia  reports  read,  quoted,  and 
translated  there,  so  that  the  Paris  professor  became  an  authority  for 
the  Hindoos,  and  his  statements  were  appealed  to  and  discussed  in  the 
native  journals. 

It  is  not  easy  for  a  Frenchman  to  do  full  justice  to  the  position  and 
administration  of  England  in  India.  He  cannot  forget  that  France  and 
England  once  contended  for  the  possession  of  that  fair  aud  wealthy 
land,  that  there  was  a  moment  when  it  seemed  doubtful  whether  France 
would  not  win  the  vast  inheritance.  It  was  not  an  Englishman,  but  a 
Frenchman,  Duplcix,  who  first  undertook  to  make  conquests  in  India 
with  SQ  army  composed  of  natives.  Yet  the  aspect  of  the  present  con- 
dition of  the  world  brings  home  to  Frenchmen  the  question  so  unwel- 
come to  their  patriotism,  why  it  ia  that  in  whatever  region  French  and 
English  aims  aud  arms  have  come  into  conflict  their  own  nation  has  had 
to  succumb,  while  the  British  remained  masters  of  the  field,  alike  on 
the  Ganges,  in  Canada,  in  the  West  Indies,  aud  in  Egypt. 

Meanwhile,  the  clearness  and  freedom  of  Garcin's  cosmopolite  breadth 
of  view  and  his  love  of  truth  would  not  allow  him  to  mistake  the 
greatness  of  this  British  creation,  or  to  underrate  its  value.  Hia  reports 
and  reviews,  indeed,  have  done  more  than  any  English  work  known  to 
me  xo  rouse  the  admiration  of  the  reader  for  this  iM)litical  edifice.  The 
Empire  of  British  India  is  so  extraordinary  a  phenomenon,  aud  it  is  so 
nnique  and  unparalleled  in  the  history  of  the  world,  that  it  fills  the 
beholder  with  perpetual  astonishment,  and  constrains  him  to  reflect  on 
the  ways  and  means  by  which  this  marvellous  edifice  was  constructed 
and  so  firmly  consolidated. 

Nature  has  defined  the  greatness,  the  unity,  and  the  limits  of  this 
giant  Empire  by  the  Himalaya  range  on  the  north,  the  sea  on  the  cast, 
south,  and  west.  It  embraces  a  fifth  part  of  the  entire  human  race ; 
its  mistress  is  throned  on  an  island  thousands  of  miles  away,  and  this 
nation  of  210,000  000  is  ruled  by  a  handful  of  some  30,000 
strangers,  whose  native  land  was  still  marsh  aud  forest,  and  their 
forefathers  clothed  in  the  skins  of  wild  animals,  when  India  already 
possessed  an  uncommonly  rich  and  highly  elaborated  language,  great  epic 
poems,  philosophical  systems,  and  a  social  order  based  on  religion. 
And  their  foreign  rulers  are  divided  from  tlicir  subjects  by  everything 
which  elsewhere  associates  and  binds  men  together,  by  race,  colour, 
religion,  language,  manners,  and  customs ;  they  do  not  come  with  the 
intention  of  settling  and  taking  root  in  the  country,  but  rather  with  the 

c  c  3 


388 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


view  of  leaving  it  again  after  their  work  is  done,  and  hare  theretoW 
neither  the  desire  nor  the  expectation  of  ever  beeomiug  fused  in  one 
social  community  with  the  natives. 

We  look  in  vain  for  any  similar  phenomenon  either  in  the  past  or  in 
the  present.  The  Roman  Kmpire  in  its  best  days  did  not  include  half 
the  existing  population  of  India;  it  was  for  long  periods  a  mere  barrea 
military  domination  ;  the  mnjority  of  its  emperors  lie  under  the  ban 
of  history^  and  it  passed  through  growing  impoverishment  and  depopu- 
lation to  its  inglorious  fall,  while — apart  from  extraordinary  calamities — -A 
the  population  of  BritisJi  India  increases — if  the  statements  published  hj\ 
Anglo-Indian  authorities  may  be  relied  upon — by  tweniy-four  millions 
every  year  *  The  Califate  was,  indeed,  from  the  eighth  to  the  eleventh 
century,  a  world-wide  empire,  extending  from  the  Indus  to  the  Pyrcnecsj 
but  it  rested  on  tlic  oppressive  and  souUkilling  power  of  a  fanatically 
intolerant  religion,  forced  on  the  natives  at  the  sword's  point ;  its  history 
is  chiefly  made  up  of  an  endless  series  of  religious  wars  and  palace  re- 
volutions, while  the  gifts  it  bestowed  on  its  subjects  were  de8|>otism,  the 
domestic  economy  of  the  harem,  the  degradation  of  the  female  sex,  and 
in  the  higher  classes  the  destruction  of  family  life.  In  the  present 
Indian  Empire,  on  the  contrary,  there  has  never  been  a  quarrel  among 
the  rulers,  a  disputed  succession  is  impossible,  and  no  ond  has  ever  been 
persecuted  or  even  placed  at  a  disadvantage  on  account  of  his  faith. 
Still  sharper  is  the  contrast  between  the  former  dominion  of  Spain  ia 
South  and  Central  America,  and  that  of  British  India.  The  Spanish 
was  a  colonial  empire ;  the  natives  were  distributed  as  slaves  by  the 
colonists  through  their  system  of  Encomiendaa^f  crushed  under  the 
biurden  of  compulsory  service,  completely  extermiuated  on  the  islands^ 
and  destroyed  by  millions  in  Peru  and  Mexico.  In  India,  on  the 
contrary,  the  Euglisli  liave  not  sought  to  become  colonists  and  land- 
owners. The  tropical  climate  itself  makes  that  impossible;  no  English 
family  stays  there  to  the  third  generation,  and  pareuta  are  obligetl  to 
send  their  children  to  a  cooler  climate  to  be  brought  up.  Fortunately, 
alike  for  England  and  for  India,  there  are  no  Creoles,  nor  Mulattoe$,i 
Mongrels,  Tcrtiaries,  and  QLiateruarics,  or  by  whatever  other  name  the 
bastard  races  and  half-breeds  may  be  called.  In  a  word,  to  compare  the 
Spanish  and  English  rule  over  subject  nations  would  be — to  use  the 
Persian  simile — like  comparing  the  kingdom  of  Ahrimau  to  that  of  j 
Ormuzd. 

It  was  a  peaceable  Company  of  Enp;litjh  merchants  in  search  of  money 
who  first  set  foot  in  India  at  the  bcgiuuiug  of  the  seventeenth  century. 
They  had  no  thought  of  acquiring  land,  but  only  wanted  to  carry  oi 
money  transactions.  They  built  factories,  but  gradually  found  that  in 
an  unsettled  country  their  factories  must  be  fortified.  From  strong 
fortresses  they  grew  into  flourishing  and  populous  cities ;  and  the  in- 

*  JThere  mnat  obvioualy,  as  the  author  bimBcU  sosuectc'l,  bo  Fome  miatnke  hne.] 
+  [See  Udpe'B  ''SponiabCouquest  in  America,"  vuL  i.  p.  107.] 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  fXDIA. 


I 


habitants  were  obliged  in  self-defence  to  begin  to  arm  themselves  and 
the  natives  in  their  pay.  Before  long  they  were  drawn  into  the  quarrels 
and  contests  of  the  native  princes  ;  they  were  sought  and  made  use  of, 
and  then  again  dreaded  and  attacked.  Almost  against  their  will  ihej 
developed  into  a  ruling  power  in  the  country.  It  was  not  till 
after  ninety  years,  in  1689,  that  it  occurred  to  thcni  as  advisable  for  the 
Company  to  acquire  land  and  subjects.  But  thenceforth  this  was 
regarded  as  the  chief  object,  to  which  commercial  business  was  subordi- 
ti&tc.  The  transformation  of  a  mercantile  Company,  in  spite  of  itself, 
into  a  mighty  conquering  power,  was  due  to  a  brave  adventurer,  who 
soon  proved  to  be  a  great  general  and  statesman — Clivc.  But  he 
enlarged  the  Anglo-Indian  dominion  much  more  through  treaties  and 
cessions  of  territory  than  by  mere  conquest.  Tlie  empire  of  the  Great 
Mogul  had,  after  a  brief  period  of  splendour,  been  brought  to  an 
end  through  the  wickedness  of  its  own  princes  and  the  power  of  the 
Mahrattas,  which  in  turn  soon  succumbed  to  its  own  internal  discords. 
The  European  rival  powers  of  Portugal,  Holland,  and  France  could  no 
longer  hold  their  ground  in  India;  they  were  obliged  to  retire,  or  to 
suffer  the  loss  of  all  but  mere  fractions  of  what  they  held  before. 
Meanwhile  the  English  power  was  steadily  advancing,  for  it  was  impos- 
Mble  to  stand  still :  each  fresh  conquest  by  the  law  of  self-preservation 
led  10  another.  This  Company  was  an  unwieldy,  helpless  machine, 
which  the  Hindoos  could  only  regard  as  an  old  woman,  an  Indian  Begum  ; 
but  it  was  managed  by  a  succession  of  excellent  generals,  who  hold  a 
place  in  history  as  unique  as  that  of  the  Empire  they  built  up.  From 
time  to  time  orders  were  sent  out  to  them  from  Ijondon  to  desist,  but 
the  internal  distraction  and  despotic  barbarism  of  the  separate  States 
left  them  no  choice ;  the  British  dominion  increased  in  geometrical 
progression.  The  Company  is  now  dissolved,  and  India  is  part  and 
parcel  of  the  possessions  of  the  British  Crown ;  for  the  lost 
twenty  years  an  Empire,  in  population  and  area  the  second  in  the 
world,  yielding  only  to  China ;  in  power  and  readiness  for  action  the 
first  in  Asia. 

The  year  1857»  with  its  military  mutiny  and  the  sudden  revolt  of  the 
Sepoys,  put  the  strength  of  the  Empire  to  a  severe  test;  its  continued 
eustcnce  was  called  in  question^  and  very  many,  both  in  Asia  and  in 
Europe,  thought  its  dcstniction  inevitable.  It  passed  through  the  ordeal 
splendidly  aud  triumphantly.  The  masses  took  no  part  in  the  revolt, 
the  higher  classes  and  vassal  princes  remained  loyal  to  the  Government, 
the  faults  and  mistakes  which  had  paved  the  way  for  the  insurrection 
and  rendered  it  possible  were  recognised,  and  a  beneficent  spirit  of 
investigation  and  self-knowledge  was  roused  in  both  the  military  and 
civil  administration,  It  could  not  be  denied  that  in  the  founding  and 
enlargement  of  this  Empire  there  was  a  large  admixture  of  violence  and 
-wrong.  In  Macaulav's  words :  "  During  the  great  conquest  English 
wer  first  appeared  in  India  without  English  morality ;  some  time  had 


390 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


elapsed  after  they  became  omt  subjects  before  we  began  to  remember 
our  duties  as  rulers."* 

Tbe  year  1859,  the  first  after  the  suppression  of  the  mutiny,  was  a 
critical  turuing-point  for  the  ludiau  Admiuistration.  Garciii  bears 
witness,  in  all  bis  reports,  that  in  no  State  has  such  an  abundance  of 
reforms  and  new  creationa  in  every  branch  of  the  administration  been 
introduced  during  the  last  twenty  years.  The  Government  has  now  at 
length  succeeded,  after  the  efforts  of  many  years,  in  putting  down  the 
secret  society  of  religious  murderers  spread  over  India,  the  Thugs,  who 
in  the  serviceof  their  goddess,  Doorga,  strangled  and  plundered  traveller*. 
The  lal>orious  process  of  hunting  them  out  occupied  thirty  years,  and  it  is 
only  lately  that  some  of  these  miscreants  were  brought  before  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  one  of  whom  boasted  of  having  committed  sixty- 
seven  murders  with  his  own  hand.  The  god  Juggernaut  is  now  also 
no  longer  suffered  by  the  Government  to  crush  the  devotees  who  fling 
themselves  under  his  giant  chariot- wheels.  It  is  not  long  since  a 
host  of  human  sacrifices  were  offered  by  certain  non- Brahmin  tribes  ;t  the 
villages  where  this  took  place  used  to  purchase  for  the  purpose  men, 
women,  and  children,  the  so-called  Meriahs.  British  officers  have  had 
the  difficult  task  of  effecting  the  deliverance  of  these  Meriahs  and  the 
suppression  of  the  sacrifices,  partly  by  force,  and — after  putting  down 
an  outbreak  occasioned  by  their  interference — partly  by  gentle  means. 
A  single  officer,  Major  Campbell,  in  the  course  of  eighteen  years,  rescued 
1500  men  doomed  to  this  sacrificial  death.  It  required  the  most.^^~t 
persistent  watchfulness  and  energy  of  the  British  officials  to  put  dow 
the  widely-spread  practice  of  murdering  young  girls  and  bumi 
widows.  Tliis  prohibition  of  the  practice  of  Suttee,  and  the  Ii 
allowing  widows  to  marry  again,  were  denounced  as  an  attack  on  th 
Brohniiniat  religious  system,  and  reckoned  among  the  pretext:*  for  th 
Sepoy  mutiny.  For  the  value  of  human  life  is  to  a  Hindoo  infinitcl, 
below  that  of  a  cow  ;  he  had  rather  kill  ten  men  than  injure  one  cow  — ^i^i 
and  in  a  famine  had  sooner  cat  human  flesh  than  beef. 

That   so   many  regulations  of  the   English  Government  displease  th^^  -* 
Indian   and   offend   his   diseased    religious  sense  cannot  of  course    b»-  -*f 
helped.      Among   these   must   be  reckoned   vaccination,  judicial   oath 
the  law  preseniug  to  the  convert  to  another  creed  his  right  of  inhcri 
ancc   which    he  formerly  forfeited,   besides  being   turned   out  of    hiA^> 
caste.     A^en    the   Government    undertook   a  sun-ey  of  the  land,  th:^^"'' 
people  saw  in  it  a  device  for  laying  the   whole  country  under  an  c^*^      ^ 
enchantment.       The  requiremeut  of  an  examination  in  England  for  tl^^*(^ 
higher  posts  in  the  Civil   Service  amounts  almost  to  an  exclusion  c     ^' 
Brahminists,  who  regard  a  voyage,  and  residence  in  a  land  destitute  c     J* 
gods  and  sanctuaries,  as  sinful. 

*  pioivforoDceiBgivenbythcauthor,  audi  have  failed  to  verify  tbe  quotatioii,  bat  it  rei^T"^ 
nut*  iho  drift  nf  sevural  |Kiwiiges  in  Mocaulay'ti  spuccb  of  1SU3  ou  tbe  GoTemment  ^ 
India.— Tr.J 

t[Tbo  Khonds.     Cf.  MarabmaQ's  **  Hititory  of  Intlia/'  vol.  iii.  pp.  100,  teq,] 


I 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA. 


391 


» 


Till  sixty  years  ago  their  Anglo-Indian  nilers  were  still  afraid  of  doing 
morefor  the  people  than  providing  for  their  quiet  and  security.  Of  popular 
edncatioa  in  State  institutions,  supported  by  the  State,  there  was  no  idea. 
It  is  chiefly  since  the  suppression  of  the  mutiny  that  those  who  sway 
the  destinies  of  England  have  realized  more  clearly  than  before  her 
providential  missiou,  not  simply,  like  the  Romans  of  old,  regere  imperio 
populosj  but  to  educate  them,  and  elevate  them  both  morally  and  intel- 
lectually to  a  higher  and  wortliier  level  in  the  scale  of  humanity. 
India  has  not^  according  to  the  common  bat  mistaken  notion,  a  directly 
financial  interest  for  England ;  it  gives  nothing  of  its  revenues  to  the 
mother  country;  only  the — no  doubt  considerable — sum  of  €15,000,000 
flov8  annually  into  England  for  pensions  to  retired  civil  and  military 
officials  and  for  the  interest  on  Indian  railways.  Rather  the  Empire  of 
the  Peninsula  will  become  a  grave  embarrassment  for  England  j  for  the 
long  wars,  the  Sepoy  mutiny,  the  periodical  famine,  and  now  the 
urgently  required  public  buildings,  commercial  arrangcmcufs,  and  new 
iustitutiousj  have  saddled  India  with  a  deficit  lasting  for  sixteen 
ycsn  and  an  alarming  burden  of  debt,  which  in  1875  amoimted  to 
;C1 30,000,000.*  Rut  the  Government  did  not  on  that  account  shrink 
from  expending  in  1876  the  sum  of  ^610,000,000  on  education  and 
public  buildings.  It  leaves  to  the  native  vassal  princes  the  free  use  of 
their  own  revenues,  while  it  guarantees  to  them  the  cnjojTnent  of  the 
commoQ  peace  and  security.  The  army,  consisting  of  soldiers  volun- 
tarily enlisted  and  oflicers  paid  three  times  more  highly  than  at  homCj 
constitutes  intelligibly  enough  the  chief  burden  on  the  treasury;  it  is  a 
completely  new  formation,  sure  of  constant  supply  from  the  warlike  native 
raccfl,  and  it  raises  the  British  Empire  for  the  present  and  the  future  to 
the  first  military  power — -in  fact,  to  an  overwhelmiug  and  dominant 
power — in  the  whole  of  South  and  Central  Asia.  The  cost  of  the  army 
and  fleet  swallows  up  £19,000,000  of  the  je45,000,000  of  the  Indian 
budget.  Wliat  Professor  Pawcett  some  weeks  ago  characterized  as  an 
equally  shamefid  and  disastrous  event  for  England — that  the  Indian 
QoveffmnGnt  should  have  to  appeal  for  flnancial  help  to  England — has 
now  occurred.  To  impose  new  taxes  on  India  would  involve  inex- 
pressible difliculties  ;  the  great  mass  of  the  population,  whether  Hindoo 
or  Mussulman,  is  poor.  Happily,  agriculture  in  India  is  capable  of 
indefinite  development,  or  in  need  of  it ;  all  that  is  wanted  is  to  attract 
capital  to  be  applied  for  the  better  realization  of  profits  from  the  land 
already  under  cultivatiouj  and  the  clearance  of  the  soil  where  it  is  not 
yet  cultivated. 

It  cannot  certainly  be  maintained  that  the  English  are  loved  in 
India.  They  are  too  uncongenial  a  phenomenon  to  the  people;  the  points 
of  contact  are  too  few;  and  the  Brahminist  Hindoos  of  the  higher  castes, 
even  if  from  a  recognition  of  their  superiority   they  look  on  them   as 


*  CoNmtPOEABT  Rcvixw,  June,  1678,  p.  441. 


392 


THE  COSTEMPOILiRY  REVIEW. 


an  incarnation  of  the  Godlieadj  still  cannot  but  liate  from  their  hearts 
these  foreign  lords,  whose  very  presence  is  a  degradation  to  them,  and 
a  monstrous  pcn'crsion  and  violation  of  the  divine  order.  What  thai 
Roman  said  of  women,  "  We  cannot  well  live  with  them  or  without  them," 
is  pretty  much  the  feeling  a  Hindoo  would  express  aljout  the  English, 
if  he  were  to  speak  his  mind.  It  is  true  that  they  see  the  Government 
treat  their  religion,  even  in  its  lowest  forms  of  idolatry,  with  all  respect 
and  forbearance,  and  carefully  take  account  of  their  customary  caste 
privileges.  But  at  the  same  time  many  reforms  which  to  lis  appear 
most  beneficial  and  imperative — such  as,  e.g.^  th  [rohibition  of  suttee 
and  infanticide — have  excited  great  discontent.  All  Mahometans,  as 
having  before  formed  the  dominant  Church,  feel  their  (losition  lowered, 
and  share  the  sentiment  of  every  genuine  Mussulman,  that  the  supremacy 
usurped  by  unbelievers  belongs  of  right  to  themselves  alone.  Yet  more 
deeply  is  the  hate  of  foreign  domination  ingrained  in  the  heart  of  the 
Brahmin ;  he,  the  twice-boru,  to  whose  prayers  and*  incantations  the 
gods  themselves  give  ear,  feels  how  grievously  his  authority  has  sunk  and 
is  constantly  sinking  under  English  nile,  and  must  see  in  every  measure 
for  promoting  the  education  and  elevation  of  the  people  a  new  menace 
of  destruction  for  himself  and  his  caste,  The  pressure  of  taxation, 
especially  of  the  salt-tax,  produces  n  similar  effect  on  the  mass  of  the 
people.  Yet  they  feci  and  know  that  under  the  British  sceptre  peace, 
security  for  person  and  property,  and  ctjuality  before  tlie  law  have  taken 
the  place  of  the  former  anarchy  and  lawless  oppression,  and  that  ifi 
England  were  to  withdraw  her  hand  from  India  to-day,  to-morrow  sh 
would  be  again  plunged  into  the  old  wilderness  of  barbarism,  and  the^ 
North-westcni  tribes  would  again  be  let  loose  on  the  defenceless  South,.«_ -*i» 
the  Deecan,  robbing  and  murdering. 

It   may    well   be   said    that  the  problems   presented  to   the  ludian*^^*"" 
Government,  as  well  by  the  actual  state  of  things  as  by  their  own  goodK:^^ 
will  and  purpose,  demand  the  utmost  exertion  of  human  thought  au(^^3»*^  ™ 
intelligence;  they  are  more  abundant,  more  complicated,  and  more  far — "^'^ 
reaching   than   those   of  any  other  State;    and   the  only  prospect  of  ff^     * 
successful  solution  lies  in   the  uninterrupted  continuance,  as  heretofore  -^^i  ™ 
of  a    succession    of    the    most    eminent    men    at    the    head    of    tlie^-^^J 
administration    and      policy     of    India.       These      210,000^000    requip^^'*^*^ 
above  all  things  a  strong  unassailable   authority,  which   may  coromaniE^^ -*' 
their  feai'  and  respect,  if  not  their  love,   while  it  secures  to  them    peacti^'^^ 
and  justice;  there  is  still  uulinutcd  room  for  the  construction  of  roads .*-!* "i 
railways,  canals,  telegraphs,  and  irrigation  works;   and  then  a  taste  foK:  ■^'' 
industry  and  trade,  above  all  for  an  improved  method  of  agricultur 
has  to  be  instilled    into  the  people,  and  their   capacities  for  it  trainetl 
So  again  a  complete  network  of  higher  and  lower  schools  ought  to  b< 
stretched  over  the  Empire,  the  manners  of  the  people  softened,  and  a 
least  the   rankest  growths  of  a   moral  corruption,  almost  iucouceivabh 
to   us,   extirpated.     To  this  must  be  added  the  necessity  for  watchin| 


■e 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA,  393 

over  the  vassal  princes^  and  checking  their  despotism  when  it  becomes  too 
oppressive  to  their  subjects,  as  well  as  restraining  them  from  going  to 
war  with  one  another,  as  they  each  insist  on  maintaining  an  army. 
The  Government  has  also  to  keep  an  eye  on  those  numberless  plotters  of 
mischief  who  might  bring  back  at  any  moment  the  old  state  of  things 
when  men  lived  on  robbery  and  pillage.  But  at  every  step  they  take, 
the  rulers  of  India  stumble  on  hindrances,  partly  arising  from  the  moral 
qualities  of  the  lower  official  class,  who  arc  all  natives ;  partly  from  the 
blind  fancies  and  prejudices  of  the  multitude ;  above  all,  from  their 
religion.  Intercourse  between  Europeans  and  natives  is  not  possible, 
because  the  Hindoo  regards  every  European  as  unclean,  and  would  be 
defiled  by  his  touch.  No  Christian  may  enter  the  house  of  a  Hindoo, 
and  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  even  those  at  the  head  of  the  Government 
remain  long  in  ignorance  of  the  most  notorious  occurrences  in  the  life  of 
the  people.  Moreover,  the  higher  English  officials,  who  seldom  acquire 
a  competent  knowledge  of  the  native  languages,  and  have  much  too  large 
a  district  placed  under  ■  their  charge,  are  practically  in  the  hands  of 
their  subordinates,  who  belong  mostly  to  the  Brahmin  caste,  and  who 
thus  form  a  powerful  oligarchy  in  the  interior  of  the  country,  and  are 
neither  restrained  hj  administrative  rights,  which  as  yet  have  no  exist- 
ence, nor  by  a  strong  system  of  government.  Another  great  difficulty 
lies  in  the  relations  of  the  Central  Government  to  the  native  Dynasties 
and  subject  States.  The  English  statesman  who  is  called  to  govern 
India  must  at  once  divest  himself  of  his  homebred  ingrained  ideas  about 
a  Constitutional  government  and  strict  observance  of  law.  If  we  except 
China,  nothing  but  an  absolute  autocratic  form  of  government  has  ever 
been  able  to  thrive  or  hold  its  own  in  Asia.  Every  dynasty  fell  to 
pieces  directly  it  had  no  man  of  strong  governing  capacity  to  place  at 
the  helm.  Energy,  popularity,  capacity  for  rule  have  always  there 
decided  the  possession  of  the  throne,  not  regard  for  a  legitimate  right 
of  hereditary  succession.  The  frequent  mistakes  of  the  English  in 
managing  the  vassal  States  have  sprung  from  their  misapprehension  of 
this  fact. 

Meanwhile  it  is  marvellous  how  much  has  been  accomplished,  in  spite 
of  all  these  hindrances ;  and  Garcin,  who  has  noted  it  year  by  year,  does 
not  stint  his  praise.  As  the  Government  organized  public  instruction 
on  the  English  model,  granted  freedom  of  the  press,  and  made  appoint- 
ments in  the  Civil  Service  dependent  on  learning  English  and  under- 
going an  examination,  India  woke  out  of  her  slumber  of  a  thousand 
years.  Garcin  quotes  the  saying  of  a  native  author,  that  henceforth 
India  no  longer  deserves  to  be  called,  as  before,  the  land  of  darkness,  but 
the  land  of  light.  That  light,  indeed,  is  at  first  a  borrowed  one.  But 
the  facts  speak  plainly,  and  the  approach  of  a  great  and  universal  change 
cannot  be  mist^d^en,  even  though  as  yet  for  the  most  part  we  see  only 
the  beginnings  of  it.  The  Government  follow  the  system  which  has 
succeeded   so    well    in   England,   of   supporting   schools    founded    by 


394  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

private  resources  .Tvith  State  aid^  so  tliat  a  great  number  of  neir 
schools  are  started  cverj'  year. 

The  questiou^  wliich  is  one  of  life  and  death  for  India^  has  been 
variously  treated  :  What  can  be  done  by  the  Government  to  relieve  the 
dark  and  unspeakably  hard  lot  of  the  female  sex  in  India^  to  raise 
woman  from  a  state  of  degradation  hardly  conceivable  to  the  Western 
mind  ?  In  ancient  times  a  better  and  worthier  position  was  allotted  to 
women,  from  which  they  have  been  gradually  lowered.  The  only  available 
influence  would  be  by  meaus  of  education ;  but  that  postulates  a  desire 
on  the  part  of  the  fathers  themselves  for  the  schooling  of  their  daughtersj 
and  such  a  desire  is  wliolly  uukuown  to  the  Indian.  For  the  present, 
wc  can  but  cherish  the  hope  that  some  day  the  men  trained  in  Govern- 
ment schools  will  ask,  or  at  least  be  willing  to  accept  with  gratitude 
from  the  Government,  the  boon  of  education  for  their  daughters.  In 
the  meanwhile,  however,  some  girls'  schools  have  been  established  by 
Government,  as  an  experiment. 

At  one  of  the  three  national  Universities,  that  of  Calcutta,  ISSl  candi- 
dates lately  offered  themselves  for  examination,  of  whom  only  61  wctc 
Christiana  and  46  Mahometans,  while  there  were '1200  Hindoos.  All 
passed  the  examination  in  English  and  one  other  language  selected  by 
themselves.  This  suggests  the  remark  that  the  Hindoos  generally  show 
more  intelligence  than  the  native  Christians  and  the  Mahometans. 
The  Government  has,  moreover,  offered  rewards  to  the  authors  of  the 
best  works  written  in  the  native  languages,  and  in  1873  twenty-nine 
such  works  were  successful.  AVhcn  we  consider  that  a  short  time  ago  the 
Indians  were  an  utterly  unhistorical  people,  that  they  had  no  sense  of 
history,  no  notion  of  chronology  and  historical  composition,  nor  the 
faintest  idea  of  the  laM's  of  historical  development,  it  must  certainly  be 
regarded  as  a  sign  of  the  awakened  energy  of  the  Indian  mind  that  in 
1873  four  works  on  Indian  history  appeared. 

But  here,  too,  the  Government  is  confronted  with  difficulties  at  every 
step.  Hiudostance  poetry  teems  with  productions  ftill  of  brutal 
sensuality  and  shameless  pictures  of  erotic  passion.  In  some  towns  the 
Government  lias  had  works  of  this  kind  removed  from  the  booksellers' 
shops,  and  this  has  led  to  disputes.  It  succeeds  better  in  superintending 
the  choice  of  books  for  the  public  libraries, — of  which  there  were  no  less 
than  176  in  the  Presidency  of  Bombay  only  in  1873, — as  well  as  for  the 
school  libraries. 

Not  a  few  journals  are  written  by  the  Hindoos  in  English,  or  appear 
as  polyglot  papers,  so  that  the  higher  officials  can  read  them,  and  thus 
acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  feelings  and  wishes  of  particular  classes  of 
the  people ;  for  public  opinion,  in  the  European  sense  of  the  term,  can, 
of  course,  have  no  existence  in  a  country  where  the  different  sections  of 
the  people  are  divided  from  each  other  by  religion,  by  rules  about  food, 
and  by  caste,  as  though  by  brazen  walls.  This,  on  the  other  handj 
lightens  the  task  of  government,  for  it  makes  any  extensive  political 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA,  395 

combination  and  opposition  among  the  people  impossible.  It  would  be 
of  the  greatest  advantage  to  both  countries  if  a  considerable  number  of 
young  Indians  could  go  through  an  educational  curriculum  of  some 
years  at  an  English  high  school,  away  from  the  overpowering  and 
intoxicating  atmosphere  of  Hindooism.  The  plan  of  establishing  a 
college  for  Indians  in  London  or  Oxford  has  often  been  discussed  both 
in  England  and  India ;  only  Pers'iau,  Arabian,  and  Sanscrit  must  be  sub- 
stituted for  Greek  and  Latin,  for  Arabian  has  for  Mussulmaus,  and 
Sanscrit  for  Hindoos,  the  significance  we  attach  to  Latin,  while  Persian 
takes  the  place  of  French  with  us.  But  the  scheme  is  fraught  with 
difficulties  on  both  sides,  which  seem  insuperable.  For  the  Hindoo, 
still  confined  within  the  fetters  of  caste,  the  mere  leaving  of  the  sacred 
soil  of  India  is  a  sin ;  he  can  hardly  live  in  a  foreign  land  without 
incurring  defilement  and  loss  of  caste,  which,  in  his  own  country,  would 
prove  an  intolerable  curse.  And  therefore,  in  discussing  the  plan,  attention 
had  first  to  be  given,  nolf  to  the  director  or  superintendent,  but  to  the  cook, 
•who  must  be  a  Hindoo  of  higher  caste,  and  to  the  Ganges  water,  indis- 
pensable for  every  Hindoo,  which  would  have  to  be  constantly  transported 
from  India.  Thus  their  religion,  and  the  relations  of  the  Government 
to  it,  ever  recur  as  the  most  difficult  problem,  entering  into,  and  one  may 
say  poisoning,  everything. 

In  Garcin's  Reports  a  great  deal  of  room  is  taken  up  by  the  in- 
evitable question  of  language,  partly  because  be  was  mixed  up  with  it 
himself,  and  his  advice  was  asked  on  the  subject,  partly  because  in  a 
country  where  there  are  a  hundred  difiereut  languages,"  besides  ^ 
number  of  dialects,  the  choice  of  one  in  particular  for  governmental  and 
administrative  purposes  is  an  equally  weighty  question  for  the  nation 
and  for  its  rulers.  That  Hindostanee  alone  is  suited  for  the  purpose,  all 
are  agreed ;  those  acquainted  with  it  maintain  that  for  elegance  and 
grace  of  expression  no  language  in  the  world  is  superior  to  it.  But  it  is 
divided  into  the  Urdoo  and  the  Hindee,  of  which  the  former  is  com- 
pounded from  a  mixture  with  the  Persian  used  in  commercial  dealings 
under  the  Mahometan  dominion ;  it  is  the  popular  tongue  enriched 
with  Persian  and  Arabian  words  and  Mahometan  meanings.  And 
since  the  official  language  of  the  Empire  should  be  adapted  for  the  two 
great  religious  pai*ties,  Brahminist  aud  Moslem,  everything  seems  to 
point  to  the  selection  of  the  Urdoo,  which  accordingly  Garcin,  iu  harmony 
with  most  Englishmen  competent  to  form  an  opinion,  strongly  recom- 
mended. This  view  is  confirmed  by  the  fact  that  of  the  3000  writers 
quoted  by  him  in  his  "  History  of  Hindostanee  Literature,"  2200  are 
Mahometan,  while  of  the  800  Hindoo  authors  only  200  have  written 
in  their  mother  tongue,  the  Hindee.  If  all  Mahometans  as  a  matter  of 
coarse  wish  the  Urdoo  to  be  made  the  language  of  business  and  ad- 
ministration, the  Brahminists,  on  the  other  hand,  who  are  three  times  as 
nomeroos,  have  a  religious  interest  in  the  accordance  of  official  recog- 
nition and  preference   to  the   Hindee,  which  is  purer  and  more  nearly 


396 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIElt 


allied  to  iLe  saercd  Sanscrit^  but  is  certainly  the  less  serviceable  diaie! 
and  is  wholly  unequal  to  the  expression  of  the  multitude  of  ianovatioi 
and  new  ideas  now  passing  into  ladiaa  life.  A  third  view  has  foand 
favour  among  English  officials,  that  all  the  native  languages  should  be 
rejected,  and  English  alone  used,  as  being  that  of  the  ruling  cUss.^ 
Garcin  pronounces  most  emphatically  against  this  schemei  which  trould 
unquestionably  excite  general  and  lasting  discontent,  not  to  say 
exasperation.  And  he  is  supported  by  one  of  those  best  acquainted  with' 
India,  Professor  Monier  Williams,  in  thinking  that  the  Govermncnt 
would  do  well  to  give  more  encouragement  to  the  native  languages,  aud 
tnkc  less  care  for  the  diffusion  of  English. 

Garcin  has  always  mentioned  aud  discussed  wicli  visible  preference 
what  concerned  religious  matters  in  India.  He  was  himself  a  sincere 
Christian  believer,  whose  private  life  attested  the  reality  of  his  religion. 
Like  every  educated  and  well-informed  Catholic,  not  trammelled  by 
professional  obligations,  he  found  it  impossible  to  accept  the  N'atic&a 
decrees,  and  this  led  him  to  put  himself  into  communication  with  me  by 
sending  mc  his  works  and  announcing  his  adhesion  to  my  protest.  Both 
as  a  scholar  and  a  Christian  he  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  the  religiouii 
movements  of  India ;  as  a  scholar,  for — as  he  once  observetl — he  con- 
sidered a  philosophical  comparison  of  the  different  religious  the  noblest 
and  most  attractive  subject  of  study  that  could  be  chosen,  wliile,  as  a 
Christian,  he  saw  in  the  acceptauce  by  the  Hindoos  of  the  GoaiwI  and 
its  healing  influence  on  their  moral  condition  the  sole  hoj>e  of  their 
national  elevation  and  regeneration.  But  at  the  same  time  he  was  quite 
in  harmony  with  the  wise  and  provident  reserve  of  English  statesmen  in 
avoiding  any  oiHcial  countenance  of  missionary  efforts,  and  sceurinf^ 
equality  of  civil  rights  and  pnjtection  to  every  creed.  He  knew  that 
the  very  existence  of  tlie  Empire  depended  on  this  impartial  and  Btriot 
neutrality.  In  a  country  where,  aa  invariably  throughout  the  East, 
religion  interpenetrates  everything,  and  dominates  the  entire  family 
and  social  life,  the  Government  is  confronted  by  three  religions,  one  of 
which— the  Brahminist — is  that  of  the  majority,  and  has  1  oO.CH'XJ^OOO 
adherents  ;  while  the  two  others — the  Mahometan  aud  Buddhist — arc 
world-wide  religions,  the  former  embracing  a  hflh,  the  latter  a  third  of 
the  human  race.  There  are  only  about  4,000,000  Buddhists  in  the 
British  dominions,  and  it  cannot  be  said  that  there  is  anything  hostile 
to  foreign  rule  in  the  nature  and  principles  of  their  faith ;  but  the  c«e 
is  very  different  witli  Brahmiuism  and  Islam. 

And  here  I  must  lay  stress  on  a  fact  which  will  have  an  important 
bearing  on  tlie  destinies  of  the  world — viz.,  that  the  Uueen  of  England 
and  Empress  of  India  is  the  greatest  sovereign  of  Mahometan  pcopltti 
no  >[oslem  ruler  has  anything  like  the  same  number  of  suljocu, 
even  the  Turkish  Sultan,  who  reigns  over  only  21,0<X),000  MflhoiDCU 

in  Europe,   Asia,  and   Egypt,  while   British  India  coni    ■       "" 

RuKsia    has   at    present   about    (>,rjOt>.(K)Oj  and  even   li 


THK  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IX  INDIA. 


89- 


Khanates  of  the  interior  of  Eastern  Asia  were  incorporated  with  thetOj 
which  is  a  mere  question  of  time,  her  Moslem  subjects  would  not  equal 
in  number  those  under  the  British  sceptre. 

k.  The  religion  of  the  Arabian  Prophet  exhibits  at  present  a  singular 
phenomenon.  On  the  one  hand  it  is  developing  throughout  the  whole 
of  Asia  and  Africa  a  power  of  expansion  and  fecundity  of  proselytism 
far  beyond  that  of  Christianity^  while  at  the  same  time  it  l>etray8 
symptoms  of  internal  decay,  especially  in  that  common  disease  which 
threatens  all  Mahometan  States  with  dissolution,  incapacity  for  govern- 
ment. The  Sultanate  is  in  its  death-throes,  as  the  Caliphate  was  before 
it.  The  old  Arabian  hierarchical  State  system  has  perished  ;  the  mongrel 
creation  of  a  half-hierarchical,  half-military  State,  which  succeeded  it,  and 
finds  ita  type  in  the  Ottoman  Empire,  is  now  too  in  process  of  di&solu- 
^n,  and  no  third  system  is  conceivable  as  long  as  the  Koran  retains  its 
laprcmacy.  For  the  loose,  primitive  form  of  a  mere  tribal  union,,  as 
kth  the  Bedouins,  is  not  adapted  for  a  large  State. 

■  But  if  we  look  simply  at  the  strong  expansive  force  of  the  Arabian 
reli^on,  which  is  extending  itself  now  almost  as  rapidly  and  as  vigo- 
rously by  the  peacefid  methods  of  persuasion  as  formerly  by  tlie  sword, 

|We  are  in  presence  of  an  historical  enigma.      In  Africa  it  advances  like 

■  torrent ;  whole  tribes  in  the  interior,  who  yesterday  were  idolaters 
■r  fetish-worshippers,  are  to-day  believers  in  the  Koran.  In  Sierra 
■leone,  on  the  north-western  coast  of  Guinea,  there  is  a  Moslem  high 
Ichool    with    1000   pupils.       In   China   the    Mussulmans   have  already 

become  so   numerous  that   they  were  able   recently  to  venture  on  an- 
surrection.     In  Tonkin  there  are  50,000  of  them.     Among  the  Malays 
the  islands  of  the  Indian  Archipelago  they  have,  for  the  first  time  in 
r  day,  made  hosts  of  proselytes. 

From  Sumatra  Islam  has  spread  to  Java,  and  the  whole  population  of 
arly  8,000,000  have  now  for  the  first  time — under  the  Dutch  Govern- 
ment— become  Mahometan.      The  greater  part  of  Sumatra,  and  at  least 
Jhalf  of  Borneo  and  Celebes,  are  won  over  to  Islam.      Wherever  iu  the 
Kidian  Archipelago  a  formerly  heathen   population  is  under  Dutch  rule 
ishim   makes  gigantic  strides,  while  Christianity,   in  spite  of  the    mis- 
.lioDarics    and    missionary  societies,  advances  very  little,  if  it   does  not 
Jtually  lose  giound.     The  chief  cause  of  this  astonishing  advance — by 
hich  the  ground  is  cut  away  from   Christianity  for  centuries  to  come, 
t  least,  iu  these  countries — is  said  to  be  the    facility   offered   by  steam 
avigatiou  for  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca ;    for  the  numerous  pilgrims,  or 
Hadjis,"     who    return    from    thence,    as    a    rule,    become    zealous 
issaries  of  the    Prophet.      Moreover,   in  Eastern  Asia  and  Africa,  as 
ibcwherc,    Islam   has  one    important    advantage    over    the    Christian 
Churches,    from  its  knowing  nothing  of  that  sharp  distinction  between 
ergy  and  laity  which  is  so  especially  marked   in    the  Roman  Catholic 
Jhurch,  ho  that  every  Moslem  feels  bound  to  take  part  in  the  conversion 
unbelicvera,  while  Christians  are  accustomed  to  treat  mission  work  as 


398 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


specialty  of  the  clergy,  vhich  it  is  liot  fitting   tor  them  to  cn< 
ipou. 

In  British  India  also,  as  Garcin  reports,  there  have  lately  for 
first  lime  been  numerous  secessions,  chiefly  iu  the  North-west  Provint 
and  they  occur  the  more  easily  everyday  because  Braliminist  notions  ai 
usages  have  there  got  mixed  up  in  various  ways  with  the  Moslem  religic 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  hardly  ever  eonveraions  from  M  ahomctani: 
to   Christianity.      Where    once  this   rcligiou,  which  at  bottom  is  sini] 
a  sect  and   Jndaizing  perversion  of  Christiauity,  has  establisbcd   il 
Christian  niisaiouaries  knock  in  vain  at  the  door«  nf  the  human   coi 
liencc  and  uced  of  a  religion.      It  is  only  by  forcible  extirpation,  as  i| 
Spain,  that  Christianity  has  hitherto  been  able  to  win  grouud  from  lalai 

These  50,000^000  Mahometans  will  be,  acconling  to  circum- 
firm  support  or  a  grave  danger  to  the  Indian  (Tovemment.  i 
test  with  Russia  they  would  undoubtedly  take  the  side  of  England, 
Russia  is  rcj^ardcd  throughout  the  I'ilast  as  the  hereditary  ( 
Inlam  ;  it  threatens  Pcritia,  dismembers  Turkey,  subjugates  the  - 
of  Central  Asia.  The  Russian  people  look  on  every  war  w 
Mahometans  as  a  religious  war,  and  the  nnmber  of  the  Moslem  snbji 
of  Russia  in  Sil)cria  has  considerably  diminished  under  the  influctiK 
of  their  rulers.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Moslem  doctrine  ofTen 
Mahometans  in  a  land  under  the  rule  of  unbelievers  only  the  altenii 
tivcs  of  cjtpatriatiou  or  rebellion,  and  the  establiahraent  of  an  orthotli 
rSgime  by  force  of  arms.     This  doctrine  is  actively  disseminated  in 

those   Puritans  of  Islam,  the  wandering  preachers   of  the  Wahal 

:t.      Annihilation  of  English  rule  and  restoration  of  the  old  Caliphal 
is   the   aim    and  passionate   desire    of    these   dangerous    fanatics,   %\ 
there  is  only  too  good  reason  for  believing  that  the  great  Ixxly  of  th( 
Indian  co-religionists  openly  or  secretly  agree  with  them.      The  murder 
of  the  Viceroy,  I^ord  Mayo,  by  an  Afghan,  may  be  rememI)Cred  in 
connection.     Of  late  years  the  Moslem  journals  have  boldly  mooted 
question  whether  rebellion  is  a  duty  V 

An  assembly  of  Moslem  doctors  from  Lucknow  and  Delhi,  hold 
Rampoor  not  many  years  ngo,  decided  that  India  with  its  Englii 
Government  is  not  Bar  ul  Islam  (the  Land  of  Islam),  but  Dar  nl  Hi 
(the  Land  of  War).  It  ought,  therefore,  properly  speaking,  to  be  Pf>n- 
'fluercd  for  Islam ;  but  inasmuch  as  a  war  against  the  overwhctmic; 
iperiority  of  England  would  at  present  offer  no  prosp<tet  of  msecett, 
and  defeat  would  disgrace  Islam  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  their  injui 
tiou  is  to  keep  quiet  for  the  present.  It  follows  obviously  that  tJ 
first  re^il  or  apparent  dilhcnlty  or  eonspicnons  misfortune  of  Knpl 
wo\dd  be  the  signal  for  a  general  Mahometan  revolt.  The  Mahomt 
society  of  Calcutta  took  alarm  at  this,  and  had  it  promulgateil  by  tlici 
doctors  of  the  law  that  India  still  remains  a  laud  of  the  £kithfn)r  an^ 
therefore  insurrection  is  unlawful.  And  now  the  faithful  Itavc  «!*> 
soothed  their  diBquiet  by  procnring  an  opinion  from  the  doctor,  nf  Mi 


THE   BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA. 


399 


tlic  birth-place  of  Islam^  declaring  Indi&j  in  spite  of  the  EngHgh  dominion, 
to  be  a  land  of  Islam,  which  implies  for  the  strict  Moslem  this  uu- 
avovod  bnt  obvtoiiH  conscr|uence,  that  he  ia  bound  to  do  all  in  hi.s  power 
to  re-establish  the  complete  legal  validity  of  the  orthodox  discipline  in 
the  country,  and  to  regard  as  invalid  whatever  the  foreign  Government 
has  ordained  or  introduced  which  is  incompatible  with  those  principles. 
And  there  is  much  of  that :  Moslems  have  been    replaced  by  English 
governors,  and  Moslem  judges  have  been  removed  ;  the  "whole  legislative 
syatem  is  more  or  less  visibly  opposed  to  the  Koran.      Hitherto,  those  who 
considered  the  Hcgira,  or  religious  flight  and  emigration,  obligatory  in 
such  a  case  have  settled  in  Afghan  territory,  and  the  threatening  thunder 
cloud  on  the  north-western  frontier  of  the  Empire  has  especially  contri- 
buted to  draw  an  English  army  to  Afghanistan.     There  is,  indeed,  a  small 
minority  of  Indian  Mussulmans  who  endeavour  to  get  rid  of  this  obligation 
to  rebellion  and  a  holy  war  against  unbelievers  by  an  artificial  interpreta- 
tion of  the  only  too  clear  passages  of  the  Koran,  but  there  can  be  no 
doubt  what  the  great  majority — notably  among  the  Siinnitcs,  who  form 
luue-tenths   of  the    Indian  Mussulmans — think  and  believe.      For  the 
Moslem  docs  not  forget  tliat  his  own  Indian  Empire  was  overthrown  by 
-the  British.     But  the  whole  Koran  is  based  on  the  principle  that  the 
pUnssulmans    are   either   a   dominant    people,  or  a   (icople    striving  for 
dominion.      Moreover,  the   Mahometans    of   India   are — through    their 
own  fault  certainly — almost  excluded  from  public  positions  and  offices, 
which  arc  cliiefly  in  the  hands  of  Urahminists. 

The  statesmen  in  London  and  Calcutta  should  not  therefore  fail  in 
Qtion  and  watchfulness,  lest  they  be  again  surjmsed  by  such  events  as 
hoae  of  1857.  No  British  statesman  on  the  spot  will  indulge  the 
bopc  that  Christian  missionaries  will  succeed  in  soon  softening 
Ihc  decply-iugrained  hatred,  mingled  with  contempt,  entertained  by 
Mahometans  for  Christianity.  It  is,  however,  a  noteworthy  sign  of  the 
time  that  lately  a  Mahometan  scholar,  Sayid  Ahmed  Khan,  supreme 
judge  at  Ghazipoor  on  the  Ganges,  has  advertised  and  commenced  a 
tnnslation  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament,  saying  that  both  are  rules 
of  faith  and  life  for  Mahometans  also.  He  does  not  mean  thereby  to 
ji>Doancc  the  Moslem  theology.  But  hitherto  every  Mahometan,  in 
•ptte  of  hifl  reverence  for  Christ,  has  been  wont  to  treat  the  New  Testa- 
ment with  contempt,  ou  the  pretext  that — according  to  Mahomet's 
infallible  declaration — the  text  has  been  tampered  with  by  Christiana. 
The  Moslem  who  detests  the  adherents  of  the  Roman  and  Greek  Churches 
&9  idolaters,  on  account  of  their  worship  of  images,  and  will  not  even 
hold  any  intercourse  with  their  missionaries,  would  be  more  ready  to 
listen  to  an  English  missionary,  and  would,  perhaps,  say  with  the 
MoUah^  quoted  by  Vambery,  "A  wide  and  deep  sea  divides  us  from 
Greeks  and  Armenians;  from  the  English  only  a  ditch."  But  this 
ditch — the  doctrines  of  the  Trinity  and  Bedemption — proves  on  coming 
to  closer  quarters  to  be  an  impassable  gulf. 


400 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  HEVlEfV, 


The  attitude  of  the  Brahmins  towards  Christianity  is  very  diffcrcut 
For  them  all  religious  are  good,  aud  euiauate  either  from  the  Supreme 
Beiug  Himself  or  from  some  di\'inity ;  to  leave  the  religion  in  whicli 
one  is  born  is  both  a  folly  and  a  crime,  ^\^icu  the  Pundits  assembled 
by  Warren  Hastings  at  Calcutta  drew  up  a  summary  of  Hindoo  legisla- 
tiouj  they  began  by  laying  down  as  a  fundamental  principle  that  the 
Supreme  Being  has  imparted  to  every  nation  its  own  belief,  and  to 
every  sect  its  own  religion^  and  now  beholds  in  every  region  of  the 
woHd  that  manner  of  divine  worship  which  was  appointed  for  it. 

Garcin  used  to  examine^  in  his  Annual  Reports,  with  special  atten- 
tion and  predilection  the  missionary  efforts  of  the  Christian  bodies,  aud 
to  take  impartial  note  of  every  success.  He  recounted  with  pleasure  the 
harmonious  co-operation  of  the  Protestant  missionaries  of  different 
Churches  who  were  content  to  forget  their  confessional  differences  in 
prciscncc  of  the  common  foe.  Heathenism,  and  vied  with  each  other  in 
the  founding  of  schools,  the  establishment  of  printing  presses,  and  the 
dissemination  of  Bibles  and  Biblical  text-books.  He  rejoiced  to  find  con- 
verted Brahmins,  like  Banarjen  and  Sastri  Gore,  combating  in  writings  of 
their  own  the  teaching  of  the  Vedas  and  the  philosophical  systems  of 
Indian  pautheisnij  while  the  latter  predicted  the  complete  dissolution  o{ 
Brahminism,  whenever  these  systems  can  be  eradicated  from  the  minds 
of  the  Pundits,  or  learned  Brahmins.  Tliey  all  repose  at  bottom  on  n 
common  principle ;  all  lead  to  the  surrender  of  human  individuality 
and  teach  a  return  of  the  soul  into  the  impersonal  all-unity  of  Bralima, 
disappearance  in  the  ocean  of  the  Godhead,  pantheistically  conceived 
as  neither  thinking  nor  willing.  For  this  pantheism  in  its  popular  form 
is  spread  over  the  whole  intellectual  horizon  of  India,  like  a  thick  cloud 
which  no  rays  of  the  sun  can  penetrate. 

So  much  is  clear  from  Garcin's  Reports  and  ^m  the  English 
publications  about  India— the  great  process  of  the  decomposition  of 
Brahminism  has  begun.  The  old  constraining  power  of  philosophical 
pantheism  over  minds  in  the  higher  castes  is  shaken ;  the  mere  presence 
of  Christianity  on  Indian  soil,  contact  with  it,  the  spectacle  of  Christian 
supremacy  over  every  department  of  life,  the  spre-ad  of  education  and 
European  sciences — all  this  presses  on  Hindooism  with  irresistible  force, 
and  tends  to  hasten  the  bursting  asunder  of  the  firm  joints  of  the  ca.<tf 
system,  that  worst  enemy  of  European  manners  and  religion.  'Hie  great  idt  t 
(estivals  no  longer  bring  together  such  multitudes  as  formerly ;  thoiuic 
schools  arc  already  being  formed,  wliich  refuse  to  serve  the  old  idol-gods- 
Freedom  of  the  press,  and  British  legislation  ba«ed  on  the  principl*'^ 
of  Christian  morality — the  benefit  of  which  tho  Hindoo  feels — con 

to  loosen  Hindooism  from  its  old  moorings  and  jmve  the  way  for  Enro^ 

views.  The  Brahmin  Reform  party*  the  so-called  Brahma-Somnj — 
formed  by  Rammohan  Roy  aud  now  led  by  Debendanath  Dragorch** — 
abandoned  the  belief  in  a  divine  inspiration  of  the  Vcdas,  aud  U  h\m\H 
at  a  rational    theism    without   any   revelation.     It    appears  as  a  ucn 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA. 


401 


I 


religioDj  has  its  temples  and  chnpels,  of  wbich  there  are  said  akeady  to  be 
mxty,  aims  at  social  reforms,  the  abolition  of  the  far  too  early  murriagea 
and  the  limitations  of  caste,  and  an  improvement  in  tlie  condition  of 
ivomen.  It  exercises,  according;  to  GarciDj  an  important  influence  on 
the  middle  classes.  Max  Aliillcr  and  some  Englishmen  look  with  hope 
and  sympathy  on  the  efforts  of  this  party,  in  spite  of  the  division  in  it 
whicli  has  taken  place,  But — on  ne  dC'lruU  (jue  ce  quon  remplace.  The 
Indian  mind  needs  a  substantial  nourishment  for  inteUect  and  heart. 
Only  it  is  a  grave  question  whetlier  it  is  yet  adequately  trained,  espe- 
cially in  the  higher  castes,  to  be  capable  of  understanding  and  appre- 
ciating Christian  doctrine.  As  far  as  I  can  see,  this  is  denied  by  those 
hest  acquainted  M'itli  Ilindooism,  And  when  we  remember  how 
Christianity  was  only  able  to  take  root  in  the  old  world  after  it  had  been 
fuflScicntly  prepared  by  Hellenism  and  Hellenized  Judaism,  while  the 
corres]K)nding  preparation  and  education  of  the  Indian  world  through 
English  influence  was  only  begun  in  earnest  twenty  years  ago,  one 
will  bo  disposed  to  agree  with  them.  Moreover,  men  like  Max  Midler^ 
Monier  "Williams,  and  Bishop  Patteson  suggest  another  ground  of 
hesitation ;  they  think  the  Christianity  offered  by  the  missionaries  to  the 
Hindoos  is  too  strongly  Western  in  its  colouring,  and  takes  a  too 
specifically  English  form,  while  in  its  primitive,  simpler,  and  therefore 
more  Oriental  form  it  would  find  an  easier  entrance. 

While  all  open  and  direct  encroachment  on  the  religious  domain  is 
carefully  and  anxiously  avoided  in  the  schools,  the  mere  acquirement  of 
European  knowledge  acts  as  a  solveut  on  the  minds  of  the  adherents  of 
the  Asiatic  religions.  For  an  Indian's  whole  view  of  the  world  is  iudis- 
solubly  bnur.d  up  with  his  religion,  and  is  in  every  point  incompatible 
with  the  first  elements  of  European  science.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
true,  of  course,  that  nothing  is  fnrther  from  the  thoughts  of  a  Brahmin,  who 
walks  as  a  god  among  men,  than  any  desire  for  a  faith  whose  first  result 
wonld  be  to  deprive  him  of  his  dignity.  Tl»e  mind  of  the  Brahmin,  on 
whom  the  Hindoo  impress  has  once  been  stamped,  will  never  completely 
get  rid  of  it ,-  European  knowledge  will  enlarge  his  intelligence,  but 
will  not  change  it,  or,  according  to  Brahmin  logic,  he  will  not 
cease  to  think.  The  usual  arguments  of  missionaries  glide  off  him 
without  leaving  a  trace  behind.  If  the  demoralizing  consequences  of 
his  idolatry  arc  put  before  him,  he  replies  that  India  has  for  a  longtime 
been  in  the  dark  and  evil  age  of  Kalec-Juga,  aud  another  age  of  the 

k world  in  the  course  of  things  will  improve  its  moral  state. 
A  friend  of  Garcin's,  the  Orientalist  Sprcnger,  who  was  formerly  at 
Calcutta,  and  now  lives  at  Berne,  has  lately  propounded  the  opinion 
that  in  Ic&s  than  a  hundred  years  the  renewed  life  of  the  East  ^riU 
react  on  European  civilization  and  impart  an  unexpected  direction  to 
its  mental  development.  The  works  of  those  Oriental  iKjoples  would  be 
as  useful  to  Europeans  as  to  themselves^  aud  since  they  arc  equal,  and 
in  many  respects  superior,  to  the  latter,  they  might  easily,  at  no  veiy 

VOL.    XXXV.  O    D 


I 


I 


402 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJr, 


clistant  time,  take  the  lead  in  tlie  general  progress  of  humanity.  That  is 
certainly  possible,  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  Indians  are 
alraostj  if  not  quite,  the  only  Asiatic  people  from  whose  subtle  intellect 
any  new  and  powerful  upward  movement  could  be  expected ;  nobody 
who  knows  them  will  look  for  anything  of  the  kind  from  the  Chinese, 
Mongolians,  Malays,  Arabians,  or  Persians.  But  the  Indians,  so  far  as 
history  knows  anything  of  them,  nro  a  people  doomed  to  intellectual 
stagnation ;  the  cycle  of  their  ideas  was  definitely  closed  two  thousand 
years  ago,  and  since  tlieu  it  has  not  received  a  single  addition,  if  wc  except 
Buddhism,  which  was  rejected  as  a  heresy  and  expelled  from  the  soil  of 
India.  The  prolific  seed  and  geueration  of  a  new  intellectual  life  will  then 
only  proceed  from  Europe,  and  cTcn  a  hundred  years  hence  the  inlelli- 
genee  and  knowledge  of  the  West,  though  translated  into  Eastern 
forms,  will  retain  its  supremacy  in  Asia, 

All  Asia  is  now,  so  to  speak,  in  the  grip  of  Europe.     "  Asia's  Cry  of 
Distress^'  is  the  title  of  a  work  circulated  not  many  years  ago  at  Coafttan* 
tinoplc.     "  Asia,  tlie  mother  of  Islam  and  of  all  true  culture,"  says  the 
writer,  "  is  in   danger   of  being  overthrown   by    the    barbarians.     The 
Russians  are  pressing  into  the  heart  of  this  region  on   the   Oxus,  the 
Dutch  destroy  all  civilization  in  Sumatra,  and  the  Engli&h  oppress  I&Iam 
in  India  and  Arabia  on  the  pretext  of  abolishing  slaverj\"      (This  seems 
to  refer  to  what   has  occurred  in  Aden  and  Zanzibar.)      Tlie   danger 
indicated  by  this  believer  in  the  Koran  has  been  redoubled  since  theu. 
The  West  must,  willing  or  unwilling,  fulQl  the  task  laid  upon  it  in  tl 
history  of  the  world,  of  becoming  the  teacher  and  educator,  the  ordci 
and  reformer,  of  the  deeoraposiug  East.    It  is  by  no  human  caprice,  bi 
by  virtue  of  a  higher   law,  that  the  great  European  powers  are  drai 
thither,  and  constrained  to  subordinate  their  policy  to  the  interests  thei 
growing  ujion  them   and  the  ends   set  before   them.     To   Russia   the 
North,  to  England  the  South,  of  that  region  has  been  assigned.     Tho 
Russian,  mentally  and  materially   more  closely  related  to   the  Asiatic 
nature,  knows  better  than  the  Englishman  how  to  consort  with  Orieut; 
and  repel  them  less,  while  yet  he  brings  to  the  districts  he  occupies  «?! 
strong  organization  and  the  beginnings  of  social  development.      Foreigo. 
domination  is  the  rule  throughout  all  Asia ;  all  Asiatic  countries,  fi 
China  to  the  Euphrates,  are  under  foreign  dynasties,   which  only  mi 

tain  themselves  bv  force.     Nor  can  it  be  doubted  that  Persia  is  aJrcadi 

* 

a  vassal  State  of  Russia,  and  a  tool  iu  her  hands. 

Although  the  reluctant  English  Government  has  been  drawn  im 
Afghanistan  by  the  law  of  self-preservation,  England  has  now  lor  yeana 
past  perceived  and  openly  avowed  that  fresh  acquisitions  of  tcrr  "  .:; 

not  desirable  for  her,  but  rather  that  the  internal  moral  conquc 
people  under  her  rule,  their  education  and  civilization,  demand  her  whole 
power  and  undivided  energies.     Russia  appears  nt  present  to  be  far  fn>Bi| 
discemiug  this,  but  the  time  will  yet  come,  and  is  already  near,  when  of 
the  Neva  too  that  saying  will  be  understood  to  be  aa  Irue  in  poliUci 


THE  BRITISH  EMPIRE  IN  INDIA,  405 

as  in  its  intellectual  bearing,  "  The  master  is  shown  first  in  knowing 
where  to  stop."  Soon  too  will  North  America,  to  whom  the  road  has 
already  been  pointed  out  by  the  Chinese  emigration,  apply  herself  to 
Buddhist  Asia,  while  England,  from  Australia  as  well  as  from  India, 
will  begin  to  bring  under  her  influence  the  tribes  behind  India. 
There  the  French,  already  settled  in  Cochin  China,  will  meet  with  the 
Dutch  as  they  advance  from  the  South;  and  we  may  hope  that  the 
meeting  will  be  a  peaceful  one,  and  will  lead  to  co-operation  in  a  common 
task. 

If  the  problem  of  regulating  and  dividing  the  inheritance  of  the 
expiring  Ottoman  Empire  has  hitherto  led,  and  will  very  likely  lead 
again,  to  sanguinary  conflicts,  injurious  alike  to  victor  and  vanquished, 
that  is  because  there  irreconcilable  and  incompatible  claims  and 
interests  are  involved.  But  in  the  interior  of  Southern  and  Eastern 
Asia  things  are  difierent ;  there  is  plenty  of  room  there  for  every  free 
development  of  power. 

To  us  Germans  too  a  part  is  assigned,  and  not  the  least,  in  the 
great  work  of  Europeanizing  Asia.  On  us  the  duty  is  specially  incum- 
bent of  vigorously  prosecuting  Oriental  studies  with  all  the  zeal  and 
thoronghness  of  which — to  name  only  members  of  this  Academy — 
scholars  like  Haug,  Flath,  Spiegel,  Max  Miiller,  and  Trumpp  have  given 
and  still  give  us  so  bright  an  example.  When  the  Orientals  were  settling 
down  in  troops  in  old  Home,  Juvenal  said  that  "  the  Syrian  Orontes 
had  flowed  into  the  Tiber/'*  Would  that  men  may  be  able  to  say  here- 
after that  the  Ehine  and  Elbe,  the  Danube,  Isar,  and  Spree,  have  flowed 
into  the  Ganges  and  Indus — I  mean  that  German  knowledge  and 
literature  have  achieved  their  proper  part  in  the  enlightenment,  the 
intellectual  and  moral  regeneration/  of  the  great  Indian  people !  As  yet 
the  Hindoos  have  translated  hardly  any  but  English  works  for  them- 
Bclves.  May  the  time  not  be  very  far  distant  when  the  productions  of 
the  German  mind  shall  also  be  read  and  appreciated  by  Indian  Brahmins, 
and  may  their  choice  fall,  not  on  poisonous  plants,  but  on  the  noble,. 
nutritious  and  healing  products  of  our  literary  garden ! 

J.    TON    DULLINGER. 


•  Juv.  Sat  iii.  52. 


3>    D  2 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


rcArtMS  to  IIW  ^mUMry  MHim 

!  and  MpeadattH  ontturtL*'— AnOMLST  (OaaM). 


I  HAD  occofiiou  to  consider  in  the  pages  of  thiB  REVIEW,  some  yeatB 
ago,*  the  origin  of  the  seventh  day's  rest.  The  origin  of  the  week, 
or  time-measure  of  seven  days,  is  a  different  matter,  though  of  coui«e 
associated  -with  the  question  of  the  Sabhath.  The  observance  of  a 
day  of  rest  once  in  each  week  may  or  may  not  have  synchronized  with 
or  quickly  followed  the  recognition  of  the  week  as  a  measure  of  time, 
but  it  certainly  was  not  a  necessary  adjunct  to  the  week.  I  propose 
now  to  consider  how  the  week  probably  had  its  origin,  presenting,  as 
occasion  serves,  such  subsidiary  evidence  as  can  be  derived  from 
histoiy  or  tradition.  Usually  this  and  kindred  subjects  have  been 
dealt  with  <i  poKterid-i,  Observauces,  festivals,  chronological  arrange- 
ments, and  80  forth,  known  or  recorded  to  have  beeu  adopted  by 
various  nations,  have  been  examined,  and  an  inquiry  made  into  their 
significance.  The  result  has  not  been  altogether  satisfactory.  Many 
interesting  faots  have  been  brought  to  light  as  research  has  proceeded, 
and  several  elaborate  theories  have  been  advanced  on  nearly  every 
point  of  chronological  research.  Anyone  of  these  theories^  examined 
alone,  seema  to  be  eBtablishcd  almost  beyond  dispute  by  the  number 
of  facts  seemingly  attesting  in  its  favour;  but  when  we  find  that  for 
another  and  yet  another  theory  a  sunilar  array  of  facts  can  be  adduced, 
we  lose  faith  hi  all  tlieorios  thus  supported.  At  least  those  only  retain 
their  belief  in  a  theory  of  the  kind  who  have  given  so  much  care  to 
its  preparation  that  they  have  had  no  time  to  examine  the  evidence 
favouring  other  theories. 

Ou  the  other  band,  there  is  much  to  be  said  in  favour  of  an  a  priori 
method  of  dealiiig  with  ancient  chronological  arrangements.  Wo 
luiow  certainly  how  the  heavens  appeared  to   men  of  old  times;  if 

•   COKISKPOKAKT  BbvibWj  Wapcb,  1875. 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


405 


■ 


occasion  arise  we  can  determine  readily  and  certainly  the  exact  aspect 
of  the  heavens  at  any  given  place  and  time  ;  wo  know  generally  the 
conditions  uuder  which  the  first  observationB  of  the  heavens  must  have 
been  made ;  hence  we  can  infer,  not  unsafely,  what  particular  objects 
would  have  been  first  noted,  or  would  have  been  early  chosen  as 
time-measures;  what  difficulties  would  have  presented  themselves 
€18  time  proceeded  ;  and  how  such  dilHculties  woiild  have  been  met. 

The  inquiry,  let  mo  remark  at  the  outset,  has  an  interest  other  than 
that  depending  on  chronological  relations.  I  know  of  none  better 
Biiited  to  commend  to  our  attention  the  movements  of  the  heavenly 
bodies,  which,  as  Carlyle  has  remarked,  I  think,  though  taking  place 
all  the  time  around  us,  are  not  half  known  to  most  of  us.  As  civiliza- 
tion indeed  progresses,  the  proportion  of  persons  acquainted  with  the 
motions  of  the  heavenly  bodies  becomes  less  and  less;  both  because 
artificial  measures  of  time  come  more  generally  into  use,  and  because 
fewer  persons  in  proportion  are  engaged  out  of  doors  at  night  under 
conditions  making  the  movements  of  the  heavens  worth  obserxang. 
Even  the  increased  interest  taken  of  late  in  the  study  of  astronomy 
has  not  tended.  I  beHeve,  to  increase  the  number  who  have  a  familiar 
acqo^tance  with  the  heavenly  bodies  and  their  motions.  So  soon 
as  a  student  of  astronomy  sets  up  an  observatory,  indeed,  he  is  more 
likely  to  forget  what  he  already  knows  about  ordinary  celestial  phe- 
nomena than  to  pay  closer  attention  to  them.  If  he  wants  to  observe 
a  particular  star  or  planet,  he  does  not  turn  to  the  heavens — one  may 
almost  say  indeed,  strange  though  it  sounds,  that  the  heavens  are  the 
last  place  he  would  think  of  looking  at;  he  simply  sets' the  circles  of 
his  telescope  aright,  kno^^'ing  that  the  star  or  planet  he  wants  will  then 
be  in  the  field  of  view.  The  telescope  is  as  often  as  not  turned  to  the 
object  before  the  door  of  the  revolving  dome  has  been  opened — that 
ifl^  while  no  part  of  the  sky  is  in  view. 

It  is  precisely  because  in  old  times  matters  must  have  been  entirely 
different,  and  familiarity  with  astronomical  facte  much  more  important 
to  persons  not  themselves  engaged  in  the  study  of  astronomy,  that 
the  method  of  inquiry  which  I  propose  now  to  pursue  respecting  the 
origin  of  the  week  is  so  full  of  promise.  If  we  will  but  put  oureelves 
mentally  in  the  position  of  tlie  shepherds  and  duel's  of  the  soil  in  old 
times,  we  can  tell  precisely  what  they  were  likely  to  notice,  in  what 
order,  and  in  what  way. 

In  the  firet  place,  I  think,  it  will  appear  that  some  dix-ision  of  the 
month  analogous  to  the  week  must  have  been  suggested  as  a  measure 
of  time  long  before  the  year.  Commonly  the  year  is  taken  as  either 
the  first  and  most  obvious  of  all  time-measures,  or  else  as  only  second 
to  the  day.  But  in  its  astronomical  aspect  the  year  is  not  a  very  obvious 
division  of  time.  I  am  not  here  speaking,  be  it  underetood,  of  the 
exact  determination  of  the  length  of  the  year.  That,  of  necessity, 
was  a  work  requiring  much  time,  and  could  only  have  been  success- 


406 


TEE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


fully  achieved  by  astixjuomers  of  considerable  slrilL  I  am  refeiTing  to 
tlie  coimaonplttco  year,  tlie  ordiuary  progresgion  of  those  celestial 
phenomena  which  mark  the  changee  of  the  Beasons.  As  \VhewGll 
well  remarks  of  the  year,  the  repetition  of  similar  circurastaiacc,  / 
equal  intervals  is  less  manifest  in  this  case  (thau  in  that  of  the  i! 
and,  the  intervals  being  much  longer,  some  exertion  of  memory  becomea 
requisite  in  order  that  the  recutTenco  may  be  perceived.  A  child 
might  easily  be  persuaded  that  successive  years  were  of  uneqiul 
length;  or,  if  the  summer  were  cold,  and  the  spring  and  autumn  warm, 
might  be  made  to  believe,  if  all  Avho  spoke  in  its  hearing  agreed  to 
support  the  delusion,  that  one  year  was  two.  Of  course  the  recmrence 
of  events  characterizing  the  natural  year  is  far  too  obvious  to  have 
been  overlooked  oven  before  men  began  to  observe  the  heavenly 
bodies  at  all.  The  tiller  of  the  soil  must  observe  the  right  time  to 
plant  seeds  of  various  kinds  that  they  may  receive  the  right  proportion 
of  the  summers  heat;  the  herdsman  could  not  but  note  the  times 
when  his  flocks  and  herds  brought  forth  their  young.  But  no  definite 
way  of  noting  the  progress  of  the  year  by  the  movements  of  the  sun 
or  stars*  would  probably  have  suggested  itself  until  some  time  after 
the  moon's  motions  had  been  used  as  means  of  measuring  time.  The 
lunar  changes,  on  the  other  hand,  are  very  striking  and  obvious ;  tbey 
can  be  readily  watched,  and  they  are  marked  by  easily  deteraiiimble 
stages.  **  It  appears  more  easy/*  says  WTiewell,  "  and  in  earlier  Btage« 
of  civilization  more  common,  to  coiuit  time  by  moons  than,  by  yeaia.*' 

It  has  indeed  been  suggested  that  the  moon's  use  as  a  mcasoror  of 
time  was  from  the  earUest  ages  eo  obvious  that  the  Greek  words*  yn^ 
for  month,  mens  for  moon  (less  common,  however,  than  sekni),  and  lh  ■ 
Latin  mensis  for  mouth,  have  been  associated  with  the  Latin  verb  (.:f 
measure  {meiior,  mensus  sum,  &c.).  Cicero  says  that  mouths  were  called 
mensest  "  quia  itiensa  apalia  conjiciunt,'^  becaiiso  they  complt^te  meaaurt.xl 
spaces.  Other  ot^iuolo gists,  says  Whewell,  connect  these  woids  "witL 
the  Hebrew  manah,  to  measure."  Note  also  the  measure  of  value, 
maueh, — ••  twenty  shekels,  fivo-and-twenty  shekels,  fifteen  sliokols  shall 
be  your  maneJt,  or  mna,'*  Ezek.  xlv.  12,  Again,  the  name  inanna  u 
given  to  the  food  found  in  the  desert,  by  some  interpreted  "a  portion." 
The  word  maie^  or  mna,  in  the  warning,  J/(?««,ft'jl«/,/?/iareff,  was  tr:  -  ^  '  1 
"numbered,"*  With  the  same  word  is  connected  the  Arabic  .1 
or  Al-manach,  Whewell  points  out  that  "if  wo  are  to  attempt  to 
ascend  to  tho  earliest  conditions  of  language,  wo  must  conceive  it 
probable  that  men  would  have  a  name  for  a  most  conspicuous  objrcl 
the  mootij  before  they  would  have  a  verb  denoting  tho  xory  abetrad 
and  genoral  notion,  to  measure."  Tlda  is  true;  but  it  docs  not  follow 
that  the  moon  may  not  have  received  a  name  implying  bor  qoAlity  iM 
a  measurer  lung  aft«r  she  was  first  named.    For  the  idea  of  nsing  tlio 

*  There  tiro  many  reasons  for  tkclirvinif.  as  I  tnay  one  «laj  take  U  opportn&I^y  *^ 
•bowing  in  tbeso  pagua,  tlut  tbe  year  iraa  first  meaitmd  by  tiw  itat*^  noi  bj  tbo  mx^ 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


407 


£: 


aoon  as  a  measmer  of  tinio  must  as  certainly  have  followed  the  con- 
seption  of  the  abetract  idea  of  moasuremGiit^  as  this  conception  must 
lave  followed  the  recognition  of  the  moon  as  an  object  of  observation. 
t  ifl  noteworthy,  indeed,  that  in  the  Greek  the  moon  has  two  names — 
ne,  more  usual,  *^/t'nt",  from  wliichthe  Latins  derived  the  name  luna ;  the 
tber,  mfne^  certainly  connected  with  men,  for  month.  It  Bcoms  almost 
ertain  thatthey,and  thosofrom  whom  they  derived  the  nsagc,had  come 
regard  the  moon's  quality  as  a  timo-measuror  as  distinct  &om  her 
uality  as  an  ornament  of  the  night.  To  tliis  second  term  for  the  moon 
iVliewell's  remark  does  not  apply,  or  rather,  his  remark  suggests  the 
"true  explanation  of  what  otherwise  would  be  perplexing,  the  explana- 
on  being  that  very  derivation  of  the  words  tn^ne^  rneiisiSj  vwnik,  tnoon^ 
c^*  from  a  word  signifying  "  to  measure,"  which  "Wliewell  oppugns. 
Hven  if  this  view  be  rejected,  we  may  yet  regard  the  words  siguifying 
^onenBnratioD  (measurement  and  nimibering)  as  derived  from  a  name 
^Hbr  the  moon,  months,  &c. — a  circumstance  which  would  indicate  the 
^becognizcd  character  of  the  moon  as  a  time-meaeurcr  oven  more 
^^Kgnificantly  than  the  converse  derivation, 

It  is  noteworthy  that  of  all  the  phenomena  obvious  to  observation, 
^K  the  motions  of  the  moon  are  those  which  most  directly  suggest  the 
^'^idea  of  measurement.     Tlie  earth's  rotation  on  her  axis  is  in  reality 

tmiich  more  uniform  than  tlie  moon's  circling  motion  aroimd  the  earth; 
but  to  ordinary  observation  the  recurrence  of  day  and  night  seems 
rather  to  suggest  the  idea  of  inequahty  thou  that  of  the  imifurm  sub- 
division of  time.  For  the  lengths  of  day  and  night  are  seldom  equal, 
and  are  constantly  varying.  The  daily  motions  of  the  fixed  stars 
are  more  uniform  than  the  moon's,  and,  if  carefully  noted,  afford 
an  almost  perfect  uniformity  of  time-measurement.  But  instruments 
of  some  kind  are  necessiiry  to  show  that  this  is  the  case.  The  moon, 
on  the  other  hand,  measures  off  time  in  an  obvious  and  striking 
manner,  and,  to  ordinary  observation,  with  perfect  uniformity.     In 

InKiasnring  time,  the  moon  suggests  also  the  idea  of  numerical  measure 
ment.  And  measures  of  length,  surface,  volume,  and  so  forth,  could 
more  readily  have  been  derived  in  ancient  times  from  the  moon's 
Tuotions  than  in  any  other  manner.  In  precisely  the  same  way  that 
now,  m  Great  Britain,  all  our  measures,!  x^athout  exception,  are  derived 
*  To  these  may  be  added  the  Sanakrit  mita,  tho  Zend  mao,  the  Pcrsiaii  mah,  the  Gotluc 
«fmus.  the  Erse  mios,  and  the  Lithnanian  micnu. 

f  Erea  our  measures  of  tbo  value  of  money  depend  on  tho  obsorrod  motions  of  the 

■tuB.    Ab  I  pointed  out  in  iny  essay  "  Oui*  Chief  Time-pieco  Losing  Timo  "   ("  Lisht 

Sdeacc  for  Leisure  Hours  "),  "  when  wo  come  to  inquire  closely  into  tho  question  of  a 

sovereign*!  intrinsic  valae,  we  find  oujB«lveti  led  to  tho  diurnal  motion  of  thu  stars  by  no 

Ton  long  or  intricate  pftth."    For  a  sovereifn  is  a  coin  containing-  so  nmny  groins  of 

^^^CoU  mixed  with  so  maoy  grains  of  alloy.    1.  gnin  is  the  weight  of  suclt  and  such  a 

^^^^^pio  of  a  certain  standard  auhetiince, — that  is,  so  many  cubic  inchcsj  or  parts  of  ft 

^^^^^K  inch,  of  that  substance.    An  inch  is  dctcrmiDed  as  a  certain  fraction  of  the  length 

^^^^H  poadulnm  Tibnatiog  seconds  in  the  Utitudo  of  London.    A  second  is  a  certain 

^^^^■^  of  a  mean  ecJor  day,  and  is  practically  determined  by  a  reference  to  what  is 

^^^Bm  a  nderaol  day, — the  interval,  namc-ly,  between  the  successive  passages  by  the  sama 

■bir  BCKMB  thfi  celflfltial  meridian  of  any  fixed  place.    This  interval  u  assumed  to  be  coo- 


408 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


from  the  daily  motion  of  the  et^rs,  so  in  old  tianea  the  more  obi 
motions  of  the  moon  could  have  been  used,  and  were  probably 
to  give  the  measures  required  in  those  du^'s. 

If,  then,  the  names  of  the  moon,  months,  and  so  forth,  were  not" 
originally  derived  from  the  idea  of  measurement,  it  is  neverthelcaa 
certain  that  the  moon  must,  fR)m  the  very  earhest  times,  have  been 
regarded  ae,  par  e^rcelience,  Uie  measurer.    The  a  priori  reasons  for  ex- 
pecting  that  the  moon's  name,  or  one  of  her  names,  would  be  tliua 
derived,  seem  to  me  to  add  greatly  to  the  probability  of  this  derivatioiig^^l 
which  has  been  inferred  from  the  actual  eo-existeuce  of  such  name^H 
as  mene  for  the  moon ;  jneii,  me^ww,  &c.  (see  previous  note),  for  the 
month;  mna,  maneh.,  mensxis  (root  imns)  for  measurement. 

The  cirehng  motion  of  the  moon  round  the  earth  being  noted  &om 
the  very  earliest  time,  it  is  certain  that,  very  soon  after,  men  would 
think  of  subchviding  the  moon's  circuit.  The  nights  when  there  w 
no  moon  would  be  distinguished  in  a  very  marked  way  from  Ihotjc  ia 
which  the  moon  was  full  or  nearly  so,  and  thus  the  lunar  month  would 
be  obviously  marked  off  into  two  halves,  each  about  a  fortnight  ia, 
length.  Something  analogous  to  this  first  subdivision  is  toberecoguizej 
in  a  circumstance  which  I  may  one  day  have  to  deal  with  more  at 
length,  the  subdivision  of  the  year  into  two  halvcs^ne  in  which  th» 
Pleiades  were  above  the  horizon  and  visible  at  sunset,  the  other  when 
they  were  below  the  horizon.  There  would  be  the  bright  half  and 
the  dark  half  of  the  month  (so  far  as  the  nights  were  concerned),  and  ti 
must  be  remembered  tlxat  these  would  not  be  unimportant  distinction 
to  the  men  of  old  time,  nor  mere  matters  of  scientific  obseivatiou. 
To  the  shepherd,  the  distinction  between  a  moonlit  and  a  mounl^^flv 
night  must  have  been  very  noteworthy.  All  liis  cares  would  b6 
doubled  when  the  moon  was  not  shining,  all  lightened  when  *«he  wa« 
nearly  full.  A  poet  in  our  time  singing  the  glories  of  the  moonlit  night 
might  be  apt  to  forget  tlie  value  of  the  light  to  the  herdsman  ;  but  in 
old  times  this  must  have  been  the  chief  thought  in  connection  with 
such  a  night.  Thus  wo  find  Homer,  after  deecribiug  the  beauty  of 
a  moonlit  night,  in  a  noble  passage  (mistranslated  by  Pope,  but  nobl/ 
rendered  by  Tennyson),  closing  his  description  -with  the  words — 

"  The  Shepherd  gUddeia  in  hia  heart." 

We  con  well  understand,  indeed,  that  according  to  tradition,  the  firtt 
astronomers  in  every  nation  were  shepherds. 

It  might  seem  at  a  fh'st  view  that  the  division  of  the  month  into  two 
partw  would  be  mostconvenientlymarkedbythe  moon  (1)  T'  fofuH 

and  (2)  disappearing.    But  apart  from  the  considenUion  jiu  >ue4 

fftont  and  is  hi  fact  rcry  nc&rly  po.     Sl3iin?o1y  enoncrh,  tho  mnon.  the  older  mfiataT^m^ 
time,  ia,  by  hor  allruction  on  the  ^  *         "  *      "     •      »         -         ^ 'y  thii: 

nooxly constant  quiinlity— the  oar;  ■•etij 

Ml  a  lireokj  ooDMtantlj  retardlDi^    t..-  •  ..v..      .........  _,  ,^  -        >  '^■^ 

1,&00  millions  of  yeare  would  be  required  to  leT)g:tbcn  Uie  t^rreetnul  d»y  by  on*'  fwU  boofc 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK, 


409 


eho'W'ing  the  probability  that  the  firat  division  would  be  into  the  bright 
half  autl  the  dark  half,  it  is  easily  seea  that  neither  the  full  phase, 
nor  what  is  called  technically  "new"  (in  reality  the  absolute  dift- 
appenrauco  of  the  moon),  could  bo  conveniently  detciinined,  with  any- 

» thing  like  precieion.  The  moon  looks  full  a  day  or  two  before  and  a 
day  or  two  after  she  really  is  full.  The  time  of  the  moon's  coming  to 
the  same  part  of  the  sky  as  the  sun,  again,  though  it  can  be  inferred 

»by  noting  when  she  first  disappeared  and  when  she  first  reappeared,  is 
Dot  obvioiwly  indicated, — or,  which  is  the  essential  point,  so  manifested 
as  to  afford,  at  the  lime,  au  indication  of  the  moon*8  reaching  that 
special  stage  of  her  progress.  K  a  clock  were  so  constmcted  that  time 
■were  indicated  by  the  rotation  of  a  globe  half  wliito  half  black,  and  so 
situated  that  tlie  observer  could  not  be  certain  when  the  white  side 
was  fully  tiu-ned  towards  him,  it  is  certain  he  would  not  obfiervo  that 
pha«e  for  detennining  time  exactly.    If  ho  were  not  only  uncertain 

Pwhen  the  black  side  was  fully  turned  towarda  him,  but  could  not 
ascertain  this  at  all  until  some  little  time  after  the  white  side  began  to 
come  into  view  again  on  one  side  (having  disappeared  ou  the  other 

I  shortly  before),  he  would  bo  still  less  likely  to  observe  the  black  phase 
AS  an  epoch. 
If  we  consider  what  the  owner  of  such  a  timepiece  would  be  apt  to 
do,  or  rather  would  be  certain  to  do,  we  shall  not  1>e  long  in  doubt  as 
to  the  course  which  the  shepherds  of  old  time  would  have  followed. 
The  only  phases  which  such  a  clock  would  show  with  anything  like 
precision  would  be  those  two  in  which  oue  half  the  globe  exactly 
would  bo  white  ntid  the  other  black.  Not  only  would  cither  of  these 
bo  a  perfectly  definite  phase  marked  unmistakably  by  the  straightness 
of  the  separating  hue  between  black  and  white,  but  also  the  rate  of 
change  would  at  these  times  be  most  rapid.  The  middle  of  the 
fieparatiug  line,  or  terminator  in  the  moon's  case,  is  at  all  times 
travelling  athwart  the  face  of  our  satellite,  but  most  quickly  when 
crossing  the  middle  of  her  disc.  Apart,  then,  from  the  consideratioii 
already  mentioned,  which  would  lead  the  first  observers  to  divide  the 
month  into  a  dark  and  a  light  half,  the  aspect  of  the  moon's  face  so 
varied  before  their  eyes  as  to  suggest,  or,  one  may  say,  to  force  upon 
them,  the  plan  of  dividing  her  course  at  the  quartei^s,  when  she  is 
half  full  increasing  and  half  full  diu^inishiug. 

Let  us  pause  for  a  moment  to  see  whether  this  first  result,  to  which 
we  have  been  led  by  purely  a  priori  considerations,  accords  with  any 
evidence  from  tradition.  Wo  might  very  well  fail  to  find  such  evidence, 
fiimply  because  all  the  earlier  and  less  precise  ways  of  dividing  time 
(of  which  this  certahily  would  be  one),  giving  way,  as  they  must 
inevitably  do,  to  more  exact  time-measmee,  might  leave  no  trace 
whatever  of  their  existence.  It  ia,  therefore,  the  more  remarkable  and 
in  a  eetise  fortimate,  that  in  two  cases  we  find  clear  evidence  of  the 
division  of  the  lunar  month  into  two  halves,  and  in  the  precise  manner 


410 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


above  indicated,  llax  Muller,  remarking  on  the  week,  eaya  that 
Le  baa  found  no  trace  of  any  such  division  in  tbe  aucicut  Vedio 
literattare  of  the  Hii»dooSy  but  the  month  is  divided  into  two  according 
to  the  moon — the  clcav  half  and  the  ohscuro  half/  (Flamniarion,  from 
whom  I  take  the  reference  to  Max  Miillerj  says,  "the  cUar  half  from' 
new  to  full,  and  the  obscure  hall'  from  full  to  new;"  but  this  i«  mani- 
festly incorrect,  the  half  of  the  month  from  new  to  full  having  neither 
more  nor  less  hght  by  night  than  the  half  from  full  to  new.)  A  similar 
division  has  been  found  among  the  Aztecs. 

The  next  step  would  naturally  be  the  division  of  each  half,  tho 
bright  and  the  dark  half,  into  two  equal  parte.  In  fact  thia  would  bo 
done  at  the  same  time,  in  mo&t  caaea  (tliat  is,  among  most  ualiuns) 
that  the  month  was  divided  into  two.  The  division  at  half  full 
increasing  and  half  full  decreasing  would  be  the  more  exact;  but 
once  made  would  afford  the  means  of  determinuig  the  times  of  *'  full 
and  "  new."  Diu*iug  the  first  few  montlis  after  men  had  notice! 
closely  the  times  of  half  full,  they  would  perceive  that  between  fourteen 
and  fifteen  days  separated  these  times,  so  that  "full"  and  "new** 
came  about  seven  days  after  the  times  of  half-moon. 

All  this  would  be  compai-atively  rough  work.  HerdameUf  and 
perhaps  the  tillers  of  the  soil  in  harvest  time,  would  perceive  that  the 
lunar  month,  their  ordinary  measure  of  time,  "wae  naturally  divisibld 
into  fom*  quarters,  two  epochs  (the  half-moons)  limiting  which  were 
neatly  defined,  while  the  intermediate  two  cotild  be  easily  inferred. 
They  would  fall  into  the  habit  of  dividing  the  months  into  quarters 
in  this  rough  way  long  before  they  began  to  look  for  some  comicctioQ 
between  the  length  of  the  month  and  of  the  day,  precisely  as  men., 
(later,  no  doubt)  divided  the  year  roughly  into  four  seasons,  and  tha; 
seasons  into  months,  long  before  they  had  formed  precise  notions  as 
to  the  number  of  months  in  years  and  seasons.  We  shall  sec  presently 
that  in  each  case,  so  soon  as  they  tried  to  connect  two  nieasures  <*t\ 
time — the  month  and  day  in  one  case,  the  year  and  month  in  thej 
other — similar  difficulties  presented  themselves,  and  also  that  whtl« 
similar  ways  of  meeting  these  diiHcxdties  naturally  occurred  to  men, 
tradition  shows  that  these  natural  methods  of  dealing  with  the 
difficulties  were  those  actually  followed  in  one  case  certainly,  and  (to 
show  wluch  is  the  object  of  the  present  paper)  mc^t  probably  in  the 
other  also. 

Men,  at  least  those  who  wore  given  to  the  habit  of  enumviration, 
would  have  found  out  that  there  are  some  29^  days  in  each  lunaiJ 


•  U  ia  noteworthy  Umt  in  the    *--r-ii>^  f  .i.i..*.  v,t..ir-  ,i^.;,  v,.ned  Igr  Mr  "^     ^' 
(which  nre  copiea  of  Bul'jloni;ii]  lo  books  • 

uenesU).  w«  find  in  the  account  (•:  vA  =t:irTi,  !  i 

the  account  in  GcnQSiB  vofi  probably  ulriilgi-J.  itpvciiil  xi  ■  ..i.  ija- 

homed  ])hAse — "At  the  beg^inning  of  tlie  month,  at  thv  j  1..:!^'  -tu. 

hrcuking  throngh,  and  ihiso  on  uc  faearen;  on  the  nuiLii  o^  to  u  circje  h«  bsK^iu 
•well." 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  TUE  WEEK.  411 

STKionth  not  long  ofter  tliey  bad  regarded  the  month  as  divided  into 

^Vmr  pnrts,  and  long  before  they  had  thought  of  connecting  months 

-r^nd  days  together.   After  a  whilc»  however,  the  occasion  of  some  sucl. 

«3onnection  would  arise.     It  might  arise  in  many  diiferent  wayB.    The 

^Tiost  likely  occasion,  perhaps,  would  be  the  necessity  of  apportioning 

rork  to  those  employed  as  herdsmen  or  in  tilling  the  HoiL    They 

'onld  be  engaged  probably  (so  soon  as  the  simplest  of  all  engage- 

-zneoitc,  by  the  day,  required  some  extensiou)  by  the  month.    In  fact 

one   may  say  that   certainly  the  hiring  of  labourers  for  agriotiltural 

^ind  pastoral  work  must  have  been  by  the  month  almrrfst  from  the 

^fcegiuning.* 

Bat  from  the  beginning  of  hiring  also,  it  must  have  become  necea- 

eary  to  measure  the  mouth  by  days.     Herdsmen  and  labourers  could 

:miot  have  had  their  terms  of  labour  defined  by  the  actual  obBcrvation 

of  the  lunar  phases,  though  these  might  have  eho^m  them,  in  a  rough 

eort  of  "Way,  how  their  term  of  labour  was  passing  on. 

■       Thus,  at  length,  a  month  of  days  and  itn  subdivisions  must  have 

<;omo  into  use.     The  subdivisions  wovdd  ahnost  certainly  correspond 

^vith  the  quarters  ah'cady  indicated ;  and  the  week  tif  seven  days  is 

^^be  nearest  approach  in  an  exact  number  of  dej-s  to  the  quarter  of  a 

"inoiith.      Four  periods  of  eight  days  exceed  a  lunar  month  by  two 

^uA  a-halF  days ;   while  fttur  periods  of  seven   days  exceed  a  lunar 

month  by  only  one  and  a-half  days. 

Now  there  would  be  two  distmct  ways  in  which  thu  division  of  the 
month  into  four  woelcs  might  bo  arranged. 

1  First,  the  moutli  might  be  taken  as  a  constant  measure  of  time,  and 
':four  weeks,  of  seven  days  each,  s^iifeably  placed  in  each  month,  so  that 
the  extra  day  and  a-half,  or  nearly  enough  three  days  in  two  months, 
could  be  intercalated.  Thus  in  one  month  a  day  could  be  left  out  at 
the  time  of  new  moon,  and  in  the  next  two  days,  one  day  alternating 
with  two  in  successive  months:  if  the  remaining  part  of  each  month 

■  ■were  divided  into  four  equal  parts  of  seven  days  m  each,  the  arrange- 
ment would  correspond  closely  enough  with  the  progress  of  the 
months  to  serve  for  a  considerable  time  before  fresh  intercalation  was 


I 


•  The  earliest  record  we  have  of  hinng  \a  that  oontiuned  la  Genesis,  chap-  xxix.  Wo 
reoid  there  that  Jacob  *'  abode  with  Labon  the  t^^ue  of  a  morUh,**  eerxxne  him  without 
waget.  Then  L<aban  said  to  Jacob,  "  Because  thou  art  my  brother,  nhoulcut  thou  there- 
fore aerre  me  for  nought?  UiW  me,  what  sliall  thy  wages  be  ?'*  At  tliis  time,  it  is  worth 
noting,  the  number  seven  had  come  to  be  regarded  as  convoniont  in  hiring,  for  Jacob 
■aid,  "  I  will  eerre  theo  scren  yearn  for  Rachel  thy  younger  daughter.  .  .  .  And  Jacob 
aerred  soTen  years  for  Bachel ;  and  they  seemed  nnto  him  but  a  few  days,  for  the  lore  ho 
had  to  her."  It  is  obvious  that  the  length  of  the  service  was  regarded  by  thu  narrator  as  a 
mecia]  proof  of  Jacob's  lore  for  Bacheb  For  an  onlinary  wage  a  man  would  work  seven 
a»v;  u>r  his  lore  Jacob  worked  seven  years.  That  this  waa  bo  ia  shown  by  Labtin's 
caUing  the  term  a  week.  After  giving  Leah  instead  of  Rachel,  he  says.  "Fulfil  her 
-week,  and  we  will  give  thee  this  also  for  the  servioe  which  thou  shalt  servo  with  mo 
yet  seven  other  years.  And  Jacob  did  bo,  and  fuUUled  her  wwek."  The  week  must  have 
been  a  cnrt^mary  term  of  engagement  long  before  this,  or  it  would  not  be  thus  spoken 
of.  BerrantB  (the  herdsmen  of  Abram's  catUe,  and  the  herdemen  of  Lot's  cattle)  sro 
aomcwhat  earlier.  The  word  week  is  not  used  earlier  than  in  the  pasoage 
quoted;  and  there  is  no  reference  to  a  weekly  day  of  rest  before  the  Exodus. 


41S 


THE  CONTEMPOIiARY  REVIEW. 


required.     Two  lunar  montbs  would  thus  be  counted  as  fiftj-ajix=iB 
days,  falling  short  of  the  truth  by  one  hour,  twenty-eight  nii:iuteB,  £■-  rw^d 
neurly  eight  seconds.     On  four  lunar  months  the  difference  would      lOQ 
nearly  three  houin,  and  in  tliirty-two  luuar  mouths  nearly  one  d-^a*-^- 
So  that  if  in  the  first  month  two  days,  in  tlio  second  one,  in  the  thi  »"*1 
two,  in  the  fouj^h  one,  and  so  on — in  the  tliirly-first  two,  and  in  tz.  i^e 
thirty-second  iico  (instead  of  one)  were  intercalated,  the  total  error       ^^a 
those  tliirty-two  months,  or  about  two  years  and  five  calendar  monfc^^^s 
of  our  present  time,  would  be  ouly  about  half-an-hour. 

We  fiud  traces  of  a  former  arrangement  by  which  the  time  of  n^^  ^^"^ 
moon  was  separated,  as  it  were,  from  the  rest  of  the  lunar  monfc-  ^Xx 
Tlie  occurrence  of  new  moon  marked  in  most  of  the  old  systems        ^ 
time  of  rest  and  religious  worship,  probably,  almost  certainly,  ariBii^^  ^ 
originally  from  the  worship  of  the  heavenly  bodies  as  deities.     B 
the  chronological  airangements,  probably  connected  with  this  usage 
first,  have  left  few  traces  of  their  existence.     The  usage  presem^ 
manifest  imperfections  as  part  of  a  chronological  system,  and  mi 
Boon  have  beeu  abandoned  by  the  more  skilful  of  those  who  sougl 
among  the  celestial  bodies  for  the  means  of  measuring  time.     Tl 
Greeks   adopted   such  an  arraugement  as  I  have  above  indicate    ^^sO. 
"  The  last  day  of  each  lunar  month,"  \Vlicwell  saj's,  "  was  called  tn-^^J 
them  '  the  old  and  new,'  as  belonging  to  both  the  waning  and  the  r-  ^^^^ 
appearing  moon,  and  their  festivals  and  sacrifices,  as  determined  hizM  oj 
the  calendar,  were  conceived  to  be  necessarily  connected  with  tti^* 
same  periods  of  the  cycles  of  the  sun  and  moon."     '*  The  laws  an*:-«^-^*| 
oracles,"  says  Geminus,  **  which  directed  that  they  should  in  sacrifice-  ^^^^***i 
observe  three  things,  months,  days,  and  years,  were  so  understood  .K^^*^;  ) 
AVith  this  persuasion,  a  correct  system  of  intercalation  became  a  rcLff  -^^^w^l 
gious  duty,     Aratus,  in  a  passage  quoted  by  Geminus,  says  of  tl«_^"^^^ 
moon — 

"  Ah  still  her  ahif  ting  vlsa^  cbanging  tnmsi 
By  her  we  count  the  monthly  round  of  momfi." 

But  the  religious  duty  of  properly  intercalating  a  day  every  thirty-tw*^*^o 
months,  to  correct  for  the  difference  between  two  Imiar  months  au-^^ria 
fifty-nine  days,  would  seem  not  to  have  been  properly  attended  to,  fi; — ^'^' 
Aristophanes  in  the  *'  Clouds"  makes  the  moon  complain  thus : — 


"CnoRue  OP  Cxoddb. 

"  The  moon  by  ns  to  you  hor  grwUng  sends. 
Bat  Uds  OB  say  that  ehc'd  an  ill-used  moon. 
And  takes  it  much  nuiisa  that  yon  should  still 
Shuffle  her  days,  and  turn  them  topsy-lnrvy  j 
And  that  the  god»,  who  know  thulr  ftiost-dayB  wellj 
By  your  false  count  ari;  Bent  home  supperlcss. 
And  soold  and  storm  at  her  for  your  neglect." 


The  second  usage  would  be  the  more  convenient.     Perceivmg, 
they  would  by  this  time  have  done,  tliat  the  lunar  month  does  no** 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


413 


I 


I 


I 


• 


contain  an  exact  number  of  daj's,  or  of  half-tlajs,  men  would  recognize 
the  tiselesBness  of  attempting  to  nse  any  subdivision  of  the  month, 
month  by  mouth,  and  would  einiply  take  the  week  of  ecven  days  as 
the  nearest  approach  to  the  convenient  gubdi\'ision,  the  quarter- 
mouth,  and  let  that  period  run  on  continually,  without  concerning 
thcraBelvcs  with  the  fact  that  each  new  month  began  on  a  different 
day  of  the  week.  In  fact  this  corresponds  precisely  with  what  has 
been  done  in  the  case  of  the  year. 

The  necessity  of  adopting  some  arrangement  for  periodical  rest 
•would  render  the  division  of  time  into  short  periods  of  unvarying 
length  desirable.  And  as  herdsmen  and  labourers  were  early  engaged 
by  the  lunar  month,  and  afterwards  by  its  subdivision  the  quarter- 
mouth,  it  is  very  probable  that  the  beginning  of  each  month  would 
first  be  chosen  as  a  suitable  time  for  a  rest,  while  later  one  day  in 
each  week  would  be  taken  as  a  rest  day.  This  would  not  be  by  any 
means  inconsistent  with  the  belief  that  from  very  early  times  a  reH- 
gious  significance  was  given  to  the  monthly  and  weekly  resting  days. 
Almost  every  observance  of  times  and  seasons  and  days  had  its  first 
origin,  most  probably,  in  agricultural  and  pastoral  customs.  It  was 
only  after  a  long  period  had  elapsed  that  arrangements,  origiJially 
adopted  as  convenient,  became  so  sanctioned  by  long  habit  that  a 
rehgious  meaning  was  attached  to  them.  Assuredly,  whatever 
opinion  may  be  formed  about  the  Sabbath  rest,  only  one  can  be 
formed  about  the  new  moon  rest.  That  certainly  had  its  origin  in  the 
hinar  motions  and  their  relation  to  the  convenience  and  loabits  of  out- 
door workers.  It  seems  altogother  reasonable,  apart  from  the  evidence 
it  priori  and  (i  poaterion  iu  favour  of  the  coaclusion,  to  adopt  a  similar 
explanation  of  the  weekly  rest,  constantly  associated  as  we  find  it  with 
the  rest  at  the  time  of  new  moon. 

This  explanation  impHes  that  the  week  would  almost  certainly  be 
adopted  as  a  measure  of  time  by  every  nation  which  paid  any  atten- 
tion to  the  subject  of  time-measurement.  Now  we  know  that  no  trace 
of  the  week  exists  among  the  records  of  some  nations,  while  in  others 
the  week  was  at  least  only  a  subordinate  time-measure.  Among  the 
earlier  Eg}q>tian8  the  month  was  divided  into  periods  often  days  each, 
and  hitherto  no  direct  ovidoucohas  been  found  to  show  that  a  seven- 
day  period  was  used  by  them.*  The  Chinese  divided  the  month  simi- 
larly. Among  the  Babylonians  the  month  was  divided  into  periods  of 
five  days,  six  such  periods  iu  each  month,  and  also  into  weeks  of  seven 
days.     The  same  double  arrangement  was  adopted  by  the  Hebrews. 

It  is  easy  to  show,  however,  that  the  division  of  the  month  into  six 
equal  or  nearly  equal  parts,  five  days  in  each,  was  not  ai  ived  at  in  a 
eimilar  way  to  the  division  into  four  parts,  and  was  a  later  method. 


•  LftpUoe  tUBcrta  of  the  Egyptiana  that  they  nsod  a  period  of  Boveo  iLiyg,  liut  he  mi«- 
mderstood  the  occoant  gW&a  oy  Dion  Caasixu*  who  referred  to  the  astronomers  of  the 
Al^^iandrian  School,  not  to  the  ancient  Egyptians. 


ftl4 


THE  CONTEj^rrORARY  RE17EW. 


I 


We  have  seen  how  the  quarters  of  the  lunar  orbit  are  detenmned 
at  "half-full,*'  by  the  bouudary  between  the  light  and  dark  half  croaa- 
ing  the  middle  of  the  moon's  disc.    Content  at  firet  to  detennine  this 
ocularly,  observers  wouW  after  a  time  de\*i8e  simply  methods  of  making 
more  exact  determinations.     iSnch  devices  as  Ferguson,  the  self-tanght 
Scottish  peasant,  employed  to  determine  the  positions  of  the  etare, 
would  be  likely  to  occur  to  tlio  Chaldroan  shepherdfi  in  old  times.  Tliat 
astronomer  (for  he  well  merits  the  name,  when  wo  consider  ondei; 
what  disadvantages  he  achieved  success)  constiiicted  a  frame  acroffl 
wliich  slender  threads  could  bu  shifted,  so  that  their  intersectionfr 
should  coincide  with  the  appai*ent  places  of  stars.    A  frame  fiimilarly 
constructed  might  be  made  to  carry  four  such  threads  forming  ^^m 
square,  wliich  properly  placed  would  just  seem  to  enclose  the  mooii'*^ 
disc,  while  a  fifth  thread  parallel  to  two  sides  of  the  square  and  mid- 
way between  them  coidd  be  made  to  coincide  with  tlie  straight  edge 
of  the  half-moon, — and  thus  the  exact  time  of  half-moon  could  bo 
easily  detennined.     Now  when   the  separating  line  or  arc  between 
light  and  darkness  fell  otherwise,  the  fifth  thread  might  be  made  to 
show  exactly  how  far  across  this  separating  arc  (that  is,  its  iniddli 
point)  had  travelled,  and  thonce  how  far  tJie  month  had  progressed,— 
if  the  observer  had  some  little  knowledge  of  trigonometry.    If  lia 
had  no  such  knowledge,  but  were  acquainted  only  with  the  simplei 
geometrical  relations   of  lines  and  circles,  there  would  only  be  tvo"' 
other  cases,  besides  that  of  the  half-moon,  with  which  he  could  d^al' 
by  this  simple   method,  or  some  modiBcation  thereof.     When  the 
middle  point  of  the  arc  between  light  and  darkness  has  travellt 
exactly  one-fourth  of  the  way  across  the  moon's  disc,  the  moon  hi 
gone  one-third  of  the  way  from  "  new"  to  "  full.*'     When  tliat  niid( 
point  has  travelled  exactly  three-fourths  of  the  way  across,  the  moon  hi 
gone  two-thirds  of  the  way  from  "  new  "  to  '*  full."     Either  stage  cB 
bo  determined    almost    as   easily   with    the    frame    and   threads, 
some  like  coutrivance,  as  the  time  of  half-moon,  and  similarly  of  the 
eorrespontling  stages  from  "  full "  to  "  new."     Thus,  including  new 
and  full,  we  have  six  stages  in  the  moon's  complete  circuit.    Shentai 
from  "new;"  when  she  has  gone  one-sixth  of  the  way  round, 
advancing  arc  of  light  Ims  travelled  one-fourth  of  the  way  across  hi 
dieo;  when  she  has  gone  two-sixths  round,  it  has  travelled  three-foUi 
of  the  way  across:  then  comes  "full,"  corresponding   to  half-wftj 
roimd ;  then,  at  four-sixths  of  the  way  round,  the  receding  edge  is  one- 
fourth  of  the  way  back  acrosBtho  moon's  disc;  at  five-sixths  it  is  tbrcft^H 
fourths  of  the  way  back;  and  lastly  she  completes  her  circuit  at  *Miew^H 
again.    Each  stage  of  her  journey  lasts  oue-eixth  of  a  lunar  monliii 
or  five  days,  lees  about  two  hours.     Thus  five  days  more  nearly  repi^M 
sents  one  of  these  stages  than  a  week  represents  a  quarter  of  a  luuliH 
month.    For  a  week  falls  short  of  a  quarter  of  a  month  by  more  than 
idne  hours,  while  five  days  exceeds  a  sixth  of  a  month  by  rather  l«* 


i 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


415 


Ban  two  hoars.  Moreover  while  edx  periods  of  five  days  exceed  a 
month  by  less  than  half-o-duy,  four  weeks  fall  short  of  a  month  by 
njore  than  a  day  and  a-lialf/ 

We  can  very  well  understand,  then,  that  the  division  of  the  Innar 
month  into  six  parta,  each  of  five  days,  or  into  three  parts,  each  of  ten 
llays^  should  have  been  early  suggested  by  astronomers,  as  an  improve- 
tatent  on  the  comparatively  rough  division  of  tlie  month  into  four  equal 
parts.  We  can  equally  understand  that  where  the  latter  method  had 
been  long  in  use,  where  it  had  become  connected  with  the  system  of 
hiring  (one  day*s  rest  being  allowed  in  each  quarter-month),  and  espe- 
cially where  it  had  become  associated  with  religious  observances,  the 
new  method  would  be  stoutly  resisted.  It  would  seem  that  a  contest 
between  advocates  of  a  five  days'  period  and  those  of  a  seven  days* 
period  arose  in  early  times,  and  was  canied  on  with  considerablo 
bitterness.  There  arc  those  who  find  in  the  great  pyramid  of  Egypt 
the  record  of  such  a  struggle,  and  evidence  that  finally  the  seven  days* 
period  came  to  be  distinguished,  as  a  sacred  time-measure,  from  the  ^"^q 
days*  period,  which  was  regarded  doubtless  as  a  profane  though 
perhaps  a  more  exact  and  scientific  subdivision.  In  the  Jewinh 
religious  sj-stem.  however,  both  subdivisions  appear, 

A  singular  piece  of  evidence  has  quite  recently  been  obtained 
respecting  the  week  of  the  Babylonians,  which,  while  illustrating  what 
I  have  above  shown  about  the  week  and  the  five  days'  period,  seems 
to  afford  some  explanation  of  the  week  of  weeks.  So  far  as  I  know,  it 
has  not  been  considered  in  this  particular  light  before.  ^Ve  learn  from 
Professor  Sayce  that  the  Babylonians  called  the  7th,  14tli,  19th,  2lBt, 
and  28th  days  of  each  month  Rnbbain,  or  day  of  rest.  Here  clearly  tho 
7th,  14th,  21st,  and  28th  correspond  to  the  same  day  of  the  week ;  but 
how  does  the  IPth  fall  into  the  series  ?  It  appears  to  me, — though  I 
must  admit  that  I  only  make  a  guess  in  the  matter,  knowing  of  no 
independent  evidence  to  favour  the  idea, — that  the  19th  day  of  a  month 
became  a  day  of  rest  as  being  tho  forty-ninth  day  from  the  beginning  of 
the  preceding  month.  It  was,  in  fact,  from  the  preceding  month,  tho 
seventh  seventh  day,  or  the  sabbath  of  sabbaths.  So  to  regard  it,  how- 
ever,— that  ifl,  to  make  the  19th  day  of  one  month  the  forty-ninth  from 
the  beginning  of  the  preceding, — it  is  necessary  that  the  length  of  the 
month  should  be  regarded  as  tliirty  days  (the  difference  between 

rrty-nine  days  and  nineteen). 
While  in  any  nation  the  month  and  its  subdivisions  would  thus,  in 
all  probability,  be  dealt  with, — the  week  almost  inevitably  becoming 
for  a  while  at  least  a  measure  of  time,  and  in  most  cases  remaining  so 
long  in  use  as  to  obtain  an  unshaken  hold  on  the  people  from  the  mero 

k*  Tb«  five  days'  period  hsa  tks  crteak  flfi  odvaatage  over  the  week  in  more  exactly 
riding  tiie  year,  ob  it  hna  in  diriding  the  month,  fiiooe.  while  fifty-two  weeks  fall  short 
of  &  yuMX  by  nearly  a  tLiy  and  a  <|uai-ter.  seventy-three  periods  of  fivu  day^  ouly  f&U  nhort 
ol  ft  year  bv  a  qnarter  of  a  day.  But  the  number  62  has  tho  groat  adrontage  over  73  cf 
being  inbdiTigiDle  into  four  thirtceOBt 


416 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


effect  of  custom, — another  way  of  dealing  with  the  moon's  motions 
would  certainly  have  been  recognized. 

Watching  the  moon,  night  after  night,  men  would  soon  pe:ceive 
fihe  travels  among  the  stare.  It  is  not  easy  to  determine,  from  ^  prion'  a 
siderations,  at  what  particular  stage  of  observational  progress  the  stars^ 
which  are  scattered  over  the  background  on  which  tlie  heavenly  bodies 
travel,  would  be  specially  noticed  as  objecta  likely  to  help  men  in  the 
measurement  of  lime,  the  determination  of  seasons,  and  so  forth.  On 
the  whole  it  seems  likely  that  the  observation  of  the  stars  for  this  pur- 
pose would  come  rather  later  than  the  first  rough  determinations 
of  the  year,  and  therefore  considerably  lat«r  (if  the  above  reasoning 
is  just)  than  the  determination  of  the  month.  The  suitability  of  tho 
stars  for  many  purposes  connected  with  the  measurement  of  time  is 
not  a  circumstanoo  which  obtrudes  itself  on  the  attention.  Many  years 
might  well  pass  before  men  would  notice  that  at  the  same  season  of 
the  year  tho  same  stars  are  seen  at  corresponding  hours  of  the  night; 
for  this  ie  leas  striking  than  the  regular  variation  of  the  8un*8  aItitu<lo, 
&c.,  as  the  year  progresses.  This  would  bo  true  even  if  we  assumed 
that  from  the  beginning  certain  marked  star  groups  were  recognized 
and  remembered  at  each  return  to  particular  positions  on  the  sky.  But 
it  is  unlikely  that  this  happened  imtil  long  after  such  rough  obscrvA- 
tious  as  I  have  described  above  had  made  considemble  progr^s. 
There  is  only  one  group  of  stai'S  respecting  which  any  exception  can 
probably  bo  made, — viz.,  the  Pleiades,  a  group  which,  being  both 
conspicuous  and  unique  in  the  heavens,  must  very  early  have  been 
recoguizedandremembered,  Buteveninthe  cttseofthePleia'j'  "'  '\-:^ 
almost  certainly  it  was  not  only  the  first  known  star  gronp.  ..  .'St 

probably  it  was  the  object  which  led  to  the  first  precise  determinatioii 
of  the  year's  length)  a  considerable  time  must  have  passed  before  the 
regular  return  of  the  group,  at  times  corresponding  to  particular  parti 
of  the  year  of  seasons,  was  recognized  by  shepherds  and  tillere  of  ths 
Boil,     Certainly  the  moon's  motions  must  have  been  earUer  noted. 

So  soon,  however,  as  men  had  begim  to  study  tho  f\xer\  stATW,  to 
group  them  into  constellations,  and  to  watch  the  motions  of  f'  -j* 

athwart  the  heavens,  hour  by  hour,  and  (at  tho  same  hou; ,  ...p..-;  i>y 
night,  they  would  note  with  interest  the  motions  of  their  special  time- 
measurer,  the  moon,  amongst  the  stars. 

They  woiild  find  first  that  the  moon  circuits  the  stellar  bcATens 
always  in  the  same  direction ;  namely,  from  west  to  oast,  or  ia  tho 
direction  contrary  to  that  of  the  appai*ent  diurnal  ni'    '  '  '  *     !»& 

shares  with  all  the  celestial  bodies.     A  veiy  few  moui  vr 

that»  speaking  generally,  the  moon  keeps  to  one  track  romid  tho 
heavens ;  but  possibly,  even  in  so  short  a  time,  close  ol>8ervera  wodd 
perceive  that  she  had  slightly  deviated  from  the  conrso  slio  had  ot 
first  pursued.  After  a  time  this  would  be  clearly  seen,  and  pntbably 
the  observers  of  those  days  may  have  supposed  for  a  vrlulo  that  the 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


417 


I 
I 


moon,  getting  fartber  and  farther  from  her  original  track,  would 
eventuzilly  travel  on  a  quite  different  path.  But  with  the  further 
pix)gre6s  of  time,  she  would  be  found  elowly  to  return  to  it.  And  in 
the  course  of  many  years  it  would  be  found  that  her  path  Hes  ahvByB, 
not  in  a  certain  track  round  the  celestial  sphere,  but  in  a  certain  zone 
or  band  some  twenty  moou-breadthe  wide — to  which  no  doubt  a 
special  name  would  be  given.  It  was  in  reality  the  mid-zone  of  the 
present  zodiac,  which  is  about  thirty-five  moon-breadths'  wide.  The 
central  track  of  the  moon's  zone,  which  may  bo  called  the  lunar  zodiac, 
is  in  reaUty  the  track  of  the  sun  round  the  heavens.  But  the  recog- 
nition of  the  moon's  zone  would  long  precede  either  the  determination 
of  the  6un*s  path  among  the  stars  or  that  of  the  zodiac  or  planetary 
highway.  The  distinction  between  the  sim  and  moon  in  this  respect 
is  well  indicated  in  Job*8  words,  "  If  I  beheld  the  sun  when  it  shined, 
or  the  moon  walking  in  brightness," — the  brightness  of  the  sun  pre- 
venting man  from  detennining  hie  real  course  till  astronomy  as  a 
science  had  made  considerable  progress,  whereAs  the  track  of  the  moon 
among  the  stars  is  obvious  to  every  one  who  watches  the  moon,  either 
from  night  to  night  or  even  for  a  few  hours  on  any  one  night.  The 
motions  of  the  planets,  again,  and  indeed  the  very  recognition  of  these 
wandering  stai-s,  belong  to  an  astronomy  much  more  advanced  than 
that  which  we  have  been  hero  dealing  with- 

Watching  the  moon's  progress  along  her  zone  of  the  stellar  hcavena 
night  after  night,  the  observers  would  perceive  that  she  completes  the 
circuit  in  less  than  a  month.  Before  many  months  had  passed  they 
would  have  determined  the  period  of  these  circuits  as  between  twenty- 
aeven  and  twenty-eigtt  days.  It  is  very  likely  that  at  first,  while  their 
estimate  of  the  true  period  was  as  yet  inexact,  they  would  suppose  that 
it  lasted  exactly  four  weeks.  We  must  remember  that  the  natural  idea 
of  the  earHer  observers  would  bo  that  the  motions  of  the  various  celes- 
tial bodies  did  in  reaUty  synchronize  in  some  way,  though  how  those 
motions  synchronized  might  not  easily  be  discovered.  They  would 
soppose,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  we  know  they  did  suppose,  that  the  sun 
and  moon  and  stars  were  made  to  be  for  signs  and  seasons  and  for 
days  and  months  and  years.  To  imagine  that  the  celestial  machinery 
contrived  for  man's  special  benefit  was  in  any  sense  imperfect  would 
have  appeared  very  wicked.  They  would  thus  be  somewhat  in  the 
position  of  a  person  for  whom  a  clockmaker  had  constructed  a  vety 
elaborate  and  ingenious  clock,  showing  a  number  of  relations,  as  the 
progress  of  the  day»  the  hour,  the  minute,  the  second,  the  years,  the 
months,  the  seasons,  tho  tides,  and  so  forth,  but  with  no  explanation 
of  the  various  dials.  The  owner  of  the  clock  would  be  persuaded  that 
all  the  various  motions  indicated  on  the  dials  were  intended  for  his 
special  enlightenment,  though  he  would  be  unable  for  a  long  time 
to  make  out  their  meaning,  or  might  fail  altogether.  So  the  first 
observere  of  the  heavens  must  have  been  thoroughly  assured  that  the 

VOL.  sxxv.  E  E 


418 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


planetfi,  and  stars 


for 


movempnts  of  tlie  min,  moon,  planetfi,  ana  stars  were 
time,  and  therefore  synchroiiizcd  (though  iii  long  periods)  \\itk  each 
other.     We  i^cognize  a  wider  system  (a  nobler  scheme,  one   might 
eay,  if  this   did    not  imply  a  degree  of  knowledge  which  we  do  not 
really  possess)  in  the  actual  motioiis  of  the  celestial  bodies.     But  with^ 
the  men  of  old  times  it  was  dififereut.  ^P 

Most  probably,  then,  perceiving  that  the  moon  completes  her  circuit 
of  the  stellar  heavens  in  a  day  or  two  less  than  a  lunar  months  they 
would  suppose  that  it  was  this  motion  which  the  moon  completea  in 
twenty-eight  days.  Nor  would  they  detect  the  error  of  this  view  so 
readily  as  the  student  of  modem  astronomy  might  suppoee.  The 
practice  of  carrying  on  cycle  after  cycle  till  a  great  number  have  been 
completed  in  order  to  ascertain  the  true  length  of  the  cycle,  obvious 
though  it  now  appears  to  us,  would  not  be  at  all  an  obvious  resource 
to  the  first  observers  of  the  heavens.  Of  course,  if  this  method  had 
been  employed,  it  would  soon  have  shown  that  the  moon's  circuit  q^h 
the  stellar  heavens  is  accomphshed  iji  less  than  twenty-eight  dayi^| 
The  excess  of  two-thirds  of  a  day  in  each  circuit  would  mount  up  to 
many  days  in  many  circuits,  and  would  then  be  recognized, — while 
after  very  many  months  the  exact  value  of  tlie  excess  would  bo  deter- 
mined. This,  however,  is  a  process  belonging  to  much  later  times 
than  those  we  are  considering.  Watching  the  moon's  motious  among 
the  stars  during  one  lunation,  the  obseiver,  unless  very  careful, 
would  note  nothing  to  suggest  that  she  is  traveUing  round  at  the 
rate  *of  more  than  a  complete  circuit  in  twenty-eight  days.  If  he 
divided  her  zone  into  twenty-eight  equal  part«,  corresponding  to  her 
daily  journey,  and  as  soon  as  she  fii-st  appeared  as  a  new  moon  began 
to  watch  her  progress  through  such  of  these  twenty-eight  diNTsions  as 
were  visible  at  the  time  (those  on  the  sun's  side  of  the  heavens  would 
of  coiu-BO  not  be  visible),  she  would  seem  to  travel  across  one  division 
in  twenty-four  liours  veiy  nearly.  As  she  herself  obliterates  from  view, 
all  but  the  brighter  stars,  it  would  be  all  the  more  difl&cult  to  recognize 
the  slight  dificrupancy  actually  existiug. — the  fact  really  being  that 
she  requires  only  twenty-three  hours  and  about  twenty-six  minutes  to 
traverse  a  station,  a  discrepancy  large  enough  in  tune,  but  con'e- 
Bponding  to  very  httle  progress  on  the  moon*8  part  among  the  stars. 
Then  in  the  next  month  the  observation  would  simply  be  repeated,  no 
comparison  being  made  between  the  moon's  position  among  the  stars 
when  first  seen  in  one  month  and  that  which  she  had  attained  when 
Jost  seen  in  the  preceding  month.  If  tliis  were  done — and  tliis  ecema  _ 
the  natural  way  of  observing  the  moon's  motions  among  the  stars  wbea- 
afitronomy  was  yet  but  young — the  discrepancy  between  the  period  o^^ 
circuit  and  four  weeks  would  long  remain  undetected.  So  long 
this  was  the  case,  the  moon^s  roadway  among  the  stars  would  btf 
divided  into  twenty-eight  daily  portions. 

Accordingly,  we  find,  in  the  early  astronomy  of  nearly  all  nation^ 
A  Itmar  zodiac   divided  into   twenty-eight  constellations   or   luncL^ 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK. 


419 


mansioDB.  The  Chinese  called  the  zodiac  the  Yellow  Way,  and  divided 
it  into  twenty-eight  mtksluiivus.  These  divisions  or  mansionH  were  not 
neatly  or  precisely  defined,  but,  precisely  as  we  should  expect  from 
the  comparative  roughness  of  a  system  of  astronomy  in  which  alone 
they  could  appear  at  all,  were  irregular  divisions,  straggling  far  on 
either  side  of  the  ecHptic,  which  should  be  the  cential  circle  of  the 
lunar  roadway  among  the  stars.  The  mausious  were  named  from  the 
brightest  etai-9  in  each ;  and  wo  are  told  that  the  sixteenth  mansion 
was  named  17o/w;a,  from  a  star  in  the  Northern  C^o^v^l,  a  constellation 
almost  as  distant  from  the  echptic  as  the  horizon  is  from  a  point  hall- 
way towards  the  point  overhead. 

A  similar  division  of  the  older  zodiac  was  adopted  by  Egyptian, 
Aiabion,  Persian,  and  Indian  astronomers.     The  Siamese,  however, 
only  reckoned  twenty-seven,  ^vithfrom  time  to  time  an  extra  one,  called 
AhigiUeny  or  the  intercalary  mansion.     It  would,  appear,  however 
from  some  statements  in  their  books,  that  they  had  twenty-eight  lunar 
ftjongtellations  for  certain  classes  of  observation.     Probably,  therefure, 
the  use  of  twenty-seven,  with  an  occasional  intercalary  mansion,  be- 
longed to  a  later  period  of  their  asti'onomical  system,  when  more 
careful  observations  than  the  earher  had  shown  them  that  the  moon 
circuits  tlie  stellar  heavens  in  about  twentynBeven  and  one-third  days. 
It  is  important  to  observe  that  aptrouomci*s  "were  thus  apt  to  change 
their  usage,  dropping  either  wholly  or  in  great  part  the  use  of  arrange- 
ments found  to  be  imperfect-    For,  noting  this,  we  shall  have  less 
diflSculty  in  understanding  how  the  twenty-eight  lunar  mansions  of 
the  older  astronomy  gave  place  entirely  among  the  Chaldasans  to  the 
twelve  signs  of  the  zodiac — that  \b^  the  parts  of  the  zodiac  traversed 
day  by  day  by  the  moon  gave  place  to  tlio  parts  of  the  zfuiiac  tra- 
rersed  month  by  month  by  the  sun.    Because  tlie  Chaldaian  astronomy 
has  not  the  twenty-eight  limar  mansions,  it  is  commonly  assumed  that 
this  "way  of  dividing  the  zodiac  was  never  used  by  them.     But  tliis 
Gondoaon  cannot  safely  be  adopted.     On  tlie  contrary,  what  we  have 
already  ascertained  respecting  the  Chaldean  use  of  the  week,  besides 
what  "we  should  naturally  infer  from  a  priori  conrnderations,  suggests 
it  in  the  first  instance  they,  like  other  nations,  divided  the  zodiac  into 
twenty-eight  parts  ;  but  that  later,  recognizing  the  inaccuracy  of  this 
arrangement,  they  abandoned  it,  and  adopted  the  solar  zodiacal  signs. 
This  corresponds  closely  \vith  what  the  Persian  astronomers  are 
known  to  have  done.     Wo  read  that   "the  twenty-eight   divisions 
among  the  Persians  (of  which  it  may  be  noticed  that  the  second  was 
formed  by  the  Pleiades,  and  called  Perth)  soon  gave  way  to  the 
twelve,  the  names  of  which,  recorded  in  the  works  of  Zoroaster,  and 
therefore  not  less  ancient  than  he,  were  not  quite  the  same  as  those 
»iow  ttised.    They  were  the  Lamb,  the  Bull,  the  Twins,  the  Crab,  the 
X.ion.  the  Ear  of  Com,  the  Balance,  the  Scorpion,  the  Bow.  ih^.  Sea 
Cioat.  the  Watering  Pot,  and  the  Fishes.     The  Clxinese  also  formed  a 

EE  2 


420 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


Bet  of  twelve  zodiacal  signs,  which  they  named  the  Mouse,  the  Coi 
the  Tigor,  the  Hare,  the  Dragon,  the  Serpent,  the  Horse,  the  Shee] 
the  Monkey,  the  Cock,  the  Dog,  aud  the  Pig. 

It  appears  to  mo  not  unlikely  that  the  change  from  Innar  to  soli 
astronomy,  from  the  use  of  the  month  and  week  as  chitf  measures 
time  to  the  more  diflUcult  hut  ranch  more  scientifio  method  of  employ- 
ing the  year  for  this  purpose,  was  the  occasion  of  much  ceremonial 
observance  among  the  Chaldtean  astronomers.      Probably  clabomt^^ 
preparations  were  made  for  the  change,  and  a  special  time  chosen  fo^| 
it.      We  should  expect  to  find  that  this  time  would  have  very  direct 
reference  to  the  Pleiades,  which  must  have  been  tho  year-meajsui" 
constellation  as  certainly  as  the  moon   had  earlier  been  tho  tim< 
measming  orb.     It  has  long  seemed  to  me  that  it  is  to  this  grej 
change,  whicli  certainly  took  place,  and  must  have  been  a  most  x\ 
portant  epoch  in  astronomy,  that  we  must  refer  those  features  of 
ancient  astronomy  which  have  commonly  been  regarded  as  point!] 
to  the  ongin  of  the  science  itself.     I  cannot  regard  it  as  a  reasonably 
still  less  as  a  probable  assumption,  that  astronomy  sprang  full  formi 
into  being,  as  the  ordinary  theories  on   this  subject  would  impl3^ 
Great  progi'ess  must  have  been  made,  and  men  carcfiUly  trained  i^ 
mathematical  as  well  as  observational  astronomy  must  for  centurii 
have  studied  the  subject,  before  it  became  possible  to  decide  upi 
those  fmidamcntal  principles  and  methods  which  have  existed  from  tl 
days  of  the  Clialdaian  astronomers  even  until  now.    As  to  the  epock 
of  the  real  begiiming  of  astronomy,  then,  we  have,  in  my  opinion, 
means  of  judging.     The  epoch  to  which  we  really  can  point  wi( 
some  degree  of  certainty — the  year  2170  B.C.  or  thereabouts — must 
belong,  not  to  the  infancy  of  astronomy,  but  to  an   era  when   i\ 
Bcience  had  made  considerable  progress. 

I  have  eaid  that  we  should  expect  to  find  the  introduction  of  th« 
now  astronomy,  the  rejection  of  the  week  as  an  astronomical  period 
favour  of  the  year^  to  be  marked  by  some  celestial  event  having  speci 
reference  to  the  Pleiades,  the  year-measuring  star-group.  Whether  tl 
^  j>nori  consideration  here  indicated  is  valid  or  not,  may  perhaps 
doubtful ;  but  it  is  certain  the  epoch  above  mentioned  U  related 
tlie  Pleiades  in  a  quite  unmistakoble  manner.      For  at  tlmt  epo< 
guarn  proxim^j  through  the  effects  of  that  mighty  gyrational  movcu» 
of  the  earth  which  causes  what  is  termed  the  precession  of  the 
noxes,  the  star  Alcyone,  the  biightest  of  the  Pleiades  and  nearly  ceni 
in  the  group,  was  carried  to  such  a  position  that  when  the  &pi 
began  the  sun  and  Alcyone  rose  to  their  highest  in  the  soathi 
fikies  at  the  same  instant  of  time. 

Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  it  seems  abundantly  clear  that  ^ni 
early  in  the  progress  of  astronomy,  the  more  scientific  and  ■ 
must  have  recognixtjd  the  unfitness  of  the  week  as  an  ahti-i 
measure  of  time.     With  the  disappearance  of  the  week  from  rmU 
nomical  83*eteniB  (the  lunar '^qiiartcrs"  being  retained,  k<»wcTcr I 


01 

P 

in 

i 


*« 

^^,-     i 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  WEEK.  421 

week  may  be  considered  to  have  become  -what  it  now  is  for  onreelvee 
a  civil  and  in  some  sense  a  religious  time-measure.  That  it  should 
retain  its  position  in  this  character  was  to  be  expected,  if  we  consider 
the  firm  hold  which  civil  measures  once  estabHshed  obtain  among  the 
^^eralitj  of  men,  and  the  still  gi*eater  constancy  with  which  men 
retain  religious  ob8er\'ance8.  A  straggle- probably  took  place  between 
astronomers  and  the  priesthood  when  first  the  solar  zodiac  came  into 
use  instead  of  the  lunar  stations,  and  when  an  efifort  w^as  made  to  get 
rid  of  the  week  as  a  measure  of  time.  This  seems  to  me  to  be  indi- 
cated by  many  passages  in  certain  more  or  less  mythological  records 
of  the  race  through  whom  (directly)  the  week  has  descended  to  us. 
But  this  part  of  the  subject  introduces  questions  which  cannot  be 
satisfactorily  dealt  with  without  a  profomid  study  of  those  records  in 
their  mythological  sense,  and  a  thorough  investigation  of  philological 
Telations  involved  in  the  subject.  Such  researches,  accompanied  by 
the  careful  discussion  of  all  such  astronomical  relations  as  were  found 
to  be  involved,  would,  I  feel  satisfied,  be  richly  rewarded.  More  Hght 
"will  be  thrown  on  the  ancient  systems  of  astronomy  and  astrology  by 
the  careful  study  of  some  of  the  Je\\'ish  Scriptures,  and  clearer  light 
•will  be  thrown  on  the  meaning  of  these  books  by  the  consideration  of 
astronomical  and  astrological  relations  associated  with  them,  than  has 
heretofore  been  supposed.  The  key  to  much  that  was  mysterious  in 
the  older  systems  of  rehgion  has  been  found  in  the  consideration  that 
to  man  as  first  he  rose  above  the  condition  of  savagery,  the  grander 
objects  and  processes  of  nature — earth,  sea,  and  sky,  clouds  and  rain, 
mads  and  storms,  the  earthquake  and  the  volcano,  but,  above  and 
beyond  all,  the  heavenly  bodies  with  their  stately  movements,  their 
inextricably  intermingled  periods,  their  mystical  symbolisms — all  these 
must  have  appeared  as  themselves  divine,  until  a  nobler  conception 
presented  them  as  but  parts  of  a  higher  and  more  mysterious  Whole. 
In  all  the  ancient  systems  of  reHgion  we  have  begun  to  rocognize  the 
myths  which  had  their  birth  in  those  first  natural  conceptions  of  the 
Child-man.  To  this  rule  the  ancient  religious  system  of  the  Hebrew 
lace  was  no  exception;  but  from  their  Chaldsean  ancestors  they 
derived  a  nature-worship  relating  more  directly  to  the  heavenly  bodies 
than  that  of  nations  living  under  less  constant  skies,  and  to  whom 
other  phenomena  were  not  less  important,  and  therefore  not  less  signifi- 
cant of  power,  than  the  phenomena  of  the  stany  heavens.  So  soon 
as  we  thus  recognize  that  Hebrew  myths  would,  of  necessity,  be  more 
essentially  astronomical  than  those  of  other  nations,  we  perceive  that 
the  Hebrew  race  was  not  unlike  other  early  races  in  having  no 
mythology,  as  Max  MuUer  thought,  but  possessed  a  mythology  less 
simply  and  readily  interpreted  than  that  of  other  nations.  It  Avould, 
however,  take  me  far  from  my  special  subject  at  present  to  deal 
further  with  the  considerations  to  which  it  has  here  led  me.  I  may, 
however,  before  long  endeavour  to  show  reason  for  my  belief. 

Richard  A.  Proctob. 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA, 


»>, 

B, ..-•■■ 

Un.t 
Dt. 

W<-   > 

Vrtf 
D,i 


.---  *n_7-.-  t..t  T- 


1 -rl/ira>Bjr«J«|0 


-*«.ir 


SCJULLKB**  n</«3 


ATiURID  Ugbt  has  suddenly  been  shed  upon  the  conditiou  of  Ri 
by  the  startling  events  of  the  last  few  months.  Tragic  ih 
follow  each  other  with  bewildering  swiftness.  The  most  ercenti 
flight  of  fancy  docs  not  now  suflBcc  to  gather  in  the  full  picture  of 
dramatic  rapidit}'  with  which,  in  the  Czar's  dominions,  horrors  accumii- 
late  upon  horror's  head  Sick  of  a  so-called  "  paternal  govemmcul 
which  combines  Mongol  cruelty  with  all  the  deleterious  snbtlcness 
"  a  culture  that  was  rotten  before  it  had  become  ripe/'  Russian  male* 
tents  resort  to  a  mode  of  warfare  such  as  outraged  human  nature,  in  il 
despair^  is  wont  to  adopt  against  a  relentless  foe.  Men's  eyes  may  U 
in  sadness  upon  a  spectacle  which  has  the  appearance  of  a  ghastly  mit 
night  reflex  from  the  mythic  Nibelungen  ^lassacre.  But  of  the  fati 
moving  cause  and  connection  of  those  acta  of  violence  none  can  doul 
who  keeps  in  mind  the  course  that  has  hitherto  marked  Russian  lustoi 

It  has  come  to  this  at  last,  that  he  who  was  extolled  as  a  "  Divinf 
Figure  from  the  North/'  is  now  looked  upon,  by  the  best  portion  of 
own  people,  as  an  "unspeakable"  despot.  His  corrupt,  venal,  urn 
pulous  minions  are  ruthlessly  shot  down,  stabbed,  strangled,  at  the  ord( 
of  a  secret  Vehmej  as  "  the  one  great  anti-human  specimen  of  humanity.* 
All  illusion  is  dispelled.  The  contrasts  face  each  other  with  del 
mined  mieu,  with  pitiless  action.  "  Terror  for  Terror !"  is  the  acknoi 
ledged  programme  of  those  who  strike  out  for  deliverance  from  a  gallii 
thraldom.  The  Autocrat  replies  with  fresh  cruelties;  he  only  widci 
thereby  the  circle  of  his  foes.  Everywhere  the  hand  of  tlic  ii 
League  turns  uj) — in  the  public  street,  in  the  places  of  popular  amnst 
ment,  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  social  gathering,  in  tlte  ofiloc  of 
merchnni  and  the  banker,  in  the  bureaux  of  the  police;  n^ 
barrack-room, and  in  the  vcrv  cabinets  of  the  Czar  nnd  the  Heir  .^^ 


CONSPIRACIES    IN   RUSSIA. 


423 


W        It  is  a  perfect  revelation  to  many  men  not  conversant  Tvith  Musco-    { 

^^ritc   history^    this    extraorclinary   spirit    of   secret   leaguing  in   Russia. 

IFeoplc  are  amazed  to  hear  of  occult  political  associations  in  the  new  as 

P^Breli  as  in  the  older  capitals  of  the  Czar's  Empire — at  St.  Petersburg, 

3it    Moscow,    at    Kieif, — not  to  speak  of  Kharkoff,  Odessa,  and  other 

towns  of  the  east   and  the   south.      Yet   we  need    not  go   farther  back 

than  the  first  part  of  the  present  century,  in  order   to  find  precedents 

:^or  Secret   Societies — strong,  remarkable  precedents,   little  or  scarcely 

^Qowu  here,  but  of  deep  imptjrt  for  Russia's  present  and  future.     There 

Ms  a  conspiratory  tradition  in  the  interest  of  Liberalism  or  Democracy 

«ven  in  the   ice-bound  atmosphere  of  the   northern   realm.      The  events 

^  the  present  day  arc  but  a  revival — a  revival   on  a  more   extensive 

Now,  all  history  proves  that  -when  a  movement  thus  enters  a 

►nd  stadium   with  increased  energy,  the  chances  of  its  final  success 

augment,  progressively,  iri  a  threefold  and  fourfold  proportion. 

m        Germany,  too,   has  had  her  patriotic   and  revolutionary  conspiracies 

since  the  beginning  of  this  century.      It  has  sometimes  been  said  that 

the  open-hearted  Teuton  docs  not  incline  to  plotting.     As  a  rulCj  this  is 

ttrae.  As  a  rule,  few  nations  incline  at  all  that  way.  Dire  necessity 
only  drives  them  into  a  secret  Bund  or  a  Venta  ;  and  then  these  hidden 
leagues  have  their  justification  in  the  stress  of  circumstances.  From  the 
days  of  Armin,  the  Liberator  of  Germany  from  the  Roman  yoke,  to 
tliosc  of  the  Swiss  patriots,  the  Peasant  Unions  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, known  as  "  The  League  of  the  Laced  Shoe"  and  "  The  Poor 
Konrad,"  and  down  to  our  times,  Germans  also  have  now  and  then 
largely  resorted  to  occult  organizations  of  freemen. 

They  conspired  against  the  Napoleonic  yoke  with  Doruberg,  Schill, 
and  Hofer — and,  chief  of  all,  with  Baron  Stein.  They  conspired  after 
the  restoration  of  their  national  independence,  when  the  simplest 
liberties  were  denied  them  by  ungrateful  princes ;  hundreds  of  men  dis- 
tingoished  by  learning  or  position — not  to  speak  of  the  thousands  of 
obscurer  patriots — becoming  the  prey  at  that  time  of  royal  jiersecution. 
Again,  they  conspired  before  those  great  risings  of  18i8-49,  which  for 
a  while  brought  the  occupants  of  the  thrones  down  on  their  knees,  and, 
in  spite  of  the  subsequent  reaction,  succcssfolly  did  away  with  mauy  of  the 
vorst  abuses.  Whatever  progress  Germany  lias  made  on  the  road  towards 
Union  and  Freedom,  has  l)cen  foreshadowed,  prepared,  and  furthered  by 
secret  confederacies  like  the  Tugend-Bund ;  the  patriotic  Students'  Associa- 
tions (Burschtnschaflen)  which  aimed  at  the  restoration  of  the  Empire  or 
the  establishment  of  a  Republican  Commonwealth  ;  "  The  League  of  the 
Free;"  *'  The  Association  of  Germans  ;""TLc  Union  of  the  Proscribed;" 
"  The  German  League  of  Justice ;"  and  kindred  brotherhoo<ls. 
Countless  have  been  the  victims  of  a  Royal  and  Imperial  Inquisition 
which  pried  by  its  spies  into  the  patriotic  fraternities,  and  often  swept 
hundreds  of  members,  together  with  masses  of  wrongly  suspected  people, 
into  its  widespread  nets.     But  not  in  vain  has  been  the  martyrdom  of 


424 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIV. 


these  men.  From  a  soil  fruitfully  watered  by  their  blood — from  tLe 
dreary  walls  of  their  ghastly  dungeons — from  the  weary  patlis  of  ilii'ir 
bopelc-ss  exile,  many  a  sweet  flower  has  sprung  up,  whose  bright  colour 
and  fragrance  gladden  a  generation  which  knows  little  of  the  sutferings 
of  its  sires. 

The  same  with  France  and  Italy.  There  also,  the  Democratic  and 
national  spirit,  driven  in  by  sanguinary  royal  reactions,  found  a  refuge. 
and  set  up  centres  of  organization,  in  clandestine  folk-motes  of  free- 
men, until  the  moment  came  when  action  in  the  light  of  day  became 
possible.  Cavour  himself  acknowledged,  after  his  success,  "  I  Law 
been  a  conspirator  ray  whole  life  long  !"  Yet,  what  comparison  coulJ 
he  bear,  in  that  respect,  with  the  Apostle  of  Italian  Freedom  and  Union, 
the  whilom  Triumvir  of  the  Roman  Republic,  to  whom  a  deeply-rent 
nation — a  "  mere  geographical  expression,"  in  Metteruieh's  contemptuous 
words — owes  the  secret  organization  of  that  Sicilian  campaign  wLich, 
under  the  subsequent  glorious  headship  of  the  Leader  of  the  Thousauda. 
for  the  first  time  rendered  a  United  Italy  possible! 


4 

4 


ir. 

The  successful  precedeuts  of  Germany,  France,  and  Italy  have  some- 
thing of  a  counterpart  in  Russia.  I  refer  to  the  conspiracies  under 
Alexander  I.  and  Nicholas,  in  which  mcu  of  the  highest  social  rank  awl 
of  eminent  position  in  the  Adniinistration  and  the  Army,  men  connected 
with  the  Government  aud  Llie  Court,  noblemen  of  historic  families,  aud 
officers  wliom  the  Czar  had  fully  trusted,  were  deeply  implicated. 

One  of  thcra,  who  has  given  valuable  details  of  those  early  movements 
I  met  abroad,  years  ago.      AVheii  I  made  his   a(H|uaiutancc,  it  was  little 
expected — though   uU    the  rest  of   Euroi>e   was   in    commotion  throngli 
popular   uprisings   against   princely    misrule — that     any    correspoudmg 
movement  could  originate  in  Russia.      Ages  of  uncontested  opprcsnioit 
seemed  to  ])e  before  her  ns   her  unavoidable  lot.      For  nearly  a  quarliT 
of  a  century  after  his  triumph  over  the  insurrection  of  December,  l&!^i 
Nicholas  had  held  the  country  in  his  iron    grip.      It  was  as  if  the  very 
soul  of  the  Rusi^iau  nation  were  crushed.      Fortunately,  the  mad  atnW" 
tiou    of    that    tyraut    brought    upon    him    the    retaliation  of   Euro^'C-^j 
Striking  out   for    universal  dominion  through  an   attack  upon  Constc^^'^H 
tinoplc — whose  conquest  has   becu  the  secular  aim,    not   of  the  do"^^ 
trod<!cn    Russian   nation,  but   of  a  scries  of  her  despots,  heathen  ^^ 
Christian,    ever  since  the  ninth   century — he  was   deservedly   foil^^.* 
leaving   to   his   successor   the  legacy  of  an  Empire  deeply   shaken..^**  . 
which  the  seeds  of  dissatisfaction  rapidly  germinated,  though  at  tirst 
underground  darkness.  , 

Many  may  have  forgotten  it,  some  may  pretend  not  to  know  it,  Li^, 
it  is  n  plain  fact  that  the  Crimean  War  acted  upon  Russia,  in  a  uota^^ 
degree,  as  a  libemting  solvent.  Defeat  brought  the  irresponsible  r^^^ 
of  Czardom    into  very    serious    difficulties.       Even    as,    iu    1870, 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA, 


425 


HCapoleouic    disaster    led     to    French    freedom,    so     tlie   capture    of 
fcebastopol   gave  rise   to  a  tooveracnt  in   Russia,   which   aimed   at   the 
Pntroductiou  of  representative  government,  together  with  the  abolition 
of  serfdom.     The  new    Autocrat — himself,  like    his    predecessors,  an 
extensive  slaveholder   through  his  'Crown-Peasants — tried  to  fence    off 
the  danger  to  his  sovereign   privilege  by  suddenly  making  friends  with 
the  serfs.     Of  this  more  will  have  to  Ije  said  in  a  subsequent  article, 
^jGt  it  suffice  to  state  hem  that  he  became  a  Liberator  of  the  tniijikSf  the 
Bietter  to  hold  the  educated  classes   in   continued   political  subjection, 
^put   it  is  ill  fighting  against  the  currents  of  the  time.      After  some 
twenty  years  of  apparent  success  of  this  crafty  policy,  political  aspira- 
tions ouce  more  rise  strongly  to  the  surface. 
h    In  vain  did  Alexander  II.  seek  to  divert  the  feeling  of  the  nation  from 
pressing  home-questions  to   glorious   military  enterprises  abroad.     In 
vain  he  strove  to  uphold   the  prestige  of  success,  without  which  Auto- 
kraey    cannot    live,    at    all   hazards    and    at    all    costs   to   humanity — 
ftommitting   ruthless   barbarities   in   the    Caucasus,    in   Poland,    and  iu 
PTurkcfitan,   to   which  further  unspeakable  atrocities  were  added  iu  the 
recent  campaign  against  Turkey.      It  is  all  of  no  avail.      In   the  very 

rur  of  his  triumph  the  wall-writing  appears  which  foretells  his  doom. 
I  believe  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  unprovoked  attack  upon  the 
Ottoman  Empire — made  in  the  midst  of  an  attempt  at  a  parliamentary 
reform  on  the  basis  of  the  civil  and  political  equality  of  races  and  creeds 
— bad   little,  if    any,   support   among    the    Liberal,    none    among  the 
■ftdvanced  or  Democratic,  elements  in  Russia.      By  them  it  was  felt  that 
Bhat  attack  was  the  usual  device  of  a  hard-driven  despotism  which  tries 
■0  get  rid  of  internal  complications  by  blood-letting  abroad.      Had   the 
rortc  been    allowed  to  work  out  its   reforms  in   peace,  Russian  Liberals 
Jirould   have  been  able   to   retort  upon  their  own  Oppressor  by  asking 
Biim   for  "  Freetiom  as  in  Turkey,"  even   as    French  Democrats,   under 
r^apoleou  III.,  asked  for  "  Freedom  as  in  Austria."     The  fact  of  an 
^Jttuman    representative  government  having  been   eatablished   at   Con- 
Htantinople   through    students'    (Softas')    demonstrations    and    popular 
risings  against    despotic    and    incapable    Sultans,    one     of    whom  was 
deposed  after  the  other,  would  have  strengthened  the  hands  of  the  pro- 
gressive parties  at  St.  Petersburg,  Moscow,  and  Kicfif.     Hence  I  think 
— and  1    do  not   say  it   lightly — that    the   Czar's  anti-Turkish    crusade 
as  looked  upon    with    deep   inward  aversion    by  the  more  energetic 
evolutionists. 
Still,  some  of  thcui  inclined  to  the  btdief  that,  one  way  or  the  other, 
*  war  would    have   the    effect  of  shtikiug    the  autocratic   edifice.      In 
',  the  rottenness,  the  corruption,  the  venality,  the  inefficiency  of  the 
linistralion,  civil  and  military,  would  come  out.     lieavv  sacrifices  in 
bod  and  treai»ure  would  have  to  be  made  by  the  |)eoplc.    Dissatisfaction 
rould  therefore  increase.      When  death  is  to  be  faced,  when  sufferings 
re  to  be  undergone  by  hundreds  of  thousands,  men  become  bolder  in 


426 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


and  action,  A  better  cbaucc  would  thus  offer  itself  for  a^ 
the  mossesj  otherwiiic  so  stolid  in  Russia.  The  Czar  aud  the 
Grand  Dukes  would  have  to  go  to  the  scene  of  war — to  stay  there  for  n 
Icngtit  of  timcj  especially  if  things  went  wrong.  Who  knew  what 
might  be  done  in  such  a  case  among  a  mutinous  army  on  foreign  soil, 
and  au  angered  population  at  home? 

Victory  itself  was  similarly  discounted.  After  a  triumph  gained  wiih 
enormous  sacrifices  for  the  alleged  deliverance  of  the  fiulgara,  iLe 
Russians  would  have  a  good  claim  for  their  own  cmaucipatioD.  If 
Alexander  then  refused  to  the  Russian  people  its  right  of  sclf-govcm- 
mcnt,  as  he  was  sure  to  do,  the  revolutionary  party  would  be  Btrength- 
ened.  So^  whether  the  Czar  vanquished  the  Saltan^  or  the  Sultan  ihc 
Czar,  or  "  each  did  kill  the  other/^  every  way  some  gain  was  hoped  for 
by  men  whom  wild  despair  had  made  reckless  as  to  the  use  of  means* 

Had  England  aud  Austria-Hungaryj  iu  alliance  witli  reformed 
Turkey,  made  a  combined  push  against  Russia,  when  her  weakened 
forces  lay  before  Plevna,  the  event  would  have  been  hailed  with  ill-did- 
guised  pleasure  by  the  leaders  of  the  Secret  Societies.  It  would  hare 
brought  matters  to  a  crisis.  The  Czar,  at  that  time,  dared  not  return  to 
Moscow,  lest  the  demand  for  a  Charter  should  be  presented  to  him  on 
the  point  of  militia  bayonets,  respectfully  arrayed  for  his  reception. 
It  was  a  great  historical  opportunity,  that  long  siege  of  Plevna;  but 
it  was  lost,  so  far  as  English  interests  are  concerned,  through  d\\\ 
counsels  here. 

A  year  ago^  a  distinguished  English  statesman,  an  ex-Cahlu^ 
Minister,  who  has  taken  a  2>rominent  part,  though  generally  in  a  moderate 
sense,  iu  the  discussions  on  the  Eastern  Question,  asked  me,  iu  presence 
of  othcrsj  "  whether,  in  the  ease  of  foreign  intervention  in  the  East, 
there  would  not  have  been  a  great  patriotic  rally  among  Russian  revola- 
tiouists  themselves  V*  I  answered  "  that^  to  the  best  of  my  belief, 
an  active  opposition  of  European  Powers  to  the  war-policy  of  tlic  Ciir 
would  have  found  allies  in  Russia,  aud  that  the  present  rcvoUiCic'Os'J 
party  there  must  not  be  judged  by  precedents  taken  from  other  m 
dissimilar  cases," 

What  has  happened  since  June  last  is,  I  think,  calculated  to  iboir  tbc 
correctness  of  this  appreciation.  The  Eastern  Question  is  imiuatciiAl  Vi 
the  so-cal!cd  Nihilists.  They  disliketl  its  being  raised  ;  they  hoit  tio 
enthusiasm  for  its  results.  They  use  the  complications  ariiang  out  of  it 
one  way  or  the  other,  according  to  circumstances.  And  the  majofitj, 
albeit  by  no  means  holding  (as  is  often  erroneously  thought)  iDterua- 
tiotialist  or  Social  Democratic  views,  would  certainly  havo  prcfcow 
aceing  Autocracy  put  to  straits  from  abroad,  in  order  to  got  gn*^ 
elbow-room  for  themselves  within,  so  as  to  be  able  to  lift.  Dtardom  froo 
its  base  hy  the  purallclogram  of  forces.  Tliis  attitude  of  tlic  Riis^jso 
revolutionists  is  to  be  explained  from  two  considcxatiou*  wbtcli  »<  ' 
them  with  major  force.     First,  they  feci  that  the  Empire  it  tlrcau^  *^ 


CONSPIRACIES    IN    RUSSIA. 


427 


the 


unwieldy,  overgi'own  onCj  which  becomes  less  and  less  fit  for  free 
institutions  the  more  it  succeeds  i«  annexing  further  foreign  races,  whom 
the  Czar  plays  out  against  the  Russians^  or   against  each  other^  when- 

ver  reforms  are  called  for.     Secondly,  they  know  that  the    wideJy 
ttercd.  Ignorant  peasantry  of  Muscovy   proper  arc  difficult  to  reach 

ud  to  organize  for  political  objects,  whilst  in  the  comparatively  few 
larger  towns  in  which  progressive  sentiments  pulsate.  Government  employs 
a  reign  of  terror  against  the  frecclora-loving  class. 

In  such  a  situation  the  Party  of  Action  would  have  been  glad  to  sec 
Government  checked  iu  its  conquering  career  by  foreign  Powers, 
thereby  disparaged  in  the  eycj*  of  the  country,  and  thus  rendered  liable 
to  defeat  at  home.  A  beaten  armr  is  often  rebelHousIv  inclined.  At 
all  events,  it  is  rather  a  doubtful  instrument  for  internal  repression. 
For  various  reasons  the  "  Nihilists"  would  consequently  not  have 
objected  to  a  repetition  of  the  lesson  given  to  Czardom  in  the  Crimean 
War. 


i 


^ 

te 


in. 

Another  circumstance,  connected  with  the  traditional  policy  of 
Russian  monarchs,  is  to  be  taken  into  accoxmt.  It  is  an  old  and  well- 
^ept  rule  in  their  State  Councils  that  neighbouring  countries  must  not 
be  permitted  to  reorganize  themselves  in  such  a  way  as  to  strengthen 
the  impediments  to  encroachment,  or  to  provoke  the  envy  of  the  Russian 
people.  Thus  Poland  was  accused  of  intolerable  anarchy,  in  order  to 
get  a  pretext  for  her  dismemberment.  Yet,  no  sooner  did  Poland 
reform  her  Constitution  in  a  truly  Liljcral  sense  than  slic  was  charged 
writh  being  a  "  hotbed  of  Jacobinism"  and  struck  from  the  roll  of  nations. 
In  the  same  way,  the  intervention  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  in  Hungary 

ad  the  twofold  object  of  preventing  the  Magyar  Commonwealth  from 
becoming  an  even  more  dangerous  stumblingblock  to  Panslavist  advance 
and  a  virtual  reproach  to  the  continuance  of  the  autocratic  system  in 
Rnssia.  Sweden,  another  parliamentary  country,  was  for  a  similar 
double  reason  robbed  of  Finland.  Against  Turkey  the  scheme  of  pro- 
cedure has  always  been  laid  down  with  cynical  openness.  During  the 
war  of  1828—29,  Count  Pozzo  di  Borgo,  the  Russian  ambassador  at 
Paris,  plainly  wrote  in  a  despatch  that  all  hesitation  of  his  Government 

s  to  whether  Turkey  ought  to  be  attacked  was  at  an  end  as  soon  as  the 
dnperor  saw  that  the  reforms  just  introduced  by  the  Porte  would  have 
the  effect  of  consolidating  the  Ottoman  Empire. 

The  despatch  of  Pozzo  di  Borgo  goes  on  : — "  The  Emperor  has  put 
the  Turkish  system  to  the  proof,  and  His  Majesty  has  found  it  to 
a  commencement  of  physical  and  moral  organization  which  it 
bitherto  had  not.  If  the  Sultan  has  been  enabled  to  offer  us  a  more 
determined  and  regular  resistance,  whilst  he  had  scarcely  assembled 
together  the  elemcnta  of  his  new  plan  of  reform  and  ameliorations,  how 
formidable  should  we  have  found  him  had  he  had  ibne  to  (five  it  more 


428 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


soUdHy,  and  to  render  that  barrier  impenetrable  which  wc  found  «o 
mneh  difficulty  in  surmountiug,  although  Art  has  hitherto  done  so  little 
to  assist  Nature  !  Things  being  in  this  state,  we  must  congratulate 
ourselves  upon  haWng  attacked  them  (the  Turks)  before  they  hccune 
dangerous  to  ua ;  for  delay  would  only  iiave  rendered  our  relative  sitaa* 
lion  Avorse^  and  prepared  us  greater  obstacles  than  those  with  which  we 
met." 

Can  anything  be  clearer?  And  is  there  not  a  perfect  counterpart 
to  this  Macchiavelism  in  the  arguments  mentioned  in  a  despatch  which 
Mr.  Layard  sent  to  the  Earl  of  Derby,  under  date  of  May  30,  1877? 
There  we  read  : — "  A  Russian  gentleman  observed  to  rac  :  '  Russia 
looks  upon  the  establishment  of  a  Constitution  and  a  Parliament  by  the 
Turkish  Government  as  an  insult  and  a  defiance  to  her.  Their  c&isteuee 
would  alone  furnish  us  with  a  suSieient  reason  to  make  war  upon 
Turkey.  We  will  never  consent  to  be  the  only  Power  left  in  Europe 
without  Constitutional  institutions ;  and  as  we  are  not  yet  prepared  fur 
them,  we  cannot,  it  is  tviilent,  allow  Turkty  to  have  them  J  " 

Could  more  convincing  proofs  be  required  that  it  is  in  the  interest  of 
Europe  to  see  Russia  thrown  into  the  path  of  radical  political  reforms, 
so  that  the  incubus  of  an  aggressive  despotism  ever  plotting  in  the  dark 
might  be  lifted  from  our  part  of  the  world?     This  European  iutcrot 
coincides  with  the  wish  of  tlie  most  resolute  parties  at  preseut  active  in 
Russia.      A  change  has  in  this  respect  come  over  the  dream   of  her 
propagandists.     Alexander  Herzen,  who  passed  for   a  *'  revolutionist," 
worked  in  his  time  for  the  Panslavist  cause  and   for  the   conquest  of 
Constantinople ;    pointing  out  even  Vicuna  as  a  legitimate   object  of 
Russian  ambition,  and  speaking  of  Cxars  as  if  they  were  rcvolulionaiy 
dictators  to  whom  a  historical  task  was  given  I     These  strange  ideas  are 
'Often  found  to  underlie  his  apparently  most  Dcmot'ratic  language.     In 
private,  he  now  and  then  would  avow  such  views  in  even  bolder  woni», 
into   which   his  impetuous    character  allowed   itself  to  be  betrayed  ua 
slight  provocation.      The  transition  from  him  to  Katkoff,  of  the  Mosrov 
Gazette — his  rival  in  influence,  and  adversary  in  agitation — was  therefore 
not  so  abrupt  as  may  at  first  sight  appear. 

On  their  part,  the  present   Russian  revolutionists  are  dead  againU 

Chauvinism.      In  one  of  their  organs  they  plainly  said  after  the  rrreni 

war : — "  No  longer  do  we  mean  to  tolerate  a  rule  of  satraps,  after  we  Iw^c 

sacrifieed  more  than  300,000  lives  for  doing  away  with  a  (Jovcminent  it 

Bulgaria  which  was  far  more  humane,  far  more  libera!  and  honouraMt 

than  this  vite  Mongol  system   which   tyrannizes  over  wjr.      The   Ras^itB 

people  will  not   be  so  foolish  as  to  permit  itself  to  be  led  again  to  tHc 

■  ahaniblcs  for  the  sake  of  foreigner*^   whil.tt   its  own  condition  »•  »  *^ 

^taorc  miserable  one  than  that  of  the    Bnlgar^j  whom   the  imp^ort  yf 

4^cow  had  written  up  as  '  brcthrctt'  of  uura.     Does  a  Ku&tian  jicsuaiit 

posseats  a  house  and  farm   similar  to  those  wliirh  Bulgariau  pctaW** 

own?       And    when    Imd  Turkiv   ivor    muAx    tvmnts    as    Kiciumi^^*^' 


CONSPIBACIES   IN   RUSSIA. 


429 


ft.: 


Murawieff,  Trcpoff,  or  Mescntzoff,  who  in  Russia  may  be  counted  by  the 
hundred  ?  We  are  tlic  unhappiest  people  on  the  earth,  and  our  mis- 
fortune ia  the  existence  of  Czardom." 

Such  was  the  language  of  the  Journal  of  the  Revolution^  shortly  after 
the  stipulations  of  San  Stefano.  Since  then,  the  secret  leaders  have 
seen  fit  to  address  themselves  more  specially  to  the  army,  in  a  sligbtly 
altered  tone.  In  doing  so  by  an  Appeal  issued  a  few  weeks  since, 
they  introduced  words  such  as  men  who  have  bled  for  their  country 
always  like  to  hear.     The  Appeal  contains  the  following  passages  : — 

"There  ia  a  power  in  Russia  which  might  serve  the  cause  of  freedom  and 

»tcn  its  triumph ;  and  tTtis  power  is  the  army.      It,  too,  had  of  late  to  undergo 

aII  the  sufferings  arising  from  the  prevailing  system  of  government.     Can  the 

nrmy  already  have  forgotten  what  it  passed  through,  and  not  have  understood  the 

cause  of  the  evil  ?     lis  present  condition  is  a  much  worse  one  than  that  in  which 

tbe    Kussian    army  found  itself  alter  its  return  from  the  Napoleonic  Wars    of 

1813—15.      Then  it  saw,  on  coming  back,  the  country  under  a  state  of  siege  and 

the  people  in  misery.     Now,  our  soldiers  meet  with  famished  peasants;  deficits; 

An   enslaved    nation ;    a  public  exchequer    robbed  by  fratids ;    schools    under 

alift  administration  of  intriguing  bigots ;   and  a  dominant  rule  of  spies,  with  whom, 

through   the  enactments  of  the  new  ukoso   on  the  courts-martial  for  political 

offences,  even  members  of  the  Imperial  family  are  now  associated.      Tlie  brave 

rarriors  of  the  Shipka  Pass,  tlie  anll'erers  of  the  crossing  of  the  Balkans,  arc 

iij>ioyed  for  shameful  executions  against  poor  tillers  of  the  soil  and  starving 

Fiorkmen.     To  tlje  officer  who  escaped  from  death  at  tho  terrible  attack  upon 

I,  it  may  happen  that  he  nnist  shoot  down  his  own  sister  who  perchance 

part  in  a  street  demonstration   of  the  discontented  population;   or  that  he 

>k&9  to  march,  in  military  step,  over  the  grave  of  his  own  brother  whoso  body 

^raa  riddled  with  bullets  in  consefjuenco  of  a  denunciation  launched  against  him 

Ijy  ao  infamous  secret  poUce.     What  a  terrible  situation  1     Amoug  the  heroes  of 

^Hri^sKsipoleonic  Wars  there  were  men  who  could  not  bear  such  a  state  of  things. 

^^^^H^  formed  PoUtical  Unions  t^-ndingto  a  change  of  the  system  of  government  in 

^^^Knasia.     The  same,  with  the  necessary  modifications  required  by  our  own  cir- 

cm  ijstancea,  ought  to  be  done  now  within  the  army,  if  it  still  counts  men  of  noble 

Iieart  and  of  high  intellect  in  its  ranks.     Now  there  is  a  better  prospect  of  success 

than  there  was  in  1815-25,  because  now  it  Is  not  the  aristocracy  and  the  oiHcers 

alone  who  will  act.      Sooner  or  later  the  despotism  that  weighs  upon  ns  must 

£kll,  though  the  crisis  may  last  a  long  time  and  tho  victims  may  be  many.     It 

depends  upon  all  honourable  and  thinking  men  of   the  army  to  facilitate  the 

^—  decision  and  to  hasten  the  end  of  the  crisis." 

^F  These  words,  containing  as  they  do  &  characteristic  reference  to  the 
conspiracies  under  Alexander  I.  and  Nicholas,  mark  a  fresh  departure 
iu  the  revolutionary  Propaganda  of  Action.  A  tradition  is  here 
appealed  to,  which  had  become  somewhat  obscured  in  the  mind  of  the 
younger  generation  in  Russia,  and  of  which  but  little  is  known  to  the 
general  public  out  of  the  Northern  Empire,  In  the  warfare  of  parties  of 
iction,  traditions  of  this  kind  arc  valuable.  A  consciousness  of  the 
struggles  of  the  past,  a  sympathetic  remembrance  of  the  bygone 
champions^  an  intelligent  understanding  of  tlic  reasons  of  their 
temporary  failure,  are  apt  to  embolden  men,  to  fill  their  hearts  with 
sacred  fire,  and  to  strengthen  their  confidence  iu  the  cucaing  triumph 
of  a  cause  which  has  been  "  bequeathed  from  bleeding  sire  to  son." 


430  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

The  bistorv  of  the  Eussian  conspiracies  and  rerolutionaiy  lisings  of 
the  earlier  part  of  this  century  ravLj,  therefore^  well  be  of  interest  at  this 
moment.  Its  importance  is  all  the  greater  because  the  doings  of  the 
Secret  Leagues  of  those  days^  in  which  so  many  of  the  very  arittm 
of  Russia  were  engaged,  show  in  several  respects  a  wonderful  likenesas 
to  the  procedure  of  the  revolutionary  party  of  the  present  day.  A  strong 
historical  side-light  is  thus  shed  upon  what  is  going  on  now. 

IV. 

Before  proceeding  to  detail  the  conspiracies  whose  aim  was  to  esta- 
blish representative  government  in  Russia,  in  the  first  part  of  this  century, 
a  rapid  glance  at  the  rise  and  origin  of  her  despotic  system  may  be  of 
use.  Thus  only  can  we  fully  understand  the  fierceness  which  nerves 
men  who  look  back  upon  the  slavery  of  a  thousand  years  to  the  most 
eccentric  deeds  of  desperate  resolution. 

Mr.  Gladstone,  in  an  article  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  "  ample 
o^-idcuce  of  a  just  and  philanthropic  mind''  in  Alexander  II.,  once 
described  Russia  as  "  nationally  young."  No  greater  historical  error 
could  be  committed  :  Russia  is  an  old  country ;  and  the  tyranny  of  her 
rulers  is  of  the  most  ancient  date.  Vainly  does  the  eye  search  for  a 
period  of  popular  freedom  in  wandering  over  her  Imperial  annals.  From 
the  ninth  to  the  nineteenth  century,  the  grim  darkness  of  the  long 
Kinimcrian  night  of  her  oppression  is  but  relieved,  here  and  there,  by  a 
pale  star  of  nascent  liberty,  whose  uncertain  glitter,  scarcely  seen, 
rapidly  vanishes  away.  At  the  very  time  of  the  formation  of  the 
Kuipire  we  meet  with  a  dire  despotism,  "  bom  with  teeth  in  its  head." 
And  to  this  hour  the  same  tyranny,  only  in  crueller,  more  systematic 
form,  holds  the  nation  in  an  abject  thraldom,  against  which  the  nobler 
minds  among  the  better  educated  classes — ^before  all,  the  aspiring  youth 
— dcsi>cratcly  carry  on  a  desultory  warfare. 

The  earliest  chronicles  of  Russia  show  us  a  people  subjugated  by  a 
foreign  warrior  sib,  called  Warangiaus,  who  came  from  the  Germanic 
North.     They   were   Norwegians,  Swedes,  Angles,  and   Goths,  led  by 
c'hieftains  whose  names  are  all  of  the  clearest  Teutonic  type.     It  WM 
l\m*ik,  Mith  his  brothers  Siucus   and  Truvor,  who   laid    the   founda- 
tions of  the  realm  in  the  ninth  century,  and  gave  the  country  its  name 
ami  its  institutions.      Slav,  Finnic,  and  Tatar  tribes,  dwelling  between 
the  Finnish  Oiilf  atul  the  upjicr  course  of  the  Dnieper,  were  combined 
by  these  Teutouie  Warangiaus  into  a  '■'  Russian"  kingdom.       At  th»t 
time,  the  word  ''  Russian"  only  signified  the  conquering  race — even  » 
the  name  of  Franco  arose  out  of  that  of  the  conquerors  of  Gaul,  the 
German  Franks.     To  this  day,  thirty-nine  princely  families  in  Bussi« 
assert  their  origin  from  the  direct  male  line  of  Rurik.     Among  these 
families  are  the  GortehakoflTs,  and  the  Krapotkins,  one  of  the  latter  w 
whom  recently    fell    a  victim   to  the  Secret   League,  whilst  another 
Kra|>otkiu  lives  as  an  exile  in  Switzerland. 


CONSPIRACIES    IN    RUSSIA. 


431 


The  institutions  brouglit  over  by  the  RuBso-Norman  war-clan  to 
tlie  great  Skythian  plain,  on  which  Fins,  Slavs,  and  Tnrko-Tatara 
tlien  dwelt,  were  of  a  semi-feudal  kind.  Still,  they  contained  the 
germs  of  sonic  of  those  liberties  which  we  meet  witli  among  all  early 
Teutonic  tribes.  Soon,  however,  the  Kossian  Grand  Princcsj  feeling 
little  restraint  for  their  lust  of  power  among  the  easily  yielding  native 
races,  became  so  thoroughly  despotic  as  to  show  no  trace  of  their 
original  character  as  Germanic  sib-heads,  or  Kunings.  Tlie  native  popu- 
lation at  large  was  held  by  them  in  severe  subjection.  This  slavery 
^ras  turned  into  an  even  deeper  degradation  when  Russia  fell  under  the 
yoke  of  a  second  foreign  dominion,  namely,  that  of  the  Golden  Horde — 
a  Mongol  tribe,  whose  Khans  swayed  Rnssia  from  the  twelfth  to  the 
fifteenth  century. 

Tlie  Khanate,  gradually  collapsing  through  internal  feuds,  was  sup- 
planted by  the  Czardom  of  Muscovy.  Slowly  rising  on  the  ruins  of 
the  power  of  the  Golden  Horde,  it  continued  to  govern  in  the  spirit 
and  with  the  administrative  machinery  of  the  Mongols.  M'ith  the  aid 
of  Tatar  mercenaries,  the  Czars  broke  down  the  few  self-ruling  com- 
xnunities  which  had  in  the  meanwhile  grown  up  in  the  North — sucli  as 
Novgorod,  the  associate  of  the  German  Hanseatic  League,  PskofT,  and 
Tver.  Though  delivered  from  the  harsh  yoke  of  the  Tatars,  Russia 
"vraa  not  to  enjoy  any  liberty.  Her  raonarchs  established  everywhere 
the  dead  level  of  oppression.  No  representative  institutions  were 
allowed,  by  which  the  nation  could  make  its  voice  regulaily  heard. 
The  will  of  the  Autocrat  was  supreme. 

Herberstein,  an  envoy  of  the  German  Empire,  who  visited  Russia 
soon  after  the  withdrawal  of  the  Mongols,  wrote  with  utter  astouish- 
Tnent : — "  Tlie  Grand  Prince  speaks,  and  everything  is  done  ;  the  life, 
the  property,  of  the  laymen  and  the  clergy,  of  the  nobles  and  the  citizens, 
all  depend  on  his  supreme  will.  He  knows  of  no  contradiction,  and 
everythiug  appears  in  him  just,  as  iu  God ;  for  the  Russians  arc  con- 
vinced that  the  Grand  Prince  is  the  fulfillcr  of  the  heavenly  decrees. 
'  God  aud  the  Prince  have  willed  it !'  are  the  ordinary  expressions  among 
tiiem.  .  .  .  ."  "I  do  not  know,"  Herberstein  adds  with  philosophical 
madness,  "  whether  it  is  the  character  of  the  Russian  nation  which  has 
rormed  such  Autocrats,  or  whether  the  Autocrats  hAve  stamped  this 
character  upon  the  nation  !"* 

Exactly  the  same  picture  is  given  a  century  later  by  the  French 
captain  Margeret,t  who  had  long  served  the  Russians  during  the  Civil 
A^^ars.  Speaking  of  the  State  Council  he  says: — '*  There  is  no  fixed 
Hambcr  to  this  Council ;  for  it  entirely  depends  on  the  Empcrorf  to 
appoint  as  many  of  them  as  it  pleases  him.     The   Secret  Council,  when 

•  ffmim  JVow^n/urKm  Commrn/nni.     Vienna  :  1649. 

1-  E»tat  dtVKmpirt  dt  RuuU  et  Ormtd  Duchi  dt  Motcwic     Paris  :  1607. 

t  Tliui  title,  u  I  havQ  ftbovrn  in  a  special  esaay  in  Frtuer^  of  Jiuie>  1870  ("The  Rnssian 
ttit{BCrirLt  Title  :  a  Forgotten  Page  of  IliBtory  "),  waa  not  founded  for  the  lirst  time  in  1721, 
Imi  had  already  been  m  use  bciore,  towards  the  end  of  the  aixteenth  century. 


432 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


matters  of  high  importance  are  at  issue,  is  usually  composed  of  the 
nearest  relatives  of  Imperial  blood.  By  way  of  outward  form,  the 
advice  of  the  Church  dignitaries  is  taken,  the  Patriarch  being  summoned 
to  the  Council  with  some  bishops.  But,  properly  speaking,  there  is 
neither  law  nor  Council.  There  is  nothing  but  the  will  of  the  Emi>eror, 
be  it  good  or  bad,  which  iH  free  to  waste  everything  with  fire  and  swoni, 
and  to  strike  alike  the  innocent  and  the  guilty.  I  hold  him  to  be  one 
of  the  most  absolute  princes  in  the  world;  for  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
country,  whether  nobles  or  commoners,  even  the  Emperor's  own  brothers, 
call  themselves  clops  hoapodaro — that  is,  slaves  of  the  Emperor." 

So  hopeless  was  the  bondage  of  tlic  Russian  nation,  even  at  a  time 
when,  owing  to  the  frequency  of  changes  on  the  throne  through  long 
civil  wars,  one  might  have  thought  some  independence  of  character 
would  assert  itself  among  the  supporters  of  the  diflfcrent  monarchs  or 
preteudei*s  rapidly  succeeding,  or  fighting  against,  each  other  in  the 
midst  of  endless  plots. 


A  few  rare  cases  of  the  convocation  of  a  special  Assembly  {Zemskoi 
SohoVj  or  Zeniskaia  Duma),  for  particular  legislative  purposes,  must, 
however,  be  noted. 

In  1549,  that  vicious  and  blood-stained  tyrant,  Ivan  IV.,  or  the 
Terrible,  called  an  Assembly  together  for  the  discussion  of  a  law-code. 
In  these  States-General — if  that  name  can  be  given  them — sat  the 
highest  Church  dignitaries ;  the  abbots  of  the  first-class  cloisters  ;  and  a 
number  of  great  noblemen,  or  boyars.  Among  the  elected  members 
were  the  deputies  of  the  clergy  in  town  and  country,  as  well  fts  those 
of  the  nobility,  of  the  merchants,  and  of  the  townsmen  in  general. 
Again,  in  1556,  when  a  war  with  Poland  threatened  to  break  out, 
Ivan  IV.  took  the  opinion  of  an  Assembly  for  that  special  case. 

At  his  death,  in  1584,  when  his  sou  Fcoilor,  a  sickly,  half-witted 
prince,  came  to  the  throne,  the  advisers  of  that  Czar  once  more  con- 
voked an  Assembly.  In  the  very  same  year,  his  brother-in-law,  Boris 
Godunoff,  who  belonged  to  a  Tatar  family,  practically  assumed  tlje 
governing  power.  Dissolving  the  Assembly,  he  ruled  in  the  most  absolute 
manner.  In  order  to  gain  over  the  smaller  landed  proprietors,  b( 
added  to  this  political  tyranny  the  enslavement  of  that  section  of  ih^^ 
peasantry  which  had  not  yet  been  serfs. 

When  the  long  civil  wars  and  the  rule  of  pretenders   drew  toward* 
their  end,  some  kind  of  States-General  had  of  necessity  to  be  eonvol&-cd 
for   the   selection  of  a  new   dynasty.      This    happened   in    1G13,   wlmeu 
Michael  Romanoff,    the  young    sou    of  Philaret,   the  Metropolitan-     ^^ 
RostoflT,  was    chosen.      For  a   few   years   this    Assembly    continued        to 
exist,  but  only  with  a  consultative  voice.     Originally,  Michael  Roroa»-30* 
had  been   selected  by    the  States-General  from    the  various  Candida^  "^^ 
on  account  of  a  letter  produced  before  them,  which   purported  i<9      ^ 


CONSPIRACIES    IN   RUSSIA, 


■written  by  Philaret,  and  in  which  that  Church  dignitary  was  made  to 
s»y  that  the  Assembly  ought  not  to  confer  autocratic  power  upon 
the  monarch  whom  tlicy  should  elect,  but  that  the  legislative  power 
should  be  divided  between  the  Czar,  the  House  of  Uoyara,  and  the  States- 
General.  The  oath  imposed  upon  Michael  llomauoff  was  therefore  to  the 
effect  that  he  should  neither  decree  laws  nor  declare  war,  nor  conclude 
treaties  of  peace  or  alllancej  nor  inflict  capital  punishment  or  confiscation 
of  property  upou  any  person,  except  with  the  assent  of  the  Boyara  and 
the  Parliament. 

Philaret's  letter,  which  had  induced  the  Assembly  to  elect  hia  son, 
was  afterwards  declared  to  be  a  forgery.  Tlic  young  Czar  himself,  a  few 
years  later,  ordered  the  Charter  of  1613  to  be  destroyed,  and  to  be  re- 
placed by  another,  in  which  it  is  laid  down  that  Michael  Romanoff  was 
elected.  Czar  "  and  Autocrat"  of  all  the  Russiaa.  In  course  of  time, 
the  conTocation  even  of  the  merely  consultative  Assembly  become  less 
and  less  frequent.  At  last  its  existence  ceased  altogether.  After 
1682,  no  convocation  took  place — except  once,  under  Catlieriue  IL,  for 
a  temporary  object. 

It  is  to  these  sporadic  cases  of  States-Gcueral,  if  we  may  call  them  so, 
and  to  a  Charter  enshrouded  in  some  historical  doubt,  that  Russian 
Liberals  have  in  our  time,  now  and  thcu,  referred  as  to  a  precedent. 
At  least  they  did  so  in  writings  published  abroad ;  Russian  censorship 
having  forbidden  the  subject  to  be  touched  upon  at  all. 

Peter  I.,  Catherine  I.,  Peter  II.,  Anna,  Elizabeth,  Peter  III., 
Catherine  II.,  Paul  I.,  Alexander  I.,  Nicholas,  Alexander  II.,  all  ruled 
on  the  strict  autocratic  principle.  Peter  I, — "  the  Great  " — enlarged 
upon  it  by  extending  the  liability  to  corporal  punishment  from  the 
nobility,  which  was  already  subjected  to  the  knout,  to  the  Imperial 
family  itself.  He  had  his  own  sisters  whipped  I  He  put  his  own  son 
to  the  torture,  who  died  from  it.  A  bestial  reign — this  reign  of  a  gifted 
madman,  who  took  a  delight  in  chopping  oflf  the  heads  of  a  row  of  alleged 
political  offenders,  whilst  quaffing  brandy  between  each  fatal  stroke  of 
his  reddened  axe.      It  was  Sultanism  with  a  vengeance. 


VT. 

^Tiat  were  the  Russian  nobility — the  descendants  of  a  proud  and 
brave  conquering  race — doiug  in  the  meantime,  in  presence  of  these 
Saturnalia  of  Tyranny  ? 

Strange  to  say,  though  humbled  to  the  dust  by  an  insane  Autocracy, 
they  did  not  wriug  the  smallest  political  concession  for  their  own  order 
fVom  the  arrogant  monarchical  power — not  even  when  women  sat  oa 
the  throne.  All  manly  spirit  seejncd  to  have  gone  from  them.  True, 
at  the  death  of  Peter  I ,  in  1725,  some  suspicion  arose  that  there  waa 
a  party  amoog  them  which  might  try  a  coup  for  the  sake  of  obtaining 
R  Constitution,  similar  to  the  one  in  ncighbouriDg  Sweden  or  Poland. 
]iut  the  display  of  some  guns,  and  the  marching  out  of  the  Imperial 

VOL.  sxxv.  r  F 


434 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


Guard  by  Prince  Mentchikoff,  with  whose  family  she  had  once  lived  as 
a  servant,  sufficed  to  cow  the  would-be  conspirators,  and  to  insure  the 
proclamation  of  Catherine  I.  as  autocratic  ruler.  By  origin,  that 
Empress  was  a  soldier's  daughter  from  Livonia.  First  a  housemaid;  then 
alternately  courtesan  and  mistress  of  a  general,  of  a  nobleman^  and 
lastly  of  Czar  Peter^  she  finally  came  to  govern  an  Empire  in  true  des- 
potic fashion,  with  the  aid  of  favourites ;  a  degraded  nobility  slavishly 
dancing  attendance  upon  her,  even  when  she  had  become  a  helpless 
drunkard  and  debauchee. 

AVhcn  Peter  IT.  died  in  1730,  the  two  leading  ministers  in  the  State 
Council — the  Dulgorukofis  and  the  Galitziua — seemed  to  be  intent  at 
last  upon  limiting  the  power  of  the  Crown.  The  supporters  of  merely 
oligarchicul  views  and  the  friends  of  Constitutional  aspirations  were, 
however,  at  loggerheads.  The  result  was,  that  a  simple  eonditiou  was 
imposed  upon  Anna,  upon  whom  the  Crown  had  been  conferred,  that 
she  should  follow  in  everytbing  the  advice  of  the  Supreme  State 
Council.  Parliamentary  institutions  were  uot  stipulated  for.  Anna 
subscribed  to  the  terms ;  but  a  fortnight  after  her  arrival  she  easily 
restored  the  autocratic  system  by  a  successful  conspiracy  and  State-stroke 
of  her  own. 

In  1740  we  come  upon  a  harrowing  event.  A  Cabinet  Minister, 
Volynski,  was  tried  on  the  charge  of  having  aimed  at  a  diminution  of 
the  armed  force  of  the  State ;  of  having  (strange  crime !)  described  that 
monster  in  human  shape,  Ivan  the  Terrible,  as  a  tyrant ;  and — worst  of  all 
—of  having  praised  the  Polisli  form  of  govcrnmentjwhilst  saying  that  "one 
had  everything  to  fear  from  the  absolutistic  power  in  Russia."  Volynski 
had  committed  the  imprudence  of  writing  a  "  Project  for  the  Keform  of 
the  Affairs  of  the  State."  There  were  some  historical  remarks  in  it,  which 
the  Empress  interpreted  as  a  comparison  between  herself  and  Messaliua. 
Sucli  was  her  wrath  that  she  Ictpked  upon  all  those  who  had  read  the 
memorandum  as  accomplices  of  the  unfortunate  Minister. 

TIiG  revenge  was  terrible.  It  was  done  in  the  old  Oriental  style  of 
Gengis  Khan  and  Timur  Lenk.  Brought  at  the  Czarina's  ortlef  before 
a  secret  tribunal,  mainly  composed  of  military  men,  Volynski  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  impaled  alive,  after  having  his  tongue  cut  out.  His 
alleged  accomplices  were  to  be  broken  upou  the  wheel,  or  ]>ehcaded. 
His  innocent  children  were  condemned  to  exile  for  life. 

In  her  great  mercy,  the  Empress  commuted  these  sentences  in  the 
following  manner: — She  ordained  that  Volynski  was  to  have  his  tongue 
cut  out,  aud  then  his  right  hand  chopped  oS.  His  son  was  exiled  to 
Siberia  until  the  age  of  fifteen,  then  to  be  sent  as  a  common  soldier  to 
a  garrison  in  Kamtshatka.  His  daughters  were  to  be  kept  in  a  convent 
under  strict  watch,  and  never  to  be  allowed  to  issue  from  the  cloister 
gates.  Some  of  the  so-called  accomplices  of  the  unhappy  would-be 
reformer  were  beheaded,  or  transported  as  prisoners  and  exiles  to 
distant  parts  of  the  country.     This  yam  her  Imperial  mercy. 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA. 


435 


It  is  said  that  tbc  Empress  fell  afterwards  into  a  state  of  extreme 
terror,  tJiinkiog  she  was  pursued  at  night  by  the  mutilated^  blood- 
lieapattered  phantom  of  her  former  Minister.  On  her  death-bed  ahc 
imagined  seeing  him  standing  before  her  in  mute  reproach.  Uuuttcrable 
fear  agitated  her  at  the  seeming  apparition.  Let  ua  hope  that  there 
vftB  really  enough  conscience  left  in  her  to  feci  anguish  at  the  remem- 
brance of  her  fiendish  deed  ! 

In  1765,  Catherine  11.,  herscif  a  most  arbitrary  ruler  under  a  philo- 
sophical mask,  read  the  documents  of  Volynski's  trial.  She  left  behind 
her  an  expression  of  disapproval,  going  so  far  even  as  to  avow  that  the 
unfortunate  sufferer  had  been  "  a  good  and  zealous  patriot,  and  an 
innocent  man,  who  hail  unjustly  sofifcrcd  death."  Still,  the  Autocratic 
form  of  goTemment  remained  all  the  same  under  Catherine  LI. 


VII. 

We  now  come  to  more  modem  times,  only  to  get  deeper  into  Imperial 
liorrors. 

In  1775.  Nathalie,  the  wife  of  the  then  Grand  Duke  Paul,  a  German 
princess  from  Hesse-Darmstadt,  privately  elaborated  with  Count  Panin 
a  Constitutional  project.  A  woman  of  couaidcrable  intellect,  she  seems 
to  have  understood  tliat  this  was  the  only  means  of  closing  the  era  of 
oligarchical  plots  and  palace  conspiracies  ending  in  murder.  Her  plan 
provided  for  two  Uoosea  of  Parliament ;  it  had  also  the  gradual  emanci- 
pation of  the  serfs  for  its  object.  Panin  himself,  formerly  Russian  am- 
baandor  in  Sweden,  had  aequireda  greatUking  there  for  the  parliamentary 
sjiiem.  Still,  even  his  project  was  rather  of  an  oligarchical  than  of  a 
really  Constitutional  nature;  it  would  have  limited  the  power  of  the 
Crown  without  conferring  freedom  upon  the  nation. 

Catherine  II.,  on  hearing  of  this  project,  declared  strongly 
against  it.  Soon  afterwards,  Nathalie  died  in  child-bed,  and  a 
Tomonr  spread  of  her  death  having  been  bitiught  about  by  the  mid- 
irifo  who  had  attended  upon  her.  Considering  the  many  violent 
deaths  in  the  Imperial  house  of  Russia,  the  rumour  had  nothing 
impro1)able  in  it,  though  no  proof  could  be  furnished  in  point  of 
iact — except  the  somewhat  strange  circumstance  that  "  this  midwife 
3tmasscd  a  great  fortune,  and  that  Prince  Potcmkiu"  (Catherine's 
favourite),  "  who  was  so  Itaughty  aud  so  arrogant  towanls  everybody, 
went  from  time  to  time  on  a  visit  to  her.''-  The  mystery  of  Nathalie's  death 
was  followed  by  the  revelation,  through  a  heap  of  letters  found  in  a 
secret  drawer,  of  her  intimate  relations  willi  Count  Razumowski,  once 
the  friend  of  Paul,  in  his  boyhood.  Catherine  II.  had  the  cruelty  to 
eonununicate  these  letters  to  her  son,  who  from  thence  fell  into 
an  access  of  rage,  soon  culminating  in  occasional  outbreaks  of  madness. 

A  ilight  hope  there  was,  for  a  moment,  of  a  Constitution   being 

*  S«v  Prinoo  DolgomkoS**  Za  Viiite  tar  U  S»uU,  frum  which  some  of  the  aboTO  details 


43G 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


obtained  afl^r  the  violent  death  of  Paul  I.,  brought  upon  him  by  a  pal&cc 
conspiracy. 

He  was  the  son  of  the  unfortunate  Peter  III,,  who  liimself  had  been 
murdered  at  the  instigation  of  his  own  wife,  Catherine  II.  It  was  Count 
Orloff,  the  brother  of  the  paramour  of  the  Empress,  who  murdered  Czar 
Peter.  Tyrannic  Autocrat  as  she  was,  Catherine,  in  her  arbitrary 
dealings  with  men,  yet  preserved  some  outward  politeness  of  foma.  In 
her  successor,  Paul,  the  absohitistic  fury  knew  no  bounds.  "  Sir/'  he 
ouce  said  to  a  French  emigrant,  "  there  is  no  nobleman,  except  the  man 
to  whom  I  deign  to  speak,  and  only  as  long  as  I  speak  to  him  !"  Under 
this  violent  ruler,  men  were  degraded  beyond  endurance.  By  a  ukase 
he  compelled  all  people  tliat  met  him  in  their  carriages  to  step  down  and 
kneel  before  him  in  the  street.  The  slightest  whisper  of  complaint 
marked  a  person  as  a  candidate  for  transportation  to  Siberia.  In  his 
terrible  fits  of  auger  he  did  not  even  spare  the  dignity  of  his  fellow- 
monarch* — as  when,  for  instance,  he  challenged  to  duel  every  sovereign 
that  would  not  declare  war  against  England.  Such  a  challenge,  addressed 
to  the  King  of  Denmark,  he  had  published  in  the  Official  Gazette  of 
St.  Petersburg.  He  was  on  the  vergR  of  downright  insanity — as  all 
princes  arc  apt  to  be,  whose  violence  of  character  is  not  reined  in  by  any 
limitation  of  power. 

The  end  was  that  phastly  nocturnal  scene,  when  Paul,  attacked  by 
the  conspirators,  died  of  the  well-known  "  apoplectic  stroke.''  The 
midnight  surprise  originated  with  the  Princes  Sulxiff;  Count  Pahlen, 
the  Governor-General  of  St.  Petersburg ;  the  Vice-Chancellor,  Count 
Paniu ;  General  Uwaroff,  and  some  othtra.  They  personally  did  the 
deed.  Paul's  son — the  future  Emperor  Alexander  I. — had  been 
drawn  into  the  plot.  lie  gave  his  assent  to  a  demand  for  his  father's 
abdication ;  promising,  it  is  said,  by  word  of  month,  that  if  he  himself  I 
were  placed  on  the  throne  he  would  grant  a  Charter. 

It  was  easy  to  foresee  what  result  the  demand  for  Paul's  abdication 
would  have.  Nobody  expected  that  this  proud  Muscovite  Sultan,  whoM; 
reason  was  always  overmastered  by  his  wrathful  impetuosity,  would 
yield  to  a  threat.  So  the  issue  of  the  assault  upon  his  autocratic 
privilege  could  not  be  doubtful  in  his  son's  mind.  The  Czar's  bedroom 
had  but  a  single  door.  The  door  towards  the  Empress's  apartments  he 
had  shortly  before  had  walled  up,  expecting  danger  from  that  direction. 
This  proved  a  help  to  the  conspiratoi's.  AVhen  the  monarch,  driven  to 
bay,  jumped  up  from  his  rouch  with  drawn  sword,  trj-ing  to  reach  the 
window,  they  surrounded,  throttled,  and  battered  him  into  such  a 
hideous,  mutilated  mass  of  flesh,  that  the  sorry  remnants  of  whatever 
humanity  there  was  in  this  mad  specimen  of  royalty  had  afterwards  to 
be  hidden  from  the  members  of  his  family. 

This  was  one  of  the  typical  scenes  of  absolutistie  government,  as 
practised  in  Russia  for  a  long  time  past. 

On  Palilen    and   the  three  brothers  Suboif  annonneing  the  event 


CONSPIRACIES   IN   RUSSIA. 


437 


tbe  Czarewitchj  who  was  now  Alexander  I.,  the  exclamation  of  the  new 
Emperor  simply  was:  "What  a  page  in  history!"  Count  Pahlen 
answered,  "  Sire,  the  pages  that  are  to  follow  will  throw  oblivion  over 
this !"  In  these  wortla,  a  reminder  was  contained  of  Alexander's 
promise  that  he  would  grant  a  Charter. 

But  the  new  Czar— of  whom  Napoleon  I.  afterwards  said  that  he 
was  '^  false  as  a  Greek  of  the  Byzantine  Empire"  (and  Napoleon  under- 
stood these  things  well,  being  himself  of  the  craft) — was  saved  from 
keeping  his  word  by  the  intervention  of  tliree  members  of  the  palace 
conspiracy,  who  declared  for  tbe  continuance  of  autocratic  rule.  They 
had  probably  been  bought  over  beforehand  by  the  wily  Imperial  Grec. 
It  was  Prince  Peter  Volkonski,  adjutant  and  favourite  of  Alexander, 
together  with  Lieutenant-Gcneral  Uwaroff,  and  Major-General  Talyzin, 
the  commander  of  the  Prcobrashcnski  Guards,  who  threatened  to  call 
out  these  troops  if  a  Constitution  were  insisted  upon.  ThuSj  Alex- 
ander I.  preserved  his  absolutistic  power  as  Samodershez ,  having  gained 
his  object  by  that  art  of  dissimulation  in  which  he  was  an  adept.  Talyzin 
died  shortly  afterwards.  Uwaroflf  and  Volkonski^  who  had  been  among 
the  murderers  of  Paul,  continued  enjoying  Court  favours  for  many 
years;  the  one  dying  under  the  reign  of  Alexander  I.,  the  other  under 
that  of  Nicholas.  It  is  a  common  saying  in  Russia  that  "every  Czar 
walks  with  his  predecessor's  murderers  in  front  and  his  own  murderers 
behind  him." 

Alexander  had  got  rid  of  his  pledge  that  he  would  introduce  a  Con- 
stitution. NeverthclesSj  owing  to  the  troublousness  of  the  revolutionary 
timesj  whose  waves  reached  even  the  Russian  frontiers,  he  thought  fit  to 
keep  a  draft  of  a  Constitution,  as  it  were,  in  stock — to  be  conveniently 
produced  if  ever  some  sudden,  unavoidable  urgency  should  urise.  All 
Europe  had  been  shaken  by  the  French  Revolution  and  the  Napoleonic 
Wars.  None  could  say  whether  some  fresh  political  earthquake  might 
not  unexpectedly  happen.  The  task  of  drawing  up  a  Constitutional 
project  was  therefore  entrusted,  in  secret,  to  Mr.  Speranskiy  lie  was  u 
man  of  humble  birth  and,  as  his  enemies  said,  of  doubtful  origin,  but 
had  risen,  through  his  abilities,  to  the  post  of  State  Secretary  of  the 
Car.  He  entered  upon  his  commission  with  a  zeal  he  had  afterwards 
to  repent. 

Looked  at  from  the  point  of  view  of  Parliamentarism  as  understood 
in  AVestern  Europe,  Speranski's  scheme  turned  out  a  very  mild 
and  exceedingly  moderate  one.  lie  wished  to  maintain  the  so'called 
SecatCj  which  in  Russia  is  a  mere  body  of  Government  nominees, 
composed  of  invalid,  aged,  slavisldy-obedient  ex- officials.  ^Vloug  with 
the  Senate  he  proposed  a  Representative  Assembly,  not  by  means  of 
direct  elections,  but  by  a  fourfold  process  of  fdtration.  There  were  to 
be,  according  to  his  scheme.  Communal  Assemblies,  which  would  have 
to  treat  of  the  smallest  local  or  parish  affairs.  Delegates  from  these 
were  to  form  District  Assemblies.     Again,  delegates  from  the  District 


488 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


Assemblies  were  to  form  County  Boards — or  "  Government''  Assem- 
blicSj  as  the  Russian  phrase  for  countica  is.  Lastly,  Hcle^tea  from  the 
County  Boards  were  to  form  the  Representative  Cbamber,  or  Gostvdar- 
stretinaja  Duma. 

It  uccd  scarcely  be  said  tbat  this  project  aimed  mainly  at  the  esta- 
blisbmeut  of  a  consultative  body,  ivithout  decisive  privileges ;  a  iKxIy 
which  was  expected  to  fix.  the  budget,  but  not  to  presume  upou  refusing 
it,  in  case  of  a  conflict  with  the  Crown.  Still,  the  scheme  was  some- 
thing, considering  the  state  of  affairs  in  Russia.  Alciandcr  1.,  however, 
suddenly  conceiving  mistrust  against  the  mah  whom  he  himself  had 
urged  to  draw  up  this  scheme,  bamshed  him  one  fine  morning.  In  his 
old  age,  being  recalled,  Spcranski  turned  Conservative.  He  had  seca 
enough  of  the  danger  there  was  in  working  jMjaeeabiy  for  progress — 
even  when  it  was  done  in  the  position  of  a  State  Secretary,  and  at  the 
order  of  a  sovereign, 

TUI. 

From  that  time,  palace  conspiracies  are  followed  in  Russia  by  con- 
spiracies in  the  popular  interest. 

A  strange  commotion  seized  upon  many  minds  among  the  educated 
classes  in  Russia  after  the  war  against  Napoleon  I.  From  the  excitc- 
meut  of  a  War  of  Independence  iuwliich  the  popular  forces  had  played 
no  mean  part,  the  return  to  the  brutish  system  of  the  knout  was  not 
easy.  The  Russian  troope — including,  not  only  the  regular  soldiers, 
but  also  masses  of  the  militia — had  passed  and  repassed  through 
Germany  and  France  during  the  years  1813-15,  and  had  seen  aud  heard  a 
great  deal  in  these  campaigns.  They  found  in  both  countries  an  eman- 
cipated peasantry.  They  leamt  that  a  Government  which  had  ruled  by 
httres  de  cachet  had  gone  down  iu  the  storms  of  a  revolution.  They 
bad  been  in  contact  with  nations  where  men  were  somewhat  jealous  of 
their  personal  dignity^  and  where  the  public  expected  that  an  Adminis- 
tration would  be  composed,  at  least,  of  honest  ofiicials — not  of  such  as 
would  rob  the  State  exchequer  in  the  manner  of  the  jokingly  so-called^^l 
Russian  ''  conveyers  of  Crown  property.^'  ^^| 

To  go  back  to  a  conntiy  whose  peasants  were  serfs;  whose  Gorem- 
mcut  ruled  by  Cabinet  ordinances  in  the  leitrea  de  cachet  style  aiul  by 
the  whip;  wliose  officials  were  (and  still  are)  the  most  corrupt  in  the 
world ;  aud  where  all  personal  dignity  of  the  subject  is  trodden  under 
foot,  was  consequently  rather  a  sudden  transition.  It  gave  to  some  a 
great  mcutal  shock.  The  ordiuary  herd  of  drilled  mujiks,  or  of  roving 
Cossacks,  may  not  have  felt  it  so  much.  But  the  officers  did.  All 
Russian  writers  agree  in  saying  that  from  that  time.  Liberal  ideas  began  to 
be  propagated  in  their  country.  They  also  aver  that  the  German 
Tvgend-Rund,  and  kindred  associations,  which  had  helped  in  overthrow- 
ing the  Corsicau  despot,  and  which  then  still  acted  as  a  leaven  in 
Germany  for  reform  in  the  national  and  parliamentary  sense,  had  made 


CONSPIRACIES    IN  RUSSIA,  4m 

^   powerful  impression  upon  the  minds  of  Russian  officers,  who^  on  their 
^turn,  felt  degraded  by  the  rule  of  irresponsible  tyranny  and  its  con- 
comitant, the  knout. 

At  first — BO  Nicholas  Tra^enieff  states — there  sprang  up  quite  a 
secret  literature  of  political  epigrams  and  couplets,  in  the  satirical  or 
pathetic  style.  This  is  the  customary  outcome  of  dissatisfaction  in  des- 
potically governed  countries.  France,  before  1789,  furnished  an  example 
of  it  Where  there  is  no  freedom  of  the  Press,  men  take  their  clandestine 
lerenge  against  tyranny  by  squibs,  which  arc  often  not  the  less  biting 
because  their  allusions  are  hidden  under  an  apparently  harmless 
poetical  garb. 

Such  stinging  epigrams  and  ditties  were  orally  repeated,  or  even  shown 
in  manuscript,  soon  after  1813-15,  among  friends  in  the  highest  Russian 
circles.  Greater  freedom  in  general  talk  also  became  a  habit.  The 
officers  of  the  Guard,  before  all,  attracted  attention  by  the  audacity 
with  which  they  uttered  their  political  thoughts.  They  took  no  heed 
whether  those  to  whom  they  spoke  in  public,  or  in  the  drawing-rooms, 
were  partisans  or  adversaries  of  their  doctrines.  A  whirlwind  of  great 
historical  events  had  passed  over  Europe.  Men's  minds  had  become 
bolder.  The  very  spy-system,  under  which  Russia  had  suffered  so  long, 
was  not  able  to  maintain  itself  in  its  former  force  and  iniiueuce.  All 
this  contributed  to  enhance  the  tone  of  the  Liberal  Fronde  in  society, 

However,  the  mass  of  the  nation,  bowed  down  by  long  political 
slavery,  and  bound  in  the  fetters  of  serfdom,  could  not  be  stirred. 
Nicholas  Tnrguenieff,  who  played  a  part  in  these  attempts  at  Libe- 
ralizing his  country,  points  despairingly  to  a  number  of  popular  sayings 
in  his  country  which  arc  characteristic  signs  of  a  spirit  of  abject  sub- 
mission. "  Everything  belongs  to  God  and  to  the  Sovereign !" 
"  Though  thou  dislike  it,  be  always  ready  to  do  everything  thou  art 
bidden  !"  Quite  a  string  of  such  sayings  is  daily  current  in  Russia. 
"  To  petition"  is  expressed  there  by  the  technical  phrase,  "  To  beat  the 
earth  with  the  forehead  •/'  and  so  forth.  A  nation  with  such  a  voca- 
bulary— ^Turguenieff  thought — makes  its  way  with  difficulty  towards 
freedom. 

A  despotism  founded  on  the  backwardness  of  the  masses  may  for  a 
long  time  keep  its  power,  in  spite  of  the  more  intelligent  section  of  the 
community.  But  when  this  section,  though  a  minority,  takes  resolute 
action,  the  despot  may  be  overthrown  by  a  revolution  achieved  in  a 
comparatively  small  circle  of  men.  The  inert  great  mass  are  then  no 
real  obstacle.  A  palace  conspiracy,  aided  by  outsiders  in  influential 
position,  may  oust  or  cow  the  tyrant,  and  effect  a  change  in  the  parlia- 
mentary sense.  And  if,  in  a  despot-ridden  country,  things  are  to  be 
bettered  at  all,  some  first  attempt  of  this  kind  must  be  made,  at  one 
time  or  other,  without  waiting  for  the  slow  process  of  the  gradual 
enlightenmeut  of  the  masses — or  else  a  country  would  simply  be  kept 
fijT  ever  in  a  vicious  circle.     Despots  do  not  grant  the  rights  necessary 


410 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


for  such  gradual  education.     Macaulay  saw  this ;  and   he  vaa   not   a 
revolutionist  of  a  verj'  pronounced  type. 

T!ic  Etissian  masses  being  so  sluggish,  and  no  possibility  existing  for 
a  legal,  open  propaganda  of  progressive  ideas,  men  were  naturally  led 
towards  tlie  idea  of  a  secret  organization. 

We  get  the  first  glimpse  of  an  attempt  to  found  some  kind  of  a 
Political  Aesociution  iu  1815.  It  was  in  Lithuania,  at  the  head-quarters 
of  the  Second  Army  commanded  by  Prince  Wittgenstein.  There,  the 
two  brothers  Murawieff,  both  officers,  sought  to  attract  kindred  spirita 
who  were  inclined  towards  bringing  about  a  great  reform  in  the  State^ 
These  officers  of  the  line,  going  to  St.  Petersburg,  soimded  others  of 
the  Imperial  Guard,  and,  to  their  great  delight,  found  among  them  much 
readiness  and  goodwill.  At  first,  there  was  probably  nothing  more  than 
friendly  conversation  iu  the  way  of  wishes — no  definite  plan  of  revolu- 
tion whatever.  In  the  character  of  the  educated  Russian  there  is  a 
great  deal  of  the  self-critical  faculty,  with  no  corresponding  energy  of 
action — a  kind  of  musing  melancholy  which  occasionally  seems  to  take 
a  Titanic  start,  only  to  collapse,  after  a  little  while,  into  utter  despair. 
It  is  a  state  of  mind  neither  adapted  to  steady,  plodding  public  labour, 
nor  fit  for  the  slow,  persevering  work  of  occult  propagandism,  in  which 
great  powers  of  reserve  and  self-abnegation  arc  required.  Yet,  under 
the  spur  of  a  sudden  emergency,  these  same  men  may  he  brought  to 
perform  a  daring,  heroic  deed.  Such,  at  least,  the  character  of  educated 
Russians  was  in  the  earlier  part  of  this  century.  Since  then,  a  remarj 
able  change  has  been  wrought. 

It  is  somewhat  diificult  to  state  with  exactness  how  the  various  Secret 
Societies  which  followed  each  other  after  1815  arose,  and  how  far  the 
ideas  attributed  to  their  leading  men  were  those  of  the  totality  or 
majority  of  the  members.  On  one  point  Russian  writers  of  the  most 
different  party-views  are  agreed — namely,  that  Colonel  Pestel,  an 
adjutant  of  Prince  Wittgenstein,  rapidly  became  the  directing  mind  of 
the  movement,  after  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  brothers 
Murawieff,  who  invited  him  to  join  the  conspiracy.  Of  German  extrac- 
tion, but  a  Russian  subject  by  birth,  Pestel  had  been  educated  at 
Dresden,  in  Germany,  and  afterwards  been  in  the  corps  of  Imperial 
Pages  in  Russia.  His  father  was  Governor-General  of  Siberia.  Young 
Pestel  took  part  in  the  campaigns  against  France;  became  a  captain  ; 
then  adjutant  of  Marshal  Wittgenstein ;  and,  lastly,  conunander  of  the 
infantry  regiment  of  Yiatka.  It  is  believed  that  he  was  the  founder,  in 
1817,  of  "The  League  of  Weil-Being,"  also  called  "The  Worthy  Sons 
of  the  Fatherland." 

This  was  a  short-lived  Association,  probably  on  account  of  the  great 
divergence  of  opinions  among  its  members.  Nicholas  Turgueniefi^  a 
writer  otherwise  most  competent  to  speak  on  the  subject  of  these  occult 
movements,  denies  the  existence  of  the  League  of  Wcll-Ueing.  But 
the  Report  of  the  Judicial  Commission  of  Inquiry  which  in  later  years 


.»4    \ 


CONSPIRACIES    IN   RUSSIA. 


441 


to  investigate  the  origin  of  the  revoluliouary  outbreak  of  December, 

5,  positively  affirms  that  a  League  of  the  name  mcutioncd  had  bceu 

^^*^«*med  iu  1817.       As  a  rule,  the  credibility  of  a  Russian  Government 

^— ^<*Tnmission   is  not  to  be  placed  on  a  par  with  the  statement  or  the 

^^t*inion  of  a  man  of  so  high  a  character  as  Nicholas  Turguenicff.    It  must, 

**-c*-\rever,  not  be  forgotten  that  his  book  was  written  in  the  way  of  self- 

^^fence  against  the  judicial  charges  of  a  Government  whose  persecuting 

^*Tn  reached  very  far,  and  which  even  sought — unsuccessfully,  of  course 

■ — to  obtain    the   surrender   of    Turguenieff's   person    from   an    English 

!         Government !     It  is,  therefore,  not  impossible  that  Turguenicff  may  have 

I  been  unnecessarily  inclined  to  doubt  the  existence  of  a  secret  association 

I  of  which  he  had  not  been  a  member,  but  whose  doings  were  neverthc- 
^^    Jess  lugged  into  a  Judicial  Report  against  himself. 

^P  Some  of  the  "  conspirators"  of  this  first  League  cannot  have  been  very 
~  dangerous  men  ;  at  least,  not  to  the  monarchical  principle.  There  were 
.  those  who,  iu  the  spirit  of  Stein,  Hardcnbcrg,  Gnciscnau,  Arndt,  and 

Jahn,  sought  to  save   Monarchy  in  spite  of  itself.     They  did  all  they 
could  to  maintain  a  liac  ufoouuectiou  with  the  existing  powers.      A  few 
^^     of  the  Russian   would-be    conspirators    were  artless   enough  to  propose 
^p   drawing  the  Emperor  himself  into  the  secret — unless  the  proposal  was 
l»         the  very  depth  of  artj  and  had  merely  the  object  of  securing  for  them,  in 

II  case  of  detection,  a  colourable  excuse,  however  lame.  The  Judicial 
^H  Report  alluded  to  does  not,  indeed,  put  this  interpretation  upon  the 
^m  strange  suggestion.  It  simply  says  that  "  several  members  proposed  to 
^V  solicit  the  assent  of  the  late  Emperor  (Alexander  I.)  to  the  establishment 
I         of  the  Society." 

In  another  passage,  the  Report  declares  that  "  the  principal  pro- 
visions of  the  Code  of  the  League  of  Well-Bcing,  the  division  of  the 
subject-matter  into  chapters,  its  most  remarkable  ideas,  and  even  the 
very  style  of  writing,  show  an  imitation^  and,  in  a  great  measure,  a 
translation  from  the  German  original" — that  is,  from  the  statutes  of  the 
Tugend-Bund,  No  doubts  Pcstel  had  become  acquainted  with  these 
latter  during  the  war  in  which  he  had  served.  The  German  "  League 
of  Virtue"  having  counted,  in  its  ranks,  many  leading  members  in  high 
ailministrative  position^  who  never  ceased  to  be  zealously  loyal  to  the 
Crown,  some  of  the  Russian  imitators  may  have  wished  to  apply  the  same 
procedure  to  a  very  dissimilar  case.  This  was  not  the  view  of  Pestel 
and  his  friends.  Soon,  therefore,  things  assumed  a  more  decided  aspect, 
which  rapidly  changed  into  a  sombrcr  hue  of  tragic  import. 


IX. 

Af^er  the  dissolution  of  the  short-lived  League  of  1817,  a  Secret 
Association  was  started  under  the  name  of  "  The  Society  of  Public 
Welfare/'  Its  name  was  similar  enough  to  the  previous  one;  its  rules, 
too,  were  copied  from  those  of  the  German  Tugend-Bund.  The  members 
were  almost  all  officers,  or  writers.     Moderate  Constitutional  ideas  were 


4AS^ 


THE    aONTEMPORARY   HEVIEII 


still  the  prevailing  ones  in  it ;  but,  here  and  there.  Democratic  uotious 
came  up  among  the  more  ardent  associates.  French,  GerraaDj  and 
English  principles  of  progress  and  Liberalism  served  as  themes  of 
discussion.  Of  French  -writers,  Benjamin  Constant  especially  was  made 
use  of  as  an  intellectual  guide. 

At  that  time,  a  few  of  the  older  Liberals,  such  as  Admiral  Mordwinoff, 
who  wished  for  a  change  in  the  moderate  parliamentary  sense,  were  not 
prepai'ed  for  the  emancipation  of  the  serfs,  to  which  TurgucuieiF  attached 
great  importance.  *'  We  must  begin  with  the  Throne/'  said  Mordwinoff; 
"  not  with  the  serfs.  It  is  from  above  that  one  sweeps  the  stairs  !"  He 
wonld  have  been  content  with  the  introduction  of  a  Constitution  on  the 
most  aristocratic  basis,  curtailing  the  power  of  the  Crown,  but  leaving 
the  vast  mass  of  the  jxiople  at  tbe  mercy  of  the  landholders.  However, 
the  majority  of  the  would-be  reformers  entertained  better,  more  ad- 
vanced ideas ;  and  they  continually  tried  to  impress  the  less  progressive 
members  with  the  necessity  of  working  out  a  great  measure  of  peasant 
enfranchisement,  so  as  to  win  over  the  masses.  Those  who  at  present 
always  speak  of  the  "  Liberator-Czar"  Alexander  II.  ought  to  note  this 
fact  of  the  early  aspiration  towards  a  manumission  of  the  serfs  among 
the  opponents  of  irresponsible  Czardom. 

The  Society  of  Public  Welfare  had  members  in  the  capital,  at  Mos- 
cow, and  at  TuUschin,  in  which  latter  place  the  head-quarters  of  the 
Second  Army  were  established.  One  of  the  Generals,  a  commander  in 
the  Caucasus,  learnt,  ou  hia  arrival  at  St.  Petersburg,  that  the  Emperor 
had  been  secretly  informed  of  the  existence  of  the  Society,  and  that 
Government  had  its  eyes  upon  the  members.  This  he  communicated  to 
some  of  the  conspirators  ;  adding  that  Alexander  thought  the  Society  a 
large  one — which,  in  point  of  fact,  was  very  far  from  being  the  case — 
and  that  this  alone  kept  him  from  *'  playing  them  a  bad  trick."  One 
of  the  mcmbci's  of  the  Society,  General  Michael  Orloff,  also  lieard 
through  his  brother,  who  was  the  Emperor's  adjutant,  that  Alexander  L 
knew  of  the  meetings  of  the  would-be  conspirators. 

Here  we  have  a  clue  to  the  Czar's  cautious  conduct  and  to  his  occa- 
sional affectation  of  Liljcral  sympathies.  Altogether,  hia  position  was 
a  dubious  one.  The  Congress  of  Vienna  had  stipulated  for  the 
"  Kingdom  of  Poland" — as  the  Russian  portion  of  the  dismembered 
country  was  called — a  Representative  form  of  Government.  Hence  the 
Czar,  Autocrat  in  the  larger  part  of  his  Empire,  had  to  observe  some 
Constitutional  forms  in  the  western  section  of  his  dominions.  At  the 
opening  of  the  Polish  Diet  in  1818,  he  made  a  speech  which  seemed  to 
foreshadow  similar  parliamentary  institutions  for  Russia.  Thc-se,  how- 
ever, he  was  evidently  bent,  at  heart,  upon  preventing  as  long  as  be 
could.  At  the  same  time  he  kuew  that  he  was  surrounded  by  men 
longing  for  a  parliamentary  regime — men  who  might  at  any  moment 
spring  a  mine  upon  him,  but  whom  it  would  not  be  safe  to  attack  just 
now. 


CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA,  448 

KiB  father's  terrible  end  was  before  his  eyes  as  a  warning.     In  the 
iplicated  position  in  which  he  was  placed,  Alexander  I.  no  doubt 
'-^^^^Ted  that  if  he  unbosomed  himself  to  persons  of  his  immediate  sur- 
^^^^'v^nding,  asking   them   to  proceed   against  others  of   equal  social  or 
^*^>litary  rank,  the  very  men  so  addressed  in  confidence  would  perhaps 
^^Tn  out  to  be  themselyes  members  of  the  Secret  Society.     Would  he 
^ot  thus  bring  about  his  own  doom  ?     Would  not  his   enemies,  fore- 
warned, arm  themselves  at  once,   and  proceed  against  him  ?     Must  not 
"^^  danger  have  appeared  to  him  all  the  greater  because  he  thought — 
Cnoneously,  it  is  true — the  Society  to  be  a  large  one  ? 

But  he  knew  how  to  dissimulate*  "  By  the  falseness  of  his  cha- 
ncter"  Prince  Peter  DoJgorukoff  says,  "  he  was  the  worthy  grandson 
of  Catherine,  whose  remarkable  intellect  he  was,  however,  far  from 

possessing During  the  first  eighteen   years  of  his   reign    he 

played  the  Liberal  in  Europe,  and  wore  the  mask  of  the  same  In  Russia. 
But  during  the  last  years  of  his  gOTcrnment,  having  fallen,  as  regards 
foreign  policy,  under  the  influence  of  the  Minister  who  then  governed 
Austria,  and  in  home  matters  under  the  influence  of  the  cruel  and  pitiless 
Araktcheieff,  he  abjured  the  tendencies  of  his  youth,  and  entered  upon  a 
completely  reactionary  course — though  without  adding  the  violence  and 
the  brutality  which  his  brother  Nicholas  afterwards  showed."  Such  is 
the  appreciation  of  the  character  of  Alexander  I.  by  a  writer  of  most 
moderate  Constitutional  views,  who  always  shows  as  much  reserve  as  is 
possible  in  judging  of  the  acts  of  crowned  heads. 


When,  in  consequence  of  this  reactionary  course  of  government, 
matters  approached  a  crisis,  the  Society  of  Public  Welfare  was  dis- 
solved. In  appearance  at  least;  for  immediately  afterwards  it  was  reor- 
ganized. Nicholas  Turguenieff  presided  at  the  meeting  which  pronounced 
the  dissolution.  In  reality,  the  League  was  transformed  by  the  bolder 
men,  who  had  only  resorted  to  this  manoeuvre  in  order  to  get  rid  of  the 
timid.  Turguenieff  professes  to  have  from  that  time  discontinued  his 
connection  with  the  Society. 

Baron  Stein,  the  eminent  German  reformer,  had  in  earlier  years  ex- 
pressed himself  very  favourably  as  to  Turgueniefl''s  talents  and  presumable 
prospects  as  regards  a  public  career.  These  qualities  Turgueniefi"  dis- 
played, indeed,  in  his  position  as  a  member  of  the  State  Council.  AVc 
get  a  tolerably  lively  picture  of  the  inner  rottenness  of  the  absolutistic 
system  when  we  find  a  description  from  TurgucniefT's  own  pen,  as  to  how 
he,  with  Admiral  Mordwinoff  and  Count  Potozky,  read  with  great  glee, 
some  years  afterwards,  Byron's  "  Age  of  Bronze"  in  a  room  situated  but 
two  steps  from  the  Czar's  cabinet,  and  divided  from  it  only  by  a  wall. 

The  Napoleonic  sentiments  iu  Byron's  poem  might  have  been  perused 
by  the  Frondeurg  near  the  Autocrat's  cabinet,  without  bringiug  them 
under  too  great  a  suspicion.     But  what  if  they  had  been  seen  enjoying 


444  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

Trith   delight  the  terrible  squibs   contained  in  it  against  the  "DinQC 
Figure"  of  Alexander  I.  ?     Thus  we  read  in  "  The  Age  of  Bronae"  :— 

**,..,  Greeks  only  should  free  Greece, 
Not  tlie  Barbarian,  with  his  mask  of  peace. 
Hoio  should  the  Autocrat  of  Bondage  be 
T/te  King  of  Serfs  j  and  set  the  nations  free  7 
Better  still  serve  the  haughty  Mussulman, 
Than  swell  the  Coasaque*s  prowling  caravan  ; 
Better  still  toil  for  masters,  than  await. 
The  slave  of  slaves,  before  a  Bussiaa  gate,— • 
Numbered  by  hordes,  a  human  capital, 
A  live  estate,  existing  but  for  thrall, 
Lotted  by  thousands,  as  a  meet  reward 
For  the  nrst  courtier  in  the  Czar's  regard; 
While  their  immediate  owner  never  tastes 
His  sleep,  aana  dreaming  of  Siberia's  wastes ; 
Better  succumb  even  to  their  own  despair, 
And  drive  the  camel  than  purvey  the  bear," 

Again : — 

"  Resplendent  sight  I  Behold  the  coxcomb  Czar, 
The  autocrat  of  waltzes  and  of  war ! 
As  eager  for  a  plaudit  as  a  realm, 
And  just  as  fit  for  flirting  as  the  helm ; 
A  Calmuck  beauty  with  a  Cossack  wit. 
And  generous  spirit,  when  'tis  not  frost-bit ; 
Now  half  dissolving  to  a  liberal  thaw. 
But  hardened  back  whene'er  the  morning's  raw ; 
With  no  objection  to  true  liberty. 
Except  that  it  would  make  the  nations  free. 
How  well  the  Imperial  dandy  prates  of  peace  ! 
How  fair,  if  Greeks  would  be  his  slaves,  free  Greece ! 
How  nobly  gave  he  back  the  Poles  their  Diet, 
Then  told  pugnacious  Poland  to  be  quiet ! 
How  kindly  would  he  send  the  mild  Ukraine, 
With  nil  her  pleasant  pulks,  to  lecture  Spain  ! 
How  royally  show  off  in  proud  Madrid 
His  goodly  person,  from  the  South  long  hid  ! .  .  .  . 
I  am  Diogenes,  though  Russ  and  Hun 
Stand  between  mine  and  many  a  myriad's  sun ; 
But  were  I  not  Diogenes,  I'd  wander 
Kather  a  worm  than  such  an  Alexander  I 
Be  slaves  who  will,  the  cynic  shall  be  free ; 
His  tub  hath  tougher  walls  than  Sinop^  : 
Still  will  he  hold  his  hmtern  up  to  scan 
The  face  of  monarchs  for  an  *  honest  man.' " 

In  the  same  poem   there   is   an  allusion  to  the  famous  hymn  ascriM 
to  KallistratoB,  which  it  will  be  remembered  begins  thus  : — 

"  Cover'd  with  myrtle-wreaths,  I'll  wear  my  sword 
Like  brave  Harmodios,  and  his  patriot  friend, 
Aristogeiton,  who  the  laws  restored. 

The  tyrant  slew,  and  bade  oppresuon  end." 

Snob  were  the  books  which  some  of  the  Csar'a  high  officials  lesd  in  » 
•ptrtment  next  door  to  hia  own  cabinet. 


CONSPIRACIES    TN   RUSSIA.  445 


XI. 


The     Society    of   Public    Welfare     had     existed     with     two     chief 
ranches — a   "  Society  of  the  Korth/'  cotnpriaing   St.  Petersburg  and 
oscow,  and  a   "  Society  of  the  South/'   with   Kieff  and  one  or  two 
•other  southern  towns  as  head-centres. 

In  the  Society  of  the  North,  where  the  less  advanced  ideas  prevailed, 
diasatisfaction  gradually  arose  against  Pestcl,  who  entirely  swayed  the 
Soathem  branch.  Upon  this,  Pestcl  himself  brought  about  a  general 
meeting  of  the  raembera  at  Moscow,  in  February,  1821,  where  high 
words  were  bandied  between  the  diflferent  partisans.  Finally,  as  already 
mentioned,  tlie  dissolution  of  the  League  was  pronounced  under  the 
chairmanship  of  Nicholas  Turgucnieff. 

Colonel  Abramoff,  who  protested  against  this  resolution,  exclaimed  that 
'*  the  Society  could  not  be  dissolved,  as  it  would  continue  to  exist  even  if 
he  alone  were  to  remain  of  it."  He  evidently  did  not  know  what  Pestel 
and  his  friends  aimed  at.  Their  only  object  had  been  to  weed  out  the 
lesB  audacious.  A  fresh  Society,  under  the  Directorate  of  Pestel, 
Yushnefiski,  and  Nikita  Murawiefl',  was  at  once  established.  The  activity 
of  this  new  League,  whose  head-quarters  were  at  Tultschin,  was  such  that 
in  the  course  of  less  than  two  years  four  branch  societies  were  called  into 
existence.  Soon,  almost  the  whole  Staff  of  Field-Marshal  Prince  Witt- 
genstein consisted  of  members  of  the  conspiracy — without  the  Prince 
himself,  or  the  Chief  of  the  Staff,  Paul  Kisseleff,  suspecting  anytliiug 
wrong  ! 

Prince  Dolgorukoff,  in  speaking  of  these  secret  propagandistic  labours, 
»*ya: — 

**  The  Liberals  of  St  Petersburgand  Moscow — *Tlie  Society  of  the  North '  aa  it  was 
Cftlled — wished  for  a  monarchical  Constitutional  goveniin'eut.  *  The  Society  of  the 
South*  desired  a  federative  Republic  coin[>osed  of  the  various  provinces  of  Russia- 
The  Society  of  the  South  had  at  its  head  a  man  who  possessed  un  eminent 
intellect,  a  courage  ready  to  faco  every  danger,  an  unshakable  energy,  and  m 
boandless  ambition— namely,  Paul  Pestcl.  llis  truly  superior  mind  liad  under- 
ttood  that  a  representative  government  is  only  solid  antl  durable  when  it  is  so 
directed  as  to  develop  tlie  well-being  of  the  masses.  Whilst  tlie  mcmbera  of  the 
Society  of  the  Nortli,  though  rejeoting  the  odioua  principle  of  serfdom,  had  no 
fixed  ideas  as  to  how  the  manumission  of  the  serfs  should  be  wrought,  Pestel  had 
iodoced  the  Society  of  the  South  to  decide  that  the  serfs  should  be  emancipaUd 
wiik  a  grant  of  freehold  land.  This  idea,  which  to-day  is  admitted  in  Russia  by  all 
those  who  wish  for  serious,  not  for  rtclilious  reforms,  was  during  the  life-time  of 
Pestel,  forty  years  ago,  an  innovation  of  astonishing  boldneaa." 

Tlicsc  words,  written  in  1860  by  a  Russian  author  who  himself  belongs 
to  the  moderate  Constitutional  party,  are  a  testimony  in  honour  of 
Pestel,  which  those  may  reflect  upon  who  believe  that  Alexander  II. 
was  the  initiator  of  the  emancipation  idea. 

Before  Prince  Dolgorukoff,  Alexander  llerzcn  had  written  the  fol- 
lowing, in  1858,  on  Pestel : — 

*•  From  the  day  that  he  had  entered  the  Society  he  became  its  centre,  its  soul. 
Tbanlu  to  liim,  Uie  vague  aspirations  and  Liberal  tendencies  obtained  an  aim^  a 


446 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REFIEfV. 


practical  determination.      His  great  6gnre  dominates  over  tlie  whole  conspiracy;' 
it  is  a  great  figure  even  in  the  venomous  accounts  of  the  Commiasion  of  ln(|uirjJ 
An  ardent  RepubHcnn  and  determined  revolutionist,  he  imposes  and  precipital 
nothing.     He  acts  with  admirable  prudence  and  i*eser\'e.     lie  only  seeks  tobeitei 
organize  the  Association.     He  gives  it  regiilatiuns,  and  centraliKes  it.     Knowit 
well  the  still  timid  conscience  of  those  generoiis  youths  who  are  full  of  devotion^ 
but  scarcely  imbued  with  ripe  political  ideas,  he  grants  to  them  that  the  greaj 
tiling  would  be  to  restrict  the  arbitrary  power  of  the  Caar.     In  the  fragmentei 
his  conversations  with  others — as  quoted  by  the  Inquiry' — it  is  impoasible  not  to 
admire  \\\s  tact  and  the  richness  of  hia  resources.     Conceding  to  some  that  a  Con- 
stitution on  the  English  pattern  would  be  very  good,  he,  as  soon  as  an  iuterlocutt 
expresses  a  doubt,  adds  that,  for  his  own  part,  he  would  prefer  the  AmericaB" 
Constitution,  which,  he  says,  would  be  good  for  everybody,  and   not   only  *  for 
lords  and  merchants.'       However,  he  thinks  that  if  a  Charter  cotild  be  imposed 
upon  the  Emperor,  this  would  he  a  considerable  progress.     Then,  in  a  few  words,.' 
he  refers,  amony  the  possihU  conUnfiencies^  to  the  Emperors  death.     He  doubts  the 
possibility  of  forcing,  by  the  solo  pressure  of  public  opinion,  an  absolute  ruler 
to  cede  a  portion  of  hia  power.     He  shows  that  by  physical  force  alone  this  could 
be  done,  and  that,  in  order  to  limit  his  power,  not  less  jjhysical  force  would  be 
required  than  for  abolishing  it  altogetJicr.     And  although  he  expressed  himst 
with  such  caution — a  caution  interpreted  as  tergiversation  by  the  C-ommissJon 
Inquiry — lie  was  at  last  understood  :   and  some  men  feare<l  him.      Alexander 
Murawieff  loft  the  Society.     The  members  of  the  Alliance  of  Weil-Being   mur- 
mured.    The  Society  of  the  North  began  to  fear  the  ambition  of  Pestcl," 

This  was  before  the  dissolution  of  the  original  Society  in  1821.    After: 
its  reorganization,  Pestcl   increased   his    activity   with  the  most  ardeni 
conspiratory  zeal.     At  St.  Petersburg,  the  reconstructed  Society  Iwd  at 
first  Prince  Trubetzkoi  at  its  head  ;  then  Nicholas  Murawieff  and  Prince, 
Oboleaski.      It    may   be   meutioued,    incidentally,   that  the  Trubetzkoi**' 
and  the  Obolcnskis  are  among  those  families  who  derive  their  origin 
from   the   once   ruling  house  of  llurik,    the    Germanic   founder   of  the 
Empire.      In  the  South,  Pestcl  had  the  chief  influence.      Over  and  over 
again  he  insisted  on  the  necessity  of  emancipating  the  peasants  with  a 
grant  of  land.      Only  in  this    wayj    he  said,   the   Revolution  could  b^ 
successfully  accomplished. 


XII. 

Besides  the  occult  Associations  mentioned,  there  was  one,  culled 
"  The  United  Slavs,"  which  in  Russia  had  for  its  leading  spirit  Scrgius 
Murawieff- Apostol.  Another  secret  league  having  beeu  accidentally 
discovered  iu  Poland  by  Bestujeff-Rumiu,  a  member  of  PestePa  Society,] 
it  was  decided  to  establish  a  connection  between  the  Russian  and  Pol 
men  of  progress. 

Tfie  agreement  made  was  to  the  effect  that  the  Russians  should 
acknowledge  the  independence  of  the  Kingdom  of  Poland,  as  cstablishf 
in  1815,  as  well  aa  of  those  Polish  provinces  in  Russia  which  had  not  yet 
been  quite  Russified.  The  Polish  Society  promised  to  bring  about  an 
insurrection  as  soon  as  a  rising  sho\ild  be  begun  iu  the  Second  Russii 
Army,  and  to  effect  the  arrest  of  the  Grand  Duke  Constautine,  the 
Governor  of  Poland.     The  proclamation  of  the  Republic  in  Polaud  was 


^^^^^r  CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA.  447 

ftmong  the  conditions  laid  down  by  Pestel.  But  the  Polish  con* 
fefierates,  in  whose  narac  Krijanowski,  Grodetzki,  and  Korkoski  acted, 
refused  to  prejudge  the  question  of  the  form  of  government.  Nor  would 
tbcy  engage  themselves  to  prorccd  to  the  more  extreme  measures  against 
the  Grand  Duke  Constantino  which  ai*e  said  to  have  been  iusistedjupon  by 
the  Russian  conspirators.  These  extreme  measures^  it  is  alleged,  rcferrwl 
to  the  taking  of  the  Grand  Duke's  life. 

Everything  appeared  now  ready  for  decisive  action.  Colonel  Pestel  was 
at  the  head  of  a  regiment  whose  men  were  considered  to  be  entirely 
under  his  influence,  Avhithersoever  he  might  lead  them.  As  the  whilom 
adjutant  of  Marshal  Wittgcnstcinj  he  had  great  opportunities  of  forming 
good  acquaintances  with  officers  of  rank.  The  Intendant-Gcneral  of  the 
Second  Army,  Yushneffski ;  two  active  Generals,  friends  of  his,  Von 
1  Viesen  (of  German  extraction,  like  Pestel),  and  Prince  Sergius  Volkonski, 
were  at  one  with  him  in  the  desire  of  overtlirowiug  Autocracy.  Then 
there  were,  in  the  Society  of  the  South,  six  Colonels,  and  two  Lieutenant- 
Colonels,  Sergius  and  Matthew  Murawieff,  among  the  leading  members 
of  the  conspiracy. 

A  number  of  officers  coukl  be  reckoned  upon.  Besides^  it  would  not 
have  been  difficult,  through  the  members  of  the  League,  to  seize  the 
regimental  chests,  the  papers  of  the  Staff,  the  Intendance,  and  the 
Chaucclry  of  the  Marshal.  Pestel's  plan  was,  to  wait  for  the  day  when 
Alexander  I.,  who  was  at  Taganrog,  would  be  present  at  the  manoeuvres, 
and  then  to  act.  On  that  day.  Prince  Wittgenstein,  the  higher  Generals, 
and  the  Czar  himself  were  to  be  arrested.  The  fortress  of  Bobruisk 
was  to  be  occupied.  Then  the  events  to  be  brought  about  by  the 
friends  at  St.  Petersburg  and  at  Warsaw  were  to  be  waited  for. 

In  the  capital^  the  Society  of  the  North  was  to  give  the  signal  for  the 
rising  through  the  Imperial  Guards.  That  Society  had  among  its 
members  some  officers  of  rank — foremost  among  them,  Prince  Tmbetzkoi, 
Colonal  Mitkoff,  and  Captain  Nichohis  Murawieff,  as  well  as  Prince  Obo- 
lenski,  Beatujcff,  and  other  men  of  influence  and  daring.  Among  the 
highest  nobility,  in  the  upper  ranks  of  the  civil  administration,  even  in  the 
immctliate  vicinity  of  the  Court,  there  were  associates  of  the  conspiracy. 
At  MoacoWj  the  chief  of  the  Chanoelry  of  Prince  Galitzin ;  at  St. 
Petersburg,  a  close  friend  of  Count  Miloradowitch,  the  Governor-General 
of  the  town,  were  affiliated  to  it.  All  the  movements  of  Government 
coold  therefore  1>c  easily  watched. 

Unfortunately  no  full  agreement  was  arrived  at  between  the  Societies 
of  the  North  and  the  South,  even  in  the  reconstructed  state  of  the 
former.  In  182i,  Pestel  went  to  St.  Petersburg  in  order  to  effect  a 
thorough  understanding  and  a  full  amalgamation  of  the  several  leagues 
under  one  direction.  This  was  with  difficulty  attained.  At  the  same 
time,  the  men  of  the  North  shrank  from  adopting  his  plans  of  action, 
which  they  declared  to  be  too  violent.  There  were,  in  the  North,  few 
adherents  of  Pestel's  Democratic  views.     Almost  all  the  members  there 


.Amm. 


448 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIETf 


desii'cd  Constitutional  goverumcnt  under  a  Monarchy.  IIoTrevcr,  a 
number  of  these  promised  tJiat  if  the  Czar  could  not  be  made  to  accept 
a  Charter  they  would  go  over  to  the  Democratic  side,  and  that  iu  this 
case  nothing  was  left  but  to  banish  the  Imperial  family  from  Russian 
8oii.  Still,  with  all  these  words  of  promise  to  the  ear,  they  were  loth  to 
agree  to  a  programme  of  immediate  revolution. 

Not  having  fully  aiiccccdcd  in  his  endeavour  to  bring  about  unity  of 
purpose,  Pcstel  suggested  that  a  general  meeting  of  the  delegates  of  the 
various  Societies  should  be  held  in  1826 — under  condition  that  action 
should  then  not  be  delayed  any  longer.  He  thereupon  went  back  to  the 
South. 

Meanwhile,  secret  denunciations  had  reached  the  Emperor  at 
Taganrog.  The  Czar,  ill  and  in  a  melancholy  mood,  bad  not  sufHcient 
energy  to  proceed  to  a  strong  and  sweeping  measure.  Yet,  one  of  the 
conspirators.  Colonel  Schweikoffski,  was  suddenly  removed  from  bis  regi- 
ment without  a  cause  being  publicly  assigned.  Suspicion  was  at  once 
aroused  by  this  act  among  the  members  of  the  League.  For  a  moment, 
Schweikoffski  thought  of  raising  immediately  the  standard  of  insurrec- 
tion, in  order  to  forestall  the  danger  that  seemed  to  threaten  them.  The 
Report  of  the  Judicial  Inquiry  asserts  even  that  Schweikoffski  proposed 
sending  men  to  Taganrog  to  take  the  life  of  the  Emperor.  When  the 
question  is  of  being  killed  or  of  killing,  scruples  othemise  strong  quickly 
vanish  away.  Colonel  Ar  tarn  on  Murawieff  is  said  to  have  oifercd  himself 
for  the  deed.  BeatujefT  declared  that  he  could  find  for  that  task  fifteen. 
men  among  "  The  League  of  the  United  Slavs/'  The  Report  adds  that 
the  project  was  in  the  end  abandoned. 


XIII. 

This  question  of  tyrannicide  had  gradually  forced  itself  into  the 
foreground  in  the  secret  meetings.  The  Report  of  the  Judicial  Inquiry 
alleges  that  it  was  mooted  by  some  members  as  early  as  1817,  but 
tliat  others  repelled  these  ideas.  Of  Colonel  Pestel  it  is  asserted  that 
he  remarked  to  one  of  the  Murawicffa  that  one  of  the  first  things  to  be 
done  was  to  ''get  rid  of  the  Imperial  family;"  to  which  Murawieff  is 
said  to  have  replied  that  "  he  regarded  such  a  plan  as  wholly  barbarous 
and  unfeasible." 

At  one  of  the  meetings,  the  question  waa  raised  openly  as  to 
what  was  to  he  done  with  the  Imperial  family  in  case  of  success. 
Banishment  and  imprisonment  were  in  turn  projwsed.  Pcstel,  having 
listL^ncd  to  the  various  speakers,  is  alleged  to  have  remarked  that  in 
destruction  alone  there  was  safety.  Others  rejected  the  notion  as  a 
horrible  one.  "  I  know  well  that  it  is/'  he  is  stated  to  have  replied, 
Tlie  vote  being  taken,  the  majority  were  for  him,  but  only  a  majority 
of  six.  Again,  he  is  asi^crtcd  to  have  declared  that  "  we  must  make  the 
house  clean/'  and  that  his  project  was  to  seize,  by  a  surprise,  the 
whole  Imperial   family  ;     to  seize  also    the    members  of    the    Senate 


CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA,  449 

and  the  Synod,  to  force  them  to  proclaim  a  new  Government  in 
the  Eepublican  sense ;  to  declare  all  higher  officials  and  army-leaders, 
who  were  not  members  of  the  Secret  Societjj  dismissed  from  their 
fiinctions ;  and  to  replace  them  by  members  of  the  Society. 

These  statements  are  repeated,  without  any  depreciatory  remark,  by 
later  Bussian  writers  favourable  to  the  cause  of  the  so-called  Decem- 
brists of  1825.  The  mouths  of  the  chief  men  of  the  conspiracy  having 
been  closed  through  death  on  the  gallows  it  is  difficult  to  discover  the 
real  truth. 

In  the  nature  of  things — however  opinions  in  the  abstract  may  differ 
aa  to  the  legitimacy  of  tyrannicide — such  views  and  intentions  will 
always  come  up  whenever  men,  driven  to  despair  by  a  blood-stained 
cruelty,  have  to  do  battle,  single-handed,  against  a  thrice-armed  oppres- 
sion. So  it  was  when  Ehud  slew  the  Moabite  king;  when  Jael,  the 
heroic  wife  of  Heber,  killed  the  Canaanite  chieftain  Sisera ;  and  when 
Judith,  ''led  by  the  hand  of  God,"  avenged  the  wrongs  of  her  nation. 
Thus  acted  Harmodios  and  Aristogeiton,  Pelopidas,  Brutus,  and  Cassius, 
and  other  champions  of  freedom,  whose  deeds  have  been  extolled  in  the 
literature  of  all  nations.  Greek  Eepublics  possessed  laws,  or  at  least 
traditions,  according  to  which  any  citizen  that  slew  a  usurper  was  to  be 
regarded  as  pre-eminently  virtuous,  and  to  be  rewarded  with  the  garland 
of  civic  glory,  and  the  erection  of  a  statue.  Not  to  speak  of  Cicero, 
Seneca,  or  Plutarch,  quite  a  host  of  modem  Italian,  German,  French, 
and  English  philosophers,  poets,  and  writers  have  upheld  the  right  of 
tyrannicide.  The  honour  done  to  TVilliam  Tell  by  the  Swiss,  Garibaldi, 
in  his  own  way,  did  to  the  memory  of  Agesilao  Milano  after  the  over- 
throw  of  the  Neapolitan  Bourbon. 

Of  German  poets  that  have  distinctly  upheld  the  right  of  tyran- 
nicide. Herder,  Lessing,  Schiller,  Richter,  and  Platen  need  only 
be  mentioned;  of  French  legists,  thinkers,  and  poets,  Montesquieu, 
Vattel,  Eousseau,  and  Victor  Hugo;  of  English  statesmen,  writers,  and 
poets,  Milton,  Algernon  Sidney,  Sidmouth,  Cobbett,  Byron,  Walter 
Savage  Landor,  and  Benjamin  Disraeli  in  his  younger  days,  when  he 
sang  in  honour  of  Brutus  and  Tell : — 

"  Blessed  be  the  hand  that  dares  to  wield 
The  Kegicidal  steel  that  shall  redeem 
A  nation's  suffering  with  a  tyrant's  blood." 

This  passage  in  Mr.  Disraeli's  "  Revolutionary  Epick"  is  not  stronger 
than  that  in  which  Milton,  speaking  of  the  right  among  the  Greeks  and 
Romans  "  to  kill  an  infamous  tyrant  at  every  time  without  trial,"  adds  : 
*'  And  but  reason  that  he  who  trod  down  all  law  should  not  be  vouch- 
safed the  benefit  of  law."  To  which,  in  further  confirmation,  Milton 
adds  a  translation  from  Seneca— 

"  There  can  be  slain 
No  sacrifice  to  God  more  acceptable 
Than  an  unjust  and  wicked  king." 
VOL.  XXXV.  0   O 


450 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


A  great  French  authority  on  public  law  has  declared,  in  pre-rcvo- 
lutiouary  times,  that  atyrantjOr  one  who  overthrows  a  free  ConstitutioDy 
is  "  an  enemy  of  the  couimonwcnlth  and  a  pest  of  humanity — a  pest  which 
must  be  treated  in  accordance  with  its  nature."  A  free-minded  Germaa 
poet,  one  of  the  most  seutimen tally  humane  men,  has  said  that  between 
the  deed  of  Brutus  and  one  like  that  done  by  Ravalllac  "  there  is  a  dif- 
ference as  between  virtue  and  crime."  A  famed  English  poet,  but 
recently  gone,  distinguislics  between  "  legitimate  and  praiseworthy" 
tyrannicide  and  mere  assassination.  Men  of  the  Conservative  party  in 
State  and  Church,  like  De  Maistre  or  Solar  Delia  Margherita,  have  on 
their  part  also  declared :  "  Non  injuste  rex  potest  destrul,  si  poiestate 
ref/ia  tt/rannice  abutatnr."  In  the  time  of  the  Holy  Alliance,  Gentz  up- 
held a  similar  doctrine  as  against  Napoleon.  The  Stuart  Prince  who 
afterwards  reigned  as  Charles  II.  issued  his  well-known  proclamation,  as 
the  "rightful  claiumnt/'  against  "a  certain  mechanic  fellow,  Oliver 
Cromwell."  In  it,  Charles  says  that  he  "  hereby  gives  free  leave  to  any 
man  whomsoever,  by  pistol,  sword,  poison,  or  any  other  means,  to  destroy 
the  life  of  the  said  Cromwell,  wherein  he  will  do  an  act  acceptable  to 
Cod  and  good  men  ;"  and  lie  offers  a  yearly  pension  of  ;€500  to  any  one 
doing  the  deed,  as  well  as  to  his  heirs.  In  the  same  way.  Napoleon  I.,  in 
liis  last  will,*  bequeathed  10,000  francs  to  Cantillon  Avho  had 
made  an  attempt  upon  the  life  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  at  Paris  by  a 
pistol  shot.  This  legacy,  together  with  the  interest  accrued,  Louis 
Napoleon  paid,  under  his  own  signature,  with  the  word  "  Approved  ;" 
tlie  decree  being  iuscxted  iu  the  Monhtnr  of  May  6,  1855. 

We  have  to  keep  in  mind  these  historical  doctrines,  deeds,  and  occur- 
rences which  actua'lly  rcacli  from  antiquity  down  to  our  own  times,  and 
which  show  a  surprising  concurrence  of  views  among  a  number  of  the 
foremost  men  of  all  nations  and  ages,  irrespective  of  party,  in  order  to 
understand  at  least— though  many  will  stitl  condemn — the  intentions 
attributed  to  some  of  tlte  members  of  those  earlier  Secret  Societies  in 
Russia^  who  thought  that^  in  a  struggle  begun  in  the  popular  interest 
against  red-handed  and  pitiless  Czardom,  it  was  a  question  of  killing  or 
being  killed. 

The  nature  of  the  governmental  system  must  be  taken  into  account 
against  which  these  fiereer-miudcd  conspirators  intended  waging  war.  In 
the  words  of  the  Daily  News — winch  is  certainly  not  suspected  of  sys- 
tematic hostility  to  the  powers  that  be  at  St.   Petersburg,  and  which,  it 

need  scarcely  be  said,  strongly  condemns  the  present  "maniaof  murder/' 

"  Russian  history  is  the  narrative  of  a  long  sei'ics  of  nmrders,  and  qf 
their  consequences.  We  might  almost  say  that  an  ancestral  curse  broods 
over  the  throne,  like  that  which  prompted  the  revenger  in  the  house  of 
Atreus.  From  the  time  when  Boris  Ooduno£f  slew  Dmitri  and  stole  the 
crown  from  the  descendants  of  Rurik,  crime  has  followed  crime,  and  blood 
has  called  for  blood The  rival  princes  gouge  each  other,  stab  each 

•  Fpurth  Codicil,  doted  Longwood,  April,  1821. 


COSSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA. 


451 


other,  and  do  not  hesitate  to  call  the  common  cncmy^  the  Tartar,  to  take  a 

aide  in  the  fraternal  wars When  the  house  of  Roraauoff  was  at 

last  established  on  the  throne,  murder  followed  on  murder,  and  mystery 

on  mystery On  the  murder  of  Ivan  VI.  followed  the  death  of 

Peter  III.,  that  'domestic  bagatelle*  which  Voltaire  declined  to  discuss 
when  the  character  of  hia  friend  Catherine  was  called  in  question. 
The  room  in  a  Russian  palace  where  the  dust  lay  heavy  on  broken  chairs 
and  tablesj  aud  on  all  tlic  mute  witnesses  of  the  struggle  which  ended  in 
the  death  of  the  Emjieror  Paul,  has  but  rcccntl}'"  been  converted  into  an 

open  passage  in  a  military  school The  assassinations  of  Russian 

history  have  been,  so  far,  party  affairs  or  official  undertaking*!.  Usur|)ers 
have  dipped  their  hands  in  blood.  Tyrants  have  cruelly  secured  their 
throne.  Disloyal  wives  have  brought  dishonour  on  the  name  of  women. 
Conspiring  officials  cleared  the  madly  ambitious  Paul  out  of  the  way, 
with  all  hia  schemes  for  sending  Cossacks  to  attack  England  in  India." 

In  the  same  article,  written  on  the  arrival  of  the  news  of  the  attempt 
of  Solovieff,  the  Daily  NewSj  whilst  pronouncing  against  the  revolutiouary 
party,  declares  that  "  people  (in  Russia)  writhe  under  a  hundred  social 
aud  political  wrongs,  and  they  have  introduced  an  unofficial  reign  of 
terror."  It  is  the  natural  reaction  agniust  a  barbarous  system,  which 
takes  no  heed  of  the  intellectual  progress  that  has  reached  at  last  con- 
siderable sections  of  Russian  society,  aud  of  the  political  and  social 
aspirations  connected  therewith. 

Similar  feelings  existed  already  in  the  upper  strata  of  Russian  society 
under  Alexander  I.  He  had  mounted  the  throne  after  the  assassination 
of  his  father,  without  kcepiug  the  constitutional  promise  that  was  said 
to  have  been  given  by  him  when  he  was  initiated  into  the  palace  con- 
spiracy. Here,  then,  was  another  case  of  a  murder,  "  and  its  conse- 
quences/' such  as  implacable  History  is  wont  to  bring  forth. 


XIV. 

The  year  1826  having  been  fixed  for  the  revolutionary  rising  by 
secret  agreement,  the  Leagues  did  not  stir  after  Schwcikoffski's  sus- 
picious removal  from  his  post.  Suddenly,  however,  Alexander  died  at 
Taganrog,  on  December  1,  1825.  Pestel's  plan  was  thus  once  more 
thrown  out  of  gear. 

The  death  of  the  Czar  happened,  nevertheless,  under  circumstances 
which  in  a  certain  measure  favoured  the  action  of  the  members  in  the 
North.  Had  their  measures  been  but  better  planned,  Russia  might, 
since  1825,  have  enjoyed  at  last  representative  government,  A  doubt 
wluch  arose  as  to  who  was  to  succeed  to  the  tlirotie  came  to  the 
aid  of  the  friends  of  progress  in  the  capital.  Alexander  had  secretly 
changed  the  order  of  succession — with  the  consent,  it  is  true,  of 
the  presumptive  heir,  but  without  designing  to  make  the  fact 
known  to  the  millions  whose  duty  he  thought  it  was  always  to  obey, 
and    whom  he    did    not    therefore   think    it    necessary   to    inform    of 

0  o  2 


452 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


•what  had  been  resolved  upon  ns  regards  their  future  ruler.  Great  was 
the  astonishment  when,  after  Alexander's  death,  it  was  suddenly  asserted 
that  not  Coiistantiue,  the  eldest-ljorn,  but  Nicholasj  had,  by  a  decree 
until  then  hidden,  been  desi^ated  Czar  of  all  the  Russias.  Men  most 
devoted  to  the  Crown  were  for  several  days  puzzled  as  to  whom  they 
were  to  consider  the  rightful  heir.  Nicholas  in  person  added  to  tbc 
confusion  by  at  once  declaring  himself  in  public  liia  eldest  brother's 
subject. 

In  the  Memoir*  which  the  present  Czar  has  ordered  to  be  published 
from  notes  of  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  and  from  the  recollections  of 
several  members  of  the  Imperial  family,  it  is  stated  that  immediately 
after  the  arrival  of  the  news  of  Alexander's  death,  he  (Nicholas),  accom- 
panied by  Count  Miloradowitchj  Adjutant-General  Prince  Tnibetakoi, 
Count  GolanishtchcfT-Kutusoff,  and  others^  went  to  the  great  Court 
church,  and  there  took  the  oath  of  homage  to  his  brother  Coustantine, 
whom  he  assumed  to  be  the  Emperor  now,  according  to  dynastic  law. 
His  example  was  followed  by  those  who  accompanied  him,  and  by  other 
chief  personages  that  happened  to  be  in  the  palace.  From  the  churcli 
the  Grand  Duke  went  back  to  the  Dowager  Empress  to  inform  her  of 
bis  act. 

"Nicholas!"  she  exclaimed,  "what  have  you  done?  Do  you  not 
know,  then,  that  there  is  an  Act  which  appoints  you  hcir-presumptivc?" 

In  his  Memoir  he  professes  to  have  "  then  heard  for  the  first  time  in 
a  positive  form"  of  the  existence  of  this  Act.  The  words  "in  a 
positive  form"  are,  however,  a  noteworthy  qualification. 

Matters  were  thus  complicated  enough.  They  became  still  more  so 
when  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  resolved — probably  for  the  sake  of  his 
own  personal  safety — upon  asking  his  brother  to  repeal  his  renunciatiou 
to  the  Crown.  This]  was  a  strange  step,  almost  incomprehensible  when 
we  remember  the  ambitious  and  arbitrary  character  of  Nicholas ;  but 
perhaps  he  was  afraid  of  suddenly  being  met  by  a  strong  Constantine 
party,  which  might  deal  with  him  as  other  Russian  princes  had  before 
been  dealt  with  by  conspirators  at  Court.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  thought 
it  advisable  to  exhibit  some  hesitation.  Communication,  in  those  days 
when  there  existed  neither  railways  nor  telegraphs,  was  difficult.  It 
had  taken  ten  days  before  the  news  of  Alexander's  death  reached  St. 
Petersburg.  Fifteen  days  more  were  consumed  by  correspondence 
between  the  two  brothers,  one  of  whom  was  at  St.  Petersburg,  the  other 
at  Warsaw.  Nicholas  had  taken  the  oath  to  Constantine  !  Constan- 
tine had  taken  the  oath  to  Nicholas !  Probably  each  mistrusted  the 
otber.  In  the  Imperial  Palace  there  reigned  the  greatest  consterna- 
tion. The  Grand  Duke  Michael  went  post-haste  from  St.  Petersburg  to 
Warsaw,   and    thence   back    again,    in   order  to  clear   up  the  mystery. 


♦  Dit  Thronhftttiffuny  dei  KaUers  yicoJatu  I.  von  J^usJaml  im  Jahre  lft25.  NacA  Mtm0n 
9iffneii  Au/zcicfinuvr/cH  nnd  dcu  KrinTirrungen  dcr  kaiaertichen  FamiHe  avf  Jir/ehl  Sr.  MajestdJ 
isa  KaUcrt  AUxandcr IJ .  licrauBgcgcbeu  von  Baron  M.  von  KorfT.     Borliu  ;  1837. 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA, 


453 


I 


Pablic  opinion,  in  the  meantime,  was  utterly  unsettled.     All  this  was 
calculated  to  help  the  patriotic  conspirators. 

On  the  2Gth  of  December,  1825,  the  revolutionary  attempt  was  made 
in  the  streets  of  St.  Petersburg.  During  the  preceding  days,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Secret  League — Prince  Trubetzkoi,  Ryleieff  the  poet, 
Bcstujeff,  Prince  Obolcnaki,  Prince  Rostoffski,  Kahoffski,  and  other 
men  of  the  military  and  civic  class — had  repeatedly  met  in  the  evening 
to  concert  a  plan.  Young  Prince  Odocffski,  an  officer  of  the  Horse 
Guards,  kept  them  informed  of  what  occurred  at  the  Palace — even  of 
the  very  words  spoken  there.  The  meetings  of  the  conspirators  were 
stormy,  as  is  usual  in  moments  of  supreme  danger.  The  more  decided 
men  proposed  strong  measures  calculated  to  ensure  success,  whilst 
others  shrank  back  from  what  they  regarded  as  cruel  violence.  Be- 
tween the  24th  and  the  25th  there  was  a  failing  oif  in  the  number  of 
those  attending  the  nocturnal  assembly.  Only  seventeen  came — but 
ftll  of  them  men  of  energy  and  inilueace.  This  thinning  of  the  ranks, 
too,  is  a  feature  characteristic  of  all  conspiracies  just  previous  to  action. 

At  the  house  of  Prince  Obolenski  there  appeared  officers  of  the  various 
regiments  of  the  Guards  as  associates  of  the  League.  Obolenski  announced 
that,  by  order  of  the  Directorate,  their  duty  was,  on  the  day  fixed  for 
the  public  ceremony  of  homage  to  the  new  Emperor,  to  lead  as  many 
troops  of  their  regiments  as  they  could  to  the  square  before  the  Senate, 
and  to  make  them  refuse  the  oath  to  Nicholas.  With  the  first  regiment 
gained  over,  other  regiments  were  to  be  approached.  At  the  same  time, 
tlic  people  were  to  be  gatheretl  by  drums  being  beaten  throughout  the 
town.      This  latter  pro|K)aal  was  matle  by  Prince  Trubetzkoi. 

"  We  arc  going  to  meet  death,"  exclaimed  young  Odoeffeski  enthu- 
siastically, embracing  his  friends  in  Russian  fashion  ;  "  but  what  a 
glorious  death  it  will  be  \" 

Others,  of  sterner  stufl',  like  Kahoffski,  a  brooding  and  rather  siuister 
man,  said,  "  We  cannot  do  auythiug  with  those  philanthropists.  The 
only  question  now  is,  to  kill  !" 

"I  have  passed  the  Rubicon!"  said  Bestnjeff;  "and  I  shall  strike 
down  with  the  sword  all  that  cross  my  path  V 

It  was  assumed  by  the  members  of  the  conspiracy  that  Nicholas, 
seeing  the  military  revolt  before  him,  would  enter  into  negotiations, 
perhaps  renounce  the  Crown.  Thereupon  a  Provisional  Government 
was  to  be  established,  composed  of  three  members.  Old  Admiral  Mord- 
winoff,  one  of  the  most  moderate,  nay,  ultra-moderate  men.  Prince 
Scrgius  Trubetzkoi,  and  a  high  Church  dignitary  were  to  be  oflered  seats 
in  this  Government.  Colonel  Batenkoff  was  to  occupy  the  post  of  Chief 
Secretary,  A  Constitutional  Monarchy — not  a  Republic — was  the  aim 
of  the  leaders  in  the  capital.  There  were  to  be  two  parliamentary 
bodies :  an  Upper  House,  whose  members  were  to  be  appointed  for  life 
(Batenkoff  was  in  favour  of  a  hereditary  House  of  Peers) ;  and  a  House  of 
Commons.     The  Council  of  the  Empire,  as  hitherto  existing,  was  to  be 


454 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


replacT'd  by  a  Council  of  Thirty-six.  Elections  Avcre  to  be  held  for  tbc 
House  of  Commons ;  and  Parliament  was  to  frame  a  Constitution  and  to 
choose  the  new  Sovereign. 

Manifestoes  to  this  cflect  had  been  printed  in  tbe  night  before  the 
proposed  rising,  at  the  office  of  a  printer  who  %vas  in  the  League^  but 
who,  from  tbc  following  day,  became  a  traitor  and  informer.  These 
prints  were  afterwards  burned  by  Government  order.  Tlie  compositor 
whose  services  had  been  used  by  the  conspirators  "  died  suddenly/' 


XV, 


M 


The  day  of  revolution  dawned.  Palace  conspiracies  had  formerly 
been  carried  out  in  the  dead  of  night.  The  New  Russia,  of  which 
these  patriots  dreamt,  -was  to  be  initiated  in  the  light  of  the  sun.  This 
resolution — as  most  friendly  writers  aver — became  fatal  to  the  move- 
ment. "Better,"  they  say,  "would  it  have  been  had  they  chosen 
one  of  the  long  wintry  nights  of  St.  Petersburg  for  their  bold  deed  !'' 

A  portion  of  the  Guards,  and  several  companies  of  the  Marine 
Troops,  actually  followed  their  officers  to  the  public  place.  Count 
Mi!oradowitchj  nn  honest,  worthy  man,  who  had  seen  danger  on  many  a 
battlc-ticld  during  the  Napoleonic  wars,  and  who  at  first  had  pledged 
himself  to  Nicholas  for  the  security  of  the  town,  now  hurried  to  the 
Czar  with  the  ominous  words,  "Sire!  things  arc  turning  out  bad! 
They  surround  the  monument  of  Peter  the  Great.  But  I  am  going 
to  address  them  !"  In  vaiu  was  he  warned  not  to  expose  his  life.  He 
answered,  "  What  good  would  there  be  in  a  Governor-General  if  he 
did  not  know  how  to  sacrifice  his  blood  in  case  of  need!" 

Meanwhile,  scenes  of  riot  bad  been  rife  among  the  people.  It 
not  yet  a  distinct  awakening  among  the  enslaved  mass.  No  popu 
agitators  came  forward  with  words  of  fire  on  their  tongue,  or  the  promise 
of  energetic  deeds  in  their  gestures.  Yet,  somehow,  the  sluggish  soul  of 
that  inert  multitude  felt  a  sympathetic  thrill.  Geueral  Miloradowitch, 
t*L'eing  the  danger,  rode  towards  and  addressed  the  mutinous  soldiers  who 
hail  been  drawn  into  the  "  Constitutional"  movement  by  the  use  of 
"  Constautinc'a '  name — words  which  among  the  more  ignorant  served 
as  a  helpful  confusion.  In  tbc  midst  of  his  pathetic  harangue,  the  aged 
warrior  all  at  once  sank  down  on  his  hoi-se.  His  outstretched  arm  fell 
as  if  it  were  of  lead.  A  pistol-shot  fired  by  Lieutenant  Kahofiski  had 
mortally  wounded  him. 

Masses  of  the  population  suddenly  turned  up  now.  St.  Petersburg 
was  in  commotion.     Cries  arose  for  a  Charter. 

Shots  were  fired  at  General  Woiuofi',— ay,  evcn^  as  Baron  Korff*« 
publication  asserts,  against  the  Emperor  Nicholas  himself,  when  be 
tried  to  bring  back  the  troops  to  obedience.  lu  this  dangerous  crisis, 
Prince  Eugene  of  Wurtemberg  displayed,  as  Russian  army-leader,  the 
sternest  courage.    lie  first  advised  a  cavalry  attack.     When  tliis  prov 


h^i 


CONSPfRACIE.S   IN   RUSSIA. 


455 


of  no  avail,  gnn)c-shot  was  employed  against  the  body  of  rebel  troops 
that  occupied  the  Senate  Square. 

Before  the  word  of  command  to  discharge  the  ^ns  was  given.  General 
Sucliosannet^at  the  order  of  Nicholas,  rode  towards  the  insurgent  soldiers, 
offering  to  spare  their  lives  if  they  laid  down  their  arms.  He  was 
received  with  the  cry,  *'  Have  you  brought  the  Constitution  with  you  V" 
and  with  a  volley  of  shots. 

"  Your  Majesty  !"  Suchosannet  reported,  "  these  madmen  call  out 
for  a  Constitution  V* 

The  Emperor,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  and  raising  his  eyes  to  Heaven 
— so  he  says  in  his  own  Memoir — now  gave  the  onler  to  fire,  but  im- 
mediately recalled  it.  On  the  final  order  being  given,  the  gunner 
did  not  execute  the  command !  "  They  are  our  brethren  !^'  the  simple 
soldier  exclaimed.  *'  And  if  I  myself  stood  before  the  gun,"  the  officer 
cried,  "and  you  were  ordered  to  fire,  how  could  you  dare  to  hesitate?" 

Upon  this  the  shot  was  fired.  The  battle  was  begun.  It  ended 
with  the  defeat  of  the  insurgents. 

"  The  danger/'  says  the  Memoir  published  by  Alexander  II.  in  1857, 
''  was  obvious.  Guards  fought  against  Guards.  The  Emperor,  the 
only  support  of  the  Empire,  risked  his  life  during  several  hours.  The 
people  were  in  the  utmost  excitement,  and  it  was  difficult  to  learn  the 
true  state  of  public  feeling.  The  conspiracy  was  a  fact,  but  its  head 
and  its  extent  were  yet  hidden.  Everything  was  still  enveloped  iu 
impenetrable  secrecy ;  and  the  whole  outbreak  might  have  recommenced 
any  moment.  These  considerations  were  far  from  encouraging;  but 
there  was  the  firmness,  the  presence  of  mind,  of  the  young  monarch, 
which  the  officers  marvelled  at,  and  which  inspirited  the  soldiers.  The 
victory  rcmainctl  with  the  Throne  and  with  loyalty  ;  and  the  soldiers 
heartily  attached  themselves  to  their  new  master." 

Under  this  self-praise  it  is  easy  to  recognise  the  true  situation  and  the 
greatness  of  the  perils  which  surrounded  the  "  only  support  of  the 
'Empire" — that  is,  of  the  absolutisticform  of  government. 

The  same  Memoir  says  that  the  Czar  was  not  able  on  that  day,  fi-om 
morning  till  late  at  night,  to  partake  of  any  repast,  and  that  he  never 
went  to  bed  during  the  whole  night.  He  remained  up,  in  uniform, 
with  his  sash  on;  personally  examining  the  chief  prisoners  that  were 
brought  in,  receiving  reports,  and  giving  orders.  The  Empress  Alexan- 
dra Fcodorowna  had,  from  the  excitement,  "  lost  her  voice  and  ali 
strength."  "  All  the  Im^jerial  children  passed  the  night  in  two  rooms, 
as  in  a  bivouac." 


XVI. 


In  the  meanwhile  other  tragic  events  occurred  in  the  South. 
Peatel,  the  two  Murawieffs,   BestujefT-Rnmiu,  and  some  others,  had 
been  arrested    in    consequence   of  the  dcuuuciatiou  seat   to   Alexander 


456 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


at  Taganrog.  0£5cers^  placing  themselves  at  the  head  of  some  com] 
hastened  to  free  their  comi'ades-ia-arms.  In  the  struggle  that  ensued, 
the  Lieutenant-Colonel  who  had  effected  tlie  aiTest  of  Pestel  and  his 
friends  was  wounded.  The  liberated  leaders  then  endeavoured  a  bold 
stroke.  After  taking  the  town  of  Vasilkoffj  they  tried  to  gain  over 
fresh  regiments,  but  were  attacked,  near  Bclaja  Tzerkofl',  by  the  division 
of  General  Gcismar.  In  this  battle,  Scrgius  Murawicff  was  one  of  tlic 
first  that  were  wounded  and  made  prisoners,  together  with  hia  brother 
Matthias.     Another  of  the  Murawicffs  fell. 

A  political  catechism  had  been  drawn  up  for  the  insurgent  troops^ 
in  which  the  Democratic  form  of  government  was  proved  to  bcj 
according  to  the  teaching  of  the  Old  Testament,  the  only  government 
acceplublo  lo  God.  This  teaching  did  not  make  a  good  impression  on  the 
rather  bigoted  mii/i^-soldiers.  Tlieir  resistance,  when  attacked,  was  a 
weak  one ;  a  number  of  them  acted  treacherously  towards  their  own 
chiefs.  The  movement  in  the  South  thus  quickly  collapsed.  Moreover, 
no  plan  of  action  Iiad  been  concerted  between  the  leaders  in  the  North 
and  the  South.  Pestcl's  original  advice  having  been  disregarded,  each 
section  was  thrown  on  its  own  resources  to  deal  with  au  unexpected 
emergency  as  best  it  could. 

The  end  was  the  usual  scene  of  horrors.  Pestel,  Scrgius  Murawicff, 
Ryleieff,  Bestujeff-Kumin,  and  Kahoffski  suffered  death  on  the  gallows. 
Prince  Trubetzkoi  was,  at  the  prayer  of  hia  wife,  *'  pardoned'' — that  is, 
transported  to  Siberia,  with  eighty-three  other  leaders.  The  soldiers  of 
the  Guards  that  had  taken  part  in  the  rising  were  sent  against  the 
mountain-tribes  in  the  Caucasus,  and  against  Persia. 

Russia  now  became  once  more  a  prison-house  in  which  utter  silence 
reigned.  Only  the  blows  of  the  knout  were  heard  in  the  drear  solitude. 
The  very  groans  of  the  victims  seemed  to  be  stiffed. 

It  only  iTmaius  to  say  a  few  wonls  on  the  bearing  of  the  originators 
of  the  December  risings,  as  described  in  the  Report  of  the  Commission 
of  Inquiry. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  the  confessions  made  by  these  men  in- 
criminated them  even  more  than  the  facts  that  were  proved  against 
them.  Were  these  confessions  the  result  of  a  sublime  heroism  in  the  face 
of  death  ?  Or  had  they  been  wrung  from  them — forced  upon  them — by 
means  of  torture  ?  It  may  seem  strange  that  so  horrible  a  question  should 
be  raised  even  in  reference  to  the  Government  practices  under  the  grim 
Nicholas.  But  those  conversant  with  the  traditions  of  the  dreaded  "Third 
Division" — of  which  the  bland  Schuvaloff  was  the  head,  before  being 
appointed  to  the  task  of  deceiving,  as  I  must  call  it,  the  English 
Government,  and  Queen  Victoria  in  person,  by  false  assurances  made 
in  the  name  of  the  Czar  *'  on  a  gentleman's  word  of  honour" — are  well 
aware  that  torture  has  always  been  practbed  in  Russia  against  politic-al 
offenders.  Only  a  few  weeks  ago  the  German  Press  and  the  London 
Standard  have  openly  stated  that  torture  was  employed  against  Solovicff, 


COSSPIRACFES   IN   RUSSIA. 


457 


^jNo  denial  has  come  yetj  though  the  Cabinet  of  St.  Petersburg  seldom 

Ernplet  to  deny  the  most  patent  facts. 
Nicholas  Turguenieff,  who,  in  his  quality  of  a  former  member  of  the 
ussian  Government  administration,  is  always  to  be  listened  to  with  a 
eat  deal  of  attention^  positively  says :  "  The  replies  and  the  declara- 
tions of  the  accused  of  1826  resemble  too  much  those  which  were  for- 
Tncrly  drawn  out  by  the  system  of  torture  not  to  have  been  the  result  uf 
analogous  means,  Only^  one  docs  not  sec  the  same  frankness  in  the  draw- 
ing up  of  the  judicial  protocols ;  for  though  the  results  are  given,  there  is 
silence  as  to  the  causes  which  brought  them  about.  The  Minister  of  War 
having  been  informed  that  Colonel  Pestel  had  just  been  led  into  St.  Peters- 
burg, the  first  words  which  came  from  the  Ikliuistcr'B  lips  were  an  order 
to  subject  him  to  the  torture,  I  purposely  use  here  a  general  expression, 
not  wishing,  by  a  more  precise  statement,  to  add  disgust  to  the  horror." 
H  It  is  impossible,  under  these  suspicious  circumstances,  to  say  how  far 
wc  are  to  take  the  alleged  avowals  of  the  accused  aa  genuine.  "  I 
would  have  been  able,"  Ryleieff  is  made  to  exclaim,  in  the  Judicial 
Report,  *^  to  stop  all  proceedings  ;  but  I  have,  on  the  contrary,  forced  on 
^Mictioxi.  I  am  the  chief  author  of  the  events  of  December  2G.  If  any 
^Kone  has  merited  death  for  that  rising,  it  is  I !" 

^^  Was  this  a  noble  attempt  to  shield  his  friends?  Or  were  these 
^Mrords  the  outcome  of  a  man's  sufferings  on  the  rack  ?  We  shall  never 
Blnow.  Nor  can  wc  decide  whether  some  of  the  accused  hod  notj  by 
cmel,  fiendish  means,  been  made  to  contradict  and  to  incriminate  each 
other  in  a  manner  which  must  have  inwardly  delighted  the  tyrannic 
victor.  Let  us  draw  the  veil  over  these  harrowing  secrets  of  the  dun- 
geon !  This  much  we  know,  that  by  barbarous  atrocities  was  the  reign  of 
IKicholas  initiated.  Through  pools  of  blood  he  waded  to  the  throne  ;  and 
ihe  beams  of  the  gallows  sencd  aa  supports  for  his  proud  Imperial  seat. 
More  than  fifty  years  have  passed  since  the  martyrdom  of  the 
insurgents  of  December,  1825.  To-day  Russia,  in  which  under  Nicholas 
the  stillness  of  death  had  reigned,  is  deeply  troubled  by  disaffection — 
"  an  Empire  of  the  Discontented/'  So  Katkoff  calls  it  in  his  Moscow 
Gazette ;  and  when  he,  the  supporter  of  Autocracy,  makes  so  general  a 
confession,  the  absolutistic  system,  though  still  showing  a  face  of  brass, 
must,  indeed,  have  feet  of  clay.  In  the  next  article  I  shall  have  to  speak 
more  fully  of  the  attempt  the  successor  of  Nicholas  made  to  thwart  the 
progress  of  the  Constitutional  movement,  which  recommenee<l  after  the 
Crimean  War.  by  that  liberation  of  the  serfs  which  the  organizer  of 
the  Leagues  of  1821—25  had  alrcwly  inserted  in  his  programme.  For 
the  present  I  wiU  conclude  with  a  hope  that  the  contest  wc  see 
daily  going  on  may  result  in  a  triumpli  but  too  long  delayed,  and  that, 
guided  by  the  spirit  of  Pestel  and  MurawicfF,  tl»e  opponents  of  a  brutal 
Cisardom  may  succeed  in  opening  a  new  era  for  Russia,  after  the  opprcs- 
[«ve  servitude  of  a  thousand  years. 

Karl  Blind. 


ENGLISH  VIEWS  OF  CATHOLICISM, 


FIFTY    YEARS    AGO    AND    NOW. 


THOSE  who  arn  old  enough  to  rcmcTnl)er  the  light  in  which  the 
Catholic  rcligioa  was  regarded  iu  Eugland  some  fifty  or  sixty  years 
ago  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  struck  hy  thcchangt;  which  has  taken  place  in 
the  interval.  I  do  not  refer  eitlier  exclusively  or  chiefly  to  the  conversions 
which  have  followed  on  the  Tractanan  movement,  because  I  do  not  think 
that,  numerous  and  important  as  they  arc,  they  have  produced  any 
appreciable  impression  on  the  great  mass  of  English  society.  England 
is  still  an  essentially  Protestant  country,  and  the  traditions  she  has 
inherited  from  the  Reformation  arc  as  yet  but  partially  eradicated.  I 
refer  rather  to  tliosc  ecclesiastical  and  social  phenomena  of  our  time 
which  prove  that  the  Catholic  religion  has  at  length  come  to  be  regarded 
in  England  as  a  power  which  it  is  neither  possible  to  ignore  nor  prudent 
to  despise.  But  I  refer  more  cspci'lally  to  the  spirit  of  fairness  and 
even  kindliness  in  which  Catholic  subjects  are  now  dealt  with  in  our 
political  language  and  periodical  literature,  and  which  forms  so  striking 
a  contrast  to  the  tone  of  controversial  rancour  and  contemptuous  in- 
diflerence  with  which  the  same  subjects  were  treated  at  the  period  from 
which  the  change  may  be  dated.  I  do  not  forget  that  the  political  mind 
of  England  was  at  that  period  deeply  interested,  and  not  a  little  excited, 
by  the  great  question  of  Catholic  Emancipation,  and  that  the  discussions 
on  that  question  made  it  necessary  to  characterize  the  religion  of 
Catholics  iu  a  somewhat  more  respectful  tone.  Still  that  interest  was 
concentrated  solely  on  Ireland  ;  and  on  the  religion  of  Irish  Catliolios, 
mainly  as  it  bore  on  the  question  of  their  political  priiilcges.  The 
Continent  of  Europe  had  then  been  opened  some  fourteen  years  to 
English  tourists  and  the  reporters  of  the  public  press ;  yet,  as  to  all 
that  related  to  the  religion  of  those  European  countries  in  wliich  the 
Catholic  faith  is  professed,  the  public  miud  of  England  was  almost  an 


ENGLISH    VIEi\.<    OF   CATHOLICISM. 


459 


Entire  blank.      Meanwhile,  as  to  the  professors  of  the  same  faith  in  Eng- 

lond  itself,  the  popular  idea  conceruiug  them  was  that  they  consisted  of 

Oicrtain  ancient  families  in  the  midland  and  northern  counties  who  kept 

"V-^ry  much  to  themselves,  and  whose  habits  of  life  were  but  little  knowa 

*-«  their  neighbours. 

With  this  state  of  things,  of  which  I  do  not  think  that  the  foregoing 
^3escription  represents  an  unfaithful  picture,  let  us  compare  the  place 
"^iliich  the  Catholic  religion  now  occupies  in  the  public  mind  of  Eng- 
land. I  am  as  yet  speaking  of  my  subject  in  its  social  and  literary  aspect 
^)nly,  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  can  better  illustrate  my  meaning  than 
^y  comparing  the  public  interest  which  has  been  manifested  in  the 
characters  and  acts  of  the  two  last  Pontiffs  who  have  occupied  the 
Tapal  Chair  with  the  very  different  aspect  under  which  their  immediate 
predecessors  were  regarded.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  reign  of  Pius  IX» 
has  been  a  more  than  commonly  eventful  one,  even  from  its  very  com- 
mcucementj  and  my  argument  must  be  received  with  such  deduction  as 
this  fact  may  be  fairly  considered  to  apply  to  it.  But  it  is  not  sufficient 
to  explain  either  the  extent  or  the  character  of  the  interest  which 
gathered  around  the  latter  years  and  the  latter  months  of  that  genial 
aud  largc-licarted  Pontiff.  It  is  fresh  iii  the  memories  of  all  of  us 
how,  from  the  time  when  his  life  was  thought  to  be  drawing  to  a  close, 
not  only  his  formal  addresses,  but  his  casual  words  and  even  his  liarm- 
less  pleasantries,  went  the  round  of  the  English  newspapers;  and  in  how 
different  a  tone  his  acts  and  sayings  were  publicly  commented  on  from 
that  in  which  they  would  have  been  represented  at  an  earlier  time. 
Never  certainly  was  there  a  public  character  who  received  a  larger  share 
of  popular  conaiderationj  whose  antagonism  to  the  spirit  of  the  age  raet 
with  greater  allowance,  or  whose  eminent  private  virtues  were  more 
generally  recoguisL-d.  "When  Pope  Gregory  XVI.,  the  immediate  prede- 
cessor of  Pius  IX.,  passed  away  in  18^,  his  death,  as  I  well  remember, 
was  simply  chronicled  by  the  public  press  as  that  of  any  petty  sovereign 
might  have  been,  and  the  election  of  his  successor  was  recorded  with  no 
greater  marks  of  public  interest.  How  striking  a  contrast  to  this 
apathy  was  presented  somewhat  more  than  a  year  ago,  when  the  tiara 
passed  firom  Pius  IX.  to  Leo  XIII.!  Then  it  was  that  for  the  first  time 
the  English  public  was  made  aware  of  the  nature  and  accompaniments 
of  a  Papal  election,  and  was  disabused  of  those  ideas  of  domestic 
intrigue  and  popular  violence  whicli  it  had  been  accustomed  to  associate 
with  that  event.  Although  not  myself  sharing  any  of  these  prejudices 
I  confess  that  I  was  impressed  far  beyond  my  expectation  by  the  accounts 
of  that  great  electoral  conclave,  its  majestic  calmness,  its  deep  religious- 
ness, and  the  manifest  proofs  which  it  gave  of  a  conscientious  regard  to 
duty  on  the  part  of  the  electors,  and  a  more  than  human  giudance  iu 
the  result  of  their  choice.  Iu  the  wisdom  and  impartiality  of  that 
choice,  even  the  outer  world  itself,  with  a  uuautuaity  under  the  circum- 
atances  most  remarkable,  lost  no  time  in  expressing  its  concurrence. 


L 


460 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


These  facts,  taken  one  with  another,  appear  to  justify  the  contrast  I 
have  intimated  between  the  state  of  English  feeling  at  the  two  extre- 
mities of  the  period  comprehended    in  the  last  half-ccuturyj  and  sufii- 
ciently  to  indicate  the  growth,  I  do  not  say  of  Catholic  convictions,  yet 
of  a  temper  of  mind  as  far  removed  from  mere  passive  toleration  on  the 
one  hand  as  from  actual  belief  on  the  other,  and  which  &eems  to  me  to^ 
be  best  expressed  by  such  terms  as  kindliness  or  sympathy.      I  desire  to 
found  neither  conclusions  nor  predictions  on  the  facts  themselves.    They 
are  no  doubt  to  be  explained  in  great  measure  by  the  progress  of  inteU  i 
ligencc  and  the  acquisitions  of  experience  which  the  last  half-century 
has  brought  with  it.     But  they  arc  at  least  worthy  of  being  recorded, 
as  evidences  of  the  power  with  wliich  a  generous  people  can  erooucipatc 
itself  from  prejudices  of  no  ordinai'y  tenacity.     Mr.  Gladstone,  in  LitJ 
late  interesting  lecture  on  Dr.  Hook,  is  rc]K)rted  to   have  said  that  tbo' 
amiable  and  2)opular  subject  of  his  memoir,   when  a  young  man,  con- 
sidered it  to  be  his  duty  as  an  Eiiglii^lmsan   to  hate  the  Pope,  because 
Englishmen  in  general  did  so.      If  such  was  the  national  feeling  when 
Dr.  Hook  was  a  young  man,  which  would  have  been  rather  more  than 
half  a  century  ago,  and  if  it  would  be  now  little  less  than  a  calumny  to 
impute  such  a  sentiment  to  Englishmen  as  a  body,  the  change  which  has^ 
taken  place  in  the  interval  is  sufficiently  great  to  bear  out  all  that  has; 
been  here  said  of  it. 

Another  striking  instance  of  the  rapidity  and  completeness  with  whichj 
English  feeling  on  the  subject  of  Catholics  and  their  religion  can  changcj 
from  hatred  and  contempt  to  sympathy  and  arlmiration  was  exhibited  ii 
the  contrast  between  the  reception  of  Dr.  Wiseman  when  he  arrived  from' 
Rome  as  Cardinal  in  1850  and  the  manner  in  wliich  he  was  regarded  at 
the  time  of  his  last  illness  and  death  in  1865.  On  the  former  occa»ioii. 
no  condemnations  were  too  sweeping,  no  sarcasms  too  pungent,  and  a< 
abuse  too  virulent  to  express  the  national  estimate  of  the  great  Papal 
Aggressor.  Yet  so  entirely  did  English  generosity  get  the  better  of 
English  prejudice  that,  in  less  than  fifteen  years,  the  same  man  was  the 
object  of  general  consideration  and  affectionate  interest.  The  variations 
of  his  illness  were  chronicled  in  daily  bulletins,  his  house  was  thronged 
with  anxious  inquirers,  while  hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  population 
testified  their  respect  for  him  on  the  day  of  his  fimcral, 

A  still  more  remarkable  instance  of  the  same  kind  has  occurred  quite 
recently  in  the  ease  of  Dr.  Newman,  on  the  occasion  of  the  distinguished 
favour  conferred  on  him  by  Pope  Leo  XIII.,  and  it  is  alike  memorabl 
from  the  character  and  circumstances  of  the  event  to  which  it  relates/ 
and  from  the  manner  in  which  the  announcement  of  that  event  has 
been  received  by  the  English  public.  That  a  simple  priest^  and  he, 
too,  a  convert  from  iVnglicauism,  living  in  seclusion  in  a  provincial  town, 
should  have  been  selected  for  the  bestowal  of  an  honour  which  ia 
usually  the  last  and  highest  in  a  graduated  series  of  ecclesiastical 
dignities,   is  in  itself  a   fact  of  no  onlinary  moment.      But  still  more 


ENGUSH    VIEWS    OF   CATHOLICISM. 


461 


si^i^cant  as  evidence  of  the  cLange  \rLich  English  fceliDg  has  uuder- 
gone  during  a  period  considerably  shorter  than  that  which  I  have 
allowed  for  the  range  of  its  progress  is  the  gratitude  with  which  this 
mark  of  favour  has  been  generally  received,  and  the  unanimity  with 
which  every  principal  organ  of  public  opinion,  every  class  of  society, 
erery  political  party,  and  every  school  of  religious  thought  throughout 
the  kingdom  have  borne  testimony  to  Dr.  Newman's  character  and 
claims.  Far  diflferent  was  the  light  in  which  he  was  regarded  when  less 
than  four-and-thirty  years  ago  he  quitted  the  communion  of  the  Church 
of  England  for  that  of  Rome.  That  memorable  event  was  not  only 
looked  upon,  as  was  natural,  with  disfavour  by  the  heads  of  the  Church 
and  University  to  which  he  had  belonged,  but  caused  no  sensation  in 
the  country  in  any  degree  adequate  to  its  iraportauee ;  and  the  revolu- 
tion in  the  national  judgment  of  Dr.  Newman  did  not  reach  its  climax 
till  nineteen  yejirs  later,  when  a  writer  in  a  magazine  ventured  to  bring 
the  charge  of  untruthfulness  against  him,  and  evoked  that  celebrated 
defence  which  at  once  and  for  ever  had  the  effect  of  silencing  every 
opponent.  Never,  perhaps,  in  the  history  of  literature  or  of  society  did 
the  appearance  of  a  single  work  produce  so  marvellous  an  effect  on  the 
public  sentiment  as  did  that  of  the  Apologia.  It  not  only  changed  the 
mind  but  turned  the  heart  of  the  nation,  and  established  that  settled 
belief  in  Dr.  Newman^s  singleness  of  purpose  which  has  found  its  voice 
in  the  late  demonstration.  Oxford,  too,  has  not  been  behind  iu  making 
reparation  for  her  former  ingratitude  to  one  of  her  most  devoted 
sons,  and  the  graceful  compliment  paid  him  last  year  by  the  President 
and  Fellows  of  Trinity  is  not  the  least  pleasing  among  the  recollections 
of  his  friends.  Rarely,  indeed,  have  the  privileges  of  persecution  and  the 
dangers  of  popularity  been  so  conspicuously  united  in  the  experiences  of 
one  and  the  same  life. 

Wlien  we  pass  from  the  political  and  literary  to  the  ecclesiastical 
arena  the  facta  which  present  themselves  to  our  new  are  incomparably 
more  significant  than  any  with  which  we  have  hitherto  been  engaged. 
Of  the  four  parties  into  which  the  Church  of  England  may  be  considered 
to  be  now  divided — the  Ritualistic,  the  Moderate  High  Church,  the  Evan- 
gelical, and  the  Liberal  or  Broad — the  first  had  absolutely  no  represen- 
tation fifty  or  sixty  years  ago,  and  the  Inst,  though  it  had  then  a 
foreshadowing,  had  no  such  (tuhstuuiive  extstcuce  as  would  entitle  it  to 
be  called  a  party.  The  Laudian  type  of  High  Churchmanship  had  nearly 
died  out  during  the  eighteeuth  century,  and  the  High  Churchmanship 
which  had  taken  its  place  concerned  itself  far  less  with  doctrine  than 
with  the  good  things  of  this  world.  Of  course  there  were  favourable 
exceptions  to  this  rule,  but  I  fear  that  they  were  not  sufficient  to  affect 
the  general  character  of  the  class.  The  most  compact  and  consistent, 
as  well  as  the  most  real  and  earnest,  of  the  two  great  sections  of  the 
Eatabliahment  was  represented  by  the  Evangelicals,  though  even  they 
kad  lost  somewhat  of  their  earlier  freshness.     With  the  High  Churchman 


462 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVTEJT. 


of  the  time  they  had  little  iu  common,  and  they  had  as  yet  but  a  very 
limited  share  in  the   dignities   and   cmolumcuts    of  the    Establishment. 
They  charged  the  members  of  the  High  Church  party  with  a  neglect  of 
evangelical  truth,  and  were  in   turn    charged  by   them   with   a  leaning 
towards  dissent.     The  social  distinctions  which  separated  these  two  great 
parties  were  no  leas  strongly  marked  than  their  theological  differences. 
'J'he  Kvaugclicals  renounced  card-playing,  balls,  and  other   amusements 
to  which  High  Churchmen  as  a  general  rule  had  neither  theoretical  nor 
practical  objections,  and  their  habit  of  introducing  religious  sentimental 
into  ordinary  ctinversation  caused  them  to  be  regarded  as  somewhat  un- 
welcome guests  at  the  dinncr-lablc  or  in  the  drawing-room.      Yet  as  a 
body  they  were  earnest  and  devoted  mcti,  who  contributed  in  no  small] 
measure  to  keep  alive  the   dying  embers   of  practical   religion  in  this 
country,  and  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  revival  which,  although   doctrin. 
ally  most  opposite  to  their  religious  tenets,  was  not  without  its  points  of 
contact  with  their  views  in  many  of  its  practical  couclusions,  as  may  be 
gathered  from  the  gratitude  with    which    Dr.    Newman    speaks   in    the 
Apologia  of  the  benefits  he  had  derived  from  Mr.  Scott's  Commentary 
on  the  Bible.      But  if  High  Chnrchmen  and  Evangelicals  differed  on  most 
other  topics,  there  was  one  on  which  they  were  cordially  agreed,  and  that 
■was  in  their  dislike  of  the  Catholic  Church.      I  sjH^ak  of  dislike  rather 
than  of  antagonism,  because  the  Catholic  Church   was   looked   upon,  at 
the  time  to  which  I  refer,  as  so  powerless  and  unsubstantial  a   foe    that 
anything  like  open  resistance  to  it  would  have  been  considered  a  mere 
idle  and  quixotic  waste  of  controversial  strength,      High  Churchmen  and 
Evangelicals  objected  to   the  Catholic  religion  on  somewhat  different 
grounds.      To  the   former,   as    to    Englishmen   in    general,  the   idea    of 
Popery  was  that  of  a  system  of  unmitigated  iniquity,  and  to   that   idea 
the  fires  of  Smitlifield,  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the  Gun- 
powder  Plot,   each    contributed    its    quota   of    horror   and    deformity. 
With  the  Evangelicals,  however,  who   were  generally   men  of  a   more 
thoughtful  turn  of  mind,  the  chief  objection  to   Rome  was  founded  oa 
its  supposed  neglect  of  the  Atonement  aud  its  cognate  doctrines.     Thia 
was  also  one  of  the  grounds  of  their  opposition  to  the  teaching   of  the 
High  Church  party,  which  they  considered  as  so  far  bordering  on  that  of 
Rome.      That  the  charge,  as   far   as   it  related   to   a   party    within   the 
Establishment,  was  not  without  foundation  may  very  probably  have  been 
true.      But    nothing   except   the    profoundest    iguorancc    of  the    real 
character  of  the  Catholic  religion  can  account  for  an  accusation  against 
that  religion  which  is  refuted   not  merely  by  its  dogmatic   statements, 
but  by  its  whole  practical  and  devotional  system. 

In  the  external  form  of  divine  worship  both  parties  in  the  Establish- 
ment were  pretty  well  agreed,  excepting  that  the  Evangelicals  laid 
greater  stress  on  preaching  than  their  High  Chnrch  brethren,  made  use 
of  sensational  hymns  instead  of  the  metrical  psalms  of  the  old  and  new 
versions,  aud  preached   rather  than    read    tlic    morning    and    evening 


EXGLISH    VIEWS    OF   CATHOLICISM. 


468 


prayers.  The  raatcrinl  type  of  an  essentially  Protcstiint  Church  has 
almost  ceased  to  have  any  counterpart  among  us.  The  high-walled  pews 
have  given  way  to  open  benches;  the  pulpit  is  usually  of  more  moderate 
dimension  than  heretofore,  and  the  communion  table  presents  a  more 
decent  if  not  dignified  appearance  than  in  the  olden  tiaic.  But  at  the 
period  from  which  the  change  may  be  dated,  the  word  Catholic,  now  so 
common  in  the  vocabulary  of  Churchmen,  was  entirely  unknown  in  its 
relation  to  anything  within  the  Church  of  England,  and  the  character 
of  the  national  worship  remained  much  the  same  as  iu  the  days  of  Queen 
Kiizabeth.  Even  the  Tractarian  movement  itself  had  no  immediate 
eti'ect  on  the  ritual  of  the  Established  Church,  except  that  of  causiug  it 
to  be  administered  with  greater  care  and  seriousness  of  demeanonr. 
Tlie  early  morning  service  in  Adam  de  Brome's  chapel  at  St.  Mar)''s  in 
Oxford  was  conducted  by  ^Ir.  Ncwmau  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  and 
was  distiuguished  from  other  services  in  the  Church  of  England  only  by 
the  remarkable  spirit  of  reverence  and  devotion  which  pervaded  it. 

It   remains  to   say   something  of  the  state  of  the  -Roman   Catholic 
Church   in   this  country   at   the  same  period.      Priests   were  then  still 
living  who  could  remember  the   dark   times  of  the  generation  before, 
when  Mass  had  to  be  said  by  stealth  in  garrets  or  cellars,  and  priests  to 
be  smuggled  into  England  like  contraband  wares.     The  flickering  embers 
of  the  Catholic   religion   had    been  kept   alive  mainly  through  the  un- 
tiring devotion  of  a  few  great  families^  the   Welds  of  Lulworth^  the 
Arundells  of  \V ardour,  the  Cliffords  of  Chudlcigh,  and  others  of  like 
ancestral  renown,   and  it  was  in  the  chapels  attaehed  to  their  mansions, 
and  in  some  very  few  others,  that  the  chain  of  Catholic  faith  and  wor- 
ship remained  intact  from   the  days  of  St.  Augustine  of  Canterbury  to 
the  present  time,  in  spite  of  all  that  the  powers  of  the  world  could  do 
to  break  it.     But  at  the  time  to  which  my  narrative  refers  matters  had 
begun  to  improve  :  chapels  had  sprung  up  in  the  metropolis  in  connection 
with  the  several  Catholic  embassies — the   Bavarian  in  Warwick   Street, 
the   Spanish   iu   Manchester   Square,    the   Sardinian   iu  Lincoln's   Inu 
Fields,  the  Fieuch  in  King  Street,  and  the  Portuguese  in  Mayfair ; 
and  these  were  allowed  to  receive  the  Catholic  inhabitants  of  the  se\'eral 
neighbourhoods    in   which    they  were   situatc<l.      Other   metropolitan 
chajKls  speedily  followed,   or   had  already  come  into  existence,  such  as 
that  of  Somers  Town,  which  had  been  tlic  resort  of  the  French  refugee 
priests  of  whom  I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  hereafter.     Chapels  were 
also    established   in    the  large    provincial   towns   and   in  several  of  the 
cathedral  cities;  and  wherever  there  was  a  chapel,  a  priest  was  resident 
either  on  the  spot  or  iu  the  immediate  neighbourhood.      These  chapels, 
with  their   fittings,   appurtenances,  and   services,  were   of   the   plainest 
character,  and  the  clergy  who  were  attached  to  them  were  completely 
ostracised  from  the  Protestant   society  of  the  towns  in  which  they  re- 
sided.   At  Lichfield,  where  I  passed  my  youth,  there  was  a  priest  of  no 
ordinary  learning  and  most  exemplary  \iie,  the  late  Dr.  Kirk.     1  never 


464 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


knew  him,  except  by  sight,  till  the  year  1846,  wheu  be  was  liiuety  years 
of  age,  and  I  bad  lately  been  received  into  the  Catholic  Church.  He 
told  rnc  that  the  only  Pvotestaut  iu  the  higher  ranks  of  society  with 
whom  he  had  become  acquainted  during  the  fifty  years  and  upwards  of 
his  residence  in  Lichfield  was  the  venci'ablc  dean  of  the  cathedral.  Dr. 
Woodhousc,  who  used  to  speak  to  him  when  he  met  him  in  the  street, 
and  gave  him  free  access  to  the  eathedial  library* 

The  great  ritual  movement  iu  the  Church  of  England  took  its  rise 
somewhere  about  the  year  1839,  or  rather  earlier.  It  began,  I  believe, 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Knightshridge,  where  it  had  the  advantage  of 
being  introduced  iu  two  goodly  churchca  and  under  the  auspices  of  two 
zealous  and  distinguished  clergymen.  In  August,  1839,  it  was  taken 
up  with  great  interest  by  the  minister  of  a  little  proprietary  cha[)cl  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Cavendish  Square,  where  it  soon  attracted  con- 
siderable attention.  The  minister  iu  question,  of  whose  acts  and  in- 
tentions I  have  some  right  to  speak  with  confidence,  was  a  Fellow  of 
one  of  the  colleges  iu  Oxford,  who  had  been  for  some  time  a  disciple  in 
the  school  of  Tractarianism,  and,  having  resigned  official  engagements 
in  his  college,  was  anxious  to  find  an  opportunity  of  carrying  out  in  & 
new  sphere  the  principles  of  Churchmauship  which  he  had  learned  at 
the  feet  of  teachers  greatly  his  own  superioi's  in  ability  and  theological 
erudition.  Tliis  opportunity  unexpectedly  presented  itself  in  the  ofler 
of  an  appointment  to  the  ministry  of  the  aforesaid  little  chapel.  The 
chapel  itself  was  not  merely  devoid  of  architectural  attractions,  but  in 
its  structure  and  interior  ari*angements  was  far  below  the  average  of 
Nonconformist  meeting-hoiises.  It  was  literally  choked  with  pews  and 
benches,  which  left  passages  on  either  side  so  narrow  that  two  persons 
could  hardly  walk  along  them  abreast.  At  the  further  end  was  the 
pulpit,  which  towered  over  the  reading-desk  and  clerk's  desk  in  front 
and  over  the  communion  tabic  in  the  rear.  This  description  will  serve 
to  show  that  whatever  success  afterwards  attended  the  experiment,  of 
which  this  Little  chapel  was  the  scene,  was  in  no  way  owing  to  its  archi- 
tectural advantages,  and  that,  too,  at  a  time  when  ecclesiastical  architec- 
ture occupied  a  high  place  in  the  estimation  of  Churchmen.  The  two 
priucipal  objects  which  the  new  minister  proposed  to  himself  were — first, 
to  introduce  a  quieter  and  more  thoughtful  style  of  preaching  than  was 
at  that  time  popular  in  Loudon  ;  and,  secondly,  to  provide  such  sensible 
luds  to  devotion,  both  in  the  general  character  of  the  services  and  in 
the  internal  arrangements  and  ornaments  of  the  chapel  itself,  as  might 
take  the  place  of  more  exciting  and  sensational  methods  of  stirring  up 
religious  feeling.  But  it  soon  appeared  that  in  the  latter  at  least  of 
these  objects  he  would  have  to  encounter  no  ordinary  amount  of  adverse 
cnticism.  TIic  first  note  of  opposition  proceeded  fmm  a  highly  respect- 
able quarter,  and  took  the  form  of  an  objection  to  the  use  of  bag«j 
instead  of  plates  for  the  collection  of  the  alms,  as  a  decidedly  Romish 
innovation.     The  change  had  been  introduced  with  the  hondfid^  intention 


ENGUSH    VIEWS    OF   CATHOLICISM. 


465 


of  promoting  secret^  as  against  ostentatious^  almsgiving ;  but^  as  the 
objection  came  from  a  high  quarter,  the  minister  thought  it  best  to 
meet  it  by  a  compromise,  wluch,  like  most  compromises,  made  matters 
worse.  He  retained  the  bags,  but  caused  tlieir  contents  to  be  emptied 
into  a  large  dishj  which  he  liimself  held  at  the  communion  rails.  A  few 
days  idlerwards  he  was  summoned  by  his  bishop,  who  mentioned  having 
received  a  letter  from  one  of  the  visitors  to  the  chapel,  complaining 
that  the  minister  gazed  so  intently  on  the  alms  dish  which  he  held  in 
his  hand  that  it  was  evident  he  regarded  it  as  an  object  of  idolatrous 
worship-  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  more  on  this  part  of  the  subject 
than  that  complaints  of  this  nature,  though  not  all  of  them  quite  so 
ridiculous  as  the  foremeutioned,  continued  to  be  made  to  the  bishop, 
and  to  be  brought  by  his  lordship  under  the  minister's  notice  duriug  a 
period  of  nearly  six  years.  The  services  and  arrangements  of  the  chapel, 
however,  kept  their  ground  without  any  material  alteration,  and  the 
impression  which  they  jtroduced  on  one  cmiuent  person,  who  was  a 
weekly  and  often  daily  worshipper,  has  been  publicly  recorded  in  terms 
which  merit  this  writcr\s  sincerest  gratitude,  and  make  it  unnecessaiy 
for  him  to  say  another  word  of  his  own  on  the  subject.* 

Such  were  the  modest  and  slender  beginnings  of  that  great  Kitualistic 
movement  which  has  now  spread  itself  over  the  whole  of  England,  and 
almost  revolutionized,  in  not  a  few  churches,  the  received  type  of  the 
national  worship.  The  hold  which  Ritual  religion  has  gained  on  the 
minds  of  many  persons  iu  this  country,  in  spite  of  the  serious  opposition 
whicli  it  has  encountered,  is  a  manifest  proof  that  there  is  some  corre- 
lative instinct  in  human  nature  to  which  it  docs  not  address  its  appeals 
iu  vain.  This  instinct  it  is  to  vhich  the  poet  refers  in  the  well-known 
lines — 

**  Serins  irritant  onimos  deinissa  per  aurca 
Quam  (|us  eiat  oculia  eubjecta  fldclilma." 

The  Church  has  enlisted  in  her  ser\'icc  that  ''  faithful''  sense  of  sight, 
as  Horace  calls  it,  which  is  the  chief  inlet  of  impressions  to  the  mind 
whether  for  good  or  evil,  and  has  thus  wrested  from  the  world  one  of  the 
world's  most  powerful  weapons.  Her  ceremonial  may  be  described  as  the 
visible  expression  of  doctrine  :  not  by  direct  represeutation  and  the  imper- 
souation  of  characters;  but  in  the  only  way  by  which  doctrine  admits  of 
being  illustrated — that  is  to  say,  symbolically  and  by  way  of  suggestion. 
The  distinction  between  these  two  very  different  applications  of  the 
dramatic  principle  may  be  exemplified  by  that  which  exists  between  the 
ceremonial  of  High  Mass  in  a  Catholic  Church  and  the  Passion  Play  of 
the  Bavarian  peasants^  and  is  in  my  humble  judgment  greatly  to  the 
advantage  of  the  former.  The  High  Mass  of  the  Catholic  Church  ia 
not  merely  a  grand  act  of  worship  but  a  veritable  school  of  Christian 
instruction.  It  symbolizes  not  only  one  great  doctrine  but  several  of 
the  principal  Christian  virtues  or  dispositions — as,  for  example,  adoration 

*  See  CoNTEHPOBABY  Re\ii:w  for  October,  1874,  p.  681. 
VOL.   XXXV.  U    H 


466 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


by  the  bendiug  of  the  knee,  revereuce  aud  honour  iu  various  degrees 
by  the  bowing  of  the  head,  courtesy  iu  the  mutual  salutations  of  the 
officiatinj;  clergy^  aud  charity  in  the  kiss  of  peace. 

The  progress  which  coufesaion  has  made  in  this  country,  outside  tlie 
Church  which  is  its  natural  homo,  ia  a  furtlier  proof  of  the  power  with 
which  a  vigorous  aud  rcatlcbs  instinct  cau  force  its  way  against  an 
extensive  popular  prejudice.  Those  distresses  of  conscience  for  which 
confession  is  designed  to  be  the  remedy  are  felt  by  sensitive  minds  to 
be  incomparably  the  most  trying  of  human  ills,  and  the  rather  Ixjcause 
they  are  little  understood  aud  less  appreciated.  For  other  forms  of 
bodily  or  mental  affliction  there  are  feelings  of  eompu»sion  and  words  of 
kindness,  soothing  at  least  if  not  satisfying.  But  the  distressed  in  eou- 
Bcieuee  mu^t  put  up  with  the  cold  comfort  of  being  told  that  theira  arc 
diseases  of  the  mind  wherein  the  patient  must  minister  to  himself. 
Tliey  are  thus  driven  upon  concealing  the  troubles  of  which  exposure  is 
the  only  cure,  Under  the  pressure  of  this  terrible  privation  they  will 
try  various  expedients  with  a  view  to  relieve  themselves  from  the 
burthen  which  tlircatcns  to  crush  them.  They  will  commit  their  con- 
fessions to  paper,  aud  have  been  knowu  even  to  inscribe  them  iu  a 
firagracntary  shape  on  the  walls  of  churches  or  of  prisons.  The  restitu- 
tions which  are  almost  daily  recorded  in  the  public  papers  under  t!je 
expressive  name  of  "  eonscieuce  money"  bear  witness  to  the  activity  of 
the  same  instinct.  These  haphazard,  however  praiseworthy,  methods  of 
relieving  tlie  conscience  are  at  ouce  included  and  Huppleroented  in  the 
institution  of  the  confessional,  which  alone  secures  those  conditions  of 
sympathy,  secrecy,  and  counsel,  which  are  the  motives  and  safeguards  of 
confidence.  The  first  requisite  is  sympathy  Experience  is  the  mother 
of  compassion  ;  and  iu  a  coufidaut  of  like  Hcsh  and  blood  with  liimself 
the  penitent  feels  that  he  has  a  depositary  of  his  grief  who,  if  he  be  not 
the  sharer  of  his  guilt,  is  at  least  the  sharer  of  his  frailty.  But  he  needs 
also  such  a  depositary  of  his  secret  as  will  keep  it  with  inviolable  fidelity. 
Ever)'  man  is  the  guardian  of  his  own  good  name,  and  is  protected  even 
by  the  rules  of  law  from  trifling  with  it.  By  the  act  of  confession  he 
places  this  precious  treasure  in  the  keeping  of  another ;  and  he  must 
have  as  good  a  pledge  for  its  safety  as  when  it  was  under  lock  aud  key 
in  his  own  breast.  Such  a  pledge  the  Catholic  Church  gives  him  by 
meaus  of  an  institution  altogether  exceptional  and  sui  generis.  This 
institution,  as  is  well  known^  is  the  aigiUum  or  seal  of  confession.  Its 
obligation  not  only  precludes  the  confessor  from  revealing  by  word  of 
mouth  the  secret  with  which  he  is  entrusted,  but  compels  him  to  abstain 
from  every  hint,  gesture,  or  like  external  sign  by  which  his  knowledge  of 
it  might  be  intimated  to  others,  or  by  whicli  the  peniteut  himself  might 
be  reminded  of  it.  lie  is  bound  also  to  take  care  that  his  penitent 
shall  suffer  no  ill  consequence  whatever  from  the  knowledge  acquired  by 
confession,  and  must  act  in  his  regard  precisely  as  if  that  knowledge 
had  never  come  into  his  keeping.  In  short,  he  must  do  nothing  by 
which  cither  the  good  name  of  his  penitent  might  be  imperilled^  or  odium 


ENGLISH    riEfrS    OF  CATHOLICISM, 


467 


brought  upon  tl\e  coufessioual.  Finally,  the  confessor  must  abo  be  a 
eounscliur.  He  must  be  able,  like  a  skilful  pliysieian^  not  mei'ely  to 
understand  the  precise  nature  and  extent  of  the  malady  which  is  brought 
uuder  his  cognizance,  but  to  suggest  its  appropriate  remedies ;  and  it  is 
these  two  special  cuds  among  others  to  which  his  previous  theological 
training  will  have  been  directed.  It  is  surely  as  reasouable  that  there 
should  be  a  class  of  men  in  the  world  duly  qualified  to  minister  to  the 
diseases  of  the  soul  as  that  a  similar  provision  should  be  made  for  those 
of  tlic  lx)dy.  ^Vhcn  this  provision  is  wanting  in  either  case,  the  treat- 
ment of  diseases  which  are  as  delicate  as  they  are  distressing  is  left  in 
the  hands  of  adventurers  and  empirics  instead  of  being  broug]it  under  the 
control  of  a  regular  science. 

I  am  all  along  speaking  of  confession  under  its  moral  and  not  under 
its  sacramental  aspect,  because  I  feel  that  any  other  view  of  it  would  be 
out  of  place  in  a  popular  discussion  like  the  present.  I  am  also  speak- 
ing of  it  as  it  exists  in  the  Uoman  Catholic  Churchy  although  1  have  uo 
reason  to  doubt  that  all  I  have  said  of  the  purpose  for  which  it  is 
intended,  and  the  sacredness  of  the  obligation  which  its  secrets  impose, 
applies  also  to  its  use  in  the  Church  of  England,  where  it  is  said  to  be 
somewhat  extensively  practised.  It  is  commonly  supposed  to  have  been 
one  of  the  results  of  the  Ritualistic  movement.  But  this  is  not  the  fact, 
as  it  had  l>cen  revived  before  I  became  a  Catholic  in  1845,  and  I  believe 
had  never  fallen  altogether  into  disuse  as  a  practice  of  the  Anglican 
Church.  Indeed,  if  I  remember  aright,  it  has  a  far  clearer  sanction  in 
the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  than  some  of  the  Ritual  practices  which 
arc  uow  said  to  prevail.  AVhatever  ground  it  has  recently  gained  has 
been  secured  against  even  a  more  determined  opposition  than  Ritual 
itself  has  encountered.  It  is  popularly  charged  with  enslaving  the 
conscience,  coming  athwart  the  relation  between  husband  and  wife,  or 
that  of  children  with  their  parents,  disturbing  the  peace  of  families,  and 
the  like.  But  if  the  good  people  who  make  these  objections  to  the 
practice  would  but  consult  the  Catholic  husbands  and  fathers  of  families 
who  know  its  nature  and  results  better  than  they  can  be  known  by  out- 
aiders,  they  would  find  that  its  influence  on  the  peace  and  happiness  of 
domestic  life  is  precisely  the  reverse  of  whlit  they  imagine.  But  I  am 
here  concerned  with  these  objections  only  so  far  as  they  bear  witness  to 
the  [>ower  of  the  instinct  which  has  caused  itself  to  be  felt  in  spite 
of  them. 

It  remains  to  say  something  of  the  causes  which  have  led  to  this 
great  change  of  national  feeling  on  the  subjects  of  Catholics  and  their 
religion.  So  far  as  it  may  be  cousidered  to  be  reflected  iu  the  language 
imd  current  literature  of  the  day,  it  is  undoubtedly  due  to  the  progress- 
of  civilization,  the  spread  of  knowledge  and  other  like  influences,  which' 
have  tended  to  open  the  minds,  enlarge  the  sympathies,  and  elicit  the 
latent  generosity  of  the  English  people.  These  causes,  however,  are  in 
themselves  hardly  udoquutc  to  the  ctt'ect  produced,  and  that  for  two 
reasons.      In  the  first   place,  they  do  not  sutficieully  account  for  the 

u   II  2  '  J 


468 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


increased  |>op«larity  of  a  religion  many  of  whose  dogmas,  institutions^ 
principles,  Mid  practices  are  so  strongly  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the  age  j 
nor  do  they  explain  how  it  has  come  to  pass  that  such  a  religion  has 
succeeded  iu  commanding  for  itself  a  more  prominent  position  and  a 
larger  measure  of  popular  consideration  in  this  country  than  others  of 
a  less  aggressive  character,  and  more  apparently  at  least,  though  not 
more  really,  iu  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  liberty  and  toleration.  There 
was,  however^  oue  cause  of  the  removal  or  mitigation  of  ancient  preju- 
dice which  deserves  a  more  special  notice,  because  it  is  more  immediately 
connected  with  the  present  subject.  I  refer  to  the  increased  inter- 
course with  foreigners  which  has  followed  upon  the  termination  of  the 
great  war  with  France.  Up  to  the  year  1815  the  Continent  of  Europe 
was,  with  the  exception  of  one  brief  interval,  closed  against  English 
travellers,  whereas  since  that  period  it  has  formed  one  of  the  most 
popular  attractions  of  the  summer  season.  I  have  already  said  in  a 
former  part  of  this  article  that  the  opening  of  the  Continent  diil  not  at 
once  produce  any  marked  result  upon  the  anti-Catholic  feeling  of  the 
nation.  Nor  is  this  much  to  be  wondered  at,  when  we  consider  the 
temper  of  mind  with  which  the  Englishman  of  fifty  or  sixty  years  ago 
visited  the  Continent.  Mr.  Gladstone,  in  the  lecture  on  Dr.  Hook, 
already  referred  to,  tells  us  that  the  Englishman  of  Dr.  Hook's  time 
hated  not  only  the  Pojm;  but  the  French — and  there  is  no  reason  to 
questiou  the  correctness  of  the  assertiou.  The  only  idea  which  the 
typical  Jolin  Bull  of  that  period  had  of  a  IVenchman  was  that  he  wore 
sabots  and  fed  on  fn}gSj  and  the  only  idea  which  the  Frenchman  had  of 
his  English  visitor  was  that  he  was  addicted  to  cui'sing  and  '^  rosbif." 
These  were  not  promising  conditions  of  an  instructive  intercourse, 
especially  when  it  is  borne  in  mind  that  France  was  of  all  European 
countries  the  one  most  usually  visited  by  English  tourists  of  the  time, 
\Vc  may  reasonably  infer  that  these  tourists  returned  to  England  with 
\'ien8  of  the  Catholic  religion  not  more  calightcued  than  those  with 
which  they  left  it.  All  that  they  had  learned  of  that  religion  was 
probably  coufiiied  to  the  experience  of  a  visit  made  to  Amiens  Cathedral 
under  the  guidance  of  a  loquacious  but  discreet  commissionaire,  wha 
would  prt>bably  take  care  to  adapt  his  remarks  to  the  prejudices  of  his 
companions.  The  great  Tractarian  movement,  however,  which  followed 
acme  fifteen  years  after  the  opening  of  the  Continent,  poured  into  it  a 
more  iotelligeut  and  interested  body  of  travcUers,  who  made  it  their 
business  to  inquire  into  the  working  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  came 
back  with  glowing  accounts  of  the  devoted  labours  of  the  French  clergy 
and  sisters  of  charity,  the  excellence  of  the  education  conducted  by  the 
Jesuits,  the  heroic  sacrifices  of  foreign  missionaries,  and  other  such 
details  as  were  calculated  to  make  a  deep  impression  on  the  minds  of 
religious  persons  in  this  country.  Many  of  these  details  received  a 
striking  confirmation  at  the  time  of  the  Crimean  War.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  is  a  curious  fact,  and  one  not  generally  known,  that  almost  tlic 
only  foreign  iufluence  by  which   the  Tractarian   movement  itself  was 


ENGU3H    VIEWS    OP   CATHOLICISM. 


469 


affected  was  the  result  of  intcrconrse  which  took  place  betweea  certaiu 
French  priests  aad  a  clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  upward8  of 
thirty  years  before  the  movement  was  even  contemplated.  1  have 
already  mentioned  that  the  priests  who  sought  shelter  in  this  country 
from  the  expected  horrors  of  the  Great  French  Revolution  were  in  the 
habit  of  reciting  their  office  together  in  the  building  since  known  as  the 
Somers  Town  Catholic  Chapel^  and  hoi>u  attracted  the  compassion  and 
respect  of  persons  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  were  uaturaliy  edified  by 
observing  how  cheerily  these  holy  exiles  could  sing  the  Lord's  song  in  a 
strange  land.  Among  those  who  became  acquainted  with  tlicm  was  a 
clergyman,  who  afterwards  rose  to  high  preferment  and  great  distinc- 
tion in  the  Church  of  England,  the  Rev.  Charles  Lloyd,  for  some 
years  Regius  Professor  of  Divinity  at  Oxford  and  Bishop  of  that  See. 
In  1826,  or  thereabouts.  Dr.  Lloyd  began  a  course  of  lectures  with  a 
private  class  of  divinity  students  on  the  history  of  the  Anglican  Prayer 
Book,  and  the  sources  &om  which  many  of  its  contents  arc  derived. 
Among  the  students  who  attended  these  lectures  were  Mr.  Newman, 
Mr,  Robert  Wilberforce,  Mr.  Hurrell  Froude,  and  myself,  three  of  which 
number  have  since  become  Catholics.  I  distinctly  remember  Dr. 
Lloyd  telling  ua  that  his  knowledge  of  the  Roman  Breviary,  of  which 
such  extensive  use  ia  made  in  the  composition  of  the  Prayer  Book,  was 
gained  in  his  youth  from  the  French  refugee  priests  at  Somers  Town. 
His  class  were,  I  suppose,  for  the  most  part  quite  ignorant  uf  the 
Breviary  till  he  drew  their  attention  to  it.  But  the  effect  of  the  interest 
in  it  which  his  brilliant  lectures  created  was  that  many  copies  of  that 
work  were  immediately  purchased,  one  of  which  is,  1  think,  mentioned 
by  Dr.  Newman  as  having  been  found  among  Mr.  Hurrell  Fronde's 
books  after  his  death.  Little,  indeed,  did  the  exiled  priests  dream  of 
the  consequences  which  were  one  day  to  follow  upon  the  casual  conver- 
sation with  a  youthinl  clergyman  of  the  Established  Church. 

It  is  no  small  proof  of  the  purely  internal  and  independent  character 
of  Uie  Tractariau  movement  that  so  accidental  a  circumstance  as  that 
just  recorded  should  occur  to  my  mind  as  almost  the  only  instance  in 
which  the  movement  was  even  remotely  affected  by  any  external  agency 
whatever.  Never,  surely,  was  the  cause  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
80  materially  advanced  by  means  with  which  that  Church  had  so  little  to 
do.  Neither  foreign  nor  English  Roman  Catholics  had,  in  fact,  any 
part  in  its  origin  and  early  stages.  At  a  later  period  of  its  development 
it  is  true  that  the  bias  of  its  leading  mind  was  strongly  turned  in  the 
Roman  direction  by  a  passage  in  the  Dublin  Review  from  the  pen  of  a 
great  Catholic  controversialist.  Hut  it  was  St.  Augustine,  and  not  the 
controversialist  in  question,  who  was  the  author  of  that  passage.  Dr. 
Newman  tells  us  in  the  Apoioffia  that,  when  abroad,  he  never  attended  a 
regular  Catholic  service.  He  made  a  point  of  avoiding  the  company  of 
Catholics  who  came  to  Oxford  in  the  interests  of  their  Chureli ;  and  gave 
but  slender  encouragement  to  others  who  sought  to  hasten  his  conversion 
by   letters.      He  appears  also  to  have  been  much  displeased  at  that 


iro 


THE    COXTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


time  by  the  lauguagc  and  political  actiou  of  Catholics,  especiuUy 
ill  the  sister  island.  It  was  equally  true  of  others,,  and  even  of 
those  who  were  supposed  to  be  the  naore  advanced  members  of  the 
Tractarian  school,  that  they  had  few,  if  any,  rcUitions  with  foreign  or 
English  Catholics,  and  scrupulously  avoided  mixing  themselves  up  with 
the  Catholie  religion  in  this  kingdom.  Tlie  present  writer,  for  instance, 
was  ucver  inside  a  Catholic  Church  in  England  till  he  was  received  ; 
and  rushed  out  of  one  which  he  had  imprudently  entered  in  Ireland 
under  the  impression  that  he  had  no  bxisincs-s  to  be  there,  although  it 
then  wanted  iio  more  than  a  twelvemonth  to  his  conversion.  He 
resided  nineteen  years  as  an  Undergraduate  and  Fellow  of  a  College  in 
Oxford,  and  never  knew  the  Catholic  priest  even  by  sight,  nor  the 
situation  of  his  eliapel.  Let  it  not  be  supposed,  then,  that  the  revival 
of  Catholicity  in  this  country  has  been  due  to  the  proselytizing  efforts 
of  Roman  Catholics,  or  to  any  other  cause  than  the  intrinsic  power  of 
tlie  religion  itself.  I  have  ah'eady  said  that  the  improved  tone  of  Eng- 
lish feeling  on  subjects  connected  with  that  I'cligion  is  to  be  attributed 
mainly  to  causes  of  a  general  character.  But  it  is  tlie  Tractarian  move- 
ment alone  to  which  must  be  ascribed  the  more  purely  ecclesiastical 
portion  of  the  change  ;  and  that  movement  was  almost  entirely  in- 
dependent of  any  extrinsic  aid,  except  such  as  it  undoubtedly  derived 
from  the  traditions  and  associations  of  the  great  University  in  which  it 
took  its  rise.  Oxford — especially  the  Oxford  of  tliat  day — was  replete 
with  the  vestiges  of  her  ancient  self;  and  there  were  those  among  the 
writers  of  the  Tracts  mIio  wei'c  peculiarly  alive  to  the  impressions  of  the 
admonitus  hcorum.  The  memento  of  Founders  and  Benefactors  in  the 
bidding-prayer  before  the  University  sc^rmoii  formed  a  perpetual  link 
between  the  present  and  the  past.  Two  of  the  principal  Colleges  bear 
titles  which  immediately  connect  them  with  special  doctrines  or 
institutions  of  the  Roman  Church;  and  one  of  the  two  owes  its  very 
existence  to  the  Catholie  practice  of  praying  for  the  dead.  Then  there 
were  the  Latin  services  at  Christ  Church  and  St.  Mary's,  and  the  Latin 
grace  at  Balliol,  in  which  there  was  a  prayer  for  benefactors  taken 
verbatim  from  the  Breviary.  There  were  also  shreds  and  patches  of  old 
Catholic  usages,  which  had  been  torn  from  their  surroundings,  and 
waited  for  better  times  tf>  recover  their  interpretation.  Yet  the  original 
movers  of  the  great  Catholie  revival  had  themselves  no  idea  of  the 
direction  in  which  their  studies  were  leading  them  ;  and,  for  the  most 
part,  stopped  short  of  what  proved  to  be  the  ultimate  destination  of  their 
labours.  But  although  the  issue  of  their  work  was,  for  a  time,  uncertain, 
there  could  never  have  been  any  reasonable  doubt  that  an  issue  it 
would  have,  and  n  momentous  one.  It  had  within  it  those  elements 
of  vitality  and  perpetuity  the  presence  of  which  is  always  a  pledge  of 
final  success^  and  their  absence  a  note  of  sure  failure — singleness  of 
purpose,  the  love  of  truth  for  its  own  sake,  and  the  spirit  of  self-sacrilice. 

rilEDERICK    O.iKtLEV. 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


GUIZOT  attempted  to  fix  the  meaning  of  the  word  Civilization  by 
au  elaborate  induction^  and  concluded  that  its  essential  meaning 
is  Progress.  But  to  many  minds  progress  will  appear  harder  to  define 
than  civilization ;  such  a  definition  is  certainly  obscurum  per  obscuruu. 
Far  more  obvious  it  is  to  look  to  the  history  of  the  word  Civilization. 
It  is  a  modern  development  out  of  the  verb  Civilize,  which,  of  course, 
meant  nothing  but  to  make  civil.  Thus  we  are  thrown  back  on  to  the 
adjective  Civil,  Latin  Citnlis,  If  we  can  rightly  expound  this,  we  can 
hardly  fail  to  interpret  Civilize  aright. 

Notoriously  a  Civilis  animus  is  the  opposite  of  a  Regitts  animus^  which 
to  the  Latins  suggested  the  claim  of  lordship  and  privilege,  nay,  a  spirit 
haughty  and  high-handed.  On  the  contrary,  he  who  was  Civilis  had 
the  qualities  of  a  CiviSj  the  xdrtues  of  a  citizen  :  especially,  he  treated 
other  men  as  his  equals,  his  peers,  and  claimed  no  superiority ;  hence 
the  popular  English  idea  of  Civility.  Not  only  so,  but  he  was  a  good 
citizen  in  a  larger  sense ;  ready  to  sustain  the  public  welfare  by  wisdom 
and  energy  at  the  expense  of  personal  sacrifices.  Surely  we  need  not 
hesitate  to  accept  as  a  true  interpretation,  that  to  be  "  civilized"  means 
to  become  thus  j?/ /or  citizenship.  If  we  try  to  step  further  back,  and 
ask.  What  was  the  primitive  idea  of  the  word  Civis  with  the  Romans? 
our  ignorance  of  early  Latin  embarrasses  us.  Yet  in  other  eases  also 
(whatever  be  the  cause)  the  Welsh  or  the  Irish  language  gives  indirect 
suggestion.  Here  we  find  that  the  Welsh  Cyf  (sounded  Kiv)  is  com- 
parable to  Greek  aw  and  Latin  Con,  Cum.  Words  beginning  with 
Cyf  occupy  twenty  columns  of  Richards's  Welsh  Dictionary.  Cyfalle 
means  conjiiXj  husband  or  wife,  a  partner,  a  fit  match.  Cyfail  means  a 
friend,  a  comrade,  alter  idem.  This  reminds  us  that  those  who  were 
full  Spartaa  citizens  were  called  oi  ojuotoc,  the  equals,  the  peers.     By 


472 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


sucli  analogies  tlic  preseut  writer  is  pei-suiHleii  that  t!ic  idea  of  Gives 
amoug  the  Sabincs,  from  "whom  it  prohably  came  into  Latiu,  was 
Partners  aud  Equals  iu  the  community.  Out  of  this  the  sense  of  the 
adjective  Civilis  flows  naturallvj  and  comprises  the  notions  of  "  fraternal, 
just,  and  courteous." 

Now,  if  the  attainment  of  such  qualities  be  (aa  the  writer  believes) 
Civilization,  it  is  only  iu  spurious  civilization  that  barbarity  can  inhere; 
and  in  this  sense  must  the  motto  at  the  head  of  this  article  be  inter- 
preted. It  is  not  here  denied  that  there  has  been  Progress  (in  the  high 
and  true  sense)  accompanying  the  national  changes  lx)th  in  England 
aud  iu  all  Europe ;  indeed,  when  there  is  occasion  for  it  (as  in  a  certain 
controversy  there  is),  to  recount  the  marks  of  such  progress  is  easy 
enough.  Yet,  wherever  a  national  liistory  lies  open  to  us,  it  is  a  familiar 
ftict  that  its  earlier  barbarism  Iiad  its  own  virtues  as  well  aa  its  vices, 
and  that  in  its  later  stage  new  vices  came  in,  or  even  the  old  ones  under 
new  pretences;  so  that  at  last,  in  spite  of  the  progress  of  which  it  might 
justly  boast,  the  CivUas  broke  iu  pieces  mainly  through  the  failure  of 
the  Civilis  atumus.  From  no  other  cause  does  tlie  vain  talk  of  Socialism 
now  gain  plausibility  aud  influence  than  from  a  perception,  an  inward 
sense,  that  such  is  our  present  d:inger.  If  we  will  not  look  honestly 
into  the  face  of  facts,  a  fundamental  discontent,  not  the  less  formidable 
because  its  claims  are  vague^  may  gain  great  and  dangerous  prevalence. 

But  iu  speaking  of  our  barbarisms  the  argument  must  be  confined 
to  this  United  Kingdom,  and  nearly  to  matters  which  public  opinion 
cither  does  not  censure  or  has  even  approved  by  law  and  established  as 
systematic.  Unless  we  thus  limited  ourselves  it  might  seem  doubtful 
where  we  should  stop  and  whence  we  could  hope  for  a  remedy.  Un- 
happily the  range  Of  facts  to  be  considered  is  far  too  ample,  even  when 
limited  as  above.  From  wliat  point  shall  wc  begin  on  a  wide  and  varied 
topic  ?     Perliaps  from  our  neglects. 

"While  population  is  scant  over  an  area  of  which  i'ew  know  the  limits, 
lawless  freedom  can  do  no  harm  against  tlic  force  of  Nature.  If  a 
stream  be  polluted  by  wanderers,  the  pollution  is  quickly  carried  away, 
and  the  evil  is  transitory.  If  trees  be  lavishly  cut  for  firewood,  the 
forest  does  not  miss  them.  If  their  trunks  impede  a  water-way,  a 
new  channel  is  presently  opened.  If  large  game  be  killed,  and  much 
of  the  carcase  left  to  putrefy,  the  poisoned  air  docs  not  reach  far.  Man 
is  not  yet  powerful  enough  to  improve  the  country  ;  therefore  neither 
to  mar  or  ruin  it.  But  when  population  increases,  uew  dangers  arise — 
not  those  of  which  alone  Malthus  aud  the  spurious  followers  of  Malthas 
talk,  but — danger  lest  one  spoil  the  air,  the  water,  and  the  land  for 
another :  danger  also  lest  one  seize  for  himself  more  land  than  he  can 
use,  to  the  damage  of  many  others.  Even  very  rude  tribes  soon  discern 
these  dangers  ;  our  earliest  common  law  dcnomicctl  the  practices  which 
involved  them ;  but  local  mischiefs  can  only  be  averted  or  redressed  by 
locally    vigilant    authority;    central    power   has    plenty    besides    to  do. 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


478 


Amon^  ourselves  Ihere  has  becu,  aud  tliera  is,  manifold  and  barbarous 
neglect. 

It  is  not  at  all  rare  to  find  the  side  of  a  mouutain  or  high  hill  thickly 
timbered  as  you  traverse  a  road,  until  of  a  sudden  the  timber  fails,  and 
you  SCO  only  thin  rocky  soil  %vith  tufls  of  gorse  and  grass.  On  ex- 
amining, you  discover  the  ground  to  be  just  as  poor  even  where  trees 
and  bushes  giow  thick;  but  a  wall  encloses  them.  The  difference  is 
only  that  within  the  wall  the  Innd  is  private  property,  outside  it  is 
common.  The  law,  as  administered  by  the  rich,  has  not  defended  the 
woods  which  belonged  to  the  public,  but  has  permitted  each  greedy 
individual  to  despoil  them.  In  consequence  the  natural  wood  long  ago 
disappeared,  except  where  defended  as  private  property.  Continental 
countries  have  defenders  of  the  public  forests.  We  might  have  had 
defenders,  appointed  not  by  any  central  power,  but  by  each  parisli,  if 
our  originally  wcU-planned  local  institutions  had  been  cherished  and 
developed.  Every  wardmote,  holden  in  the  comraou  interests  of  the 
people,  might  have  been  a  public  school  and  fountain  of  local  sentiment. 
With  little  or  no  expense  the  people  themselves  would  have  restraiued 
the  offences  of  their  own  order :  but  there  is  now  little  to  pi*cserve ; 
comuious  have  been  swept  away,  and  public  footpaths  too,  under  cover 
of  new  laws,  the  rich  rivalling  and  surpassing  by  far  the  encroachments 
of  the  poor. 

Under  English  notions  of  freedom  the  same  mischief  has  for  a  long 
time  been  going  on  in  English  colonies,  or  colonies  so  called — as,  for 
instance,  the  Mauritius,  This  island  was  captured  by  the  British  in 
1810.  Since  its  sugar  has  been  admitted  into  England  on  eqxiality 
with  West  Indian  sugar  the  blind  eagerness  of  trade  has  done  its 
worst  to  deform  a  beautiful  spot.  Nature  is  still  too  powerful  for 
man;  yet  an  old  resident  thus  writes:  "Fruit,  once  abundant,  is  now 
scarce  and  high-priced.  The  beautiful  woods,  rich  in  a  tangle  of  gay 
flowering  trees  and  gigantic  lianes,  are  now  to  he  seen  only  in  a  few  of 
the  more  rocky  places.  Naked  stumps  and  rows  of  stiff  cane  replace 
them.  Even  the  prettily-wooded  environs  of  the  countiy-houses  are 
too  often  sacrificed  for  the  universal  cane.  There  is  not  a  Creole  in  the 
island  but  will  shake  his  head  mournfully,  and  tell  you  that  his  petit 
pays  is  but  a  shadow  of  its  former  Ijeautiful  self"  Far  worse  than 
this — that  is,  worse  than  the  disappearance  of  rice,  arrowroot,  manioc, 
yams,  potatoes,  cotton,  indigo,  most  of  the  fruit  aud  much  of  the  beauty 
of  the  island — is  the  terrible  fact,  that  eagerness  to  raise  sugar  led  to  a 
large  importation  of  **'  coolies"  (ignorant,  helpless  men,  who  often  came 
under  a  misuuderstandiug  of  the  contract  which  virtually  enslaved 
them] ;  and  no  provision  being  made  for  cleanliness  in  a  tropical 
climate,  this  island,  formerly  noted  for  salubrity,  is  permanently  stricken 
with  malarious  fever.  A  lagoon  many  miles  in  extent,  on  one  side  of 
the  principal  town,  is  now  described  as  a  bare  expanse  of  fetid  mud, 
when  the  tide  recedes. 


4n 


THE  COSTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


The  £anic  may  be  snid  of  ninny  Eiiglisli  sen-side  resorts.  Offensive 
details  might  easily  be  here  put  together.  But  to  return  to  the 
dcatrurtion  of  timber.  A  Continental  statesman  of  some  cmiueuce 
recently  uttered  the  assertion  ;  '*  The  universal  curse  of  old  civilization 
is  the  wide  destruction  of  the  natural  forests."  He  had  Italy  especially 
in  tIcw,  But  in  Canada  and  the  United  States  already  the  mischief  is 
felt.  One  may  presume  that  the  steeper  the  hills  the  more  rapid  is  the 
devastation.  Often  the  rainfall  is  lessened.  Also  the  forest  which 
acted  as  a  sponge  no  longer  holds  up  the  water^  which  ruus  off  in  flood 
instead  of  sustaiuing  full  streams  all  through  the  year.  It  is  well  if 
these  floods  do  not  carry  off  the  soil  from  the  surface,  leaving  bare 
rock,  upon  which  no  human  repentance  can  renew  the  original  timber. 
The  modcTJi  English  philosophy,  too  often  preached  by  Radicals  and 
practised  by  Conservatives,  is  :  "  Let  the  State  give  to  every  enter- 
prising individual  free  leave  to  use  up  the  natural  products  of  the  soil, 
vegetable  or  mineral,  leaving  posterity  and  the  future  to  shift  for  them- 
selves." 

Poisoning  of  the  natural  streams  is  a  still  worse  offence  perpetrated 
by  the  cupiditj'  of  trade.  This  was  severely  forbidden  by  our  common 
law,  yet  cousttmtly  committed,  simply  because  we  have  no  official  public 
prosecut^jrs.  Tlie  same  cause  makes  laws  against  polluting  the  air  by 
smoke  ineffective.  Neighbours  may  be  aunoyeil,  yet  do  not  like  the 
odium  of  prosecuting;  in  manufacturing  towns  all  the  rich  have  interest 
in  impunity,  and  shelter  one  anotlier;  much  less  is  an  individual  likely 
to  take  the  expense  and  risk  of  lawsuits,  especially  against  an  opulent 
company.  Hence,  long  before  the  invention  of  gas  polluted  the  Thames, 
foul  water  in  plenty  gushed  into  it  against  common  law  from  the  Fleet 
Ditch.  But  the  main  stream  and  upper  water  remained  comparatively 
pure;  for  salmon  came  up  with  the  tide  beyond  Richmond  in  the 
memory  of  men  not  yet  decrepit.  After  the  gas  companies  had  made 
the  water  unfit  for  use  no  scruple  was  felt  against  increasing  the  pollu- 
tion. No  powerful  corporation  bestirred  itself  to  prosecute,  and  neglect 
might  seem  ah'eady  to  have  inflicted  on  the  uoble  river  the  worst  which 
it  could  suffer. 

But  theory,  pedantry,  and  pretentious  sanitation  proved  stiJl  more 
efficacious  for  evil  than  any  mere  neglect.  A  number  of  active-minded 
mcuj  physicians,  surgeons,  and  physicists,  were  shocked  at  the  high  death- 
rate  of  towns  and  their  evident  insalubrity.  In  order  to  improve  the 
atmosphere  tliey  invented  tlie  bright  idea  of  commanding  the  pollution 
of  rivers.  In  the  yeai-s  18M— i8  it  was  in  vain  that  any  unpretending 
citizen  argued  with  the  eager  sanitarians  who  assumed  the  direction  of 
Parliament  ngainst  the  odious  offence  of  poisoning  the  natural  streams. 
In  vain  did  one  remind  thcni  that  this  was  the  specific  iniquity,  the 
detestable  crime  peculiarly  forbidden  (according  to  Greek  belief)  by 
*'  tliat  voice  of  many  peoples  which  is  tridy  a  voice  of  God."  They 
derided  opposition  as  the   outcry  of  ignorant   conser\atism,  and  cajoled 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION,  475 

ParliRmeiit  (1848)  into  making  th^t  pollution  of  rivers  to  be  compulsory, 
wbicb  from  time  immemorial  bad  been  penal.  Before  many  years  were 
past  Parliament,  in  consequence,  found  itself  balf-poisoned  by  tbe 
pestiferous  stench  of  the  Thames.  Then  counter-legislation  began.  But 
the  mischief  had  been  made  universal  by  fatuous  law  of  which  the  sani- 
tarian philosophers  had  been  the  originators,  the  Parliament  the  tool, 
and  the  helpless  nation  the  victims.  After  this  very  grave  blunder,  to 
purify  the  polluted  streams  and  get  rid  of  noxious  matters  was  easier 
to  command  than  to  effect.  The  evil  which  ought  to  have  been  removed 
by  calling  for  the  execution  of  the  good  old  common  law  had  been 
multiplied  a  hundredfold  by  the  energy  of  would-be  scientific  statute 
law ;  it  still  distresses  most  and  crushes  many. 

London,  a  very  wealthy  metropolis,  has  been  relieved  at  the  expense 
of  many  millions  sterling ;  but  it  is  only  a  relief,  not  a  cure,  which  lier 
vast  constructions  have  achieved.  The  newer  science  has  gone  back  to 
the  wisdom  of  Moses,  and  teaches  that  earth  is  the  rightful  purifier  of 
refuse  that  else  will  be  dangerous ;  that  no  accumulation  of  material, 
noxious  out  of  place,  ought  to  be  allowed  to  putrefy  by  long  time ;  that 
it  is  a  very  evil  thing  to  rob  the  head  streams  of  rivers  for  the  conve- 
nience of  huge  towns,  first  stinting  the  rivers  of  their  natural  supply, 
next  pouring  back  into  them  the  waters  detestably  polluted,  to  the 
misery  of  villagers.  The  marvel  is,  how  any  men  pretending  to  science 
can  have  devised  such  plans.  That  they  succeeded  in  winning  over 
Parliament  is,  of  course,  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  over-occupation 
of  that  august  body,  and  by  the  wretched  misarrangement  which  per- 
mits laws  (of  perhaps  vital  importance)  to  be  passed  in  thin  and  wearied 
Houses  after  midnight.  A  solemn  condemnation  of  all  this  false  sanita- 
tion is  recorded  in  the  Social  Science  Transactions  of  1868 — that  is,  in 
the  able  Address  of  Dr.  Henry  W.  Kumsey  on  "  Health."  Most 
reluctantly,  no  doubt,  does  he  sum  up  against  the  deplorable  errors  of 
his  predecessors  in  science.  A  short  extract  from  his  Address  may  here 
be  appropriate  (p.  93)  : — 

"  So  eager  were  most  of  the  earlier  sanitarians  to  get  rid,  at  any  cost,  of  human 
refuse  that,  without  due  consideration  of  the  possible  results  of  tbe  measures 
adopted  on  the  future  water-supply  of  the  people,  they  advised  the  pouring  of 
abominations  of  all  kinds  into  the  nearest  wuter-courses ;  having  first  rendered, 
subsequent  measures  for  the  recovery  of  what  was  truly  valuable  in  this  (so- 
called)  refuse  almost  impracticable  by  diluting  it  with  floods  of  water,  both  that 
which  had  been  artificially  stored  at  enormous  expense  for  town  distribution  and 
the  natural  rainfall. 

**  In  vain  did  physiologists  and  scientiiic  agriculturists  protest,  for  various 
reasons,  against  this  rasli  dilution  and  wrong  disposal  of  organic  matter.  The 
skill  and  enterprise  of  our  great  civil  engineers,  supported  by  the  energy  of 
leading  sanitary  reformers,  were  triumphant.  The  effete  products  of  manufactures 
and  trades,  the  animal  and  vegetable  debris  of  towns,  mineral  detritus,  &c.,  were 
all  to  be  got  rid  of  by  water-carriage.  The  result  was,  that  communities  have  had 
to  encounter  a  more  serious  difficulty  than  at  the  very  beginning  of  sanitary  reform. 
There  were  fish  in  tlie  rivers,  good  for  food ;  they  all  perished.  There  were 
human  communities  down  the  stream,  suffering  from  an  increase  of  sickness  and 


476 


THE  CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW, 


niortalily,  and  crying  out  for  drinkable  water.  Well,  they  were  advised  to  filter 
the  river  water,  or  to  boil  and  then  aerate  it ;  or  if  all  this  were  too  troublesome 
and  expensive,  they  might  sink  wells,  or  tunnel  the  nearest  hills,  for  a  safer 
supply.      No  substantial  reliefer  help  was  nfibrded  them." 

Dr.  Kumscy  goes  ou  to  quote  figures  which  seem  to  confimi  the 
belief  emphatically  preached  by  Dr.  Budd  of  Bristol,  that  watcrcouraeaj 
wliou  defiled  by  the  products  of  disease,  are  very  efficient  difiusera 
baneful  malaria.  Without  adopting  any  germ  theory,,  auy  uovel  or  cou- 
tested  opiniou,  the  repuguaucc  of  commou  seusc  to  sending  in  every 
direction  that  which  tends  to  poison  the  air  might  seem  a  sufficient 
reason  for  condemuing  and  rejecting  water-earriage  of  such  materials. 
But  we  are  not  yet  at  the  bottom  of  our  difficulty.  In  all  our  towns 
it  is  both  the  fashion  and  the  compulsory  law  to  have  tightly-closed 
drains;  open  sewers  are  forbidden.  Good!  right  1  we  at  first  aay. 
But,  alas  !  the  gases  which  are  formed  inside  the  drains  will  blow  them 
up  if  some  vent  be  not  allowed;  therefore  at  ti.ved  distances  vent  holes 
are  periodically  openedj  whence  foul  blasts  arc  liable  to  assail  one  or 
other  of  the  luckless  neighbouring  houses.  But  now  we  arc  taken 
aback  by  a  new  development.  It  is  asserted  that  the  drains  need  more 
ventilation  than  had  been  supposed.  Orders  from  central  authority  in 
London  insist  that  the  vents  shall  be  placed  at  shorter  distances ;  and 
so  great  is  central  power  that,  in  the  town  where  the  present  writer 
resides,  members  of  the  ruling  commission  have  made  the  ominous 
reraarkj  that  wc  seem  now  to  be  forced  back  in  the  direction  of  open 
drains !  With  an  unsound  basis  you  cannot  attain  consistency  and 
stability.  Surely  this  is  a  condemnation  of  water-carriage,  even  if  we 
had,  ready-made,  a  double  act  of  natural  channels  and  a  double  supply 
of  water. 

In  all  this  discussion  it  has  been  overlooked  that,  instead  of  going  to 
the  root  of  the  mischief,  artifice  has  been  applied  to  sustain  historical 
wrongs  which  we  ought  to  outgrow  and  remove.  Dr.  Rumsey  justly 
insists  on  the  essential  want  of  ozone,  and  excess  of  carbonic  acid,  in  the 
atmosphere  of  large  towns.  Large  towns  arc  in  themselves  a  monstrous 
evil — an  evil  continually  growing  through  wrongful  laws  or  customs  of 
land ;  and  this  system  of  drainage  has,  by  afl'ecting  to  induce  salubrity, 
aided  to  blind  tlie  public  and  sustain  the  evil.  A  town  of  twenty 
thousand  inhabitauta  is  large  enough  for  every  good  and  desirable  object. 
Even  when  this  number  is  not  exceeded  careful  regulation  is  needful  to 
secure  healthful  air  and  water  without  unreasonable  expense.  One 
sentence  auffices  to  express  the  cardinal  condition  which  sui>crscdes 
water-carriage  of  refuse,  and  ensures  normal  salubrity — viz.,  every  block 
of  houses  should  have  side  by  side  a  proportionate  space  of  land  suitable 
to  periodical  and  rapid  crops,  on  which  the  whole  refuse  should  be 
expended.  It  is  not  parks  and  gardens  that  we  want  in  the  middle  of 
a  town  to  serve  merely  as  luugs,  but  rustic  fields,  to  be  matiurcd  and 
cropped   at   short   intcn'als,  under  public    and  compulsory  rules.     To 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION, 


477 


euact  such  rules  prospectively  concerniug  towns  not  yet  built  involves 
uo  intrinsic  ditliculty  even  in  the  United  Kingdom,  and  niigbt  almost  be 
called  easy  in  our  newer  colonies — say,  Australia  and  New  Zealand 
especially.  But  a  Parliament  so  over  worked  as  ours  can  never  look 
forward,  and  is  driven  on  to  work  chiefly  by  ptiblic  disasters,  for  which 
(it  might  seem)  it  waits,  except  when  intriguers  manage  and  master  it  by 
a  cunning  study  of  its  forms  and  nilcs.  Kmpty  fields  and  huge  densely- 
packed  towns  denote  in  past  history  the  era  of  decay,  especially  when 
the  towns  have  to  be  fed  from  abroad.  No  large  population  ought  now 
talive  on  a  narrow  area.  In  the  ruder  ages,  before  cannon  and  bomb-shells 
were  invented,  swarms  of  people  huddled  thick  together  in  order  to  gain 
protection  by  a  city  wall.  Military  necessity  then  overpowered  all 
scruples  concerning  health.  But  in  the  modern  stage  of  the  military  art, 
an  enemy  who  commands  the  field  is  formidable  to  a  town  in  pro[)ortioa 
as  its  population  is  dense,  which  is  so  much  the  more  exposed  to  the 
horrors  of  famine  and  of  bombardment.  We  have  no  longer  excuse  for 
any  towns  with  closely-packed  inhabitants;  much  less  was  there  ever 
yalid  reason  for  cities  so  large  that  tlie  children  by  scores  of  myriads  are 
nnablc  to  walk  into  the  country.  The  old  accounts  of  Nineveh  and 
imperial  Babylon  represent  those  capitals  as  having  within  the  fortifica- 
tions wide  areas  of  cultivated  land,  making  them,  not  cities,  but  fortified 
provinces,  with  rural  districts  enclosed.  If  thirty-five  years  ago  our 
sanitarians  had  held  the  doctrine  to  which  their  sad  failure  points  us — 
which,  indeed,  Dr.  Kumscy  maiutains — that  water-carriage  of  offensive 
matter  is  fundamentally  wrong,  their  action  would  have  been  directed  to 
control  the  growth  of  towns,  and  permit  it  only  under  severe  conditions. 
But  as  things  are  now  managed  the  land  on  the  edge  of  every  town  is 
the  property  of  an  individual,  and  if  built  upon,  its  money  value  is 
multiplied  manyfold.  Therefore  private  cupidity,  not  the  public  welfare, 
prescribes  when  and  where  new  houses  shall  be  built,  and  how  tightly 
the  inhabitanta  shiJl  be  packed.  To  the  poor  this  is  a  terrible  calamity. 
The  poor  cannot  select  where  they  will  live ;  they  have  to  lodge  whcro 
they  can  find  shelter,  not  too  distant  from  their  work.  The  wild  savage 
not  only  lives  in  pure  air,  but  is  fastidious  in  choosing  the  atmosphere  in 
which  he  will  sleep ;  but  a  poor  family  iu  a  country  which  vaunts  its 
civilization,  too  often,  in  spite  of  iudustrious  virtue  and  immense  efforts, 
sink  down  into  misery,  the  health  first  of  one,  theu  another  member 
breaking  down  under  the  insalubrity  of  a  district.  What  avails  it  to 
talk  of  drains  when  the  drainage  from  the  higher  grounds  defiles  houses 
that  are  lower,  and  perhaps  a  poisoned  river  adds  its  fatal  exhalations? 
A  family,  packed  into  two,  or  say  three,  rooms  can  scarcely  avoid  con- 
tagion when  a  single  member  falls  sick.  Now  also,  the  drains  being 
out  of  sight,  it  is  morally  certain  that  defects  will  exist,  or  be  caused  by 
wear  and  tear,  nnsecu.  In  one  place  evil  liquids  and  gases  will 
percolate;  iu  another  evil  accumulations  will  putrefy.  Instead  of 
blending  small  portions  of  needful  manure  quickly  with  small  |x>rtions  of 


478 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REM  EH' 


the  earth  tlxat  needs  it,  wc  secure  in  the  di*ains  a  slow  putrefaction, 
and  a  pcrraauent  source  of  pestilence ;  ive  relieve  a  town  by  imposing  a 
grare  vexation  and  danger  on  tlic  whole  neighbourhood  where  its  drains 
have  exit;  we  make  the  mouth  of  every  tide-river  a  Iiarbour  and  store- 
house of  pollution  ;  and  after  thus  wasting  an  ngrieultural  treasure^  we 
send  across  the  Atlantic  ships  for  a  very  foul  commerce  in  material  dca* 
tincd  to  replace  it.  Is  there  here  any  lack  of  eloquent  facts  to  rebuke 
our  "  barbarism  ?" 

On  a  smaller  scale  we  have  like  noxious  deeds,  not  in  dense  popula- 
tions, but  in  places  essentially  niral.     These  words  do  not  allude  to  the 
hideous  deforming  of  scenes  uuturnlly  beautifulj  say  in  Yorkslnrcj  Lan- 
cashire, Derbyshire,  or  Wales,  by  the  smoke  of  chimneys  for  manufac- 
tures or  mining;   pollution  of  the  rivers  is  still  pointed  at.      As  isolated 
instances  of  a  common  fact,   we  may  here  state,  that  into  the   beautiful 
Ulleswater  a   fresh  bubbling   stream    ran  from  (ireenside,  until  in  the 
mountain  a  mine  was  opened,  which  poured  its  refuse  lead  into  the  "  beck/' 
turning  its  colour  to    that  of  dirty  milk.      Hereby  every  wanderer  gets 
warning  not  to  drink.     The   peasants  close  by  have  become  accustomed 
to  get  drinking  water  from  other  and  smaller  rills,  and,  if  asked  whether 
the  loss  of  the  beck  is  not   an  infliction,  they   reply:  "Well,  the   good 
folk  at  the  mines  give  us  workJ*      Thus,  for  a  consideration,  they  become 
willing  partners  in  tlie  poisoning  of  the  stream.    But  this  is  not  all.    The 
stream  poison.^i  the  lake,  at  least  where  first  it  eaters  ;  no  doubt  much  of 
the  lead  is  quickly   deposited  in  the  deep  bottom.     But  after  copious 
rain,  the  lake  overilows  on  the  pasturcB.      Some  years  back   the  writer 
knew  a  case,  not  likely  to  be  isolated.     A  pony  ate  grass  over  which 
the  water  had    flowed,   and    was  killed   by   its   poison.      The  company 
which  worked  the  mines  immediately  paid  the  price  of  the  poor  animal, 
thus  averting  a  law^u^t  and    a  disgraceful  exposure.      But  is  this  state 
of  things    not    harbarou.s    an<l   worse     than    barbarism?       Again,     at 
Aberystwith,  where  two  streams  meet,  one  of  them  is  poisoned  by  refuse 
from  a  mine,  bnt  the  colour  of  the  water  does  not  show  it.      The  writer 
knows  of  two  tourists,  who,  being  thirsty   with  walking,   tried  to  drink, 
and  were  foiled  only  by  the  steepness  of   the   bank  and   want  of  a  cup. 
They  afterwards  learned  what  danger  they  had  escaped. 

At  the  moment  of  writing,  a  notice  turus  up  concerning  the  state  of 
the  Scotch  rivers — viz.,  in  the  Daily  News  of  May  5th.  For  drinking  or 
for  washing  the  water  in  many  streams  gives  tlie  people  much  anxiety. 
Creosote  is  used  in  sheep-washing.  A  tank  of  creosote  was  kept  near  to 
a  small  river  of  Kinross-shire  named  tlie  Devon,  in  which  the  trout 
still  retained  a  home.  But  the  tank  leaked,  the  stream  became  muddy 
with  it,  the  trout  sickened,  died,  and  floated  on  the  top ;  the  ueighlwura 
dreaded  to  use  tlic  water.  "  Meanwhile,^*  says  the  Editor  of  the  Dai/y 
ATcicj?,  "the  Tweed  salmon  are  dying  of  the  disease  which  has  done  »o 
much  mischief  in  the  Eden  ;  which,  as  Science  has  probably  caused  it, 
Scienee  may  be  asked  to  cuiv."     Is  science  in  sheep-washing  intended? 


THE  BARBARISMS   OF  CIVILIZATION. 


479 


: 


or  science  of  health  ?  or  spicnce  of  national  economy  ?  It  was  quite 
notorious  forty  years  ago  that  the  refuse  of  the  animal  was  the  food 
of  tlie  vegetable,  and  ought  to  be  saved  for  use,  not  wasted  in 
poisoning  the  waters.  How  could  well-iuforraed  men  delude  themselves 
into  au  approval  of  this  course  ?  Only  one  ex.pIauation  occurs :  i/iey 
despaired  of  returning  to  Nature,  They  assumed  that  we  must  live  by 
artifice,  and  they  entitled  artifice  "  Science." 

When  once  manufacturers  have  been  accustomed  to  use  a  river  as  a 
draiu  it  is  necessarily  hard  upon  them  to  forbid  the  practice ;  yet 
even  here  we  have  encouragement  in  returning  to  tlie  only  natural  and 
right  path.  The  greatest  manufacturers  of  alum,  perhaps  in  all  the 
world,  have  their  works  in  Manchester,  and  wlien  forbidden  to  continue 
throwing  their  refuse  into  the  adjoining  stream,  a  tributary  of  the 
Merseyj  were  at  first  stunned  by  perplexity;  but  they  called  in  the 
aid  of  science,  in  a  right,  not  in  the  wrong  way.  They  propounded 
to  skilful  chemists  the  problem  how  to  dispose  of  their  refuse,  and 
before  long  (to  use  the  phrase  of  one  of  the  partners)  they  discovered 
that  they  had  been  throwing  away  gold.  Modes  were  suggested  of 
turning  it  to  service,  by  which  an  actual  gain  was  achieved,  where 
they  had  expected  heavy  loss.  The  same  gentleman  attested  that  he 
had  heard  similar  results  to  neighbours  whose  trade  was  of  a  difi'erent 
character  from  his. 

It  is  evident  that  the  avarice  of  trade  needs  many  cliecks,  both  from 
political  enactment  and  from  moral  teaching ;  yet  neither  cheek  is  duly 
applied.  The  wastefulness  of  military  action  is  proverbial,  yet  the  trader, 
who  aims  only  at  his  own  immediate  enrichment,  is  as  reckless  of  the 
future  as  the  soldicrj  who  plans  only  for  victory.  How  painful  is  the 
record  of  successive  destruction  or  extermination  of  animal  races.  If  a 
huge  creature  like  the  elephant  can  only  exist  by  occupying  large  areas 
of  forest  and  plain  which  arc  needed  for  human  habitation,  no  doubt  the 
brute,  however  generous,  must  at  length  give  place  to  tiic  man.  We  do 
not  kuow  certainly  how  the  elephant  was  exterminated  from  Northern 
Africa,  but  the  eager  demaiul  for  ivory  under  the  Roman  era[>erors  is  the 
probable  cause.  The  entire  race  was  driven  out  of  existence  for  the 
pride  or  fantasy  of  rich  men,  whose  money  the  hunters  coveted.      It  is 

t  believed  that  in  India  also  this  noble  animal,  under  English  rulc^  is 
rapidly  diminishing,  and  likely  soon  to  vanish,  though  there  exist  jungles 
innumerable  in  which  men  cannot  live  and  elephants  might  multiply. 
In  Africa,  south  of  the  equator,  the  elephant  is  still  found,  but  the 
pui*suit  of  him  for  his  tusks  is  incessant ;  chiefly  to  satisfy  the  cravjog  of 
the  ciWlized  !^  Much  the  same  may  be  said  of  the  American  bison, 
who  is  sometimes  islaughtered  for  his  tongue  alone,  which  is  easier  to 
carry  off  than  his  hide  or  his  horns.  In  like  manner  the  beavers  have 
1 


«  An  eiit«rTinziDg  American,  who  bought  up  from  PrcaiiUnt  lanculu's  Ctoirenunent  the 
caieaues  of  all  horBes  slain  in  hattle,  fouad  that  the  shanklmne  of  a  good  horse  is  so  dente 
fts  tu  furni&lt  no  Liul  snbslitutc  fur  ivont*.     Are  such  boucs  duly  '.'sttt^mtd  aud  icouum  zed  ? 


480 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


been  liuuted  away,  perhaps  extirpated  j  not  because  their  works  are 
noxious  to  the  streams,  but  simply  because  their  furs  fetch  a  steady  price 
in  our  markets.  The  destruction  of  &almou  and  other  fish  by  avaricious 
and  reckless  fishing  has  never  been  quite  overlooked,  and  of  late  has  been 
more  seriously  provided  against  by  preventive  legislation.  Tlic  seals, 
walruses,  and  whales  have  not  (we  may  presume)  in  any  ease  wholly 
perished  under  the  attacks  of  our  pitiless  hunters ;  but  these  innocent, 
kind-hearted  animals — some  of  them  very  intelligent — have  been  largely 
driven  away  from  the  habitats  most  snitcd  to  their  eomfort;  and 
probably  the  young  ones  perish  through  want  of  the  fostering  care  of 
parents.  To  pass  from  the  great  to  the  little :  it  is  reported  that  the 
exquisitely  beautiful  bumming  birds  are  disappearing  at  an  alarming  rate, 
owing  to  a  now  fashion  which  decks  ladies'  bonnets  or  heads  with  their 
feathcTS. 

Divines  and  moralists  have  very  little  busied  themselves  with  inquiries 
into  the  duties  of  men  to  other  animals^  and  the  limits  to  man's  right 
over  the  various  animal  races.  Hitherto,  if  in  the  recklessness  of  trade 
any  animal  be  extirpated — say  a  beaver  or  a  species  of  seal — it  is  lamented, 
not  because  the  animal  had  any  right  to  live,  but  because  posterity  will 
be  poorer  for  his  destruction ;  just  as,  if  we  deplore  the  using  up  of  our 
eoal-mineSj  which  does  but  enrich  one  class  of  richer  men,  we  deplore 
it  rot  because  (he  coal  has  a  right  to  exist,  but  because  the  coming 
generations  will  have  to  go  deeper  and  search  further  for  their  coal — 
perhaps  may  find  it  too  dear  to  use.  Yet  is  there  not  another  side  to  this 
question  ?  \A^heu  the  extreme  case  is  put — *^  Shall  man  die,  or  shall 
animals  die,  that  mau  may  live?"  there  is  no  difference  of  judgment 
among  men ;  but  only  in  the  exceptional  case,  only  where  wild  game  is 
essential  for  Imman  food,  is  the  absolute  right  of  man  over  the  life  of 
gentle  and  harmless  brutes  universally  conceded.  A  strong  distinction 
is  maintained  by  some  between  the  wild  animals  which  owe  nothing 
whatever  to  mankind  and  the  half  domesticated  which  men  feed  and 
protect  from  their  natural  encmiea,  so  that  in  some  sense  we  cause  them 
to  exist.  Suppose  it  to  be  conceded  that  the  fowls  which  we  have 
defended  and  nourished  may  be  claimed  as  lives  over  which  we  have 
discretionary  centred,  surely  with  much  less  plausibility  can  we  claim  the 
like  control  over  wild  animals.  The  English  law  which  pronounces  those 
that  we  feed  and  protect  to  be  private  property,  while  it  refuses  all  right 
of  property  \i\  the  wild  animal,  was  based  upon  a  sense  of  the  sharp  dis- 
tinction. Tlicrc  is,  aparC  from  the  moral  question,  an  underlying 
economical  ouCj  in  the  fact  that  the  grazier  who  rears  cattle  for  the 
butcher's  knife  is  never  likely  to  exterminate  the  race  ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  seeks  to  multiply  it,  though  by  his  aitificial  treatment  he  propagates 
a  far  weaker  and  more  fragile  breed.  Still,  he  has  demonstrably  some 
right  in  his  cattle,  and  a  farmer  in  his  fowls ;  but  a  hunter  baa  absolutely 
none  in  the  wild  animals  he  pursues ;  unless  might  be  right.  To  kill 
some,  to  mangle  more,  to  cause  numbers  of  young  to  perish,  to  dj'ivc 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATIOS. 


481 


irhole  flocks  from  their  natural  abodes,  perhaps  to  extirpate  entire  species 
for  no  other  reason  but  pecuniary  gain,  is  apt  to  be  an  injury  to  the 
human  race  on  the  one  band,  and  on  the  other  is  hard  to  justify  by  any 
moral  reasoning  if  a  court  be  held  vrhere  an  advocate  is  heard  on  the 
side  of  the  brute.  This  is  a  topic  which  will  be  more  fully  discussed 
in  the  near  future. 

lu  considering  our  national  state>  the  character  of  our  laws,  and  the 
temper  of  our  immediate  rulers,  it  is  often  hard  to  judge  what  is  the 
ideal  at  which  legislators  aim.  Perhaps  we  must  conclude  that  there 
are  half  a  dozen  different  ideals  alternately  in  the  ascendant.  N'cry 
eareless  we  have  been,  and  are,  as  to  the  extirpation  of  wild  animals  and 
of  saTagc  tribes;  but  how  about  the  British  and  Irish  races?  Do  we 
wish  them  to  multiply  or  to  dwindle,  or  do  we  think  their  present 
number  precisely  the  right  thing?  Early  in  this  century  if  a  nobleman 
ehosc  to  unpeople  his  estate  few  voices  were  raised  to  censure  it,  and 
those  were  not  heard  in  Parliament.  Nearly  the  same  state  of  things 
still  exists.  Where  a  faint  defence  was  regarded  as  necessary  by  some 
professed  economist,  it  was  thought  a  good  argument  to  insist  that  the 
population  was  still  in  existence,  indeed  was  probably  better  housed  than 
before,  being  now  in  some  fishing  town  or  some  great  metropolis.  If 
population  multiply  in  some  rural  area,  the  economists  call  it  a  warren, 
comparing  mcu  to  the  rabbits,  whom  farmers  style  "  vermin;"  but  if  they 
multiply  in  the  slums  of  a  town,  where  they  are  sure  to  grow  up  largely 
deficient  in  vital  force,  and  perhaps  with  inferior  moral  character,  this  is 
&|)proved  of,  as  a  sufficient  compensation  for  driving  them  out  irom  the 
fields  and  mountains  where  they  were  vigorous  pai*ents  of  a  vigorous 
postcritv.  Barbarians  know  how  to  value  a  tall,  muscular,  and  active 
population  :  have  we  entirely  lost  pride  in  the  rust'tcorum  mascuia  milHum 
proles,  whose  large  extermination  iu  imperial  Italy  the  poet  Horace 
deplored?  So  it  might  seem;  for  the  condition  imposed  on  the  old 
English  baron  of  maintaining  soldiers  for  the  kiiig^s  service  has  been  for 
ages  set  at  nought  with  impunity.  QCdipus  in  Sophocles  avows  that 
neither  towers  nor  ships  are  of  avail  if  they  are  not  well  manned.  Do 
we  now  really  think  that  industrious  slaves,  paying  rich  tribute  to  the 
exchequer,  sustain  a  nation  in  strength  and  honour  without  stalwart 
})easant8?  Or,  when  other  nations  compute  their  population  at  eighty 
millions  or  forty  millions,  tt'tr  htcreasiftff,  that  wc  can  long  continue  in 
rival  equality  if  our  millions  cease  to  multiply?  During  the  advance 
of  national  greatness  the  increase  of  population  is  coveted  and  applauded ; 
barrenness  of  women  is  esteemed  a  curse  of  God  ;  blessing  and  joy  attend 
every  increase  of  families.  When  misanthropy  and  avarice  deprecate 
increase,  Nature  is  dethroned  :  the  nation  must  decay  if  this  be  acquiesced 
in,  and  we  may  generally  infer  that  its  institutions  arc  uujust.  Certainly 
every  nation  has  an  intrinsic  right  to  increase  its  numbers  ;  a  right  earlier 
than,  and  more  sacred  than,  any  right  which  an  individual  can  have  to 
the  luxury  of  romantic  solitudes.     To  forbid  such  increase  is  a  deeper 

VOL.  XXXV.  1  I 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


barbarism  than  that  of  savages.  Institutions  and  laT^s,  if  they  hinder  it, 
need  to  be  severely  reformed.  As  the  elephant  or  the  wild  Indian  must 
give  way  to  the  pressure  of  human  population,  so  must  the  rich  proprietor ; 
and  if  we  value  the  English  race  as  not  inferior  to  any  human  family 
and  superior  to  most,  it  is  inevitable  for  us  to  desire  not  to  be  outnum- 
bered by  othersj  on  whom  jwrhaps  we  look  down.  The  talk  about 
superfluous  population  is  about  as  gratuitous  as  that  about  the  lost  ten 
tribes.  The  ten  tribes  are  no  more  lost  than  the  two  tribes ;  Ephraim 
and  Judnh  have  for  near  two  millcDuiums  been  inextricably  mingled  ; 
no  one  tribe  is  lost  more  than  another,  unless  you  go  back  to  Simeon  or 
Dan.  So  too,  no  one  has  ever  yet  shown  that  we  have  any  superfluity 
of  population.  We  have  great  superfluity  of  vice,  great  superfluity  of 
bad  law  :  remove  evil  habits  and  evil  institutions,  and  it  will  presently 
ap{)enr  that  never  was  it  easier  for  a  people  to  feed  and  support  itself. 
Too  many  political  economists  (unhappily)  have  to  learn  that  vice  is  of 
all  thiiif^s  most  wasteful.  Only  a  vicious  jxjpuktioii  ouf^ht  to  be  regarded 
as  superriuous.  Institutions  which  forbid  industi^ious  men  to  raise  food 
out  of  the  soil  are  something  woi*sc  than  superfluous.  At  the  close  of 
the  American  civil  wai*,  when  freedom  had  been  proclaimed  to  the  slaves, 
those  red  men  who  live  in  the  Indian  tenitory — who,  in  imitation  of  the 
Southerners,  had  introduced  a  system  of  slavery — concluded  that  they 
must  now  reverse  their  coui'se.  Thtyy  too,  proclaimed  freedom  to  their 
slaves.  But  they  did  not  scold  at  them  as  vermin,  or  as  a  superfluous 
population  ;  no,  but  they  re-di\ddcd  their  own  lands,  and  gave  to  the 
freed  men  portions  equal  to  their  own.  Which  doctrine  or  practice  is 
more  barbarous — that  of  English  land-teniu*c  and  population-fearing 
economists,  or  that  of  these  American  children  of  Nature  ? 

The  physicians  and  physiologists  who  had  so  cleverly  persuaded 
Parliament  in  1848  to  make  the  pollution  of  rivers  compulsory  were  so 
elated  with  their  success  that  verj'  soon  their  ambition  assumed  new 
audacity.  Sir  Robert  Peel  died  iu  1850  by  a  fall  from  his  horse ;  but 
they  had  already  beset  him  with  the  project  of  making  vaccination 
compulsory  :  a  thiug  which  he  protested  the  English  public  would  never 
endure.  He  did  not  know  how  cleverly  a  devoted  clique  would  manage 
the  midnight  hours  of  a  wearied  Parliament,  nor  what  energy  a  united 
faculty  could  put  forth  when  it  had  attained  permanent  office  for 
ambitious  schemers.  llie  aualogy  was  so  beaiitiful  between  defiling 
the  natural  streams  with  a  view  to  the  public  liealth  and  defiling  the 
blood  iu  the  arteries  with  a  view  to  the  health  of  the  individual,  that 
those  who  had  been  bitteu  and  infected  with  rabies  for  the  one  scheme 
took  naturally  and  kindly  to  the  other.  No  public  debate  took  place 
on  the  topic,  oven  among  medical  men  ;  much  less  was  any  notoriety 
given  to  the  debates  in  Parliament,  if  there  were  any,  concerning  com- 
pulsory vitcciuation.  Apparently  the  thing  was  managed  in  the  mode 
now  esteemed  orthodox.  V"arious  esteemed  mcilieal  men  talked  over 
the  editors  of  London  '*  Dailies :"  it  would  seem  that  a  *'  couspiracy  of 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


483 


sileDce"  vas  achieved  in  that  early  day ;  and,  to  use  a  very  modern 
phrasCj  the  whole  thing  "  was  sprung  upon  us"  unawares,  in  1853,  just 
when  our  heads  were  getting  full  of  Menchikoff  and  the  Sultau^  of 
Hungary  and  Aastrisj  and  much  beside  of  foreign  affairs.  The  Crimean 
War  eame,  and  wtis  fought  out,  and  departedj  without  one  mau  in  a 
hundred,  out  of  those  who  were  too  old  to  have  infant  children,  being 
aware  of  any  change  concerning  vaccination.  But  in  the  medical  pro- 
fession itself  then?  had  always  been  avowed  and  pertinacious  enemies  of 
the  practice.  A  small  section  of  the  nation  knew  and  abhorred  the  law 
of  compulsion.  Out  of  this  small  but  resolute  school  came  stern  remon- 
strances and  solemn  warning  to  the  medical  official  that  vaccination, 
especially  from  arm  to  arm,  was  apt  to  convey  any  or  every  blood  disease. 
But  the  officials  spurned  them  as  mere  "  quacks."  Within  twenty 
years,  however,  the  confessions  of  able  pro-vaccinators  were  overpower- 
ing. Mr.  Simon,  medical  officer  to  the  Privy  Council,  could  not  deny 
the  fact,  but  alleged  that  the  operator  mu»t  have  dipped  his  lancet  too 
deep,  and  taken  a  drop  of  blood.      He  did  not,  and  docs  not,  guarantee 

my  one  against  alike  misadventure  in  the  future.  The  pro-vaccinators 
have  not  learned  to  blush  at  their  persistent  and  rude  denial  of  what  is 
now   a  confessed  danger.      Sir   Thomas   Watson,  an  aged  and  leading 

»hyaician^  only  last  year  (June  No.  of  the  Nineteenth  Century)  calls  the 
chance  of  foul  disease  from  the  vaccination  now  orthodox  "  a  ghastly 
risk,"  and  praises  the  father  who  will  go  to  prison  rather  than  permit 
it.  Yet  Sir  Thomas  Watson  so  hugs  vaccination  that  he  advocates  the 
infusion  of  disease  into  calves  in  order  to  get  cow-pox  at  first  hand. 

This  is  no  place  for  nice  medical  argument,  if  the  writer  had  tenfold 
knowledge :  but  many  broad  facts  glare  upon  every  one  who  has  oj>en 
eyes.  In  history,  in  theology,  and  equally  iu  medicine,  we  have  often 
to  remember  that  there  are  some  assertions,  some  doctrines,  so  para- 
doxical, so  opposed  to  eommou  sense,  that  when  it  is  asked,  what  sort  of 
evidence  would  avail  to  prove  them  ?  we  arc  driven  to  reply,  that  we 
cannot  ima^ne  any :  they  are  intrinsically  incredible.  Such  to  us  is 
the  doctrine  that  the  Supreme  God  became  a  bull  and  a  swan,  and 
mnch  beside  which  might  be  named.  It  generally  happens  that  pre- 
cisely those  doctrines  which  thus  startle  us  as  incredible  arc  eminently 
devoid  of  any  proof  that  deserves  regard.  Just  so  is  it  here.  A  priori^ 
— that  is,  from  all  the  light  of  received  physiology  and  ordinary  common 
information, — we  believe  that  the  stronger  is  ritality,  the  sturdier  is  the 
resistance  t3  contagion  ;  and  the  purer  the  blood,  the  stronger  is  ritality. 
That  corruption  infused  into  the  blood  can  scctu-e  us  from  eoutagion 
is  certainly  most  unplausible, — scarcely  credible, — a  doctrine  not  to  be 
received  without  overwhelming  proof.  Yet  no  proof  from  science  is 
even  pretended,  but  only  a  proof  from  perfectly  ridiculous  statistics, — 
ridiculous,  because  dl  imagined  from  the  beginning,  aud  variously  self- 
refutiug.  As  an  eminent  Austrian  physician  has  lately  argued  : — If 
tables  were  now  drawn  up  to  show  how  many  of  the  vacematedj  aud 

I  I  2 


484 


THE  CONTEMP  ORAR  Y  RE  ]  'lElV. 


how  many  of  the  ub vaccinated,  die  of  diphtheria^  the  figures,  if  applied 
with  tlie  most  perfect  skill  and  fairness  imagiuable,  must  end  in  making 
out  either  the  one  side  or  other  to  have  more  deaths ;  thus  (if  the  logic 
used  coueerning  sraalUpox  be  admitted)  it  will  be  made  out  that  either 
vaccination  or  uou-vaccinatiou  tends  to  secure  from  diplitheria.  Of 
course  that  would  be  noueense ;  and  why  not  equal  nonsense  to  infer 
from  statistics  that  vaccination  saves  from  small-pox?  Meanwhile,  the 
awful  fact  on  a  great  scale  confronts  \\%,  that  smull-pox  has  become 
more  and  more  prevalent,  more  and  more  fatid,  since  vaccination  has 
been  made  compulsory.  Xow  at  last  the  cause  comes  out  without  a 
blush  of  shame  from  our  orthodox  school.  The  Government  vacci- 
nators hiivc  for  many  years  obtained  a  lai*ge  part  of  what  tliey  call 
iymph  (a  fraudulent  name — pus,  or  matter,  is  the  only  right  word)  by 
inociiinting  calves  or  bullocks  with  smail-po.T,  The  result  in  the 
animals  they  are  pleased  to  call  eow-poXy  and  when  the  poisonous 
matter  is  transferred  back  to  human  infants  they  assume  that  it  will 
not  reproduce  smail-|io.v  !  !  13ut  while  this  doctrine  is  orthodox  in 
London,  the  Local  Govcrumcut  lioard  in  Dubiin  allows  no  such  dealing; 
for  on  February  10th  last  it  warned  all  vaccinators  that  such  proceed- 
ing spreads  smalUpox  by  inoculation,  and  is  a  crime  against  the  law. 
Another  broad  fact  is,  the  widespread  siiflVa'ingj  disease,  and  death  which 
vacL'ination  causes  in  infants.  A  third  is,  the  utter  failure  of  vaccina- 
tion to  prevent  small-pox,  and  the  acal  of  doctors  for  re-vaccination. 
Numbers  of  tl»c  rc-vaceiiiateJ  have  taught  small-pox  within  a  year  or  a 
vionUi  after.  The  medical  men  who  pretend  (to  the  vulgar  and  to  the 
ignorant)  that  vaccination  is  "  a  real  and  easy  preventive*'  of  smalUpox 
often  reply,  when  confronted  with  the  fact  of  I'aihire,  either  that  the 
vaccination  cannot  have  been  (!)  well  performed;  others  pretend  (without 
a  particle  of  proof)  that  the  force  of  vaccination  lasts  for  seven  years 
only  J  a  figment  which,  if  true,  would  not  be  to  the  purpose,  would  not 
relieve  the  facts.  Finally  (what  to  the  present  writer  is  by  itself  deci- 
sive), unless  the  caujit^  of  smalUpox  be  removed  (generally  some  im- 
purity in  the  air  or  in  tlie  food),  those  causes  will  work  mischief  some- 
how. To  throw  an  eru[)tive  disease  back  into  the  system  is  proverbially 
dangerous.  If  vaccination  had  this  tendency,  so  much  the  more 
dangerous  must  it  be  ;  fur  it  cannot  remove  the  causes  of  small-pox. 
Moreover,  what  right  has  nuy  pliysieian  to  neglect  the  cures  of  small- 
pox, by  which  herbalists,  hydropaths,  and  Turkish  bath-keepers  find  it  a 
most  tractable  disease?  Some  barbarians  bastinado  an  unfortunate 
patient  when  he  is  seized  by  ague  ;  is  it  less  barbarous  to  infuse  corrup- 
tion into  the  blood  of  a  healthy  man,  as  precaution  against  a  disease 
which  may  not  occur  at  all  ?  The  last  sentence  touches  on  a  great  and 
critical  fact.  No  doctv^r,  no  legislator  has  any  right  to  assault  the  body 
of  a  healthy  chihl  or  man  under  pretence  of  providing  for  the  public 
healtli.  A  medical  man,  whatever  his  celebrity,  proclaims  his  own  folly 
when  he  entities  a  healthy  «]iil<l  a  fountain  of  disease.      These  doctoi's. 


i 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


4SB 


•when  they  consent  to  stick  by  their  own  logic,  avow,  that  as  fast  as  a 
man  or  child  throws  off  tlie  effects  of  cow-pox,  he  becomes  liable  to 
small-pox,  and  therefore  ought  to  be  cow-poxed  again.  (It  is  not  really 
cow-pox,  but  it  is  certainly  disease.}  Thus  they  confess  that  (/tey  dread 
perfect  health  ;  (must  we  add,  of  course  a  healtliy  person  pays  them  uo 
fees  ?)  they  want  to  keep  us  in  permanent  cow-pox  :  yes,  and  they  know 
not  what  more  beside  they  may  infuse  into  the  blood.  But,  what  is 
here  urged  maiidy,  a  iegialaior  usurps,  if  he  forbid  perfect  health  ;  he 
might  as  well  command  vice.  '  Legislators  who  do  not  despise  the 
pliysiciau  who  weeps  over  healthy  children  as  dangerous  have  less  good 
sense  than  most  barbarians. 

Is  the  sum  of  our  barbarisms  as  yet  completed  in  this  rapid  sketch  ? 
By  no  means.  The  same  medical  clique,  which  has  installed  itself  in 
power,  and  has  got  the  car  of  over-worked  legislators,  became  more 
axidacions  still  after  the  Prince  Consort^s  death.  They  resumed  an  old 
plot,  which  had  been  all  but  "  sprung  upon"  the  nation  under  Lord 
Melbourne,  but  had  been  defeated  by  the  Queen's  accession.  Lord 
Melbourne  declared  it  impossible  to  ask  the  signature  of  a  virgin  Quecu 
to  avich  a  law.  Whether  there  was  any  real  connection  between  the 
death  of  the  Prince  and  the  resuming  of  this  plot  is  not  certain ; 
however,  about  a  year  after  his  death  they  did  resume  the  scheme  of  pro- 
viding safe  harlots  for  profligate  men.  Once  more  we  find  the  same 
fatuous  logic,  which  neeks  for  health  through  artificial  impurity^  and  with 
brazen  front  avows  that  marriage  is  inconvenient  to  many  men,  and 
chastity  is  iinhealthful.  The  laws  were  made  and  carried  stealthily,  in 
thin  Houses  and  at  midnight;  jK-nal  legislation  was  passed  without 
public  notice  or  discussion  ;  the  common  rights  of  the  female  sex  were 
ruthlessly  sacrificed,  and  an  iniquitous  system  chained  on  to  the  neck  of 
extensive  districts,  with  an  ingenious  cruelty  to  girls  and  poor  women 
which  may  seem  a  mongrel  between  the  Paris  police  and  the  Spanish 
Inquisition,  llie  first  step  to  civilization,  according  to  the  ancients,  was 
to  enact,  to  honour,  to  uphold  marriage  :  of  all  steps  back  into  bar- 
barism none  is  more  marked  than  that  of  maintaining  State  slaves  as 
harlots.  Tliis  foul  and  disgusting  des[K)ti$m  must  soon  be  swept  away 
by  public  indignation,  unless  family  life  and  youthful  purity  are  to  be 
undermined,  and  a  secret  police  in  plaiu  clothes,  responsible  to  a  central 
functionary,  is  to  trample  us  duwn  pernmuciitly.  Moral  despair  of 
virtue  and  a  resolve  to  indulge  the  profligacy  of  idle  and  drunken 
soldiers  lie  at  the  bottom  of  tliis  odious  and  disgraceful  legisla- 
tion. Stop  the  soldiers'  drink,  and  you  will  stop  nine-tenths  both  of 
their  unchastity  and  of  their  other  offences. 

The  medical  faculty  (not  all,  for  there  arc  glorious  exceptions — yet 
only  too  many)  have  been  the  upholders  of  artificial  factitious  remedies 
of  ill-health,  real  or  pretended.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  say  that, 
however  monstrous  have  been  the  cruelties  of  the  faculty  towarda  animals 
in  some  other  countries,  the  horrors  of  vivisection  here  found  their  earliest 


486 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


and  most  active  advocaU^,  not  anioii^  actual  practitioners  of  luediciDC,  but 
among  theorists,  '*  biolog^ts/'  and  professors.  It  would  be  better  still 
if  we  could  avoid  adding,  tbat^  as  moutha  and  years  go  on^  medical 
studentSj  with  the  approbation  or  connivance  of  professors,  more  and 
more  display  zeal  ou  the  side  of  animal  torture.  In  slight  illness  we  do 
not  need  any  very  refined  medical  science:  in  dangerous  and  seyere 
cases  medical  treatment  is  not  so  splendidly  successful  (if  we  may 
b<?lieve  the  testimony  of  a  whole  chorus  of  eminent  practitionerH  and 
professors)  that  it  can  vaunt  very  high  of  the  advantages  it  has  obtained 
from  the  prolonged  agonies  of  dogs,  cats,  and  rabbits.  Whether  by  such 
horrible  cruelties  human  physiology  has  obtained,  as  a  theory,  any 
important  enlargement^  physiologists  and  studcuts  of  the  history  may 
discuss.  But  the  viviacctors  arc  obstinately  silent  on  the  question 
whence  they  get  a  right  to  torture  a  dog  any  more  than  to  torture  a  man. 
Some  of  them  arc  avowed  Atheists ;  and  of  them  it  has  been  remarked 
that  having  cast  off  reverence  for  a  superiorj  they  with  it  have  lost  mercy 
for  an  inferior.  But  if  any  profess  to  obey  a  moral  law,  they  have  to 
explain  how  they  justify  antma/ torture  without  justifying  At/man  torture, 
especially  when  the  latter  would  much  better  promote  science.  The 
ground  of  condemning  the  torture  of  men  is  not  because  the  man  is 
intcUigcut,  because  he  is  religious,  because  he  lias  a  soul,  because  he  is 
immortal ;  but  because  he  has  a  sensitive  nervous  system.  If  a  dog,  a 
horse,  a  rabbit — as  most  vertebrated  animaLs — have  a  body  equally 
susceptible  of  pain,  the  moral  offence  of  torturing  it  merely  to  increase 
our  knowledge  is  identical  with  that  of  torturing  a  man  for  the  same 
purpose.  As  one  class  of  doctors  insolently  tell  ladies  that  they  invade 
the  rights  of  |)oor  women  in  order  to  save  innocent  wives  from  pollution 
by  profligate  husbands,  so  do  viviscctionists  insolently  declare  that  we, 
the  public,  desire  to  get  the  advantage  of  medical  treatment,  while  we 
censure  the  ouly  means  of  attaining  it.  In  each  case,  ladies  not  a  few 
reply  that  they  would  scorn  to  accept  such  an  advantage,  whatever  its 
amount,  if  bought  at  such  a  price.  The  whole  matter  is,  not  barbarous, 
but  ghastly;  and  we  have  a  new  portentous  example  of  imbecile  leg^isla- 
tion.  A  law  was  made  nominally  to  restrict  tliia  torture  of  auimab, 
but  practically  it  has  for  the  first  time  legalized  it.  The  torturers  arc 
tritimphunt.  The  names  of  those  who  have  licences  to  torture  arc 
carefully  concealed,  so  that  no  torturer  can  be  prosecuted,  for  it  is  always 
uncertain  whether  he  may  not  have  a  secret  liceuce.  "When  law  is  thus 
penertcd  how  can  reverence  for  it  be  sustained  ?  Dr.  Charles  Bell 
Taylor  of  Nottingham,  in  a  meeting  of  a  local  society,  after  recounting 
a  number  of  dreadful  heartrending  facts,  remarks  :  "  No  man  can 
do  such  things  without  suppressing  his  conscience,  and  the  man  who 
habitually   suppresses    his    conscience    is    on    the    way    to   become    a 

devil i'oung  men  aie  necessarily  demoralized  aud  spoiled  by  such 

an  education.'^ 

This  brings  us  back  to  the  original  question — "Who  is  a  good  citizen? 


THE  BARBARISMS  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


487 


h 


in  other  words,  What  is  it  to  be  civilized  '  Let  those  believe,  who  can, 
that  the  hahit  of  inflicting  prolonged  agony  on  innocent  animals  docs 
not  harden  the  heart,  does  not  make  a  man  a  worse  citizen.  Yet  no 
one,  not  even  a  drunkard,  will  deny  that  a  sot  is  a  bad  citizen.  A  bad 
man,  says  Aristotle,  is  more  dangerous  than  a  wild  beast ;  a  man  with- 
out a  conscience  is  unfit  for  human  society;  and  when  drink  disorders 
the  brain,  a  man  has  no  conscience,  and  differs  little  from  a  lunatic. 
Precisely  because  a  beast  cannot  be  a  citizen  of  a  human  comnuinity, 
drunkenness,  which  makes  a  man  more  dangerous  than  a  beast,  suspends 
his  rights  as  a  citizen.  The  same  infatuation  which  acquiesces  iu 
chronic  pauperism,  and  does  not  know  that  it  is  a  plague  spot,  compla- 
cently endures  an  army  of  drunkards  counted  by  myriads,  with  orphan- 
hood, disease,  insanity,  and  pauj>erism  marching  in  its  wake.  Nothing 
could  be  a  milder  punishment,  if  not  rather  called  retnedi/,  for  drunken- 
ness, than  when  once  a  person  had  been  convicted  of  it,  to  forbid  others 
iu  future  to  sell  or  give  to  him  any  intoxicating  liquor.  Our  ancestors 
long  ago  saw  that  the  trade  in  such  drink  must  he  kept  under  special 
restrictions.  The  kings,  the  parliaments,  the  ministries,  the  magis. 
trates,  have  long  since  claimed,  uscti,  and  acknowledged  the  right  and 
duty  of  repressing  a  trade  which  thrives  most  when  it  does  most  vital 
mischief  to  the  community.  Therefore,  for  centuries  back  lofcal  magis- 
trates received  the  power  of  severely  cutting  down  the  trade  to  its 
narrowest  limits.  When  merchandise  ])ecarae  more  enterprising  and 
capital  increased,  duriug  the  long  rcigu  of  Elissabeth,  this  trade  (here,  as 
everywhere  else)  became  dangerous  and  mischievous  in  proportion  to 
its  increased  energy.  Hence,  under  the  two  first  Stuarts  the  ministers 
of  the  Crown  were  active  and  severe  against  it :  the  Parliament  also 
was  indignant  at  the  ever-increasing  vice.  But  against  the  attempted 
des|)otism  of  the  first  James  and  Charles,  freedom  and  the  Parliament 
triumphed.  Under  the  second  Charles, — ^a  man  not  more  drunken  than 
his  grandfather, — things  turned  for  the  worse,  and  the  English  nation 
became  more  and  more  despicably  sottish,  until  the  great  religious 
revival  under  Wesley,  Whitfield,  and  the  Evangelicals  made  a  change 
for  the  better.  It  b  thought  that  we  arc  not  at  present  in  quite  so  bad 
a  state  as  in  the  reigns  of  the  early  Georges,  down  to  the  close  of  our 
A.racriean  War.  But  how  is  it  that  the  successive  raiuistries,  ever  since 
Charles  II.,  have  shown  none  of  the  zeal  against  drunkenness  which 
was  so  active  before  the  Commonwealth  ?  How  is  it  that  since 
Lord  Grey's  Reform  Act  a  series  of  ministries,  Whig  and  Tory,  have 
been  callous,  cold,  and  practically  uucoucemed  at  the  steady  and  formid- 
able increase  of  an  evil  which  a  Parliamentary  Committee  of  18;}4 
denounced  in  terras  of  burning  indignation;  and  that,  while  unable  to 
deny  the  enormous  magnitude  of  the  mischief, — while  perfectly  aware 
that  the  magistrates  in  nearly  every  great  town  scandalously  neglected 
the  duty  of  repressing  the  dangerous  trade, — yet  not  on  one  occasion 
for   two   hundred  years  past   has  a  Lord  Chauceilor  been  known   to 


488 


THE    CONTEMPOllARY   REVIEH', 


reprove  a  magistrate  for  this  neglect  of  duty,  much  less  to  displace,  or 
tlireaten  to  displace  him  ?  Why  did  the  ministries  under  James  I.  aud 
Charles  I.  show  a  spirit  so  different  from  that  of  later  miuistries  ?  Is 
there  p<jssibly  any  couiiectiou  between  this  notable  fact  aud  another 
notorious  factj  nanielyj  that  under  Charles  II.  the  Parliament  gave  to 
the  king's  Exchequer  a  new  revenue  from  the  Excise,  which  became 
more  and  more  profitable,  as  did  the  duties  on  wine  which  are  called 
Customs?  So  great  has  this  source  of  revenue  become,  that  it  now 
exceeds  thirty-three  millions  sterling  in  the  year.  But  we  arc  suddenly 
checked ;  we  arc  reproved.  No  one  ought  to  impute  motives  !  It  is 
outrageous  to  suggest  that  ministries  connive  at  drunkenness  in  order 
to  get  revenue  !  Well ;  no  doubtj  to  impute  bad  motives  yratuitovshj 
is  very  wrong ;  yet  if  wc  may  not  speculate  on  motives^  there  can  be  no 
moral  criticism.  We  are  told  that  we  ought  to  be  charitable  ;  but 
blindness  is  not  charity.  The  charity  here  entreated  or  req\iired  of  us 
is  unhappily  snperfliious;  far  the  ministries,  and  Parliament  too, 
knew  officially,  from  about  1826  onward,  that,  by  the  unlawful  couui- 
vance  of  our  Indian  anthoritics,  opium  was  smuggled  into  €'hina  for  the 
sake  of  revenue  to  the  Company.  The  ministries  also  connived,  and 
hereby  implicated  themselves  in  war  with  China.  Three  wars  with  that 
injured  country  they  fought,  caused  mainly  by  this  opium  traffic,  which 
by  dint  of  war  they  have  compelled  the  Emperor  of  China  to  legalize. 
When  challeuged  iu  Parliament  by  Sir  Wilfrid  Lawsou,  the  late  ministry 
did  not  dare  to  defend  the  morality  of  the  opium  traffic :  a!l  they  could 
say  for  it  amonuted  to  this,  that  they  could  not  afford  to  lose  the  revenue 
firom  it  !  Moreover,  spirit  shops  have  been  introduced  into  India^  to  the 
disgust  of  Moslems  and  Gcntoos,  for  no  possible  reason  but  to  swell  the 
revenue.  It  is  tlierefore  not  charity,  but  mere  simplicity,  to  doubt 
that  from  desire  of  revenue  the  successive  ministers  for  two  centuries 
back  have  connived  at  the  magistrates'  neglect  of  duty.  If  a  Lord 
Chancellor  were  now  as  energetic  aa  a  Lord  Kce[>er  under  Charles  I.,-^ 
if  he  were  to  threaten  whole  benches  of  magistrates  with  removal  unless 
scandalous  drunkenness  vanished, — wc  should  need  no  new  legislation  ; 
the  existing  laws  are  quite  severe  enough,  if  only  there  were  the  heart 
to  execute  them.  No  barbarism  iu  England  has  beeu  longer  assailed 
Ihan  this  uucivilizing  vice.  None  has  beeu  cherished  more  obstinately 
by  those  whose  duty  was  to  control  it.  Unless  the  English  nation  brace 
up  serious  determination  to  extirpate  both  this  and  our  other  deadly 
barbarisms,  good  iutcntious  aud  pious  wishes  will  be  unavailing  to  avert 
the  natural  results  of  vice  in  the  people  and  folly  in  the  governors. 

Francis  W.  Nbwman, 


ORIGEN    AND  THE   BEGINNINGS  OF 
CHRISTIAN   PHILOSOPHY. 


ir. 


IN  tbc  last  paper  I  endeavoured  to  indicatfe  some  characteristic  features 
iu  the  poeition,  the  life,  the  works,  the  method,  the  influence  of 
Origeii.  I  wish  now  to  give  a  general  idea  of  his  chief  philosophic 
work — the  treatise  On  First  Principles — of  its  contents  and  of  its  spirit, 
ID  connection  with  the  history  of  Christian  thouglit.  Origen  was  in 
the  full  course  of  his  work  at  Alexandria  when  the  work  on  First 
Principles  was  written.  He  was  probably  at  the  time  not  much  more 
than  thirty  years  old,  and  still  a  layman ;  but  there  is  no  reason  to  think 
that  he  modified  in  any  important  respects  tlic  opinions  which  he  has 
expressed  in  it.  It  must,  however,  be  rcniemljevcd  that  the  book  was 
not  written  for  simple  believers,  but  for  scholars — for  those  who  were 
familiar  with  the  teaching  of  Gnosticism  and  Platonism;  and  with  a  view 
to  questions  which  then  first  become  urgcut  when  men  have  risen  to  a 
wide  view  of  Nature  aud  life.  Non-Christian  philosophies  moved  in  a 
region  of  sublime  abstractions,  "ideas.^*  Origen  felt  that  Christianity 
converts  these  abstractious  into  realities,  the  personal  facts  of  a  complete 
life  ;  and  he  strove  to  express  wliat  he  felt  iu  the  modes  of  thought  and 
language  of  his  age.  lie  aimed  at  presenting  the  higher  "  knowledge" 
('yi'wffic)  as  an  objective  system.  But  in  doing  this  he  had  no  inten- 
tion of  fashioning  two  Christianities — a  Christianitv  for  the  learned  and  a 
Chribtiauity  for  the  simple.  The  Faith  was  one,  one  essentially  aud 
unalterably,  but  infinite  iu  fulness,  so  that  the  trained  eye  could  see 
more  of  its  harmonies,  as  it  necessarily  looked  for  more.  Fresh  wants 
made  fresh  truths  visible.  He  who  found  much  had  nothing  over ;  he 
who  found  little  had  no  lack. 

The  l>ook  is,  as  has  been  already  said,  the  earliest  attempt  to  form  a 
system  of  Christian  doctrine,  or  rather  a  philosophy  of  the  Christian 
faith.      In  this  respect  it  marks  an  epoch  in  Christian  thought,  but  no 


490 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


cLaugo  in  the  contents  of  the  Christian  erecil.  The  elements  of  the 
dogmatic  basis  are  assumed  on  the  authority  of  the  C'hui'ch.  The 
author's  object  is^  as  he  says,  to  show  how  they  can  be  arranged  as  a 
wl;olCj  by  the  help  either  of  the  statements  of  Scripture  or  of  the 
methods  of  exact  reaeouing.  And,  however  strange  or  startling  the 
teaching  of  Origcn  may  seem  to  us,  it  is  necessary  to  bear  in  mind  that 
this  is  the  account  which  he  gives  of  it.  lie  takes  for  granted  that  all 
that  he  brings  forward  is  in  harmony  with  received  teaching.  He  pro- 
fesses to  accept  as  final  the  same  authorities  as  ourselves.* 

The  treatise  consists  of  four  books.  It  has  been  preserved  for  the 
most  part  only  in  an  inexact  Latin  translation,  but  suflScient  evidence 
remains  to  sliow  that  the  translation  gives  the  main  tliought-s  correctly. 
The  composition  is  not  strictly  methodical.  Digressions  and  repetitions 
interfere  with  the  symmetry  of  the  plan.  But,  to  speak  generally,  the 
first  bonk  deals  with  God  and  Creation  (religious  statics,  if  I  may  use  the 
phrase) ;  tlie  second  and  third  books  with  Creation  and  Providence,  with 
Man  and  Redemption  (religious  dynamics) ;  and  the  fourth  book  with 
Holy  Scripture.  Or,  to  put  the  facts  somewhat  differently,  the  first 
three  books  contain  the  exposition  of  a  Christian  philosophy,  gathered 
round  the  three  ideas  of  God,  the  world,  and  the  rational  soul ;  and 
the  last  gives  the  basis  of  it.  Even  in  the  repetitious  (as  on  "the  restora- 
tion of  things")  it  is  not  ditiicult  to  see  that  each  successive  treatment 
corresponds  with  a  new  point  of  sight. 

llearing  these  broad  di\n3ions  in  mind,  we  can  enter  a  little  further 
into  detail.  In  the  first  book,  tlicn,  Origcn  brings  before  us  the  final 
elements  of  all  religious  plitlosophy — God,  the  world,  rational  creatures. 
iVftcr  dwelling  on  the  essential  nature  of  God  as  incori)oreal,  invisible, 
incomprehensible,  and  on  the  duiracteristic  relations  of  the  Persons  of 
the  Holy  Trinity  to  man,  as  the  Authors  of  being  and  reason  and  holi- 
ness, ho  gives  a  summary  view  of  the  end  of  liuman  life  ;  for  the  elements 
of  a  problem  cannot  be  really  understood  until  wc  have  comprehended 
its  scope.  The  cud  of  life,  then,  according  to  Origeu,  is  the  progressive 
assimilation  of  man  to  God  by  the  voluntary  appropriation  of  His  gifts. 
Gentile  philosophers  had  proposed  to  themselves  the  idea  of  assimilation 
to  God,  but  Origcn  adds  the  means.  "  By  the  unceasing  action  of  the 
Father,  Sou,  and  Holy  Spirit  towaixls  us,  renewed  at  each  successive 
stage  of  our  advance,  wo  shall  be  able,''  he  says,  "  with  diiticuUy  per- 
chance  at  some  future  time  to  lock  on  the  holy  and  blessed  life,*  and, 
when  once  we  have  been  enabled  to  reach  that,  after  many  struggles,  we 
ought  so  to  continue  in  it  that  no  weariness  may  take  hold  on  us.  Each 
Iredi  enjoyment  of  that  bLss  ought  to  enlarge  or  deepen  our  desire 
for  it ;  while  we  are  ever  receiving  or  hohling  with  more  ardent  love 
and  larger  grasji  the  Father  and  the  Sou  and  the  Holy  Spirit."! 

But  it  will  be  said  that  this  conditiou  of  progress,  effort,  assimilation, 
involves  the  possibility  of  declensiuu,  indolence,  the  obliteration  of  the 


*  J)c  Ptine.  Pr»fc 


t  Id.  i.  3,  8. 


ORIGEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY. 


491 


W 


Divine  image.  If  man  can  go  forward  he  can  go  backward.  Origen 
accepts  the  couscquencc,  and  find^  in  it  an  explanation  of  the  actual 
state  of  men  and  angels.  The  present  position  of  each  rational  being 
corresponds,  in  hia  judgment^  with  tlie  nse  which  he  has  liitherto  made 
of  the  revelations  and  gifts  of  God.  No  beings  were  created  originally 
immutable  in  character.  Some  by  diligent  obedience  have  been  raised 
to  the  loftiest  places  in  the  celestial  hierarchy  ;  others  by  perverse  self- 
will  and  rebellion  have  sunk  into  the  condition  of  demons.  Others 
occupy  an  intermediate  place,  and  arc  capable  of  being  raised  again  to 
their  first  state,  and  so  upwards,  if  they  avail  themselves  of  the  heljis 
which  are  provided  by  tlie  love  of  God.  "  Of  these/'  he  adds,  "  I  think, 
as  far  as  I  can  form  an  opinion,  that  this  order  of  the  human  race  was 
formed,  which  in  the  future  age,  or  in  the  ages  which  succeed,  when 
there  shall  be  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  shall  be  restored  to  that 
unity  which  the  Lonl  promises  in  His  intercessory  prayer."  "  Mean- 
while," he  continues,  *'  both  in  the  ages  which  are  seen  and  temporal, 
and  in  those  whicfi  are  not  seen  and  eternal,  all  rational  beings  who 
have  fallen  are  dealt  with  according  to  the  order,  the  character,  the 
measure  of  their  deserts.  Some  in  the  first,  others  in  the  second, 
some  again  even  in  the  last  times,  tlirough  greater  and  heavier  suffer- 
ings, l)orne  through  many  ages,  reformed  by  sharper  discipline,  and 
restored  ....   stage  by  stage  ....  reach  that  which  is  invisible  and 

eternal "*     Only  one  kind  of  change   is  impossible.     There  is 

no  such  transmigration  of  souls  as  Plato  pictured  after  the  fashion  of 
the  Hindus  in  the  legend  of  "  Er  the  son  of  Armenius."  No  rational 
being  can  sink  into  the  nature  of  a  brute.f 

The  progress  of  this  discussion  is  interrupted  by  one  singular  episode, 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  time.  How,  Origen  asks,  arc  we  to  regard 
the  heavenly  bodies — the  sun  and  moon  and  stars  V  Are  they  animated 
and  rational  ?  Are  they  the  temporary  abodes  of  souls  which  shall 
hereafter  be  released  from  them  ?  Are  they  finally  to  be  brought  into 
the  great  unity,  when  "  God  shall  be  all  in  all?"  The  questions,  he 
udmits,  are  bold  ;  but  he  answers  all  in  tbc  affirmativfe,  on  what  he  holds 
to  be  the  authority  of  Scripture.J 

In  the  second  book  Origen  pursues  at  greater  length  that  \'iew  of  the 
visible  world  as  a  place  of  discipline  and  preparation,  which  has  been 
already  indicated.  He  follows  out  as  a  movement  what  he  had  before 
regarded  as  a  condition.  The  endless  variety  in  the  situations  of  men, 
the  inequality  of  tlicir  material  and  moral  circumstances,  their  critical 
spiritual  differences,  nil  tend  to  show,  so  he  argues,  that  the  position  of 
each  has  been  determined  in  accordance  with  previous  conduct  And 
God  in  His  ineffable  wisdom  has  united  all  together  with  absolute  justice, 
so  that  all  these  crcatures,most  diverse  in  themselves, combineto  work  out 
His  purpose,  while  **  their  very  variety  tends  to  the  one  end  of  perfection." 


*  De  Prime,  i.  6,  2,  f. 


+  U,  i.  8.  4. 


J  ^cf.  i.  7;cf.  c.  CtU.  V.  10,11. 


492 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


All  tliinga  wore  made  for  tlic  sakf^  of  man  ami  rational  beings.*  It  is 
ihrougli  raan  therefore  that  this  world,  as  God's  work,  becomes  complete 
and  ]icrfcct.  The  individual  is  never  isolated,  though  he  is  never 
irrespousiUc.  At  every  moment  he  is  acting  and  acted  upon,  adding 
something  to  the  Bum  of  the  moral  forces  of  the  world,  furnishing  that 
out  of  whicli  God  is  fiilfdling  His  purjiose.  The  ilitHenlties  of  life,  as 
Origcn  regards  them,  give  scope  for  heroic  clfurt  and.  loving  service. 
The  fruits  of  a  moral  victory  bccorac  more  permanent  as  they  arc  gained 
throngli  liarder  toil.  The  obstacles  and  hiiidninces  by  which  niau  is 
hemmed  in  arc  incentives  to  exertion.  His  body  is  not  a  "  pnson"  in  the 
seuse  of  a  place  of  punishment  only;  it  is  a  beneficent  provision  for 
the  discipline  of  beings  to  whom  it  furnishes  such  salutary  restraints  as 
are  best  fitted  to  further  their  moral  growth.f 

Tliis  view  of  the  dependence  of  the  present  on  the  past — to  use  llic 
forms  of  human  speech — seemed  to  Origen  to  remove  a  diCBculty  which 
weighed  heavily  upon  thoughtful  men  in  the  first  age  as  it  has  weighed 
heavily  upon  thoughtful  men  lu  our  own  generation.  Very  many  said 
♦-^S^.  thcn^  what  one  of  the  most  influential  and  rigorous  philosophers  of 
modern  times  said  not  long  agt)  with  a  voice  from  the  gravcj  tliat  the 
sufferings  and  disparities  of  life,  the  contrasts  of  the  Law  and  the  Gospel, 
point  to  the  actiou  of  rival  spiritual  powers  or  to  a  Creator  limited  by 
something  external  to  Himself.  Not  so,  was  Origen's  reply  :  they 
simply  reveal  that  what  we  see  is  a  fragment  of  a  vast  system  in  which 
we  can  do  no  more  than  trace  tendencies,  convergences,  signs,  and  rest 
upon  the  historic  fact  of  the  lucaruutiou.  lu  this  respect  he  ventured 
to  regard  the  entire  range  of  being  as  "  one  thought"  answering  io  the 
absolutely  perfect  will  of  God,  while  *'  we  that  are  not  all,  as  parts  can 
sec  but  parts — now  this,  now  that."j: 

And  this  seems  to  me  to  be  the  true  meaning  of  his  famous  assertion 
that  the  power  of  God  in  creation  was  finite,  and  not  infinite.  It 
would;  that  is,  be  iuconsiiitcnt  with  our  ideas  of  perfect  order,  and  there- 
fore with  our  idea  of  the  Divine  Being,  that  the  sum  of  finite  existeuce 
should  not  form  one  whole.  "  God  made  all  things  in  number  and 
measure."  The  Omuipoteuee  of  God  is  dcrincd  (as  we  are  forced  to 
conceive)  by  the  absolute  Perfections  of  His  Nature.  "  He  cannot  deny 
Himself."§ 

But  it  may  be  objected  more  definitely  that  our  didicullies  do  not  lie 
only  in  the  circumstances  of  the  present :  that  the  issues  of  the 
present,  so  far  as  we  can  sec  them,  bring  tUfficulties  no  less  overwhelm- 
iug:  that  even  if  we  allow  that  this  world  is  fittetl  to  be  a  place 
of  discipline  for  fallen  l)eings  who  are  capable  of  recovery,  it  is 
only  too  evident  that  the  discipline  docs  not  always  work  amendment. 
Origen  admits  the  fact,  and  draws  from  it  the  conclusion  that  other 
aystema  of  penal  purification  and  moral  advance  follow.     According  to 


*  Ih  Prine.  ii.  1 ;  cf.  e.  CeU.  iv.  »». 
t  /rf  .ii.  6 :  9.  6. 


+  /./.  ii.  2. 
§  Id,  ii.  «.  I 


IV, 


Sfi. 


ORIGEN  AND  CNRISTL4i\  PHILOSOPHY. 


103 


him,  \TorUl  >rn>ws  out  of  world,  so  to  sprak,  till  lUc  coasumuiutiou  is 
i-eached.  What  U  the  uaturc,  or  position,  or  constitution  of  the  world 
to  come  he  does  not  attempt  to  define.  It  is  enough  to  believe  that  from 
first  to  last  the  will  of  Him  who  is  most  righteous  and  most  loving  is 
tiilfiUed  ;  and  that  each  loftier  region  gained  is  the  entrance  to  some 
still  more  glorious  abode  above,  so  that  all  being  becomes,  as  it  were^ 
in  the  highest  sense  a  journey  of  the  saints  from  mansion  to  mansion 
up  to  the  very  tlironc  of  God.* 

In  order  to  give  clearness  to  this  view,  Origen  follows  out  in  imagi- 
.lation  the  uormal  course  of  the  progressive  training,  purifying,  and 
illumination  of  men  iu  the  future.  He  pictures  them  passing  from 
sphere  to  sphere,  and  resting  in  each  so  as  to  receive  such  revelations 
of  the  providence  of  God  as  they  can  grasp ;  lower  phenomena  arc 
successively  explained  to  themj  and  higher  phenomena  are  indicated. 
As  they  look  backward  old  mysteries  are  illuminated;  as  they  look 
forward  unimagincd  mysteries  stir  their  souls  with  divine  desire,  Kver^'- 
where  their  Lord  is  with  tliem,  and  they  advance  from  strength  to  strength, 
through  the  perpetual  supply  of  spiritual  food.  This  food,  he  says,  is 
the  contemplation  and  understanding  of  God,  according  to  its  proper 
measure  in  each  case  and  ns  suits  a  nature  which  is  made  and  created. 
And  this  measni'c — this  due  harmony  and  proportion  between  aim  and 
power  (would  that  wc  could  remember  the  truth  !) — it  is  right  that  every 
one  should  regard  even  now  who  is  begiuuing  to  sec  God,  that  is,  to 
understand  Him  in  purity  of  henrt.f 

But  while  Origen  o|)ens  this  infinite  prospect  of  scene  upon  scene  to 
faith,  or  hope,  or  imagination — call  it  as  we  may — he  goes  on  to  sliow 
that  Scri{)ture  concentrates  our  attention  upon  the  next  scene,  summed 
up  in  the  wordsj  Resurrection,  Judgment,  Retribution.  Nowhere  is  he 
more  studiously  anxious  to  keep  to  the  teaching  of  the  Word  than  in 
dealing  with  these  cardinal  ideas.  For  him  the  Resurrection  is  not  the 
rcproduetioii  of  any  particular  organism,  but  the  preservation  of  complete 
identity  of  person,  an  identity  maintained  under  new  conditions,  uhich 
he  piTscnts  under  the  Apostolic  figure  of  tlie  growth  of  the  pinnt  from  the 
seed:  the  seed  iscommittedto  the  earth  and  perishes,  and  yet  the  vital  power 
which  it  contains  gathers  a  new  frame  answering  to  its  proper  nature. 
Judgment  is  no  limited  and  local  act,  but  the  unimpedetl  execution  of 
tlie  absolute  divine  law  l>y  which  the  man  is  made  to  feel  what  he  is 
and  what  he  has  become,  and  to  bear  the  inexorable  consequences  of 
rihe  revelation.  Punisliment  is  no  vengeance,  but  the  just  severity  of  a 
^righteous  King  by  which  the  soul  is  placed  at  least  on  the  way  of 
purification*  Blessedness  is  no  sensuous  joy  or  indolent  repose,  but  the 
tpcning  vision  of  the  divine  glory,  the  growing  insight  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  fulfilment  of  the  divine  counsels,  J 

In   the   third  book  Origen  discusses  the  moral  basis  of  his  system. 
This  lies  in  the  recognition  of  free-will  as  the  inalienable  endowment 

•  Ik  Pi'iuf.  ii.  10.  +  Jd,  ii.  1).  6  f.  t  Id   ii.  10. 


494 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW, 


of  rational  beings.  But  this  frpe-will  tloea  not  carry  with  it  the  power 
of  independent  nctiou,  but  only  t!ic  power  of  receiving  the  help  which 
is  extended  to  e^ch  acconliug  to  his  capacity  and  neetis,  and  therefore 
just  responsibility  for  the  consequences  of  action.  Such  free-will  oR'ers  a 
suEfieieut  explauation,  in  Origcn's  judgmeutj  for  Arhat  we  see^  and  gives  a 
stable  fouiulntion  for  what  wc  ho|»e.  It  places  sin  definitely  within  the  man 
himself,  and  not  without  him.  It  preserves  the  possibility  of  restoration 
while  it  enforces  the  penalty  of  failure.  "  God  said/' so  he  writes,  "  'Letua 
make  man  in  our  image,  after  our  likeness.'  Then  the  sacred  writer  adds, 
'And  Ood  made  mau  :  in  the  image  of  God  made  he  him.'  This  there- 
fore tliat  he  says,  '  In  the  image  of  God  made  he  hiro,'  while  lie  is 
silent  as  to  the  likeness,  has  no  other  meaning  thau  this,  that  mau 
received  the  dignity  of  the  image  at  his  first  creation  ;  while  the  per- 
feetiou  of  this  likeuess  is  kept  in  the  consummatiou  (of  all  things) ; 
that  is,  that  lie  should  himself  gaiu  it  by  the  efforts  of  liis  own  endea- 
vour, since  the  possibility  of  |)erfection  had  been  given  him  at  tlic 
first "* 

Such  a  doctriue,  he  shows,  gives  a  deep  solemnity  to  the  moral  con- 
flicts of  life.  Wc  cannot  even  to  the  last  plead  that  we  are  the  victims 
of  circumstances  or  of  the  evil  spirits,  llie  decision  in  each  case,  this 
way  or  that,  rests  with  ourselves,  yet  so  that  all  wc  have  and  are  truly 
is  the  gift  of  God.  Each  soul  obtains  from  the  object  of  its  love  the 
power  to  fulfil  His  will.  "  It  draws  and  takes  to  itself,"  he  says,  "  the 
Word  of  God  in  proportion  to  its  capacity  and  faith.  And  when  souls 
have  drawn  to  themselves  the  Word  of  God,  and  have  let  llim  penetrate 
their  senses  and  their  understandings,  and  have  perceived  the  sweetness 
of  His  fragrance,  ....  filled  Vrith  vigour  and  cheerfulness,  they  speed 

after  Him "t    Nor  can  I  forbear  to  atUl  that  such  a  doctrine,  so 

far  from  tending  to  Pelagiauism,  is  the  very  refutation  of  it.  It  lays 
down  that  the  csseuec  of  freedom  is  absolute  self-surrender;  that  the 
power  of  right  action  is  nothing  but  tlic  power  of  God.  Every  act  of 
man  is  the  act  of  a  free  being,  but  not  au  exercise  of  freedom;  if  done 
without  dependence  upon  God,  it  is  done  in  despite  of  freedom,  respon- 
sibly indeed,  but  under  adverse  constraint. 

The  decision  from  moment  to  moment^  Origen  maintains,  rests  with 
us,  but  not  the  end.  That  is  determined  from  the  first,  though  the 
conduct  of  creatures  can  delay  through  untold  ages  the  consummation 
of  all  things.  The  gift  of  being,  once  given,  abides  for  ever.  The 
rational  creature  is  capable  of  change,  of  better  and  worse,  but  it  can 
never  cease  to  be.  Wliat  mysteries,  however,  lie  behind,  what  is  the 
nature  of  the  spiritual  body  in  "which  we  shall  be  clothed,  whether  all 
that  is  finite  shall  be  gathered  up  in  some  unspeakable  way  into  the 
Absolute,  that  Origen  holds  to  be  beyond  our  miuds  to  conceive.^: 

As  the  third  book  deals  with  tlic  moral  basis  of  Origen's  system,  bo 
the   fourth   and   last  deals  with   its    dogmatic  basis.      This   order   of 


*  Dc  Princ,  iu,  0.  1. 


t  I»  Cant,  i^  t.  iu.  p.  41  B, 


J  De  Prlnr,  iii.  F. 


ORIGEN  AND  CHRISTIAX  PHILOSOPHY. 


N 


succession  in  the  treatise  is  unusual,  and  yet  it  in  intelligible.  It  moves 
from  the  univcreal  to  the  special ;  iVoni  that  which  is  most  abstract  to 
that  which  is  most  concrete;  from  the  heights  of  speculation  to  the  rule 
of  authority.  "  la  investijpitiuf;  such  great  subjects  as  these/*  Origen 
writes,  "  we  are  not  content  with  common  ideas,  and  the  clear  evidence 
of  what  we  see^  but  we  take  tcatimonieH  to  prove  what  we  atate^  even 
those  which  arc  drawn  from  the  Scriptures,  which  wc  bcHcve  to  be 
Divine."*  Thereforcj  in  conclusion,  he  examines  with  a  reverence,  an 
insight,  a  humility,  a  grandeur  of  feeling  never  surpassed,  the  questions 
of  the  inspiration  and  the  interpretation  of  the  Bible.  The  iutellcctual 
value  of  the  work  may  best  be  eiiaracterized  by  one  fact :  a  single 
sentence  taken  from  it  was  quoted  by  Butler  as  contaiuiug  the  germ  of 
his  "Analogy."" 

Such  is  the  main  outline,  as  far  as  I  am  able  to  trace  it,  of  Ongea^a 
philosophical  work.  It  will  be  obvious  at  first  sight  how  widely  it 
differs  from  mcdiaval  and  modern  expositions  of  the  "  first  principles'*  of 
the  Christian  Faith.  It  contains  very  little  technical  teaching.  It  is 
silent  as  to  the  Sacraments.  It  contains  no  theory  of  the  Atonement; 
no  teaching  ou  Justification.  Yet  it  does  deal  with  questions  which  arc 
felt  to  be  momentous,  and  which  everything  at  present  tends  to  bring 
again  into  prominence. 

In  this  aspect  there  are  several  points  of  great  interest  in  the  sketch 
which  can  hurdly  fail  to  have  been  noticed.  But  before  touching  ou 
these  it  will  be  well  to  mark  once  again  tlie  answcis  which  Origcn  gave 
to  the  questions  which  (as  wo  have  seen)  were  uppermost  in  the  contem- 
porary Schools  as  to  the  origin  of  finite  existences  and  of  evil. 

"  In  the  beginning,"  he  writes,  "  when  God  created  what  He  pleased  to 
create — that  is,  rational  natures — He  had  no  other  cause  of  creation 
beside  Himself — that  is,  His  own  goodne8s."t  And  the  rational 
creature*  which  He  made  were  all  alike,  for  there  was  no  cause  for 
difference,  but  they  were  inalienably  endowed  with  freedom  of  will ; 
and  this  freedom  of  will  led  either  to  their  advance  through  imitation 
of  God  or  to  their  declension  through  neglect  of  Him ;  and  hence  came 
the  present  order,  which  in  all  its  diversities  is  still  guided  by  Infinite 
Righteousness.! 

Evil,  it  follows,  is  negative,  the  loss  of  good  which  was  attainable : 
the  shadow  whicii  marks  the  absence,  or  rather  the  exclusion,  of  light 
The  creation  of  finite  rational  beings  by  the  free  act  of  God  involved 
the  creation  of  a  medium  through  which  they  could  give  expression  to 
their  character.  Such  a  medium  is  matter  in  its  boundless  subtle 
modifications.  While,  therefore,  the  expression  of  character  will  be 
dependent  upon  matter  within  certain  limits,  yet  man,  for  example,  is 
still  capable  of  receiving  and  giving  utterance  to  a  divine  revelation  as  a 
spiritual  being,  in  accordance  with  the  taws  of  his  present  organization. 

Briefly,  therefore,  Origen  aims  at  ginng  shape  to  two  great  thoughts 


•  De  Princ.  iv.  1  init. 


t  Id,  ii.  9.  <f ;  comp.  iv.  33. 


t  Id.  ii,  9.  (i. 


496 


THE    CONTEMPOl^ARV   REVIEW 


—(1)  that  the  whole  world  is  a  manifestation  of  the  goodness  and  right- 
'  eousucss  of  God  iti  every  detail ;  aud  [2)  tbat  the  moral  dcterniiiiailua 
of  each  individual  is  a  decisive  element  in  the  working  out  of  the  divine 
counsel. 

TLia  compound  conception  of  the  sum  of  finite  being  as  a  unity^ 
consistent  with,  or  rather  dependent  upon,  the  free  and  responsible 
action  of  each  individnal,  is  evidently  of  the  utmost  significance.  There 
can  be  none  greater.  Nor  does  it  lose  in  grandeur  when  we  go  on  lo 
consider  some  particnlar  points  in  Origcn's  treatment  of  it. 

The  iii*st  which  I  desire  to  mark  is  the  stress  which  Origeu  lays  upon 
the  moral  end  of  phil(jsoi)hy,  and  i>f  religion  as  Lite  supreme  philosophy. 
No  teacher  of  the  present  day  could  insist  with  greater  earnestness  upon 
the  importance  of  conduct  than  he  does.      There  is  absolutely  nothing 
in  which  he  docs  not  see  etliical  influences.      His  thought  wearies  itself 
in  following  out  the  efforts  of  action.      Without  perpetuating  the  associa- 
tions of  the  present  he  strives  to  give   definitcncss  to  our  conceptions  of 
I  the  continuity  of  the  spiritual  life.      He  carries   the  sense  of  responsi- 
bility up   to   the   highest  orders  of  finite   existence.      His   system   is  a 
system   of  absolute    idealism,  but   of  idealism   as   a   spring   for  action, 
"  God  cares,"   he  *ays,*  "  not  only  for  the  whole,  as  Celsua  thinks,  but 
beyond   the   whole   in   an   especial   manner    for   each    rational    being/' 
Thus  in  his  doctrine  of  the  re-incorporation  of   souls  there  is  nothing 
accidental,  notbiiig  capriciousj  as  in  Plato's  famous  Myth.     The  belief, 
iiccuniiiig  to    hinij   represents  to   hnuum   apprehension   a  judgment   of 
Infinite  Rightconsnea.s  e:?ccutcd  by  Infinite  Love.      It  is  an  embodiment, 
if  I  may  so  express  it,  of  two  principles  which  he  assumes  as  axioms — 
[  the  first  that  every  gift  of  God   is    perfect,  and   the   second    t)»at   God's 
'  gift  to  His  rational  creatures  was  not  virtue^  which  it  could  not  be  by 
I  the  nature   of  the  case,  but  the  c^ipacity  for  virtue. 

In  the  next  jdace,  Origeu  distinctly  claims  for  Christianity  that  it  is 
n  philosophy,  that  it  has  for  its  domain  every  human  interest  and 
powcl*,  that  it  is  capable  of  co-ordinating  all  thought  and  all  exi>erience. 
Faith  is  the  foundation  of  knowledge.  The  fact  that  our  results  on 
earth  will  be  to  the  last  fragmentary  and  tentative,  does  not  interfere 
with  the  reality  of  the  spirit  which  quickens  the  Gospel.  "Now"  he 
says,  "  we  seek  for  a  while,  /fwu  wc  fihall  sec  clearly/'f  But  both  in 
the  search  and  in  the  fruition  the  object  is  the  same.  The  fulness  of 
TVuth,  which  is  finally  nothing  less  than  a  manifold  revelation  of  God 
leading  up  to  absolute  fcSluwsliip  with  Him,  is  that  towards  whicli  the 
believer  is  led  by  the  Spirit  alike  through  thought  and  feeling  and 
action. 

As  a  necessary  consequence  he  insists,  in  the  third  place,  on  the  new 
(lata  which  arc  given  by  revelation  for  the  solution  of  the  problems  of 
philosophy.  Again  and  again  he  points  out  the  iusufiicieney  of  reason, 
of  the  iurlepeiuleut  faculties  of  man,  to  attain  to  that  towards  which  it 


c.  cV«.  iv.  IK'. 


+  Dc  Prim:  ii.  11.  6. 


ORJGEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY,  497 

is  turned.  Reason  enables  man  to  recognise  God  when  He  makes  Him- 
self kno\nij  to  receive  a  revelation  from  Him  in  virtue  of  his  aEHnity 
with  the  Divine  Word,  but  it  does  not  enable  the  creature  to  derive 
from  within  the  knowledge  for  which  it  longs.  It  follows  that  the  capacity 
for  knowing  God  belongs  to  man  as  man,  and  not  to  man  as  a  philoso- 
pher, Origcn  therefore  acknowledges  the  nobility  of  Plato's  words 
when  he  said  that  "it  is  a  hard  matter  to  find  out  the  Maker  and 
Father  of  the  universe,  and  impossible  for  one  who  has  found  Him  to 
declare  Him  to  all  men.''*  But  he  adds  that  Plato  affirms  too  much 
and  too  little.  As  Christians  "  we  declare  that  human  nature  is  not  in 
itself  competent  in  any  way  to  seek  God  and  find  Him  purely  without 
the  help  of  Him  who  is  sought,  nay,  of  Him  who  is  found  by  those  who 
confess,  after  they  have  done  all  in  their  power,  that  they  have  yet  ne.  d 
of  Him " 

The  Platonic  passage  here  quoted  was  indeed  one  in  which  the  Chris- 
tian Apologist  rightly  felt  that  an  essential  contrast  between  Gentile  and 
Christian  philosophy  was  expressed  ;t  aud  I  cannot  but  add  Clement's 
comment  on  the  words.  "  Well  said,  Plato,  you  have  touched  the  truth ; 
but  do  not  faint  in  thy  efforts :  join  with  me  in  the  search  for  the  good; 
for  in  all  men  absolutely,  and  in  a  special  way  in  those  who  occupy 
themselves  \fith  the  discussion  of  great  questions  (irtpt  \6yovc),  a  divine 
effluence  hath  been  instilled.  .  .  ."  "  Philosophy,"  he  says  elsewhere, 
"  seeks  for  the  truth  and  the  nature  of  things ;  and  this  is  the  Truth, 
of  which  the  Lord  said,  I  am  the  Truth."t 

Such  is  the  true  position  of  the  Christian  philosopher.  He 
accepts  gladly  all  the  consequences  which  can  be  deduced  frY)m 
the  intellectual  constitution  of  man,  and  from  man's  observation  of 
nature;  but  he  affirms  beside  that  God  has  made  known  something  of 
Himself.  And  in  this  affirmation  there  is  nothing  at  variance  with  the 
principles  of  philosophy.  If  it  be  true  that  there  are  three  ultimate 
existences  of  which  the  reahty  is  equally  incapable  of  proof  and  dis- 
proof,— self,  the  world,  and  God, — we  may  expect  that  we  shall  gain  know- 
ledge as  to  each,  not  in  the  same  way,  but  in  different  and  correspond- 
ing ways.  It  is  just  as  much  in  harmony  with  the  spiritual  faculty  that 
man  should  be  able  to  receive  communications  from  God,  as  it  is  in 
harmony  with  his  sensuous  faculties  that  he  should  receive  impressions 
from  the  world  without.  "  The  soul  has  its  sense  no  less  than  the 
body.''  And  if  this  be  so,  the  sense  of  the  soul  must  be  trained  that 
it  may  receive  right  impressions  from  the  objects  to  which  it  is  directed. 
Aristotle  spoke  of  "  an  eye  of  experience,"  which  is  sharpened  by  the 
practical  conduct  of  affairs.  Origen  may  be  said  to  require  "  an  eye  of 
holiness"  for  the  vision  of  the  purest  Truth. 

This  characteristic  of  Origen's  teaching  places  his  views  on  conduct 
in  a  new  light.  Bight  action  is  not  only  a  necessity  for  the  moulding 
of  the  character  after  the  Divine  likeness;  it  is  also  a  necessity  for  the 

*  e.  Cdi.  vii.  43.     f  Clem.  Alex.  OoAorf.  §  68,  p.  59.    %  Clem.  Alex.  Strom.  1 6,  p.33A 

•  VOL.  XXXV,  K  K 


498 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


progressive  reception  of  ibe  Divine  revelation.  Morality,  in  tlie  largest 
sense  of  the  word,  is  bound  to  Tlicology  as  a  condition  of  knowledge. 
'*  The  pure  iu  heart  see  God/'  and  see  Him  "with  a  clearness  answering 
to  their  growth  in  purity.* 

A  fourth  point  in  Origen's  ti*eatise  is  the  intense  reality  with  whieh 
he  invests  the  spiritual  world.  He  already  lives  and  moves  in  it. 
External  objects^  peoples,  cities,  are  to  him  veils  and  symbols  of  invisible 
things,  Phenomena  arc  shadows^  and  he  looks  upon  the  substauees  by 
which  they  are  cast.  He  cheerfully  admiti*  every  liiudrance  wLich  besets 
us  now,  but  reaches  out  to  the  state  when  they  will  exist  no  longer. 
Hence  comes  the  earnestness  with  which  he  combats  every  tendency 
to  unite  iudissolubly  pr.'.'cnt  conditions  with  the  fiiturc,  or  to 
trust  to  deductions  drawn  from  the  temporal  and  local  limitations  of 
human  observation.  The  grossucss  of  Millcuariauism  filled  him  with 
alarm.  And  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  writings  and  influence  of 
TertuUinn  will  know  that  Origeu's  opposition  to  materialism  in  every 
form  was  called  for  by  pressing  dangers.  Perhaps  we  have  even  yet 
hardly  realised  what  u  heavy  burden  of  materialistic  conceptions  we  have 
ourselves  inherited  from  African  theology  whicli  Origen  set  aside  by 
antici[>ation. 

But  while  Origen  affirms  with  the  utmost  force  the  spirituality  of  the 
unseen  world,  and  contends  against  the  popular  transference  of  the 
thoughts  which  belong  to  this  order  of  being  to  another,  bo  aflSrms  with 
equal  distinctness  that  we  have  to  do  there  with  a  world  of  persons  aud 
not  of  abstractions.  \Vhcre  he  is  in  one  sense  most  Platonic,  he  is  in 
another  sense  most  opposed  to  Plato  and  the  Keo-Piatonists.  He  pre- 
serves and  intensifies  every  moral  relation  in  that  loftier  sphere.  Nothing 
is  lost  there,  but  all  is  ennobled.  A  single  illustration  will  show  the 
wisdom  of  his  judgment. 

No  one  of  his  opinions  was  more  vehemently  assailed  than  his 
teaching  on  the  Iteaurrectiou.  Even  his  early  aud  later  apologists  were 
perplexed  in  their  defence  of  him.  Yet  there  is  no  point  on  which  his 
insight  was  more  conspicuous.  By  keeping  strictly  to  the  Apostolic 
language  he  anticipated  results  which  wc  have  hanliy  yet  secured.  He 
saw  that  it  is  "  the  spirit''  which  moulds  the  frame  through  which  it  is 
manifested :  that  the  body  is  the  same,  not  l)y  any  material  continuity, 
but  by  the  permanence  of  that  which  gives  the  law,  the  "  ratio"  as  he 
I  calls  itj  of  its  constitntion.t  Our  opi»onents  say  now  that  this  idea  is  a 
I  late  refinement  of  doctrine  forced  upon  us  by  the  exigencies  of  contro- 
versy. The  answer  is  that  no  exigencies  of  controversy  brought  Origen  to 
his  conclusion.  It  was,  in  his  judgment,  the  clfi?ir  teaching  of  St.  Paul, 
I  will  notice  only  one  point  more.  He  held,  as  we  have  just  seen,  that 
age  J8  linked  with  age  under  the  laws  of  a  divine  growth.  As  a  neces- 
sary consequence  the  secular  periods  which  he  imagines  arc  not  like  the 
"great  ages"  of  the  Stoics,  fated  periods  of  recurrcnccj  in    which  the 

•  Comp.  c.  CW».  iv.  80;  v.  43;  vL  2.  f  Comp.  Fi-offm.  de  Rcsutr.  lib.  ii.  1. 1.  p.  54IL 


ORIGEX  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY 


499 


old  drama  of  existence  is  played  out  again;*  or  the  still  stranger  repeti- 
tions of  the  past  in  a  reversed  onler,  such  as  Plato  imagined  in  his 
"  Politicus ;"  but  stages  in  a  majestic  progress.  This  vast  movement,  this 
magnificent  and  sure  growth,  seemed  to  him  not  only  to  be  consistent 
with,  but  to  answer  to,  the  action  of  Providence,  and  the  fact  of  free- 
dom in  every  particular  life.  "  God  cares  for  each,"  he  says,  to  continue 
a  passage  which  I  began  to  quote  before,  "  nor  will  He  ever  abandon  the 
whole.  For  even  if  it  should  become  worse  through  the  sin  of  ratioual 
beings,  who  arc  a  part  of  itj  lie  administers  it  so  as  to  purify  it,  aud 
after  a  time  to  turn  it  to  Himself  "f  Such  a  unity,  which  he  cannot 
distinctly  shape,  extends,  as  he  believed,  to  the  whole  mau,  to  the  M'hole 
world,  to  the  whole  order  of  fiuitu  beiugs.  '*  The  end,"  he  says,  "  is 
always  like  the  beginning.  .  .  .  From  one  beginning  arose  many  differ- 
ences and  varieties,  which  again,  through  the  goodness  of  God,  and  sub- 
jection to  ChrLit  and  unity  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  are  recalled  to  one 
end.  .  .  J'X  That  beginning  and  that  end  eau  be,  he  allows,  apprehended 
by  no  created  nature,  neither  by  man  nor  by  angels.  Yet  He  yearns  to- 
wards the  thought  which  cannot  be  made  distiuct.  And  when  ditliculties 
crowd  in  upon  him  which  he  cannot  solve,  he  falls  back  upon  the  words 
of  St.  Paul,  which  appear  to  him  to  crown  hope  with  the  assurance  of  a 
fulfilment:  "God  shall  be  all  in  all." 

Tliose  who  have  followed  so  far  the  opinions  which  I  have  tried  to 
auramarizc,  will  have  felt,  I  believe,  that  if  there  is  much  in  them  to 
startle,  there  is  much  also  in  them  to  move  and  to  humble  aud  to 
elevate.  It  does  not  fall  within  my  scope  to  discuss  the  opinions  or  to 
point  out  the  inconsistencies  aud  want  of  proportion  which  mar  the 
treatise  from  which  they  have  been  drawn.  1  cannot  even  touch,  as  I 
could  have  wished  to  do,  on  Origcn's  central  error  of  excessive  Transeeu- 
deutalism;  but  auch  errors  are  not  likely  to  be  underrated  at  present.  It 
seems  to  me  that  we  have  more  to  learn  than  to  fear  from  the  study  of 
Origeu's  writings.  With  all  his  faults  aud  shortcomings,  he  is  the  greatest 
representative  of  a  type  of  Greek  Christian  thought  which  has  not  yet 
done  its  work  in  the  West.  By  his  sympathy  with  all  effort,  by  hia  i 
largeness  of  view,  by  hia  combination  of  a  noble  morality  with  a  deep 
mysticism,  he  indicates,  if  he  does  not  bring,  the  true  remedy  for  the 
evils  of  that  Africanism  which  has  been  dominant  in  Europe  since  the 
time  of  Augustine. 

No  fact,  I  think,  is  sadder  in  the  history  of  religious  thought  than 
that  Augustine  had  no  real  knowledge  of  Greek.  He  remarks  in  his 
"  Confessioufl"  that  he  can  hardly  tell  why  he  shrank  from  the  study  of 
the  language. §     The  reason  probably  was  in  the  very  conatitutiou  of 

I  his  nature.     Augustine  was  a  Latin  thinker,  and  more  than  a  Latin — an 

African.      He  looked  at  every  thiiag   from  the  side   of  law    aud   not  of 

[  freedom ;  from  the  side  of  God,  as  an  irresponsible  Sovereign,  and  not  of 

■ 


•  €.  OeU  V.  20,  f.  f  e,  CeU.  W.  f»9  ;  cf.  Ve  Princ.  ii.  1.2;  i,  0.  2. 

t  De  Princ.  i.  6.  2.  $  Lib.  i.  U. 

R   K   2 


500 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW 


man,  as  a  loving  servant.  In  spite  of  Lis  admiratiou  for  Plato  he  was 
driven  by  a  passion  for  system  to  fix,  to  extenialize,  to  freeze  every  idea 
into  a  rigid  shape.  In  spite  of  his  genius  be  could  not  shake  off  the 
influence  of  a  legal  and  rhetorical  training,  -whieh  controversy  called 
into  active  exercise.  The  successive  formR  of  his  belief  were  a  manifes- 
tation of  his  essential  character.  To  the  last  be  bore  within  him  that 
which  once  had  made  him  a  Manicbaiau.  The  argument  by  which  he 
trusted  to  win  men  for  the  Church  was  a  coarse  representation  of  future 
rewards  and  punishments.  The  centre  of  bis  whole  dogmatic  theory  is 
sin.  In  his  greatest  work  he  writes  *^  Of  the  City  of  God/'  and  he  draws 
at  the  same  time  the  portraiture  of  a  rival  "  city  of  the  devil,"  equally 
stable  and  enduring. 

Few  contrasts  indeed  can  be  more  striking  than  that  oflcrcd  by  tlic 
two  philosophies  of  Christianity  (as  they  may  be  called)  of  Origen  and 
Augustine,  of  the  East  and  ^VcstJ  of  Alexandria  and  Hippo.  The  treatise 
"  On  First  Principles,"  and  the  treatise  "  On  the  City  of  God,"  were  both 
written  by  men  of  commanding  power  and  of  unquestioning  faith. 
Both  reach  back  to  an  ideal  beginning  which  expresses  a  conception  of 
the  innermost  law  of  the  present  order,  and  forward  to  an  ideal  end  which 
expresses  the  fulness  of  hope.  Both  extend  o\'cr  the  whole  range  of 
history.  Both  ehiiui  the  authority  of  Scripture  for  their  foundation. 
But  here  the  resemblance  ends.  The  two  are  profoundly  diflercnt  in 
form  and  in  spirit.  Tlie  treatise  of  Origen  deals  with  truths  so  that  they 
are  in  danger  of  being  lost  in  tlioughts :  the  treatise  of  Augustine  deals 
with  truths  so  that  they  are  boimd  by  the  limiting  form  of  facts.  Here 
awe  prevails,  and  there  assertion.  Over  the  one  there  hangs  a  strange 
mystery,  half  liglit  and  half  darkness  j  and  sight  is  lost  in  the  endeavour 
to  follow  the  h;iig-dr,awn  vista  of  successive  scenes  faintly  indicated 
before  and  behind.  In  the  other  every  image  is  fixed  with  a  firm, 
sharp  pencil;  the  picture  is  bounded  on  this  side  and  that:  the  divine 
symbolism  of  Genesis  and  of  the  Apocalypse  is  converted  into  a  most 
literal  description  of  that  which  has  been  and  whieh  shall  be.  lu  Origen 
there  is  a  feeling,  not  very  clearly  defined,  that  the  history  both  "of  the 
nations  "  and  of  "  the  people  "  is  charged  with  moi'al  lessons  of  permanent 
meaning  ;*  that  there  is  carried  forward  from  age  to  age  an  education  of 
tlie  world  for  eternity.  In  Augustine  history  is  a  mere  succession  of 
external  events  ;  the  Divine  teaching  through  heathendom  lies  in  the 
utterances  of  the  Sibyls  and  not  in  the  course  of  Empires.  For  Origen, 
in  spite  of  his  idealism,  life  has  a  moral  significance  of  iucalculable 
value :  for  Augustine,  in  spite  of  his  realism,  life  is  a  mere  show,  in 
which  actors  fulfil  the  parts  irrevocably  assigned  to  them.  The  Alex- 
andrine cannot  rest  without  looking  forward  to  a  final  unity  which  still 
he  confesses  more  than  once  that  lie  is  unable  to  grasp  :  the  iVfrican 
acquiesces  without  a  difliculty  in  an  abiding  dualism  in  the  future, 
which  must  seem  to  other  minds  not  less  oppressive  to  the  moral  sense 
thfiu  the  absolute  dualism  of  Maui. 

•  cf.c.  Cfj#.  V.  ao. 


ORIGEN  AND  CHRISTIAN  PHILOSOPHY 


mi 


In  indicating  those  contrasts,  T  am  far  from  wishing  to  exalt  Origeu  at 
the  cost  of  Augustine.  In  spite  of  popular  judgment  I  cannot  think  that 
the  book  "  On  the  City  of  God"  presents  Augustine  under  his  noblest 
aspect.  Isolated  passages  of  singular  beauty  seem  to  me  to  be  insufficient 
to  counteract  the  general  want  of  sympathy  which  it  displays  for  the 
progress  and  the  destiny  of  mankind.  On  the  otlier  hand,  the  very 
grandeur  of  the  hope  which  inspires  Origen's  essay  "  On  First  Principles" 
perhaps  blinds  the  reader  to  the  errors  which  accompany  it.  And  in 
judging  the  works  of  the  two  great  Fathers  we  must  not  forget  the 
positions  which  they  occupied.  They  were  the  representatives  of  two 
ages,  of  two  crises. 

Origen,  standing  in  the  meeting-place  of  struggling  thoughts,  knew 
that  he  had  that  to  speak  which  could  harmonize  and  satisfy  every 
spiritual  aspiration  of  man  :  an  answer  to  the  despair  of  tlie  West,  which 
saw  in  man's  good  an  unattainable  ideal ;  an  answer  to  the  despair  of 
the  East,  which  saw  in  man's  way  a  vain  delusion.  Augustine,  under 
the  cruel  pi*essurc  of  barbarian  invasion,  was  called  upon  to  pronounce 
sentence  on  the  old  world,  and  to  vindicate  Christianity  from  the  charge 
of  social  disorganization.  The  one  was  the  interpreter  of  a  universal 
hope;  the  other  was  the  interpreter  of  a  secular  overthrow. 

We  may  go  further,  and  venture  to  say  that  the  Africanism  of  Augustine 
was,  in  the  order  of  Providence,  a  salutary  preparation  for  the  discipline 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  It  was  fitted  by  its  partial  trutlis  to  deal  effec- 
tively with  the  problems  which  then  came  to  the  front.  But  it  is  partial, 
and  its  defects  lie  in  those  regions  of  physical  and  moral  speculation 
which  now  attract  the  most  devout  minds.  Over  the  questions  with 
which  wc  have  now  to  deal  Augustine  can  no  longer  hold  dominion,  and 
the  shadow  of  his  power  is  perilous  to  the  growth  of  Truth.  But 
in  saying  this  I  am  too  sensible  of  the  faults  of  Origen  to  wish  to  raise 
him  to  the  vacant  tliroue.  None  the  less  it  will  be  Mell  for  us  to 
remember  what  he  found  in  the  Bible,  and  how  he  interj)rcted  the 
message  of  the  Faith,  when  as  yet  there  was  no  pressure  from  the 
forces  which  bear  most  heavily  upon  ourselves.  In  this  respect  both  as 
a  theologian  and  as  a  philosopher  he  has  still  a  work  to  do. 

I  do  not,  however,  as  I  said  before,  dwell  upon  his  opinions.  I  do  de- 
sire to  insist  upon  his  principles  and  his  spirit.  To  this  end,  we  must 
regard  his  teaching  as  not  so  much  a  system  as  an  aspiration.  AVclcomcd 
as  an  aspiration,  it  can,  I  believe,  do  us  good  service.  We  are  inclined 
to  underrate  the  practical  effect  of  wide  thoughts  and  of  great  ideals.  But 
life  is  impoverished  and  action  is  enfeebled  for  the  lack  of  them.  And 
I  can  hardly  imagine  that  any  one  can  picture  to  himself  what  Origen 
meant  when  he  offered  liis  spectacle  of  the  moral  continuity  and  des- 
tination of  being  j  when  he  imaged  the  spiritual  antitypes  of  outward 
things ;  when  he  interpreted  the  sorrows  and  sadnesses  of  the  world  as 
part  of  a  vast  scheme  of  purificatory  chastisement ;  when  he  concentrated 
every  line  of  study  upon  the  interpretation  of  the  Divine  oracles ;  when 


502 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


lie  reckoned  the  fuller  insifirlit  into  the  mysteries  of  Nature  as  one  of  the 
joys  of  a  future  state;  wheu  he  made  liie  love  of  truth,  in  all  its  ampli- 
tude and  in  all  its  depths  the  last  passion  of  rational  creatures,  and 
affirmed  that  the  instinct  could  not  for  ever  want  its  satisfat-tion  ;  without 
feeling  that  there  is  in  worship  a  personal  Divine  communion,  which  he 
fails  too  often  to  realize;  tLat  there  is  in  the  Bible  a  significance  which 
he  is  apt  to  overlook ;  that  there  is  iu  life  a  majesty  and  a  promise 
whieli  ho  cannot  see  till  he  rises  above  the  confused  turmoil  of  the  day. 

The  end  of  Pliilosophy  is  Truth  ;  not  in  one  region  but  in  all;  Truth 
apprehended,  if  it  may  be,  in  its  highest  unity.  The  name  of  Christianity  is 
Truth  J  aud  I  tliiuk  that  I  Liivc  shown  that  the  first  great  writer  wlio  en- 
deavoured to  face  the  question  affirmed,  with  unquestioning  belief,  that 
Christianity  is  the  fulfilment  of  Philosophy.*  Human  wisdom,  he  says, 
is  the  school  of  the  soul :  Divine  wisdom  is  the  end.  Faith,  knowledge, 
wisdom — that,  in  his  judgment,  is  the  order  of  spiritual  growth.  The 
immediate  issue  was  not  in  the  direction  to  which  he  pointed.  But  he 
expresacd  and  preserved  the  thoughts  of  an  age  which  was  to  pass  away 
under  new  forces.  We  now  seem  to  be  entering  again  upon  the  con- 
troversy which  he  supported.  We  are  his  heirs,  fie  has  left  ns  the  duty 
of  maintaining  his  conclusions  in  a  later  age,  and  with  richer  materials 
at  our  command.  He  has  left  us  ulao  the  example  of  a  life  great,  I  will 
dare  to  say,  by  unsurpassed  self-sacrifice.  He  has  left  us  the  encourage- 
ment of  a  faith  which  carried  him  through  a  life  of  martyrdom — a  faith 
that  all  things  arc  ours,  bccauee  all  things  are  Christ's. 

Origcn  may  have  erred,  I  think  he  did  err,  on  many  points ;  but  he 
never  lost  sight  of  the  true  ground  and  method  and  end  of  the  Christian 
revelation,  and  so  of  Christian  thought.  His  view  of  life  was  imperfect, 
but  not  his  view  of  the  relation  of  religion  to  life.  He  strove,  with 
however  many  failures,  to  recognise  all  the  facts  of  reflection  and  ex- 
perience, and  to  present  in  an  intelligible  union  man,  the  world,  and 
God.  In  an  age  of  conflict  and  weariucsa  he  was  animated  by  the 
strain  of  unremitting  labour,  and  the  consciousness  of  an  approaching 
victory.  His  faith  was  catholic,  and  therefore  he  welcomed  every  kind 
of  knowledge  as  tributary  to  its  fulness.  His  faith  was  living,  and  there- 
fore lie  was  assured  thiit  no  age  could  seal  any  expression  of  doctrine  as 
complete.  From  his  time  the  best  thought  niid  the  best  literature 
of  the  West  has  been  Christian,  or  profoundly  influenced  by  Christianity. 
And  still,  atler  sixteen  hundred  years,  we  have  not  yet  made  good  the 
positions  which  he  marked  out  as  belonging  to  the  domain  of  Christian 
philosophy. 

£rooes  F.  Westcott. 


♦  c.  CtU  vi.  13. 


THE  NEW  BULGARIA 


E  principle  of  the  divine  right  of  Kiugs  has  given  way  of  late  ycursi 
to  that  of  the  divine  right  of  Nationalities;  and  the  attention  of 
the  world  has  been  drawn  to  facts  of  history  whicli  had  long  escaped  tlie 
notice  of  philosophers.  It  is  no  longer  an  accepted  truth  that  nations, 
like  individuals,  are  born,  attain  maturity,  grow  old,  and  die.  This  may 
be  true  of  empires,  but  distinctions  of  race  and  nationality  survive  the 
overthrow  of  kingdoms.  The  Jews  arc  riot  the  only  people  who  have 
maintained  a  separate  national  existence  under  the  most  unfavourable 
circumstances.-  Tlie  case  of  the  Armenians  is  almost  a^  remarkable; 
and  tlie  Greeks  have  survived  the  Persian,  Macedonian^  Roman,  and  Otto- 
man Empires  to  reappear  in  the  nineteenth  century,  very  little  changed 
from  what  they  were  when  Homer  sang  the  legend  of  the  Trojan  war. 
And  now  another  nation,  whose  very  name  had  been  almost  forgotten, 
is  rousing  itself  from  the  sleep  of  centuries  to  assert  its  returning  vitality. 
The  facts  in  regard  to  this  national  awakening  have  been  obscured  by  the 
political  interests  involved  in  the  events  of  the  past  few  years,  and  have 
been  strangely  misrepresented  by  interested  parties.  The  telegraph, 
the  correspondent,  and  the  consul  have  combined  to  fix  the  attention  of 
the  world  upon  atrocities — suffered  or  committed — rather  than  upon  the 
essential  facts  of  history.  But  the  time  has  come  when  the  politician 
as  well  as  the  philosopher  should  understand  the  origin  and  developnicct 
of  this  national  movement.  The  latter  may  find  new  facts  upon  which 
to  base  a  theory  in  regard  to  the  survival  of  nations ;  and  possibly  the 
former  may  see  that  diplomatic  intrigue  is  not  the  only  cause  of  political 
changes. 

Some  fifteen  hundred  years  ago  there  existed  a  Bulgarian  kingdom  on 
the  banks  of  the  Volga.  Whence  these  Bulgarians  came,  who  they 
were,  and  why  they  were  called  by  this  name,  cannot  be  certainly  known ; 


604 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


but  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  they  >verc  of  Finnish  origin.  Their 
kingdom  lasted  up  to  the  time  of  the  Alougol  invasion  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  The  rains  of  the  ancient  rity  of  Bulgar  still  exist,  and  the 
Czar  of  Russia  still  hears  the  title  of  Prince  of  Bulgaria.  Nothing  ia 
certainly  known  of  their  language,  except  that  a  document  exists,  of  the 
eighth  century,  in  which  a  Bulgarian  king  demands  interpreters  who  can 
speak  both  Bulgarian  aud  Slavic.  This  would  seem  to  prove  that  the 
languages  were  not  the  same. 

During  the  lattcrhalf  of  the  seventh  century  a  portion  of  the  Bulgarians 
of  the  Volga  left  their  homes,  under  the  leadership  of  the  Krai  Asparuch, 
and  emigrated  to  the  West.  They  crossed  the  Danube  about  G80  a.o,, 
and  occupied  the  country  as  far  as  the  Balkans.  It  was  at  that  time 
nominally  under  the  rule  of  Constantinople,  and  was  peopled  by  Slavic 
tribes.  It  does  not  appear  that  any  serious  effort  was  made  by  the 
Greeks  to  repel  these  invaders,  and  the  people  submitted  to  the  rule  of 
Aspanich ;  but^  as  lias  often  happened  in  these  national  migrations,  the 
native  element  proved  to  be  the  stronger ;  the  Bulgarian  language 
disappeared,  and  the  people  were  amalgamated  into  a  single  nation; 
retaining  the  name  of  the  conquerors,  aud  hut  little  else.  This  new 
Bulgarian  nation  was  converted  to  Christianity  about  the  year  860  by 
the  two  Slavic  apostles,  Cyril  the  theologiau,  and  Methodius  the  paintefj 
who  afterwai'ds  converted  the  Slaves  of  Bohemia.  These  monks  were 
natives  of  Salouiea,  and  the  story  of  their  mission  to  King  Boris  is  too 
well  known  to  be  repeated  here.  It  was  the  skill  of  the  painter,  who 
pictun^il  the  Day  of  Judgment,  rather  than  the  arguments  of  the 
theologian.,  which  converted  the  king,  and  through  him  the  nation. 

Tlie  capital  of  the  kingdom  at  that  time  was  Preslava,  a  city  near 
Shumla.  There  is  no  connected  history  of  the  Bulgarian  Kingdom,  a 
fact  which  is  less  surprising  when  we  reflect  how  little  is  known  of 
the  Byzantine  Empire,  even  of  events  like  the  sieges  of  Constantinople 
by  the  Saracens,  whose  defeat  saved  Europe  from  Mohammedanism; 
but  many  important  facts  in  regard  to  the  Bulgarians  may  be  gleaned 
from  Byzantine  history  aud  from  Slavic  writers.  The  first  Bulgarian 
Krai  who  assumed  the  title  of  King  was  Tcrbcl,  who  was  rewarded  by 
the  Emperor  of  Constantinople  with  the  title  of  Casar,  about  the  year 
715,  for  the  service  which  he  had  rendered  in  defeating  the  Saracens. 
The  Emperor  Niccphorus  invaded  Bulgaria  in  81 1^  but  was  defeated 
near  Shiimla  by  King  Krum  and  slain,  with  many  of  his  nobles.  Two 
years  later  Krum  appeared  before  the  walls  of  Constantinople  and 
ravaged  the  surrounding  country.  In  913,  Simeon,  the  greatest  of  the 
Bulgarian  kings,  besieged  Constantinople,  and  compelled  the  Greeks  to 
submit  to  the  terms  of  peace  which  he  imposed.  Uc  ruled  over 
Bulgaria,  Thrace,  Scrvia,  and  Croatia.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  century 
the  Greeks  conquered  the  country,  but  it  was  almost  immediately  freed 
by  Kint^  Samuel,  whose  capital  was  at  Ochrida  in  Macedonia,  and  who 
waged  a  tierce  war  with  the  Empire  for  nearly  forty  years.     The  Greeks 


THE   NEW  BULGARIA. 


505 


finally  trluiuplicd  iu  1010  under  the  Emperor  Basil,  who  was  suraamcd  the 
"Slayer  of  the  Bulgarians."  It  was  he  who  put  out  the  eyes  of  15,000 
Bulgarian  prisoners^  leaving  one  in  each  huudrcd  with  a  single  eye  to 
conduct  his  blind  companions  home.  For  nearly  a  hundred  and  seventy 
years  the  Bulgarian  Kingdom  was  more  or  less  under  the  control  of 
tlie  Empire^  hut  no  efieetual  measures  were  taken  to  hring  the  people  under 
the  yoke  of  the  law^  and  it  became  independent  again  in  1186  under  King 
Assen,  whose  capital  was  Tirnova.  Tliis  king  utterly  routed  the  armies 
of  the  Emperor  Isaac  Angelns,  and  compelled  him  to  recognize  his  iu- 
dci)cndcnce.  The  kingdom  was  consolidated  by  the  skill  and  power  of  Ivan, 
the  successor  of  AsseUj  who  is  known  in  European  history  as  Calo-Johu, 
or  John  the  Handsome.  He  detcrmiued  to  cut  every  link  which  bound 
him  to  Constantinople,  and  sent  an  embassy  to  Pope  Innocent  III.j 
from  whom  he  received  a  royal  title  and  a  Latin  archbishop ;  but  in 
1205j  disgusted  at  the  pretensions  of  Baldwin,  the  Latin  Emperor  of 
Constantinople,  he  allied  himself  with  the  Greeks,  defeated  the  Latins, 
took  Bahlwin  prisoner,  and  held  him  until  his  death,  in  spite  of  the 
orders  and  prayera  of  the  Pope,  lie  also  defeated  and  killed  Boniface, 
King  of  Salonica. 

His  successor,  Ivau  Assen  II.,  besieged  Constantinople  and  carried  on 
incessant  wars,  now  with  the  Greeks  and  now  with  the  Latins,  seeking 
to  weaken  both  and  seize  the  Empire  of  the  East  for  himself ;  but  his 
sudden  death  in  I2i!l  put  an  end  to  his  ambitious  schemes;  and  a 
stronger  than  Greek  or  Bulgarian  was  soon  to  appear  and  subdue  them 
both.  The  last  of  the  Bulgarian  kings  was  Ivau  Shishman  (Shishman 
is  a  Turkish  word,  meaning  "fat "),  who,  after  resisting  the  Turks,  some- 
times by  craft  and  sometimes  on  the  battle-field,  was  finally  captured  in 
iiis  last  stronghold  on  the  Danube  in  1303.  His  kingdom  was  annexed 
to  the  new  Ottoman  Empire. 

No  nation  was  ever  more  thoroughly  conquered.  For  almost  500 
years  they  submitted  quietly  to  the  Turkish  rule,  and  there  is  no  rccoi-d 
of  any  effort  on  their  part  to  throw  it  off  and  regain  their  independence. 
Many  of  them  became  Mohammedans,  and  are  now  known  as  Pomaks, 
but  most  of  them  submitted  to  every  indignity  rather  than  give 
up  their  Christian  faith.  At  the  time  of  the  Greek  revolution  some 
efforts  were  made  by  the  Bulgarians  to  aid  the  Greeks,  and  when  the 
Russians  occupied  the  country,  some  "  atrocities"  were  committed  upon 
the  Turks  in  several  towns,  but  there  was  nothing  which  could  be  called 
a  rebellion.  There  was  not  even  an  inclination  to  aid  the  Russians. 
^•Vll  life  and  hope  had  been  crushed  out  of  the  people  by  the  weight  of 
the  Turkish  yoke. 

The  ecclesiastical  history  of  these  centuries  may  be  told  in  a  few 
words.  King  Boris,  after  his  conversion,  negotiated  with  Rome  and 
Constantinople,  but  finally  accepted  an  arclibishop  from  the  Patriarch. 
In  the  time  of  Simeon  there  was  a  Bulgarian  Patriarch  at  Preslava, 
independent  of  Constantinople.     Samuel   transferred   the  Patriarch  to 


606 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


Oclirida.  Asscn  recognized  the  Pope,  and  received  a  Latin  archbishop 
at  Tirnova.  At  the  time  of  the  Turkish  cojiquest,  the  Patriai'cb,  who 
was  again  of  the  Ortliodox  Churchj  was  transferred  to  Ochrida,  where 
he  continued  until  1777,  when  the  Patriarch  of  Constantinople  suc- 
ceeded, by  intrigues  with  the  Turks,  in  securing  the  abolition  of  this  sec, 
annexing  it  to  his  own  jurisdiction.  This  was  the  end  of  the  Bulgarian 
Chiirch,  which  survived  the  Kingdom  almost  four  hundred  years,  and 
was  no  doubt  the  means  of  preserving  the  Bulgarian  nation  from 
destruction.  It  is  believed  by  many  that  the  absorptiou  of  the  Bulgarian 
Church  was  a  part  of  a  fjrand  scheme  for  IlcUenizing  all  the  Christians 
of  European  Turkey,  to  prepare  the  way  fur  a  restoration  of  the  Greek 
Empire.  This  is  possible,  for  this  idea  has  been  cherished  by  the  Greeks 
ever  since  the  fall  of  Constautinople  j  but  those  who  arc  acquainted  with 
the  luatory  of  the  Patriarchate  Mill  be  more  iueliued  to  believe  that  the 
immediate  motive  was  a  desire  to  increase  the  revenue  of  the  Patriarch. 
This  brief  sketch  of  the  history  of  the  Bulgarian  Church  and  King- 
dom has  been  given  here  simply  as  a  necessary  introduclion  to  the 
history  of  the  national  awakcuiug,  which  first  attracted  the  attention 
of  Europe  in  1859,  but  which  had  really  commenced  many  years 
before. 

It  Avas  supposed  for  some  years  to  be  simply  an  ecclesiastical  contest 
with  the  Greek  Patriarch,  and  to  some  extent  it  was  so.  It  was 
inevitable,  from  the  vcrv  constitution  of  the  Ottoman  Empire,  which 
recognizes  the  Patriarcli  as  the  civil  as  well  as  the  ecclesiastical  head  of 
a  National  Church,  that  the  first  return  of  national  consciousness  should 
bring  the  people  into  conflict  with  their  bishops,  who  were  appointed  by 
the  Patriarch,  not  ou  account  of  their  piety,  but  for  their  supposed  skill 
in  political  intrigue.  "Whatever  may  have  been  the  motive  for  sup- 
pressing the  Bulgarian  Patriarchate,  there  is  no  question  al)out  the  aim 
of  the  Greeks  since  the  revolution.  They  have  sought  by  every  possible 
means  to  destroy  the  Bulgarian  nationality,  and  have  made  use  of  the 
Church  for  tliia  purpose.  Greek  bishops  were  appointed  everywhere, 
whose  chief  work  was  to  Hellenize  tlie  Bulgarians,  to  substitute  Greek 
books,  schools,  and  religious  rites  for  Bulgarian  ;  and,  so  far  as  possible, 
to  make  the  people  believe  that  they  were  Greeks.  There  was  at  first 
but  little  opposition  to  this  attempt ;  aud  the  unimportant  conspiracies 
at  Tiruovn  in  IHIO,  and  at  Sofia  in  1814,  were  more  Greek  than  Bul- 
garian. Had  the  bishops  been  better  or  wiser  men  it  is  possible  that 
they  might  have  brought  alwut  a  hearty  alliance  between  the  two 
nationalities.  There  were,  of  course,  always  some  ecclesiastics  of  the 
Bulgarian  race,  and  among  them  men  who  remembered  their  nationality 
and  protested  agaiust  the  Greeks.  The  Bishop  of  Vratza  was  one,  and 
he  was  exiled  iu  1800.  Neophyte  Bosvcli,  of  Kotel,  was  exiled  for  the 
same  reason  in  1845,  and  in  18-10  IHIarion,  who  afterwards  became  the 
leader  of  the  Bulgarian  movement.  There  appears  to  have  been  no 
general   dissatisfactiou   among  the  people   before   18-^10  ;  but   from  that 


^^^^^^^        THE   NEW   BULGARIA,  507 

time  petitions  were  constantly  coming  to  the  Porte  nnd  tlie  Patriarchate 
for  the  removal  of  bishops.  It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  very  little 
attention  was  paid  to  them.  About  this  time  a  determined  etfort  was 
made  by  a  Bulgarian  named  Rakovsky,  of  Kotcl,  to  awaken  the  national 
spirit  of  the  people.  He  was  educated  at  Athens  and  Paris,  and  was  in 
the  Turkish  service  at  Constantinople.  About  1845  he  went  to  Austria, 
and,  after  some  years,  established  a  newspaper  at  Novisat,  in  Croatia, 
t  vhicb  was  printed  in  French  and  Bulgarianj  and  designed  to  rouse  the 
[Bulgarians  to  action.  It  was  secretly  circulated  all  through  the 
pronnces,  and  widely  read.  It  was  no  doubt  one  of  the  influences 
which  led  the  Bulgarians  to  establish  schools  and  cultivate  their  own 
language,  and  ultimately  it  led  to  the  establishment  of  a  revolutionary 
committee  at  Bucharest ;  but  this  was  in  1865. 

It  was  the  Crimean  war  which  finally  brought  the  Bulgarian  move- 
ment to  a  head.  Its  influence  upon  the  people  themselves  was  very 
great.  It  rou.sed  their  hopes,  quickened  their  intellectual  life,  excited 
their  interest  in  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  directed  attention  to  their 
own  inferiority.  But  it  had  a  still  more  irajiortaut  influence  upon  their 
destiny.  The  Turkish  Government,  during  the  wai*,  had  found  the 
Bulgarians  thoroughly  loyal,  while  the  Greeks  had  made  no  secret  of 
their  sympathy  with  Russia.  At  the  close  of  the  war  the  Patriarch  was 
ordered  to  call  an  assembly  to  reform  the  Church  and  satisfy  the  com- 
plaints of  the  Bulgarians  against  their  bishops.  The  Porte  was  anxious 
to  reward  the  Bulgarians  for  their  loyalty,  and  increase  their  influence 
in  the  Holy  Synod,  as  the  best  means  of  checking  the  revolutionary 
influence  of  the  Church.  After  many  difficulties  and  delays,  this 
assembly  finally  met  in  1858;  but  the  Patriarch  managed  to  have 
Bulgaria  represented  almost  exclusively  by  Greeks.  There  were  but 
three  Bulgarian  members,  and  one  of  these  was  the  servant  of  the 
Greek  Bishop  of  Widin.  They  were  refused  a  hearing,  and  their  demand 
for  an  adequate  representation  in  the  Synod  treated  with  contempt, 
although  they  constituted  a  majority  of  the  Orthodox  Church  in  Turkey. 
This  refusal  to  listen  to  the  legitimate  demands  of  the  Bulgarians  not 
only  roused  the  nation  to  defend  its  rights,  but  ulso  ofliended  the  Sublime 
Porte,  and  led  the  Turks  to  support  the  Bulgarians.  This  was  the 
origin  of  the  Bulgarian  Question.  The  Greeks  were  warmly  supported 
by  Russia,  and  felt  strong  enough  to  reftise  all  coropromlsc.  The  Bul- 
garians had  but  little  faith  in  the  friendship  of  the  Porte,  or  in  their 
own  strength,  and  would  have  been  very  glad  to  accept  a  amaU  part  of 
what  they  demanded.  A  conciliatory  policy  on  the  part  of  tlie 
Patriarch  would  have  quieted  the  agitation,  and  settled  the  question  at 
once;  but  be  chose  the  opposite  course,  and  the  breach  grew  wider 
every  day. 

An  important  influence  was  exerted  upon  the  Bulgarians  at  this  time 
by  the  establishment  of  American  missionaries  in  Bulgaria.  They 
opened  schools,  circulated  the  Scriptures  and  other  books  in  the  Bulgarian 


508 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


language,  and  did  all  in  their  power  to  rouse  the  intellectual  life  of  the 
people.  The  Evangelical  Alliance  also  interested  itself  to  prevent  the 
exile  of  the  three  bishops  who  were  the  leaders  of  the  Bulgarians  in 
this  coutroveTsy. 

At  this  crisis  these  bishops  abowcd  more  than  ordinary  courage^ 
virtue,  and  honesty.  When  they  appealed  to  the  foreign  Ambassadors 
for  support  they  were  informed  that  tlicy  might  secure  not  only  their 
personal  liberty,  but  the  complete  emancipation  of  their  people,  by 
declaring  themselves  Protestants  or  Catholics.  The  most  tempting 
oifers  were  made  to  them  on  behalf  of  the  Pope  and  the  Emperor 
Napoleon,  but  they  had  the  courage  to  refuse  and  suffer  persecution.  Tliey 
knew  that  their  people  were  OrthodoXjaud  that  a  nomiual  adhesion  to  any 
other  Church  would  only  divide  the  nation  and  prevent  the  real  reform 
which  they  desired.  So  they  were  imprisoned  and  exiled.  The  Porte 
could  not  protect  them  without  iufi'iuglug  upon  the  recognized  rights  of 
the  Clmrch.  This  at  once  roused  and  united  the  Bulgarian  people,  who 
drove  off  the  Greek  ecclesiastics  and  went  without  bisliops  for  ten  years. 

The  combat  went  on  slowly  at  Constantinople  witli  varying  fortune, 
but  throughout  Bulgaria  the  people  seemed  to  be  inspired  with  the 
single  thought  of  educating  their  young  men.  Schools  of  a  high  order 
were  established  and  maintained  by  voluntary  contributions  in  all  the 
principal  towns.  Literary  societies  were  formed.  Young  men  were 
sent  to  llussia;  where  they  were  generally  supported  by  charitable  indi- 
viduals, also  to  Constantinople,  especially  to  the  iVmerican  Robert 
College,  aud  to  the  principal  cities  of  Europe,  to  secure  a  higher  educa- 
tion than  coidd  be  given  in  Bulgaria.  Newspapers  were  established, 
and  every  effort  was  made  to  provide  the  people  with  books.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  any  nation  ever  made  such  rapid  progress  as  did  the 
Bulgarians  during  these  years  of  conflict  with  the  Patriarch.  It  fmally 
became  evident  to  the  Patriarch  and  to  the  Porte  that  something  must 
be  done.  A  Commission  was  appointed  by  the  Turkish  Government  to 
settle  the  question.  Fuad  Pacha,  the  Grand  Vizier,  was  President,  and 
Greeks  and  Bulgarians  were  both  represented.  On  the  removal  of 
Fuad  Pacha,  Aali  Pacha  took  his  place.  The  negotiations  were  long  and 
complicated,  but  Aali  Pacha  finally  presented  two  projects,  and  invited 
the  parties  to  choose  between  them.  The  Greeks  rejected  both,  hut  the 
Bulgarians  accepted  one,  wliich  had  been  originally  suggested  by  the 
Greek  Patriarch  Gregoriua,  but  had  been  vejectetl  by  the  Synod.  After 
some  delay  Aali  Pacha  issued  a  Firman  for  the  execution  of  the  project 
accepted  by  the  Bulgarians,  But  the  opi»osition  of  the  Greeks,  sup- 
ported by  Russia,  was  so  vigorous,  that  it  remained  a  dead  letter.  No 
attempt  was  made  to  carry  it  out,  and  negotiations  between  the  parties 
continued.  The  excitement  throughout  the  country  meanwhile  increased, 
and  a  serious  riot  took  place  in  Coustautiuoplc,  when  the  Bulgarians 
attempted  to  celebrate  Epiphany  in  their  own  church  in  opposition  to 
the  orders  of  the  Patriarch. 


THE   NEW  BULGARIA, 


509 


Mahnioucl  Neddim  Pacha  ^vas  then  Grand  Vizier,  and,  under  the 
iiifiueDce  of  Achmet  Vefifc  Effctidi,  his  Mustcsliar,  he  gave  orders  for 
the  execution  of  the  Firman  and  the  appointment  of  a  Bulgarian 
Exarch.  Tlie  Firman  did  not  contemplate  anytliing  more  than  a 
partial  separation  of  the  Bulgarians  from  the  immediate  jurisdiction  of 
the  Patnarch,  to  whom  tlie  Exarch  was  sfilwi'dinate  ;  but  the  Greeks 
responded  to  the  Firmau  by  excommunicating  the  Exarch  and  all  those 
Bulgarians  who  should  recognize  liis  authority,  and  declaring  them 
schismatics.  No  reply  to  the  notification  of  this  action  has  ever  been 
received  by  the  Patriarch  from  the  other  branches  of  the  Orthodox 
Church ;  but,  so  far  as  is  known,  it  was  generally  regarded  as  a  serious 
blunder.  But  it  had  its  designed  effect .  It  made  it  impossible  for  the 
Turk;*  to  execute  the  Firman,  and  carried  the  conflict  between  Greek  and 
Bulgaiian  into  every  town  and  village  where  both  nationalities  were 
represeutcd.  It  was  a  delicate  situation  for  the  Turks.  They  had 
encouiaged  the  Bulgarians  and  led  them  on  to  this  point.  Now  tl»ey 
hail  to  decide  whether  they  would  recognize  the  action  of  the  Greeks 
and  treat  the  Bulgarians  as  schismatics,  or  whether  they  would  ignore 
that  action  and  execute  the  Firman,  which  was  based  upon  the  theory 
that  the  Bulgarians  were  still  a  part  of  the  Orthodox  Church.  If  they 
took  the  former  course,  then  they  must  allow  both  Greek  and  Bulgarian 
bishops  in  every  city  and  in  every  Government  Council  in  Bulgaria. 
If  the  latter,  then  the  Firmau  decreed  that  tlie  bishops  must  be  Greek 
or  Bulgarian,  as  the  majority  of  the  population  was  of  one  or  the  other 
nationality.  This  was  what  the  Bulgarians  demanded,  but  the  Greeks 
protested  against  delivering  Orthodox  Greeks  over  to  the  jurisdiction  of 
an  excommunicated  Bulgarian  bishop. 

The  Turks  followed  thcur  usual  policy.  Tliey  decided  nothing.  They 
encouraged  negotiations  between  the  parties,  and  trusted  to  Kismet  to 
find  some  solution  for  the  diflRcuhy.  But  meanwhile  the  excitement  in 
the  provinces  was  daily  increasing.  The  partial  execution  of  the  Fir- 
man hatl  sent  Bulgarian  bishops  to  a  number  of  important  sees ;  the 
Exarch  had  been  recognized  \  the  Patriarch  no  longer  exercised  any 
control  over  the  Bulgarians ;  but  still  nothing  was  settled. 

JoBt  at  this  time  Mahmoud  Neddim  Pacha  was  exiled  and  Mithad 
came  into  power.  Soon  after,  the  Sultan  was  deposed,  and  all  was 
confusioUj  but  Mithad  refused  to  execute  the  Firmau,  and  iised  all  his 
Influcuce  to  excite  the  animosity  of  the  Greeks  against  the  Bulgarians. 
At  the  time  of  the  Conference  of  Constantinople  the  Bulgarian  Exarch 
was  the  only  ecclesiastic  who  had  the  courage  to  brave  the  Turkish 
Government  and  refuse  to  protest  against  the  action  of  the  European 
Powers.  lie  was  exiled  and  deposed  by  the  Porte,  and  there  was  some 
question  of  abolishing  the  Church,  but  another  Exarch  was  chosen i  and 
the  question  of  the  status  of  the  Bulgarian  Church  remains  unsettled  to 
tliis  day. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  summer  of  1875,  the  inaurTcctioQ  broke  out  in 


610 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


Bosnia  and  Hprzegovina.  It  was  chiefly  the  result  of  Austrian  intrigue, 
and  was  supported  by  Austrian  money  and  sympathy.  The  Bulgariaus 
had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  either  directly  or  indirectly.  The  Church 
question,  whieli  originated  with  the  Turks  themselves,  was  in  no  sense 
political,  and  the  Bulgarians  had  no  thought  of  rebellion.  A  revolu- 
tionary committee  was  organizc<l  at  Bucharest  in  18G5,  composed  of 
young  men,  who  were  in  part  disseiples  of  Hakovsky  and  in  jiart 
Socialists.  This  committee  varied  in  numbers  and  in  personality  from 
year  to  year,  but  it  was  generally  made  up  of  criminals  who  had 
escaped  from  Turkey,  of  Bulgarian  students  who  had  been  expelled 
from  Russia  for  their  Nihilist  views,  and  occasionally  of  young  men  of 
good  character  who  hatl  fled  from  Bulgaria  to  escape  punishment  for 
political  crimes  which  they  had  not  committed.  It  was  strictly  a 
Bulgarian  association,  but  was,  for  a  time  at  least,  affiliated  to  the 
"  International."  Its  influence  in  Bulgaria  was  very  limited,  aud  the 
better  class  of  Bulgarians  at  Bucharest  had  uo  sympathy  with  it ;  but  it 
was  very  active,  and  its  ageuts  laboured  incessantly  to  establish  com- 
mittees in  the  Bulgarian  towns.  A  man  called  "  the  deacon,"  whose 
name  was  Lefsky,  was  their  chief  agent  for  many  years,  but  he  was  finally 
caught  and  hung.  He  had  Momc  success  in  gaining  over  boys  and 
young  mea  who  had  nothing  to  lose,  and  cotnmitteea  were  organized 
from  this  material  in  many  towns ;  but  the  respectable  classes  had 
nothing  to  do  with  them,  and  the  peasants  knew  nothing  about  them. 
The  general  plan  of  the  committee  was  to  send  over  a  hand  from 
Roumania  every  year  or  two  to  create  disturbance,  rouse  the  suspicion 
of  the  Turks,  cause  the  arrest  and  execution  of  innoceut  persons,  and 
thus  rouse  the  people  to  desperation  aud  revolt.  The  first  inroad  was 
made  in  1867,  and  their  expectations  M'cre  fully  satisfied  by  the  fierce 
and  indiscriminate  manner  in  which  Mithad  Pacha  undertook  to  strike 
terror  into  the  Bulgarians.  Another  raid  was  made  in  1870,  another 
still  in  1875.  In  both  these  cases  the  utmost  severity  was  exercised  by 
the  Turkish  Government,  aiul  a  great  number  of  perfectly  iuuoccut 
persons  were  hung  or  exiled  to  the  fortresses  of  Asia.  Still  there  was 
no  general  excitement  among  the  people  aud  no  thought  of  revolt, 
except  among  a  few  hot-headed  young  meu,  who  were  ready  for  any- 
thing, but  who  had  neither  money  nor  influence.  The  whole  atteution 
of  the  people  was  concentrated  upim  the  pending  ecclesiastical  question. 
But  the  revolt  in  Bosnia  and  Herzegovina  had  excited  the  hopes  of 
Servia,  and  the  Bucharest  Committee  was  encouraged  to  make  new 
cflbrts  to  organize  an  outbreak  in  Uoumclia  to  support  the  Servians,  as 
soon  as  they  should  declare  war  with  Turkey.  In  the  autumn  of  1875, 
two  Bulgarian  spies,  in  the  employ  of  the  Turks,  reported  the  existence 
of  a  conspiracy  at  Kski  Zagraa ;  aud  many  persons  were  imprisoued  and 
exiled.  It  was  true  that  agents  of  the  Buchai-cst  Committee  Mcrc  in  the 
town,  and  that  it  was  known  to  ni&uy  Bulgarians  that  an  effort  would 
be  made  to  organize  an  insuiTcctiou,  but  beyond  this  there  was  no  con- 


THE  NEir  BVLGAHU. 


511 


r 
I 


splracy  there.  At  this  time  all  the  plans  of  the  Bucharest  Committee 
became  known  to  the  Turkish  Governmentj  but  nothing  was  done  during 
the  winter  to  interfere  with  them.  They  were  allowed  to  go  ou  and 
gain  as  many  adherents  as  they  could.  The  Turkish  pojmlation  how- 
ever was  greatly  excited,  and  made  every  preparation  for  civil  war. 
This  reacted  upon  the  Cliristians,  and  led  many  who  had  before  opposed 
all  such  attempts,  to  sympathize  witli  the  preparations  made  by  the 
committees ;  but  still  the  mass  of  the  people  remained  hostile  to  the 
movement. 

In  the  early  spring  of  1876  the  Governor  of  Philippopolis  tele- 
graphed to  Constantinople  that  there  would  soon  be  trouble  in  his 
province,  but  that  he  would  guarantee  the  peace  if  he  could  have  a 
reinforcement  of  one  battalion  of  cavalry.  This  demand  was  repeated 
several  times,  but  no  attention  was  paid  to  it.  It  would  have  been  easy 
to  prevent  au  outbreak,  but,  for  some  reason,  it  was  rather  encouraged 
than  otherwise. 

There  has  been  much  speculation  as  to  the  motives  wliich  led  the 
Turkish  Government  to  take  this  courae,  aud  those  who  see  the  hand  of 
Russia  in  everything  attribute  it  to  the  influence  of  General  Ignatieff; 
but  the  probability  is  that  the  Turks  foresaw  that  a  war  with  Servia 
was  inevitable,  and  feared  that,  when  it  broke  out,  it  would  be  followed 
by  a  rebellion  in  Uoumelia,  which  would  cut  the  Turkish  line  of  com- 
munication with  the  frontier.  It  was  thouglit  better  to  encourage  a 
weak  insurrection  before  the  war,  and  then  put  it  down  in  such  a  way 
as  to  strike  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  people  and  prevent  any  possi- 
bility of  trouble  afterwards. 

If  this  was  the  plan,  it  was  a  success,  but  there  was  a  recoil  upon 
which  the  Turks  had  not  counted.  They  had  taken  every  precaution 
against  publicity  which  was  possible ;  all  communication  with  the  province 
■was  cut  off;  but  it  was  not  long  before  the  whole  civilized  world  was 
excited  by  the  story  of  the  Bulgarian  massacres,  and  Turkey  was 
irrevocably  condemned.  For  her  it  was  a  fatal  blunder  for  which 
nothing  could  atone.  She  lost  the  pi'oteetion  of  England,  She  was 
condemned  by  Europe.  She  was  left  to  contend  alone  with  Russia. 
She  was  dismembered  by  the  Congress  of  Berlin,  because  public  opinion 
would  not  tolerate  a  Government  which  had  deliberately  planned  and 
executed  the  Bulgarian  massacres.  England  sought  to  save  Turkey  in 
the  autumn  of  187C,  and  again  at  the  Conference.  Even  Sir  Henry 
Elliot  used  all  his  influence  in  the  summer  to  put  an  end  to  these 
atrocities;  but  all  this  friendly  counsel  was  wasted,  and,  to  this  day,  the 
Turks  cannot  understand  how  they  lost  the  friendship  and  protection  of 
the  Western  Powers. 

The  result  astonished  the  Bulgarians  almost  as  much  as  it  did  the 
Turks,  There  arc  many  who  seem  to*  suppose  that  these  people  delibe- 
rately had  themselves  massacred  iu  order  to  secure  the  sympathy  of 
Europe.     Nothing  could  be  farther  irom  the  truth.     They  detested  the 


m 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Turkish  nilCj  as  do  all  the  Christian  subjects  of  the  Porte^  but  they  had 
no  hope  of  escaping  from  it.  The  insignificant  insurrection  iu  the 
province  of  Philippopolis  was  the  work  of  the  Bucharest  Committee, 
and  was  led  by  an  enthusiastic  young  Bulgarian  who  called  himself 
Bcukovskij  a  native  of  Koprivslititza.  No  doubt  he,  and  the  boys  and 
peasants  who  followed  him,  imagined  that  they  could  rouse  the  nation 
and  drive  out  the  Turks,  or  at  least  maintain  themselves  until  war  was 
declared  by  Servia  j  but  the  people  generally  had  no  sympathy,  with  the 
rebellion,  and  no  faith  in  the  possibility  of  defending  themselves  against 
the  Turks. 

T\Tiile  the  massacres  were  going  on,  the  Bulgarians  made  no  apjieal 
to  EurojKJ,  and  had  no  idea  that  Europe  had  any  interest  in  them.  A 
single  man  in  Philippopolis  found  means  to  communicate  the  facts 
secretly  to  a  friend  iu  Constantinople,  who  gave  them  to  the  cori-espon- 
dents  of  the  Times  and  the  Daihj  News,  and  at  the  same  time 
communicated  them  to  Sir  Henry  Elliot.  From  the  commencement  of 
the  massacres  in  May  until  the  arrival  of  Mr  Baring  and  ^fr.  Schuyler 
in  Philippopolis  in  July,  the  feeling  of  the  people  was  of  utter  hopeless- 
ness and  helplessness.  In  September^  when  it  became  known  that 
their  sufferings  had  excited  intense  sympathy  in  England,  then,  for  the 
first  time,  tliey  began  to  hope  that  all  this  blood  had  not  been  shed  in 
vain — that  there  was  a  possibility  of  securing  some  degree  of  self-govern- 
ment. In  January,  1877,  they  would  have  accepted  the  plan  of  the 
Conference  with  grateful  enthusiasm.  It  was  not  until  the  Russian 
armies  had  crossed  the  Danube  that  they  began  to  hope  for  deliverance 
from  Turkish  rule.  Tlien  large  numbers  joined  the  Bussiau  army  as 
volunteers,  and  General  Skobeloff  testifies  that  he  had  no  better  or 
l)raver  soldiers.  But  the  horrors  of  that  summer  effaced  all  reeollcc- 
tiou  of  the  massacres  of  the  previous  year.  There  was  a  reigu  of  terror 
in  Boumclia,  after  General  Gourko's  raid  across  the  Balkans,  which 
rivalled  the  most  terrible  scenes  of  the  Greek  Revolution. 

There  is  no  doubt  but  that  Suleiman  Pacha  deliberately  undertook  to 
exterminate  the  Christian  population  and  execute  the  oft-rcpcatcd  threat, 
that  when  the  Turks  left  Roumelia  they  would  leave  uothing  but  a 
^^esert  behind  them.  Mow  far  he  acted  under  orders  from  Constanti- 
nople is  a  disputed  question,  but  he  claims  to  have  done  nothing  with- 
out the  express  approval  of  the  Sultan. 

"\\'hen  the  war  was  over  and  the  Treaty  of  St.  Stephanos  had  been 
signed,  the  Bulgarians  believed  that  their  freedom  from  Turkish  iiilc 
had  been  secured.  Tliey  were  not  altogether  satisfied,  because  a  part 
of  their  territory  had  beeu  given  to  Roumania,  and  another  part  to 
Servia,  but  they  accepted  their  freedom  as  cheaply  bought  at  this  price. 
They  had  no  fear  of  the  Congress  of  Berlin,  and  took  no  pains  to  be 
represented  there,  fur  they  Imd  no  idea  that  the  Powers  who  hnd  agreed 
to  the  protocol  of  Constantinople  could  have  any  desire  to  restore  the 
Turki^h    rule    in    Bulgaria.     AYhcn    the    treaty    was    published^  their 


THE  NEW  BULGARIA. 


513 


iaurprise  was  almoatas  great  as  their  disappoiDtmcnt.  They  saw  at  once 
that  these  decisions  were  due  to  the  iuflucucc  of  Austria  aud  Euglaud  ; 
imnd  it  was  universally  believed  that  these  Powers  inteuded  to  overwhelm 
the  Bulgarian  population  of  Roumelia  by  the  importation,  not  only  of 
the  former  Turkish  population^  who  had  (led  at  the  approach  of  the 
Russian  armies,  but  also  of  the  whole  Mussulman  population  from 
beyond  the  Balkans. 

Then  commenced  an  agitation,  which  has  continued  ever  since,  and 
which  has  given  rise  to  many  regrettable  events.  No  Russian  intiucnce 
was  needed  to  fan  the  flame,  and,  in  fact,  there  has  been  no  uniform 
Russian  iwlicy  in  Bulgaria.  There  has  been  no  unity  of  opinion  or  of 
action  among  the  Uuitsian  civil  and  military  authorities.  The  most 
contradictory  advice  has  been  given  by  different  men,  aud  by  the  same 
men  at  diflercnt  times.  Not  uufrequently  the  Bulgarians  have  been 
blamed  and  even  punished  for  doing  exactly  what  they  had  been  advised 
to  do.  Russian  inftueuce  has  been  diminishing  rather  than  incrcasiug 
since  the  signature  of  the  Treaty  of  Berlin.  The  rivalries  aud  jealousies 
of  the  leading  generals  have  done  much  to  produce  this  state  of  things. 
Still  they  have  generally  sympathized  with  the  aspirations  of  the 
Bulgarians,  They  have  encouraged  them  to  resist  the  return  of  the 
Turks  to  Roumelia,  and  have  done  what  they  could  to  hasten  and 
perfect  the  organization  of  a  Bulgarian  army.  The  agitation  in  Bulgaria  is 
genuine,  spontaneous,  and,  at  least,  excusable.  The  Bulgarians  have  bccu 
determined  for  months  to  resist  the  return  of  the  Turkish  troops  to  the 
Balkans.  lliey  regard  this  occupation  as  an  attempt  to  separate 
Bulgaria  and  Eastern  Roumelia  by  force,  and,  moreover,  they  foresee 
the  evils  which  must  result  from  the  permanent  encampment  of  a  large, 
hostile  army  in  the  midst  of  the  quiet  Christian  villages  of  the  Balkans. 
It  is  no  sympathy  with  Russia,  no  desire  to  resist  the  will  of  Europe,  no 
wish  to  threaten  Constantinople,  that  moves  the  Bulgarians  to  resist  the 
execution  of  the  Treaty  of  Berlin.  They  feel  as  any  other  people  would 
feel  whose  fate  had  been  decided  without  consulting  their  interests  or 
their  wishes,  who  had  been  emancipated  from  a  hated  despotism  and 
were  about  to  be  placed  under  it  again  by  force,  who  had  realized,  the 
hope  of  a  united  nationality  aud  found  themselves  divided  again  to 
gratify  the  ambitious  dreams  of  a  kingdom  like  Austria.  The  Turks 
can  never  regain  possession  of  the  Balkans  except  by  war,  and  no  one 
can  blame  the  Bulgarians  for  defending  their  country.  On  the  part  of 
the  Turks  the  desire  to  do  this  is  simply  a  matter  of  pride.  They  have 
no  possible  advantage  to  gain  from  it.  They  have  not  the  means  to 
build  great  fortresses  and  maiutain  a  powerful  army  in  the  midst  of  a 
hostile  population  in  the  isolated  passes  of  the  Balkans.  Such  an 
occupation  would  be  of  little  value  with  Shumla,  Sofia,  and  the  northern 
slopes  of  the  Balkan  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy.  It  would  be  the  worst 
possible  position  to  occxipy  for  the  defence  of  Constantinople.  The  chief 
result  of  such  an   occupation  would  be  to  change  die  Bulgarians  from 

VOL.   XXXV.  L   L 


614 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  most  peaceable  and  nnwarlike  people  in  European  Turkey  into  a 
nation  of  soldiers.     This  is  as  undesirable  for  Turkey  as  for  Bulgaria. 

The  European  Coramission,  which  has  been  elaborating  a  Constitution 
for  Eastern  Roumelia,  has  no  doubt  done  its  best  to  give  the  people  as 
good  a  govcmracnt  as  the  Treaty  of  Berlin  would  allow,  but  it  com* 
plains  that  the  Bulgarians  arc  ungrateful.  It  is  true  that  they  have 
not  manifested  ranch  sympathy  for  the  Commission,  and  would  probably 
have  prevented  its  meeting  ut  Philippopolis  if  it  had  not  been  protected 
by  Russian  bayonets,  but  their  hostility  has  resulted  simply  from  their 
desire  to  be  united  to  Bulgaria.  They  had  no  other  means  of  protesting 
against  the  Treaty  of  Berlin.  They  may  have  acted  unwisely,  but  no 
Englishman  would  think  of  denying  their  right  to  protest,  or  of  blaming 
them  for  not  gratefully  accepting  a  government  imposed  upon  them  by 
force. 

Beyond  the  Balkans,  in  Timova^  the  ancient  capital,  an  assembly  met 
on  February  22nd  to  adopt  a  Constitution  and  choose  a  prince.  This 
assembly  and  its  work  have  been  so  fully  described  by  the  correspon- 
dents of  London  papers  that  nothing  more  needs  to  be  said  of  it. 
Mr.  Palgrave,  II.B.M.  Cousul-Gcucral,  who  has  been  in  Tiruova  during 
the  scssiou,  reports  most  favourably  of  the  intelligence,  liberality, 
and  good  sense  of  the  members,  whose  chief  fault  has  been  their 
inexperience. 

Much  has  been  written  since  the  massacres  of  18*6  in  regard  to  the 
character  of  the  Bti/ffarian  people.  There  has  been  some  indiscriminate 
praise  and  much  unqualified  abuse.  But  few  of  these  writers  have  had 
such  personal  knoM'ledgc  of  the  people  as  could  qualify  them  to  express 
an  opinion.  Newspaper  correspondents  have  visited  the  country  during 
the  war,  and  many,  perhaps  most  of  them,  have  expressed  their  opinions 
honestly  on  this  subject;  but  these  opinions  are  of  little  value,  because 
they  were  necessarily  based  upon  very  imperfect  knowledge  of  the 
people,  under  very  unfavourable  circtimstances.  Alany  books  have  Ikcu 
written  by  residents  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  but  in  many  cases 
they  have  drawn  the  most  false  and  absurd  conclusions  from  their  local 
experience.  In  one  case  at  least  the  author  of  a  popular  book  has 
mistaken  the  language  and  nationality  of  the  people  among  whom  he 
lived.  The  most  honest,  impartial,  and  satisfactory  book  is  that  of  Mrs. 
Blunt,  the  wife  of  II. B.M.  Consul  at  Saloniea,  "Twenty  Ycars^  Residence 
among  the  People  of  Turkey  ;"  but  "  a  Consul's  wife  and  daughter"  is  not 
always  in  a  position  to  form  a  just  estimate  of  the  character  of  people 
whose  language  she  does  not  understand,  and  of  whom  she  sees  but 
little. 

There  are  special  reasons  why  it  is  difficult  to  form  a  general  estimate 
of  the  character  of  the  Bulgarians.  It  must  be  remembered  that  they  have 
been  under  the  bondage  of  the  Turks  for  five  hundred  years,  and  under 
that  of  the  Patriarch  for  a  hundred  years.  Fort)'  years  ago  their  condition 
was  worse  than  that  of  the  serfs  of  Russia,  and  it  was  almost  an  insult  to 


THE   NEIV  BULGARIA. 


515 


call  a  man  n  Bulgarian,  The  awakening  of  national  life  from  tliis  sleep  of 
centuries  has  been  one  of  the  most  remarkable  events  in  the  history  of 
Europe,  and  the  intellectual  development  of  the  people  has  gone  on  with 
unprecedented  rapidity,  but  it  had  exerted  only  a  limited  influence  upon 
the  peasantiy  when  the  disturbances  commenced  in  1876.  The  progress 
of  education  and  enlightenment  had  been  confined  to  the  towns  and 
larger  villages,  where  the  people  enjoyed  a  certain  degree  of  liberty,  and 
had  learned  how  to  secure  protection  for  their  lives,  honour,  and  pro- 
perty by  a  judicious  use  of  backsheesh. 

There  arc  certain  national  characteristics  which  may  be  mentioned  as 
common  to  all  Bulgarians,  but  in  many  respects  there  is  a  very  marked 
difference  between  the  peasants  and  the  townspeople.  As  a  whole,  the 
Bulgarians  arc  more  decidedly  Europeans  than  any  other  nationality  in 
the  Turkish  Empire.  They  are  not  uidike  the  Germans.  As  a  race 
they  are  both  indtisitious  and  frugal — far  more  so  than  any  other  race  in 
Turkey.  Tlie  latter  of  these  virtues  is  often  carried  to  an  unpleasant 
extreme,  but  the  former  is  seen  to  advantage  in  all  classes.  The 
Bulgarian  student,  for  example,  applies  himself  to  his  books  with  a 
devotion  and  patient  perseverance  which  more  than  compensate  for  any 
lack  of  brilliancy.  He  generally  attains  the  highest  rank  in  scholarship 
by  means  of  hard  work  rather  than  from  any  natural  love  of  learning ; 
but  this  lust  will  be  developed  with  the  growth  of  the  nation.  Tlius  far 
schools  have  been  established  chiefly  from  patriotic  motives— from  a 
fecliog  that  it  was  only  by  education  that  the  people  could  be  elevated 
to  the  rank  of  a  civilized  nation. 

Another  national  trait  is  obstinacy,  which  is  perhaps  nothing  more 
than  an  excess  of  the  virtue  of  perseverance,  or  possibly  a  development 
of  conservatism.  The  Bulgarian  is  slow  to  accept  new  ideas,  but  when 
he  has  once  adopted  them  no  amount  of  persuasion,  persecution,  or 
sufltring  will  move  him  to  abandon  them.  Tliis  spirit  of  obstinacy  has 
given  the  Bulgarians  the  reputation  of  beiug  quarrelsome,  and  in  one 
sense  they  arc  so  :  they  are  disputatious  ;  but,  as  a  general  rule,  not 
passionate  or  revengeful.  Tliis  spirit  naturally  leads  to  an  excessive 
development  of  individuality,  which  is  at  present  a  source  of  weakness  in 
the  nation,  but  which  will  probably  disappear,  in  some  measure,  as  the 
necessities  of  national  life  develop  parties,  and  as  certain  men  come  to 
be  recognized  as  leaders. 

The  Bulgarians  are  eminently  religious,  and  arc  virtuous  in  their 
family  relations ;  but  their  religion  is,  of  course,  tainted  with  the  super- 
stition which  is  always  devcloi)ed  by  ignorance,  and  tlicir  morality  is 
perverted  by  the  lack  of  honesty  and  truthfulness  which  is  always  found 
in  a  subject  race.  Still,  in  all  these  particulars,  they  lomimrc  very 
favourably  with  the  other  Christian  races  in  Turkey.  In  all  the  Eastcru 
Churches  there  is  a  lack  of  spiritual  life,  which  results  from  the  fact  that 
the  ecclesiastical  organizations  are  rather  political  than  religions  in  their 
character.    This  is  especially  true  of  the  Greek  and  Bulgarian  Churches, 

L  L  2 


516 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


but  there  is  a  very  strong  feeliug  among  the  Bulgariaus  tliat  henceforth 
the  Church  must  devote  itself  to  spiritual  affairs,  and  abstain  from  all 
interfercucc  Arith  |)oUtics.  The  American  missiouaries  iu  Bulgaria  have 
been  well  received  by  the  people^  and  have  met  with  very  little  oppo- 
sition. Iu  the  exclusively  Buljjuriaii  villages,  where  the  character  of  the 
people  is  best  seen,  the  tone  of  morality  is  high.  Crime  is  almost  unknown. 
Poverty  and  drunkenness  are  rare,  and  the  family  life  is  pure  and  civi- 
lized, though  patriaivhal  iu  its  character.  The  Jiulgariaus  are  essentially 
Democratic  in  their  ideas,  although  there  is  no  inclination  towards  a 
Republican  fojnm  of  Ooverumeut  as  in  Greece.  It  is  rather  the  idea  of 
social  equality  and  equal  rights.  They  not  only  have  no  aristocracy, 
but  there  are  no  servile  expressions  or  elaborate  titles  in  the  Bulgarian 
language.  These  expressions  have  only  been  used  iu  their  relations  with 
the  Turks,  and  this  intercourse  has  always  been  carried  on  iu  tlie  Turkish 
language.  Such  titles  and  expressions  are  therefore  associated  in  their 
minds  with  the  hated  despotism  of  their  Mohammedan  oppressors,  and 
can  never  be  applied  to  Rnlgariaus.  This  spirit  has  been  manifested  in 
the  assembly  at  Tirnova  in  such  a  manner  as  to  astonish  the  Russians^ 
and  it  has  attracted  the  attention  of  the  Commission  at  Philrppopolis. 
Three  years  ago  a  certain  class  of  writers  represented  the  Bulgarians  as 
no  better  than  sheep.  Tlie  same  WTitera  now  denounce  thera  as  wolves, 
always  ready  to  devour  meek  and  innocent  Turks.  The  truth  is  simply 
thi? — the  Bulgarian  ]>casant  has  been  far  five  hundred  years  in  hopeless 
bondage.  He  has  suffered  from  the  Turks  such  indignities  as  have  never 
been  inflicted  upon  the  Christians  of  Asia  Minor.  It  has  been  no  unusual 
thing  for  him  to  find  himself  suddenly  deprived  of  his  property  by  an  edict 
of  which  he  had  never  heard.  It  has  been  no  rare  occurreuee  for  a  Turk 
to  mount  upon  his  back  and  compel  him  to  carry  him  to  the  next  town. 
His  daughters  were  often  carried  off  by  force  to  Turkish  harems  ;  and 
when  a  Moslem  Bey  entered  Ida  village,  he  ate  up  his  provisions,  ravished 
his  wife  or  daughters,  and  often  took  his  life.  For  all  this  there  was 
no  redress.  The  Turkish  police  were  his  worst  enemies.  Within  five 
years  they  have  inflicted  the  most  horrible  tortures  upon  peasants  who 
had  not  the  means  to  pay  tlieir  taxes.  Tt  is  no  doubt  true  that  in  187G, 
when  these  outrages  were  carried  on  upon  a  larger  scale,  the  Bulgarians, 
iu  Ihrir  hopelcBsneas,  submitted  to  their  fate  very  much  like  sheep.  It 
is  also  tnie  that  since  the  war  these  ignorant  peasants  have  often 
revenged  themacives  upon  the  Turks,  and  have  resisted  their  return  to 
Eastern  Roumelia.  If  this  is  not  very  Christian,  it  is  at  least  very 
human.  These  Bulgarian  peasants  are  in  fact  neither  sheep  nor  wolves. 
They  arc  simply  men,  possessing  the  good  and  the  bad  qualities  of  their 
race,  debased  by  iguorancc  and  oppression,  bi*ought  too  suddenly  from 
bondage  to  comparative  freedom,  but  naturally  quiet,  industrious,  fi-ugal, 
and  capable  of  u  higher  civilization  than  any  race  iu  Turkey. 

It  was  unfortunate  for  the  Bulgarians   that   the   great  crisis  in  their 
hiatory  came  Avhen  it  did.    They  were  not  ready  for  it.    Ten  years  longer 


PPI*^||^  THE   NEW  BULGARIA.  517 

under  Turkish  rule,  especially  if  this  could  have  been  modified  as  was 
proposed  by  the  Conference  of  Constantinople,  would  have  consolidated 
the  nation,  reconciled  the  Greeks  to  the  idea  of  union  with  the  Bul- 
garians, given  time  for  the  extension  of  the  public  schools  from  the 
towns  to  the  villages,  and  for  a  more  general  elevation  of  the  people. 
It  would  have  given  the  people  recognized  and  trusted  leatlcrs.  There 
are  now  many  well-educated,  clever  young  men  in  the  country,  but 
they  are  not  generally  known,  and  they  have  not  the  age  and  expe- 
rience which  are  necessary  to  conmiand  full  respect  and  confidence. 
There  are  men  who  have  local  influence,  but  there  is  not  one  who  is 
recognized  as  a  leader  of  the  nation.  The  jjlau  agreed  upon  by  the 
Conference  of  Constantinople  was  exactly  adapted  to  the  actual  condition 
of  the  nation.  It  would,  uo  doubt,  have  resulted  in  the  ultimate  dis- 
memberment of  the  Ottoman  Empire,  but  this  change  would  have  come 
gradually,  and  possibly  without  any  war.  After  the  war  this  scheme 
was  impracticable.  Then  the  Bulgaria  of  the  St.  Stephanos  Treaty, 
with  some  modifications  perhaps,  was  the  best  solution  possible,  but  it 
was  replaced  at  Berlin  by  an  aiTangcmcnt  which  was  very  nearly  the 
worst  possible  for  every  one  concerned,  except  Russia  and  Austria.  For 
them  it  has  the  advantage  of  securing  continued  anarchy  and  confusion 
in  European  Turkey. 

Under  this  Berlin  Treaty  it  is  impossible  to  foresee  what  will  be  the 
political  affinities  of  the  Bulgarians  in  the  future.  Just  now  the 
European  Powers  seem  to  be  vj'ing  with  each  other  in  the  eflbrt  to  force 
the  Bulgarians  to  look  to  Russia  as  their  only  friend  and  possible  ally. 
In  the  spring  of  1875,  before  the  outbreak  in  Herzegovina,  I  made  a 
tour  in  Bulgaria,  aud  made  a  special  effort  to  ascertain  the  feeling  of 
the  people  in  regard  to  the  difterent  European  Powers.  1  found  an 
unexpected  unanimity  of  opinion.  The  only  Power  universally  feared 
aud  hated  was  Austria.  In  regard  to  Russia  there  were  various  shades 
of  opinion;  but  there  was  a  general  feeling  that  Bulgaria  had  much 
to  hope  from  her  hostility  to  Turkey,  and  much  to  fear  from  her  ambi. 
tion  to  extend  her  territory.  She  would  no  doubt  improve  the  first 
opportunity  to  deliver  them  from  the  Turks,  but  she  might  annex  them 
to  herself  afterwards.  They  would  rather  take  their  chance,  and  wait 
for  Turkey  to  fall  to  pieces,  than  be  swallowed  up  in  Russia ;  for  it 
was  the  reality  of  a  Bulgarian  nation,  and  not  the  dream  of  Pan- 
slavism,  in  which  they  were  interested.  In  regard  to  England,  the 
question  was  always  asked,  how  it  was  that  a  free  Cliristian  State  could 
be  the  ally  and  defender  of  Moslem  despotism?  They  would  prefer  the 
friendship  of  England  to  that  of  any  other  Power,  but  they  saw  no 
hope  of  ever  securing  it.  After  the  massacres,  aud  at  the  time  of  the 
Conference.,  there  was  a  complete  change  of  feeling.  The  people  were 
filled  with  hope  that,  at  last,  they  might  count  upon  the  friendship  and 
protection  of  England;  but  the  Congress  at  Berlin  and  the  alliance  with 
Austria  have  brought  back  the  old  feeling  that  Euglish  diplomacy  is  an 


18 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJV, 


inscrutable  mystery.  TLey  mauifested  very  little  interest  iu  Italy  or 
Germany,  but  France  was  always  spoken  of  with  enthusiasm.  This 
feeling  iu  regard  to  France  secraed  to  result  iu  part  from  the  vigour 
with  which  French  Cousula  deftaded  the  rights  of  the  Christians^  but 
still  more  from  the  conduct  of  France  in  the  Italian  war  of  1859.  The 
influence  of  this  war  upou  the  CUrLstJan  uatioualities  iu  Turkey  has  not 
beeu  noticed  by  European  writers  ;  but,  iu  fact,  it  marked  the  beginning 
of  a  new  era.  Up  to  that  time  the  Christians  of  Turkey  had  no  idea 
of  nationality  as  distinct  from  religion.  A  man  was  Catholic^  or 
Orthodox,  or  Armenian,  or  Protestant ;  but  no  one  ever  thought  of 
nationality  oa  something  distinct  from  this.  The  very  word  miHet, 
which  the  Turks  apply  to  the  Christian  commuuiticsj  and  which 
foreigners  translate  '' nation/'  means  only  a  religious  sect.  But  the 
Franco- Austrian  war  taught  the  people  of  Turkey  the  new  and  startling 
fact  that  religiou  and  nationality  were  not  the  same  thing.  From  that 
day  the  Christians  have  been  more  inclined  to  tolerate  religious  difler- 
ences  and  to  seek  for  national  unity  and  euiaucipatiou.  This  change 
has  been  very  marked  among  the  Armenians;  but  it  was  in  European 
Turkey  that  the  influence  of  this  idea  was  most  apparent.  It  impressed 
upon  the  Bulgarians  the  fact  that,  although  they  were  Orthodox,  they 
were  not  Greeks,  and  it  led  them  to  look  to  France  as  the  champion  of 
this  new  idea  of  nationality.  She  had  gone  to  war  to  rescue  the 
Italians  from  a  bondage  like  that  under  which  the  Bulgarians  were 
groaning;  she  might,  at  some  time,  do  the  same  thing  for  them. 
Even  now  thb  feeling  is  prominent,  and  it  would  be  easy  for  France 
to  secure  a  controUing  influence,  not  only  iu  Bulgaria,  but  in  all 
European  Turkey.  The  present  Government  of  France  has  turned  its 
attention  exclusively  to  the  Greeks,  and  has  shown  no  inclination  to 
favour  the  Bulgarians ;  but  no  Bulgarian  would  object  to  the  annexa- 
tion of  Tliessaly  and  Epirus  to  Greece,  and,  so  long  as  there  is  uo 
question  of  Macedonia,  there  is  no  rca$on  why  France  should  not  exert 
an  equal  influence  over  both  Greeks  and  Bulgarians. 

Macedonia  is  the  real  battle-ground  of  these  nationalities.  Both 
claim  it,  and  each  hopes  to  secure  it ;  but  each  fears  that  it  may  be  appro^ 
priated  by  Austria.  If  it  is  annexed  to  Bulgaria  or  occupied  by  Austria, 
Greece  can  never  expand  into  a  new  Byzantine  Empire  or  realize  her 
"grand  idea."  In  view  of  this  fact,  every  cflTort  has  been  made  by  the 
Greeks  to  prove  that  a  majority  of  the  population  is  Greek,  and  a  very 
large  amount  of  money  is  expended  there  annually  to  extend  the  use  of 
the  Greek  language.  The  Bulgarians,  on  the  other  hand,  claim  that 
more  than  half  of  the  population  is  Uulgarian,  and  that  not  more  than 
half  of  the  remainder  is  Greek.  The  American  missionaries  in 
Macedonia  believe  that  this  claim  of  the  Bulgai'ians  is  Mcll-fouuded, 
and  base  tliis  judgment  upon  the  language  of  the  people,  vhich  is 
generally  Bulgarian,  and  upon  the  fact  that  the  people  believe  them- 
selves to  be  Bulgarians.      It  is  probable   that,  if  it  is  not  appropriated 


THE   NEW  BULGARIA, 


519 


by  Austria^  it  will  ultimately  full  to  Bulgaria  j  but,  siuce  tbo  Treaty  of. 
Berlin,  no  part  of  the  Turkish  Empire  has  suffered  so  much  as  tbla 
uufurtuuate  proviuce.  It  was  provided  in  the  Treaty  that  reforms  should 
be  inaugurated  there  under  the  direction  of  the  Eastern  Roumelia  Com- 
mission, and  it  was  of  the  bigbest  importance  to  the  Turkish  Government 
to  make  this  province  at  onee  a  model  of  good  government;  but  thus 
far  nothiug  has  been  done.  The  whole  province  has  been  given  over 
to  anarchy  and  confusion.  Brigands  and  Bashi-hazouks  have  alternately 
plundered  and  massacred  the  people.  And  the  infamous  Chcvkct  Pacha 
vas  the  man  chosen  to  restore  order.  lie  remained  at  Monastir  until  he 
vas  driven  out  of  the  city  by  the  Mussulman  Beys  themselves.  What- 
ever may  be  the  ultimate  fate  of  Macedonia — however  it  may  be  for  the 
interest  of  Greece,  Bulgaria,  Austria,  and  Russia  to  prolong  this  state 
of  anarchy — it  is  to  be  hoped  that  England  and  France  will  interest 
themselves  in  securing  the  execution  of  that  ])art  of  the  Treaty  of  Berlin 
which  promises  good  government  to  Macedonia. 

It  is  not  easy  to  forecast  the  future  of  the  Bulgarian  nation.  It 
depends  almost  equally  upon  the  patience  and  good-will  of  the  Great 
Powers  of  Europe  and  upon  the  patience  and  good  sense  of  the  Bulga- 
rians themselves.  Tliey  have  risen  suddenly  to  life  from  a  sleep  of 
centuries;  they  have  no  acknowledged  leaders^  and  but  little  experience 
of  self-government ;  they  have  unrealized  hopes  and  ambitious,  and  are 
surrounded  by  watchful  and  hostile  races;  they  are  poor,  and  hurdcned 
with  a  debt  for  which  they  are  not  responsible ;  they  have  not  been  per- 
mitted by  Europe  to  unite  under  a  single  Government,  but  have  been 
divided  into  five  sections  to  gratify  the  ambition  or  quiet  the  fears  of 
other  nations.  But^  on  the  other  liand,  they  owe  all  that  they  have 
gained  to  the  aid  and  protection  of  other  nations  rather  than  to  their 
own  efforts,  and  the  opportunity  is  offered  them  of  proving  to  the  world 
that  they  are  worthy  of  its  confidence  and  support.  They  have  all  the 
advantages  of  a  fertile  country;  protected  from  forcigu  invasion  by  a 
great  European  Treaty ;  they  have  all  the  good  qualities  of  their  race 
to  work  upon,  and  can  devote  themselves  exclusively  to  its  development ; 
they  have  nothing  to  pull  down — they  have  only  to  build  up.  It  is 
not  to  be  expected  that  they  will  be  contented  with  the  arrangements 
of  tlie  Treaty  of  Berlin,  or  cease  to  demand  the  union  of  Bulgaria  and 
Eastern  Roumelia.  Europe  expects  this,  and  will  endure  it  patiently, 
but  the  Bulgarians  also  must  patiently  wait  for  the  time  when  Europe 
can  grant  this  boon  without  danger  to  herself.  If  the  Bulgarians  use 
their  newly-acquired  liberty  wisely,  the  people  of  England  will  not  lie 
the  last  to  sympathize  with  their  aspirations. 


An  Eastern  Statesman. 


THE   SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY 

OF   COMTE. 


AND   RELIGION 


II. 


IN  a  previous  article  I  have  given  a  sketch  of  Comtc'a  systemj  and 
esiMJciiUty  of  tliat  part  of  itTvhich  has  attracted  least  attention  in  this 
country — the  social  jihilosopby  of  the  "  PoJitiquc  Positive."  In  this 
and  a  subsequent  article  I  propose  to  make  a  few  criticisms  on  the 
system,  with  the  view  of  exhibiting  the  fundamental  tendencies  of 
thought  which  are  manifested  in  it,  and  of  contrasting  the  manifestation 
of  those  tendencies  in  Comtc,  with  their  manifestation  iu  other  writers, 
especially  in  the  great  German  idealists  of  the  beginning  of  this 
century.  In  these  criticisms  I  sliall  observe  the  same  relative  limitation 
as  in  the  previous  article,  and  shall  give  most  attention  to  the  social  and 
religious  results  of  Comte's  philosophy.  Ah,  however,  it  is  impossible  to 
separate  these  from  the  philoaophical  principles  upon  which  they  are 
bascdj  it  will  be  necessary,  in  the  first  place,  to  examine  the  ideas 
of  Comte  as  to  the  development  of  human  thought  in  general,  and  of 
science  in  particular. 

Comte,  like  every  great  writer,  was  a  son  of  his  time;  and  his 
greatness  is  measured  by  the  degree  iu  which  he  brought  to  articulate 
expression  the  ideas  which  were  unconsciously,  or  half  couseiously, 
working  upon  the  minds  of  those  around  him.  The  great  emancipating 
movement  of  thouglit  in  the  eighteenth  century,  whir-h  found  its  clearest 
expression  in  the  works  of  Ilumc  and  Voltaire,  and  which  was  kindled 
into  revolutionary  passion  by  Rousseau,  awakeued,  by  way  of  reaetiou, 
an  equally  extreme  movement  botli  in  tlieory  an<l  practice,  toward 
the  rcasscrtion  of  authority  and  social  order.  But  iu  the  midst  of 
this  flux  and  reflux  of  the  popular  consciousness,  and  still  more  after 
the  extreme  limits  of  each  of  these  movements  became  clearly  marked, 
a  new  idea  was  gradually  taking  possession  of  all  miiuls  that  could  rise 
above  the  atmosphere  of  party.  Emancipation,  pushed  to  the  extent  of 
isolating  the  individual  from  that  general  life  through  whicli  alone  he 


SOCIAL  PIlILOSOPin  AXD  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     521 


k 


I 


can  become  a  moral,  or  even  a  rational  being — rebelliou,  pushed  to  the 
extcut  of  severing  the  present  from  that  past  upon  which  it  is  necessarily 
based — had  for  their  natural  counterparts  an  equally  exaggerated  panic 
of  reaction,  and  au  equally  indiscriminate  admiration  of  past  forms  of 
thought  and  life.  Even  in  Rousseau  the  ideal  of  savage  isolation  i» 
crossed  by  longing  reminiscences  of  the  partriarchal  state,  and  of  the 
republics  of  antiquity ;  and  the  romantic  spirit,  with  its  revival  of 
medieeval  ty]>es  aud  models,  soon  began  to  spread  through  the  literature 
of  Europe,  and  to  affect  its  social  and  political  life.  Between  these 
opposing  tendencies  the  conception  of  society  as  a  unity,  yet  not  a 
mechanical  but  an  organic  unity,  of  living  and  independent  mombersj 
presented  itself  as  the  reconciliation  of  socialism  and  individualism,  or, 
in  other  words,  of  the  opposing  interests  of  unity  and  freedom.  And 
with  this  came  another  kindred  idea — the  idea  of  development  or  organic 
evolution — which  made  it  possible  to  admit  men's  obligations  to  the  past 
without  denying  the  claims  of  the  present  and  the  future.  Condorcet, 
Kant,  and  Edmund  Burke  are  three  writers  of  very  different  temper  and 
tendency,  but  in  all  of  them  we  find  this  consciousness  of  the  organic 
unity  aud  evolution  of  the  life  of  men  and  nations.  All  equally  oppose 
the  crude  theory  of  a  Social  Contract  and  recognize  that  the  unity  of 
the  State  or  of  Society  is  something  better  "  than  a  partnership  agree- 
ment in  a  trade  of  pepper  and  coffee,  calico  or  tobacco,  or  some 
other  such  low  concern,  to  be  taken  up  for  a  little  temporary  interest, 
and  to  be  dissolved  by  the  fancy  of  the  parties  ;"*  that  it  is,  on  the 
contrary,  "a  partnership  in  all  science,  a  partnership  in  all  art,  a  partner- 
ahip  in  every  virtue,  and  in  all  perfection."  All  equally  recognize  that 
the  social  State,  to  which  they  look  forward  as  the  ideal  of  the  future, 
cannot  be  merely  an  historical  accident,  or  a  success  achieved  by  the 
skilful  contrivance  of  individuals ;  but  that  it  must  be  the  6ual  realiza- 
tion of  a  principle,  which  has  been  working  through  all  the  past  history 
of  man,  and  which  has  underlain  not  only  the  old  order  of  Euroixjan 
civilization  but  also  the  movement  of  rebellion  against  it.f  Finally^ 
after  Kant's  suggestive  application  of  it  to  history,  the  same  idea, 
with  a  deeper  metaphysical  perception  of  its  meaning,  became  the  central 
thought  in  the  philosophies  of  Schelling  and  Uegel  as  early  as  the  first 
years  of  this  century. 

Comte,  ignorant  for  the  most  pari  of  the  work  of  any  except  his 
French  predecessors,  was  led  to  the  same  fundamental  conception 
by  the  political  experiences  of  France,  an  well  as  by  the  conflict  of 
the  opposite  schools  of  Kousseau  and  St.  Simon  with  each  other  and 
with  the  Catholic  De  Maistre.  Yet,  despite  this  independence,  there 
is  a  certain  parallelism  between  Comte*s  interpretation  of  the  idea 
of   development    and  that  of   the    German   idealists.      That  the   first 

•  Burke's  "  Refioctiona  on  the  Rovolntion  in  France/'  p.  18-1. 

t  Thia  la  not  athctly  accurate,  for  Condurcet  seeuix  to  except  from  hifl  list  of  the  elemcnta 
of  progress  the  whole  social  and  eocleei&stical  system  which  enited  prcWoua  to  the  Eevo- 
laiiOD,  vhilo  fiarke  cao  see  no  element  of  growth  or  improveneot  in  the  Revolution  iteelf . 


;22 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


"  Synthesis/'  or  system  of  doctriac  upon  which  man's  intellectual  and 
moral  life  is  based^  was  poetic  or  imaginative ;  that  it  was  therefore  dis- 
integrated and  destroyed  by  the  critical  understanding  ;  and  that  it 
requires  to  be  restored  and  reconstituted  on  a  rational  basis,  a  basis 
which  shall  satisfy  the  awakened  intclligcncCj  as  well  as  the  heart  and 
the  moral  sympathies — all  this  -was  a  commonplace  of  German  philosophy 
long  before  the  advent  of  positivism.  The  condemnation  which  Comte 
pronoimced  upon  the  individualistic  and  revolutionary  theories  of 
Roxisscau  is  little  more  than  an  echo  of  the  German  attack  upon  the 
'*■  Aufkliirung."  Even  Comte's  denunciation  of  the  "metaphysical" 
explanation  of  the  world  by  transcendent  causes  or  "  entities/'  which 
are  not  capable  of  empirical  verification,  and  his  assertion  that  man's 
knowledge  is  coufiued  to  the  relative  aud  phenomenal  finds  its  exact 
parallel  in  the  language  of  Kant.  And  Kant's  idealistic  followers,  thongh 
tliey  assert  the  possihilily  of  a  knowledge  that  goes  beyond  the  phe- 
nomenal, do  not  assert  it  in  the  sense  in  which  Comte  denies  it;  for  with 
them  the  negation  of  an  absolute  dualism  between  the  nonmenal  and 
phenomenal  is,  as  will  afterwards  be  shown,  only  the  necessary 
result  of  the  doctrine  of  the  relativity  of  knowledge  itself.  In  all  ways, 
therefore,  the  question  between  Comte  and  those  whom  ho  would  have 
called  metaphysicians  is  of  a  much  more  definite  and  specific  kind  than 
he  or  his  followers  generally  have  recognised.  The  general  basis  of 
thought — which  belongs  rather  to  the  time  than  to  any  iudivldual— is 
common  to  him  and  all  the  greater  philosophical  writers  of  his  own, 
and  even  of  the  preceding  generation.  And  the  only  point  for  con- 
troversy is  whether  ho  gave  the  most  cousistent  and  satisfiictory  develop- 
ment to  those  principles,  which  we  cannot  indeed  say  that  he  derived 
from  others,  hut  which  he  was  certainly  not  the  first  to  express.  The 
question  in  short  is,  in  the  first  place,  how  far  Comte  had  a  clear  con- 
sciousness of  the  source  and  bearing  of  his  own  leading  ideas;  and,  in 
the  second  place,  how  far  he  has  been  successful  in  applying  them.  I 
venture  to  think  that  in  both  points  of  view  a  careful  examination  of 
his  works  shows  him  to  be  defective.  He  fails  to  apprehend  with  clear- 
ness the  logic  by  which  his  own  thoughts  are  guided,  he  fails  to  follow 
out  that  logic  to  its  legitimate  result,  and  his  system,  therefore,  with 
all  its  comprehensiveness,  ends  in  ineonsisiency  and  self-contradiction* 

In  the  first  place,  then,  Comte's  starting-point  was  6xe<l  for  him  by 
the  sensationalist  philosophy  of  the  last  century.  He  begins  where 
Hume  ends,  with  the  denial  of  the  scientific  value  of  metaphysics  and 
theology.  This  denial  ho  only  modifies  so  far  as  to  maintain  that, 
while  neither  theology  nor  metaphysics  can  be  regarded  as  forms  of  real 
knowledge,  both  must  be  regarded  as  necessary  stages  in  the  process  by 
which  real  knowledge  is  attained.  They  are,  in  short,  transitory  forms 
of  thought,  which  now  survive  only  as  stages  in  the  culture  of  youth, 
or  as  prejudices  in  the  minds  of  those  who  have  not  yet  been  awakened 
to  the  spirit  of  their  time.     Notwithstanding  this  wholesale  rejection 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     523 


of  metapliysic  and  theology,  however,  it  may  easily  be  shown  that 
Comtc^s  own  theory,  like  every  intelligible  view  of  the  world,  involves 
a  mctaphysic,  and  cuds  iu  a  theology  ;  and  that  he  only  succeeds  ia 
concealing  this  from  himself,  bceaase  he  h  uucon.scious  of  the  presup- 
positions he  makes,  because  he  uses  the  word  **  metaphysic^'  ia  a 
^narrow  aud  mistaken  sense,  and  because  he  coaceivcs  it^  as  well  as 
|theology,  to  be  bound  up  with  a  kind  of  "  transcendentalism/'  which  all 
Hhe  great  metaphysicians  of  modern  times  agree  in  rejecting. 

Hostility  to  mctaphysic,  if  by  mctaphysic  be  meant  the  explanation 
of  the  facta  of  experience  by  entities  or  causes,  which  cannot  be  verified 
in  experience  or  shown  to  stand  in  any  definite  relation  to  it,  is  the 
common  feature  of  all  modern  philosophy,  idealist  or  sensationalist.  It 
is  as  clearly  manifested  iu  Descartes  as  in  Bacon,  in  Kant  aiid  Hegel,  as 
iu  Locke  and  Hume.  If  Bacon  accuses  the  scholastics  of  anticipating 
Nature  by  unverified  hypotheses  or  presuppositions  not  derived  from  the 
study  of  Nature,  Descartes  is  no  less  emphatic  iu  his  denunciation  of  a 
philosophy  of  authority,  aud  in  his  demand  for  a  fundamental  recon- 
struction of  belief.  If  the  former  bases  all  truth  upon  experience, 
does  not  the  latter  seek  the  evideuee  of  his  principles  iu  the  most  iuii- 
mate  of  expericnccsj  the  consciousness  of  self?  Leibnitz  is  as  ready 
as  Loeke^  Kant  is  as  ready  as  Hume,  to  maiutaiu  that  philosophy  must 
not  introduce  transcendent  principles  into  its  explanations  of  experience. 
As  Luther  rejected  a  God  who  did  not  reveal  himself  directly  to  the 
heart  and  intelligence  of  his  worshipper^  but  only  thiough  the  mediation 
of  a  priest  and  in  an  external  tradition^  so  the  greatest  modern  philo* 
sophers  of  all  schools  arc  agreed  in  rejecting  all  principles  which  do  not 
find  their  evidence  in  being  an  integral  part  of  the  experience  of  men. 
I  do  not  say  that  they  all  consistently  develop  this  principle  to  its 
necessary  consequence,  or  that  traces  of  scholastic  modes  of  thought  are 
not  to  be  found  even  iu  those  of  them  who  most  strongly  denounce 
scholasticism ;  on  the  contrary,  there  is  good  ground  for  saying  that  no 
one  before  Kant  saw  clearly  what  was  involved  in  the  renunciation  of  the 
transcendent  as  an  object  of  knowledge.  Still,  the  assertion  of  the  prin- 
ciple itself,  and  the  effort  to  realize  it,  is  perhaps  the  most  general  and 
invariable  characteristic  of  modem  philosophy.  In  so  fai",  therefore,  as 
what  Comtc  means  by  metaphysics  is  anything  like  the  bcholastic  philo- 
sophy, with  it3  transcendent  or  authoritative  principles,  no  objection  need 
be  taken  to  his  assertion  that  mctaphysic  is  an  exploded  modeof  thought^ 
from  which  the  philosopher  and  the  man  of  science  must  now  seek  to  free 
themselves.  But  then  it  must  be  added  that,  in  this  sense,  none  of  the 
greater  speculative  wTiters  of  modern  times  is,  iu  principle,  a  metaphy- 
sician ;  and  that  the  mctaphysic  which  they  cultivate  is  of  a  totally 
different  nature.  If,  indeed,  wc  could  consider  Comte's  remarks  as 
aimed  at  the  great  metaphysicians  of  his  own  day,  at  Kant  and  his 
Buecessors,  the  description,  and  therefore  the  censure  fouuded  upon  it, 
would  be  almost  ludicrously  inapplicable. 


bU 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  RFAIEIV. 


To  understand  the  bearing  of  Comtc's  donial  of  nictajdiysics,  however, 
■we  must  keep  in  ^iew  his  historical  antecedents.  This  negation  was,  as 
I  hare  already  said,  part  of  his  heritagji^  from  tlie  sensationalist  philosophy 
of  the  last  ccntur}',  which  had  reached  its  most  consequent  and  dcHnitc 
expression  in  Hume.  It  was  a  conclusion^  the  first  step  towards  which 
was  taken  by  Locke  in  his  attack  upon  the  Cartesian  doctrine  of  innate 
ideas.  In  Locke's  view^  innate  ideas  were  principles  apprehended 
independently  of  all  experience — possessions  of  the  individual  mind 
which  it  finds  in  itself  at  once,  and  apart  from  any  process  of  develop- 
ment, or  intercourse  with  anything  but  itself.  And,  to  disprove  their 
existence^  it  was  enough  for  him  to  point  to  the  fact  that,  prior  to  such 
intercourse  with  the  world,  the  mind  has  no  contents  at  all,  and  C4in 
scarcely  be  said  even  to  exist.  This  obvious  truth,  however,  was  im- 
mediately confused  by  him  with  the  doctrine  that  reality — the  objective 
world  of  individual  things  as  such — is  immediately  given  in  sense  apart 
from  any  "  work  of  the  miudj"  and  that  any  ideas  or  universals  added  by 
thought  to  the  data  of  sense,  must,  ipso  facto j  be  fictions.  In  making 
this  assuujptiou,  Locke  was  yielding  to  a  tendency  of  thought  which 
had  already  shown  itself  in  the  nominalism  of  Hobbes.  Lockcj  indeed, 
was  not  a  nominalist,  he  was  what  is  called  a  coueeptualist ;  but  in  the 
Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding  no  distinct  ground  is  ever  stated  for 
giving  to  universals  more  thati  that  subjective  value  which  even  Hobl>es 
allows  to  them.  In  his  criticism  of  the  ideas  of  substance  and  cause, 
Locke  is  always  seeking  to  reduce  fact  and  reality  to  the  isolated  sensations 
through  which,  as  he  supposes,  individual  things  are  given.  And  the 
same  tendency  of  thought  leads  him  also  to  regard  the  individual  mind 
as  apprehensive  only  of  its  own  ideas  and  sensations,  and  excluded  from 
all  direct  contact  with  the  world.  It  soou,  Iiowever,  became  obvious  to 
the  followci's  of  Locke  that,  on  tliesc  terms,  no  knowledge,  or  even 
semblance  of  knowledge,  is  possible  ;  that  the  individual  mind,  if  it  were 
thus  confined  to  its  own  isolated  feelings,  could  never  dream  of  the 
existence  of  an  objective  world  ;  and  that  to  make  possible  the  reference 
of  sensations  to  objects,  it  is  necessary  that  they  should  be  connected 
together  according  to  general  priueiples-  Iii  other  words,  it  became 
obvious  that  the  universal,  or  some  substitute  for  the  universal,  is 
required  to  make  knowledge  and  experience  possible.  And  to  meet  this 
want  the  theory  of  association  was  devised,  and  the  atomic  elements  of 
the  intelligible  given  in  sense,  were  supposed  to  be  linked  together  by 
the  principles  of  resemblance,  contiguity,  aud  succession.  It  was  not 
perceived  that  in  these  principles  there  is  already  impHod  the  unity  of  the 
self-conscious  intelligence,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  body  of  categories 
wliich  the  thcorj*  of  association  is  used  to  explain  or  explain  away. 
It  was  the  work  of  Kant  to  show  this  :  to  show,  in  other  words,  that 
the  attempt  to  empty  knowledge  of  its  universal  element  must  be 
suicidal,  that  it  must  be  fatal  not  only  to  theology  aud  metaphysics 
but    to    all    knowledge,    even    of    the    simplest    facts    of    experience. 


^ 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.    525 

But  Hume — and  it  may  be  added  most  of  his  English  followers,  such  as 
Mill  and  ^Ir.  Spencer — halt  halfway  in  the  development  of  their  scnsa- 
tionalism^  and  therefore  think  it  possible  to  maintain,  that  while  the 
oltimatc  reality  of  things  is  hid  from  us,  because  we  cannot  transcend 
our  own  ideas,  we  can  still  have  knowledge  of  phenomena,  because  these 
ideas  are  combined  in  the  minds  of  all  men  according  to  the  same 
principles  of  association.  It  is  from  this  point  of  view  that  Hume  tells 
us  that  the  principle  of  causality,  based  as  it  is  upon  mere  association, 
may  be  fairly  iised  to  connect  phenomena  with  each  other,  but  that 
it  is  altogether  insufficient  to  enable  U3  to  rise  from  phenomena  to 
uonii&cna — from  the  world  to  God.  Tims  the  principles  of  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas  arc  to  the  mind  of  man  something  like  what  wings  arc  to 
the  ostrich ;  they  help  him  to  run  on  the  ground,  but  they  ore  not  strong 
enough  to  make  him  tly.  As  a  succcdaneum  for  that  universal  element 
in  thought,  which  would  raise  ns  to  the  kuowledge  of  things  as  they  really 
are,  they  enable  ns  to  arrange  the  appearances — the  shadows  of  onr  cave 
— and  ihatf  for  the  practical  puri)osc3  of  the  cave,  is  all  that  we  require. 

While  the  English  followers  of  Locke  thus  confined  themselves  to  the 
development  of  his  ideas  on  the  theory  of  knowledge,  his  French 
followers  seized  upon  his  individualistic  theory  of  existence,  and  used 
it  as  an  instrument  to  undermine  the  Catholic  faith,  and  the  whole 
political  and  social  system  connected  therewith.  Diderot  and  D*Hol- 
bach  found  in  Atomism  the  readiest  weapon  to  assail  the  popular  theology. 
The  former  writer,  indeed,  sometimes  plays  with  the  atomic  theory  in  a 
way  that  reminds  us  of  the  earth-shaking  laughter  of  Aristophanes.  In 
infinite  time,  he  asks,  in  the  infinite  number  of  throws  of  the  atomic 
dice,  why  should  not,  at  one  moment  or  another,  a  Cosmos  spring  out 
of  chaos  ?  and  the  Abbe  Galiani  can  only  hint,  by  way  of  answer,  that 
somehow  or  other,  "les  des  de  la  Nature  sont  pipes."*  Rousseau,  apply- 
ing the  same  idea  to  Sociology,  proclaims  the  emancipation  of  the  natural 
man,  and  develops  the  theory  of  the  Social  Contract,  the  theory  which 
reduces  the  State  to  a  creation  of  the  individual  will.  Yet  Rousseau 
had  some  uncertain  glimpses  of  the  truth  that  the  individual  has  no 
rights  or  claims,  except  so  far  as  he  is  an  organ  of  the  universal,  and 
with  strange  inconsistency  he  declares,  that  it  is  only  through  social  life 
that  the  human  being  ceases  ''to  be  a  dull  and  limited  animal,  and 
becomes  an  intelligent  being  and  a  man/' 

Now  it  is  curious  that  Comte,  while  in  his  theory  of  knowlc<Igc  he 
accepts  the  conclusions  of  the  school  of  Locke,  in  his  social  theory  takes 
up  a  position  of  intense  hostility  to  the  results  of  the  same  philosophy. 
That  very  individualism,  wliich  in  Loeke  and  Hume  had  been  the 
ground  and  presupposition  of  the  whole  attack  upon  mctaphysic,  is 
assailed  by  Comte  as  the  very  essence  of  mctaphysic.  "The  metaphy- 
sical spirit/'  he  is  never  weary  of  saying,  ''is  radically  incompatible  with 
the  social  point  of  view;"  it  has  *'nevcr  been  able  to  escape  from  the  sphere 

•  t'f.  Du  fiois-Rcymond'a  "  Darwin  und  Galiaai." 


526 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEPV. 


of  the  iudividual."  From  the  empirical  pltilosopliy  Comtc  accepted 
most  of  itsncgativcsj  cspecinlly  ity  dcuial  of  the  possibility  of  mctapbysics 
or  theology,as  sciences  of  thiugs  in  themselves, and  its  denial  that  even  the 
principles,  on  which  experience  is  based^  arc  themselves  derived  from  any- 
thing but  experience.  But  tlie  school  of  Locke  had  generally  denied 
the  abstract  universal  in  favour  of  the  equally  abstract  individual,  and 
here  Comte  declines  to  follow  them.  Individualism  is  seen  by  him  to 
be  an  inadequate  basis  for  social  or  even  for  biological  theory,  and  the 
blame,  as  a  matter  of  course,  is  cast  upon  metaphysics.  The  "  fate  of 
metaphysical  theory,"  he  declares,  "is  decided  by  its  inability  to  con- 
ceive of  man  otherwise  than  individually  j"  whereas  "the  true  human 
point  of  view  is  not  individual  but  social."  '*  Man  is  a  mere  abstrac- 
tion, and  there  is  nothing  real  but  humanity,  regarded  intellectually  and 
yet  more  morally,"*  It  is  in  fact  just  this  thought  of  the  unity  and 
solidarity  of  man — not  the  mere  abstract  unity  of  a  genus,  but  the 
concrete  unity  of  one  life,  manifesting  itself  in  many  members — 
which  enables  Comte  to  look  at  the  history  of  the  past  in  a  way  so 
different  from  most  of  his  predecessore,  and  to  recognize  the  affinity  of 
the  social  synthesis  of  the  future,  which  he  himself  is  trying  to  realize, 
with  the  previous  theological  synthesis  of  Catholicism.  It  is  this  also 
which  leads  him  to  create  a  new  religion  of  humanity,  and  even,  in  the 
end,  to  justify  that  poetic  licence  which  seems  necessary  to  complete 
the  synthetic  view  of  life,  and  to  bring  Nature  into  unity  with  man. 
In  the  "  Politique  Positive"  Comte*s  opposition  to  metaphysics  as  tending, 
in  the  language  of  Burke,  to  dissolve  society  "  into  the  dust  and  powder  of 
individuality,"  becomes  even  more  emphatic ;  and  with  it  is  combined  a 
continual  denunciation  of  the  "dispersive  regime"  of  the  particular 
sciences,  wliich  in  the  present  day  he  declares  to  be  pursued  by  mere  spe- 
cialists, with  an  extreme  waste  of  human  faculty,  and  without  any  regard 
to  the  legitimate  end  of  all  science,  the  furtherance  of  man's  estate.  The 
conception  of  life  and  sc'icuce,  as  a  connected  whole,  all  whose  parts  are 
to  be  estimated  and  developed  in  relation  to  each  other,  and  to  the  idea 
of  the  whole,  is  by  Comte  as  firmly  held  and  as  resolutely  carried  out  to 
its  consequences  as  by  the  most  extreme  idealif*t  or  pantheist.  The 
only  difference — which  still  shows  the  trace  of  the  individualistic  philo- 
sophy out  of  which  Positivism  was  developed — is  that  the  synthesis  of 
Comte  is,  in  his  own  language,  subjective,  not  objeci'we ;  by  which  he 
means  that  the  whole,  in  relation  to  which  all  things  arc  to  be  inter- 
preted, and  of  which  the  individual  man  is  to  be  regarded  only  as  a  part 
or  member,  is  humanity,  and  not  the  universe.  In  other  words,  Comte 
holds  that  we  transcend  the  limits  of  knowledge  when  we  seek  to  regard 
ourselves  as  parts  of  the  universal  whole  or  system  of  things,  and  there- 
fore as  living  under  the  providence  of  God  ;  but  tliat  we  do  not  Iraua- 
cend  the  limits  of  knowledge  when  we  regard  ourselves  as  parts  of  the 
one  great  organism  of  humanity,  and  therefore  as  living  under  Us  con- 
•  Pbil.  Po«.  vi.  p.  <J92,  MiBS  Marlineau'a  Tmna.  ii.  p.  508. 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     327 

tinnal  providence.  We  are  not,  as  Berkeley  and  Huiuc  had  taught, 
coufmed  ta  the  phenomena  of  our  individual  conseiousuess ;  but 
neither  arc  we  capable  of  reaching  a  purely  objective  point  of  view. 
We  can  see  things,  and  estimate  them  from  the  point  of  view  of  a  whole, 
but  not  of  the  whole, — except,  indeed,  in  that  poetry  of  religion  by 
which  the  earliest  feticbist  affections  are  renewed,  and  space  and  the 
earth  are  worshipped  as  the  friends  of  Humanity.  This,  however,  is 
mere  poetic  licence ;  for  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  man 
has  any  friend  but  himself,  and  in  its  first  direct  action  upon  liim 
the  world  shows  itself  to  be  anything  but  a  system  arranged  for  lus 
benefit. 

Now,  without  for  the  present  discussing  the  truth  of  this  view,  we 
may  remark  that  it  is  obviously  the  result  of  a  compromise  between  the 
two  opposite  tendencies  of  thought,  which  divided  the  earlier  history  of 
modem  philosophy.  In  the  Cartesian  philosophy  there  was  a  tendency 
— which  manifested  itself  fully  in  the  two  greatest  followers  of  Descartes, 
in  Malebranche  and  Spinoza — to  regard  all  things  from  the  point  of  view 
of  the  absolute  unity  of  the  Universe,  and  to  treat  the  separate  existence 
of  the  parts  as  a  fiction  of  abstraction.  On  this  >'iew  the  individual's 
consciousness  of  himself  as  an  individual  is  an  illusion,  and  Spinoza  would 
have  said  the  same  thing  of  his  consciousness  of  liimself  as  a  member 
of  the  race.  The  only  true  consciousness  is  that  in  which  both  man  and 
humanity  are  seen  as  absorbed  in  Nature,  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  in 
God.  The  followers  of  Locke,  again,  went  so  far  in  the  opposite  direction 
that  they  regarded  the  universal  as  a  fiction  of  abstraction,  and  the  in. 
dividual  as  the  sole  reality.  Hence  they  sought  to  confine  the  indindual 
in  theory  to  the  perception  of  his  own  sensitive  states,  and  in  practice 
to  the  seeking  of  pleasant,  and  the  avoidance  of  painful  feelings.  Comte 
steers  a  path  midway  between  the  two  extremes.  To  him,  as  to  Locke 
and  Hume,  Nature  is  the  vainest  of  abstractions,  the  last  delusion  of 
metaphysics;  and  all  attempts  to  penetrate  into  the  real  being  of  things 
are  the  efforts  of  a  finite  creature  to  get  beyond  his  own  limits.  Yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  him,  as  to  Spinoza,  it  seems  irrational  to  separate 
the  individual  from  the  whole  to  which  he  belongs,  and  therefore 
Humanity,  instead  of  being  regarded  as  a  vague  abstraction  like  Nature, 
is  aasertcd  to  be  the  most  real  of  all  tilings  or  beings.  '^Mau  is  a  more 
abstraction,  and  there  is  nothing  real  but  Humanity."  And  Comte  is  so 
far  from  saying  that  the  individual  is  confined  to  the  data  of  his  own 
individual  conseiousuess  that  he  rather  maintains  that  we  arc  unable  to 
know  ourselves,  except  as  we  know  something  else.  Thus  in  criticizing 
tlie  psychological  method  of  internal  observation — which,  by  the  way,  he 
supposes  to  be  the  essential  method  of  metaphj'sics — Comte  says,  '^  this 
pretended  psychologic:il  method  is  essentially  defective,  for  consider  to 
what  suicidal  procedures  it  immediately  leads;  on  the  one  side  it  bids 
you  isolate  yourself  as  far  as  possible  from  every  external  |)erception, 
and  therefore  prohibits  yon  from  carrA-iug  on  any  intellectual  labour ; 


528 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


for  if  you  arc  employed  in  any,  even  the  simplest  calculation,  wliat 
would  become  of  the  internal  observation  ?  On  the  other  hand,  after 
having  finally  by  elaborate  effort  and  arrangement  attained  this  perfect 
state  of  intellectual  slumber,  you  are  called  upon  to  watch  the  opera- 
tions which  are  going  on  in  your  mind,  when  in  fact  there  is  nothing 
going  on  at  all."*  Comtc  sees  the  absurdity  of  a  psychological  method^ 
in  which  the  mind  is  isolated  from  the  world  and  treated  as  one  object 
among  the  others  which  have  to  be  observed,  instead  of  being  regarded  as  a 
"  part  of  all  it  knows,"  although  he  does  not  clearly  indicate  the  source  of 
the  error.  But  the  only  result,  as  we  have  seen,  is  a  compromise,  in  which 
the  individual  is  supposed  to  be  capable  of  objective  knowledge,  though 
only  of  phenomena,  and  capable  also  of  objective  aims,  which,  however, 
he  cannot  identify  with  the  absolute  end  of  all  things.  We  can  know, 
in  Comtc's  opinion,  not  merely  what  ia  relative  to  our  individual 
minds,  but  to  the  human  mind  ;  and  we  can  seek  as  our  end,  not  merely 
our  own  individual  pleasure  but  the  happiness  of  Humanity.  But  we 
cannot  kuoAv  what  things  really  arc,  apart  from  their  appearance  to  us ; 
we  cannot  worship  any  God  who  is  in  Nature  as  in  man,  or  identify 
ourselves  with  any  divine  purpose  which  reaches  beyond  the  pleasures 
and  pains  of  this  transitory  existence.  Whether  this  compromise  ia 
more  than  a  compromise,  whether  it  is  a  true  solution  of  the  difficulty, 
or  a  reconciliation  of  the  opposite  tendencies  of  thought  in  a  higher 
unity,  we  have  yet  to  consider. 

The  point,  however,  to  which  I  wish  here  to  call  attention  is,  that 
Comte's  protest  against  metaphysic  loses  almo;*t  all  its  weight  because 
of  his  iguijrancc  of  the  real  scope  and  tendency  of  the  meta- 
physical theories  of  the  past,  and  of  his  own  relation  to  them.  He 
seems  to  have  no  perception  of  the  essential  distinction  between  the 
two  tendencies  of  thought  wliich  he  is  partly  opposing  and  partly 
reconciling.  Beginning  with  a  denunciation  of  metaphysic,  because  it 
treats  universals  as  real  entities,  he  ends  by  insisting  on  the  truth  that 
the  Family,  State,  and  Humanity,  though  they  undoubtcflly  are  universals, 
arc  at  the  same  time  objectively  real.  In  the  attempt  to  rise  above  the 
abstractions  of  earlier  thought  he  is  iu  harmony  with  the  best 
metaphysics  of  his  time.  His  defect  lies  in  his  unconsciousness  of 
his  own  metaphysic,  i.e.,  of  the  categories  which  rule  his  thought, 
and  which  enable  him  to  interpret  the  facts  of  experience,  and  especially 
the  facts  of  man's  social  life,  so  differently  from  Lis  predecessors.  For 
hinij  indeed,  there  is  an  easy  explanation  of  this  difJ'erencc  between 
himself  and  the  philosophers  of  an  earlier  time.  They  were  "  metaphy- 
sical," wbile  he  is  not ;  they  made  assumptions,  and  substituted  their 
own  ideas  for  the  teaching  of  cxpericneCj  wliilc  he  liss  simply  made  his 
mind  into  a  mirror  of  Nature,  and  stated  the  facts  as  they  are.  Comtc 
forgets  what  his  own  principles  led  him  on  other  occasions  to  perceive, 
that  the  world  is  what  it  is  to  us  by  the  development  of  our  own  thoughts, 

•  Phil  Pos.  i.  p.  3C. 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AXD  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.      529 


Rnd  that  wc  find  in  it  only  what  we  are  prepared  to  find.  Locke  also, 
when  he  attacked  the  Cartesians,  seemed  to  himself  to  be  substituting 
experience  for  mere  ideas,  reality  for  fiction.  He  did  not  observe  that 
he  was  substituting  for  the  presupposition  that  the  universal  alone  is 
real,  the  opposite  presupposition  that  the  individual  alone  is  real;  and  that 
the  one  presupposition  is  as  much  an  idea  as  the  other.  And  Comte^ 
in  his  turn,  guided  by  his  new  organic  idea  of  social  life  and  develop- 
ment, advances  to  the  attack  upon  the  individualistic  philosophy,  with 
the  same  naive  confidence  that  his  idea  is  not  an  idea  at  all,  but  a  fact. 
With  all  his  talk  of  experience,  he  has  never  asked,  or  he  has  not 
understood  the  beariug  of  the  Kantian  question,  What  is  experience  ? 
For  if  he  hud  done  so,  he  must  have  discovered  that  his  own  so-called 
positive  thought  was  us,  metaphysical  as  that  either  of  the  Realists  or 
of  the  NominalistSj  and  was  indeed  possible  only  as  the  result  of  a 
development  which  included  both. 

It  is  true  that  Comte  in  hia  "  Politique  Positive"  refers  to  Kant's 
criticism  of  experience,  though  in  a  way  that  seems  to  show  thiit  his 
knowletlge  was  derived  only  from  hearsay.  Kant  is  supposed  by  him 
to  he  the  philosopher  who  first  extended  to  the  mind  the  general  biolo- 
gical truth  of  the  action  and  reaction  of  organism  and  medium  upon 
each  other.  Because  of  this  action  and  reaction,  in  which  the  mind 
modifies  the  object,  as  well  as  the  object  the  mind,  our  thoughts  do  not 
correspond  to  the  reality  of  things  in  themselves ;  they  do  not  represent 
the  medium  as  it  is,  but  only  as  it  appears  to  usj  and  our  conception 
of  the  world  is  not  therefore  absolute,  but  only  relative.  On  the  other 
hand,  we  must  not  exaggerate  this  truth  so  far  as  to  suppose  that  the 
development  of  our  thought  is  purely  subjective;  or,  in  other  words, 
that  it  belongs  to  the  miud  ai)art  from  the  action  of  the  world  upon  it 
(a  view  which  Comte  attributes  to  the  German  idealists).  The  true 
theory  is  "  to  regard  theworld  as  furnishing  the  matter,  and  the  mind 
the  form,  in  every  positive  notion.  The  fusion  of  these  elements 
cannot  take  place  except  by  reciprocal  sacrifices.  Excess  of  objectivity 
would  hinder  every  general  view,  for  generality  implies  abstraction.  But 
the  analysis  which  permits  us  to  abstract  would  be  impossible,  unless 
we  could  suppress  the  natural  excess  of  subjectivity.  Every  man,  as  he 
compares  himself  with  others,  spontaneously  takes  away  from  his  ob- 
servations that  which  is  peculiar  to  himself,  in  order  to  realise  that 
social  agreement  which  constitutes  the  main  end  of  contemplative  life ; 
but  the  degree  of  subjectivity  wliich  is  common  to  all  our  spet-'ics  usually 
remains,  and  remains  without  any  serious  inconvenience.  Nor  could  we 
reduce  its  amount,  except  by  iutcllectual  intercourse  with  the  other 
animals,  an  intercourse  which  is  rare  and  imperfect.  Besides,  however 
we  might  restrict  or  diminish  the  subjective  influences  that  mould 
our  thoughts,  in  the  effort  to  come  to  au  understanding  with  intelli- 
gences unlike  our  own,  still  our  conceptions  could  never  attain  to  a  pure 
objectivity.      It  is,  therefore,  as  impossible  as  it  is  useless  to  determine 

VOL.   XSXV,  M    M 


530 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


exactly  tLc  respective  coutributions  of  the  iutemal  and  the  external  in 
the  productiou  of  knowledge/'* 

It  is  easy  from  this  passage  to  see  that  Comtc  has  not  apprehended 
the  real  bearing  of  tlic  Kantian  criticism.  Kant  does  not  seek  to  show 
that  knowledge  springs  out  of  the  action  and  reaction  of  subject  and 
object  on  each  other,  but  that  there  are  certain  univcrsalsj  or  forms  of 
thought,  by  wliich  the  intelligence  must  determine  the  matter  of  scn^e 
ere  we  can  know  objects  as  such.  The  question  which  he  discusser  isy 
how  experience,  and  objects  of  experience,  as  such,  arc  possible.  Kant 
would  not,  therefore,  say  that  it  is  impossible  "  to  determine  exactly 
the  respective  contributions  of  the  internal  and  the  external  in  the 
production  of  knowledge  j"  but  that  the  problem  is  an  absurd  one, 
since  subject  and  object  arc  correlative  elements  in  the  unity  of  know- 
ledge, and  not  two  separate  things,  by  the  action  and  reaction  of  which 
npon  each  other  knowledge  is  produced.  The  unity  of  experience  is 
incapable  of  being  transcended,  and  it  is  a  false  abstraction  by  which  we 
attempt  to  take  either  subject  or  ohjeet  out  of  that  unity,  and  seek  to 
determine  it  as  a  thing  in  itself-  The  intelligi  and  the  esst  of  things 
are  one^  in  such  a  sense,  that  it  is  transcending  the  limits  of  experience 
to  attempt  to  determine  either  of  these  apart  from  the  otlier.f  All 
knowledge  or  ex]jei'icuce  implies  and  presupposes  the  unity  of  tlie 
knowing  mind  and  the  categories  tlirough  which  it  determines  its 
objects,  and  it  is  only  in  virtue  of  these  that  there  exists  for  ua  any 
objective  world  of  experience  at  all.  Hence  to  leave  out  the  intelligence, 
in  our  account  of  the  intelligible,  to  forget  the  constitutive  power  of 
thought  in  speaking  of  existence  (as  is  done  by  materialistic  and  so- 
called  empirical  theories),  is  to  mutilate  and  distort  the  essential  facts  of 
the  case. 

This  Kantian  view  of  Nature  and  experience  leads  directly  to  certain 
important  conclusions  as  to  the  work  of  philosophy.  For,  if  its  truth 
be  admitted,  it  ncccssurily  follows  that  the  ordinary  consciousness  of 
men — even  the  ordinary  scieniiGc  consciousness — is,  in  its  view  of  the 
world,  essentially  abstract  and  imperfect.  The  ordinary  cousdousuess 
genendly,  we  might  even  say  invariably,  deals  Mith  objects  as  tf  they 
wei'c  given  independently  of  any  thinking  subject.  It  proceeds  as  if  an 
intelligible  world  could  exist  without  an  intelligence,  and  thus  leaves  out 
of  account  an  element,  and  indeed  the  most  important  element,  in  the 
facts  of  experience.  And  the  business  of  the  philosopher  or  metaphysi- 
cian must  he  to  correct  the  abstractncss  of  ordinary,  even  of  scientific, 
thought,  to  bring  to  clear  consciousness  the  element  which  they  neglect, 
and  to  determine  how  the  new  insight  into  the  nature  of  knowledge  which, 
by  this  process,  lie  has  attained,  must  modify  and  transform  our  previous 
view  of  the  objects  known.    In  doing  so,  the  metaphysician  (or  transecn- 

•  Pol.  Po* .ii.38. 

f  Whether,  coDstatcntly  with  this,  Kaut  can  Btill  speak  of  s  thing  in  itwU — of  which  wc 
have  the  tfiought,  though  not  the  knohlalyc — i»  a  que&tion  ou  which  aomething  tnny  bo  said 
slterwarda. 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.      531 


deutalistj  as  Kant  calls  him)  is  not  introduciug  a  new  method ;  he  is 
simply  following  the  method  according  to  which  we  are  continu- 
allj  obliged  to  correct  and  complete  the  results  of  one  science  by 
another.  Science  is  necessarily  abstract,  in  so  far  as  it  investigates  and 
determines  certain  aspects  and  relations  of  things,  apart  from  their 
other  aspects  and  relations.  Thus,  in  geometry,  abstraction  is  made  of 
everything  except  the  relations  of  lines  aud  figures  ia  space,  in  order 
that  the  spatial  conditions  of  things  may  be  fully  determined,  apart 
from  their  other  conditions.  And  in  like  manner,  ''  the  dynamic  laws 
of  weight  would  still  be  unknown  to  us,  unless  we  had  first  abstracted 
all  consideration  of  the  resistance,  or  the  motion,  of  the  atmosphere  or 
other  medium."  The  science  of  political  economy  is  based  on  an  effort 
to  isolate  so  far  as  is  possible  the  economical  from  all  the  other  condi- 
tions of  social  life.  In  short,  all  the  separate  sciences,  in  this  point  of 
view,  are  abstract ;  and  they  tend  to  become  more  and  more  abstract 
as  the  scientific  division  of  labour  increases.  Tliat  is,  they  tend  to  con- 
fine themselves  to  the  investigation  of  certain  definite  relations  of 
object,  leaving  out  of  account  all  their  other  relations;  or  (what  comes 
to  much  the  same  thing)  to  the  examination  of  certain  definite  objects, 
without  taking  into  accoimt  their  manifold  relations  to  other  objects. 
Now,  as  Comte  himself  says,  "  these  preliminary  simplifications  without 
which  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  science  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word,  always  involve  a  corresponding  process  of  rccompositiouj  when 
prevision  of  actual  fact  is  called  for."  To  attain  a  complete  view  of  the 
truth,  we  must  return  from  the  abstraction  of  the  isolated  sciences  to 
the  unity  of  Nature,  in  which  all  these  separate  objects  and  relations 
are  brought  together,  to  modify  and  determine  each  other.  And 
philosophy  only  goes  a  step  further  in  the  same  direction,  when  it 
corrects  that  abstraction  from  the  thinking  self,  the  unity  of  knowledge, 
which  is  common  to  all  the  physical  natural  ecicnces.  The  only 
difference  is,  that  the  abstraction  of  science  from  the  unity  of  the  objec- 
tive world,  as  it  is  the  result  of  a  definite  act  of  thought,  is  generally 
conscious  ;  while  the  abstraction  which  philosophy  seeks  to  correct  is 
generally  unconscious.  The  geometrician  cannot  but  sec  that  there  arc 
other  than  spatial  conditions  of  existence,  and  that,  for  his  own  purjXMCS, 
he  has  left  all  such  conditions  out  of  account.  But  it  is  quite  possible, 
as  every  daj^s  experience  proves,  to  investigate  the  laws  of  the  intelligible 
world,  without  ever  adverting  to  its  necessary  relation  to  the  intelli- 
gence, and  without  being  conscious  of  the  abstractness  of  a  view  of 
things,  in  which  this  relation  is  left  out  of  account.  Philosophy,  there- 
fore, has  to  detect  and  bring  to  the  light  of  day  certain  facts  or  relations 
that  enter  into  the  constitution  of  things,  which  indeed  arc  presupposed 
in  all  our  consciousness  of  them,  but  which,  nevertheless,  generally  escape 
witliout  notice.  Of  this  work  of  philosophy  or  metaphysics,  however, 
Comte  has  no  idea,  or  he  confuses  it  with  the  methods  of  an  empirical 
psychology,  wiiicL,  by  au  opposite  abstraction,  would  separate  the  think- 

M  M  2 


532 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIFAV. 


ing  mind  from  the  world  to  which  it  is  related.  But  the  method  of 
philosophy  is  not  meic  abstraction  ;  it  is  rather,  if  the  expression  may  be 
allowed,  concretion.  Philosophy,  as  Hcgcl  said,  \%  "  thinking  tilings  to- 
gether"— i.f.j  thinking  them  in  a  unity  that  trauseenda  and  explains  their 
difTcrenees:  or,  if  it  ever  abstractly  considers  the  nnity  and  movement 
of  thought  in  itself,  it  is  only  (as  Geometry  abstractly  considers  the  rela- 
tions of  Space)  in  order  more  surely  and  clearly  to  discern  that  unity  and 
movement  in  all  the  objects  of  thought. 

It  is  to  Kant,  principally,  tdat  this   new  way  of  stating   the  problem 
of  philosophy  is  due;  but   it   would  be  altogetljcr  a  mistake  to  suppose 
that  he  essentially  chauged    the  problem   itself.      Metaphysicians,   from 
the  time  of  Socrates  and  Plato,  have  always  sought   to  get  beyond  the 
presuppositions  of  the  ordinary  consciousness,  and  to  remould  that  cou- 
sciousness  by  bringing  to  light  the  principles  upon  which  it  rests.      One 
of  the  best  definitions  that  has  been  given  of  philosophy  is  "  clear  self- 
consciousness."      And  it  is,  indeed,  just  this   character   of  metaphysical 
thought  which  renders   plausible  Comte's  attack  upon  it.      It   is   in  the 
metaphysical  writers  of  the   past  that    we  can  most  clearly  discern   the 
errors  of  the  past,  for  by  these  writers  the  errors  are  not  merely  implied 
and   presupposed,  but  explicitly  state<l.      Hence  such  writers  are  con- 
tinually snflering  from  that  natural  illusion   by  which  we   take,   as  the 
prominent   representatives    of  an   idea   or  tendency   of  thought,    those 
authors  by  whom  it   has   been  most   distinctly  expressed  ;   whereas  it  i« 
rather  they  who  first  enable  us,  even  if  they  do  not  enable  themselves, 
to  see    the    limitations  of  the   idea   or  tendency,  and  to  transcend   it. 
But  as  it  is  iu  the  metaphysicians  that   we  find  the  clearest  and  most 
definite  expressions  of  thasc  defective    principles  of  past  thought  which 
we  are  seeking  to  transcend,  it  is  not  unnatural  that  we  should  attribute 
the  defect  itself  to  metaphysic.  AVhat,  however,  is  reallydue  to  metaphysic 
is  not  the  error,  but  rather  that  clearness  and  definiteness  of  its  expression 
which  makes  our  refutation  of  it  and  our  higher  poijit  of  view  possible. 
Thus  the  limit  of  Greek  thought,  the  point  at  which,  by  its  own  develop- 
ment, it  falls  into  error  and  self-contradiction,   would   have  been  by  no 
means  so   easy   to   discern,    if  its  presuppositions  had  not   been  raised 
into   ideal  clearness  in    the   works  of  Plato  and  Aristotle.     The  indi- 
vidualism of  the  Stoics  and  Epicureans  gives  us  n  key,  which  we  would 
otherwise  want,  to  those  new  experiences  of  independence  and  isolation 
which  came  to  men  under  the  Empire    of  Rome,    after  the  breaking  up 
of  the   ancient  municipal   organization   of  social  life.       Descartes  and 
Spinoza  reveal  the  open  secret  of  that  new  view  oi  the  relation  of  mau 
to  God,  which  was  partly  expressed  by  Luther  and  Calvin,  and  which 
was  so  powerful  in    moulding  the   political  and  social   life,  especially  of 
Protestant  countries, niid  in  awaking  in  them  a  consciousness  of  individual 
and    national    independence,  combined  with  a  still  more  intense  cou- 
sciousness  that  the  individual  is  nothing,  except  as  the  servant  of  a  higher 
power.      Hence  it  was  iu  a  criticism  of  these  philosophies  that  Locke  and 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,       533 


Leibaitz  found  the  starting-point  for  their  fuller  assertion  of  the  claims 
of  the  individual.  Fiually^  it  is  through  a  struj^glc  with  ludividualism, 
especially  lu  its  fullest  expression  in  Hnmc  and  Rousscan^  that  Kaut  and 
his  successors  in  Germany,  and  Comte  in  France,  were  led  to  that  higher 
organic  idea  in  which  the  individual  and  the  universal  cease  to  ba  opposed 
to  each  other  as  reality  to  fiction,  and  come  to  be  regarded  as  different  but 
complementary  aspects  of  reality.  If  we  no  longer  say,  "  The  universal 
alone  is  real,  and  the  individual  is  an  abstraction ;"  or,  "  The  individual 
alone  is  real,  and  the  universal  is  a  name;"  but,  "  The  individual  is  real, 
but  only  as  determined  by  the  univei-sal,  and  the  universal  is  real,  but  only 
as  manifesting  itself  in  theiudividual,"it  is  due  to  the  whole  past  movement 
of  philosophic  thought.  Nor,  again,  would  it  be  difficult  to  show  that  tiie 
successes  or  failures  of  science  at  different  times  were  closely  connected 
with  the  snfiiciency  or  insufficiency  of  the  ultimate  principles  of  thinking, 
then  acknowledged  or  presupposed.  For  it  is  the  development  of  man^s 
spirit  which  enables  him  to  nak  or  to  answer  new  questions  in  regard  to 
the  world  of  objects,  and  his  growing  knowledge  of  that  world  cannot 
be  separated  from  his  growing  consciousness  of  himself.  To  one  who 
regards  metaphysic  from  this  point  of  view,  its  continual  apparent 
failures  will  be  as  little  suggestive  of  a  despair  of  philosophy  as  the 
fall  of  the  Greek  State,  or  of  the  feudal  system,  is  suggestive  of  a  dis- 
belief in  the  possibility  of  social  and  political  life.  It  may  even  be 
said  that  no  stage  of  culture,  no  limited  form  of  human  thought  or 
existence,  is  ever  completely  exhausted  and  transcended,  till  it  has  risen 
to  a  clear  consciousness  of  itself  in  a  metaphysic,  or  something  of  the 
nature  of  a  metaphysic.  It  is  the  disentanglement  of  the  principle,  tlic 
unity,  the  fundamental  category,  which  has  niled  men  almost  without 
their  knowing  it,  that  fii*st  enables  them  to  see  its  value  and  relation  to 
that  unity  of  the  whole,  with  which  it  was  necessarily  confounded  so 
long  as  it  remained  merely  a  moving  force  in  the  depths  of  the  popular 
mind.  Corate  himself  was  metaphysical,  in  so  far  as  he  sought  to 
transcend  the  one-sided  and  imperfect  categories  of  earlier  philosophy, 
and  to  reconcile  them  by  means  of  a  higher  thought.  His  defect  lay  in 
this,  that  he  was  not  metaphysical  enough,  that  his  analysis  of  his  own 
thought  was  imperfect,  and  that  he  was  therefore  the  instrument  of  a 
movement  of  human  intelligence,  of  the  meaning  of  which  he  was  never 
clearly  conscious.  Otherwise  he  would  have  perceived  that  his"  positive" 
•tagc  was  not  simply  a  negation  of  the  metaphysical  and  theological 
stages  whicli  preceded  it,  and  a  return  to  fact  and  experience,  but 
that  it  was  essentially  a  new  reading  of  experience,  which  implied, 
therefore,  a  new  form  of  metaphysics  and  theology. 

It  is  this  unconsciousness  of  his  own  fundamental  categories,  which 
explains  Comte's  radical  misconception  of  the  whole  history  of  theology 
and  metaphysics.  The  third  stage  of  Positivism  is  not  the  unity  which 
transcends,  while  it  reconciles,  the  previous  stages  of  human  development; 
on  the  contrary,  it   involves  the   renunciation  of  the  whole  direction  of 


534 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEU 


thought  which  had  prevailed  dunug  the  two  previous  stagea.  Accordni^ 
to  this  view,  all  that  we  can  say  is,  that  a  germ  of  positive  thought 
existed  from  the  first,  and  that  by  its  development,  theology  and  meta- 
physics were  gradually  driven  from  tiie  whole  sphere  of  knowledge. 
Posiiivism  is  thus  the  concentration  of  human  thought  within  certain 
limits,  which  at  first  it  did  uot  respect,  but  which  it  gradually  learns  to 
be,  for  it,  impassable.  And  the  only  result  of  the  process  is,  that  the 
whole  6c]d  of  tite  uou-phenomeniil  is  abandoned  to  poetry,  ^Yhich  is  still 
to  be  permitted  under  certain  restrictions  to  fill  up  the  vacant  spaces  of 
the  unknowable  with  shapes  drawn  according  to  our  wishes.  Tlieology 
and  metaphysics  are  but  more  or  less  thinly  disguised  anthropomor- 
phisms, which  once  subserved  a  social  purpose,  and  which  apart  from  this 
purpose  have  no  value  for  ihc  iutcUigence,  and  no  element  of  truth  in 
them  which  need;*  to  be  preserved  under  the  new  intellectual  regime. 
Their  history  was  not  a  development,  but  a  purely  negative  process — a 
process  whereby  they  became  attenuated  and  dissolved,  until  the  rich 
concrete  meaning  of  the  first  Feticliism  had  entirely  disappeared  in  the 
negations  of  the  revolutionary  philosophy.  Monotheism,  the  last 
religion,  was  but  the  bare  abstract  residuum  of  theology,  as  the  idea 
of  Nature  was  the  last  abstract  residuum  of  metaphysics.  And  the  whole 
result  of  the  long  striving  of  human  intelligence  to  penetrate  into  the 
absolute  is  merely  the  knowledge  of  its  own  limits. 

Now,  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  this  view  involves  a  i\iada- 
mental  misrepresentation,  and  even  inversion,  of  the  whole  history 
of  religion  and  philusophy.  Its  plausibility  at  first  sight  arises  from  a 
common  confusion  as  to  the  idea  of  abstraction.  In  one  sense  it  may  be 
said  that  there  is  no  one  so  concrete  in  his  view  of  things  as  the  child  or 
the  savage ;  in  another  sense,  it  may  be  said  that  there  is  no  one  so 
abstract.  The  mind  of  the  child  clings  to  the  immediate  images  of 
things;' it  cannot  rise  above  their  pictured  presence  in  space  and  time; 
it  cannot  sever  them  in  thought  from  their  immediate  surroundings. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  child's  thought  is  abstract  and  simple  ;  it  confuses 
all  things  together;  it  scarcely  distinguishes  at  first  between  animate  and 
inanimate,  between  man  and  animal.  With  Comtc  we  may  call  the  cliild  a 
Fetichist;  not  because  his  imagination  raises  all  things  to  the  level  of  man, 
but  because  he  still  lives  in  n  simplicity  or  confusion  of  thought  for  which 
there  ai*e  no  distinct  dilTcreuccs  of  leveL  On  the  other  hand,  as  the 
child  advances  to  maturity,  the  pictures  of  sense  may  partially  fadcj  but 
his  ideas  of  things  become  more  complex  aiul  adequate.  It  ecascs  to  be 
impossible  for  him  to  separate  objects  from  the  defiuite  circumstancea 
of  space  and  time,  in  which  they  have  been  at  first  perceived  ;  but  at  the 
same  time,  his  knowledge  of  those  objects,  in  their  unity  and  diflcrenee 
— their  permanent  nature  and  their  manifold  phases  and  aspects — is 
continually  growing.  If,  therefore,  the  movement  of  his  thought,  in  one 
point  of  view,  is  toward  greater  generality  and  abstractucss,  iu  another 
point  of  view  it  is  toward  greater  particularity  and  eoucreteness.     To  use 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  REUGIOX  OF  COMTE.       535 


A  favourite  modern  phrase,  the  development  of  human  thought  is  by 
differentiation  and  iutpo^ation,  by  induction  and  deduction  at  once. 
Now  Comte's  history  of  theology  and  metaphysics  is  greatly  distorted  by 
the  fact  that  lie  detects  in  it  only  a  movement  of  generalization  and 
abstraction ;  and  not  also  a  movement  towards  greater  complexity  and 
completeness.  Yet,  even  a  superficial  glance  at  the  development  of 
religions  is  enough  to  let  us  see  that  the  Christian  idea  of  God  in  man  is 
leas  simple  and  abtitract  than  Jewish  Monoihcisin  ur  Oriental  Pantheism. 
If,  indeed,  we  were  to  judge  of  religions  by  mere  wealth  of  fantastic 
sensuous  symbolism,  it  might  seem  possible  to  regard  the  earliest  religion 
as  the  riclicst,  though  even  this  might  be  disputed,  seeing  that  the  fancy 
of  the  savage  Fetichistj  though  capricious  and  wayward,  is  at  the  same 
time  singularly  monotonous  and  uninvcntivc.  But  to  any  one  who 
would  classify  religions  according  to  the  complexity  and  depth  of  the 
thought  involved  in  them,  it  must  be  apparent  that  they  become  more 
full  and  definite — not  more  vague  and  simple — as  time  advances.  Their 
progress  toward  greater  universality  is  at  the  same  time  a  progress  toward 
greater  specification.  In  the  Indian  faith  we  discern,  from  very  early 
times,  the  presence  of  an  idea  of  the  divine  unity.  But  it  is  a  vague 
and  abstract  idea,  and  for  that  very  reason  it  stands  side  by  side  with,  or 
produces,  a  lawless  Polytheism,  in  which  there  is  neither  method  nor 
meaning  ;  which,  as  Goethe  says,  docs  not  subserve  the  true  purposes  of 
a  religion,  since  it  adds  another  clement  of  confusion  to  life,  instead  of 
supplying  a  guiding  principle  through  all  its  confusions  and  difficulties. 
Among  the  Jews  we  have  a  true  Monotheism,  in  which  the  unity  is  no 
longer  that  of  an  abstract  substance,  but  of  a  spiritual  or  self-conscious 
being — a  personal  will  which  manifests  itself  in  a  definite  purpose,  in  a 
moral  government  of  men  and  nations.  In  Christianity,  finally,  we  have 
the  idea  of  a  God,  who  is  not  merely  an  absolute  substance — not  merely 
a  Creator  and  Ruler  of  the  world,  but  a  self-revealing  Spirit;  a  Spirit 
who  reveals  himself  in,  as  well  as  to,  his  creatures — an  idea  which  com- 
bines iu  one  the  earlier  Pantheistic  and  Monotheistic  conceptions.  To 
regard  the  process  in  which  these  are  three  of  tlie  main  stages  as  merely 
a  process  of  abstraction  and  negation  is  surely  to  take  a  most  external 
and  superficial  view  of  it.  The  truth  is,  that  this  and  the  similar  sketch 
in  Hume's  "Dialogues  on  Natural  Religion"  are  rather  based  on  a  pre- 
conceived theory  as  to  the  development  of  human  thought  in  religion, 
than  on  the  phenomena  of  religious  history.  And  in  Comte's  "  Social 
Dynamics,"  he  has  frequently  to  mentiou  facts  which  are  altogether 
inconsistent  with  it. 

Nor  is  Comte's  view  of  the  history  of  metaphysic  less  fictitious  and 
inaccurate.  According  to  that  view,  the  earliest  philosophies  ought  to 
be  the  most  concrete  and  complete,  and  the  latest  the  most  simple  and 
abstract ;  but  the  very  reverse  is  the  fact.  It  is  in  the  dawn  of  specula- 
tion that  men  are  content  to  explain  the  universe  by  such  abstractions 
as  "  being"  and  "  becoming."     The   ancient  philosophy  contrasts  with 


5.36 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  modern^  as  simple  with  complex  j  for  -wliilc  the  former  is  occupied 
•with  questions  about  "  the  one"  and  "  the  many,"  the  "  universal"  and 
the  "  particular,"  the  latter  is  concerned  from  the   iirst  with  the  rela- 
tions  of   consciousness   and   seli'-consciousncss   to    the   world.     Again, 
confining   ourselves  to   modern    philosophy,  we    find  the   abstract  Uni- 
versalism  [(if  we  may  uac  the  expression)  of   Descartes  and   Spinoza, 
yielding  in  the  next  goiierally  to  two  opposite  forma  of  Individualism,  and 
ending  in  the  attempt  of  Kaut  and  his  successors  "  to  read  Locke  with 
the  eyes  of  Leibnitz,  and  Leibnitz  with   the  eyes  of  Locke,"  and   (we 
may  add)  to  unite  the  elements  of  truth  in  both  by  a  deeper  view  of 
the   principle   imperfectly  expressed  in  Spinoza.       In  short,  the  whole 
movement  of  philosophy  is  a  movement  towards  a  more  complex,  and  at 
the  same  time  towards  a  more   systematic,  view  of  the  world.       Philo- 
sophical thought  is  ever  seeking  on  the  one  hand  to  distinguish,  and 
even  to  oppose  to  each  other  the  different  sides  of  truth  which  were  at 
first  confused  together;  and  again,  on  the  other  hand,  to  show  that  what 
were  at  first  supposed  to  be  contradictory,  are  really  complementary, 
aspects  of  things.      This  progress  of  philosophy  by  diftcrcntiation   and 
integration  Comte*s  theory  does  not  explain^  but  it  explains  him.      For, 
as  has  been  indicated,  Comte's  whole  view  of  the  relation  of  the  indi- 
vidual to  society,  and  of  tlic  present  to   the   past,  manifests  that   same 
effort   to   concentrate    and    combine  in  one   motives  of  thought  which 
were  formerly  separated,  and  even  opposed  to  each,  other,  which  is  shown 
in  the  idealistic  philosophy  of  Germany.      Only,  as  Comtc   is  not  con- 
scious of  this  affiliation  of  his  thought,  but,   on   the  contrary,  supposes 
Positivism  to  bo  the  simple  negation  of  metapby&ics,  his  possession  of 
tbe  higher  idea  shows  itself,  not   in  a  new  mctaphysic,  hut  only  in  a 
better   comprehension   of  the   social  life  and  development  of  the  race. 
Hence,  he  sees  no  positive  connection  between  Lis  own  speculations  and 
the  previous  history  of  philosophy,  but  connects  it  solely  with  the  past 
progress  of  physical  science. 

This  inadequacy  of  Comte's  view  of  the  history  of  phiioso|jhy  and 
theology  leads  to  an  opposite  inadequacy  in  his  view  of  the  history  of 
science.  As  the  former  is  conceived  by  him  to  be  a  mere  process  of 
abstraction,  which  ends  in  nothing,  so  the  latter  is  conceived  by  him — 
at  least,  in  his  first  general  account  of  it — purely  as  a  movement  from 
the  abstract  and  general  to  the  concrete  and  partieidar.  There  are  thus 
two  laws  for  the  progress  of  the  human  mind — the  law  of  ita  progress 
to  science^  and  the  law  of  its  progress  in  science.  The  progi'esa  to 
science  is  merely  the  gradual  destruction  of  the  imaginative  synthesis 
in  which  civilization  began  ;  the  progress  in  science  consists  in  the  gradual 
building  up  of  the  scientific  synthesis  in  which  civilization  must  end. 
Science  Ije^^iiis  A^itli  iJjc  (ousideratiun  of  the  sim|ilctit  and  most  abstract 
relations  of  things,  with  sriihrnctic  and  geometry,  and  it  ends  with  the 
iuve&tigation  of  iheir  n-o-^t  ccmjjlex  and  concrete  relations,  with  sociology 
and  morals.     This,  with  slight  modifications,  is  ilic  liiKtoricul   order  of 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,       537 


the  genesis  of  the  scicuccs,  ami,  what  is  even  more  important  iu  Comic's 
eycsj  it  is  the  order  of  their  logical  dependence  or  filiation,  and  there- 
fore the  order  of  a  duly  arranged  scientific  education.  For  each  of  the 
successive  sciences  -  rnatticmatics,  asfronomyj  physics,  chemistry,  hiology, 
and  sociology — includes  a  deductive  part,  in  which  it  depends  on  previous 
sciences,  and  an  inductive  part,  iu  which  it  makes  a  fresh  start  from 
experience  for  itself;  and  therefore  no  one  can  be  fully  equipped  for 
the  investigation  of  the  more  complex,  who  has  not  made  himself  master 
of  the  laws  of  the  simpler,  phenomena.  Like  Plato,  Comtc  would  write 
over  the  portals  of  science,  ^f;  aytwfif'r^nroc  utrnut,  and  he  woidd 
add, — Let  no  one  enter  upon  the  study  of  chemistry  who  is  not  a 
master  of  the  principles  of  physics ;  upon  the  study  of  biology,  who 
is  not  a  master  of  the  principles  of  chemistry ;  nor  upon  the  study  of 
sociology,  who  is  not  a  master  of  the  principles  of  all  the  prenous 
sciences. 

This  view  of  the  historical  and  logical  filiation   of  the   sciences  has 
been  attacked  with  considerable  force  in  an  Essay  by  Mr.  Spencer  upon 
the  "Genesis  of  Science."      In  that  Essay  Mr.  Spencer  points  out  what, 
indeed.  Comic   himself  iiad   very   fully   acknowledged,   that   historically 
every  science  in  turn  has  been  an  instrument  iu  the  development  of  the 
others.      Even  in  the  time  of  Aristotle  politics   and    biology   had   made 
no   inconsiderable  advance,  while  as   yet   physics    and  chemistry    could 
scarcely  be  said  to  be  in  existence.     And  this  ia  only  what  was  to  be 
expected,  for  some  knowledge   of  the  conditions  of  social  order   is   a 
practical  condition  of  the  development  of  any  other  kind  of  science  ;  and 
the  necessary  art  of  medicine  forced  men  at  a  very  early  period  to  pay 
some  attention   to   physiology.      Astronomy  had  to   wait    for   optics   to 
furnish  it  not  only  with  instruments  but  with  definite  conceptions  of  the 
dispersion  and  refraction  of  light ;  and  physical  investigation  could  not 
proceed  very  far  without  some  kind  of  solution   of  biological   and   even 
psychological  questions  in  relation  to   sense   perception.      It   was   the 
advance    of  geometry    timt    led    to    the    invention    of    algebra,    and 
the    transcendental  analysis  of  Newton  and  Leibnitz  was  directly  sug- 
gested   by   the    problems  of    physics.      These    and    many    other   facts 
of  the  same  kind  seem  to  show  that  a  serial  arrangement  of  the  sciences 
misrepresents  at  once  the  historical  order   of  their  development  and 
the   logical   order  of  their  dependence.     And  in  both   points  of  view 
it  would  be  nearer  the  truth  to  regard  the  dillerent  iscieuees  (as  Comtc 
himself  sometimes  regards  thera)  as  '*  Ics  divcrscs  branches  d'un  tronc 
unique."      For  this  "suggests  the  facts  that  the  sciences  had  a  common 
origin,  that  they  have  been  developing  simultaneously,  and   that  they 
have  been  from  time  to  time  dividiug  and  subdividing."     Yet  even  this 
metaphor  is  ina<lcquate,  for  "  it  docs  not  suggest  the  yet  more  impor- 
tant fact  that  the  divisions  and  subdivisions  thus  arising  do  not  remain 
separate,  but  now  and  again  rciinitc  in  direct  and  indirect  wa)8.     They 
inosculate  J  they  severally  send  oli' and  receive  connecting  growths;  and 


538 


THE  CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


the  iatcrcommuDioD  has  been  ever  becoming  more  frequent,  more 
intricate,  more  widely  ramified.  There  has  all  aloug  been  higher 
specialization  that  there  might  be  a  larger  generalization ;  and  a  deeper 
analysis  that  there  might  be  a  better  syntheaia.  Eaeh  larger  generaliza- 
tion has  lifted  sundry  specializations  still  higher ;  and  each  better 
synthesis  has  prepared  the  way  for  still  deeper  analysis/'* 

To  these  objections,  Comte  would  probably  have  answered,  as  M. 
Littre  has  answered  for  him,  that  there  is  a  difference  between  the 
determination  of  some  of  the  laws  of  a  particular  class  of  phenomena 
and  the  constitution  of  a  science  of  these  phenomena;  and  that  a  science 
cannot  be  regarded  as  constituted  till  its  inductive  and  deductive  parts  are 
separated.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  physics  involves  all  the  relations 
diseasscd  in  mathematics,  and  something  more ;  that  chemistry  involves 
all  the  relations  discussed  in  physics,  and  something  more;  that  biology 
involves  all  the  relations  discussed  in  physics  and  chemistry,  and 
something  more;  and  that  sociology  involves  the  relations  discussed 
in  all  the  pre\'ious  sciences,  and  soraethiug  more.  Now,  it  is  a 
hopeless  task  for  the  weak  human  intellect  to  deduce  this  "something 
more"  in  the  more  complex,  from  the  principles  of  the  less  complex 
sciences,  even  if  absolutely  such  a  deduction  is  possible.  Hence  we 
cannot  regard  a  science  as  constituted,  until  its  special  subject-matter 
has  been  separated  from  the  subject-matter  of  the  simpler  sciences,  and 
until,  in  relation  to  that  subject-matter,  certain  laws  have  been  deter- 
mined M'hich  cannot  be  deduced  from  the  principles  of  those  sciences. 
Thus,  in  Conltc^s  opinion,  biology  was  not  constituted  as  a  science  until,  in 
quite  modern  times,  the  phenomena  of  life  were  seen  at  once  in  their 
relative  dependence  on,  and  their  relative  separation  from,  physical  and 
chemical  phenomena.  Nor  could  sociology  be  constituted  as  a  science 
until,  by  Comte  himself,  the  law  of  social  development  was  determined, 
and  the  phenomena  of  human  life  were  thereby  separated  from  pheno- 
mena of  life  in  general,  which  fall  under  the  province  of  biology.  In 
this  sense,  therefore,  it  is  argued,  that  the  historical  and  the  logical 
order  of  the  sciences  are  coincident ;  and  tliat,  while  it  is  quite  true 
that  the  advance  of  one  of  the  simpler  sciences  is  often  stimulated  by 
requirements  of  the  more  complex  sciences,  it  is  equally  true  that  the 
more  complex  science  bus  to  wait  for  the  development  of  the  simpler 
science,  ere  it  can  rise  above  its  first  empirical  stage. 

It  would  be  beyond  the  scope  of  tliis  article,  even  if  it  were  ia 
the  power  of  the  writer,  to  discuss  in  all  their  bearings  these 
different  views  as  to  the  arrangement  of  the  sciences;  but  we  may 
remark  that  the  most  important  of  Mr.  Spencer's  objections  are 
directed,  not  against  the  specific  account  which  Comte  gives  of 
the  historical  and  logical  relations  of  the  sciences,  but  rather  against 
his  assertion  that  science  progresses  from  the  general  to  the  particular, 
from  the  abstract  to  the   concrete.     That  progress,  he  maintains,  is  "at 

*  Sponcer'a  **  EsB-ays,"  i.  p.  145. 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     530 

onct  from  the  special  to  the  general,  and  from  the  gencraLto  the  special." 
If  arithmetic  comes  before  geometry,  and  geometry  before  physics  ;  ou 
the  other  hand  it  is  equally  true,  that  geometry  comes  before  algebra, 
and  algebra  before  transcendental  analysis^  in  ^vhich  mathematics  reaches 
iti  highest  generalization.  The  "  special"  geometry  of  the  aucifrnt*  is 
coatrasted  by  Comte  himself  with  the  ''general"  geometry  of  the 
modems,  and  the  Newtonian  theory  of  gravitation  was  more  general 
tlian  the  laws  of  Kepler,  by  the  aid  of  which  it  wa^  discovered.  Now, 
looking  at  such  illustrations  x\a  these  by  which  Mr.  Spcucer  supports  his 
case,  we  cannot  but  tliink  that  the  controversy  really  turns  upon  the 
ambiguity  of  "  general"  or  *'  abstract/'  of  which  we  have  already 
spokeu  ;  and  that  in  spite  of  what  both  Comte  and  his  critic  have  said 
about  the  diflerent  meanings  that  may  be  given  to  these  words,  neither 
of  them  has  consistently  kept  in  view  the  difference  between  the 
"general"  with  whicli  science  begins,  and  that  with  which  it  ends.  In 
one  sense  of  the  word,  transcendental  analysis  is  more  "general''  than 
arithmetic  and  algebra,  but  iu  another  sense  it  is  more  specific.  For 
transcendental  analysis  includes  and  explains  both  arithmetic  and  algebra, 
and  costs  its  light  even  beyond  their  sphere,  but  it  does  so,  not  by 
becoming  vaguer  and  less  dcHuitc,  but  quite  the  contrary.  It  is  a 
universal  that  does  not  leave  out  of  account  the  differences  of  the  parti- 
culars included  under  it,  but  rather  determines  them  more  fully.  And 
tbe  same  thing  may  be  said  of  the  laws  of  Newton  as  contrasted  with 
the  laws  of  Kepler.  It  is  easy  enough  to  re^ch  the  general,  if  all  that 
is  wanted  is  a  common  element ;  for  in  that  case  we  neetl  only  to  abstract 
from  everything  but  the  simple  id€?a  of  "  being/'  and  we  have  at  one  step 
reached  the  top  of  the  logical  tree  of  Porphyr)',  the  highest  universal  of 
thought.  But  the  universal  of  science  and  philosophy  is  something 
different  from  this ;  it  is  not  merely  a  generic  name,  under  which 
things  are  brought  together,  but  a  principle  which  unites  them  and 
dctcrmii\cs  their  relation  to  each  other.  It  is  a  unity,  the  thought  of 
which  does  not  exclude,  but  rather  is  correlative  with,  a  knowledge  of 
the  differences.  In  this  point  of  new  the  Platonic  view  of  science,  as  a 
search  for  unity  and  the  universal,  and  the  Aristotelian  view  of  it  as  a 
search  for  diffcrenc*e  and  the  particular,  ore  but  opposite  sides  of  the 
shield  knowledge,  which  cannot  be  separatetl  from  each  other.  Now 
the  defect  of  Coratc's  general  description  of  tlic  progress  of  science  is, 
that  he  has  chosen  to  look  solely  at  one  side  of  the  shield,  and  to 
regard  it  merely  as  a  movement  of  specification ;  aud  the  consequence 
ia,  that  in  the  sequel  he  is  obliged  continually  to  correct  himself,  and  to 
observe  in  particular  cases  tliat  it  involves  also  a  movement  of  genera- 
lization. Mr.  Spencer  sees  both  sides,  and  therefore  progress  is  for  him 
a  movement  at  once  of  differentiation  aud  integration ;  yet  iu  his 
criticism  of  Comte,  and  in  his  ''  First  Principles,"  there  are  pas- 
sages in  which  he  seems  to  confubc  the  universal  of  science  with  a  mere 
abstraction  or  logical  genus,  and  to  overlook  the  essential  corrclativitjr 


3 


540  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

and  interdependence  of  the  two  opposite  movements  of  thought.'*''  The 
defects  of  both  writers,  howerer,  lie  mainly  on  the  metaphysical  side; 
in  their  analysis  of  the  idea  of  development  more  than  in  their  application 
of  it.  And  it  is  the  power  and  fertility  of  resource  with  which  they 
apply  it  to  life  and  history^  which  gives  them,  and  especially  which 
gives  Comte,  a  claim  to  an  important  place  among  modem  philosophical 
writers. 

In  this  article  I  have  tried  to  trace  to  their  origin  Comte's  ideas  of 
social  and  intellectual  development,  and  to  examine  the  motives  which 
led  him  to  reject  theology  and  metaphysics,  as  legitimate  forms  of 
science.  In  a  following  article  I  shall  go  on  to  consider  more  carefully 
the  subjective  synthesis  by  which  he  would  supply  their  place. 

Edwabd  Caiad. 

*  Mr.  Spencer,  it  may  be  rexnarked,  takes,  like  Comte,  a  negative  yUm  of  the  progress  o£ 
religion,  and  to  lum,  therefore,  the  last  religion  is  the  worship  of  the  Unknown. 


THE    BOERS    AND    THE    ZULUS. 


THE  terrible  events  which  have  recently  taken  place  in  South  Africa 
have  painfully  directed  the  attention  of  the  British  public  to  that 
part  of  the  world,  and  a  singular  diversity  of  opinion  has  arisen  as  to  tlie 
events  themselves.  The  most  opposite  views  have  been  ably  and  forcibly 
expressed  by  distinguished  statesmen  in  Parliament  and  by  brilliant 
writers  in  the  Press.  This  wide  difference  of  opinion  no  doubt  partly 
results  from  the  spirit  of  party  which  inflames  and  colours  nearly  all  the 
public  discussions  of  this  constitutionally-governed  country.  It  is  also 
in  some  measure  due  to  the  honest  but  prejudiced  and  one-sided  feeling 
which  a  section  of  the  community  brings  to  the  discussion  of  all  matters 
m  which  coloured  races  are  involved.  But  I  think  it  would  be  unjust 
to  the  distinguished  statesmen^  the  able  writera^  and  the  earnest  philan- 
thropists who  have  taken  part  in  this  debate  to  do  other  than  believe 
that  this  contrariety  of  view  and  feeling  is  greatly  owing  to  the  extreme 
difficulty  of  the  subject  itself — in  other  words,  to  the  imperfect  know- 
ledge the  most  intelligent  men  here  at  home  possess  of  the  remote 
countries  which  are  the  scenes  of  the  events  iu  question,  and  of  the 
races  who  inhabit  them,  whose  cuatoraSj  traditions,  and  thoughts  are  so 
widely  different  from  our  own. 

1  do  not  dupj)Ose  that  my  opinion  will  carry  much  weight  iu  this  dis- 
cussion, but  I  would  fain  hope  that  certain  statements  of  facts,  founded 
mainly  on  my  personal  experience,  may  in  some  degree  better  enable 
earnest,  truth-seeking  mcu  of  all  parties  to  form  a  correct  opiniou  on 
these  most  important  affairs. 

In  the  gloomy  picture  presented  at  this  moment  by  South  Africa  two 
figures  stand  out  in  the  foreground — one  is  the  stalwart  Dutch  Boer,  the 
other  the  athletic  and  not  ungracefril  Zulu-Ka6r.  The  antagonism  of 
these  races  has  been  the  chief  and  immediate  cause  of  the  troubles  iu 
which  we  are  now  involved.    1  know  something  of  both  these  i>eoplcs,  and 


542 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


I  will  try  to  give  some  iuformatiou  about  tbem,  got  from  personal  oi 
servatiua.  I  sLoll  also  have  to  direct  atteution  to  the  policy  pursue 
toward  these  races  by  the  Imperial  and  Colonial  Governments,  More 
or  less  general  summaries  of  the  history  of  our  South  African, 
colonies  have  lately  been  presented  to  the  public  both  iu  the  writings 
and  speeches  of  able  men;  but  I  may  be  permitted  to  refer  to  some 
salient  points  wbich  seem  to  me  to  have  an  important  bearing  on  the 
present  discussion. 


Everybody  knows  that  the  great  Portuguese  navigator,  Vasco  da 
Gama,  discovered  the  Cape  in  M97,  and  that  his  countrymen,  attracted 
by  the  superior  advantages  of  the  East,  passed  on,  making  no  settlement 
there.  Subsequently,  after  having  been  visited  by  English  and  Spaniat*dS] 
the  country  round  the  Table  Mountain  was  taken  possession  of  by  the 
Dutch  East  India  Company,  who  formed  there  a  small  settlement  under 
Van  Riebah.  These  early  colonists  were  not  all  Dutch ;  some  of  them 
were  German  and  some  Flcmieh,  with  a  few  Poles  and  Portuguese. 
About  1686  the  small  colony  received  a  very  important  accession  to  its 
numbers  by  the  arrival  of  a  body  of  French  refugees,  driven  from 
France  by  the  Revocation  of  the  Edict  of  Nantes.  These  settlers 
were  the  best  the  colony  had  received.  The  original  colonists  were 
mostly  all  of  one  class,  and  that  not  the  highest  social  grade.  The 
French  were  of  various  ranks ;  some  had  held  high  position  in  their  own 
country,  some  were  manufacturers,  some  vine-dressers  and  gardeners. 
Although  these  people  lauded  pcnuilcas,  they  soon  by  their  industry 
acquired  a  competence.  From  their  arrival  dates  the  extensive  making 
of  wine  j  and  there  is  little  doubt  that  to  them  is  due  the  beginning  of 
the  beautiftil  gardens  and  plantations  of  trees  which  now  adorn  the 
neighbourhood  of  Cape  Town,  and  also  many  other  places  in  the 
colony.  Tlieae  refugees  brought  with  them  the  earnestness  of  religious 
feeling  which  had  caused  their  expulsion  from  the  land  of  their  birth. 
This  temper  of  mind  they  imparted  to  the  older  colonists,  so  that  to 
them  is  mainly  due  the  religious  but  narrow  enthusiasm  which  has 
characterized  the  so-called  Dutch  of  the  Cape  ever  since,  and  which, 
though  it  has  proved  the  source  of  much  social  benefit  to  themselves, 
has  not  been  unmlngled  with  error  so  far  as  their  dealings  with  the 
native  races  are  concerned — error  arising  from  a  mistaken  interpretation 
of  the  Holy  Scriptures, 

As  these  French  immigrants  formed, alike  iu  number  andinintelligeneo, 
a  most  important  element  in  the  community,  it  may  seem  strange  that 
their  language  was  so  completely  lost  that  it  has  left  no  trace.  This  is 
chiefly  due,  I  think,  to  the  fact  that  the  oppressive  government  of  the 
Company  compelled  the  use  of  the  Dutch  language,  not  only  in  legal 
proceedings,  but  also  in  religious  services.  But  althongh  the  French 
tongue  has  left  no  trace  of  itself  iu  tlic  language  of  the  country,  the 
French  blood   has  indelibly  markwl  its  course  of  descent  in  the  names 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS,  548 

borne  by  portions  of  the  white  population.  The  coguoineus  of 
Duplessis,  Duprcs,  Jourdaiu,  Marais^  De  Yelliersj  and  a  great  many 
more  occur — names  not  unknown  to  European  history.  I  believe, 
indeed,  that  there  are  few  old  Cape  families  who  have  not  a  large 
infusion  of  Frcucli  blood  iu  their  veins.  lu  other  countries  where  the 
refugee  Huguenots  settled,  the  dlatiuctiveness  of  their  blood  and  character 
faded  and  finally  vanished  iu  the  large  population  which  received  them. 
But  the  so-called  Dutch  of  the  Cape  may  be  almost  regarded  as  a 
Huguenot  settlement.  At  any  ratcj  their  descent,  whether  derived 
from  Dutch  or  French,  is  entitled  to  the  respect  of  liberty-loving 
England. 

The  government  established  by  the  Dutch  East  India  Company  was  a 
purely  arbitrary  and  very  tyrannical  rule.  It  prescribed  to  the  colonists 
the  kind  of  crops  they  were  to  plant,  compelled  them  to  sell  their  produce 
exclusively  to  the  Company,  and  made  other  very  oppressive  regulations. 
Its  subjects  were  uatui*ally  discontented ;  they  often  were  rebellious. 
By-and-by,  many  of  them  moved  beyond  the  limits  of  the  colony,  to  get 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  Company's  authoi-ity.  In  this  way  were  engendered 
the  unsettled  habits  and  the  impatience  of  control  which  have  character- 
ized mauy  of  these  first  settlers'  descendants.  At  the  time  of  the  Dutch 
occupation  the  southern  part  of  the  country  was  inhabited  by  Hottentots 
and  Bushmen.  These  people  were  gradually  subdued,  and  large  numbers 
of  them  were  reduced  to  slavery.  By  1710,  or  thereabouts,  the  colonists 
had  extended  their  territory  to  the  Guutvor  River,  and  in  1783  they 
reached  the  Great  Pish  River.  The  latter  stream  seems  to  have  formed 
the  boundary  line  between  the  Hottentots  and  Kafirs.  Then,  for  the 
first  time^  the  Boers  and  Kafirs  came  into  collision ;  and  from  that 
date  began  the  contest  of  races  which  has  lasted  to  the  present  time. 

The  name  Kafir  was  unknown  to  the  people  now  called  by  it ;  it  was 
probably  given  to  them  by  the  Arabs,  and  means,  I  believe,  infidel. 
Among  themselves  they  have  no  common  name  to  designate  the  race  to 
which  tlicy  belong,  unless  it  be  Amaulu^  or,  *'thc  people."  The  Kafirs  are 
supposed  to  be  descendants  of  certain  superior  races  of  Negroes,  evidently 
with  some  mixture  of  Arab  blood  in  their  veins.  They  seem,  at  no  very 
distant  period,  to  have  advanced  fironj  the  interior  of  Africa,  driviug 
before  them,  or  else  cxtermiuatiug,  the  native  races,  and  especially  the 
Hottentots  and  Bushmen.  Finally,  they  settled  on  the  south-eastern 
part  of  the  continent.  From  the  Hottentots  they  borrowed  the  peculiar 
souud  in  their  language  called  the  *'  click/*  Proof  of  this  is  afforded  by  the 
fact  that  this  sound  is  more  common  and  more  prououuoed  in  the  speech 
of  the  frontier  Kafirs,  who  have  come  more  iu  contact  with  the  Hottentots, 
than  it  is  in  the  utterance  of  the  Zulus  and  Bechuauas.  The  Amakosas 
arc  supposed  to  have  crossed  the  Kci  River  and  conquered  the  Hottentots 
about  1750 — that  is,  nearly  at  the  same  time  as  the  Dutch  settled  at 
the  Cape. 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  huty  sketch  that  both  Boers  and  Kafirs 


544 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


were  conquering  and  aggressive  races,  and  that  the  one  Lad  really  no 
more  aboriginal  right  than  the  other  to  the  country  which  is  the  scene 
of  their  contests.  IVroreover,  they  had  both  conquered  and  oppressed 
people  of  the  same  race — the  Hottentots  and  liushmen — and  taken 
the  land  belonging  to  them.  The  contact  of  two  such  races  implied 
hostility,  and  we  need  not  inquire  particularly  which  was  the  aggressor. 
It  seemsj  however,  probable  that  in  the  first  contest  it  was  the 
Kafir.  I  have  said  that,  about  the  year  1783,  the  Great  Fish  River  was 
declared  the  boundary  of  the  Cape  Colony,  It  was  also  the  then  existing 
boundary  between  the  Kafirs  and  the  Hottentots.  It  appears  that 
tribes  of  Kafirs  subsequently  encroached  on  the  Hottentot  or  Dutch 
side  of  the  river,  and,  settling  there,  began  to  steal  the  cattle  of  the 
settlers.  Tliis  led  to  the  first  hostilities  betwecu  tliem  and  the  Dutch — 
which  continued  for  several  years  in  a  kind  of  guerilla  warfare;  until, 
in  1795,  the  British  Government,  at  the  instance  of  the  Dutch  Stadt- 
holder,  took  possession  of  the  colony,  and  held  it  till  its  restoration  at 
the  Peace  of  Amiens,  1802.  During  this  period  the  Kafirs,  incited  by 
white  renegades, — two  Dutchmen,  a  German,  and  an  Irish  deserter,^ 
ravaged  the  country  as  far  as  the  present  village  of  George.  There  they 
were  at  last  defeated  by  the  Dutch  burghers,  aided  by  a  small  body  of 
British  troops.  The  Dutch  Government,  as  above  mentioned,  took 
renewed  possession  of  the  colony  in  1802,  hut  it  was  finally  conquered 
by  the  British  Oovemmeut  in  180C,  and  was  formally  ceded  to  us 
in  1815. 

Throughout  the  greater  part  of  this  time  a  state  of  trouble  was 
normal  on  the  eastern  frontitir,  and,  in  the  end,  the  thefts  and  other 
outrages  of  the  Kafirs  settled  in  the  Zuurvclt  became  so  intolerable 
that  it  was  determined  by  the  British  Government  to  drive  them  out  of 
the  colony.  This  was  cflcetually  accomplished  in  1811-12  by  Colonel 
Graham,  at  the  head  of  a  large  force,  comprising  British  troops,  some 
Hottentot  lo-ics,  and  a  considerable  body  of  Dutch  biu'ghers.  Speaking 
of  the  latter  force,  Colonel  Graham  said  ;  "  I  never  in  my  life  saw  more 
orderly,  willing,  and  obedient  men;  they  behaved  with  much  spirit,  and 
were  always  ready  to  go  upon  any  enterprise."  The  Great  Fish  River 
was  again  estnbliaticd  as  the  boundary,  being  defended  by  forts  about 
twelve  miles  apart.  Graham's  Town  was  at  the  same  time  founded  as 
the  huad-quarters  for  the  troops  stationed  on  the  frontier,  In  1819 
another  war  broke  out,  in  which  Graham's  Town  was  attacked  by  the 
Kafirs,  who  were  with  ditlienlty  beaten  olF.  At  the  close  of  the  war 
it  was  agreed  between  the  Governor  and  the  Kafir  chiefs  that  the 
country  between  the  Great  Fish  River  and  the  Keiskamma  should  be 
cleared  of  inliabitnnts,  and  shoirkl  thenceforward  form  a  neutral  terri- 
tory between  the  two  peoples.  The  purpose  of  this  was  to  prevent 
intercourse  between  the  Kafirs  and  the  colonists,  but  it  failed.  A  8])ace 
of  country,  cleared  of  encroaching  Kafirs  in  1812,  was  called  the  Zuur- 
velt.      Tiiduccments  were  offered  to  the  colonists  to  go  and  settle  there, 


THE  BOERS  AXD  THE  ZULUS. 


54B 


but  us  the  district  was  so  exposed  to  Kafir  depredations  fe\Y  would 
accept  the  ofler.  At  last,  in  1820-J21,  a  body  of  5000  British  emigrautd 
was  sent  out  under  Government  arrangements,  and  settled  in  the 
ZuurveU,  which  was  henceforth  called  the  District  of  Albany.  These 
settlers  iucluded  persons  of  nearly  all  ranks  in  society ;  among  them 
were  several  able  men,  who  greatly  aided  in  promoting  the  social  and 
political  advancement  of  the  colony. 

Nothing  further  necessary  to  notice  in  reference  to  my  present  pur- 
pose occurred  till  1834,  when  events  took  place  which  were  the  turning- 
point  in  the  history  of  the  colony. 

In  1834  Sir  B.  Durban  was  appointed  governor.  On  his  arrival 
the  Icadtag  men  represcuting  the  people  of  Graham's  Town  and  the 
frontier  reported  that  the  KaHrs  were  openly  showing  a  very  hostile 
feeling,  and  that  an  outbreak  was  imminent.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
party  in  Cape  Town,  calling  themselves  philanthropists^  represented  the 
Kafirs  as  perfectly  peaceful,  ascribing  all  the  alarming  reports,  not  to 
fear  only,  but  to  baser  motives.  I  will  give  a  specimen  of  these 
excited  chargCRj  taken  from  The  Cape  Town  Advertiser  : — "  The  murders 
by  Ka6rs  of  which  the  Colonial  Government  writes  so  fluently  arc  found 
only  on  the  lips  of  lying  men,  or  in  the  imagination  of  the  timid  Cock- 
neys and  pin-makers  who  shrink  from  the  bold  eyes  of  a  natural  man." 
In  the  presence  of  such  opposite  reports  and  assertions,  Sir  B.  Durban, 
who  was  a  singularly  humane  man,  determined  to  try  to  avoid  hostili- 
ties by  kindness  and  conciliation.  "With  this  view  he  availed  himself  of 
the  services  of  missionaries  and  other  friends  of  the  natives  in  order  to 
open  communication  with  their  chiefs,  aud  to  assure  them  of  his 
anxious  desire  to  redress  any  alleged  wrongs,  and  to  settle  in  a  friendly 
spirit  all  difficulties  between  them  and  the  colonists.  The  reports 
which  reached  the  Governor  led  him  to  hope  that  peace  would  not  be 
disturbed.  But  towards  the  end  of  the  year  reliable  information  was 
brought  to  him  that  the  Ijcaring  of  the  tribes  of  Kafirs  was  so  threaten- 
ing that  an  outbreak  might  be  looked  for. 

At  leugtb,  on  the  last  evening  of  the  year,  while  the  Governor  was 
entertaining  his  friends,  news  arrived  that  a  force  of  more  than  12,000 
Kafirs  had  on  Christmas  Day  invaded  the  whole  line  of  frontier,  burning 
farm-houses  and  murderiug  the  inhabitauts.  Mr.  Justice  Clocte,  ouc  of 
the  guests,  has  related  how  the  good  Governor  concealed  the  terrible 
news  from  his  visitors,  so  as  to  avoid  disturbing  the  gaiety  of  the  party, 
whilst  he  promptly  took  the  measures  required  by  the  emergency. 
Every  soldier  was  forthwith  despatched,  and  Colonel  Sir  Harry  Smith 
stiirtcd  at  once  for  Graham's  Town,  which  he  reached  in  the  short  space 
of  six  days.  His  presence  there  restored  some  confidence.  The  regular 
troops  were  few,  but  the  burgher  force  was  called  out,  and  a  letee  en 
masse  of  the  farmers  was  made.  With  this  force,  aided  by  two  regi- 
ments which  afterwards  arrived,  Sir  B.  Durban  cxj)elled  the  Kafirs 
from  the  colony,  drove  them  across  the  Kci,  and  then  dictated  terms  of 

YOL,    XZXV.  N    N 


646 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


peace.  The  country  between  the  Groat  Fish  and  Kei  RiTers 
declared  a  British  province ;  the  site  selected  for  the  seat  of  the  Govern- 
ment  being  called  King  William's  Town.  The  pro^Tnce  was  named 
Adelaide.  At  this  time  the  Fingoes,  who  had  been  reduced  to 
■lavery  and  were  treated  like  dogs  by  the  Amakosa  Kafirs,  were  liberated. 
The  Governor's  intention  was  to  settle  these  Fiugoes  and  Europeans 
in  the  district  between  the  Great  Fish  River  and  the  Kciskamma,  and  to 
reserve  the  land  between  the  latter  river  and  the  Kei  for  the  conquered 
KaGrs.  These  Kafirs  were  to  be  ruled  by  their  own  chiefs,  under  the 
control  of  European  magistrates. 

Had  this  arrangement  been  carried  outj  the  Kafir  war^  which  had  so 
triumphantly  ended,  would  probably  have  been  the  last,  and  great  pro- 
gress would  have  been  made  years  ago  towards  ci^nlizing  the  native  races. 
Bnt  it  most  unfortunately  happened  that  at  this  time  the  Colonial  Depart- 
ment was  presided  over  by  Lord  Glenelg,  a  statesman  strongly  imbued 
with  the  sentiments  of  a  party  always  sincerely  benevolent  in  iutcntioii, 
Imt  not  always  well  advised.     By  him  Sir  B.  Durban  was  rccnllcd  and 
his  policy  reversed.      In  a  despatch  to  the  Governor  Ids  lordship  says  : — 
"  In  the  conduct    which   was  pursued  towards  the  Kafir  nation   by  the 
colonists  and  the  public  authorities  of  the  colony,  through  a  long  series 
of  years,  the  Kafirs  lu-ul  ample  justification  of  the  late  war.      Tliey  had 
to  resent,  and  endeavoured  justly  though  impotently  to  avenge,  a  series 
of  encroachments ;   they  had  a  perfect   right  to  hazard  the  exixjriment, 
however  hopeless,  of  extorting  by  force  that  redres.s  which  they  could  not 
expect  otherwise  to  obtain  ;   and  the  claim  of  sovereignty  over  the  pro- 
vince   must    be  renounced."      Lord    Glenelg   directed   the   conquered 
country  to  be  given  back  to  the  Kafirs,  and  he  sent  out  Sir  A.  Stocken* 
strom   as   Licuteuaut-Oovernor,  with   instructions   to  conclude  treaties 
with  tlie  chiefs,  defining  the  boundaries,  and  regulating  their  intercourae 
with    the    Government   and   the    colonists.      As  to    these    treaties  the 
Governor,  Sir  George  Napier,  who  relieved  Sir  B.  Durban,   after  four 
years'  experience,  uses  these  remarkable  words :  "  So  far  as  the  Colonial 
Government  and  the  colonists   arc   concerned,  never  were  treaties  more 
strictly  or  pertinaciously  adhered   to;  but   not  so  with  the   Kafirs,  for 
they  began  from  the  fii-st  to  plunder  tlie   colonists,  and  notwithstanding 
every  exertion  it  was  found  impossible  to  prevent  their  depredations." 
Mr-  Thcal,  in  his  most  excellent   and  reliable  book  on  South  Africa,* 
says : — "  The    treaties,   to   which    the  chiefs  had  so    recently   aflSxed 
tlieir  marks,    were    of  no   more    value   than  so    much  waste  paper.  A 
coiu-se  of  robbery  commenced,  such  as  had  never  before  been  equalled. 
Cattle  were   swept   off   by  the    Kafirs,   just   as   if  war  existed.     Occa- 
sionally   houses   were   burnt    and   men    were  munlered.     The   frontier 
colonists  were    compelled  to   endure    all    this  sulTering,  without   any 
attempt  at  redress;  for  the  Government  seemed  determined  to  bolster 
up    the    opinions    of  the    Secretary  for    the    Colonies,    and   therefore 

•  ••  Sonth  Africa."  p.  223. 


THE  BOERS  AND   THE  ZULUS. 


S4r 


ignored  what  was  going   on.     This  was   the  normal  stale  of  affairs  for 
the  ten.  years  following  the  restoration  of  the  province  of  Adelaide." 

It  may,  indeed,  be  fairly  said  that  the  policy  adopted  at  this  period  by 
the  Home  Government  has  been  the  ehief  cause  of  the  great  evils  which 
have  arisen  :  it  has  materially  helped  to  alienate  from  us  the  feelings  of  the 
Dutch  colonists ;  it  has  prolonged  and  intensified  the  struggle  of  races ; 
it  has  retarded  the  civilization  and  increased  the  suffering  of  the  race 
it  intended  to  protect.  It  is  saddening  to  think  that  this  should  have 
been  the  result  of  the  labouiB  of  some  of  the  best  men  who  ever  lived. 
It  is  like  the  work  of  Las  Casas,  who,  trying  earnestly  to  do  good, 
inflicted  enormous  misery  for  many  generations  on  an  unoffending 
race. 


As  my  ehief  purpose  in  this  pai>er  is  to  sketch  the  relations  betweeu 
the  Boers  and  Kafirs,  I  must  pass  over  the  subsequent  wars  on  the 
frontier  in  1846-7  and  1850  and  1877.  I  may  observe,  however,  that  so 
early  as  1848  the  policy  of  Sir  B.  Durban  was  to  some  extent  practi- 
cally re-established.* 

About  the  time  of  the  recall  of  Sir  B.  Durban  another  event 
happened  which,  though  very  honourable  to  England,  further  embittered 
the  feelings  of  the  Dutch  towards  us.  This  was  the  emancipatioti  of 
the  slaves.  That  admirable  measure  was  unfortunately  carried  out  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  doubly  obnoxious  to  the  Dutch.  The 
compensation  money,  instead  of  being  made  payable  in  Treasury  drafts 
or  by  some  method  of  which  they  could  conveniently  avail  themselves, 
was  made  obtainable  only  at  the  Bank  of  England.  A  large  nnmbcr  of 
Boers,  with  no  knowledge  of  business,  and  having  no  friends  in  England, 
sold  their  certificates  to  agents  and  speculators  for  much  less  than  their 
value.  A  curious  case  illustrating  this  mode  of  business  came  under  my 
notice  only  a  few  years  ago,  after  my  return  to  this  country.  I  met  at 
a  watering-place  a  gentleman  of  property  and  social  position,  who  told 
me  that  he  had  lived  some  time  at  the  Cape.  In  speaking  of  the  Boers/ 
he  called  them  by  the  most  uncomplimcutAry  names,  and  then  afterwards 
proceeded  to  tell  mc  that  he  had  matlc  a  gotxl  deal  of  money  by  buying 
up  these  certiQcates  at  a  heavy  discount.  It  occurred  to  me  that  this 
enterprising  Anglo-Saxon  might  more  fitly  have  applied  to  himself  the 
epithets  he  hurled  at  the  deluded  Boers.  But  this  has  bceu  ever  the 
way.  A  section  of  our  enlightened  and  enterprising  race  have  robbed 
the  Boers  of  their  money,  bought  np  for  a  song  the  lands  they  were 
forced  to  leave,  sold  to  their  enemies  guupowder  wholesale  to  fight  them 
with,  and  then  have  gone  to  work  roundly  to  abuse  them,  finally 
asking  the  British  Government  to  annex  their  territories  in  the  interests 
of  civilization  and  religion. 

The  recall  of  Sir   B.  Durban,  and  the  change  in  the  native  policy, 
greatly  enraged  the  frontier  colonists,  both  British  and  Dutch.     They 

«  Noble*!  *'  Soath  Aihca,"  p.  -i». 
N    N    2 


all  had  suffered  imtuenae  losses  by  the  depredations  of  tlie  Kafirs.  In 
vain  hatl  they  asked  for  compensation,  and  when  they  demanded  of  tlie 
GoveriimeuL  a  Commission  of  Inquiry  it  was  refused.  Then  the  Dutch 
felt  themselves  further  aggrieved  hy  the  loss  of  their  slaves,  which  had 
been  brought  about^  too,  by  a  foreign  Govemmentj  to  which  they  did 
not  owe  any  actual  allegiance.  They  resolved  to  remove  themselves 
from  its  jurisdiction.  To  this  end  they,  for  small  sums,  sold  their  farms, 
some  of  which  were  of  great  value ;  packed  their  waggons  with  a  few 
necessary  movables  ;  and  with  their  wives  and  families  set  forth  into  the 
wilderness.  They  crossed  the  Orange  River,  and  for  a  time  encamped 
on  the  plains  between  that  stream  and  the  Vaal  River.  Here  they  were 
attacked  by  the  Matabclc.  The  Boers  defended  themselves  by  fortified 
camps  called  laagers,  composed  of  their  waggons  lashed  together,  the  gaps 
being  filled  up  with  thorn  bushes.  They  eventually  routed  the 
Matabelc,  atid  drove  their  king,  Mosclakatse,  one  of  the  most  redoutable 
chiefs  in  the  country,  uito  the  far  interior. 

One  portion  of  the  Boers  remaioed  in  the  Orange  River  territory ; 
the  other,  iu  1837,  passetl  on  into  Natal.  Tliere  they  first  came 
into  contact  with  the  Zulus,  whose  history  1  must  now  slightly 
sketcli. 

The  Portuguese  who  discovered  Natal  iu  1 1-97  found  the  country 
inhabited  by  a  number  of  petty  tribes,  each  inhabiting  a  small  tract  of 
territory.  The  tribes  held  little  intercourse  among  themselves  iu  times 
of  peace,  and  were  not  unfrcciucutly  eugaged  iu  hostilities.  Little  more 
than  this  was  kuown  of  the  district  or  the  people  till  as  late  as  1810. 
when  a  chief  arose  wlio  quite  cliangcd  the  character  and  in.stitution8  of 
the  people  of  this  part  of  Africa.  Tiiis  was  Chaka,  the  son  of  a  chief 
of  a  small  tribe  called  the  Zulus.  Clmka  seems  early  iu  life  to  have 
attached  himself  to  the  chief  of  the  Umtelwas,  one  of  the  most  powerful 
tribes  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  was  named  Dingiswayo.  This  chieftain, 
during  a  residence  in  the  Cape  Colony,  where  he  was  for  some  time  an 
exile,  had  acquired  some  knowledge  of  the  discipline  of  European  troops. 
He  turned  this  information  to  account  by  organizing  his  tribe  into  a 
regular  military  force,  forming  them  into  regiments  and  brigades.  By 
means  of  this  force  he  became  a  great  conqueror.  I'uder  this  chiefs 
Chaka  served  for  sonic  time  with  distitictiou ;  and  when  his  father 
died,  he  was,  by  the  influence  of  Dingiswayo,  raised  to  be  head  of 
the  Zulus  ;  and  afterwards,  on  the  ileath  of  Dingiswayo,  he  became 
also  the  chief  of  the  Umtelwas.  The  two  tribes^  tlius  united,  and  com- 
manded by  a  master  spirit,  became  a  powerful  uatiou,  and  being  now 
known  under  the  general  name  of  Zulus,  they  issued  forth  like  a  con- 
suming fire,  ravaging  the  other  tribes  far  and  wide.  Nearly  the  whole 
of  the  peoples  in  Natal  were  swept  away,  being  either  actually  annihilated 
or  else  incorporated  with  the  conquering  host.  The  few  tribes  which 
escaped  destruetiou  fled  into  the  Orange  River  country.  Some  broken 
remnants  of  other  nations  escaped  to  the   frontier,  where,  under  the 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS, 


5^£> 


I 


I 


» 


►f  FingocSj  as  ve  liavc  seen,  tlicy  became  the  slaves  of  the 
AuiakoHA  Kafirs,  rcmuluiug  in  tliut  couditiou  till  they  were  released  from 
bondage  by  Sir  B.  Durban. 

After  a  reign  of  eighteen  years,  marked  by  fearful  atrocities,  not 
iiorclicved,  however^  by  some  acts  of  generosity,  Chaka  was  murdered, 
at  the  instigation  of  his  brother  Dingaan.  This  chief,  so  soon  as  he 
attained  power,  imitated  the  bloody  career  of  his  brother.  He  was, 
however,  a  mere  copyist  of  Chaka,  possessing  little  of  the  ability  and 
occasional  magnauiraity  which  relieved  to  some  extent  the  character  of 
that  chief.  Towards  the  close  of  1837,  a  leader  named  Retief,  with  a  party 
of  Boers,  crossing  the  Drakenberg  Mountains,  entered  Natal,  where  they 
were  welcomed  by  a  few  English  settlers,  M'ho  had  already  established 
themselves  in  that  country,  Retief  soon  proceeded  to  Diogaan's  resi- 
dence, with  the  view  of  obtaining  from  him  the  cession  of  a  part  of 
the  country.  This  arraugcmcnt  Dingaan  agreed  to,  providing  Retief 
would  recover  for  him  a  number  of  cattle  which  had  been  stolen  by  a 
chief  beyond  the  Drakenl)erg.  Retief  accomplished  his  task,  and,  ia 
spite  of  the  warnings  of  many  of  his  countrymen,  he  proceeded  with 
about  siity  Boers  to  the  residence  of  the  Zulu  king,  by  whom  he  was 
apparently  well  received.  With  the  aid  of  an  English  missionary,  who 
was  in  the  neighbourhood,  a  treaty  was  drawn  up.  By  it  the  king 
agreed  to  cede  to  Retief  and  his  people  tlie  whole  of  the  country 
extending  from  the  Tugela  to  the  St.  John's  River.  So  completely  did 
the  wily  chief  succeed  in  gaining;  the  confidence  of  his  guestSj  that  on 
the  third  day  after  their  arrival  he  induced  them  to  lay  aside  their  fire- 
armSj  and  to  present  themselves  without  weapons  before  him,  while  he 
was  surrounded  by  his  most  trusted  regiments.  Dingaan  ordered  his 
people  to  dance  and  sing  the  war  song  in  honour  of  their  guests.  By- 
and-by,  the  king  hinasclf  joined  in  the  song,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  uttered  the  fatal  words,  "  Kill  the  scoundrels  !''  In  a  moment  the 
savage  troops  closed  in  upon  the  Boers,  and  rapitlly  killed  them  all  in 
cold  blood.  The  particulars  of  this  atrocity  were  recounted  by  the 
missionary,  who,  in  spite  of  Diugaan's  request  that  he  would  stay, 
immediately  fled  from  the  country.  Dingaan  then  despatched  an  army 
to  attack  a  party  of  Boers  encamped  at  a  place  afterwards  called 
Weening,  or  Weeping,  where  they  murdered  men,  women,  and  children 
alike. 

On  the  news  of  these  atrocities  reaching  the  reat  of  the  Boers  and 
the  Knglish  settlers,  a  general  desire  for  vengeance  naturally  arose. 
Two  armed  parties  marched  against  Diugaan ;  one  was  comi>osed  of 
English  settlers  and  friendly  natives,  the  other  consisted  of  about  380 
Boers.  Both  bodies  were  defeated  by  Dingaan's  army.  The  English 
pitfty,  indeed,  was  nearly  nunihilatcd,  though  the  Dutch  party,  after  a 
desperate  fight,  in  which  a  great  number  of  Zulus  were  killed,  eft'ected 
a  retreat  with  the  loss  of  some  of  their  number.  After  these  en- 
counters   a  large   Zulu  army   marched   to   Port  Natal.       Tlie  English 


650 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


settlers  there,  being  vamed  iu  timCj  took  rcftige  on  board  a  vcflsel^ 
which  happened  luckily  to  be  iu  the  harbour.  For  some  montha  there 
was  a  pause  in  the  hostilities,  but  towards  the  close  of  the  year  1838 
the  Boers  again  took  the  field,  under  the  eommand  of  Mr.  A.  W.  Pre- 
torius,  who  joined  his  countrymen  in  Natal,  and  was  acknowledged 
as  their  leader  in  the  place  of  their  murdered  chief.  They  marched 
into  Diugaau's  couutry,  and  during  this  campaign  a  battle  took  place 
which  will  be  for  ever  memorable  in  the  annals  of  South  African  war- 
are. 

Ou  Sunday  morning,  the  16th  of  December,  while  encamped  in  ft 
barricade  or  laager,  formed  by  waggons  lashed  together,  this  handful  of 
farmersj  numbering  not  more  than  400  men,  was  attacked  by  Din- 
gaan's  forces  amounting  to  12,000  warriors.  A  terrible  conflict  ensued. 
The  Zulus  strove  for  several  hours  in  vain  to  force  the  camp,  their 
dense  battalions  being  shattered  by  the  terrible  fire  of  the  gallant 
descendants  of  the  Huguenots  and  Hollanders.  At  last  the  Zulu  force 
began  to  waver.  Then  the  Boers  mounted  their  horses  and  charged 
them ;  they  broke  and  fled,  and  the  Boers  pursued  them  for  many  % 
mile.  The  Ziilu  army  is  said  to  have  lost  2000  men  on  this  day ;  the 
loss  of  the  Boers  was  but  trifling.  The  victors  immediately  marched 
to  Dingaau's  chief  village.  They  found  it  deserted,  but  they  there 
discovercxl  and  buried  the  remains  of  their  murdered  friends.  Relief  and 
his  party.  They  then  advanced  further  into  the  country,  and  eventually 
had  tlie  ill  fortune  to  fall  into  an  ambuscade,  being  surrounded  by  hosta 
of  Zulus.  After  a  severe  struggle  they  were  forced  to  retreat  with  loss. 
Dingaan  now  sent  apparently  friendly  messages  to  the  Boers,  but  his 
conduct  was  so  doubtful  that  they  were  afraid  to  leave  their  encamp- 
ments and  return  to  the  occupation  of  their  farms.  So  matters  remained 
till  the  end  of  1839,  when  Panda,  the  brother  of  Dingaan,  came  into 
the  district  with  a  body  of  Zulus  and  sought  the  aid  of  the  Boers 
against  that  chief,  who  for  some  cause  had  threatened  to  kill  him.  The 
Boers  espoused  his  cause,  and  in  the  licginning  of  1840  their  combined 
forces,  consisting  of  400  Boers  under  Pretorius,  and  Panda's  army,  400 
strong,  took  the  field.  While  ou  their  march,  one  of  Dingaan's  chiefs 
met  them  with  a  friendly  message  from  the  king.  But  Panda  charged 
this  man  with  being  the  instigator  of  the  massacre  of  Ileticf  and  his 
party.  The  enraged  Boers  immediately  shot  him.  This  violation  of 
the  laws  acknowledged  by  civilized  men  is  one  of  the  dark  pages  iu  the 
history  of  the  emigrant  Boers.  In  a  few  days  the  Boers  and  their 
allies  encountered  the  army  of  Dingaan  and  totally  routed  it;  the 
easiness  of  the  victory  being  chiefly  uwing  to  some  of  Diiigaan's  regi- 
ments going  over  to  Panda  during  the  battle.  Dingaan,  with  a  remnant 
of  his  army,  tied  to  the  Amaswasa  coimtry.  There  he  was  murdered 
by  one  of  his  own  chiefs,  most  of  his  followers  then  submitting  to 
Panda.  In  February,  the  Boers  proclaimed  Panda  king  of  the  Zulus, 
mud   declared    that   their  own  territory  extended   from   the  Black,  or 


THE  BOERS  AND   THE  ZULUS, 


551 


I 


ifolas.  River  to  the  St.  John's ;  thereby  assuming  sovereignty,  not  only 
over  the  district  of  Natal,  but  also  over  Panda  himself  and  his  nation. 

The  Boers  were  now  completely  masters  of  the  country,  and  remained 
so  for  some  time.  Diirinf;  this  period  a  considerable  number  of  natives 
flocked  into  the  district,  putting  themselves  under  the  protection  of  tho 
Boers.  The  latter  by-and-by  began  to  be  alarmed  by  this  Lufiux  of 
natives,  and  resolved  to  remove  them,  with  the  exception  of  those  who 
had  aboriginal  rights,  to  a  country  beyond  the  Umzimkulu.  The 
Boers  also  made  an  attack  upon  the  Amabaka  tribe,  living  in  the 
Amapondo  country,  who  hod  committed  depredations  on  their  cattle. 
The  tribe  was  beaten,  a  number  of  them  were  killed,  and  some  children 
were  carried  away  by  the  Boers.  This  affair  was  rcprcsentai  with  some 
exaggeration  to  the  Governor  of  the  Cape, — 1  believe  by  certain  mission- 
aries,— and  formed  the  ground  of  his  resolve  to  take  military  possession 
of  Natal. 

I  think  I  ought  to  mention  that  during  my  administration  of  Natal, 
this  same  tribe,  the  Amabakas,  were  as  notorious  cattle-liflcrs  as  ever 
were  the  Borderers,  or  men  of  the  debateable  ground,  here,  in  the  olden 
time.  To  such  an  extent  did  they  rob  the  farmers  in  Natal  that  I  was 
forced  to  march  against  their  country  with  a  small  burgher  force  to 
enforce  restitution.  I  found  our  people's  cattle  there,  with  their  marks 
upon  them. 

After  the  annexation  of  Natal  a  large  portion  of  the  Boen 
recrossed  the  Drakeuberg  Mountains  and  joined  their  friends  in  the 
Orange  River  coimtry.  Many,  however,  remained  behind  in  the 
colony,  but  in  1B48  in  consequence  of,  as  I  think,  ill-advised  measures 
taken  by  the  local  Government  as  to  the  land  titles,  many  of  these 
Boers,  headed  by  Pretorius,  followed  their  countrymen  over  the 
mountains.  This  is  the  party  of  whom  Sir  H.  Smith  gives  so  striking 
a  description  in  one  of  his  despatches.  lie  writes : — "On  my  arrival  at  the 
foot  of  the  Drakcnberg  Mountains,  I  was  almost  paralysed  to  witness 
the  whole  of  the  population,  with  few  exceptions,  emigrating.  Rains  on 
this  side  of  the  mountain  are  tropical,  and  now  prevail,  and  thus 
families  were  exposed  to  a  state  of  misery  which  I  never  saw  equalled 
except  in  Massena's  invasion  of  Portugal,  when  the  whole  of  the  ]x>pu- 
latiou  of  that  part  of  the  seat  of  war  abandoned  their  homes  and  Hcd." 

Soon  after  the  annexation  a  scries  of  despatches  were  addressed  to  the 
Governor  by  Earl  Grey,  suggesting  the  policy  to  be  pursued  in  the 
government  of  the  colony,  esi}ecially  in  regard  to  the  natives.  I  con- 
sidered these  then,  as  I  do  now,  some  of  the  ablest  despatches  ever  penned 
by  a  British  statesman.  It  used  to  be  a  matter  of  wonderment  to  Mr. 
Shepstonc  and  myself  how  his  lordship  could  have  realized  and  so 
accurately  described  the  condition  of  the  country.  Had  this  policy  been 
carried  out,  and  supported  by  a  sufficent  force,  the  troubles  in  which 
wc  arc  now  involved  would  have  been  avoided. 

A  port  of  Lord   Grey's  policy  was  that  instead  of  at  once  enforcing 


532 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


on  the  natives  tlie  laws  of  England  or  the  colony,  which  were  wliolly 
inapplicable  and  unsuitcd  to  their  conditioUi  some  native  laws  should 
be  retained,  so  far  aa  such  laws  were  not  repugnant  to  the  general 
principles  of  humanity.  The  design  was  that  these  laws  should,  from 
time  to  time,  be  so  raodified  aa  to  assist  the  growing  civilization  of  the 
nation,  till  at  last  they  might,  so  to  s[)cak,  become  merged  in  the  general 
laws  of  the  colony. 

On  the  death  of  the  first  Lieutenaat-Goveruor  of  the  colony,  after  a 
short  administration,  I  was  in  1850  appointed  to  his  place. 

On  my  arrival  at  the  Cape,  on  my  way  to  Natal,  I  heard  from  & 
distinguished  officer  who  had  served  iu  the  new  colony,  and  also  from 
othcra,  the  unwelcome  opinion  that  the  next  Kafir  war  would  be  in 
Natal. 

The  Governor,  Sir  Harry  Smith,  without  altogether  sharing  the 
opinion,  strongly  impressed  on  me  the  conviction  that  the  safety  of  the 
colony  greatly  depended  on  the  friendship  of  the  Uocrs  remaining  within 
its  borders.  On  my  arrival  in  Natal,  T  heard  that  the  Boers  were 
in  a  most  discontented  and  disloyal  mood.  They  lived  iu  mere  wood 
hovels,  with  their  waggons  before  their  doors  paeketl  with  all  their  goods 
xeady  to  go  out  of  the  colony  at  a  moment's  notice.  Their  farms  were, 
of  course,  without  a  vestige  of  cultivatiau.  Their  homesteads  were  for 
the  most  part  along  the  borders  of  the  Zulu  country,  and  especially  in 
that  triangle  formed  by  the  Buffalo  River,  the  Tugcla  lliver,  and  the 
Drakciiberg  Mountains,  which  it  was  of  the  last  importance  should  be 
occupied  by  men  used  to  arms.  TIic  greater  part  of  the  rest  of  the 
white  population  consisted  of  cuiigrauts  lately  arrived  from  England, 
who  knew  little  of  the  use  of  tire-arras,  The  garrison  was  composed  of 
the  wing  of  a  regiment  and  a  small  detachment  of  the  Cape  Mounted 
Rifles.  Within  the  colony  were  nbout  100,000  native  refugees  from  the 
kingdom  of  the  Zulus,  whichj  though  weakened  by  the  events  I  have 
narrated^  was  still  a  very  formidable  power  on  our  frontier.  Under 
these  circumstances,  I  felt  the  full  force  of  Sir  H.  Smith's  opinion,  and 
proceeded  assoou  as  I  could  to  the  district  inhabited  by  the  Dutch. 

I  was  received  coldly,  but  on  the  whole  respectfully.  One  or  two 
persons  who  used  uncivil  language  were  promptly  put  down  by  the  rest 
of  the  farmers. 

They  laid  before  me  a  number  of  complaints,  some  of  them  perfectly 
well  grounded,  especially  those  relating  to  the  imperfect  titles  of  their 
lands.  I  appointed  over  them  a  magistratCj  a  native  of  Holland,  and 
with  his  energetic  aid  succeeded  in  gaining  their  confidence. 

I  then  represented  to  Lord  Grey  the  real  nature  of  the  land  questiou, 
as  to  which  he  had  been  under  some  misapprehension,  and  with  his 
lordship's  entire  concurrence  this  matter  was  settled  to  the  full  satis- 
faction of  the  Boers,  without  making  any  concessions  not  founded  on 
justice.     This  mcusui*e  had  the  desired  clfect.     The  Boers  remained  in 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS. 


S68 


I 
I 


the  colony,  aud  eveu  received  some  acct^isiou  to  their  number  from 
their  countrymen  across  the  mountaias.  They  built  substantial  home- 
steads and  worked  their  farms.  Thia  settlement,  of  course,  tended  to 
increase  the  safety  of  the  colony.  I  may  as  well  here  transcribe  what 
I  wrote  about  the  Boers  twenty-five  years  ago,  as  I  see  no  reason  to 
alter  a  line  of  it : — 

"  More  than  a  year's  intercourse  with  these  emi^ant  Boers  has  satis- 
fied me  that  their  character  has  not  been  duly  appreciated  in  England, 
and  that  allowance  has  not  been  made  for  the  circumstances  in 
which  they  have  been  placed.  I  will  not  attempt  to  defend  their 
conduct  in  leaving  the  Cape  Colony  and  resisting  Her  Majesty's 
authority,  nor  do  I  wish  to  discuss  the  delicate  question  whether  the 
policy  pursued  towards  them  during  these  latter  years  has  been  judicious 
or  otherwise.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  for  upwards  of  fourteen 
years  these  poor  meu  have  been  wanderers  in  the  wilderness,  away  from 
all  civilization  and  humanizing  influences,  frequently  fighting  for  their 
lives  against  ruthless  savages.  Aud  yet  what  are  they  to-day  ?  Ignorant, 
no  doubt,  aud  therefore  necessarily  full  of  prejudices.  There  ia  no 
doubt  that  their  feelings  towards  the  natives  are  such  as  we  cannot 
approve,  and  their  treatment  of  them  at  times  is  very  harsh.  But  then 
consider  the  light  in  which  these  men  must  view  the  natives — not,  as 
philanthropists  in  England  do,  as  an  inoffensive  and  oppressed  race,  but  as 
cruel,  treacherous  foes,  aud  as  faithless  allies.  These  natives  are  asso- 
ciatctl  in  their  minds  with  scenes  of  blood,  blazing  homesteads,  foul 
acts  of  treachery,  dastardly  murders  of  women  and  children.  Aud  then 
consider  their  many  good  qualities,  their  hearty  hospitality  to  strangers, 
their  kindness  to  one  another,  and  above  all  their  deep  reverence  for  the 
Word  of  God.  Let  us  try,  then,  to  retain  these  Boers  withiu  our  bordew, 
and  enlighten  their  ignorance  without  destroying  the  sterling  excellence 
of  their  character ;  and  so,  if  they  should  hereafter  again  become  the 
pioneers  of  our  rule  in  South  Africa,  they  may  go  forth  among  the 
savage  tribes  as  the  spreaders  of  peace  and  true  civilization,  instead  of 
emissaries  of  wrong  and  oppression." 

^fr.  (now  Sir  T.)  Shcpstone  had  the  entire  government  of  the  natives, 
with  the  title  of  Diplomatic  Agent.  It  was  difficult,  and  generally 
inexpedient,  for  the  Governor  to  exercise  any  control  over  this  dc[)art- 
ment.  The  arrangement  had  its  advantages  and  its  drawbacks.  Among 
the  latter  was  its  creation  of  an  impcrium  in  imperio,  so  that  the 
Governor,  though  responsible  for  the  peace  and  safety  of  the  colony, 
had  really  little  control  over  that  part  of  the  administration  on  which 
these  mostly  depended.  During  my  term  of  office  the  system  of  native 
government  was  elaborated,  and  the  network  of  magistracy  spread 
over  the  country  which  exists  to  the  present  day. 

Tlicrc  arc  but  few  incidents  connected  with  the  native  government  to 
which  I  have  space  to  advert.  One  is  the  excitement  created  among 
our  natives   by  the  terrible  Kafir  outbreak  at  the  Cape  in  1851.    This 


564 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


nas  rendered  more  iateiiae  by  au  order  sent  to  nae  by  Sir  H.  Smith 
to  despatch  to  his  aid  a  native  force  of  Natal  Zulus.  Aa  in  dat/ 
bound  I  tried  to  obey  his  order;  but  it  caused  such  a  commotioa 
among  the  natives,  and  such  a  j^auic  among  the  white  iuhabitauts,  as 
nearly  led  to  hostilities.  A  shot  fired  or  an  assagai  thrown  would  have 
involved  a  war.  I  believe  the  administration  deserved,  as  it  received,  the 
recognition  of  the  Home  Government  for  its  conduct  in  this  crisis. 

In  regard  to  the  order  of  Sir  H.  Smith,  it  is  only  fair  to  the  memory 
of  that  great  soldier  to  state,  that  luy  predecessor  had,  in  1847,  informed 
the  Governor  that  he  could  in  a  few  days  send  to  his  aid  a  native  force 
of  10,000  men.  The  possibility,  however,  of  sending  a  native  force  to 
the  assistance  of  our  neighbours  was  proved  a  few  weeks  afterwards, 
when  I  despatched  a  party  of  troops,  accompanied  by  such  a  force, 
over  the  Drakenberg  in  mid-winter  to  the  assistance  of  the  troops  in 
the  Orange  River  country,  who  were  reported  to  be  surrounded,  by 
hostile  tribes. 

The  events  of  this  period  showed  me  plainly  the  precarious  nature  of 
our  position.  I  formed  the  opinion,  which  I  have  ever  since  held,  that 
although  the  native  department  of  the  Government  had,  considering  all 
its  great  diflBculties,  been  extremely  well  managed,  yet  we  owed  our 
safety  in  a  great  degree  to  circumstances  over  which  we  had  little 
control — such  as  the  divisions  existing  amongst  our  natives,  their  intense 
dread  of  the  Zulu  king,  and  especially  their  terror  of  the  Boers.  They 
had  not  forgotten  the  defeats  they  had  received  at  the  hands  of  the 
Boers,  more  especially  that  terrible  Sunday  morning  when  a  handful  of 
these  warlike  farmers  scattered  the  army  of  Dingaan. 

Unfortunately,  before  Lord  Grey's  admirable  despatches  had  reached 
the  colony,  arrangements  had  been  made  which  rendered  it  difficult  to 
carry  out  his  views.  The  cnnrmous  native  locations  had  been  formed 
in  some  of  the  most  broken  and  inaccessible  parts  of  the  country.  I 
thus  described  them:—"  Had  Dingaan  or  Chaka  had  the  choosing  of 
these  locations,  they  could  not  have  selected  sjjots  better  adapted  to 
enable  the  natives  to  set  the  arms  and  authority  of  the  Government  at 
defiance." 

I  tried  to  point  out  to  Lord  Grey  several  reforms  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  natives,  such  aa  the  gradual  abrogation  of  the  power 
of  the  chiefs,  and  especially  the  very  great  imf>ortanco  of  giving,  as  fiu* 
as  possible,  individual  as  distinguished  from  tribal  riglits  to  lands.  1 
insisted  on  this  subject  frequently  as  one  of  the  best  means  of  civilizing 
the  natives  and  freeing  them  from  the  arbitrary  power  of  their  chiefs. 
'^Thcso  and  other  reforms  rccommcndcfl  by  me,  and  approved  of  by  Lord 
Grey,  were  never  eflectually  carried  out,  Mr.  Shepstone  ex])laLned 
that  "  the  management  of  the  natives  had  heretofore  been  entirely  by 
means  of  themselves,  and  without  any  civil  or  European  agency  what- 
ever j  for  the  mere  governing  and  controlling  them  alone  he  had  found 
the  means  furnished  by  themselves  amply  sufficient,  but  that  they  failed 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS. 


6W 


wheu  the  higher  objects  of  a  Christian  (iovemment  were  attempted,  and 
when  by  the  influx  of  civilized  immigrants  matters  of  dispute  became 
complicated." 

Mr.  Shepstouc  seemed  rightly  to  attribute  the  difHculty  of  organizing 
a  system  of  government  to  the  want  of  means  at  his  disposal.  Tho 
absence  of  a  sutiicient  military  force  in  the  colony  was  another  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  eflScient  reform.  My  predecessor,  Mr.  AVcst,  as  early 
as  1847j  applied  to  Sir  H.  Smitli  for  an  increased  military  strength, 
which  was  refused.  Unfortunately  Mr.  West's  statement,  that  he  coidd 
in  a  few  days  send  a  large  native  force  to  the  frontier,  afforded  Sir  H. 
Smith  a  crushing  argument  against  tho  application  for  more  troops. 
The  argument  was  indeed  conclusive,  that  if  the  natives  of  the  colony 
were  so  loyal  and  so  gallant  that  10,000  men  armed  with  assagais  would 
march  400  miles  to  fight  an  enemy  equipped  with  fire-arms,  a  fortiori 
they  would  suffice  to  defend  the  colony.  I  think,  too,  that  de- 
spatches from  the  Natal  Government  had  undesignedly  tended  to  lead 
the  Home  and  the  Cape  authorities  to  attribute  the  peace  of  the  colony 
too  much  to  the  moral  influence  of  its  Government.  I  myself  repre- 
sented the  necessity  for  increase  in  the  military  strength  of  the  colony. 
On  one  occasion  I  said  : — "  The  withholding  such  moderate  present  expen- 
diture as  is  necessary  to  preserve  peace  is  far  from  real  economy,  since 
it  would  be  the  means  of  rendering  necessary  a  much  larger  cspenditiu« 
for  repressing  an  outbreak." 

Lord  Grey  promised  to  consider  the  subject  of  sending  a  small  body 
of  cavalry  into  the  colony  when  the  war  on  the  frontier  was  terminated. 
Unfortunately  before  that  time  his  Lordship  had  left  office. 

For  myself,  I  always  thought  that  the  security  of  the  district 
depended  more  on  our  prestige,  and  a  balance  of  power,  than 
upon  any  real  strength.  Our  natives  looked  to  us  to  protect  them 
against  the  Zulu  kingdonij  and  both  were  kept  in  check  by  the  fear  of  tho 
Boers  within  and  beyond  our  boundaries.  My  relations  with  Panda 
were  generally  friendly,  and  during  the  troublous  times  to  which  I  have 
alluded^  I  almost  ostcutatioiLsly  opened  diplomatic  intercourse  with  that 
chief  for  the  purpose  of  showing  our  own  natives  that  we  were  on  friendly 
terms  with  him. 

My  apace  will  not  allow  me  to  say  more  as  to  my  first  administration 
of  Natal,  which  I  left  in  1855. 


I  must  now  turn  to  a  few  matters  in  the  general  history  of  South 
Africa. 

Wc  have  seen  (p.  551)  that  a  large  number  of  Boers  left  Natal  in  1848, 
and  joined  their  countrymen  to  the  west  of  the  Drakeubcrg  ^lountaius. 
After  several  encounters  with  the  British  authorities,  notably  at  the 
battle  of  Bloomplaatz  in  August,  1848,  they  were  released  from  their 
allegiance  to  the  British  Crown,  and  at  last  formed  two  republics  :  one 
called  the  Orange  Free  State,  and  the  other  the  South  jVfrican  Republia 


55G 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


The  Oraugc  Free  State,  after  undergoing  some  viciswtudes,  has  been 
completely  sueeessi'ul  iu  eslablisbiug  u  well-ordered  goverameut.  It  is 
as  prosperoiH  as  auy  part  of  Soutb  Africa.  It  lias  paid  off  its 
debts  ;  and  it  has  now  a  population  of  aboxit  60,000  white  and  about 
25,0(X)  coloured  men.  Its  government  is  simple,  but  perfectly  efficient- 
The  education  of  the  people  is  fully  attended  to,  and  a  fund  of  jfe70,000 
is  set  apart  for  this  pui^ose.  It  is  further  a  matter  worth  special  notiee 
that  it  has  established  a  system  of  registration  aud  transfer  of  laud 
superior  to  that  of  any  of  the  South  African  colonies,  though  they  are 
all  in  this  roapnct  immensely  iu  advance  of  this  enlightened  country. 

The  other  Republic — the  Transvaal — lias  not  been  so  fortunate.  It 
has  placed  itself  in  such  difficulties  as  seem  to  justify  its  recent 
annexation. 

What  are  the  causes  of  this  diflerencc  in  the  destinies  of  the  two 
Hcpublica  ?  An  able  French  writer  believes  that  it  is  due  to  the  dif- 
ference in  the  men  who  have  lately  ruled  them.      He  says : — 

'^  Mr.  Burgess,  the  last  President  of  the  Trnnsvaal,  formerly  a  minister  iu  the 
Dutch  Chm'ch,  was  a  man  of  culture,  projects,  and  programmes,  who  seems  to 
have  icceived  his  political  education  by  reading  the  works  of  certain  writers  of 
tliirty  years  ago ;  and  he  has  made  the  miatakc  of  forgetting  that  he  had  to  ride  a 
population  of  Dutch  farmers,  and  not  one  of  clubbists,  enamoured  of  banners,  of 
declarations  ofpririciplea,  :md  startling  decrees,  Mr.  Burgess  belonged  to  a  small 
political  set,  who  had  conceived  the  extravagniit  project  of  Jreeiug  South  Africa 
from  ihc  English  yoke,  by  the  simple  miignetism  of  the  Ivopublican  idea.  Here 
is  the  man — an  enthusiastic  niind,  a  generoim  heart,  but  a  little  chimerical.  In 
order  to  realize  this  miracle,  it  required  that  the  Kepublic  of  the  Transvaal  should 
dazzle  its  adversaries  by  its  light.  He  launched  out  boldly  on  the  road  of  progress, 
mapped  out  a  vast  plan  for  the  creation  of  schools  on  tlic  most  modern  model; 
negotiated  a  loan  in  Holland  for  the  construction  of  a  railway  going  from  Pretoria 
to  the  PortugncBe  posscaaions.  The  time  was  not  favourable.  Mr.  Burgess  did 
not  succeed  in  giving  to  the  Transvaal  the  treasure  and  army  which  she  wanted, 
but  he  caused  munvy  coinad  from  the  gold  collected  in  the  colony  to  bestamped 
with  hia  oHigy ;  and  ho  gratified  the  Republic  with  a  national  flag  just  before 
his  downfall. 

*•  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Brand,  the  President  of  the  Orange  Free  IStale,  never 
forgot  that  he  had  to  govt-rn  a  population  of  fiirnicrs  settled  in  au  obscure  comer 
of  the  world,  and  he  never  eucoun*ged  any  ideas  more  ambitious  than  tlieir  own. 
In  recouii)ense  for  this  modesty,  he  succeeded  in  living  upou  good  terms  with 
Englaud,  in  settling  amicably  the  dispute  as  to  the  diamond  ftoldb,  in  freeing  tlic 
Uepublic  from  all  its  debts,  in  freeing  his  territory  from  the  natives,  and  in  forti- 
fying its  frontiiTS. 

*'  In  fiict,  Mr.  Burgess  was  a  man  of  ability,  who  was  in  advance  of  his  time 
and  country.  Mr.  Brand  is  an  able,  sober-minded  man,  who  is  adapting  him- 
self to  the  circumstances  and  place  in  which  he  lives." 

No  doubt,  as  the  writer  says,  the  fate  of  States  is  more  or  less 
influenced  by  those  who  rule  them.  But  still  we  must  pause  before  we 
accuse  the  Boers  of  political  incapacity,  when  we  see  that  under  fairly 
favourable  circumstauces  they  have  established  such  a  Goverameut  as 
the  Orange  Free  State. 


In  1870  responsible  governaieut  was  established  in  the  Cape  Colony 


THE  BOERS  AXD   THE  ZULUS. 


557 


I 


I 


under  tlie  able  guidance  of  Sir  Henry  Barkly,  and,  notwithstanding  the 
difficulties  which  have  beset  its  course,  it  has  had  fair  success.  This 
measure  was  gratifying  to  the  Dutch  part  of  the  population  within  and 
beyond  the  colony,  and  had  the  liberal  policy  which  dictated  it  been 
guardedly  carried  out,  it  would  gradually  have  effaced  the  memory  of 
past  mistakes,  and  reconciled  the  colony  to  our  rule. 
But  unfortunately  the  Diamond-Field  difficulty  arose. 
I  am  scarcely  in  a  position  to  give  an  opinion  as  to  the  policy  of  the 
annexation  of  tliis  territory.  It  was  claimed  by,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  mostly  formed  part  of,  the  Orange  Free  State,  while  a  small  portion 
belonged  to  the  Transvaal.  The  annexation,  therefore,  co;ild  not  be 
otherwise  than  very  obnoxious  to  the  Dutch  all  over  South  Africa.  Lord 
Kimberley's  intention  was  that  the  territory  should  be  taken  over  by 
the  Cape  Government,  in  which  at  that  time  the  Dutch  element  pre- 
ponderated. This  plan  would  undoubtedly  have  given  much  less 
umhragc  to  that  part  of  the  population  everywhere,  but  then  it  was  found 
impossible  at  that  time  to  induce  the  Cape  Ministry  to  agree  to  it. 

AVhether  these  objections  could  have  been  overcome  I  do  not  know; 
but  time  pressed,  and  the  Diamond  Fields  were  swarming  with  adven- 
turers from  all  parts  of  the  world,  who  it  was  feared  might  create  serious 
trouble  and  danger.  To  prevent  this  mischief  the  territory  was  annexed 
and  constituted  a  Crown  Colony.  This  measure  may  have  been  urged 
on  by  a  factitious  public  opinion,  created  by  land-jobbers  and  traders 
who  form  the  pioneers  of  the  self-styled  civilizing  race  ;  but  to  speak 
of  it  as  prompted  on  the  part  of  British  statesmen  by  a  desire  to  gain  a 
little  temporary  applause,  by  securing  to  the  Crown  the  richest  diamond- 
fields  in  the  world,  or  to  term  the  measure  the  most  discreditable  inci- 
dent in  British  Colonial  history,  is  an  abuse  of  language. 

The  annexation  was,  however,  a  most  untoward  event,  and  caused 
enormous  evils.  The  '•  diggers"  who  flocked  to  the  diamond  fields  were 
not  men  who  could  dig  for  themselves,  but  Jews  and  Gentiles  from  every 
nation  and  of  every  grade,  except  the  working  classes.  They  therefore 
employed  the  Kami's  to  dig  for  them.  They  found  that  the  surest,  if  not  the 
only  inducement  to  make  the  natives  work,  was  to  pay  them  with  fire- 
anus.  Thus  hundreds  of  thousands  of  fire-arms  were  dislributed  broad- 
cast among  them.  Whether  the  possession  of  these  fire-arms  really 
iucreascs  the  strength  of  the  native  or  not,  he  thinks  it  does,  and  that 
it  places  him  on  an  equality  with  the  white  man.  This  led  most 
certainly  to  one  outbreak  under  my  own  eye,  and  it  was  doubtless  ihc 
not  remote  cause  of  the  frightful  bloodshed  which  has  occurred  iu  the 
Transvaal  and  Zululand.  In  vain  the  Boers  protested,  in  vain  the 
Government  of  Natal  protested,  against  this  infamous  traffic.  The 
honoured  name  of  Free  Trade  was  desecrated  in  ita  support.  I  called 
the  diamond  tratle,  as  it  was  carried  on,  a  trade  iu  blood.  I  believe 
there  is  a  semi-precious  stone  called  the  blood-stone.  This  term 
ought  to  be  applied  to  the  Cape  diamond.      If  the  Indies  of  England 


558 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


knew  the  blood-shedding  and  misery  '^by  which  these  stones  were  ob- 
tainedj  they  wonld  loathe  to  wear  tbein.  I  think  that  the  trade  la 
powder  and  arms  in  South  Africa  should  have  becu  kept  entirely  iu 
the  hands  of  the  Governnieut,  aa  was  the  case  in  Cape  Colony  in  former 
times.  The  opponents  of  such  a  measure  contend  that  the  unprin- 
cipled cupidity  of  traders  would  evade  the  law,  and  that  powder  and 
arms  M'ould  still  be  iutro<luced  amongst  the  natives.  1  admit  that  it 
might  be  so  to  some  extent.  But  the  prohibition  would  have  at  least 
delayed  the  general  acquisition  of  these  articles ;  that  delay  would  have 
given  time  to  the  Goverament  and  to  the  colonists  to  strengthen  them- 
selves by  increasing  their  own  numbers,  and  by  other  means,  which  wouhl 
have  better  enabled  them  to  meet  the  danger  from  the  natives  when  it 
came.  Because  we  caunot  prevent  water  from  oozing  through  the  joints 
of  a  flood-gate,  is  that  a  reason  for  throwing  it  open  at  once?  In 
Natal  the  Government  did  its  best  to  clicck  this  abominable  trade,  but, 
unsupported  as  it  was  by  the  Cape  Government,  it  could  do  little  or 
nothing. 

It  was  this  traffic  which  so  profoundly  irritated  the  Dutch.  We 
can  imagine  how  intensely  the  Boer  on  his  lonely  farm  must  have  hated 
the  people  engaged  in  this  trade  and  the  Government  that  permitted  it. 


In  1873  I  was  a  second  time  appointed  to  the  Government  of  NataL 
I  relinquishetl  a  higher  office,  witli  a  higher  salary,  to  go  to  a  climate 
which  I  hoped  would  restore  my  health,  impaired  by  the  anxious  work 
I  had  to  do  in  the  West  Indies.  I  was  told  Natal  was  prosperous  and 
peaceable,  and  that  my  work  would  he  light.  Alas !  I  was  doomed  to 
disap|)ointmeut.  Before  I  left  England,  Lord  Kimberley,  spreading  out 
the  map  of  South  Africa,  ejqiresscd  his  wish  for  the  federation  of  the 
colonics  tlierCj  and  that  I  should  forward  that  object  as  far  as  lay 
in  my  power.  It  so  happened  tliat  on  board  the  steamer  1  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  Attorney-General  of  the  Transvaal  Re- 
public, and  at  a  public  dinner  given  on  my  arrival  he  sat  by 
my  side.  In  returning  thanks  for  my  health  I  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  saying,  I  hoped  to  see  a  federation  of  the  Republics  with 
the  colony,  and  I  added,  as  in  jest,  tliat  I  should  like  to  sit  as  a  member 
of  the  Federal  Cabinet  with  my  learned  friend.  I  could  see  at  the  time, 
and  I  knew  afleiwardsj  that  the  suggestion  was  taken  in  very  good  part. 
I  also  opened  friendly  intnrcourse  with  the  President  of  the  Orange 
Free  State,  and  I  was  not  without  hope  that,  in  the  course  of  time,  a 
federation,  at  least  for  many  useful  purposes,  might  be  brought  about. 

Tlie  first  matter  to  which  my  attention  was  called  was  the  mission 
of  Mr.  Shcpstone  to  Zululaud,  to  instal  the  king.  1  did  not 
originate  the  measure ;  it  was  nearly  arranged  before  my  arrival, 
and  Sir  H,  Barkly  left  it  to  me  to  allow  it  to  go  on  or  not  as  I  thought 
right,  only  stipulating  that  British  troops  should  not  accompany  Mr. 
Shepstone,  so  that  her  Majesty's  Government  might  not   be  compro- 


THE  BOERS  AND   THE  ZULUS. 


MO 


» 


mised  in  the  matter.  On  my  arrival  I  sauctioued  the  proceeding, 
chiefly  out  of  deference  to  Mr.  Shepstonc's  judgment,  and  because,  in 
the  painful  prospect  of  a  disturbance  in  the  colony,  I  thought  it  expe- 
dient to  keep  on  friendly  terniH  with  Cetewayo,  as  1  did,  oa  a  former 
occasion  already  mentioned,  with  his  father.  King  Panda.  1  have  said  that 
there  was  a  prospect  of  disturbance  in  the  colony,  for  on  my  arrival  I 
learned  that  the  chief  Langnlibalelc  and  his  tribe  had  for  some  time  set 
the  authority  of  the  Goverumcut  at  defiance,  by  repeated  disregard  of  its 
orders.  The  effect  of  this  on  the  natives  generally  was  apparent  in  their 
haughty  and  insolent  bearing.  There  was  uneasiness  everywhere. 
From  many  quarters  iutcUigeucc  was  received  of  threatening  language 
used  towards  the  white  colonists  by  the  people  of  that  and  a  kindred 
tribe.  As  this  subject  so  immediately  couccrns  myself,  it  will  be  more 
satisfactory  to  me,  and  I  have  no  doubt  to  my  readers,  if  I  quote  Mr. 
Theal's  clear  and  fair  account  of  it : — * 

"  After  the  aaa.i3sinutioii  of  Tshaka  and  Dingan,  tbore  was  jwaco  once 
more  in  Zululaud,  and  the  Amahlubi  were  enabled  to  reiurn  to  the  gardens  cid- 
tivated  of  old  by  their  fathers.  Their  chief,  Langalibalelc,  then  a  young  man, 
became  famous  as  the  most  potent  rainmaker  in  all  tlie  land,  and  was  acquiring 
wealth  fia  well  aa  renown  when  a  <|uarrcl  witli  Mpande  in  ISiS  drove  him  and 
his  people  into  exile  again.  Poor  and  powerless  they  reached  Natal  and  threw 
themselves  upon  the  mercy  of  the  Colonial  Government.  They  were  located  at 
the  foot  of  the  Quathlamba,  to  prevent  the  Bushmen  coming  down  to  plunder 
the  farmers  in  the  valleys  below.  In  their  new  home  the  Amahlubi  [aospcred, 
and  once  again  became  rich  and  powerful. 

"T)io  chief  Langalibalele  was  a  man  of  less  tlian  average  intelligence,  and  was 
greatly  addicted  to  intemperance.  His  tribo  aci^uired  the  reputation  of  being 
1*6511683,  but  hJM  location  was  so  secluded  that  very  little  was  known  by  the 
colonists  of  him  or  his  people.  At  length  the  diamond  iielda  were  discovered, 
and  many  young  men  were  attracted  to  them  by  the  facility  with  which  guna 
could  there  be  obtained.  One  of  the  laws  of  Natal,  intended  as  a  measuro  of 
security,  is  that  no  native  may  possess  a  gun  without  its  being  registered.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  c)\ief  was  called  upon  to  account  for  the  guns  liis  young  men  had 
brought  home  with  them,  but  he  declined  to  do  so.  Message  ailcr  message  was 
sent,  requiring  him  to  appear  at  Mnritzbuxg,  but  he  made  excuses  and  never  went. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Shepstone,  the  Secretary-  for  Native  Afluirs,  lell  Natal  lor  a  short 
time  on  an  expedition  to  Zululand  to  crown  Cety^vayo  at  the  wish  of  liia  people, 
and  Laugalibulele  and  his  guns  were  neglected  for  a  season.  But  upon  the 
return  of  the  expedition,  a  messenger  was  again  despatched  to  iho  Ulubi  cliief, 

and  was  on  this  occasion  treated  with  indignity 

"  Peaceable  means  having  failed  to  secure  the  obedience  of  the  chief,  an  armed 
party  waa  sent  to  enforce  the  demands  of  the  Government.  Upon  its  approach, 
Langalibalele  abandoned  the  women,  children,  and  aged  of  the  tribe,  and  with  the 
cattle  he  and  most  of  his  warriors  fell  back  upon  the  mountains.  In  tlie  Bushman's 
Pass,  Major  Dumford  and  a  small  party  of  volunteers  overtook  the  rearguard  of 
the  rebels.  The  chief  was  in  advance,  and  as  the  volunteers  had  orders  not  to 
fire  first,  they  attempted  tu  hold  a  parley  in  order  to  communicate  with  him. 
The  induna  in  command  pretended  to  have  sent  for  the  chief,  and  while  waiting 
for  him  to  arrive,  the  volunteers  were  being  surrounded.  At  the  same  time 
threatening  gestures  and  language,  coupled  with  taunts,  were  u^ed  towards  tliem. 
They  fell  back  in  a  panic,  when  too  late,  and  as  they  did  so  three  of  them,  with 
their  interpreter  and  another  loyal  native,  were  shot  down. 
•  "South  Africa,"  p.  125. 


560 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEH 


tub 

% 

The 


"  The  coloDiste  at  once  awoke  to  a  sense  of  their  danger.  They  were  snr- 
rountled  by  twenty  times  their  own  number  of  natives,  and  they  knew  not  bow 
far  the  inclination  to  rebel  extended.  Of  one  thing  they  were  certain  :  thafc_ 
nothing  but  the  prompt  jiimisliiuent  of  the  Hlubi  clan  would  prevent  all  wl 
were  diHuflected  from  rising  in  arms.  Volunteers  at  once  came  forwtird, 
pursuing  parties  were  organized.  All  tlie  Europeans  in  South  Africa  symj 
thizetl  with  them.  The  British  Resident  in  Stl  John's  Territory  collected 
large  native  force  to  prevent  the  advance  of  the  rebels  in  that  direction.  The 
Cape  Government  sent  stmng  detachments  of  the  Frontier  Armed  and  Mount 
Police  to  Basutoland  and  KafHrland,  and  the  Commander-in-Chief  sent  all 
available  troops  from  Cape  Town  to  Durban.  The  diggers  at  the  Diamond  Fielt 
tendered  assistance,  and  the  governments  of  the  Free  State  and  Tranavnal 
Kepublic  were  very  ready  to  aid  in  the  emergency.  Every  one  saw  that  it  was 
nut  the  peace  of  Natal  only,  but  of  all  South  Africa,  that  was  imperilled.      Once 

let  other  tribes  join  the  AmahUibi,  and  a  general  war  was  inevitable 

"  The  pursuing  forces  from  Nntal  consisted  of  eighty  European  volunteers  and 
Hfleeu  hundred  natives,  under  Captains  Allison  and  Hawkins.  One  column 
went  towards  Kaffirland,  thp  other  searched  among  the  mountains,  as  the  direc- 
tion in  which  Langalibalele  had  gone  was  yet  unkno^\Ti.  Alter  several  din 
spent  fruiilessly,  the  two  columns  effected  a  junction  on  the  head  waters  of  rl 
Orange,  and  struck  the  tri»il  of  the  rebels  loading  towards  Molapo'a  kraal. 

"  If  there  was  any  incHuation  on  the  part  of  the  Busuto  chiefs  to  aid  Langali 
balele,  it  was  destroyed  by  the  prcacncc  of  the  mounted  police.       Molapo  hims 
sided  with  the  Government  and  arrayed  bis   clan   against  the   rebels,  who  wei 
now  hemmed  in  on  all  sides.      On  the   llth  of  December,  I87<t,  Lang:uibalel 
and  eighty-four  of  hia  followers  arrived  at  Molapo's  kraal  and  suffered  them*elve4 
to  be  disarmed  by  the  police,  when  the  chief,  five  of  his  sons,  and  four  principal 
men  were  made  prisoners,  and  the  remainder  wore  permitted  to  disperse  Amoti^^ 
ttic  Rasuto  villages.  .  .  .  jH 

**  An  extraordinary  court  was  constituted  for  the  trial  of  Langalibalele. 
It  was  composed  of  the  Governor,  in  his  capacity  of  <^reat  chief  of  Natal, 
the  Secretary  for  Native  Affairs,  three  magistrates,  tliree  native  chiefs, 
and  four  native  officers  under  Government.  The  prisoner  was  tried 
according  to  native  law,  and  was  not  j>cruiitted  to  have  counsel.  Such  a 
court  was  ill  qunlitied  to  secure  respect  for  its  decisions,  and  it  is  not  sur- 
prieiiig  that  persona  abroad  have  been  found  to  call  in  question  the  justi* 
of  the  treatment  the  Ubibi  clan  received,  basing  their  knowledge  and  theii 
opinions  on  the  fact  that  tlio  principal  prisoner  was  condemned  before  being  tried. 
For  the  judge  was  the  snrne  Governor  who  had  previously  outlawed  him  ant 
offered  a  hundred  cattle  for  his  head.  Lnngalibalele^s  crime  was  notorious,  nnc 
no  one  who  knows  how  nearly  he  brought  about  a  general  war  would  maintaia' 
that  he  did  not  deserve  punishment;  but  it  would  have  been  more  satislactory  if 
hri  had  received  a  fair  trial  \\y  unbinssf^d  judges.  Before  the  court  he  admitted 
the  truth  of  the  most  serious  charges  brought  against  him,  but  assumed  throughout 
an  appearance  of  stolid  indifference  to  what  was  going  on.  The  trial  commenced  oa 
llie  I'jth  of  January,  IS7-J,  and  judgment  was  delivered  on  the  Olh  of  th( 
following  month.  The  prisoner  was  sentenced  to  banishment  for  life,  but  .'it. 
the  lime  Natal  liad  no  place  to  banish  him  to.  Application  was  therefore  madi 
to  the  Cape  Government,  and  an  Act  was  [Mis-Hed  by  tlio  Cape  Parliament 
authorizing  his  imprisonment  on  Kobbcn  Ishmd.  Thithur  he  and  one  of  hia  sousi 
who  was  sentenced  to  banishment  for  a  tenn  of  fivo  years,  were  conveyed 
accordingly.  The  Hlubi  clan  was  broken  up,  and  the  gro\md  they  had  occu]>ied 
was  n^sumed  by  the  Government. 

"Tho  details  ofthese  occurrences  were  publislicd  in  England,  and  as  it  happened 
to  be  a  time  whon  nothing  of  an  exciting  nature  was  taking   placi*  in  Europe,  aM 
large  amount  of  attention  was  bt-stowed  upon  Natal.     The  ease  witli  which  thtt  | 
rebclliou  had  been  sujipressed  caused  msny  to  think  that  the  danger  luid  really 


ii 


i 


THE  BOERS  AND   THE  ZULUS. 


561 


I 


HOC  been  so  great  as  represented.  An  inflaential  and  powerful  philantliropic 
society  at  once  condemned  the  action  of  the  Grovernur  and  the  coloniata  as  un- 
ncccaaarily  severe,  and  the  principal  organs  of  the  press  took  the  same  view. 
Bishop  Colenso,  as  the  champion  of  the  nntive3  under  all  circumatAnces,  pub- 
lished a  huge  pamphlet  on  the  case,  which  was  Urgel/  circulated  in  England. 
It  was  quite  useless  for  the  Natal  clergy — some  sixty  ministers  and  missionarioa 
of  various  denomioationa — to  forward  a  counter  document,  or  for  the  South 
African  press,  with  hardly  an  exception,  to  approve  in  general  of  the  course  that 
had  been  pursued  in  stamping  out  the  rebellion  in  ita  infancy;  public  opinion  in 
Britain  once  formed  was  not  to  be  changed.  It  was  assumed  that  Langalibalele 
eould  only  have  been  running  away  through  fear,  and  that  he  could  have  had  no 
intention  of  retunung  after  his  cattle  were  placed  in  safety.  All  the  circum- 
stances of  the  case,  the  previous  plotting,  the  refused  of  the  Ulubi  chief  to  appear 
before  a  magistrate,  the  overt  act  of  rebellion  in  firing  upon  and  killing  five  men 
at  the  BusliTUun's  Pass,  the  final  stand  made  in  Basutoland  by  the  main  body  of 
the  insurgents,  these  and  other  proofs  of  guilt  were  simply  ignored,  or,  if  un 
attempt  waa  made  to  explain  them,  they  were  attributed  to  the  fear  which  the 
clan  entertained  for  the  colonists.  It  was  considered  absurd  to  suppose  that 
Langalibalele  meant  to  rebel,  for  what  could  he  gain  by  such  a  course  ?  That 
a  barbarous  chief  should  take  up  arms  through  caprice,  or  passion,  or  a  mere 
spirit  of  restlessness,  without  ever  perhaps  weighing  the  likelihood  of  success,  or 
even  inquiring  about  the  strength  of  his  adversary,  seemed  quite  incompre- 
hensible. 

"In  December,  1874,  a  despatch  fi*om  the  Secretary  of  State  was  forwarded  to 
South  Africa,  in  which  he  announced  that  Sir  Benjamin  Pine  would  be  relieved 
of  otHce  immediately,  that  Langalibalele  and  his  son  must  be  removed  from 
Robben  Island  to  a  location  in  the  Cape  Colony,  and  tliat  compcns^ition  must  bo 
made  to  the  Amatigwe  for  the  losses  which  they  had  sustained.  Nearly  two 
hundred  of  the  Aniahlubi,  including  several  sons  of  the  chief,  had  been  sen- 
tenced to  various  torms  of  imprifionment,  and  their  punishments  wore  to  bo 
mitigated.  Otherwise,  the  despatch  waa  written  in  a  friendly  tone,  and  the 
colonists  were  exonerated  from  the  charge  of  cruelty.  It  contained  the  im{x>rtant 
annoxmcement  that  the  Secretary  of  State  contemplated  a  great  reform  in  the 
native  policy  of  the  future,  such  a  reform  as  would  gradually  replace  barbarism 
by  civilization.  Nothing  could  be  more  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  the 
colonists  than  such  a  change.  But  the  removal  of  the  Governor  in  the  manner 
indiciited — though  he  had  fVequeutly  expressed  on  intention  of  retiring  on 
account  of  ill  health,  and  this  was  referred  to  by  Lord  Carnarvon — aUIcd  forth 
warm  sympathy  for  the  man  whose  energetic  action  in  the  hoiu-  of  peril,  as  waa 
believed,  had  saved  South  Africa  from  a  general  war." 

H  As  to  the  view  takea  of  the  revolt  by  the  native  population.  Sir 
■  Garnet  Wolscleyj  who  succeeded  me,  says,  "  Langalibalele,  as  I  am 
informed  by  all  classes  here,  official  and  non-official  (a  small  knot  of 
men  of  extreme  views  excepted),  is  regarded  by  the  native  population  at 
large  as  a  chief  who,  having  defied  the  authorities,  and  in  doing  so  occa- 
sioned the  murder  of  some  white  men,  is  now  suffering  for  that  conduct. 
In  their  opinion,  his  attempts  to  brave  the  Government  have  been  ehcck- 

t  mated,  and  his  baaisbmeut  from  the  colony,  regarded  as  a  lenient  punish- 
ment by  the  natives  at  large,  cannot  fail  to  be  a  serious  warning  to  all  other 
Kafir  chiefs,  not  only  in  Natal  but  in  the  whole  of  South  Africa,  to  avoid 

•  imitating  his  example.  If  he  were  allowed  to  come  back  here,  his  inHuence 
would  be  intensified  manifold,  as  the  natives  would  naturally  be  led  to  be- 
lieve either  that  his  supernatural  powers  are  so  great  as  to  have  secured  his 
release,  or  that  we  arc  afiraid  of  him,  and  nothing  can,  in  my  opinion, 

L: : 


563  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEir.  ^^^| 

be  more  injurious  to  our  interests  in  dealing  with  barbnrous  races,  than 
the  creation  iu  their  minds  of  any  doubt  as  to  onr  strength."* 

It  has  been  said  that  by  the  employment  of  the  police  the  revolt 
might  have  been  stopped  at  once.  JJut  tlie  matter  had  got  far  beyouil  a 
police  case  when  1  arrived  in  tlie  colony.  Besides,  I  had  no  police  to 
employ;  the  Natal  moimted  police  had  been  established  by  me  after 
the  revolt,  and  T  appointed  as  its  commandant,  Major  Dartnell^  who  has 
done  honour  to  the  selection.  I  was  relieved  of  my  office  in  1875,  by 
Major-General  Sir  Garnet  WoUeley.  « 

One  of  the  objects  of  the  new  Governor's  mission  was  to  effect  a 
change  iu  the  Colonial  Legislature. 

This  body  then  consisted  of  five  ex  officio  members  and  fifteen  elected 
members.  By  tlie  alteration  effected,  eight  nominee  members  were 
added  to  the  Council.  They  were  to  be  chosen  by  the  Crown,  were  not 
to  be  office-holders,  and  were  to  be  in  the  possession  of  fixed  property 
worth  one  thousand  pounds. 

"The  principal  reason  assigned  by  the  Executive  iu  favour  of  the 
measure  was  that  it  would  enable  them  without  obstruction  to  reform 
the  native  policy.  The  strangest  feature  in  the  debate  was  this  plea ; 
for  the  altDnitlous  iu  the  mode  of  dealing  with  the  natives  now  desired 
by  the  Home  authorities  were  precisely  such  as  the  elected  members  of 
the  Colonial  Legislature  had  for  years  fruitlessly  endeavoured  to  effect.'* 

I  may  mention  here  that  between  my  first  and  second  administration 
of  the  colony,  the  Legislative  Council  endeavoured  to  pass  measures  for 
the  improvement  of  the  native  government,  very  much  in  the  sense  of 
those  suggested  by  myself,  especially  as  to  the  power  of  the  chiefei 
and  individual  rights  as  to  titles  of  lauds.  There  was,  therefore,  no 
real  necessity  for  this  change.  The  power  of  the  Crown  was  already 
such  that  the  native  policy  might  have  been  reformed,  even  if  the 
colonists  had  not  been  so  thoroughly  at  one  as  they  were  in  desiring 
to  raise  the  natives  out  of  a  slough  of  barbarism ;  for  not  only  could  the 
Government  disallow  any  bill,  but  five  of  the  twenty  members  being 
tX'Officio,  when  six  out  of  the  elective  members  could  be  secured  there 
was  a  majority  for  the  Goverumeut ;  and  it  may  be  safely  said  that  any 
native  policy  for  which  that  portion  of  votes  could  not  be  obtained  must 
be  cither  unjust  or  dangerous.  The  new  arrangement,  moreover,  could 
not  practically  increase  the  power  of  the  Crown.  I  know  by  experience 
ill  other  places  that  non-ofTicial  nominees  are  the  most  troublesome 
members  to  deal  with,  l^hwy  are  twitted  by  their  elected  colleagues 
with  being  depeudonts  of  the  Government,  and  to  show  their  indepea- 
deucc  they  oftt-ri  vote  against  it.  The  best  supporters  of  the  Goveru- 
meut, if  it  is  only  fairly  nght,  arc  the  elected  members. 

Whilst  the  change  was  of  little  practical  use  to  the  Crown,  it   served 

*  I  luive  not  Hpaco  to  qnotc  more  of  tlim  Altlc  doouuifflit,  but  the  whole  of  it  is  worth 
roniltii^      VidK  FarL  TaiKsr,  Ang.  «tb,  ]B75,  p.  37. 


i 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS, 


S63 


Tortbcr  to  alicaate  from  it  the  Dutch  population^  within  and  without  the 
colony.  The  Dutch  in  the  colony  wer^*  represented  in  the  Council  by 
two  much  respected  members  of  their  body — one  of  them  formerly  a  Pre- 
sident of  the  Orange  Free  State — and  they  were  indirectly  represented  by 
the  other  up-C3uatry  members.      T/icy  all  voted  a^iiust  the  merisu^e. 

At  this  timCj  too.  Lord  Carnarvon  warmly  took  up  the  scheme 
of  a  confederation  of  the  South  African  colonies,  whichj  however,  had 
been  the  j>oUcy  of  his  predecessor.  I  entirely  coumir  in  the  wisdom 
of  this  policy^  but  I  do  not  thiuk  that  his  Lordship  adopted  the  best 
mode  of  carrying  it  out.  Instead  of  instructing  the  Governor  to  induce 
his  Cabinet  to  take  up  the  question  aud  to  liav.r  it  ventilated  throughout 
the  colony,  he  sent  out  Mr.  Froude  as  a  sort  of  independent  advocate  of 
the  measure  on  tlic  part  of  the  Imperial  (jorerumeuL  I  have  no 
doubt  that  there  has  been  much  exaggeration  iu  the  stiitcmcnts  made  as 
to  Mr.  Froude'a  proceedings  ;  still  it  is  very  likely  that  his  mission  to 
the  colony  appearci  to  tlic  Cajio  Ministry  as  intcrFeritig  witli  their 
functions  as  the  constitutional  originators  of  Oovernrueut  measures. 
They  may  have  thus  felt  their  'amom*  propre  wounded;  aud  some 
allowance  must  be  made  for  the  natural  vanity  of  men  elevated  to  the 
honourable  position  ol'  governing  their  rcllow-colouiists.  They  may  have 
been  perhaps  unnecc*sarily  sensitive;  but  human  nature  is  the  same  every- 
M'bere.  It  is  said,  with  some  force,  that  Mr.  Fronde's  mission  was  not 
coufiucd  to  the  Cape  Colony,  but  extended  to  all  South  Afiica. 
Even  so,  it  would  have  been  better  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  Cape 
Ministry  in  the  cause,  for  doubtless  their  authority  would  have  greatly 
influeuced  the  Republics  and  to  some  degree  even  Natal. 

Then  there  came  the  anne.vation  of  the  Transvaal  Republic.  As  to 
its  condition  just  before  it  was  annexed,  we  have  conflicting  accounts. 
The  strong  ground  taken  in  defence  of  the  measure  is,  that  its 
hostilities  with  the  native  tribes  seriously  imperilled  the  peace  of  our 
colonics;  that  it  was,  in  fact,  a  next  door  Jieighbour's  house  in  flames, 
which  might  any  moment  set  ours  on  tire.  Li  this  respect  the  ground 
for  annexiag  the  Transvaal  Ilcpublic  was  xery  much  stronger  than  that 
which  justified  our  taking  possession  of  Natal.  The  latter  country 
did  not  at  that  time  touch  our  boundary  at  any  point.  It  was  a  house 
several  streets  off.  But  the  tatter  annexation,  whether  necessary  or  uot, 
has  beeu  the  source  of  many  aud  great  evils. 

Before  that  event,  the  Boers,  I  am  told,  were  beginning  to  feel  that 
the  best  solution  of  their  diffcultics  would  be  a  return  to  the  British 
rule.  Lord  Carnarvon  showed  so  earnest  a  desire  to  conciliate  the 
Boers,  especially  manifested  in  bis  settlement  of  the  Diamond-tields 
dispute,  and  s[K>kc  of  them  so  kindly  in  Parliament — every  woixl  of 
which  was  carried  to  them — that  numbers  of  those  kind-hearted  though 
undemonstrative  men  were  warming  towards  him,  and  I  do  believe  that 
his  favourite  scheme  of  federation  was  as  to  them  almost  within  sight. 
The   anncxatiou  destroyed   all   this,  nnd    has   embittered  the   Boers  to 

o  o  2 


5ff4 


THm  COi^TEMFQRARY  REVIEW. 


sudi  a  degree  that  federation  seewa  almoat  hopeleas.  If  we  now  keep' 
them  uu<ler  our  rule,  it  will  be  aa  we  keep  conquered  Ireland,  not  ■& 
we  keep  freely  united  Scotland. 

That  the  annexation  precipitated  the  Zulu  war  there  can  be  no  doubt. 
It  is  admitted  ou  all  sides.  It  is  the  natural  outcome  of  the  cir- 
cumstaneea.  Wliether  auch  a  war  might  hare  been  oltiraately 
avoided,  may  be  doubtful.  I  think  it  not  unlikdy  that  if  wc  could 
have  luiited  ourselves  with  the  Boers  in  any  federation,  or  even 
formed  an  alliance  with  them^  the  Zulu  power  sughi  hare  gradaallj 
crumbled  to  pieces  under  the  presmre  of  a  union  which  it  would  hare 
been  hopeless  to  rcaiat. 

I  have  endeavoured  to  show  that  the  security  of  Natal  depended  upon 
a  system  of  cheeks  and  balances.  I  pointed  out  in  my  despatches^ 
written  twenty-five  years  agOj  that  wc  owed  our  security  both  fipom 
internal  insurrection  and  aggression  &om  without  much  more  to  cir- 
cumstances Ijeyond  our  control  than  to  any  measure  taken  by  our- 
selves, or  to  any  real  power  which  we  possetued. 

These  circumstances  and   this  system  of  balances  the  annexation  has 

altered  and  destroyed.      Sir  II.  Bulwer  shows  this    clearly.      lie  writes 

thus  : — "  The  annexation  of  the  Transvaal  has  altered,  and  altered   very 

considerably,  our  position  towards  the  native  races  living  in   the   north 

of  Natal.      The  Dutch  Eocrs,  who  have  been  the  pioneers  of   European 

colonization  in  South  Africa,  were  the  first  to  come  into  contact  with  these 

raccSj  and  tbe  relation  into  which  wc  were  subsequently  brought    with 

the  latter,  and  the  pobition  in  which  we  have  hitherto  stood  with  regard 

to  tbem,  liave  beyond  all  question  been  greatly  influenced  and  coloured 

by  that  fact,  and  by  the  presence  of  another  and  neighbouring  European 

nationality.      The  natives  have  not  been  alow  to  discriminate  between  the 

two  nationalities,  and  to  mark  the  difference  in.  many  essential  respects 

between  the  one  Government  and  the  other;  and  the  conclusions  drawn 

by  them  have,  it  may  be  said,  been  altogether  in  favour  of  the  English, 

whose  general  treatment  of  them  has  been  milder,  more  conciliatory,  and 

more  just.      This  state  of  things  baa  had  its  advantages.      It  has  served 

to  keep  up  a  sort  of  pohtical  balance,  if  I  may  call  it  so,  in  this  quarter  of 

South  Africa^  and  lius  enabled  the  Government  of  Natal,  as  the  nearest 

representative  of  British  anihority,  to  exercise  a  decided  influence    over 

the  native  races  in  tlic  neighbourhood — an  influence    which  it  lias  used 

with  advantage  in  preserving  for  many  years  the  peace  of  this   part  of 

the  country.    The  annexation  of  the  IVansvaal  last  year  has  destroyed  the 

condifJous  which  created  the  balance  to  which  1  have  referred.     It  has 

substituted  one  power  for  two  powers,  one  Government  for  two  Gorenw 

ments,  in  all  this  portion  of  South  Africa,  and  it  has  brought  English 

authority  into  direct  contact  with  native  races  to  the  north,  to  whom  it 

was  previously  known  only  from  a  distance.     More  especially  and  more 

scrioutdy,  it    baa  affected  our  relations  with  the  Zulu  king  and  people, 

who  look  with  great  suspicion  upon  the  new  state  of  tilings.^' 


^P^F  THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS.  565 

As  1  have  already  iDtimatcd,  so  long  as  the  Boer*  were  an  indc{)cndent 
power,  Nat&l  enjoyed  comparative  security,  from  the  fact  that  the  king  of 
Zuhiland  was  afraid  of  them,  and  was  anxious  to  keep  our  friendship  as 
a  counterpoise  to  their  hostility.  These  circumstaaces,  with  our  reliance, 
right  or  wrong,  on  the  assistance  of  our  own  natives  against  their  former 
masters,  for  a  number  of  years  preserved  the  colony  in  comparative 
peace.  This  security  was  based  upon  an  equilibrium  capable  of  being 
overturned  at  any  moment,  and  not  on  the  solid  basis  of  real  strength ; 
and  yet  this  semblance  of  security  encouraged  the  Home  Govcmracut 
to  leave  Natal  with  an  overwhelming  savage  population  witliin  and  around 
its  bordersj  to  the  defence  of  a  wing  of  a  regiment  of  infantry.  All 
that  can  be  said  in  favour  of  this  arrangement  is  that  it  was  for  the 
time  cheap ;  but  it  was  a  condition  in  which  no  colony  ought  to  have 
been  left,  which  was  held  out  as  a  home  for  British  emigrants  and  their 
families.  To  expect  that  a  population  of  20,000  people  (meu, 
women  and  children)  could  materially  assist  in  defending  themselves 
against  an  overwhelming  mass  of  natives^  is  too  absurd  to  deserve 
discussion.  This  precarious  equilibrium  was  destroyed  by  the  annex- 
ation of  the  Transvaal ;  for  the  counterpoise  of  the  Boer  power  is 
now  lost,  and  Cctewayo  has  henceforth  nothing  to  expect  from  the  British 
Government. 

At  the  same  time^  it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  Zulu  power 
became  more  dangerous  under  Cetewayo  than  it  was  under  the 
comparatively  peaceful  rule  of  Panda.  1  am  myself  convinced  that  if 
Cetewayoj  before  Panda's  deaths  had  attempted  to  attack  Natal,  he 
would  have  met  with  such  hostility  on  the  \yiirt  of  his  father  and  a  large 
conservative  party  which  would  have  adhered  to  him,  that  the  kingdom 
would  have  been  broken  up.  Cetewayo  is  a  shrewd  man,  and  he  would 
ponder  well  on  what  took  place  when  Panda  rebelled  against  his 
brother  Dingaau,  Cetewayo's  true  career,  as  actual  ruler,  commenced 
only  from  1873,  and  a  merciless  career  it  has  been. 

Here  I  wish  it  to  be  remembered  that  the  annexation  of  the  Transvaal, 
the  immediate  cause  of  the  Zulu  war,  took  place  before  Sir  Bartle  Frere 
assumed  the  government  of  the  Cape.  He  had,  therefore,  nothing  to 
do  with  the  creation  of  the  difficulties  in  which  he  found  himself. 

One  of  the  first  results  of  the  annexation,  after  its  unhappy  effect 
upon  the  Boers,  was  that  it  intensely  irritated  Cetewayo.  If  he  had 
really  felt,  as  he  always  professed  to  do,  that  he  was  safe  with  us, 
the  extension  of  our  rule  over  the  territory  of  his  old  enemies 
ought  to  have  assured  him  that  he  was  now  in  no  danger  whatever. 
But  how  did  he  receive  the  intelligence?  Sir  Arthur  Cunyngham 
tells  us.  When  the  Transvaal  was  annexed,  the  chief  native  con- 
stable was  sent  off,  by  the  instructions  of  Sir  T.  Shepstone,  to  Cctewayo 
to  inform  him  of  it,  and  to  tell  him  on  no  account  to  attempt  the  inva- 
aiou  of  the  Transvaal.     On  the  delivery  of  the  message,  Cetewayo  flew 


L 


566 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


into  a  violent  passion,  aiul  was  with  difficulty  [u-evcntccl  from  haviug  the 
messeugcr  put  to  death.  Tlie  result  of  this  irritation  was  speedily  seen 
in  the  steps  Cctcwayo  took  as  to  the  boundary  question. 

It  would  appear  that  the  right  to  a  territory  north  of  the  Tugela 
had  been  in  dispute  between  the  Boers  and  the  Zulus  for  more  than  six- 
teen years,  aud  that  repeated  applications  had  been  made  by  the  Zulus 
to  the  Natal  Government  to  settle  it  bv  arbitratiou,  or  to  take  it  over 
themselves,  so  that  it  miglit  form  a  barrier  between  the  Zulus  and  the 
Boers.  Whether  this  last  alternative  was  honestly  proposed  I  do  not 
know,  but  1  think  subsequent  events  show  that  it  was  not.  For 
some  unexplained  reason  neither  of  these  proposals  was  accepted  by 
the  Natal  Government,  and  the  matter  was  allowed  to  drift  on  until 
the  territory  in  question  was,  a  few  years  ago.  fonually  appropriated  by 
the  Trausvaal  Government  and  farms  within  it  allotted  to  the  Boers. 

After  the  annexation  the  disputed  territory  was,  of  course,  in  our 
hands,  as  the  successors  of  the  Boers, 

Had  Cctewayo  honestly  wished,  as  he  had  said,  that  we  should 
appropriate  the  disputed  territory,  he  would  now  have  aequieacetl  in  our 
possession  of  it.  Instead  of  this,  he  took  hostile  steps  to  seize  it  himself, 
notwithstanding  the  warning  sent  him  by  Sir  T.  Shepstone.  As  he 
claimed  the  territory,  the  dispute  still  eoutiuucd  ;  and  we  were  no 
longer  a  neutral  party,  competent  to  arbitrate  between  two  hostile  neigh- 
bours, but  one  of  the  principals  in  the  quarrel. 

Under  these  circumstauccs  it  would  have  been  better  for  the  High 
Commissioner  to  have  taken  the  matter  entirely  into  his  own  hand^, 
and  after  making  all  the  investigation  he  could  into  the  question.  Lave 
decided  in  such  a  manner  as  justice  seemed  to  reciuire.  Instead  of  this, 
an  arbitration,  if  such  it  can  be  called,  was  oflcrcd  and  accepted  by 
Cctewayo.  Sir  H.  Bnlwcr  seems  at  first  to  have  felt  the  difficulty  of 
this  arbitration,  and  to  have  wished  to  have  declined  undertaking  it, 
and  the  public  of  Natal,  if  we  may  judge  from  the  journals,  strongly 
shared  this  feeling.  Finally  it  was  arranged  that  persons  should  be 
appointed  on  behalf  of  the  Natal  Government  to  inquire  into  the 
respective  claims  of  the  parties  to  the  dispute  and  to  make  a  rejwrt, 
accompanied  by  such  recommendations  as  they  might  think  proper ;  and 
that  should  their  recommendations  be  objected  to  by  either  or  both 
parties,  then  tlic  matter  should  be  referred  to  a  Boundary  Commission, 
to  be  appointed  either  by  the  High  Commisaioner  or  by  the  Govern- 
ment, both  parties  agreeing  to  iabide  by  the  decision. 

It  was  at  the  same  time  agreed  that  the  Trausvaal  Government 
should  be  represented  by  any  persons  they  should  choose  to  apjKjiut.  I 
would  here  remark  that  this  was  not  really  a  submission  to  arbitration, 
as  has  been  supposed,  but  was  dimply  a  preliminary  inquiry  into  the 
facts ;  so  that  Sir  B.  Frcre  seemed  in  no  way  bound  to  accept  thei*eport, 
Upon  the  merits  of  the  question  itself  I  do  not  propose  to  enter, 
further   than  to   oflcr  a  few  remarks   suggested  by  Sir  T.  Shepstone's 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS. 


567 


Memoraudum  im  the  Report  of  the  Commissiouers.  The  alight  historical 
sketch  which  I  have  given  shows  that  the  whole  coimtry  of  which 
this  disputed  territory  forma  a  fraction  was  conquered  by  Chaka.  The 
territory  was  his  by  right  of  conquest.  It  Is  further  evident  that  after 
Chaka's  death  his  brother  and  snccessor,  Dingaan,  was  himself  con- 
qucrod  by  the  Boers  in  altiaucc  with  Panda.  The  whole  country, 
therefore,  including  this  territory,  came  into  the  possession  of  the  Boers 
by  the  self-same  right  of  conquest  by  which  a  few  years  before  it  was 
taken  possession  of  by  Chaka.  The  Boers  then  placed  Panda  on  the 
throne  of  the  Zulus  as  their  feudatory,  reserving  to  themselves  the 
sovereign  right  over  him  and  the  whole  country.  Thus  stood  the 
matter  in  1810. 

In  1843  came  the  conquest  of  Natal  by  the  British  Govern- 
meutj  which  assumed  the  sovereignty  over  the  country  lying  between 
the  St.  John's  lliver  on  the  one  side,  and  the  l^jgela  and  Buffalo 
Rivers  on  the  other  side.  As  to  the  country  north  of  the  latter 
riverSj  it  seems  from  alt  that  can  be  gathered  that  it  left  Panda  in  i>os- 
session  of  these  territories,'  but  there  seems  to  have  been  no  formal 
abrogation  of  the  previous  right  of  the  Boers.  A  question  therefore 
arises,  whether  the  starting-point  of  enquiry  shoidd  not  have  been  1840, 
rather  than  1813.  Had  it  l>ecu  the  former  date,  the  question  of  the 
boundary  could  scarcely  have  been  raised  at  all,  the  Boers  undoubtedly 
having  the  rights  claimed.  These  rights,  however,  the  Boers  seem 
to  have  waived  by  the  fact  of  asking  a  cession  frrnn  Panda  and 
Cetewayo.  The  question  whether  this  cession  was  made  accras  to  have 
been  almost  the  sole  inquiry  of  the  Commissioners.  On  this  point  I  do 
not  wish  to  say  more  than  that  I  think  Sir  B.  Prere  is  right  in 
holding  that  an  opposite  decision  miglit  have  been  equitably  arrived  at 
It  is  only  fair,  before  dismissing  the  matter,  to  call  attention  to  the  state- 
ment of  Mr.  Henrique  Shepstone,  who  was  present  at  the  inquiry  on  behalf 
of  the  Transvaal  Government.  He  says  ; — "  I  must  now  inform  your 
Excellency  of  the  very  strict  and  severe  cross-examination  to  which  our 
witnesses  were  subjected — not  a  cross-examination  to  elicit  full  informa- 
tion, but  one  in  Avhich  every  endeavour  was  made  to  confuse  the 
witnesses,  so  as  to  cause  them  to  contradict  themselves,  and  thus  discredit 
their  own  evidence,  while  the  Zulus,  on  the  contrary,  were  treated  with 
the  greatest  tenderness  and  consideration." 

Sir  Bartlc  Frcre,  in  these  circimiatances,  would  have  been  perfectly 
justified  in  rejecting  the  recommendation  of  the  Commissioners,  and 
of  referring  the  matter  to  the  Home  Government.  He,  however, 
ivc  a  decision  modifying  the  recommendation  in  a  way  which  gave 
itisfaction  to  neither  party.  He  assigned  the  sovereignly  of  the 
territory  to  Cetewayo,  whilst  he  reserved  the  private  rights  to  a  con- 
i«ldcrable  number  of  persona  who  were  actual  occupants  of  farms. 
Wliilst  I  entirely  concur  with  Sir  B.  Frere  as  to  the  great  importance 
of  seeking  to  infuse  into  the  native  mind  the  clear  distinction  between 


568 


THE  CONTEMPORARY   REVIEll 


sovcrcigTi  and  private  rights,  yet  1  cannot  but  tbink  that  in  the  case  of 
a  purely  savage  chief  like  Cetewayo,  it  was  premature  to  think  that 
this  distinction  could  he  understood.  Under  ail  the  ciroumstancos,  1 
think  it  would  have  been  much  better  cither  not  to  have  given  the  land 
at  all  to  Cetewayo,  or  to  have  given  it  to  him  uuclogged  with  any  cou- 
ditions  awarding  compensation  to  the  parties  dispossessed.  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that,  considering  the  awkward  position  which  the 
Government  occupied  with  regard  to  this  dispute,  tlie  latter  course 
would  have  been  better.  I  do  not  think  that  any  decision  would  have 
satisfied  Cctcwayo,  but  the  one  T  have  indicated  would  have  removed 
from  that  chief  and  his  supporters  a  not  altogether  groundless  cause  of 
complaint. 


I  BOW  come  to  the  ultimatum  presented  toCetewayo  by  Sir  B.  Frem. 
This  document  seems  open  to  the  objection  that  it  mixes  up  comparatively 
trivial  questions  with  matters  of  the  gravest  importance,  thus  giving  au 
opportunity  to  hostile  criticism  of  bringing  the  former  into  undue 
prominence,  in  order  to  throw  unfair  obloquy  on  the  whole.  Some  of 
the  terms  of  the  ultimatum — such  as  that  relating  to  the  two  gentlemen 
who  lost  their  pocket-books,  handkerchiefs,  and  papers — did  not  deserve 
a  place  in  such  a  document. 

The  outrage  committed  by  the  sons  of  Sirayo  was  a  more  serious 
matter,  and  one  demanding  full  reparation;  but  that,  1  think,  might 
have  been  <jbtained  by  friendly  negotiation.  The  same  may  be  said  as 
regards  Umbelitie. 

There  rcmaiji  then  these  points  :  First,  the  violation  of  the  promises 
alleged  to  have  been  made  by  Cetewayo,  on  the  occasion  of  his  coronation, 
as  to  the  internal  management  of  Zululand ;  second,  the  reception  of  a 
British  Resident  in  that  country ;  third,  the  demand  for  the  disbaml- 
ment  of  the  army. 

As  to  the  first  point,  although  I  concur  with  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  in 
declining  to  attach  to  the  promises  then  made  the  force  of  a  treaty 
which  we  were  bound  to  see  executed,  yet  we  must  remember  that  these 
promises  were  made  in  return  for  what  Cetewayo  considered  a  very  im- 
portant service  rendered  by  the  Natal  Government  at  his  urgent  request. 
But  apart  from  any  obligations  which  he  is  under  in  consequence  of 
these  promises,  we  have  a  direct  and  important  interest  in  the  humane 
government  of  liia  people.  It  is  well  known  that  one  of  the  dangers  of 
Natal  is  its  overwhelming  and  unwieldy  mass  of  native  population.  By 
far  the  greater  part  of  this  population  is  coniposeil  of  the  deMs  of  the 
tribes  of  the  Zulu  kingflom :  of  clans  who  have  fled  ftt)m  that  country 
on  account  of  the  grinding  tyranny  of  their  rulers.  It  was  an  obvious 
necessity  on  our  part,  as  far  as  humanit)''  allowed,  to  check  this  tide  of 
immigrution. 

Tlie  catablishment  of  a  humane  Government  in  Zuhiland  might,  tliere- 
fore,  not  only  have  had  the  effect   of  stopping   this   very   inconvenient 


THE  BOERS  AND  THE  ZULUS. 


569 


accession  to  our  numbers,  but  even  probably  of  inducing  many  Zulus  iu 
Natal  to  return  to  their  fatlicrJand,  and  probably  that  very  part  of  our 
population  whioh  fi'om  its  barbarism  was  most  dangerous  to  us.  More- 
over, this  iimxugration  has  been  long  a  source,  even  iu  the  more  peaceful 
times  of  Panda,  of  uufrieudly  negotiations.  Frequent  irritations  have 
beeu  .caused  by  demands  for  the  surrender  of  fugitives,  and  our  inability 
as  a  civilized  Govorumeut  to  give  them  up. 

With  regard  to  the  appointment  of  a  R€8identj  Cetywayo  has  himself, 
OD  more  than  one  occasion,  requested  such  au  arrangement,  aud  I. do 
not  see  how  any  satisfactory  intercourse  caii  take  place  without  tlie 
appointment  of  tiuch  au  officer.  At  the  same  time,  I  think  that  the 
power?  proposed  to  be  invested  in  this  officer  arc  more  than  are  ne- 
cessary or  expedient^  and  I  would  especially  refer  to  those  which  relate  to 
the  protection  of  the  missionaries.  Christianity  ought  not  to  bo  enforced 
at  the  point  of  the  sword. 

The  last  point  is  the  burning  question — the  disbandment  of  the  Zulu 
army. 

The  Zulu  kingdom,  which  has  ever  hung  like  a  thuuder-cloud  over 
Natal^  has  now  become,  owiag  to  the  circumstances  I  have  narrated, 
an  iouuineut  danger,  wliioli  might  by  temporizing  measures  be  post- 
I)oned  for  a  time,  but  which  might  overtake  us  at  any  moment. 
Cetewayo  had  assumed  towardH  tlic  British  Guvernment  a  most  defiant 
attitude.  He  had  used  the  most  insulting  language  towards  us,  and  he  was 
believed  to  be  tampering  with  the  loyalty  of  chiefs  in  various  parts  of 
South  Africa.  lie  was  certainly  regarded  as  the  great  champion  of  the 
Kafir  race,  and  his  hostility  might  bring  on  a  war  of  vast  proportions. 
In  the  presence  of  these  grave  circumstances.  Sir  B.  Krere  was  justified 
in  demanding  the  disbandment  of  the  Zulu  army,  uuless  he  was  either 
prepared  to  insist  upon  the  constant  presence  of  a  large  British  force  in 
Natal,  or  to  advise  the  Home  Government  to  withdra*v  from  the  colony, 
and  give  comjx^nsation  to  the  settlers  -who  had  entrusted  their  families 
and  property  to  the  implied  promise  of  protection. 

Whether  Sir  B.  Frere  was  premature  in  making  this  demand,  without 
waiting  for  iustructions  from  home,  is  a  question  which,  at  this  dis- 
tance from  the  scene,  it  is  impossible  to  solve.  If,  on  grounds 
which  do  not  appear  in  the  despatches,  and  which  he  might  find  it 
difficult  to  express,  there  was  imminent  danger  of  the  invasion  of 
the  colony  by  the  Zulu  army,  he  would  have  been  very  culpable  had 
he  not  taken  immediate  and  decisive  action.  For  what  does  such 
an  invasion  mean  ?  It  is  not,  as  in  the  case  of  invasion  by  a  civilized 
power,  the  marching  of  an  army  into  the  country  which  respects  the 
rights  and  persons  of  non-combatants.  No!  It  means  the  burning 
of  every  homestead,  the  murder  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child,  who 
cross  its  path  I  Such  an  invasion  would,  In  a  few  hours,  have  reduced 
Natal,  now  the  abode  of  peaceful  aud  happy  families,  into  a  howling 
wilderness. 


570 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


In  making  bis  demand.  Sir  B.  Frere  was  supported  by  gentlemeu  on 
ilie  spot,  wbosc  opinions  arc  entitled  to  tbc  greatest  respect, — among 
them  Sir  H.  Bulwer,  Sir  T.  Shepstone,  and  Mr.  Brownlee.  In  this 
country  he  has  the  approval  of  those  who  best  know  the  colonics  and 
Cetewayo.  Among  these  are  Sir  H.  Barkly,  Hon.  C.  Ashleyj  Sir  F. 
Buxton,  Lord  Carnarvon,  and,  lastly,  the  venerable  Dr.  Moffat,  who 
perhaps  knows  more  of  the  native  races  of  South  Africa  than  any  maa 
living.  It  is  very  easy  to  be  wise  after  the  fact,  and  to  point  to  the 
immunity  from  invasion  which  Natal  has  happily  enjoyed ;  but  had  it  been 
otherwise,  had  the  colony  been  overrun  by  a  Zidu  army,  its  homesteads 
burnt,  its  people  murdered,  what  execrations  would  have  been  heaped 
on  the  head  of  Sir  Bartle  Frere  I 

The  press  of  England  has  paid  graceful  and  eloquent  tributes  to 
the  memory  of  the  gallant  British  soldiers  who  fell  on  the  field  of 
Isnndula.  Never  were  culogiums  better  deserved  j  but  I  hope  the  kindly 
remembrance  of  the  British  people  will  be  extended  also  to  the  memory 
of  the  small  Natal  force  who  perished  by  the  side  of  their  comrades.  The 
light  of  the  glory  which  shines  on  the  memory  of  the  men  of  tlie 
British  army  may  also  shed  its  mournful  radiance  on  the  memory  of 
the  brave  men  of  the  Colonial  Corps  who  fell  in  defence  of  their  homes 
and  their  families. 

Benj.  C.  C.   Pine. 


CONTEMPORARY 


LIFE    AND    THOUGHT 
RUSSIA. 


IN 


St.  Petehsburg,  May  18'A,  1879. 
The  roUUoal  SItaatloa. 

NEVER  lias  Rusfeia  been  the  object  of  so  inuuL  curiosity  aa  now. 
Revolutiouary  movnments  and  political  crimes  draw  to  us  the 
eyes  of  all  our  ueigbbours.  The  exciteiucut  has  naturally  given  an 
inipuUc  to  false  an<l  exaggerated  reports^  offering  vast  scope  to  the 
fancy  of  newspaper  corresiwndcnts  aud  pamphleteers.  In  the  face  of 
this  the  plain  truth  may  be  of  value  aud  of  intereatj  though  of  a  soberer 
kind.  In  telUug  it  so  far  as  it  is  known  to  me,  a  false  patriotism  shall 
not  lure  me  to  hide  the  dark  sides  of  the  situation.  But  I  do  not  think 
that  the  right  is  all  on  one  side  and  the  wrong  all  on  the  other :  I 
neither  declare  that  the  Government  has  a  monapoly  of  morals,  nor  that 
the  revolutionists  alone  represent  the  ideas  of  progress  aud  justice. 

Everybody  knows  that  nothing  is  more  difficult  than  for  eontcmpo- 
raries,  standing  close  to  the  events  and  to  the  actors  iu  them,  to  estimate 
at  their  just  value  the  affairs  happening  before  their  eyes,  and  to  foresee 
the  consequences.  The  occurrences  apjKar  cither  much  more  important 
than  they  really  are,  or  they  seem  not  to  signify  at  all,  Moreover,  iu 
Russia  at  this  moment  all  parties,  and  especially  the  Government,  are 
in  the  dark  :  none  is  quite  nurc  which  is  the  right  way  to  go,  and  what 
are  tlic  measures  to  take  against  the  pcriL  Even  aa  recently  as  a  few 
months  ago  everybody  was  disposed  to  view  the  social  disease  very 
lightly ;  they,  in  fact,  laughed  at  the  seeming  handful  of  revolutionists 
who  dared  to  declare  war  against  the  powerful  Czar.  One  section 
among  us  thought  that  nothing  would  be  easier  than  to  keep  them  down 
by  adopting  a  few  vigorous  measures,  while  another  suggested  that  the 
best  way  of  all  would  be  to  let  them  alouc,  or  else  punish  thcni  like 
naughty  boys.  Botli  these  notions  are  at  an  end.  The  skill'ul  organi- 
zation which  has  disclosed  itself  everywhere,  and  the  boldness  it  shows, 
do  not  permit  citlicr  the  Government  or  the  public  any  more  to  treat  it 
with  either  indifference  or  contempt.  Some  particulars  can  be  gathered 
as  to  this  secret  party.     Their  number,  it  is  true,  is  quite  unknown. 


572 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


but  tbey  evidently  have  a  definite  plan  of  action^  and  they  keep  closely 
to  it.  The  discipline  in  their  ranks  is  of  the  very  strict<;st  kind  ;  so 
severe,  indeed,  that  they  may  be  said  to  belong  body  and  soul  to  the 
cause  they  have  espoused.  K  dissensions  or  treason  arise  among  them, 
such  things  are  never  divulged.  From  the  moment  one  of  them  ha« 
entered  the  revolutionary  association,  he  eau  leave  it  only  by  laying 
down  his  life.  In  this  state  of  things  they  have  no  alternative  bat 
to  obey ;  they  are  pretty  sure  to  execute  any  and  every  order  they 
receive.  Very  cff'eetivc  niensurcs  are  also  taken  against  treason,  if  it 
arose,  haWng  any  great  practical  effects.  Not  only  are  would-be  traitore 
punished  by  death,  but  the  plan  of  the  organization  is  such  that  indi- 
viduals cannot  do  serious  harm  to  the  party.  Each  of  the  memben 
knowa  only  a  few  of  his  nearest  partners  in  the  conspiracy  ;  so  that  if 
he  chooses  to  play  false,  he  cannot  reveal  many  secrets.  The  agents 
of  the  police  often  try  to  bribe  their  political  prisoners,  promising  them 
their  life  and  liberty  if  they  will  tell  the  whole  truth ;  but  all  such 
endeavours  prove  of  no  avail,  for  the  simple  reason  that  each  one's  actual 
knowledge  is  so  limited. 

A  rapid  review  of  recent  events  will  show  the  great  progreet 
which  has  been  made  by  the  revolutionists.  Formerly  the  part)'  con- 
tented itself  with  the  issuing  and  spreading  of  subversive  literature  and 
issuing  proclamations  \  never  opposing  opc'n  resislftuce  to  the  authontie¥. 
But  they  found  this  course  too  slow  for  their  impatience^  and  now 
putting  murder  among  their  prominent  dogmas,  they  have  proceeded  to 
carry  it  out.  It  is  noticeable  that  every  assassination,  or  attempt 
at  itj  so  rapidly  succeeding  one  another,  waa  distinguished  by 
increasing  audacity.  For  instancCj  General  Mcsentzef  was  murdered 
at  an  early  hour  of  the  day,  when  the  streets  of  the  capital  are  nearly 
empty  and  while  the  victim  was  walking  on  foot,  having  taken  ao  pre- 
caution. Prince  Krapotken,  it  is  true,  was  attacked  in  a  closed  cairiage, 
but  it  was  under  the  darkness  of  night  and  in  the  badly  lighted  streets 
of  a  provincial  town.  Those  might  fairly  be  reckoned  circumstances 
favourable  for  the  murderers,  compared  to  those  later  cases  of  the 
attempts  on  the  life  of  General  Drenteln  and  the  life  of  the  Emperor. 
In  the  last  instance  especially,  the  snrprisiug  boldness  of  the  plan 
testifies  that  the  revolutionists  have  cast  away  every  fear  and  that  they 
openly  challenge  Society  to  a  mortal  duel. 


Tt&e  B7it«m  of  Provisional   Xklctatoni. 

The  Government  has  accepted  the  challenge,  and  has  armed  it«eU' 
from  top-to-toe  for  the  struggle.  Provisional  governors-general  now 
rule  at  St.  Peteraburg,  Odessa,  and  KharkoWj  and  extraordinary  poM'er* 
have  been  conferred  on  the  already  existing  ones  at  Moscow,  Kiev,  and 
"Warsaw.  In  fact,  the  full  powers  granted  to  the  new  officials  are  so 
large  that  they  may  justly  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  dictators.  All 
civil  authorities,  together  with  schools  and  other  institutions,  arc  sub- 
jected to  them  in  just  the  same  manner  as  in  a  state  of  war  districts 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA.     57S 

are  uuder  the  control  of  the  geueral-iu-chicf.  They  have  the  right  to 
bring  before  court«-martial  persous  hitherto  ame-nable  only  to  common 
law ;  to  banish  every  one  whom  they  deem  obnoxious ;  to  arrest 
whoever  they  like,  without  regard  to  any  difference  of  rank  or  social 
position;  to  suspend  or  wholly  Bupprcas  all  organs  of  the  press  which  they 
consider  have  a  bad  tendency^  and  generally  to  take  any  other  measure 
for  assuring  the  peace.  In  adopting  siieh  a  course  as  this  the  Govern- 
ment has  confessed  in  just  so  many  words  the  insufficiency  of  its  usual 
administrative  system.  What  else  can  be  meant  byfalling  back  on  dictator- 
ship and  trusting  to  it  for  the  deliverance  of  the  country  ?  Now  tliis 
is  in  itself  a  brilliant  triumph  for  the  revoluUouists.  It  is  a  proof  of 
their  strength  as  weU  as  of  the  terror  they  have  spread,  and  it  has  all 
the  value  of  a  victory.  If  the  revolutionists  possess  jiower  euough  to 
oblige  the  State  to  go  out  of  its  usual  routiuCj  recurring  to  these  very 
extraordiuary  measures,  the  home  })ublic  generally  must  iufer  from  it 
cither  that  the  State  at  last  has  met  with  a  very  dangerous  foe,  the 
issue  of  the  fight  being  left  doubtful,  or  else  that  the  whole  regular 
machinery  of  the  Government  is  not  of  much  worth.  In  either  case, 
the  judgment  is  not  in  favour  of  the  State.  Even  if  wc  agree  that  tlte 
present  condition  of  things  is  so  bad  that  no  other  course  was  left,  just 
as  there  are  diseases  which  can  only  be  cured  by  most  violent  means, 
we  cannot  shut  our  eyes  to  the  risks  of  such  treatment.  AYhcu  violent 
means  do  not  bring  about  the  recovery  of  the  patient  they  usually  kill 
-him^  or  at  least  quicken  the  crisis. 

What  is  the  real  meaning  of  this  final  resource  of  dictatorship,  and  why 
do  Governments  fly  to  it  in  extreme  eases?  Dictatorship  is  nothing 
short  of  the  substitution  of  the  personal  will  of  one  man  for  corporate 
administration  with  the  protective  security  of  law  and  justice.  When 
this  substitution  has  taken  place,  everything  depends  on  the  personal 
merits  and  the  character  of  the  dictator.  His  power  being  arbitrary, 
exposed  to  no  impcaehments,  he  certainly  may  display  more  energy  than 
an  official  tied  down  by  all  sorts  of  laws  and  regulations.  But,  on  the 
other  haud^  the  harm  he  may  do  is  proportionately  greater,  and  it  is  not 
easy  to  decide  if  the  one  possibility  comi)ensates  suftieieutly  for  the  other. 
If  he  errs,  what  is  to  hinder  him  from  persevering  in  his  errors  ? 
Besides, — and  tliis  is  in  truth  the  greatest  objection  that  can  be  made 
to  such  a  form  of  rule, — he  cannot  do  all  himself,  and  he  must  in  his 
turn  invest  his  subordinates  with  nearly  the  same  full  powers  that  he 
has  himself.  And  how  can  he  be  sure  that  they  will  not  abuse  them? 
The  banishments,  arrests,  and  so  on,  to  which  he  will  resort,  on  what 
will  they  be  founded  if  not  upon  denunciation  by  his  agents?  Everybody 
knows  what  a  slipj)ery  ground  is  thus  eutei'cd  on ;  how  easy  it  is  to 
confound  personal  enemies  with  opponents  of  the  State,  and  to  gratify 
private  revenge  in  pretending  to  search  after  political  crimes.  Will  the 
dictator  or  the  new  governor-general  have  leisure  enough  to  scrutinise 
strictly  every  denunciation  before  acting  apon  it  ?  Though  the  activity 
of  the  new  governors-general  as  yet  is  of  too  recent  a  date  to  enable  a 


574 


THE  CONTEMFORHHY  REViElV, 


sound  juflgmoiit  to  be  formed  as  to  its  effects;  some  facts  have  already 
come  to  light  whicli  prove  the  need  for  such  reflections  as  these.  The 
gendarmes  an*  known  to  have  greatly  aliased  tlie  latitude  gninted  them 
to  arrest  anyone  without  distinction  of  grade.  Several  most  respectable 
men  liave  already  experienced  in  their  own  persons  the  rigour  of  the 
uew  system,  and  tliese  cases  have  led  the  pnblie  to  suppose  that  a  like 
fate  baa  happened  to  many  others. 

Indeed  society  has  some  grounds  for  taking  fi-ight  when  it  is  known 
that  a  Member  of  the  Academy  of  Science  and  a  learned  professor 
(Kamiuzin)  has  been  kept  three  days  in  solitary  confinement,  and  then 
set  free  without  even  having  been  brought  to  examination  ;  and  when  one 
of  tlie  directors  of  the  State  Bank  (Petlin)  ban  been  subjected  io  the  same 
fate,  and  acquitted  witljout  being  beard.  Such  facts  as  these  are  suffi- 
cient to  engender  false  rumours.  It  ia  useless  to  affirm  that  the  arrests 
of  the  above-named  persons  and  of  some  others  were  owing  simply  to 
vague  suspicions,  and  that  it  turned  out  tlierc  was  no  evideuce  against 
the  prisoners.  In  the  first  case,  for  example,  the  gentlemau  was  taken 
into  custody  because  a  motion  wbieli  he  bad  presented  to  the  Minister 
upon  University  queslions  had  been  jmblished  by  the  scerct  press.  In 
the  second  case  the  ground  of  the  arrest  was  still  more  insufficient.  Tlie 
bank  director  milking  a  journey  to  Swiizerland  with  his  brother-in-law, 
wbu  was  surtcriiTg  from  mental  alienation^  engaged  the  physician  of  the 
litmily  to  accompany  hiuu  The  latter  was  affiliated  to  the  International 
party,  and  the  police  arrested  Mr.  Petlin  for  having  been  seen  in  bis 
company.  Then,  visits  of  search  made  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
which  might  well  give  a  shock  to  the  bravest  men,  are  ordered  on  the 
*^lightest  pretence.  Who  can  answer  for  having  never  been  associated 
ill  business,  or  having  had  a  formal  acquaintance,  with  some  member  of 
the  secret  association?  It  is  true  that  when  the  guilt  is  not  heavier 
than  this  the  prisoner  after  some  time  is  let  free,  but  even  a  few  days 
passed  in  prison  may  tell  sadly  on  nervous  natures.  It  has  also  already 
happened  that  scn'ants  have  deuoouccd  their  masters,  or  at  any  rate 
they  have  threatened  tlicm  with  doing  it.  Tlie  innocence  of  the  accused 
is  no  doubt  soon  of^cially  recognised,  but  nevertheless  night  searches  or 
arrests  are  not  tridcs,  cspceialiy  when  there  are  sick  persons  in  the 
family.  The  other  regulations  issued  by  General  Gourko  at  St. 
Petersburg  and  ctjpied  by  his  colleagues  in  the  provinces  are  also  pretty 
sure  to  give  rise  to  many  abuses. 

Oeneral  Gourko  a»  Biotator* 

Before  going  further  it  will  be  well  to  convey  to  readers  at  a  distance 
some  notion  of  the  dictator  who  now  reigns  over  the  cnpitalj  exercising 
nrarly  unlimited  authority.  General  Gourko  has  a  high  reputation  for 
energy  and  personal  courage.  Ili^  name  will  rcnuiin  ctiTnally  associated 
with  the  first  passage  of  the  Balkaus  by  our  troops^  that  brilliant  but  rash 
feat  of  arms  which  brought  atwut  so  many  deplorable  i-esnlts.  The 
soldiers  and  officci-s  who  have  served  under  him  always  found   that   he 


iV 


COXTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  L\  RUSSIA,     575 


» 


was  not  a  man  to  let  obstacles  stop  liim  ;  he  goes  straight  to  tlie  poal 
he  marks  out,  and  h  quite  insensible  to  humanitarian  cousidci*ations. 
It  is  indeed  said  that  lie  never  felt  much  pity  for  the  soldiers  at  whose 
cost  a  victory  had  to  he  bought,  and  one  may  infer  from  this  that  he 
will  feel  8till  less  compunction  for  the  revolutionists  and  the  Nihilists 
he  is  fighting  now.  In  this  sense  the  choiee.  clearly  is  a  good  one ; 
every  system  ought  to  be  carried  out  by  tools  which  are  appro]»riate, 
and  if  dictatorship  is  introduced  in  order  to  frighten  the  foe,  a 
tender-hearted  cliief  would  be  whoUy  out  of  place.  The  regu- 
lations by  which  General  Gourko  sigaalled  his  entrance  into 
office  have  been  already  published  by  the  European  press.  TIjc  new 
duties  devolved  on  the  porters,  called  dvorniki,  and  the  prohibition  against 
persons  keeping,  buying,  and  wearing  arms  of  any  description  without  a 
legal  authorization,  were  understood  to  be  the  only  decrees  which 
arc  directly  due  to  his  initiative.  The  utility  of  both  measures  is 
DTUch  discussedj  and  is  often  denied. 

The  dvorniki  have  always  been  considered  as  a  sort  of  public  guardiausj 
belonging  partly  to  the  police.  Tliey  are  obliged  to  attend  to  the  pass- 
ports of  the  lodgers,  and  to  inform  the  police  if  anything  irregular  or 
suspicious  happens  in  the  house ;  they  are  required  to  assist  policemen 
in  arresting  malefactors,  and  so  on.  By  the  recent  regulation  the 
Governor-General  has  practically  promoted  thcni  to  a  higher  rank,  en- 
trusting them  at  the  same  time  with  a  more  arduous  task.  They  are, 
as  the  reader  knows,  to  ait  day  and  ui^ht  at  the  house-doors,  taking  care 
that  no  placards  or  advertisements  be  stuck  up  on  the  walls  withuut  the 
due  legal  permission^  and  seeing  that  no  dangerous  or  inflummnbic  sub* 
stances  be  cast  on  the  pavement;  and  they  are  to  arrest  every  suspicious- 
looking  person.  This  latter  right  gives  Ihem  a  i>ower  which  will  very  hkely 
turn  out  to  be  a  source  of  many  abuses.  Tlie  dvorniki  are  generally 
recruited  from  among  the  peasants^  or  the  lower  classes.  They  must 
have  received  an  elementary  educatiouj  for  they  have  to  possess  t!ie 
first  rudiments  of  spelling  and  writing,  as  well  as  some  notions  of  the 
law,  and  the  regulations  in  use  by  the  police.  But  the  number  of  these 
comparatively  learned  porters  is  not  very  great,  and  when  it  was 
ordered  that  the  dvorniki  should  immediately  be  doubled,  and  in  the 
case  of  many  houses  even  tripled,  the  supplementary  men  had  naturally 
to  be  sought  in  other  classes.  The  house-o\vners  are  obliged  to  have  a 
watchman  sitting  at  each  door,  under  the  penalty  of  a  heavy  fine  of 
five  hundred  roubles;  and  not  knowing  where  to  get  them,  they  were 
glad  to  hire  any  one  who  offered  for  the  duty.  It  may  eousequently  he 
guessed  that  the  set  of  dvorniki  now  sitting  with  a  di.scontcnted  look 
in  our  streets  present  a  very  mixed  and  strange  array.  Most  of  them 
do  not  quite  know  what  is  expected  from  them  ;  still  less  are  they 
aware  how  they  are  to  discover  suspicious  persons.  In  their  methods 
of  going  about  it  great  variety  is  to  bt?  found.  The  apathetic  nituraa 
say  that  they  cannot  distinguish  innocent  fmm  dangerou.-i  men,  and  they 
let  cvcrj'body  go  their  way,  meanwhile  reading  a  newspaper  or  sleeping 


576 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


on  tbcir  hard  scat.  Another  class  of  them,  endowed  with  a  sangnine 
temperament,  look  more  seriously  upon  their  duty.  They  anxiously 
scrutinize  every  passer-by,  and  if  the  man  stops  on  his  way,  or  puts  his 
hands  into  his  pockets,  or  even  throws  a  fragment  of  paper  or  some 
other  trifle  into  the  river,  they  are  immediately  after  him,  asking  his 
explanation  of  such  alarming  deeds.  If  he  hesitates  and  does  not  give 
ready  answers,  he  is  led  to  the  authorities.  Is  it  not  possible  that  after 
some  practice  acquired  in  this  line,  these  energetic  dvomikiynl\  bethink 
themselves  of  drawing  some  advantage  from  their  powers?  The  majority 
of  the  persons  threatened  with  summary  arrest  will  be  glad  to  escape 
from  it  by  paying  a  few  roubles.  As  to  complaining  afterwards  of  such 
exactions,  they  well  know  that  there  will  not  be  much  chance  of  their 
being  believed  by  the  magistrate.  The  Government  will  think  it  in- 
cumbent on  itself  to  take  the  part  of  its  agents,  not  letting  a  shadow 
be  east  on  their  honesty.  The  most  prudent  coiirse  obviously  is  to 
pay  the  black  miiil  in  silence. 

K  all  these  drawbacks  are  taken  into  consideration,  even  without 
dwelling  on  the  heavy  tax  imposed  u[X)n  tlie  house  occupier,  what  gootl 
is  to  be  looked  for  from  this  watch  of  the  dvomiki?  Its  usefulness 
appears  very  problematical,  and  nearly  everybody  thinks  that  such  a 
mode  of  rule  cannot  last  long. 

The  rtgulation  concerning  the  wearing  of  firearms  has  not  fared  much 
better  under  criticism.  It  is  found  to  be  very  annoying  in  practice  ; 
for  quiet,  peaceful  men  are  scarcil  at  the  bare  idea  of  making  a  solemn 
declaration  to  the  police  that  th<^y  have  guns  or  revolvers  in  their 
houses.  On  the  other  hand,  the  regulation  cannot  matter  much  to  the 
revolutionists.  They  will  certainly  be  the  last  men  to  disclose  their 
arms  to  the  police  ;  they  will  find  means  to  bide  them  as  elTectually 
as  they  hide  their  printing  presses.  The  first  excitement  of  this 
measure  has  now  calmed  down,  but  at  the  outset  it  was  very  funny  to 
see  how  the  owners  of  arms  were  embarrassed  and  unhappy.  It  nearly 
looked  like  an  offence  to  possess  a  weapon,  and  at  the  police  office  itself 
the  agents  did  not  quite  know  how  to  proceed ;  they  often  both  allowed 
and  forbade,  rather  at  the  suggestion  of  the  moment  than  on  any  settled 
rational  grounds.  Not  a  few  unlucky  possessors  of  those  forbidden 
articles  would  have  been  glad  to  get  rid  of  them,  but  in  practice  this  is 
not  so  easy  as  it  seems.  One  cannot  burn  a  revolver  or  a  gun,  and  as  to 
throwing  them  into  the  river,  that  might  seem  suspicious,  and  lead  to 
arrest  at  once.  It  would  immediately  di'aw  the  attention  of  the  dvontiki. 
Moreover,  if  all  these  formalities  arc  difficult  and  trying  to  the  educated 
classes  in  the  capital,  one  may  imagine  how  they  work  in  the  provinces, 
and  what  anxieties  they  cause  there ! 

If  the  system  of  dictatorship  possesses  its  own  advantages,  its  scale  of 
action  is  very  restricted  ;  it  cannot  boast  of  having  at  its  disposal  much 
variety  of  means.  Searches,  arrests,  a  close  surveillance  by  the  police,  the 
imposition  of  silence  upon  the  press,  and,  as  crowning  all,  a  recourse  to 
capital  executions — these  form  its  whole  arsenal  and  programme. 


COXTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IiW  RUSSIA.     577 


I 


Vroliable  adnlrodactiOD  of  the  ScaUx-Pcnaltj. 

The  penalty  of  death  having  loug  been  expunged  from  our  code, 
it  is  thought  in  some  quarters  that  it**  reintroduetioii  would  be  the  best 
means  of  frightening:  the  enemy  i  and  wc  expect  to  see  this  theory  put 
into  practice.  If  wc  may  judge  of  the  influence  it  will  be  likely  to  pro- 
duce on  the  popuhir  mind  by  the  efi'ecte  of  the  hanging  of  Doubrovin, 
which  took  place  on  the  2nd  May,  we  may  say  that  it  will  not  be 
favourable  to  the  Government.  The  youth,  the  beauty,  and  the  amiable 
character  of  that  young  oflicer  hud  made  him  generally  beloved  both 
among  his  social  cquala  and  the  soldiers.  When  the  fate  intended  for 
him  became  publicly  known,  pity  mastered  all  other  feeliuga.  It 
was  reported  that  he  was  really  subject  to  tits  of  mental  alienation^  the 
disease  being  iu  his  case  a  hereditaiy  one,  and  it  was  generally  said  that 
he  ought  to  have  been  pardoned  on  that  account.  Nearly  a  whole  week 
elapsed  between  the  trial  and  the  execution,  and  during  all  the  time  the 
city  was  in  a  state  of  agitation.  No  information  was  published  in  the 
papers,  and  every  day  it  was  vaguely  reported  that  tlie  hanging  cither 
liad  taken  place,  or  else  was  going  to  take  place  at  once.  The  spot  for 
the  execution  was  not  more  clearly  known,  and  some  hours  after  the 
event  was  over, — the  execution  liaving  been  carrietl  out  in  the  yard  of  the 
fortress, — crowds  of  people  were  fdling  the  streets  of  Wasili  Oslron,  or 
else  proceeding  to  the  Smolensky  field,  where  it  was  thought  the  prisoner 
would  be  taken.  The  death  of  the  culprit  was  n  dreadful  one,  and 
shocking  tales  about  it  do  not  cease  to  circulate  in  society.  He  told 
thoae  alx)ut  him  he  was  dying  for  them,  like  Christ.  At  the  same  time 
he  sent  away  the  priest,  abusing  him  in  violent  language,  declaring  that 
he  himself  did  not  believe  in  God,  nor  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul.  His  anger  was  chicHy  caused  by  the  fact  that  he  was  not  shot 
like  a  soldier,  but  banged  like  a  common  culprit.  This  last  death 
is  considered  in  Russia  as  a  much  more  ignominious  one,  and  was 
indeed  selected  with  the  object  of  lowering  him  alike  in  his  own  eyes 
and  in  those  of  his  friends  and  admirers.  Hut  it  is  to  be  fcaretl  that  this 
end  was  not  attained;  rather  that  the  contrary  effect  was  prtydnced. 

This  execution  is  soon  to  be  followed  by  others,  and  such  an  expecta- 
tion not  unnaturally  saddens  the  city.  Since  the  hanging  of  Karakosof, 
who  attempted  the  Empcroi-'s  life  thirteen  years  ago,  no  man  has 
perished  in  St.  Petersburg  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner.  Such  sights 
become  more  dreadful  when  society  is  not  used  to  them.  The  pnnish- 
mcnt  of  Karakosof  even  at  that  time  stirred  much  emotion,  but  in  the 
then  existing  state  of  things  it  and  the  crime  out  of  which  it  arose 
appeared  as  a  very  extraordinary  event.  If  one  may  compare  the 
impression  produced  by  that  tirst  attempt  on  the  Emperor's  life 
with  the  last,  the  condition  of  feeling  is  very  difteivnt.  When  the 
news  of  the  miraculous  escape  of  the  Czar  spread  through  society 
on  the  Hth  April  last,  the  indignation  and  the  joy  excited  were 
certainly  very  strong,  but  there  was  little  surprise  at  the  attemptctl 
assassination  in  itself.      Thirteen  \car»  ago  the  predominant  feeling,  on 

VOL.  XXXV.  f  T 


578 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


the  contrary,  was  utter  araazemeul.  Nobody  vrould  believe  at  first  ia 
the  reality  of  the  attempt,  and  ivhcu  it  could  uot  longer  be  denied, 
everybody  felt  sure  that  the  wretch  must  either  be  a  Pole  or  a  raadmau. 
The  fact  that  regicide  could  be  thought  of  by  a  Russian  seemed  incre- 
dible. Since  that  time,  subversive  theories  and  the  growth  of  the  revo- 
lutiouavy  party  have  made  so  much  progress  that  society  now 
wonders  at  nothiug,  aud  expects  every  crime.  The  pleasant  con- 
viction tliat  Russia  is  secured  from  all  the  wild  dangers  of  revo- 
lution to  which  other  coutiucutal  nations  have  l)cen  shown  to  be 
exposed,  is  gradually  (ruling  before  tlie  terrible  teaching  of  facts. 
Experience  proves  every  day  that  wc  are  not  better  off  in  this  sense 
than  our  neighbours,  aud  that  neither  our  particular  institutions, — such, 
for  iustauce,  as  our  rural  couimuuc, — nor  the  profound  love  of  the 
iwople  generally  for  the  monarch,  can  save  lis  from  such  risks. 


^RTliat  are  tbe  Aims  of  ttae  XevoiutlontBts  r 

The  social  dangers  threatening  Itussia  are  oven  in  a  way  novel.  Not 
only  do  wc  not  know  the  uurabcrs  of  the  foe,  but  we  do  not  completely 
nnderstatul  his  wishes  or  his  aims.  From  what  comes  to  light,  this  party 
designs  tlic  ruin,  not  only  of  nil  government,  but  of  the  whole  social 
order.  Its  immediate  jmi'posc  is  anarcby,  and  it  supposes,  or  i>rofesse8 
U)  suppose,  that  when  all  is  thrown  down,  a  better  state  of  things  will 
naturally  arise  out  of  it.  There  is  no  possible  compromise  with  such 
views  as  tfiesc,  aiul  a  fight  to  the  death  is  the  only  weapon  left  against 
them.  But  the  question  which  naturally  arises  is — How  can  such 
subversive  doctrines  Hud  purtizans  in  number  sulficient  to  form  a  power- 
ful association,  aud  to  Lrjiihlc  the  peace  of  an  entire  nation  V  Arc  such 
views  not  contrary  to  the  interests  of  every  honourable  member  of  the 
<rommuuityy  aud  wliat  iLttntcliou  can  they  have  fur  their  minds  ? 
Clearly,  only  disgraced  men,  those  banished  from  society  aud  viewed  as 
pariahS;,  can  wish  for  a  total  destruction  of  the  political  and  social  institu- 
tions of  their  country.  If  such  men  as  these  Hud  ready  listenei's  and 
obedient  slaves  in  a  numerical  array  which  grows  imposing,  the  cause 
of  it  ouglit  to  be  souglit.  A  nation  must  liavc  grounds  of  inner  discon* 
tent  before  this  dangerous  social  disease  could  arise.  It  is  true  that 
discontcntetl  people  often  do  not  know  llic  real  reason  of  their  dissatis- 
factioii  when  they  feel  au  uneasiness  which  tliey  are  not  able  to  define ; 
aud  being  in  that  state  of  mind,  they  arc  prone  to  listen  to  bad 
advice,  and  to  take  the  wrong  way  for  helping  themselves.  Everybody, 
for  example,  knows  that  when  children  arc  kei>t  under  too  severely,  and 
arc  never  allowed  to  nudcrstaud  libertv  nor  learu  how  to  use  il, 
they  have  no  exact  notion  of  what  freedom  mcau>,  and  confound  it 
with  licence.  Their  ambition  is  not  to  become  properly  free  aud  rightly 
responsible  for  their  own  aetions,  but  only  to  do  forbidden  things, — to 
play  tricks  and  vex  their  masters.  They  grow  passionately  fond  of  all 
that  is  prohibited,  and  feel  n  hatred  for  every  authority.  If  it  were 
jKissiblc  for  children  to  form  a  party,  would  they  not  begin  by  throwing 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  RUSSIA.     579 


down  their  tutors  aud  parents^  and  by  prochuining  the  destruction  of  the 
existing  order?  It  not  unfrequcntly  appears  as  if  our  revolutionists 
had  poiuts  of  resemblance  to  those  tyrannically  educated  cl.ildren.  At 
least,  a  large  mimljer  of  their  followers  go  over  to  thetn  led  merely  by 
such  motives. 

The  fact  is,  that  though  the  reforms  of  the  present  reigu  have 
greatly  advanced  our  progress,  the  dose  of  liberty  which  has  been  granted 
to  us  is  not  sufficient  for  a  civilized  European  nation.  Everybody 
feeU  this,  more  or  less,  but  the  feeling  takes  different  forms,  according 
to  the  station  in  life,  the  education,  and  the  personal  character  of  each 
individual.  The  Liberals  hope  that  the  supplcmentaiy  reforms  we  neetl 
A^ill  come  in  time,  mid  they  are  sure  that  \iolence  cannot  lead  lo  any 
real  good,  lliey  ^rill  continue  to  try  to  attain  their  aim  by  peaceful  means, 
and  will  never  lend  their  help  to  revolntioii.  But  all  men  are  nut  so 
patient  nor  so  firm  in  their  convictions.  Youth,  poverty,  injustice,  all 
foster  impatience, and  when  men  will  not  trust  to  time,  and  wait,  they  call 
violence  to  their  aid.  The  economical  conditions  of  life  are  not  worse 
in  Russia  thau  in  other  Euro^>ean  countries.,  and  the  average  of  happi- 
ness is  likely  to  be  about  the  same.  Indeed,  comi)etition»  especially 
in  the  higher  professioun,  is  much  smaller  with  us,  and  our  youths  do 
not  know  the  terrible  struggle  for  life  which  awaits  not  a  few  of 
Iheir  neighbours.  If  tliey  are  willing  to  work,  tliey  can  always  find 
employment,  with  good  remuneration,  and  there  is  nothing  to  make 
tlicni  desperate.  Consequently  their  hatred  against  the  (ioverumcnt 
aiid  against  society  cannot  be  ascribed  to  actual  sutt'ering,  and  must 
have  other  ground  s,  These  gi*ouuds  arc  most  probably  no  other  than 
the  absence  of  liberty,  which  sliows  itself  in  the  control  of  the  press,  in 
the  restrictions  fettering  associations,  and  so  forth.  A  person  who  may 
speak  out  what  he  has  uu  his  mind  euots  much  easier  thau  one 
liouud  to  be  silent,  and  criticisms  arc  often  the  mere  result  of  auger  at 
being  forbidden  to  criticise.  In  Russia,  a  strict  censorship  watches  con- 
stantly to  see  that  not  a  word  is  said  against  authority  and  morals; 
sjKieches  are  prohibited  with  not  less  severity,  and  every  measure  is  taken 
in  order  that  unpleasant  matters  do  not  transpire.  The  consequence  of 
it  all  is  that  hasty  and  impatient  men  recur  to  underhand  meajsures, 
and  to  secret  printing-presses.  Then  the  Government  declares  war 
against  them,  ranking  these  acts  among  political  crimes,  and  subjecting 
the  convieted  to  cnicl  penalties.  The  persecution  they  endure  in  turn 
makes  them  more  and  more  reckless,  further  fostering  tlicir  hatred. 
Innocent  men,  unju?jlly  suspected,  and  kept  for  a  time  iu  prison,  leave 
gaol  violent  rcvolutiouists  j  iu  fact,  the  more  the  arrests  nuide,  the 
more  the  partizans  the  Revolutionaj'y  Association  gains.  At  last,  [mssions 
being  roused  to  the  extreme  limit  on  both  sides,  there  begins  a  mortal 
strife,  the  end  of  which  nobody  can  foresee. 

The  Government  has  gone  too  far  in  the  way  of  repression 
lo  retrace  its  steps  now;  and  ))csides  it  may  be  too  late  for 
entering  on  a  new  path.     The  liberty  which,  if  conceded  before,  would 


580 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


jicrhaps  have  prevented  the  evil,  could  not  now  cure  it;  aud,  before 
grantlDg  it,  a  decisive  victory  musk  be  won.  Will  it  be  wonV  Nobody 
can  give  a  \:ositive  answer  to  tbe  questiou,  but  events  advance  quickly, 
and  a  mouth  or  two  may  help  us  better  to  solve  the  problem.  The 
dictatorship  mu!?t  soon  show  what  is  to  be  hoped  Jrom  it,  and  if  it 
proves  powerless,  the  Emperor  will  probably  renounce  it,  and  go  back 
to  the  normal  course  of  admiuiatration,  A  large  part  of  society  has 
faith  in  it,  aud  conscqueutiy  resigns  itself  to  the  incouvenieuces  it  brings  ; 
but  if  they  are  to  be  borne  in  vain,  the  discouteut  will  grow  general^ 
and  it  is  well  to  think  of  that  possibility. 


Stussia'B  ibare  la  Uie  efttal>llsbm«iit  of  the  Salfforian  8tat«. 

In  the  meantime,  the  work  wc  began  two  years  ago  in  Bulgaria  is 
ucaring  its  end.  The  constitution  which  the  Russian  officials  elaborateil 
for  that  country  is  going  to  be  appliedj  and  the  crowning  of  the  edifice — 
the  election  of  the  Piiuce — is  now  an  accomplished  fact.  Prince 
Battenberg  was  from  the  beginning  the  candidate  of  Russia,  and  hia 
election  is  quite  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  our  Government.  If 
there  were  others,  of  humbler  social  rank,  whose  ambition  prompted 
them  to  desire  the  new  crown  of  Bulgaria,  their  aspirations  never  found 
an  echo  in  the  liigliest  quarters,  and  the  Emperor  was  firmly  resolvetl 
not  to  allow  their  realization.  If  the  promulgation  of  the  Bulgarian 
constitution  had  taken  place  at  auotlicr  moment,  it  would  have  caused 
much  envy  in  Liberal  circles.  There  would  have  been  much  talk  of  the 
injustice  done  to  the  Russian  subjects  of  tlie  Emperor,  to  whom  he 
refused  the  boon  he  gi'anted  to  other  Slav  nations  liberated  by  our 
arms.  But  at  this  juncture  all  parties  are  so  absorbed  by  the  domestic 
cares  of  the  State,  aud  so  frightened  by  the  violent  acts  of  the  revolu- 
tionists, that  they  do  not  really  care  for  these  questions.  To  tell 
the  truthj  wc  have  grown  very  indiflerent  to  Bulgaria  aud  our  Slav 
brothers.  I  niiglit  even  say  that  the  different  chances  of  the  candidates 
to  the  new  crown  were  hainlly  ever  discussed  before  the  election  ;  nobody 
seemed  to  have  time  to  think  about  them.  AVliat  our  country  now  want* 
most  eagerly  is  the  restoration  of  order  and  security.  \Vhen  tliis  aim 
is  attained — if  it  ever  will  be — wishes  for  rcfonns  and  for  a  constitution 
will  very  likely  again  arise ;  but  until  then  the  party  which  does  not  see 
in  violence  the  only  means  to  fight  violence,  aud  which  goes  on  be* 
lieving  in  the  efficacy  of  Liberal  meosures,  is  so  quiet,  and,  I  may  add, 
BO  small,  that  it  cannot  have  any  influence  on  public  affairs.  Generallv 
speaking,  the  Russians  are  not  apt  at  having  more  than  one  chief  pre- 
occupation at  a  time.  Last  year  it  was  the  war  and  the  Slav  question; 
after  that  came  the  Plague,  which  is  quite  forgotten  now ;  and  at  the 
present  moment  the  engrossing  matter  is  the  Revolutionary  party  and  its 
doings.     These  fully  absorb  the  piiblic  attention. 

T.  S. 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 


§t(f.  Now  tint  Edilfld  nrotn  Original  Mbuu- 
•crlpta  Bod  (Von  bi«  Prtutod  Corm|>oiideDCQ 
and  other  WriUnci,  by  Joair  Higilow.  3  toIi. 
Phlladelplila  uhl  London:  J.  B.  Ljiijiiuci^tt  & 
Co. 


I 


^ 


THE  appearance  of  a  new  edition  of  Mr.  BLgelow's  "Life  of  Franklin" 
may  be,  we  trustj  the  mcana  of  calling  the  attention  of  the  reading 
public  iu  England  to  a  remarkable  bookj  and  of  modifying  iu  some 
respects  the  popular  judgment  of  a  more  remarkable  man.  It  has  often 
struck  us  as  strange  that  Franklin  should  never,  in  the  last  hundred 
years,  have  liecome  popular  iu  England — should  rather,  indeedj  have 
been  regarded  with  distrust,  if  not  with  dislike,  even  up  to  the  present 
time.  There  is  much  in  his  career,  as  well  as  in  his  personal  qualities 
and  character,  which  appeals  to  popular  instincts,  and  would  have  led 
one  to  expect  a  very  diflcrent  appreciation  of  the  great  New  Englauder. 
He  was  one  of  the  class  of  self-made  men,  so  indiscriminately  honoured 
by  the  British  public;  and  a  self-made  man  in  the  best  sense,  who  had 
fought  his  owu  way  to  the  front,  not  only  without  any  advantages  of 
birth  or  education,  but  with  perfectly  clean  hands :  iu  the  moderate 
fortune  he  left  behind  him  there  was  not  a  dirty  shilling.  Of  the  re- 
markable group  of  Kevohitionary  leaders  in  the  great  struggle  of  the 
colonies,  he  was  the  only  one  in  the  first  rank  not  gentle  boru :  all  the 
rest  were  of  the  gentry — ^Yashingtou,  Madison,  and  Jefferson,  the  sous 
of  Virginian  planters  ;  Adams,  HamUton,  and  Jay,  of  leading  New  Eng- 
land and  New  York  families — and  all  of  them  brought  the  highest  culture 
the  colonics  could  give  to  their  great  work.  Ijut  Franklin's  father 
(though  of  good  yeoman  stock  iu  the  old  country,  which  he  had  left 
when  quite  young)  worked  still  with  his  own  hands  at  his  trade  of  tallow- 
chandler  in  Boston,  and  took  Benjamin,  the  youngest  of  his  ten  children, 
away  from  school  at  the  ago  of  uiue  to  help  him.  One  would  have  ex- 
pected this  fact  to  tell  in  his  favour  in  England,  where,  though  birth 
and  privilege  enjoy  a  superstitious  reverence  and  immense  advantages  in 
the  race  of  life,  the  deepest  popular  instincts  are  after  all   decidedly 

vol..    X^XV.  Q  Q 


582 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


democratic.  Then,  again,  he  had  all  the  qualities  supposed  to  be  most 
highly  valued  by  Englishmen  :  he  was  an  excellent  son,  husbandj  and 
father ;  moral  and  temperate  from  his  youth  up,  but  without  a  tinge  of 
asceticism ;  scrupulously  punctual  and  exact  in  money-m alters,  but  open- 
hauded  ;  full  of  courtesy,  sagacity,  and  humour.  He  was  probably  the 
most  popular,  certainly  the  most  prolific  author  of  his  day.  His  paper 
was  the  most  influential  in  America,  and  Poor  Ilichard's  Hayings  were  in 
every  one's  mouth  both  there  and  in  England.  He  published  works  of 
mark  in  natural  philosophy,  politics,  political  and  social  economy,  morals 
and  general  literature.  His  discoveries  and  inventions  ranged  from  the 
lightning  conductor  to  cures  for  smoky  chimneys — his  ingenious  epeen 
lations,  from  magnetism  and  ballooning  to  cheap  cookery  j  and  he  gavi 
every  invention  and  speculation  freely  to  the  world,  having  never  taken 
out  a  patent  or  claimed  protection  of  any  kind.  He  was  a  stauuch  free- 
trader, and  an  advocate  for  the  rights  of  neutrals  in  war,  and  of  tbe  claim 
that  free  ships  should  make  free  goods.  He  was  decidedly  the  most 
BUCCcssfiU  man  of  his  day — a  quality  at  least  as  devoutly  worshipped,  in 
the  nineteenth  as  in  the  eighteenth  century.  His  position  at  Paris  in 
the  ten  years  from  1*75  to  1785 — first  as  one  of  three  commissioners, 
afterwards  as  minister  plenipotentiary  for  the  United  States — was  quite 
unique;  and  the  figure,  full  of  interest,  of  the  old  shopkeeper  and  jour- 
nalist, in  his  plaiu  suit  and  spectacles — ingeniously  adjusted  so  that  the 
upper  half  of  the  glasses  served  him  in  society,  and  the  lower  half  for 
reading — wearing  his  own  white  hair  in  the  midst  of  all  the  bcfrizzed 
and  bcpowdcred  courtiers  of  the  ancien  regivie ;  a  plaiu,  outspoken  Ilepub- 
lican,  uot  only  holding  his  own,  but  the  most  popular  man  of  the  day 
with  the  royal  family^  the  aristocracy,  the  ministers  (except  Chancellor 
Neckcr,  who  had  to  find  him  money  for  subsidies  and  warlike  supplies)  ; 
an  honoured  member  not  only  of  the  Academy  and  every  Continental 
learned  society  of  note,  but  of  the  Royal  Society  of  England,  with  whose 
leading  members  he  was  in  friendly  correspondence  in  spite  of  the  war; 
of  whom  there  were  more  medals,  medallions,  busts,  and  pictures  than 
his  biographer  can  count  up,  so  that  his  face  was  the  best  known  of  any 
on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic — surely  it  is  strange  that  so  singularly 
attractive  a  figure  should  never  have  fairly  found  its  place  of  honour  in 
the  country  of  which  he  wius  all  but  born  a  citizen,  where  he  spent  thirteen 
of  his  best  years,  and  with  whose  foremost  statesmen  and  learned  men  he 
was  on  afi'ectionatc  intimacy  up  to  the  day  of  his  death. 

So,  however,  it  has  been,  and  though  complete  editions  of  Franklin's 
works  aud  numerous  biographies  have  been  published,  not  only  in 
America,  but  in  France,  Italy,  and  Germany,  within  the  present  century, 
one  slight  biographical  sketch  in  Chambtrs's  Cheap  Library^  and  one 
article  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  of  180G,  remain  the  only  uotices  which 
have  issued  from  the  English  press  of  the  greatest  of  American  philoso- 
phers and  diplomatists.  To  the  English  reading  public,  therefore,  the 
stalwart  historical  figure  whicb^  in  all  its  many-sided  attractiveness  and 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN 


58S 


strength,  U  so  well  brought  out  in  these  volumes  of  Mr.  Bigelow's,  will 
be  almost  a  stranger,  though  it  is  scarcely  possible,  wc  should  thinks 
that  it  will  continue  to  be  so.  The  book  is  not  only  of  deep  interest, 
but  is  a  literary  experiment  of  a  novel  kind.  It  consists  first  of  the 
Autobiography  written  by  Franklin  for  his  son — comprising  the  first 
fifty  years  of  his  life,  and  here  published  for  the  first  time  from  the 
original  manuscript,  of  which  Mr.  Bigelow  became  possessed  during  his 
residence  as  minister  of  the  United  States  in  France ;  and  secondly,  of  a 
history  of  the  remaining  thirty-five  years,  compiled,  indeed,  and  edited 
by  Mr.  Bigelow,  but  really  a  continuation  of  the  Autobiography,  as  it 
consists  entirely  of  extracts  from  Franklin's  diary,  correspondence,  de- 
spatches, and  speeches,  so  that  from  beginning  to  end  he  is  telling  the 
story  of  his  own  life  in  his  own  words.  In  ordinary  cas«s  such  an 
attempt  must  have  ended  in  failure,  but  the  extraordinary  activity  of 
Franklin  as  a  correspondent  with  private  friends,  and  the  conscientious 
regularity  and  fulness  of  his  public  correspondence,  have  enabled  Mr. 
Bigelow,  with  the  help  of  a  quite  insignificant  supplement  in  the  shape 
of  occasional  notes,  to  sustain  the  interest  of  the  narrative,  and  to  give 
us  a  complete  picture  of  Franklin  painted  by  himself,  in  a  book  which 
we  have  no  doubt  is  destined  to  remain  a  classic  for  all  English-speaking 
people. 

We  propose  here  to  consider,  in  such  detail  as  our  space  will  allow, 
the  prejudices,  political  and  religious,  which  have  obscured  Franklin's 
fame  in  England,  and  upon  which  Mr.  Bigelow's  volumes  throw  a  flood 
of  light.  The  first  are  founded  on  the  belief  that  Franklin,  while  resi- 
dent in  England  and  a  civil  servant  of  the  Crown,  was  imdermining 
the  allegiance  of  the  colonies  and  fanning  their  discontent,  and  that, 
above  all,  he  was  the  one  American  commtssiuncr  who  desired  to 
humiliate  England  and  to  impose  unworthy  terms  on  her  at  the  close  of 
the  war ;  the  second  on  the  belief  that,  while  professing  Christianity,  he 
was  in  fact  a  sceptic,  wlio  veiled  real  hostility  under  a  cloak  of  toleration 
and  friendliness  to  all  Churches  and  denominations. 

First,  then,  as  to  the  conduct  of  Franklin  during  the  final  negotia- 
tions for  peace  in  1782-83.  In  order  to  judge  this  fairly  it  is  necessary 
to  bear  in  mind  what  had  happened  in  England  years  before  when  he 
was  agent  for  the  colonies.  He  came  to  England  in  1757  as  agent  for 
Pennsylvania,  with  a  European  reputation  as  a  man  of  science,  and  an 
English  reputation  as  an  able  administrator  who  had  made  the  Post- 
ofHce  in  America  a  paying  department,  and  soon  obtained  the  confidence 
of  the  leading  statesmen  and  jwliticiaus.  One  of  his  first  acts  was  strong 
opposition  to  the  contemplated  abandonment  of  Canada  to  France  at  the 
end  of  the  Seven  Years'  War.  "  No  one  can  more  sincerely  rejoice  than 
I  do  on  the  reduction  of  Canada,  and  this  not  merely  as  a  colonist,  but 
as  a  Briton.  I  have  long  been  of  opinion,"  he  writes  in  January, 
1760,  "  that  the  foundations  of  the  future  grandeur  and  stability  of  the 
British  empire  lie   iu   America ;  and  though,  like    other  foundations, 

Q  Q  2 


581 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEJV, 


they  are  low  ami  little  now,  they  arc  nevertheless  broad  and  strong 
enough  to  support  the  greatest  politieal  structure  that  human  wisdom 
ever  erected.  I  am  therefore  by  no  means  for  restoring  Canada.  If 
we  keep  it,  all  tlio  country  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Mississippi 
will  in  another  century  be  filled  "with  British  people.  Britain  itself  will 
become  vastly  more  populous  by  the  immense  increase  of  its  commerce; 
the  Atlantic  will  be  covered  with  your  trading  ships ;  and  your  naval 
power,  thence  continually  increasing,  will  extend  your  influence  round 
the  whole  globCj  and  awe  the  world."  He  adds  playfully  that  his  cor- 
respondent (Lord  Katnes)  will  think  these  notions  the  ratings  of  a  mad 
pi-ophet.  In  the  same  earnest  desire  for  the  greatness  and  prosperity  of 
the  empire,  he  pleads,  though  with  serious  misgivingSj  after  the  com- 
mencement of  the  troubles  seven  years  later  :  ''  Upon  the  whole,  I  have 
lived  so  great  a  part  of  my  life  in  Britain,  and  have  formed  so  many 
friendships  in  it,  that  I  love  it  and  sincerely  wish  it  prosperity,  and 
therefore  wish  to  see  that  union  on  which  I  think  it  can  alone  be 
secured  and  established.  As  to  America,  tlie  advantages  of  such  an 
union  to  her  are  not  so  apparent/'  and  after  speaking  of  the  certainty 
of  America's  becoming  populous  and  mighty  "  in  a  less  time  than  is 
generally  conceived,"  and  able  to  shake  off  all  shackles  which  might 
be  imposed  on  her,  and  insisting  that  the  seeds  of  liberty  arc  uni- 
versally found  there,  and  nothing  can  eradicate  them,  he  adds : 
'*  And  yet  there  remains  among  that  people  so  much  respect,  veneration, 
and  affection  for  Britain  that,  if  cultivated  prudently,  with  a  kind 
usage  and  tenderness  for  their  privileges,  they  might  be  easily  govemetl 
still  for  ages,  without  force  or  any  considerable  expense.  But  I  do  not 
see  here  a  auRicicnt  quantity  of  the  wisdom  that  isnecessaiy  to  produce 
such  a  conduct,  and  I  lament  the  want  of  it." 

So  in  his  evidence  before  the  Committee  of  the  whole  House  of 
Commons  on  the  Stamps  Acts,  in  17G(>,  while  declaring  in  the  plainest 
terms  tliat  the  colonies  would  never  submit  to  pay  the  stamp  duty 
unless  compelled  by  force  of  arms,  he  urged  that  if  aids  to  the  Crown 
were  needed,  and  were  asked  for  in  their  own  Assemblies  according 
to  old-established  usage,  they  would  be  freely  graute<l,  and  that  the 
colonies  had  never  murmured  at  having  paid  more  than  their  fair  pro- 
portion of  the  costs  of  the  French  war,  because  they  esteemed  their 
sovereign's  approbation  of  their  zeal  and  fidelity,  and  the  approbation 
of  this  House,  fur  beyond  any  other  kind  of  compensation.  If  the 
Imperial  Parliament  desired  the  right  to  tax  the  colonies,  it  could  only 
obtain  it  by  admitting  representatives  from  the  people  to  be  taxed. 

His  evidence  ou  this  occasion,  besides  causing  the  repeal  of  the  Stamp 
Act  within  a  month,  made  him  at  once  the  most  trusted  man  ou  botli 
■sides  of  the  Atlantic.  lu  the  same  spirit  he  worked  on  for  years  while 
the  clouds  were  gathcrittg  more  and  more  darkly,  now  warning  the 
Assemblies  not  to  use  such  expressions  in  their  "public  pieces  as  '  the 
supreme  authority  of  Farlinnient,'  and  the   like,  M'hich  in  reality  meau 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN 


585 


nothing  if  our  Assemblies  with  the  king  have  a  trac  legislative  authority, 
and  arc  too  strong  for  complimcntj  as  tending  to  eoufirm  a  claim  of 
subjects  in  one  part  of  the  king's  donnnions  to  be  sovereigns  over 
their  fellow-subjects,  when  in  truth  they  have  no  such  right ;"  now 
urging  in  theoi,  in  favour  of  maintaining  the  union,  that  were  the 
general  sentiments  of  England  consulted,  the  terms  asked  would  be  at 
least  equitable,  for  that,  "  except  where  the  spirit  of  Toryism  prevails, 
they  wish  us  well  and  that  we  may  preserve  our  liberties." 

It  wa:^  not,  in  fact,  uutd  1774,  on  the  eve  of  the  outbreak  of  hostilities, 
that  Franklin's  position  changedj  and  his  hope  of  a  reconciliation 
between  England  and  the  colonies  gave  way.  No  doubt  a  personal 
insult  did  much  to  weaken  his  efforts  for  peace  during  the  last  year  of 
his  English  residence.  He  liad  become  convinced  that  the  irritation 
between  the  two  countries  was  fanned  by  officers  in  the  provinces,  who 
reported  falsely  to  the  Home  Government  ou  the  condition  of  affairs  and 
the  temper  of  the  colonists ;  and  he  was  confirmed  in  his  suspicions  by 
copies  of  letters  from  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts  and  others  which 
came  to  his  hands.  It  is  not  known  how  these  letters  were  obtained, 
as  Franklin  would  never  say  anything  except  that  he  came  by  them 
honourably.  He  sent  them  to  the  Assemblies,  in  the  hope  of  lessening  the 
breach  between  the  two  countries  by  showing  that  "  the  injuries  com- 
plained of  by  one  of  them  did  not  proceed  from  the  other,  but  from 
traitors  amongst  themselves ;"  and  their  publication  brought  on  him  at 
once  the  bitter  enmity  of  a  host  of  powerful  men  in  England.  This 
broke  out  on  the  occasion  of  the  presentation  of  the  petition  of  Massa- 
chusetts for  the  recall  of  Governor  Ilutebinson.  After  long  delay  it 
was  at  last  heard  before  the  Privy  Council  at  the  Cockpit,  Westminster, 
thirty-five  lords  being  present.  AVhca  the  case  for  the  petitioners  had 
been  opened  by  Dunning,  AVeddcrbiirn,  the  Solicitor-Geucral,  replied  for 
the  Crown.  After  giving  what  he  called  a  history  of  the  province  for 
the  past  ten  years,  fuU  of  abuse  of  the  Assembly  and  praise  of  the 
Governors,  he  turned  upon  Franklin  and  poured  out  for  an  hour  a  flood 
of  (to  use    Lord  Shelbumc's  words)   "  scurrilous  invective,'*  encouraged 

■  by  the  thirty-five  lords,  *'  the  indecency  of  whose  behaviour  exceeded,  as 
is  agreed  on  all  hands,  that  of  any  committee  of  election/*  He  accused 
Franklin    of  being  the  cause   of  all   the   troubles,   and    in    concluding 

I  compared  the  doctor  to  2Iauga  in  the  play  of  "Revenge,"  and  quoting  the 
lines, 
'*  Know  then  ^twaa  I 


J  forged  the  letter,  1  disposed  the  picture  ; 
I  bAted,  I  deBpised,  and  I  destroy," 


[ed  his  diatribe  with,  "  I  askj  my  lords,  whether  the  revengeful  temper 
attributed  by  poetic  fiction  to  the  bloody  African  is  not  surpassed  by  the 
coolness  and  apathy  of  the  wily  American  !" 

In  chapter  viii.,  vol.  ii.,  will  be  found  Franklin's  account  to  his 
Government  of  these   transactions.      That   he   felt  and    resented   very 


586 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


keenly  the  insult  to  liimself,  aud  from  this  time  took  up  a  very  differeut 
attitude  to    the  Euj^lish  Governmcntj  is   no   doubt  true.      He  was  not 
the  man  to  overlook  personal  slights,  and  uo  one  could  bide  his  time 
more  patiently,  or  hit  back  harder  when  that  time  came.     But,  greatly 
to  his  credit,  he  did  not  even  then  allow  his  personal  feelings  to  inter- 
fere with  his  duty  as  agent  to  the  colonics,  and  he  felt  the  rejection 
of  the  petition  more  on  their  account   than  his  own.     "  What  I  feel 
on  my  own  account,"  he   writes,  "  is   half  lost   in  what   I  feel  for  the 
public.     When  I  see  that  all  petitions  and  complaints  of  grievances  are 
80  odious  to  Government  that  even  the  mere  pipe  which  conveys  them 
becomes  obnoxious,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  how  peace  and   union  are 
to  be  maintained  or  restored  between  the  different  parts  of  the  empire/^ 
And,  though  now  thoroughly  distrustful    of   the  English  Government 
and  Parliament,  he  still  continued  to  work  for  reconciliation  so  loyally 
as  to  bring  on  himself  the  suspicion  of  the  Colonial  Assemblies.    He  has 
to  assure  his  coustituenls  of  the  falscuess  of  reports  that  he  is  still  in  favour 
at  Court  and  with  the  Ministers.   "I  have  seen  no  Minister  since  January, 
nor  had  the  least  commuuication  with  them.     The  generous  and  noble 
friends  of  America  in  both  Houses  do  indeed  favour  me  with  their  notice 
and  regard,  but  they  are  in  disgrace  at  Court,  as  well  as  myself."   These 
generous  and  noble  friends  did  their  best  indeed  to  atone  for  the  insolent 
folly  of  the  Government,     The  greatest  of  them,  Lord  Chatham,  sought 
out  Franklin,  before  moving  in  the  House  of  Lords  on  American  affairs, 
to   set   his  judgment    by   Pranklin's,    "  as  men  set  their  watches  by  a 
regulator,"     '^  He  stayed  with  me  near  two  hours,  hia  equipage  waiting 
at  the  door"  (in  Craven  Street) ;  "  and   being  there  while  people  were 
coming  from  church,   it  was  much  taken  notice  of  and  talked  of,  as   at 
that  time  was  every  little  circumstance  that  men  thought  might  possibly 
affect  American  affairs.     Such  a  visit  from  so  great  a  man  on  so  im- 
portant a  business  flattered  greatly  xny  vanity,  and  the  honour  of  it  gave 
me  the  more   pleasure  as  it   happened  on  the  very  day  twelve  months 
that  the  ministry  had  taken  so  much  pains   to  disgrace  me  before  the 
Privy  Council."      Lord  Stanhope,  by  Lord  Chatham's  request,  brought 
Franklin   to  the  bar  of  the   House  of  Lorda  when  he  introduced  his 
plan  for  the  conciliation  of  the  colonies.      In  moving  its  rejection.  Lord 
Sandwich    declared    he    "  could    not    believe  it    the  production  of  an 
English  peer.      It  appeared  to  him  rather  the  work  of  some  American  ; 
and,  turning  his  face  towards   me,  who  was  leaning  on   the  bar,  said 
he  fancied  !)e  had  in  his  eye  the  person  who  drew  it  up,  one  of  the  most 
bitter  and  mischievous  enemies  this  country  had  ever  known.     This  drew 
the  eyes  of  many  lords  upon  mo,  but,  as  I  had  no  inducement  to  take  it 
to  myself,  I  kept  my  eountcnauce  as  immovable  as  if  my  features  had  been 
made  of  wood."     Notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  the  Duke  of  Richmond, 
Lords  Shelburnc,  Camden,  aud  others,  Chatham's  plan  was  summarily 
rejcctcdj  leaving  l>anklin  to  moralize  on  the  absurdity  of  such  a  body 
claiming  sovereignty  over  three  millions  of  virtuous  jieople  iu  America, 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN 


S87 


I 

■ 

I 


when  they  seemed  to  have  scarce  discretion  to  govern  a  henl  of  swine. 
"  Hereditary  legislators !  thought  I :  there  would  be  more  propriety, 
because  less  raiscluefj  in  having  (as  in  some  university  of  Germany) 
hereditary  professors  of  mathematics/'  Still,  to  the  last  he  never  allowed 
himself  to  neglect  the  least  chance  of  accommodating  the  difficulties 
between  the  two  countries.  Afler  the  Boston  tea-riots  had  for  a  moment 
brought  the  English  Government  to  its  senses^  and  induced  them  to  re- 
open negotiations,  he  gave  the  most  convincing  proof  of  his  loyalty  as  a 
friend  of  peace  by  offering  (in  the  absence  of  instructions)  himself  to 
guarantee  the  payment  of  the  value  of  the  tea  thrown  iuto  Boston 
harbour  if  the  Massachusetts  Acts  were  at  once  repealed,  thereby  risking 
his  whole  private  fortune ;  whUe  to  the  offers  of  the  ministry,  through 
Lord  Ilowe,  of  immediate  payment  of  the  arrears  of  his  salary,  ample 
appointments  for  himself  and  his  fnends,  and  other  subsequent  rewards 
in  consideration  of  his  help  in  this  crisis,  his  reply  was,  *'  I  shall  deem 
it  a  great  honour  to  be  in  any  shape  joined  with  your  lordship  in  so 
good  a  work,  but  if  you  hope  service  from  any  intinence  I  may  be 
supposed  to  have,  drop  all  thought  of  procuring  me  any  previous  favours 
from  ministers  :  my  accepting  them  would  destroy  the  very  influence 
yon  propose  to  make  use  of :  they  would  be  considered  as  so  many  bribes 
to  betray  the  interests  of  my  country." 

We  cannot  within  our  limits  do  more  than  thus  indicate  in  outline 
the  course  pursued  by  Fraukliu  in  those  critical  years  ending  in  March, 
1775,  when,  on  the  eve  of  war,  he  returned  to  America,  liopeless  of  any 
settlement  except  by  arms,  and  resolved  to  throw  in  his  lot  with  his  own 
country,  and  to  devote  aU  he  possessed  of  fortune,  experience,  ability  to 
her  serrice.  The  more  carefully  the  record  is  scrutiuized  the  more 
difficult  will  the  situation  appear,  and  the  more  trustworthy  and  able 
the  man  who  filled  it. 

After  eighteen  months  at  home,  during  which  he  sat  in  the  second 
Congress  as  delegate,  assisted  in  the  compilation  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  and  presided  over  the  Pennsylvania  Constitutional  Con- 
vention, he  went  as  envoy  from  the  States  to  France,  where  he  took  up 
his  residence  at  Passy,  then  a  suburb  of  Paris,  and  remained  till  the 
end  of  the  war.  Before  starting  he  converted  all  his  available  property 
into  money,  and  lent  the  proceeds  to  the  Revolutionary  Government, 
and  did  his  best  to  open  Lord  Howe's  eyes  to  the  real  position  of  affairs 
in  the  colonies.  That  nobleman  had  taken  the  command  of  the  British 
fleet,  with  a  commission  to  treat  with  the  insurgents  in  hopes  of  bring- 
ing about  a  reconciliation.  For  effecting  this  he  relied  much  on  his  old 
friendship  with  Franklin  and  the  remembrance  of  the  efforts  they  had 
made  together  in  England  for  a  like  object.  But  Franklin,  while 
giving  him  full  credit  for  sincerity  in  his  desire  for  peace  and  re- 
union, warns  him  that  no  peace  except  "  as  between  distinct  States  now 
at  war"  will  ever  be  accepted  by  the  colonies.  Such  a  peace  might 
even  yet  be  made  if  England  would  punish  the  governors   who   had 


588 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


created  and  fomented  the  discord,  but  he  knows  that  Lord  Howe  has  no 
power  to  ofier^  and  that  England  in  her  ahounding  pride  and  deficient 
wisdom  will  not  consent  to,  such  terms.  "  Her  fondness  for  conquest 
as  a  warlike  nation,  her  lust  of  dominion  as  au  ambitious  one^  and  her 
thirst  for  a  gainful  monopoly  aa  a  commercial  one  (none  of  them  legiti- 
mate causes  of  war)j  will  all  join   to  hide  from  her  eves   every   view  of 

her  true  interests Long  did  I  endeavour,   with    unfeigned   and 

unwearied  zeal,  to  preserve  from  breaking  that  fine  and  noble  china  vase, 
the  British  empire;  for  I  knew  that,  once  broken,  the  separate  part^ 
could  not  even  retain  their  share  of  the  strength  or  value  that  existed 
in  the  whole,  and  that  a  perfect  reunion  could  scarce  ever  be  hoped 
for.  Your  lordship  may  possibly  remember  the  tears  of  joy  that  wet  my 
cheek  when  at  your  good  sister's  in  Loudon  you  ouce  gave  me  Lopes 
that  a  reconciliation  might  soon  take  place.  I  had  the  misfortune  to 
find  those  expectations  disappointed,  and  to  be  treated  as  the  cause  of 
the  mischief  I  was  labouring  to  prevent.  My  consolation  under  that 
grotmdless  and  malevolent  treatment  was  that  I  retained  the  friendship 
of  many  wise  and  good  men  in  that  country,  and  among  the  rest  some 
share  iu  the  regard  of  Lord  Howe." 

From  December,  1776,  to  July,  1785,  Franklin  represented  tho 
colonics  at  the  French  Court,  proviug  himself  a  diplomatist  of  the  first 
rank,  and  rendering  his  country,  in  her  extreme  need,  services  only 
second  to  those  of  George  Washington.  Within  a  few  months  of  hi* 
landing  lie  had  roused  in  France  an  cnthusiaj^ra  for  the  American  cause 
which  he  was  able  to  maintain  through  good  and  evil  fortunes  till  the 
negotiations  for  peace.  Deep  as  was  the  financial  distress  of  France, 
and  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  Controller  Ncckcr,  "  who  is  not  well 
disposed  towards  us,  and  is  supposed  to  embarrass  every  measure  to  re- 
lieve us  by  grants  of  money,"  he  obtained  from  that  Government  loana 
amounting  to  eighteen  millions,  besides  free  gifts  from  the  king  of  at 
least  twelve  millions,  "for  which  no  rctunxs  but  that  of  gratitude  and 
friendship  are  expected,"  and  a  guarantee  for  the  loan  from  Holland. 
He  retained  the  confidence  of  the  French  Court  and  ministers,  iu  spite 
of  the  importunity  with  which  he  had  constantly  to  press  for  military 
and  financial  help,  the  efforts  of  jealous  culleagues  to  undermine  him, 
and  of  English  friends  (with  whom  lie  still  corresponded)  to  wean  hira. 
from  the  French  alliance ;  and  it  was  in  great  measure  through  his 
influence  that  Spain  and  Holland  were  brought  into  the  alliance  against 
England. 

The  delicacy  of  the  position  was  such  as  to  make  it  scarcely  possible 
that  accusations  of  uufaitlifulucjjs  and  insincerity  should  not  be  more  or 
less  plausibly  made  again:*t  the  holder  of  it.  As  early  as  1778,  when 
the  colonies  were  hardest  pressed,  emissaries  from  England  were  sound- 
ing Franklin  as  to  a  separate  peace,  and  warning  him  to  take  care  of  his 
own  safety.  To  one  of  these.  Dr.  Hartley,  JI.P.,  he  replies  characte- 
ristically :  "  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  caution,  but  having  nearly  finished 


I 


a  long  life,  I  8et  bat  little  value  on  what  remains  of  it.  Like  a  draper 
when  one  chaffers  with  him  for  a  remnantj  T  am  ready  to  say,  '  As  it 
js  only  the  fag-end  I  will  not  differ  with  you  about  it :  take  it  for  what 
you  please/  Perhaps  the  best  itse  such  an  old  fellow  can  be  put  to  is 
to  make  a  martyr  of  him/'  And  again^  in  1770,  remonstrating  with  his 
old  friend  for  thiuking  hira  capable  of  entertaining  so  base  a  proposal 
as  the  abandonment  of  the  French  alliance  :  "  It  is  worse  than  advising 
ws  to  drop  the  substauce  for  the  shadow.  The  dog  after  he  found  his 
mistake  might  possibly  have  recovered  his  mutton,  but  we  could  never 
hope  to  be  trusted  again  by  France,  or,  indeed,  by  any  other  nation 
under  heaven,  .  .  .  We  know  the  worst  you  can  do  to  us,  if  you  have 
j^our  wish,  is  to  confiscate  our  estates  and  take  our  lives,  to  rob  and 
murder  ns ;  and  this,  you  have  seen,  we  arc  ready  to  hazard  rather  than 
come  again  under  yoiir  detested  government.  You  must  observe,  my 
dear  friend,  that  I  am  a  little  warm.  Excuse  me.  It  is  over ;  only 
let  me  counsel  you  not  to  think  of  being  sent  hither  on  so  fruitless  an 
errand/'  This  attitude  of  cutire  readiness  to  treat  as  an  independent 
nation,  but  not  to  treat  separately,  and  in  the  meantime  to  leave  no 
stone  unturned  for  strengthening  the  allies  and  confounding  the  enemy 
of  his  conntry,  was  held  by  Franklin  with  perfect  consistency  until, 
after  the  change  of  ministry  and  the  return  of  his  old  friend  Lord 
Shclburnc  to  the  Colonial  Office  in  1782,  negotiations  became  for  the 
first  time  serious,  and  a  peace  possible. 

It  is  in  regani  to  these  negotiations  that  the  prejudice  arose  against 
Franklin  in  England  which  has  lasted  till  this  day.  lie  is  supposed  to 
Lave  been  vindictive  and  determined  on  forcing  humiliating  terms  on 
England  ;  to  have  shown  unworthy  suspicion  himself  of  the  English 
negotiators ;  to  have  instilled  the  same  feeling  into  the  minds  of 
Messrs.  Jay  and  Adams,  his  colleagues ;  and,  lastly,  to  have  been  the 
cause  of  the  ultimate  refusal  of  all  compensation  to  the  loyalists,  after 
having  led  the  English  Government  to  expect  his  assistance  in  this 
matter,  upon  which  the  king  and  Lord  Shclburne  laid  the  greatest  stress. 

It  is  only  as  to  the  last  of  these  that  any  ground  exists  for  the  pre- 
judice in  question,  and  that  of  the  flimsiest  kind.  Early  in  the  preli- 
minary negotiations,  Mr.  Oswald,  Lord  Shclbume'a  agent,  asked 
Franklin  for  a  copy  of  a  paper  of  notes  prepared  by  the  doctor,  upon 
which  they  had  been  conferring  as  to  the  conditions  which  might 
possibly  be  entertained.  The  copy  was  given,  and  contained  the  sug- 
gestion that  so  much  of  the  Crown  lands  of  Canada  should  be  sold  as 
would  raise  "  a  sufficient  sum  to  pay  for  the  houses  burnt  by  the 
British  troops  and  their  Indians,  and  also  to  indemnify  the  royalists  for 
the  confiscation  of  their  estates."  The  copy  had  scarcely  left  his  hands 
when  Franklin  repented  this  suggestion,  and,  in  reporting  the  negotia- 
tion to  his  colleague,  John  Adams,  he  omitted  a  copy  of  these  *^  notes," 
merely  giving  their  substance,  as  "^  on  reflection  I  was  not  pleased  with 
my  having  hinted  a  reparation  to  Tories  for  their  forfeited  estates,  and 


U 


590 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


I  was  a  little  ashamed  of  my  weakness  iu  allowing  the  paper  to  go  out 
of  my  hands."  With  the  exception  of  this  suggestion,  which  occurred  in 
an  informal  conversation,  there  appears  to  be  no  ground  for  the  belief 
that  he  ever  did  or  said  anything  to  mislead  the  English  Government ; 
but  from  that  time  he  became  undoubtedly  the  sternest  of  the  Amei'ican 
commissioners  in  hia  refusal  to  consider  the  case  of  the  loyalists, 
amongst  whom  was  his  own  son. 

The  charge  of  unworthy  suspicion  of  the  English  negotiators  Htauds 
upon  even  more  slender  foundations.  So  long  as  the  negotiations  were 
in  Lord  Shelbume's  department,  and  conducted  by  Franklin's  old  fneud 
Oswald,  nothing  could  have  been  more  frank  tlian  his  conduct,  if  some- 
what linrd.  But  in  June,  1782,  Mr.  Grenville  appeared  at  Paris  as  a 
commissioner  sent  by  Fox,  then  Foreign  Secretary,  who  claimed  that 
the  whole  matter  was  in  hia  department,  and  who  was  in  open  antagonism 
with  Shclburne  in  the  Cabinet  on  this  and  other  questions.  Under 
these  eircumstauces  greater  reserve  on  Fraukliu's  part  was  only  natural. 
"  We  might  get  on  very  well  with  either  of  them,"  he  writes,  "  though 
1  should  prefer  Oswald.  .  .  .  Mr.  Grenville  is  clever,  and  seems  to  feel 
reason  as  readily  as  Mr.  Oswald,  though  uot  so  really  to  own  it.  Afr, 
Oswald  appears  quite  plain  and  sincere :  I  sometimes  doubt  Mr.  Gren- 
ville. Mr,  Oswald,  an  old  man,  seems  now  to  have  no  desire  but  that 
of  being  useful  in  doing  good  :  Mr.  Grenville,  a  young  man,  naturally 
desirous  of  acquirmg  reputation,  seems  to  aim  at  that  of  being  an  able 
negotiator.  ...  1  apprehend  difficulties  if  they  arc  both  employed," 
And  as  he  apprehended,  so  it  hap|>cucd,  and  the  negotiations  made  no 
progress  till  late  in  July,  when,  on  Fox's  retirement  from  the  Cabinet, 
Grenville  was  recalled,  leaving  behind  him  in  Paris  a  Parthian  shaft,  in 
the  shape  of  a  report  that  Lord  Shelburne  was  even  yet  opposed  to  the 
acknowledgment  of  independcuec.  Under  such  circumstances  the  first 
duty  of  a  commissioner  would  be  reserve;  and  it  was  not  overdone  by 
Franklin. 

Nor  can  he  be  fairly  accused  of  having  insisted  on  harder  terms 
than  his  colleagues  from  his  wish  to  humiliate  England.  When  one 
remembers  that  he  had  obtained  from  Oswald,  before  any  article  had 
been  agreed  to,  the  indiscreet  admission^  ^^  Our  enemies  have  the  ball  at 
their  feet,"  the  wonder  is  that  harder  terms  were  not  insisted  on  by  him. 
But,  in  fact,  Franklin  never  changed  his  ground,  while  Lis  colleagues  un- 
doubtedly did  so.  It  was  Jay,  not  Franklin,  who  stood  out  for  a  pre- 
limtnary  declaration  of  iudepcudcDCc  from  Euglaud — Jay  and  Adams, 
not  Franklin,  who  were  afterwards  prepared  to  waive  such  a  declaration, 
and  even  to  negotiate  separately,  when  they  found  that  the  French 
minister,  De  Vergenncs,  was  not  unwilling  that  England  should  delay 
the  recognition  of  independence,  and  that  Aranda  the  Spaniard  was 
tracing  maps  of  the  future  boundaries  of  the  United  States  which  his 
Government  was  prepared  to  propose.  It  is  true  that  the  other  com- 
missioners had  little  or  no  cummunieation  with  Versailles,  and  (as  Mr. 


■ 


I 


Fitzherbert  ioforined  Lord  Shelbume)  "not  only  distrust  but  are 
strongly  distrusted  by  the  Court,  while  Dr.  Franklin  keeps  up  (though 
perhaps  in  a  less  degree  than  formerly)  his  connection  with  the  French 
minister,  and  on  that  account  prevents  his  colleagues,  with  whom  he  has 
great  influencCj  from  persuading  the  American  Congress  to  abandon 
their  intimate  connection  with  the  Court  of  Versailles  and  place  a  due 
degree  of  confidence  in  Great  Britain."  All  which  means  only  that 
Franklin  and  Shelbume,  both  thoroughly  upright  and  able  men,  were 
fighting  a  keen  battle,  the  former  to  emphasize  and  perpetuate  the 
alliance  between  his  country  and  France,  the  latter  to  separate  France 
and  America,  and  to  cement  as  close  an  alliance  as  possible  between  the 
mother-country  and  the  new-born  nation,  now  that  reunion  had  become 
impossible.  That  their  friendship  of  a  quarter  of  a  ccntury^s  standing 
suffered,  is  true,  and  much  to  be  regretted  ;  but  there  is  nothing  more 
honourable  in  either  career  than  the  part  played  by  each  of  them  in 
the  negotiations  which  ended  in  the  treaty  of  January,  1783.  Look- 
ing back  over  the  hundred  years  which  have  passed  since  their 
great  work  was  achieved,  both  nations  may  be  proud  of  the  men  who 
accomplished  it  :  and  we  doubt  if  any  Englishman  who  will  take  the 
trouble  to  study  the  record  will  rise  from  it  with  any  feeling  but 
admiration  for  the  steady  sagacity  with  which  Franklin  stood  by  the 
allies  who — to  serve  their  own  purposes,  no  doubt,  but  still  staunchly 
and  loyally — had  stood  by  the  colonies  in  their  long  and  arduotis 
struggle  for  independence.  On  the  other  hand,  he  may  cordially 
sympathize  with  Shelburue's  estimate  of  "  the  dreadful  price"  which 
was  to  be  offered  to  America  for  peace,  and  with  his  efforts  to  use 
that  price  as  a  means  of  separating  America  from  France,  and  so  of 
obtaining  "  not  only  peace,  but  reconciliation,  upon  the  noblest  terms 
and  by  the  noblest  means." 

The  prejudice  against  Franklin  on  religions  grounds  is  more  intelli- 
gible, but  quite  as  unreasonable.  He  was  suspected  of  being  a  Free- 
thinker, and  was  professedly  a  philosoplier  and  man  of  science ;  he  was 
a  friend  of  Tom  Paine  and  other  dreadful  persons  ;  he  had  actually  pub- 
lished **  An  Abridgment  of  the  Church  Prayer- Book,"  dedicated  "  to  the 
serious  and  discerning,"  by  the  use  of  which  he  had  the  audacity  to 
suppose  that  religion  would  be  furthered,  unanimity  increased,  and  a 
more  frequent  attendance  on  the  worship  of  God  secured.  Any  one  of 
these  charges  was  sufRcient  to  ruin  a  man's  religious  reputation  in 
respectable  England  of  the  last  generation,  but  it  is  high  time  that 
amends  were  made  in  these  days.  Let  us  glance  at  the  real  facts.  As 
a  boy,  Franklin  had  the  disease  which  all  tlioughtful  boys  have  to  pass 
through,  and  puzzled  himself  with  speculations  as  to  the  attributes  of 
God  and  the  existence  of  e\Hl,  which  lauded  him  in  the  conclusion  that 
nothing  could  possibly  be  wrong  in  the  world,  and  that  vice  and  virtue 
were  empty  distinctions.  These  views  he  published  at  the  mature  age 
of  nineteen,  but  became  disgusted  with  them  almost   immediately,  and 


592 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


abandoned  metapLysics  for  other  more  satisfactory  studies.  Living  ia 
the  eighteenth  century,  when  happiness  was  held  to  be  "  our  being'» 
end  and  aim/'  be  scema  to  have  now  conformed  to  that  popular  belief; 
but  as  he  came  also  to  tbe  conclusion  tbat  "  the  felicity  of  life"  was  to  be 
attained  through  "  truth,  sincerity,  and  integrity  in  dealings  betweea 
man  and  man,"  and  acte<l  up  to  bis  conclusion,  no  great  objection  from 
a  moral  or  religious  standpoint  can  be  taken  to  this  stage  of  his  de>-e- 
lopment.  At  the  age  of  twenty-two  he  composed  a  little  liturgy  for 
his  own  use,  which  he  fell  back  on  when  the  sermons  of  the  minister  of 
the  only  Presbyterian  church  in  Philadelphia  had  driven  him  from 
attendance  at  chapel.  He  did  not,  however,  long  remain  xinattachcd, 
and  after  his  marriage  joined  the  Church  of  England,  in  which  he 
remained  till  the  end  of  his  life.  What  his  sentiments  were  in  middlo- 
life  may  be  gathered  from  his  advice  to  hia  daughter  on  the  eve  of  his 
third  departure  for  England :  "  Go  constantly  to  church,  whoever 
preaches.  The  act  of  devotion  in  the  Common  Prayer-Book  is  your 
principal  business  there,  and  if  properly  attended  to  will  do  more 
toward  amending  the  heart  than  sermons.  ...  I  do  not  mean  you 
should  despise  sermons,  even  of  the  preachers  you  dislike,  for  the  dis- 
course is  often  much  better  than  the  man,  as  sweet  and  clear  waters 
come  through  very  dirty  earth.  I  am  the  more  particular  on  this  head 
as  you  seemed  to  express  some  inclination  to  leave  our  Church,  which  I 
would  not  have  you  do."  As  an  old  man  of  eighty,  he  reminded  his 
colleagues  of  the  National  Convention  (in  moving  unsuccessfully  that 
there  should  l>c   daily  pruyers  before  business)  how  in  the  beginnings  of 

the  contest  with   Britain  "we  had  daily  prayers  in  this  room 

Do  we  imagine  we  no  longer  need  assistance  ?  I  have  lived  now  a 
long  time,  and  the  longer  1  live  the  more  convincing  proofs  I  see  of 
this  truth,  that  God  rules  in  the  affairs  of  men."  Later  yet,  in  answer  to 
President  Yatesj  of  Yale  College,  who  had  pressed  him  on  the  subject,  he 
writes,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four,  "Here  is  my  creed  :  I  believe  in  one  God, 
the  Creator  of  the  universe  ;  that  He  governs  it  by  His  providence  ; 
that  He  ought  to  be  worshipped ;  that  tbe  most  acceptable  service  we 
render  to  Him  is  doing  good  to  His  other  children  ;  that  the  soul  of 
man  is  immortal,  and  will  be  treated  with  justice  in  another  life 
respecting  its  conduct  in  this."  These  arc  his  "  fundamentals,"  beyond 
which  he  believes  that  Christ^s  system  of  morals  and  religion  is  tho 
best  the  world  is  ever  likely  to  see,  though  it  has  been  much  corrupted. 
As  to  the  question  of  Christ's  divinity,  he  will  not  dogmatize,  "  having 
never  studied  it,  and  thinking  it  needless  to  busy  myself  with  it  now, 
when  I  expect  soon  an  opportunity  of  knowing  the  truth  with  less 
trouble."  To  another  friend  he  speaks  with  cheerful  courage  of  death, 
which  ''  I  shall  submit  to  with  the  less  regret  as,  having  seen  daring  a 
long  life  a  good  deal  of  this  world,  I  feel  a  growing  curiosity  to  be 
acquainted  with  some  other ;  and  can  cheerfully,  with  filial  confidence, 
resign  my  spirit  to  the  conduct  of  tbat  great  and  good  Parent  of  man- 


BENJAMIN   FRANKLIN. 


598 


I 


kind  who  has  so  graciously  protected  and  prospered  me  from  my  birth 
to  the  preseut  hour,"  Oae  more  quotation  we  cauuot  resist ;  it  is  his 
farewell  letter  to  liis  old  friead  David  Hartley :  "  I  cannot  quit  the 
coasts  of  Europe  without  taking  leave  of  my  old  friend.  We  were  long 
fellow-labourers  in  the  beat  of  all  works,  the  work  of  peace.  I  leave 
you  still  in  the  field,  but,  having  tinished  my  dar's  task,  I  am  going 
home  to  bed.  Wish  me  a  good  uight's  rest,  as  I  do  you  a  pleasant 
evening.  Adieu,  and  believe  me  ever  yours  most  aflectionately, — 
B.  Franklin/* 

As  to  his  relations  with  Paine,  they  should  have  reassured  instead  of 
frightened  the  orthodox,  for  he  did  his  best  to  keep  the  author  of  "  The 
Rights  of  Man"  from  publishing  his  speculations.  Franklin  advises  him 
that  he  will  do  himself  mischief,  and  no  benefit  to  others.  "  He  who 
spits  agaiuit  the  wind,  spits  in  his  own  face."  Paine  is  probably  indebted 
to  religion  "  for  the  habits  of  «rtuc  on  which  you  so  justly  value  your- 
self. You  might  easily  display  your  excellent  talents  of  reasoning  upon 
a  less  hazardous  subject,  and  thereby  obtain  a  rank  amongst  our  most 
distinguished  authors.  For  among  us  it  is  not  necessary,  as  among  the 
Hottentots,  that  a  youth,  to  Ijc  raised  into  the  company  of  men,  should 
prove  his  manhood  by  beating  his  mother." 

It  is  perhaps  scarcely  necessary  to  add  a  word  as  to  his  revision  of  the 
Prayer-Bookj  now  that  the  opinion  of  the  Church — in  England,  at  any 
rate — has  come  round  to  him.  It  is  undoubtedly,  even  in  these  days 
of  innovation,  a  somewhat  startling  document,  and  shows  a  disregard  of 
authority  and  a  pursuit  of  brevity  and  clearness  wliich  mark  it  as  the 
production  of  the  native  of  a  young  and  busy  community,  with  no  fear 
of  critics  before  his  eyes  and  the  habit  of  making  straight  for  his  goal. 

In  our  endeavour  to  remove  the  prejudices  which  have  in  great  mea- 
sure hindered  the  English  public  from  appreciating  and  enjoying 
Franklin's  life  and  writings,  we  have  been  unable  to  do  more  than  indi- 
cate the  charm  which  runs  through  the  whole  of  these  volumes,  and 
which  should  win  thcra  a  very  wide  popularity.  We  allude  to  the 
genial,  sturdy,  humorous  common-sense  which,  even  more  than  his 
shrewdness,  was  the  secret  of  his  uniform  success  in  the  various  and 
difficult  tasks  of  his  long  career,  from  the  founding  of  the  first  public 
library  and  the  first  fire-brigade  in  America,  to  the  settlement  of  the 
terms  of  the  Peace  of  1782  with  the  ablest  European  diplomatists.  We 
may  conclude,  howc\er,  with  a  specimen  or  two  of  his  characteristic 
sayings,  in  the  hope  that  they  may  lead  our  readers  to  the  book.  When 
his  daughter  writes  to  him  for  lace  and  feathers,  amongst  other  articles, 
from  Paris,  he  replies  by  sending  everything  else,  but  declines  to  foster 
"  the  great  pride  with  which  she  would  wear  anything  he  sent,"  show- 
ing it  as  her  father's  taste,  with  "  If  you  wear  your  cambric  ruffles  as  I 
do^  and  take  care  not  to  mend  the  boles,  they  will  come  in  time  to  be 
lace ;  and  feathers,  my  dear  girl,  may  be  had  in  America  from  every 
cock's  tail."     "  You  arc  young,  and  have  the  world  before  you ;   ^toop. 


594 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


as  yoii  go  through  it,  and  you  will  miss  many  hard  thumps."  "  The 
eyes  of  otlier  people  arc  tlie  eyes  that  ruin  us.  If  all  but  myself  were 
blind,  I  should  want  neither  fine  clothes,  fine  houses,  nor  fine  furniture." 
'•  A  rogue  haujEjed  out  of  a  family  does  it  more  honour  than  ten  that  live 
iu  it,"  "  If  there  be  a  nation  that  exports  its  beef  and  linen  to  pay  for 
the  importation  of  claret  and  porter,  wliile  its  people  live  on  potatoes, 
wherein  does  it  diflfer  from  the  sot,  who  lets  his  family  starve  and  sells 
his  clothes  to  buy  drink  T*  His  opposition  to  the  creation  of  the  Order 
of  the  Cincinnati  in  tixe  States  at  the  close  of  the  war,  and  his  suggestion 
that  if  "  the  Cincinnati  go  on  with  their  project  the  badges  should  asccud 
to  their  fathers  and  mothers,  instead  of  descending  to  their  children,  in 
obedience  to  the  Fourth  Commandment,"  is  a  delightful  specimen  of  his 
method  of  preaching  simplicity  of  life  to  his  countrymen,  but  too  long 
for  quotation,  as  arc  the  well-known  papers  on  the  "  Whistle,"  and  his 
"Conversation  with  the  Gout,"  and  "  The  Wreckers." 

The  ideal  American,  as  he  has  been  painted  for  us  of  late,  is  a  man  who 
has  shaken  off  the  yoke  of  definite  creeds,  while  retaining  their  moral 
essence,  and  finds  the  highest  sanctions  needed  for  the  conduct  of  human 
life  in  experience  tempered  by  common  sense.  Franklin  is  generally 
supposed  to  have  reached  this  ideal  by  anticipation^  and  there  is  a  half- 
truth  in  the  supposition.  But  whoever  will  study  this  great  master  of 
praetiuiil  life  in  the  picture  horc  i)aiutcd  by  himself,  will  acknowledge 
that  it  is  only  superficially  true,  and  that  if  he  never  lifts  us  above  the 
eai'th  or  beyond  the  domain  of  experience  and  common-sense,  he  retained 
liimsclf  a  strong  hold  on  the  invisible  which  underlies  it,  and  would  have 
been  the  first  to  acknowledge  that  it  was  this  which  enabled  him  to  control 
the  accidents  of  birth,  education,  and  position,  and  to  earn  the  eternal 
gratitude  and  reverence  of  the  great  nation  over  whose  birth  he  watched 
so  wisely  and  whose  character  he  did  so  much  to  form. 


Thomas  Hughes. 


THE  LAST  JEWISH  REVOLT. 


I. 

AFTER  a  sojourn  of  two  years  in  Rome,  the  groat  Emperor  Hadrian 
grew  weary  of  repose  and  began  afresh  to  dream  of  travel  (a.d.  131). 

First  he  visited  Mauritania,  then  turned  his  steps  for  the  second  time 
in  the  direction  of  Greece  and  the  East.  Athens  held  him  fast  for 
nearly  a  year.  .  He  consecrated  the  buildings  he  had  ordered  on  the 
occasion  of  his  first  journey.  Greece  was  in  a  festive  condition,  and 
lived  on  him  and  his  doings.  Classical  memories  everywhere  revived. 
Hadrian  rendered  them  permanent  by  monuments  and  cippi ;  founded 
temples,  chairs,  libraries.  The  old  world  previous  to  dying  made  a 
pilgrimage  to  the  places  whence  it  sprung,  and  seemed  to  celebrate  its  last 
festivals.  The  Emperor  presided  as  pontiff  at  these  harmless  solemnities, 
which  hardly  continued  to  amuse  any  but  the  empty-headed  and  the  idle. 

The  august  traveller  next  pursued  his  course  through  the  East; 
visited  Armenia,  Asia  Minor,  Syria,  and  Judea.  If  we  look  only  to 
externals,  he  was  everywhere  received  as  a  tutelary  divinity.  Coins  struck 
expressly  for  him  welcomed  him  to  every  province.  We  still  possess 
those  of  Judea.  Alas  1  how  false  they  were !  Beneath  the  legend 
ADVENTUI  AUG.  IVDAEAE  appears  the  Emperor  in  a  noble  and 
dignified  attitude  graciously  receiving  Judea,  who  presents  her  sous  to 
him.  We  can  trace  in  the  Emperor  that  fine,  gentle,  philosophical 
expression  of  countenance  that  belongs  to  the  Antonines,  and  seems  the 
very  personification  of  calm  civilization  holding  fanaticism  in  check. 
Children  bearing  palms  precede  him.  In  the  midst  a  pagan  altar 
and  a  bull  symbolize  religious  reconciliation.  Judea,  a  patera  in  her 
hand,  seems  to  participate  in  the  sacrifice  about  to  be  offered. 

This  is  the  way  in  which  official  optimism  keeps  sovereigns  informed. 
At  bottom,  the  opposition  of  the  East  and  West  was  only  becoming  more 
sharply  defined  and  felt  y  and  soon  infallible  symptoms  no  longer  permitted 


596 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  Emperor  to  doubt  of  it.     Hia  benevolent  eclecticism  occasionallj 
received  Btrange  sliocka. 

From  Syria  Hadrian  passed  iuto  Egypt  by  way  of  Petra.  His 
dissatisfaction  and  annoyance  with  the  Orientals  increased  at  every 
step.  Egypt  had  hitherto  been  but  little  agitated.  The  revival  of  the 
old  faiths  going  on  on  all  sides  now  led,  however,  to  some  ferment  there. 
It  was  very  long  since  an  Apis  had  been  seen  j  people  began  to  forget  those 
old  chimcrasj  when  all  at  once  a  clamour  arose :  the  miraculous  animal 
had  been  found  ;  every  one  claimed  it,  contended  for  its  possession. 
Christianity  itself  was  less  rigid  in  its  attitude  in  Egypt  than  elsewhere, 
and  many  pagan  superstitious  were  mixed  up  with  it.  Hadrian 
diverted  himself  with  these  absurdities.  A  pleasant  letter,  written  by 
him  to  his  brother-in-law  Servian,  has  been  handed  down  to  us: — 

*'  This  Egj'pt  that  thou  didst  use  to  boast  of  to  me,  my  dear  Servian,  I  find  frivo- 
lous, suspended  to  a  thread,  fluttering  at  every  breatli  of  the  prevailing  fashion. 
There  the  adorers  of  Serapis  are  at  the  same  time  Christians,  and  those  who  call 
themBclvea  bishops  of  Christ  are  devotees  of  Serapis.  Tliere  is  uo  presidtjnt  of  a 
Jcwisli  synagogue,  no  Samaritan,  no  Christian  priest,  who  does  not  add  to  hia 
fiinctiona  those  of  the  astrologer,  diviner,  and  charlatan.  The  patriarch  himself 
when  he  visits  Egypt  is  forced  by  some  to  adore  Serapis,  by  others  to  adore 
Christ,  !i>€ditious,  vain,  impertinent  generation  !  Opulent,  rich,  productive  cit\% 
where  no  one  lives  in  idieness !  Some  blow  glass,  others  make  paper,  others  aro 
dyers.  AU  profess  and  practise  a  business  of  some  sort.  The  goutv  find  some- 
thing to  do,  the  purblind  have  employment,  the  very  blind  are  not  without 
occupation,  the  maimed  even  do  not  remain  inactive.  Their  only  god  is  money, 
'ihatisthe  divinity  that  Christians,  Jews,  people  of  every  sort,  adore.  Ono 
regrets  to  find  so  little  morality  in  a  town  assuredly  worthy,  both  as  to  size  and 
productiveness,  to  be  the  capital  of  Egypt.  I  have  granted  it  everything;  have 
restored  its  ancient  privileges,  have  added  new,  have  forced  them  to  thank  me  while 
I  was  present ;  but  no  sooner  had  I  left  than  tliey  began  to  gossip  about  niy  son 
Verus,  pndto  say  on  the  subject  of  Antinous  what  thou  I  think  knowest.  For  all 
revenge  I  wish  that  they  may  perpetually  eat  their  chickens  fecundated  in  away 
that  is  best  unmentionecL  1  liave  had  forwarded  to  thee  some  allassontes  glasses 
(of  changing  colour),  ofTered  to  uie  by  the  priest  of  the  temple  ;  they  arc  specially 
dedicated  to  thee  and  to  my  sister.  Use  them  at  dinner  on  festive  orcasions' 
but  ace,  however,  that  our  Africanus  do  not  let  himself  make  too  much  uao 
of  them." 

From  Egypt  Hadrian  returned  to  Syria.  There  he  found  disatTection. 
People  were  growing  bolder.  Antioch  received  him  ill;  he  regained 
Athens,  where  he  was  adored.  There  he  heard  of  grave  events.  The  Jews 
were  arming  for  the  third  time.  The  access  of  furious  madness  of  117 
seemed  about  to  recommence.  Israel  felt  a  deeper  repugnance  than  ever  to 
lloman  government.  Every  malefactor  who  revolted  against  authority 
was  a  saint.  Every  brigand  became  a  patriot.  To  arrest  a  thief  ap- 
peared a  treachery.  "  Vinegar,  son  of  Wine,"  said  a  Rabbi  to  a  Jew 
whose  function  it  was  to  hunt  out  malefactors,  "  wherefore  dost  thou 
denounce  the  people  of  God  ?"  Eliaa  also  meets  this  worthy  gendarme, 
and  counsels  him  to  throw  up  his  calling  as  soon  as  possible. 

It  would  »cem  thai  Roman  authority  on  its  side  erred  in  more  ways 
than  one.     The  administration  of  Hadrian  daily  became   less  tolerant 


THE  LAST  JEWISH  REVOLT. 


607 


towards  those  Oriental  sects  which  the  Emperor  turned  into  ridicule. 
Many  priests  wore  of  opiaiou  that  eireumeisiou  as  well  as  castration  was 
a  punishable  malpractice.  The  cases  in  which  such  as  had  had  recourse 
to  cpispastic  measures  were  forced  by  fanatics  to  be  recircuuiciscd, 
especially  afforded  grounds  for  prosecution.  Towlmt  point  did  Inipcrinl 
justice  advance  in  this  wrong  direction,  contravening  liberty  of  con- 
science? We  are  ignorant  as  to  this.  Hadrian  was  certainly  not  a  man 
prone  to  excesses.  In  Jewish  tradition  all  the  odium  of  these  measures 
weighs  on  Tineius  Rufus,  then  the  Pro-pnetor  legate  of  the  province  of 
Judea,  whose  name  was  changed  to  that  of  Tyrannus  Rufus. 

These  vexatious  interferences,  which  it  was  easy  to  evade  in  the  only 
cAses  of  much  importance  to  pious  families — those,  namely,  connected 
with  the  circumcision  of  children — were  not  the  principal  causes  of  the 
war  that  ensued.  What  really  placed  arms  in  the  hands  of  the 
Israelites  was  the  hon*or  occasioned  them  by  the  transfurmation  of 
Jerusalem ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  progress  of  the  building  of  -Elia 
Capitolina.  The  contemplation  of  a  pagan  tower  rising  on  the  ruins  of 
the  Holy  City,  of  the  site  of  the  Temple  profaned,  of  pagan  sacrifices,  of 
theatres  built  with  the  very  stones  of  the  venerated  edilice,  of  strangers 
dwelling  in  the  city  that  God  had.  given  to  the  Jews, — all  this  seemed 
to  them  the  very  eliaia!t  of  sacrilege  and  defiance. 

Far  from  desiring  to  return  to  tliis  new  and  profaned  Jerusalem,  they 
shunned  it  as  an  abomination.  The  South  of  Judea,  on  the  contrary, 
was  more  than  ever  Jewish  land.  There  a  number  of  large  villages  had 
grown  up,  all  capable  of  defending  themselves,  thanks  to  the  arrange* 
ment  of  the  houses,  which  were  crowded  in  a  compact  mass  on  the 
summit  of  the  bills.  Bether  hail  become  for  the  Israelites  of  these 
districts  a  second  Holy  City,  an  equivalent  for  Sion.  The  fanatical 
population  procunnl  themselves  arms  by  a  singular  stratagem.  They 
were  bound  to  furnisli  the  Romans  with  a  certain  quantity  of  warlike 
weapons ;  these  they  made  badly,  so  as  to  insure  their  being  rejected, 
and  the  condemned  arms  remained  at  their  own  disposal.  In  default 
of  visible  fortifications  they  constructed  immense  subterraneous  works, 
and  the  defences  of  Bether  were  completed  by  advanced  works  in  small 
stones.  The  Jews  left  in  Egypt  and  Libya  hastened  thither  to  a^ell 
the  mass  of  the  rebels. 

We  must  do  this  justice  to  the  enlightened  portion  of  the  nation,  that 
they  took  no  part  in  a  movement  involving  prodigious  ignorance  of  the 
world  and  complete  blindness.  The  Pharisees  in  general  maintained  an 
attitude  of  suspicion  and  reserve.  Many  of  their  doctors  fled  into 
Galilee,  others  into  Greece,  to  avoid  the  impending  storm.  Many  made 
no  secret  of  their  fidelity  to  the  Empire,  and  even  attributed  to  it 
legitimate  claims.  Rabbi  Joshua  ben  Hananiah  seems  to  have  acted  in 
a  conciliatory  manner  up  to  extreme  old  age,  and  it  was  after  his  time, 
say  the  Talmudists,  that  good  counsel  and  reflection  were  lost.  We 
can  observe  in  the  circumstances  under  consideration  what  might  have 

VOL.  X5XV.  B  R 


598 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIF. 


been  invariably  seen  for  more  than  a  hundred  years — the  people  easily 
duped  by  the  faintest  breath  of  Messianic  hope,  rushing  forward  in  spite 
of  their  doctors,  who  for  their  part  had  no  thought  save  for  their  casuistry ; 
and  if  indeed  they  died,  did  not  die  fighting,  but  guarding  themselves 
fipom  any  failure  in  resjvect  to  the  law. 

The  Christians  resisted  tem|>tation  even  better.  Although  revolt  might, 
indeed,  have  gratified  the  enmity  of  some  of  them  against  the  Roman 
Empire,  an  instinctive  mistrust  of  whatever  proceeded  from  fanatical 
Israel  arrested  them  on  the  dangerous  incline.  The  Christian  coursa 
had  already  been  decided  on.  The  form  their  resistance  to  the  Empire- 
took  was  not  rebellion,  but  martyrdom.  They  were  pretty  numerous 
in  Judca,  and,  unlike  the  orthodox  Jews,  even  permitted  themselves 
to  inhabit  j'Elia,  Naturally  the  Jews  sought  to  influence  these  their 
quasi-countrymen,  but  the  disciples  of  Jeans  were  already  very  far 
removed  from  all  terrestrial  policy.  Their  Maater  had  for  ever  buried 
the  hopes  of  a  material  patriotism  and  Messianism.  The  reign  of 
Hadrian  was  anything  but  unfavourable  to  the  Christiaa  churches. 
They  did  not  stir.  Nay,  tliere  were  even  found  among  them  voices  pre- 
dicting to  the  Jews  the  consequences  of  their  stubbornness,  and  the 
extermination  that  awaited  them. 


n. 


I 


All  Jewish  revolts  had  connected  themselves  more  or  less  with 
Messianic  hopes,  but  no  one  had  positively  claimed  to  be  the  Messiah. 
This  was  what  now  happened.  Doubtless,  under  the  influence  of  Christian 
ideas  and  in  imitation  of  Jesus,  a  personage  gave  himself  out  as  the  long- 
expected  celestial  envoy,  and  succeeded  in  seducing  the  people.  We 
can  only  discern  as  through  a  cloud  the  history  of  this  siugidar  episode. 
The  Jews,  who  alone  could  have  told  us  what  was  the  real  intimate  idea 
and  secret  motive  of  the  agitators,  have  only  afforded  us  on  this 
subject  a  scries  of  confused  images  resembling  the  recollections  of  a 
man  who  has  come  through  a  fit  of  delirium.  They  had  no  longer  any 
Josephus  among  them.  Barcochebas,  as  the  Christians  call  him, 
remains  au  insoluble  problem,  upon  which  imagination  itself  cannot 
work  with  any  chance  of  hitting  upon  the  truth. 

The  name  of  his  father  or  of  the  place  in  which  he  was  born  was 
Coziba,  and  he  was  never  called  anything  but  the  "  Son  of  Coziba" 
(Bar  or  Ben  Coziba).  His  true  proper  name  is  uuknowtL  Perhaps 
his  followers  were  led  intentionally  to  conceal  his  name  and  that  of  his 
family  in  the  interest  of  the  Messianic  part  he  had  to  play.  He  was, 
it  appears,  a  nephew  of  Rabbi  Elcazar  of  Modin,  an  agadist  of  gnsat 
reputation,  who  had  li\ed  much  with  II.  Gamaliel  II.  and  his  com- 
panions. Perhaps  the  memory  of  the  Maccabees,  which  was  a  still 
living  one  at  Modin  and  consecrated  by  a  superb  monument,  excited  a 
patriotic  heroism  in  Bnr-Coziba.  His  courage  seems  to  have  been 
beyond  doubt,  but  the  paucity  of  our  historical  data  does  uot  allow  us 


THE  LAST  JEHISH  REVOLT 


599 


to  say  more.  Did  his  character  indeed  possess  seriousness,  religioos 
enthusiasm,  fanaticism  ?  Was  he  a  late  but  sincere  Messianiat  ?  Or 
ought  we  rather  to  see  in  this  equivocal  personage  a  more  charlatan,  a  per- 
verted imitator  of  Jesus,  a  gross  impostor,  nay,  a  scoundrel,  as  Eusebius 
and  St  Jerome  declare  him  to  have  been  ?  We  arc  quite  ignorant  on 
this  head.  The  one  circumstance  which  might  weigh  in  his  favour  is 
that  he  obtained  the  adherence  of  the  chief  Jewish  doctor  of  the  time, 
one  who,  from  his  mental  habitudes,  ought  to  have  proved  the  moat 
opposed  to  the  chimcran  of  an  impostor  :  we  mean  the  Rabbi  Aquiba. 

Rabbi  Aquiba  had  been  for  long  years  the  highest  authority  among 
the  Jews,  They  likened  him  to  Esdi'as,  and  even  to  Moses.  In 
general,  the  doctors  were  little  partial  to  agitators.  Occupied  with 
their  own  discussions,  they  made  the  whole  destiny  of  Israel  to  consist 
in  the  observance  of  the  law  ;  their  Messianic  dreams  were  limited  to 
the  realization  of  the  Mosaic  ideal  by  scrupulous  devotees.  How,  then, 
was  Aquiba  able  to  involve  the  people,  whose  confidence  he  possessed,  in 
a  positive  act  of  madness  ?  Perhaps  his  popular  origin  and  democratic 
tendency  to  contradict  the  Sadduccan  tradition  contributed  to  mislead 
him.  Perhaps,  too,  the  absurdity  of  Lis  exegesis  deprived  him  of  all 
practical  rectitude.  One  can  never  with  impunity  trifle  with  good  sense 
or  strain  the  springs  of  the  mind  at  the  risk  of  breaking  them.  lu 
any  case  the  fact  appears  certain.  Difficult  though  it  be  to  conceive, 
Aquiba  did  recognize  the  Messiahship  of  Bar-Coziba.  In  sonic  sort  he  be- 
stowed on  him  investiture  in  presence  of  the  people  by  solemnly  commit- 
ting to  him  the  rod  of  command,  and  holding  the  stirrup  for  him  when  he 
mounted  his  war  horse  to  inaugurate  his  reign  as  Messiah.  The  name 
of  Bar-Coziba  was  unfortunate  and  lent  itself  to  unlucky  allusions. 
Aqiiiba,  regarding,  as  he  did,  the  one  who  bore  it  as  the  predestined 
Saviour  of  Israel,  is  said  to  have  applied  to  his  Messiah  Numbers  xxiv. 
17,  "A  star"  (Koknb)  "shall  come  out  of  Jacob," — a  verse  to  which 
was  ascribed  a  Messianic  meaning.  Thus,  the  name  of  Bar-Coziba  was 
(hanged  into  that  of  Bar-Kokaba,  "  The  sou  of  the  star." 

Bar-Coziba,  being  thus  recognized  by  the  man  who,  without  ofRcial 
title  indeed,  but  in  virtue  of  a  kind  of  general  acceptation,  passed  as 
the  religious  guide  of  the  Israelitish  people,  became  the  head  of  the 
revolt,  and  war  was  decided  on.  At  first  the  Romans  took  no  notice  of 
these  foolish  agitations.  Bctlier^  in  an  out-of-the-way  situation,  and  far 
from  the  great  roads,  attracted  little  of  their  attention;  but  when  the 
movement  had  spread  over  all  Judca,  and  the  Jews  everywhere  began  to 
form  threatening  groups,  they  were  obliged  to  open  their  eyes.  Attacks, 
ambuscades  against  Roman  authority  multiplied  and  became  murderous. 
Aud  moreover,  the  movement — like  those  of  68  and  117 — had  a  ten- 
dency to  spread  all  over  the  East.  The  Arab  brigands,  on  the  borders 
of  the  Jordan  and  the  Dead  Sea,  given  back  to  anarchy  by  the  destruction 
of  the  Nabalian  kingdom  of  Petra,  discerned  a  prospect  of  pillaging 
^  Syria    and    Egypt.     The   commotion    was   general.     Those    who    had 

L^ '1 ^ 


I 


60O  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

practised  cpiapasni  in  order  to  escape  from  the  capitation,  now  subraittai 
anew  to  a  painful  operation  in  order  not  to  be  cxchided  from  the  bopes 
of  Israel.  Some  so  entirely  believed  that  the  Messianic  time  had 
indeed  come,  that  they  considered  themselves  authorized  to  pronounce 
the  name  of  Jehovah  as  it  is  written. 

During  Hadrian^s  stay  in  E^ypt  and  Syria  the  conspirators  dissembled, 
but  no  sooner  had  the  Emperor  left  for  Alliens  than  the  revolt  broke 
out.  It  appears  that  a  rumour  was  circulated  of  the  Emperor  being  ill 
and  stricken  with  leproj^y;  MW^^j  with  its  Roman  colony,  was  strongly 
guarded  j  the  Legio  Dccima  Fj-efensls  continued  to  garrison  it ;  and  no 
doxibt  the  road  between  /Elia  and  Qcsarea,  a  town  which  was  the  centre 
of  Roman  governments,  remained  equally  free.  Hence  ^-Elia  was  never 
hemmed  in  by  tlie  insurrection.  It  was  easy  to  maintaiu  it^  com- 
I  munications,  thanks  to  a  belt  of  colonies  established  to  the  west  and 
north  of  the  city,  and  cspeciaUy  thanks  to  the  situations  of  Nicopolis 
and  Lydda,  of  which  the  Kouiaus  were  secure. 

It  is  therefore  probable  that  the  rebels  iu  their  march  towards  the 
nnitli  did  not  go  beyond  Bcthcr,  and  never  reached  Jerusalem.  But 
all  the  villages  of  Judea  which  were  not  garrisoned  proclaimed  the 
independence  of  Israel.  Bcther,  more  particularly,  became  a  kind  of 
small  capital — a  Jerusalem  iu  expectation — on  a  level  with  the  greater, 
vhicli  it  was  hoped  Avould  soon  be  conquered.  The  situation  of  Bether 
was  one  of  the  strongest  possible ;  it  was  the  head  of  a  line  commanding 
all  the  valleys  of  the  insurgent  district,  and  rendered  almost  impregnable 
by  enormous  works,  the  remains  of  which  m'e  still  to  be  seen. 

The  first  care  of  the  insurgents  was  the  monetary  question.  One  of 
the  daily  tortures  faithful  Jews  liad  to  undergo  was  the  handling  of 
money  bearing  the  effigy  of  the  Emperor  and  idolatrous  images.  For 
religions  oflcrings,  more  particularly,  coins  of  the  Asmonean  princes, 
which  still  circulated  in  (he  country,  were  assiduously  sought  out,  or  else 
tliosc  stnuk  ii;  tlic  time  of  the  first  revolt,  Avhcn  the  Asmonean  coinage 
Lad  been  imitated.  The  new  insurrection  Avas  too  poor  and  too  ill 
provided  with  tools  to  issue  new  types.  Its  members  were  con- 
tented to  withdraw  from  circulation  siich  pieces  as  bore  the  images  of 
Flavins  and  Trajan,  and  to  strike  tbem  anew  with  orthodox  types  that 
the  people  were  fnmiliar  with,  and  which  had  in  their  eyes  a  national 
signiticfince.  It  is  probublc  that  sotne  ancient  coius  were  discovered  and 
facilitated  the  opcralion.  The  beautifid  coins  of  Simon  Maccabeus,  the 
first  Jewish  prince  who  ever  coined  money,  were  especially  chosen  for 
this  ]nirpo8e.  Their  era,  which  was  that  of  "  the  liberty  of  Israel,"  or 
"  of  Jerusalem,"  pointed  them  out  as  expressly  made  for  existing 
circumstances.  Still  more  appropriate  were  those  that  displayed  the 
temple  surmounted  by  a  star,  or  those  prcsentiug  the  simple  image  of 
I  the  two  trumpets,  destined,  according  to  the  law,  to  convoke  Israel  to 
I  the  holy  war.  The  superimposed  impression  was  coarsely  done,  and  in 
t        H.  great  laimber  of   coins  the  primitive    Itoman  type  is    still   viriible. 


I 


I 

I 

I 


THE  LAST  JEJVISH  REVOLT, 


601 


This  coiuage  is  called  "  the  money  of  Coziba/'  or  "  the  money  of  the 
revolt."    Aa  it  was  partly  fictitious,  it  lost,  later  ou,  much  of  ita  value. 

The  war  was  long  and  terrible.  It  lasted  over  two  years,  and  the 
best  generals  seem  to  huvc  been  worn  out  by  it.  Tineius  Rufus,  fiudiug 
himself  outnumbered,  asked  for  help.  His  colleague,  Vublieius 
Marcellus,  legate  of  Syria,  joined  him  in  all  haste,  but  botli  were 
baffled.  In  order  to  ciiish  the  iusurrcctiou,  it  was  necessary  to 
■summon  from  his  command  in  Britain  the  first  captain  of  his  dny. 
Septus  Julius  Scvcnis.  On  him  was  bestowed  the  title  of  Legate  of  the 
province  of  Judca  in  the  place  of  Tineius  Rufus.  Quintus  LoUius 
Urbicus  seconded  hiin  as  the  legate  of  Hadrian. 

The  rebels  never  showed  themselves  in  the  open  plain,  but  they  were 
masters  of  the  heights,  where  they  raised  fortifications^  hollowing  out  be- 
tween those  crenelated  villages  of  theirs  covered  ways  and  subterranean 
commnuieatious  lighted  from  above  by  opeuiugs  admitting  the  air.  These 
secret  tunnels  served  them  as  places  of  refuge  when  they  were  driven  back, 
and  enabled  them  to  go  and  defend  another  position.  Poor  race ! 
Chased  from  its  own  soil,  it  would  fain  sink  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  rather  than  quit  it,  or  suffer  it  to  be  profaned.  Tliis  mole-like  warfare 
was  an  extremely  bloody  one.  Jewish  fanaticism  equalled  in  intensity 
ita  outbreak  in  70.  Julius  Severus  never  ventured  to  come  to  an 
engagement  with  his  foes;  seeing  their  numbers  and  their  despair,  he 
feared  to  expose  the  heavy  Roman  masses  to  the  dangers  of  a  war  of 
barricades  and  fortified  mounds.  He  attacked  the  rebels  separately, 
and  thanks  to  the  number  of  his  soldiers  and  the  skill  of  his  lieutenants, 
he  almost  always  succeeded  in  Lemming  them  in  iu  their  trenches  and 
stamng  them. 

Bar-Coziba,  at  bay  before  the  impossible,  became  daily  more  violent. 
His  sway  was  regal,  he  ravaged  the  whole  country  round.  As  to  his  part 
of  Messiah,  it  would  appear  that  in  order  to  sustain  it  he  did  not  shrink 
from  gross  imposture.  The  refusal  of  the  Christians  to  admit  his 
Messiahsbip  and  make  common  cause  with  him  was  a  source  of  much 
irritation.  He  ended  by  persecuting  them  most  cruelly.  The  admitted 
Messiahsbip  of  Jesus  was  tantamount  to  the  dental  of  his,  and  formed  a 
grave  obstacle  to  his  plans.  Those  who  refused  to  deny  and  blaspheme 
the  name  of  Jesus  were  slain,  scourged,  tortured*  Jude,  who  appears  to 
have  been  at  the  time  bishop  of  Jerusalem,  may  have  figured  among  his 
victims.  The  political  iudiflcrencc  of  the  Christians,  and  their  loyal 
fidelity  to  the  empire,  must,  to  the  fanatic  Jews,  have  borne  the  semblance 
of  a  want  of  patriotism.  It  appears,  indeed,  that  reasonable  Jews 
themselves  frankly  expressed  their  discontent.  One  day  when  Aquiba 
exclaimed,  on  catching  sight  of  Bar-Coziba, "  Behold  the  Messiah,^'  Rabbi 
Johanan  ben  Torta  replied  to  him,  "  Aquiba,  the  grass  shall  have  grown 
between  thy  jaws  before  the  Son  of  DaWd  shall  come." 

Rome,  as  always,  ended  by  overcoming.  Each  centre  of  resistance 
fell  in  turn.     Fifty  of  the  improvised  fortresses  that  the  rebels  had  built 


002 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


for  themselves^  and  nine  hundred  and  fifty,  five  ^allagesj  were  taken  and 
destroyed.  Beth  Rimmon,  on  the  frontiers  of  Idumea,  retained  the 
memory  of  a  fearful  slaughter  of  fu^tives.  The  siege  of  Bether  was  par- 
ticularly long  and  difficult;  the  last  extremities  of  hunger  and  thirst 
were  there  endured ;  Bar-Coziba  perished  therCj  but  nothing  is  known 
of  the  circumstances  of  his  death. 

The  massacre  was  horrible.  One  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  Jew* 
were  killed  in  the  several  encounters.  As  to  the  number  that  perished 
by  hunger,  firCj  and  disease,  it  is  inealeulablc.  Women  and  ehildrcn  werr 
slaughtered  in  cold  blood.  Judea  literally  became  a  desert  3  wolves  and 
hyenas  entered  its  dwellings  howling.  Many  of  the  towns  of  the  Darom 
were  ruined  for  ever,  and  the  desolate  aspect  that  the  country  preifcnts 
at  this  day  is  the  li\ing  witness  of  a  catastrophe  that  took  place  seven- 
teen centuries  and  a  half  ago. 

The  Itoman  army  also  had  been  severely  tried.  Hadrian,  writing  to 
the  Senate  from  Athens,  does  not  employ  the  customary  Imperial  pre- 
amble :  Si  vos  liberigve  vestri  valetisj  bene  eat ;  ego  quideni  et  exercitus 
ra/emus.  Sevcrus  was  recompensed  as  he  descried  for  this  well-con- 
ducted  campaign.  The  Senate^  at  the  suggestion  of  Hadrian,  decreed 
him  triumphal  ornaments,  and  he  was  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Legate  of 
Syria.  The  army  of  Jiidea  was  laden  with  rewards.  The  Emperor 
received  the  imperial  salutation  for  the  second  time. 

Those  of  the  conquered  who  were  not  killed  were  sold  at  the  same 
price  as  horses  at  the  annual  Terebinth  fair  near  Hebron.  This  was 
the  spot  where  Abraham  was  supposed  to  have  been  encamped  when  he 
received  the  visit  of  the  three  divine  personages.  The  field  where  this 
fair  was  hcklj  marked  out  carefully  by  a  rectangular  boundary,  still  exists. 
Thenceforth  a  fatal  memory  was  associated  in  the  mind  of  the  Jews  with 
the  spot,  hitherto  so  sacred  in  their  eyes.  They  no  longer  spoke  of  the 
Terebinth  fair  but  with  horror.  Such  as  did  not  find  purcliasers  there 
were  taken  to  Gaza,  and  exposed  for  sale  at  another  fair  that  Hadrian 
had  instituted.  As  for  the  unfortunates  that  could  not  be  got  rid  of  in 
Palestine,  they  were  transported  into  Egypt,  uuml^ers  were  shipwrecked, 
others  died  of  hunger,  others  again  were  slaughtered  by  the  Egyptians, 
who  had  not  forgotten  the  atrocities  committed  by  the  Jews  in  those 
very  regions  eighteen  years  before.  Two  brothers  who  still  continued 
their  resistance  at  Kafar  Kharouba  were,  with  their  partisans,  anni^ 
hilatcd. 

Nevertheless,  the  caverns  of  Judea  still  contained  a  crowd  of  unfortu- 
nates who  did  not  dare  to  quit  them  for  fear  of  meeting  their  death.  Their 
life  was  a  horrible  one  j  every  unusual  sound  seemed  to  them  to  denote  the 
approach  of  the  enemy,  then  in  their  panic  they  rushed  off,  crushing 
each  other  to  death.  They  had  nothing  to  satisfy  their  hunger,  except 
the  bodies  of  their  kindred,  and  of  these  they  ate.  It  would  appear 
that  in  certain  cases  Roman  authority,  in  order  to  render  the  sense  of 
chastisement  still  more  vivid,  forbade  the  burj'Lng  of  the  dead.     Judeu 


4 


THE  LAST  JEIVISH  REVOLT. 


608 


> 


was  like  a  vast  cLaruel-house.     The  wretches   who  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing the  desert  esteemed  themaelves  the  favoured  of  God. 

All,  Bssuredlyj  had  Bot  deserved  this  severe  chastisement.  Ou  this 
occasion,  as  too  often  happens,  the  wise  had  to  pay  for  the  fools.  A 
nation  is  a  solidarity ;  the  individual  who  has  iu  uo  way  contributed  to 
the  faults  of  Ids  countrymen,  who  has  even  groaned  over  them,  is  no  less 
pnniifhed  than  the  rest.  The  first  duty  of  a  community  is  to  hold  its 
absurd  elements  in  check.  Now  the  notion  of  retreating  out  of  that 
great  Mediterranean  confederation  created  by  Rome  was  absurdity 
itself.  In  proportion  as  the  gentle  and  pacific  Jew,  who  only  asked 
Liberty  to  meditate  on  the  law,  is  worthy  of  the  sympathies  of  the 
historian,  our  principles  oblige  us  to  be  severe  upon  a  Bar-Coziba 
plunging  his  country  into  an  abyss  of  woe,  or  upon  an  Aquiba  lending 
the  support  of  his  authority  to  popular  folly,  llcspect  is,  indeed,  due 
to  whosoever  sheds  his  blood  in  a  cause  he  deems  righteous,  but  this  does 
not  entitle  him  to  approbation.  The  Israclitish  fanatics  were  not 
fighting  for  liberty,  but  for  the  theocracy,  for  liberty  to  ve.^  pagans  and 
exterminate  whatever  they  judged  to  be  evil.  ITie  ideal  they  sought  after 
would  have  been  an  unbeai'ablc  condition.  Compaiable  for  intolerance 
to  the  melancholy  Asmoneau  epoch,  it  would  have  been  the  reign  of 
zealots,  radicals  of  the  worst  sort.  It  would  have  been  the  massacre  of 
the  infidels — in  short,  the  terror.  All  the  Liberals  of  the  second 
century  viewed  it  in  this  light.  A  man  of  high  iutcUigence,  belonging, 
like  the  Jews,  to  a  noble  and  conquered  race,  the  antiquary  Pausanias 
expresses  himself  thus,  '^In  my  time  reigned  that  Iladrtan,  who  showed 
so  much  respect  to  all  gods,  and  had  the  welfare  of  his  subjects  so  much 
ftt  heart.  He  never  undertook  any  war  without  being  forced  to  it.  As 
to  the  Hebrews,  neighbours  of  Syria,  it  was  because  they  rebelled  that 
he  conquered  them." 

III. 

The  immediate  consequence  of  this  insane  rebellion  was  a  real  perse- 
cution of  Judaism.  A  tribute  still  heavier  than  the  Fiscus  Judaicus 
imposed  by  A'^espasian  now  weighed  ou  all  Jews.  The  exercise  of  the 
most  cescntial  portions  of  the  Mosaic  religion,  such  as  circumcision,  the 
observance  of  the  Sabbath  and  of  Feast  days,  even  simple  customs 
apparently  insignificant,  were  all  forbidden  under  pain  of  death.  The 
one  fact  of  teaching  the  law  led  to  prosecution ;  Jewish  renegades, 
turning  spies,  tracked  the  faithful  who  gathered  together  in  the 
most  secret  places  they  could  find  to  study  the  sacred  code;  they  were 
reduced  to  reading  it  on  their  house-tops.  Doctors  were  pursued  with 
inveterate  animosity ;  rabbinical  ordinations  subjected  the  confirmed 
and  the  confirming  alike  to  pain  of  death.  There  were  uumeroua 
martyrs  iu  Judea  and  in  Galilee  j  to  be  a  Jew  was  looked  on  as  a 
crime  throughout  Syria.  ITiis  seems  to  have  been  the  time  of  the 
execution    of    the    two   brothers    Julianus    and   Pappus,   who   remain 


604 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


celebrated  iu  Jewish  tradition  for  having  preferred  death  to  an  apparenr 
violation  of  the  law  publicly  committed.     Tliey  were  offered  water  in  a 
coloured  glass  that  it  might  be  supposed  they  had  drunk  pagan  nine; 
they  refused  to  drink. 

It  is  about  this  time  that  ure  find  the  schools  of  the  Casiiists  most 
occupied  with  distinguiahiug  between  the  precepts  that  may  be  iufriui?(?d 
to  escape  death  and  those  for  which  martyrdom  has  to  be  suffered.  Tlic 
doctors  generally  admit  that  iu  times  of  persecutiou  all  observauces  may 
be  given  up,  and  three  prohibitions  only  observed — idolatry,  foruieatioa 
(that  is,  illegal  marriagca),  aud  murder.  Prominence  was  given  to  the 
not  unreasonable  principle :  "  It  is  suicide  to  resist  the  orders  of  the 
Emperor."  It  was  admitted  that  religious  services  might  be  kept 
secret;  and  instead  of  a  noisy  celebration  of  infant  circumcisioa,  it 
was  held  enough  to  announce  it  by  the  sound  of  hand-mills.  Further, 
it  was  pointed  out  that,  according  to  Leviticus  xviii.  5,  the  observance 
of  the  law  produces  life,  and  that  consequently  he  who  dies  for  the  law 
is  responsible  for  hia  death  ;  hence,  when  placed  between  two  precepts, 
observance  of  the  law,  conservation  of  one's  own  life,  one  is  bound  to 
obey  the  second  as  the  most  imperative,  at  least  when  death  is  certain, 
just  as  in  a  grave  illness  one  may  take  medicine  into  which  impure 
substances  enter,  Another  point  which  was  equally  agreed  on  was  that 
death  must  be  met  rather  than  consent  to  the  public  violation  of  thda 
least  commandment.  f 

Finally,  all  agreed  in  placing  the  duty  of  teaching  above  every  other 
obligatiou.  It  was  at  Lydda  especially  that  these  questions  were 
agitated,  and  this  town  had,  indeed,  celebrated  martyrs  who  were  called 
"the  slain  of  Lydda." 

What  rendered  the  position  of  these  martyrs  singularly  painful  wi 
that  great  doubt  v^  to  Providence  which  harasses  the  mind  of  the  Jei 
the  moment  he  is  no  longer  prosperous  and  triumphant.    The  Cliristian, 
entirely  depending    on   a   future  life,  is  never  more    firm    iu  his  faith 
than  when  he  is  persecuted.      The  Jewish  martyr    has  not  the  same 
certainty.      "  Where  is  now   your  God  T*  is  the  ironical  question  that 
he  always  believes  himself   to  hear  from    the    mouth  of  the  heathen. 
Rabbi  Ismael  ben  Eiischa  never  ceases  his  conflict  with  the  thoughts 
that  rose  in  his  soul  and  in  the  sonls  of  his  companions   against  the 
Divine  justice.     "  Hast   thou   still  confidence  in  thy  God  V*   was  the 
question  put  to  him.     "  Though  He  should  slay  me,   I  should  hope  in 
Him,"    answered    Ismael,    using    a  wrongly    interpreted  expression 
Job's, 

Aquiba,  who  had  been  long  a  prisoner,  never  ceased,  spite  of  hia^ 
captivity,  to  maintain  his  relations  with  his  disciples.  "  Prepare 
yourselves  for  death,  dreadful  days  are  at  hand,"  were  words  always  in 
his  mouth.  Some  private  teaching  of  his  of  which  the  Romans  received 
information  led  to  his  being  put  to  death.  lie  was  tlayed,  we  are 
told,  with  red-hot   iron   hooks.      While  he  was  being  toni  to  pieces  he 


C(t 


m 


;t;a  uo  ■ 


THE  LAST  JEWISH  REVOLT 


flW 


went  on  crying,  "  Jehovah  is  our  God  ;  Jehovah  is  the  only  (ehad) 
God/*  His  voice  dwelt  lingeringly  on  this  word  only  till  he  expired. 
Then  a  celestial  roice  waa  heard :  "  Happy  Aquiba,  who  died  pro- 
nouncing the  word  '  only  !*  " 

Israel  did  not  arrive  at  the  idea  of  immortality  till  late  and  through 
successive  experiences.  Martyrdom,  by  a  kind  of  necessity,  brought  aljout 
that  belief.  How  could  it  be  pretended  that  those  scrupulous 
observers  of  the  law  who  died  for  it  had  their  recompense  here  below  V 
The  answer  that  sufficed  for  such  cases  as  those  of  Job  and  Tobias  no 
longer  sufficed  here.  How  speak  of  a  long  and  happy  life  for  heroes 
expiring  in  atrocious  torments?  Either  their  God  was  unjust,  or  the 
saints  thus  tortured  were  great  criminals.  We  see,  indeed,  luediajval 
martyrs  sustaining  this  last  thesis  witJi  a  kind  of  dc8i>air,  and  declaring 
when  led  to  the  stake  that  they  had  deserved  it,  having  committed  all 
kinds  of  crimes.  But  such  a  paradox  was  rare.  The  reign  of  a 
thousand  years  reserved  for  the  saints  waa  the  first  solution  essayed  for 
this  formidable  problem.  Later,  it  was  a  received  doctrine  that  asceusious 
to  heaven  in  spirit,  apocalypses,  contemplation  of  the  sublime  secrets 
of  the  Cabala^  were  the  martyrs'  rewards.  But  in  proportion  as  tlie 
apocalyptic  spirit  die<l  away,  the  (ikvaj  that  is  to  say,  the  iuviueible  trust 
of  man  in  the  justice  of  God,  assumed  forms  similar  to  the  permanent 
Paradise  of  Christians.  Still,  never  did  this  faith  become  an  absolute 
dogma  with  the  Israelites ;  there  was  no  trace  of  it  in  the  Thora^  and 
how  could  it  be  supposed  that  God  had  purposely  deprived  the  ancient 
saints  of  so  fundamental  a  dogma? 

Henceforth  all  hope  of  seeing  the  temple  rebuilt  was  lost.  The  very 
consolation  of  dwelling  near  the  holy  places  had  to  be  renounced.  The 
kind  of  reverence  that  the  Jewish  people  had  for  the  soil  that  thoy  believed 
had  been  given  them  of  God,  was  the  evil  that  Roman  authority  was 
determined  to  cure  at  any  price^  so  as  to  cut  for  the  future  at  the  root 
of  all  Judaic  wars.  An  edict  drove  the  Jews  from  Jerusalem  and  its 
environs  ou  pain  of  death.  Tlie  very  sight  of  Jerusalem  was  denied  to 
them,  Ou  only  one  day  of  the  year,  the  anniversary  of  the  sacking  of 
the  city,  they  obtained  an  authorization  to  come  and  weep  over  the 
ruins  of  the  temple,  and  to  anoint  with  oil  a  certain  pierced  stone,  which 
they  regarded  as  marking  the  site  of  the  Holy  of  Holies.  And  even  this 
permission  was  dearly  bought.  "  On  that  day/'  says  St.  Jerome,  "  you 
might  sec  a  mournful  crowd  of  people — miserable  without  availing  to 
win  pity — ^assemblc,  approach.  Decrepit  women,  old  men  in  rags, 
all  weep — and  behold,  while  the  tears  are  running  down  their  cheeks, 
while  they  raise  their  livid  arms,  and  tear  their  dishevelled  hair,  a 
soldier  draws  near  and  bids  them  pay  for  the  right  of  weeping  a  little 
longer."  The  rest  of  Judca  was  also  forbidden  to  the  Israelites,  but  less 
rigorously,  for  certain  localities,  as,  for  instance,  Lydda,  always  retained 
their  Jewish  peculiarities. 

The  Samaritans,  who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  war,  hardly  suffered 


60G  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  ^H 

less  in  cousequeuce  of  it  than  the  Jews.  Gerizim,  like  Moriah,  had  its 
temple  of  Jupiter,  the  prohibitiou  of  circumcision  hampered  them  in  the 
free  exercise  of  their  cultus,  and  the  memory  of  Bar-Coziba  appears  to 
have  been  laden  with  maledictions  among  them. 

The  building  of  /Elia  Capitolina  went  on  more  actively  than  ever. 
All  efforts  were  made  to  efface  the  memory  of  a  past  fraught  with 
menace.  The  old  name  of  Jerusalem  was  almost  forgotten,  iElia 
replaced  it  throughout  the  East,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  latev^ 
Jerusalem  was  a  term  of  ancient  geography  that  no  one  knew  any  more. 
The  town  hecame  filled  with  profane  cdiliccsj  forums,  baths,  temples, 
theatres,  tetranynipliea,  &c.  Statues  were  ahuudaut  everywhere;  and 
the  subtle  mind  of  the  Jews  found  in  them  irouical  intentions  that 
Hadrian's  engineers  assuredly  did  not  entertain.  Thus,  over  the 
gate  which  led  to  Bethlthem,  there  was  a  marble  sculpture  in  which 
it  was  thought  swine  might  be  distinguished,  and  this  was  considered  a 
cutting  sarcasm  against  the  couquered  people.  But  they  forgot  that  the 
hoar  was  a  Homau  emblem,  aud  figured  on  the  standards  of  the  legions. 
The  outer  boundary  of  the  town  was  slightly  changed  on  the  south  side^ 
and  became  nearly  what  it  is  at  the  present  day.  Mount  Sion  remained  ' 
outside  the  walls,  and  was  covered  with  market-gardens.  Those  parta 
of  the  town  which  were  not  rebuilt,  afforded  masses  of  displaced  masonry, 
which  served  as  quarries  for  new  huildiugs.  The  substructure  oi"  the 
temple  of  Herod  (the  present  Hardni)  excited  amazement  by  its  solidity  p 
the  Chi'istians  early  pretended  that  those  colossal  foundations  would  only 
be  shaken  asunder  at  the  coming  of  Antichrist, 

On  the  site  of  the  temple,  as  wc  have  aheady  said^  rose  the  temple  I 
of  Jupiter  Capitoliuc.  Bacchus,  Scrapis,  Astarte,  the  Dioscuri  were 
associated  therein  with  the  chief  divinity.  The  statues  of  the  Emperor 
were,  as  usual,  numerous ;  one  at  least  of  these  was  an  equestrian  one. 
The  statues  of  Jupiter  aud  Venus  were  likewise  raised  near  Golgotha. 
When,  at  a  later  epoch,  the  sacred  topography  of  the  Christiana  became 
fixed,  this  proximity  occasioned  great  scandal,  and  was  looked  upon  as 
an  intentional  outrage.  It  was  even  supposed  that  the  Emperor  had 
meant  to  profane  Bethlehem  by  installing  there  the  worship  of  Adonis. 

Antoninus,  Marcus  Aurcliua,  and  Vcrus  occupied  themselves  with  the 
embellishment  of  the  city  aud  the  amelioration  of  the  roads  leading  to 
it.  These  public  works  irritated  true  Jews.  *'  After  all,  the  works  of 
this  nation  are  admirable,"  said  Rabbi  Judah-bar-llai  one  day  to  two  of 
his  friends  who  were  sitting  with  him.  "'  They  establish  forums,  construct 
bridges,  build  thermic."  "  A  great  merit  truly  !"  replied  Simcon-ben- 
Jochai ;  "  it  is  because  of  their  utility  that  they  do  all  this  ;  forums  for 
brothels,  batlis  for  amusement,  bridges  for  the  sake  of  toll."  The  hatred 
of  Greek  life,  always  lively  in  the  Jew,  was  redoubled  at  the  sight  of  a 
material  renewal  which  appeared  its  dazzliug  triumph. 

Thus  ended  the  last  attempt  of  the  Jewish  people  to  continue  a  nation 
possessing  a  city  and  a  definite  territory.     It  is  with  good  reason   that 


THE  LAST  JEWISH  REVOLT.  607 

tbe  war  of  Bar-Coziba  is  called  in  the  Talmud^  "  The  war  of  extermi- 
nation." Some  serious  commotions^  and  as  it  were  revivals  of 
quenched  fires,  occurred,  indeed,  in  the  first  years  of  Antoninus ;  but  they 
were  easily  repressed.  Prom  henceforth  Israel  has  no  name  nor  country, 
and  begins  the  wandering  life  which  is,  during  centuries,  to  mark  it  out 
for  the  world's  wonder.  In  the  Eoman  Empire  the  civil  position  of 
the  Jew  was  lost  irreparably.  Had  Palestine  so  willed,  it  might  have 
become  a  province  like  Syria ;  its  fate  would  neither  have  been  better 
nor  worse  than  that  of  the  other  provinces.  In  the  first  century  many 
Jews  had  attained  to  posts  of  extraordinary  importance.  This  will  no 
more  be  seen ;  it  seems  as  though  the  Jews  had  vanished  under  the  earth. 
They  are  only  heard  of  as  beggars  who  have  taken  refuge  within  the  juris- 
diction of  Rome,  seated  at  the  gates  of  Axicia, assailing  chariots  and  cling- 
ing to  their  wheels  in  order  to  obtain  some  trifie  firom  the  compassion  of 
travellers.  They  are  a  flock  of  rayahit,  having,  indeed,  their  statutes  and 
personal  magistrate,  but  outside  of  the  common  law,  forming  no  portion  of 
the  State,  occupying  a  position  somewhat  similar  to  that  of  the  Tzigani  iu 
Europe,  There  was  no  longer  a  single  rich,  notable,  respected  Jew  to  be 
found  dealing  on  equal  terms  with  men  of  the  world.  The  great  Jewish 
fortunes  only  reappeared  in  the  sixth  century, — ospeoially  among  the 
Visigoths  of.  Spain, — in.  consequence  of  the  £dse.  ideas  spread  by 
Christianity  tibont  usury  and  commerce.  Tbe  Jew  then  became,  and 
continued  £at  m  great  part  of  the  Middle  Ages,  a  -necessary  .personagej 
without  whom  the  world  could  not  accomplish  the  most  simple  tEsngaotion. 
It  was  reserved  for  modem  Liberalism  to  put  an  end  to  this  exceptional 
position.  The  decree  of  the  Constitaent  Aaaemhly  of  1791  re-made  the 
Jews  members  of  a  nation  and  citizens. 

EaNEST  Ebnan. 


COMPULSORY   PROVIDENCE    AS   A   CURE 
FOR  PAUPERISM. 


IT  may  be  within  the  kuowledge  of  Bome  of  my  readers  that 
an  essay  bearing  ray  signature  was  published  in  November  last, 
under  the  title  of  "  National  lusurauce/'  in  wliicL.  I  ventured  to  indi- 
cate what  appeared  (and  still  appears)  to  me  a  possible  means  of  vastly 
diminiahiug  onr  poor  rates,  and  the  pauperism  which  they  promote 
as  wcU  as  relieve,  by  making  every  unit  of  our  population,  at  a  reason- 
able costj  and  by  a  reasonable  method^  personally  independent  of  parish 
relief,  in  timea  of  sickness  and  old  age.  Staftiug  from  the  con- 
sideration that  young  single  men's  wages  arc  not  very  much  lower 
than  those  of  married  men,  who  are  able  generally  to  support 
not  only  themselves  hut  wives  and  children,  I  ventured  to  assert, 
what  few  persons  acrjuaiuted  with  the  condition  of  young  wage-earners 
have  been  fouud  to  deny,  that  tlie  average  earners,  even  of  the  lowest 
wage,  might,  somewhere  between  the  ages  of  seventeen  and  twenty-one, 
make,  if  thty  cJtose,  a  lifelong  provision  against  want  in  sickness  and  old 
age. 

I  pointed  out  some  present  difficulties  in  the  way  of  thrifty  youths 
securing  such  a  provisioHj  and  sketched  out  the  plan  of  a  National  Uni- 
versal Benefit  Club,  which  might  obviate  the  present  insecurity  of  pro- 
vision by  giving  an  absolute  national  security,  and  might  meet  i>os8ible 
objections  against  its  cost  by  making  that  cost  vastly  less  than  the  ordi- 
nary amount  necessary,  in  an  ordinary  club,  to  secure  such  benefits  as  I 
proposed. 

But  there  was  something  more  to  point  out  than  how  thrifty  young 
men,  desirous  of  securing  themselves  from  potential  or  actual  pauperism, 
might  easily  cfiTeet  their  purpose.  I  had  also  to  consider  the  case  of  the 
thriftless,  who,  relying  on  what  they  falsely  imagine    their  inalienable 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE, 


609 


right  to  rale  relief  whenever  they  choose  to  throw  themselves,  as  desti- 
tute, upon  their  parish,  will  take  no  steps  of  their  own  acconl  to  obviate 
destitution. 

With  regard  to  these  two  classes  of  young  men,  I  laid  down  the 
following  positions : — If  the  labouring  classes  can  make  their  own  pro- 
vision, and  will  do  aOj  they  should  be  shown  Ijow.  If  they  can,  and 
will  not,  they  should  be  compelled. 

This  latter  positiouj  as  I  expected,  has  met  with  vigorous  objection 
from  some  most  excellent  men ;  to  no  one  of  whom  I  would  yield  (as  I 
feci  no  one  of  them  would  yield  to  me)  in  heartfelt  sympathy  for  the 
noble  efforts  many  of  our  working-men  make  for  independence,  and  in 
heartfelt  pity  for  the  wretchedness  that  wilful  paupers  bring  upon  them- 
selves and  the  nation. 

One  of  the  most  deliberate  expressions  of  such  objection  was  made 
in  a  lecture  delivered  on  the  2nd  of  May  ia  Exeter  Hall,  by  Sir  G,  Young, 
who  is  reported  by  the  daily  papers  to  have  said,  "he  would  not  deal 
personally  with  Mr.  Blacklcy^s  tremendous  position  :  '  If  the  labouring 
classes  can  make  their  own  provision^  and  will  not,  they  should  be  com- 
pelled.'" 

It  struck  me,  in  reading  the  report,  that  the  epithet  he  used  was  a 
singularly  happy  ore  ;  but,  of  course,  in  a  different  point  of  view  from 
the  lecturer's ;  for  feeling,  as  I  do,  that  no  rational  being  can  prove  it  to 
be  as  just  to  compel  a  thrifty  man  to  provide  for  his  thriftless  neighbour 
as  to  compel  the  thriftless  neighbour,  if  able,  to  provide  for  himself,  I 
feel  my  position  to  be  indeed  tremendous,  not  in  its  novelty,  but  in  its 
self-evidence;  not  in  its  audacity,  but  in  its  logic;  not  because  it  is 
tyrannical,  but  simply  because  it  is  true. 

I,  therefore,  without  the  slightest  irony,  thank  the  author  of  the 
epithet  *'  tremendous"  for  the  suggestion,  as  well  as  for  the  care  with 
which,  in  the  interests  of  what  he  belie^'ed  to  be  the  truth,  he  applied 
his  great  abilities  and  long  experience  to  the  criticism  of  a  proposal, 
with  which  (I  trust  only  till  he  have  read  this  paper}  he  has  found 
himself  unable  fully  to  concur. 

I  hope  to  have,  if  it  can  be  obtained,  an  opportunity  of  answering 
his  objections  aerialim  before  an  audience  similar,  if  not  identical  with 
that  to  which  he  addressed  his  lecture ;  and,  therefore,  postpone  till  that 
oceasion  a  reply  to  some  parts  of  his  paper.  But  several  of  the  objec- 
tions adduced  by  hira  were  made  by  others  before  him,  and  are  treated 
iu  the  present  essay. 

Of  course  I  cordially  welcome  even  adverse  criticism  of  my  proposals ; 
it  is  the  proper  and  patriotic  contribution  which  every  well-informed  and 
thoughtful  man  should  bring  to  the  solution  of  a  problem  of  so  great 
ditficulty  and  gravity  as  tlie  diminution  of  our  enormous  pauperism  j  but 
as  the  things  said  on  either  side  of  the  subject  are  of  far  more  import- 
ance than  the  persons  who  say  them,  and  as  some  of  the  objections  I 
shall  meet  have  been  offered  by  more  than  one  speaker  or  writer,  I  shall 


GIO 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV, 


abstain,  in  the  following  pages^  from  the  unnecessary  introduction  and 
reiteration  of  names  of  gentlemen  who  have  paid  me  the  complinaent  of 
examining  my  proposals."'' 

It  will  dispose  very  briefly  of  several  of  the  objections  made  if  I  first 
point  out  two  facts  which  some  opponents  of  my  plan  have  entirely  over- 
looked :  firstly,  tliat  I  never  proposed  the  application  of  compulsion  to 
any  single  individual  whose  age  should  be  or  have  been  above  twenly- 
onc  years  at  the  date  of  introduction   of  the   measure ;   and,  secondly, 
that  the  plan   I   proposed  is   advocated  entirely  on  the  ground  of  it« 
being,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  a  national  accomplishment  of  a 
national  duty,  and  is  not  to  be  regarded,  and  consequently  by  no  means 
to  be  justly  described,  as  a  matter  of  Govei^iment  interference  or  policy,  of 
State  provision  or  aid.      Readers  who  did  me  the  honour  of  attentively 
perusing  ray  former  article   will   remember  that  (except  iu   quotation 
from  documents  which  I  had  no  power  to  alter)  I  carefully  avoided  the 
terras  State   and   Government^    and  I  venture    to  refer  specially    to  this 
point  at  the  outset  of  my  present  writing,  to  guard  against  embarrass- 
ment of  the  discussion  by  confusion  of  terms. 

For,  if  my  plan  is  to  make  every  member  of  our  nation  indepeadetit, 
I  might  surely  be  ashamed  to  construct  it  ou  a  basis  of  beggary.  It 
was  for  this  reason  that  1  emphasized  my  statement  that  *'  It  ri^ed  not 
coat  one  shillinf/  of  public  money"  since  its  doing  so  would  stultify  at 
once  the  logie  of  the  proposal,  and  diminish  the  good  it  was  intended 
to  effect. 

In  a  word  ray  plan  amounts  to  this  :  every  unit  of  the  nation  to  make 
his  own  provision  J  with  h  is  own  money,  against  destitution  in  sickness  and 
old  age  ;  to  make  it  in  such  a  way  that  every  man,  for  the  same  sum, 
secures  the  same  provision  for  himself  as  every  other  man ;  and  that  the 
whole  function  of  the  State  in  the  matter  should  be  to  act,  by  consent  of 
the  nation,  as  collector  of  each  man's  own  insurance  fund,  and  as  banker 
to  that  fund  when  once  collected. 

Here  it  will,  I  hope,  be  seen  once  for  all,  that  in  advocating  this 
change  I  repudiate  every  notioa   of  seeking  State  charity  or  causing 

*  Wiiiit  of  space  ciMii^ca  rae  to  relegate  to  a  foot-note  a  brief  notice  of  e-irlier  literarj' 
labourers  in  the  tidfi  of  national  insurance,  with  whoge  WTttingB  I  was  generally  nnfamiliar 
ftt  tJio  time  my  former  csSAy  was  writteu.  The  Rev.  J.  Y.  Strattuu,  the  lion.  Edward  i:itaa* 
iioiK),  M.P.,  Air.  L:import,  and  Mr.  James  S.  RuhlIcH  (author  of  an  able  Paper  read  before  the 
Social  Science  Omgrcsa  at  Chcltt'nliam  last  year),  are  well  known  as  strong  ailvocates  far  the 
establishment  of  a  i'ost  Ollieo  Friendly  Society,  of  a  voluntary,  not  a  compulsory  sort.  The 
taat-DEuned  gGntlcmaD,  on  reading  my  article,  immediately  did  mu  the  ^'reat  kindness  of 
sending  me  all  bis  notes,  calculations,  and  memoranda  mmleon  the  subject. dnringa  number 
of  years  past,  a  kindness  which  I  most  gratefully  ackDowledge.  Mr,  Charles  Ashby,  a 
working  plumber,  curlosQcl  me  (in  a  commnnicAtion  tonchinj^  aevenil  points  of  the  subject, 
and  irritten  in  a  style  that  would  do  credit  to  the  pages  of  oar  best  Kevieivs)  the  printed 
nnuouncement  of  a  set  of  resolutions  propounded  iiy  him  before  the  Loudon  MecJianics' 
Institute  in  in*W.  contnininfr  many  of  my  chief  »uggeartioDS :  nud  the  ifoHt  tanf  Exprtt* 
brought  for  the  lirst  time  to  my  knowledge  the  fact  that  the  Kev.  C  D.  Francis,  vicar  of 
Tyaot,  read  a  Paper  before  the  Banbury  Chamber  of  Agriculture,  in  January,  1873,  which, 
though  not  ipcluding  two  leading  features  of  my  plan  (payment  in  adrantx  and  in  tarljf 
manhoitd)  would,  I  doubt  not.  hod  he  been  aa  fortunate  as  myself  in  obtaining  public 
hearing  for  his  viowg,  have  antedated  the  discutifiifm  land,  vla  I  dare  to  hope,  the  aauptiou) 
(if  this  great  and  pressing  mcasnre  hy  nearly  nix  years  of  valuable  time. 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE, 


on 


state  expense ;  and  make  the  plan  as  truly  iudepcndent  as  I  desire  its 
adoption  to  make  the  people  who  adopt  it. 

This,  then,  will  meet,  and  I  hope  finally  dispose  of,  an  objection 
which  some  persons  have  advanced  against  my  plan — namely,  that 
"  Government  should  not  incnr  so  much  additional  responsibility."  For 
this  is  an  objectii:)!!  made  from  not  understaudiug  my  proposal. 

Government  is  to  undertake  no  money  responsibi/ity  whatever  in  the 
matter.  If  we  take  (for  discussion's  sake)  j£10,  a  convenient  round 
number,  as  the  sum  likely  to  be  needed  for  each  individaars  mimmum 
providence  (on  the  supposition  that  everybody  is  compelled  to  insure  it) 
and  it  be  found  on  valuation  in  five,  ten,  twenty,  thirty  years  (or  at 
any  time,  for,  if  requisite,  the  fund  might  be  annually  valued),  that  that 
sum  were  too  little  to  secure  the  required  bcnefita,  the  law  might 
immediately  redress  the  balance  by  requiring,  instead  of  ^10,  say  .610  5*., 
£10  \5s.j  or  whatever  might  be  declared  uecdful  from  all  future 
insurers.  This  is  the  course  adopted  in  all  really  good  friendly  societies 
at  the  present  time,  and  could  be  done  without  any  possibility  of  ignorant 
objection  in  the  case  of  a  compulsory  society,  such  as  the  national  one 
would  be.  In  fact,  the  executive  could  run  no  risk  if  it  had  always 
the  simplest  possible  means  at  hand  of  remedying  deficiencies.  AH  this 
was  suggested  in  my  first  article  by  the  statement  that  the  national 
club  should  be  a  mutual  club.  As,  however,  some  eminent  men  have 
overlooked  this  special  point  in  objecting  to  the  possible  risk 
"  Government"  might  be  undertaking,  I  have  been  obliged  to  recur  to 
it,  and  hope  that  my  doing  so  may  prevent  the  discussion  of  this  sub- 
ject being  ever  complicated  again  by  importing  into  its  consideration 
the  question — which  need  never  arise — of  possible  Government  loss 
consequent  on  its  undertaking  the  management  (not  the  supply)  of  the 
national  insurance  fund. 

I  now  proceed  to  examine,  firstly,  objections  of  principle  which  have 
been  made  against  my  plan,  and  may  be  permitted  to  take  the  easiest 
first 

And  the  fact  of  its  being  the  easiest  is  an  omen  which  fills  me  with 
confidence  as  to  the  ultimate  success  of  the  system  I  propose.  For  I 
had  expected  compulsion  to  prove  the  most  difficult  point  of  all ;  that 
we  should  have  had  some  reason  assijE^ned  against  it,  remote,  abstruse, 
subtle,  hard  to  comprehend,  perhaps,  but  finally  convincing  and  irresis- 
tible; that  the  gigantic  prejudice  existing  iu  this  matter  might,  after  all, 
unmask  some  uncxjicctcd  battery  of  logic,  and,  with  one  volley  of 
unanswerable  argument,  blow  the  mad  notion  of  compulsion  into  indis- 
tinguishable atoms.  Nothing  of  the  kind — the  battery  proves  to  be 
mounted  with  dummies,  the  fort  is  empty,  the  garrison  is  gone! 
Literally  tliere  is  no  objection;  uot  one  of  my  multitudinous  critics  have 
touched  the  point  at  all ! 

King  George  IV.,  on  his  Irish  visit  iti  1821,  held  an  installation 
of  knights  in  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral.     The  organist,  in  the  enthusiasm 


612 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


of  the  occasion,  was  tempted  to  use  the  grand  swdl  of  the  orgaUj  the 
tremendous  effect  of  which  it  had  been  believed  for  a  hundred  years 
woiihl  be  to  levf»I  the  whole  biiihling  with  the  ground.  As  he  played, 
and  tlic  grand  procession  filed  post  beneath  his  seat,  and  bis  heart 
swelled  with  the  splendour  of  the  scsene,  "  Well,  be  it  so,"  he  thought — 

"Si  fractua  illnbatur  orbis 
Impavidum  fcrient  niinic  !** 

He  pulled  the  fatal  stop — the  grand  vibration,  so  long  unheard,  beat  full 
through  the  old  building,  and  shook  the  hearts  of  all  the  hearers — but 
no  harm  wna  done— and  every  organist  since  then  has  used  the  swell 
without  a  thought  of  fear. 

If,  na  may  he  supposed,  a  curious  sense  of  disappointment  mixed 
with  tliat  organist's  exultation,  his  feelings  correspond  exactly  with  my 
own  at  fiudiug,  when  the  necessity  of  compulsion  in  national  providence 
has  been  sounded  forth  at  last  in  very  reasonable  trcpidatiou,  that  it 
has  awakened  no  injuriuus  echo,  has  met  no  ware  of  contradiction,  and 
has  done  no  particle  of  harm. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  if  no  ohjcction  be  made,  what  am  I  here 
answering?  So  1  must  distinguish.  No  sensible  objection  has  been 
expressed  against  which  rational  argument  can  be  directed.  But  the 
sentimental  one  is  still  whispered  here  and  there,,  which  says,"!  do  not 
like  conijmlsion." 

Let  this  be  met  once  for  all  by  a  reminder  from  the  British  classics, 
or  even  from  Martial,*  that  some  one  also  said,  with  exactly  rgual 
reason^  "  I  do  not  like  Dr.  Fell;"  or  by  calling  attention  to  the  fact 
that,  sentimentally,  many  children  object  to  medicine,  while,  sensibly, 
tlieir  parents,  who  know  better,  insist  upon  its  administration. 

I  snpi>ose  nobody  ever  ventured  on  the  public  suggestion  of  somc- 
tliing  new  who  did  not,  as  a  result,  meet  with  specimens  of  what,  if 
collected,  might  form  a  vast  and  interesting  volume,  the  "Curiosities  of 
Criticism." 

Oa  this  account,  though  my  space  is  very  limited,  I  must  note 
the  following  two  opinions,  put  forward  as  conclusive  against  National 
Insurance;  I  presume  in  pursuance  of  the  adage,  "Give  a  dog  a  bad 
name  and  hang  him  !" 

One  writer  says,  '*  This  would  be  a  poll-tax  under  another  name  !" 
and  another,  "  TJiis  would  be  a  poor-rate  under  another  name !"  Now 
1  admit  the  one  statement  and  shall  disprove  the  otiicr  ;  hut  to  eon- 
derau  a  thing  in  itself  good,  because  a  name  not  necessarily  bad  may  or 
may  not  be  fitly  applied  to  it,  is  hardly  reasonable.  For  my  own  part, 
if  we  get  the  thitty  required,  indivitlual  iudcpcudcuce  secured  to  each 
man  by  his  own  money,  I  shall  care  very  little  whether  the  method 
M'hich  secures  it  be  called  a  poor-rate,  or  a  jxill-tax,  or  a  parallelo- 
piped. 

*  Non  amo  to,  SAbifli.  nee  foaun  dteert  qua*t 
Hoc  tantum  [loavnm  dic«rt*,  uoa  tuno  te. 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE. 


613 


It  isj  howeverj  importaut  to  show  that  National  lusurauce  is  verj 
Jiffei*ent  from  a  poor-rate.  For  a  professed  writer  on  poor-law 
subjects  has  lately  confouuded  the  two  thlugs,  and  made  it  necessary 
(as  error  is  contagious)  that  I  should  distinguish  them.  He  says:  "A 
poor-rate  is  a  compulsory  provision  by  the  whole  community  for  the  relief 
of  its  destitute  mcmberSj  and  such  would  be  the  National  Chib  Fund." 
Both  definition  and  inference  are  wrong.  A  poor-rate  is  a  compulsory 
provision  by  the  provident  or  provided  pari  of  the  community  for 
the  improvident  or  unprovided  part.     A  widely  different  thing. 

And  such  would  not  be  the  National  Club ;  for  it  would  be  a  com- 
pulsory provision  by  every  unit  of  the  community  for  his  own  needsj  not  for 
other  i>cople's  destitution. 

Again:  "The  National  Fund  would  be  created  mainly  by  compulsory 
contributions  from  persons  having  no  right  to  share  it." 

An  entire  mistake.  Every  member  would  have  a  right  to  share  it, 
when  sickness  prevented  his  earning  wages. 

Once  more  :  "  Only  the  destitute  might  receive  it,"  Another  entire 
mistake.  The  person  entitled  to  receive  it  need  not  be  destitute  at  all. 
He  might  own  his  house,  or  half-a-dozen,  have  money  in  the  bank  and 
money  in  his  pocket,  and  still,  if  a  wage-earner,  be  able  to  claim  his  own 
sick  pay.  Aud,  moreover,  he  coatd  not  be  destitute  in  my  objector's 
sense,  namely,  as  qualified  for  parish  relief. 

But  the  objector  continues:  "The  recipient  from  the  National 
Club  would  be  receiving  from  a  fund,  his  claim  to  which  depends  on 
his  destitution  [no,  his  bickness],  a  fact  to  be  proved  to  the  satisfaction 
of  those  who  administer  it ;  how,  then,  does  he  differ  from  a  oaupcr  ?" 

A  person  who  cannot  see  the  difference  should  leave  a  subject  like 
this  alone. 

For  the  supposed  recipient  differs  from  a  pauper  in  not  being  one;  he 
is  self-provided,  and  independent  (as  my  plan  would  make  eyerj  man) 
of  poor  relief,  which  a  pauper  is  not. 

If  we  substitute  in  this  last  statement  of  objection  the  words,  ''any 
sound  friendly  society"  for  the  words  "  National  Club,"  we  shall  see 
the  fallacy  at  once  ;  for  the  writer's  inference  would  be  that  there  was 
no  difference  between  a  Forester  or  Oddfellow  on  sick  pay  and  a  pauper! 

I  meet  another  objection  of  principle,  expressed  in  the  following 
words,  coming  from  a  gentleman  whose  opinions,  when  well  weighed 
beforehand,  always  deserve  respect.      He  says : — 

"  People  cannot  be  made  good  by  Act  of  Parliament.  Kven  if  the  scheme 
were  practicable,  he  should  doubt  its  having  a  good  moral  influence.  Compulsory 
thrift !  How  can  it  exist?  There  is  no  virtue  in  a  man  saving  against  his  will. 
Thrift  and  providence  will  be  made  di^usting  to  those  disposed  towards  them ; 
and  OS  for  those  averse  to  them,  greater  harm  will  be  done." 

Now  I  must  eliminate  much  of  this  from  the  discussion.  Whether 
people  can  be  made  good  by  Act  of  Parliament  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  question.      T  never  said  they  could.     Whether  compulsory  thrift  can 

VOL.    XXXV.  S    S 


4 


614  THE    CONTEMPOi 

exist  is  equally  irrelevant ;   I  never  used  the  terms.      I  spoke  of  com- 
pulsoi'y  providence  J   which  is  a  different  thinpfj  and  which  certain  Ir  can 
exist.     "Wliethcr  there  be  virtue  ia  a  man's  saving  against  liis  wall  1_ 
need  not  answer,  for  I  never  said  there  was.  ^ 

The  only  point  remaining  as  at  all  germane  to  the  discussion  is  the 
possible  Tuoral  influence  of  it,  suggested  in  assumptions  that  "  compni. 
sory  providence  will  make  providence  disgusting  to  those  disposed 
towards  it,  and  do  yet  greater  Iiarni  to  those  averse  from  it." 

Tliese  assumptions  I  confidently  challenge.  Let  A  represent  a  wage- 
earner  "disposed  to  provideuee."  We  offer  to  him  in  the  safest,  the 
cheapest,  the  earliest,  the  easiest  way  possible,  at  least  an  im}>ortaDt 
proportion  of  the  very  provision  he  is  toiling  to  make  for  himself.  We 
diminish  the  cost  of  that  provision  by  at  least  33  per  cent.,  and  we 
multiply  his  security  at  the  same  time  by  infinity.  T  think  the  man 
whom  such  treatment  would  disgust  must  have  much  less  human  nature 
than  average  human  beings;  for  they  would  regard  this  aid  to  their 
own  efforts  as  a  blessing  rather  than  n  curse.  I  cannot  conceive  a 
sailor  on  a  wreck  feeling  disgusted  at  the  coming  of  a  lifeboat. 

But  Rhall  I  be  told  that  A,  being  provident,  is  naturally  disgusted 
that  wasteful  B  should  be  made  provident  too  ?  The  notion  is  absurd. 
The  provident  man  is  always  counselling  providence  in  others,  and 
knows  that,  as  sure  as  the  sun  gives  liglit,  the  improndence  of  others 
makes  providence  more  difficult  for  himself;  that  the  more  money  is 
spent  on  prcventiblc  pauperism  the  smaller  is  tlio  wage  fund  from  which 
Ids  own  earnings  come;  and  he  will  welcome  the  change,  and  be  the  last 
to  feel  or  express  "disgust"  at  its  introduction. 

"  Nay,"  is  the  rejoinder,  "  that  is  an  assumption  too.''  Even  so.  But 
it  is  quite  as  good  a  one  as  the  other.  And  I  will  back  the  opinion  by 
asserting  that  I  will  find  twenty  such  men  as  I  have  described,  welcom- 
ing the  plan,  for  ouc  who  Mill  have  the  confidence  to  say  that  its  intro- 
duction would  really  be  disgusting  to  himself.  M 

And  what  else  does  the  following  statement  mean,  from  the  proprietor 
of  an  important  provincial  newspaper^  himself  a  leading  man  among  the 
Affiliated  Orders  : — 

"  You  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  our  article  on  your  plan  sold  nearly  1000 

extra  copies  of  the last  week,  and  that  the  principal purchasetB  wrtu;  Odd* 

feUoitjs  and  Foresters.     My  friends  here  are  all  delightod  with  the  project."' 

I  now  touch  the  other  assumption — that  the  enforcement  of  com- 
pulsory providence  would  do  "  yet  greater  harm"  to  those  averse  from 
providing  for  themselves.  ^ 

Surely  the  question  may  be  asked,  what  harm  would  it  do  ?     To  sayl 
in  reply  that  the  wasteful  lad  of  eighteen,  required  to  make  provision  for 
himself,  may  disapprove  of  a  limit  being  for  a  time  put  on  his  extrava- 
gance,   woulu   be  too  ridiculous.      I   grant    it   may    interfere  with    his 
waste  :  but  that  does  not  harm  him.    It  mav  interfere  with  his  hftbits 


VOMPULSOHY  PROVIDENCE. 


615 


^  but  only  so  far  as  Lis  habits  arc  bad.  It  may  interfere  with  bis  liberty; 
but  only  so  far  aa  that  liberty  is  licentious.  Does  it  interfere  with  Lis 
rights  ?  No,  by  no  jot ;  for  a  man  Trho  will  not  fulfil  his  cinl  duty 
lias  no  civil  right  to  appeal  to.  "  Oh  !  yes/'  1  seem  to  hear,  "  he  has  a 
right  to  be  kept  from  starvation  ;  the  law,  at  all  events,  secures  thus 
much  to  the  poor,  persecuted,  injured  youth  on  whom  this  cruel  plan 
would  inflict  '  still  more  harm.'  '* 

I  fully  admit  the  claim  :  the  law  should  keep  Lim  from  stanation; 
let  him  have  the  law  ;  but  let  him  not  claim  to  make  the  law.  He 
must  leave  the  law  to  take  its  own  way  of  doing  its  own  busiuess.  My 
scheme,  if  it  become  law,  will  at  least  as  well  as  ever  keep  him  from 
starvation,  and  do  it,  as  it  should  be  done,  with  his  own  money,  which 
is  just,  not  with  other  people's,  which,  if  not  necessary,  is  iniquitous. 

I  ask  again,  for  form's  sake,  though  I  cannot  say  I  expect  any  logical 
answer,  what  harm  can  it  do  a  spendthrift  to  have  laid  by  for  him,  out 
of  what  he  would  otherwise  squander,  a  secure  provision  against  want 
in  sickness  and  old  age  ?  Will  it  make  him  more  unhappy,  more 
dependent,  more  degraded,  more  discontented,  more  dishonest,  more 
mean  than  such  a  character  is  to-day,  whctlier  his  father  be  a  duke  or 
a  dustman  V  By  no  means.  It  is  little  to  admit  that  it  will  make  Lim 
no  worse;  and  it  is  little  to  claim  that  such  a  change  as  I  advocate 
will  give  him  at  least  a  possibility  he  never  had  before,  of  growing 
better  in  all  these  various  directions. 

One  other  little  misconception  I  must  remove ;  it  is  that  of  one  of  our 
most  prominent  exponents  of  practical  thrift.  He  says  of  the  plan : 
"  Apparently  the  mistake  has  been  made  of  eoufoundiug  thrift  with  the 
saving  of  j£15.  The  thrifty  man  is  the  man  who  has  turned  hi^  money 
and  time  and  everythiug  to  the  best  account.  One  main  objection  to 
Mr.  Blaeklcy's  scheme  is,  that  he  would  lead  people  to  look  to  the 
State  to  do  for  them  what  they  should  do  for  themselves." 

The  whole  of  this  arises  from  misreading  of  my  article ;  it  nowhere 
confounds  thrift  with  the  saving  of  .€15.  In  it  I  spoke,  and  quite 
rightly,  of  unprovided  men  being  ihrifilesSj  for  so,  in  fact,  they  are. 

PBut  the  converse,  that  all  provided  men  are  necessarily  (hrifiy,  neither 
entered  my  mind  nor  appeared  in  my  article. 
But  here  is  another  cliarge  to  answer :    "  The   scheme   would  lead 
people  to   look  to  the  State  to  do  for  them   what  they  should  do  for 
themselves.'*    Heaven  forbid  !     Thai  is  exactly  what  they  are  doing  now  ; 

■   and  any  candid  man  who  will  read  my  article  will  say  that  that  is  ike 
very  iniquity  I  protested    against,  claiming  that  the  law  should  make 
people  do  for  themselves  what  they  now  "  expect  the  State  to  do  for 
them  instead !" 
I  And  these  objections,  so-called  of  principle,  which  I  have  shown,  one 

H  by  one,  to  be  most  unreasonably  attributed  to  the  statement  of  my  plan, 
come  from  excellent  men  who  arc  veterans  in  the  cause  of  humanity, 
and  whose  very  notice  (apart  from  their  reasoning)  is  an  bonour  t     I 

s  s  2 


61(1 


THE    COXTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


.should  despair,  indeed,  under  their  disapproval  did  they  not  supply  mi 
all  unconsciously,  with  a  cordial  of  encouragement.  They  offer  their 
misconceptions  as  objections, — most  probably  the  only  ones  they  enter- 
tain, at  all  events  the  strongest ;  if  I  succeed  in  removing  the  miscon- 
ceptions, the  objections  founded  on  them  must  vanish,  leaving  the  path 
of  progress  all  the  freer,  both  for  those  who  now  accept  the  plan  and 
for  the  objectors  themselves,  whose  candour  must  bring  them  to  my  side, 
oJice  their  objections  are  removed. 

Another  objection,  which  I  suppose  must  be  treated  as  one  of  prin- 
ciple, for  it  certainly  is  not  a  practical  one,  I  have  found  couched  lu 
these  terras ;  '*Thc  very  simplicity  of  the  scheme  arouses  suspicion." 

As  an  objection,  this  ia  certainly  unanswerable.  The  thing  is  so 
simple  to  me  that  I  never  thought  of  making  it  complex  to  other 
people.  As  a  wise  schoolboy  when  being  caned  rushes  into  his  master's 
arms  to  get  the  minimum  of  hurt,  I  come  to  close  quarters  with  this  un- 
expected objection,  which  I  certainly  cannot  refute,  and  simply  say  the 
suspiciousness  is  a  reasou  fur  examination,  not  for  rejection,  aud  that 
the  simplicity,  as  far  as  it  goes,  makes  altogether  in  favour  of  the 
scheme. 

Let  me  enforce  this  view  by  a  citation  from  one  whom  I  fear  I  must, 
till  he  have  read  this  article,  call  an  adverse  critic.     lie  says — 

'*  If  tlift  flchcmo  has  its  difTicultioa  and  drawbacks^  on  the  other  hand  it  has  its 
advantages.  Tlieae  consist  in  its  simplicity^  econon\y,  jind  the  diroctnes;i  with 
which  ic  effects  the  object.  As  a  remedy  against  adult  pauperism  it  is  well  nigh 
perfect,  as  it  ia  obvious  that  you  have  only  to  provide  for  a  man  in  the  helpless 
times  of  sickness  and  old  age,  and  you  have  done  all  that  should  be  done  for  him 
by  even  the  most  indulgent  of  poor  laws." 

I  proceed  next  to  answer  what  I  am  by  no  means  surprised  to  find 
one  of  the  most  generally  entertained  objections  to  the  detail  of  the 
proposed  National  Insurance.  I  mean  the  S7naUnes$  of  /he  provision 
made, 

I  am  told,  for  instance,  "Tlie  sum  you  name,  four  shillings  a  week, 
will  be  totally  inadequate  to  keep  a  man  of  seventy  above  public  or 
private  charity." 

1  have  other  suggestions :  "  That  some  artizans  may  desire  to  insure 
for  even  as  high  a  sick  pay  as  ten  shillings  a  day.'' 

But  all  these  leave  out  of  view  the  fact  that  oucc  universal  compul- 
sion is  ajiplied  it  can  only  be  applied  to  enforce  a  minimum  provision. 
Four  sbillings  a  week  will  certainly  procure  for  an  agricultural  labourer 
of  seventy  (who,  iu  many  cases,  can  still  even  add  to  his  income  by  a  little 
light  occupation)  a  comfortable  existence  by  some  friend's  or  kinsman's 
fireside;  aud  if  this  be  so,  a  young  agricultural  labourer  should  not  be 
compelled  to  insure  for  a  higher  scale  of  provision  than  he  may  thiiik 
himself  ever  likely  to  require.  Nor,  again,  can  the  richer  classes  who  are 
called  upon  to  make  their  legal  provision,  though  infinitesimally  likely  ever 
to  draw  it,  be  fairly  com|icilcd  to  contribute  more  than  the  minimum  sum. 
I  propose  to  meet  the  objucllon  iu  quite  another,  but  a  simple  way;    ia 


I 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE. 


617 


I 


facti  I  suggested  as  much  in  my  first  article.  Let  evei'j  mau  make  \m 
minimHtUf  fixed,  inalienable  necessary  provision,  at  the  National  Club 
cheap  rate,  and  let  him^  if  he  will  aud  when  he  will,  make  auy  further 
provision  he  may  desire,  without  compelling  others  to  provide  for  an 
amount  tliey  do  not  wish  to  secure. 

One  oouoession  in  this  connection  might  be  made — namely,  to  allow 
each  contributor  to  the  National  Club  the  choice,  before  lodging  hi% 
first  instalment,  of  paying  the  rt^lative  sum  necessary  to  secure  benefits 
of  ten  shillings  weekly  in  sickness  and  of  five  shillings  in  old  age,  instead 
of  the  compulsory  minimum  of  eight  shilliugs  aud  four  shillings. 

This  would,  I  thiuk,  meet  the  difUculty  of  the  smallncss  of  sum« 
assured.  Beyond  this  the  National  Club  need  not  trouble  itself;  every 
mau  will  he  forced  to  insure  sufficient  to  proxidc  against  destitutiou, 
while  he  will  be  free  to  insure,  wherever  he  choose,  enough  to  provide 
for  his  own  estimate  of  comfort. 

Before  leaving  this  point  of  the  smallness  of  compulsory  provision,  I 
must  touch  a  theoretical  criticism  relating  to  it,  which  finds  expression 
in  the  following  terms: — 

*'  I  am  afraid  that  the  effect  of  the  State  exacting  a  minimum  provision  wouM 
be  to  give  people  the  impression  that  they  had  done  all  they  ought  to  de 
in  the  way  of  saving,  and  so  make  them  lesji  than  ever  prepared  for  the  uncer- 
tainties of  the  future." 

I  pass  over  the  fact  that  to  translate  this  opiuion  into  logical  language 
would  amount  to  saying  that  "  to  insist  on  every  person  having  a 
provision  made  would  make  him  less  provided  than  when  he  had  no 
provision/'  The  meaning  intended  by  the  words  probably  is,  that  if 
all  people  were  compelle<l  to  make  a  small  provision,  some  people  would 
not  lay  by  as  much  as  they  would  otherwise  do,  I  traverse  the  in- 
ference altogether.  Uutil  proof  be  given  to  the  contrary  I  may  fairly 
assume  that  a  man  dispose<l  to  providence  will  not  be  less  so  because 
providence  is  made  less  dif!xeutt ;  and  that  a  mau  averse  from  providence 
will  not  be  less  provided  when  he  has  been  forced  to  niake  some  prt*. 
Tision,  than  he  would  be  while  unwilling  to  make  any.  But  there  is 
much,  I  think,  to  be  said  as  to  a  far  more  probable  effect  on  representa- 
tives of  these  two  characters.  The  provident  mau  will  \yc  more  likely, 
from  the  experience  of  his  power  during  minority,  to  provide  against 
destitution,  to  use  the  same  power  which  has  become  the  habit  of  his 
vigorous  manhood,  for  providing  something  beyond  the  mere  nece-ssariei 
of  existence  for  himself  and  family ;  and  to  lay  by  what  may  materially 
advance  hoth  liim  and  them  iu  prosperity  and  education,  aud  insure  for 
himself  in  his  declining  years  the  well-earned  comfort  of  an  honourable 
ease.  Aud,  on  the  other  hand,  J  have  no  thought  of  doubt  that  many 
an  ignorant  young  wastrel,  whom  a  salutary  compulsion  blesses,  ok 
attaining  manhood,  with  an  indepeudrnce  he  never  dreamed  of  winning 
for  himself,  will  take  heart  of  grace  when  he  finds  he  has  done  so  mucli, 
to  do  something  more  iu  the  way  of  saving,  and  something  less  iu   the 


618  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIV, 


way  of  "wnstc ;  ignorance  and  hopelessness  make  Iiim  a  w  astivl,  en 
lighteamctit  aud  independence,  however  given,  may  supply  him  with 
the  firat  essentials  for  a  change  from  degradation  to  self-respect. 

Several  correspondents  have  challenged  my  estimate  of  existing  im- 
providence as  exccssivCj  judging,  uo  doubt,  from  summaries  of  returns 
which  they  have  adopted  without  sutficient  examination.  One  speaker 
at  the  Cheltenham  Social  Science  Congress,  indeed,  in  opposing  Mr. 
Randcll's  suggestions,  stated  that  there  were  80,000  friendly  societica 
in  the  country  with  twelve  millions  of  members  (more  than  half  the 
population  of  England  and  Wales !) ;  and  tijis  absurdity  wa-s  calmly 
accepted  by  the  meeting  !  Such  a  statement,  of  coiu-se,  needs  no  answer 
whatever  amongst  experts ;  but  it  is  right  to  show  how  the  general 
impression  of  more  tho\ightful  objectors  may  be  produced. 

The  summary  of  returns  on  national  providence  issued  by  the  Chief 
Registrar  of  Friendly  Societies  is  uot  framed  on  the  exact  model  of  thfl 
general  summary  given  by  the  Friendly  Societies  Commission  (Fourth 
Report,  p.  79}  j  but  the  Registrar  so  far  adopts  the  latter  estimate  as 
to  say  that  it  was  decidedhj  under  the  mark.  The  Commissioners, 
moreover,  estimated  the  fwnda  and  membership  of  unregistered  as  well 
as  registered  societies,  which  the  Chief  Registrar,  of  course,  is  not 
expected  to  doj  and  we  are,  consequently,  unprovided  with  means  for 
accurately  calculating  the  matter.  If,  however,  to  avoid  all  possibility 
of  error,  we  add  10  per  cent,  to  the  Commissioners'  figures,  wc  find  a 
total  membership  of  four  and  a  half  millions,  and  an  average  provision 
of  £2  18.9.  T-id.  (say  even  .£!3)  ii-head.  Rut  is  this  a  true  measure  of 
cither  the  national  providecce  or  the  national  provision  (for  these  two 
are  different  things)  ?  By  no  means.  Only  a  small  proportion  of  tlicse 
club  members  arc  providing,  and  a  still  suiallcr  are  provided,  atfauvit 
sickness  and  htjinnifij.  Tor,  following  the  buses  of  comparison  adopted 
by  the  Commissioners  in  their  e^ilimate,  we  find  two-thirds  of  the  mem- 
bership (three  million  persons)  insured  onit/  in  l/urial  socieiien  for  fuuoral 
expenses,  aud  these,  of  course,  wc  must  strike  off  from  our  calculations. 

Thus  wc  have»  at  best,  only  one  aud  a  half  millions  really  providing 
against  sickness  and  old  age.      Now  let  us  sec  how  they  arc  provUled. 

It  may  be  laid  down  as  a  rule,  that  for  a  club  really  to  neaire  to  its 
members  such  benefits  as  my  plan  assumes,  it  should,  when  fifty  years 
oldj  hold  a  reserve  of  between  .£8  and  j69  per  member.  If  the 
average  amount  of  funds  in  reserve  be  .£3  per  man,  then  oiily  a 
third  of  these  members  are  provided,  and  the  whole  funds  are  only 
sufficient  to  provide  for  half  a  million  pci'sons,  instead  of  four  and  a 
half  millions ! 

Yet,  it  may  be  urged,  if  we  cut  off  the  burial  club  membership,  wc 
must  remember  that  the  burial  club  funds,  also  cut  off,  average  far  lees 
than  £Z  per  head ;  so  that  the  funds  remaining  for  calculation  will  be 
proportionably  increased. 

The  objection   is  a  fair  one;    but  I  fear  there  is   far  more  than  an 


I 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE. 


619 


cqiiivnleiit  set-off  to  stand  against  any  gain  in  calculation  it  may  claim. 
For,  whatever  the  amount  per  head  remain  for  insurancCj  it  will  not 
all,  or  nearly  all,  be  applietl  successfully  in  sick  pay  and  pensions;  a  vast 
proportion  of  it  will  vanish  as  the  weak  clubs  break  and  disappear,  and, 
however  it  may  aid  some  members  for  a  little  time,  will  be  spent  and 
gone  without  secui'ing  the  independence  of  those  by  whom  it  waa  con- 
tributed. 

Nor  would  the  general  aspect  of  the  case  be  very  much  bettered  if 
we  estimated  the  provision  already  being  made  at  £1  a-hcad  higher 
than  I  have  done,  which  would  be  the  highest  result  we  should  attain 
by  including,  as  some  corrcapoudents  insist  we  should,  the  balance  held  by 
the  Post  Office  Savings  Banks  in  our  estimate  of  existing  providence.  The 
aggregate-  sum  held  by  the  Post  Office  Bank*  is  .£27,000,000— say  17x.  6rf. 
per  head  of  population — and  being  money  not  really  snt  aside  for  such 
a  provision  as  we  speak  of,  but  liable  at  any  moment  to  be  withdrawn 
and  even  wasted,  could  not  be  reasonably  reckoned  as  part  of  each  man's 
secure  self-provision;  even  if  the  greater  part  of  it  did  not  belong,  as 
no  doubt  it  does,  to  tlirifty  and  saving  wage-earners  who  are  already 
provided  against  sickness  and  old  age  in  addition  to  being  depositors  in 
the  Post  Office  Bank. 

I  proceed  to  touch  another  theoretical  difficulty,  which,  of  course, 
offers  no  reason  against  establishing  National  Insurance,  but  is  supposed 
by  some  likely  to  be  a  great  stumbling-block  in  its  way.  It  is  expressed 
by  many  correspondents  in  almost  identical  terms :  *'  The  opposition  of 
existing  societies  will  be  the  strongest  obstacle  to  the  plan/' 

Apart  from  the  fact  that  1  have  never  heard  this  difficulty  urged 
by  a  member  of  any  existing  friendly  society,  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  the  objection  will  not  arise — r?/>tf«/y,  at  aii  events — from  representa- 
tives of  such  bodies.  The  plan  I  suggest,  if  it  enforced  compulsion  to- 
morrow  on  every  man  of  twenty-one  years  of  age,  would  take  sixty 
years  to  come  into  full  operation.  Now,  present  societies  are  either  gootl 
or  bad.  The  good  ones  are  good  either  financially  or  philanthropi- 
cally,  or  both.  Those  that  profess  to  be  only  financially  sound,  will 
have  no  cause  for  complaint,  if  their  scales  of  payment  be  computed 
on  really  sound  principles.  Granting  that  my  plan  would  cut  off  the 
youngest  members  from  their  number  (supposing  the  worst  case  for  the 
society  to  arise,  that  not  one  of  these  nationally-insured  youths  ever 
made  an  additional  insurance  with  them),  still,  though  this  might  affect 
the  extetit,  it  could  not  affect  the  solvency  of  the  society,  if  those  insui'ed 
in  it  were  paying,  as  they  should  do  in  any  safe  club,  premiums  pro- 
portioned to  their  age  at  entry.  It  is  true  the  society  would  fade  out 
in  sixty  years,  but  by  that  time  all  now  interested  in  its  success  would 
have  made  and  reccive<l  their  claims,  and  its  officials  would  have  gradually 
died  out  as  well.     Thus  a  really  sound  club  would  not  admit  that  its 


*  The  Post  Office  retnros  embrace  tko  whole  Uniteil  Kingdom, 
have  a8«d  are  only  for  EogUnd  and  Widci. 


The  ccnsua  r«tium  1 


G20 


THE    COSTEMPORARY   REVIEU 


soivtucy    could    be    affected     b^'    tbc    cstablishmeut    of    the   National 
Insurance. 

Let  us  take  next  the  case  of  a  club,  Bay  a  county*  society,  absolutciv 
good  both  fiuancially  and  philauthropically.  It  exists  really  for  the  good 
of  the  people.  It  is  adminiatcredj  and  we  may  be  proud  to  ackuowledgi 
it,  in  most  cases,  by  untiring  zeal,  patience,  industry,  and  self-sacrifict 
on  the  part  of  gentlemen  who  have  gained  the  confidence  of  the  working 
men,  taught  them  how  to  appreciate  a  good  security,  and  guarded 
their  interests  from  loss  by  many  years  of  watchful  effort.  What  will 
managers  of  such  a  society  say  to  its  members  ?  What  but  this  :  "  Wc 
have  urged  you  for  years  to  join  this  club  for  your  own  sakea.  Now 
our  work  is  done;  a  simpler,  cheaper,  better,  and  possibly  a  safer  mcaas 
than  the  very  best  we  could  secure  you  is  put  into  your  own  hands  to 
make;  we  will  still  take  your  extra  savings  if  you  wish  extra  insurances, 
and  we  have  plenty  of  funds  to  keep  our  promise  with  our  old  member?, 
but  the  National  Club  is  of  its  nature  better  than  our  best,  and  we,  as 
your  friends,  point  you  to  that  as  the  safest  and  most  profitable  invest- 
ment for  your  money." 

So  much,  then,  for  every  sound  friendly  society  of  whatever  class  ;  so 
far  OS  it  is  really  what  itpiofcsscs  to  be,  and  subscncs  the  one  puqx)9c 
which  is  the  sole  reason  of  its  existence, — namely,  to  secure  the  pron- 
deucc  of  the  poor, — its  managers  are  logically  bound  to  approve  the  prin- 
ciple of  National  Insurance. 

Now  let  us  turn  to  another  class  of  society.  To  those,  namely,  which 
under  the  false  name  of  Friendly  are  the  poor  man's  bitterest  foes ;  tliat 
exist  to  swindle,  plunder,  and  defraud  the  ignorant  and  helpless  ;  that 
look  for  large  profits  from  the  simplicity  of  the  poor ;  that,  in  order  to 
kucp  tlieir  funds  high,  cut  oi\\  as  the  newspapers  lately  recorded,  the 
insurance  of  £7,  due  on  his  wife's  death  to  a  member  of  thirteen  years' 
standing,  because  the  poor  woman's  last  illness,  preventing  her  goine  to 
pay,  had  brought  the  contribution  one  week  into  arrear  !  In  fact,  let  us 
look  to  the  bad  and  unsound  friendly  society  that  lives  by  sucking  the 
very  hearths  blood  of  would-be  independent  working  men,  while  leaving 
them  to  the  pauper's  dole  and  workhouse  in  the  end.  I  defy  them  to 
oppose  llie  National  Club  on  any  ground  but  the  plain  and  patent  one 
of  selfish  interest. 

Will  they  on  that  ground  ?  I  cannot  say,  for  man  cannot  measure 
the  possible  audacity  of  fraud.  I  have  heard  some  one  even  speak  of 
the  vested  intei-esl  of  such  societies,  for  careless  speech  is  no  rarity 
among  us;  but,  if  this  mean  the  interests  of  shareholders  and  officiabi 
to  perpetuate  a  cruel  swindle,  I  can  answer  that  though  the  law  may 
permit  a  man  to  open  a  dram-shop,  it  is  not  bound  for  ever  to  supply 
him  with  customers ;  while,  if  it  mean  that  the  establishment  of  National 
Insurance  will  break  these  fraudulent  societies  and  injure  their  innocent 
members,  I  answer  with  a  denial  j  I  say  they  arc  insolvent  now,  when 
we  are  but  beginning  to  name  the  notion  of  a  National  Insurance,  and 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDESVE.  G21 

that  every  oue  of  tlicm  must  die  of  itself,  aud  fail  its  contributors,  many 
a  long  year  before  ilie  sixty  shall  have  passed  that  will  be  neeiled  to 
make  National  Insurance  universal. 

Briefly,  then,  as  far  as  managers  of  existing  friendly  societies  ai'e 
concerned,  those  of  good  ones  will  not  object, — their  solvency  is  secure  ; 
those  of  bad  ones  dare  not  object, — their  insolvency  would  be  exposed  by 
their  objecting, 

Aud  as  regards  members  of  existing  societies,  I  say  those  belonging 
to  good  ones  are  safe,  and  have  no  cause  for  fear ;  those  belonging  to  bad 
ones  need  uot  lay  their  failure  on  National  Insurance,  since  they  must 
fail  whether  or  no. 

I  now  come  to  consider  certain  objections  to  National  Insurance  which 
have  hurried  many  people  who  oflcr  them  into  the  error  of  pronouncing 
the  scheme  impracticable.  The  alleging  of  a  difficulty  or  the  urging  of 
an  objection  cannot  prove  a  plan  impracticable  unless  the  difficulty  be 
proved  insurmountable,  or  the  objection  unanswerable  ;  and  this  is  what 
no  objector  has  yet  attempted  to  do.  No  man  would  be  silly  enough 
to  pronounce  the  getting  from  Middlesex  into  Surrey  impracticable  so 
long  as  the  human  intellect  can  conceive  of  the  Thames  being  crossed 
by  ford  or  ferry,  by  tunnel  or  bridge. 

The  objections  made  may  afford  fair  reason,  perhaps,  for  examination 
and  inquiry,  but  wo  reason  whatever  for  rejectiou  of  the  plan ;  and  if  I 
show  that  these  objections  may  be  answered,  I  feel  sure  the  gentlemen 
who  have  made  them  will  frankly  withdraw  their  assertions  based  thereon 
as  to  the  impossibihty  of  national  insurance,  and  perhaps  also  join  mc 
in  advocating  its  adoption.  For  few  deny  that  the  thing  would  be  a 
good  thing,  if  oa/tj  it  could  be  done. 

ITie  grand  central  objection,  of  practical  kind,  which  1  meet,  is  that 
based  on  the  asiiumed  impossibility  of  compelling  unwilling  persons  to 
pay  their  insurance — in  a\«ord,the  impossibility  of  collection. 

It  is  admittcil  on  all  hands  that  there  will  be  no  insurmountable  diffi- 
culty in  dcaliug  with  the  vast  majority  of  the  population.  They  will  be  in 
fixed  occupations,  and  as  easy  to  reach  by  the  National  Fund  managers 
as  they  are  now  by  the  Inland-Rcveuuc,  the  Income-Tax,  or  the  Educa- 
tion officials.  But  it  is  the  class  of  persons  described  by  the  census  as 
"  in  undefined  occupations,"  which  furnishes  opponents  of  my  scheme 
with  an  argument  formidable  enough  at  a  distance,  but  losing  much 
of  its  force  on  closer  examination. 

Men  point  at  the  vast  number  of  rough,  violent,  api>ai'cutly  penniless, 
and  possibly  lawless  men  of  all  ages,  to  be  met  daily  iu  our  crowded 
cities,  and  say,  *'  It  will  be  impossible  to  get  £10  out  of  each  of  these 
men,  under  any  circumstances."  I  reply  that  I  never  suggested  wc 
should;  but  that  we  should  do  it  with  youths  btfore  they  become  rough, 
violent,  penniless,  and  lawless,  which  is  certainly  a  very  difterent  matter. 

The  allegation,  "  that  persons  iu  indefinite  occupation  cannot  )>e 
compelled,"  is  bnscd  on  ignorance  of  the  vcrj-  sniaU  number  of  persons 


i 


622 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


line 

roT 

ther 

:ron- 
oa  ■ 


agaiu3t  M'bom  oompuUiou  would  have  to   be   actually   cufc 
seems  to  weigh  diicfly  with   those  who  cauuot  yet  realize  that 
over  twenty-one  years  of  age  on  the  first  introduction  of  the  meanire 
be  compelled  to  contribute  at  all. 

Let  us  assume  that  the  compulsion  is  to  begin  at  eighteen  years. 
the  last  census  the  whole  number  of  persous  of  both  sexes,  under  twen1 
years  of  age,  in  undefined  employment  is   given  at  178^373.      Assumini 
all  these  to  be  over  fifteen  years  (a  very  large  concession),  the  proporti 
of  individuals  between  eighteen  and  nineteen,  that  is,  in  iheir  first  year 
compulsion  (for  after  they  have  imdergoue  compulsion  for  one  year  thej 
will  not  resist  it  for  the  other  two),  will  he  about  35,000,  or,  briefly  si 
about  one  in  G57  of  the  popidation,  assuming  further  that  every  indl 
vidual  of  the  class  is  certain  to  resist  and  oppose  the  law  !      Is  it  con- 
ceivable that   our  national  power  of  effecting  an  unquestionable 
such  as  is  suggested  can  be   Ruccessfully  thwarted  by  the  opposition 
such  a  fraction  of  the  community  as  this? 

The  number,  then,   will  be  very  small ;  but  I  am   fairly  bound  to 
account  for  them. 

"Who,  then,  will  they  be,  these  unwilling  juveniles,  whose  recalcitra^ 
tion  can  be  supposed  to  impede  the  true  domestic  and  social  progress 
an  awakened  nation  ?  They  will  be  young  paupers,  young  thicT 
young  drunkards,  and  young  vagrants.  "  Be  it  so,"  is  the  reply,  " 
how  are  they  to  be  dealt  with?'^  Their  very  condition  makes 
first  step  easy.  Just  because  they  are  M'hat  they  are.  Society  g( 
hold  of  them,  has  them  in  her  hands,  aud  should  not  let  them  go  till 
she  has  made  them  do  their  share.  The  young  pauper  goes  to  "  tW 
House"  iu  sickness ;  if  the  parish  cure  him,  let  the  parish  keep  bii^ 
till  he  learn  that  in  the  stoneyard,  or  the  mat  room,  in  slow  laliour 
paid  at  the  lowest  rates,  he  ?nust  lay  by  his  j610  in  the  national  stock, 
to  keep  hira  always  when  he  is  sick  again,  unless  he  be  willing  to  be 
bound  over  to  work  in  freedom,  for  the  wage  he  is  really  worth,  till 
he  have  accured  himsrif  from  destitution.  He  will  be  none  the  wor^l 
the  nation  will  be  all  the  better,  for  his  having  learnt  the  lesson.  Anff 
the  young  thief?  The  law  lays  liand  on  him,  and  sends  him,  for 
the  first  time,  to  jail.  If  he  have  no  insurance  card  or  book  to 
let  him  work  in  the  jail-yard  till  he  have  earned  and  paid  his  cost 
keep  and  his  contribution  ;  he  will  be  none  the  worse  (it  may  save 
from  the  gallows);  Society  will  be  all  the  better  for  having  been  free  for 
three  years  from  the  plundcrings  of  a  thief.  And  the  young  drunkard  ? 
Even  so,  the  police  lay  hands  on  him,  the  youth  who  can  spend  to  the 
ruin,  but  cannot  save  for  the  sustenance,  of  his  body  (to  put  it  on  td 
lowest  grounds).  Why  should  he  be  let  go  till  he  be  helped  to  99 
what  he  is  unwilling  or  unable  to  do  for  himself,  and  have  made  his 
own  provision  ?  He  will  be  all  the  healthier  for  his  enforced  abstinence, 
and  the  crime,  the  ruin,  and  the  misery  attendant  on  his  dninkenness,  if 
that  must  come,  will  be  postponed  and  dimiuishcd  by  at  least  three  years* 


I,    lor 

-ost  fl 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE, 


628 


Aud  the  young  tratitp :  Thauk  God !  there  are  few  of  these ;  for  the 
tramping  vagrant  is  generally  one  who  has  come  through  long  stages  to 
the  lowest  degradation.  *' Nemo  rvpenU  fuit  lurpis^imuif"  Yet  if  he 
come  but  one  night  to  the  casual  ward,  claiming  pauper's  shelter  and 
pauper's  food,  and  cannot  show  his  National  Insurance  card,  let  him  be 
treated  as  another  pauper,  and  litld  fast  till  he  hare  earned  and  paid  his 
share.  Mho  shall  say  that  such  a  measure  is  too  harsh,  too  eruel,  too 
Draconian?  If  we  admit,  as  nearly  all  do,  the  principle  of  compulsion, 
it  is  contrary  to  common  sense  to  cry  out  against  its  practice,  espe- 
cially when  that  practice,  stern  though  it  may  sound  at  first,  will  confer 
upon  its  objects  a  lifelong  benefit,  and  be  of  simultancoiis  service  to 
Englishmen  at  large. 

Further,  against  whom  do  I  suggest  so  stern  a  measure?  Against 
Ihose  only  who  refuse  (cither  iu  ignorance  or  wilfuluess)  obedience  to 
the  law.  It  will  not  be  for  a  lad's  drunkenness  or  his  theft  that  this 
coercion  will  be  inllicted  ;  but  Society,  having  the  offeudcr  iu  her  bauds 
to  punish  for  his  druukcancss  or  theft,  will  wisely  seize  the  favourable 
opportunity  which  he  himself  affords^  of  making  the  ioiprovident,  law- 
defying  culprit  a  providcat  aud  independent  man. 

With  regard,  again,  to  the  recalcitrant  youths,  I  have  been  met  with 
the  objection  from  many :  "  They  will  enlist,  and  so  evade  their  pay- 
ment." "With  all  my  heart/'  I  answer,  "I  wish  they  would  I"  And 
certainly  they  should  have  the  choice,  if  not  the  compulsion ;  but  so 
far  from  thereby  evading  their  payment  they  would  be  passing,  as  the 
proverb  says,  "  Out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire."  For,  np  to  a 
certain  time  of  life,  individual  providence  by  deduction  from  wages  (my 
very  plan)  is  compuhory  on  everj'  soldier  in  the  service  !  He  is  obliged 
to  put  aside  twopence  each  day  from  his  pay,  so  that,  wheu  his  six 
years'  term  of  service  is  over,  he  receives  his  savings  to  the  amount  of 
nearly  twenty  pounds !  Let  the  refractory  young  tramp  or  thief  fly  for 
refuge  to  the  army  to  avoid  insuring,  aud  he  docs  the  very  thing  he  is 
wanted.  He  will  be  well  fed,  and  clothed,  aud  taught ;  he  will  have  a 
chance  of  a  new  start  iu  life  ;  he  will  be  a  member  (he  may  become  an 
honoured  one)  of  an  honourable  profession  ;  lie  will  have  learned  cleanli- 
ness, comfort,  and  self-respect;  and,  if  he  like,  when  his  three  years 
arc  past,  his  own  money  which  he  never  missed  will  pay  his  insurance, 
and  the  once  poor,  slouching,  hopeless  pauper  vagabond  may  march 
forth  an  honest  independent  man,  able  morally  to  hold  hia  head  up 
among  his  fellow  men,  as  he  has  learned  to  hold  it  up  literally  before 
his  comrades  on  parade.* 

Give  him  this  opportunity,  and  in  coercing  a  boy  wc  may  save 
a  man.  For,  if  wc  drag  a  poor  wretch  at  all  out  uf  the  horrible  slough 
of  despond,  surely  it  is  only  charity  to  keep  hira  long  enough  for  the 


*  If  it  bi!  said  he  may  be  below  the  standard,  let  the  standard  be  lowered  to  meet  his 
•katnre  ;  why  not,  if  necessary,  drill  a  company  of  liliputians  as  vreVi  as  a  company  of 
Gronodicn. 


624 


THE    COSTEMPORARY    REVlEir, 


mud  of  misery  to  dry  and  be  bmshcd  oP',  and  tlicu  8cud  Ltm  forth* 
clean  and  sound,  to  tread  a  firmer  patli  ;  to  give  him  what  so  maoy  a 
poor,  hearlbrolven,  social  failure  has  had  to  cry  for  all  in  vain — one  trial 
more,  one  last,  but  hoj>cful  chance  of  suutcliliig  from  the  very  jawi 
of  adverse  Fate  a  new  character,  a  new  conscience,  and  a  new  career ! 

This  answers,  too,  the  question,  also  put  to  mc,  of  how  to  deal  with 
soldiere.  In  their  case  the  whole  work  is  done,  if  the  law  only  pennit 
the  National  Club  to  claim  each  man's  provision  from  the  deferred  jmy 
due  to  him  on  completing  his  term  of  service.  It  could  not  be  better 
itivcstod.  The  »ciisible  men  w;jiiU1  welcome  the  measure;  no  greater 
kindness  could  be  done  to  the  foolish  ones,  who  would  still  have  ten 
pounds  to  nastc. 

Further,  agaioat  the  alleged  ditficulty  of  compulsion,  Mr,  Tremen- 
heere,  in  writing  to  the  Times,  hasnliowu  that  the  Factories  Act,  sec.  25, 
has  made  100,000  individuals  (children  in  factories)  at  the  present 
moment  liable  to  a  compulsion  for  school  fees,  to  he  deducted  by  their 
employers,  to  the  extent  of  one-twelfth  of  their  earnings,  without  cx- 
citiug  the  slightest  national  clamour ;  aud  there  probably  is  not  a 
single  licrson  at  tlic  present  moment  sutteriug  imprisonment  for 
choosing  to  oppose  the  Compulsory  Education  Act. 

Aud  one  last  consideration  may  reconcile  objectors  to  the  alleged 
cruelty  of  the  coercion  I  advocate.  It  is  contained  in  the  following 
suggestive  extract  from  the  Local  Government  Return  for  1877-8 : — 

"  Mean  nninber  of  paupers  receiving  rcHof,  719,849.  Cost  of  relief  given, 
i7.400,o;)-i;' 

A  very  simple  division  gives  the  annual  cost  per  pauper  to  the  nation 
as  reacliing  fc!10  us.  firfJ  Let  any  one  balance  the  cruelty  of  aiding  a 
law-defying  lad  to  lay  by  iilO,  once  for  all,  for  himself,  against  that  of 
burdening  the  community  with  a  larger  snm  on  his  behalf  for  et^ery  year, 
wliether  one  or  sixty,  that  he  is  allowed  to  remain  a  pauper.  Surely  1 
may  fairly  say,  "  Cadit  f/u^ttfio  F' 

So  much  for  the  alleged  difficulty  and  the  alleged  cruelty  of  the  com- 
pulsion ;  one  word  as  to  its  alleged  impossibility. 

Many  other  nations  compel  without  trouble,  for  defence  or  aggression, 
for  sorrow  or  selfishness,  the  whole  earning  powers  of  all  their  male 
subjects  for  three  entire  years  of  military  service.  Can  it  be  called  im- 
possible  for  England  to  compel,  fur  her  people's  own  blessing,  one-twelfth 
of  the  lowest  wages  during  the  same  time  ?  Surely  not,  while  the  "  per- 
secuted publican"  compels,  from  most  members  of  the  class  we  are  con- 
sidering, a  vastly  larger  payment,  througli  every  year  of  life,  by  the  easy 
process  of  opening  his  door. 

I  will  now  turn  to  the  acttiarial  part  of  my  scheme,  which  is  of  very 
great,  but  far  from  being  of  the  very  greatest,  importance.  For  let  \is 
bear  constantly  in  mind  that  the  question  whether  the  cost  of  such 
insurance  as  I  propose  be  a  pound  or  two  higher  or  lower  than  aiy 
rough  estimate,  however  it  may  render  the  payment  harder  or  easier  to 


COMPULSORY  PROriDEXCE. 


625 


^ 


accomplish,  docs  not,  by  a  siuglc  jot,  affect  the  desirability  or  the  duty 
of  making  provision. 

The  sum  of  .fc?15,  which  1  named  as  that  for  which  a  large,  solvent,  suc- 
cessful, and  actuarially  valued  society  would  now  undertake  the  assurance, 
might  have  been  £20,  for  any  obstacle  it  would  have  thrown  in  the  way 
of  my  proposal.  I  took  that  rate  as  a  prcsumably  safe  one,  and  proved 
to  be  so  by  the  certified  experience  of  more  than  half  a  century ;  and  I 
named  my  authority,  which  is  open  to  any  man'tj  examiuation.  I  utterly 
decline  to  discuss,  as  against  this  statement,  certified  by  Mr.  Finlaison, 
the  Government  Actuary,  the  mere  guess  of  any  unskilled  objector,  who 
chooses  to  assert  his  own  unsupj)Qrted  opinion  that  such  a  rate,  if 
generally  used,  would  ruin  the  National  Club.  Let  us  have,  in  such  a 
matter  as  this,  skill  set  against  skill  and  experience  against  experience  ; 
to  presume  to  silence  both  by  mere  conjecture  and  ejaculation 
would,  to  my  mind,  be  about  as  wise  as  to  appoint  Mr.  John  Cade 
Professor  of  Political  Economy,  and  mnke  attendance  on  his  lectures  a 
matter  of  national  compulsion  too. 

Yet  T  am  not  uuwilling  to  make  a  concession  on  this  point  for  the 
sake  of  argument,  and  to  abandon  the  typical  tables  I  liavc  quoted  in 
favour  of  a  srt  which  have  already  a  certain  national  authority. 

I  refer  to  the  Parliamentary  Paper  (dated  April  7, 1876,  No.  167)  eon- 
tain'ng,  amongst  othei's,  the  Third  lleport  of  the  Actuarial  Commission 
aj  painted  uudcr  the  Friendly  Societies  Act,  1875,  and  signed  by  its  mem- 
bers, Messrs.  W.  P.  Pattison^  Ralph  P.  Hardy,  and  Alexander  J.  Finlaison, 
presumably  three  of  the  most  eminent  actuaries  iu  the  kingdom. 

These  gentlemen  set  forth  a  table  of  coutributious  which  they  recom- 
mend for  temporary  use,  pending  the  preparation  of  new  tables  under 
the  Friendly  Societies  Act,  1875.  It  excludes  representatives  of  noxious 
and  dangerous  occupations — exceptions,  of  course,  with  which  National 
Insurance  would  take  proper  means  of  dealing;  aud  it  recommends  a 
provision  being  made  to  reduce  the  sick  pay  to  half-pay  after  one,  and 
to  quarter-pay  after  two,  years'  sickness  ;  but,  be  it  noted,  with  this  strik- 
ing qualification :  "  This  condition,  though  noi  taken  info  account  in  the 
calculation  of  the  rates  of  contribution,  is  rendered  advisable"  in  view  of 
possible  fluetuatioa ;  "a  fluctuation  of  this  nature  would  have  an  untoward 
effect  upon  the  finances  of  the  society,  tvhen  the  number  of  members  is 
not  large  enough  to  supply  a  steady  basis  for  the  operation  of  average." 

Of  course,  the  necessity  of  this  condition  vanishes  in  view  of  a  society 
comprising  every  unit  of  the  population. 

Let  us  sec,  then,  what  rates  these  geutlemen  suggest,  remembering 
that  in  tables  for  temporary  use  they  would  be  certain  to  leave  an  abundant 
margin  for  safety.  I  take  the  medium  age  of  nineteen,  and  find  that  the 
rate  of  contributions  for  the  proposed  benefits  would,  if  capitalized  by 
the  Hampsliire  rate,  cost  £\S  7s.  This  seems  at  first  sight  an  amount 
far  above  my  original  estimate;  but  this  notion  is  sj»eedily  dissipated 
when  ne  come  to  consider  the  fact  that  the  rates  iu  question  arc  based 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


1UU8 

1 


626 


on  an  investment  at  compound  interest  of  3  per  cent,  per  anni 
Let  us  now  bear  iu  mind  tbat  of  the  money  eontributed  for  pensii 
not  one  fartliing  will  be  required  for  fifty  years ;  and^  in  the  eaiiy 
stages  at  leastj  the  current  expense  for  sickness^  as  occurring  in 
healthiest  years  of  life,  will  be  relatively  very  small.  It  is  manil 
that  the  Commissioners  to  whom  the  management  of  the  National 
will  be  entrusted,  requiring  to  keep  very  little  money  at  call,  will 
able  to  invest  on  ruortgagc  and  public  loans,  instead  of  in  the  Three 
Cents,  alone,  and  to  obtain  as  much  as  4,  or  even  4J  per  cent. 
much  of  their  money.  We  shall  see  in  a  moment  what  a  eheapening 
the  necessary  rate  of  contribution  would  result  from  such  difference 
investment,  by  noting  that  in  fifty  years  £\  at  3  per  cent,  compound 
interest  increases  only  to  ^I'SO,  white  at  4J  per  cent,  it  ^rows  to 
£9'03 — a  feature  which,  if  carried  out  even  with  regard  to  pensions 
alone,  would  reduce  the  cost  of  tljat  part  of  the  insurance  by  mi 
than  50  per  cent,  on  the  calculation  of  the  Actuarial  Commission. 

The  foregoiug  considerations  will,  I  trust,  be  found  sufficient 
warrant  nie  in  assuming,  at  all  events  till  properly  qualified  expert^ 
prove  me  wroug,  that  the  sum  I  roughly  named,  ^£10,  as  the  basis  of  my 
general  argument,  is  quite  as  likely  to  prove  somewhat  over  as  somewhat 
under  the  amount  that  will  finally  be  required. 

But  the  expenses  of  management  ?  Well,  that  is  relatively  a  si 
matter,  but  of  course  it  should  be  estimated,  and  I  believe,  though 
not  assert  it,  will  even  prove  capable  of  inclusion  in  the  rates  suggest! 
For  the  number  of  transactions  [which  causes  most  of  managemi 
expenses)  will,  on  one  side  of  the  account,  be  vastly  smaller  than 
any  existing  club.  All  present  clubs  carry  on  their  business  (so  far  a? 
collecting  funds  is  coneerncd)  by  weekly,  monthly,  or  quarterly  tran- 
sactions alt  through  the  life  of  every  member.  But  the  whole  collection 
of  the  national  fund  might  be  made  by  three  annual,  or  quite  easily 
twelve  quarterly  transactions  between  eighteen  and  twenty-one ;  and, 
a  vast  number  of  cases  of  the  richer  classes,  will  actually  be  efl'ectcd 
one.  Putting  the  average  number  as  paying  quarterly,  we  should  fin* 
that  a  pensioner  on  the  National  Fund  on  reaching  seventy  years  of  age 
would  have  made  his  payments  in  twelve  transactions,  while  in  an 
ordinary  club  tlicy  would  have  required  no  loss  than  two  hundred.  This 
may  show  liow  much  a  smaller  "  loiidiiig"  for  management  would 
needed  in  the  National  Fund  than  some  objectors  imagine. 

Another  point  is  laid  much  stress  on,  which  I   must  examine.      It 
that  a  compulsory  deduction  from   Mages  will   practically  come  out 
employers'  pockets.     The  thing  might  be  argued  if  the  compulsion  wi 
lifelong,  and  the  masters  compelled  to  make  payment  in  proportion 
the  weekly  wage  of  every  man. 

But  this  j)assiblc  effect  of  taxing  uU  labour  ihrouyh  all  lifetime  ooul 
not  be  produced  by  taxing  a  small  part  of  the  labour  during  a  small  pari 
oj  the  time*     For  the   persons  between  eighteen  and  twenty-one  under 


4 


COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE. 


6«7 


I 


compulsion  (representing  three  years  of  work)  would  be  unable  to  claim 
increased  wages  during  those  three  years,  being  obliged  to  compete  in 
tlie  labour  market  with  the  aggregate  of  all  otlier  wage-earnera  (repre- 
senting forty-seven  years  of  work),  who  would  be  free  from  compulsion, 
and  have  no  grounds  for  claiming  higher  wages. 

But  it  may  be  instructive  to  go  further,  and  see  to  what  a  mere  flea- 
bite  such  so-called  taxation  would  amount.  Let  us  take  roughly  fifty 
(i.e.,  from  fifteen  to  sixty-five)  as  the  num?)er  of  working  years.  The 
extent  of  compulsion  (on  wages  of  15«.  a  week)  would  be  a  twelfth  of  the 
wage.  Its  aggregate,  therefore  (if  it  all  fell  upon  employers,  which  I 
deny),  would  amount  to  one-twelfth  of  thi'cc-fiftieths,  or  to  a  half  per 
cent,  on  the  entire  wage  bill,  the  effect  of  which  would  be  to  raise  the 
general  weekly  wage  by  less  than  one  penny  per  week ! 

Of  coursCj  it  will  be  said  that  there  are  far  fewer  wage-earners  in  the 
later  than  the  earlier  years  of  work  ;  but  against  this  may  be  set  all 
wages  earned  before  fifteen  and  after  sixty-five,  with  alt  the  money  of  all 
workers  at  aU  ages  spent  at  present  (too  often  quite  vainly)  in  voluntary 
efforts  at  such  a  self- provision  as  my  scheme  would  infallibly  secnre. 

Another  important  practical  difficulty  which  has  been  alleged  against 
the  introduction  of  the  plan  is  //*e  risk  of  loss  by  malingering.     I  have 
taken  pains  to  show  (and  I  tnist   conclusively,  as   this   belongs  essen- 
tially to  the  proper  indei)endence  my  suggestions  aim  at  securing)  that 
the  fear  of  loss  to  the  "  Government"  may  be  set  aside  as  an  impossi- 
bility.    So  that,  granting  any  conceivable   amount  of  malingering  to 
exist,    the  National    Fund   could  never   prove   unequal   to   its   financial 
engagements ;  its  very  constitution  providing  the  means  of  immediately 
redressing  any  possible  deficiency  which  might  arise.      Yet  it  would  be 
the  rankest  folly  to  argue  that,  because  the  National  Fund  might  be 
theoretically  illimitable,  it  should   reasonably   be  allowed  to  provide  a 
premium  for  universal  fraud.     Of  course,  every  care  should  be  taken  to 
guard  against  this,  and  I  will  admit  to  my  objectors  in  this  respect  that 
the  poesibility  of  fraud  by  malingering  is  a  good  argument  in  favour  of 
strict  watchfulness  over  the  administration  of  the  fund,  but  no  argument 
whatever  against  its  establishment.     For,  if  it  were,  unquestionably  the 
same  objection  would  lie   against  any  friendly  society  or  any  insurance 
whatsoever.      Even  in  our  best  and  most  trustworthy  friendly   societies 
serious  fraud  by   malingering  cither  doc^  or  docs  not  exist.     If  it  do, 
and  be  able  to  escape  detection  and  punishment,  it  is  evident  that  the 
scale  of  payment  of  such  friendly  society  is  framed  on  the  expectation 
of  having  to  pay  for  a  certain  amount  of  fraud;  if,  on  the  other  hand, 
such  fraud  do  not  exist,  it  is  unreasonable  to  assume  that  it  must  exist  in 
a  National  Club  i  unless,  indeed,  in  the  nature  of  things,  it  be  impossible 
for  a  National  Club,  in  the  funds  of  which  every  unit  of  our  population 
is  directly  interested,  to  take  the   same  precautions  against  feigned  or 
avoidable  sickness  in  its  members,  that  an  infinitely  smaller  organization, 
such  as  the  Foresters  or  Oddfellows,  is  able  to  accomplish  with  success. 


638 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


Of  course,  whatever  means  the  affiliated  societies  adopt 
safe^ard  against  fraud  miglit  be  adopted  also  by  the  NatioDi 
Club.  It  would  be  a  mere  absurdity  to  suppose  that  any  mat 
should  receive  his  sick  pay  on  demand  from  a  Post  OflSce  clerk,  without 
affording  proper,  usualj  and  indisputable  proof  of  his  titlo  and  of  bu 
sickness.  Moreover,  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  every  case,  and 
during  every  week  of  the  sickness,  a  medical  certificate  of  the  recipient's 
state  is  the  indispensable  condition  of  his  receiving  aid  at  all.  And  il 
to  this  we  add  tht;  fact  that  no  man's  sick  payj  so  far  as  the  National 
Club  is  concerned,  can  be  much  more  than  half  Ins  usual  earniugs,  we 
shall  see  plainly  cuough  that  the  only  eucouragement  to  his  fraud  will 
be  that  given,  not  by  the  National  Club,  but  by  some  supplementary 
society  which  is  foolish  enough  to  allow  him  to  make  an  additioni 
insurance  to  an  amount  aufficient  to  tempt  him  to  be  dishonest. 

Further,  I  will  indicate  a  direction  in   which   the  existence   of 
National  Club  will  tend  lo  diminish  sickness  of  the  class  which  we  mai 
call  preventible. 

At  present  a  member  insured  in  any  ordinary  club,  being  debi 
from  receiving  pay  in  cases  of  sickness  caused  by  his  own  drunkenni 
and  dissipation,  can  have  recourse  to  the  workhouse.  With  a  National 
Club  he  might  still,  in  such  circumstances,  claim  workhouse  relief,  bul 
he  should  be  compelled,  on  or  before  leaving,  to  earn  and  pay  tlie  cost 
of  his  cnrc,  in  default  of  giving  security  for  its  early  payment.  And 
this  knowledge  surely  would  have  some  effect  in  the  diminution  of  much 
prcvcntiblc  disease,  and  possibly  act  as  a  check  on  much  habitual  drunken- 
ness. It  seems  to  mc  that  these  considerations,  added  to  those  already 
adduced  in  my  former  article — namely,  the  proved  fact  that  the  larger  the 
organization  the  less  the  average  sickness,  and  the  reasonable  supposition 
that  every  man's  having  a  direct  money  interest  iu  the  profits  of  the  club 
would  tend  to  expose  and  discourage  fi*aud,  may  be  held  sufficient  warrant 
for  concluding,  till  something  beyond  mere  assertion  be  adduced  to  the 
contrary,  that  no  reason  exists  against  a  National  Club  being  as  well 
secured  against  fraud  as  any  other. 

Before  leaving  Uiis  point  I  will   fortify  my  position  by  the  follow 
acute  remark,  given  in  his  own  words,  by  a  simple  working  man ; — 


>DLaj 

t^ 

i  mav 

'^^'^ 
nnefll 


*'  Let  me  give  you  a  strong  reason — that  is,  what  1  bavt?  always  cuusidcred 
such — why  all  tho  boneiit  sociptiea  of  England  should  be  brought  under  one  heai 
Whatever  might  be  said  to  the  contrary,  there  is  a  groat  jealoiisy  existing  wi 
the  members  of  the  different  societies,  and,  I  aui  soiry  to  say,   not  a  fricn< 
jealousy  of  rivalry  which  shall  perform  the  greatest  amount  of  good,  but  agreen'- 
eyed  jealousy  of  each  other's  sxiccess.     I   have  seen  an  Oddfellow    chuckle 
display  gnitiBcatiou  at  seeing  a   Forester  imposing  on  the  fund^  of  his  sociel 
and,  again,  I  have  scon  a  Forester  countenancing  and  winking  at  a  Patriot  gui 
of  the  same  dishonesty.     Now,  if  tliey  were  all  under  one  head,  the  Patriot  woulcl 
act  as  a  check  upon  the  Forester,  and  the  Forester  upon   the   Oddfellow,  and 
on,    because    titcy  would   all   belong  to  one    orgnni7.ation,   and    each   would 
interested  iu  tlie  wctfure  and  prosperity  of  the   society.     This,  sir,  is  an  idea 
Imve  ciiiertair:«.'d   for  many  )cnrs,  and  God  speed  you  or  any  oilier  gentlcmau 


1 

red 
tad. 

sen- 

■1 


^ 


^^^■^  COMPULSORY  PROVIDENCE.  629 

bringing  about  this  glorious  and  hftppy   state  of  affairs  for  the  sober,  provident 
working  men  of  this  gmnd  old  coundry,  England." 

I  am  further  asked  how  the  case  of  apprentices  can  be  met ;  that 
most  of  these  arc  unable  to  earn  money  till  twenty  or  twenty-one,  and 
therefore  that  the  scheme  must  fail  as  regards  them.  We  must  remember 
that  apprentices  forego  the  early  earning  of  money  in  order  to  qualify 
them  for  trades  in  which  they  expect  to  earn  far  higher  wages  than  they 
would  do  as  mere  labourers.  These  are  exceptional  cases,  and  might  be 
exceptionally  treated.  When  they  became  joumeymenj  at  twenty  or 
twenty-one,  they  should  be  required  to  pay  up  their  arrears  at  a  much 
faster  rate  than  others — say,  within  a  single  year — and  at  a  slightly 
higher  rate,  proportioned  to  the  lateness  of  their  payment. 

Lastly,  OS  to  my  plan  not  meeting  to  perfection  tlie  case  of  a  vast 
mass  of  misery  to  the  able-bodied  caused  by  sudden  loss  of  labour  and 
unexpected  disasters,  I  can  only  say  that  no  system  can ;  and  that  in 
this  respect  even  our  present  poor-law  may  break  down.  If  its 
machinery  remained  (as  I  assume)  we  could  be  no  worse,  and  might  be 
better  off  than  now ;  the  exceptional  need  would  require  an  exceptional 
remedy,  and  there  would  be  an  incalculable  amount  more  of  private 
charity  available  than  to-day  for  meeting  the  necessity.  But  besides 
this  there  would  be  a  vastly  larger  number  of  men  then  than  now  who 
would  have  learned  by  their  early  discipline  tlie  jwwer  of  saving,  and 
carried  it  on  to  make,  what  so  few  succeed  in  at  present,  not  only 
provision  for  old  age,  or  sickness,  but  also  for  "  a  rainy  day." 

And  yet  I  hope,  if  another  opportunity  be  afforded  me,  to  show  that 
National  Insurance  in  unexpected  ways  would  be  really  found  even  in 
this  respect  to  go  further  on  the  way  to  obviate,  and  so  to  dispose  of, 
this  great  difficulty  than  any  other  plan  at  present  known  to  man.   , 

But  consideration  for  the  space  at  my  disposal  and  the  patience  of 
my  readers  compels  me  to  draw,  for  the  present,  to  a  close.  I  have 
tried  to  meet  every  important  objection  which  has  been  offered  against 
National  Insurance.  I  do  not  believe  there  is  one  amongst  them 
insurmountable,  though  it  would  be  overweening  self-confidence  to 
hope  I  had  made  all  my  readers  share  this  faith.  But  it  is  no 
reason,  in  a  matter  of  such  importance  as  this  is,  because  I  fail 
to  remove  an  objection,  that  many  wiser  men  than  me  should  fail  as 
well.  This  at  least  I  claim  to  have  made  out  so  far,  that  the  change  I 
propose  is  not  imposaibfe,  at  all  events  till  far  stronger  grounds  for  the 
contrary  opinion  than  any  yet  adduced  shall  be  brought  forward. 

Let  any  reader  of  this  paper  compare  the  vastness  of  the  good  which 
the  scheme  would  effect,  with  the  small  importance  and  logical  weakness 
of  the  objections  to  it  we  have  considered,  and  I  think  he  will  agree  with 
me  that  we  have  a  right  to  ask  some  better  reason  for  having  to  go  bare- 
foot than  that  some  day  a  boot-lace  may  be  broken  ;  or  for  having  to  sit 
always  in  darkness  some  better  reason  than  that  clouds  occasionally 
obscnre  the  sun. 

W.  LewsRY  Blacklby. 

VOL,  XXXY.  T  T 


WHY  I^  PAIXA  aiYSTERY? 


MYSTERY  is  a  word  very  commonlr  associated  with  pain.  Just 
as  death  is  spoken  of  as  a  summons  and  sickness  as  a  Tisitation, 
so  pain  is  spoken  of  as  a  mTstenr !  It  can  scarcelj  be  doubted  that 
the  use  of  such  phraseology  is  better  calculated  to  conceal  than  to  leteal 
the  truth.  I  propose  to  inquire  whether  much  of  the  mystery  wm^ 
ciated  with  pain  is  not  artificial^  and  whether  it  would  not  be  more  in 
accordance  with  truth  to  regard  pain  as  no  more  mysterious  than  most 
other  accidental  conditions  of  life. 

Men  grow  accustomed  so  rapidly  and  insensibly  to  the  altered  and 
improved  conditions  of  life  which  the  labours  of  science  achieve  for 
tiiem,  that  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  call  to  mind  the  fact  that  it  is  on^ 
within  the  last  thirty  or  forty  years,  through  the  progress  of  expexi- 
mental  medicine,  that  pain  has  practically  been  removed  from  what 
were  some  of  the  most  painful  conditions  of  life,  and  human  control  over 
pain,  in  one  great  area  of  physical  sufiPering,  conclusiTely  demonstrated. 

Tlic  introduction  of  ansesthctics,  and  subsequently  of  antiaeptioiy 
into  practical  surgery, has  removed  suffering  and  even  danger firom  what 
were  formerly  amongst  the  very  gravest  calamities  of  human  life; 
while  the  simple  adoption  of  the  hypodermic  method  of  *^*niniat'**^ 
certain  remedies,  together  with  the  recent  discovery  of  other  uew 
has  iuorcascd  the  certainty  and  rapidity  of  our  means  for  relimng 
to  an  incalculable  extent.  Yet  it  is  a  curious  and  remmxkable 
there  may  be  found,  even  amongst  our  most  eminent  Unag 
sonic  who,  from  a  mistaken  notion  of  the  natavB 
argued  thirty  years  ago  against  the  use  of 
on  so-called  "  theological  grounds"  wem- 

•  Sir  J.  T.  Simpson  mentions  that  Dr.  Clute 
writo  th«  **  tb«ologiosl  psrt**  of  aa  sctiole  on  i 


JVm'  IS  PAIN  A  MYSTERY? 


631 


] 


By  lite  iutroduction  tlieu  of  auseatLetics  aloue  the  popular  attitude 
towards  physical  paiu  has  been,  necessarily,  greatly  modified  :  let  us 
examine  whether  it  may  not  undergo  still  further  modification  iu  order 
to  bring  it  iuto  harmony  with  facts. 

Much  of  the  mystery  and  coufusioa  of  ideas  which  have  become 
associated  with  the  consideration  of  pain  owe  their  origiu,  first,  to  the 
prevailing  tendency  to  coufouud  together  physical  and  moral  or  mental 
suffering,  and,  secondly,  to  the  almost  universal  practice  of  regarding 
pain  a&  the  close  and  constant  correlative  of  pleasure.  Moral,  or 
mental,  and  physical  suffering  are  no  doubt,  in  many  instances,  so  inti- 
mately associated,  that  it  is  difficult,  perhaps  impossible,  to  regard 
them  apart ;  hut  it  is  by  no  means  so  iu  all  cases,  and,  if  wc  desire  to 
get  clear  and  correct  ideas  of  physical  pain,  it  is  surely  desirable  to 
study  it,  iu  simple  and  uncomplicated  instances. 

Again,  there  are  many  complex  cases  where  pains  and  pleasures  are  no 
doubt  commingled  or  correlated,  so  that  they  appear  dependent  on  one 
another,  probably  to  a  much  greater  extent  than  they  really  are.  But 
there  is  also  no  lack  of  simpler  cases  where  paiu  exists  without  any 
correlated  pleasure. 

I  proiK>9e,  in  the  first  placcj  to  examine  some  of  the  generally  accepted  N, 
views  as  to  the  purpose  of  paiu.  It  has  been  very  generally  maintained 
that  pain  is  intended  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  sort  of  providential  warn- 
ing agaiust  disease  and  injury.  But^whoever  chooses  to  take  a  wide 
aud  comprehensive  view  of  disease  and  injury  will  at  once  be  struck 
with  the  very  conspicuous  absence  of  pain,  as  a  warning  agent,  in  the  vast 
majority  of  the  gravest  instances./ 

I  am  far  from  saying  that  pafn  does  not  occasionally  and  accidentally 
act  as  a  warning  agaiust  those  injuries  which  it  almost  invariably  accom- 
panies, but  when  it  docs  so  it  is  so  occasional  and  accidental,  that  it  is  ) 
impossible  to  regard  it  as  a  reason  for  the  existence  of  pain.*  With 
respect  to  disease,  I  fail  to  call  to  mind  any  malady  which  pain  actually 
precedes  as  a  warning,  while  iu  many  of  the  most  serious  diseases  paia  I 
plays  no  active  part  from  beginning  to  end. 

Is  there  any  painful  warning  of  the  approach  of  any  of  the  contagious 
disorders  ?  Of  the  acute  diseases  that  arise  from  exposure  to  cold,  one 
would  expect  to  meet  with  many  instances  in  which  some  warning  ia 
the  shape  of  paiu  was  experienced,  if  it  were  the  purpose  of  paiu  to  act 
as  a  "warning;  but  how  rarely  is  this  found  to  be  the  ease,  and  how 
exceedingly  common  is  it,  on  making  inquiry  into  the  probable  cause  of 
such  a  malady  to  receive  as  an  answer, "  I  cannot  imagine  how  I  came 
by  it  \"     The  pain  attending  exposure  to  cold  is  always  alluded  to  as  a 


J 


"any  theological  part  [tcriainiuij;  to  it  ;*'  aod  when  be  was  informed  of  the  kind  of  nrgameuta 
whidi  wore  used  againat  oiueiitneata^  aitcr  quietly  thinkio^  for  a  minute  or  two,  he  adTieeA 
bis  friend  that  if  some  "  rauall  theologians  '  took  iiuch  an  iiDproi>«r  view  of  the  subject  he 
ought  not  to  *'heed  them  1"^ 

*  It  is  neceasary  that  1  »hotild  say  I  am  hero  thinking  ea{>ecially  of  the  human  rSce  in 
civilized  aad  social  couditious.  so  that  I  am  not  necessarily  iii  autagODtam  with  Mr.  iierbect 
Spencvr's  views,  to  which  1  shall  presently  allude. 

T    T    2 


C32 


THE  CONTEMPORARY    REVIEIV, 


xnflS 


typical  instance  of  iU  warning  purpose;  but  those  curreuts  of  cold 
wbich  are  so  especially  dangerousj  arc  often  grateful  to  those  who  hart 
not  yet  learnt  to  associate  them  with  danger  ;  and  at  the  very  tiioe 
vhcn  exposure  to  severe  cold  becomes  most  dangerous,  it  deadens  seziai- 
bility  and  acts  as  an  ansestlietic ;  indeed,  extreme  cold  ia  a  well-knovn 
ansathetic. 

So  remarkable  is  the  absence  of  pain  or  discomfort  in  one  of  the 
prevalent  and  fatal  of  chronic  maladies — viz.,  pulmonary  consumptiou- 
that,  amongst  the  poorer  classes,  this  disease  is  constantly  allowed 
make  irreparable  inroads  before  medical  aid  is  sought. 

Pain,  when  it  is  found  associated  with  disease,  accompanies  it  oj 
accidental  condition,  but  does  not  precede  it  as  a  warning.  This 
is  well  illu3tra.ted  in  the  history  and  growth  of  certain  tumours. 
tumour  of  precisely  the  same  nature  will  in  one  part  of  the  body 
associated  with  severe  suffering,  while  if  it  happen  to  grow  iu  another 
part  of  the  body  it  will  be  painless.  Nor  can  we  rely  upon  the  presexiQ& 
or  the  amount  of  pain  as  affording  any  criterion  of  the  severity  of  ifl 
disease.  Pain  is  often  severe  iu  quite  harmless  aud  trivial  disturbances 
of  health,  while,  as  1  have  already  pointed  out,  it  is  frequently  absei 
in  some  stages,  and  occasionally  throughout  the  whole  course  of 
maladies. 

Indeed,  so  far  are  we  from  being  warned  off  from  disease  by  pi 
that  it  would  certainly  be  more  correct  to  say,  with  regard   to 
our  acquired  diseases,  that  we  are  in  a  manner  lured  on  to  them 
pleasure. 

"  The  gods  are  just,  and  of  our  pleasant  vioM 
Make  instrumeuta  tu  plague  lU.** 

It  has  been  maintained  that  iu  infancy  especially  pain  is  nci 
a  warning,  and  we  meet  in  popular  essays  on  pain  with  statements 
as  these : — "  Every  man  owes  his  life  to-day  to  the  pains  of  hun| 
which  he  felt  when  an  infant ;"  "  If  hunger  were  not  painful,  infants 
would  not  take  food  \"  "  If  falling  down  were  not  painful^  childiM 
would  never  learn  to  walk  upright."*  But  I  would  ask  in  answer  W 
such  statements — As  a  matter  of  fact,  vWo  ever  thinks  of  trusting  to 
pain  as  a  warning  to  protect  infancy  from  danger?  I  do  not  know 
any  infants,  belonging  to  decent  people,  who  are  allowed  to  suffer 
"  pains  of  hunger."  I  should  say  they  more  frequently  suffer  from 
pains  of  repletion. 

I  shall  contend  presently  that  appetite  is  more  of  a  pleasure  thau^ 
paiu — a  pleasurable  incitement :  this  the  infant  has,  as  well  as 
positive  pleasure  of  feeding,  to  urge  it.  The  infant's  danger  rather 
lies  in  being  allowed  to  indulge  this  pleasure  too  freely.  Need  I  point 
out  that  falling  down  ia  not  necessarily  painful  to  children?  an  infant 
falls  down  many  hundreds  of  times  on  his  bed,  quite  painlessly,  before 
he  acquires  the  power  and  art  of  walking.     Does  any  one  really 

•  Voysey ;  '*  Mystery  of  Pais,"  fto. 


JVHY  fS  PAIN  A  MYSTERY? 


6a» 


I 


• 


I  am  tempted  to  aakj  that  if  it  were  not  for  the  paia  of  falling  dowu, 
we  should  be  going  about  on  all  fours  ?  On  the  other  handj  I  may 
urge,  that  the  child  whOj  ignorant  of  the  proi>erties  of  boiling-water, 
drinks  it  from  the  spout  of  a  kettle  and  dies  in  consequence,  haa  had 
little  useful  warning  from  pain.  It  is  not  pain  that  prevents  a  child  from 
falling  out  of  a  high  window  and  being  killed,  or  from  walking  into  the 
water  and  being  drowned,  or  from  eating  poisonous  herbs  or  berries. 
In  all  these  matters  it  is  absolutely  dependent  on  the  knowledge  and 
experience  of  its  parents  and  elders,  until  it  has  acquired  for  itself  a 
knowledge  of  the  common  properties  of  the  things  around  it ;  and  most 
of  this  knowledge  is  conveyed  by  direct  instruction  from  its  parents  and 
others.  Mr.  Hinton"^"  ap[>ears  to  have  realized,  though  only  partially, 
the  weakness  of  this  argument,  for  he  says,  '^  There  is  no  adequate 
explanation  to  be  found  of  pain  in  the  beneficial  effects  which  it  pro- 
duces in  respect  to  our  physical  existence;"  and  then  he  adds,  with 
something  of  self-contradiction,  "  It  serves  these  uses — is  benevolently 
meant  to  serve  them,  doubtless,  as  our  hearts  irrepressibly  afiSrm." 
Now  this  is  a  typical  example  of  a  method  of  reasoning  which  not 
unfrequcntly  commended  itself  to  this  often  acute  thinker.  It  is  a 
strange  mixture  of  appeals  sometimes  to  the  bead  and  sometimes  to  the 
heart.  lie  can  appeal  to  the  reason,  and  forcibly  too,  when  it  suits  his 
purpose  to  do  so ;  but  the  instant  he  feels  he  cannot  convince  the 
reason,  he  falls  back  upon  the  feelings.  I  know  nothing  more  difficult 
to  meet  fairly  than  this  on-and-off  kind  of  logic. 

It  is  simply  through  acquired  knowledge  of  the  laws  and  properties 


of  things — in    other   words,  by  experience — -that  we   learn  to   avoid 


what  is  hurtful ;  and  the  hurtful  and  the  painful  are  by  no  means  co- 
extensive ;  and  notwithstanding  even  the  accumulated  teachings  of 
experience,  men  are  wonderfully  slow  to  learn  that  certain  indulgences 
are  injurious  in  their  consequences. 

I  contend,  then,  that  pain  is  not  necessary — nor,  in  civilized  life,^^ 
we  rely  upon  it — as  a  means  for  "  our  safety  and  protection.''V'''^en 
slowly  learn  by  experience,  by  observation,  by  research,  what  are  the 
conditions  in  life  hostile  to  their  welfare  and  preservation,  and  they 
avoid  them  whether  they  arc  painful  or  not.  And  we  are  certainly 
justified  in  saying  that,  in  civilized  life  at  any  rate,  those  things  which 
are  most  painful  are  by  no  means  necessarily  those  which  are  most 
hurtful. 

Of  the  evils  to  be  avoided  we  account  death  to  be  the  greatest ;  and 
we  should  take  the  same   precautions    to  avoid  the  causes  (if  we  knew 
them)  of  a  fatal  accident  or  disease  that  was  painless  as  of  one  that  was 
^—    painful. 

^P        There  is  another  ])Opular  view  of  the  purpose  of  pain  upon  wliicb  I 
'        wish  to  offer  a  few  comments  :  it  is,  that  "  pain  serves  as  a  punishment 

tfor  sin  ;*'  that  "  suffering  is  the  minister  of  justice,"      Here,  again,  I 
•  Uinton :  "^  UyttiKy  of  Pftin,'*  pp.  Stt,  37. 


/ 


6S4 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVTEfr. 


would  point  out  that  when  pain  seems  to  serve  such  a  purpose^  it  la  br 
ftcddent  and  not  design.     How  can   it  be   otherwise  ?      For,  like  tlvfl 
»nn*s  rays,  paiu  visits  equally  ''the  just  and  the  unjust."      If  paiu  hai^ 
any  prefcrenre  it   prefers  the   weak   and   the   ignorant  rather  than  tbe 
wilfully  vicious.      How  common  is  it  for  pain  to  fall  upon  the  innocent 
victims  of  crime  rather  than  upon  the  perpetrators!      T  am  still  speak- 
ing cxcliisivcly  of  physical    paiu.      No  one  could  possibly  maintain,  in 
the  face  of  facts,  that  siu^  iu  the  theological  meaning  of  the  word,  is  ^| 
due  to  the  distribution   of  suffering.     Would  any  one   mock   a  pooi^ 
creature  who  was  suffcriug  from  the  pangs  of  cancer  by   assurinjj  him 
that  it  was  a  punishment  for  sinJy^Orj  on  the  other  hand,  would  an' 
©ne  support  this  view  in   the   presence  of  one  of  those  men  who,  in 
green  old  age,  boast  that  they  have  "lived  every  day  of  their  lives?' 
which  usually  means    that  they   have  denied  themselves  no  plcasurej 
Mwful  or  unlawful,  and  that  they  have  suffered  no  pain.      How  com- 
monly selfishness  strives  to  avoid  its  fair  share  of  pain,  and  aacceed*  iai 
doing  so  \ 

It  is  quite  trne  that  pain  and  suffering  commonly  follow  the  ignorant 
or  wilful  infringement  of  physical  laws.  This  is  perhaps  truer  still  of 
destrurtiou  or  death,  which  may  l>e  quite  painhss ;  especially  if  we 
include  the  M-hole  animal  kingdom  in  our  survey.  Under  tliis  head|_ 
again,  Mr.  HiutoUj  after  euumeratiiig  many  arguments  against  his  owofl 
conclusion,  ccncludcs  nevertheless  that  "pain  avenges  the  naajestv  of 
violated  law,  physical  and  moral."*  Iu  reply  to  this,  I  would  say  that 
t!ie  incidence  of  physical  pain  is  so  unequal  when  it  follows  the  violatioi 
of  even  physical  laws,  that  it  is  more  correct  to  regard  it  as  an  acci- 
<tental  accompanying  condition;  and  that  with  respect  to  the  infrir»ge-l 
raent  of  moral  laws,  facts  are  entirely  against  this  view.  I  will  cite 
iimple  case  to  illustrate  my  meaning.  Three  men,  let  us  suppose,  stcalj 
peaches  from  a  garden  and  cat  them;  one  of  them  is  stung  in  the] 
mouth  by  a  wasp  concealed  in  one  of  the  peaches;  an  inflaoimatiou  oi 
the  throat  follows,  from  which  he  suffers  greatly,  and  finally  dies.  "Now, 
this  is  by  no  means  an  unfair  example  of  the  purely  accidental  way  iu 
which  physical  pain  occasionally  follows  the  violation  of  moral  law. 

The  same  incqnahty  of  incidence  may  be  traced  in  the  infliction  oi 
physical  paiu  as  a  punishment  in  the  administration  of  the  criminal  law, 
and  which  is  dependent  on  the  relation  of  physical  pain  to  pliysical 
sensibility. 

Indeed,  the  unequal  distribution  of  pain  depends,  to  a  considerable 
extent,  on  the  unequal  distribution  of  the  power  of  feeling  poin.  ■ 
Physical  sensibility  or  sensitiveness, — by  this  T  mean  acuteucss  of  sen- 
sation,— is  a  quality  which  varies  infinitely  iu  different  individuals,  and 
bears  so  close  and  necessary  a  relation  to  physical  suffering,  that  it 
ilemands  careful  cousideration  in  any  thouglitful  study  of  pain.  Juat 
as  "  what  is  one  man's  food   is   another  man's  poison,"  so   may  we 

•  Hinton  :  "  MyBtcrj'  of  P»in,"  p.  98. 


\ 


irilY  IS  PJIX  A  MYSTERY? 


635 


p 


that  what  is  oae  inau's  suffering  is  another  mau's  entertainment.  "  Pain 
is,  in  a  certiiiu  seuse^  enttrtain'mg"  has  hcou  quoted  as  the  expression 
of  a  confirmed  invalid.  It  is  this  entertaining  property  of  pain  for 
certain  not  orer-seusitive  natures  that  in  alluded  to  hy  Leopard  i,  in  the 
quotation  prefixed  to  this  essay.  "  What  remedy/*  asks  Tasso,  "  is 
therefor  wearine^?"  "Sleep,  opium,  and  pain"  replica  the  Spirit, 
"  and  this  last  is  the  most  potent  of  all,  for  while  a  man  suffers  he  can 
never  feel  weary."  Then  speaks  out  the  semtitive  nature  in  Tasso  :  "  I 
had  rather  be  wearied  all  my  life  than  take  this  medicine/'  Shak 
spearc  says,  "  He  jcaU  at  scars  who  never  felt  a  wound."  He  might  have 
said,  perhaps  with  more  truth,  "  He  jests  at  scars  who  never  feeU  a 
wound."  In  the  curious  histories  of  malingering,  ivliich  wc  receive 
from  the  medical  officers  of  onr  prisons  and  public  services,  many 
instances  of  self-infiictcd  injuries  occur  which  might  doubtless  be  traced 
to  the  existence  of  a  low  standard  of  physical  sensibility.*  A  remark- 
able instance  came  under  my  own  observation  many  years  ago  in  quite 
a  young  child,  which  makes  it  all  the  more  striking,  as  infancy  is  very 
intolerant  of  pain.  A  little  pauper  girl  presented  herself  one  morning 
in  the  surgery  of  a  country  doctor,  and  lisped  out  a  request  to  have  a 
decayed  tooth  extracted.  The  tooth,  M-hich  for  a  child  was  large  and 
firmly  fixed,  was  taken  out  without  the  smallest  expression  of  suffering 
on  the  part  of  the  child,  and  a  penny  was  given  her  for  being  so  brave. 
The  next  morning  the  little  thing  reappeared  and  asked  to  have  another 
tooth  out,  this  time  pointing  to  a  perfectly  sound  one,  and  it  seems 
probable  that  she  would  have  consented  to  the  forcible  extimctiou  of  the 
whole  set  at  a  penny  per  tooth. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  reputation  for  bravery  and  fortitude 
has  often  been  the  reward  of  physical  innensibility,  and  the  reproach  of 
cowardice  and  timidity  has,  as  frequently,  brought  unmerited  contempt 
on  an  acutely  sensitive  organization.  The  suffering  involved  in  a  surgical 
operation  may  be  a  totally  different  thing  to  two  different  persons,  and 
may  well  account  for  the  confidence  with  which  one  person  and  the 
dread  with  which  another  submits  to  it.  Before  the  introduction  of 
ansesthetics  there  is  no  sort  of  doubt  th:it  many  of  these  hyper-sensi- 
tives were  actually  killed  by  the  suflcring  attending  surgical  inter- 
ference- "  Pain  may  kill,"  says  Dr.  Latham  in  one  of  his  admirable 
essays:  "it  may  overwhelm  the  nervous  system  hy  its  mere  magnitude 
and  duration."  Dryden  deliberately  preferred  death  to  the  pain  of  a 
severe  surgical  operation.  Tliis  faculty  of  suffering — this  exquisite 
refinement  of  the  nervous  system — has  many  compensating  advantages; 


*  A  writer  in  the  Pall  MaU  GusriU  on  tnalin^ring  remarks:  *'I  h*ve  known  one  (a 
maliugtrrer)  stumble  amier  a  cart  wheel.  aiiJ  tlinit  secure  a  broken  leg — tbe  more  Mrelcome 
since  the  £ractitrc  waA  compoimtl,  and  itromised  tu  keep  him  mauy  montlin  uniler  the 
8urgef>n*a  baniU.  I  have  kauwn  uthurs  to  thniKt  their  haotls  aud  fei<t  into  mnchiuery,  aiid 
at  tiiiiL'fl  even  to  lay  open  a  muscle  or  lop  off  a  fiu^'er  or  toe  Xot  luiig  ago  I  saw  a  farm 
lab^jurtT  of  iuid<lJv  age,  whom  four  muDth«  uf  a  budpital  had  euauiuiii'ed  of  that  kind  of 
life,  and  trho  had  just  ahred  off  a  linger  with  a  hcdging-bill,  a  few  days  after  hifl  restora* 
tiou  to  liberty  and  wurk,  dumg  this  iu  order  to  return  to  the  hospital  1'^ 


636 


THE  CONTEMPi 


Y  REJTEJr. 


it  is  commonly  regarded  as  the  parcut  of  refined  taste,  aud,  if  combined 
with  a  certain  robustness  of  intellect,  it  leads  to  the  highest  culture  aod 
the  finest  productions  in  literature  and  art.      But  this  exquisite  physical 
sensitiveness  ia  a  gift  of  doubtful  value  save  in  those  rare  instances  in 
^hich   it  is    accompanied   by    strong   will   and    vigorous     intelligence; 
without  these  companions,  although  it   may  yield  a  certain  intensity  to 
pleasurable   and   ocsthctic  sensations,    it   may  even   be  doubted    if  it  is 
best  adapted,  as  it  is  often  claimed  to  be,  for  true  artistic  appreciation. 
A  little  careful  reflection  will  convince  ua  that  this  hjrper-scnsitivenci^ 
when  not  balanced  by  other  qualities,  interferes  greatly    vrith   a  trd| 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful,  and   a  just  estimate  of  refined  sensuous 
impressions.     It  often  produces  a  state  of  mind  which  is  not  ia  itself 
pleasurable  or  admirable,  an  intensely  subjective  state,  an  attitude  fl 
attention  to  our  smallest  subjective  sensationsj   a  condition  which  abso- 
lutely preoccupies  the  observant  faculties  and  renders  impossible  that 
keenly   objective   (receptive)    attitude    which  is  essential   to    accurate 
observation  of  the  external,   the  foundation  of  all  true  artistic  appre- 
ciation and  all  correct  taste.      Moreover,   this  acute  physical  sensibiiidti 
is  often  self-indulgent,  even  when  self-indulgence  implies  costly  sacrifice^l 
and,  on  the  whole,  it  is  a  quality   which   we  should  endeavour,  by  edu- 
cation, to  repress  rather  than  to  encourage. 

Again :  the  infliction  of  physical  pain  as  a  punishment,  in  order  to 
strictly  just,   woidd  have    to  be  calculated  according  to  the  physici 
sensibility  of  the  recipient ;  and  as  this  is  impossible  in   practice, 
renders  it  a  very  unsuitable  form  of  penal  infliction. 

I  wish  to  contest  the  not  uncommon  opinion  that  physical  pai 
is  on  the  whole  a  good  thing,  and  that  without  pain  there  coul 
be  no  pleasure.  "  Fain  in  all  its  forms  serves  a  purpose  in  the  plans  of 
God,  as  indispensable  and  sacred  as  that  of  His  choicest  gifts."  **  TI 
suffering  of  humanity  is  on  the  whole  necessary  and  beneficial," 
enjoy  pleasure  at  all  there  must  be  alternation  with  sensations  more  or 
less  painful."*  Yet  the  same  writer  says  on  the  very  next  page,"  Pain 
is  uo  sooner  felt  than  we  put  forth  every  effort  to  be  rid  of  it  ,  .  .  . 
one  of  the  great  ends  of  our  being  is  to  contend  with,  and,  if  possible, 
to  annihilate  physical  suficring,  to  rid  the  world  of  it  as  soon  as  we 
can."  But  when  this  is  accomplishcdj  we  shall  be  unable,  according  to 
the  preceding  statement,  "  to  enjoy  pleasure  at  all !"  Either  then,  we 
are  in  a  state  of  existence,  "  one  of  the  great  ends  of  which"  we  can 
never  accomplish,  or  if  we  do  accomplish  this  end,  we  shall  "  annihilate 
physical  suflfering,"  and  with  it  all  possibility  of  pleasure  I  A  "  great 
end"  surely !  Such  arc  some  of  the  self-contradictions  which  thej 
apologists  for  physical  pain  indulge  in.  | 

,  To  regard  physical  pain  as  a  good  thing,  and  yet  to  labour  for  it^ 
extinction,  is  surely  an  inconsistent  attitude  to  assume,  and  would  sccni 
to  point   to  some  confusion  of  ideas.     To  write  in  panegyric  of    the 

•  Voyaey :  '*  Myatery  of  Pain,"  &c. 


•tM 


ffT/y  IS  PAIN  A  MYSTERY? 


687 


beneficent  iuflueuce  of  pain,  and  to  be,  at  the  same  time,  au  earnest 
soarchcr  after  ans&sthetica,  is  not  more  reconcilable  than  most  preaching 
and  practice  have  ever  proved  to  be. 

Mr.  Hinton  also  maintains  that  pain  "^  disciplinea  and  corrects  the 
erring,  chastens  and  subdues  the  proud,  weans  from  false  pleasure, 
teaches  true  wisdom;^'  and  then  hh  own  clear  insight,  as  well  as  his 
professional  experience,  urge  him  to  add  :  "  Most  often  in  this  sad 
world  pain  works,  to  our  eyes,  evil  and  not  good ;  and  where  it  works  no 
good,  it  often  falls  most  heavily/^  "  There  are  pains  innumerable  which 
benefit  neither  the  body  nor  the  soul ;  which  punish  no  moral  wrong, 
which  vindicate  no  material  law  against  voluntary  breach."*  Was  it 
wise,  then,  one  is  tempted  to  ask,  to  frame  that  first  sweeping  and  high- 
sounding  sentence  ?  What  is  the  meaning  of  these  absolutely  conflicting 
statements?  These  contradictions  arise  out  of  a  desire  to  se^  design 
and  purpose  in  what  are  simply  accidental  effects  and  conditions.  For 
my  own  part,  I  am  more  in  accord  with  another  popular  writer  who 
says  ; — "  I  have  but  faint  belief  in  the  '  sweet  uses  of  adversity/  I 
think  they  are  about  as  mythical  as  the  jewel  in  the  toad's  ugly  skull, 
to  which  Shakspearc  likened  them.  It  is  in  pi*osperity  that  one  looks 
up  with  leaping  heart  and  clear  eyes,  and  through  the  clouds  sees  God 
throned  in  light.  In  adversity  one  sees  nothing  but  one's  own  dung- 
hiU  and  boils." 

Do  we  ever  actually  encounter  any  one  (except  in  books  and  sermons) 
who  appears  to  believe  pain  to  be  a  desirable  and  good  thing  ?  Are  there 
any  who  do  not  make  efforts  to  avoid  it  V  To  bear  pain  with  fortitude 
and  patience,  when  it  is  unavoidable,  is  a  manly  and  noble  quality ;  but 
who  has  ever  seen  pain  sought  after  as  a  genidnc  good,  except  in  the 
self-regarding  antics  of  religious  fanatics  ?  And  to  accept  pain  in  this 
world  as  a  sure  guarantee  of  the  joys  of  paradise  is  scarcely,  to  my  mind, 
an  elevated  moral  position.  I  doubt  not  that  some  natures  are  softened 
by  pain,  but  many  are  hardened,  "  eo  immitior  qno  magis  tolerarat," 
and  few  indeed  are  strengthened.  The  weakening  eflfect  of  physicid  pain 
on  the  moral  nature  of  man  was  never  lost  sight  of  by  those  whose 
desire  or  interest  it  was  to  deceive  or  oppress  him  during  the  darkest 
ages  of  superstition  and  tyranny.  Of  its  power  to  overcome  the 
strongest  moral  resolution,  the  history  of  torture  affords  abundant 
evidence. 

"  La  philosophic/'  says  La  Rochefoucault,  "  triomphc  aisemeut  des 
mauz  passes,  et  des  maux  k  vcnir;  mais  les  maux  presents  triomphent 
d'elle." 

Those  who  maintain  that  pain  is  a  good  thing,  contend  that  it  is  espe- 
cially so  as  the  ground  of  sympathy  and  self-sacrifice.  Now  sympathy 
depends  on  two  things :  one  is  sensibility,  mental  or  physical,  and  the 
other  is  imagination.  Where  there  are  sensibility,  acutcness  of  sensa- 
tion, and  imagination,  we  shall  find  sympatbv,  quite  irrespective  of  the 

*  Hioton:  "Mystery  of  Fmh,"  p.  3D. 


L 


638 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REJIETT. 


i 


urgency  of  physical  pain  ;  and  no  amount  of  physical  hurt  will  call  ibrth 
sympathy,  wlierc  sensibility  and  imagination  are  absent.  Tlien,  as  to 
the  identification  of  pain  with  self-aacrifice,  this  seems  to  me  to  arire 
from  defective  analysis.  Let  us  examine  tlie  case  where  self- sacri fire 
is  associated  with  physical  pain.  Here  we  have  to  deal  with  two  elements 
which  are  in  emotional  contrast: —  ^ 

Ist,  The  actual  suffering  from  physical  injury.  H 

2nd,  Tiic  pleasure  and  pride  of  self-sacrifice. 

AVc  must  balance  these  two :  if  the  former  predominate,  the  aacrifice 
will  be  felt  as  a  pain  ;  if  the  latter,  as  a  pleasure.  When  self-sacrifioc 
is  not  a  pleasure  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  its  moral  beauty.  Moreover, 
there  are  very  strong  grounds  for  believing  that  where  there  is  great 
enthusiasm,  or  great  mental  exaltation  and  emotional  excitement, 
such  as  nccorapnny  many  forms  of  sclf-sacrificc, — as,  for  example,,  in 
cases  of  religious  martyrdom, — ordinary  physical  sensibility  is  well-uigl 
extinguished.* 

Thusc  moralists  who  contend  for  the  beneficent  action  of  jmin  usually 
maintain  aho  that  pain  and  pleasure  arc  inse^jarablc.  I  have  already 
quoted  the  writer  who  says,  "  To  enjoy  pleasure  at  all  there  must  be 
alternation  with  sensations  more  or  less  painful."  A  French  writert  on 
this  subject  is  even  more  emphatic:  '^Ainsi,  tout  de  merae  qu'il  n'e«t 
pas  possible  de  separer  la  douleur  du  plaisir,  tout  de  m^mc  il  n'cst  pas 
possible  quails  ne  soient  pas  en  proportion  Pun  avec  I'antrc.  TiBtj 
grandcs  joics  ne  sout  qu^^  la  condition  dcs  grandcs  doulcurs."  In  anotherl 
place  :  "II  y  a  uue  connexion  necessaire  entre  le  plaisir  et  la  douleur; 
il  est  impossible  de  conccvoir  que  la  douleur  ne  soit  pas  Ih  ou  est  Iqh 
plaisir/'  It  appears  to  mc  only  necessary  to  say,  in  answer  to  this,^ 
that  what  is  here  stated  to  be  inconceivable  I  and  others  can  conceive. 
Indeed,  I  find  no  difficulty  in  conceiving  an  existence  without  pain.  It 
is  surely  conceived  in  the  docrtrinc  of  eternal  felicity  and  in  that  of  the 
Millennium.  Montesquieu,  in  the  Leitres  persaneg  (exx.),  alludes  in  a 
spirit  of  raillery  to  the  difficulty  of  finding  pleasures  wherewith  to  fill 
up  eternity^  but  he  docs  not  hint  that  they  should  be  alternated 
with  pain,  or  that  an  eternity  of  pleasure  is  inconceivable.  He  says : 
"On  cpouvante  farilcmcnt  Ics  mediants  par  ime  longuc  suite  de  peinea 
dont  on  les  menace^  mais  pour  les  gens  vertucux  on  ne  sait  que  Icur 
prouicttrc  :  il  scmblc  que  la  nature  dcs  plnisirs  snit  d'etre  d'une  courtc 
dureCj  Tiraagination  a  peine  h  s'cn  representer  d'autres.  J'ai  vu  des 
descriptions  du  paradis  capables  d'y  fairc  rcnoncer  tons  les  gens  de   bon 

•  Those  i>oculiar  mental  fltatc-s,  the  subjects  of  which  make   n   *'  joy  of  ifrief,"  form  <tf 
tliemsehea  a  collateral  atniiy  nf  great  interest.     Takt:  the  Ime  in  the  Stabai  Mater^^ 

* '  Fac  nie  cmco  Chrititi  inebriari  I" 
Such  exoUmations  of  etatea  of  cniutioual  excitement,  of  strong  diatiirbaaoe  of  ph%*8icAl  uiil^ 
meutat  Honsatiou,  represent  tlie  |<leaaun.'s  uf  tttatcs  of  uiiad  which  border  ou  Irenxy,  oafl 
mania,  or  hysteria.     ThcM  states  of  excitement  of  certain  poi*tioD8  of  the  nervoiia  ^stemfl 
unduubtedly  fur  a  time  paralyze  ordinary  wouatioQ,  and  wouuds  and  other  injuries  j^ive  no 
pain,  whicli  would,  when  tho  nervons  system  was  in  a  state  of  calm  equilibrium,  bo  attended 
with  acute  sufluring. 
t  BouUier:  "  Dn  Plaisir  et  de  la  I>i>uleur.'' 


jri/y  fS  PAIN  A   MYSTERY? 


639 


I 
I 

I 


■ 
I 


■ 
■ 
I 


sens:  Ics  «ns  font  joiier  sans  ccssc  dr  la  flute  ccs  ombres  heurciises, 
d'autrcs  lea  condamnent  au  supplicc  dc  so  promener  eternelleiricut ; 
d'autres,  en6n,  qui  les  font  rcver  lii-haut  atix  maitresses  d'ici-ba^j  u'ont 
pas  cm  que  cent  roilUous  d'annccs  fusscnt  un  termc  asscz  long  pour 
leur  oter  Ic  gout  de  ces  inquietudes  amoureuscs.^' 

To  say  that  there  is  no  pain  without  pleasure  is  incousistcut  with  the 
commonest  experience.  What  is  the  pleasure  that  aceompauies  or 
corresponds  to  the  paiu  of  sea-sickness  V  What,  is  the  puiu  thut  accom- 
panies or  corresponds  to  the  pleasure  of  a  morning  walk  on  the  hill-side 
to  a  man  in  vigorous  health  ?  I  take  at  hap-hazard  two  of  the  simplest 
examples  that  occur  to  mc.  It  has  been  argued  that  the  pleasures  of 
eating  and  drinking  arc  dependent  on  the  condition  of  having  been  pre- 
ceded by  the  pains  of  hunger  and  thirst  ;  but  hunger  and  thirstj  when 
they  are  not  pushed  beyond  what  wc  call  appetitCj  arc  not  pains  ;  on  the 
contrary,  they  arc  esseutially  pleasurable.  This  seems  to  me  capable  of 
being  put  very  clearly.  Want  of  appetite,  absence  of  appetite,  absence 
of  hunger,  is  certainly  regarded  as  painful.  How,  then,  can  the  presence 
of  appetite  and  the  absence  of  appetite  be  both  painful?  There  has 
also  been  a  contention  among  philosoplicrs  w  hcther  or  uot  there  exist  states 
of  indifference,  neither  pleasurable  nor  painful.  Sonic  maintain  that  there 
are  such  states,  others  that  there  arc  uot.  It  seems  remarkable  to  mc  that 
it  should  never  have  o<?cun*ed  to  these  gentlemen  that  their  diffcreueus  of 
opinion  probably  depended  on  differences  of  physical  temperament  or  sur- 
rounding circumstances.  Each  man's  conclusiou  wns  probably  the  result 
of  personal  introspection.  He  who  was  by  nature  cold  and  non-emotional 
wotdd  be  familiar  with  states  of  indifference  ;  he  who  waa  of  an  ardent  and 
emotional  nature  would  know  no  such  states.  T  well  rememljcr  a  gentic- 
mau  who  had  arrived  at  middle  age,  and  who  had  suffered  miieh  fi'ora  dys- 
pepsia, assuring  me  that  only  within  the  last  few  years  had  he  known  "  the 
simple  pleasure  of  existence!"  What  circumstances  had  made  forhim  a  state 
of  pleasure  would  probably  have  been  to  some  others  a  state  of  indifference. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  some  of  those  who  argue  that  pain  is,  in 
itself,  a  good  thing,  extend  its  signification  to  cover  an  area  far  wider 
than  I,  for  one,  should  accept ;  and  they  seem,  at  times,  to  forget  that 
pain  is  essentially  dependent  on  conditions  and  circumstances.  "  I  have 
known  many  a  philosopher/'  says  Dr.  Latham,  "outreasoned  by  his 
feelings,  take  to  rating  and  chiding  his  pain,  as  if  it  were  an  entity  or 
quiddity  of  itself."  There  are  conditions  of  health  in  which  food  is 
absolutely  a  loatliing,  and  when  every  kind  of  bodily  exercise  is  weari- 
some and  disagreeable.  W*(ju!d  it  be  just,  on  that  account,  to  say  that 
there  is  an  element  of  pain  in  taking  food,  and  an  element  of  pain  in 
bodily  exercise  ?  Yet  Mr.  Hiuton  seems  to  have  fallen  into  this  error 
when  he  argued  that  "  a  life  from  which  everything  that  has  in  it  the 
element  of  pain  is  banished,  becomes  a  life  not  worth  hanng  ;  or  worse, 
of  intolerable  tedium  and  disgust ;"  for  by  the  context  it  is  plain  that 
he  meant  here  by  pain  simply  exercise,  activity,  work ! 


640 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


•1 


"  Ascending  mountains^"  he  says,  "  seema  to  be  a  really  painful 
cricket  is  associated  with  "  roughness  and  fatigucj"  and  a  hard  day'i 
boating  is  "  toil  and  even  pain."  Now  whatever  pahi  may  arise  in  con- 
nection with  these  exercises  is  wholly  accidental  and  not  essential,  aijd 
whenever  they  become  paiuful  to  any  individual  concerned  in  them,  it 
because  his  efforts  are  not  well  within  his  powers ;  but  even  if  no  pail 
is  felt,  Mr.  Iliuton  appears  to  maintain  that  it  exists^  for  he  ad( 
'^  pleasure  will  absorb  pain  and  turn  it  to  its  own  sustenance/'  This 
Indeed  makiug  a  mystery  of  pain ;  for^  according  to  this  view,  pain  caa' 
exist  iu  two  states — one  in  which  we  can  all  recognise  it  by  its  familiar 
characters^  and  another  in  which  we  cannot  recognise  it^  because  it  has 
none  of  its  ordiuary  characters^  being  in  a  state  of  absorption  I 

The  healthy  exercise  of  our  functions,  the  free  play  of  all  our  bodily 
oxgansj  is  the  chief  condition  of  pleasure,  and  I,  for  my  part,  can  sec  no 
necessary  element  of  pain  in  this.  One  can  find  complex  cases  where 
the  pleasure  of  exercise  is  mixed  with  the  pain  of  fatigue,  if  search  is 
made  for  them^  but  there  is  no  lack  of  simple  ones.  Mr.  Hinton  goes 
on  to  speak  of  '^  the  pains  which  are  the  very  conditions  of  eujoyment 
to  the  healthy  man."  If  any  one  desires  to  call  these  pains,  then  when 
such  a  person  uses  the  word  "  pain"  he  is  thinking  of  something  that  I 
am  not  thiukiugof.  By  pain  I  nicuu  that  which  is  in  its  nature  essentially^ 
nnpleasantj  and  I  may  borrow  with  advantage  Mr.  Herbert  Speucor'sf 
suggestion,  and  "  substitute  for  the  word  pain  the  equivalent  phrase — a 
feeling  which  we  wish  to  get  out  of  consciousness,  aud  to  keep  out," 

The  i)oets,  with  their  natm*al  delight  in  antithesis,  seem,  for  the  moat 
partj  to  be  on  the  side  of  those  who  think  pain  a  good  thing,  or  as 
closely  correlated  with  pleasure ;  but  they  mix  up  the  physical  and 
the  moral  in  these  considerations — sensatiou  and  emotion,  objective  and 
subjective ;  and  they  do  not  aim  at  strict  scientific  analysis. 

Lord  Houghton  has  the  following  lines : — 

*'  Wlio  cau  dett!T7tilne  the  froutier  of  i»leaaitre  ? 
Who  can  distinguish  the  LituitB  of  paiii  ? 

Pain  hab  its  Hcaveu,  and  PleaBuri!  tta  Hftll." 
Voltaire  has  a  somewhat  similar  thought — 

"  La  peine  a  ses  plaiBirB>  le  (i^ril  a  Mt  charmee." 
And  Lucretius  says, — • 

'*  Medio  de  fontc  Icponim 
iSargit  aiunri  aliqiiid  quod  in  ipsis  floribus  tuigat/* 

Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  has  maiutained,  as  an  *'  inevitable  corollary 
from  the  general  doctrine  of  evolution,  that  pleasures  arc  the  incentives 
to  life-supporting  acts,  and  pains  the  deterrents  from  life-destroying 
acts."  But  he  admits  iu  the  case  of  mankind — J.  e.,  iu  the  particular 
case  to  which  1  have  been  referring — "  there  has  arisen,  and  must  long 
continue,  a  deep  and  involved  derangement  of  the  natural  connections 
between  pleasures  and  beue^cial  actions,  and  between  pains  aud  detri< 
mental  actions/' 


W^/r  IS    PAIN   A    AfYSTERY? 


641 


I 


I 


I 


To  examine  fully  Mr.  Spencer's  views  would  be  incompatible  with 
the  necessary  limits  of  this  essay  ;  but  I  take  this  opportunity  of  sug- 
gesting that  the  Bclf-conserWng  sensations  which  he  obsencs  in  the  lower 
animals  may  be  iudependeut  of  either  pleasure  or  pain.  I  would  point 
to  the  common  experiment  of  placing  a  drop  of  an  irritating  fluid  on  the 
skin  of  the  thigh  of  a  decapitated  frog,  and  observing  the  efforts  made 
by  the  animal  lo  remove  it ;  I  would  refer  to  Mr.  Spencer's  own  state- 
ment that  "  there  are  also  feelings  yielded  by  the  higher  organs  that  are 
neither  pleasurable  nor  painful,  as  are  ordinary  sensations  of  touch  ;" 
yet  the  "  ordinary  sensations  of  touch"  arc  of  the  highest  importance 
for  self-conscn'ation. 

I  would  ask,  too,  What  do  we  really  know  as  to  the  capacity  of 
feeling  pain  in  the  lower  animals?  Many  have  a  nervous  system 
apparently  less  adapted  to  feel  paiu  than  the  frog,  even  after  decapita- 
tion. The  guidance  of  sensation  is  most  obvious  all  through  the 
animal  world  ;  but  I  doubt  greatly  whether  we  are  justified  in  making 
pleasure  and  pain  co-cxtcusive  with  sensation,  when  looked  upon  purely 
from  the  point  of  view  of  self-conservation.  Mr.  Spencer  seems  to  have 
too  much  respect  for  the  guidance  of  inheritetl  feelings,  n  guidance  which 
is  quite  incompatible  with  civilization.  Civilized  society  trusU  to  a  higher 
guide — viz.,  to  knowledge  acquired  byobscnatioujcxperience,  and  research. 

In  considering  the  nature  of  pleasures  and  pains,  Mr.  Spencer  recog- 
niies  at  "  one  extreme  the  negative  pains  of  inaction,  called  craWngs, 
and  at  the  other  extreme,  the  positive  pains  of  excessive  actions,"  and 
implies  "  that  pleasures  accompany  actions  lying  between  these 
extremes."  So  he,  like  those  poets  I  have  quoted,  conceives  pleasures 
and  pains  as  gradually  running  into  one  another,  and  therefore  as  alike 
in  kind.  If  this  view  were  correct,  it  would  be  scarcely  practicable  to 
study  physical  pain  as  a  thing  by  itself,  as  I  have  been  attempting  to 
do.  Btii  there  appear  to  mc  to  be  many  considerations  which  invali- 
date this  view  of  the  nature  of  pleasure  or  pain.  With  what 
"  medium  activity"  can  wc  identify  the  very  positive  pleasure  (to  many 
persons)  of  repose  and  indolence  ?  Xavicr  de  Maistre  says  of  his  bed, 
**  Cesi  dans  ce  meuble  delicieux  que  nous  oublions  pendant  iine  raoiti6 
de  la  vie  les  chagrins  de  I'autre  moitie."  To  many  natures  all  strong 
pleasures  are  essentially  associated  with  excitement,  with  hyper-activity 
of  iunctton.  There  can  surely  be  no  difficulty  in  finding  physical 
pleasures  which  are  identified  with  high  functional  excitement,  and 
certainly  not  with  medium  activities.  The  pain  that  results  from 
cxce»-^ivc  activities  (if  attended  by  eicitemeut),  is  rarely  felt  at  the  time, 
but  follows  offer  the  ejpcessive  activity  //a*  ctased,  Mr.  Spencer  cites 
the  common  quotation,  "  Joy  is  almost  pain"  "  (La  joie  fait  pcur"  is 
another  common  quotation  referring  to  the  same  theory),  in  support  of 
the  view  that  excessive  activity  is  painful.  But  if  we  analyse  the 
mental  state  alluded  to  in  these  quotations,  we  shall  find  that  the  wave 
of  emotion  is  so  strong  tliat  it  overwhelms  the  will,  and  it  is  this  con- 


642 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


sciousnoss  of  Uie  loss  of  self-control  which  is  felt  as  painful, 
this  chiefly  in  certain  naturally  self-contained  natures.  But  iu  reference 
to  the  commonest  physical  pains  and  pleasures,  the  very  nerve-fibres 
through  wbich  they  reach  the  seusurium  appear  to  be  distinct.  T^ 
nerves  wbich  miuister  to  the  sense  of  touch  yield  us  many  pleasuralfl 
sensations,  hut  the  nerves  which  bring  painful  sensations  from  tW 
surface  of  the  body  to  the  nerve-centres  appear  to  be  distinct  from 
these ;  and  certain  persons  suffering  from  nenous  disease  present  tl^ 
curious  phenomenon,  that  they  lose  the  power  of  feeling  paiu  fronrr 
portion  of  the  surface  of  the  body  while  they  retain  the  sense  of  touch  1 
Tliey  suffer  from  what  is  callud  anuljjesiaj  but  not  from  anesthesia. 

I  maintain,  then,  that  wc  arc  justified  in  studying  physical  pain 
thing  by  itself,  and  not  as  necessarily  correlated  with  pleasure. 

What,  then,  is  physical  paiu  ?  Physical  paiu  is  an  accident  of  sci 
tion.  What  happens  if  a  cut  be  rapidly  made  with  a  sharp  instrumt 
into  the  flesh?  There  is  a  feeling  of  pain,  not  very  severe  if  the  instru- 
ment be  sharp  and  fine,  and  if  the  cut  is  inflicted  quickly  ;  and  there  is 
also  au  outflow  of  blood.  Here  are  two  accidents,  one  dependent  on 
the  existence  of  organs  of  sensation,  nerves,  the  other  dependent  on  the 
existence  of  organs  of  circulation,  blood-vessels.  Why  should  one 
of  these  accidents  be  culled  a  mystery  and  the  othi*r  not  ?  I  will  quote 
Dr.  Jjatham  again,  who  was  one  of  the  most  thoughtful  observers  of  the 
phenomena  of  disease.  "Natural  sensation,"  he  says,  "suffers  offence 
from  some  cause  or  other  ;  and  hereupon  it  is  altered,  roused,  exaspe- 
rated, and  so  it  becomes  pain ;  but  it  is  sensation  still  and  nothing 
more."  It  must  not  be  overlooked  that  the  sensations  the  disturbance 
of  which  commonly  gives  rise  to  pain  are  sensations  of  which  we 
ordinarily  unconscious ;  and  it  is  only  when  they  are  raised  or  exj 
rated,  that  we  become  conscious  of  tlicm.  The  skin,  as  I  have  alreaf 
pointed  out,  is  provided  with  special  nerves  ministering  to  the  sense 
touch,  but  it  is  also  provided,  as  all  parts  of  the  body  arc,  with  n\ 
of  common  sensation,  that  diftuscd  sensation  M-hich  exists  all  over 
body,  and  it  is  through  these  nerves  that  ordinary  painful  feelings  arc 
aroused.  That  general  sense  oi hien-etrt  (as  opposed  to  general  discom- 
fort or  ?»o/-fl?>e),  which  is  the  common  accompaniment  of  perfect  healthy 
iS|  no  doubt,  derived  from  sensations  arising  in  a  diffused  mannei 
through  the  agency  of  these  ner^'cs  of  common  sensation  ;  so  that  tbi 
does  exist  after  all  a  sort  of  latent  consciousness  of  these  sensations. 

What,  in  the  next  place,  are  the  offences  that  sensory  nerves 
prone  to  suffer,  so  that  these  sensations  become  heightened  into  pain  ? 
In  by  far  the  great  majority  of  cases,  pain  is  caused  by  mechanical 
compression  of  nerve-fibres,  or,  in  other  words,  through  the  influence  of 
physical  pressure.  Most  of  the  cases  in  which  extermti  pressure  is  con- 
cerned are  simple  enough.  The  paiu  attending  all  external  wounds 
and  injuries  falls  under  this  head.  I  have  already  alluded  to  the  well- 
known  fact  that  wounds  inflicted  rapidly  with  very  sharp  and  fine 
weapons,   severing  nerves  with  the  slightest  p09?ible   amount  of  mccl 


reaay 

ise  d 
lerH 
r  tfc 
arc 
om- 
Jthj 
nei 

1 


WHY  IS  PAIN  A  MYSTERY 9 


G13 


I 


nical  compression^  are  almost  painless  as  compared  with  those  produced 
by  blunter  and  courser  iustruments.  Internal  (and  eitterual)  tumours  arc 
painbss  in  the  course  of  their  groivth,  until  tUey  begin  to  exercise 
pressure  upon  (or  stretch)  nerve- fibrc3.  The  paiu  of  inflamed  parts 
is  in  direct  proportion  to  the  tension  on  the  structures  in  or  around 
the  seat  of  inflammation,  and  anything  which  relieves  the  tension, 
relieves  the  pain.  Inflammation  of  a  hollow,  spongy,  highly  elastic 
organ  like  the  lung,  into  the  hollows  of  which  the  inflammatory  exuda- 
tions can  be  poiired  without  cauiiing  any  tension,  is  painless,  unless  its 
covering,  the  inelastic  pleura,  is  involved  ;  and  that  is  painfiil  only  when 
its  opposite  surfaces  can  rub  together,  and  when  they  become  separated 
by  fluid  etTusiou  the  pain  mostly  di:«appears.  Then  there  is  the  pain  at- 
tending muscular  spasm ;  the  muscle,  stimulated  to  violent  and  irregular 
contraction,  coiDprcsses  unduly  and  uuuaturaily  the  uerve-fibr(»a  involved 
in  it. 

All  these  are  common  and  obvious  illustrations,  as  is  also  the  case  of 
peripheral  compression  of  a  nerve  trunk  (a  bundle  of  nerve-fibres)  from 
inflammation  of  the  sheath  enclosing  it.  But  there  is  a  less  obvious 
yet  extremely  important  manner  in  which  compression  of  nerve-fibres, 
and  therefore  pain,  may  arise ;  and  this  I  shall  call  internal  pressure. 
By  this  I  mean  pressure  arising  within  the  nerve  itself  and  exercised  in 
^e/at7  upon  its  constituent  fibres;  for  every  nerve  may,  for  purpose  of 
explanation,  be  regarded  as  a  cord  composed  of  two  kinds  of  very  fine, 
thread-like  tubes,  intimately  mingled ;  one  set  of  tubes  contain  sensitive 
nerve  matter,  the  other  set  of  tubes  contain  blood.  Now  these  latter, 
the  blood  tubes,  are  capable  of  contracting  and  dilating,  and  when  they 
are  in  a  state  of  undue  dilatation  they  must  compress  in  detail  the  nerve- 
tubes  and  their  sensitive  contents,  amongst  which  they  lie,  and  thus 
excite  pain.  There  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt  that  in  very  many 
instances  of  neuralgia  or  nerve  pain — i.e.,  pain  limited  to  the  course  of 
some  particulai'  nerve — the  pain  is  due  to  the  temporary  alteration  in 
the  calibre  of  the  blood-vessels  of  the  nerves  themselves.  Not  un- 
frcquently  pain  of  this  kind  is  throbbing  or  pulsating — that  is  to  say,  it 
is  aggravated  by  each  rhythmical  impulse  which  the  blood  in  the  vessels 
receives  from  the  heart's  contractions.  In  the  natural  healthy  state  of 
the  smaller  blood-vesseb  they  are  provided  with  a  power  of  converting 
this  rhythmical,  intermittent  impulse  into  a  continuous  steady  flow. 
But  this  power  may  be  interfered  with  and  disturbed,  and  it  is  to  such 
disturbance  that  many  painful  conditions  should  be  traced.  I  need  not 
pursue  this  somewhat  technical  branch  of  my  subject  further,  but  so 
much  was  necessary  by  way  of  illustration,  and  to  show  how  accidental 
in  its  origin  physical  pain  may  be. 

There  are  many  subordinate  questions  of  great  social  interest 
connected  with  the  subject  of  pain ;  there  arc  two  especially  that  claim 
a  brief  notice  now. 

The  first  b  the  question  of  the  infliction  of  pain  on  animals  in  the 
course  of  scientific   research,  a  subject   which  I  cannot   help  thinking 


644 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


has  bceu  discussed,  on  both  sides,  with  unncce&saiy  vebcmcnce  and 
imtation.  I  am  entirely  in  accord  with  those  who  sincerely  desire  to 
protect  the  lower  animals,  in  every  way,  from  unnecessary  suffering,  and 
I  am  quite  satisfied  that  it  is,  on  the  whole,  better  that  the  Legislature  i 
should  have  taken  upon  itself  the  regulation  of  scientific  experimentifl 
which  involve  vivisection.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  seen  nothing 
of  late  years  more  painful^  morally  painful,  than  the  literature  that  has 
been  put  forth  by  the  so-called  "  antt-vivisectionista."  There  are  feir 
worse  vices  than  systematic  untruthfulness  and  wilfnl  esaggeratioD  j 
and  these  vices  have  been  represented  in  this  "  movement"  to  a  degree 
quite  beyond  my  experience  in  any  other.  Men  who  are  aceustomcd  to 
value  an  argument  exactly  in  proportion  to  its  carriul  regard  for  truth,  will 
naturally  turn  away  altogether  from  such  manifestations  j  but  as  soinc 
sensitive  minds  still  appear  to  be  exercised  on  this  question,  it  may  not  be 
amiss  to  put  forward  a  few  plain  considerations  for  their  reassurance. 

Let  me  say  at  once   that  I  do  not,  for  a  moment,  call  in  question  the    , 
fact   that  vivisection  has  been  practised  in   certain  foreign  uuiversitietH 
with  altogether  unnecessary  cruelty  and  disregard  for  animal  suffering." 
Still  less  should  1   think  of  defending   such   practices,  or  desire  to  see 
them  imitated  in  this  country.     Nor  do  I  think  it  right  or  defensible 
to  repeat   painful   experiments  on  animals  in   order  to  demonstrate  that 
which  needs  no  confirmation. 

For  all  practical  purposes  the  discussion   may    advantageously 
restricted   to   the  consideration  of  the  two    following  questions  : — Ha»^ 
civilized  man   a    right,  for  any   purpose,   to  inflict   pain   on    the   ]ower 
animals  ?     Has  the  practice  of  vivisection  brought  any  great  advantage 
to  men  and  animals  ? 

To  the  first  question  there  is  this  decisive  answer : — That  it  has  been 
the  uuvaryiiig   prnctice  of  the  human  race  to  sacrifice  animal  life  (nn< 
as  a  necessary   result   to   inflict   paiu  on    animals)  whenever  the  saictr, 
the  necessities,  the  oonveuience,  and  even  the  pleasures  of  man  requii 
it.      Whenever  man  has  been  brought  into  contact  with  wild  predaciouf] 
animals,   the    animals    hare    been    wholly    or    partially    extermini 
certaiuly   not  without   much   necessary  suffering.*     The  whale  fisbi 
must  be  attended    with  an   enormous    amount  of  suffenng  to  animali 
very  high  iu   the  scale  of  organizatio!i.      What  could  be  more  cruel 


[lal. 

J 


•  Sir  Joseph  Fayrer  in  a  paper  rend  before  the  Indian  section  of  the  Society 
points  out  per  cofiira  to  what  a  fearful  extent  TvilJ  antmala  prry  npon  man.     He  ca]< 
that  in  our  Kastem  Empire,  30,000  buiuan  Ixniiga  and  60.000  head  of  cattle  are  eve 
drartroyed.     lo  the  yenr    1875— eK-phaiita  killed  61  human  bwinga  and  fi  head  of  __ 
hyimaa  killtd  GH  perennn,  2116  head  of  cattle  ;  heara  84  i>erson»  and  '»29  cattle ;  leoi 
187  pentona  and  Ifi,  16?  cattle  ;  tiger.*  82a  pcreona  and  12,4:^.1  cattle ;  wolvce  101ft  pi 
and  9407  cattli;  ;  other  nnim.it<i.  jarkaln,  alIi;:atora,  Arc  ,  1446  pcrsoDi ;  whilatBOafcea 
Dd  leia  than  17.070  pereonB  and  U66'  cattle.  Whole  valleys  have  been  at  times  depopal 
public  roada  and  tliorongh fares  rendered  liternlly  unappinachable  by  human  l>cLoga, 
lu  broad  daylight,  au  I  tliousauda  of  acres  of  onco  cultivated  laii<l  have  been  entirely  dcacrt 
and  relinquished  to  brushwootl  and  rank  re|Tetation.     Ho  points  out  how  much  prvjiii 
au<)  fluperstition  iiiturfero  with  the  destruction  of  these  animals  :  *' As  long  aa  men  wor-^ 
ship,  and  reverence  with  awe,   the  creatures  which  dosttoy  them,  the  destruction  of  th« 
destroyer  ia  a  most  difficult  end  to  attain.** 


WHY  IS  PAIM  A  MYSTERY? 


645 


I 


painful  than  the  methods  we  adopt  to  rid  lis  of  those  creatures  which 
wc  group  together  under  the  common  name  of  vermin? 

The  pain  inflicted  in  field  ftnd  other  sports  has  been  too  frequently 
urged  to  make  it  necessary  for  me  to  enlarge  on  that  topic  now,  except 
to  call  attention  to  the  singular  assertion  made  by  some  anti-vimec- 
tionist  writers  that  the  fox  rather  enjoys  the  ehase  that  ends  in  his  de- 
struction, aud  that  the  salmon  has  a  proud  pleasure  in  his  contest  with 
the  angler.  How  could  these  gentlemen  have  got  so  deeply  into  the 
confidence  of  the  fox  and  the  salmon  ?  This  is  a  ridiculous  and  lament- 
able example  of  the  perversion  of  mind  which  controversy  produces  in 
certain  persons.  Seeing,  then,  that  no  efl'ort  has  been  made^  and  ap- 
parently no  sympathy  or  excitement  aroused,  for  the  purpose  of  stopping 
the  whale  fishery,  of  preventing  the  boiling  of  lobsters  alive,  of  prevent- 
ing rats  being  caught  by  the  middle  or  fore  part  of  their  bodies  and 
slowly  squeezed  to  death,  or  of  diminishing  the  pain  that  the  millions 
of  victims  of  sport  suffer ;  it  really  would  seem  that  it  is  more  from 
dislike  of  science  than  from  love  of  animals  that  such  violent  agitation 
on  the  subject  of  vivisection  has  arisen. 

To  answer  the  second  question  fully — What  have  been  the  gains  to 
humanity  from  careful  and  judicious  experiments  on  animals  ? — would 
necessitate  a  detailed  history  of  the  progress  of  medical  science  for  more 
than  two  centuries,  and  especially  of  the  enormous  progress  of  the  last 
fifty  years.  It  is  simply  a  question  of  evidence.  The  case  has  actually 
been  brought  to  trial  before  a  highly  competent  tribunal,  and  both  judg- 
ment and  evidence  can  be  found  in  the  Report  of  the  Royal  Commission. 

The  pain,  then,  that  is  necessarily  involved  in  regulated  experiraentn- 
tion  on  animals  is  justified  by  its  aims  and  purpose ;  a  purpose  which  is 
of  the  very  highest  concern  to  humanity  and  civilization.  Its  objects 
are  the  diminution  and  even  the  extinction  of  disease  and  suffering  ; 
the  prolongation  of  the  vigorous  period  of  human  life,  and  therefore 
the  period  of  intellectual  activity  and  progress ;  the  acquirement  of  a 
knowledge  of  the  causes,  and  therefore  the  means  of  prevention,  of  the 
great  scourges  of  the  human  race.  These  arc  the  ends  which  experi- 
mental medicine  has  in  view,  and  towai'd  which,  within  the  last  half- 
century,  more  progress  has  been  made  than  iti  the  preceding  milleuninm  ! 
Let  me  name  but  one  disease,  the  secret  of  which  experimental  medicine 
is  earnestly  striving  to  discover.  I  mean  hydrophobia,  and  I  think  I 
might  safely  say  that  any  one  who  had  stood  by  the  bedside  of  a  fellow- 
creature  dying  in  the  tortures  of  this  disease  would  unhesitatingly 
sanction  any  wisely-devised  experiments  on  animals  calculated  to  bring 
to  man  a  knowledge  of  the  nature  and  the  possibility  of  a 
remedy  for  this  fearful  malady.  It  is  because  medical  men  arc  brought 
face  to  face,  in  the  urgency  of  actual  fact,  with  stifferings  such  as  these, 
that  certain  investigations,  even  though  attended  with  animal  suffering, 
appear  forced  upon  them  as  a  duty  ;  a  duty  which  cannot  be  so  painful  to 
any  one  as  it  is  to  those  who  are  personally  engaged  in  it.  It  is  a  fortn* 
nate  thing  for  humanity  that  the  progress  of  science  is,  to  some  extent, 

VOL.    XAXV.  u    u 


THE    CONTBAfPORAJ^Y  BEVTEW. 


646 


indepcndeut  of  the  ebifting  caprices  of  society,  and  that  iu  every 
are  to  be  found  who  pursue^  by  all  legitimate  means,  truth  and  knowledjti 
for  their  own  sakes,  and  over  whose  lives  popular  clamour  exercibcs 
influence,  and  for  whom  popular  favour  has  but  small  attraction. 

Another  very  interesting  question  connected  with  the  subject  of  paiti 
is  the  one  which  was  some  time  ago  brought  before  the  public  witli 
much  ability  by  Mr.  Lionel  Tollemache,  in  a  paper  in  the  Fortmghti§ 
RevittOj  cjjtitlcd  "  A  New  Ciut:  for  Incurablea."  ^ 

Seeing  that  it  is  no  longer  contested  that  men  have  a  right  to  etMl 
physical  pain  whenever  such  evasion  is  possible,  whenever  its  cnduranoe 
can  obviously  do  no  good,  provided  that  such  efforts  at  evasion  stop 
short  of  the  destruction  of  life,  an  argument  to  the  following  cflcct  has 
been  put  forward  : — If  it  is  lawful  and  right  to  relieve  suffering  at  th« 
price  of  insensibility  for  a  time,  or  for  any  number  of  tiraRs  consecu- 
tively, allowing  only  very  short  intervals  of  painful  cousciousuess,  why 
is  it  not  lawful  and  right  to  relieve  suffering  continuously,  by  iuducing 
that  coutinuons  anscsthcsia  which  death  insures  ?  If  a  man  is  doomed 
to  perpetual  pain  unless  when  unconscious  from  aua^thetics,  why  should 
he  not  be  allowed,  if  he  wishes  it,  to  make  that  amcsthesia  complete  and 
permanent  ?  Before  I  attempt  to  answer  this  argument  it  is  pertinent  to 
the  question  that  I  should  point  out  that  suicide  under  the  conditiona 
assumed  is,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  very  tenderly  looked  upon  by  the 
majority  of  people,  and,  probably,  eueounters  more  sympathy  than  repro- 
bation ;  and  that  suicide  to  avoid  a  certain  kind  of  shame  and  dishonoui^ 
a  moral  pain — has  ever  been  defended  as  iu  the  highest  degree  IioroiM 

But  the  legal  sanction  of  homicide  in  order  to  set  (rcc  from  pain,  aa 
advocated  by  some  writers  on  Euthanasia,  should,  to  my  thinking,  he 
opposed,  and  chiefly  on  practical  grounds.  Nor  can  I  avoid  the  oM 
vietiou,  judging  from  my  own  experience  and  that  of  many  others,  thw 
the  case  for  euthanasia  has  been  greatly  overstated  by  its  advocates.  H 
must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  last  stage  of  fatal  iliuesses  if 
generally  much  less  painful  than  tlic  preceding  ones,  and  that  iu  th« 
vast  majority  of  cases  the  act  of  dying  is  in  itself  probably  painless^ 
also  that  many  fatal  maladies  are  very  commonly  attended  ail  through 
their  course  with  a  small  amount  of  pain  as  compared  with  some  lea 
serious  ailmcuta.  Any  one  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  walk  throi^ 
the  wards  of  any  large  Loudon  hospital  will  be  able  to  satisfy  him^ 
that  the  amount  of  acute  suffering  attending  the  most  serious  forms  o 
disease  is  not  nowadays  verj'  considerable.  Much  stress  has  been  laic 
on  cases  of  surgical  injury,  but  these  aix)  the  very  instanoes  in  Tvbich  i 
is  often  evtrcmcly  difRcult  to  say  what  cases  arc  and  what  cases  are  no 
absolutely  hopeless,  recoveries  having  again  and  again  occurred  after  tk 
most  extraordinary  mutilations,  and  to  the  surprise  of  the  most  cxfl 
ricneed  surfiroons, 

It  need  scarcely  be  pointed  out  that  it  would  be  most  inexpedient^ 
attach  much  importance  to  the  "  wish"  or  "  consent"  of  a  person 
under  the  circumstances  assumed  by  the  argument. 


n'HY  IS  PAIN  A   MYSTERY? 


64r 


I 
■ 
■ 


Moreover^  it  is  perfectly  certaiu  that  we  can,  and  do^  promote 
euthanasia  without  shortCDiug  life.  Coutiauous  pain  exhau^sts  the 
physical  forces,  and  actually  kills ;  by  relieving  this  pain — as  every 
medical  man  would  doj  and  his  resources  for  this  purpose  are  now  very 
great — life  would  be  prolonged  rather  than  shortened^  and  yet  euthanasia 
would  be  aecured. 

It  has  been  maintained  that  a  change  in  the  law  which  would  allow 
the  premature  extinction  of  a  sick  person  by  a  concerted  arrangement 
between  himself  and  his  friends  would  produce  "  benefits  sinaply  enor- 
mous." It  seems  to  me,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  risks  and  dangers 
and  deceptions  of  such  authorized  poisonings  would  be  so  constant  and 
appalling  as  to  render  the  proposal  absolutely  impracticable.  Nor  can 
I  personally  feel  anxious  for  the  arrival  of  the  time  when  nursing  the 
sick,  even  the  hopelessly  sick,  shall  be  looked  upon  only  as  "  a  nuisance'' 
and  "  a  danger/^  But  given  a  case  which  mus!  certainly  cud  fatally  in 
a  few  hours  or  a  few  days,  and  inu^t  certainly  be  accompanied  to  the  end 
with  agony,  no  medical  man,  I  apprehend,  would  hesitate  to  procure 
insensibility  by  all  means  in  his  power  (and  these  are  now  many  and 
efficient),  and  in  tlie  majority  of  cases  life  would  be  prolonged  rather 
than  shortened.  To  this  extent  it  is  a  part  of  a  medical  man's  duty  to 
promote  euthanasia. 

The  question,  to  my  own  mindj  is  not  so  much  one  of  morals  as  of 
public  safety;  and,  although  I  am  luiable  to  admit  the  cogency  of  the 
arguments  usually  set  forth  by  the  advocates  of  euthanasia,  I  am  equally 
unable  to  share  the  casuistical  objc?ctious  of  its  ordinary  opponeuts.  As 
a  practical  way  of  cutting  the  knot,  I  would  suppose  a  case  of  injury 
received  on  the  field  of  battle,  which  must  certainly  be  fatal,  and  under 
circumstances  that  render  removal  impossible ;  is  it  better,  in  such  a 
case,  to  allow  death  to  be  painful  and  conscious,  or  to  insure  that  it 
shall  be  painless  and  unconscious  V  I  cannot  doubt  what  would  be  the 
conclusion  of  any  humane  mind  in  such  a  case.  When  there  is  constant 
acute  pain  associated  with  perfectly  hopeless  disease,  and  the  end  is  cer- 
tainly imminent,  the  plain  duty  of  the  medical  man  is  to  relieve  the  pain, 
whether  by  so  doing  he  prolongs  or  shortens  the  few  hours  of  existence 
that  remain  to  the  patient. 

In  the  preceding  pages  I  have  endeavoured  to  bring  into  prominence 
a  view  of  the  nature  of  physical  pain  somewhat  at  variance  with 
that  which  is  generally  adopted  by  theologians  and  moralists,  and 
also  by  many  physiologists  and  physician?.  It  is  a  view  which  I  believe 
to  be  far  more  in  accordance  with  human  progress  and  happiness  than 
the  one  which  at  present  prevails  so  widely.  So  long  as  physical  pain 
can  be  regarded  as  a  sort  of  supernatural  infliction,  the  incidence  of  \ 
which  is  determined  by  some  occult  power,  with  the  intention  that  it 
shall  serve  either  as  an  improving,  a  warning,  or  a  chastising  agent,  eo 
long  will  it  be  impossible  to  rouse  any  general,  vigorous  effort  for  its 
permanent  diminution,  if  not  complete  removal. 

I.    BURNEY    YjEO, 

V  V  2 


THE   SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY   AND   RELIGION 

OP  OOMTE. 


HL 


IN  a  previous  article  I  have  tried  to  explaia  how  Comtc  was  led  to 
treat  Metaphysics  and  Theology  as  merely  trauaitional  forms  of 
human  thought,  and  to  show  that  this  view  not  only  involves  a  false 
conception  of  their  nature,  but  also  necessitates  an  entire  raisrepre- 
sentatiou  of  the  course  of  their  historical  development.  To  regard  the  ^ 
history  of  Metaphysics  and  Theology  as  a  purely  negative  process  by  I 
which  the  first  concrete  fulness  of  religious  conceptions  was  gradually 
attenuated  till  nothing  remained  but  the  hare  abstract  idea  of  Nature, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  to  think  of  the  history  of  science  as  the  conne* 
apondiiig  potcUive  process  by  which  the  mind  of  man  advanced  from  the 
general  to  the  special,  from  the  investigation  of  the  simplest  numerical 
and  spatial  relations  of  things  to  the  knowledge  of  the  complex  social 
nature  of  man — this  is  a  view  of  man*8  intellectual  history,  recom- 
mended by  its  simplicity  and  clearness,  as  well  as  by  its  correspondence 
vrith  the  most  }>opular  philosophy  of  the  present  time.  But,  as  we  have 
seen,  it  involves  a  one-sided  conception  of  the  movement  of  human 
thought  in  its  scientific,  and  still  more  in  its  theological  and  meta- 
physical, aspects.  Comtc  himself  enables  us  to  sec  that  his  first  ■ 
description  of  the  history  of  science  is  iuconaplete,  if  not  misleading  ; 
and  that  its  movement  is  towards  greater  generality  as  well  as  towards 
more  definite  specification.  And,  as  Metaphysics  is  only  the  clearest  ■ 
form  of  sclf-consciousuess,  and  man's  consciousness  of  himself  deepens 
and  widens  with  his  consciousness  of  the  objective  world,  we  might  expect 
to  find  that  */  also  develops  at  once  towards  the  universal  and  towards  the  ■ 
particular  ;  and  when  we  look  at  the  facts  of  the  history  of  Metaphysics 
we  find  this  expectation  amply  realised.  Nor  is  it  otherwise  with  religion 
— which  is  to  the  heart  and  the  imaginative  intuitions  of  man  wliat 
philosophy  is  to  his  self-conscious  iutelligence  j  for  the  latest  religion  is  at 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.       049 


once  the  deepest  and  the  richestj  the  most    complex   and  the   most 
universal. 

We  cannot,  however,  give  a  completely  satisfactory  answer  to  Comte's 
criticism  of  Metaphysics  and  Theology  without  considering  more  fully 
the  substitute  which  he  would  put  in  their  place.  For  Comte  is  not 
simply  an  Agnostic,  he  does  not  deny  the  reality  of  the  wants  which 
Metaphysics  and  Theology  have  hitherto  striven  to  satisfy ;  nor  does  he 
hold  that  these  wants  are,  hy  the  nature  of  things  and  of  the  human 
intelligence,  for  ever  precluded  from  satisfaction.  He  does  not,  like 
some  modern  writers,  reduce  philosophy  into  a  consciousness  of  the 
limits  of  the  human  mind,  and  religion  into  a  vague  awe  of  the  unknow- 
able. •  On  the  contrary,  he  holds  that  Positivism  fur  the  first  time  sup- 
plies complete  satisfaction  to  all  the  tendencies  of  the  many-sided 
nature  of  man,  whereas  all  earlier  systems  had  been  obliged  to  pur- 
chase one  kind  of  culture  at  the  expense  of  another, — to  gratify  the  affec- 
tions by  the  sacrifice  of  intellectual  freedom,  or  to  cultivate  the  intelli- 
gence to  the  neglect  of  the  claims  of  the  heart.  To  the  Metaphysician 
he  grants  the  necessity  of  a  systematizing  of  knowledge  in  relation  to 
one  general  principle,  which  shall  furnish  at  once  its  first  presupposi- 
tion and  its  end.  To  the  Theologian  he  grants  that  that  inner  harmony 
with  self  ami  with  the  world,  whiuh  we  call  religion^  can  only  be  secured 
by  a  firm  belief  and  trust  in  some  being  who  transcends  and  compre- 
hends our  narrow  individuality, "  in  whom  we  live,  and  move,  and  have  our 
being."  But  while  (in  opposition  to  the  tendencies  of  that  scientific 
empiricism,  which  ia  often  called  Positivism),  Comte  thus  recognises 
those  claims  of  the  intelligence  and  of  the  heart  for  which  Philosophy 
and  Theology  had  tried  to  provide,  he  still  adopts  as  his  omu  the 
empiricist  condemnation  of  both,  and  seeks  to  show  that,  on  the  basis 
of  empiricism  itself,  wc  may  secure  the  complete  satisfaction  of  all  our 
spiritual  wants.  It  is  to  this  claim  of  Comte,  to  oecupy  in  the  name  of 
Science  the  place  from  which  Theology  and  Metaphysics  have  been 
expelled,  that  we  must  now  direct  our  attention. 

The  contrast  which  Coratc  draws  between  his  own  philosophy  and 
religion,  and  those  of  his  predecessors,  is  expressed  in  the  words 
"  relative"  and  "  subjective."  His  aim,  he  tells  us,  is  a  "  subjective 
synthesis^"  while  his  predecessors  had  aimed  at  an  '*  objective 
synthesis" — i.e.,  theif  had  endeavoured  to  comprehend  the  world  in 
itself,  and  in  reference  to  n  principle  to  which  all  its  parts  equally  are 
related,  and  of  which  they  are  all  the  manifestations ;  while  he  is  con- 
tent to  take  his  stand  on  the  subjective  unity  of  the  human  race,  a 
unity  which  has  grown  out  of  the  conscious  or  unconscious  co-operation 
of  all  past  generations,  and  whicli  now  manifests  itself  in  the  love  and 
reverence  of  men  for  each  other,  and  for  the  Grand  Eire,  Humanity — 
of  which  they  are  all  parts  or  members.  For  the  existence  of  this 
Great  Being  is  a  fact  which  we  can  empirically  verify,  although  we  are 
toatUy  unable  to  discover  the  meaning  of  that  wider  objective  fatality,  to 


650 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


iitlge 

I 

Liise 
tbe 

'I 

I    Ml 


which  ultimately  the  fortunes  aud  life  of  maukind  are  subji 
Agairij  Corate  contrasts  his  own  philosophy  with  that  of  his  predecessoci 
as  "  relative'^  with  "  absolute."  By  this  he  means  that  Positivism  take 
account  of  the  relations  of  the  organism  to  the  medium,  of  the  iid 
vidua!  to  society,  of  the  present  to  the  past  and  the  future ;  whereof 
was  the  vice  of  Theology  and  Metaphysics  to  separate  the  part  froB 
the  \Tholej  the  individual  from  his  relations  to  other  individuals  and  tc 
the  world,  the  present  state  of  civilization  from  its  organic  root  in  tbe 
past.  HcncCj  they  tended  to  disjoin  the  ideal  from  the  real,  to  judge 
things  by  an  absolute  standard,  by  which  no  room  was  left  for  modi 
ing  circumstances,  and  to  lose  sight  of  the  attainable  progress 
humanity  in  the  revolutionary  pursuit  of  impossible  Utopias.  Now^ 
it  is  always  best  to  criticise  a  writer  by  reference  to  his  own  princif 
and  aims,  we  shall  attempt  to  show  that  the  main  errors  of  Comtc  arise 
from  his  being  not  "  subjective,"  not  "  relative"  enoughj  even  in  tbfi 
sense  which  he  himself  gives  to  these  words.  He  is  not  "  subjcctii 
enough ;  for  in  the  development  of  his  theory  he  admits  a  kiud^ 
separation  between  thought  and  existence,  which  a  logical  developroeol 
of  his  own  principles  must  have  led  him  to  reject.  And  he  is 
"  relative"  enough  J  for  he  starts  from  philosophical  principles  wl 
involve  the  denial  of  any  necessary  connection  between  man  and 
world,  and  even  between  the  different  elements  in  the  nature  of  man, 
and  he  ends  with  a  religion  in  which  jwetry  is  divorced  from  truth,  and 
truth  from  poetry.  m 

In  the  first  place,  however,  we  must  dear  up  a  certain  ambiguity^ 
to  the  idea  of  relativity.  It  is  a  commonplace  of  the  sensationalist  and 
empiricist  school  at  the  present  day  that  wc  arc  confined  to  the  know- 
ledge of  phenomena,  and  cannot  rise  to  the  knowledge  of  noumeua^  oi 
things  in  themselves.  Comte  usually  expresses  this  idea  by  saying  that 
science  is  limited  to  the  investigation  of  the  laws  of  phenomena,  and 
that  it  was  the  error  of  Theology  and  Metaphysics  to  seek  to  dctcrmii 
their  causes.  When,  however,  we  try  to  ascertain  the  exact  force! 
this  opposition,  wc  find  that  it  may  have  two  distinct  meanings, 
it  is  one  thing  to  say,  that  Theology  and  Metaphysics  gave  false  answeri 
to  a  legitimate  question,  which  was  afterwards  more  correctly  answered 
by  science  ;  and  it  is  quite  another  thing  to  say  that  they  attempted  tc 
answer  a  question  ditl'crent  from  the  question  of  science,  aud  which  itjj 
beyond  the  powers  of  the  human  mind  to  answer.  Now,  Comtc  sometii 
speaks  as  if  the  error  of  the  Theologians  were  simply  that  they  sought 
explain  all  phcuomeua  by  rc{j;arding  them  as  the  expressions  of  di* 
wills  and  intelligences  analogous  to  our  own ;  and  as  if  the  error 
the  Metaphysicians  were  simply  that  they  rejx^atcd  this  explanation  ii 
more  irratiotml  form,  substituting  personified  abstractions  for  gods.  Al 
other  times,  he  speaks  as  if  the  error  of  TJieology  and  Metaphysics  vrM 
that  they  attempted  to  determine  the  real  nature  of  things,  which  csl 
be   known    by    us  only   iu    Uieir     phenomena.       On    the  former   view 


aiac 

weri 
csred 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,    651 


Theology  and  Metaphysics  are  provisional  hypotheses,  in  relation  to  the 
object  of  experience,  which  disappear  when  it  is  discovered  that  naany 
of  these  objects  which  were  assumed  to  be  like  man,  are  in  many  ways 
unJike  him.  On  the  latter  view,  they  are  pretended  sciences^  which  do 
not  relate  to  the  phenomenal  objects  of  experience  at  all,  but  to  certain 
realities,  supposed  to  be  beneath  or  behind  them.  When  we  disentangle 
these  two  different  views  from  each  other,  we  find  that  they  do  not 
rest  on  the  same  logical  basis  and  that  they  do  not  by  any  means  imply 
each  other.  The  former  view  implies  only  that  our  iirst  idc^  of  the 
world  is  confused  and  imperfect,  and  that  it  requires  to  be  corrected  by 
subsequent  thought  and  experience.  The  latter  implies  that  there  are 
certain  objects  other  than  phenomena,  the  existence  of  which  we  know, 
but  the  nature  of  which  we  gradually  discover  ounielves  to  be  inca- 
pable of  determining.  It  implies,  in  fact,  that  our  intelligence  can 
discern  its  own  limits,  or^  what  is  the  same  thing,  can  know  that  there 
is  something  beyond  those  limits.  Now  while,  with  certain  modifica- 
tions, we  might  not  hesitate  to  grant  the  truth  of  the  former  of  these 
doctrines,  we  should  require  some  proof  of  the  latter,  or  even  of  its 
logical  possibility.  For  by  it  we  are  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
difficulty  of  conceiving  that  we  should  be  able  to  ask  questions,  which, 
not  from  external  circumstances,  but  from  the  essential  nature  of  our 
intelligence,  are  altogether  unanswerable,  and  which  therefore,  we  may 
say  with  certainty,  we  shall  never  be  able  to  answer.  This,  which  Mr. 
Spencer  attempts  to  prove — by  very  inadequate  reasonings,  as  it  seems 
to  me — Comtc  assumes  without  any  proof  at  alL  Hence,  while  he 
pretends  to  renounce  metaphysics,  he  has  committed  himself  to  one  of 
the  most  indefensible  of  all  metaphysical  positions.  For  the  assertion 
that  we  know  only  phenomena,  has  no  meaning  except  in  reference  to 
the  doctrine  that  there  are,  or  can  by  us  be  conceived  to  be,  things  in 
themselves — i.e.,  things  unrelated  to  thought;  and  that,  while  we  know 
them  to  exist,  we  cannot  know  what  they  arc.  Now  this  dogma  is 
simply  the  scholastic  realism,  or  what  Comte  calls  metaphysics,  in  its  most 
abstract  and  irrational  form.  It  is  a  residuum  of  bad  metaphysics,  which, 
by  a  natural  nemesis,  seems  almost  invariably  to  haunt  the  minds  of  those 
writers  who  think  they  have  renounced  metaphysics  altogether. 

The  authority  of  Kant  is  often  quoted  in  support  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  existence  of  things  in  themselves :  indeed,  it  seems  to  be  the 
doctrine  which  is  most  generally  associated  with  his  name.  But  Kant 
was  precisely  the  writer  who,  by  the  general  direction  and  tendency  of 
his  thought,  did  most  to  free  modern  speculation  from  such  an  illusion. 
For  it  was  his  main  aim  and  purpose  to  show  that  the  determiuatioa 
of  objects,  as  such,  is  possible  only  in  relation  to  the  unity  of  appercep- 
tion, or,  in  other  words,  of  self-cousciousness,  and  by  means  of  the 
universals,  which  he  calls  the  Categories.  When  Kant  says  that  things 
in  themselves  arc  unknowable,  and  that  the  things  we  know  are  pheno- 
mena, it  is    that   he  may  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  is  only 


U 


652 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


through   the  universals  of  thought  that  objects  are  knowable  by  ua 
such.     And  he  soon  proceeda  to  j>oint  cut  that  even  the  existence  of  thing* 
in  themselves,  is,  for  the  Speculative  Reason,*   problematical ;    though 
the  thought  of  them  is  forced  upon  us  fay  the  ideas  of  reason.       Kant,  in 
fact,  insists  on  the  unknowableness  of  things  in  themselves,  mainly  ami 
in   the   first    instance,  in  order  that  he  may   show  the   correlativity  of 
object  as  such  with  the  knowing   subject.      And  the    later    idealists  of 
Germany  went  beyoud   this  only  in  so  far  as  they  pointed  out  that,  iS 
we  take  this  correlation  strictly,  if  it  is  impossible  that  we  can  trauscciulH 
the  unity  of  being  and  knowing,  then  it  is  only  by  a  false  abstractioHj 
that  we  can  speak  of  the  existence  of  things  in  themselves  at  all — i.f.,  of 
an  existence  which  is  not  thought  or  relative  to  thought — of  a  noumeunl 
being  which   is   the   opposite   of   the    phenomenal.     There   can    be  no 
opposite  of  that  unity  of  thought  and  being,  which  is  presupposed    iu 
all  knowleJgc   uud    experience,  and  to  speak  of  its  existence  is  to  use 
words   without    meaning.     As  Heine  wittily  says,  "  the  distinction  of 
objects  into  phenomena  and  noumeua — i,e,,  into  things  that  for  us  existy^ 
and  things  that  for  us  do  not   exist — is  an  Irish   bull  in   philosophy."™ 
Comte  sometimes  speaks  as  if  he  had  a  glimpse  of  this  truth,t  but  when 
he  comes  to   apply  it,  he  shows   that  it  is  one  thing  to  express  an   idea 
in  general  terms  and  quite  another  to  see  its  philosophical  Ijearing  aud^ 
vahie.      Thus,  in  the  passage  quoted  iu  a  previous  article,J  Comte's  ideal 
seems  to  be,  that  the  images  of  tilings — individual  objects   as  such — are 
immediately  given    in  sense,    that   the    mind   reacts,  in   the   processes 
of  abstraction  or   generalization,    to   raise   perception   into   knowledge 
and  that  knowledge,   therefore,   became  of  its  geucralily,  is  subjectivf 
Now   this  is   simply   the  old  idea   of  Locke,   tliat   gcueral   ideas  are' 
fictitious,  iu   so   far   as    they   imply  the    "  work   of  the    mind."      And 
it  naturally  leads  to   the  doctrine  that   the  reality  of  things  is  beyond 
the  reach  of  knowledge;  for  the  my  process  of  generalization  which  ia^ 
indispensable  to  knowledge  removes  us  from  the  reality  of  the  object 
If,   however,  an   intelligible  object    is    impossible,    as   Kant   maintain! 
except   for   an  intelligence  and   through  its   universal  forms,   then    the' 
supposition  of  an  object  existing  iu  pure  individuality  and  without  rela- 
tion   to    an   intelligence    is   a  contradiction ;  and  the  incapacity   of    an 
intelligence  to  know  such  an  object,  is  rather  its  inability   to  feed  itself 
with  the  fictions  of  abstraction.    It  is  the  strength,  and  not  the  weakness 
of  thought,  that  repels  it  from  that  whicli  is  irrational. 

Now,  if  we  reject,  in  the  sense  just  explained,  the  diatinetiou  between 
phenomena  and  noumeua — resting,  as  it  docs,  on  an  irrational 
separation  of  thought  and  being — we  must  at  the  same  time  abandon 
Comte's  conception  of  the  i"elation   between  metaphysics   and  positive 

*  It  woul'l  be  out  of  place  horc  to  Bi>eak  of  the  importance  of  '*  tbingi  in  themaelves**^ 
for  tbe  Practical  Heaaon  m  Kant's  theory.  H 

+  See  cBiKJciaUy  Pol.  Pos.  i.  p.  S.'iG  vK»g-  trnnal.)  ;  cf.  iii.  p.  15,  fl 

X  CoNTOiPORAitv    IlEviEW  for  June,    p.    629;    Pol.  Po8.  ii.  p.  30,      Ct  abo  Couit«*ft 
An&lyaia  of  tbo  IntoUectuol  Powers,  PoL  Pua.  i.  p,  &7I— 684. 


i 

3d 

id 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,       653 


science.  For  it  is  only  from  the  point  of  view  of  abstract  uoniinalism 
that  we  can  oppose,  as  he  docsj  the  scientific  inquiry  into  the  laws  of 
the  succession  and  resemblance  of  pheuomeua,  to  the  metaphysical 
inquiry  into  their  causes  as  entities  lying  behind  or  beyond  the  phc- 
nomeua.  But  modern  metaphysics,  while  it  has  destroyed  the  idea  of 
such  entities  by  bringing  into  prominence  the  relativity  of  object  and 
subjcctj  has,  at  the  same  time,  and  by  the  same  process  of  reasoning, 
shown  that  the  individnal  cannot  be  separated  from  the  universal.  In 
other  words,  the  world  cannot  be  coneeived,  in  the  spirit  of  nominalism, 
as  a  collection  of  individual  objects  and  events,  related  nwrely  as  similar 
or  dissimilar,  co-existent  or  successive,  any  more  than  it  can  be  con- 
ceived, in  the  spirit  of  tlic  false  scholastic  realism,  as  a  mere  pLeuomcual 
appearance  of  certain  abstract,  self-identical  substances  or  entities. 
Objects  cannot  be  determined  as  individual  objects  except  through 
universal  or  necessary  relations,  any  more  than  universals  can  be  con- 
ceived as  existing  apart  from,  and  independent  of,  individuals.  Hence, 
if  it  is  absurd  to  speak  of  causes  which  are  not  laws  of  the  relations  of 
individuals,  it  is  equally  absurd  to  speak  of  laws  which  are  not  causes  ; 
in  other  words  to  speak,  as  Comte  does,  of  laws  that  indicate  onlt/ 
the  relations  of  similarity  or  succession  between  phenomena,  as  if 
phenomena  had  any  existence  as  pure  individuals  apart  from  their 
relations.  Comte's  own  best  achievement  was  to  show  that,  in  one 
great  department  of  science  at  least,  this  distinction  does  not  hold 
good.  It  was  to  show  that  society,  whether  in  the  form  of  the 
family,  of  the  nation,  or  of  humanity,  is  not  merely  a  collection  of 
similar  individuals,  but  a  unity  of  organically  related  members ;  and 
that  its  development  is  not  merely  a  succession  of  events,  but  the  evolu- 
tion of  one  life  which  remains  identical  with  itself  through  all  its 
changes.  And  in  this  he  was  not  refuting  metaphysic,  but  following 
directly  in  the  course  of  the  great  metaphysicians  of  the  preceding  gene- 
ration. It  might,  indeed,  be  shown,  that  none  of  the  greatest  names  in 
philosophy — not  Plato  or  Aristotle,  not  Spinoza  or  Leibnitz — was,  strictly 
speaking,  either  a  scholastic  realist  or  a  scholastic  nominalist,  though  in 
all  before  Kant  there  were  tendencies  to  one  or  other  of  these  extremes. 
But  the  philosophy  that  took  its  origin  with  Kant — and  which  Comte  should 
have  criticized,  if  his  criticism  on  metapliysic  was  to  be,  according  to  his 
own  frequent  phrase,  '^on  the  level  of  his  age" — had  set  before  itself  as 
its  distinctive  purpose  and  aim,  to  transcend  this  opposition.  In  that 
philosophy  Comte  would  have  found  just  what  he  wanted — a  way  of 
asserting  the  reality  of  the  universal,  which  should  not  involve  the 
denial  of  the  reality  of  the  individual.  For  want  of  the  knowledge  of 
it,  the  end  of  his  system  is  in  contradiction  with  its  beginning.  For  he 
begins  with  a  vehement  denial  of  the  universal  as  existent  in  itself, — a 
denial  which  is  expressed  in  the  individualistic  language  of  the  school  of 
Locke, — and  he  ends  with  an  equally  vehement  assertion  of  the  social 
universal  against  the  individualism  of  Rousseau.     And  his  "  subjective 


654 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


synthesis" — even  its  latest  form— is  embarrassed  by  hesitations  and 
inconsistencies,  which  were  caused  by  the  fact  that  he  could  ncrer 
shake  himself  free  from  that  implicit  nominalism  with  which  he  had 
Btarted. 

It  is  to  this  last  point  that  we  must  now  direct  our  attention.    What 
does   Comte   mean   by  saying  that  the  ultimate  synthesis  of   knowled^ 
is  *'  not  objective  but  subjective  V*     If  we  took  the  words  iu  their  most 
natural   meaning,  we   should  bo   led  to  suppose  that  Comte  held  thit 
theory   of  subjective    individualism,    which  was    the    logical   result  of  ^ 
Berkeley's  so-called  idealism,  and  the  basis  of  the  scepticisna  of  Hume.  V 
Among  later  writers  this  theory  hag  been  most  fully  expressed  in  some 
of  the  works  of  J.  S.  Mill,  and  it  is  sliU  offered   by  Mr,  Spencer  and 
Professor    Huxley  as  one  of  the  two    alternative  theories    (the     other 
being  Materialism)  between  which  philosophy  must  for   ever  fluctuate,   fl 
According  to  this  view,  the  individual  directly  knows  nothing  except  the   ^ 
states  of  his  own   subjectivitj^ ;   or,  if  he  seems  to  know   anything  else, 
it  is  through  a  process  of  association,  the  result  of  which  can  never  be 
veritied,  seeing  that  no  one  can  go   beyond  the  bounds  of  liis  owu  con- 
sciousness.    Now   it  is  obvious  that,  if  this  be  the  tnith,    "  the  sub- 
jective" and  "  the  individual^'    go  together  and  imply  each  other  ;  i<!ffy 
if  we  cannot  transcend  our  own  individuality,  so  as  to  apprehend  other     h 
things,  or  come   into   communication  with  other  beings,  then  we  roust    | 
live  a  purely  subjective  life.      And  if,  on  the  other  hand,  it    can  be 
shown   that    we  know  other  things  and    beings  as  directly  and  imme- 
diately as  we  know  ourselves^  then  our  subjectivity  is  no  longer  a  limit 
to  us,  but  a  '^  subjective  synthesis"  may  be  at  the  same  time  "  objective." 
Now,  it  was  one  of  the  principal    results   of  the  German   idealism  to 
show  that   this  latter  view  was  the  true  one,   and  that  thought  is   not 
merely  a  state  of  the  individual    subject    as  such.     To   speak    of  the 
eousciouHuess  of  tlie   individual    as  limited  to   the  apprehension  of  its 
own  states,  is,  indeed,  the  reverse  of  the  truth  j  for  the  consciousness  of 
self  imi»lie8    tlie     consciousness    of   the    not-self,    and    grows    with   it, 
and  by  means  of  it.      We  are  '^  n  part  of  all  that  we  have  known/' 
and  all  that  we  have  known  is  a  part  of  us.      Our  life  widens  with  onr 
world,  aud   is,  iudt-ed,  the  suujc  thiug  from  an  opposite  point  of  view. 
When  we  realize  this  correlativity  of  subject  and  object  in   knowledge 
we  can  uo  longer  contemplate  the   thinking  being  as  merely  one  indi- 
vidual, among  the  other   individuals  of  the   world.      We  arc  forced  to 
recognise  that   the   consciousness  of  self  lifts  him  to  a  universal  or  cen- 
tral  point   of  view — a   point  of  view  winch  is   central,  not  merely  in 
relation  to  his  own  feelings  and  states,  but  central  also  in  relation  to  the 
objective    world.     The    being   who  knows    himstlf  as  an  individual   is, 
for   that    very  reason,   not  merely  individual ;   he   can  know   a   reality 
whicli  is  not  merely  that  of  his  own  subjective  states  or  sensations,  and 
he  can   identify  himself  with   an   end    which    \%  not  merely  his  own 
The  possibility  of  an  intellectual   life  for  us,  indeed. 


I 


I 


pleasi 


pun 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.      655 


I 


lies  just  iu  tbia,  that  we  can  reganl — uay,  that  to  a  certain  extent  we 
cannot  but  regard — our  own  individuality  from  a  point  of  view  in  which 
it  has  no  more  importance  than  other  iudividualities;  or^  at  leasti  in 
which  all  its  importance  is  derived  from  its  relation  to  the  whole  of 
which  it  is  a  part.     And  the  poet  who  said, — 

"  Unless  above  himself  ho  can 
Exalt  himadf,  how  mean  a  thing  la  man  I" 

had  truly  discerned  that  moral  life  also  is  dependent  on  the  transforma- 
tion of  man^s  individuality  by  this  universal  consciousness  with  which  it 
is  linked  and  bound  up. 

Now  this  view  of  self-consciousness,  as  objective  in  spite  of  its 
subjectivity,  universal  in  spite  of  its  individuality,  necessarily  leads  to  a 
conception  of  man,  not  merely  as  one  of  the  many  existences  in  the 
manifold  universe,  but  as  the  existence  in  which  all  the  others  are 
summed  up,  and  through  which  they  arc  to  be  explained.  On  one 
side  of  his  being,  indeed,  wc  must  regard  him  as  a  "  part  of  this  partial 
world,''*  and,  iu  this  point  of  view,  we  can  understand  his  life  only  in 
relation  to  the  other  things  and  beings  which  limit  him  on  every  side. 
Nay,  as  he  is  the  most  complex  and  dependent  of  existences,  wc  can 
only  rise  to  a  satisfactory  knowledge  of  him,  after  we  have  laid  a  basis 
for  this  knowledge,  in  the  study  af  the  simpler  phenomena  of  the 
organic  and  inorganic  world.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  possibility  ot 
all  this  objective  science — of  this  science  by  man  of  that  which  is  not 
man — lies  iu  this,  that  he  is  not  merely  part  of  the  whole,  not  merely 
the  most  complex  existence  in  the  whole,  but  that  the  universal  prin- 
ciple, the  principle  which  gives  unity  to  the  whole,  manifests  itself  in 
him.  It  is  because,  as  has  l)een  said,  "  Nature  becomes  conscious  of 
itself  in  man,"  that  man  iu  his  turn  can  read  the  open  secret  of  Nature. 
In  spelling  out  the  meaning  of  Nature  and  history,  he  is  taking  the  true 
way,  and  indeed  the  only  way,  to  the  knowledge  of  himself;  but  this 
knowledge  would  be  to  him  impossible  if  the  self-consciousneas  that 
makes  him  man  were  not  also  the  principle  of  unity  iu  the  objective 
world.  Comte  himself  has  an  obscure  perception  of  this  truth  when  he 
says  that,"  strictly  speaking  there  is  no  phenomenon  within  our  experi- 
ence which  is  not  iu  the  truest  sense  human;  and  that  not  merely 
because  it  is  man  that  takes  cognizance  of  it,  but  also  because,  from  a 
purely  objective  point  of  view,  man  sums  up  iu  himself  all  the  laws  of 
the  world,  as  the  ancients  truly  felt."t  If  Comte  had  only  brought 
together  the  subjective  and  the  objective  unity — the  unity  of  knowledge, 
and  the  unity  of  existence — both  of  which  he  here  finds  in  man,  and  if 
he  had  recognized  the  necessary  relation  of  the  two,  he  would  have 
reproduced  the  highest  lesson  of  German  idealism.  For  that  lesson  is 
just  this,  that  the  subjective  unity,  the  unity  of  self-consciousness, 
which  is  presupposed  in  all  knowledge  of  experience  of  the  objective 
world,  must   at  the  same  time  be  regarded  as  the  objective  principle  of 


•  Of.  Mr.  Green's  Introduction  to  Unme^s  Works,  i  162.      t  Pol.  Po«.  ir.  181  (Trawl). 


656 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


its  exiBtcnce.      The  macrocoaf/i,  to  use  an  ancient  conception,  of 
Comte  somewhere  speaks  with  approval,  can  be  comprehensible  onh 
the  microvosiHy — which  fiiuls  in  the  great  world  the  means  of  undersl 
ing  itself,  just  because  in  another  way  it  has  iu   itself    the    ^LeJ  for 
uuderstauding  of  the   world.      Man  can   know  that    which   is  not 
himself,  whether  individually  or  gencrically,  because  from  another  pori 
of  view  there  is  nothing  iu  which  he  does  not,  or  may  not,  find  himself 

As  a  conaequeuce  of  this,  the  last  science,  the  scjence  of  maOj  i 
far  as  it  is  also  the  science  of  mind,  cannot  merely  be  built  upon 
added  to  the  sciences  that  go  before  it,  but  must  react  upon  and  t\ 
form  them.  For,  though  the  knowledge  of  man  presupposes 
knowledge  of  Nature,  yet,  on  the  other  baud,  the  knowledge  of  Nal 
which  we  get,  when  we  abstract  from  it  its  relation  to  man^  is  imperfect 
and  incomplete.  Tlie  true  view  of  Nature  cannot  be  attained  except  by 
those  who  regard  it  in  relation  to  that  being  who  is  at  once  its  culmi- 
nation and  its  explanation.  Or,  to  put  this  in  another  point  of  vieWj 
the  intelligence  which  appears  in  man  is  presupposed  in  every  object 
the  inteJligible  world.  Self-consciousness  is,  therefore,  not  an  episodic 
pcarancc  in  a  world,  wbicb  is  unprepared  for  it,  and  which  might  exist, 
be  understood,  without  it.  It  ia  the  revelation  of  the  meaning  of  all  tl 
went  before.  What  was  stated  not  long  since  as  the  modern  view 
Materialism,  that  in  matter  we  find  the  "  potency"  of  life,  and  even 
mind,  may  be  willingly  accepted  by  idealisU;  for  the  converse  of  this 
proposition  is,  that  mind  is  the  '*  realization,"  and  therefore  the  only  key  to 
the  ultimate  nature  of  matter.  Hence  all  the  sciences  which  treat  of  the 
mathematical,  physical,  chemical,  and  vital  relation  of  things,  must  be 
regarded  as  hypothetical  and  imperfect,  in  so  far  as  they  start  with  an 
abstraction ;  for  thought,  spirit,  mind,  is  implied  in  then)  all,  aud  a 
complete  idea  of  the  relations  of  things  cannot  he  obtained,  until  we 
Lave  regarded  humanity  as,  in  this  point  of  view,  not  only  the  lust, 
but  also  the  first,  not  merely  the  end,  but  also  the  beginning  of 
nature.  In  this  sense  the  analytic  separation  of  the  sciences  from 
each  other  and  from  thought  must  be  moclilied  and  corrected  in  a  final 
synthesis,  which  is  indeed  *' subjective,''  iu  so  far  as  it  brings  into  x-iew 
the  unity  of  the  subject  presupposed  in  all  knowledge.  But  to  one 
who  has  understood  the  full  meaning  of  the  process,  this  "  subjcctiMJ 
synthesis"  is  also  objective ;  and,  iuileed,  it  alone  is  able  to  vindicate,  wliile 
it  explains,  the  limited  objectivity  of  the  other  sciences. 

Now  it  ia  Comtc's  merit  that  he  altogether  rejects  that  false  subjective 
synthesis,  which  was  the  natural  result  of  the  principles  of  Locke  and 
Berkeley.  Denying  the  doctrine  that  we  know  immediately  only  the 
states  of  our  own  consciousness,  and  that,  therefore,  all  science  is  based 
upon  psychology,  he  takes  his  stand  at  an  objective  point  of  view,  and 
aiTanges  the  sciences  in  an  objective  order,  which  begins  with  the  inor* 
ganic  world,  and  ends  with  man  as  the  complex  of  all  existences.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  is  also  hia  merit  that  he  sees  the  necessity  of  that 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     657 


true  "subjective  synthesis''  which  arises  from  the  reaction  of  the  last 
sciencCj  the  science  of  mau,  upon  those  that  went  before ;  or,  in  other 
words,  from  the  perception  that  man  is  not  merely  the  cnd^  but  also  in 
a  sense  the  beginning  of  Nature.  But  this  ultimate  correction  and 
re-orgauizatiou  of  science  from  a  subjective  point  of  view  appears  in 
Comte  in  a  distorted  and  imperfect  formj  in  a  form  that  leaves  "subjective" 
and  "objective"  synthesis  still  opposed  to  each  other,  or  only  gives  room  for 
an  artificial  or  external  reconciliation  between  them.  For  Comte  does  not 
recognize  the  subjectivity  implied  in  our  first  objective  knowledge  of  the 
world,  and  hence,  when  he  introduces  the  subjective  side  of  that  know- 
ledge, he  seems  to  be  starting  from  a  new  and  independent  point  of 
view,  and  not  simply  to  be  bringing  into  clear  consciousness  what  was 
presupposed  in  the  previous  movement  of  thought.  In  other  words, 
the  subjective  synthesis  of  Comte  does  not  arise  from  a  perception  that 
the  subjectivity  of  men  is  universal,  and  therefore  objective.  On  the 
contrary,  he  denies  the  possibility  of  discovering  any  principle  of  unity 
in  the  objective  world,  and  maintains  that  the  objective  sciences,  when 
left  to  themselves,  tend  towards  the  "  regime  dispersive"  of  a  wayward 
and  lawless  curiosity.  Hence  the  principle  of  unity  which  is  necessary  to 
bring  order  and  system  into  our  knowledge  must  be  imported  into  these 
sciences  from  without.  On  this  view,  we  can  organize  knowledge  only  in 
reference  to  the  subjective  principle  supplied  by  the  altruistic  affections, 
which  are  innate  in  man,  which  bind  men  together  so  as  to  make  all 
humanity  through  all  space  and  time  into  one  great  organism,  and 
which  supply  a  definite  end  and  aim  to  alt  the  intellectual,  as  well  as  to 
all  the  active  energies  of  the  individual.  This  subjective  principle 
has,  Comte  thinks,  been  the  unconscious  stimulus  of  all  the  cfForta  of 
the  social  and  intellectual  leaders  of  men  in  the  past ;  it  has  been 
the  source  of  all  that  organized  co-operation  of  families  and  nations 
on  which  man's  physical  and  moral  progress  has  depended.  Positivism 
has  to  make  it  into  the  direct  and  conscious  purpose  and  aim  of 
human  endeavour,  and  thereby  to  check  that  vain  and  wasteful  appli- 
cation of  man's  limited  powers,  which  has  prevailed  in  the  past,  and 
especially  during  the  revolutionary  period  of  transition,  now  coming 
to  an  end.  Hence  Comte  condemns,  uot  only  the  metaphysicians,  for 
their  researches  into  things  altogether  out  of  the  reach  of  man,  but  also 
the  scientific  men,  for  their  eagerness  to  extend  the  knowledge  of  their 
special  subjects  indefinitely  and  in  any  direction  suggested  by  an  empty 
curiosity,  without  regard  to  the  practical  end  of  all  science.  The 
Mathematician,  who  wastes  himself  in  the  discovery  of  forms  and 
methods  which  have  no  known  relation  to  the  requirements  of  physics; 
the  Biologist,  who  speculates  on  the  origin  of  species,  forgetting  how 
little  light  such  inquiries  can  throw  on  the  development  of  man;  even 
the  Sociologist,  who  pursues  remote  investigations  into  the  history  of 
climate  and  race,  "  before  such  studies  are  mmle  necessary  by  the  prac- 
tical diflBcuUy  of  exteuding  the  civilization  of  the  West,  regenerated  by 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJF: 


Positivism,  to  the  populations  that  are  lees  advanced  in  ci\'ilixatioii"- 
are  all  brought  uoder  the   Comtist  anathema  as  gxiiltv   of  wasting  tl 
ftmall  powers  of  man  on  questions  which  arc  not  immetliatelv  necettai 
or  useful.     "  The  public  and  its  te-achers  should  always  refuse  to  rem 
nize  investigations  which  do  not  tend  either  to  detcrmiDc  more  pcecH 
the  material  and  physical   laws  of  man's  existence ;    to    throw    gitml 
liglit  on  the  modifications  which  these  laws  admit,  or  at  least  to  rei 
the  general  method  of  investigation  more  perfect,"     "  It    is    m 
that  the  sciences  should  in  the  first  instance  be  studied  independenl 
but  this  study  should  iu  each  ease  be  carried  only  so  far  as  is  134 
to  enable  the  intellect  to  take  a  solid  grasp  of  the  science  next  aboi 
iu  the  scale,  and  thus  to  rise  to  the  systematic  study  of  Humauity, 
only  permaneut  field."*      With  this  view,  the  priests  of  Positivism  am 
as  we  have  seen,  to  have  no  specialists  among  them;  nor,  indeed,  «H 
who  will  devote  their  Hves  to  scientific  investigation  alone ;  except^  it  m^ 
be,    a  few   distorted   aud    unbalanced    uatures,   iu    whom  an    abnorm^ 
tendency  to  intellectual  pursuits  has  stunted  the   growth  of  the  xo 
sympathies.      To  make  scientific  ineu  renounce  the  intellectual  life  as 
end  in  itself,  and  to  direct  all  their  energies  to  the  solution  of  those 
blems  which  seem  to  have  most  immediate  relation  to  the  improvement 
of  man's  estate,  is  one  of  the  main  objects  which  Comte  has  in  view  in 
restoring  the  spiritual  jxiwer.     A  free  development  of  each  science  for 
itself  apart  from  the  rest,  and  a  free  development  of  science  as  a  whole, 
without  reference  to  action  for  ends  determined  by  social  sympathy,  uM 
equally  opposed  to  the  Comtian  ideal.       The  world  and  alt  objects  in  U 
are  to  be  regarded  by  the  Positivist  merely  as  means,  which  we  seek  to 
know  not  for  themselves,  hut  only  in  order  that  we  may  use  them  for 
a  predetermined  end.      For,   according  to   Comte,  the  energies  of  the 
intelligence  ran  to   waste  except  when  they  are  directed  by  an  esprit 
d'ensemble,  and  the  only   totality,    with    reference   to   wliich   such  sya- 
teraatic  direction  is  possible,  is  the  "  subjective'*  totality  of  bumauity. 

I  have  already  indicated  to  some  extent  the  grounds  on  which  I  would 
criticize  this  theory  of  "  subjective  synthesis."      It  implies,  for  one  thin|^ 
that  there  is  no  natural  convergence  of  the  sciences,  due  to  the  uuity  j| 
the  part*  of  the  intelligible  world  with  each  other  aud  with  the  intelli* 
gence  ;  but  that  the  synthesis  of  knowledge  is  artificial,  and  forcetl  upon 
it  from  without.     Man,  iu  Comte's  point  of  view,  is  not  a  microcoaut, 
who  finds  himself  again    in    the   macrocosm.       lie   is   like  a    strangcfll 
in  a  foreign  country,  who  seeks  to  arm  himself  with  such  fragmeuta  o^ 
knowledge  about  it  as  arc    necessary    for   his   protection   and    his   own 
jirivate  ends.      Yet  this  statement,  without   qualification,  would  not   be 
altogether  just  to  (lomte  ;   for,  in  his  view,  the  individual  man  does  find 
himself  in  the  presence  of  one  "object,"  which  is  also  "subjective," — 
of  one  Great  Being,  which  he  has  not  to  treat  as  an  external  means  to  ends 
of  his  own,  but  rather  in  which  he  has  to  find  his  own  end.     The  synthesis 

•  Pol.  Pot.  J.  370,3fi». 


i 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     659 


» 


of  knowledge,  therefore,  is  not  subjective  so  far  as  Sociology  and  Morals* 
are  concerned,  whatever  it  may  be  in  regard  to  the  other  sciences.  The 
unity,  in  reference  to  whicli  knowledge  is  lo  be  organized,  is  not  merely 
the  uuitv  of  man^s  nature  as  an  individual,  but  rather  as  a  "  collective'' 
being  (a  bad  adjective  surely  to  apply  to  mankind,  when  they  arc  re- 
garded as  *'  members  one  of  another").  Comte  thus  repeats  the  "  homo 
mensura"  in  the  sense  that  Humanity  is  for  each  man  the  measure  of 
all  things  (though  things  in  themselves  escape  all  our  measuring).  We 
can  transcend  ourselves  so  far  as  to  take  the  point  of  view  of  humanity, 
though  not  so  far  as  to  take  the  point  of  view  of  the  objective  unity  of 
the  world.  Nay,  it  may  even  be  said  that  we  moat  so  transcend  our- 
selves, for  Comte  denies  that  the  individual  can  separate  himself  from 
his  race,  except  by  a  forced  and  illegitimate  abstraction.  "  Man,  as  an 
individual/'  he  declares,  "  cannot  properly  l>e  said  to  exist  except  in  the 
too  abstract  brain  of  modern  metaphysicians;"  and  the  same  principle 
on  its  ethical  side  leads  him  to  condemn  the  doctrine  of  absolute 
personal  rights,  and  to  say  that  "  individuals  should  be  regarded  not  as 
so  many  distinct  beings,  but  as  or^^ans  of  the  one  Supreme  Being." 
According  to  these  principles  it  would  be  impossible  for  us  either  to 
know  what  we  are  as  men,  or  to  live  a  life  in  accordance  with  onr 
nature  as  men,  if  we  were  confined  within  the  limits  of  a  purely 
individual  consciousness.  Our  consciousness  of  ourselves  is  essentially 
social,  and  the  individualistic  point  of  view  is  the  result  of  a  false  abstrac- 
tion, which  can  never  be  made  complete.  For,  strive  as  we  will,  we  cannot 
in  thought,  any  more  than  in  reality,  isolate  the  individual  from  society, 
without  at  the  same  time  taking  from  him  all  that  characterizes  him 
even  as  an  individual.  To  speak,  therefore,  of  knowing  man,  except 
as  a  member  of  the  family,  of  the  nation,  or  the  race,  is  irrational.  The 
science  of  man  would  be  impossible  if  we  were  not  able  to  get  beyond 
our  individuality,  and  to  look  at  it,  as  well  as  at  all  our  other  indivi- 
dualities, from  the  point  of  view  of  the  unity  of  humanity. 

To  such  a  conception  of  the  nature  of  man  as  essentially  social,  few, 
we  think,  would  nowadays  object.  But  a  '*  metaphysician"  might  wish 
to  carry  it  a  little  further,  and  to  recoguize  not  only  the  essential 
relation  of  man  to  man,  but  also  the  essential  relation  of  man  to  the  uni- 
verse. If  it  is  a  fiction  of  abstraction  to  separate  the  individual  from 
society,  is  it  a  less  fiction  to  isolate  him  from  the  world  in  which  he  lives^ 
and  in  relation  to  which  all  his  powers  and  tendencies  have  been  de- 
veloped ?  To  ask  what  humanity  would  have  been  in  a  different  world 
is  surely  as  absurd  a  question  as  lo  ask  what  he  would  have  been  hatl  he 
not  lived  with  his  fellow-men.  If  it  be  allowed  and  asserted  that  the  objec- 
tive or  universal  point  of  view  is  possible,  or  even  necessary,  in  relation  to 
humanity,  there  is  no  ground  for  denying  that  it  is  possible  and  neces- 
sary in  relation  to  the  universe.      Once  admit  that  the  individual  can, 

*Thediatinctiooinadeiathe  *' Politique  Positive"  between  Sociology  and  Morals,  depend- 
ing aa  it  does  ou  the  oppcaitiou  uf  tlte  iDlellect  to  the  heart,  xrill  bo  discussed  afterwards. 


660  THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfV, 

«ud  even  must,  so  transcend  his  own  individuality  as  to  regard  himself 

as  part  of  a  greater  wbole^  and   to  measure   his   actions  by   another 

standard  than  his  own  pleasures  and  pains,  and  there  is  no  ground  lefk 

for  denying  the  {wssibility  of  an  objective  synthesis.      If  the  relativity  of 

man  to  man  makes  it  impossible  to  know  him  except  from  the  point  of 

view  of  humauityj  the  relativity  of  man  to  the  world  makes)  it  imponiblc 

to  know   humanity   except    from    the    point    of  view  of  the    unity   of 

the  whole.     To  stop  short  with  the  universal  of  humanity  is  a  men 

compromise,  which,  like  many  compromises,  is  less  rational  than  either 

of  the  extremes  between  which  it  stands.      All  knowledge    implies   the 

universality  of  thought — i.e.,  implies  that  man,  as  a  thinking  being,  caa, 

and  indeed  must,  apprehend  the  world  from  a  subjective,  which   is  al«o 

an  objective,  point  of  view.      For  man's  consciousness  of  himself  is  a! 

the  same  time  a  consciousness  of  the  Not-self,  and  of  the  unity  to  whidi 

both  these  correlative  elements  belong.      From  the  dawning  of  conaciaa»- 

ness  he  is  thus  lifted  above  his  own  separate  and  partial  existcnoe  aaaa 

individual ;  he  lives  a  life  which  is  not  merely  his  own  life,  but  the  life 

of  the  world.      He  is  and  can  become  more  and  more  completely  the 

organ  of  that  universal  spirit  which  transcends  and  includes  all   things, 

which 

"Ijivea  through  aU  lifie,  extends  to  all  extent» 
I  Spreads  andiWded.  opentea  unspGot." 

It  is  only  in  this  way  that  he  ia  capable  of  science,  or  morality,  of 
religion ;  for  so  far  as  he  speaks  his  own  words,  or  does  his  own  deeds, 
or  thinks  his  own  thoughts,  he  speaks  and  acts  and  thinks  folly  and 
evil ;  and  it  is  only  in  so  far  as  he  makes  himself  the  instrument  of 
some  imiversal  power  or  interest,  that  his  individual  action,  or  thongfat, 
or  utterauce  can  have  any  dignity  or  value.  It  shows  an  imperfect  ap- 
prehension of  this  truth  to  say  with  Comte  that  Humanity  and  not  Ocid 
is  the  universal  power  in  whose  service  the  individual  is  to  find  spiritvial 
freedom ;  and  that,  therefore,  the  ultimate  synthesis  must  be  suhjectire 
and  not  objective.  For  the  only  philosophical  difficulty  i«  to  coDceir« 
how  man  can  transcend  his  individual  subjcetivityj  and,  if  thai  is  ahown 
to  be  for  him  possible,  and  even  necessary,  there  is  no  reason  whatcrtr 
to  deny  that  he  can  rise  to  the  knowledge  of  God,  the  absolute  or  objec- 
tive unity  of  the  world. 

Comte,  however,  is  hindered  from  recognizing  this  unity  by  another 
class  of  considerations.      In   opposition  to  that  external  optir  \*- 

ology,  which  was   so  common  at  the  end  of  last  century,  an;;  h 

the  Encyclopedists  aimed  so  many  blows,  he  was  led  in  hia  i\'ii-'..^-»f.hit 
Positive  to  dwell  upon  the  fact  that,  from   the  point  of  ricw  ^.n 

happiness,  the  arrangements  of  the  universe,  astronomical,  pi^. ..^.«..  ^kI 
biological,  are  anything  but  perfect.      Poetry,  indeed,  m*»  b/»  »11*»»»<I 
to  imagine  that  the  powers  of  Nature  arc  the  friend* 
according  to  Comte,  must  recognize  that  the  wo 
cast  is  far  from  furnishing  tlie  best  eonceivabh 
dcrelopmeut ;  and  that  it  has  only  become » 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     661 


it  at  present  is,  by  the  long  *'  providential  action"  of  man  himself.  At 
this  point,  howeverj  there  is  no  little  crossing  of  opposite  lines  of 
thought  in  Comtc'a  philosophy.  For  it  is  one  of  the  leading  concep- 
tions of  the  Politique  Positive  that  the  inHueuce  of  an  external  limiting 
fatality^  which  forces  upon  man  the  surrender  of  his  natural  self- 
will,  was  the  necessary  condition  of  the  development  of  all  his  higher 
powers  of  intelligence  and  heart.  Comtc  is  never  weary  of  showing 
that  the  growing  preponderance  of  the  altruistic  affections,  which  alone 
can  give  unity  to  human  life,  is  dependent  upon  the  existence  of  those 
limits  which  are  put  upon  the  desires  of  man  by  the  external  world. 
"  Without  this  continual  ascendant,"  he  declares,  "  man's  feelings  would 
become  vague,  his  intelligence  wanton,  and  his  activity  sterile.  If  this 
yoke  were  taken  away,  the  problem  of  human  life  wyuld  remain 
insoluble,  since  altruism  would  never  conquer  egoism.  .  But  assisted  by 
the  supreme  fatality,  universal  love  is  able  habitually  to  secure  that 
personality  should  be  subordiuated  to  sociality.  All  the  sophisms  of 
pride  could  not  hinder  the  positive  spirit  from  recognizing  that  all 
revolt  springs  from  egoistic  impulses.  A  forced  submission  tends 
indirectly  to  make  altruism  prevail  by  the  very  fact  that  it  represses 
egoism.  But  this  moral  reaction  is  supremely  efficacious  when  obedience 
becomes  voluntary,  because  then  sympathy  is  directly  developed,  aud  no 
murmur  any  longer  hitidcrs  us  from  getting  the  benefit  of  our  subjec- 
tion."* Prom  this  point  of  view  the  external  fatality  can  no  longer  be 
called  unfriendly,  or  even  indifferent  to  man;  or  rather  its  immediate 
appearance  as  his  enemy  is  the  condition  of  its  being,  in  a  higher  sense, 
his  friend.  Kant,  in  his  short  treatise  on  history  (with  which  Comtc 
was  acquainted,  and  which  probably  had  no  little  iuftuence  upon  the 
Politique  Pointive),  applies  the  same  thought  to  the  struggle  and  compe- 
tition of  mankind  with  each  other.  The  selfish  rivalry  itself,  he  contends, 
is  in  the  long  run  the  means  of  developing  a  higher  sociality  than  could 
have  existed  among  a  race  of  beings  with  whom  personal  feeling  was  at 
first  less  intense.  Egoism  itself  becomes  the  means  of  elevating  men 
above  egoism.  Thus  in  Itoth  eases,  conditions  which,  iu  the  first  instance^ 
seemed  to  be  hostile  to  the  intellectual,  and  still  more  to  the  moral, 
development  of  man,  become,  because  of  the  inner  reaction  which  they 
call  forth  in  his  nature,  the  best  means  to  that  development.  "  Out  of 
the  eater  comes  forth  meat ;  out  of  the  strong  sweetness,"  On  such  a 
view  it  seems  a  fair  criticism  to  make  that  it  looks  very  like  a  proof 
that  those  things  which  seem  in  the  first  instance  to  be  evils,  and  which, 
taken  by  themselves  are  evils,  are  the  necessary,  though  uegativCj 
conditions  of  higher  good.  But  a  negative  condition  is  still  a  condition, 
and  the  gods  are  not  envious  because  they  refuse  man  a  lower  good  in 
order  to  make  him  seek  one  which  is  higher.  No  conclusion  unfavourable 
to  Optimism,  in  any  high  sense  of  the  word,  can  be  fouudcd  on  the  fact 
that  the  world  is  not  arranged  for  the  iounediate  happiness  of  mau^  if 


VOL.  XXXV. 


*  Synthase  Subjectire.  p.  16. 
X    X 


662 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW: 


that  immediate  happiaess  would  hare  been  purchased  by  his 
degradation  ;  or  even  if  it  would  have  been  less  powerful  to  call  fofd 
the  higher  ener^C8  of  his  nature.  If  the  noblest  love  is  a  transmutei 
and  transcended  egoism,  then  even  an  infinite  benevolence  would  aB 
seek  directly  to  stop  the  unlovely  and  selfish  struggle  which  dadd 
and  poisons  the  life  of  man  on  earth.  The  best  kiud  of  optimisiM 
the  optimism,  if  we  may  so  terra  it,  of  the  deepest  and  tenderest  spin* 
who  have  called  themselves  Christian — has  not  been  based  upon  i 
shallow  and  imperfect  view  of  the  misery,  still  less  of  the  moral  evil,  o 
man's  life.  Rather  it  has  been  attained  through  the  clearest  perceptia 
of  both.  It  has  been  an  Optimism  that  "  descended  into  the  graTc"  o 
human  happiuess,  and  even,  if  we  might  so  interpret  the  creeds 
Christendom,  into  the  "hell"  of  human  guilt,  that  it  might  rise 
"  bearing  captivity  captive/'*  And  Comte,  who  in  his  primary  opposil 
to  theology  and  metaphysics,  had  rejected  all  absolute  or  theological 
ceptionn  of  the  world,  is  led  by  the  natural  development  of  his  thought  to 
find  a  higher  design  in  the  immediate  negation  of  design^  and  to  extend 
to  the  universe  that  idea  of  unity  which  in  the  first  instance  he 
applied  only  to  humanity.  But,  as  he  could  never  quite  forget  the  ni 
tions  with  which  he  had  started,  liis  recognition  of  this  unity  w 
perfect,  and  he  was  ultiirately  forced  to  cast  upon  poetry  the  office 
which  science  seemed  to  be  inadequate. 

The  truth  to  which  these  inconsistencies  of  Comte  point,  is,  tliat 
unfavourable  criticism  of  the  system  of  things  to  which  we  beh 
is,  from  a  truly  "  relative^'  point  of  view,  irrational.  For  the  crii 
and  the  standard  by  which  he  criticises,  cannot  be  separated  from^ 
that  system.  To  criticise  things  as  particulars  is  not  unreaaonal 
because  we  can  test  the  particulars  by  the  universal ;  but  to  critit 
the  general  system  of  which  they  and  we  are  parts,  and  by  which 
development — and  of  course  among  other  things,  the  development 
our  moral  standard — is  made  possible,  is  to  stand  on  our  own  beads  ai 
to  leap  off  our  own  shadow.  If,  indeed,  we  could  assume  an  individual 
istic  point  of  view,  if  we  could  isolate  ourselves  at  once  from  the  world 
which  is  our  only  sphere  of  activity,  and  from  the  social  life  of  the 
which  is  the  source  of  all  our  culture,  wc  might  then  take  the  pleasni 
and  ]tains,  the  feelings  that  belong  to  us  as  sensitive  individuals, 
standard  by  which  to  criticise  the  world.  But  in  any  other  point 
view,  criticism  is  possible  only  as  a  reference  of  the  individual  to 
universal,  of  the  part  to  the  whole,  of  the  various  elements  and  phi 
of  the  system  of  things  to  the  idea  which  forms  the  unity  of  that  systi 
and  the  principle  of  its  development.  It  has  often  been  pointed  out  that 
logical  scepticism  cannot  be  universal,  for  every  intelligible  view  ofthinga 
implies  an  iiltimate  unity  of  thought  and  of  existence,  of  the  esse 
the  inielligi.  Doubt  must  rest  on  a  basis  of  certitude,  or  it  will  dest 
itself.  But  it  is  not  less  true,  though  it  is  Jess  frequently  noticed, 
•  Cf.  VoD  Harimano*!  Selhtt-Zentlrunif  rf«  ChrittetaXuma. 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.       663 


all  criticism  of  the  evils  of  the  world  implies  au  ultimate  optimism. 
For,  if  Buch  criticism  pretends  to  be  more  thaa  tiic  utterance  of  the 
tastes  and  wishes  of  an  individual,  it  must  claim  to  be  the  expressiou 
of  au  objective  principle;  a  principle  which,  in  spite  of  all  appearances 
to  the  contrary,  is  realising  itself  in  the  world.  If,  as  Hegel  said,  the 
"  history  of  the  world  is  the  judgment  of  the  world,"  then,  conversely, 
every  true  moral  judgment  is  an  anticipation  of  history  ;  it  is  a 
discovery  of  hidden  forces  that  are  certainly  working  out  their  triumph 
in  the  world,  often  by  means  of  that  which  seems  most  to  oppose  them  : 
it  is  a  prophetic  sympathy  with  the  "  spirit  of  the  years  to  come,"  which 
is  "  yearning  to  mix  itself  with  life."  It  is  this  objective  character 
which  often  makes  the  words  of  genius  carry  with  them  such  weight 
and  power.  "  He  spake  as  one  having  authority,  and  not  as  the 
scribes,"  could  be  truly  said  only  of  one  whose  speech  was  like  some 
natural  force  in  its  independence  of  merely  individual  and  of  temporary 
influences.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  the  limited  and  subjective 
cliaracter  of  many  of  the  ordinary  moral  judgments  of  men — of  much 
of  their  fault-finding  with  the  conditions  of  existence,  the  defects  of 
their  neighbours,  and  the  errors  and  evils  of  the  time — wliich  makes  us 
treat  such  judgments  with  indifference.  We  feel  that  they  are  in  great 
part  the  expression  of  personal  likes  and  dislikes,  though  clothing  them- 
selves in  the  lion's  skiu  of  a  moral  censorship ;  and  that  the  only 
answer  which  they  deserve  is,  that  "  there  is  no  disputing  about  tastes." 
Much  of  the  superficial  pessimism  of  our  day  ia  the  offspring,  not  of 
deep  sympathy  with  the  real  evils  of  humanity,  but  of  a  weakness  of 
moral  fibre,  which  might  tempt  us  to  cut  the  knot  of  difficulty  with  the 
apparently  unfeeling  words  of  St.  Paul,  "  Shall  the  clay  say  to  Him 
who  has  formed  it,  Why  hast  thou  made  me  thus  ?"  But  there  is 
another  moral  judgment  than  this,  which  is  not  the  mere  expression  of 
the  tastes  and  wishes  of  individual  classes,  but  of  the  inner  law  and  the 
necessity  of  things,  or  in  other  words  of  the  universal  spirit  of  man, 
which  in  the  long  struggle  of  development  is  becoming  more  and  more 
clearly  conscious  of  itself  and  of  the  law  of  the  world.  It  is  only  as 
the  organ  of  this  spirit  that  the  individual  can  claim  to  "judge  the 
world  ;"  nor  can  he  make  that  claim  without  taking  up  the  ground  of  a 
philosophical  optimism,  and  acknowledging  that  tlie  "  soul  of  the  world 
is  just."  For  the  sentiment  or  idea  of  good  implied  in  such  judgment, 
must  either  be  the  last  result  of  the  development  of  man  in  the  world 
— in  which  case  the  system  of  things  which  conditioned  the  result  can- 
not be  criticised  by  it ;  or  it  must  be  the  pure  utterance  of  individual 
feeling,  in  which  ease  it  has  no  objective  value  whatever.  To  suppose 
with  Comte  that  it  is  objective^  as  being  something  which  belongs  not 
to  the  individual  but  to  the  race,  yet  sttbjeciivef  as  being  something 
that  belongs  to  human  nature  and  not  to  the  nature  of  things  in 
general,  is  a  hopeless  attempt  to  combine  in  one  two  inconsistent  points 
of  view — the   point  of  view  of  the  philosophy  of  Locke,  by   which  the 

X  X  2 


664. 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


% 


individual  conscionsneas  is  conceived  as  confined  to  the  apprehension 
its  own  states,  and  the  point  of  view  of  modern  idealism,  according  to 
which  the  conBciousness  of  the  thinking  subject  as  such,  is  universal  ai|b 
ohjective.  ■ 

At  this  point  it  may  be  useful  to  look  back  and   to  sum  up  the 
various  contradictions,  or  let  us  rather  say,   the   vanous    forms  of  thf 
same  contradiction,  which  appear  and  reappear  in  different  parts  of  the 
system  of  Comte.      Beginning  with  the  rejection  of  metaphysics,  because 
it  treats  universals  as  real  entities,  and  with  the  individualistic  definitioD 
of  science  as  having  to  determiue  only  the  successioiia  and  resemblances 
of  plicuomcna,  Comte  soon  has  to  point  out  that  in  cosmologj  and  even 
in  biology  we  have  to  deal  with  existences  whose  parts  and    successiM 
phases  are  indefinablCj  except  in  and   through  each  other   and  throu^l 
the  whole  to  which  tbcy  belong.      Beginning  with  objective  science,  and 
thus    unconsciously   asHuming    that   the  subjectivity  of  thought   is  not 
inconsistent  with  the  knowledge  of  objects  as  such,  he  ends  by  assertin; 
that  only   a   "  subjective  synthesis"   is    possible.       Yet   this    subjccti 
synthesis  is  itself  objective,  for  its  point  of  view  is  determined,  not 
the  sensations  and  feelings  of  the  individual  subject  as  such,  but  by  the 
idea  of  humanity  as  a  corporate  unity.     Thus,  the  opposition   between 
subject  and  object  reduces   itself  to   a  dualism  between  the  world  aada 
the  raan.      Hence,  in  place  of  the  worship  of  God,  the  absolute  unity  tM 
•which  all   thought  and  existence  arc  referred,  Comte   would  substitute 
the  worship  of  Humanity,  **  the   real   author  of  the   benefits  for  whicl^ 
thanks  were  formerly  given  to  God.''     Finally,  even  this  dualistic  vievf 
of  the  world    is  practically   withdrawn.      For    the  negative  relation   of 
the  external  fatality  to  man's  immediate  wishes,  is  proved  to  be  instru- 
mental to  his   ultimate  attainment   of  a   still  higher  good.      And  as  if 
this   were  not  enough,  poetry  is  invoked  to  give   completeness  to  the 
synthetic  view  of  the  world,  and  to  reconcile  the  two  independent  senti- 
ments which  must   combine  in  order  to  produce  a  religion,   submission 
and  love.      For,  although  Comte  at  first  thinks  it  sufficient  to  say  that 
the  necessity   of  nature  is  mediated  to  us  by  Humanity,  yet  in  the  end 
he  feels  that  there  is  an  essential  imperfection  in  a  religious  system  in 
which  the  ultimate  fatality  to  which  we  must  submit  cannot  be  identifiedJ 
with  the  Great  Beiug  whom   we  love  and   serve.      On  this  point  a  fc 
additional  remarks  may  be  useful. 

Comte  defines  religion  (and  we  cannot  but  acknowledge  the  substan- 
tial truth  of  the  definition)  as  the  concentration  of  the  three  altruisti< 
afTections — of  Reverence  towards  that  which  is  above  us,  Love  towai 
that  which  helps  and  sustains  us,  and  Benevolence  towards  that  which' 
needs  our  aid.  It  is  impossible  to  give  the  highest  unity  and  harmony  to 
theinward  and  outward  life  of  man, except  bydevotion  to  a  Being  in  whom 
these  three  affections  are  identified.  Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  a  faith  which, 
has  more  or  less  perfectly  fulfilled  these  conditions  has  been  the  mainsprinj 
of  human  life  in  all  those  periods  of  history  in  which  man  has  shown  thi 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE,     665 


f 


bigbest  powers  of  bis  spirit.  "  The  deepest,  nay,  the  one  theme  of  tbe 
world's  historj/'  says  GoethCj  *'  to  which  all  others  are  subordinate,  is 
the  conflict  of  faith  and  unbelief.  The  epochs  in  whicb  faith — in 
whatever  form  it  may  be — holds  the  rale,  are  the  marked  epocbs  of 
human  history,  full  of  heart-stirring  memories,  and  of  substantial  gains 
for  all  after-times.  On  tbe  other  hand,  the  epochs  in  which  unbelief — ^in 
whatever  form  it  may  be — gains  its  unhappy  victories,  even  when  for 
tbe  moment  they  put  on  a  semblance  of  glory  and  success,  inevitably 
sink  into  insignificance  in  the  eyes  of  a  posterity  which  will  not  willingly 
waste  its  labour  on  that  which  is  barren  and  unfruitful."  The  tenderest 
barraonies  of  affection,  the  highest  acbievements  of  passionate  energy, 
the  deepest  glances  of  insigbt  into  men  and  things,  the  greatest  powers 
of  inspired  utterance,  cannot  be  reached  except  in  periods,  and  by 
minds,  which  are  consciously  at  one  with  themselves  and  with  the  law 
of  the  world ;  and  this  oneness  is  what  we  call  a  religion.  Man  can  do 
his  best  work  only  when  be  feels  that  he  is  the  organ  and  instrument  of 
a  power  or  spirit  which  is  universal,  and  therefore  irresistible ;  which 
embraces  and  transcends  even  that  which  seems  to  resist  it.  Whether 
such  a  faith  in  its  widest  sense  is  still  possible  to  man,  or  whether 
Christianity  was  the  last  vanishing  form  of  it,  and  we  have  now  to 
look  about  for  such  substitute  for  it  as  may  still  be  within  our  reach, 
may  be  a  question.  But  what  we  think  unquestionable  is,  that  the 
Comtist  worship  of  Humanity  is  only  such  a  substitute,  and  not  the 
thing  itself.  Religion,  as  Comte  himself  maintatna,  implies  a  combina- 
tion of  spontaneity  in  the  worshipper  with  complete  submission  and  self- 
surrender  to  tbe  higher  power  that  controls  his  life — a  combination 
which  can  be  attained  only  by  one  who  loves  the  power  to  which  he 
submits.  But  man's  life  is  ultimately  limited  and  regulated  by  cosmical 
and  physical  conditions,  in  which  Comte  sees  only  a  fatality  which  can- 
not possibly  be  made  the  object  of  love.  This  ditficulty,  as  we  have 
said,  he  tries  to  escape  by  showing  that  the  ultimate  fatality  is  mediated 
to  us  by  Humanity,  which,  in  the  long  process  of  its  history,  has  been 
gradually  adapting  the  sphere  of  our  existence  to  our  physical  and  moral 
necessities.  He  feels,  however,  that  this  is  only  a  partial  answer,  and 
that  the  idea  of  an  indifferent  outward  necessity  must  be  a  hindrance 
to  the  complete  combination  of  submission  and  love.  Hence  he  calls 
in  the  aid  of  poetry  to  revive  the  spirit  of  Fetiehism,  and  to  reanimate 
the  dead  world  by  the  image  of  benevolent  divine  agencies.  "The 
Cultus  of  Space  and  of  the  Earth,  completing  that  of  Humanity,  makes 
us  see  in  all  that  surrounds  us  the  free  auxiliaries  of  Humanity." 
Comte  therefore  ends  in  what  some  one  has  called  the  system  of 
"  spiritual  book-keeping  by  double  entry,"  in  which  imagination  is 
allowed  to  revive,  for  practical  purposes,  the  fictions  which  science  has 
destroyed.  In  this  way  poetry  has  not  merely  to  give  sensuous  form  and 
life  to  our  creed,  by  enabling  us  to  ace  in  the  part  what  reason  could 
otherwise  find  only  in  the  whole;   it  has  also  to  supply  the  defects  of  a 


L. 


me 


THE    CONTEMPOHARV   REVIEIV, 


J 


truth  which  is  too  hard  and  painful  to  satisfy  the  heart  of  man.  It  his 
to  make  us  forget  in  our  worship  the  dualism  of  Nature  and  Humanity 
and  to  reconcile  us  to  fate  by  giving  it  the  semblance  of  a  Providen 
It  is  obvious  that  poetry  is  thus  made  into  a  kind  of  deliberate  su 
stition,  which  stimxilatcs  the  outflow  of  religious  feeling  by  hiding  fj 
us,  for  the  moment,  the  realities  of  our  position.  But  the  expLmati' 
ifl  that  Comte  was  driven  by  the  ultimate  development  of  his  own 
thought  to  seek  for  a  kind  of  synthetic  uuity  which  yet  he  could  not 
attain  without  recognising  tlxe  error  of  his  original  prcsuppositi 
There  is  what  some  liave  called  a  kind  of  **  objective  irony''  iu  the  p 
cesB  of  unconscious  dialectic,  by  which  Comte,  the  enemy  of  tbeol 
was  led  to  set  up  that  strange  "Trinity  in  Unity,"  which  is  t 
word  of  Positivism. 

In   Comte's  construction   of  religion   there  seems  to   be  something 
artificial  and  factitious,  something  "  subjective,"  in  the  bad  sonse.    It  ia  a 
religion  made,  so  to  speak,  out  of  malice  prepense,  "  Wc  have,"  he  seems 
to  say,  "  derived  from  the  experience  of  our  own  past,  and  from  the  |>a»t 
of  humanity,  a  clear  idea  of  what   a  religion  should  be  :  and  we  also 
know   irom  the   same  expenence    that,  without  a  religion^  we  cannot 
have  that  fulness  of  spiritual  life  of  which  we  are  capable.      Go   to, 
us  make  a  religion  as  nearly  corresponding  to   the  definition  as  mod* 
science  will  let  us  make  it,      '  Gather    up   the   fragments   that   reniam 
that  nothing  be  lost/     Godj  the  Absolute  Being«  is  hidden  from  us. 
Humanity  will  serve  for  a     'relative' or    'subjective'  kind  of  God; 
or  rather  not  Humanity,  but   the   selected  members  of  the  race,  whose 
services  entitle  them  to  our  recognition,  and  whom  therefore  we   iucQr*^ 
porate  in  the  '  Great  Being.'     And  as  for  the  inscrutable  fatality  that " 
bounds   all   our  views,   and    ou  which  iu   the  last  resort  the   fate  of 
humanity   must   depend,  to   it   we  can  but  submit,   or  (since   such  a 
separation  of  submission  from   love  is  so  far  irreligious]  we  can  invoke 
the  powers  of  imagination  to  hide  it  from  our  eyes.     To  Humanity,  aa 
represented  to  us  by  the  good  and  wise  of  the  past,  we  can  present  the 
old  oifcricgs    of  praise     and   prayer,    in    a    spirit    that    is    perfectly 
disinterested,  for  we  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  they  exist  except  ia 
our  memory  of  them,  or  that  the  'Great  Being*  in  wlium  they  arc  incor- 
porated has  any  gift  to  bestow  ujion  us  in  the  future  except  a  similar 
life  in  the  memory  of  others.     For,  after  all,  the  'Great  Being/  who 
alone  mnkes  things   work   together  for  our  good,  and  whom  alone  we 
can    love,  is    not   absolute  or  objective,  and   of  the  Absolute   Being  or 
principle,  whatever  it  may  be,  we  know  nothing,  except  perhaps  that  A« 
or  it  is  not  what  men  call  good" 

In  the  earlier  part  of  this  article  I  have  tried  to  show  that  Comte's 
view  of  the  limits  of  knowledge  cannot  be  maintained  except  on  prin- 
ciples which  would  be  fatal  to  the  existence  of  knowledge  altogether; 
and,  on  the  other  liaud,  that  the  possibility  of  a  subjective  syuthceis,  aucli 
as  he  demands    and   supposes  himself  to  have  achieved,  would  involve 


inot 

lemfl 
ainj 
but! 


1 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.       667 


also  the  possibility  of  an  objective  or  absolute  synthesis.  Here  I  wish 
only  to  point  out,  tliat  if  Comte's  general  view  of  things  be  admitted, 
religioDj  according  to  his  own  definition  of  it,  is  impossible.  A  "  relative'^ 
religion  is  not  a  religion  at  all :  it  is  at  best  a  morality,  trying  to 
gather  to  itself  some  of  the  emotions  which  were  formerly  connected 
with  religious  belief.  If  there  is  no  warrant  for  the  Christian  faith 
which  finds  God  in  man,  and  mau  in  God^  which  makes  us  regard  the 
Absolute  Being  as  finding  bis  best  name  and  definition  in  what  we  most 
reverence  and  love;  or,  what  is  the  same  thing  from  the  other  side, 
makes  us  see  in  that  growing  idea  of  moral  perfection,  which  is  the 
highest  result  of  human  development,  the  interpretation  or  revelation  of 
the  Absolute,  then  we  must  give  up  the  hope  of  the  renewal  of  religion, 
and  of  that  harmonious  energy  to  which  religion  alone  can  awake  the 
soul  of  man.  In  this  point  of  view  Mr.  Spencer  and  Comte  seem  to 
divide  the  elements  of  the  truth  between  them.  Mr.  Spencer,  regard- 
ing the  Absolute  as  unknowable,  and  perceiving  that  religion  implies  a 
relation  to  the  Absolute,  reduces  religion  to  the  bare  feeling  of  awe  and 
mystery.  Comte,  also  regarding  the  Absolute  as  unknowable,  seeks  to 
find  an  object  nearer  home  for  the  emotions  that  hitherto  have  been 
directed  to  God.  But  the  religion  of  Mr.  Spencer,  if  it  erer  could  be- 
come reality,  would  be  a  renewal  of  the  superstitious  pantheism  of 
India,  the  worship  of  a  power  without  moral  or  spiritual  attributes. 
And  the  religion  of  Comte  could  scarcely  become  more  than  a  pious  as- 
piration, unless  the  poetic  licence  of  worship  were  carried  to  the  point  of 
seif-deceptiuu.  Of  this  Comte  seems  to  bo  partially  aware,  when  in  his 
latest  works  he  insists  so  strenuously  on  the  theme  that  art  rather  than 
science  is  the  true  field  ibr  man's  intelligence,  and  that  it  is  a  desirable 
and  useful  thing  to  allow  our  minds  to  dwell  on  ideal  conceptions,  which 
are  beyond  the  reach  of  scientific  proof,  provided  these  conceptions  are 
favourable  to  the  development  of  altruistic  sentiment.  "  The  logic  of 
religion/'  he  declares,  *'  when  freed  from  scientific  empiricism,  will  not 
restrain  itself  any  longer  to  the  domain  of  hypotheses  whioh  are  capable 
of  verification,  though  these  alone  were  compatible  with  the 
Positive  preparation  for  it.  It  must  in  the  end  find  its  com- 
pletion in  the  domain,  much  wider  and  not  less  legitimate,  of 
those  conceptions  which,  without  offending  the  reason,  are  peculiarly 
suited  to  developc  the  feelings.  Better  adapted  to  our  moral  wants, 
the  institutions  of  true  Poetry  are  as  harmonious  as  those  of  sound 
Philosophy  with  the  intellectual  condition  of  the  relative  synthesis. 
They  ought  therefore  to  obtain  as  great  extension  and  intlueuce  in  our 
efforts  to  systematize  our  thoughts;  and  Positivism  permits  of  their 
doing  so  without  any  danger  of  confusion  betweeu  the  two  distinct 
methods  of  thinking,  which  it  opefiiy  consecrates,  the  one  to  reality  and 
the  other  to  ideality."*      Is  it  possible  to  express  more  clearly  a  desire 


*  8jntK«M  6obiective»  p.  40. 


ms 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


to    combine    the  advantages  of  believing  and  of  disbelieving   in 
accordance  of  objective  reality  with  our  highest  feelings  and  aspirations? 
But  a  worship  of  fictions,  confessed  as  such,  is  impossible.       Art,  indeed, 
is  kindred  with  Religion;   and  Art,  as  Plato  said,  is  *'  a  uoble  untruth." 
This,  however,  means  only  that  Art  is  untrue  to  the  immediate  appear- 
ances of  things  in  order   that   it   may  suggest  the   deeper    reality    that 
uudLM'liea  them.      But  iu  Comte's  view  the  service  of  ima^nation  is  to 
supply  wants  of  the  heart,  which  cannot  be  supplied  by  reality,  eitlier  in 
its  superficial  or  in  its  deeper  aspect ;  it  is  to  nurture  our  moral  nature 
on  conceptions  that  are  purely  fictitiona.      It  is  not  difficult  to  prophesy 
that  the  schism  of  the  head  and  the  heart  thus  introduced  must  end  in 
the   sacrifice  cither  of  the  one  or  of  the  other  ;  either  in  the  dogmatic 
assertion  of  the   optimism   of  poetry,   or   iu   a  violent    recoil    from  lU 
which  will  separate  not  only  man  from  the  world  but  also  the  individual 
from  the  race,  and  which  must  ultimately  reduce   Humanity  from  an 
object  of  worship  into  a  purely   moral   ideal.      For   religion,   as   Comte 
himself  rightly  saw,  cannot  exist  except  where  thought   and   feeling,  m 
intelligence  and  heart,  are  harmonized,  in  a  consciousness  of  the  highest  ™ 
Bubjeciive  ideol,  as  being  at  the  same  time  the  ultimate  objective  reality. 
What,  indeed,  is  the  use  of  religion,  if  it  does  not  plant  our  feet  upon  the 
"  Rock  of  Ages,"  hut  leaves  us  still  on  the  *^  sandbank"  of  the  contingent 
and  the  temporal?     "All  the  nations,"  says  Hegel,  "have  felt  that  the 
religious  consciousness  is  that  in  which  they  possessed  tmthj  and  it  is  for 
this  reason  that  they  have  ever  regarded  it  as  that  which  gives  dignity  and 
consecrated  joy  to  their  lives.      All  that  awakes  doubt  and  anguish,  all 
sorrow  and  care,  all  the  limited  interests  of  finitude,  the  reJigious  spirit 
leaves  behind  on  the  sandbank  of  time.      And  as,  on  the  highest  top  of 
a  mountain,  removed  from  special  views  of  the  earth  below,  wc  peace- 
fully overlook  all  the  limitations  of  the  landscape   and  the  world,  so,  to 
the  spiritual  eye  of  man  in  this  pure  region,  the  hardness  of  immediate 
reality  dissolves  into  a  semblance,  and  its  shadows,  differences,  and  lights 
are  softened  to  eternal  peace  by  the  beams  of  the  spiritual  sun."      If  we 
cannot  any  longer  have  this  consciousness  of  things  8ttb  specie  ceterni* 
iaiiSj — in  that  highest  truth  and  unity  in   which  all  difficulties  and  dis- 
sonances are  lost, — without  self-deception,  it  would  be  better  for  us  to 
forswear  it  altogether  than  to  connect  our  highest  feelings  with  a  poetic  _ 
illusion.  ■ 

It  is  a  natural  question  to  ask  whether  and  how  far  the  history  of 
Comtc's  philosophy  illustrates  any  of  the  difficulties  and  contradictions 
which  we  have  found  in  the  writings  of  its  author.  The  first  schism 
in  the  ranks  of  those  who  ore  commonly  called  Positivists,  is  that  which 
is  connected  in  France  with  the  name  of  M.  Littrc,  perhaps  the  most  dis- 
tinguished of  Comte's  disciples  ;  and  in  England,  with  the  names  of  Mill 
and  Lewes — who,  however,  were  never,  strictly  speaking,  his  disciples  at 
all.  These  writers  broke  away  from  Comte  whenever  Comte  decidedly 
broke  away  from  the  individualistic  philosophy  of  the  last  century.     In 


SOCIAL  PHILOSOPHY  AND  RELIGION  OF  COMTE.     669 


I 


their  eyes  Cumte's  great  achievcrneiit  was  the  law  of  the  three  stages  of 
mental  dcvelopmeut  and  tlie  arraiigenieut  of  the  sciences ;  and  if  they 
accepted  his  socialo;^ical  speculations — even  those  which  appear  in  his 
first  great  work — it  was  with  many  reserves.  Mr.  Mill  regards  Comte'a 
continual  denunciation  of  metaphysics  as  objectionable,  so  soon  as  he 
finds  it  to  be  directed  aj^ainst  ihe  individualists'''  as  well  as  against  the 
scholastic  realists ;  and  he  thinks  Cerate's  "inordinate  demand  for  unity 
and  systematization"  only  an  instance  of  "an  original  mental  twist  very 
common  in  French  writers.,  and  by  which  Comle  was  distinguished  above 
them  all."t  M.  Littre  finds  little  to  object  to  in  Corate's  first  great 
workj  and  is  not  unwilling  to  admit  that  the  "  individual  man  is  an  ab- 
straetioUj  and  that  there  is  nothing  real  but  humanity;'*  but  he  recoils 
when  Comte  begins  to  speak  of  the  "  Great  Being,"  and  to  change  his 
philosophy  into  a  religion.  Both  attack  the  "  subjective  synthesis"  aa 
a  new  variety  of  metaphysics,  seeing  clearly  that,  as  Comte  states  it,  it 
involves  a  desertion  of  the  point  of  view  of  scieaec  ;  and  neither  of  them 
is  able  to  rise  to  any  other  point  of  view  from  which  the  subjective  unity 
might  itself  be  seen  to  be  objective. 

A  less  important  schism  lias  recently  occurred  within  the  Positivist 
Church,  or,  in  other  words,  among  those  who  accept  the  system  of 
Comte  in  its  entirety,  as  a  religion  no  less  than  as  a  philosophy.  Mr. 
Congreve,  aud  those  who  think  with  him,  have  broken  away  from  the 
general  body  of  Poaitivista  under  M.  LaRttc,  wlio  was  appointed  to  be 
its  head,  or,  at  least,  its  provisional  head,  after  the  death  of  Comte. 
The  difference,  however,  is  one  only  of  policy,  aud  not  of  principle. 
"  There  exists  no  difference/'  says  Mr.  Congrcve,  "  in  regard  to  the 
doctrine,  taken  as  a  whole;  it  is  only  as  to  the  manner  of  presenting 
that  whole  that  we  are  at  variance."  At  the  same  time  this  "schism," 
though,  as  M.  Lafitte  says,  it  is  not  a  "heresy,"  might  easily  lead 
to  one,  if  there  be  any  truth  in  what  has  been  said  above  as  to  the 
ultimate  opposition  of  poetry  aud  philosophy  in  the  system  of  Comte. 
M.  Lafitte  contends  that  the  Positivist  priesthood  should,  in  the  first 
instance  at  least,  seek  to  address  the  heart  through  the  iutelligcuce; 
**  for  it  is  clear  that  their  direct  sentimental  (or  moral)  action  would 
want  a  basis,  and  could  indeed  have  no  serious  result,  unless  previously 
general  opinion  had  been  to  a  certain  degree  modified  by  Positive 
teaching."  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Congrevc  argues  that  Positivism 
must  triumph  in  the  first  instance — like  Cliristianity — by  a  direct 
"appeal  to  the  womeu  and  the  proletaries;"  which  means,  of  course, 
that  an  address  must  be  made  to  **  the  heart,"  without  waiting  for  the 
intelligence ;  aud  that,  in  the  words  of  Comte  himself,  the  "  weapon  of 
persuasion  is  to  be  used  in  preference  to  that  of  conviction."  "  What 
we  seek  to  constitute,"  says  Mr.  Congreve,}:  **  is  a  union  of  the  faith- 

•  Comtfl  and  Poaitivism,  p.  73.  t  H.  P-  IW. 

X  I  tniulAte  from  tho  Freacb,  as  1  have  not  seen  the  English  edition  of  Mr.  Congrere's 

Circular. 


670 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVJETT. 


% 


ful,  a  Church  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  ternij  i.e.,  a  society  iu  which 
the  rcligiouB  element   will  preponderate;   will,  indeed,   be    so    decisively 
and  boldly  accented,  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  our  intentions  ;     a  socli 
which  can  rally  to  itself  all  who  feel  the  need  of  shelter   or   sopport^ 
the  consolation  of  an  active  and  sympathetic  faith.     It  is  thus  that  we 
conceive  ourselves  bound  to  commence  tlie  preaching  of  Humauity,  as 
a  principle  of  union,  with  the  view  of  gathering   together  a  solid  body, 
made  up  mainly  of  the  women  and  the  populace,  which  may  serve  as  a 
foundation  for  the  rest.      In    this  body   the  order  of  instructors  could 
find  their  support  (and  by  an  order  of  instructors   I  meau  naturally  a 
priesthood  and  priests,  and  not  what  seems  to  be  offered   in    its  place, 
professors  and  a  professoriate),  as,  on  the  other  hand,  without  the  stimn- 
latiug  reaction  of  such    an  audience,  they  would  want  a  solid  basis  as 
well  aa  a  sphere  of  activity/'      It  would  be  an  impertinence  for  any  one 
who  is  not  a  member  of  the  Positivist  Church  to  say  anything  on  the 
personal  or  semi-private  questions,  which  arc  necessarily  involved  in  such 
a  division  as  this  between  those  who  are  otherwise  united.      But  there 
can  be  uo   intrusion  iu  saying,  that  if  Positivism  is  ever  to  become  an 
cflfective  Church,  it  must  find  some  such  direct  way  of  addressing  the 
people  as  Mr.  Congreve  suggests,   without  waiting  for  those  who  bare 
time  to  be  instructed  in  the  principles  of  the  six  or  seven  sciences  of 
the  Positivist  system;  and  Mr.  Dix  Hutton^  has  sufficiently  showia  that 
Comtc    himself  would   have   approved   of  such    a  policy.     "God    hath 
chosen  the  weak  things  of  the  world  to  coufouud  the  mighty,"  and  it 
may  be  safely  said  that  no  great  moral  or  spiritual  movement  will  ever 
be  accomplished,  if  its  leaders  wait  till  they  have  convinced  the  mass  of 
the  educated  classes.      The  only  questiou   which   suggests   itw^lf  to  one 
who  has  considered   the  difficulties  of  the   "subjective   synthesis"  is, 
whether  the  appeal  matle  to   the  heart   would   not  necessarily  contain 
elements  which  afterwards  it  would  be  impossible  to  justify  to  the  head. 
For  if  it  were  so,  "  the  old  quarrel  of  the  poets  and  the  philosophers,"  of 
faith  and  reason,  would  repeat  itself  again  in  the  Positivist  Church,  and 
it  would  not   be  less   bitter  from  the  fact  that  that  Church  was  founded 
expressly   with    the  design  of  putting  an  end  to  the  quarrel  altogether. 
Can  there  be  a  division  of  the  intelligence  against  the  heart,  which  is 
not   more    properly    described    as   division   of  the   intelligence   against 
itself?     This  is  a  question  which   is  inevitably  suggested  by  the  whole 
tenor  of  Comte's  later  works.      In  my  final  article  I  shall  say  something 
upon  this  question,  and  shall    then   ti*y   to  show  how  Comte's  defective 
answer  to  it  naturally  led  to  other  defects  in  his  view  of  the  history  of 
the  past,  especially  of  the  Christian   era,   and   also  in   his  view  of  the 
social  ideal  of  the  future. 


Edward  Cairo. 

*  I  have  to  offer  to  Mr.  Dix  Button  my  best  thanka  for  bin  coartcay  in  furoialiiog  jn» 
with  copies  of  the  drculora  and  letters  of  himself,  of  Mr.  Congreve,  and  of  M.  I^atitte,  oa 
the  lubjeot  of  the  diTUUon  among  the  Voaitivista. 


GEOGRAPHY  AND  THE  UNIVERSITIES. 


AMONG  the  various  Academical  studies^  the  orgauizatiou  of  which 
i$  uader  the  conaidcration  of  the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Univer- 
sity Commissions,  that  of  Geography  has  been  till  lately  overlooked.  Its 
claims  have  been  recently  put  forward  iu  a  mcraorial  addressed  by  the 
Royal  Geographical  Society  to  H.  M.  Commisaioucrs  of  the  University 
of  Oxford,  to  those  of  Cambridge,  and  to  the  governing  bodies  of  either 
University,  The  memorial  defines  what  is  meant  by  the  word  Geo- 
graphy as  "  a  compendious  treatment  of  all  the  prominent  conditions 
of  a  country,  such  as  ita  climate,  configuration,  minerals,  plants,  and 
animals,  as  well  as  its  human  inhabitants  j  the  latter  iu  respect  not  only 
to  their  race,  but  also  to  their  present  and  past  history,  so  far  as  it  ia 
intimately  connected  with  the  peculiarities  of  the  land  they  inhabit." 

This  detinition  is  further  drawn  out  and  illustrated,  and  the  memorial 
proceeds  to  state :  "  Geography,  thus  defined,  does  not  tend  in  any 
degree  to  supersede  the  special  cultivation  of  the  separate  sciences,  but 
rather  to  intensify  the  interest  already  felt  in  each  of  them,  by  establish- 
ing connections  which  wouhl  otherwise  be  unobserved."  Scientific 
Geography  may,  iu  fact,  "  be  defined  as  the  study  of  local  correlations." 

The  memorial  meets  tlic  objection  which  is  sure  to  be  made  by  those 
who  do  not  understand  the  scientific  treatment  of  Geography,  "  that  it 
is  too  wide  a  subject,  and  that  its  hmits  are  too  uncertain,  to  justify  its 
recognition  at  the  Universities  by  a  special  Professorship/'  It  shows 
that  the  same  objections  might  be  urged  agaiubt  a  Professorship  of 
History.  It  shows  further  that  "  Professorships  have  already  been 
established  with  excellent  results  in  many  places  on  the  Continent, 
Seven  such  Professorships  exist  in  Germany ;  at  least  three  in  Switzer- 
land ;  and  seven  in  France,  endowed  by  the  Statej  supplementary  to  the 
instruction  given  in  the  Lye^s." 


672  THE   VONTEMPORARY  REVIEir, 


The  duties  of  siicli  a  Professor  are  set  forth  iu  the  memorial  u 
tftofold — "  first,  to  promote  the  study  of  seieiitific  Geography  as  defined 
above;  and,  bccoudly,  to  apply  geographical  knowledge  in  illufitratiog 
and  completing  such  of  the  rceognised  University  studies  as  require 
iU  aid." 

''The  elaims  of  Geogi*aphy  to  oceupy  a  central  place  among  the 
physical  sciences^'  are  confidently  stated ;  and  it  is  added  that  "  since 
the  introduction  of  more  liberal  methods  of  teaching  into  the  clasaical 
and  historical  schools,  its  position  in  respect  to  them  is  little  less  essen- 
tial." In  proof  of  thisj  inference  is  made  to  the  examination  papen 
and  the  list  of  subjects  for  prize  essays  at  Oxford  during  the  last 
twenty-five  years. 

The  imjwrtanec  of  geographical  knowledge  to  travellers  is  next  set 
forth.  Not  only  those  who  travel  after  leaving  the  Universities  with  a 
view  of  completing  their  education,  but  those  Avho  go  out  as  mis- 
sionaries, would  Ijcncfit  greatly  from  sonud  geographical  training.  It 
is  further  showu  that  "the  establishment  of  a-  Professorial  Chair,  and 
the  example  and  scholarly  writings  of  a  University  Professor,  would 
give  a  much  needed  impetus  to  the  progress  of  the  art  of  teaching 
Geography  in  schools  and  elsewhere ;'  an  obsen-ation  which  derives 
additional  imjwrtanee  from  the  fact  refeiTcd  to,  "  that  of  all  the  subjects 
handled  by  those  graduates  of  Cambridge  who  hold  the  office  of  lec- 
turers in  the  great  provincial  towns,  in  connection  with  the  Cambridge 
University  Extension  Scheme,  none  has  been  so  popular  as  Physical 
Geography,"  Besides,  therefore,  the  incentive  to  Academic  study  which 
it  is  hoped  would  be  the  result  of  the  establishment  of  a  Profeseorshipi 
"a  supply  of  lecturers,  well  instructed  in  Geography  by  a  University 
Professor,  would  confer  a  real  benefit  on  the  education  of  the  country, 
and  one  which  could  not  fail  of  being  vridely  appreciated." 

The  formation  of  a  collection  of  maps,  models,  and  diagrams,  and 
geographical  publications  in  the  University  libraries,  is  pointed  out 
a  part  of  the  duties  of  a  Professor. 

The  memorial  ends  with  a  statement  of  the  claims  which  GeograpBy 
has  upon  those  to  whom  the  interests  of  education  are  committed,  not 
only  on  scientific  but  on  imperial  grounds.  ''  The  interests  of  England 
arc  as  wridc  ns  the  world.  The  colonics  of  England — her  commerce, 
her  emigrations,  her  wars,  her  missionaries,  and  her  scientific  explorers — 
bring  her  into  contact  with  all  parts  of  the  globe ;  and  it  is  therefojts 
a  matter  of  imperial  importance  that  no  reasonable  means  should  be 
neglected  of  training  her  youth  in  sound  geographical  knowledge." 

Such  is  the  important  memorial  addressed  by  the  Geographical  Society 
to  the  University  Commissioners,  and  to  the  governing  bodies  of  lioth 
Universities.  It  has  evidently  been  drawn  up  with  great  care,  and  it 
will  be  seen  from  the  above  summary  that  it  enters  into  most  of  tfae 
questions  which  will  be  considered  iu  reference  to  the  cstablinhmcnt  of 
Professorships. 


* 


I 

I 


GEOGRAPHY   AND    THE    UNIVERSITIES. 


673 


It  has  already  been  brought  before  the  governing  bodies  of  either 
University,  and  has  been  ordered  to  be  printed,  with  a  view  doubtless 
of  bringing  its  claims  and  recommendations  prominently  before  the 
Academic  bodies.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  now,  if  ever,  the 
claims  of  Geography  to  be  considered  as  a  branch  of  Academic  study 
will  bo  carefully  considered.  And  taking  into  account  the  readiness 
which  the  Universities  have  shown  of  late  years  to  entertain  any  pro- 
posals which  have  for  their  object  the  extension  to  a  larger  number  of 
the  benefits  of  Academic  teaching,  and  which  seek  to  adapt  University 
studies  to  the  wants  of  the  age,  it  is  not  too  much  to  augur  a  favourable 
reception  on  the  part  of  the  governing  bodies  to  the  suggestions  urged 
in  such  weighty  words  by  the  Royal  Geograpliieal  Society. 

In  the  following  observations  an  attempt  will  be  made  to  show  in 
greater  detail  how  the  suggestions  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society 
may  be  advantageously  carried  out  j  first,  in  reference  to  University 
teaching;  and,  secondlvjin  extending  the  art  of  imparting  geographical 
knowledge. 

The  first  point  to  be  considered  is,  "  What  would  be  the  functions  of 
a  Geographical  Profesmjr  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge  ?"  In  accordance 
with  the  definition  of  Geography  given  in  the  memorial,  the  aim  and 
object  of  the  Professor  should  be  to  promote  in  the  University  a  com- 
prehensive and  accurate  knowledge  of  the  world  we  live  in.  This  is 
comprised  iu  the  German  word  "  Erdkimde,"  answering  to  which  we 
have  no  single  expression  in  our  language. 

Of  the  different  branches  of  the  study.  Physical  Geography,  or 
Physiography,  as  some  prefer  to  call  it,  has  the  best  claims  to  be  con- 
sidered as  a  science.  There  is  good  reason  for  assuming  that  all 
geographical  teaching  at  the  Universities  will  be  based  on  the  laws  and 
principles  of  Physical  Geography,  which  have  in  them  an  clement  of 
iuvariableness.      A  few  instances  will  suffice  to  show  what  is  meant  by 

The  invariabie  elemetit  in  Physical  Geography. — Among  the  features 
of  geographical  teaching  which  remain,  in  a  broad  sense,  unaltered  are — 

(1.)  The  relation  of  the  earth  to  the  other  parts  of  the  solar  system. 
Closely  connected  with  this  are  the  phenomena  of  the  seasons,  of  night 
and  day,  of  the  tides,  the  periodical  movements  of  the  atmosphere, 
the  constant  direction  of  the  great  equatorial  current  of  water,  and,  to 
a  great  extent,  the  phenomena  of  climate. 

(2.)  The  distribution  of  land  and  water  over  the  surface  of  the  globe. 
Connected  with  this  are  questions  deeply  affecting  the  welfare  of  the 
hnman  race,  and  of  great  importance  generally  to  animal  and  vegetable  life. 

The  direction  of  the  Gulf  Stream  is  due  to  various  causes  ;  one  of  the 
chief  being  the  conformation  of  the  American  continent,  which  diverts 
the  course  of  the  great  equatorial  current  in  a  direction  highly  bene- 
ficial to  the  countries  of  Western  Europe. 

The  modification  of  the  trade-winds,  commonly  called  the  monsooiu>, 
is  due  to  the  alternate   influence  on  temperature,  and  consequently  on 


674 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


atmospheric  motion,  of  adjoining  continents,  which  attain  their  maximnm 
of  heat  at  different  seasons  of  the  year. 

Generally,  it  may  be  said  that  most  of  the  questions  concerning 
climate  which  cannot  be  termed  astronomical,  are  connected  with  the 
elevation  of  the  different  parts  of  the  earth's  surface  ;  the  masses  of 
solid  land  and  aggregation  of  waters,  and  their  juxtaposition ;  the 
distribution  of  the  forms  of  relief — I.e.,  mountain  ranges,  plateaus^  and 
plains — and  the  adaptation  of  these  respectively  to  the  different  forms 
of  animal  aud  vegetable  life. 

The  knowledge  which  we  possess  on  these  subjects  admits  of  being 
taught  systematically.  Tlie  great  laws  of  Nature  resemble  the  great  moral 
laws  of  our  common  humanity — ov  yap  ri  vvv  rt  ica^Otc — "  For  not 
to-day,  nor  yestertloy,  but  ever,  these  laws  abide."*  And  since  the 
study  of  these  laws  involves  the  investigation  of  causes  and  the  tracing 
out  of  results  whicli  are  inseparably  connected  one  with  the  other,  a 
directly  scientific  purpose  is  attained. 

It  may  be  addedj  that  the  study  of  Geography  encourages  the  habit 
of  observation,  which  is  the  first  stage  in  the  inductive  process.  The 
world  around  us  is  full  of  "  objcet-leseoss,''  and  those  who  are  en- 
couraged to  denvc  instruction  from  them  are  led  to  accumulate  stores 
of  solid  facts  and  interesting  phenomena,  which  are  well  suited  to  fonn 
the  basis  of  scientific  reasoning.  The  union  of  such  studies  with  the 
cultivation  of  art,  literature,  and  philosophy  in  our  Universities  will  tend 
towards  making  education  more  real,  and  may  be  expected  to  turn  out  men 
of  wider  grasp  of  mind,  larger  in  their  sympathies,  more  in  harmony  with 
the  mass  of  mankind^  and  better  balanced  in  their  mental  acquiremeuts. 

But  besides  the  invariable  element  in  Geograjihy  there  is  a  historical 
elewtnt,  Tlie  face  of  Nature  undergoes  constant  changes  by  the  actioa 
of  water  and  of  the  atmosphere,  and  by  the  growth  and  decay  of  animals 
and  vegetables  in  successive  generations.  These  may  bo  calculated,  at 
least  approximately.  For  instance,  an  experimental  knowledge  of  the 
rate  at  which  glaciers  move  enabled  geologists  to  foretell  the  time  when 
the  remains  of  the  guides  who  were  lost  in  ci'ossing  the  Glacier  des  Bossons 
in  1820  might  be  lecovercd.  The  growth  of  soil  in  a  churchyard,  in  a 
primeval  forest,  or  in  a  prairie,  may  be  calculated.  The  nature  of  a 
cx)untry  may  be  grratly  modified  by  human  agency.  The  planting  or 
cutting  down  of  trees  alone  is  known  to  increase  or  diminish  the  rain- 
fall, and  to  influence  the  tem|wralure.  Rittcr  has  shown  in  an  admir- 
able essayt  the  imiwrtancc  of  the  historical  element  in  Geography.  He 
shows  the  changes  which  the  earth  undergoes  in  relation  to  man,  as  he,  ■ 
by  improved  instruments  and  other  applications  of  mechanical  powrer 
and  science,  places  himself  in  a  different  position  with  regard  to  the 
conditions  of  time  and  space  from  those  under  which  he  was  originally 
created.  He  iK)int8  out  the  power  exercised  by  man  in  partially  over- 
coming or  modifying  conditions  of  space  by  the   applicution   of  machi- 

•  5opA.  Antig.  466.  t  SinUitutig  rvr  atlgemtinen  ter^eirfientfrn  Ceotp-a^i*. 


I 
I 

I 
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GEOGRAPHY  AND    THE    UNIVERSITIES. 


675 


» 

V 


uery ;  and  in  this  way  the  primitive  conditions  undnr  which  man  is 
placed  in  reference  to  time  are  also  modified. 

*$r.  There  are  some  ]>byHical  changes  wliich  take  place  through  volcanic  or 
aiqueou3  action,  a  record  of  which  belongs  to  the  history  of  the  world. 
And  there  have  been,  and  ore  now  taking  placej  changes  which  are  due 
to  human  enterprise ;  such  as  the  voyages  of  the  PhcEnieians  and 
Columbus,  which  opened  out  new  lands.  The  field,  of  geographical 
knowledge  ia  ever  widening,  and  it  will  naturally  be  one  of  the  duties 
of  a  Profe&aor  to  bring  before  the  successive  generations  of  University 
students  the  latest  discoveries  of  geographers. 

Besides  the  primary  function  of  a  Professor  of  Geography,  which  is 
to  promote  the  study  of  geographical  science,  there  is  a  secondary 
function  of  great  importance — to  apply  geographical  knowledge  to  the 
purpose  of  illustrating  and  completing  such  other  of  the  recognized 
University  studies  as  stand  in  more  or  less  direct  relation  to  Geography. 

The  most  prominent  of  these  is  History.  The  value  of  Geography 
has  been  fully  acknowledged  by  some  of  the  most  eminent  men.  who 
have  filled  the  Professorial  Chair  of  History  at  Oxford,  Dr.  Cramer  con- 
tributed a  valuable  work  on  ''Ancient  Italy."  Dr.  Arnold,  iu  his  "  Notes 
on  Thueydidea,"  his  Lectures,  and  bis  "  Roman  History/'  gave  life  to 
past  events  by  admirable  descriptions  of  the  scenes  iu  which  they  took 
place.  Two  of  his  most  distinguished  pupils — Dean  Stanley  in  his  "  Sinai 
and  Palestine''  and  in  contributions  to  the  Classical  Museum^  and 
ex- Professor  Halford  Vaughan  in  his  public  lectures — brought  out  most 
vividly  the  features  of  the  past  by  their  masterly  handling  of  geographical 
details.  Dean  Liddell,  iu  his  "  Roman  History,'^  has  some  excellent 
chapters  on  Italian  Geography:  similar  praise  may  be  given  to  Bishop 
Thirlwall's  "  Greece,"  and  to  nearly  every  work  of  historical  reputation. 

If  80,  it  may  be  asked,  what  ia  the  necessity  for  a  new  Professor  ? 
Cannot  we  leave  to  historians  the  description  of  the  countries  which 
arc  the  scenes  of  the  events  which  they  are  recording  ?  And  if  this 
argument  is  good  for  History,  it  is  good  for  Geology,  for  Botany,  for 
Zoology,  for  Mineralogy,  &c.  &c. 

To  such  objections  it  may  be  answered — 

(1.)  That  no  one  who  has  fully  grasped  the  importance  of  Geography 
would  wish  to  separate  it  into  fragments  attached  severally  to  the  several 
studies  which  have  been  enumerated. 

(2.)  No  one  can  with  advantage  to  his  own  mind  or  to  his  pupils 
dwell  at  one  time  upon  every  phase  of  a  subject.  A  writer  of  History 
may  trace  the  workings  of  the  time  which  led  to  the  insurrection  of 
the  Gracchi,  without  being  reminded  of  the  diflercoice  between  volcanic 
and  alluvial  soil,  or  between  tufa  and  travertine. 

(3.)  The  making  of  maps  and  illustrative  diagrams  adda  greatly  to 
the  trouble  of  preparation  which  a  lecturer  in  History  must  undergo. 
Ptofesaar  Vauglian,  whose  lectures  overflowed  from  the  Taylor  Buildings 
into  the  Theatre,  illustrated   portions  of  early  English  history  by  very 


676 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


clear  and  useful  maps.  Whether  they  were  made  by  hiioaelf,  or  under 
his  direction^  I  cannot  say.  But  they  must  have  cost  both  time  and 
trouble.  This  kind  of  -work  might  fairly  be  delegated  to  the  Geogn- 
phical  Department.  One  or  two  assistants  would  be  necessary  to 
execute  the  diagrams  required.  And  in  this  Tray  a  want  might  be 
supplied,  which  all  teachers  of  history  must  have  experienced — that  of 
good  wall-maps  suitable  for  the  use  of  classes,  averaging,  say,  forty  in 
number.  The  best  maps  of  this  kind  that  have  been  produced  are 
German.  Kiepert's  historical  and  Sydow's  physical  wall-maps  are  for 
execution  and  moderate  cost  superior  to  anything  of  the  kind  produi 
in  this  country. 

As  Geology  overlaps  Geography  more  than  any  other  science,  it  mif 
be  worth  while  to  show  more  in  detail  the  separate  functions  of  each,  or 
rather  to  show  that  Geography  may  claim  for  itself  a  firm  standpoint, 
even  on  the  side  where  its  boundaries  most  nearly  trench  upon 
Geology. 

It  might  appear  at  first  sight  that  Geology  covers  most  of  the  ground 
which  Physical  Geography  claims,  and  therefore  it  might  be  argued 
that  Physical  Geography  is  a  proper  subject  for  a  Geological  Professor. 
In  favour  of  this  view,  it  may  be  conceded  that  Geography  owes  much 
to  Geology.  No  one  who  professed  a  knowledge  of  the  former  would 
undervalue  the  merits  and  the  benefit  of  such  works  as  Sir  C.  Lycli's 
"  Principles  of  Geology/*  &c.  But  it  may  be  answered  that  in  the  case  of 
the  large  superficial  features  of  a  country — i.e.,  its  mountain  ranges,  its 
valleys,  lakes,  hollowSj  alluvial  plains,  river  deltas,  gorges,  canons,  cliffs, 
or  shingle  and  sand  along  the  sea-shores,  volcanoes,  geysers,  &c- — it  is 
questionable  whether  the  geologist  should  take  entirely  to  himself  the 
explanation  of  their  present  appearance  and  shape.  The  physical 
geographer  might  fairly  claim  the  function  of  dealing  with  the  origin 
and  mode  of  formation  of  the  large  existing  superficial  features;  taking 
the  country  as  it  now  is,  and  not  going  back  in  geological  time  or 
investigating  the  state  of  things  which  existed  when  the  face  of  the 
country  was  unlike  what  it  now  is — perhaps,  indeed,  partially  submerged. 
That  he  would  leave  to  the  geologist.  Thus,  if  he  finds  a  gorge  in  any 
country  he  is  describings  he  might  fairly  consider  the  cause  or  causes  of 
its  occurrence  there— ^.j.,  erosion,  or  the  wearing  action  of  a  stream,  or 
the  effects  of  weather,  or  the  dislocation,  by  earthquake  or  upheaval,  of 
stratified  or  crystalline  rocks.  But  even  granting  that  the  geologist  is 
the  right  person  to  cope  with  these  matters  of  theory,  and  that  they  lie 
beyond  the  scope  of  the  physical  or  general  geographer,  still  this 
admission  docs  not  hy  any  meaiis  close  the  field  to  the  geographer. 
There  is  still  an  important  function  left  for  him. 

The  geologist  certainly  would  not  undertake  to  explain  the  formation 
of  each  individual  peak,  ridge,  valley  or  gorge,  or  each  stretch  of  flat 
nllnvial  deposit  in  every  region  of  every  country  on  the  globe.  He 
mnst  therefore  leave  a  very  large  number  unnoticed  and  undcscribed. 


I 
1 


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GEOGRAPHY   AND    THE    UXIVERSITIES. 


677 


^ 


selecting  only  one  or  two  for  pur[)05cs  of  illustration.  It  is  here  that  the 
geographer  comes  iu,  not  necessarily  as  explaining  the  formation  of  each 
individual  point  on  tlic  earth's  surface,  hut  aa  calling  attention  to  tlie 
existence  of  every  individual  feature  and  valuing  it  as  such,  cataloguing, 
grouping;  and  classifying.  He  would  value  the  features  of  the  earth's 
surface  as  such,  aud  be  careful  not  to  lose  any  from  Iiis  field  of  view. 
On  the  supposition  that  the  geographer  does  not  deal  with  causes 
(which  on  scientific  grounds  he  would  be  the  last  to  admit)  the 
fallowing  would  be  an  instance  of  the  diattnction  between  a  geologist's 
and  a  geographer's  standpoint. 

In  the  geologist's  mind  the  theory  of  the  formation  of  gorges  is 
uppermost :  the  geographer  would  consider  the  facts  of  gorges  of  chief 
importance  from  his  own  point  of  view.  The  geologist  in  iUustratiug 
his  theory  might  select  the  Via  Mala,  or  the  Pass  of  Glencoe,  or  the 
Pass  of  Llauberis,  or  any  individual  gorge,  but  always  with  a 
special  view  to  the  purposes  of  illustration.  He  would  deal  with 
the  specially  selected  gorge,  and  not  mention  the  thousand  others 
which  exist.  The  geographer  would  not  be  so  much  concerned  as 
to  whether  this  or  that  theory  of  gorge -farmatiL>n  was  applicable,  as  he 
would  be  to  feel  quite  sure  that  he  had  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the 
configuration  aud  geograpliical  position  of  the  various  gorges.  That 
there  is  a  gorge  here  at  the  pass  of  Gleucoe,  or  Llauberis,  that  there  is 
one  there  at  the  Via  Mala,  are  to  him  the  important  facts.  Tt  would 
be  for  him  to  register  carefully  the  discovery  of  any  new  gorge  in  a 
hitherto  unexplored  region,  and  to  put  together  all  posi*iblc  details  of 
information  regarding  its  size,  direction,  aud  general  appearance,  the 
general  nature  of  the  rocks  in  which  it  occurs,  the  volume  and  velocity 
of  the  liver  which  flows  through  it,  &c. 

Any  individual  gorge  is  to  the  geographer  important  to  a  certain 
extent  as  illustrating  the  action  of  denuding  agents,  or  any  other  theory, 
hut  chiefly  as  being  a  feature  and  factor  iu  the  geueral  configuration  of 
some  particular  continent  or  country. 

So  it  is  with  ocean  eurreuts.  The  geologist  does  not  coneeru  him- 
self with  these  till  he  is  puzzled  by  certain  phenomena  in  ancient  sedi- 
mentary deposits,  aud  driven  to  examine  ocean-currents,  as  they  at 
present  exist,  in  search  of  a  clue  to  the  explanation  of  his  difficulties. 
The  geographer,  on  the  other  hand,  jealously  regards  the  whole  domain 
of  ocean,  and  watches  rigorously  all  its  movements,  and  registers  and 
puts  on  record  every  appearance  of  the  existence  of  currents,  large  or 
small,  swift  or  slow,  wherever  they  may  occur,  together  with  their 
distinctive  qualities  aud  peculiarities,  their  influence  on  one  another,  ou 
the  winds,  on  climate,  and  on  Geography  generally. 

But  few  will  be  disposed  to  admit  that  Geography  should  be  con- 
fined thus.  It  is  nearer  the  trutli  that  the  explanations  of  the  large 
features  of  a  country  are  properly  part  and  parcel  of  its  function,  and 
that    if  geologists   have  hitherto    taken    this    upon  themselves,   it   is 

vol*.  XXXV.  Y    Y 


67S  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

because  ihc  gcograplicrj  as  a  separate  class  of  scientific  teacher,  luu 
scarcely  yet  appeared  oa  the  horizon  in  this  country ;  and  the  work 
which  he  couhl  so  properly  and  so  efficiently  perform  is  takeu  up  now 
by  geologists,  as  the  late  Sir  C.  Lyell;  now  by  naturalists,  as  Darwin  and 
Wallace  j  and  now  by  physicists  and  mathematicians,  as  Huxley  and 
Herschel.  That  the  cause  of  Geography  is  advanced  by  the  efforts  of 
such  eminent  men  is  beyond  all  question.  The  sen'ices  they  have 
rendered  are  great,  and  have  met  with  deserved  recognition.  But,  as  a 
rulCj  it  will  be  found  that  there  is  need  of  special  geographical  know- 
ledge, and  of  undivided  attention  to  the  subject,  if  Geography  is  to  be 
introduced  as  a  branch  of  higher  education.  It  may  even  be  doubted 
whether  wide  generalizations  of  Geography  can  be  properly  or  adequately 
made  as  mere  tours  de  Jbrce,  or  elegant  diversions  thrown  off  in 
the  intervals  of  leisure  which  occur  in  a  geologist's  more  special  study. 
Indeed,  the  geologist  has  quite  enough  to  do  in  his  own  line,  and  might 
well  be  grateful  to  be  relieved  of  a  portion  of  his  widely  ramified  and 
daily  extending  study.  The  geologist  may  be  indispensable  to  the 
geographer,  and  the  geographer  to  the  geologist  ;  but  there  is  roora 
for  both.  The  very  esistence  of  such  works  as  Ritter's  "  Erdkundc" 
and  Elisee  Reclus*  "  Geographic  Universelle"  establishes  the  claim  of 
Geography  to  an  independent  existence  among  our  higher  studies  not 
less  completely  than  the  lectures  and  writings  of  Professor  Max  ifiiller 
established  the  claims  of  Comparative  Philology  in  this  country,  and 
led  to  its  Academic  recognition. 

The  modus  operandi  would  be  left,  probably,  in  great  measure  to 
the  Professor.  But  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he  would  l>e  called 
upon  to  give  scientific  instruction  in  Physical  Geography;  and  to  this 
would  be  rcfen'cd  all  considerations  of  Polilicalj  Commercial,  Military, 
or  Historical  Geography. 

The  main  facts  of  primary  instruction  would  be,  on  the  one  hand, 
explanations  of  the  laws  and  phenomena  of  volcanic,  glacial,  marine, 
fluviatilCj  and  atmospheric  agencies,  considered  with  regard  to  the 
earth's  crust  at  the  present  day  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  past  history 
of  such  ageneiesj  so  far  as  the  present  state  of  geological  and  physical 
knowledge  will  permit  it  to  be  accurately  or  even  approximately 
traced. 

In  applying  geographical  knowledge  to  illustrate  other  University 
studies,  the  Professor  would  impress  upon  students  of  history  the  im- 
2>oi'tance  of  a  clear  mental  grasp  of  the  topography  of  a  district  for  a 
true  appreciation  of  various  historical  events,  such  as  the  cause  of 
military  or  naval  operations,  commercial  development  or  decadence, 
political  organizations  or  alliances^  of  which  it  has  been  the  theatre; 
while  in  illustrating  classical  authors  he  would  be  in  part  occupied  by 
the  identification  of  sites,  in  part  by  descriptions  of  countries.  A 
reference  to  the  list  of  subjects  for  historical  prize  essays,  proposed  at 
Oxford  from  time  to  time  during  the  last  twenty-five  years,  will  show 


GEOGRAPHY   AND    THE    UNIVERSITIES, 


C79 


to, what  extent  Geography  and  History  go  hand  in  hand  in  the  studies 
of  that  University. 

In  the  ease  of  Oriental  studies,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  observe  that 
a  knowledge  of  the  Geography  of  Eastern  eountries  is  indispensable, 
not  merely  from  scieutifie  but  imperial  considerations.  India  has  pro- 
dueed  of  late  years  many  men  eminent  in  geographieal  knowledge, 
tln*ongh  whose  exertions  a  larger  field  of  inquiry  has  been  thrown 
open,  and  the  sum  of  our  knowledge  has  been  materially  increased. 
Moreover,  the  requirements  of  the  East  India  Civil  Service  include 
under  one  head  the  History  and  Geography  of  India. 

So  much  has  been  done  iu  the  way  of  illustrating  classical  litera- 
ture and  antiquities  by  Niebuhr,  K.  O.  MuUer,  Mommscn,  Dr.  Arnold, 
Bishop  "Wordsworth,  Sir  Henry  Rawliusou,  Professor  Rawlinson,  Colonel 
Leake,  Sir  A.  H.  Layard,  Mr.  Newton,  Dr.  Sehliemann,  and  others, 
that  it  is  needless  to  pursue  this  subject  further.  How  much  may  be 
done  in  a  short  time  by  a  historian  whose  mind  is  already  well  pre- 
pared to  make  topographical  inquiries  and  register  observations,  has 
been  recently  shown  by  Mr.  Bosworth  Smith's  "  Carthage  and  the 
Carthaginians  /'  while  Mr.  Tozer's  "  Lectures  on  the  Geography  of 
Greece^'  derive  additional  interest  from  the  fact  of  his  writing  from 
|)crsonal  observation  of  the  country  he  describes. 

As  regards  militai*y  studies,  it  is  a  portion  of  our  duty,  as  an  Imperial 
Power,  to  train  up  young  men  who  leave  our  Universities  for  foreign 
service  in  a  knowledge  of  the  countries  whither  they  may  be  sent;  to 
teach  them  how  to  observe  and  make  practical  uae  of  their  observations, 
and  promote,  so  far  as  opportunities  offer,  the  extension  of  our  geogra- 
phieal knowledge  of  countries  which  arc  practically  closed  to  civilians, 
and  can  only  be  explored  when  military  expeditions  take  place. 

In  reference  to  Ethnology,  so  much  light  has  been  thrown  upon  the 
early  history  of  nations  by  Comparative  Philology,  that  every  help 
wliich  Geography  can  give  in  illustration  of  the  works  with  which 
University  students  are  familiar  is  very  desirable.  Theories  of  the 
origin  of  nations  have  been  formed  on  very  insufficient  data.  How  the 
various  continents  were  peopled,  and  what  modifications  have  taken 
place  iu  their  populations,  are  questions  which  can  only  be  determined 
by  the  combined  efforts  of  historians  and  geographers  on  the  evidence 
of  tradition,  physical  characteristics,  monumental  records,  artistic  and 
architectural  remains,  and  last,  but  not  least,  geographical  position.  It 
belongs  to  the  province  of  Comparative  Geography  to  collect  this  varied 
evidence,  to  weigh  it  carefully,  and  to  draw  conclusions  therefrom. 

As  regards  Natural  History  and  Botany,  the  dUtnbudon  of  animals 
and  plants  belongs  to  the  province  of  Geography,  and  is  an  important 
item  in  our  knowledge  of  the  earth.  The  evidence  of  fossil  plants 
and  animals  shows  clearly  that  differences  of  climate  existed  in  former 
times  as  compared  with  more  recent  times.  Parts  of  the  land  are 
proved  by  geologists  to  have   been   formerly  covered  by  sea;  and  the 

y  r  2 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REJ^EfT. 


H  similarity  of  the  flora  and  fauua  in  countries  now  separated  by  the 
H  sea  proves  these  countries  to  have  beeu  formerly  joined  in  one  coutincut. 
H  Leaving  it  to  the  Professors  of  Geology,  Natural  History,  and  Botany 
H  to  describe  and  classify  the  difTcreut  kinds  of  animals  and  plants,  it  will 

H  remain  for  the  Professor  of  Geograpl»y  to  draw  attention  to  their  distri* 
H  baition,    and    to  show    what  are   the   characteristics   of  organic  life  in 

H         tropical,  temperate,  and  arctic  regions. 

H  Fortified  by  previous   geographical  knowledge,  collectors    would   go 

H  abroad  with  great  advantages,  and  be  better  able  to  direct  their  efforts 
H  towards  the  formation  of  natural-history  collections,  and  the  supplying  of 

H  deficiencies,  if  any,  in  our  museums. 

H  Tlie  leading  facts  of  Meteorology,  especially  as  connected  with  climate, 

H  might  well  enter  among  the  subjects  of  University  geographical  teaching. 

■  In  connection  with  Geology  and  Mineralogy  the  Professor  of 
H  Geography  may  fairly  deal  with  the  questions— "  Where  are  the  most 
H  important  varieties  of  rocks  and  minerals  found?  how  do  they  influence 
H          the  life  of  nations  ?  and  what  is  their  commercial  and  political  iniport- 

■  ance  ?" 

H  Other  subjects,  such  as  terrestriul  magnetism,  may  be  approaclied  from 

■  ^  geographical   jioint  of  view  ;  but  it  is  needless  to  multiply  instances 

■  in  order  to  show  how  wide  a  field  of  studies  may  be  aided  or  illustrated 
H  by  Geography.      At    the   same   time,   it   cannot  be  expected  that  any 

■  single  Geographical  Professor  could  successfully  deal  with  all  these 
'  subjects. 

The  study  of  Geography]  under  an  able  Professor  at  each  of  our 
(lid  Uuiversities  would  not  only  help  travellers,  but  greatly  promote 
imperial  interests.  When  small  countries,  like  Switzerland,  with  no 
sea-border,  have  a  scientific  school  of  Geography, — as,  e.ff.,  at  Geneva, 
Neuchatcl,  and  Zuricli, — it  appears  a  strange  thing  that  England, 
with  her  vast  colonial  empire  and  extensive  naval  and  commercial 
traffic,  should  not  recognize  Geography  as  a  branch  of  higher  education. 
In  Germany  it  is  far  otherwise  ;  and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
much  of  the  recent  military  success  and  political  influence  of  Germany 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  officers  and  ci\il  servants  of  the  Imperial 
Government  are  well  acquainted  with  the  Geography  of  other  countries. 
Moreover,  in  France  there  are,  as  the  memorial  points  out,  as  many  as 
seven  Professorships  of  Geography  connected  with  colleges  of  higher 
education.  It  seems,  then,  that  England,  which  of  all  countries 
would  derive  the   most  benefit  from  syHtemalic  geographical  teaching, 

■  has  been  behind  other  nations  in  its  recognition  of  Geography. 

I  There  is   one  branch  of  the  subject  which  foreign  geographers  have 

I  recognized,  especially  Carl  Hitter  (see  his  work  mentioned  on  page  G74) 

■  and  Oscar  Peschel — namely,  man's  influence  on  external  Nature.      How 

■  to  improve  a  country,  and  how  to  avoid  wasting  and  destroying  it,  arc 
I  practical  questions  well  suited  to  the  consideration  of  future  statcsnicuj 
I           as  well  as  emigrants  and  colonists.     Arnold  Guyot,  in  his  es^cUeat  little 


i 


GEOGRAPHY  AND    THE    UXIVERSITIES. 


681 


book,  "  Earth  and  Man,"  drew  attention  to  this  some  twenty-five  years 
ago;  and  "The  Earth  as  modified  by  Human  Action/'  by  George  P. 
Marsh  (1874),  is  a  book  which  might  well  take  ita  place  among  the 
text-books  of  higher  edueation.  A  resident  Professor,  with  the  requi- 
site knowledge  and  the  enthusiasm  which  woukl  render  his  teaching 
effective,  might  do  great  good  by  pointing  out  to  future  governors 
of  provinces  and  colonics  how  they  might  stamp  an  impress  of  their 
nde  upon  the  land  for  good  and  not  for  evil,  by  aiding  itH  physical 
development.  It  might  be  anticipated,  moreover,  that  bodies  which 
take  an  interest  in  missionary  enterprise  would  regard  with  favour  the 
introduction  of  a  study  which  would  help  to  make  missionary  labours 
more  effective.  And  thus  future  Livingstones  may  be  reared  within  the 
walls  of  our  ancient  l^iiivcrsitics. 

As  regards  the  practical  question,  "  What  openings  are  there  at 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  for  the  introduction  of  a  Professorship  of  Geo- 
graphy ?"  it  is  impossible  to  gi\'e  a  decided  answer  before  the  responsible 
bodies  in  those  Universities  have  been  respectively  cousulted,  aud  have 
arrived  at  some  conclusion.  But  from  both  Universities  opinions  have 
been  expressed  which  would  warrant  the  attempt  being  made. 

Professor  Rolleston,  writing  from  Oxford,  in  a  letter  which  I  have 
his  permission  to  quote,  says : — 

"  I  am  sure  that  the  Council,  with  which  body  the  initiation  lies,  aa  you  know, 
Avould  give  a  most  respectful  reception  to  a  proposition  pointing  to  the  founding 
of  a  Professorship  of  '  Erdkimde.'  The  subject  has  a  scientific,  an  auti(|unrian, 
a  literary,  and  an  imperial  interest  attaching  to  it;  and,  besides  all  this,  it  la 
a  subject  which  is  attrucliug  and  will  continue  (o  attract  diligent  &tudeats 
henceforward  for  several  generations.  The  little  pluucl  wc  live  in  is  by  no 
means  exhaustively  explored  aa  yet,  circumnavigatory  ships  notwithstanding. 
The  activity  which  the  study  has  excited  can  be  judged  of  by  the  work  of 
the  lioyal  Geogniphicnl  Society,  or,  from  the  purely  literary  point  of  view, 
by  the  publication  of  such  books  as  tlio«e  of  Oscar  Peschel,*  a  worthy  suc- 
cessor of  Ritter,  oven  though  he  is  much  loss  voluminous.  On  these  very  obvious 
grounds,  I  think  the  Uuiversity  would  be  moat  ready  to  have  a  Profossorsldp  of 
the  subject  in  qufstion." 

Since  the  date  of  this  letter,  the  memorial  of  the  Royal  Geographical 
Society  has  been  brought  before  the  Council^  and  by  their  orders  it  has 
been  printed  in  the  Oxford  University  Gazette, 

A  similar  reception  has  l>ecn  given  to  the  memorial  at  Cambridge, 
where  it  has  been  printed  for  general  information  in  the  Cambridge 
University  Reporter,  In  connection  with  this,  I  may  quote  a  letter 
from  Professor  Stuart,  in  which  he  says — 

'*  For  my  own  part,  I  think  a  Professorship  of  Geography  would  be  an  excellent 
addition  to  the  University,  and  might  he  made  very  useful  for  intending  emi- 
grants as  well  ns  for  historians  and  others.  As  I  said  to  you,  there  is  no  ^ioutific 
subject  in  which  oiir  lecturers  In  the  great  towns  have  been  called  ou  for  so  many 
courses  as  'Physical  Geography.'  " 

(Jcography,  being  of  necessity  largely  a   descriptive,    as    well   as  au 

*  Oscar  Peschel  lias  written  articles  iu  the  MUtfieilitHgen.  of  1867,  1869, 187G,  and  a  book 
in  English  cm  "The  Distribution  of  the  Human  Kace.'* 


J 


682 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVTEfr. 


explanatory  and  inductive  science,  is  capable  of  receiving  invaluable  aid 
iu  the  way  of  illustration  from  pictorial  sketches  and  landscapes^  dia^ranu, 
mapR  and  models,  and  other  means,  which  by  appealing  directly  to  the  eye 
suggest  many  ideas  and  convey  many  impressions  more  swiftly,  accu- 
rately, and  completely  than  it  lies  within  the  power  of  verbal  description 
to  achieve.  The  Professor  of  Physical  Geography  would  inevitably  find 
himself  in  need  of  some  such  supplement  to  verbal  descriptions  or 
explanations  of  natural  phenomena  :  and  the  more  artistic  and  g^raphi- 
cally  suggestive  such  aids  were,  the  more  advantageous  would  be  find 
them — for  two  reasons — first,  as  reinforcing  and  vivifying  Lis  power  of 
illustration;  andj  secondly,  as  economizing  his  time  by  allowing  bim  to 
compress  more  matter  into  a  single  lecture,  and  to  display  at  one  view 
a  greater  range  of  items  from  which  to  draw  general  conclusions. 

Without  particularizing  the  various  appliances  which  may  be  made 
use  of  for  illustrating  lectures,  it  is  sufficiently  clear  that  both  time  and 
labour  must  be  expended  iu  designing,  preparing,  and  perfecting  snch 
apparatus  ;  and,  iu  order  that  it  might  possess  the  maximum  of  efficieucr, 
a  large  share  of  the  Professor's  attention  would  have  to  be  devoted  to 
it.  For  the  purpose  of  lightening  this  labour  the  Professor  might  be 
aided  by  a  demonstrator  or  assistant,  who  should  help  the  Professor  in 
the  collection  of  materials  and  preparation  of  apparatus  for  illustration 
or  experiment,  and  also,  if  necessary,  by  assisting  in  the  practical  work 
of  teaching. 

Though  it  may  be  premature  to  consider  such  a  question,  yet  in  the 
event  of  Geography  becoming  a  subject  of  examination,  as  apart  from. 
Geology,  for  an  ordinary  pass  E.A.  dcgi'ce  at  Oxford,  or  a  B.A.  degree 
without  honours  at  Cambridge,  regular  geographical  teaching  of  a  more 
elementary  character  would  become  requisite  ;  and  this  the  Professor,  if 
unable  to  find  time  for  it  himsclfj  might  depute  to  a  demonstrator,* 
who  should  on  his  part  be  thoroughly  qimlified  to  give  instruction  iu  the 
subject. 

Tlie  various  illustrative  or  experimental  apparatus  might  form  the 
miclcus  of  a  Geographical  Museum, 

But,  important  as  the  function  of  lecturing  undoubtedly  is,  a  Pro- 
fessor of  Geography  should  not  confine  himself  to  that  alone.  During 
the  Long  Vacation  he  would  have  much  spare  time  at  his  disposal, 
which  he  mifrlit  devote  to  visiting  foreign  countries.  He  might  employ 
part  of  such  time  in  fortifying  his  own  knowledge  by  independent 
travel  and  investigation,  and  part  in  accompanying  a  travelling  class  of 
students  of  Geography,  which  should  visit  interesting  localities  in  tliis 
country,  or  on  the  Continent ;  such  students  paying  their  own  expenses, 
or  if,  in  certain  cases,  it  should  seem  desirable,  aided  by  grants  from 
the  University,  or  from  such  funds  as  the  RadclifTct  or  West's^  Travel- 


*  See  Ounbridflc  Univenity  Calendar,  1878,  pp.  16,  17,  16. 

t  S«o  Oxford  UuTcrsity  Caloucliir  for  IS^,  p.  61. 

t  Sea  Cambridge  rDivcreity  Calcmlar  for  187S,  p.  263. 


GEOGRAPHY  AND    THE    UNIVERSITIES, 


683 


ling  Fellowsliips  or  Bachelorships.  Sucli  a  travelling  class  bhould  set 
out  with  the  dcfiuite  purpose  of  doing  real  workj  aud  of  sacrificiug  other 
objects  thereto ;  not  allowing  the  expedition  to  degenerate  into  a  mere 
pleasure  excursion  flavoured  with  a  smattering  of  science.  But,  whether 
accxjmpanicd  by  a  class  or  not,  the  Professor  shoukl  cmbrorc  every 
opportunity  of  travelling,  with  the  view  of  studying  with  his  own  eyes 
and  familiarizing  liimsclf  upon  the  spot  with  those  features  which,  as  a 
lecturer,  he  may  be  called  upon  to  describe;  aud  also  of  making  the 
acquaintance  of  foreign  men  of  science,  and  of  establishing  friendly 
relations  with  them  and  with  the  various  foreign  Geographical  Societies, 
so  that  on  his  return  to  this  country  he  would  be  in  communication 
with  thera,  aud  keep  himself  en  rapport  with  the  progress  of  geogra- 
phical work  abroad. 

Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the  educational  movement  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Cambridge  University  Extension  System,  One  of  the 
fruits  of  that  system  was  the  discovery  that  no  subject  of  study  was  so 
populai'  as  Physical  Geography.  Here  is  a  point  of  convergence  between 
Academic  teaching  and  that  general  culture  which  is  valued  in  provincial 
to^vns.  University  studies  may  or  may  not  be  too  technical  and  special. 
Instruction  given  iu  the  way  of  lectures  in  provincial  towns  may  or  may 
not  be  too  vague  and  general.  Here  follow  some  hints  for  the  adaptation 
of  Academic  teaching  to  a  general  audience,  not  specially  prepared  by 
scientific  training,  but  of  average  intelligence.  They  are  a  reproduction 
of  some  suggestions  made  by  a  University  man,  who  has  had  experience 
in  provincial  lecturing. 

It  will  be  found  desirable  to  choose  some  district  of  not  too  wide 
extent,  aud  to  concentrate  attention  upon  it;  to  display  in  as  striking  a 
light  as  possible  the  manifold  details  which  give  it  its  character;  not 
from  a  mere  statistician's  point  of  view,  but  grouping  and  contrasting 
and  bringing  out  their  mutual  connection  so  as  to  throw  life  into  them, 
to  awaken  interest  and  stiratilate  imagination  j  and  so  to  handle  them, 
and  bring  them  under  review,  as  to  present  a  vi\-id  picture  of  the  country, 
both  in  its  present  condition  and  its  past  history,  almost  as  real,  and 
almost  as  complete  in  its  efrect  upon  the  mind,  as  if  the  audience  had 
been  actually  taken  on  a  tour  over  the  very  ground. 

Having  selected  some  district,  the  lecturer  would  do  well  to  consider 
it  as  the  theatre  ujwn  which  many  events  have  taken  place;  events  of  a 
geological  nature,  such  as  upheaval  and  subsidence  ;  volcanic  outbursts 
or  earthquakes ;  river-floods,  movements  of  ice,  and  inroads  of  the  sea ; 
changes  of  climate,  fauna,  and  flora;  events  of  human  occupation  and 
migration,  of  primitive  warfare  and  industries,  of  later  developments  of 
cirilixation  aud  government;  of  military  campaigning;  of  commercial, 
engineering,  and  agricultural  enterprise ;  of  the  building  of  towns,  and 
of  the  formation  of  political  boundaries. 

In  order  that  the  lecturer  might  avoid  the  charge  of  giving  vent  to 
vftguo  generalities,  he  would,  of  course,  be  ready  to  substantiate  his  state- 


k. 


08  ( 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJr. 


inents.      For  evidence  of  the  series  of  what  may  be  called  geolot/icul 
events,  he  would  point  to  the  occurrence  of  crystalline  and  scdimentaiy 
rocks,  the  nature  and  value  of  whose  evidence  it   would  be  part  of  his 
duty  to  explain ;  to  the  existence  of  glacial  markings  and  moraines,  and 
of  foasilifcrous  strata,  implying,  by  the  variety  of  their    structure  and 
contents,  mutations  of  climate  and  animal  and  vegetable  life,  and  alter- 
nations of  dry  laudj  deep  sea,  aud  shoal.     In  accepting  the  evidence  of 
events  more  recent,  or  historical  in   the  ordinary  sense,  he  would,  of 
course,  go  less  into  explanations;  but  he  should  not  omit  to  show  how 
the  human  history  is  continuou.s  witli  the  physical;  how  the  seqtieuccof 
geological  events  has  gradually  led  up  to  the  present  general  configura- 
tion of  the  country,  the  rougher  features  of  which  have  been   blocked 
out  by  these  powerful  agencies,  to  be  afterwards  toned  down   by   atmo- 
spheric action,  and  to  be  impressed  with  the  lines  of  drainage ;  that  the 
present  distribution  of  mountain,  valley  and   plain,  of  river  and  lake, 
aud  of  the   various  kinds  of  soil,  is  the  direct  outcome  of  all    thai  past 
history  ;  aud  that,  inasmuch  as  this  distribution  has  greatly  determined 
where  the   population  Khnll  settle    and    where  build   its    towns,   where 
draw  its  frontier  lines  and  where  erect  its  fortresses,  the  human  and  the 
physical  history  of  the  country  arc  thus  seen  to  be  indissolubly  conneL*le<i 
This,    or  somcthiug    like    this,    would    appear   (to   one    who    has    had 
experience  in  lecturing)  to  be  tlic  only  method  of  treatment   by   which 
the  various  points,  commonly  classed  under  the  heads  of  Physical  and 
Political  Geography  respectively,  can  be  rationally  or  instructively  brought 
together  under  one  comprehensive  science. 

In  lecturing  to  a  well-instructed  class,  it  may  answer  to  assume  a 
great  amount  of  kuoAvledgc,  and  indulge  in  brilliant  generalizations. 
But  to  a  mixed  audience  it  is  better  to  assume  a  good  deal  of  ignorance. 
Of  course  one  has  heard  of  people  being  pleased  with  a  lecture  they 
did  not  nudcrstand — like  the  old  Scoti'liwoman  who  said,  in  answer  to 
a  question  whether  she  understood  the  mifiistcr's  discourse,  "Wad  I  so 
presume?"  One  has  also  known  cases  of  young  ladies  in  pre-educational 
times  reading  through  Humboldt's  •'  Kosmos."  But  all  this  has  changed 
now.  An  age  of  iutclligcucc  has  dawned;  an  age  of  *^  payment  by 
results;^'  an  age  in  which  false  pretences  arc  sifted,  and  ignorance  is 
exposed  by  competitive  examinations.  Henceforth  let  no  lecturer  "  shoot 
above  tlie  heada^'  of  his  audience,  for  if  he  does,  the  day  of  examination 
will  reveal  their  ignorance,  and  his  incapacity  to  gauge  their  powers. 

One  lecture  in  the  year  addressed  to  the  cognoscenti  would 
probably  be  enough,  and  would  enable  a  Professor  to  deal  with  uewly- 
ascertainwl  facts,  to  discuss  recent  theories,  and  to  invest  the  subject 
of  Geography  with  that  dignity  aud  grace  which  a  man  of  high  culture 
aud  literary  ability  can  give. 

A  lecture  was  recently  given  at  the  Royal  Geographical  Society  by 
Professor  Geikie,  M'ell  known  as  an  eminent  geologist,  who  has  a])plied 
his  geological  knowledge  to  the  illustration  of  Scottish  scenery,  and  M'hose 


GEOGRAPHY  AND    THE    UmVERSITIES. 


685 


work  ou  "Tlie  Scenery  and  Geology  of  Scotland"  is  too  well  kiio\vn  to 
need  descriptiuu.  Whenever  a  mau  of  such  extensive  knowledge,  possessed 
of  imagiuative  power  and  enthusiasm,  and  with  a  facility  of  expression, 
takes  up  a  geographical  subject,  the  result  is  sure  to  be  an  intclJectiial 
treat  to  those  who  arc  able  to  rise  to  the  Professor's  high  level.  But 
to  many  it  must  be — as  was  said  to  be  the  case  with  some  of  Burke's 
greatest  s|)eeche8 — disa]>pointing ;  not  because  the  matter  and  form  of 
the  lecture  are  below,  hut  because  they  are  above,  the  level  of  their 
intelligence  and  appreciative  power.  It  is  easy  for  those  who  are 
previously  acquainted  with  the  changes  that  have  taken  place  in  the 
earth's  surface,  or  what  Professor  Gcikie  called  "  Geographical  Evolu- 
tion," to  follow  a  description  of  the  European  Continent  under  the 
different  forms  it  has  a^umed  from  early  geological  eras  down  to  the 
present  day.  How,  for  instance,  a  time  was  when  all  that  appeared 
above  the  waters  was  the  main  chain  of  the  Alps  and  one  or  two  islands^ 
of  which  traces  still  remain  iu  Bohemia.  IIow  France  was  once 
separated  from  Spain  by  a  strait ;  and  liow  the  British  Isles  and 
Scandinavia  were  covered  by  an  ice-sheet,  such  as  now  covers  Greenland, 
which  slowly  kept  slipping  down  to  the  sea,  and  flowing  as  a  glacier,  or 
as  ice-floe  and  iceberg,  down  what  is  now  the  German  Ocean  and  also 
across  the  Baltic,  even  upon  German  soil,  where  glacier  groovings  arc 
still  traceable  on  the  surface  rocks,  pointing  southerly  ;  and  how  there 
was  a  period  when  volcanoes  broke  out  simultaneously  iu  France,  the 
Eifelj  and  Hungary.  Such  generalizations  can  be  appreciated  by  the 
instructed,  who  know  that  such  a  scries  of  dcscriptious  represents  an 
immense  range  of  research  and  amount  of  labour ;  and,  what  is  perhaps 
of  equal  importance,  rests  upon  some  ascertained  foundation  of  facts.  "Yet 
it  may  be  questionetl  whether  it  is  of  much  use  to  give  to  a  less  eulight- 
eued  audience  the  very  cream  of  geological  and  geographical  rcseai'ch  with- 
out explanations,  for  which  no  time  would  remiiiu.  It  appears  that  such  a 
lecture  might  be  taken  as  a  type  of  the  annual  Icctuic  of  a  Professor, 
while  there  would  remain  for  his  everyday  work  the  tracing  out  in  detail 
of  the  data  or  elements  out  of  which  such  a  lecture  was  constructed. 

Iu  a  word,  descriptive  Geography,  in  the  hands  of  a  Geograpliical 
Profefsor,  would  come  in  most  usefully,  and  would  be  almost  indispen- 
sable to  a  proper  appreciation  of  the  wider  generalizations  with  which 
an  accomplished  geoh>gi9t  would  deal.  A  dozen  lectures  might  be 
devoted  to  the  Auverguc  district;  a  dozen  to  glacial  action ;  a  dozen 
to  the  alluvial  plains,  which  constitute  the  riches  of  agricultural  Europe; 
and  so  on. 


The  following  is  an  attempt  to  illustrate  in  practice  some  of  the 
principles  which  have  been  laid  down  above.  An  interesting  subject 
for  a  lecture  would  be  the  plain  of  North  Italy,  with  the  rampart  of 
the  Alps  or  Apennines  all  round  it,  except  on  the  side  where  it 
is  washed  by  the  sea.      The   crystalline  rocks   of  the  mountainous  ram- 


686 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  RE  VIE  TV. 


part  have  yielded  to  the  frost  aad  raia  of  ages,  and  produced  the  ftoer 
Ptdimnit  which  lies  outstretched  at  their  feet,  carried  down  there  br 
rarreuts  aud  the  tributarie±i  of  the  Po^  aud  now  aud  again  sifted  and 
levelled  by  the  iuroads  of  the  sea,  which  may  occasionally  have  washed 
the  very  bases  of  the  Alps.  Further  scouring  has  been  effected  by 
ancient  ice,  which  flowed  down  the  valleys  of  Piedmont,  of  Aosta,  Ticino, 
Lake  Garda,  &c.,  in  lon^  glaciers,  whose  terminal  moraines  still  lie  out  in 
the  plain,  at  some  distance  from  the  mountains,  near  Turin,  Ivrea,  and 
Mantua ;  the  latter  form  the  hills  on  which  were  fought  the  battles  of 
Solferino,  Ooito,  and  Custozza;  a  natural  place  for  a  decisive  contest; 
for  here  the  northern  side  of  the  Padane  valley  is  very  narrow,  the  rifer 
itself  bonding  northward^  and  tht'se  morainc-hiils  encroaching  far  on  the 
plain,  with  Lake  Garda  as  a  barrier  behind  them.  Compai*e  also  the 
thickening  of  the  battle  sites  about  a  similar  narrowing  of  the  southern 
plain,  where,  at  the  junction  of  the  Maritime  Alps  and  the  Apennines 
above  Genoa,  a  northwardlj'  curve  advances,  aud  the  Po  comes  south- 
ward towards  A'alcuza,  a  little  above  the  junction  of  the  Tanaro. 

In  this  narrowing  space  are  Marengo,  Novi,  and,  not  far  off,  the 
Trcbbia;  and  here  is  the  strong  fortress  of  Alessandria,  just  as  in  the 
other  district  arc  !Mantua,  Verona,  Legnago,  and  Pcschiera,  the  once- 
famed  Quadrilateral.  Leaving  the  domain  of  physical  and  strategical 
Geography,  there  would  be  much  to  be  said  about  the  irrigatiou-works 
and  prosperous  agriculture ;  the  i*aces  which  have  come  in  from  beyond 
the  Alps  to  the  cast  or  west,  aud  settled  in  Lombardy,  Veuetia,  and 
Piedmont ;  and  their  energetic  character  compared  with  the  more 
dreamy  aud  less  cntcrprisiug  Southern  Italian.  This  district  has  pro^ 
duccd  a  great  number  of  distinguished  men,  among  whom  arc  Virgil, 
Catullus,  Livy,  and,  if  we  include  Genoa,  Columbus,  aud  mauy  ut'  the 
greatest  painters.  A  fair  field  for  speculation  as  to  its  effect  on  national 
character  and  prosperity  is  aflbrded  by  the  multijilying  of  tunnels  which 
pierce  tlic  Alpine  barrier  at  more  than  one  point,  letting  through 
upon  Italy  the  commerce  and  the  industry'  of  the  Teutonic  and  Celtic 
nations. 

A  lecture  on  such  a  district  woiild  bring  the  reality  of  geogra])hical 
generalizations  more  strongly  forward  by  exhibiting  the  facts  on  which 
the  generalizations  were  based  ;  and  this  reality  would  be  still  more 
vividly  presented  to  the  audience  if  copiously  illustrated  by  truthful 
landscapes  of  wide  fields  of  \iew,  or  by  minor  features  of  detail,  of  which 
photographs  would  give  a  clear  idea. 

More  might  be  added  on  the  subject  of  the  educational  value  of 
<jeograj)hy  ;  but  it  is  time  that  this  paper  should  be  brought  to  a  close. 
Ilie  action  of  the  Universities  in  this,  as  in  other  matters,  is  looked  to 
with  great  interest  by  the  PulHc  Schools  of  the  T'nitcd  Kingdom.  At 
present  the  case  stands  thus : — Boys  at  school  are  required  as  a  branch 
of  liberal  education  to  learn  Geography.  They  are  further  encouraged 
by  the  liberality  of  the  lloyal  Geographical  Society  to  undergo  a  special 


GEOGRAPHY  AND    THE    UNIVERSITIES.  687 

training  in  order  to  compete  for  tlie  medals  given  annually  for  excel- 
lence in  Physical  and  Political  Geograpliy.  At  first  the  great  schools 
stood  aloof.  Eecently  it  is  an  exceptional  occurrence  if  no  candidate? 
are  sent  in  from  the  older  schools.  Boys  from  Eton,  Harrow,  and  Win- 
chester have  won  medals,  and  the  soul  of  Sir  R.Murchison  must  have  been 
gratified.  But  though  the  medallists  have  won  honours  in  classics  and 
mathematics  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  their  knowledge  of  Geography 
has  not  greatly  helped  them.  Some  of  them  have  complained  that  they 
found  the  time  given  to  Geography  had  been — so  far  as  academical 
success  went — ^thrown  away.  Without  agreeing  to  this,  we  may  well 
wish  to  see  the  system  of  education  adopted  in  the  Public  Schools  and 
that  sanctioned  by  the  Universities  brought  into  greater  harmony.  The 
Universities  have  shown  of  late  years  a  liberality  and  a  readiness  to 
adopt  suggestions  from  without,  for  which  the  country  has  cause  to  be 
grateful. 

It  would  only  be  in  accordance  with  what  they  have  done  in  other 
respects  if  they  gave  a  favourable  reception  to  the  memorial  of  the 
Royal  Geographical  Society,  and  established  Geographical  Professorships 
at  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 

Georoe  Butleb. 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


NATURAL  history,  in  order  tliat  wc  may  be  able  to  appreciate  whaJ 
it  teaches,  requires  to  be  considered  iu  the  light  afforded  by  the 
theory  of  evolution  :  animals  and  plants  should  be  studied  together  and 
treated,  as  one  whole,  distinct  from  the  world  of  non-Iiviug  matter. 
Such  were  the  conclusions  at  which  we  recently  arrived.* 

But  in  order  that  living  beings,  by  which  is  meant  the  whole  of  the 
auimal  and  vcg^etable  crcatioUj  should  be  understood,  a  certain  amount 
of  knowledge  of  the  iuauimate  creation  is  also  needed;  for  we  cannot 
comprehend  any  object  save  by  the  knowledge  of  things  related  to  but 
distinct  from  such  object.  We  cannot  appreciate  a  musical  note  except 
by  contrast  with  other  souuds  or  with  silence,  nor  can  we  perceive  the 
hue  or  scent  of  the  violet  save  by  analogous  contrasts  of  colour  or  of 
odour.  In  order,  thcreforCj  that  the  world  of  life  may  be  uuderstood, 
it  must  be  contrasted  with  the  lifeless  world  which  ministers  to  it  and 
8us(aiu8  it. 

Moreover,  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  it  is  not  only  that  the  former  is 
sustained  by  the  latter,  but  a  continual  give  and  take — a  coustaut  pro- 
cess of  interchange — is  kept  up  between  these  two  very  different  worlds. 
Kvidently,  then,  to  understand  animals  and  plants,  we  mast  know  somc- 
tliing  of  the  various  matters  which  they  exchange  with  the  inanimate 
substances  around  them. 

In  commencing  the  natural  history  of  lining  beings  it  will  be  well, 
therefore,  to  start  at  once  by  distinguishing  them  from  all  bodies  which 
are  not  living.  The  first  question  to  consider,  therefore,  is  that  con- 
cerning the  differences  which  exist  bctwecu  all  animals  and  plants  ou 
the  one  handj  and  the  various  inanimate  coustituents  of  this  2)1auet  upou 
the  other. 


8e«  Contemporary  Rn-ir.w  for  May,  1879 :  "Oti  the  Study  of  Natnra!  History.*' 


^H 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


689 


This  question  may  at  first  siglit  seem  ouc  so  easy  to  answer  that  time 
would  be  uuprofitaljly  speut  in  ausweriug  it.  Yet  it  is  a  question 
which  needs  a  carefid  reply.  Obvious  as  the  ditfcrciiccs  referred  to 
may  seem  ; — differences  between  the  rabbit  and  the  sandbank  in  which  it 
burrows,  between  the  fish  and  the  water  in  which  it  swims, — they  never- 
theless really  require  serious  consideration.  The  reader's  indulgence  is 
therefore  asked  for  certain  details,  the  mention  of  which  may  appear 
to  him  unnecessary,  but  which  will  yet  be  found  to  possess  not  a  little 
interest  and  significance. 

It  is  even  desirable  that  we  should  note  the  characters  and  properties 
of  such  separable  substances  as  cuter  into  the  composition  both  of  living 
beings  and  of  lifeless  matter.  For  when  we  hereafter  come  to  examine 
the  life-processes  of  animals  and  plants, — the  «  ays  in  which  they  breathe, 
nourish  themselves^  reproduce,  kxi.t — wc  shall  find  that  the  very  properties 
of  the  various  separable  substances  which  coinjx/se  living  bodies  bear 
interesting  relations  to  the  performance  of  such  life-processes.  Life  is,  as 
we  shall  see,  made  up  of  a  scries  of  constant  and  multiform  changes^ 
and  these  changes  are  rendered  possible  or  easy  by  the  various  degrees 
of  instability  and  innate  tendency  to  change  of  state,  which  may  be 
possessed  by  the  very  materials  of  which  living  bodies  arc  built  up. 

\A''e  may  then  at  once  proceed  to  consider  the  question,  *'What  are 
Living  Beings  ?"  by  distinguishing  between  them  and  bodies  which  are 
devoid  of  life. 

The  solid  earth  (with  its  envelopes  of  water  and  air)  is  spoken  of  as 
"  the  inorganic  world,"  while  "  the  organic  world"  comprises  the  totality 
of  plants  and  animals.  The  iuorgauic  world,  therefore,  includes  all 
rocks,  metals,  and  the  softer  solid  substances  which  compose  the  earth ; 
water  (both  as  it  exists  in  seas  and  rivers,  and  in  the  form  of  minute 
particles  floating  in  the  air) ;  and  the  gases  and  vapours  of  oar  atmosphere. 
Hardly  any  of  these  substances  arc  pure,  in  the  sense  of  consisting  of 
one  material  only.  It  was  long  supposed  that  air  and  water  were  simple 
substances  or  "elements."  But  iu  the  year  1777  Lavoisier  showed 
that  air  is  a  mixture  of  two  gases,  oxygen  and  nitrogen,*  and  it  was 
soon  after  ascertained  that  water  is  an  intimate  (chemical)  compound  of 
oxygen  with  the  gas  hydrogen.f  These  gases  are  three  out  of  some 
sixty  substances  which,  as  yet,  no  chemist  has  succeeded  in  breaking  up 
into  other  constituents,  and  which  are  therefore  called  "  elements," 
though  it  may  very  probably  turn  out  that  they  are  themselves  but 
compound  substances.  Some  of  these  so-called  "  elements  "  (such,  e.g.j 
as  gold,  silver,  oxygen,  sulphur)  naturally  exist  iu  a  pure  and  unalloyed 
condition. 

*  Air  consists,  as  to  its  bulk,  of  aboat  foar-fiftbs  nitrogen  and  one  Hfth  oxygen. 
Estiinatefl  liy  weight,  there  are  twenty-three  parts  of  oxygen  and  seventy-seven  of  nitrogen 
in  each  hundrod  ^rts  of  atraoB]>heric  air. 

t  Pure  water  cnn  only  be  so  resolred  into  its  constituent  gases,  that  twice  as  mach 
hydrogen  as  oxygen  slioll  bo  iToduced  in  voloine  for  each  portion  resolved.  Estimated 
by  weight,  every  nine  ounces  ox  water  will  jicld  eight  canoes  of  oxygen  for  one  of 
liydrogen. 


690 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


All  mineral  substances  vMch  are  not  elements  can  cither  be  rcsoked 
directly  into  elements  (as,  for  example^  "rust"  can  be  resolred  into 
oxygen  and  iron)  or  into  other  substances  which  can  (  either  directly  or 
indirectly)  be  ao  resolved.* 

Moreover,  this  process  of  resolution  (or,  as  it  is  properly  termed,  o( 
analysis)  constantly  takes  place  in  such  a  way  as  to  iudieate  that  the 
elements  are  always  combined  in  one  exactly  definite  maimer  |» 
estimated  by  weight)  iu  each  kiud  of  substance.  Certain  subntancea  when 
placed  in  proximity  with  certain  other  substances  undergo  a  s]K>Dtancoiu 
transformation,  OS  if  the  elements  of  one  had  an  overpowering  attraction 
towards  the  other.  In  this  way  there  takes  place  cither  a  reeiprooal 
interchange  of  element8,t  or  one  substance  is  deprived  of  one  of  ia 
elements,  so  that  only  a  single  element  remains  in  the  place  of  the  sub- 
stance decomposed. 

These  chemical  changes  arc  often  greatly  facilitated  by  warmth^  and 
also,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  by  the  presence  of  other  substances  which 
are  themselves  undergoing  analogous  processes  of  change.  J 

Very  many  substances  can  exist  in  three  states — solid,  fluidj  or  aeri- 
form ;  as  water  may  he  in  the  form  of  ice,  fluid  water,  or  watery  vapour. 
Even  the  gases,  oxygen  and  nitrogen,  have,  after  long  resistance,  lately 
been  liquefied  by  cold  and  groat  pressure. 

Solid  substances  may  or  may  not  be  in  the  form  of  crpaiah.  A 
"  crystal"  is  a  solid  mineral  substance  which  has  assumed  a  definite 
geometrical  figure,  bounded  everywhere  by  surfaces,  or  faces,  which 
meet  so  as  to  form  sharp  edges  and  angles ;  and  the  angles  formed  by 
these  faces  are  always  constant  in  each  crystalline  substance,  though 
there  is  no  constauey  as  to  the  size  of  the  crystals,  or  the  proportionate 
size  of  their  several  faces.  One  familiar  example  of  crystals  is  offered 
by  snow. 

If  a  crystal  be  susjieudcd  iu  water  holding  hi  solution  as  much 
as  it  can  hold  of  the  same  material  as  the  crystal,  then,  on  evapora- 
tion of  the  fluid,  fresh  material  will  descend  from  the  fluid  upon 
the  surface  of  the  crystal^  which  will  thus  increase  in  size.  If  a 
crystal  so  suspended  be  mutilated  by  having  one  of  its  solid  angles 
removed,  then  such  injury  will  be  repaired  by  deposition  of  material  from 
the  fluid. 

Crystals  may  be  so  formed  as  to  adhere  together,  shooting  out  into 
an  arborescent  mass  and  simulating  the  froutls  of  ferns  and  other  vegetable 

t  •  As,  e.g.,  auluhalc  of  sodium  (Na-SO,)  can  be  resolved  iuto  oxide  of  sodiam  (Na^O) 
and  ftohydrouB  Btuphuric  acid  (SO,).  The  former  of  tboM  dcrivativea  oaii  be  again  reaolved 
ioto  oxygeu  and  Hodiuiu,  while  the  latter  derivative  (the  luliihurio  aoid)  can  be  rc«olvc«l 
into  oxygen  and  eulphur. 

t  Tha^  if  we  placo  V^getber  uitrate  of  silver  (AgNUj  anrl  hydrochloric  acid  (t'lHl, 
the  chlorine  wiU  leave  the  latter  to  unite  with  the  eilvcr  of  the  former,  and  protlutn 
chloride  of  iilver  (AgCl) ;   while  the  hydrogen  of  the  hydrochloric  acid  will   unite  with 

the  nitrogen   and   oxygen  of   the  uitrat«  of    eilTcr,  k>  forming   nitric  iboid    (BNO^ » 

process  ofreciprocal  exchungc. 


change 


Tlie  prnccas  of  inducing  chemical  change  by  the  mere  proximity  of  other  "b^mita] 
is  called  "  Catalvsia. 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING   BEINGS?  eoi 

pr<xluctions,  as   in    the    familiar  example   of  "  frost''   upou  a   wiudow- 
pane. 

Some  masses  of  mineral  are  formed  of  minute  aggregated  crystals,  as 
is  the  ease  with  marble.  Another  mineral  may  be  of  similar  cliemieal 
composition  but  not  crystalline,  as  chalk.  Both  of  these  can  be 
resolved  into  a  gas  called  "  carbonic  acid"  and  lime.  Carbonic  acid 
can  be  again  resolved  into  oxygen,  and  a  peculiar  and  very  important 
element,  carbon.  Lime  can  be  resolved  into  oxygen  (its  oxygen  forming 
some  other  union)  and  a  light  metal^  calcium;  the  rust  of  which  is  thus 
termed  "  Ume." 

But  the  same  chemical  substauce  may  exhibit  another  diversity  of 
condition — a  diversity  much  more  important  for  our  purpose  than  the 
kind  of  diflerencc  which  exists  between  chalk  and  lime. 

Some  substances,  as,  for  examplcj  "  peroxide  of  iron,"  may  be  either 
in  the  form  of  a  jelly  and  insoluble  in  water,  or  they  may  be  in  what 
is  called  a  "crystalloid"  state,  and  quite  soluble  in  water.  Moreover, 
they  may  be  made  to  pass  from  the  crystal-like  state  to  the  jelly-like 
condition  by  adding  a  minute  quantity  of  certain  substances.*  In  the 
insoluble  and  jelly-like  condition  these  substances  are  called  "  colloids," 
and  their  condition  is  spoken  of  as  "  colloidal."  In  their  other 
condition,  they  are  spoken  of  as  "  crystalloids."  Now  colloids  are  not 
only  jelly-like  and  insoluble  in  water,  but  they  absorb  and  transmit 
water  readily  through  their  substance.  Crystalloids  are  the  reverse  of  all 
this,  and  not  only  so,  but  are  specially  remarkable  for  their  diffusibility, 
while  colloids  can  hardly  at  all  diffuse  themselves  through  the  substance 
of  other  colloids.  Colloids,  again,  not  only  readily  absorb  water  and 
swell,  but  they   also  readily  yield   it  up  again  by  evaporation. 

There  is  also  a  peculiar  interaction  of  fluids  which  must  be  noted. 
If  two  fluids  of  different  densities  be  so  placed  within  a  vessel  that  they 
are  separated  by  a  median  porous  partitiou,  then  some  of  botli  fluids 
will  pass  through  the  partition ;  but  more  of  the  less  dense  fluid  will 
pass  it  than  of  the  other.  The  consequence  is,  that  if  the  level  of  the 
two  fluids  be  at  first  the  same  on  each  side  of  the  partition,  then  the 
level  of  the  denser  fluid  will  rise,  while  that  of  the  less  dense  fluid  will 
sink.  Tliis  process  of  fluid  transference  is  called  "  osmosis,"  and  it  is 
facilitated  if  the  partition  be  a  colloidal  substance. 

The  air  about  us  does  not  merely  consist  of  mixed  oxygen  and 
nitrogen,  but  also  contains  some  carbonic  acid  gas,  ammonia,  and  the 
vapour  of  water,  besides  minute  quantities  of  other  substances. 

Oxygtn  is  a  colourless  gas  which  has  a  most  remarkable  tendency  to 
unite  itself  with  very  many  other  substauccs ;  and  every  combustion 
(attended  with  the  evolution  of  light  and  heat)  which  takes  place  in  the 
air  is  an  energetic  act  of  such  union,  while  a  gentle  union  of  the  kind 
(such  as  takes  place  when  iron  rusts)  maybe  called  a  slow  combustion  ; 
yet  oxygen  is  not  itself  combustible. 

*  £.Q.^  of  an  alk&Une  carbonate. 


L 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVlEi 

Nitrogen  is  a  gas  indistinguishable  in  appearance  from  oxygen,  but  li 
its  very  opposite  as  to  most  of  its  properties.  It  is  extremely  inert  and 
indisposed  to  unite  with  other  elements;  and  so  far  from  promotiDg 
combustion  it  stops  it — extinguishing  a  flame  plunged  into  it.  Neither 
is  it  itself  combustible.  It  is  also  remarkable  for  the  extreme  instabilitr 
of  the  compounds  of  which  it  forms  a  part — such  as  gunpowder,  gun* 
cotton,  nitroglycerine,  and  iodide,  sulphide,  and  chloride  of  nitrogen, 
which  form  a  series  successively  exploding  with  greater  and  greater 
violence  and  readiness. 

Carbonic  acid — a  substance  of  extreme  importauce  to  the  biologist — 
is  another  colourless  gas,  and  is  one  of  the  results  of  the  great  affinity 
which  oxygen  possesses  for  other  substances.  It  is  a  compouud  sub- 
stance consisting  of  oxygen  and  carbon,  of  which  latter  it  is  thus  a  »ort 
of  "  rust." 

Carbon  itself  is  a  solid   substance  even  at  the  highest  temperature 
yet  applied  to  it,  and  thus  differs  from  both  the  before-noticed  clemeuts. 
Carbon,   like  oxygen,  is  extremely  abundaut ;    it  is,  however,  abundant 
only  in  a  compouud    condition,   while    it    is   rare   in    its    elementaiy 
state.     In  that  state   it   may  exist  in  no  less  than  three  conditions. 
One   of   these    is    a    ei^stalline     condition,    known     as     the    diamond. 
In    another   condition    it   is   known  as    black-lead  (or   graphite).      Its 
third  condition   is   what    wc    call    charcoal.       Carbon    fonns    a    rerr 
large  iwrtiou   of  all   liWng  bodies,   and   that    which   enters    so    largely 
into  the  conipositi[)n  of  plants  is  cxtrautcd  by  them  from  the   carbonic 
acid  in  the  atmosphere.     It  follows  that  there  must  be  a  vast  quantity 
of  this   clement  therein,   and,   in   fact,  it    hns  been  estimated    that   in 
the  entire  column  of  atmosphere  resting  upon  any  square  mile   of  the 
earth's  surface  there  is  contained  as  much  as  371^475  tons  of  carbon. 

Carbonic  acid,  however,  forms  but  a  very  small  part  of  our  atmo- 
sphere. OrdiiiarilVj  there  is  only  as  much  as  from  three  and  a  half  to 
four  cubic  feet  of  this  gas  in  ten  thousand  cubic  feet  of  air.  The 
quantity  may  be  much  increased  by  exceptional  conditions,  as  is  notably 
the  case  in  volcanic  regions,  lu  the  well-known  Grotta  del  Cane,  uoar 
Naples,  the  air  of  the  lower  pai*t  of  the  cavern  is  ao  impregnated  with 
carbonic  acid  that  dogs  sent  in  are  rendered  insensible  by  it,  and  woidd 
soon  be  killed  f  not  withdrawn  from  it.  Carbonic  acid,  then,  is  fatal 
to  animal  life,  and,  moreover  (like  nitrogen),  it  extinguishes  any  burning 
aubstance  which  may  be  plunged  into  it.  It  is  a  dense  gas,  weighing  a 
little  more  than  half  as  much  again  as  an  equal  volume  of  common  air 
would  weigh.  Its  tendency  to  unite  with  other  substaDces  is  feeble, 
and  it  may  readily  be  displaced  by  a  more  energetic  substance.* 

Another  gas,  ammonia^  is  constantly  present  in  the  air  in  very  smidi 


**  Thus,  the  substnoce  formed  by  the  union  of  thii  gas  with  lima — commoaly  called 
boonte  of  lime — readily  changes   into  another  subatance  callt-J  acetate  or  citrate  of  Jim* 
if  acetic  or  citric  acid  be  mixed  with  it — asin  so  many  oHerreaciDgmixtaree.     Tlte  uior 
energetically  combining  acctio  or   citric   acid  unites  -vrith  the  lime,  displacing  the  io«rt 
carbonic  acid,  wliich  escapes  in  the  bubbles  of  gas  given  forth. 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


693 


quantities,*  and  is  the  puugent  gas  which  escapes  from  Bmelling  salts. 
It  is  resolvable  iuto  two  elenaenta,  nitrogen  aud  hydrogeu,  three  parts, 
bv  weightj  of  the  latter  to  fourteen  of  the  former.  The  compounds  into 
which  ammonia  enters  arc  easily  volatilized,  and  some  of  them  are 
decomposed  by  heat. 

Hydrogen  is  a  colourless  and  inodorous  gas,  which  does  not  (like 
oxygen)  support  combustion,  but  which  is  (unlike  oxygcu  and  nitrogen) 
itself  inHammable.  It  is  the  lightest  substance  known,  one  volume  of 
air  weighing  more  than  fourteen  times  as  much  as  the  same  volumet  of 
hydrogen.     It  is  a  generally  inert  substance,  combining  with  few  other 

J         elements,  by  far   the  most  imimrtant  of   its  compounds   being  water. 

^fc  It   forms    also  a   large   series   of  compounds,    with  carbon,  which   are 

^^  spoken  of  as  "  hydro-carbons."^  Tliey  are  substances  which  have  for 
the  most  part  weak  affinities,  readily  disuniting  into  their  constituents 
when  heated  by  themselves.  AVhen  brought  iuto  relation  with  oxygen 
under  proper  conditions,  their  carbon  uuites  with  some  of  the  oxygen, 
while  their  hydrogeu  unites  with  other  parts  of  the  oxygen  and  dis- 
appears as  the  vapour  of  water.      Hydrogen  is   extremely  abundant 

'  in  nature,  since  any  given  quantity  of  water  can  be  resolved  into  twice 
as  much  of  this  gas  by  volume  as  of  the  other  constituent  of  water, 
oxygen. 

The  vapaur  of  water  is  the  last  constituent  of  oar  atmosphere 
which  needs  mention  here.  It  is  excessively  abundant  therein,  espe- 
cially when  there  is  an  elevated  temperature,  the  atmosphere's  power  of 
holding  such  vapour  increasing  with  its  heat.  When  a  warm  stratum 
of  air  containing  much  aqueous  vapour  lias  its  temperature  lowered, 
a  certain  quantity  of  the  vapour  immediately  condenses  into  minute 
particles  of  water  appearing  as  dew,  mist,  cloud,  or  rain  according  to 
the  circumstances.  When  a  glass  vessel,  containing  veiy  cold  water, 
is  brought  into  a  warm  room,  its  exterior  rapidly  becomes  coated  with 
dew,  from  the  air  in  contact  witli  it  being  cooled  and  therefore  compelled 
to  discharge  its  watery  vapour. 

We  may  now  pass  from  the  consideration  of  the  constituents  of  the 
earth's  gaseous  envelope — the  atmosphere — to  that  of  its  fluid  vesture, 
Water  is,  for  the  biologist,  the  most  noteworthy  of  substances,  aud  the 
modern  naturalist  can  well  understand  how  the  ancient  philosopher 
Thales  should  have  deemed  it  the  origin  of  all  things.  Tor  water  is 
indeed  the  very  mother-substance  of  life.  Life  was  not  only  first  con- 
ceived within  its  fruitful  womb,  but  exists  nowhere  now,  even  in  the 
most  arid  desert,  except  in  water — in  the  fluids,  that  is,  of  animals  and 
plants,  the  bodies  of  which  are  also  ao  largely  composed  of  that  sub- 
stance. 

*  There    is  about  one  grain  in  more  tiun  fifty  thooiand  oabic  feet  (Dearly  27,000,000 
graina)  of  air. 

t  CM  coiinw;  at  the  tame  temperature  and  prewmre. 

X  It  nnitea  in  sunihine  v^nth  chlorine  with  exploiive  violence,  and  unites  with  it  ^joietly 
in  diffused  daylight. 
^H        S  Soch  are  marsh  gas,  olcfiant  gas,  omylene,  paraffiae,  and  mylene. 

L: : 


«M 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


Water  has  been  thn  great  agent  lu  forming  the  surface  of  the  eartli 
as  we  see  it,  and  hy  its  unceasing  circulation  over  that  surface  rendcn 
the  land  a  hobitahlc  abode  for  animid  and  vegetable  tribes.  Almost  alow 
amongst  inorganic  matters  in  its  retention  of  its  fluid  form  under  such 
wide  diflTcrenees  of  temperature,  it  may,  considering  all  the  functioiu  it 
performs,  be  well  called  the  blood  of  the  earth.  Water,  whether  salt  or 
fresh,  is  ever  resolvable  into  the  same  two  constituent  gases  which  are 
not  merely  mixed  together  (as  are  the  oxygen  and  nitrogen  of  the  airj, 
but  are  so  intimately  (chemically)  united  as  to  form  a  new  substaiuf^ 
which  may  be  said  to  be  the  rust  of  hydrogen. 

But  water  always  contains  suspended  within  it  a  greater  or  Im 
quantity  of  other  substances.  Thus,  in  the  first  place,  it  eontains  t 
(Considerable  quantity  of  air  mixed  up  within  it,  a  fact  which,  as  we 
shall  hereafter  find,  has  a  most  important  bearing  upon  aquatic  life. 
Rain-water  gathers  in  its  descent  all  the  air's  soluble  constituents— 
oxygen,  nitrogen,  carbonic  acid,  and  ammonia. 

The  water  of  each  river  contains,  of  course,  the  salts  of  the  spriiigi 
which  feed  it,  and  it  also  contains  the  matters  which  it  has  dissolved  oat 
from  the  soluble  materials  which  it  has  met  with  in  its  course.  One  of 
the  noteworthy  ingredients  it  thus  acquires  is  carbonate  of  lime,*  ami 
another  is  flint  in  a  state  of  solution.  Sea-water  notoriously  contains 
much  common  and  other  salts.f 

BuJpkur  is  a  solid  element  which  may  exist  in  two  conditions.  It 
may  be  either  crystalline  or  nou-erytftallinej  and  it  may  be  made  to 
pass  alternately  backwards  and  forwards  from  one  condition  to  the 
other  by  means  of  slight  changes  of  temperature. 

An  allied  element,  phosphorus,  can  also  exist  in  two  distinct  states. 
One  of  these  is  waxy  or  crystalline,  the  other  is  what  is  called  its  red 
or  amorphous  condition. 

The  elements^  which  have  been  mentioned  as  forming  by  their 
more  or  less  simple  unions  the  most  important  inorganic  subetanccs 
are :  oxygen,  nitrogen,  carbon,  hydrogen,  sulphur,  and  phosphorus. 
These  five  elrracuts  also  enter  into  the  composition  of  both  animals  and 
plants.  And  to  them  may  also  be  added,  as  more  or  less  frequent  con- 
stituents of  living  bodies,  the  elements,  chlorine,  bromine,  iodine,  ipon,t 

*  Tliia  U  greatly  tncrc-aeoil  iu  quantity  if  the  water  contAini  much  carbonic  acid,  the 
presence  of  whicli  enables  it  to  lai-gcly  diBoolvo  any  limestone  rockii  it  may  traverse.  Other 
substaDcea  which  niny  bo  prvseut  in  it  to  a  greater  or  kss  extent  are  : — 1.  sulpliate  of  lime 
(forme<)  of  lime  and  lulphuric  acid  or  oil  of  vitriol) ;  2.  common  salt  orchlonde  of  sodium 
(for  ttalt  in  a  sabatancc  resolvable  into  a  metal  "  sodium,"  and  a  green.  atrongly-snicUing  and 
irritntini;  gas  called  chlorine);  3.  chloride  of  magnosiura  ;  4r8ul]th«U*  of 'magnesia;  5, 
hydrous  peroxide  of  iron  (a  combination  of  water,  oxygen,  and  iron,  into  which  a  ffroat«r 
vliaro  of  oxyKcn  enters  than  into  ordinary  oxide  of  iron  or  "ni«t**);  fl.  Kidpltate  oi  aod*; 
7,  sulphate  o?  potash  ;  and  B  silica  or  flint,  which  is  the  rust  of  the  metal  silicon. 

t  Ju  addition  to  it«  largo  amount  of  conunon  salt,  it  may  contain  abuut  a  seventh  port  aa 
muuh  chloride  of  magnesium  with  less  quantities  of  sulphate  of  lime  and  cblonde  of 
potassiiini,  also  sumc  Kulphaie  of  magnesia  with  a  little  bromide  of  magnesiomandcarbanat* 
uf  Lime,  >«ith  a  minute  r^uantity  of  ammonia  and  another  clement,  io<&ie.  which  is  found  in 
Mftweod  and  in  combination  with  various  metals. 

X  Iron  exists  very  largely,  and  nlayu  a  vtiy  im]X)rtaut  part  in  the  lifo history  of  organiama. 
It  oxiltB  mostly  in  thu  form  of  rea  or  brown  hiematite  (wtiich  ore  forms  of  nist),  or  at  iron 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS  P 


€96 


potassium,  sodium,  calcium,  magnesium,  silicon,  maugancse,  Einc,  copper, 
mercury,  and  arsenic. 

Amongst  the  most  imi)ortant  compound  constituents  of  animals  and 
plants  arc :  water,  air,  carbonic  acidj  ammonia,  and  a  variety  of 
calcareous,  siliceous,  or  ferruginous  salts — that  is  to  say,  substances 
into  which  either  calcium,  silicon,  or  iron  enter  as  component  parts. 

The  action  of  water  on  the  earth  is  a  matter  which  should  be  care- 
fully noted  by  the  biologist  as  well  as  the  geologist.  The  surface  of 
the  solid  earth  is  being  continually  modified,  and  its  elevated  parts 
destroyed,  by  water  in  the  form  of  rain,  streams,  or  sea  waves,  and  by 
the  disintegrating  action  of  ice,  since  in  solidifying  it  expands  as  it 
freezes  within  the  cracks  and  fissures  into  which  it  has  insinuated  itself 
as  water.  By  these  means  the  substance  of  the  land  is  being  slowly 
but  coutiuuously  torn  down  and  carried  away  to  be  deposited  either  in 
estuaries,  or  at  the  mouths  of  rivers,  or  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean — 

"  The  sDTUid  of  BtreatnH»  which,  Bwift  or  alow, 
Tear  down  «£ulian  hilla  and  sow 
The  dust  of  contincnta  to  b&" 

It  is  the  deposits  of  mud  in  estuaries,  and  in  those  triangular  accumu- 
lations of  land  termed  "  Deltas"  (formed  at  the  mouths  of  rivers), 
which  are  the  most  important  for  biological  purposes ;  for  in  such  deposits 
a  certain  proportion  of  solid  objects  which  may  fall  into  a  river  and  be 
carried  towards  its  mouth,  may  be  expected  to  become  buried  in  the 
successive  layers  of  mud  brought  down.  The  mass  of  matter  thus 
carried  to  the  sea  by  some  of  the  largest  rivers  is  enormous.  It  has 
been  calculated  that  the  Gauges  carries  down  every  year  as  much  mud 
as  could  be  conveyed  by  a  fleet  of  2000  ships  sailing  down  daily,  and 
each  freighted  with  14O0  tons  of  that  substance.  The  deposit  carried 
down  by  the  Mississippi  has  formed  a  delta  extending  over  an  area  of 
30,000  square  miles,  and  is  known  to  be,  at  least  in  some  parts,  several 
hundred  feet  in  thickness. 

Should  such  deposits  become  hardened  into  rock,  we  might  expect  to 
find  therein  some  remains  of  hard  bodies  (such  as  bones,  shells,  or  dense 
fruits)  which  may  have  been  therein  enclosed.  Experience  has  abun* 
dantly  sho*n  that  such  is  indeed  the  case.  We  find  remains  thus 
preserved,  which  are  called  '^  Fossils."  But  more  than  this  :  footprints 
of  passing  creatures,  worm  tracks,  and  even  such  impressions  as  are 
made  by  a  sharp  rain  or  hail  storm  on  soft  mud  at  low  water  have  been 
preserved  for  ages,  being  covered  over  and  protected  by  delicate  films 
of  fresh  deposit.  In  some  cases  even  the  form  of  the  rain-pits  makes 
more  evident  to  us  what  was  the  direction  of  the  wind  which  blew 
on  a  day  so  distant  that  we  cannot  imagine  the  period  which  has  since 
elapsed. 

The  lowering  of  the  earth's  surface,  whicli  is  thus  occasioned  by  an 


pyrites  (F«S,),   or  elae  as  what  ia  oalled  *<  Black  Band,' 
(FeCO,)  ooitoid  with  organic  mattar. 

z  z  2 


which  ia  iron  or  a  carbonAte 


696 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEm 


aqiicoua  wear  and  tear,  is  more  or  less  counterbalanced  by  a  slow  or 
rapid  upheaval  of  parts  of  the  earth's  surface,  througli  volcanic  action. 
But  igneous  action  has  often  had  effects  which  the  naturalist  may  well 
regret ;  for  by  it  the  structure  of  many  rocks  has  become  changed^  or, 
as  it  is  tenned,  metamorphosed^  and  such  a  change  is  destructive  to 
remains  or  iniprcssians  which  may  have  therein  been  antccedentlj 
preserved. 

Passing  now  from  the  inorganic  world  to  the  world  of  life^  the  two 
may  be  seen  to  be  in  some  respects  closely  allied,  in  others  stronglf 
contrasted.  Creatui'es  the  most  various,  from  man  to  the  smaUcsi 
fungus  which  may  attack  his  crops,  exhibit  a  fundamental  uniformity 
in  their  physical  composition.  It  is  not  meant  to  affirm  that  tbii 
physical  basis  is  really  the  same  in  all,  but  only  that  it  presents  similar 
chemical  and  other  characters.  That  it  cannot  be  absolutely  the  same 
in  all  is  manifest  from  the  fact  that  very  different  kinds  of  animals 
{or  of  plants)  may  arise  from  two  particles  of  living  substance 
between  which  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  discover  any  difference  of 
quality. 

Every  living  creature  has  a  body  which,  however  soft  it  may  be, 
however  much  fluid  it  may  contain,  or  however  hard  and  dry  it  may 
a])pear,  is  never  entii'ely  fluid  and  is  always  partly  so.  Every  living 
-creature  consists  in  part  (and  that  part  is  the  moat  actively  living  part) 
of  a  aoft,  viscidj  transparent  colourless  substance,  called  Protopla^n*  or 
*'  Bioplasm."  Every  living  creature  is  at  first  entirely  composed  of  such 
Protoplasm.  This  substance  is  resolvable  into  oxygen,  hydrogen,  nitro- 
gen,  and  carbon,  with  traces  of  different  other  elements  in  different 
cases,  andj  like  the  inorganic  compounds  of  nitrogen,  is  of  unstable  nature 
and  easily  decomposed.  The  proportions  of  these  four  elements  (as 
estimated  by  weight)  are  very  different.!  Possibly  science  may  hereafter 
resolve  this  substance  (protoplasm)  into  other  compounds,  but  as  yet  it 
has  not  done  so. 

Protoplasm  possesses  four  powers,  which  have  no  parallel  in  inorganic 
nature. 

1.  Currents  arc  widely  established  in  inorganic  mixtures  by  differences 
of  temperature,  but  iu  a  portion  of  protoplasm  an  internal  circulation 
of  currents  may  cuuLiaue  iu  definite  lines  (as  indicated  by  enclosed 
particles)  without  altering  the  external  figure  of  the  organic  particle  in 
which  tlicy  occur.  Such  a  motion,  as  it  occurs  conspicuously  in  certain 
vegetable  structures  (certain  minute  portions  called  "  cells"),  is  termed 
Ct/closis. 

2,  Inorganic  bodies  expand  with  heat  or  through  imbibing  moisture, 
but  living   protoplasm    has  an  apparently  spontaneous  power   of  con- 

*  A  t«nii  proposed  hy  Mohl  to  denote  the  soft  interior  of  cells. 

t  Thu«,  if  tho  whole  hnman  body  bo  supposed  to  conaiat  of  a  hundred  parts,  thfi 
cleinoiita  will  form  the  followiug;  pmportioiis  : — Oxygen,  72;  bydrtJEea»  U'l  ;  carbon, 
13'a;  nitro^n,  2'fi.  Lime  and  phosplionif)  a  fraction  above  1,  and  uUicr  subttanooB 
rumrviuiu^  froctior. 


ffTIAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


Gor 


traction  and  expansion  under  certain  external  conditions,  which  condi- 
tions, however,  if  thcj  exist  in  the  presence  of  only  non-living  matter, 
never  occasion  in  it  any  such  contraction  and  expansion. 

3.  Under  favouring  conditions,  living  bodies  have  a  power  of  per- 
fonning  chemical  changes  which  result  in  the  evolution  of  heat. 
This  heat  also  is  produced  far  more  gently  and  continuously  than  by 
the  combustion  of  inorganic  bodies. 

4.  A  crystal  may,  as  we  have  seen,  grow  by  external  deposit  when 
suspended  in  a  sxiitable  fluid,  but  living  protoplasm  has  the  power  of  con- 
verting other  substances  formed  of  the  same  elements  united  in  different 
proportions  (or  of  the  same  without  nitrogen),  into  a  material  like  itself, 
and  then  absorbing  it  into  its  own  substance — a  process  called  "  intus- 
susception." 

The  quaternary*  substance  forming  protoplasm  is  often  spoken  of  as 
a  "protein"!  or  "  albimiinoid":^  substance.  Certain  minute  bodies 
which  we  shall  hereafter  know  as  *'  white  corpuscles  of  the  blood,"  the 
small  spheres  which  make  up  yolk  of  ^%,  and  the  miuute  creatures 
which  are  the  lowest  animals  and  plants,  are  examples  of  protoplasm. 

Tims  we  find  a  uuiformity  of  composition  runs  through  all  organic 
nature.  For  all  animals  and  plants,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest, 
differ  from  inorganic  substances  by  the  uniformity  of  their  composition. 
Tliey  never  fail  to  be  resolvable  into  oxygen,  hydrogen,  nitrogen,  and 
carbon,  whereas  inorganic  bodies  may  consist  of  the  most  diverse 
elements,  may  contain  on  one  of  the  above  four,  or  may  (like  gold  or 
sulphur)  consist  of  a  single  element  only.  There  is  a  second  chemical 
difference,  which  consists  in  the  diversity  of  the  proportions  in  which 
the  constituent  elements  appear  to  be  combined  in  organic  and  inorganic 
bodies.  In  organic  bodies  the  proportions  are  very  much  more  complex^ 
than  they  are  in  inorganic  bodies. 

Snch  being  the  fundamental  basis  of  living  matter,  other  distinct 
organic  substances  are  derived  from  it — namely,  all  the  various  matters 
which  living  beings  form,  or  of  which  their  bodies  consist.  This  must 
be  so,  since  all  such  ultimately  distinct  matters  have  been  originally 
derived  by  every  living  being  from  that  minute  particle  of  protoplasm, 
of  which  each  living  being  at  first  consists,  and  which  matters  have 
been  manufactured  by  it  out  of  the  various  solid,  fluid,  and  gaseous 
materials  which  it  may  have  absorbed  or  incorporated. 

There  are  certain  substances  which  may  be  called  "  derivatives  of 
protoplasm,"  for  from  the  simple  primitive  protoplasm  are  derived  two 

•  **  Qiuttrnary"  raeaiu  conaiBting  of  four  element*.  WaUr  (which  conawta  of  two) 
»  a  '*  binary"  cr>mponad. 

+  Thw  IS  Mahler's  term  for  the  h3^»< -thctical  tubatantia  rommuni*  occurring  in  all  the 
olbaminoas  coxnpoaudsi,  bat  suob  a  sahetance  has  never  been  isolated  or  really  found 
anywhere. 

X  So  called  bocauao  the  substance  is  simijar  in  chemical  compositioa  to  the  albumen, 
or  white,  of  a  hen's  egg. 

%  Thus,  c.g.^  any  nven  quantity  of  albumon  is  said  to  be  resolvable  approximately  into 
ite  elements  in  the  toUowinu  complex  proportions  (C'r^uo^tT^*-'))  ^"^  all  the  forniulce 
given  of  albumen  are  nnsatiatactory. 


698 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  nEVTEW. 


classes  of  organic  substances,  one  of  which  does,  while   the    other  does 
not,  contain  nitrogen. 

To  the  former  class  belong  albumen  (the  matter  of  white  of  egg,  Src), 
fibrin  (the  colourless  part  of  a  blood  clot),  gelatin  (the  substance  of 
jellies),  gluten  (found  in  wheat  and  the  main  constituent  of  macaroni), 
with  other  matters. 

To  the  latter  class  belong  all  fats  and  oils,  sugar  and  starch,  and  a 
notable  substance  called  ce//w/o5e,*  of  which  a  great  part  of  all  plants  ii 
composed,  and  the  hardened  form  of  which  is  wood. 

But  different  kinds  of  organic  substances  co-exist  in  even  the  smallest 
particles  of  living  matter,  and  probably  every  piece  of  albumen  consists 
of  more  than  one  kind  of  albuminous  matter,  and  has  fat  or  other  noa- 
nitrogenous  organic  compounds,  mixed  up  in,  but  not  chemically  united 
with  it. 

Organic  matter,  then,  is  of  very  complex  nature,  is  specially  seusitiY*ej 
and  extremely  unstable. 

As  with  organic,  so  also  with  inorganic  matter,  catalysisf  induces 
changes — such  as  fermentation  and  other  similar  phenomena.  Just 
as  the  same  inorganic  substance  may  exist  in  two  different  states, 
so  also  may  organic  substances.  Organic  sulwtances  (such  as  albumen, 
starchj  and  other  matters)  have  their  soluble  or  crystalloid,  and  their 
insoluble  or  colloidal,  conditions,!: — a  circumstance,  as  we  shall  see,  of 
the  greatest  importance  iu  animal  nutrition.  So  far  we  have  cou 
sidered  the  distinction  between  living  and  non-living  matter  ai^' 
regards  mode  of  increase,  spontaneous  activity,  and  chemical  com* 
position.  But  other  distinctions  exist  with  respect  to  external  form 
and  internal  structure.  For,  as  we  have  seen,  all  crystals  arc  bounded 
by  plane  surfaces  or  "faces,"  which  meet  at  definite  and  characteristic 
angles,  and  with  one  or  two  exceptions  (such  as  spathic  and  haematite 
iron  and  dolomite)  mineral  bodies  are  not  bounded  by  curved  lines  and 
surfaces.  On  tbe  other  hand,  curved  lines  and  surfaces  are  the  cha- 
racteristic boundaries  of  all  animal  and  vegetable  bodies. 

Again,  if  a  crystal  be  cut  through,  its  internal  structiirc  will  be  seen 
to  be  similar  throughout.  But  if  the  body  of  any  liWng  creature  be 
divided,  its  interior  almost  always  exhibits  definite  structures  made  up 
of  different  Bubstances,  while  even  the  very  simplest  living  creature 
shows,  when  thus  divided,  a  variety  of  minute,  distinct  particles,  called 
granules,  variously  distributed  throughout  its  interior.  So  that  \\a 
internal  structui'e  is  never,  like  that  of  the  crystal,  similar  throughout. 

The  most  important  distinction,  however,  remains  yet  to  be  noticed^ 
which  reposes  on  what  may  be  called  the  cyclical  changes  of  organic 
bodies. 

The   world   of  inorganic   substances  is  commonly,  and  indeed  truly, 

•  Ro»olY»bI«  into  C,H,^0,.        t  See  ante  p.  690,  Note  :. 

t  As  also  vnrious  inorganic  compound!  have  their  different  states  in  which  their 
chemical  com|>osition  rentaua  unchanged  (technically  callcil  isonionc  states) ;  so  it  in  with 
various  organic  matters,  as,  for  example,  a  variety  of '^essential  oils." 


i 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


699 


spoken  of  as  a  world  of  dead,  relatively  inert  matter,  and  yet  it  is  a  world 
of  active  and  iucessaut  change.  For^  apart  from  oceanic  waves  and 
currents,  the  flow  of  rivers  and  the  circulation  of  winds,  from  volcanic 
action  and  the  gradual  contraction,  through  ages  bygone,  of  the 
cooling  globe — apart  from  all  this,  terrestrial  matter  continually  thrills 
with  electric,  magnetic,  thermal,  and  chemical  changes.  But  however 
vast  or  complex  the  changes  which  take  place  may  be  they  never  take 
place  in  any  non-living  body  in  a  regular  and  recurring  order.  They 
never  form  a  series  returning  upon  itself  and  reproducing  any  state 
which  we  may  have  selected  to  regard  as  the  initial  state  in  a  cycle 
(or  recurring  series)  of  changes. 

Very  different  is  the  behaviour  of  living  bodies.  Thus,  a  bird's  egg 
will  in  due  time  give  rise  to  a  bird,  which  may  again  produce  an  egg  j  or 
a  silkworm  will  become  a  chrysalis,  which  will  disclose  itself  as  a  moCh, 
the  moth  will  lay  eggs,  and  these  when  hatched  will  once  more  present  ua 
with  the  silkworm  which  we  have  selected  as  our  starting-point  in  the 
latter  series  of  changes.  It  is  the  same  with  a  fruit,  the  seed  of  which 
may  be  sown,  producing  in  its  turn  a  plant  which  grows  and  flowers, 
the  flower  maturing  into  a  fruit  once  more. 

The  changes,  then,  which  take  place  in  living  bodies  may  form  a  cycle. 
In  order,  however,  that  they  should  thus  recur  certain  conditions  are 
necessary.  Thus,  as  every  one  knows,  a  bird's  egg  will  not  be  hatched 
without  heat,  nor  will  it  be  hatched  if  it  be  kept  in  an  atmosphere  of 
nitrogen  or  of  carbonic  acid,  or  in  any  atmosphere  deprived  of  oxygen 
or  of  moisture.  It  will  not  be  hatched  even  in  a  suitable  atmosphere 
if  its  shell  be  coated  over  with  grease  or  any  other  material  capable  of 
cutting  off  its  contents  from  the  action  of  the  air  external  to  it.  The 
cycle  of  change  will  be  also  iuteiTupted  if  the  hatched  bird  be  deprived 
of  needful  nourishment  or  warmth,  and  analogous  adverse  circumstances 
will  interrupt  the  series  of  changes  in  all  cases.  Thus,  the  cycle  of 
changes  which  take  place  in  all  living  bodies  can  take  place  only  under 
certain  flxed  conditions — such  as  a  certain  temperature,  the  access  of 
requisite  gases,  a  certain  degree  of  moisture,  and  due  nutrition.  But 
let  such  conditions  continue  to  be  supplied^  and  the  cycle  of  changes 
appears  capable  of  indeflnite  recurrence. 

If,  however,  perfectly  similar  conditions  be  supplied  to  organic  bodies 
which  have  once  ceased  to  live,  a  regular  series  of  changes  also  takes 
place,  but  such  changes  do  not  form  a  cycle — they  never  return  to  the 
stage  from  which  they  set  out.  They  are  the  changes  of  decomposition, 
and  ultimately  result  in  the  formation  of  inorganic  substances,  such  as 
water,  ammonia,  carbonic  acid,  sulphuretted  hydrogen,  and  various  earthy 
salts.  Thus,  the  existence  of  an  innate  tendency  to  go  through  a 
definite  cycle  of  changes  when  exposed  to  certain  fixed  conditions,  forms 
a  distinction  not  only  betMcen  mineral  substances  and  living  organic 
bodies,  but  equally  between  the  latter  and  organic  bodies  which  are 
dead.      Here  arises  the  great  question  aa  to  the  Origin  of  Life. 


700 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVfEfF, 


It  has  just  been  said  that  tlie  cycles  of  cliauge  above  referred  to  ap- 
pear capable,  under  suitable  conditions,  of  iiidefinite  recurrence.  Thej 
appear  capable  of  coutiuuing  for  a  future  eternity.  Was  it  always  so, 
and  has  life  existed  in  our  world  for  a  past  eternity?  This  irc  nwy 
from  astronomy  pretty  confidently  deny.  But  assuming  that  life  had  s 
definite  commencement  on  this  planet,  did  the  first  living"  crcatimes 
exhibit  a  series  of  cyclical  changes,  or  was  the  recurring  series  an 
advance  upon  an  earlier  condition  in  which  living  creatures  were  directly 
evolved  from  non-living  matter — lived  and  died  devoid  of  any  power  of 
reproducing  creatures  like  themselves?  We  could  hope  to  answer  tlii> 
question  more  satisfactorily,  could  we  determine  whether  or  no  life  under 
any  conditions  spontaneously  arises  from  amidst  non-living  matter  dot. 
As  before  remarked,  it  was  the  universally  received  opinion  till  within 
the  last  three  centuriesj  that  many  lowly  animals  (such  as  flies,  worms, 
and  internal  parasites)  arose  without  the  intervention  of  parent 
organism  of  their  own  kind.  But  the  discoveries  which  have  one  after 
another  been  madcj  concerning  the  life-history  of  such  creatures,  have 
successively  reduced  the  number  of  animals  which  might  be  supposed  so 
to  originate  to  a  few  of  the  very  lowest  and  minutest  kinds. 

It  hasj  indeed,  been  sljown  that  life*  will  appear  in  a  scaled  vessel 
containing  water  with  a  little  non-living  albuminous  substance,  in  spite 
of  its  having  been  exposed  for  twenty  minutes  to  a  temperature  of  230* 
to  STo**  Fahr,      It  is  generally  admitted  that  such  a  temperature  is  high 
enough  to  destroy  not  only  all  adult  living  creatures,  but  also  all  their 
reproductive  particles.   If  such  is  the  case,  we  may  then  reasonably  infer 
that  life  has  in  tliesc  instances  appeared  spontaneously.      But  it  is  urged, 
on  the  other  side^  that  not  only  can  same  living  creatures  resist  a  much 
greater  heat  than  others,  hut  that  some  reproductive  particles  may  resist 
a  temperature  of  even  300'^  Fahr.     Moreover,  the  reproductive  particles, 
of  at  least  many   of  the  organisms  referred  to  may  be  of  such  extreme 
minuteness  as  to  place   them  beyond  the  reach  of  the  highest  known 
magnifying  power.      Thus,  no  absolute  solution  of  the  problem  seems  at 
present  possible.     It  may   be  that   invisible  reproductive  particlea   Lave 
(in  the  experiments  above  referred  to)  survivedf  any  heat  to  which  they 
have  been  exposed.      It  may  be  that  the  organisms  spontaneously  arise. 

But  wlicthcror  not  living  beings  are  at  present  produced  spontaneously,  J 
or  whether  now  every  separate  living  particle  of  protoplasm  is  the  pro- 
duct of  some  antecedent  li-ving  particlcj^  it  is  generally  conceded  (and 
seems  to  be  a  necessary  inference  from  the  lessons  of  science)  that  spon- 
taneous generation  must  at  one  time  have  taken  place. 

•  In  thfi  form  of  very  minatc  organiBma  called  Bacteria,  which  area  group  of  Vibrios. 
VariouB  ex[)criTuent8  of  the  kind  liavo  been  perforraed  by  Dr.  H.  Cbarttoa  Burtian. 

t  Of  course,  if  there  fiaa  l»eci»  defective  care  in  instituting  these  cxperinientii,  very 
minute  cirfjanisms  may  have  beeu  allowed  to  eutor  th«  tUaks  before  they  were  cooiplstaly 
cIOBed  np  by  sealing. 

^    This  prodacttou  is  called  Ahiofjene$U  or  Areh^ions, 

§  This  mode  of  reproduction  ia  often  apoken  of  aa  iiiogtnfsii^  and  the  theory  that  it  id  tfa« 
only  mode  in  which  reproduction  takes  place  ia  called  Pantjytfinitm. 


4 

4 


I 


I 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


701 


Perhaps  during  the  earlier  stages  of  that  process  of  cooling  which  this 
planet's  cruat  Las  uudcrgouc,  chemical  compouuda  were  temporarily 
developed  whicli  are  never  naturally  formed  now,  and  which  have  not 
yet  been  hit  upon  in  any  chemical  laboratory — not  at  least  under  such 
conditions  as  may  be  necessary  for  the  evolution  of  life.  But  the  uni- 
formity of  Nature  forces  ua  to  believe  that  if  life  was  ever  originated 
spontaneously  from  such  compounds,  then,  if  such  compounds  come  to 
he  formed  by  us  hereafter  under  sufficiently  similar  conditions,  life  wil] 
again  spontaneously  appear  ia  them.  More  than  this :  those  who  feel 
convinced  tliat  life  did  once  so  appear,  have  a  strong  a  priori  reason  for 
concluding  that  it  does  so  appear  now,  and  will  naturally  and  logically 
be  inclined  to  favour  the  hypothesis  of  spontaneous  evolution,  rather 
than  the  hypothesid  of  the  survival  of  reproductive  particles  (in  the 
experimeuta  referred  to),  for  t!ie  existence  of  which  there  is  no  evidence 
save  the  apparently  spontaneous  appearance  of  the  living  creatures  them- 
selves. The  controversy,  then,  may  be  said  to  have  arrived  at  a  stage  com- 
parable with  "  stale  mate"  in  a  game  of  chess. 

But  the  theory  of  spontaneous  generation  ia  slightly  favoured  by  the 
production  now  in  our  laboratories  of  a  number  of  highly  complex 
substances  which  long  resisted  all  attempts  made  to  produce  them,  and 
which  were  therefore  supposed  to  he  the  products  of  living  beings  only. 
Such  substances  are,  e.y.,  lactic  acid,  indigo,  alcohol,  and  urea. 

If  we  may  conclude  that  in  some  earlier  stage  of  the  earth's  history, 
living  creatures  appeared  spontaneously,  we  may  also  conclude  (from 
the  fact  that  all  but  the  lowest  existing  forms  arc  known  to  be  produced 
by  parent  organisms)  that  such  creatures  must  have  been  of  the  simplest 
kinds. 

It  is  then  certainly  possible,  that  while  the  earth's  early  condition 
favoured  (if  it  ever  did  favour)  the  spontaneous  evolution  of  life,  such 
earliest  beings  had  no  need  of  any  reproductive  agency  beyond  that 
implanted  in  the  non-living  matter  whence  they  sprang.  They  may 
jiossibly,  therefore,  have  been  devoid  of  reproductive  power.  It  is  plain, 
however,  that  with  the  fading  away  of  the  terrestrial  conditions  favour- 
ing (according  to  this  hypothesis)  the  production  of  life,  cither  new 
forms  must  have  arisen  possessing  such  reproductive  capacity,  or  life 
must  have  entirely  ceased.  All  this,  howeverj  is  pure  speculation. 
At  present  the  occurrence  of  spontaneous  generation  has  not  been  con- 
clusively demonstrated,  nor  is  it  easy  to  see  how  it  ever  can  be,  for  we 
can  hardly  prove  the  non-existence  of  reproductive  particles  which  must 
(from  their  minuteness)  escape  our  senses  if  they  exist.  It  is  also 
certain  that  no  kind  of  animal  or  plant  known  tons  is  altogether  devoid 
of  the  powers  of  reproduction  any  more  than  it  is  devoid 
of  the  powers  necessary  to  the  carrying  on  of  its  individual  life,  and 
this  reproductive  capacity  is,  indeedj  most  intimately  connected  with  mere 
growth  and  nutrition.  To  believe,  therefore,  that  any  kind  of  living 
being  ever  existed  altogether  devoid  of  reproductive  capacity  under  due 


H    oemg  ev( 


703 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


conditions,  would  be  a  belief  not  only  gratuitous^    but    one  coutrarr  to 
aualogy  and  experience. 

Certain  other  characters  which  are  common  to  all  liriug  l)eiogi 
may  be  next  adverted  to. 

Besides  the  characteristics  already  noted,  all  animals  and  plaob 
further  agree  in  four  other  common  characters  by  which  they  bear 
certain  fixed  relations  with  the  inorganic  world. 

1.  In  the  first  place,  living  organisms  of  both  kinds  help  to  augment 
the  earth's  crust,  contributing  in  varying  degrees  to  compensate  fof 
those  destructive  actions  of  air  and  water  upon  the  solid  earth  whicj 
have  been  above  referred  to.  For  living  organisms  coutiuuaUy  iritb* 
draw  from  air  and  water  an  enormous  mass  of  matter.  They  have  ilia* 
withdrawn  and  built  up  the  matter  of  all  the  forests  of  the  globe^*  and  of 
nil  other  vegetation,  together  with  the  multitudiuous  forms  of  animal  life 
which  arc  directly  or  indirectly  nourished  on  vegetable  matter.  Such 
matter  ha3  accumulated  into  masses  of  peat,  exteudiug  for  many  square 
miles,  and  in  our  beds  of  coal,  lignite,  or  shell  we  have  important  organic 
additions  to  the  earth's  crust.  Besides  these  agencies  there  arc  the 
coral-building  animals  (raeutioued  in  the  former  article)  which  steal 
from  the  water  and  build  up,  particle  by  particle^  calcareous  masset 
such  as  the  vaiious  coral  islands  and  recfe,  one  of  which  extends  for 
upwards  of  a  thousand  miles  along  the  north-east  coast  of  Australia. 

Other  much  simpler  aud  more  minute  organisms  have  formed  the 
great  mass  of  our  chalk  hills  and  plains,  and  are  now  forming,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ocean,  deposits  extending  over  thousands  of  square  miles. 
The  bones  or  shells  of  other  animals  have  also  very  sensibly  augmented 
the  earth's  substance.     An  accumulation  in  our  eastern  counticst  con- 


*  The  lar^'est  forest  areas  iu  the  world  ai-c  |>ro>)ably  t*.'  be  fcmnd  in  BnuiL  We  l»Te 
there  oue  tnnngnlar  forest  expanse  {baving  for  iU  lioae  the  eoAU-m  slopes  of  the  Aodeft) 
which  mcasarua  120O  miles  both  &um  aortn  to  south  and  from  west  to  east — i.e..  along  ila 
base,  and  from  its  base  to  its  upex. 

t  With  respect  to  this  matter  Professor  Owen  has  bocu  bo  kind  as  to  send  mo  the  foUoir- 
ing  intcrcstinj;  particulars  :  — 

'^lii  the  year  ]S>IO  John  Brown  (F.G.S.),  of  .Stanway,  Coluhostcr,  sabmittcd  to  me  a 
nodiiU-  from  the  seasliore  cf  Eaaei,  U  was  one  of  tbosu  bodies  which  fall  from  the  dlAi 
bounding  the  coast  of  that  conoiy  and  of  Suffolk.  Similar  ones  had  l>ccn  picked  up  and 
sent  to  Auckland,  whocallcd  theni  '  Coi>rolite8. '  Beiuu  then  at  work  ou  *  Odout^»grapliy/ 
I  gut  pL-rmifsion  to  make  two  sections  of  the  nodule,  and  found  it  to  bo  the  fbasij  tooth  of  a 
cetacean  akin  to  Pliysoter.  It  enabled  nio  Xm  enter  it  iu  my  •  Keport  on  Brit.  Foh. 
MomiOt'  1842.  Oil  a  visit  to  Felixntow  I  fouud  that  such  nodules  came  from  n  thin 
reddish-coloured  stratum  some  feet  below  the  surface  of  the  cliff,  of  the  formation  c^cd 
'  Red  Crag.* 

"  Iu  1843  Prof.  Henslow  8i)«nt  some  weeks,  with  his  boys,  at  Felixstow,  and  with  their  help 
obtained  a  bagfnl  of  the  nodules,  which  he  brought  to  me.  Honalow'a  account  is  in  the  '  Vvo- 
GeedingB  of  the  QooL  Sou.,  December,  181^1,  on  Concretions  in  the  Red  Crag  at  Felixstow,'  to 
which  arc  appended  my  detc'i-niinatiouti  of  Hvc  kinds  of  cetacean  remains,  referred  to  the  jpeuus 
BaUmodon.  Uenelow,  thereupon,  gave  a  Icoture  at  I^wwich,  calling  attention  to  the  fact 
of  the  red  crag  coutaining  fossils  of  teeth  and  bones,  which,  if  treated  like  recent  teeth  and 
bones,  might  afford,  by  Licbig's  method,  the  valuable  manure.  *  Supcrjtboaphate  of 
Lime.  At  this  *  lecture,'  or  as  a  reader  of  the  rei»ort  of  it.  was  Mr.  Lawes,  an 
agricultural  chemist.  Uc  obtaiucd  a  number  of  the  nodules  from  the  red  crag,  apiJied 
Liebig'i  nietbud  thereto — viz.,  addition  of  a  given  proportion  of  sidphuric  acid,  M'hicn  by 
its  greater  alUnity  bo  lime  leaves  the  phosphoric  acid  in  excess,  and  changes  the  insoluble 
phusplutu  iato   the  soluble  supL>rphouphat4.-.     There  was  probably  an  advaotage    in   the 


JVHAT  ARE  LIVmG  BEINGS? 


703 


mating  very  largely  of  the  car-bones  of  whales,  was  so  coasiderable  and 
BO  valuable  as  a  mauurc  as  to  be  the  subject  of  a  lawsuit.  Shell- 
Jbrming  animals  have  left  their  relics  in  such  quantities,  that  at  ShcU- 
ness  (in  the  Isle  of  Sheppey),  the*  masses  which  have  there  accumulated 
are  regularly  quarried  to  serve  for  garden-walks,  &c.  On  the  north- 
west coast  of  Coruwall,  comminuted  shcll-saud  occurs  so  largely 
that  it  is  used  for  manure,  and  more  than  five  million  cubic  feet  of 
comminuted  sea  shell-sand  is  annually  collected  on  the  coasts  of  Devon 
and  Cornwall,  and  carried  into  the  interior  for  agricultural  purposes. 
Moreover,  accumulations  of  shell  occur  in  some  instances  in  an  elevated 
position,  constituting  what  are  called  '*  raised  lieaches."  They  are  so 
called  because  their  position  is  due  to  the  elevation  of  the  shore-line. 
The  weird-looking  mangrove-trees  of  tropical  deltas,  with  their  raised 
and  tangled  roots,  and  their  descending  and  re-rooting  branches,  are 
powerful  helps  in  adding  to  the  soil,  as  by  their  viviparous  seeds*  they 
seize  every  available  opportunity  for  extending  the  swampy  land  they 
live  in  and  reclaiming  it  from  the  sea, 

2.  Thus  linng  creatures  tend  in  various  ways  to  augment  the  solid 
surface  of  the  earth,  at  the  expense  of  its  air  and  water.  And  they  do  not 
alone  take  substances  from  these  fluids,  they  also  add  others  to  them.  For, 
as  we  shall  see  later,  there  goes  on  during  every  creature's  life  a  more 
or  less  constant  interchange  of  gases  between  it  and  the  watery  or  aeriform 
fluid  in  which  it  lives.     Such  changes  are  indicated  plainly  enough,  by 

abBonoe  of  the  gelatine  iu  the  petrified  boaos  and  tc(!th.  So  he  took  out  a  patent  for  ooii* 
vertinff  ooprolites  iato  pbosphatic  maoure,  ami  ia  his  asaiduoua  qaest  of  tbeae  fosaiU  lq 
localitlea  of  Euex  and  Snffolk|  called  them  ooprolites,  which  the  farmers,  in  Haxon  faAhtoOt 
redaced  to  '  cop*.' 

"  N"ow  this  *  rod  crag*  extends  inland  from  tlie  coast  for  thirty  milos,  but  in  patches^ 
and  from  soatb  to  north  has  boon  fonnd  from  Waltoa-Io  Xaze,  ICsscx,  to  Aldborougb, 
SulTolk.  Its  thickness  varies,  averaf^og  teu  feet.  Broken  ap  septarian  nodules  form  in 
some  places  a  rude  fJooring  to  the  '  crag  i  these  are  le(t  by  tLe  washing  off  of  the  London 
clay  ;  and  the  *cof»a'  occur  iu  greatest  abundance  Imroediatoly  over  the  scptarian  *  roogh* 
■tone.*  In  \rinter-tinio  the  farmer  employs  hie  herds  iu  di^ug  doMTU  to  the  *  crag,*  and 
the  'oops'  are  riddled  out  of  the  upcast.  The  price  paid  for  tnem  makes  the  labour  rery 
profitable  ;  but  the  subae<jaent  profit  to  the  chomtst  is  far  greater. 

"  The  Cetacean  Fossils  are  described  and  figored  in  my  '  British  Fossil  Mammals  and 
Birds'  (8vo,  1B46),  pp.  525—643.  In  a  subsequent  paper  in  Q.  Journai  of  Oeohgical 
Soci<ttf  1  described  remains  of  Tapir,  Rhinoceros,  Felines,  Equiucs,  Cervinos,  Phooidm, 
&C.,  and  to  this  list  have  been  added  other  genera  and  species  by  Ray  Lankeater,  Prof. 
Flower,  and  others. 

'*  I  was  subposnaed  to  give  evidence  in  the  action  of  /^ic«i  t.  Puner^  tried  at  the 
Guildhall,  lK$ccmber»  1850.  Mr.  Parser  had  dug  for  *  cops'  on  his  own  land  and  con- 
verted them  into  pbosphatic  manure  agreeably  with  Liebig's  method.  Laves  charged  him 
with  infringing  his  patent.  I  expected  to  have  been  called  into  the  box  to  testify  that  1 
bad  not  fount^  in  the  hundreds  of  specimens  which  had  passed  through  my  hands,  a 
single  'coj^irolite;'  but  that  every  one  had  been  a  tooth  at  bone,  or  parts  of  auob, 
together  with  iuvertebrate  fossils.  The  counsel  on  each  side,  howoTer,  agreed  to  a  com- 
promise, and  the  jury  were  diacharged.  — I  know  not  any  instance  in  Palieontology  in  which 
a  microsoopio  section  of  a  fossil  bos  been  the  source  of  so  much  bcnetit  and  profit  (save  to 
the  PalAontologist*!  as  th.it  of  the  Balantodtm  fth tfsaloidts.  I  aXaa  kuow  but  Uw  inatanoes 
in  which  out  of  ono  fossil  has  been  developed  the  koowlodgo  of  so  vast  a  series  of 
foasiU  and  fnrmtnl  so  extensive  an  area.  The  red-crag  fonnation  of  Suffolk  and  BasctX  ia  an 
outlying  part  of  a  pUoocnc  or  now  miocene  deposit  which  extends  eastward  to  Meoklcnborg, 
and  attains  its  greatest  development  about  Antwerp  and  parts  of  the  beds  of  Uie  Rhine  and 
MoseUe.'- 

*  llio  fruit  of  the  mangrove  actually  germinates  while  still  attached  to  the  tree,  sending 
oat  its  little  roote  and  shoots.  Thus  it  falls  on  to  the  soft  mad  as  a  small  plant  ready  at 
once  to  grow  and  spread.    Sometimes  the  roots  even  reach  the  ground  before  the  seed  taQs. 


L 


704 


the  oppressive  feeling  which  is  produced  in  any  crowded  and  ill- 
ventilatetl  theatre;  aud  the  dire  effects  which  may  result  from  such  con- 
ditions carried  to  an  extreme  degree  are  familiar  to  every  one  through  the 
story  of  the  terrible  '-Black  Hole"  of  Calcutta.  And  similar  interchange* 
take  place  in  the  lowest  as  well  as  in  the  highest  organisms.  There  n 
no  microscropic  fungus^  no  dry  encrusting  lichen,  but  effects  an  analogoot 
interchange. 

Thus,  a  circulation  of  certain  of  the  elements  between  living  and  non- 
living nature  is  continually  taking  place.  On  the  one  hand,  oxygen, 
hydrogen,  nitrogen,  and  carbon  are  continually  being  abstracted  by 
organisms  from  inorganic  matter  and  built  up  into  protoplasm  and  other 
products,  a  portion  of  the  more  solid  of  which  may  be  permanentlj 
preserved.  Ou  the  other  hand>  the  same  four  elements,  in  diminishai 
quautity,  are  being  continually  restored  to  the  inorganic  world  by  the 
death  and  decomiKJsitiou  of  plants  and  animals,  as  well  as  by  certain  of 
their  life-processes  (such,  e.^.,  as  respiration,  &c.),  as  we  shall  hereafter 
see. 

3.  All  living  beings  further  agree  in  that  (as  was  before  obserred) 
a  more  or  less  considerable  quantity  of  water  enters  into  the  compoeitioD 
of  their  bodies.  In  some  cases  the  quantity  is  very  great.  Now,  in  the 
body  of  a  jelly-fish  more  than  uinety-uiiie  parts  out  of  a  hundred  consist 
of  water,  so  that  when  the  body  of  such  a  creature  a  yard  in  diameter 
is  dried  there  remains  but  a  thin  film,  as  all  the  solid  remnant  of  iu 
frame.  Some  organisms  arc  so  transparent  that  they  can  be  read  through 
as  if  they  were  made  of  glass,*  and  such  creatures  generally  contain 
much  water.  Actively  growing  parts  and  vigorously  acting  parts  alao 
contain  a  large  proportion,  as  notably  does  the  living  brain.  But  the 
driest  and  densest  living  organic  structures  also  contain  water^  even 
the  enamel  of  our  teeth  containing  one  part  of  it  out  of  every  (irv 
hundred. 

4.  It  has  already  been  stated  that  all  animals  and  plants  are  alike  in 
the  earliest  stage  of  their  existence — the  same,  that  is,  as  far  as 
microscopic  examination  or  chemical  analysis  can  test  that  sameuesa* 
From  man  himself  down  to  the  lowest  fungus  or  alga,  every  organism 
begins  as  a  minute  spheroidal  mass  of  protoplasm.  But  all  creatures  not 
only  agree  as  to  their  etarting-point,  they  also  further  agree  as  to  the 
general  process  by  which  they  attain  a  complex  adult  condition  with 
distinct  parts  and  organs,  if  they  attain  such  a  condition  at  all.  The 
process  is  one  of  budding,  repeated  over  and  over  again  in  very  rarious 
ways.  Whether  the  creature  considered  be  an  oak-tree  or  a  butterfly,  the 
mature  form  is  gradually  attained  by  minute  outgrowths  and  separations, 
which,  in  ways  to  be  hereafter  explained,  give  rise  to  structures  which 
gradually  become  transformed  into  the  branches,  limbs,  and  other  parta  of 
the  full-grown  oak  or  butterfly. 

In  the  whole  of  natural  science  there  is  no  more  wondeiful  pheno- 
*  This  i«  the  case  even  in  a  trae  tisb,  namely,  the  onriouB  fUb  Leptoo^akaltu, 


WHAT  ARE  UVING  BEINGS? 


705 


• 


I 


menon  than  this :  that  a  minute  particle  of  protoplasm-  a  particle  of 
structiu'eless,  semi-fluid,  glue-like  matter — should  have  the  power  of 
growing  up  into  a  tree,  a  fly,  a  fungus,  a  flowering  plant,  a  fish,  an 
earthworm^  or  an  ape^  according  to  the  source  from  which  it  was  derived 
and  whence  it  gained  those  powers  and  properties  which  arc  revealed  to  us 
by  their  outcome  alone.  Nothing  known  to  us  in  the  inorganic  world 
approaches  this  marvel.  The  physical  forces  we  know  as  light,  heat, 
chemical  affinity,  electricity,  &c.,  are  variously  called  into  play  in  minis- 
teriog  to  the  evolution  of  living  matter  and  vital  activity,  and  they  are 
again,  in  different  degrees,  manifested  by  living  matter.  But  if  these 
physical  forces  are  themselves  trausfonned  into  such  vital  activity,  they 
arc  transformed  into  that  which  is  confessedly  utterly  unlike  them.  It 
is  at  least  a  question  whether,  if  we  were  to  speak  of  vital  activities  as 
"  transformed  physical  forces/'  we  should  not  bo  deceiving  ourselves  by 
taking  mere  phrases  to  be  really  explanations. 

The  q  uestion  so  frequently  asked,  "  ffliat  is  life  ?"  thus  at  once 
suggests  itself.  The  question  is  an  ambiguous  one.  It  may  mean  either 
of  two  things.  It  may  mean  either ; — (1)  What  is  the  aggregate  of 
phenomena  common  to  and  distinctive  of  living  beings? — i.e.,  what  are 
the  actions  which  all  living  beings  perform,  and  how  can  they  be  best 
summed  up?  or,  (2)  What  is  the  agency  whereby  these  pheaomcna  are 
produced — what  is  the  power  that  unifies  the  complex  activities  of  life  ? 

The  first  question,  What  are  the  phenomena  of  life  ?  admits  of  an 
answer  iu  which  all  biologists  may  come  to  agree,  aa  it  is  a  question  of 
pure  physical  science.  It  is  a  question  as  to  the  best  and  most  general 
definition  which  can  be  given  of  all  the  acts  which  all  living  beings  perform. 

Obviously,  in  a  limited  inquiry  like  that  here  entered  upon,  such 
questions  can  be  little  more  than  started.  They  could  only  be  fitly 
considered  after  the  various  life-processes  of  animals  and  plants  had 
been  described.  Questions  concerning  life  ought  to  form  a  part  of 
psychology  (in  the  widest  sense  of  that  term],  and  they  should  be  treated 
of  after  the  various  separate  functions  which  living  beings  perform  have 
been  enumerated  and  described.  Nevertheless,  something  may  even  now 
be  said ;  and  with  respect  to  the  first  question,  some  facts  of  organic  life 
are  obvious  enough. 

Plainly,  all  organisms,  from  their  mode  of  increase  already  noticed, 
must  undergo  modifications  in  relation  to  the  food  they  need.  The 
interchanges  of  gases  above  referred  to  also  necessitate  the  existence  of 
certain  changes  within  each  living  body  in  correspondence  with  certain 
changes  external  to  it.  Higher  animals  also,  in  order  that  their  lives 
may  be  preserved,  must  perform  movements  which  are  regulated  by 
external  circumstances.  A  crystal  or  a  nugget  of  gold  may  lie  passive 
for  ages  and  yet  preserve  its  existence  unimpaired.  Not  so  an  organism. 
With  it,  to  cease  to  change  is  to  cease  to  live,  and  if  changes  are  made 
which  are  out  of  harmony  with  surrounding  circumstances  (if,  e.^,,  an 
antelope  runs  towards  a  lion  instead  of  away  from  it)  it  will  also  cease 


L 


706 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  KEVJETT, 


to  live.   Again^  an  animal  iu  the  act  of  running  must  adjust  its  moTemeftti 
in  accordance  Mith  the  nature  of  the  surface  traversed.       Similarly  vben 
u  cat  watches  a  mouse^  the  movements  of  the  cat's  eyes  respond  to  tkf 
movements  of  the  hoped-for   prey.     Also,  when   any    animal  swallowi 
food,  its  internal  organs  adjust  their  actions  (within  limits)  to  the  tuUsic 
and  quality  of  the  food  swallowed.     Obviously,  then,  there  must  go  oc 
during  life  a  more  or  less  continuous  adjustment  of  intcrual  condition 
to  conditions  which  arc  external,  and  this  is  tlic  definition  of  life  whicb 
ha8  been  proposed   by  Mr.  Herbert   Spencer.*     The    late  Mr.  G.  fl. 
Lewes  has  called  attention  to   another   peculiarity   of  liviug^    creatorei, 
which  is  that  they  preserve  the  integrity  of  their  structure  by  means  rf 
changes  of  composition  and  of  decomposition  which  go  on  simultaneously: 
and   this  recalls  De  Blainville's  deBnition  of  life  as  "  the  twofold  in- 
ternal   movements  of  composition  and  decomposition   at  once  genenl 
and  continuous."     The  definitions  of  De  Blainville  and  of  Mr.  Liewes  do 
not  appear  to  iuclude  changes  due  to  perceptions  of  the   senses — the 
pursuit  of  prey,  the  flight  from  enemies,  &c.     Mr.  Spencer's    definitxoa 
seems,  on  the  other  hand,  to  be  at  once  both  too  large  and  too  narrow. 
It  seems  too  large  because  it  would  iuclude  the  life  of  a  nation,  and  in 
spite  of  the  interesting  analogies  between  the  life  of  an  animal  and  of 
a  community  of  men,  the  term  "life'*  cannot  be  properly  and  accursteh 
applied  to  national  existence — a  nation  not  being  truly   an   organism. 
It  is  too  narrow  because  there  are  in  living  beings  many  simultancoiu 
and  successive  definite  combinations  of  internal  changes  which  are  not 
related  to  corresponding  changes  in  surrounding  nature.      Thus,  e.g.,  if 
a  hen's  egg  be  maintained  at  a  constant  moderate  temperature  and  with 
no   variation   in   the    surrounding   atmosphere  save  that  which  the  egg 
itself  occasions,  its  contents  will  go  through  a  long  and  elaborate  series 
of  complex  changes  to  which  no  changes  in  its   environment  correcpond 
either  in  variety  or  amount.     Again,  when   our  own  body  is  deranged 
by   some   slight  functional  disturbuuee  of  liver  or  of  stomachy  the  dne 
balance  of  our  functions  may  be  sj>outaueonsly  restored  by  the  action  of 
our  organism  itself  without  any  correspoudiug  change  in  our  surround- 
ings.    The  scries  of  changes  which  constitute  life  must  not  therefore 
be  merely  simultaneous  and  successive,  definite  and  combined,  but  they 
must  be  a  series  of  changes  which  arc  directed  towards  an  end — namely, 
the  completion   of  the  cycle  of  lifc^  before  descjibcd.t     They  must  be 
changes  which  tend  to  preserve   the  individual^  or  else  (as  in  many  in- 
stinctive actions   which   insects  perform  for  the  future  good    of  their 
young)    to   preserve    the  life    of    the    species.      It   may,  of  course,  be 
objected  that  many  of  the  changes  of  organisms  have  a  directly   con- 
trary tendency.     Thus  the  '*  changes"  that  ensue   after  swallowing  a 
poison,  or  the  "  changes''  which  result  from  diseased  conditions,  are  all 

*  He  doHtics  life  as  "tlio  continuous  adjastmcnt  of  intenml  relations  to  external  reU- 
tiooB."  By  *' inttinukl  reUtioiu  *'  he  meaiu  "dvUnito  combiiutionB  of  fiiinultuiooin  and 
successive  cluuigfii." 

t  *S«e  antCy  p.  698. 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS?  707 

changes  which  may  result  in  the  destruction  of  the  organism  in  which 
they  occur.  Such  changes,  however,  are  rather  those  of  death  thau  of  life. 
They  must  be  excluded  even  from  Mr.  Spcucer's  categor/j  for  he  tells 
us  that  life  varies  with  the  degree  of  correspondence,  and  yet  the  more 
correspondence  there  is  between  the  properties  of  a  poison  and  the 
resulting  bodily  activities  of  the  poisoned^  the  sooner  does  death  ensue. 
These  changes,  then,  do  not  form  part  of  the  phenomena  of  life,  but  of 
its  gradual  or  speedy  cessation.  It  is  impossible  to  adequately  define  life 
without  taking  into  our  definition  the  idea  of  "  an  end"  in  the  orderly 
changes  which  it  presents,  and  it  seems  needless  to  include  within  it  a 
reference  to  the  environment.  The  phrase,  "a  definite  combination  of 
simultaneous  and  successive  changes  directed  to  a  conservative  end/'  or, 
more  shortly,  "  conservative  modifications  of  living  beings/'  may  per- 
haps suflSce.  If  this  be  not  accepted,  and  if  all  the  active  phenomena 
of  li\ing  beings,  even  those  of  their  decay,  are  to  be  included  in  our 
definition,  then  there  remains  no  way  of  defining  such  phenomena 
save  by  the  short  phrase,  "  the  special  activity  of  organized  beings" 
(which  Dugfe  made  use  of  to  define  life),  or  as  ''  the  sum  of  the 
activities  of  living  creatures." 

The  second  question  as  to  the  meaning  of  life  before  stated — ^What  is 
the  cause  of  life  ? — is  a  qaiestion  which  refera  to  the  hidden  agency  by 
which  vital  phenomena  are  produced,  and  is  rather  a  question  of  philo- 
sophy than  of  physical  science.  With  a  knowledge  of  only  such  facts 
concerning  the  natural  history  of  animals  and  plants  as  have  as  yet 
been  placed  before  the  reader,  it  would  be  premature  to  attempt  an 
answer  to  it.  But  some  observations  of  Sir  Heury  Holland's  may  be 
cited  now,  and  hereafter  an  opporttinity  it  is  hoped  will  occur  for  calling 
attention  to  facta  which  may  incline  us  to  accept  or  reject  the  view  of 
the  cause  of  vital  phenomena  which  seems  therein  I'ccom  mended. 
"  There  is/'  he  tells  us,  "  some  power  or  force,  call  it  what  we  will, 
working  upon  matter  as  its  subject  or  instrument  in  the  creation  and 
maintenance  of  the  various  forms  of  life.  That  this  power,  however 
connected  with  physical  forces,  has  its  owu  special  character,  cannot  be  '' 

denied  without  casting  off  at  once  all  that  our  senses  as  well  as  oar 
reason  teach  us.  The  simple  fact  of  the  transmission  of  hereditary 
likeness  through  successive  generations  is  in  itself  a  volume  of  argu-  , 

ment  on  the  subject.     To  aflirm  that  such  phenomena  can  be  produced  ' 

by  a  mixture  or  transformation  of  merely  physical  forces,  is  cither  a  naked  j 

assertion  without  proof,  or  the  actual  admission  of  a  vital  force  under 
another  form  of  words." 

Certainly   it  cannot  be   denied   that  there  is  in  all  things  living  a  ^ 

unity-giving   power  which   somehow  dominates   their   forces,    and  is  a  | 

principle  of  individuation.  Even  if  every  single,  separate  activity  which 
organisms  exhibit  could  be  shown  to  be  imitated  by  inorganic  matter, 
no  inorganic  matter  ever  shows  these  activities  groujxid  together  as 
organisms  do.  i 


708 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJf^. 


I 

I 


Let  it  be  granted  that  living  beings  arose  naturnlly  from  amidst  a 
purely  inorganic  world  in  the  abyss  of  past  time,  or  even  that  they  so  arise 
coutinually  (though  unnoticed)  about  us  to-day,  such  admission  does  not 
tell  in  tlie  slightest  degree  against  a  fundamental  and  essential  distluct* 
ness  between  living  beings,  when  they  have  been  once  evolved,  and  all 
objects  devoid  of  life.  i 

Dependent  as  living  beings  are  on  physical  conditions,  responsive  as  they  m 
are  to  the  physical  forces  withoiat  which  they  cannot  exist,  and  which  ^ 
they  thrmfielves  give  forth  in  their  own  various  activities,  yet  they  jdict 
all  form  a  world  apart.  That  they  really  do  so,  the  distinctions  irhich 
have  now  been  shown  to  exist  between  living  and  inanimate  bodies  may 
suffice  to  prove-  Thus  considered,  it  appeal's  indisputable  that  animak 
and  plants,  indeed,  require  that  a  distinct  departracut  of  science  should  be 
assigned  for  their  investigation.  They  cannot  be  properly  included  in  anv 
larger  group  of  objects,  or  be  treated  of  as  a  mere  subordinate  sectioa 
of  the  great  science  of  physics. 

The  facts  already  pointed  out  may  then  suffice  to  show  that  living  bcingi 
form  one  great  group  of  objects  which  possess  in  common  a  number  of  cha- 
racters serving  to  distinguish  them  from  all  bodies  which  are  devoid  of  life. 

The  first  part  of  the  answer  to  our  initial  question,  "  "Wliat  are  Living 
Beings?"  bos  thus  received  its  answer.  \Vc  are  now  in  a  position  to 
clearly  discriminate  and  distinguish  them  from  beings  devoid  of  life. 
But  the  question  as  to  tlicir  nature  admits  of  a  more  positive  answer. 
"VVe  may  seek  a  preliminary  respousc  to  the  question,  "  \Miat  are  Living 
Beings  in  themseives  ?^^  Do  they  form  one  really  homogeneous  group,  or 
do  they  in  truth  consist,  as  ihcy  plainly  seem  to  do,  of  two  distinct  sets 
of  organisms — animals  and  plants? 

ITie  immense  midtitnde  of  varied  forms  which  constitutes  the  world 
of  life  is,  for  the  most  part,  obviously  divisible  into  two  great  sections,  or, 
as  they  are  fanciftiUy  termed,  "kingdoms" — the  kingdom  of  animals  and 
the  vegetable  kingdom. 

The  distinctions  which  exist  between  all  the  larger  and  better  known 
forms  of  these  two  great  groups  are,  indeed,  so  obvious  that  (in  spite  of 
the  characters  common  to  both,  which  have  been  already  pointed  out) 
the  reader  may  think  it  an  easy^task  to  find  characters  to  separate  them 
absolutely  ;  for  the  activity  of  the  animal  creation  forces  itself  constantly 
upon  our  attention  ;  while  plants,  for  the  most  part  rooted  to  the  soil,  are 
obviously  incapable  of  voluntary  motion.  Animals  have  each  a  very 
definite  cxtenial  form  and  a  more  or  less  fixed  limit  as  to  size,  while 
if  they  have  limbs  they  are  definite  in  number  as  well  as  in  shape. 
Plants,  on  the  contrary  (such  as  our  trees  and  shrubs),  have  no  such 
constancy  of  shape  and  size,  and  individuals  of  the  same  kind  differ 
greatly  as  to  the  number  and  form  of  the  branches  they  send  forth.  More- 
over, these  prolongations  are  sent  forth  more  or  less  uusystematieally, 
those  of  any  one  side  not  corresponding  with  those  of  an  opposite  side, 
and   very  generally   we  cannot  even  say   that  the  branches  are  equal 


miAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


700 


I 


ami  alike  in  their  mode  of  radiatiag  from  tlie  central  stem.  Tho 
same  irregularity  prevails  in  the  successive  subdivisions  of  each  branch, 
plants  growing  in  that  variously  ramifying  manner  which  is  denoted  bv" 
the  convenient  term  "  arborescent." 

Obviously,  again,  the  motions  of  animals  respond  to  fecling$  which  we 
may  well  compare  with  our  own.  Not  only  will  a  worm  or  slug  shrink 
from  any  irritating  object  applied  to  it ;  but,  if  injured,  it  will  by  its 
various  contortions  show  what  we  cannot  avoid  interpreting  as  signs  of 
pain.  ^lorc  than  tiiis  :  animals  can  generally  perceive  objects  more  or 
less  distant  and  can  very  frequently  appreciate  sounds  and  odours  as 
well  as  touches  by  special  organs  formed  to  such  ends.  But  plants 
hardly  ever  present  any  phenomena  which  might  incline  us  to  believe 
them  to  possess  any  power  even  of  feeling.  In  spite  of  the  singular 
movements  of  some,  they  cannot  be  said  to  shrink  from  attack,  or  to 
writhe  under  the  pruner's  knife. 

Another  obvious  distinction  between  most  animals  and  plants  is 
afforded  by  the  process  of  reproduction.  Animals  either  give  birth  to 
living  yonng  or  deposit  eggs  to  be  hatched  with  or  without  maternal 
care,  according  to  their  kind  ;  but  no  offspring  ever  grows  forth  from  the 
side  of  any  beast,  reptile,  or  even  insect.  Moreover,  though,  if  we  cut 
off  a  frog's  leg  or  a  lizard's  tail,  another  leg  or  tail  will  b'?  produced,  yet 
no  one  ever  saw  a  new  frog  or  lizard  grow  from  such  amputated  leg  or  tail. 
But  plants,  though  they  form  seed  (a  process  which  may  be  compared 
with  ordinary  animal  reproduction),  also  increase  by  budding,  and  the 
latter  process  takes  place  much  the  more  frequently.  Suckers  also  may 
be  thrown  out,  or  the  end  of  a  branch  (as  in  the  common  bramble)  may 
root  itself  into  the  ground — its  incipient  leaves  changing  themselves  into 
rootlets — and  so  give  rise  to  a  fresh  plant.  iMoreoverj  plants  may  be 
indefinitely  propagated  by  cuttings — new  individuals  growing  up  from 
the  parts  amputated. 

And  indeed  not  only  are  the  modes  of  multiplication  profoundly 
different  in  most  animals  and  plants,  but  the  manner  of  individual  nutri- 
tion is  different  also  ;  for  animals  receive  their  solid  or  fluid  nourishment 
into  an  internal  cavity,"*  where  it  is  digested;  while  plants  take  in  the 
whole  of  their  food,  from  the  air  and  water  around  them,  by  a  process 
of  imbibition  only. 

Lastly,  if  we  analyze  the  chemical  constitution  of  the  two  groups,  we 
find  that  while  animals  have  the  great  part  of  their  bodies  formed  of 
material  containing  nitrogen,  plants  are  mainly  composed  of  substances 
which  are  resolvable  into  oxygen,  hydrogen,  and  carbon  only.  Thus, 
e.g.,  plants  contain  a  quantity  of  a  characteristic  vegetable  substance — 
starch — and  chiefly  consist  of  the  non-nitrogenous  substance  before 
referred  to  as  "  cellulose."     Ou  the  other  hand,  no  such  substances  as 


^  •  That  IB  to  e*y,  practically  an  internal  cAvity,  for  in  fact  tbe  stomach  of  an  animal  is  bat 
a  prolongation  inwanla  of  ita  cxtoriar,  so  that  whatever  it  coutaiut  is  mor[>hologically 
"  oat«idc '  the  subatancc  of  the  animal. 

■  VOL.  XXXV,  3    A 

^ : 1 


710 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


J 
I 


musclCi^  nerve,  or  blood   (subRtances  found  in  almost  all  animals)  hare 
ever  been  found  in  any  plant. 

These  distinctions  as  to  1 .  motive-jxiwer,  2.  external  form, 
sensitintyj  4.  mode  of  reproduction^  5.  manner  of  feediog,  and 
chemical  composition,  serve  then  well  enough  to  distinguish  the  bulk 
animals  from  the  bulk  of  plants.  But  between  the  LigLer  and  ui 
characteristic  forms  of  the  two  kiugdoms  are  a  number  of  lovlj 
organisms,  amongst  which  all  such  distinctions  fade  away. 

(1.)  Thus  Avith  respect  to  motive-power,  there  are  animals  (even 
some  complexity  of  structure)  which  show  no  more  voluntary  acd 
than  do  many  of  the  lowest  plants. 

Sucli  creatures  arc  the  hcautiful  and  minute  oceanic  animals  caUi 
Radioiaria,  which  seem  to  drift  passively  along  withdrawing  and 
tniding  filamentary  prolongations  of  their  protoplasmic  substance  wl. 
go  by  the  name  of  "  false-feet,"  or  Psendopodia.     Some  of  the  low 
water  plants  (some  of   the  Alg<Ej  or  sea-weed  group),    while   in   th 
immature  condition,  swim  about  in  a  similar  manner  by  similar  p; 
atious  of  their  protoplasm. 

Certain  animals  which  have  an  organization  comparable,  as  we  ahall 
see,  with  creatures  much  Liglicr  in  the  scale,  are,  nevertheless,  sin^ilarlr 
inactive  and  inert.  Such  are  some  of  the  Tunicaries,  or  aea-sqiiirt^! 
which  adhere  without  appai'ent  motion  to  rocks,  and  when  touched,  ouly 
contract  somewhat  and  expel  water  from  two  apertures — whence  their 
English  name.  So  unlike  animals  are  these  toipid  organisms,  that 
arc  sold  in  many  Italian  towns  as  Frutti  di  mare — sea-fruit. 

But  there  arc  animals  which  arc  more   inert   still.      These  ard 
blailder  worms  or  hydatids,  which   lie  hidden  in  the  tlesh  or  other 
of   the  animals  they  infest,   and   which   are   little   more   than    small 
membranous  bags  enclosing  au  albuminous  fluid. 

In  the  well-known  plant-animals  called  sea-anemones,  only  slow  con- 
tmctions  of  the  body  are  to  be  noticed,  together  with  movements  of  thei 
tentacles,  which  bend  inwards  and  close  over  any  object  whieli  may 
withiu  their  circuit. 

Many  animals,  also  more  or  less  closely  allied  to  sca-ancrooncs,  ar^ 
when  adult,  as  finnly  rooted  to  the  ground  as  are  plants,  and  like  plan 
grow  up  as  stems,  giving  oft*  branches  and  branchlets.  Such  crcatu 
as  oysters,  and  many  similar  creatures,  are  also  fixed  to  the  surface  wbicli 
supports  them. 

As  examples,  on  the  other  hand,  of  exceptional  activity  amongst 
plants,  the  Avell-kuowu  leaf-movements  of  the  sensitive  plants  may  lic 
referred  to  ;  but  much  more  noteworthy  are  the  phenomena  presented 
by  two  celebrated  lloweriug  plauts^ — the  pretty  little  sun-dew  (Drosera)  o! 
our  bogs,  and  Vcnm's  fly-trap  {DiontBa)  of  America, 


*  A  cuustHu&nt  of  uinsc'le  teimed  "mvoBin"  hoa  indeed  l^ecn  foaml  in  the  nedl  of 
blue  lupin,  but  this  fact  in  no  way  iaralidates  tho  ditittnction  botwceu  an i mala  tu     _ 
which  itiJiy  h^  tlmwu  from  the  fac-tth  it  even  in  tbo  inotft  niobilo  parti  of  the  most  irritAbIt' 
l*]ant  no  such  thing  u  muscnUr  ttuue  bu  heen  found. 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


711 


¥ 


The  sun-dew  has  its  foliage  leaves  covered  ou  their  upper  surface  with 
long  hairs,  the  ends  of  which  are  dilated  and  distil  a  sticky  fluid,  to 
which  insects  wliich  alight  on  the  leaves  adhere.  When  an  insect  has 
so  adhered,  the  hairs  of  the  leaf  gradually  bend  over  it,  and  bathe  it  with 
the  fluid  they  distil,  wliich  fluid  has  the  power  of  dissolviug  aud  digesting 
the  prey  thus  snared. 

The  American  plant  (Diontea)  is  an  berb,  the  foliage  leaves  of  which 
terminate  each  in  two  rounded  plates  joined  by  a  median  hinge,  strong 
bristles  projecting  from  the  margin  of  each  of  the  rounded  plates.  On 
the  upper  surface  of  these  plates  arc  two  or  three  little  structures 
(glands),  out  of  which  oozes  a  fluid  which  is  attractive  to  insects,  and  so 
acts  as  a  bait.  When  ah  insect  alights,  ita  contact  causes  the  two  plates 
to  suap  sharply  together  and  imprison  it,  and  the  more  the  insect 
struggles  to  escape,  the  more  tightly  the  plates  close  u]>on  it,  till  it  is 
killed.  The  insect  being  dead,  the  blades  again  open  and  prepare  to 
receive  auother  victim,  while,  if  the  insect  seized  be  very  small  (so  that 
it  is  not  worth  the  effort  of  holdiug  and  killing],  the  plant's  grasp  is 
quickly  relaxed,  aud  its  prey  is  allowed  to  escape.  As  in  Droseroj  so  also 
in  Vcnus's  fly-trap,  the  prey  is  dissolved  and  digested  by  means  of  the 
fluid  poured  out  by  the  leaf,  and  it  has  been  proved  that  such  individual 
plants  of  the  kind  as  have  been  fed  with  insects  (or  with  particles  of 
flesh)  are  thereby  nourished  in  a  higher  degree.  These  examples  of 
vegetable  activity,  aud  of  the  motionless  or  rooted  condition  of  certain 
animals,  may  suffice  to  show  that  no  absolute  distinction  as  to  motive- 
power  can  be  drawn  between  the  two  kingdoms  of  organic  nature. 

(2,)  As  to  external  form,  the  examples  already  given  of  a  radiolaiian 
and  an  alga  would  alone  suffice  to  show  that  no  absolute  demarcation 
can  iu  this  respect  l)e  made.  Hut  many  animals  have  the  branching 
mode  of  growth  and  arborescent  habit  of  plants,  as  is  the  ease  with  the 
plant-animals  (or  zoophytes),  allied  to  the  sea-anemouc  before  refen-ed 
to,  as  is  the  case  also  with  forms  which  belong  to  the  great  group  of  coral 
^animals,  and  again  with  other  less  highly  organized  allies  of  coral  animals. 
Moreover,  just  as  there  are  animals  which  thus  differ  from  the  general 
shape  of  their  fellows,  so  there  are  some  highly  organized  plants  which 
do  not  exhibit  the  ordinary  branching  vegetable  structure,  but  are 
symmetrical  aud  spheroidal  in  shape,  like  certain  of  the  lower  animals. 
Such  a  plant,  e.ff.,  is  the  melon  cactus. 

I  (8.)  As  to  sensitivity,  there  is  certainly  no  evidence  that  feeling  i« 
'possessed  by  any  plant,  though  a  high  degree  of  impressionability  mu^t 
be  present  in  such  an  organism  as  Dionaa.  But  a  multitude  of  the 
lowest  animals  exhibit  no  more  signs  of  sensibility  than  do  the  lowest 
plants.  Tlie  hydatids,  before  referred  to,  may  serve  as  an  extreme 
instance  of  such  apparent  insensibility. 

^  (4.)  Reproductive  processes  will  not  serve  us  as  a  complete  dis- 
tinctive character  between  animals  aud  plants.  For  it  is  uow  known 
that  a  variety  of  animals  habitually  reproduce  their  kindj  as  plaut^  s-o 

8  a2 


712 


THE 


its  and 


largely  do,  by  a  process  of  external  budding.  This  happens^  e.g.,  with 
tbe  Hydra  and  animals  like  it.  AnimaU  may  eveu  be  propagated  br 
cuttings.  Thus,  if  a  Hydra  or  the  common  sea-anemone  (Anikta)  be 
bisected,  each  half  soon  grows  into  the  perfect  form  ouce  more,  iwl 
many  worms  (such  as  Scyllis,  or  Catemila),  and  many  animalcules  c«lloi 
Infusoria,  habitually  multiply  by  self-made  sections,  i,e,  by  eponi 
division  or  fission. 

(5.)  As  to  the  different  modes  of  feeding  practised  by  plants 
animals,  imbibition  is  indeed  (as  has  been  &>aid)  universal  with  the 
former.  But  then  the  digested  insecta  made  use  of  by  Uroscra  and 
Dionepa  may  be  said  to  be  taken  into  a  temporary  quasi-eavity,  while  in 
certain  other  plants  the  receptafle  has  the  form  of  a  permanent 
This  is  the  case  with  the  curious  pitcher- plant  {Nfpenthea),  in 
pitchers  of  which  insects  are  taken  and  dissolved,  doubtless  to  the  pi 
of  the  plant,^  But  not  all  animals  take  solid  food  into  an  extert 
cavity  or  stomach.  Many  can  only  imbibe  it  through  the  outer  snrfa 
of  their  bodies.  It  is  thus  that  tape-worms  feed  which  lie  perei 
bathed  in  a  fluid  medium  unceasingly  nutritious. 

(6.)  Lastly,  wc  come  to  the  distinction  between  auinials  and  plani 
as  reganls  their  chemical  composition.  Now  it  is  true  that  most  pi 
are  less  nitrogenous  than  are  animals.  But  this  cannot  be  affirmed 
the  great  group  of  Fungi.  Moreover,  substances  which  were  loa^ 
deemed  peculiar  to  the  vegetable  kingdom  are  now  known  not  to  be  9o. 
Thus  ''  starch,"  e.g.,  has  been  found  even  in  the  human  brain,  while 
"  cclluloac"-=the  principle  of  wood — exists  in  the  tough  external  coat 
which  invests  the  bodies  of  the  Tunicaries  before  referred  to. 

Thus  all  the  foregoing  six  distinctions  break  down  with  respect 
to  a  considerable  number  of  animals  or  plants,  though  they  m>T 
serve  to  separate  all  the  higher  forms  of  the  two  kingdoms  of  hving 
beings. 

Other  distinctions,  however,  exist,  which  have  a  greater  value,  and 
may  be  conjointly  made  use  of  in  discriminating  almost  all  plants  from 
all  animals.  Of  these  there  are  two — the  first  {A)  relates  to  structure  ; 
the  second  [B)  relates  to  active  processes  of  life,  or  "  function." 

A.  It  has  been  already  said  that  every  living  organism  consists  of 
substance  called  protoplasm,  with  which  other  sul^tances  (some  nil 
genous,  some  non-nitrogenous)  may  co-exist.     Amongst  the  non-nitro- 
genous occasional  accompauinients  of  protoplasm  is  "cellulose." 

Now,  all  plantSj  except  the  very  lowest,  have  their  constituent  proto- 
plasm divided  into  a  number  of  minute    separated  parts,  each  sued 
separated  part  being  enclosed  within  an  envelope  of  cellulose.      But  itt* 
no  aoimal  whatever  does  this  condition  obtain. 

There  are,  however,  lowly  animals  and  plants  which  consist  each  of 
a     single    particle  of    protoplasm,    but  almost    all    such    plants 


ire; 


*  The  atrnoturea  referred  to  «re  cttnous  j>itcber-like  productions  which  are  formed  at 
tod  of  foiinge  leaven. 


1 


■k 


1VHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


713 


enclosed  -witbin  a  cellulosR  envelope— an  investment  which  is  wanting 
in  such  lowly  animals.  In  regard  to  structure,  then,  wc  have  thus  an 
almost  complete  distinction  between  the  two  organic  kingdoms. 

B.  As  regards /wnc/io /I,  it  may  be  affirmed  that  no  single  animal  can 
live  unless  it  be  nourislied  by  feeding  (directly  or  indirectly)  upon 
plants,  since  even  the  most  carnivorous  or  bloodthirsty  animals  feed 
upon  other  animals  which  feed  on  vcgetableSj  or  upon  animals  which  feed 
on  other  vegetable-feeding  animals.  This  is  an  absolute  necessity  of 
animal  life,  since  no  animal  can  sustain  itself  cu  inorganic  food.  It  is 
true  that  animals  feed  upon  inorganic  matter  in  the  water  (with  its 
saline  contents)  which  they  driuk  (or  imbibe),  and  in  the  oxygen  of  the 
air  which  they  inhale.  Nevertheless^  no  animal  is  able  to  form  living 
matter  (or  protoplasm)  from  the  inorganic  world  alone.*  Let  any 
animal  be  supplied  with  all  the  constituent  elements  of  living  matter, 
cither  separately  or  arranged  in  whatever  artificial  combinations,  and, 
however  abundant  the  supply,  such  animal  must  inevitably  die  of  starva- 
tion, for  it  cannot  build  up  its  own  substance — cannot  compensate  for 
the  wear  and  tear  of  life — by  any  food  of  such  a  nature.  It  can  only 
nourish  itself  when  supplied  with  food  consisting  of  organic  matter 
ready  formed. 

It  is  quite  otherwise  with  plants.f  The  densely  luiiuriant  tropical 
plants,  with  their  lofty  palms  and  wildcrne'^s  of  creepers  ;  the  more  open 
woods  of  oak,  elm,  or  pine,  and  the  plains  of  grass  or  heather  of  tem- 
perate climes  \  the  mosses  and  lichens  of  the  far  north,  and  the  millions 
of  minute  algse  on  fields  of  snow ;  the  enormous  masses  of  marine 
plants,!  and  the  multitudinous  green  threads  of  every  pond  or  rivulet, 
are  one  and  all  continually  engaged  during  the  hours  of  daylight  in 
tearing  from  the  atmosphere  its  carbon,  and  iu  sucking  from  the  earth  or 
sea  its  water  (with  the  mineral  substances  dissolved  in  it),  in  order  to 
build  up  new  masses  of  organic  substance,  from  these  purely  inorganic 
materials.  The  quantity  of  living  matter  thus  daily  formed  may  be 
truly  termed  enormous.  The  dry  land  of  the  earth's  surface  is  esti- 
mated at  22,392 j430  square  miles.  Let  us  assume  that  of  this, 
15,000,000  square  miles  (or  a  little  over  two-thirds)  are  clothed  with 
vegetation, — neglecting  altogether  the  vegetation  of  the  ocean, — and  let 
but  the  365th  part  of  an  inch  be  the  growth  of  this  surface  daily,  and 
every  year  will  be  formed  a  mass  one  inch  thick,  and  15,000,000  square 

*  CerUuD  worms  (bdonging  to  th«  group«  called  Planana)  have  be«D  found  (by  Mr. 
Oedd^)  capable  of  diasolTing  carl}onic  acid  aud  retaining  its  carbon  aa  plants  do,  but  tluB  ii 
by  00  meauA  their  exclusive  mode  of  nutrition  aud  growth. 

t  We  do  not,  of  course,  forget  tlmt  ciilti\'ated  planta^-cceivc  large  qaantities  of  organic 
food  in  the  form  of  manure,  but  Bonsaingault  bAM  shown  that  the  total  weight  of  such  food 
is  far  excei'ded  by  the  amount  of  organic  matter  which  is  removed  from  a  farm  or  other 
limited  area  in  which  such  plants  are  grown.  The  organic  matter  ia  excess  must  of  course 
bare  been  formed  from  inorganic  mattcr- 

t  There  is  one  vast  collection  of  seaweed  in  the  Atlantic  forming  what  is  called  the 
Sargassnm  sea.  It  occupies  a  variable  space  betweeu  the  20'  and  40'  of  west  longitude  and 
between  15  and  30""  of  north  Utitude.  Inhere  is  another  collection  iu  the  North  PaclHc 
between  30"  and  40"  of  north  latitude,  and  yet  another  iu  the  Indian  Ocean  between  45* 
and  6A"  of  aoDth  latitade. 


^m     and  ot>  of  m 


714 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  BEFTBl 


miles  in  extent^  ^rhich  would   make  a  solid  cnbe  of  vegetable  matut 
about  fifteen  miles  in  extent  in  each  dimension. 

It  is  thus  no  wonder  tbat  wc  should  have  accumulations  of  vegetAhle 
dtbris  in  the  form  of  coal  in  some  parts  of  the  world  (as  in  Pennsylvania; 
which  may  be  in  alternating  beds  seventy  feet  in  thickness,  and  ex- 
tending over  an  area  larger  than  that  of  Yorkshire.  TLe  wonder,  at 
first  sight,  is  rather  that  the  size  of  the  solid  earth  does  not,  in  roc* 
cecding  ages,  notably  increase  at  the  cxijcuse  of  its  fluid  and  aerifonn 
matter.  But  fast  as  organic  matter  is  thus  accumulated  by  so  enormous 
and  so  incessantly  acting  a  manufactory,  its  fabric  is  nevertheless  mudi 
like  the  web  of  Penelope;  for  close  upon  life  follows  death,  and  with  the 
death  of  all  organisms,  their  substance  (by  decomposition)  returns  again, 
for  the  most  part  (as  water,  carbonic  acid,  ammonia,  and  various  gsMS, 
&c.)j  to  that  inorganic  world  whence  it  was  originally  derived. 

There  is  yet  another  agent  of  destructiou — namelyj  the  animal  world : 
for,  OS  we  have  seen,  animals  are  ever  transforming  vegetable  substance 
into  animal  substance,  and  in  the  process  much  is  destroyed  ud 
wasted  without  being  so  converted. 

Moreover,  plants  withdraw  from  the  atmosphere  its  carbon  by  (as 
we  shall  hereafter  sec)  dissolving  its  carbonic  acid  and  letting  its  oxygen 
go  free.  Animals,  ou  the  contrary,  never  do  this,  but  (by  their  breathiDg) 
give  forth  carbonic  aeid  and  watery  va{X)ur  to  the  atmosphere,  while 
they  diminish  its  supply  of  oxygen.  Animals'  bodies  thus,  during  life, 
undergo  a  jjroccss  of  slow  combustion. 

We  see,  therefore,  that  the  circulation  of  the  elements  before  spoken 
of  as  taking  place  between  the  organic  and  the  inorganic  worlds,  U  a 
twofold  circulation.  One  part  of  it  is  jDcrformed  by  the  agency  of 
plants  only ;  the  other  by  both  animals  and  plants.  Plants  alone  hare 
the  power  of  sustaining  themselves  on  the  inorganic  world,  and  building 
up  protoplasm  from  it.  But  animals  and  plants  concur  in  restoring  once 
more  to  that  world  the  inorganic  products  of  decomposition  resulting 
from  their  death  aud  decay.* 

Altogether  then,  it  may  be  said,  that  the  animal  and  vegetable  king- 
doms are  generally  aud  roughly  divisible  one  from  another  as  regards  their 
powers  of  motion,  their  form,  their  sensibility,  their  modes  of  feeding  and 
reproduction,  and  their  chemical  composition,  and  arc  more  completely  so 
divisible  through  the  structural  and  functional  characters  just  described. 

But  we  may  well  believe  that  underlying  these  manifest  difterenccs 
there  must  be  other  distinctions  of  a  deeper  kind ;  for,  since  two  par- 
ticles of  protoplasm,  which  are  to  ue  indistinguishable,  will  severally 
develop,  one,  e.g.,  into  a  cat  and  the  other  into  a  dog,  we  may  re-ason- 


But  though  pLuita  and  animola  are  thus  distinguished  id  function 
a  complete  one;  for  the  great  i^roup  of  vej^tahlc  organisms  called  Fu 


the  diBtinctioD  ia  Dot 

ungi,  u  well  ju  cerkaou 

plaati  uf  paniutic  hahit.  are  (fcvofd  of  tins  itowcr  of  directly  furmin^  orautic  Bubst«Jiee, 

I  BO  characteristio  of  the  vegetable   kiugdom.      These  excoptiouu  plants  require 

als  do)  rofldy-formod  orvanic  matter  for  their  sustcntation.    Some  few  of  the  lower 

also  (as  before  mcntiouea)  appear  to  be  capable  of  acting  in  this  respect  like  plant*. 


I 


1 

I 


WHAT  ARE  LIVING  BEINGS? 


715 


I 


ably  infer  that  the  apparent  identity  of  such  particles  is  due  to  defects 
in  our  powers  of  perception,  aud  not  to  the  absence  of  a  real,  funda- 
mental distinction.  Similarly,  though  we  may  he  quite  unable  to  detect 
by  means  of  chemical  analysis  any  difference  between  animal  and 
vegetable  particles  of  protoplasm,  yet  the  products  of  such  particles 
reveal  an  essential  distinctness  which  must  have  been  all  the  time 
latent.  A  number  of  distinct  substances  are  derived  from  animal 
protoplasms;  and  of  these,  muscle,  nerve,  and  horn  may  be  referred  to. 
Very  few  animals,  however,  contain  that  substance  which  is  almost 
always  present  in  plants,  and  is  called  "  cellulose."  Plants  have  the 
power  of  forming  a  variety  of  compounds  of  hydrogen  and  carbon,  whicli 
nowhere  occur  within  the  kingdom  of  animals.  The  structural  ele- 
ments (fibres,  tubes,  &c.)  of  the  higher  kinds  of  each  kingdom  are  different 
in  structure,  and  the  chemical  compositions  of  such  structural  elements 
are  different.  Though  in  many  animals  we  see  no  sign  of  sensitivity, 
yet  there  may  be  a  latent  power  of  the  kind  in  such  creatures ;  just 
as  such  a  power  is  latent  in  the  embryos  of  animals  which  when  adult 
exhibit  its  presence  unmistakably.  The  conspicuous  movements  of 
plants  which  have  been  lately  described  (such  as  those  of  Venus's  fly- 
trap, &c.)  seem  at  first  sight  like  the  movements  of  animals,  yet  the 
movements  of  such  plants  {as  we  shall  hereafter  see)  are  explicable 
in  an  altogether  different  way  from  the  voluntary  movements  of 
animals. 

Thus  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms  are,  at  the  same  time, 
closely  similar  and  yet  really  divergent.  They,  undoubtedly,  together 
form  one  great  group  of  beings,  which  ia  separated  by  an  abyss  from  the 
non-living  world.  They  have  a  number  of  characters  iu  common  (as 
we  have  seen),  such  as  powers  of  self-nutrition,  growth,  aud  reproduction, 
and  of  responding  continuously  in  various  ways  and  degrees  to  the  multitu- 
dinous influences  of  the  world  about  them.  There  are  not  wanting  grounds 
for  supposing  that  they  have  all  had  a  common  ancestry,  and  arose  from 
similar  starting-points,  if  not  from  the  same.  Thus,  altogether,  they 
plainly  form  the  subject  of  a  single  science,  the  science  of  organic  life, 
or  biology. 

Nevertheless,  tliesc  two  kingdoms  seem  to  have  really  different  natures. 
They  are  distinct  (as  an  examination  of  their  various  active  powers  will 
show)  in  the  order  aud  kind  of  life  they  manifest  respectively ;  a 
distinction  which  becomes  the   plainer  the  more  ftilly  developed  any 

■     organism  of  either  kingdom  may  be,  aud  as  we  ascend  from  lowly  forms 
in  which  their   differences  are   but  obscurely  indicated,  to  the  higher 
forms  of  each  organic  kingdom. 
■  In  an  introductory  inquiry  into  the  natural  history  of  organic  nature 

H  a  statement  of  the  various  modes  in  which  the  subject-matter  of  such 
H  inquiry  may  be  regarded  may  help  us  to  gain  a  clear  comprehension  of 
H  what  living  beings  really  are.  An  enumeration  of  the  various  studies 
H    which  together  make  up  a  true  **  natural  history/'  cannot  but  aid  us 


I 


716  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW.  ^H 

towards  atiaiuiiig  a  comprehension  of  the  true   nature  of    tUc  objects 
the  study  of  which  is  here  entered  upon. 

But  the  objects  thus  comprised  in  the  science  of  biologr  («.<?.,  both  plants 
and  animaU)  may  be  considered  from  a  variety  of  distinct  points  of  \iew. 

They  all  present  complex  relations  to  one  another,  and  to  the  in- 
organic  world  ;  and  each  living  being  presents  complex  sots  of  relatioa% 
both  with  regard  to  the  details  of  its  own  structure  and  with  respect  U\ 
the  activities  of  ita  several  parts  and  its  activities  as  oac  whole.  All 
these  sets  of  relations  form  the  groundwork  and  subject-matter  of  a 
number  of  different  sciences  subordinate  to  Biology. 

Thus  the  study  of  the  forms  of  living  creatiures  constitutes  the  seiencc 
of  Moi*phology,  and  this  study  may  be  directed  only  to  the  larger  part* 
and  grosser  structures  which  external  obscrvatiou  or  simple  dLsscdiou 
serves  to  reveal,  or  it  may  occupy  itself  exclusively  with  minutr  ami 
microscopic  structures ;  and  this  latter  branch  of  Morphology  ia  c&lkii 
Histology.^ 

Tlie  study  of  the  grosser  structures  ia  Anaiomy,  and  if  the  straetare» 
of  one  living  being  are  compared  with  thoae  of  others^  mc  ba\*e  then 
Comparative  Anatomy,f 

One  branch  of  anatomy,  called  External  Anatomy,  coiiccrua  itielf 
only  with  external  configuration. 

All  the  above  sciences  relate  only  to  form,  and  arc  therefore  braucLo 
of  morphology.  They  concern  inquiries  with  respect  to  the  nuuibcr, 
shape,  arrangement,  and  eunucctiou  of  parts,  whether  large  or  minute, 
and  with  the  resemblances  and  differences  between  living  crcattiriik 
compared  together  in  these  respects. 

The  next  set  of  studies,  or  sciences,  to  be  referred  to  arc  thoae  vliich 
concern  the  activities  of  living  creatures  and  oi  the  {>artii  of  liviag 
creatures.  That  is  to  say,  they  are  the  sciences  which  treat  of  functtou; 
and  the  science  of  function  is  callc<l  Fhystioloyy, 

In  the  first  place,  wc  may  be  occupied  in  studying  the  functions  of  tlic 
different  parts  (organs  or  sets  of  organs)  of  the  body,  and  Uiis  science 
18  Physiology  par  excellence.  Subordinate  to  this  arc  inquiries  con- 
cerning particular  functions,  such  as  those,  e,y,,  of  sii^taUalion  (the 
support  of  the  individual),  and  reproduction  (tlic  contiauauce  of  the  race)* 

Under  the  head  of  "  sustcntatiou"  may  be  included  seveml  dblioct 
inquiries.  Thus  one  such  subordinate  inquiry  investigates  thio  motk* 
of  acquiring  nutriment,  or  alimentation ;  another  has  to  do  with  the 
transference  of  nutritive  fluids  from  one  part  of  the  lx>dy  to  anotbefi 
ciraifation ;  another  refers  to  the  phenomena  of  gaseous  interchangTr 
or  respiration;  and  yet  another  occupies  itself  with  the  eliiiutiAtiun  uf 
waste  products,  &e.,  or  strrHion, 

Under  the  head  of  "  reproduction'*   may  be  included  detthprnttU, 

*  Kxijerience  of  cotinio  abuws  ti>.  tbAt  the  IxmncUry  licivdea  minute  awlgniM ; 

t  **t'(>tii.  IS  '  ItM  more  ntcftiiiiiga  tliAn  Ode.     li  oti^taXiy 

pSrUOn  of  U  urr  iiIiiIiiaIa   uitli  tliK  jiiijilitniv  i>f  itiuii. 


n  HAT  ARE  LIVING  BEIXGS? 


717 


tlic  study  of  the  changes  which   each  crcatai*e   passes  thmngli  from  its 
first  aud  most  crabryoaic  state  to  its  fully  developed  or  adult  couditiou, 

Attention  has  also  to  be  paid  to  the  physiology  of  motion  and  of 
sensation  ;  and  the  activities  of  the  special  or  higher  senses,  and  the 
cniissiou  of  vocal  and  other  sounds^  aUo  furui  subjeet-niattcr^  of  inquiry 
which  deserve  separate  attention. 

It  is  also  desirable  not  only  to  study  each  kind  of  function  as  it  is 
exhibited  throughout  the  whole  range  of  niiimatcd  nature,  but  also  to 
examine  and  estimate  the  amouut  aud  quality  of  the  sum-total  of  activity 
which  each  kind  of  animal  or  plant  displays.  The  inquiry  respecting 
such  totalities  of  function  may  be  called  the  physiology  oj  the  individual^ 
or  Psychology. 

Plants  aud  animals  have  definite  relatious  both  to  apace  aud 
time.  The  different  kinds  of  animals  and  plants  are  very  unequally 
distributeil  over  the  earth's  surface,  and  the  investigation  of  their  dis- 
tribution forms  the  science  of  Organic  (animal  aud  vegetable)  Geography, 

Similarly,  the  relations  which  exist  between  different  kinds  and  groups 
of  animals  and  plants  and  past  time,  as  evidenced  by  their  fossil  remains, 
form  the  subject-matter  of  Paleontology. 

Living  beings  have  also  definite  relations  to  tlie  physical  forces, 
to  the  various  conditions  of  the  inorganic  world  around  thera,  aud  also 
to  one  another  as  enemies,  as  rivab,  or  as  involuntary  helpers.  The 
study  of  all  these  complex  relations  forma  a  distinct  science,  which  may 
be  termed  Hexicology,*  And  with  it  are  closely  connected  the  qucstioua 
conceruiug  the  mode  and  cause  of  origin  of  the  various  distinct  races  of 
living  beings  which  now  exist  or  which  have  existed. 

Lastly,  as  the  result  of  the  knowledge  which  may  have  been  gained 
from  all  these  various  sciences,  comes  the  inquiry  concerning  the  best 
arrangement  aud  classification  of  living  beings — the  science  of  Taxonomy. 
AVhen  acquaintance  has  been  made  with  tlie  various  lines  of  inquiry 
above  cuumerated,  a  certain  knowledge  will  have  been  gained  of  the 
Natural  History  of  Animals  and  Plants,  or  Biology. 

In  the  present  essay  the  sum  of  living  beings  has  been  occasionally 
spoken  of  (according  to  received  custom)  as  "  the  organic  world,"  and 
animals  and  plants  have  been  indiscriminately  spoken  of  as  "organisms." 
These  expressions  are,  however,  not  absolutely  accurate,  since  the  term 
"  organism"  connotes  or  implies  *'  a  creature  possessing  organs,"  and  thus 
the  mistake  may  be  induced  of  supposing  that  "orgaus"  are  possessed 
by  every  living  being.  To  prevent  this  misconception  it  has  been 
already  pointed  out  that  certain  lowly  animals  aud  plants  consist  simply 
of  a  minute  particle  of  protoplasm,  in  which  no  distinction  of  parts  or 
organs  can  be  detected.  Therein  the  highest  powers  of  the  microscope 
reveal  (o  us  nothing  but  a  semi-Huid  material  containing  granules. 

AVith  these  exceptions,  however,  all  living  beings  do  possess  "organs," 
that  is,  distinct  parts  or  sets  of  parts  to  which  distinct  functions  arc 

*  f(tC,  ha1>it,  state,  or  cooditiou. 


719 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


generally  assigucd.  Moreover,  these  parts  and  functions  exist  and  act 
in  euch  a  manner  as  to  (so  to  speak)  play  into  each  other's  bands  in  a  way 
which  the  parts  of  the  most  cunningly  devised  machine  can  never  do.  The 
arraugemcut  of  parts  and  tlieir  functions  in  an  organism  ia  as  if  a  dock 
by  striking,  wound  itself  up ;  by  ticking,  supplied  itself  with  neediuJ 
lubricating  oil  ^  and  by  the  rotation  of  its  hands,  gathei*e<l  matter 
wherewith  to  supply  the  wear  and  tear  of  its  various  wheels.  An 
organism  has  therefore  been  well  defined  by  Kant  as  '^  a  body  tie 
paiis  of  which  are  reciprocally  ends  and  means"  In  this  sense  the 
lowest  creatures  above  referred  to  (since  they  have  no  such  distinction 
of  parts)  cannot,  strictly  speaking,  be  called  "  oi^anisms/'  And  yet 
every  such  lowly  creature  must  be  capable  of  performing  the  essential 
functions  of  life,  though  without  visible  organs.  Even  the  simplest  liviug 
creature  must  acquire  nutriment,  and  this  must  come  to  be  assimilated  to 
its  substance — transubstantiated  into  its  own  living  being.  Nutritious 
particles  must  be  transferred  from  one  part  of  the  body  to  another,  and 
hurtful  residue  must  be  expelled.  A  gaseous  interchange  must  also  be 
maintained  between  such  a  creature  and  the  medium  in  which  it  lives, 
aiul  some  responses  on  its  part  to  external  changes  in  the  environing 
conditions  of  its  little  world  must  continue  to  take  place  while  it  coa* 
tinues  to  live.  Now,  though  these  various  actions  are  not  subserved 
by  visible  organs,  yet  parts  answering  such  ends  must  vii'tually  exist  in  its 
apparently  homogeneous  protoplasm.  Therefore,  in  the  larger  and  really 
natural  sense  of  the  term  "  organic"  (a  term  which  really  refers  to 
*'  function"  as  well  as  to  "  structure"),  it  may  be  applied  fitly  even  to 
those  simplest  creatures  which  thus  form  an  integral  part  of  the  great 
wliole  of  animals  and  plants,  "  the  organic  world." 

We  have  now  attained  what  is  perhaps  as  full  an  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion, *'  What  are  Living  Beings  ?"  as  the  facta  as  yet  considered  warrant. 
We  have  seen  that  living  beings  are  organisms  more  or  less  distinctly  par- 
taking of  one  of  two  natures — the  one  animal,  the  other  vegetable-  We 
have  seen  that  in  spite  of  this  twofold  nature,  the  whole  mass  of  living 
beings  possess  many  characters  iu  common,  and  characters  which  separate 
tliem  oft* — indeed  longo  inlervaUo — fi'om  all  the  creatures  devoid  of  life 
of  which  our  senses  give  us  cognizance.  I'^nally,  we  have  seen  what  are 
the  lines  of  inquiry  which  have  to  be  followed  up  in  order  that  the 
nature  of  living  beings  may  be  revealed  to  us  as  ftilly  as  the  present 
state  of  knowledge  permits — that  is  to  say,  we  Iiavc  seen  what  are  the 
various  branches  of  science  which  are  subordinate  to  Biology — Biology 
being  the  complete  natural  history  of  animals  and  plants. 


I 

I 

{ 


St.  Gsoroe  MiYjjiT, 


CHLORAL  AND  OTHER  NARCOTICS. 


IT  fell  to  mj  lot  to  be  the  first  in  this  country  to  investigate  the 
action  of  hydrate  of  chloral  after  the  remarkable  discovery  of  its 
properties  as  a  narcotic^  by  the  distinguished  and  original  Liebreich. 
At  the  meeting  of  the  British  Association^  held  at  Exeter  in  the  year 
1868^  the  late  Mr.  Daniel  Hanbury^  F.B.S.j  brought  with  him  to  the 
meetings  from  Germany,  a  specimen  of  the  hydrate  and  a  brief  verbal 
account  of  the  phenomena  which  it  had  been  fotmd  to  produce  on  living 
bodies.  The  facts  related  by  Mr.  Hanbiiry  proved  of  so  much  interest 
to  the  members  of  the  Biological  Section,  that  they  elected  me,  who  had 
just  been  submitting  a  report  on  an  allied  subject,  to  make  a  further 
and  special  report  during  the  meeting  on  this  particular  subject.  I 
accepted  the  duty  at  once,  and  conducted  a  series  of  experimental 
researches,  the  results  of  which  were  duly  laid  before  the  Section  on  the 
last  day  of  the  meeting.  The  results  were  amongst  the  most  singular 
I  had  ever  witnessed,  and  the  report  upon  them  raised  an  intense 
curiosity  amongst  the  medical  men  and  the  men  of  science  in  this 
country.  laebreich's  discovery  became  the  physiological  event  of  the 
year,  and  for  some  months  I  was  engaged,  at  every  leisure  moment,  in 
demonstrating  the  various  and  unique  facts  which  that  discovery  had 
brought  forth. 

In  this  diloral  hydrate  we  were  found  to  possess  an  agent  very 
soluble  and  manageable,  which,  introduced  into  the  body  of  a  man  or 
other  animal,  quickly  caused  the  deepest  possible  sleep,  a  sleep  prolonged 
for  many  hours,  and  which  could  be  brought  so  near  to  the  sleep  of 
death  that  an  animal  in  it  might  pass  for  dead  and  still  recover.  In  this 
substance  we  also  found  we  had  an  agent  which  was  actually  decom- 
posed within  the  blood,  and  which  in  its  decomposition  yielded  the  product 
chloroform,  which  caused  the  sleep ;  a  product  which  distilled  over,  as  it 


720 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


were,  from  the  blood  into  the  nervous  Btructure  and  gave  rtsc   to  the 
deep  narcotism. 

The  discovery  of  Liebreich  opened  a  new  world  of  research,  the 
lessons  derived  from  which  I  shall  never  forget.  And  yet  now  tliat 
ten]  years  have  passed  away,  and  I  have  lived  to  see  the  influence  on 
niaiikiud,  of  what  in  iu  one  sense  a  beneficent^  and  in  another  sense  a 
maleficent  substance,  I  almost  feel  a  regret  that  I  took  any  part  what* 
ever  in  the  introduction  of  the  agent  into  the  practice  of  healing  and 
the  art  of  medicine. 

About  three  months  after  my  report  was  read  at  the  meeting  of  the 
British  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  the  first  painful 
experience  resulting  from  chloral  hydrate  came  under  my  knowledge.  A 
medical  man  of  middle  age  and  comfortable  circumstances  took,  either 
by  accident  or  intention,  what  was  computed  to  be  a  dose  of  190  grains 
of  chloral  hydrate.  He  had  bought,  a  few  days  before  this  event,  240 
grains  of  the  substance.  He  took  a  first  dose  of  ten  grains  in  order  to 
procure  sleep.  On  a  following  night  he  took  twenty  grains,  and  on  the 
evening  of  the  succeeding  day  twenty  grains  more.  These  administra- 
tions were  known.  He  had  reduced  his  store  by  these  takings  to  190 
grains,  and  while  in  a  state  of  semi-consciousness  from  the  last  quantity, 
he  got  up  from  the  bed  on  which  lie  was  reclining,  and  emptied 
all  the  remaining  contents  of  the  bottle  into  a  small  tumbler  of  water, 
and  swallowed  the  large  dose  so  prepared.  He  was  found  insensible, 
with  the  bottle  and  glass  by  his  bedside.  He  did  not  fully  regain 
consciousness  for  sixty  hours,  but  finally  made  a  good  recovery. 

The  occurrence  of  this  experience  led  me  into  a  new  line  of  research, 
namely,  to  find  out  M'hat  was  the  best  mode  of  maintaining  life  while 
the  body  is  under  the  influence  of  a  deep  sleep  from  the  hydrate.  This 
new  research  disclosed  that  the  great  object  of  treatment  should  be  to 
sustain  the  animal  temperature.  I  found  that,  like  alcohol,  the  tendency 
of  cldoral  hydrate  is  to  reduce  the  vital  fire,  and  that  of  two  animals  under 
chloral,  one  in  a  warm  the  other  in  a  cold  atmosphere,  the  recovery  of 
the  one  in  the  warm  and  the  death  of  the  one  in  the  cold  atmosphcrei 
could  be  reduced  to  a  matter  of  positive  system  or  rule.  I  had  soon 
to  publish  that  lessons,  and  to  indicate  that  there  were  dangers  ahead 
in  respect  to  the  use  of  chloral  hydrate,  which  dangers  would  have  to  be 
scientifically  combated. 

Within  aycar  after  the  introduction  of  chloral  hydrate  into  medical  uac 
another  new  truth  dawned  on  me.  One  morning  the  friends  of  a  gen- 
tleman called  on  me,  bringing  a  Iwttlc  of  chloral  hydrate  and  a  copy  of 
a  medical  paper  containing  a  lecture  of  mine  relating  to  the  action  of 
the  drug.  They  had  noticed  for  some  time  past  that  the  gentleman,  about 
whom  they  were  anxious,  had  been  very  peculiar  in  manner,  exhibiting 
signs  resembling  those  of  intoxication  from  alcohol,  but  with  more  than 
alcoholic  somnolency.  He  was  an  alcoholic,  and  sometimes  he  was  apt 
to  have  s|>ells  of  inebriation  ;  but  the  phenomena  more  recently  observed 


< 


I 


I 


CHLORAL  AND   OTHER   NARCOTICS. 


781 


were  somewhat  difTerent.  Watcliiiig  liini  closely  as  their  alarms 
increased,  they  detected  that  he  was  iu  the  habit  of  dosing  himself  with 
some  substance  which  he  kept  in  a  series  of  )K)tt]es,  of  which  he  had 
aeventeen  or  eighteen  iu  stock,  and  one  of  which  they  brought  to  me. 
The  bottle  they  brought  contained  chloral  hydrate,  and  it  turned  out 
that  all  the  bottles  contained,  or  had  contained,  the  same.  By-and-by 
this  gentleman  came  to  me  himself^  and  confessed  that  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  taking  the  cliloral  three  or  four  times  in  the  twenty-four  hours. 
He  took  it  at  first,  af^cr  reading  my  lecture  on  its  medicinal  uses,  in  order 
to  procure  sleep.  It  answered  his  purpose  so  well  that  he  became  iudueeil 
to  repeat  the  process,  and  in  a  little  time  got  what  he  called  his  new 
craving.  He  presented  a  series  of  special  symptoms  from  the  chloral 
which  had  some  of  the  characters  of  jaundice  and  some  of  the 
characters  of  scurvy.  These  symptoms  were  additional  to  the  signs 
of  brain  and  nervous  disturbauce  caused  by  the  chloroform  derived 
from  the  chloral,  and  they  were  easily  accounted  for.  The  chloral,  in 
undergoing  decomposition  within  the  body,  divides  into  two  products, 
the  one  chloroform,  the  other  an  alkaline  formate,  a  soluble  salt,  which 
makes  the  blood  unduly  fluid,  and  acts  uiuch  iu  the  same  manner — as 
I  found  again  by  direct  experiment  with  it — that  common  salt  does,  or 
the  mixture  of  pickling  salts  used  for  the  preservation  of  dead  animal 
tissues  that  arc  preserved  by  the  process  of  salting. 

Here,  then,  was  another  history  of  danger  from  the  use  of  chloral 
hydrate,  a  new  condition  of  disease  to  which  I  drew  attention  very 
speedily,  and  to  which  I  gave  the  name  of  chhralism,  \t  is  a  matter  of 
deep  regret  to  have  to  report  that  since  the  name  was  given  to  the 
disease  ehloralism  has  become  rather  wide-spread.  It  has  not  yet 
spread  far  amongst  the  female  part  of  the  community.  It  has  not  yet 
reached  the  poorer  classes  of  cither  sex.  Amongst  the  men  of  the  middle 
class ;  amongst  the  most  active  of  these  in  all  its  divisions, — com- 
mercial, literary,  legal,  medical,  philosophical,  artistic,  clerical, — 
ehloralism  varying  in  intensity  of  evil  has  appeared.  In  every  one  of 
the  classes  I  have  named,  and  in  some  others,  1  have  seen  the  sufferers 
from  it,  and  have  heard  their  testimony  in  relation  to  its  effects  on 
their  organizations — eficcts  exceedingly  uniform,  and,  as  a  rule,  exceed- 
ingly baneful. 

The  history  of  cliloralism  is  of  interest  to  the  scholar  of  history  aa 
showing  how  easily  a  simple  scientific  discovery  may  be  misapplied 
when  its  misai)plication  ministers  to  some  luxurious  desire  or  morbid 
inclination  of  maukiud.  I  give  the  account  at  first  hand,  drawing  upon 
no  other  experience  than  my  own,  an  experience  which  dates  from  the 
first  commencement  of  the  disease,  and  which,  during  all  the  period. 
Jias  been  probably,  in  this  country,  as  comprehensive  as  any  in  respect 
both  to  instances  of  acute  and  of  slow  mischief  from  this  one  cause.  I 
could  fill  easily  all  the  space  allotted  to  me  in  the  present  essay  by  mere 
narration  of  observed  facts  ou  this  topic,  were  that  u\j  olycct,  31  y  object 


722 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


does  not  lie  in  that  direction,  useful  and  practical  though  it  might  be. 
Let  the  reader  simply  remember  that  from  a  certain  scientific  basis  of 
research  something  specifically  social,  and  either  moral  or  immoral  ia 
its  tendencies,  has  occurred  in  a  brief  space  of  time,  and  that  a  singular 
mental  phenomena  has  been  developed  amongst  the  most  cultivated 
representatives  of  a  highly  cultivated  peojjle,  and  the  impression  I'  wish 
now  to  indicate  by  the  brief  narrative  recorded  above  is  supplied. 


II. 


This  is  not  the  first  time  iu  tlic  history  of  mankind  that  the  same 
kind  of  history  has  been  written.  There  is  a  pi-evious  history,  from 
wliich  datas  a  great  deal  that  is  curious  in  romance  and  poetry,  and 
which  even  to  Shakspearc  afforded  a  world  of  wonder  and  of  story. 

The  ancient  physicians,  dating  from  Dioscoridcs  himself,  tell  of  the 
use  of  a  wine  made  into  a  narcotic  by  mandragora.      Prom  the  leaves 
and   from    the    root   of  the   Atropa  mandragora  the  ancient  pliysiciaus 
prepared  a  vinous  solution  which    in    many    respects    had    the    same 
properties  as  the  choral  hydrate  of  to-day.     This  wine,  called  "  morion," 
was  given  to  those  who  were  about  to  be  subjected  to  painful  surgical 
operations  or  to  the  cautery,  so  that,  ere  the  sensitive  structure   was 
touclicd,  the  sick  man  was  in  a  deep  sleep  during  which  the  operatiou 
was  performed  without  the  consciousness  of  feeling,  not  to  say  of  pain. 
The  sleep  would   last  for   some  hours.      From  this  purely  medical    or 
surgical  use  of  morion,  the  application  of  it  extended.     Those  who  were 
condemned   to    die '  by   cruel   and   prolonged  torture  were  permitted   to 
taste  its  beneficence  and  to  pass  from  their  consummate  agony  through 
Lethe's  walk  to  death.      A  little  lulcr  aud  the  wine  of  mandragora  was 
sought  after  for  other  and  leas    commendable   purposes.     There  were 
those  who  drank  of  it  for  taste  or   pleasure ;    aud  who  were  spoken 
of  as  "  mandragorites,"  as  we  might  speak  of  alcoholics  or  chloralist*. 
They   passed   into  the    laud    of    sleep    and  dream,    aud    waking  up   in 
scare  and  alarm  were  the  screaming  mandrakes  of  an  ancient  civilization. 
I  have  myself  made  the  *'  morion"  of  that  civilization,  have  dispensed 
the  prescription  of  Dioscorides  and  Pliny.    The  same  chemist,  Mr.  Han- 
bury,  who  first  put  chloral  into  my  hands  for  experiment,  also  procured 
for  me  the    root  of   the  true  mandragora.      From  that  root  I  made  the 
morion,  tested  it  on  myself,  tried  its  elfects,  and  re-proved,  afler  a  lapse  of 
perhaps  four  or  five  centuries,  that   it  had  all  the  pro{}ertics  originally 
ascribed  to  it.     That  it  should  have  come  into  use  as  a  narcotic  by 
those  who  first  tasted  it  for  its  narcotic  action,  aud  that  they  should  have 
passed  into  mandragorites  is  not  more  surprising  than  that  other  and 
later  members  of  the  human  family  should  have   become   chloralists. 
The     effects   produced    by    morion     subjectively    and    objectively     arc 
so  much  like  those  from  chloral  that  they  may  be  counted  practically 
as   the   same.      I   have  put  these  two  examples  of  the  action    of    two 
similar  toxic  agents  in  parallel  positions,  because  they  arc  remarkable  as 


CHLORAL    AND    OTHER    NARCOTICS, 


723 


showing  howj  at  most  distant  and  distinct  eras  of  civilizationj  a  general 
practice  in  the  use  of  these  agents  sprung  out  of  a  special  practice 
relating  to  their  usc^  a  maleficent  out  of  a  beneficent  purpose.  If  [ 
■wished  to  extend  the  comparison^  I  might  place  opium,  ether,  chloroform, 
and  chlorodyne  under  the  same  category. 

Mandragora,  opium,  chloral,  ether,  chloroform,  chlorodyne,  are  medical 
agents  used  in  the  first  instance  mechanically,  and  used  in  a  second 
instance  socially,  and  by  habit  ia  certain  instances,  for  the  purpose  of 
making  the  mind  oblivious,  or,  in  other  and  more  frequently  used  words, 
for  securing  repose  or  rest.  These  agents  do  not  stand  alone  in  respect 
to  the  list  of  toxicants  which  are  assumed  to  he  useful  to  mankind. 
To  them  must  be  added  many  others  which  have  not  necessarily  had  an 
origin  from  medical  science  or  art,  but  have  sprung  into  general  use 
from  their  first  application.  Under  this  head  may  be  included  the 
commoner  members  of  the  chemical  families  known  as  the  alcohoh: 
haschish  from  the  Cannabis  indica  (Indian  hemp),  yerba  de  uuaca,  or 
red-thorn  apple,  almauitine,  coca,  absinthe,  arsenic,  tobacco. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  toxical  agents  are  a  numerous  class,  and  if  I 
had  chosen  to  refine,  I  might  have  added  some  further.  In  one  notable 
instance,  and  in  one  or  two  less  notable,  nitrous-oxide  gas,  the  gas  now 
so  commonly  used  by  dentists  as  an  anjesthetic,  has  been  resorted  to  as 
an  habitual  stimulant  and  narcotic ;  but  the  rarity  of  its  use  prevents 
the  necessity  of  doing  more  than  referring  to  it  in  this  place  and  once 
perhaps  again  in'the  sequel.  Of  the  other  agents  it  may  be  said,  in  limine, 
respecting  the  extent  of  their  use,  that  the  alcohols  and  tobacco  stand 
first  on  the  list  in  our  civilized  life.  Next  after  these  come  opium, 
absinthe,  chloral  hydrate,  chlorodyne,  ether,  and  chloroform.  The 
other  substances  are  local  in  the  range  of  their  employment.  Hascliish 
is  an  Eastern  luxury;  amanitine  a  Kamschatkaian  luxury;  arsenic  a 
Styrian  luxury ;  red-thorn  apple  a  luxury  of  the  Indians  of  the 
Andes,  under  the  sweet  influence  of  which  they  enter  into  commuuiou, 
as  they  believe,  with  the  spirits  of  their  departed  dead, — the  best  excuse 
I  have  ever  heard  given  for  the  use  of  any  of  these  indulgences  whatso- 


ever. 


III. 

As  we  cast  our  minds  back  upon  this  long  list  of  toxical  instruments 
for  the  delight  of  man,  we  are  struck  with  the  widely  apparent  differ- 
ence that  seems  to  exist  between  them.  The  difference,  however,  is  not 
so  great  as  it  may  seem,  for  between  the  physiological  action  of  one 
and  the  other  there  ia  an  analogy  of  action  in  certain  particulars  which 
is  singularly  striking.  As  a  rule,  the  key-note  of  the  action  of  these 
agents,  if  I  may  \ise  such  a  simile,  is  through  one  particular  element 
where  many  elements  enter  into  their  composition.  Where  nitrogen  is 
present  as  an  element,  a  definite  line  of  action  of  the  agent  is  marked 
out ;  when  a  hydrocarbon  radical  is  dominant, — that  is  to  say,  when  such 


72A 


THE  COXTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


a  radical  forms  the  chief  part  of  the  compound — the  influeucc  of  that  is 
most  definite ;  while  the  influence  of  one  disturbing  principle  on  another 
may  be  most  clearly  traced  in  other  cases  as  a  neutralizing  influence^ 
ono  influence  reacting  upon  the  other. 

AVe  have  at  hand  mnuy  instances  of  tliis  kind  for  illustration.  Alcobol 
and  tobacco  arc  the  most  ready  examples.  In  the  alcohols,  whichever 
one  of  the  family  of  alcohols  we  may  take,  from  the  least  dangerous  wood 
spirit,  tlirough  the  more  dangerous  grain  spirit,  up  to  the  much  more 
dangeroxis  potato  spirit,  there  is  one  agency  at  work,  a  hydrocarbon 
radical,  methyl,  ethyl,  amyl,  according  to  the  alcohol  used,  which,  with 
different  degrees  of  intensity,  plays  the  same  part,  producing  similar 
genes  of  phenomena.  In  tobacco  wc  have  a  less  decisively  known 
combination  at  work,  but  we  have  in  that  combiuattoo  the  cleuieiit 
nitrogen,  the  introduction  of  M'hich  causes  a  new  development  of 
nervous  phenomena,  tljc  analogous  action  of  which  can  be  traced 
through  some  other  complex  organic  compounds  containing  the  same 
element — nitrogen.  In  chloroform  again  we  have  a  hydrocarbon  radi 
playing  nearly  the  same  part  as  the  radi<ral  methyl  of  mcthylic  alcohol, 
hut  with  chlorine  interposing  to  modify  the  simple  narcotic  action  of 
the  radical,  and  greatly  to  increase  the  danger  of  the  compound  in  its 
effect  on  the  living  body.  Physiological  research  has  not  yet  reached, 
by  vital  analysis  of  action,  a  2)crfection  of  knowledge  on  the  subject  now 
in  hand.  Such  analysis  is  yet  in  its  early  days.  At  the  same  time  a 
general  line  of  research  has  been  made  out,  and  some  results  have  boon 
obtained  which  are  of  direct  practical  value.  Other  facts  have  also  been 
elicited  which  at  first  sight  are  surprising,  but  which  lose  their  singu- 
larity when  they  are  correlated  witli  pure  clicinical  physical  demonstra- 
tions. J  found,  for  example,  in  one  of  my  researches,  that  two  chemical 
substances  which  are  isomeric  iu  constitution — that  is  to  say,  are 
com])oscd  of  the  same  elementary  forma  iu  the  same  proportions,  but 
under  different  arrangement — produce  entirely  different  phenomena  on 
the  animal  body.  These  isomeric  substances  are  the  formiate  of  ethyl 
and  the  acetate  of  methyl. 

Tlie  agents  used  by  man  for  his  dreamy  delights  have  thus  a  varied 
influeuce  on  his  nature.  They  arc  often  rudely  classed  together  as 
luxuries;  but  the  luxurionsncsa  which  they  foster  may  be  fathoms  wide 
until  they  so  far  interfere  with  vital  function  as  to  reduce  its  activity  in 
a  notable  degree.  Then  there  is  something  in  common  between  them, 
just  as  there  is  something  in  common  when,  being  carried  a  little 
ftirthcr,  they  stop  life  altogether. 

For  this  is  interesting  respecting  them,  in  the  most  potent  sense.  Thev 
all  kill  when  we  let  them  have  full  play.  This  is  obviously  the  reasoa 
why  they  are  called  toxicants  and  intoxicants.  They  bear  resemblance 
in  action  to  the  poison  which  once  in  the  history  of  a  past  civilization 
sped  on  the  tip  of  an  arrow  from  a  discharged  bow. 


CHLORAL    .iXD    OTHER   XARCOTICS. 


725 


IV. 

The  toxicants  have  variation  of  action  in  their  early  stages.  Alcohols 
excite  the  mind  and  quicken  the  pulses  l>efore  they  depress.  Opiani 
excites  before  it  depresses.  Tobacco  does  not  in  the  strict  sense  ex- 
cite, but  depresses  and  soothes  from  the  first,  so  that  there  are  stagesj 
which  some  per:ions  always  feel,  when  alcohol  is  antidotal  to  tobacco. 
Amongst  those  persons  who  are  total  abstainers  from  alcohol  few  are 
found  who  can  bear  tobacco  in  the  most  moderate  use  of  it.  Under 
tobacco  the  heart  seems  rapidly  to  run  down  in  power,  and  alcohol  is 
called  for  to  whip  it  up  again^  also  as  it  seems.  The  fact  is  that  the 
heart  is  not  the  organ  primarily  concerned  at  all,  but  the  minute 
yessels  at  the  termination  of  the  arterial  circuit.  These  minute  vessels 
are  under  a  nervous  influence  by  which  the  passage  of  blood  through 
them  is  regulated,  and  which  influence  is  readily  modified  by  very  re- 
fined causes  acting  through  the  organic  or  emotional  nervous  centres. 
The  effect  of  tobacco  on  these  minute  vessels,  through  the  nervous 
system,  is  to  cause  contraction  of  them  as  a  primary  fact,  so  that  the  face 
of  the  person  afiectod  becomes  pale  and  the  surface  of  the  body  cold, 
while  the  heart  labours  to  force  on  the  supply  of  blood  until  its  own 
vascular  system  comes  under  the  influence:  then  the  stomach  involuntarily 
contracts,  and,  after  a  time,  the  voluntary  muscles,  deprived  of  bloodj 
convulse  tremulously,  or  pass  into  active  convulsions,  as  in  tetanus. 
Alcohol,  on  the  other  hand,  through  its  influence  on  nervons  functions, 
relaxes  the  vessels  of  the  minute  circulation,  sets  free  the  heart,  reduces 
the  muscular  power,  and  in  every  particular  counteracts  the  tobacco. 
When  a  person  receives  a  stun,  or  is  shocked  by  some  intelligence,  or 
sight,  or  sound,  that  thereby  stuns  him,  so  that,  like  Hamlet,  he  is 
bechilled 

"Almost  to  jelly  bv  the  act  of  fear, 
Standji  dumb  nna  si>e&k8  not," 

he  is  for  the  moment  in  the  same  state  as  the  man  who  first  tries  to  smoke 
tobacco,  and  who,  with  pallid  face,  cold  surface,  and  reeling  brain,  is  to  his 
sense  and  feeling  stricken  with  all  but  mortal  suffering  and  prostration. 
In  each  of  these  cases  alcohol,  for  a  moment,  acts  as  an  antidote,  not  } 
necessarily  as  the  best  antidote,  but  as  a  fair  one.  \Vhen,  therefore,  we 
see  a  man  smoking  and  drinking,  quaffing  off  the  cup  of  wine  or  spirit 
to  quiet  the  qualm  which  would  otherwise  be  inflicted  by  the  fumes  of 
the  cigar  or  the  pipe,  wc  really  obscne  the  facts  of  a  most  excellently 
though  innocently  devised  physiolrgical  experiment  on  a  li\'ing  animal. 
The  man,  unconsciously  to  his  knowledge,  if  not  to  his  sensation, — 
unless  he  be  a  physiologist, — is  inducing  a  balauce  in  the  tension  of  liis 
arterial  circuit. 

In  process  of  time  the  nen'ous  system  becoming  accustomed  to  these 
influences,  one  or  both,  in  a  certain  degree  tolerates  them,  for  a  period. 
The  tolerance  while  it  lasts  is  an  advantage  to  the  habit,  and,  if  the  habit 

VOL.  xxrv.  S  B 


726  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

were  a  necessity^  it  would  be  a  blessing*  But  the  advantage  is  not 
permanent.  In  the  end  the  nutrition  of  the  organic  parts  which  Vi 
under  the  influence  of  the  same  nervous  regulation  is  sure  to  suffer^  and 
in  many  organizations  to  suffer  rapidly  and  fatally. 

It  is  probable^  if  not  as  yet  proveable^  that  all  the  agents  named 
above  produce  their  specific  effect  by  the  influence  they  exert  over  the 
automatic  self-regulating  nervous  Amotion.  In  my  researches  on  the 
action  of  some  substances  on  the  miuute  circulation^  I  have  been  able  to 
differentiate  their  action  by  this  general  rule.  The  alcohols,  the  lighter 
alcoholsj  including  common  alcohol,  relax  the  vessels;  nicotine  con- 
stringes ;  chloroform,  by  virtue  of  the  chlorine  in  its  composition,  con- 
stringcs;  opium  relaxes,  then  constringcs ;  ether  relaxes;  absinthe,  aAer  a 
time,  constringcs ;  chloral  hydrate  first  constringcs^  and  afterwards  relaxes. 
From  these  differences  of  action  the  differences  of  phenomena  in  the 
persons  affected  arc  explainable.  In  like  manner  the  ultimate  deleterious 
effects  of  these  agents  on  the  nutrition  of  the  body  are  explainable.  Itii 
a  necessary  result,  for  example,  that  under  the  long-continued  use  of 
alcohol  the  constantly  relaxed  and  congested  vessels  should  assume  a 
new  character  and  local  function ;  that  the  parts  depending  on  them  for 
their  supplies  of  blood  should  be  changed  from  the  natural  structure  to 
unnatural  but  definable,  and  now  well- understood  conditions  of  disease. 
It  is  an  equally  necessary  result  that  under  the  continued  influence  of 
opium  the  constantly  constringcd  vessels  should  assume  a  new  local  fuQC- 
tion;  that  nutrition  should  be  arrested  in  the  parts  which  those  vessels 
supply  with  blood ;  and  that  the  shrunken,  impoverished  body  of  the  con- 
firmed opium-eater  should  be  an  outward  and  visible  sign  of  the  internal 
changes  which  arc  bciug  so  assiduously  and  detcrminatcly  carried  into 
effect  by  the  narcotic. 

When  these  facts  respecting  the  direct  physical  action  of  various  toxical 
agents  on  the  body,  through  the  line  of  the  involuntary  nervous  system, 
are  understood,  they  connect,  through  the  same  direction,  the  effects  of 
more  refined  and  much  less  definable  influences.  Tliey  show  how  psy- 
chological phases  are  ever  at  hand  to  modify  nutritive  changes :  how 
grief,  which  shocks  and  dissevers  the  organic  nervous  supply,  affects  the 
animal  life  so  deleteriously,  exciting  and  reducing,  and  sometimes  in  part 
disabling  altogether  parts  of  the  organic  nervous  track.  Tlicy  indicate 
how  an  equable  ner^'ous  current  is  conducive  to  permanent  nutritive 
activity  and  health,  and  show  physiologically  that  to  laugh  and  grow  fat 
is  after  all  a  mechanical  proposition.  I  must  not,  however,  be  tempted 
away  into  an  inviting  field  of  observation,  in  which  the  physical  and  the 
metaphysical  so  neatly  blend. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  action  of  the  different  toxicants  to 
which  I  am  directing  attention,  and  which  arc  in  most  common  use 
amongst  members  of  the  human  family,  have  in  some  cases  a  similar 
action,  and  in  other  cases  a  dissimilar  action  on  the  members  of  the 
lower   creation.      The   alcohols  appear  to  possess  a   toxical  inflnence 


CHLORAL    AND    OTHER    NARCOTICS, 


727 


througliout  all  the  domain  of  living  animal  beings.  I  can  find  no 
animals  that  escape  the  immediate  action  of  the  alcohols,  or  the  remote 
effects  which  occur  when  the  changes  excited  by  the  alcohols  are  often 
repeated.  All  our  domestic  animals  come  quickly  under  the  ban.  Birds 
and  fishes  do  the  same.  Chlorofonuj  chloral  hydrate^  and  absinthe  seem 
to  exert  a  similar  wide  range  of  action.  Tobacco  is  not  so  extended  in 
its  range.  There  are  animals  that  can  take  with  perfect  impunity  a  dose 
of  tobacco  which  would  poison  three  or  four  men.  The  goat  is  an 
animal  which  can  resist  the  noxious,  but  to  it  innoxious^  weed. 

Opium  can  be  resisted  by  certain  auimals  with  equal  readiness. 
A  pigeon  will  practically  live  on  opium.  A  pigeon  will  swallow  with 
impunity  as  much  solid  opium  as  would  throw  twelve  adult  men  into 
the  deepest  narcotism.  Indeed,  it  is  uot  correct  to  say  that  to  pigeons 
opium  is  in  any  sense  a  poison. 

The  reasons  for  these  exceptions  are  not  clearly  made  out.  The 
probability  is  that  the  animals  which  take  the  intoxicants  with  so  much 
impunity  produce  some  form  of  decomposition  of  the  agent  in  their 
own  bodies,  by  which  the  active  alkaloidal  substance  is  reudcrwl  neutral 
in  effect,  or,  at  all  events,  is  much  neutralized. 


There  is  a  fact  of  singular  interest  in  relation  to  the  intoxicants  I 
have  now  described  or  named,  and  which  before  I  proceed  further  should 
be  carefully  noticed.  The  fact  is  this  : — That  when  the  agents  produce 
a  definite  effect  ujwn  a  living  body,  whether  it  be  a  human  body  or  tlie 
body  of  an  auimal  that  possesses  desires  and  Ukings,  there  is  caused  iu 
that  body,  after  a  number  of  times  of  practice,  a  craving  or  desire  for 
the  agent  that  produced  the  effect.  In  man  this  is  so  marked  that  the 
most  repugnant  and  painful  of  lessons  connected  with  the  first  subjection 
to  the  agent  is  soon  forgotten  in  the  acquired  after-sense  of  craving  or 
desire.  It  really  matters  little  which  of  the  intoxicants  it  is  that  is  learned 
to  be  craved  for;  the  craving  for  it  will  continue  when  it  has  struck  an 
abiding  impression.  We  know  this  fact  well  from  the  wide  experience 
that  has  been  gained  of  it  in  the  cases  of  alcohol,  tobacco,  opium,  chloral, 
haschsish,  absinthe,  and  arsenic.  More  incongruous  things  could  scarcely 
be;  incongruous  to  the  senses,  to  the  sensibilities,  to  the  methods  of  taking, 
to  the  result  of  them ;  yet  the  craving  for  any  one  of  them  as  it  is  may 
be  established.  The  devotee  to  one  will  laugh  at  the  devotee  to  another ; 
each  one  will  consider  the  other  almost  insane,  and  yet  each  will  follow 
bis  own  course. 

Still  more  curious  is  it  that  the  substances  craved  for,  which  lie 
quite  outside  the  natural  wants  of  healthy  life,  may  be  extended  to  any 
number.  There  is  in  truth  hardly  a  substance  to  which  the  craving 
may  not  cling.  The  distinguished  Dr.  Huxham  had  under  his  ob- 
servation a  man  who,  after  a  little  practice  in  the  habit  of  taking  it, 
had  a  craving  for  the  salt  now  called  liicarbonate  of  ammonia.      The  man. 


k 


3  b2 


7::3 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


chewed  tLis  salt  and  swallowed  it  in  the  same  way  as  he  might  hare 
swallowed  peppermint  lozeuges.  The  effect  of  the  salt  was  to  produce 
extreme  fluidity  of  the  blood  of  tlic  man,  so  that  he  became  scorbutic, 
and  to  cause  loosening  of  his  teeth.  It  also  reduced  his  strength, 
and  even  placed  his  life  In  jeopardy ;  and  yet  his  craving  for  the 
ammonia  remained  unappeascd  until  hts  danger  was  so  great  that 
the  noxious  thing  had  to  be  withheld  altogether.  The  great  Sir 
Humphrey  Davy  gives  another,  and  it  may  be  still  more  remarkable, 
experience  in  relation  to  himself.  When  he  was  making  his  wonderful 
researches  with  nitrous  oxide  gas,  he  comraencedj  at  first  for  the  mere 
sake  of  experiment,  to  inhale  the  gas  in  free  quantities.  By  thid 
process  of  inhalation  he  obtained  the  most  delicious  of  visions.  Space 
seemed  to  liini  illimitable,  and  time  extended  infinitely,  so  that  comiug 
out  of  one  of  these  trances  he  cxclnimcd,  "  Nothing  exists  but  thoughts  ; 
the  universe  is  composed  of  imprcssionsj  ideaSj  pleasures,  and  pains!" 
In  course  of  time  Davy,  by  the  frequent  repetition  of  the  process  oX 
iuhalation,  became  so  infatuated  that  he  could  uot  look  at  a  gat- 
holder,  could  not  look  at  a  person  breathing, — I  am  using  his  own 
descriptionj — without  esi>criencing  the  urgent  sense  of  desire  to  once 
more  imbibe  his  favourite  gaseous  nectar,  and  revel  in  his  induced  and 
artificial  dreama.  How  closely  this  confcs-sion  runs,  even  from  the  pen  of 
a  philosopher,  to  similar  eoiifcbsions  made  by  many  who  are  not 
philosophers,  respecting  another  purely  chemical  intoxicant  which  is  more 
generally  known  than  Sir  lluniphrcy's  gas,  I  need  not  stay  to  explain. 

An  experience,  closely  allied  to  the  above,  occurred  to  a  scientific 
friend  of  mine  in  relation  to  another  intoxicant,  namely — chloroform. 
This  gentleman,  commencing  like  Sir  Humphrey  with  the  inhalation  of 
chloroform  for  purposes  of  experiment,  at  last  began  daily  to  inhale  a 
certain  measured  quantity.  In  a  few  days  he  increased  the  quantity, 
and  at  last  discovered,  from  the  intervals  of  time  which  elapsed  after  he 
commenced  each  inhalation,  that  he  must  have  gone  off  into  deep  sleep 
and  so  have  forgotten  to  note  the  passage  of  time.  At  first  the  sense  of 
desire  to  repeat  the  inhalation  alarmed  him  greatly,  but  soon  the 
desire  overcame  all  sense  of  fear,  and  at  last  he  became  a  complete 
devotee  to  the  practice.  A  break-down  in  his  health  led  him  to  com- 
municate his  position  to  liis  friends,  and  by  the  earnest  advice  and 
warning  of  one  of  them  he  did  at  last  resolve  to  abstain  altogether. 
It  was  a  very  difficult  fight,  the  odour  of  the  vapour  whenever  he  was 
near  to  it  recalling  most  keenly  the  old  desire,  and  even  four  bears 
elaj>.scd  before  he  felt  himself  fully  emancipated  from  the  dangerous  habit. 

The  craving  attaches  itself  to  other  substances  than  I  have  hitherto 
named.  I  have  known  it  connected  with  that  moat  nauseous  of  all 
medicines,  assafoetida;  I  have  known  it  strongly  attach  itself  to  another 
medicine,  valerian  ;  and  once  I  knew  it  attach  itself  to  turpentine.  My 
learned  and  very  good  friend,  the  late  Dr.  Willis,  of  Barnes,  had  a 
patient   who  acquired   the  cniving    for   common  wood  or  methylated 


I 


CHLORAL    AXD   OTHEfi   NARCOTICS. 


729 


spirit ;  and  there  arc  many  who  have  acquired  a  liking  for  spirit  that  is 
Havoured  or  more  than  tiavoured  with  fusel  oil. 

The  readiness  with  which  mankind  will  attach  themselves  to  varied 
cravings  is  shown  again  and  on  a  comparatively  large  scale  in  the  North 
of  Ireland.  In  a  district  there  of  which  Draper's  Town  is  the  centre, 
the  eminent  Father  Mathew  laboured  in  his  life-time  with  such 
magical  effect  that  he  practically  converted  the  whole  district  to 
sabriety,  A  little  after  his  time,  and  when  the  influence  of  his  work 
was  fading  away,  a  person  came  into  the  district  and  introduced  a  new 
beverage  or  drink  which  was  not  whiskey,  which  was  not  strong  drink, 
and  which  it  was  said  would  do  no  harm.  The  bait  took,  and  for  over 
thirty  years  there  has  existed  in  the  place  I  have  named  a  generation  or 
two  of  ether  drinkers.  I  have  visited  this  place  recently  and  found  the 
habit  still  in  progress.  The  ether  drinker  tosses  off  his  two  or  three 
ounces  of  cjmmon  ether,  as  another  man  tos.sc3  off  gin  or  whiskey.  He 
passes  rapidly  into  a  state  of  quick  excitement  and  intoxication,  is  often 
senseless  for  a  brief  period,  and  then  rapidly  regains  the  sober  state.  He 
suffers  less  from  this  process  in  the  way  of  organic  disease  than  he 
would  fro'n  a  similar  number  of  intoxications  from  alcohol;  but  he  gains 
as  he  would  from  alcohol  the  same  intense  craving,  and  the  craving 
presents  a  similar  automatic  and  periodical  rule  as  has  been  observed  in 
relation  to  the  habitual  employment  of  other  active  and  enticing  poisonous 
compounds. 


TI. 

The  nature  of  these  cravings  is  not  more  singular  than  its  intensity 
when  once  it  has  been  acquired.  The  most  practised  craver  can  rarely 
succeed  in  explaining  upon  what  the  craving  really  depends.  It  is  an 
indefinable  desire.  It  is  neither  thirst,  nor  hunger,  nor  pleasure,  nor 
reasonable  want.  It  is  rather  like  a  wish  to  be  relievctl  for  the  moment 
of  some  indescribable  sense  of  pain  or  discomfort.  It  is  often  perio- 
dical in  its  occurrence,  and  it  can,  I  believe,  always  be  made  perfectly 
periodical,  a  fact  which  connects  it  very  closely  with  the  work  of  the 
organic  nen'ous  system.  In  a  word,  in  the  confirmed  craver  the  work  of 
the  organic  ncnons  system,  which  is  singularly  periodical  and  rhythmical 
in  the  natural  state,  is,  by  these  agents,  turned  into  a  new  direction,  aud 
is  made  to  take  on  a  new  action  which  in  steady  form  repeats  itself. 
I  have  in  my  house  an  eight-day  clock  which,  though  a  century 
old,  does  good  aud  faithful  work,  except  at  two  times  in  the  twenty- 
four  hours,  when  it  goes  periodically  astray.  From  some  little  twist  or 
wear  in  the  machinery,  it  stops  for  a  moment  in  the  act  of  striking  at 
one  particular  stroke  of  the  bell,  and  on  listening  to  it  it  seems  as 
if  the  striking  had  concluded.  Then  it  strikes  feebly  and  goes  on  again 
all  right.  The  working  of  the  involuntary  nervous  system  in  health  is 
as  automatic  and  regular  as  the  working  of  the  time-piece ;  damagedi 
it  is  as  systematically  deranged  at  particular  perio<ls. 


780 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJV 


The  injury  from  iutoxicants  after  the  first  nntomatic  derange- 
ment has  been  established  by  them  is  not  to  be  measured  altogctLcr 
by  the  first  and  usual  derangement.  Unfortunately,  the  action  of 
the  intoxieaut  extends  beyond  the  mere  effect  of  the  craving  that 
springs  from  it,  and  involves  in  its  evils  structural  parts  of  the  animal  body. 
Tlie  nutrition  of  the  degraded  structuresj  the  sense  of  muscuhir  and 
mental  fatigue  is  soon  rendered  easy  of  development ;  and,  pari 
pa88u,  tlie  mind,  seeking  for  aid  in  the  influences  it  likes,  finds  a 
supposed  aid  in  the  intoxicant.  It  takes  the  destniclivc  agent  more 
frequently,  thereby  establishing  a  more  frequent  periodicity  of  de«ire, 
and  a  more  earnest  cravitig.  By  these  combined  influences,  as  is  so 
commonly  observed  iu  tlie  intemperate  from  alcohol,  the  craving 
increases  as  the  animal  powers  decline,  and  the  tendency  to  death  ia 
vastly  quickened  in  its  course.  To  ordinary  comprehension,  in  th 
instances,  the  craving  and  the  sinking  are  the  same  acts.  They 
become  so  at  last  in  effect,  but  their  beginnings  are  quite  distinct,  and 
they  are,  in  the  strictest  expression  of  fact^  distinct  phenomena  even  to 
the  end. 

Tlie  craving  fur  these  intoxicants,  so  strong  iu  the  habituated  amongst 
men,  is  not  confined  to  human  kind.  The  beast  that  can  be  brough 
to  taste  these  agents,  and  that  can  be  affected  by  them,  can  be  equoll^r 
well  taught  to  crave  for  them,  and  to  look  out  for  them  also  with 
automatic  aud  periodical  precision.  I  know  of  no  domestic  animal 
that  cannot  be  trained  to  look  out  for  these  agents  when  the  training 
is  conducted  with  skill  and  with  determination.  Like  young  children 
and  those  persons  of  later  life  who  have  never  tasted  the  agents  in 
any  form,  nor  experienced  the  sensations  which  come  from  them,  t 
lower  animals  reject  them  at  first,  strive  against  them,  and  evidentl; 
are  much  disquieted  and  perplexed  by  the  results  which  follow  their 
But  to  err  is  iithuman  as  well  as  human,  and  so  the  beasts  that  perish 
even  they  err  and  learn  to  like  it.  In  the  beast  as  in  the  man,  the 
train  of  events  follows  the  same  course.  The  craving  becomes  con- 
nected almost  immediately  with  deterioration,  and  at  last  the  two  condi- 
tions of  desire  and  decay  are  spun  into  the  same  woof,  and  appear  as 
the  same  substance. 

vn. 

It  may  be  interesting  at  this  point  to  particularize  the  character 
the  influence  exercised  on  life  by  certain  of  the  agents  we  have 
under  eonaideration.  With  the  action  of  alcohol  and  tobacco  we  are 
all  so  familiar  it  is  not  necessary  to  repeat  what  is  known  of  them  as 
members  of  the  toxical  family  of  luxury.  Let  me  rather  devote  a  few 
pages  to  the  consideration  of  two  or  three  of.  the  less  commonly  used 
agcuts,  with  the  dangers  of  which  the  public  mind  is  not  so  strongly 
impressed,  and  ivith  the  facts  of  which  it  is  not  so  conversant.  I  will 
take  three  of  these  as  the  most  important  at  the  present  time — namely^ 
chloral  hydrate,  opium,  and  absinthe. 


CHLORAL   AND    OTHER   NARCOTICS, 


TBI 


TLe  serious  truth  that  chloral  hydrate  after  its  introduetiou  into 
mediciue  was  soon  made  use  of  as  a  toxical  luxury  has  already  been  ad- 
verted to.  At  the  mectiug  of  the  British  Association  for  the  Advancement 
of  Science,  held  in  Edinburgh  iu  the  year  1871, 1  drew  earnest  attention 
to  this  subject.  I  said — and  the  words  were  published  in  the  Report  of 
that  year  (p.  147) — "  There  is  another  subject  of  public  interest  connected 
with  the  employment  of  chloral  hydrate.  I  refer  to  the  increasing 
habitual  use  of  it  as  a  narcotic.  As  there  arc  alcoholic  intcmpcrants 
and  opium-eatei*8,  so  now  there  are  those  who,  beginning  to  take  chloral 
hydrate  to  relieve  pain  or  to  procure  sleep,  get  into  the  fixed  habit  of 
taking  it  several  times  daily  and  in  full  doses.  I  would  state  from  this 
public  place  as  earnestly  and  as  forcibly  as  I  can  that  this  growing 
practice  is  alike  injurious  to  the  mental,  the  moral,  and  the  purely  physical 
life,  and  that  the  confirmed  habit  of  taking  chloral  hydrate  leads  to  inevit- 
able and  confirmed  disease.  Under  it  the  digestion  gets  impaired ;  natural 
tendeucy  to  sleep  and  natural  sleep  is  impaired ;  the  blood  is  changed 
in  quality,  its  plastic  properties  and  its  capacity  for  oxidation  being 
reduceil  ;  the  secretions  are  depraved,  and  the  nervous  system  losing 
its  regulating  controlling  power,  the  muscles  become  unsteady,  the 
heart  irregular  and  intermittent,  and  the  mind  cicitcd,  uncertain, 
and  unstable.  To  crown  the  mischief,  iu  not  a  few  cases  already  the 
habitual  dose  has  been  the  last,  involuntary  or  rather  unintentional 
suicide  closing  the  scene.  I  press  these  facts  on  public  attention  not 
one  moment  too  soon,  and  T  add  to  them  the  further  facts  that  hydrate 
of  chloral  is  purely  and  absolutely  a  medicine,  and  that  whenever  its 
administration  is  not  guided  by  medical  science  and  experience,  it  cevaeft 
to  be  a  boon,  and  becomes  a  curse  to  mankind." 

Tliis  was  stated  within  two  years  after  the  substance  chloral  hydrate 
came  into  inedical  use.  If  at  that  time  the  mind  of  the  public  had  been 
as  ripe  as  it  is  now  for  the  acceptance  of  the  truth,  or  if  I  could 
then  have  reached  the  car  of  the  public  more  plainly,  much  evil  might 
have  been  nipped  in  the  bud.  As  it  w^s,  the  warning  had  little  effect, 
except  to  expose  me  to  adverse  criticism  as  an  alarmist,  and  the 
evil  has  gone  on  with  increasing  rapidity  and  mischief.  There  is  at  the 
present  time  a  considerable  community  addicted  to  the  habitual  use  of 
chloral  hydrate  on  one  ^jretence  or  another,  and  a  learned  medical 
society  has  recently  framed  a  scries  of  written  questions  on  the  subject, 
which  questions  it  has  felt  it  expedient  to  address  to  members  of  the 
profession  of  medicine  generally  for  their  replies. 

The  persons  who  become  habituated  to  chloral  hydrate  arc  of 
two  or  three  clasacs  as  a  rule.  Some  have  originally  taken  the 
narcotic  to  relieve  pain,  using  it  in  the  earliest  application  of  it 
for  a  true  medicinal  and  legitimate  object,  probably  under  medical 
direction.  Finding  that  it  gave  relief  and  repose,  they  have  con- 
tiuued  the  use  of  it,  and  at  last  have  got  so  abnormally  under  its 
influence   that  they  cannot   get  to   sleep   if  they  fail  to  resort    to  it. 


732 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


A  second  class  of  persons  who  take  to  chloral  are  alcoholic  tzieb^H| 
who  have  arrived  at  that  stage  of  alcoholism  when  sleep  is  always  dis- 
turbed, and  often  nearly  impossible.  These  persons  at  first  wake  many  times 
in  the  night  with  coldness  of  the  lower  limha,  cold  sweatings,  starlings,  and 
restless  dreamings.  In  a  little  time  they  become  nervous  about  submit- 
ting themselves  to  sleep,  and  before  long  habituate  themselves  to  watchiuj- 
ness  and  restlessness,  until  a  confirmed  insomnia  is  the  result.  Worn 
out  with  sleeplessness,  and  failing  to  find  any  relief  that  is  satisfactory 
or  safe  in  their  false  fricud  alcohol,  they  turn  to  chloral,  and  in  it 
find  for  a  season  the  oblivion  which  they  desire,  and  which  they  call 
rest.  It  is  a  kind  of  rest,  and  is  no  doubt  better  than  no  rest  at  all; 
bnt  it  leads  to  the  unhealthy  states  that  wc  are  now  conversant  with, 
and  it  rather  promotes  than  destroys  the  craving  for  alcohol.  In 
short,  the  man  who  takes  to  chloral  after  alcohol,  enlists  two  cravings 
for  a  single  craving,  and  is  double-shotted  in  the  worst  sense.  A  third 
class  of  men  who  become  habituated  to  the  use  of  chloral  arft  men  o*" 
extremely  nen'ous  and  excitable  temperament,  who  by  nature,  and 
often  by  the  labours  in  which  they  are  occupied,  become  bad  sleepers. 
A  little  thing  in  the  course  of  their  daily  routine  oppresses  them. 
"What  to  other  men  is  passing  annoyance,  thrown  off  with  the  next  step, 
is  to  these  men  a  worry  and  auxicty  of  hours.  They  are  over-susceptible 
of  what  is  said  of  them,  and  of  their  work,  however  good  the  work  may 
be.  They  are  too  elated  when  praised,  aiul  too  depressed  Avhen  not 
praised^  or  dispraised.  They  fail  to  play  character  parts  on  the  stage  of  | 
this  worldj  and  as  they  lie  down  to  rest  they  take  all  -  their  carcfl 
and  anxieties  into  bed  with  them,  in  the  liveliest  state  of  pcrturl)ation. 
Unable  in  this  condition  to  sleep^  and  not  knowing  a  more  natural  remedy,' 
they  resort  to  the  use  of  such  an  instrument  as  chloral  hydrate.  They 
begin  with  a  moderate  dose ;  increase  the  dose  as  occasion  seems  to 
demand,  and  at  last,  in  what  they  consider  a  safe  and  moderate  system 
of  employing  it,  they  depend  on  the  narcotic  for  their  falsified  repose. 

Amongst  these  classes  of  men  the  use  of  chloral  hydrate  is  on  the 
increase.  The  use  is  essentially  a  bad  business  at  the  best,  and  while  I  do 
not  wish  in  the  least  to  exaggerate  the  danger  springing  from  it, — while, 
indeed,  I  am  willing  to  state  that  I  have  never  been  able  to  trace  out  a 
series  of  fatal  organic  chauges  of  a  structural  character  from  such  use^ 
I  have  certainly  seen  a  great  deal  of  temporary  disturbance  and  enfceble-j 
ment  from  it,  without  any  coiTCspouding  advantage  that  might  be  set 
forth  as  an  exchange  of  some  good  for  some  harm,  Tlie  conclusion  I 
have  been  forced  to  arrive  at  is  iu  brief  to  this  effect :  that  if  chloi 
hydrate  cannot  be  kept  for  use  within  its  legitimate  sphere  as  a  medicine, 
to  be  prescribed  by  the  physician  according  to  his  judgment,  and  by  him 
as  rarely  as  is  possiblCj  it  were  better  for  mankind  not  to  have  it  at  an; 
price. 

I  expressed  an  opinion  in   1876  that  the  use  of  opium  as  a  toxical 
agent  to  which  persons  habituate  themselves,  is  dying  out  in  this  country. 


CHLORAL    JXD    OTHER   XARCOTICS. 


'3i 


1  sec  uo  reason  to  modify  that  view  now.  T  am  quite  sme  that  araongat 
tlfc  better  classes  the  practice  of  taking  opium  is  less  commoa  than  it 
was  formerly.,  and  I  believe  that  chloral  hydrate  has  moro  than  usurped 
its  place.  The  idea,  gathered  from  one  or  two  local  practices,  which, 
like  a  fashion^  come  and  go,  that  opium-eating  is  on  the  increase  among 
the  poorer  members  of  society  is,  I  believe,  equally  fallacious.  I  can 
discover  no  warranty  for  any  such  a  general  and  sweeping  assumption. 
As  to  the  assertion  that  those  who  are  by  their  pledge  removed  from  the 
use  of  alcoholic  drinks,  who  are  professed  abstainers,  are  more  addicted 
to  opium-eating  than  alcoholic  drinkers,  the  idea  is  too  absurd,  and  can 
only  have  been  suggested  for  the  sake  of  the  mischief  that  might  follow  a 
promulgation  of  the  notion,  that  because  one  devil  is  east  out  of  a  man 
another  must  enter  that  is  worse  than  the  first.  The  facts  really  tell 
all  the  other  way.  The  facts  in  the  main  are  that  those  men  and  women 
who  from  principle  abstain  from  one  form  of  intoxicant,  most  resolutely 
abjure  all  forms ;  and  that  those  who  indulge  in  one  form  are  more  apt 
than  the  rest  to  indulge  in  more  than  one.  In  the  course  of  my  career 
I  have  met  with  some  persons  of  English  society  who  have  indulged  in 
the  use  of  opium  ;  but  I  have  never  met  one  such  who  did  not  also 
take  wine  or  some  other  kiud  of  alcoholic  drink.  Putting  the  matter 
in  another  way,  I  can  solemnly  say  that  in  the  whole  of  my  intercourse 
with  the  abstaining  community,  and  few  men  indeed  have  been  thrown 
more  into  contact  with  that  community,  I  have  never  met  with  an  instance 
that  afforded  so  ranch  as  a  siupicion  of  the  practice  of  indulging  in  nar- 
cotism from  opium,  or  any  other  similar  drug.  I  have  never  yet  met 
with  an  abstainer  who  was  even  habituated  to  the  use  of  chloral  hydrate. 
A  few  abstainers  smoke  tobacco,  but  as  the  habit  seriously  taxes  their 
physical  health,  most  of  them  in  due  time  forego  even  the  luxury  of  the 
weed  so  soon  as  they  discover  its  injuriousness. 

The  actual  opium-eaters  of  modern  society,  who  form  a  natural 
part  of  the  nation  as  English  people,  are  extremely  limited  in  number, 
so  limited  that  the  mortality  returns  give  no  clue  to  them  as  a  class 
suffering  from  the  indulgence.  I  know  not  either  of  any  physician  or 
pathologist  who  has  made  a  study  of  the  organic  changes  induced  in  the 
bodies  of  natives  of  these  islands  who  have  died  from  the  effects  of  opium. 
Still  there  are  a  few  who  indulge  ;  and  I  fear  that  amongst  the  children  of 
the  poor,  the  infant  children,  the  use  of  narcotics  containing  opium  is  an 
abused,  much  abused  system.  The  adults  who  indulge  are,  according  to 
my  experience,  of  three  classes.  There  are  some  who  in  the  course  of 
disease  attended  with  long  continued  acute  pain,  like  neuralgia  pain,  have 
found  relief  from  opium,  and  who  having  so  become  habituated  to  its  use 
keep  up  the  habit  sometimes  because  they  feel  that  they  cannot  sleep  with- 
out the  drug,  and  sometimes  because  they  have  learned  to  experience  a 
real  luxurj^  from  its  use.  There  is  a  limited  section  that  has  learned  the 
practice  of  swallowing  or  of  smoking  opium  from  some  Eastern  associa- 
tion, and  is  professed  in  the    practice  in  a  certain   moderate  degree. 


734 


THE  CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW 


Lastly,  there  are  a  few  doubtless  aipongst  the  poorest  of  the  commuuiij, 
who  in  some  particulnr  localities  learu  to  partake  of  the  narcotic,  often  not 
bciug  aware  of  its  true  nature,  and  obtaining  it  under  some  fanciful  name 
wliich  has  no  direct  reference  to  the  narcotic  itself. 

To  the  few  who  in  these  classes  may  be  called  opium-eaters  might 
be  added  a  small  number  of  alcoholic  inebriates  who  partake  of  an  opiate 
occasionally  with  their  spirituous  potations. 

To  whichever  class  tliey  who  habitually  resort  to  opium  may  belong 
they  pay  dearly  for  their  temporary  pleasure.  They  are  a  miserable 
set  in  mind  as  in  body.  They  are  prcservcdj  as  it  werCj  iu  misery; 
they  do  not  suffer  acute  diseases  from  their  enemy,  as  the  alcoholics 
do,  by  which  their  lives  arc  abruptly  cut  short,  but  they  coutinue 
depressed  iu  mind,  feeble  and  emaciatcfl  in  body,  and  incapable  of  any 
long-continued  effort.  Dc  Quincey,  in  language  somewhat  figurative 
and  poetical^  1ms  described  the  class  with  a  force,  and  on  the  whole  a 
correctness,  which  may  be  accepted  as  a  faithful  record. 

I  cannot  report  even  so  favourably  on  the  use  of  absinthe  as  I  have 
reported  above  on  the  use  of  opium.  There  cannot,  I  fcar^  be  s 
doubt  that  iu  large  and  closely-packed  tow  us  and  cities  the  consump- 
tion of  absinthe  is  on  the  increase.  In  London  it  is  decidedly  on 
the  increase.  It  is  not  possible  to  find  a  street  in  some  parts  of 
the  metropolis  in  which  the  word  "  absinthe'^  does  not  meet  the 
eye  in  the  windows  of  houses  devoted  to  the  sale  of  other  intoxicating 
and  lethal  drinks.  Much  of  this  advertisement  of  an  unusually  dange- 
rous poison  is  made  from  ignorance  of  its  nature  as  much  as  from  cupidity. 
The  suggestion  for  offering  absinthe  is  that  it  is  an  agreeable  bitter,  that 
it  gives  an  appetite,  and  that  it  gives  tone  to  weak  digestions.  It  is 
proffered  much  in  the  same  manner  as  gin  and  bitters,  and  as  in  some 
private  houses  sherry  and  bitters  are  proffered.  If  you  ask  a  seller  of 
absinthe  what  he  vends  it  for,  he  tells  yon,  "  As  a  tonic  to  help  digestion." 

Tliere  is  no  more  terrible  mistake  than  this  statement.  Absinthe, 
as  it  is  made  in  France,  from  whence  it  is  imported,  is  a  mixture 
of  essence  of  wormwood  {absinthium),  sweet  flag,  aniseed,  angelica 
rootj  and  alcohol.  It  is  coloured  green  with  the  leaves  or  the  juice  of 
smallagc,  spiuage,  or  nettles.  It  is  commonly  adulterated.  M.  Derhcims 
found  it  adulterated  with  sulphate  of  copper,  blue  vitriol,  which 
substance  is  added  iu  order  to  give  the  required  greenish  colour 
or  tint,  as  well  as  to  afford  a  slight  causticity,  which,  to  depraved  tastes, 
is  considered  the  right  thiug  to  taste  and  swallow.  M.  Stanislas 
Martin  stated  that  he  found  chloride  of  antimony,  commonly  called  butter 
of  antimony,  as  another  adulteration,  used  also  to  give  the  colour. 
Chevalier  doubts  tliis  latter  adulteration,  but  the  adulteration  with  the 
sidphate  of  copper  is  not  disputed.  Tlie  proportion  of  essence  of  worm- 
wood to  the  alcohol  is  live  drachms  of  the  essence  to  one  hundred  quarts 
of  alcohol.  The  action  of  absinthe  on  those  who  become  habituated  to 
its  use  is   most  deleterious.     The  bitterness   increases   the   craving  or 


CHLORAL  AND  OTHER    NARCOTICS, 


735 


desircj  and  the  coudrmed  hubilu^  is  suon  unable  tu  take  fuod  uutLl  he 
is  duly  primed  for  it  by  the  deadly  provocative.  On  the  nervous 
system  the  influence  of  the  absinthium  essence  is  differcut  from  the  action 
of  the  alcohol.  The  absinthium  acts  rather  after  the  manner  of  nico- 
tine; but  it  is  slower  in  taking  effect  than  the  alcohol  which  accom- 
panies it  into  the  organism.  There  is  therefore  felt  by  the  drinker 
first  the  exciting  relaxing  influence  of  the  alcohol^  and  afterwards  the  cou- 
8tringing  suppressing  inttucncc  of  the  secondary  and  more  slowly  acting 
poison.  The  sufferer^  for  he  must  be  so  called^  is  left  cold,  tremulous^ 
unsteady  of  movemcutj  and  nauseated.  If  his  dose  be  large,  these 
phenomena  are  exaggerated,  and  the  voluntary  muscles,  bereft  of  the 
control  of  the  will,  are  thrown  into  epileptiform  convulsions,  attended  with 
tmconsciousness  and  with  au  oblivion  to  all  surrounding  objects  which 
I  have  known  to  last  for  six  or  seven  Lours,  lu  the  worst  examples  of 
poisoning  from  absinthe  the  person  becomes  a  confirmed  epileptic. 

In  addition  to  these  general  indications  of  evil  there  are  certain 
local  indications  not  less  severe,  not  less  dangerous.  The  effect  which 
the  absinthe  exerts  iu  a  direct  way  on  the  stomach  would  alone  be 
sufficiently  pernicious.  It  controls  for  mischief  the  natural  power  of 
the  stomach  to  secrete  healthy  digestive  fluid.  It  interferes  with  the 
solvent  power  of  that  fluid  itself,  so  that  taken  in  what  is  considered  to 
be  a  moderate  quantity,  one  or  two  wine-glassfuls  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  it  soon  establishes  in  the  victim  subjected  to  it  a  permanent 
dyspepsia.  The  appetite  is  so  perverted  that  all  desire  for  food  ia 
quenched  until  the  desire  is  feebly  whipped  up  by  another  draught  of  tlic 
destroyer.  In  a  word,  a  more  consummate  devil  of  destruction  could  not 
be  concocted  by  the  finest  skill  of  science  devoted  to  the  worst  of  pur- 
poses than  is  concocted  iu  this  destructive  agent,  absinthe.  It  is  doubly 
lethal,  and  ought  to  be  put  down  peremptorily  iu  all  places  where  it  is 
sold.  Our  magistrates  have  full  power  to  deal  with  this  poison,  if  they 
had  the  discretion  and  the  courage  to  use  their  power.  They  could 
prohibit  the  licence  to  all  who  sell  the  poison.  Beyond  this,  there  is 
another  power  that  ought  to  come  into  play.  Absinthe  should  be 
under  the  control  of  the  Sale  of  Poisons  Act,  and  no  person  ought  to 
be  able  to  get  it  in  any  form  at  all  without  signing  a  book  and  going 
through  all  tlie  necessary  formality  for  the  purchase  of  a  poison.  To 
move  the  country  to  a  due  regard  for  its  own  interests  as  well  as  for 
the  interests  of  the  ignorant  and  deluded  toxico-maniacs  who  indulge 
in  absinthe,  is  the  duty  of  all  honest  and  truthful  men. 


L 


VIII, 

It  is  my  business  in  the  remaining  part  of  this  communication  to 
deal  with  a  question  which  springs  out  of  the  practice  of  using  lethal 
agents,  and  with  which  the  minds  of  the  thinking  community  are  sorely 
exercised.  The  question  I  i-cfcr  to  is — Whether  the  use  of  these  agents 
springs  from  a  natural  desire  uu  the  pait  of  maii^  and  of  animals  lower 


733 


THE    COSTKMPOnAnV    UEIIEIV, 


than  man,  for  sach  agents  ;  or  whether  it  sprioga  from  a  pcrversioQ  on 
unnatural  provocatiou  acquired  aud  transmitted  in  hereditary  line,  x\ 
toxico-mauia,  in  plain  and  decisive  language. 

In  respect   to   the    idea  that  these  agents   are  demanded  by  liviogj 
animals  as  necessities  of   their    transitory    existence  aud  residence  oaj 
this    earth,   it    must    he    obvious   that    the    ai^ument,    as    so    stated,' 
is    baaed    on    the    desire    which    has    been  impressed  on  tlie  miud  of 
the    rcasoners   by   the  agents  themselves.       It   is  quite    certain    that 
men,    and    all    the    lower    animals,    can    live    without     the    supposed 
aid  afforded  by  these  substances,  aud  that  when  they  are  not  known  life] 
goes  on  smoothly  and  happily  enough  in  their  absence.     They  therefore 
arc  only  pleaded  for  when  they  have  made  themselves  felt,  which  looks 
strangely   like  an   artificial   pleading  for  an  artificial   as  apart   from   a 
natural  thing.     Children  do  not  plead  for  them ;  men  who  have   been  ' 
educated  without  them  do  not  plnad  for  them ;  animals  do  not  beg  for 
them ;  none  ask  for  them   until  by  education  they  have   learned  to  use 
them.      At  first  all  rebel  at  them,  and  only  after  a  fiery  trial,  during 
which  they   get   over  repugnance,  acquire  a  liking  to  them,  after  whidi 
the  liking  may  run  into  dcsircj  and  desire  into  iufatuation. 

Again,  if  these  agents  were  natural  for  the  wants  of  man  and  animal^ 
they  would  not  reasonably  be  expected  to  be  left  so  far  away,  as  they  arc 
left,  from  the  immcdiutc  reach  and  possession  of  man  and  animal.     To 
secure  them  for  man  and  animal  they  have  to  be  produced ;  to  produce 
them,  requires  human  ingenuity  and  skill,  knowledge,  scienccj  and  in  some 
cases,  as  in  the  case  of  alcohol  and  alcoholic  beverages,  a  very  considerable 
degree  of  skill  and  an  enormous  amount  of  skilled    labour.      It  is  tru»-| 
that  two  of  these  substances,  absinthium  and  opium,  lie  nearer  at  hand^ 
than  the  others,  might  be  gathered  and  utilized  by  men  in  their  savage 
state,  and  might  be  plucked  and  eaten  even  by  beasts  of  the  field.      But 
the  fact  really  seems  to  be  that  these  very  simples  have  not  come  into  the 
posscisiou  of  man  for  the  service  of  the  human  family  until  by   art  the 
educated  of  the  human   race  have  learned  the  mode  of  use ;   while  thoi 
lower  animals,  instead  of  instinctively  finding  them  out  and  claiming  thoj 
advantages  which  come  from  them,  have  instinctively  avoided  them  witU 
an  instigation  of  common  sense,  that  might  happily  have  been  imitated 
by  their  superiors  in  wisdom  and  intelligence. 

Moreover,  it  has  generally  turned  out  that  all  which  is  required  b; 
man  as  a  necessity  for  his  existence  has  been  in  the  most  signal  manner 
provided  for  him.  lie  is  a  water  engine,  so  water  is  ready  at  his  com- 
mand ;  he  is  a  muscular  engioe,  so  muscle-forraing  substance  is  at  his 
instant  command  ;  he  is  a  passive  skeleton,  so  the  materials  for  the 
skeleton  are  at  his  ready  command  j  he  is  a  receptive  organism  through 
his  nervous  organization,  so  everything  that  is  wanted  for  that  system 
is  ready  prepared.  He  requires  light  to  bring  him  into  visible  com- 
munion with  the  external  world,  and  ere  he  existed  the  sun  was  ready  to 
give  him  light  and  to  quicken  hioi  with  heat  and  motion.      He  requires 


CHLORAL  AND    OTHER   NARCOTICS, 


nr 


soundj  and  there  is  the  prepared  atmosphere  ready  to  vibrate  i«  obe- 
dience to  his  voice.  These  were  all  pre-prcpared  for  the  man  and  his  life. 
Is  it  possible  that  something  more  was  wanting  that  be,  in  eoiirso  of 
a^cs,  had  to  discover?  Suppose,  like  the  lower  auimab,  he  had  failed  to 
discover,  what  then  had  been  his  fate  ? 

To  my  mind,  and  I  wish  to  be  as  open  to  conviction  on  tbivS  point  as 
any  one  can  be,  I  fail  to  discern  a  single  opening  for  the  nsc  of  these 
letlial  agents  in  the  service  of  mankind  save  in  the  most  cxccptionul 
conditions  of  disease,  and  then  only  under  skilled  and  thoughtful  super, 
vision,  from  hands  that  know  the  dauger  of  infusing  a  false  movement 
and  life  into  so  exquisite  an  organism  as  a  living,  brcathiug,  pulsating, 
impressionable,  human  form. 

In  the  arf!;umcTit  that  these  lethal  agents  are  necessities,  instinctively 
selected  and  chosen  to  meet  human  wants,  there  is  no  logical  sct|ucuce. 
It  is  all  confusion,  assumptiou,  ajiology  for  human  weakness,  exaltation 
of  human  weakness,  sanction  of  temporary  aud  doubtful  pleasure,  com- 
promise with  evil,  and  acceptance  of  penalties  the  direst,  for  advantages 
the  poorest  and  least  satisfactory.  But  when  wc  turn  to  the  other 
argument, — when  we  reason  that  these  Ictlial  agents  induce  a  physical 
and  mental  aberration  wliich  they  afterwards  maintain, — when  we  but 
whisper  the  word  toxico-mania,  as  the  exposition  of  their  influence,  all  in 
clear  enough.  We  leave  the  purely  natural  world  of  life  to  enter  the  aber- 
rant world,  and  all  there  is  as  it  would  be  to  eyes  from  which  the  scales  of 
superstition  liavc  fallen.  These  agents  ]»lay  no  jiart  in  natural  function 
or  construction,  but  add  a  part  which  is  obviously  an  aberration.  If 
into  a  steady-going  locomotive  eugiue  tlie  engineer  infused  some 
gnlions  of  brandy,  he  would  do  something  that  would  be  coa- 
Bpieuous  enough,  but  he  would  not  thereby  play  a  natural  part  in 
the  working  of  that  engine.  He  would  only  add  a  part  which  would 
be  an  aberration.  There  might  be  more  rapid  pulsation  and  motion 
for  a  brief  period  truly,  but  the  pressure  would  be  unequal,  the  working 
gear  unsteady,  and  by  much  repetition  of  the  same  act  there  might  be 
accident,  apoplexy,  stroke,  even  in  an  engine,  and  there  certainly  would 
be  a  wearing-out  which  would  lead  to  a  limited  future.  So  with  the 
body  under  these  lethal  spells;  wc  may  add  a  part,  or  we  may  take 
a  part  away,  but  we  cannot  by  them  maintain  the  uniform  and  natural 
law  of  life. 

These  agents  create  a  desire,  a  craving  for  themselves,  a  uew  auto- 
matic expression,  a  uew  sense  of  necessity  which  did  not  pre-exist,  and 
which  never  exists  until  it  is  acquired.  This  seems  to  me  the  most  perfect 
evidence  of  aberration.  Whoever  craves  for  anything  is  aberrant,  and 
much  craTing  for  one  thing  is  the  most  certain  sign  of  a  mad  mind. 
We  ail  admit  this  truth  when  the  craving  becomes  iusatiable;  bat 
between  the  smallest  persistent  craving  and  the  most  lamcnUiblc  insa' 
tiate  there  is  nothing  more  than  degree ;  the  fact  is  the  same,  and 
the  movement  along  the  line  from  the  moderate    towards  the   insatiate 


738 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


is  commonly  too  easy  nnd  continuous.  Craving  for  purely  natural  thin^ 
in  the  midst  of  them  is  an  unknown  phenomenon  in  healthy  men.  Craving 
for  unnatural  things  in  tl»e  midst  of  them  is  well  known  ;  but  is  that 
healthy  ?  The  sane  man  who  wants  water  asks  for  it ;  the  sane  auimal 
that  wants  water  seeks  for  it;  the  aberrant  man  clutches  wine;  the 
aberrant  animal,  rendered  aberrant  by  the  acquired  eraviiag-,  grows 
furious.  No  man  drinks  wine  as  he  drinks  water;  there  is  a  furor  in  'he 
drinking  of  wine  which  marks  a  phenomenal  disturbance^  and  which 
is  distinct  from  the  simple  act  of  drinking  from  necessity^  in  the  act  as 
well  as  in  the  object. 

The  establishment  of  the  craving  or  desire  for  these  lethal  aofonts  .'a 
one  living  body  is  the  frequent  origin  of  the  same  desire  in  bodies  that 
are  to  be.  The  cranng  is  thus  eometimcs  begotten  of  a  craving, 
like  other  hereditary  taints  which  lead  to  physical  and  mental  errors 
and  diseases,  a  specific  indication  of  aberration  from  the  natural 
health  into  disease,  depending  on  heretlitary  constitutional  tendency, 
and  singularly  indicatirc  of  original  departure  from  the  natural 
life.  A  still  more  striking  illustration  of  the  position  I  am  now  sup- 
porting is  afforded  in  another  action  of  these  agents.  The  tendency  of 
their  action  is,  as  a  rule,  towards  premature  physical  death  ;  the  tendency 
is  also  towards  premature  mental  death.  A  sudden  excess  of  indulgeDce 
by  any  one  of  them,  save  perhaps  arsenic,  is  all  but  certain  to  lead  to 
some  form  of  acute  mental  derangement  or  stupor,  more  or  less  decisive 
and  prolonged.  A  gradual  excessive  indulgence  is  almost  as  certain  to 
lead  to  a  confirmed  condition  of  aberration  more  or  less  determinate.  If 
we  watch  carefully  the  career  of  a  man  who  is  passing  through  the 
course  of  an  alcoholic  intoxication,  and  if  after  analyzing  each  phase  of 
that  progress,  we  pass  into  a  lunatic  asylum  and  look  at  the  various  phases 
of  insanity  exhibited  in  the  persons  of  the  different  inmates  who  are  there 
confined,  there  is  no  difficulty  in  finding  represented,  through  certain  of 
those  unfortunates,  all  the  shades  of  mental  aberration  which  have 
previously  been  exhibited  by  the  single  jwrson  in  the  course  of  his  rapid 
career  from  sanity  into  insanity  and  into  helpless  paralysis.  The  wonder 
suggested,  by  such  analysis  of  natural  phenomena,  is  not  that  forty  per 
cent,  of  the  insanity  of  the  country  should  be  directly  or  indirectly 
produced  by  one  lethal  agent  alone,  but  that  so  low  a  figure  should 
indicate  all  the  truth. 

When,  llien,  we  fairly  consider  the  two  questions  now  before  lis,- — 
whether  the  lethal  agents  are  called  for  because  they  are  demanded  by  a 
law  of  natural  necessity,  a  law  which  stands  above  man  and  is  dominant 
over  his  nature  because  independent  of  him ;  or  whether  there  is  no  such 
law  whatever,  but  an  error  of  man  himself,  by  which  he  institutes  for  him- 
self a  taste  for  lethal  derangement,  and  making  for  himself  and  his  heirs 
a  new  constitution,  begins  thereupon  to  justify  what  he  has  done  on  the 
basis  of  the  constitution  he  has  established, — when,  I  repeat,  we  consider 
these  two  questions,  we  can,  I  think,  come  but  to  one  conclusion.      We 


CHLORAL   AND  OTHER  NARCOTICS.  739 

must,  if  prejudice  be  not  too  strong,  lean  to  the  view  that  man  makes 
the  constitution  he  defends,  and  that  it  is  the  lethal  agent,  speaking  as 
it  were  through  him,  on  which  a  defence  of  all  these  agents,  common  or 
uncommon,  rests  for  its  support. 

1%. 

There  is  one  final  argument  which  many  set  up  who  are  not  content 
with  either  of  the  two  views  above  described.  This  argument  is,  that  iu 
the  natural  state  of  man  and  beast,  the  things  which  "  wreathe  themselves 
with  ease  in  Lethe's  walk"  arc  not  in  any  sense  necessary  things.  On 
the  contrary,  the  things  are  decidedly  injurious,  and  should  not  be  used. 
At  the  same  time,  it  is  also  admitted  that  the  indulgence  in  lethal  agents 
is^  in  truth,  a  mania  which  begets  a  mania,  and  which  inflicts  all  kinds  of 
follies,  crimes,  and  miseries  on  the  race.  But,  continues  the  argument, 
the  mania  being  admitted  as  such,  is  rendered  justifiable  by  the  circum- 
stance that  they  who  make  it  and  propagate  it  do  not  start  from  the 
natural  condition.  They  find  in  the  world  so  much  care,  so  much 
sorrow,  so  much  misery,  and  their  own  path  is  bestrewed  with  so  many 
anxieties  and  difificulties,  that  they  are,  in  fact,  diseased.  All  society  is 
diseased.  Therefore,  to  meet  this  vast  amount  and  volume  of  disease, 
remedies  of  a  palliative  kind  are  required.  Exceptional  conditions  call 
for  exceptional  measures.  A  man  who  cannot  sleep,  owing  to  the  cares 
and  anxieties  of  his  life,  must  take  chloral  hydrate  or  opium  to  obtain 
sleep.  A  man  who  cannot  finish  a  certain  amount  of  work  against  time, 
by  his  own  natural  powers,  must  whip  himself  up  to  the  work  by  means 
of  wine ;  must  force  his  heart  and  brain  on  against  time  at  all  risks  and 
sacrifices.  A  man  who  has  forced  himself  on  against  time,  and  has 
thereby  obtained  a  momentum  which  he  cannot  arrest  by  ordinary  means, 
must  calm  himself  down  by  tobacco,  must  literally  put  the  reins  on  his 
heart,  and  pull  the  heart  up  sharply  and  decisively.  These  remedies,  at 
all  risk  of  learning  to  crave  for  them,  at  all  risk  of  falling  the  victim  to 
toxico-mania,  must  be  accepted  that  the  work  of  the  world  may  go  on  at 
full  pace. 

The  argument  is  specious.  If  it  be  a  sound  argument,  it  must 
be  the  fact  that  they  who,  for  the  sake  of  the  world,  are  throw- 
ing their  lives  behind  them  as  fast  as  they  can,  are  doing  more  work 
and  better  work  than  they  who,  keeping  their  lives  in  their  hands,  are 
content  to  labour  without  resort  to  any  perilous  adventitious  assistance. 
Is  it  so  ?  Is  the  man  who  never  touches  a  lethal  weapon — alcohol, 
opium,  tobacco,  chloral,  haschish,  absinthe,  or  arsenic — a  worse  man, 
a  weaker  mau,  a  less  industrious  man,  a  less-to-be  trusted  man,  than  he 
who  indulges  in  those  choice  weapons  ever  so  moderately,  or  ever  so 
freely?  If  he  is,  then  my  position  is  confessedly  undermined,  and 
toxico-mania  is  a  blessing,  with  all  its  curses. 

Benjamin  Ward  Richardson. 


CONTEMPORARY    LIFE    AND    THOUGHT 

TURKEY. 


Const AXTixoPtE,  June  \(H\,  W 

IT  was  said  of  France  during  tlie  Empire  that  there  was  no  such  t] 
as  public  opinion  in  the  country.  The  same  thing  may  be  said 
Turkey,  and  even  of  Constantinople.  It  is  as  true  of  the  forcig^n  popu- 
lation as  it  is  of  the  natives.  There  is  no  general  public  sentiment  on 
any  question.  There  is  not  simply  Christian  opinion  and  Moslem  opinio^ 
but  each  of  these  is  variously  subdivided,  and  each  party  seeks  its  oifl 
interest  without  regard  to  the  general  good.  For  the  Mohammedans 
the  Palace  is  the  great  centre  of  intrigue  and  conflict,  while  Christians 
aud  foreigners  look  with  equal  interest  to  the  Embassies,  e^li  of  -which 
is  exerting  itself  to  secure  its  own  supremacy  and  weaken  the  influe 
of  its  rivals.  With  this  partisan  coullict  always  raging  around  liim  the  m 
impartial  observer  may  be  deceived  in  regard  to  impoirtant  facts,  and  here, 
more  than  anywhere  else,  the  writer  of  contemporary  history  has  a  right 
to   expect  the  indulgence  of  his  readers  if  he  sometimes  makes  a 


J 


1 


statement. 

Nearly  a  year  has  elapsed  since  the  signing  of  the  Treaty  of  Berlin7 
the  great  object  of  which  was,  as  Lord  Salisbury  declared,  to  give  the 
Sublime  Porte  one  more  chance  of  reforming  and  consolidating  the  Otto- 
man Empire.  England  guaranteed  Asiatic  Turkey  against  Russian 
aggression,  and  Europe  became  responsible  for  the  withdrawal  of  Russian 
armies  from  European  Tiukey  within  a  specified  time.  But  the  Treaty 
pointed  out  certain  things  which  must  be  done,  without  delay,  by  Turkey 
herself.  She  must  come  to  an  agreement  with  Austria  in  regard  to 
Bosnia  and  Herzogovina.  She  must  arrange  with  Greece  for  a  rectifica- 
tion of  the  frontier.  She  must  introduce  special  reforms  into  Mace- 
douia,  Armenia,  and  other  parts  of  the  Empire.  She  must  carry  out 
the  cession  of  certain  territories  to  Russia^  Servia,  and  Montenegro,  adH 
aid  in  the  organization  of  Bulgaria  and  Roumelia.     It  was  also  under- 


4 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY.      741 


I 


stood  that  sLe  would  come  to  some  arrangement  with  her  creditors.  It 
was  obvious  to  all  the  world  that  it  was  of  thtt  highest  importance  for 
Turkey  to  complete  all  these  arrangementa  at  the  earliest  moment  pos- 
sible. Tliere  has  perhaps  never  been  a  time  in  her  history  when  vigorousj 
decided  action  was  more  essential.  It  was  her  opportunity  to  regain 
the  favour  of  Europe,  and  restore  the  confidence  of  her  people.  How 
far  has  this  opportunity  been  improved  ? 

The  VeffotlaUoiu  with  Aoatria* 

The  fate  of  Bosnia  and  Herzogovina  was  decided  at  Ecrlin.  This 
decision  did  not  satisfy  the  Porte  or  the  people  of  those  provinces, 
Clmstian  or  ^Mussulman ;  but  there  was  no  possible  escape  from  it ;  for 
Austria,  in  whose  favour  the  decision  was  madcj  was  commissioned  to 
occupy  the  country  by  force.  Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  for  the 
interest  of  Turkey  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  Austria  without  a 
day's  delay.  She  would  gain  nothing  by  procrastination,  but  might  gain 
much  by  taking  advantage  of  the  discontent  of  Himgary,  and  the  dis- 
inclination of  Austria  to  incur  the  expense  of  war.  But  she  took 
exactly  the  opposite  course.  She  resisted  every  effort  which  was  made 
to  conclude  the  convention ;  and  tacitly  at  least,  if  not  actively,  en- 
couraged armed  resistance  on  the  part  of  the  people.  Even  after  the 
country  was  subdued  and  occupied  by  Austria  she  encouraged  the  move- 
ments of  the  Albanian  League,  and  kept  up  the  agitation  in  the  neigh- 
bouring provinces,  at  the  same  time  maintaining  a  large  army  at  Koosora 
to  prevent  the  advance  of  the  Austrians  to  Salonica.  If  Austria  had 
any  such  intentioUj  aa  is  generally  believed,  nothing  could  ha^-e  been 
more  favourable  to  her  plans  than  the  attitude  of  the  Porte  ;  while  the 
one  thing  that  Turkey  needed  was  rest,  freedom  from  all  agitation,  and 
the  opportunity  to  reorganise  the  government  of  what  remained  to  her 
of  European  Turkey. 

The  convention  was  finally  signed  on  April  2lBtj  and  it  is  not  in  any 
respect  more  favourable  to  Turkey  than  that  which  was  proposed  in  August 
last.  On  the  contrary,  it  makes  it  still  more  apparent  that  these  pro- 
yinces  are  lost  for  ever.  Nothing  is  said  of  any  possible  re-occupation  by 
the  Sultan,  and  his  sovereign  rights  are  only  mentioned  incidentally  in 
the  preamble.  Austria  maintains  the  right  to  occupy  Novi  Bazaar,  and 
to  increase  her  force  there  whenever  she  deems  it  necessary.  The 
question  of  the  nationality  of  the  inhabitants,  when  they  are  in  Turkey, 
is  not  settled  at  all,  and  they  must  therefore  be  considered  as  under 
Austrian  protection.  It  may  even  be  doubted  whether,  after  having 
delayed  so  long,  it  would  not  have  been  better  for  Turkey  to  refuse  to 
«ign  any  convention,  and  simply  accept  the  situation  under  protest. 

No  reason  can  be  given  for  this  long  and  unfortunate  delay,  except 
that  it  accords  with  the  general  policy  of  the  Porte  to  oppose  an  in- 
vincible vis  inertia  to  all  external  pressure — ^to  do  nothing,  and  trust  to 
the  chances  of  the  future  to  escape  the  consequences. 


742  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

The  Mussulman  population  of  these  provinces  seems  inclined  to  emi- 
grate^ and  a  commission  appointed  by  the  Sultan  has  just  been  consider- 
ing the  propriety  of  encouraging  this  movement.  It  is  said  that  tbe 
report  is  unfavourable.  It  could  hardly  be  otherwisSj  as  Austria  wodd 
protest  against  any  action  of  the  Turkish  Government  in  this  direction, 
but  it  will  no  doubt  be  secretly  encouraged.  If  these  Mussulmans  wen 
Turks  they  would  all  leavc^  but  as  they  are  Slavs  the  majority  irill 
probably  remain,  and  the  next  generation  will  be  Christian.  The  diffi- 
culties which  Austria  will  encounter  will  not  be  religious,  but  social  asd 
agrarian — unless  she  is  tempted  to  support  a  Roman  Catholic  propagsn- 
dism,  which  seems  improbable,  although  some  steps  have  been  taken  in 
that  direction. 

Tbe  iregrotiatloiis  wltn  Ore«ee. 

The  resistance  of  Turkey  to  the  claims  of  Greece  is  far  more  excni- 
able  than  her  delay  to  conclude  a  convention  with  Austria.  The  Treaty 
of  Berlin  recommended  an  agreement  between  these  Powers  for  a 
rectification  of  the  frontier,  but  it  was  only  a  recommendation.  It  left 
the  parties  free  to  negotiate,  and  provided  for  a  mediation  in  case  of 
their  failure  to  agree.  Tlic  Turks  reasoned  in  this  way  : — Greece  hat 
no  possible  claim  upon  us  for  a  part  of  our  territory,  and  we  hiw 
nothing  to  gain  by  giving  it  up.  She  is  not  supported  by  any  of  the 
European  Powers^  except  France  and  Italy.  Austria  and  Russia,  at  leas^ 
would  be  pleased  to  see  her  claim  rejected.  "We  are  told  every  day  that 
we  should  cultivate  the  friendship  of  Greece,  that  she  is  our  natural 
ally  against  Slaric  aggression;  but  we  know  very  well  what  her  aspin- 
tions  arc,  and  that  she  is  our  natural  enemy.  If  we  are  to  lose  Euro- 
pean Turkey,  we  had  quite  as  soon  sec  it  in  the  hands  of  Austria  or  of 
the  Slavs  as  ixnder  the  dominion  of  Greece.  It  was  no  love  for  as 
that  kept  Greece  out  of  the  late  war.  It  was  the  fear  of  our  fleet,  and 
but  for  this  fleet  she  would  seize  upon  Crete  to-morrow.  If  we  give  up 
a  part  of  Tliessaly  and  Epirus  to-day,  we  shall  be  forced  to  give  up  the 
rest  to-morrow,  and  to  surrender  Salonica  the  next  day.  It  is  better 
for  us  to  resist  to  the  last,  and  yield  to  nothing  but  force.  A  European 
Conference  cannot  give  Greece  more  than  the  thirteenth  protocol  sug- 
gestsj  and  may  be  contented  with  leas. 

There  is  much  of  trutli,  and  still  more  of  plausibility,  in  this  riev  of 
the  case,  and  the  chief  fault  of  the  Turks  in  these  negotiations  has  been 
that  they  have  not  prolonged  them  with  their  usual  skill.  They  mani- 
fested their  determination  to  do  nothing  from  the  first.  They  have  also 
failed  to  control  the  Albanian  League,  which  might  have  been  used  to 
much  greater  advantage  against  Greece  than  against  Austria.  This 
whole  movement  in  Albania  has  been  a  mistake  on  the  part  of  the  Tuxks. 
It  has  been  a  very  complicated  intrigue.  Turkey,  Russia,  AustriBi  and 
Italy  have  all  encouraged  the  Albanians,  and  each  one  has  sought  to 
use  them  for  its  owu  advantage.     My  impression  is,  that  aU  have  been 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY.     743 


disappointed  in  their  anticipations,  but  that  a  spirit  has   been  aroused 
there  which  wiU,  in  the  end,  be  very  hostile  to  the  Sublime  Porte. 

Turkey  has  probably  lost  nothing  by  prolonging  the  negotiations  irith 
GreecCj  but,  ou  the  other  hand,  she  has  not  gained  anything.  She  has 
failed  to  take  advantage  of  her  opportunity  to  regain  the  confidence  of 
Europe,  and  reconcile  the  world  to  a  continuance  of  her  rule  orer 
Christian  provinces.  The  feeling  against  her  is  not  less  strong  than  it 
was  a  year  ago.  This  neglect  has  been  a  fatal  one,  for  while  Greece 
has  no  claim  upon  Turkey,  she  has  a  claim  upon  Europe  which  cannot 
be  altogether  ignored.  Her  present  frontier  was  arbitrarily  fixed  by  the 
European  Powers^  after  the  revolution,  with  very  little  regard  for  the 
interests  of  the  new  kingdom  or  the  wishes  of  the  people,  who  were 
given  over  to  Turkey.  It  w  now  generally  acknowledged  that  this  was 
a  mistake,  and  Greece  has  a  right  to  appeal  to  Europe  to  rectify  it. 
The  people  of  Thessaly,  Epirus,  and  Crete  desire  to  be  annexed  to 
Greece,  and  no  one  can  doubt  that  their  condition  would  bo  greatly 
improved  by  the  change.  The  dismemberment  of  Turkey  was  com- 
menced by  the  Congress  of  Berlin,  and  there  is  certainly  more  reason 
for  giving  these  provinces  to  Greece  than  there  was  for  giving  Bosnia 
and  Hcrzogovina  to  A\istria,  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  the  people, 
who  would  liave  preferred  autonomy  or  annexation  to  Scrvia  and 
Montenegro. 

Bnlffarla   and   Baatern    BoumeUa. 

Turkey  chose  to  go  to  war  with  Russia  rather  than  accept  the  friendly 
advice  of  the  Conference  of  Constantinople.  She  was  beaten,  and  paid 
the*penalty  in  the  Treaty  of  St.  Stephanos,  in  which,  among  other  things, 
she  agreed  to  the  constitution  of  a  Principality  of  Bulgaria.  England 
and  Austria  interfered  in  their  own  interest,  gave  back  a  part  of  this 
territory  to  Turkey,  divided  the  balance  into  two  provinces  with  different 
forms  of  government,  and  secured  to  the  Porte  the  right  to  occupy  the 
Balkans.  Russia  accepted  this  arrangement  at  the  Congress  of  Berlin, 
and  agreed  to  evacuate  all  this  territory  within  nine  months.  The 
Bulgarians,  who  had  had  no  voice  in  this  arrangement,  protested  vehe- 
mently against  it,  and  the  Russians  naturally  sympathized  with  them. 
Eor  five  or  six  mouths  after  the  signature  of  the  Treaty  of  Berlin  the 
Turks  hoped  and  expected  that  a  new  war  Mould  grow  out  of  this 
Bulgarian  difficulty,  in  which  they  would  be  supported  by  England,  and 
would  regain  a  part  at  least  of  their  lost  territory.  Since  that  time 
they  have  manifested  but  little  interest  in  Bulgaria,  and  they  appear  to 
have  made  up  their  minds  that  Eastern  Roumclia  is  lost  for  ever.  They 
care  very  little  about  the  occupation  of  the  Balkans,  which  would  involve 
a  large  expenditure  of  money  with  very  little  advantage  to  them ;  and  if 
this  port  of  the  Treaty  is  executed  it  will  be  through  the  influence  of 
Austria  and  England.  It  is  believed  that  there  will  be  a  show  of 
carrying  it  out  by  the  occupation  of  Bouxgas  on   the   Black   Sea,  and 

3  c  2 


744 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


possibly  of  the  pass  between  Sofia  and  Philippopolis,  but  that  beyond 
this  nothing  will  be  done.  This  would  be  the  wisest  policy  for  Turkey ; 
for  it  cannot  be  for  her  interest  to  keep  up  an  agitation  among  the 
Bulgarians  and  transform  them  into  a  nation  of  soldiers,  nor  can  she 
afford  to  maintain  a  large  army  and  expensive  fortresses  in  the  midst  of  a 
hostile  population.  She  has  nothing  to  fear  from  Eastern  Roumelia.  It 
is  an  open  country,  without  any  natural  means  of  defence,  and  could  be  oc- 
cupied by  the  Turkish  troops  at  any  time  without  the  possibility  of  seriouB 
resistance.  The  Bulgarians  realize  this  fact,  and  now  that  they  are  satis- 
fied that  they  have  nothing  more  to  hope  from  Russia  they  will  accept  their 
fate  and  wait  as  patiently  as  possible  for  a  more  favourable  opportunity 
to  secure  their  union  with  Bulgaria.  The  Eussiaus  are  evacuating  the 
province,  not  as  rapidly  as  they  might,  but  probably  with  an  honest 
purpose  of  securing  the  peaceful  establishment  of  the  new  Government. 

Alccko  Pacha,  as  he  is  called  by  the  Turks — or  Prince  Vorgorides,  as 
the  Greeks  call  him — or  Prince  Bogoroff,  as  he  will  probably  be  called 
by  the  Bulgarians— is  alreacly  at  PhilippopoUs.  His  father  was  a  Bul- 
garian, and  was  Prince  of  Samos.  He  is  a  relative  of  Mussurus  Pacha, 
the  Turkish  Ambassador  at  London,  and  of  the  present  Minister  of 
Foreign  AfiPairs.  His  wife  is  a  Greek,  and  he  himself  speaks  Greek, 
but  not  Bulgarian.  His  intercourse  with  Bulgarians  in  Constantinople 
before  his  departure  was  always  in  French.  He  is  a  member  of  the 
Orthodox  Church,  but  as  he  has  recognized  the  Bulgarian  Exarch  Le 
comes  under  the  general  excommunication  which  declared  the  Exarch, 
and  all  who  recognized  him,  to  be  schismatics.  He  has  held  some 
important  offices  under  the  Turkish  Government,  but  at  the  commenoe- 
ment  of  tlie  war  he  was  removed  from  the  post  of  Ambassador  at 
Vienna,  under  the  suspicion  that  he  was  not  very  heartily  in  sympathy 
with  the  Turks.  He  ia  not  supposed  to  be  a  man  of  any  great  abihty, 
but  he  is  to  have  as  his  chief  counsellor  another  Bulgarian,  Chrcstovitch, 
who  is  a  man  of  very  decided  character  and  a  patriot,  although  hia 
conservative  spirit  has  made  him  unpopular  for  several  years  past. 

Alecko  Pacha  left  Constantinople  on  May  26th,  and,  singularly  enough, 
the  fate  of  Eastern  Roumelia  hung  for  a  time  upon  the  question 
whether  he  should  wear  a  fez  or  a  ca/pak.  It  is  said  to  have  been 
decided  before  his  departure  that  a  Turkish  army  should  be  called  in  at 
once  to  support  hia  fez,  but  that  an  order  from  the  Palace  was  secured 
by  Prince  LabanofP^  and  sect  after  him  by  special  train,  authorizing 
him  to  wear  the  calpak  if  he  should  find  it  necessary.  He  wore  a  fez 
at  Adrianople,  appeared  bareheaded  at  the  frontier,  and  entered  Philip- 
popolis  with  a  Bulgarian  calpak.  The  IHirkish  papers  have  been  filled 
with  complaints  and  abuse  of  Alecko  Pacha  ever  since,  but  it  was  a 
wise  act  of  conciliation,  and  secured  for  him  an  enthusiastic  reception. 
His  first  visit  was  to  the  Bulgarian  church,  where  aTc  Deiun  wasstmg  in 
honour  of  the  occasion,  and  thence  he  proceeded  to  the  Konak  (Govern- 
ment-house).    The  Firman  of  the  Sultan  was  not  read  until  the  30th. 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY,     745 


I 


On  this  occasion  also  it  was  found  necessary  to  conciliate  the  people  by 
omitting  the  ceremonies  which  liad  been  planned  for  the  occasion.  No 
Turkish  flag  was  raised,  no  guns  were  fired,  and  there  was  no  attempt 
to  raise  any  cheers  for  the  Sultan  j  but  there  were  repeated  and  enthu- 
siastic cheers  for  Prince  Vorgorides,  although  his  address  to  the  people 
contained  a  very  plain  statement  of  the  fact  that  they  were  still  under 
the  Sultan,  whose  troops  might  be  forced  by  the  stipulations  of  the 
Treaty  of  Berlin  "  to  occupy  the  frontiers  and   certain  other  localities." 

There  is  still  intense  excitement  all  through  the  proFince.  The 
people  are  armed,  and  secret  committees  exist  everywhere  ;  but  if  Alecko 
Pacha  continues  to  follow  a  conciliatory  policy  there  is  every  reason  to 
expect  that  this  excitement  will  pass  away,  and  enable  the  Russians  to 
leave  without  delay. 

There  will,  of  course,  be  many  diflScultics  to  be  overcome  in  applying 
the  elaborate  Constitution  which  Las  been  prepared  by  the  European 
Commission  ;  and  the  Assembly,  which  is  about  to  be  called,  will  no 
doubt  protest  against  the  enormous  tribute  which  the  Commission  has 
inflicted  upon  the  provincCj  which,  after  paying  all  its  own  expenses, 
has  to  pay  to  the  Sultan  £200,000  a  year ;  but  they  will  submit  to 
everything  if  the  Turks  do  not  occupy  the  Balkans.  The  Turks 
certainly  deserve  great  credit  for  the  policy  which  they  have  followed 
ever  since  the  appointment  of  Alecko  Pacha,  and  if  they  persevere  in  it 
they  will  have  no  further  trouble  with  Eastern  lloumelia.  The  Turks 
who  now  reside  there  will  no  doubt  continue  to  emigrate,  for  they  can- 
not comprehend  or  appreciate  the  system  of  government  which  has  been 
adopted  by  the  Commission ;  but  those  who  remain  will  be  protected  in 
all  their  rights.  As  to  the  Greeks,  much  will  depend  upon  the  attitude 
which  they  assume  towanls  the  new  Government.  It  is  easy  to  forcHee 
that  their  position  will  become  very  disagreeable  if  they  follow  the  lead 
of  the  Greek  newspapers  of  Constantinople,  and  do  all  that  they  can  to 
create  disturbance  and  obstruct  the  new  Government.  The  course  of  these 
papers,  and  especially  of  the  Phare  du  Bosphore,  which  is  in  French, 
and  consequently  moat  read  by  the  Bulgarians,  cannot  be  too  strongly 
condemned.  It  is  very  seldom  that  any  Bulgarian  paper  attacks  the 
Greeks  of  Roumelia ;  but  hardly  a  day  passes  without  a  leading  article 
or  letter  in  these  Greek  papers  which  is  full  of  the  most  violent,  abusive, 
and  insulting  language,  calculated  to  rouse  the  indignation  of  the 
Bulgarians  and  incite  them  to  revenge  themselves  upon  the  Greeks  who 
arc  within  their  reach.  It  is  very  much  to  their  credit  that  the  Bul- 
garians endure  this  abuse  so  calmly.  But  if  the  Greeks  of  Roumelia 
accept  the  situation,  conciliate  the  Bulgarians,  and  enter  heartily  into 
the  work  of  establishing  the  Government,  they  will  not  only  be  unmo- 
iested^but  in  a  few  years  will  have  their  full  share  of  political  influence. 

B«foniu   In   AJb&iilA    and    Macedoiila* 
It  is  understood  that  the  Albanian  Beys  have  induced  the  Porte  to 


I 


746  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 

promise  them  an  "  autonomous  goyernment.''  If  this  is  true,  it 
be  an  interestiug  exi»crimcnt,  for  hitherto  the  great  difficulty  in  Albania 
Las  beeu  that  each  individual  Bey  has  had  an  autonomous  government 
of  his  own.  It  would  hardly  bo  a  reform  to  confirm  this  state  of 
anarchy.  fl 

The  case  of  Macedonia  is  very  different.  It  is  inhabited  by  a  mijted  ™ 
population  of  BulgarianSj  Greeks,  Turks,  AVallachians,  Jews,  aud 
Albanians,  the  majority  of  the  population  l>cing  Christian,  and  probably 
Bulgarian;  although  this  is  disputed  by  the  Greeks.  The  Treaty  of  Si. 
Stephanos  included  a  part  of  it  in  Eulgaria,  and  stipulated  that  reforms 
should  be  iutroducod  into  the  governraeut  of  what  remained,  under  the 
supervision  of  Russia.  The  Treaty  of  Berlin  restored  the  whole  pro- 
\-ince  to  Turkey,  and  stipulated  that  it  should  be  reformed  under  the 
supervision  of  the  Eastern  Koumelia  Commission.  After  the  Cougresi^ 
if  there  was  one  thing  more  than  anotlier  which  it  was  necessary  for 
Turkey  to  do  without  delay,  it  was  to  restore  order  and  secure  a  good 
administration  in  Macedonia.  Nothing  could  have  had  a  more  favour- 
able influence  upon  public  opiuion  in  Europe,  or  have  done  more  to 
incline  the  Great  Powers  to  sustain  Turkey  and  resist  the  claims  of  the 
Greeks  and  Bulgarians.  She  had  regular  troops  enough  at  her  disposal 
to  occupy  the  province,  and  she  had  only  to  refer  to  any  one  of  half  a 
dozen  Iradia  issued  by  the  Sultan  within  five  years  to  find  a  statement 
of  the  reforms  needed  to  secure  peace  and  quiet  among  the  people. 
The  province  itself  would  have  readily  fumishcil  any  money  which  was 
needed  to  carry  out  these  reforms.  All  this  was  well  known  at  Con- 
stantinople, but  to  this  day  nolliing  has  been  done  for  tliis  unhappy 
province.  There  has  been  no  attempt  at  refoi-m,  and  no  serious  effort 
to  put  an  end  to  the  anarchy  which  reigns  there.  This  is  one  of  the 
most  fatal  mistakes  whicli  have  been  made  since  the  war. 

The  condition  of  the  people,  during  the  whole  year,  has  bccu  as  un- 
fortunate as  possible.  The  Ilhodupo  insurrection  was  on  one  side,  and 
the  Albanian  League  on  the  other.  Bands  of  brigands — sometimes 
Wallachiau,  sometimes  Greek,  sometimes  Bulgai'iau,  sometimes  Turki^bh 
or  Albanian — have  ravaged  the  country,  plundered  the  people,  carried 
them  off  for  ransom,  burned  the  villages,  committed  outrages  of  evcay  ■ 
description  on  men  and  women,  and  even  attacked  lai'ge  towns.  Men  ■ 
have  been  constantly  murdered  in  the  streets  of  cities  like  Monastir  In 
broad  day,  and  a  resident  of  Monastir  assured  me  that  not  less  than 
2000  murders  had  taken  place,  during  a  yearj  within  a  daj*s  ride  of  that 
city.  A  part  of  the  time  there  has  been  no  Turkish  Governor  there,  and 
a  part  of  the  time  the  well-known  Chevket  Pacha  was  Governor. 

The  Government  has  employed  Bashi-Bazouks  to  catch  the  brigandsi 
and  they  have  treated  the  people  more  brutally  tliau  the  robbers  them- 
selves.  In  many  parts  of  the  province  the  Christians  are  at  the  mercy 
of  Mussulman  Beys,  over  whom  the  Government  docs  not  attempt  to 
exercise  any  control.     The  Greeks  and  Bulgarians  assert  that  nothing 


I 
I 


L_4 .A »_ 


J 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY.     747 

better  is  to  be  expected  from  tbe  Turkii*h  Goveruinent,  and,  although 
the  one  would  prefer  to  be  aunexed  to  Greece  aud  the  other  to  Bulgaria, 
they  would  welcome  any  government,  even  that  of  Austria,  which  would 
protect  their  lives  and  property.  Europe  is  pledged  by  the  Treaty  of 
Berlin  to  secure  them  such  a  government  uudcr  the  Sultau,  but  thus 
far  it  has  doue  nothing. 


^ 

I 

^ 


Seform  In  Asia  Minor. 

Europe  is  under  similar  obligations  in  regard  to  Asia  Elinor,  and,  in 
addition  to  this,  England  has  assumed  some  sort  of  a  protectorate  over 
this  part  of  the  Ottoman  Empire.  Whatever  its  character  may  be,  it 
imposes  a  special  obligation  upon  England  to  secure  the  execution  of 
reforms.  Lord  Salisbury  and  Sir  A-  H.  Layard  have  recognized  this, 
and  have  undertaken  to  persuade  the  Porte  to  adopt  some  scheme  of 
reform,  and  carry  it  out.  Since  the  British  Gorernmcnt  has  chosen  the 
policy  of  moral  suasion,  it  has  undoubtedly  selected  the  best  man  ia 
'  England  to  carry  it  out.  No  one  knows  the  Turks  better,  or  has  a  more 
kindly  feeling  towards  them,  than  the  present  English  Ambassador.  He 
is  a  man  of  untiring  energy,  and  fully  in  sympathy  with  the  policy  which 
he  has  to  represent.  He  hates  Russia  and  everything  Eussian,  as  heartily 
as  he  loves  Turkey  and  believes  in  the  possibility  of  restoring  her  power. 
He  is  not  devoid  of  sympathy  for  the  Christiaus,  but  anxious  to  ameliorate 
their  condition  in  any  way  consistent  with  the  maintenance  of  the  Otto- 
man Empire.  He  has  now  the  personal  ixieudship  of  the  Sultan,  and 
has  access  to  him  at  ail  times.  Certainly  no  man  coidd  be  better 
Adapted  to  persuade  the  Turks  to  save  themselves  from  dcstraetion  by 
adopting  essential  reforms  than  he,  especially  as  both  he  and  Lord 
Salisbury  have  carefully  abstained  from  proposing  anything  but  adminis- 
trative reforms,  which  do  not  involve  any  moditicatiou  of  the  strictly 
Mohammedan  character  of  the  government.  He  has  not  been  called 
upon  to  demand  the  execution  of  the  Hatt-i-homayoun,  which  promised 
equal  rights  aud  a  full  share  in  the  government  to  Christians,  nor  even 
the  revival  of  the  Constitution  of  Midhat  Facha,  which  grafted  a  repre- 
sentative system  upon  the  government  without  changing  its  esseutiuJ 
character.  It  is  simply  a  question  of  a  reorganization  of  the  police  and 
the  courts,  with  a  modification  of  the  system  of  taxation,  and  a  longer 
tenure  of  office  for  the  provincial  governors.  Whether  reforms  of  this 
nature  can  save  the  Empire  may  be  a  question,  but  they  are  certainly 
good  as  far  as  they  go.  But,  as  yet,  nothing  has  been  done  to  carry 
them  into  practice.  There  has  been  no  lack  of  persuasion,  but  nothing 
has  been  accomplished.  The  reason  given  for  this  delay  by  the  Txirkish 
Government  is,  that  these  reforms  cannot  be  carried  out  without  money, 
and  that  the  first  step  towards  reform  is  a  new  loan.  11  the  English 
Government  insists  upon  reform  it  must  furnish  tlie  money.  This  excuse 
is  so  plausible  that  it  seems  to  have  been  accepted  and  endorsed  by  Lord 
Salisbury,  but  it  is,  at  least,  unfortunate  for  the  Turkish  Government 


748 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


that  it  cannot  find  some  way  out  of  this  difficulty.  It  will  not  accept 
principle  of  appointing  foreigners  to  apply  the  money  which  it  wishes 
borrow  to  the  execution  of  the  promised  reforms,  and  no  State  is 
to  aid  in  securing  the  money,  unless  it  can  exercise  some  control 
the  expenditure.  There  is  a  lack  of  mutual  confidence  even  between 
England  and  Turkey.  England  believes  that  if  the  Turks  get  the  money 
they  will  not  spend  it  on  reforms ;  Turkey  believes  that  if  Englishmen 
are  once  introduced  into  the  Administration  it  will  result  in  the  destruc' 
tion  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  Sultan. 

There  is  really  but  one  way  out  of  this  difficulty.  It  is  for  the  Turks 
to  proceed  at  once  to  the  execution  of  these  reforms  in  the  best  way  they 
can.  They  are  right  in  guarding  their  independence,  but  it  would 
appear  that  the  constant  interference  of  Europe  has  led  them  to  look 
upon  reform  simply  as  a  means  of  gaining  the  favour  of  the  Great  Powers, 
and  that  they  have  failed  to  see  that  this  is  only  a  secondary  considera- 
tion— that  the  primary  object  of  reform  is  to  secure  the  prosperity  and 
happiness  of  their  own  people,  without  which  the  Empire  must  decay  and 
fall  to  pieces,  however  vigorously  it  is  defended  by  European  diplomacy. 
Until  the  men  in  power  at  Constantinople  come  to  realize  this  fact,  and 
see  that  the  old  regime  can  lead  to  nothing  but  destruction,  there  will 
be  no  practical  reform  in  Turkey,  with  or  without  a  loan;  and  whenever 
they  do  comprehend  the  truth  they  will  enter  upon  the  most  Tigoroiis 
reforms  at  once,  whatever  may  be  the  state  of  the  Imperial  treasury. 
It  is  not  a  question  of  money,  but  of  will.  Thus  far  nothing  has  been 
done,  and  this  long  delay  has  increased  the  number  of  those  in  Europe 
who  believe  that  uothiug  ever  will  be  done,  and  are  consequently 
enemies  of  Turkey.  Even  the  most  hopeful  of  her  friends  are  beginning 
to  doubt  whether  Turkey  can  long  maintain  her  empire,  even  in  Asla; 
but  let  the  work  of  reform  be  once  vigorously  undertaken,  and  her  friends 
would  multiply.  Let  it  be  so  accomplished  as  to  secure  good  govern- 
ment and  equal  rights  to  all  nationalities,  and,  in  England  at  least,  men 
of  all  parties  would  unite  to  defend  her  rights  against  any  foreign  foe. 
Unhappily  the  Turks  do  not  understand  this.  They  think  that  they  are 
hated  because  they  are  Turks,  and  that  even  their  supporters  defend  them 
from  selfish  motives.  They  do  not  see  that  their  strength  at  home  and 
the  support  of  Europe  both  depend  simply  upon  their  ability  and  willing- 
ness to  bring  their  government  into  harmony  with  the  spirit  of  the  age. 
So  they  spend  their  strength  in  diplomatic  negotiations  or  palace  intrigues, 
while  the  Empire  is  slowly  wasting  away.  Even  Lord  Salisbury  and  Sir 
A.  H.  Layard  have  thus  far  failed  to  convince  them  of  the  truth,  and 
persuade  them  to  undertake  the  work  of  reform.  It  is  said  that  the 
Sultan  is  persuaded,  but  that  this  man  or  the  other  stands  in  the  way 
of  action  ;  but  Europe  is  only  interested  in  the  fact  that  nothing  is  done. 
A  year  has  passed  since  the  Congress,  and  the  simple  administrative 
reforms  promised  by  the  Treaty  of  Berlin  and  the  Cyprus  Treaty  have 
not  been  commenced.     What  hope  is  there  that  the  Government  will  ever 


I 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY,     749 


get  80  far  as  to  cany  out  the  promises  of  the  Hatt-i-homayouu,  and 
secure  equal  rights  to  all  subjects  of  the  Sultan  ?  The  best  friends  of 
Turkey  arc  in  despair. 

The  reports  which  come  to  me  from  every  part  of  Asia  Minor  are  all  of 
the  same  tenor ;  all  agree  in  the  statement  that  the  couditiou  of  the  people 
has  not  been  so  bad  for  forty  years  as  it  is  now.  It  is  far  worse  than  it 
was  before  the  war.  This  is  true  in  general  of  the  whole  population^ 
Christian  and  Mussulman.  The  extra  taxation  of  the  past  few  years, 
the  repudiation  of  the  paper-money  by  the  Government^  the  withdrawal 
of  one-tenth  of  the  Mussulman  population  from  labour  for  service  iu  the 
army,  the  general  state  of  anarchy,  has  reduced  the  whole  popidation 
to  a  state  of  poverty  which  is  pitiable  in  the  extreme.  As  the  officials 
have  received  but  little  regular  pay  duriug  these  years,  they  liavc  been 
forced  to  plunder  the  people,  so  that  both  the  civil  and  judicial  adminis- 
tration have  become  far  more  corrupt  than  ever  before.  Nothing  can 
be  done  without  backsheesh.  The  Circassians  also  are  as  great  a  curse 
to  the  Mohammedan  as  to  the  Christian  population. 

In  addition  to  this  general  misery,  the  Christians — eapecially  the 
Armenians — have  had  peculiar  trials  of  their  own.  The  weakness  of  the 
administration  has  given  the  Mohammedan  population  an  opportunity  to 
abuse  the  Christians  with  impunity  in  all  parts  of  the  country;  and  in 
certain  provinces  the  Kurds  have  plundered,  biu-ned,  ravished,  and 
murdered^ at  will^  without  any  attempt  on  the  part  of  the  Government  to 
restraiii  them.  In  addition  to  this,  the  Government  itself  seems  to  have 
determined  upon  atreugtheuiug  the  Mohammedan  element  and  weak* 
ening  the  Christian  iu  certain  districts  where  there  were  but  few  Mus- 
sulmans before  the  war — at  Zeitoon  and  Mush,  for  example.  Through 
the  influence  of  the  English  Government  commissions  have  been  sent 
out  into  Asia  Minor,  of  Turks  and  Armenians,  to  investigate  eomeof  the 
atrocities  which  have  been  committed,  and  to  punish  the  offenders,  if 
they  can  be  found.  It  remains  to  be  seen  what  these  commissions  will 
accomplish.  Many  similar  commissions  have  been  sent  out  in  past 
years^  without  any  result ;  but  the  Armenian  members  of  these  had  less 
power  and  a  lower  rank  than  they  have  now.  It  is  possible  that  some- 
thing may  be  done  in  certain  cases,  but,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  it  is  no 
part  of  their  duty  to  institute  any  reforms  in  the  administration,  or 
ameliorate  in  any  way  the  condition  of  the  Christians.  On  these  sub- 
jects, however,  they  may  add  one  more  to  the  long  series  of  reports 
which  now  serve  as  nests  for  the  mice  at  the  Porte. 

The  appointment  of  English  Consids  at  various  important  places  in 
Asia  Minor  may  or  may  not  prove  an  advantage  to  the  people.  It  will 
depend  upon  the  nature  of  the  instructions  which  they  receive  from 
bomej  and  especially  upon  the  spirit  of  the  Embassy  at  Constantinople^ 
as  our  experience  since  the  Crimean  AVar  has  abundantly  proved ;  for 
Consuls  are  expected  to  support  the  policy  of  the  Government,  and  to 
make  reports  which  will  favour  that  policy.     It  is  supposed  in  England 


750 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVTEW. 


that  the  reduction  of  the  consular  force  in  the  East  under  tlio 
tration  of  the  Liberal  party  ivas  one  cause  of  the  unhappy  coadil 
the  Turkish  Empire;  but  there  were  Consuls  cnoug^h  to  \rritc  voli 
rejx)rt«,  which  were  sometimes  made  to  order,  but  which  were  gener; 
truthful  and  complete  enough  to  form  such  an  indictment  against 
Turkish  administration  as  ought  to  have  modified  the  policy  q^ 
English  Government  in  its  support  of  Turkey,  or  at  least  have  foreiv^ 
it  of  the  crisis  which  -was  coming  ;  butj  even  if  these  reports  weno  0 
read,  they  never  produced  any  results  which  were  visible  in  Ti}^ 
1  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  presence  of  an  English  Consul  infl 
town  is  not  a  blessing  to  the  people^  but  simj^ly  that  he  acts  as 
palUativo  rather  than  as  a  radical  cure  of  the  evils  of  the  Ti 
administration,  and  that  multiplying  Consuls  will  not  necessarily 
itself  promote  reform. 

The  following  extract  from  the  Levant  Herald  of  June  2  irill 
the  interest   which  the  Turkish  Government  has  had  in  the  work  c 
English   Consuls   in   Asia  Minor.     Colonel  Wilson  has  been 
about  two  months  in  Constantinople  : — 

"  The  Consulates  m  Aeia  Minor. — The  consular  body  in  *  our  new  Protect* 
hns  rcccivod  a  further  addition  by  the  appointment  of  Captain  Glaytont  RJ 
the  vice-consulate  of  Van,  in  the  jurisdiction  of  the  consuloto  of  Erzei 
About  a  fortnight  ago  we  auxiounced  the  departure  of  Consul-General  Col< 
Wilson,  K.K.,  for  his  preliminary  tnur  in  Asia  Minor,  and  the  Btat<?ment  wsi 
waiTanted  by  the  fact  that  the  starting  day  bad  been  fixed.  But  when  th« 
morning  came,  Colonel  Wilson  had  not  received  his  berat  from  the  Port« 
had  expected,  although  CTeryihing  was  prepared  for  hia  departure^  and 
quently  he  was  unable  to  start.  His  staff  of  vice-consuls  and  Btudent-interprc 
with  all  the  equipment  of  the  expedition,  went  forward,  but  Colonel  Wilson  re- 
mained behind  to  wait  for  liis  exequatur^  and  here  he  is  atiU.  The  delay  ia 
attributed  to  the  great  pressure  of  public  business  at  the  Sublime  Porte,  whkb 
hHs  not  iefl  the  Icaleni  time  to  draw  up  the  document,  for  want  of  which  Colonel 
Wilson  is  kept  away  from  the  scene  of  his  duties,  losing  valuable  lime  and  Oie 
best  weeks  of  the  travelling  season." 


)ret3! 


icw 


This  whole  question  of  reform  in  Asia  Minor  is  a  very  diiB< 
one,  and  the  obligations  assumed  by  England  in  the  Cyprus  Treaty  are 
of  a  nature  which  no  one  seems  to  understand.  England  cannot  take 
possession  of  the  country,  nor  can  she  favour  the  occupation  of  Aak 
Minor  by  Eussia  or  any  other  Power.  There  is  no  possibility  ol 
adopting  the  plan  of  gradual  dismemberment  which  tlio  Congreas  oi 
Berlin  applied  to  European  Turkey.  The  power  of  the  Sultan  muat  be 
maiutaiucd  ;  but  at  the  same  time  it  must  secure  to  the  people  a  good 
government^  or  the  Empire  will  fall  to  pieces  of  itself  in  spite  of  the 
protection  of  Europe.  Those  who  arc  in  power  at  Constantinople  do 
not  appear  to  realize  the  defects  of  the  government,  and  they  will  not 
consent  to  place  its  administration,  even  temporaiily,  in  the  hands  ol 
forciguers.  The  failure  of  the  trial  made  in  Egypt  makes  it  doubt 
whether  it  would  be  wise  to  try  the  experiment  here.  At  the 
time  it  is  the  opinion   of  those   who  live  in  Turkey  that  the  pi 


>ubt£y 
9  a«fl 

irescOT 


J 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY.     751 


I 


official  class,  if  left  to  itself,  will  nnver  reform  the  administration. 
Eugland  has  attempted  to  fulfil  her  obligations  by  friendly  persuasion, 
but  thus  far  with  no  great  result.  What  is  to  be  done  next  ?  I  must 
confess  that  1  do  not  see.  Aiding  Turkey  to  borrow  money  will  only 
make  a  bad  matter  worse. 

My  own  impression  is,  that  England  has  made  a  mistake  in  not 
insisting  upon  more  radical  reforms.  As  it  is  certain  that  England  will 
not  occupy  the  country  or  force  the  Turks  to  accept  European  officials, 
the  only  hope  of  the  Empire  is  in  the  execution  of  the  many  promises 
which  have  been  made  for  the  absolute  emancipation  of  the  Christians^ 
their  introduction  into  the  army^  the  nary^  the  civil  service,  and  the 
judiciary,  on  terms  of  absolute  equality  with  the  Mussulman.  It  is 
only  by  throwing  open  these  profcbsions  to  all,  and  giving  offices  to  the 
most  competent,  that  the  Turks  can  be  forced  to  educate  their  sous^  aud 
fit  them  for  those  positions  which  are  now  given  by  favour  to  the  most 
incompetent,  so  that  wc  have  Chief  Secretaries  of  Departments  who 
cannot  read  or  write.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  Sultan  could  be 
persuaded  now  to  do  this,  but  I  think  that  nine  months  ago  it  would 
have  been  an  easier  task  than  the  apparently  more  limited  ouc  which 
was  undertaken  by  Lord  Salisbury  and  Sir  A.  H.  Layard;  for  the 
Sultan  has  much  less  fear  of  Christian  equality  than  he  has  of  the 
introduction  of  English  officials  into  his  Government.  Moreover,  if  the 
administrative  reforms  recommended  by  England  could  be  carried  out, 
the  great  question  of  the  relation  of  Christian  to  Mohammedan  would 
be  as  far  as  ever  from  a  settlement ;  and  until  it  is  settled^  there  can  be 
no  peace.  There  are  more  than  3,000,000  Christians  in  Asiatic  Turkey, 
and  they  arc  more  advanced  in  education  and  civilization  than  the 
Mohammedans,  They  know  that  they  have  the  sympathy  of  Europe 
on  their  side,  and  they  can  never  be  persuaded  to  live  quietly  uuder  a 
purely  Mohammedan  Government ;  but  if  they  were  emancipated  there 
vouid  be  a  possibility  of  Tnrkey'a  reforming  herself,  while  under  the 
present  system  I  see  no  such  possibility. 

The  present  condition  of  the  country  does  not  disprove  the  good- 
will of  the  Sultan^  who  would  rejoice  in  any  amelioration  of  the 
condition  of  his  subjects,  but  does  seem  to  prove  the  utter  incapacity 
of  the  Central  Government  to  secure  good  order  or  justice,  or  reform  of 
any  kind  in  the  interior.  I  have  before  me  now  a  report  from  Armenia, 
covering  some  thirty  pages  of  foolscap,  detailing  outrages  committed  in 
K  single  town  and  its  adjacent  villages,  mostly  committed  within  two 
mouths  ;  and  yet  this  is  a  place  which  the  English  Embassy  has  under- 
taken to  protect,  which  has  a  very  respectable  governor,  and  has  just 
been  visited  by  an  Imperial  Commissioner,  sent  to  redress  the  wrongi 
of  the  people,  both  Christian  and  Mohammedan.  It  is  practically 
under  the  control  of  wealthy  Turkish  Beys,  who  are  protected  by  the 
Vali  of  the  province,  and  no  doubt  share  their  plunder  with  him  ;  the 
former  have  also  at  their  bidding  many  thousand  wild  Kurds,  who  are  pro- 


< 


752  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

tected,  but  not  controlled,  by  Government.  It  is  a  long  story  of  beating 
plunder,  abduction,  murder,  and  terrorism,  which  simply  proves  the  in- 
ability of  the  authorities  at  Constantinople  to  protect  cither  the  Imperial 
treasury  or  the  eubjects  of  the  SuUau.  And  uufortunately  this  repre- 
sents the  condition  of  the  grenter  part  of  Asia  !Minor.  Things  are  bat 
little  better  in  Constantinople  itself,  where  housebreaking,  murder,  and 
highway  robbery  are  more  common  than  at  any  time  since  the  Crimean 
War:  and  the  perpetrators  are  very  seldom  arrested. 

This  same  inability,  or  unwillingness,  to  do  anything  is  seen  in  tbe 
relations  of  the  Porte  with  the  Christian  communities.  It  is  tmethflt 
the  energetic  French  Ambassador  has  forced  the  Porte  to  a  settlcmcDt 
of  the  Armenian  Catholic  difficulty,  in  opposition  to  the  wishes  of  the 
great  body  of  the  anti-Hassouuitcs,  and  in  opposition  to  the  interests  of 
the  Porte  itself;  but  even  in  regard  to  this  question  no  decision  hu 
been  taken  as  to  the  status  of  those  Armenians  who  refuse  to  submit  to 
Haasoun  and  demand  the  execution  of  tbe  former  promises  of  the 
Government.  The  condition  of  the  Armenian  Protestant  community  \% 
still  worse.  After  ten  years  of  negotiations,  carried  on  by  the 
Protestants  under  the  direction  of  the  British  Embassy,  the  Porte 
repudiates  all  its  promises,  and  refuses  to  recognize  the  Protestants  as  a 
community  (Mil/et)  at  all,  although  they  have  been  so  recognized  ever 
since  the  days  of  Lord  Stratford.  ■ 

The    Gregorian    Armenians,    who   constitute  the  great  body  of  the 
nation,  are  but  little  better  off.     Their  relations  with  the  Porte  have 
been  extremely  difficult  for  two  years :  their  patriarch  has  resigned  in  ■ 
utter  despair,  and  the  Government  has  as  yet  recognized  no  successor.   ™ 
No  one  of  these  Armenian  questions  involves  any  expenditure  of  money 
on  the  part  of  the  Porte  for  its  settlement,  or  has  any  connection  whatever  m 
with  the  financial  difficulties  of  the  Government;  but  still  nothing  is   ■ 
done.     So  far  as  my  information  goes,  the  only  exception  to  this  general 
paralysis  of  the   Government  is   found  at    Adrianople,    where    Raouf 
Pacha  is  displaying  an  amount  of  energy  and  good  sense  in  his  admi- 
nistration which  iH  doing  much  to  reconcile  the  people  to  the  departure 
of  the  Russians.     Aclmiet  Vefik   Pacha,  at   Broosa,   is   doing   all  that 
he  can^  and  has  actually  made  himself  personally  popular  in  a  province 
where  he  was  once  looked  upon  as  a  madman  ;  but  he  has   been  &o   in- 
adaquately  supported  by   the  Central  Government  that  he  has  accom- 
plished but  little. 


Tnrltlsli   mnaaee. 

The  history  of  Turkish  finance  since  the  Crimean  War,  if  it  could  be 
fully  and  honestly  revealed,  would  make  a  moat  instructive  and  inte- 
resting book.  The  Government  was  encouraged  to  borrow  by  ambassadors 
desirous  of  increasing  their  influence,  and  by  bankers  who  were  certain 
to  make  enormous  profits  in  issuing  the  loans,  whether  those  who  were 
penuaded  to  invest  in  them  ever  received  their  interest  or  not ;  and. 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY.    753 


I 


unfortunately,  as  these  often-repeated  loans  became  unpopular  in 
Europe  they  became  very  popiilar  in  Turkey,  so  that  all  the  unem- 
ployed savings  of  the  country  were  iuveated  in  them.  There  is  hardly 
a  porter  or  water-carrier  in  Constantinople  who  does  not  hold  Uoimieliau 
railway  bonds. 

The  money,  which  was  so  easily  obtained,  was  as  easily  squandered, 
and  new  loans  were  made  to  pay  the  interest  on  old  ones,  until  the 
funded  debt  of  Turkey  amounted  to  je200,000,000.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  this  enormous  debt  was  incurred  by  those  so-called  great 
statesmen  Aali  and  Fuad  Pacha,  while  Mahmoud  Nedditn,  who  stopped 
paying  the  interest  because  there  was  no  money  in  the  treasury  and  he 
could  not  borrow  any  more,  is  accused  of  having  conspired  with  Genera! 
Ignatieff  to  ruin  the  country,  although  he  had  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  debt  except  to  pay  interest  on  it  as  long  as  he  could.  It  was  no 
surprise  to  the  cautious  business  men  of  Constantinople  when  the  crisis 
came.  I  had  been  warned  by  my  own  banker,  six  months  before,  that 
it  was  certain  to  come  within  nine  months^  and  he  assured  me  that  he 
had  already  sold  all  his  Turkish  securities.  There  was,  no  doubt,  some 
deception  practised  at  the  last,  but  it  was  only  a  question  of  a  few 
weeks,  and  it  was  but  fair  that  a  few  favoured  bankers  should  not  have 
the  opportunity  to  transfer  their  Consols  to  the  ignorant  public. 

Under  the  most  favourable  circumstances,  and  with  the  most  oppres- 
sive taxes,  the  revenue  of  the  Empire  was  never  large  enough  to  pay 
the  interest  on  the  debt.  In  1874,  it  was  estimated  at  ^£2^1,800,000, 
and  the  expenditure  at  £25,100,000 ;  but  the  amount  collected  did  not 
exceed  jS18,000,000,  which  was  an  increase  of  50  per  cent,  on  the 
revenue  ten  yeara  before.  The  floating  debt  now  outstanding  is 
estimated  at  about  £50,000,000,  but  a  portion  of  this  has  been  can- 
celled by  the  repudiation  of  about  j615,000,000  of  paper-money,  the 
loss  from  which  has  fallen  chiefly  upon  the  mercantile  classes.  It  is 
believed  by  those  who  know  the  country  best  that  the  revenue  will  not 
now  exceed  j61  2,000,000,  and  will  probably  fall  much  below  this  sum, 
while  the  ordinary  expenses  of  the  Government  must  be  at  least 
£15,000,000,  It  is  not  strange,  under  these  circumstances,  that  the 
various  projects  for  a  new  loan  have  failed.  And  if  those  bankers  who 
arc  anxious  to  exchange  worthless  securities  for  something  better  should 
come  to  an  agreement  with  the  Turkish  Government,  it  will  be  very 
strange  if  they  find  the  public  ready  to  subscribe  to  the  loan. 

No  doubt  the  security  offered  by  the  Turkish  Government  is  good,  if 
it  can  be  depended  upon ;  it  is  the  revenue  of  the  custom-houses  of 
the  Empire.  But  there  are  at  least  two  difficulties  in  the  way.  These 
revenues  have  already  been  pledged  to  pay  other  loans  j  and  if  they  had 
not,  the  Turkish  Government  cannot  possibly  live  without  the  revenue 
_  derived  from  this  source.  No  new  loan  could  possibly  be  negotiated  in 
I    Europe  on  this  security  which  did  not  arrange  for  the  payment  of  the 


I 


I 


754 


THE    CONTEMPQIURY  REVIEW, 


coming  to  the  Turks  would  not  even  reliere  their  irnmediatc  and  most 
pressing  necessities.  The  true  policy  of  the  Sultan  at  the  present  time 
is  to  acknowledge  his  inability  to  pay  any  more  interest  on  the  fnnded 
debt,  become  a  bankrupt,  and  give  up  all  idea  of  borrowing  anything 
more  in  Europe;  to  reduce  his  expenses,  and  live  on  his  revenue,  what- 
ever it  may  be.  Any  other  course  will  in  the  end  increase  the  misery 
of  his  own  people,  and  will  simply  transfer  the  loss  from  one  set  of 
bondholders  to  another.  Turkey  is  not  able  to  pay  a  penny  of  her 
present  funded  debt,  and  t!ie  sooner  this  is  understood  the  better  it  will 
be  for  Turkey  and  for  the  world.  Until  this  is  settled  there  will  be 
little  chance  of  arranging  that  portion  of  the  floating  debt  which  must 
be  paid,  and  which  is  now  drawing  the  most  exorbitant  interest.  As  to 
the  Russian  war  indemnity  of  €50,000,000,  it  cannot  be  rcpudiftted. 
It  will  have  priority  over  any  new  loan,  and  will  some  day  have  to  be 
paid ;  but  Russia  can  afford  to  wait  for  a  favourable  opportunity  to 
press  her  claim. 


i 


Z*ranoe  and  England  In  tbe  XasU 

There  appear  to  be  many  persons  in  France  and  England  who  arc 
surprised  and  irritated  to  learn  that  these  Powers  are  not  nUogethcr  in 
harmony  in  tlicir  Oriental  policvj  and  who  seem  to  suppose  that  since 
the  Crimean  War  there  has  been  no  rivalry  between  them  in  the  East ; 
but  no  one  who  is  fnmiliar  with  the  political  history  of  the  last  twenty- 
five  years  can  be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  France  has  never  relinquished 
her  purpose  to  maintain  a  controlling  influence  over  affairs  in  the  East, 
and  that  the  relations  of  the  two  Embassies  at  Constantinople  have  often 
been  anything  but  harmonious.  Since  the  German  war  France  baa 
been  much  less  active,  and  for  a  time  had  no  influence  here;  but  no 
one  supposed  that  this  state  of  tilings  coidd  continue,  and  no  one  here 
was  surprised  Mhcn  the  present  French  Ambassador  resumed  the  old  polirv, 
and  improved  every  opportunity  to  substitute  his  own  influence  for  that 
of  England,  There  is  no  occasion  for  siirprise  or  irritation.  France 
is  the  natiiral  rival  of  England  in  the  Mediterranean  ;  and  nlthongh 
they  may  combine  to  keep  out  Russia,  they  must  do  so  with  tbe  under- 
standing that  each  party  reserves  for  itself  the  fullest  liberty  of  action 
in  regard  to  other  questions  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  these  Powers  are 
more  frequently  in  opposition  than  in  harmony  in  the  East.  GcncralJy 
it  is  a  friendly  rivalry,  and  both  English  and  French  statesmen  deserve 
great  credit  for  their  skill  and  good  sense  in  keeping  it  within  these 
limits,  although  their  agents  here  do  not  nlwnys  sympathize  with  this 
spirit  of  moderation.  A  war  bet  ween  France  and  England  for  supremacy 
in  the  Mediterranean  would  be  a  calamity  to  the  world. 

The  present  divergence  of  opinion  in  regard  to  Greece  wa8ine%'itablp- 
When  France  made  herself  the  champion  of  the  Greeks,  and  sought  to 
strengthen  her  influence  in  this  way,  it  was  legitimate  political  strategy, 
and  not  disinterested  benevolence,     England  was  certainly  at  liberty  to 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  TURKEY,     755 

meet  this  move  on  the  political  chess-board  in  the  best  way  she  conld. 
She  may  have  moved  a  queen  vhen  it  would  have  been  wiser  to  move  a 
pawn ;  but  this  is  no  reason  why  her  opponent  should  lose  her  temper, 
nor  is  it  fair  for  outsiders  to  condemn  this  move  unless  they  feel  sure 
that  they  understand  the  game  better  than  the  players  themselves. 
The  relation  of  England  to  the  Greek  question  is  very  different  from 
that  of  France.  France  has  no  protectorate  over  Asia  Minor,  no 
entangling  alliance  with  Austria,  no  responsibility  for  the  reformation 
of  the  Turkish  Government  by  moral  suasion.  She  has  only  to  consider 
her  own  interests  or  her  own  sympathies.  She  believes  it  to  be  for  her 
interest  to  cultivate  the  friendship  of  the  Greeks  and  to  browbeat 
the  Turks,  and  the  sympathies  of  the  people  coincide  with  the  policy  of 
the  Government.  In  England  there  is  quite  as  much  sympathy  for 
Greece,  and,  as  an  abstract  question,  it  is  for  the  interest  of  England*to 
favour  civil  liberty  and  the  development  of  the  kingdom  of  Greece ;  but 
the  Government  has,  wisely  or  unwisely,  assumed  other  obligations 
which  it  is  not  easy  to  reconcile  with  the  demands  of  Greece  and  the 
policy  of  France.  It  is  apparently  the  object  oi  Lord  Salisbury  to 
compromise  these  conflicting  interests  in  such  a  way  as  to  partially 
s&tisiy  the  aspirations  of  Greece,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  the  im- 
pression upon  Turkey,  and  perhaps  upon  Austria  also,  that  their  interests 
have  not  been  neglected.  Compromise  is  supposed  to  be  the  basis  of 
diplomacy,  the  foundation  of  the  English  Constitution,  the  in  hoc  signo 
of  British  policy ;  but  with  all  its  advantages  it  has  this  great  disad- 
vantage— that  it  pleases  no  one.  Neither  Greece  nor  Turkey  will  feel 
any  gratitude  towards  England,  but  both  will  unite  in  those  hearty 
execrations  with  which  we  are  already  too  familiar  in  the  streets  of 
Athens  and  Constantinople.  This  is  a  result  which  will  be  satisfactory 
to  France,  and  there  seems  to  be  no  reason  to  fear  that  any  permanent 
disturbance  of  the  friendly  relations  of  the  two  countries  can  result 
from  the  Greek  question. 

An  Eastern  Statesman. 


CONTEMPORARY   BOOKS. 


I.— CHUECH  HISTORY,  &c. 

{Under  the  Direction  of  the  Rev.  Professor  Ghebtuax.) 


¥E  ban  with  pleasure  in  the  Memoirt  of  the  Life  and  EnUcopaic  of  (horn 
Augustus  8elu»fn,  D.l).,  by  the  Rev.  H.  W.  Tucker,  MA.  (London  :  W.  WcD« 
Gardner,  1879),  an  adeqn&te  record  of  the  labours  of  Kagland's  mtUimt 
inisstonaTy  bishop.  Nothing  in  the  whole  history  of  muiBions  is  more  etriktng  than  the 
way  in  which  young  George  Selwyn,  in  the  full  vigour  of  mind  and  body,  hand  some, 
accomplished,  poputr,  a  cherishea  member  of  the  best  society  in  England!,  with  erwy 
prospect  of  rising  to  a  distinguished  position  in  his  native  land,  at  once  accepted  the 
call  to  go  forth  into  the  midst  of  harbarism,  English  and  native,  on  the  other  sxdo  of  the 
world.  He,  if  any  one,  may  fitly  be  called  a  soldier  of  Christ,  for  he  was  every  inch  a 
soldier;  the  instuct  of  obedience  and  of  command  was  equally  strong  in  lum;  he 
felt  it  natural  to  be  "  a  man  under  authority,  having  soldiers  under  him."  When 
Mr.  Ernest  Hawkins  proposed  to  go  to  Eton  to  sound  him  as  to  the  New  Zealand 
bishopric,  one  who  knew  nira  well  gaid  that  that  was  not  the  way  to  proceed  with 
him  ;  the  proposal  mnst  bo  made  to  him  directly  and  officially.  li  was  bo  arranged, 
and  he  at  once  accepted  the  official  call  as  a  word  of  command;  "  whatever  part  in 
the  work  of  the  ministry  the  Church  of  England,"  he  wrote  in  reply,  "may  call 
upon  me  to  undertake,  1  trurt  I  shall  be  willing  to  accept  with  all  obedience  and 
humility."  This  was  the  key-note  of  hia  whole  nfo;  he  was  an  officer  of  the  Church, 
and  he  must  do  his  duty ;  from  that  nothing  would  indace  him  to  turn  back.  The 
Boldicr-like  spirit  appears  in  his  words  on  t^uittiuff  Eton— "I  thought  that,  should 
I  refuse  to  go,  the  liones  of  those  who  fell  m  Walcheren  would  rise  up  in  judgment 
against  mc. '  And  when  he  was  a^ain  in  England  aft«r  years  of  ardnons  work,  he 
would  fain  rouse  on  behalf  of  religion  the  "spirit  of  obedience  to  authority  which 
has  already  sent  our  Beets  and  armies  to  every  part  of  the  world."  The  Governor 
of  New  Zealaud  at  the  lime  of  Selwyn's  appomtment  thought  it  absurd  to  send  a 
bishop  where  there  were  no  roads  for  hia  coach.  No  doubt  one  of  the  stately  biahope 
of  the  last  century  would  have  found  himself  out  of  place  in  a  rough  colony ;  but 
Selwyn  was  a  bishop  of  a  new  type ;  a  bishop  who  could  visit  his  moceso  walking, 
riding,  swimming,  or  sailing ;  who  could  make  himself  at  home  in  a  Maori  hut,  or,  if 
need  were,  in  a  pig-stye  (ti.  178).  The  interest  of  the  memoirs  is  in  the  record  they 
supply  of  the  untiring  energy,  the  organizing  power,  the  pecalinr  inBuence,  the  un- 
failing sense  of  duty,  the  devotion  to  his  Master's  service,  which  characterised  the 
good  bishop's  career.  He  saw  at  once  what  the  earlier  missionaries  do  not  seem  to 
have  seen,  that  if  the  Maoris  were  to  be  made  real  Christians  they  must  be  educated; 
their  habits  of  thought  and  social  condition  must  be  changed.  Hence  the  untiring 
efforts  which  he  made,  not  only  to  bring  to  the  knowledge  of  the  nativo«  the  redemp- 
tion tiirough  Christ,  but  to  educate  them  in  English  arts,  and  in  the  honour  and 
purity  which  characterise  the  best  Christians  in  Europe;  he  would  fain  have  u  new 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


757 


Eton  and  a  younger  St.  John's  College  at  the  Antipodes.  A  very  remarkable  work, 
which  arose  ont  of  his  contact  with  the  many  languages  of  the  Paciiic,  is  le&0 
known  than  it  deserves  to  be.  GapLiin  Marryat's  code  of  fiignala.  by  which  ships  of 
different  nations  intervshange  ideas  throa^h  the  nnivorsaf  language  of  namoers, 
suggested  to  the  Bailor-bishop  one  part  uf  his  plan ;  a  passage  of  Gioero  added  to  it 
the  further  coaceptlon  of  bringing  together  into  one  view  all  words  having  the  same 
general  meaning.  He  classilied  all  the  words  in  the  Bible  under  about  250  headii, 
and  to  each  of  toese  heads  assigned  a  number,  so  that  it  might  be  conveniently  re- 
ferred  to.  That  in  the  midst  of  his  ever-moving  life  and  his  pressing  labours  he 
should  find  time  for  so  laborious  a  work  is  a  sij^nal  testimony  to  his  vigour  and 
steadfastness. 

Nothing  is  more  remarkable  than  the  readiness  with  which,  when  he  left  New 
Zealand,  he  accommodated  himself  to  the  widely -diffetiiut  conditions  of  hii^  new  episco- 
pate. Perhaps  at  Lichfield  he  sometimes  longed  for  the  "  free  air  *'  of  an  nnostabushed 
Church ;  bnt  while  in  New  Zealand  ho  steadfastly  resisted  au^  encroachment  of  the 
Colonial  Government,  in  England  he  was  very  far  from  wiahmg  to  separate  Church 
and  State,  and  he  had  but  little  sympathy  with  those  who  deliberately  break  the 
law  of  the  land  under  the  plea  of  obeying  the  Church.  Whether  in  New  Zealand 
or  at  Lichtield,  he  is  always  the  obedient  officer  of  the  Church — the  actually  existing 
Church  of  Kngland,  not  the  imaginary  body  to  which  some  pay  allegiance — learning 
•'  in  whatsoever  state  he  is,  therewith  to  be  content."  On  the  whole,  the  first  Metro- 
politan of  the  Pacific  Islands  compares  not  unfavourably  with  the  first  Metropolitan 
of  (termany,  the  Knglish  Boniface. 

Mr.  Tucker  has  done  his  part  well,  except  that  he  here  and  there  expresses  his  own 
opinion  rather  nnnecessariljr.  As  he  is  not  a  Constitutional  lawyer,  nor  writing  a 
Constitutional  history,  he  is  in  no  way  called  upon  to  describe  the  Public  Worsnip 
Regulation  Act  as  "  a  fiagrant  breach  of  the  Constitution."  He  should  have  con- 
tented himself  with  describing  Bishop  Selwyn's  attitude  towards  it,  which  he  has 
done  very  fairly.  With  regard  to  the  unfortunate  Maori  war,  we  do  not  of  course 
blame  ISfr.  Tacker  for  looking  at  it  with  the  bishop's  eyes  ;  yet  it  is  only  fair  to  re- 
member that  many  of  those  oest  qualified  to  judge  belicvea  that  the  war  was  forced 
upon  Governor  Gore  Browne  by  Wiremu  Kingi ;  "that  chiefs  conduct,"  wrote  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle  (Des[>atch  to  Sir  G.  Grey,  Augast  25,  18t^3),  "  from  first  to  last, 
seems  to  me  to  have  been  inconsistent  with  any  deffree  of  submission  to  the  Queen's 
aoTureignty  over  New  Zealand."  The  New  Zealand  House  of  Hepresentativea  pasaed 
a  resolution  lu  the  same  sense;  the  Chief  Justice — presumably  a  man  capaole  of 
forming  a  fair  opinion — held  the  same  view.  And  the  New  Zealand  authorities  were 
pretty  well  agreed  as  to  the  misery  which  would  bcfal  the  natives  if,  the  Queen's 
authority  not  being  upheld,  they  were  left  to  their  old  tribal  feuds  and  animosities. 
Bat,  whatever  opinion  we  may  hold  as  to  the  origin  of  the  war,  our  admiration  for 
the  bishop's  noble  conduct  in  it  is  in  no  way  diminished. 

Bishop  Selwyn  said  of  Bishop  Christopher  Wordsworth,  "  there  are  few  points,  if 
any,  on  which  I  differ  from  the  Bishop  of  Lincoln."  They  are.  in  fact,  representatives 
of  the  same  school,  the  school  which  we  may  conveniently  coll  the  01d>Anglican,  as 
contrasted  with  the  Neo-Catholic  or  Ritualistic.  This  school  is  earnest  in  contending 
for  the  authority  of  Scripture  while  reverencing  primitive  antiquity,  accepts  the 
Reformation  ns  a  benefit,  and  is  keimly  hostile  to  the  claims  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
Bishop  Wordsworth,  for  instance,  is  quite  clear  that  the  Lady  of  the  Seven  Hills, 
in  the  Apocalypse,  is  papal,  and  not  pagan  Rome.  He  is  probably  the  most  learned 
representative  of  this  school,  certainly  the  most  productive  of  literature.  He,  almost 
alone  among  the  men  of  this  degenerate  age,  recalls  the  days  when  the  writings  of  a 
theologian  who  reached  his  thrce-scure  years  and  ten  mi^ht  be  expected  to  fill  several 
foUo  volumes.  It  has  been  given  to  few  men  to  complete  no  gr&at  a  work  as  his 
"  Commentary  on  the  Bible ;"  and  this  represents  but  a  part  of  his  literary  activity ; 
travels,  scholarship,  lectures,  biography,  correspondence,  controversy,  poetry — all 
these  are  included  in  his  writings.  And  none  of  his  works  arc  light  or  ephemeral ;  all  are 
learned,  careful,  and  scholarly.  The  volumes  which  lie  before  us  (Mhcelianieg,  Liie- 
rarij  ami  /^,'e^'J;^V»"^,  by  Christopher  Wordsworth, D.L>.,  Bishop  of  Lincoln.  London: 
Riviugtons,  187y)  miyht  have  been  called,  if  tlie  bishop  had  been  disposed  to  parody 
Trofessor  Max  Miiller,  '*  Chips  !rom  an  Anglican  Workdhop,"  for  tney  contain  the 
various  smiiller  works  thrown  off  at  intervals  in  the  course  of  his  busy  life.  We 
have  here  the  cxi^ellent  little  treatise  on  the  Pompeiau  Grnffiti,  or  wuU-scribbliugs ; 
notes  of  tours  in  Greeot',  in  France,  and  in  Italy ;  papers  cadled  forth  by  the  Vatican 
VOL.    XXXV,  8    D 


758 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


Conneil  of  I860,  and  by  the  Con|p&8«  of  Old  Catholics  at  Colt^nc ;    tncto 
the  InBpirntion  of  the   Bible  and  its  Interpretation ;  on  the  use  of  unfernKBl 
wine   at    Holy    Communion,    called  forth   by   a    teetotal   objection    to   fermeDt 
wine;    on   art  in  connection   with   religion,  called   forth   by  the  proposed  deooi 
tion   of   a  cemetery   chapel;    on    Cremation    and   Burial— in    which    the    hi«k< 
shows    himself,  we    think,   a  little  oYcr-timid   with   regard  to  the    effect  on  tl 
popular  mind  of  i-edocing  the  human  frame  to  ashes ;  on  Religion  in  Scienoe— « 
Borraon  preached  in  the  church  at   Colsterworth,  Sir  Isaac  Newton's    birthjiUcsj 
on  tlie  religious  use  of  classical  studies ;  on  the  spread  of  infidelity  luid  the  need 
a  learned  clergj' ;  on  the  destiny  of  MohammeiiBnism,  a  pvoiw*  of  the  "Tori 
Qncstion  ;"  on  ecclesiastical  legislation  and  joriBdiction ;   on  diocesan  synods; 
clerical  non-residence ;  on  the  sale  of  Church  patronage  and  on  simony ;  on 
and  divorce,  and  on  marriage  with  a  deceased  wife's  sister ;  on  clerical  oclxhi 
on  sisterhoods  and  vows ;  on  English  cathedrals ;  on  the  Church  of  Bngland^^ 
present,  and  future;    on  the  continuity  of   the  Chnrch   of   England;    on  ca. 
punishment ;  and  we  have  besides  a  Pastoral  to  Wcslcyan  Methodists  ;  a  collectiw 
of  maxims  for  the  use  of  the  Theological  School  at  Lincoln ;  and  the  "  Holy  Toar,' 
a  series  of  hyrans  following  the  conrse  of  the  ecclesiiistical  calendar.     It  is,  of  conT5< 
impossible  within  our  limits  to  criticize  ao  varied  a  series  of  works,  b\it  tWa  we  maj 
say   of  their  general  character.     Not  oue  of  these  works  is  slight  or  careless ;  noi 
one  of  them  has  the  air — like  so  many  mo<lern  collections  of  Mi^^-ltanva — of  l<iaj] 
written  simply  for  nnuiRcment  or  to  attract  notice;  even  in  his  travels  the  bislioi 
thinks  of  edification.     VVc  may  say  that  the  publication  ot   every  paper  in  the 
volumes  has  been  dictated  by  a  sincere  wish  to  do  cood;  to  defend  some  tmth  whic 
is  assailed,  or  to  bring  iuto  light  fiome  truth  which  is  in  danger  of  bi'Inrr  f..-.r,itt(t 
And  a  life  of  literary  activity  of  this  kind  is,  in  its  own  ^vay,  not  less  r  tl 

that  of  a  missionary.    To  maintain  truth  in  the  old  centres  of  Christ: 
not  less  important  than  to  propagate  it  in  distant  lands. 

There  is  not  much  resemblance  between  Chrifttopher  Wordsworth  and  Fr( 
Ozanaui,  but  probably  thin  Rcntence,  "  He  lunl  always  a  great  hrirrnr  of  beooftiin^ 
simiily  a  man  of  letters,  and  nothing  else,"  would  apply  to  one  as  well  as  the 
for  uoth  would  regard  the  maintenance  of  truth  and  the  good  of  mankind 
proper  end  and  auu  of  their  work.  Fredenc  Ozattam^  hie  Lif*^  and  \W>rh8t  by 
leen  O'Meara  (London  :  C.  Kegan  Paul  &>  Co.),  gives  an  interesting  account  of  tf^ 
interesting  person,  one  of  those  cultivated  French  Roman  Catholics  who  are  eat 
in  defence  of  the  faith  withont  confining  their  thonghts  and  stnilies  to  the  narroir" 
round  of  partisan  manuals  which  aatisfy  the  more  bigoted  members  of  their  Charcli. 
He  was  a  Roman  Catholic  of  unswerving  faith,  and  yet  had  in  matters  not  of  faith 
the  curiosity  and  flexibility  of  a  true  Frenchmen.  It  was  Osuinam  who,  with  some 
half-dozen  friends  as  poor  as  himself,  founded  the  society  of  St.  Vincent  de  l*aul,  ai 
a  practical  answer  to  the  St.  Simonians,  who  reproached  the  Catholics  with  doia^ 
nothing  for  the  welfare  of  the  people.  He  was  still  under  thirty  when  he  l>«gan  to 
leotn re  on  foreign  literature  at  the  SorbonneasM.  Fauriel's  deputy,  and  only  thirty- 
one  when  he  became  Professor  on  FaurieVs  death — the  vouuRest  Professor  that  ha*! 
ever  been  appointed  there ;  and  certainly  his  works  on  tne  "  Civilization  of  the  Fifth 
Century,"  and  on  "  Dante  and  the  Cathohc  Philosophy  of  the  Thirteenth  C-entnry," 
entitle  him  to  a  high  jdace  in  French  literature.  Yet  even  in  Ozanam,  a  natorilljr 
candid  man,  we  can  sec  that  his  religious  views  placed  him  in  some  respects  at  a  dis- 
advantage; he  was  unable  to  look  fairly  at  theories  which  did  not  square  with  hii 
conception  of  Catholicism  ;  lie  always  saw  the  heroes  of  his  own  faitli  in  a  rosy  Hght 
of  imagination  ;  while  in  those  who  differed  from  him — as.  for  instance,  in  JouffroT 
— ho  always  thought  ho  detected  '•  sophistnr  and  false  science.'*  Still,  the  deciiiM 
bias  and  eager  tempcrnnicnt  which  sometimes  perverted  his  views  of  history  adJ 
something  of  interest  lo  his  life,  and  probably  it  wonld  be  difEcnlt  to  6nd  n  man  who 
more  earnestly  endeavoured  to  live  up  to  his  conception  of  doty,  or  one  more  beloved 
by  his  friends  than  Frederii^  Ozanam. 


Mr.  Walter  Besunt's  Life  of  Gaspard  do  Ooligny,  Marquis  de  Chattllon.  which 
forms  a  volnme  of  The  Neir  Plntiuch  (London  :  Marcus  Wardand  Co.),  supplies  »B 
interesting  account  of  the  famous  Admiral  de  Coligny,  who  was  once  the  leader  *»f 
the  Reformed  pa  rty|in]F  ranee,  and  perished  intho  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholotncw.  It 
is  a  deeply-interesting  recital,  and  ilr.  Besant  is  no  doubt  right  in  saying  that  with 
Cohgny  perished  the  hope  of  the  Keformatiou  succeeding  in  France.  But  in  truth 
it  seems  to  us  doomed  from  the  first ;  even  under  more  favourable  political  circnm* 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS.  i 

stances,  we  can  hnnlly  imagine  the  Protestantism  of  Coliffny  or  of  Calvin  becoming 
the  religion  of  the  French  nation.  It  drew  to  itaelf  some  ot  the  best  men  in  France, 
but  it  was  too  narrow,  too  reasonable,  too  little  emotional  or  impressive,  to  move  the 
people  at  large.  Even  in  OolignT,  a  man  who  passed  his  life  in  the  great  world,  we 
see  the  faults  which  stunted  the  Ueformatioa  in  Franco.  Of  Mr.  Besant's  work  we 
have  to  say,  that  it  is  extremely  well  and  brightly  written ;  the  first  English  life  of 
Goligny  is  worthy  of  him.  The  only  fault  we  have  to  find  with  the  anthor  is,  that 
his  tonch  is  rather  too  rapid ;  it  would  have  add^d  to  the  interest  of  the  book  if  he 
had  introduced  fewer  persons,  and  treated  those  whom  he  did  introduce  at  somewhat 
greater  length. 

We  have  to  notice  a  new  edition  (Pickering,  London)  of  the  late  ArehJeacon 
Churton'a  Earlu  JSiiglUh  Chnrch.  It  is  a  convenient  manual  of  the  Pre-Eefor- 
mation  history,  by  a  scholar  and  divine  of  the  old  Anglican  school.  It  was  first 
written  when  English  writers  hiul  hardly  abandoned  the  custom  of  describing  the 
religion  existing  in  England  from  Gregory  to  Warham  as  mere  superstition  and 
imposture,  and  it  represents  the  begiiming  of  the  reaction  against  that  view.  Kot 
that  the  archdeacon  was  by  any  means  favourable  to  Kome ;  he  had  the  old 
English  dislike  for  Foporvt  which  he  regarded  as  having  been  introduced  into 
England  by  the  fault  of  the  Civil  Government.  In  that  view,  we  think,  he  was 
wrong,  but  the  book  is,  on  the  whole,  both  a  fair  and  an  interesting  epitome  of 
early  English  Church  History. 

Heitxa  of  thfi  mission  FUld,  hv  the  Right  Rev.  W.  Pakenham  Walsh.  D.D.,  Bishop 
of  Osaory  (London  :  Hoiider  and  Stonghton,  1879),  consists  of  a  series  of  skeiche* 
of  eminent  missionurieg  of  varions  communions.  priucij>ally,  however,  of  that  of  the 
Pre- Reformation  Church.  Beginning  with  **  Apostolic  and  early  misBions  daring 
the  first  three  centaries,"  it  brings  before  the  reader,  in  snccession,  vigorous  and 
well-written  sketches  of  St.  Martm  of  Tours,  A.D.  347-Ul^7  ;  Ulphilas,  the  Apostle  of 
the  troths,  A.D.  341.388;  St  Patrick,  a.d,  •l:t2-493  and  his  foUowem;  St.  Augustine 
in  England,  a-D.  o1>6-605  ;  St.  Boniface  in  Germany,  ad.  716-755;  Anschar,  the 
Apostle  of  the  North,  a.d.  826-865;  Adalbert,  Misaiunary  and  Martyr  amongst  the 
Sclavonians,  A.o.9&3-9b7  ;  Otto,  the  Apostle  of  Pomeraoia,  a^.  U2't-il39 ;  Raymund 
Loll,  Philosopher,  Missionary  Martyr,  a.p.  1291-1315  ;  Francis  Xavier,  Missionary  to 
the  Indies  and  Japan,  a.i».  1£41-1552  ;  Eliot,  the  Apostle  of  the  Red  Indians,  aj). 
1646-1690;  Hans  Egede,  the  Apostle  of  Greenland,  jL.r).  172l-17o8;  and  Christian 
Frederic  Schwartz,  a.d.  1750-171W.  Thus,  with  the  exception  of  the  three  last,  a  Con- 
gregntionnliat  and  two  Lutherans,  the  latter  employed  oythcChurch  of  England,  tlio 
whole  belong  to  the  Eastern  or  Western  Charcn,  and  all  did  their  work  before  the 
Reformation,  except  Xavier.  The  selection  shows  the  breadth  of  sympathy  and 
catholicity  of  spirit  which  pervades  the  volume,  and  is  perhaps  more  likely  to  interest 
the  general  reader  than  illustrations  of  the  missionary  spirit  chosen  more  lai^ely 
from  recent  times.  Maa^  to  whom  modern  names  of  missionary  heroism  are  familiar 
will  be  pleased  to  meet  tresh  and  genial  glimpses  of  others  of  whom  they  may  not 
yet  have  au  equal  knowledge.  Bishop  Walsh  has  done  his  work  carefnlly,  ana  with 
a  judicial  calmness  of  estimate  which  gives  it  a  greater  value  than  less  discriminating 
writers  secure.  'While  there  is  a  fine  glow  of  (Christian  feeling  there  is  a  temperate- 
ness  of  judgment,  and  the  sketches  though  ncoeasarily  brief  are  evidently  the  resnlt 
of  carefal  investigation  of  authoritiee.  The  Bishop's  object,  as  stated  by  hunself.  **  h&^ 
been  to  exhibit  the  progress  of  the  Christian  Church  from  a  missionary  standpoint, 
and  to  show  how  the  varions  nations  and  people  of  Christendom  received  their 
knowledj^e  of  the  Christian  faith."  The  desire  not  only  to  diffuse  missionary  infor- 
mation, but  to  enlist  or  increase  the  sympathies  of  a  larger  nnml>er  in  Christian 
miasions,  he  tells  as,  has  been  his  highest  ambition  in  executing  his  task,  and  we 
cannot  but  think  tluit  it  will  be  attained  in  not  a  few  cases.  Themistocles  kindled 
hi«  euthusiasm  by  lookine  at  the  trophies  of  Miltiades,  and  the  heroic  !tpirits  of  the 
rising  generation  may  wwl  rouse  theirs  by  reading  the  doings  of  the  heroes  re<N'»rdcd 
in  this  volume 


3  o  2 


760 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


IL— MODERN  HISTORY 


{JJnd<fr  il^  Direction  of  Professor  Gardixkii.) 


MK.  GREEN,  in  the  tbird  volume  of  his  UhUrfy  of  the  English  PeopU  (London : 
Macmilluu  &  Co.),  has  brought  his  narratire  aown  almost  to  the  dose  of  tlu 
reit^  of  Charles  II.  It  need  not  be  said  that  he  t«11s  ^th  his  usnal  Tigaar 
the  story  of  the  exciting  epoch  which  opened  with  the  death  of  ElizaVieth,  He  bm 
paid  considerable  attention,  too,  to  the  criticiRms  which  were  so  freely  laTisbcd  on  his 
former  work,  and  has  been  careful  to  eradicate  many  of  the  blunders  by  which  it  wti 
defaced.  There  are,  however,  i)lenty  still  remaimn<^.  One  would  have  thought,  for 
iustance,  that  if  there  was  any  one  qaotatiou  that  he  would  have  been  more  lucdy  to 
ffive  accurately  than  another,  it  would  have  been  that  in  which  he  reports  the  wdl- 
tnown  phrase  in  which  Strafford,  at  the  meeting  of  the  Committee  after  the  diwo- 
lation  of  the  Short  Parliament,  announced  that  tnere  was  an  army  in  Ireland  which 
might  be  used  to  "  reduce  this  kingdom."  With  curioue  infelicity,  Mr.  Greea 
asserts  that  Strafford  said  it  was  to  be  used  "to  reduce  that  kiugdom  to  oU^- 
If  Strafford   had    said    this,   the   words    would    plainly  have  pointed  to 


ence. 


h 


Scotland,  and  Pym  would  never  have  taken  the  trouble  to  quote  thorn 

It  13  unncccBBary  to  pursue  the  subiect  further.  It  in  more  interesting  to  ask  why 
it  is  that  Mr.  Green  foils  to  make  allowances  for  the  Royalists  great  or  small.  aiM 
accordingly  fails  to  give  the  KoyaliBt  party  its  due  place  as  a  factor  in  English 
political  development.  It  may  fairly  be  allowed  to  Mr,  Green  that  the  party  of 
Parliamentary  supremacy  was  not  only  the  victorious  party  in  the  end,  but  that  it 
contributed  by  far  the  most  important  element  to  the  nituni  Constitution.  Bat  if 
we  compare  Fym's  House  of  Commons  with  the  House  of  Commons  of  the  present 
day,  it  is  at  once  discovered  that  they  differ  by  the  absence  or  prcpenoe  of  Cabinet 
Government  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  gnarantoes  for  individual  liberty  on  the  other. 
What  was  presented  to  Bacon  and  Strafford  and  Charles  was  the  direct  rule  of  the 
House  of  Commons  without  either  a  Cabinet  to  guide  its  deliberations,  or  a  free 
press  to  enable  the  minority  to  appeal  to  the  sense  of  the  nation.  No  donbt  they 
were  instigated  in  their  resistance  uy  many  other  causes  than  pure  political  theonr. 
But  no  historian  who  has  really  takeu  the  trouble  to  investigate  in  detail  the  reoonu 
of  Charles's  Psrliamcnts  will  fail  to  discover  far  more  reasonableness  in  the  conduct 
of  the  Royalist  party  than  Mr.  Green  is  inclined  to  allow. 

To  say  this  is  by  no  means  to  deny  that  Mr.  Green  has  attached  himself  to  the 
more  important  element  of  the  two  which  arc  harmoniously  blended  in  our  presffit 
Constitution.  An  organ  of  government  without  an  organ  of  representation  nmi 
necessarily  to  despotism.  An  organ  of  representation,  when  it  has  once  obtained 
the  mastery,  is  certain  sooner  or  later  to  call  into  existenc-e  an  organ  of  govetiuneQl 
An  able  writer,  indce<l.  in  the  last  number  of  the  Qtuttit^rlff  iZcriVfi/*,  holds  that  the 
Civil  War  was  mainly  the  fault  of  Pym.  It  is  cosy  to  maintain  that  one  side  ia 
BLKgre^sivQ  whcu  the  movements  on  the  other  side  are  left  out  of  account.  To  toll 
the  story  of  that  momentous  first  year  of  the  Long  Parliament,  we  must  indeed  have 
reoourso,  like  the  Quart^'i-hj^  to  "  D  Ewes's  Diary."  But  we  must  also  have  recourse  to 
Rossetti  and  Giustinian.  men  familiar  with  the  Court  and  sympathizing  with  iti 
efforts,  in  order  that  we  may  learn  how  the  suspicious  of  Pym  were  in  graat 
part  justified;  how  almost  from  the  very  beginuiug  the  Quceu  was  ready  to  invite 
a  French  army  to  England  to  defend  her  caase;  how,  when  Charle*  went  t^ 
Scotland,  it  was  npon  a  delilierate  understanding  with  the  Scottish  Com  miss  ioners 
that  a  Scottish  army  should  he  placed  at  liis  command  to  restore  his  old  authority 
in  England  ;  and  how  the  atttmipt  on  the  Five  Members  was  but  the  spocial 
form  taken  by  a  blow  which  ho  had  long  been  meditating.  Many  iudefeusiblu 
things  indeed  were  done  by  the  Parliamentary  leaders,  but  they  cannot  fairly  bo 
accused  of  standing  on  their  defence  without  a  cause. 

From  Mr.  Green's  Historv  it  is  not  so  long  a  stop  as  it  would  seem  to  tho 
fourth  volume  of  Mr.  Theodore  Martin's  TAfe  of  Hit  Boifol  Hiijhnc9$  ih6  Prmcd 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


701 


voneori  (Smith,  Elder,  and  Co.).  From  the  tale  of  Parliaments  failing  for  want 
of  the  guidance  of  a  Cabinet,  we  are  brought  into  a  position  to  observe  the  inner 
working  of  the  relationH  between  the  modern  Cabinet  and  the  Crown.  It  is  nrobabla 
that  before  the  publication  of  Mr.  Bftgehot'a  Easays  on  the  Conatitntion,  tne  maao 
even  of  the  political  class  had  very  tittle  knowledge  on  the  aubjecUand  Mr.  Martin 
now  comes  with  special  authority  to  show  that  Mr.  Bogehot's  theory  was  founded 
npon  actual  facts.  The  impreseion  left  by  Mr.  Martin's  narrative  will,  to  all  unpre- 
judiced minds,  be  decidedly  favourable  to  the  system  pursued  under  the  Prince's 
influence.  It  may  be  grant^^  that  it  would  be  undeRirable  that  an  irresponsible 
advisor  should  exert  preaanre  on  the  Cabinet  to  bring  it  to  act  in  a  way  to  which  it 
was  itself  adverse.  Nothing  of  the  kind,  however,  is  reported  in  these  volumes  as 
having  ever  been  done  under  the  Prince's  guidance.  He  often  caused  his  opinions  to 
be  laid  before  this  or  that  minister,  and  no  minister  can  be  the  worse  for  naving  to 
take  into  consideration  opinions  opposed  to  his  own.  If  there  was  reason  to  suspect 
that  the  minister  would  not  pay  sufficient  attention  to  the  adWce  given,  the  Queen 
directed  the  Prince  to  hiy  it  before  the  Cabinet.  Nothing  further  was  then  done. 
To  take  such  a  conrae  as  this  was  to  provide  for  the  proper  working  of  the  constita- 
tional  machinery,  not  to  violate  its  spirit.  A  Cabinet  may  indee^l  allow  itself  to  be 
dominated  by  the  force  of  will  of  one  statesman ;  but  it  is  at  least  advisable 
that  it  should  have  the  opportunity  of  pronouncing  its  judgment.  On  one  occa- 
sion, in  the  course  of  the  three  y<iar8  to  which  this  volume  relates,  a  heatlstrong 
minister  broke  away  from  these  restrictions.  Wo  learn  that  the  notorious  des- 
patch with  which  Lord  Ellenborough  hastily  and  intemperately  critioizetl  Lord 
Canning's  Oude  proclamation  was  sent  oS  without  being  previouidy  submitted 
either  to  the  Sovereign  or  the  Cabinet.     The  result  was  certainly  not  satisfactory. 

To  turn  from  the  constitutional  position  claimed  for  the  Crown  by  the  Prince  to 
his  opinions  on  large  questions  ot  policy,  we  are  at  once  attracted  to  his  efforts 
to  keep  the  peace  Iwtween  France  and  Austria  in  1859,  and  to  his  cantioua  wisdom 
in  restraining  the  Liberal  ministers  from  intervening  ailcr  the  war  was  over  to 
involve  tbeir  country  in  a  partnership  with  the  French  Emperor,  instead  of  leaving 
him  to  extricate  himself  from  the  web  of  oouiradictory  engagements  in  which  h« 
had  entangled  his  feet.  The  course  which  the  Prince  took  was  doubtless  the  best  that 
conld  be  taken.  He  believed  fully  in  the  doctrine  of  non-inter\*ention,  and  he  did 
not  think  that  the  deqwts  of  Europe  were  likely  to  contribute  much  towards  the 
deveIoi>ment  of  free  government.  Yet  it  is  evident  that  there  was  a  side  of  the  sub- 
ject which  he  did  not  see.  He  cared  for  constitutional  freedom  and  intelligent  rule. 
He  showed  no  sign  of  caring  much  for  the  rights  of  nationalities.  He  talked  of  the 
composite  Empire  of  Austria  as  a  State  in  the  same  way  as  he  would  have  talked  of 
France  or  Spain  as  a  State.  As  such  it  was  not  to  be  meddled  with  from  without. 
Yet  obviously  the  position  of  a  tyrannical  French  Government  oppressing  French- 
men is  Quite  different  from  that  of  n  tyrannical  Government  in  Austria  oppressing 
Lombaray.  In  the  first  case  the  cause  of  liberty  would  beat  be  served  by 
leaving  the  tyrant  alone.  To  attack  him  would  be  to  throw  on  his  side  the  force  of 
patriotism.  The  national  sentiment  would  be  certain  »ooner  or  later  to  be 
awakenecl  aj^ainst  him,  and  would  in  time  reach  even  those  military  foroea  on 
which  he  relied.  Nothing  of  the  kind  was  the  caae  with  Lombardy  and  Venice.  No 
patriotism  would  ever  have  induced  the  inhabitants  of  those  provinces  to  take  the 
part  of  one  who  was  but  an  alien  oppressor.  No  growth  of  hostile  feeling  on  their 
part  was  ever  likely  to  work  a  change  in  the  breasta  of  the  Germans  and  Sclavonians 
who  held  them  down.  To  defend  the  doctrine  of  non-intervention  in  such  a  cas« 
was  to  uphold  the  perpetual  slavery  of  one  nation  to  another. 

Yet  for  all  that  it  is  no  blame  to  the  Prince  that  he  looked  with  some  contempt  on 
Lord  Palmereton's  habit  of  throwing  himself  vehemently  from  time  to  time  on  the 
aide  of  an  Emperor  who  gave  out  that  he  was  going  to  do  great  things  for  Italy. 
The  opinions  of  the  ablest  and  moat  thoughtful  practical  men  are  apt  to  be  restricted 
within  the  special  conditions  under  which  they  work,  and  it  is  certam  that  the  Prince 
was  quite  wise  in  holding  back  England,  with  all  his  counsel,  from  forwarding 
Napoleon's  plans.  An  Emperor  who  went  almut  talking  of  the  reconstruction  of 
the  treaties  of  Vienna,  and  of  fighting  for  the  honour  and  interests  of  France,  was 
oertoinly  not  the  partner  that  a  decent  nation  would  care  to  have  in  a  great  enterprise. 
Nor  on  the  other  uand  was  there  any  hope  from  the  combination  of  European  Govern- 
ments. The  despotic  Powers  of  Europe  were  not  likely  to  care  much  for  Italian 
liberty.  If  ever  the  time  comes  when  a  Continental  opinion  is  reflected  in  the 
European  Governments  in  favour  of  the  rights  of  nations  rather  than  of  the  rights  of 
States,  that  time  had  certainly  not  arrived  in  1859.    It  would  have  been  better 


762 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


perhupB  if  the  Prince  had  not  taken  so  mach  intereet  in  thoao  futile  ceffotii 
which  preceded  tlie  outbreak  of  the  war,  and  which  i^or«d  the  real  point 
imiwrtance.  What  wae  the  nae  of  dealing  with  the  relationa  between  Austria  and 
the  lesser  States  as  long  as  she  contiuned  to  hoUi  Lombardy  and  Vcnetia  ?  The 
Emperor  rexielled  the  moral  sense  of  the  Prince  when  he  declared  he  must  hare  v-m 
ffueyif  on  im&  fdaJanie  saHttfiutton  pour  mol.  When  he  said  that  Austria  had 
*'  brought  thinf^s  to  this  extremity,  that  either  she  must  rule  up  to  the  Alps  or  Italjr 
be  free  to  the  Adriatic,"  he  gave  utterance  to  a  truth  which  the  Prince,  as  far  as  we 
leam  from  this  volume,  entirely  ignored. 

The  concluding  volnme,  which  is  stilto  come,  will  be  of  considerable  int^re^t. 
The  Prince's  services  were  so  great  to  his  adopted  country,  and  hi*  character  was  m 
high  and  his  intelligence  so  clear,  that  he  cim  well  l>ear  the  criticism  that  he  dkl 
not  perceive  the  whole  truth  of  u  tangled  situation  of  which  amoOer  men  can  grwp 
the  clue  with  the  advantage  of  the  know-  ledge  brought  by  pUBsingtune. 

It  is  not,  however,  on  the  Prince's  political  sagacity  that  tne  bulk  of  the  reader?  of 
Mr.  Martin's  book  will  dwell  the  longest.  The  relations  between  the  Cabinet  anJ 
the  Crown,  and  the  relations  between  States  and  Nationa,  interest  the  thoughtfol 
few.  The  spectacle  of  a  pure  and  intelligent  domestic  life  comes  home  to  the  hearbi 
of  all.  The  readers  of  this  volume  will  be  able  in  some  little  measure  to  comprehend 
the  love  with  which  the  Prince  inspired  those  amongst  whom  his  daily  life  wms 
placed. 

It  is  satisfactory  to  learn  that  Dr.  Jessopp's  OnA  Chn^aiton  0/  n  NorfoVc  ffl-'Miw, 
the  repntation  of  which  has  long  ago  been  established.  haA  boon  republished  in  1 
haAdier  form  (Bums  and  Oates).  The  Roman  Catholic  Misaionariefr  who  mifftr^ 
in  Elizabeth's  reigii  deserve  their  meed  of  acknowledgment,  and  it  is  well  that  it 
should  come  heartily  from  a  writer  who  does  not  share  in  their  special  creed.  Some  of 
Dr.  Jeseopp'a  readers  will  probably  be  startled  by  his  assertion  that  the  Jestiitft,  so  far 
from  being  crafty  beyond  all  other  men,  were  too  enthusiastic  to  avoid  the  trap* 
which  were  set  for  them  by  the  Government.  The  statement,  however,  is  well  boni« 
out  by  the  evidence.  It  is  happily  one  of  Dr.  Jes3opp*fl  peculiarities  that  he  gr»cs  to 
ihe  bottom  of  his  subject.  Moat  of  his  readers  will  ghde  pleasantly  over  the  CTOceAil 
narrative  which  leada  them  through  the  scenes  of  life  and  defttli.  Experts  willadmir* 
the  carefulness  with  which  the  side  lights  are  thrown  in  after  evidently  close  inquiry. 
To  others  the  sense  of  industry  is  lost  in  the  brilliancy  of  the  effect. 

Two  recent  Freuch  works  of  note  have  lately  appeared  in  an  English  dres*— 
Jules  Simon's  Gm^ermncut  of  Jtf.  Tinen  (Sampson  Ijow  A  Co.),  and  the  Duke 
of  Broglie's  King's  Secrrt  (Cassell,  Petter,  and  Galpin).  Th*  translation  of  the 
hitter  is  particnlarly  well  done. 


III,_BOOKS  OF  TRAVEL. 

(Vnder  the  Dtrccfion  0/ Professor  K.  H.  Palmer.) 


"MjfMK  and  Tkingt — Jtu^ioM^hj  the  Rov.  James  Christie  (Edinburgh  :  Andrew 
J.ZJL  Elliot),  is  a  cheery,  chatty  httJe  book,  but  cannot  be  said  to  odd  much  to  oar 
knowledge  of  Russia.  ITid  description  of  the  voyage  thither,  at  anr  rate,  has  00 
bearing  upon  either  men  or  things  Bnssian.  except,  pernaps,  in  the  case  oi  the  Atlantic 
steamer  which  Mr.  Christie  saw  in  Leith  roads,  which  had  '*  boon  run  ashore,  got  off, 
and  imtchcd  up,  and  which  the  owners  were  then  trying  to  sell  to  the  Russian  Uorem- 
mont  to  bo  added  to  the  six  already  fitted  out  to  sweep  British  commerce  from  the 
gMM."  Tliis  sets  Mr.  Christie  off  on  a  digression,  in  the  course  of  which  he  makes  the 
Tem&rkahle  statement  that  '*  if  England  can  put  forty  cruisers  over  against  sovea  of 
Russia,  it  almost  stands  to  a  certainty  that  Russia  may  set  Afghanistan  over  against 
C^rus."  The  meaning  of  this  mystical  sentence  we  cannot  pretend  to  exphun ;  but 
it  is  only  fair  to  add  tliat  Mr.  Chnstie's  style  as  n  nde  is  simnle  and  stroigutforward. 
fie  digresses  at  some  length  about  the  drink  question,  about  religion,  and  Mr.  PUmsoU, 
but  "  tho  longest  voyage  comes  to  an  end  some  time;'*  and  he  at  length  fairly land< 
his  reader  in  Russia,  and  gives  an  interesting,  almost  idylUc,  account  of  the  life  of 
the  li^inAM,  in  whose  coontiy  ho  spent  a  few  days. 


I 


* 


I 


i 


COXTEMPORARY   BOOKS, 


769 


» 


> 


I 


"^-It  ia  always  pleasant  to  read  the  trareU  of  a  man  who  Enda  nothing  to  frni ruble  at; 
and  our  author  observes  at  Moscow,  after  praising  the  "  ereat  Slav  hotel  oC  thia 
great  Slav  city,  in  wludi  ererything,  from  the  costume  of  Sne  hall-porters  to  the 
lavatory  fuuutiuns  iu  the  bedrooms,  is  after  the  old  Russian  pattern,"  tltat  to 
say  it  was  comfortable  **  would  he  superfluous,  .  .  .  and  although  guide-books  and 
traroUers  warn  ^ou  against  the  hoteU  iu  Buasia,  1  neither  suffered  any  annoj- 
aucti  nor  was  subject  to  any  extortion  here  or  clBewhere." 

A  visit  to  the  jp'cat  monustcry  of  Troitsa  and  to  the  fair  of  Kijni  Novgorod 
completed  Mr.  Chrutie*s  holiday  tour,  and  his  account  of  both  is  well  worth  reading. 
It  is  stnioue  to  find  that  he  is.<^uit«  xmcouscioos  of  the  fact  that  the  ceremony  of 
'*  beating  toe  bounds"  tooV  place  iu  most  English  parishes  a  few  years  ago,  for  hfi 
describes  the  Russian  peasants  as  using  this  '*novei  and  to  some  memorable"  method 
of  improsaiug  on  the  rising  generation  the  geography  of  their  village.  AlsOj  we  can&ot 
allow  that*  "  selliug  tlio  ocar*s  sldxi  before  you  Imve  hnutod  him"  is  a  Bussiaa 
proverb,  '*  whose  nationality  is  so  evident  that  no  one  w^ill  suspect  I  am  manufaoturing 
it  for  the  occasion."  Can  iVCr.  Christie  never  have  read  the  "  Legend  of  Montrose.  * 
where  Dugald  Dalgetty,  who  may,  by  the  way,  have  learned  the  proverb  iu  Germany, 
uses  it  to  answer  Lord  Menteitli  s  tempting  offers?  Neither  did  the  ten  thousand 
Greeks  cry,  eoXao-inj,  BaXoaoTj  (sic)!  as  Mr.  Christie  tells  na  the^  did.  But  when 
he  does  uut  quote  Greek  or  make  little  jokes  he  gives  capital  descriptions  of  all  that 
he  saw,  and  especially  uf  the  great  dt'velupmunt  of  industrial  life  among  the  emauci> 
patcd  serfs.  Of  Nihilists,  Vera  SassuHtcii,  i&c  we  read  but  little,  and  almost  the 
only  story  which  romiuds  us  that  Bnssia  is  a  despotic  country  is  that  of  the  Ucrman 
waiter  at  Warsaw,  who  said  to  his  fellow-servants  that  the  ftdl  of  Plevna  was  bo^ 
news  for  Poland.  Next  morning  he  received  an  *'  invitation"  to  visit  the  polioe 
court.  Here  the  following  dialogue  occurred : — "  You  have  said  that  the  fall  Qf 
Plevna  was  bad  for  Poland?"  "No,  I  did  not."  A  door  immediately  o|>eued, 
and  a  fellow-waiter,  with  the  cook  of  the  hotel,  stepped  into  the  court.  The^ 
gave  their  evidence,  and  tlie  magistrate's  quick  decision  was  given  iu  the  laconic 
terms,  "  Cross  the  frontier  imme£ately." 

Mr.  Avlward  begins  the  preface  to  his  book  on  the  Transvaal  {The  Trann-aal  of 
To-<^<ij/,  oy  Alfred  A3-lward.  W.  Blackwood  and  Sons.  Edinburgh  and  London),  by 
expressing  an  expectation  iu  which  he  has  certainly  been  justilied  by  the  event; 
namely,  that  **the  South  African  QuestioD  will  prol>ably,  by  the  time  this  work 
reaches  the  public,  be  a  bnrniug  one  :"  albeit  the  burning  stage  has  not  been  reached 
iu  the  precise  manner  which  he  outioipated.  For  he  toiJkS  with  a  certain  contempt 
of  the  Zulu  nation  as  a  "bug-bear"  aud  "  Bog)',"  and  of  a  "certain  domestic  dcvQ 
kept  up  by  politicians  for  everyday  use,  whose  name  is  Cetywayo."  His  book  is 
chieByaevotedtoan  account  of  the  occupation  or  annexation  of  the  Transvaal  Bcpnblic 
— a  subject  which,  when  the  excitement  and  alarm  caused  by  his  "  bug-bear  "  shall 
have  died  away,  may  supply  matter  for  serious  and  poesibly  unpleasant  reflection  to 
manv  of  his  countrymen.  He  writes  in  some  measure  as  a  (mrtisan,  having  been 
employed  by  the  late  Trausraal  Government  as  commander  of  a  small  body  of 
volunteer  troops  :  aud  evidently  takes  a  warm  interest  iu  what  he  considers  the 
righu  and  wrongs  of  the  Dutch  settlers. 

The  idea  of  the  forcible  annexation  of  a  civilized  people  excites  a  feeling  of  deep 
aversion  in  this  country — an  aversion  we  should  be  very  sorry  to  sec  lessoned.  It  la 
true  that  an  annexation  effected  in  a  day  bv  twenty- Ave  mounted  policemen  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  an  annexation  effected  by  Krupp  guns.  We  mtuft  go 
further,  aud  admit  tliat  colonies  staud  on  a  different  footing  from  ancient  and 
populous  communities.  Lands  out  of  the  bounds  of  civilization,  whose  barbarous 
aborigines  bv  universal  consent  may  be  placed  under  the  rule  of  more  enlightened 
raceSf  lie  as  it  were  open  to  the  European.  Power  that  is  best  able  to  seize  them.  The 
colonist,  broadly  speaking,  is  either  a  temporary  settler,  and  iu  that  cose  althou^ 
the  flag  which  dies  over  the  settlement  should  be  chan^>d,  he  may  retain  his  old 
nationality :  or  he  has  already  cut  himself  loose  fix>m  it  by  intendmg  to  become  a 
permanent  inhabitant,  and  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  acquired  a  new  one  which 
would  be  ontrage^l  by  a  transfer  of  allegiance.  His  comparatively  nomad  state 
mokes  it  easy  foe  him  to  remove  if  be  dislikes  the  government  under  which  he  finds 
himself.  The  Transvaal,  a  country  "  as  large  as  France."  contaius  amongst  on 
enormous  majority  of  natives  only  about  7000  Boer  families,  and  they  have  not 
established  a  settled  goverumeut  for  more  than  nineteen  years.  Thev  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  "maile  a  nation,"  and  they  have  long  ceased  to  nelong 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEIF. 


to  Kuj  European   rommtinity.      But  though  it   may  be   allowed  that  tbor  cm 
18    of  a  diiferent   moral    complexion    from    certain    iustances    of    ooaexation  in 
Europe,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  they  have  nothing  to   complain   of.     A  ties^ 
formally   entered   into  in  the   year    1852  has  been  arbitrarily    torn  np.    Certaa 
conditions  were  indeed  implied  in  this  treaty,  but  it  appears  very  donbtxnl  whetiv 
the  Boers  can  be  fairly  accnaed  of  failing  to  fulfil  these  conditions.      Above  all.  Lord 
Carnarvon  gave  orders  to  the  Nntol  Government  that  there  sbonid  be  no  annenitacio 
*'  unless  you  shall  he  satisfied  that  the  inhabitants.  .  .  .  desire  to  become  Britisb 
Bubjecte.        But  no  Hufficieot  means  seem  to  have  been  taken  in    Apni,  lt^77.  to 
ascertain  the  wishes  of  the  community;  and  iu  the  summer  of  1878,  a  memoml 
against  the  incorporation  of  the  Transvaal,  signed  by  some  «>000  oat  of  a  "poaBbfce 
WOO  voters,"  accompanied  by  a  very  temperatelv-writtcn  letter   of  rcmonstmnee. 
wftB  presented  to  the  Colonial  Secretary.    Possibly  the  case  of  the  British  Goren- 
ment  has  yet  to  be  fairly  stated,  but  unless  a  very  different  light  is   finally  timnra 
upon  the  queHtion  from  that  in  which  our  author  places  it,  it  in  difficult  to  arodd  the 
conclufiion  that  the  Boers  have  suffered  harsh  and  unjust  usage.     At  the  wune  tinw 
Mr.  Aylward  is  unable  to  show  that  the  transfer  excited  any  very  violent  feetingt  it 
the  time.     It  was  not  till  **  the  end  of  August  '*  that  "  the  people  awoke  to  a  aeoM 
of  injury."     He  talks  of  congratulatory  addresses  and  feastings,  and   of  hospitabla 
receptions  given  not  only  by  Ent^Ush  settlers  but  by  the  Ihitch  to  British  CTSciali. 
He  was  himself  present  at  a  public  dinner  givun  to  General  Sir  A.  CnnynghaxDe  tt 
Lydenberg,  which  seems  to  have  left  a  painnil  impression  on  his  mind  so  nr  as  tb£ 
cookery  was  concemeil — for  "  the  food  in  fact  was  raw/'  and  "  blood  followed  lie 
knife  whether  turkey  or  aucking-pig  was  attempted  to  be  dissected  ;  "  but  in  spite  of 
accompaniments  certainlv  nalcufated  to  damp  oonvixTality,  the  relations  between 
hosts  and  guests  seem  to  nave  been  perfectly  genial. 

Mr.  Aylward  gives  much  information  for  the  use  of  Europeans  vriahins  to  tr&vd 
in  South  Africa.  He  earnestly  advises  them,  when  in  the  ruder  parts  of  the  conntrf, 
to  live  in  tlieir  own  waggons,  and  to  avoid  inns.  Certainly,  if  one  inn,  which  nft 
describes^  **  in  a  capital  town  *'  is  to  be  taken  as  a  sample  of  the  hotel  accommodttiaa 
of  the  country,  few  will  care  to  avail  themttelvea  of  it.  "  The  bedrooms/' he  imi. 
*' .  .  .  consist  of  a  row  of  brick  cells  far  too  low  and  badly  ventilated  for  stabnfc 
These  rooms  are  12  feet  by  10,  are  only  8  feet  high  in  front,  and  are  covered  with 
oormgated  iron.  ...  In  summer  these  terrible,  single-brick,  iron-roofed  ovtfus  are 
simply  maddening.  I  have  kijown  the  heat  in  them  to  exceed  I (kl"^  at  night,  and 
their  twelve  or  thirteen  occupants  were  provided  with  only  one  tub  for  their  joint 
use — a  circnmstancc  suggestive  of  every  kind  of  discomfort.  On  the  iron  roof  pigeoof 
take  morning  walki?.  feiHling  on  mealies,  rattling,  tearing,  and  scraping,  oooing  and 
fluttering,  to  the  utter  banishment  of  sleep." 

Mr.  Aylward  does  not  seem  to  anticipate  any  very  rapid  increase  of  the  white 
inhabitants  or  trade  of  the  Transvaal,  as  long  as  no  railway  communication  with 
Delagoa  Bay,  or  indeed  with  any  part  of  the  coast,  exists.  The  country  i«  ron^h  and 
wild,  inhabited  by  a  very  primitive  class  of  farmers,  and  offers  scanty  attractions  to 
any  but  vonng  and  vigorous  cmigrantfl,  prepared  to  face  various  discomforts.  The 
author  snows  no  inclination  to  conceal  those.  Indeed  on  the  very  outside  of  his  book 
we  Hnd  a  lively  and,  at  least  in  one  instance,  nnsxpected  representation  of  thvj 
unpleasantnesses  to  which  visitors  to  the  interior  may  tind  themselves  sabj( 
Three  out  of  four  small  medallions  contain  pictures  of  inconveniences  for  wl 
the  Euroj>ean  mind  is  not  altogether  unprepared  :  namely,  a  lion  and  a  bn^o] 
engaged  in  dispatching  human  victims,  and  a  formidable-looking  savage;  but 
contents  of  the  fourth  would  hardly  be  anticipated  by  anv  one  unacquainte^l  with 
Transvaal  It  seems  that  Mr.  Aylward'a  Boer  friends  snare  the  opinions  of  one  o\ 
Mrs.  G&skeU's  inimitable  oLl  ladies  whu,  being  cross-qncstioned  by  her  friends  in  a 
moment  of  confidence  as  to  "  what  would  frighten  her  more  than  anything,"  replit 
in  a  sounding  whisper,  "  ghosts" — in  the  lioer  bmgnage  *' sfiookes.'*  The  Enj  " 
traveller,  H  he  can  succeed  in  dpaling  with  the  wild  beasts  and  the  Kaffirs,  will  pi 
bablv  not  object  much  to  the  ghosts ;  least  of  oil  to  so  pretty  a  *'  spooke  "  as  appea 
on  the  scarlet  cover  of  the  book  before  ua.  And  Mr.  Aylward  a  account  or  th#^ 
apparition,  or  "  spirit  of  the  storm,"  is  even  more  attractive.  On  a  summer  after- 
noon, in  front  of  the  thunder-shower  advancing  from  the  Urakenberg  (the  very 
seems  redolent  of  old  Teutonic  mythology),  the  solitary  rii?er  scea  "  a  young,  fa 
ethereal,  golden-haired  female,  whose  rol)e8  of  glittering  white  trail  just  over  tl 
highest  points  of  the  gra.ss  .  .  .  coming  Hoating  towards  him  with  outstretched  ax 
It  is  strange  indeed  to  lind  a  tradition  surviving  among  these  simple  Low-Cxen 


CONTEMPORARY   BOOKS, 


765 


which  seems  to  preserve  unchanged  in  their  minds  the  form  of  some  Frisian  or  014 
S&xon  deity.  Bertha  or  Holda  appears  to  have  accomi)anied  their  ffrandfathcrs 
aeroaa  the  line,  and,  escaping  the  usual  fate  of  degradation  into  a  demon,  holds  a 

flace  in  their  imaginations  which  she  has  probably  lost  in  those  of  their  European 
indred.  .   . 

In  conclusion,  we  must  remark  that  Mr.  Aylward's  book,  though  containing  mucU 
that  ia  of  interest,  hears  marks  of  somewhat  hasty  putting  together,  and  would  be 
the  better  for  some  revibion  and  condensation.  He  occasionally  falls  into  a  slipshod 
or  slanoy  style.  There  is  really  no  excuse  for  saying  that  "  a  man  took  sick  whea 
riding,  or  that  "  the  peace  would  likely  be  disturbed,"  Ac.,  for  he  can  write  perfectly- 
good  English  when  he  pleases.  And  what  can  possibly  be  the  meaning  of  "  despotism 
tempered  by  polygamy  ?  " 


IV.— ESSAYS,  NOVELS,  POETRY,  &c. 


{Under  the  DtredtoH  of  Mattitew  Buownc) 


SOM£  weeks  ago  a  paragi*aph  went  the  round  of  the  papers  telling  us  that  it  would 
be  a  long  time  before  we  again  had  a  novel  from  the  pen  of  George  Eliot,  but  in 
the  meanwhile  we  have  Imiyrcssione  o/TheophnuluH  Such  (William  Blackwood 
and  Sons),  in  one  handsome  volume  of  357  pages ;  and  a  "  Publishers*  Note" 
informs  us  that  "  the  inftniiacript  of  this  work  was  put  into  their  hands  towards  the 
dose  of  last  year,  but  the  publication  has  been  delayed  owing  to  the  domestic  afflic- 
tion of  the  Author."  Much  curiosity  has  been  felt  about  this  book,  and  we  fear  there 
will  now  be  a  little  di3ai)pointmcnt.  Tlio  two  first  chapters,  "Looking  Inward" 
and  "Looking  Backward,"  in  which  Mr.  Theophrastus  Such  tells  us  all  he  can  about 
himself  seem  to  have  no  organic — we  are  inclined  to  say  no  true — connection  with  the 
rest  of  the  hook.  It  looks  as  if  the  writer  had  some  siispicion  that  there  was  a 
little  occasional  acridity  (more  than  a  little)  in  the  detached  essays  which  follow,  and 
had  set  himself  to  deprecate  too  harsh  a  conclusion  upon  tliat  little  matter.  But 
unless  our  ear  be  too  sensitive,  the  deprecation  is  a  little  awkwardly  self- 
conscious.  At  all  events  the  moral  criticism  in  the  detached  essay's  has  too  often 
something  corrosive  about  it,  and  something  over- elaborate  too.  The  short  essay 
concerning  the  Jews  with  which  the  volume  closes  would  alone  command  a  large 
sale  for  the  book,  and  all  the  other  essays  (such  as  '*  False  Testimonials/*  "  Smiul 
Authorship,"  *'  A  Political  Molecule,**  Ac.  Ac.)  are  of  course  choracteriBtic  and 
good;  but  some  of  them  wc  should  guess  to  have  been  ivritten  lon^  ago,  and 
none  of  them  have  the  grace,  the  quiet,  fluent,  unlaboured  humour  (as  distinguished 
from  sarcasm  and  irui(ja::!itiith  humour)  which  the  subjects  appear  to  require.  There 
is  something  lmrd>monthed  in  the  handling;  and,  in  short,  the  topics  (with  the  ex- 
ception of  Essays  xiv.  and  xv.)  should  have  been  dealt  with  more  at  large  or  more 
In  little-  The  essays  look  at  present  like  icv  splinters.  Krom  "  Looking  Backward'* 
wc  gladly  steal  the  pleasantest  passage  in  the  book  : 

*'  A  crambling  hit  of  w&Il  where  the  delicate  ivy-leaved  trap-flat  hangs  its  light  branches, 
or  a  bit  of  grey  thatch  with  patches  of  d-irk  inosit  gii  ita  shoulder,  and  a  troop  of  pass 
items  on  its  ndge,  is  a  thing  to  visit.  And  then  the  tiled  roof  of  cottage  and  homestead,  of 
the  Inng  cow-shod  where  generations  of  the  milky  niothera  have  stood  {tttieDtly,  of  the 
broftd-snonldcrefl  boms,  where  the  old-fashioocd  flail  once  made  resonant  music,  while 
the  watch-dog  barke«l  at  the  timiiUy-vcnturcsouio  fowls  making  pecking  raids  on  the  outtly- 
ing  grain — the  roofs  that  have  lookol  nut  from  among  the  elms  and  walnnt  trees,  or  beside 
the  yearly  p-ouji  of  hay  and  cum  stacks,  or  below  the  sfiaarc  stone  atcepio,  gathering  their 
grey  orochre-tintiHl  Hdiens  and  their  olive-green  mosses  under  all  iiiinistries — let  us  praise 
the  sober  hamioiiies  thev  cive  to  our  landscape,  helping  to  unite  us  pleasantly  with  the 
older  generation  who  tillca  the  soil  for  tis  before  wc  wcru  bom,  and  paid  heavier  and  heavier 
taxes  with  much  gnuubling,  but  without  that  deepest  root  of  oorruptioD,  self-iudulgQnt 
desjiair,  which  cuts  down  oud  consumes  and  never  (ilants,**, 


■66 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


The  motto,. part  of  which  we  quote,  ,-..   t7  r.  ►  - 

'*  HiiBpa-iODe  ai  quid  ernibit  sua, 
Kt  rapiet  ad  se  qiiod  erit  conunime  ooinium, 
StuUti  umUbit  aiiimi  couBcitntiaui  "  • 

waa  unnecessary  on  the  whole.    Though  the  reference  to  Bellers  of  devitalize-l  K?^tt8, 
and  to  i»aper-aolcd  boots  for  eoldiera,  can  hardlj  help  bein^  taken  for  *'  i  " 

Oeorgc  Eliot  is  vmhdy  snccossful  in  avoiding  direct  applications.     This  i  o 

of    the   harsh  involutions   of  her  style.      A   little  less    vitriol   and   a  I" 
directness  would  be  an  improvement.      A  mild  solution  of  cy)nt<?mpt,  fli»v  f 

at  .Jonc«'a  eye,  may  leave  a  more  wholesome  impreneion  than  thin  prof'  i  t 

conosivea  all  round,  accompanied  by  disclaimers  wliich  barely  est.';i , 
sive  too.  It  mu^t  not  be  supposed  that  we  think  George  EUot — or  Air.  r^uon — t*>o 
severe  in,  say,  Essays  iii.,  y,\.,  and  xvi. ;  which  may  be  ronghly  described  as  relating  to 
certain  forms  of  literary  dishonesty,  and  to  a  current  absurdity  in  the  use  of  the 
word  "moral."  More  severity  could  well  be  endured,  if  it  took  the  shape  of  a 
straight  shot  or  thrust ;  but  Mr.  Such  cupping-glasses  the  patient  all  over,  and 
then  performs  a  sort  of  mock  liapp}'-d&8 patch  upon  himself.  Ihis  will  cure  nobody. 
Tlie  topics  of  those  three  essays  nave  been  handled  more  than  once  by  the  present 
writer,  in  exactly  the  same  sense  and  with  similar  illustrations;  and  the  tre^xtmeut 
assuredly  lost  nothing  by  directness,  to  whatever  degree  it  fell  below  that  of  Mr. 
Such  in  other  respects.  It  would  bo  very  refreshing  to  victims  like  Merman  (Essay 
lit)  and  to  sufferers  from  Euphorion's  *'  dirty  use"  of  *'  majestic  conceptions"  (p.  101) 
to  tiud  some  one  with  a  gooU  pulpit  aud  a  strong  voice  singling  them  out  from 
the  crowd  by  name  and  denouncing  them  hotly  without  any  self 'depreciation  what- 
ever. The  principle,  "  There,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  goes  John  Bradford"  (very 
amnsingly  referred  to  iu  this  book),  is  good  in  its  place,  hut  it  would  have  broken 
the  bock  of  Nathan's  "  Thou  art  the  man." 


Ojxl'  of  the  coutribulord  of  biographical  memoranda  to  Mrs.  Kiugvley's  Memoirs  of 
hftr  husband,  the  late  Cauou,  was  Mr.  C.  Kegan  Paul,  who  seems  to  nave  studied  under 
him.  Mr.  Kcgau  Paul  related  a  characteristic  anecdote  iu  which  the  name  of  HeJAC 
figuredi  Kc  hajipened  to  quote  him  one  day  at  Mr.  Kiogaley's  table  at  Everalcr, 
when  little  MisH  Kingsley  (we  presume  the  "  Rose"  of  the  dedication  of  "  The  Heroes  ') 
said,  •'  Who  was  Heine,  pai)a  r"  Kingsley  looked  grave,  and  made  answer,  "  A  bad 
man,  my  dear"— which  Mr.  Kegan  Paul  tells  us  he  took  as  a  rebuke  to  himself.  One 
uii^ht  pause  uix>u  this  aud  observe  that  things  have  come  toa  pretty  pass  if  only  thinse 
writers  who  can  be  prououuced  good  men  from  a  clergyman's  poiut  of  view  are  to  be 
quotetl  before  the  young  (it  in  to  be  presumed  that  there  wain  no  harm  accessible  to  a 
clkild  in  what  Mr.  Paul  quoted,  which  was  probably  iu  German) ;  but  the  verdict 
was  quite  after  King-sley's  niauner.  \Vc  cannot  aay  that  his  suffermga  ought  to  have 
shiclaed  the  poor  poet,  for  then  we  might  he  ju*kcd  how  we  should  propose  to  charac- 
terize Titua  Oatos  or  Dangertield ;  but  perhaps  his  ronentance  and  his  return  to 
rehgions  trust  in  his  lat«  years  mijjht  have  pleadeu  for  him— even  if  tbens 
had  been  any  proved  wisdom  in  throwm^  verdict^  of  this  kind  at  the  head*  of  the 
young.  However,  a  breakfost-tablo  criticism  is — a  broakast-table  criticism;  and 
Heine  was  not  **  a  bad  man,"  though  he  was  terribly  wanting  in  moral  balance  all  his 
hfe.  Certainly  the  ordinary'  Enghhh  reader  would  do  surpnsed  at  Kingsley'a  dictum 
if  he  were  simply  to  read  the  volume  before  us  i  JI^V,  Wlifd'jm,<ind  Tath'*f,fa>iH  tli^i 
Vfoae  of  Hcnrich  Ileiut- ;  ^cith  a  few  Pieces  from  the  "Book  if  Sonr}***  m*!*H>ted  and 
translated  by  J.  Suodgraas  (Triibuer  and  Co.,  I^ondon;  Alex.  Garl:  '  "  I'urgh 
and  Paisley).     Of  course  the  selection  made  by  Mr.  Snodgrass  iV  a  lud  it 

may  be  laid  upon  the  drawing-room  table,  but  there  is  little  in  HLinr  tnat  is  not 
more  or  less  represented  inthi^^unprctendiug  volume  of  not  much  more  than  3'X>pjages. 
That  is  a  bold  thing  to  say  \  but  the  method  or  trick  of  his  mind  was  uniform,  well- 
nigh  nnto  tediouBuesF.  Dithcult  as  it  is  to  translate  him.  ho  can  l.>e  Imitated — with 
more  or  less  ruccuss.  The  worst  poiut  iu  Xm  mauuer  is  its  want  of  coiublel« 
tincerit}'^.  His  brilliancy  has  notliing  satisfactory  about  it;  and  his  mLi^t  ]>atii«iic 
passaaes  do  not  nestle  to  your  bosom  and  stay  there.  His  characteri/alionjs>  ftre 
exceedingly  valuable,  as  &Lr>  Snodgrass  bos  not  failed  to  diacem;  be  ia  never  to 
pleasant  oa  when  ho  is  doing  homage  to  a  Luther  or  a  Lessing.  Hi»  l"^'n  of  hii 
mother   and    his   capacity    of   hero-worship  should    certainly    stand  V   '  tu 

-and  any  »\\A\  phrase  as  "  bod  man."     Mr.  Snodgras*  has  written  a  ver\  ut 

Introduction  to  the  Selection,  and  there  is  an  Index;  bat  the  book  would  have  U-^n 


t 


CONTEMPORARY   BOOKS. 


7W 


znucii  more  valuable  if  aaalysiB  aod  cluft«ific&tioii  hiid  beeu  curriuil  further.  Heine  is 
a  groat  »elf-repeutor  (uh  well  bo  mi^ht  hts,  poor  victim!),  aud  hia  best  UiingH  mixlit  all 
be  brought  vatiua  Ualf-a-dozon  cutcgories. 

Hessrs.  Chatto  aud  Windus  have  published  Pninittv*  Mannevif  atui  C(wiv»M, 
by  James  A,  Farrer, — a  atout,  well-prlnteil  octavo  volume'  of^  more]  than  three 
huudred  pages.  It  is  impoedtblc  to  criticize  in  a  small  compass  such  a  mass  ofdetailr 
aud  Air.  Farrer  put^  forwanl  a  modest  and  reasonable  claim  to  |be  more  thau 
a  compiler — more  than  a  classilier  of  material  gathered  by  others,  lliere  is  a  Tabl* 
of  Contents,  which  is  nearly  as  good  as  ou  Index  j  but  an  Index  wonld  haye  beeu 
better. 

Mr.  Farrer  manintilates  bis  material  with  full  confidence  in  the  usually  receivdtl 
deductions  of  "  arcmcolo^cal  science,"  and  hia  Introduction  supplies  the  key  to  Iuh 
views  generally  on  these  matters.  But  ho  raises  more  questions  tlmn  he  gettlcs. 
He  arg^ues,  for  example,  in  this  way  ou  the  aiissionary  qneution : — "  Wherever  native 
theology  tates  the  form  of  cannibalism,  Sutteeism,  human  sacrifices,  or  other  rites 
directly  destructive  of  earthly  happiness,  there  the  teaching  of  missionaries  affords 
the  only  hoi>e  of  a  speedy*  reform,  the  only  acquaintance  possible  for  savage  tribes 
with  a  culture  higher  than  tlieir  own,  save  that  which  is  likely  to  come  to  them 
through  the  medium  of  the  braudv.bottio  or  the  bayonet.  But  to  send  missions  to 
countries  like  Kussia  or  China,  where  there  exist  established  systems  of  religion  uu- 
defiled  by  cruelty  violates  the  first  principle  of  the  faith  so  conveyed,  disturbing  the 
peace  of  families  and  mitions  witn  the  curse  of  religious  animosity.  When  the 
Jesuits  entreated  the  Chinese  Emperor,  Young-tching,  to  reconsider  his  resolution 
to  proscribe  Clirintianity,  there  was  some  reason  in  the  Imperial  answer :  '  WTiat 
should  you  say  if  I  sent  a  troop  of  lumas  aud  bouzes  to  your  country  to  preach 
their  law  there  J*'  The  Taeping  rebellion,  or  civil  war,  which  devastated  Chma  for 
about  fifteen  years,  desolating  huudrcds  of  miles  of  fair  towna  and  fertile  fields,  uud 
fought  out  among  massacres,  sieges,  and  famines  of  quite  indescribable  cruelty  aud 
hon'or,  owed  its  impulse  distinctly  to  the  working  of  Christian  tracts  among  tlie 
more  ignorant  classes,  followed  by  a  fanatical  endeavour  to  substitute  a  travesty  of 
Chriatumity  for  the  older  religion;  yet  the  seeds  of  all  this  mise^  are  still 
sown  in  China,  in  the  name  and  by  the  ministers  of  a  religion  of  Peace,  a 
r^upon  that  has  for  its  first  aud  final  rule  of  life  the  duty  of  so  dealing 
with  others  as  we  should  wish  them  to  deal  with  ourselves."  AVe 
give  the  author  the  full  benefit  of  his  own  way  of  puttin^j  the  case,  but  it  will 
not  impress  any  one  of intonsc  religious  feeling,  whatever  his  creed  maybe.  It 
assumes,  for  (Example,  that  we  can  judge  ot  what  promotes  and  what  hinders  human 
happiness,  without  taking  into  account  matters  which  lie  far  outside  of  physical 
salety,  social  ease,  and  political  order.  It  assumes,  again,  that  a  certain  set  of 
men,  called  a  nation,  sijuattiug  on  a  certain  portion  of  the  space  of  the  planet, 
may  have  to  that  space  a  right  of  such  a  quality  as  to  entitle  them  to  exclude 
by  force  any  humau  being  bom  outside  of^it,  who  may  claim  to  come  with  a 
message  from  the  Upper  Powers  that  concerns  all  hnraan  beings  alike.  If  we 
grant  ordinary  vulgar  "  inteniational"  postuhites  as  fiual, — it  is  one  thing;  but 
suppose  we  set  them  aside  as  merely  tentative  vulgarities  and  stupidities  'f  In 
fact  we  cannot  decide  even  this  apparent^  simple  quo»tiou  of  cou^luct,  without 
striking  unou  the  lowest  rooks  of  "  sociology."  From  the  proposition  (admitted 
dH  round  by  sane  people),  that  you  have  no  right  to  preach  to  a  man  who 
ia  unwilling  to  listen,  it  seems  easy  to  go  on  to  say, — and,  therefore,  not  to 
A  nation  whose  Government  wishes  to  shut  you  out.  But  it  does  not  follow, 
unless  the  political  Dissenter  (for  exomnlc)  is  prepared  to  conecdo  to  the  Emi>eror  of 
China  a  "nght"  which  he  denies  to  tue  Queou  of  Kugland.  Take  another  point. 
It  will  seem  easy  to  some  religious  persons  to  say.  Let  missiouarics  go  where  they 
p1ea.se  if  they  can,  anJ  preach  if  they  can  ;  but  let  them  go  vith  their  lives  in  their 
nands,  and  not  aek  ifngland  to  back  them  with  guns  and  bayonets  if  they  get 
into  trouble.  But,  here  wc  strike  again  upon  another  coruer  of  the  some  rock  ;  for, 
has  the  nuBsiouary  or  not  a  right  to  do  whatever  he  will,  so  long  as  he  hinders  not 
the  ef|ual  right  oi  any  other  man  ?  If  he  has,  then  the  whole  human  race  ha:3  a 
ri^ht  to  take  up  his  cause  if  lus  Uberiv  bo  restraiued.  Aud  so  ou,  and  on, 
without  end.  Of  course,  these  are  not  Foreign  Ottice  tojncs,  but  Mr.  Farrer  doe« 
not  write  for  mere  joUticious. 

The  most  melancholy  thing  about  any  book  which,  like  Mr.  Parrer  a,  »eta  itaelf  to 
make  out  as  favourable  a  case  as  possible  for  "  aavmge"  morality,  is  this— it  bring 


768 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVJEIV, 


into  high  relief  the  degrading  artificiality  of  civilized  morals.  Let  any  cuuragvotulj 
candid  person  "  with  attentive  view  survey  matikind  fruin  Chiua  to  Peru,"  and  nAJ 
must  note,  with  thrills  of  disgnst.  that  tilings  pursue  the  same  course  in  civtluedJ 
oountriea  as  elsewhere.  The  working  ethics  of  a  country  neem  largely  a  matter  oil 
chance,  b\it  mainly  the  products  not  of  the  befit  but  the  worst  portions  of  human] 
nature.  This  is  more  conHpicnous  in  some  matters  than  in  others:  but  thorc  it  i«.' 
Thcae  thinpfs  are,  indeed,  miserably  trite;  but  they  stand  out  sharply  in  fresh 
colours  after  a  discussion  of  "savage'*  morals.  Everywhere  the  trick  is  theuunt 
and  the  justification  is  the  same — "society  must  be  held  together,  and  the  average] 
comfort  of  society  must  be  our  guide." 

The  volumes  of  Messrs.  Macmillan  and  Co.'s  Eu/jJuih  Men  of  JjeUvnt^  edited  hy 
Mr.  John  Morley.  succeed  one  another  with  great  rapidity,  but  there  is  not  much  thu j 
is  new  to  say  about  them.      Sfmnser,  by  K.  W.  Church,  Dean  of  St.  Faar«  and 
Honorary  Follow  of  Oriel  College,  is  in  some  important  particulars  one  of  the  beat! 
of  the  series.      It  sets  itself,  in  a  plain  business-like  way,  to  ^ive  the  unlearned 
reader  just  the  information  that  he  might  he  supposed  likely  to  want,  and  ma^  very 
well  be  read  either  by  itself  or  as  a  running  comment  upon  Spenser.     It  is  decidedly 
a  good  book;  and  if  it  should  scorn  to  poetic  readers  a  bttle  too  *'ffood"   in  m\ 
sense  of  which  poetry  is  sometimea  heedless,  it  is  not  surpriBine.    Ana,  in  poinil 
of  fact,   there  is  a  serious  want  in  Dean  Church's  essay.      It  lacks  the  bighe«t( 
zest.     It  is  correct,  anpreciative  and  intelligent,  but  a  little  cold.    In   dealing  withj 
Ooldsmith   Mr.    Black   laboured  under  the  disadvantage   that  his   topic  was    (f^ 
must  inevitably  up^iieur    to   him   to  be),    already  over-familiar.     But  there   wi 
BtHl  room   for  the   candid  acnteness  and  entire  independence  of  iudgment  whichl 
this  volume    displays.     Mr.  W.  Minto  has  taken  great  pains  with  Daniel  Defo^, 
and  has  produced  a  singularly  complete  memoir  and  discussion ;    bnt  it  is  not  t 
easy  reading.      Dean   Churcu  tells  uk,  in  his    short   preface,  that  "the  plan 
these  volumes  does  not  encour^e  foot-notes."      So  much  the  worse  for   **  thes*j 
volumes,"  and  the  readers  of  them — in  cases  like  Spenser,  Defoe  and  others,  whCT«( 
there  is  of  necessity  a  great  deal  of  discnssion.     Wnether  it  is  the  pubUshers  or  thfl: 
editor,   the   miRtake  is  the  same.    Take  the    question    whether    Spenser,  by   hi«i 
"Willy,"  meant  Shakspoare,  and  a  score  of  others;  it  is  much  the  best  plan  tO' 
relegate  such  matters  to  the  bottom  of  the  page  (not  to  au  appendix).    The  reader 
can  then  take  his  choice  of   two  courses;    he  can  read  straight  on  at  firvt,   audi 
then  come   back  for  a  second   reading   in  order  to  take  in  the  foot-notes-,    or  h4j 
can  drop  his  eye  to  the    bottom  of   the  page  as  he  goes  on,    and  read  the  foot* 
notes  at  once.     The  first   phm    ih   much    the  Iwst;    and  the  liherttj  of  foot-nnfet 
(so  to  speak)  is  a  great  help  to  both  author  and  reader.    Of  course,   it  mnv  be 
abused.    But  that  plan  is  the  most  helpful   which  allows  the  student  to  taKt*  a 
broad  bird's-eye  view  of  the  subject  in  one  rapid  rieruaal,  and  then  invites  him  to 
till' up  the  picture  with  details  at  his  leisure.     Tnese  remarks  apply  perhaps  ereii 
more  forcibly  to  the  Defoe  than  to  the  Spanstfr. 

Bnt  admirable  as  Mr.  Minlo's  writing  is.  the  goneral  reader  will  find  here  too 
much  of  him  and  Mr.  Leo,  and  too  little  of  Defoe,  That  ia  to  say,  ii  much  fuUef' 
account  of  hia  minor  novels  would  in  onr  opinion  have  been  welcome — and  mightj 
very  easily  have  been  made  *' Proper"  aa  well  as  interesting.  We  happen(Mi  to  se© 
it  stated  not  long  ago,  in  the  answers  to  correspondents  in  a  cheap  periodical,  th^j 
editor  of  which  made  some  pretension  to  culture,  that  Robinson  Cruaoe 
Defeats  only  work  of  fiction  ;  and  there  is  evidently  a  very  general  ignorance  al 
hia  other  writings.  As  for  his  "  bowing  in  the  house  of  Rimmon,"  and  the  whole 
that  topic,  it  is  veryj  arguable  that  Mr.  Leo  and  Mr.  Minto  treat  it  with  toO^ 
much  confidence  in  the  adequacy  of  their  materials  for  forming  a  judgment.  The 
story  of  his  life  told  with  more  einiple-hearled  quasi-noetic  fluency  by  a  man  les« 
conscientiously  bent  ujion  makintr  out  a  clear  critical  case  would  leave  a  widely 
different  impression.  I'ho  remarks  on  pages  2  and  3  about  Defoe's  name  (flnctua- 
ting  between  D.  Foe  and  Defoe)  strike  us  as  an  example  of  that  over-minnte, 
worrying,  squeezing  criticism  which  is  so  common  in  our  time — as  if  everything 
muHt  be  ma<Iti  to  yield  an  inference  or  two. 

Mr.  Anthony  Trollope,  in  the  7^hackcraTf  which  he  contributes  to  this  series,  bafl] 
written  a  book  which  we  presume  will  sell, — iKJcauso  it  contains  so  much  informal] 
tion  (concerning  Thackeray's  life)  of  the  kind  which  ia  often  called  private.  Thes^l 
two  hundred  pages  are  full  of  worldly  wisdom  of  the  good  natured  land,  and  thcrt' 
are  occasional  touches  of  just  criticism.    But  it  was  difficult  for  a  novelist  so  far  to 


COyrEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


769 


saturate  his  miiid  with  the  writingB  of  a  brother  noTelist,  contemporary  with  him- 
self (and  oil  the  whole  of  the  same  school)  as  to  reprodnce  him  riridly  in  a  booV  of 
mnninf^  comment.  Speaking  of  the  poems,  Mr.  'IVollope  sayH,  '*  How  verj  good 
meet  of  them  are  T  dia  not  know  till  I  received  them  for  the  purpose  of  writing  t\\\n 
chapter.'*  Now  a  man  ought  almo^tt  to  know  Thackeray  by  heart  before  writing  a 
comproBsed  "  study"  like  this.  Of  oourse  the  old  question  of  cynicism — his  "  alleged 
cjnicism."  as  the  newspapers  would  pat  it — comes  up  for  discussion  ouce  more,  and  it  is 
not  advanced  one  inch.  ^  o  sane  person  doubts  ThacKeray's  essential  kindliness ;  or  his 
willingness  to  help  his  friendt*,  still  h'sn  his  exceoding  senaitiTencss  as  to  the  po-jsibility  of 
appearing  unkind  in  certain  cases.  Nol)ody  dreams  or  ever  dreamt  (so  far  us  we  know) 
tAathe  was  vicious*  false,  unsociable,  or  anything  bnt  williiig  to  promote  human  hap- 
pinees.  But  what  then?  there  is  plenty  of  kmdliuess  in  "Dr.  Birch"  and  "  Our 
Street ;"  bnt  it  would  be  hardly  too  strong  to  call  the  drst  a  l>ase  book,  while  the  second 
it  just  typical  of  the  author's  usual  manner.  There  is  no  charge  against  him> — none. 
He  was  a  great  man  of  the  world,  and  a  *'  survival"  from  the  time  of  Queen  Anne, 
placed  at  a  disadvantage  in  our  much  more  self-oon scions  and  speculative  age.  He 
IB  out  of  sight  the  greatest  humourist  of  the  centnr)*,  thus  far,  and  we  shall  not 
analyze  him — though  his  whole  character  and  methods  are  utterly  transparent.  It 
is  quite  clear  that  he  was  by  nature  almost  destitute  of  even  the  germs  ox  reverence 
and  faith.  Tt  It  also  plain  that  his  life  contained  more  than  one  serious  trouble. 
His  nature  was  too  large  for  fretful  fidgety  rebellion,  and  his  immense  gifts  as  a 
mime  and  a  humourist  gave  us  the  gruat  writer  as  we  know  him — with  that  back* 
ground  of  hard>graiaed  submission  to  the  inevitabhu  The  best  things  in  **  The  New- 
comes**  and  **  Esmond**  a  thousand  times  repeated  could  not  hide  the  disrespect  to  him- 
self and  his  readers  (which  Mr.  TroUope  admits),  and  the  half  open  or  covert  insolence 
towards  human  life  as  a  whole,  with  which  his  writings  abound.  We  agree  with  Mr, 
Trollopo  that  his  illustrations,  with  all  their  faults,  arc  of  nniqne  and  extraordinary 
merit.  It  is  with  a  slight  shock  of  surprise  that  one  finds  Mr.  TroUope  writing  as  he 
does  of  '*  tbat  source  of  litemry  failure  which  is  now  so  common.  If  a  man  write  a  book 
or  a  poem  because  it  is  in  him  to  write  it — the  motive  power  being  altogether  in  him- 
self, and  coming  from  his  desire  to  express  himself — he  will  write  it  well,  presuming 
him  to  be  capable  of  the  effort.  Bnt  if  he  write  his  book  or  poem  simply  because  a 
book  or  poem  is  required  from  him,  let  hi^  capability  be  what  it  may,  it  is  not 
unlikely  that  he  will  do  it  badly."  All  this  is  true,  but  the  case  goes  beyond  mero 
literary  failure.  Untruthful  work — work  written  up  to  a  mark  of  auy  kind — injores 
both  writer  and  reader.  Now,  as  the  greater  part  of  the  current  literature  is  mere 
manufacture  for  a  market,  it  follows  that  wo  are  in  a  parlous  conditiun.  But  it  is 
hardly  to  Mr.  Trollopc  that  we  would  have  gone  for  this  teaching.  What  he  has  to 
say  aoout  "the  sublime'*  in  tlotion  is  peculiar.  So  is  the  remark  that  "there  is 
nothing  necessarily  lacking  to  a  man  because  he  does  not  enjoy  the  '  Heathen 
Chinee  or  the  '  Biglow  Papers.* "  For  the  man  who  does  not  enjov  lioth  these  proves 
that  he  is  "  lacking"  in  breadth  of  range  and  catholicity  of  taste  for  humour. 


Messrs.  Tinsley  Brothers  have  published  a  collection  of  essays,  sketches,  and  verses 
hy  Gh&rles  J.  Dunphic,  author  of  "Wildfire,"  &c.  It  is  called  Sweet  Slecp^  and  is 
dedicated  to  Lord  Carington.  There  ia  no  knowing  whom  to  blame  in  these  matters, 
but  the  volume  is  much  too  long  (400  pages) ;  it  cuutaius  too  many  merely  occasional 
magazine  pai>ers ;  and  the  "  sparkle"  ana  the  free-and-easy  maunerism  are  greatly 
overdone.  But  we  should  judge  the  author  to  be  much  better  than  his  book,  for 
there  are  some  really  gooti  sallies  in  the  essays  and  in  the  poems,  both  English  and 
Latin.  But  wbeu  did  Milton  write  the  lines  attributed  to  him  on  ]>age  334 1*  To  take 
one  more  small  i>oint  out  of  many.  Convey  Island,  on  the  coast  of  Essex,  is  to  be 
found  even  in  small  maps  of  Ki^land,  and  is  not  so  little  known  as  Mr.  Dunphie 
supposes. 


In  spite  of  the  occasional  bitterness  of  her  writing,  it  is  a  relief  to  get  away 
from  some  of  the  most  cheerful  novelists  and  take  up  Mrs.  Oliphant.  Thongn 
she  ia  not  a  very  careful  writer  she  is  in  the  front  rank  of  her  profoHsion,  if  we  may 
use  that  word,  and  her  booka  have  always  plenty  of  flavour.  She  is  frankly  and 
simply  a  teller  of  stories,  without  caut,  and  we  may  say  without  "  purpose."  There 
are  sure  to  be  one  or  two  of  her  people  with  whom  you  may  wholly  sympathize, — a 
point  of  which  Mr.  Hardy  is  neglectful, — and  she  is  so  natural  that  if  it  were  not 


770 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


for  Hxuall  slips  here  and  there  ^ou  would  bo  under  tho  spell  of  a  oomplete  iUuvioD  whiM 
reading  one  of  her  tales.  With  one  exception  (the  visit  of  Polly  to  the  old  worit* 
shop,  which  is  over-done)  Within,  fh'.  Pi-eeinrt.-i\(^  vols.  Smith,  Elder.  A  Co.)  readn 
like  a  story  of  actaal  life  told  by  the  iireaiiie.  There  ia  very  little  to  tell,  indeed,  and  nM 
plot ;  but  the  movement  ia  so  easy  that  it  is  hard  not  to  believe  that  it  all  happened?] 
The  mat^^rial  ont  of  which  the  effects  are  produced  is  eiceediugly  slight.  There  ai^l 
two  young  people,  a  lont  of  a  lad  and  a  half-edacated  ^rl — and  ner  lovo  etory  it  i^ 
^urh  as  it  is,  woich  fills  out  these  three  stoat  volumes.  Mrs.  Oliphant  has  an  ©xS"! 
traordinary  gift  of  interesting  the  reader  in  haU-Hedj^ed  human  beings,  and  Btart^l 
lingly  is  the  gift  illnfitrated  in  this  story  of  Lottie  Despard  and  her  brother  Ija^renc«»  J 
He  is  a  mere  cnb,  barely  tolerable,  often  offensive;  and  beyond  a  fine  voice,  there  t«l 
nothing  in  the  girl  Lottie  that  is  exceptional.  Yua  can  at  once  point  to  a  dozen  grirhfj 
likelier.  Captain  De^pard,  her  father,  is  not  new,  nor  indeed  is  the  half-6campidl| 
lover,  thous[h  his  vai:illatioQ!}  are  well  described.  Perhaps  Ashford,  the  minor  canoii| I 
may  be  called  original ;  but  on  the  whole  we  should  say  the  material  of  the  stot*| 
was  second-hand  :  thu  merit  of  the  author  lying  in  tho  roucentrated  attention  vita  J 
which  she  ha-s  laid  bare  the  character  and  inner  history  of  poor  Lottie,  and  that  cfl 
her  brother — if  he  can  be  said  to  have  a  character.  But  it  is  a  relief  when  he  is  ofli 
to  Australia.  m 

The  rewards  of  labour  and  gifts  like  Mrs.  Oliphant's  are  apt,  at  their  best,  t#i 
fall  so  sliort  of  -what  they  should  be,  that  it  was  with  a  blush  that  we  noted  that  abiJ 
is  not  always  f]uite  careful  as  a  writer.  We  do  not  sj^eak  of  the  mere  phraaiuM 
though  that  is  sometimes  a  little  alipHhod,  but  of  other  matters.  In  *■  CaritA**  wm 
remember  a  young  man  whose  whislcers  (or  beard  or  moustache)  were  red  in  oil#j 
chapter  and  dark  urown  or  black  in  another.  In  thit  novel,  we  are  told  in  one  plaoM 
that  Lawrence  was  "  not  lazy  by  natare,"  and  yet  it  in  impo^Rible  not  to  see,  on  thM 
evidence  of  a  dozen  others,  that  ho  wn.R.  The  organist  of  the  Abbc^  Church  «itlj 
tilting  back  his  chair  and.  thinking  up  in  the  clouds,  and  at  last  bnngs  down  tbfl 
chair  on  its  "/our  feet" — which  suggcwts  levitatiou.  Minor  elips,  perhaps  attributAl>lM 
to  illness  or  anxiety,  are  more  fr&picnt  than  is  usual  with  this  ingenious  writer.        m 

It  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  literary  men  if  tho  subject  of  Jcongruity  in 
the  use  of  metaphor  were  a  little  more  attende<l  to.  Not  long  ago,  ifr.  OladslonB 
W«8  attacked  in  some  newspapers  for  "  confusion  of  metaphor."  The  Exntuhu'r  verw 
properly  came  forward  ana  Rhowed  that  there  was  no  confusion  at  all :  and  taimilofl 
cases  might  easily  be  multiplied.  Mru.  01i])liant  makes  one  of  her  characters  in  thin 
story  s})cak  of  being  dazzled  by  a  voice,  and  then  blames  him  for  a  falfle  motajdiofa 
But  there  is  nothing  wrong ;  on  the  coutranr,  if  the  word  dazzled  were  used  Uteraltfl 
there  urotdd  be  an  error — used  metaphorically  it  was  all  ri^ht.  To  be  dazzled  (metjfl 
phorically)  by  a  voice  is  as  easy  aa  to  be  daxzled  (metaphorically)  by  a  thoiight.  Thtf 
whole  of  this  subject  ia  very  amusing.  There  is  a  well-known  fo<jtnote  of  ColeridgeV 
in  which  he  apologises  for  confused  metaphor  in  the  text,  but  all  the  ingenuity  of  hia 
readers  has  never  been  able  to  find  ont  where  the  confusion  is. 

It  is  very  rarely  that  a  novel  proper,  or  a  story-book  presenting  itself  in  the 
form  of  an  ordinary  novel,  has  character  enough  to  make  anything  like  an  annlysiR 
of  it  useful  or  intercBting,  or,  above  all,  fit  to  contribute  townjdfl  the  general  effect  of 
any  attempt  to  make  current  literature  in  that  kind  reflect  iteelf  m  reduced  siae. 
There  are,  oowever,  novels  which  may  be  made  useful  in  a  larger  survey,  as  embody- 
ing the  tendencies  of  tho  hour,  as  omitting  this  or  thruating  up  that,  and  so 
suggesting  tho  deep  unconsciouH  flow  of  social  currents.  For  such  a  survey  some  of 
the  recent  novels  would  be  useful,  hut  wo  may,  in  the  meantime,  name  a  few  which 
are  noticeable  in  their  way. 

By  far  the  freshest  reading  we  have  seen  for  a  longtime,  and,  on  the  whole,  tho 
best  thing  in  the  story  way  is,  An  Ohl  tStortj  n/  my  Foriniuff  Dayn  (Vt  Mir 
8troniiid),  by  Fritz  Renter,  Author  of  "  In  the  year  '13,"  from  the  German  by 
\V.  Macdowell(3  vols.,  Sampson  Low  Sc  Co.).  Three  closely-packed  volumes,  contain* 
ing  pictures  and  anecdotes  of  farming  life  iu  Mecklenburg,  with  much  of  natn 
homour,  sweetness,  and  houeut  high  purpose. — Among  purely  English  novels  of  qui 
recent  date  the  one  which  displays  tho  greatest  general  ability,  not  by  any  meai 
always  put  to  the  best  account,  is  a  strjry  of  a  girl's  life,  entitled  On  the  Wold^J 
by  Kdwanl  Gillint,  M.A.,  Author  of  *'  Asylum  Chnsti"  (3  vols.,  Sampson  Low  3c  Co.), 
But  there  is  too  much  "outpouring**  in  it,  aud  the  antlior  discloses  too  much  con- 
KeriouHuePS  of  bis  own  plan  for  dramatic  effect.  It  is,  however,  a  book  that  should 
be  read  from  the  point  of  view  which  we  have  just  indicated. — R^whcl  Ofiwr,  A  TaU 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS 


771 


p 


(Macmillan  &  Co.),  alao  a  story  of  a  ffirVe  life — a  girl  who  gives  up  a  stroug  altach-' 
ment  for  the  sake  of  a  young  lady  friend.  The  concei»tiou  is  original,  or  suuiolhiog, 
very  like  it,  and  Rachers  grandfather,  the  rich  old  raauufacturor,  is  well  drawn. — 
Mdre  amusing  than  either  of  thoae  is  Atnf  Fairy  Lilian,  bj  the  Author  of  "  Phyllia/* 
""Molly  Dawn.*'  &c.  (it  vola.,  Smith,  Klder  &  Co):  but  when  once  wo  pot  out 
of  the  region  of  drawing-room  persiflage,  it  become*  a  little  tedious.  Lilian,  in  plain 
clothes,  would  be  simply  an  ill-tempered,  ill-trained,  vulgar  girl,  who  wanted  very 
severe  handling. 

Really  gay  and  brilliant  is  That  Artfnl  Vicar:  The  Story  of  toJutl  a  CUrgiftjian 
Tried  io  ao  for  Others  and  did  for  Hin^fJf,  by  the  Author  of  "  The  Member  for 
Parhj,*'  etc.  (2  vols.,  Smith,  Elder  A  Co.).  The  touch-and-go  treatment  of  certain 
senona  topics  U  not  satisfactory,  but  the  author  is  true  to  the  traditions  of  this 
school  of  fiction,  and  has  thrown  off  an  ingenious,  entertaining  book  which  is  prtftly 
sure  to  be  read  through  by  every  one  who  bogins  it. 

Another  novel  worth  mentioning,  thovieli  not  havinflf  anything  very  powerful 
or  characteristic  about  it,  13  Tr'n'd  hij  Firi',.hj  Francis  Carr.  Author  of  '*Left 
Alone/*  ttc.  (3  vols.,  Griffith  and  Farran).  This,  like  a  large  number  of  the  novels 
that  reach  us  (some  of  which  wc  leave  untioticed  for  reasons  which  we  hold  to  bo  wise 
and  good),  goes  for  its  intere.-<t  and  its  plot  to  unhappy  marriages  ;  but  the  handling, 
thoug^h  coUTeutional,  is  anything  but  mean  and  low.  The  author  cau  sketch  very 
well  mdee^i,  but  it  is  difficult  to  indge  of  a  novelist  whose  work  contains  ao  mucli 
"outpouring,"  and  who  is  capablo  ^of  8p:>iling  and  misusing  so  admirable  a  type 
as  the  first  Lady  Solton  in  this  story.  She  is  the  only  original  character  in  the  book, 
and  if  the  author  had  known  his  business  ho  would  have  "  run  her"  triumphantly 
through  the  three  volumes. 

Dr.  George  MacDonald  is  not  to  be  handled  lightly,  butbrevity  is  forced  upon  us.  In 
'*  PaulFaber" — a  book  containing  some  passives  as  beantifnl  as  any  ho  ever  wrote — 
he  has  discussed,  indirectly,  a  great  many  problems.  What  wo  now  inquire 
(as  we  promisodl  is  whether  tJte  grand  question  of  the  story  is  fairly  answered  or  is 
only  evaded.  Ofconrae.even  if  itwereouly  evafU'J,  it  might  bt»  said  that  good  is  done  by 
the  mere  "  ventilation"  of  such  topics.  But  this  is  another,  and  a  very,  very  doubtful 
matter.  Nobody  knows  better  than  Sfr.  MacDonald  (somehow  the  "  Dr."  seldom 
comes  quite  readily  to  the  pen's  tin),  that  what  with  the  sons  of  Belial,  what  xvith 
the  pure  worldlings,  and  what  with  the  stupid  or  insincere  people  who  treat  any 
scratch  code  of  etuics  into  which  they  happen  to  be  bom  as  if  it  wore  divine  law, 
letter  for  letter — it  is  impossible  to  bo  wholly  honest  in  such  case^.  This  is  clearly 
discerned  by  a-^ute  writers  of  the  Oaida  school,  and  hence  their  peculiar  method. 

We  have  nothing  to  do  here  with  Wlngfold,  except  as  his  qualities  and  his  inge- 
nuities help  to  throw  into  relief  the  unsolved  diflicnlties  of  the  case.  But  there  are 
two  prime  particulars  in  which  "  Paul  Faber,"  considered  as  a  "tendency"  novel,  is 
not  satisfactory.  First,  it  raises  and  more  than  raises,  for  it  assumes  to  settle  (as 
if  by  instinct,  shall  we  say  ?)  the  question  whether  sacred  laws  of  conduct  for  mea 
and  women,  imposing  the  same  kind  of  self-restraint  upon  both,  can,  except  in  a 
purely  ideal  comlition  in  a  world  made  on  purpose,  be  troate<l  in  case  of  violation  of 
the  laws  in  anch  a  way  as  to  IcAve  the  man  and  the  woman  on  equal  terms.  Now, 
one  of  the  most  expressive  and  aifecting  words  that  can  Ik*  used  in  diseus.<?ing  these 
subjects,  is  a  word  without  meaning  if  applied  to  a  man — there  is  no  physical  fact  to 
correspond :  on  the  other  side,  there  is  a  paysical  fact  of  the  very  utmost  significance. 
Upon  thai,  indeed,  the  central  difficulty  of  "  Paul  Faber"  turns.  Upon  the  physical 
fact  with  its  moral  associations,  immense  worlds,  nay  universes,  of  poetry,  emotion, 
faith,  and  hope  have  been  built.    Are  these  to  vanish  into  thin  air? 

And  yet  tnia  is  not  half  of  what  is  to  be  said  upon  that  part  of  the  qncstion. 
Here,  as  elsewhere,  we  are  concerned  to  arrive  at  the  truth,  and  not  at  a  fancy,  how- 
ever chivalric  or  noble-looking,  which  may  let  us  in  after  all.  As  we  are  not  definitely 
told  what  the  former  story  of  Juliet,  the  wife,  was,  we  cannot  even  attempt  to  judge 
whether  she  and  Faber  were  on  equal  terms  in  the  matter.  Faber*8  conduct  had  been 
veiy  bod,  but  whether  it  concerned  his  wife  that  she  should  know  it,  precisely  ac  it 
concerned  (or  may  be  supposed  to  have  concerned)  him  to  know  her  story  is  another 
matter.  Thus  the  verdict  is  snatohod,  and  as  it  is  used  to  suggest  general  conclnsionn, 
it  looks  as  if  the  subject  had  better  hare  been  left  alone.  Except,  iudoed,  that 
something  is  no  donbt  gained  when  the  impudent  and  conceited  laxities  of  men  are 
rebnked. 

Apart  from  the  more  general  question,  however,  it  is  plain  that  even  if  the  goilt  of 


772  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

Faber  and  liis  wife  had  been  equal,  it  would  bj  no  means  follow  that  the  nutonl 
and  inevitable  conaequenoes  to  the  "  love"  between  them  or  the  happiness  of  married 
Ufe  should  be  the  same,  or  even  similar.  It  is  written  with  diamond  on  adammnt»  in 
the  natural  constitution  of  things,  that  the  conseqaences  should  be  didSsrent ;  and 
the  reasons  freelj  disclose  themselves  the  moment  vou  consent  to  look  at  jonr  mexwiA 
code  as  what  it  is— a  very  rough  jumble  of  survivals,  a  clums/  attempt  to  get  thii^pi 
into  some  sort  of  shape. 

But  this  is  not  all.  Paul's  wife,  when  she  confesses,  prars  him  to  flog  her  aadi 
forgive  her.  The  scene  is  unhappilj  theatrical,  and  what  I^ul  would  rMly  hate 
said  is  something  like  this :  "  Very  good  actingindeed,  ma'am — not  your  first  perfor- 
mance, though.'*^  And  even  that  is  not  all.  For  love,  even  of  the  imperfect  order 
(such  as  we  have  here)  is  sovereign  over  injuries ;  it  can  and  does  anid  will  agaia 
forgive  things  much  worse  than  Juliet's  early  "  record."  In  a  word,  yon  can  descNinf 
love,  or  immedicabljT  wound  it,  or  make  it  inconsistent  with  self -respect ;  but  it 
Imows  nothing  of  injuries  as  injuries.  Nor,  indeed,  does  fnendsh^.  The  qnestiaa 
between  Paul  Faber  and  his  wife  is  put  on  a  false  footing— false,  that  is,  for  the  author*! 
purpose ;  it  is  true  enough  to  ordinary  life,  but  it  is  not  the  premiss  yon  want  lor 
your  conclusion.  There  are  "  injuries"  far  smaller,  which,  once  discovered,  might 
make  love  impossible  to  all  eternity.  The  author  had,  in  truth,  set  himself  an  im- 
practicable task.  And  yet  he  has  failed  in  courage.  A  courageous  writer  would 
nave  made  Amanda's  mother  turn  up  suddenly,  alive,  in  the  thick  of  Fabei's  trooblBu 


THE  RELIGIOUS  CONDITION   OF 
GERMANY. 


IN  all  the  Christian  States  of  Europe  tbc  Chnrcli  is,  iu  consequence  of 
it9  historical  development,  ouc  of  the  most  powerful  factors  in  the 
social  system.  In  all  these  States  the  clergy  held  for  many  centuries 
an  important  political  position.  This  was  the  case  especially  in  the 
prcvinces  composing  that  Empire  of  Germany  which  came  to  an  end 
in  1806.  Up  to  the  year  1792  there  were  twenty-seven  territories 
governed  hy  Catholic  bishops  or  archbishops  ;  and  forty-five  by  abbotSj 
abbeseesj  and  other  spiritual  dignitaries.  In  these  territories,  which 
were  then  under  the  House  of  Hapsburg,  Wittelsbach,  &c.,  the 
Catholic  Church  had  remained  the  dominant  State  Church.  In  the 
provinces  which  had  embraced  the  Heformation,  the  Protestant  Church 
held  an  analogous  position,  With  very  few  exceptions,  so  few  as  to  be 
historically  unimportant,  the  government  of  the  Protestant  Church 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  princes,  who,  by  virtue  of  their  episcopal 
power,  have  till  quite  recent  times  been  almost  everywhere  the  legis- 
lators of  the  Church,  and  have  governed  it  through  their  consistories* 
Even  in  our  own  day  the  King  of  Prussia,  the  King  of  Wurtemberg, 
and  all  the  Protestant  princes  of  Germany  hold  the  ecclesiastical  power. 
In  all  German  provinces  which  sent  deputies,  the  prelates  held  the  first 
rank.  Until  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  the  canon  law  was  in  force 
for  Catholics  in  the  Catholic  provinces,  and  also  iu  those  Protestant 
districts  where  Catholics  had  the  free  exercise  of  their  religion 
{exercidutn  reliffionh  ptU/Ucum),  and  the  clergy  were  under  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  the  bisliops  in  civil  and  criminal  causes.  This  was  also  the  case 
in  Protestant  provinces.  We  can  understand,  therefore,  how  the 
influence  of  the  Church  made  itself  felt  in  every  department  of  social 
life,  and  how  religious  and  ecclesiastical  interests  came  to  be  associated 
by   a  thousand    tics  with   those  of  society  at  large.      Hence^  in   any 

VOL.  XXXV.  3  E 


774  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW.  ^^ 

attempt  to  appreciate  truly  the  present  social  conditions  of  Germany, 
and  to  understand  the  struggle  which  Las  bceu  going  on  with  more  or 
less  intensity  through  the  whole  of  the  nineteenth  century  ;  in  any 
attempt  to  comprehend  the  attitude  of  parties,  and  the  power  of  the 
clergy^  we  must  be  thoroughly  acquatuted  with  the  present  position  of 
the  Church.  This  gives  the  key  to  the  understanding  of  many  pheno- 
mena which  without  it  are  wholly  inexplicable.  Those  who  have  onJy 
a  superficial  knowledge  of  Germany^  such  as  is  acquired  in  travelling, 
or  by  a  longer  sojourn  in  some  one  spot,  can  never  be  in  a  position  to 
pronounce  a  correct  judgment.  In  order  to  this  a  thorough  acquaintance 
with  the  whole  social  pos^itiou  is  necessary.  It  is  particularly  diiEeult 
for  an  Englishman  to  underHtand  the  state  of  affairs^  because  the 
present  conditions  of  life  iu  Germany  are  so  completely  different  from 
those  in  England.  It  is  our  intention  iu  the  present  paper,  by  a  state* 
mcnt  of  facts,  to  make  English  readers  acquainted  with  the  present 
position  of  the  Church  in  Germany,  both  in  its  social  and  legal  aspect, 
with  the  twofold  objectj  first  of  contributing  to  a  right  understanding 
of  the  life  of  the  Gertuan  people,  and  second  of  fm^nishing  the  politician 
with  a  key  to  some  of  the  political  movements  of  the  day. 

To  this  end  we  shall  say  something  of  all  those  aspects  of  the  national 
life  which  are  or  may  be  brought  under  the  influence  of  the  Church, 
whether  Catholic  or  Protestant.  We  shall  abstain  from  making  any 
criticism  on  the  state  of  things  represented,  leaving  the  reader  to  arrive 
at  his  own  conclusious,  favourable  or  otherwise  to  Germany,  from  the 
facts  stated.  All  b'c  shall  allow  ourselves  to  do  will  be  to  draw  the 
inferences  which  seem  to  us  to  follow  neccHHarily  from  the  objective 
premises  laid  down.  In  order  to  put  the  reader  in  a  position  to  judge 
for  himself  what  arc  the  conditions  to  be  taken  into  account,  and  in 
order  to  enable  him  to  form  a  correct  estimate  of  the  influence  of  the 
ecclesiastical  upon  the  social  and  political  life  of  the  nation,  we  shall 
give  now  a  short  statistical  statement  of  tlic  present  conditions  of 
Germany  and  German  Austria. 

I.  Statistics  of  the  various  Religions  of  Germany  and  Austria  accord- 
ing to  t/i€  Census  o/187o. 

Sot 

belonrOyr 
ProTincr.  Catho41cs.  ProtttfUiit*.         CUrtitUn  S««(a.  Jew.  toMi^ 

rrtlriuui 
bodr, 

Prussia  ....  8,G;ii),b4(i  ...  1G,712,700  ...  59,400  ...  339,790  ...  i.674 

Bavaria.     .     .     .  3,573,142  ...  1,392,120  ...  4,889  ...  51,385  ...  904 

Saxony   ....        73,349  ...  2,674,905  ...  0,541  ...  5,800  ...  431 

Wurtfimbiirg    .     .      669,578  ...  1,296,650  ...  12,881  ...  4,167  ...  229 

Baden      ....      958,916  ...  517,«C1  ...  3,842  ...  26,402  ...  6ft 

Alsace-LorraiiR'     .  1,20-1,181  ...  285,329  ...  3,198  ...  39,002  ...  134 

Hesse       ....      251,172  ...  602,850  ...  3,889  ...  25.652  ...  655 

"tKr"    }  •  2,208  ...        548.741  ...        -     ...       2,78G  ...      - 


THE    RELIGIOUS    CONDITION    OF   GERMANY,        775 


Xot 

tOBQ7 

r«Ii#iou* 
body. 

30 

Pi«vlncc, 
Oldenburg   .     . 

Catholics. 

.       71,7^3  ... 

ProtoiUaU. 

245,054 

CbiUtiuSect*. 

909  ... 

1.57*5 

Anhalt     .     .     . 

3.473  ... 

208,238  , 

91  ... 

lp763 

...     — 

Other  States 

.       39,675  ... 

2,234,575 

...     4,968  ... 

22,650 

...  8,942 

The  Catholics  thus  number  36  per  rent,  of  the  population ;  the 
Protestants  62'5  per  cent.  \  the  Jews  \'2  per  cent. ;  and  all  the  rest  03 
per  cent.  In  Prussia  the  districts  of  Muuster,  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
ColognCj  parts  of  Dusseldorf,  Treves,  Arnsberg,  Breslau,  ami  Ilohen- 
zollern,  arc  almost  exclusively  Catholic,  or  with  a  very  small  sprinkling 
of  Protestants  among  the  population.  So  arc>  in  Bavaria,  the  old 
Bavarian  provinces,  and  in  Badeu,  Wurtemburg,  and  Hesse,  some 
districts  that  were  formerly  Church  lands.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
provinces  of  Brandenburg,  Pomcrania,  part  of  Prussian  Saxony,  the 
kingdom  of  Saxony,  the  Saxon  duchies  and  principalities,  Mecklenburg, 
and  the  Ilanseatic  States,  are  almost  exclusively  Protestant,  with  a 
small  intermixture  of  Catholics.  The  remaining  provinces  of  the 
Empire  have  a  more  mixed  population,  with  a  slight  preponderance  in 
some  of  the  Protestant,  in  others  of  the  Catholic   element. 

The  provinces  whicb  compose  the  Empire  of  Austria  are  almost 
entirely  Catholic,  for  the  400,000  Protestants  are  lost  among  the 
21,500,000  Catholics,  and  only  iu  a  few  small  towua  or  districts  is 
there  a  compact  Protestant  body.  The  Jews  are  in  round  numbers 
850,000.  Next  to  the  great  towns — Berlin,  Breslau,  Frankfort,  &e. — 
where  they  colonise  largely^  the  Jews  congregate  chiefly  iu  the  Catholic 
districts. 

II,  Schools,  esperially  Primary  and  Middle-class  Schools. — It  is  a 
household  word  that  the  schoolmaster  holds  the  future  in  his  hands. 
The  struggle  which  was  ended  years  ago  in  Prussia,  but  is  still 
going  ou  iu  France,  Belgium,  and  Italy,  to  retain  the  sectarian  schools 
for  the  sake  of  the  influence  of  the  Church,  proves  how  much  tjruth 
there  is  iu  the  saying.  In  order  to  estimate  the  influence  of  the 
schools,  and  to  understand  the  existing  state  of  things,  it  is  necessary 
to  know  something  of  the  various  characters  of  the  schoob,  their  legal 
status,  and  the  relations  in  which  they  stand  to  the  several  religious 
bodies  to  which  they  belong.  In  the  ofhcial  return  of  the  Educational 
Department  in  Prussia,  which  is  issued  annually  at  Berlin  in  twelve 
numbers,  wc  Bud  in  an  exact  form  the  data  wc  require.  Aud  as  these 
represent  the  larger  part  of  Germany,  and  the  conditions  are  precisely 
analogous  in  the  remaining  States,  wc  may  fairly  deduce  from  them  our 
conclusions  as  to  the  present  ecclesiastical,  social,  and  political  life  of 
the  nation,  and  the  probabilities  of  the  future.     (Sec  Table  on  p.  776). 

The  Table  is  iu   itself   sutficient,  but   I    may  add  that   I   have  com- 
pared  the  oflScial  Tables  for  a  number  of  years  (from  1867),  and  have 

3  £  2 


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J 

THE   RELIGIOUS   CONDITION   OF  GERMANY 


777 


found  that  the  proportions  are  always  substantially  the  same.  T  pro- 
ceed now,  therefore,  to  draw  the  objective  inferences  from  these 
figures,  in  the  hope  that  the  attentive  reader  will  at  once  perceive  their 
fairness. 

If  the  proportion  of  the  population  belonging  to  a  certain  religions 
body  should  regulate  the  proportion  of  scholars  connected  with  it,  it 
follows  that  we  should  expect  to  find  36  per  cent,  of  the  scholars 
CatholicSj  62  per  cent.  Protestants,  and  1*2  per  cent.  Jews.  The 
averages,  however,  show  that  of  the  scholars  in  the  Gymnasia,  68*6  per 
cent,  are  Protestants,  21'1  Catholics,  9*9  Jews  ;  of  the  scholars  in  the 
Rcalschulen,  11*6  i>cr  cent,  are  Catholics,  79*5  Protestants,  84  Jews. 
We  find  that  the  number  of  Jewish  scholars  in  the  Gymnasia  is  steadily 
increasing,  and  that  this  is  the  case  also  with  the  Protestants,  though 
not  iu  the  same  proportion,  while  the  number  of  the  Catholic 
scholars  is  on  the  decline.  A  man  must  have  passed  through  a  Gymna- 
sium or  a  Realschule  before  he  is  qualified  to  take  any  responsible 
office  under  Government.  Passing  through  the  pro-Gymuasium  gives  at 
most  the  advantage  of  studying  one  year  only  as  a  volunteer  in  the  army. 
From  a  comparison^  then,  of  the  preceding  figures,  it  appears  further: 
1st.  That  in  proportion  to  the  population,  the  number  of  Jews  attend- 
ing the  preparatory  schools  of  the  Gymnasium  is  nearly  double  that 
of  the  Catholics.  2nd.  Out  of  100  scholars  in  the  pro-Gymuasia,  42 
arc  Catholics,  48  Protestants,  and  9  Jews.  3nl.  In  the  preparatory 
schools  of  the  pro-Gymnaaia,  the  average  of  Jews  is  higher  in  proportion 
than  that  of  the  Catholics.  4th.  In  the  preparatory  schools  of  the 
Rcalschulen  the  same  is  the  case  in  a  still  greater  degree.  5th.  Out  of 
100  scholars  in  the  higher  grammar  schools  there  are  16  Catholics,  78 
Protestants,  and  5  Jews. 

Here,  then,  we  have  clear  proof  not  only  that  the  Protestants  do 
their  full  part,  in  proportion  to  their  numbers,  iu  giving  their  children 
the  higher  education  which  may  qualify  them  for  any  office  in  the 
State,  as  well  as  for  any  profession  or  branch  of  industry  or  trade,  but 
also  that  the  Catholics  fail  altogether  to  do  this.  If  we  take  the  entire 
number  of  scholars  found  in  any  of  the  above-named  schools,  we  shall 
find  that  in  the  winter  of  1877-8  (and  the  proportion  is  the  same  if  we 
go  further  back)  of  the  entire  number  of  Catholics  in  Prussia  0*26  per 
cent.,  of  Protestants  0'5,  of  Jews  3*4,  were  in  attendance. 

If  this  proportion  should  continue  in  the  future,  it  needs  no  prophet 
to  foretell  that  the  offices  of  State,  the  medical  and  legal  professions, 
trade,  and  industry  will  pass,  in  ever-increasing  proportions  in  Germany, 
into  tlie  hands  of  the  Jews;  that  the  Catholics  will  be  more  and  more 
thrown  out  of  the  ranks,  and  that  the  number  of  Catholics  possessing  only 
the  barest  indispensable  rudiments  of  education  will  be  ever  on  the  increase. 

History  teaches  that  the  masses  have  no  effect  upon  the  development 
of  the  State  or  of  society,  except  in  a  revolutionary  and  hence  tran- 
mtory  way ;  and  that  it  is  the  educated  classes  who  hold  the  future  iu 


778 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


their  bauds.  If  the  influence  of  the  Catholics  goes  ou  dimiaishiDg  ia 
the  same  proportion,  it  follows  that  they  "will  receive  less  and  less  consi- 
deration from  the  leaders  of  the  State.  If  then,  for  example^  the  mode 
of  eleetions  should  be  so  far  altered  that  one  system  should  be  intro- 
duced for  all,  it  ia  obvious  that  the  Catholic  members  would  be  in  a 
gradually  diminishing  number,  as  -we  shall  proceed  to  show  that  it  is  the 
influence  of  the  clergy  which  has  brought  about  the  present  position  of 
things,  in  which  correct  sentiments  towards  Rome  are  made  a  necessary 
qualification  for  election. 

The  educational  returns  show  the  same  state  of  things  in  Austiia,  and 
we  are  driven  to  ask — How  is  this  phenomenon,  which  is  a  very  ominous 
one  for  the  Catholic  populations  of  Germany,  to  be  accounted  fbr? 
Partly  by  the  system  of  the  Romish  Church.  The  Catholic  population 
of  Germany  belongs  to  all  the  various  branches  of  the  German  natiou. 
Some  of  thesCj  as  the  Suxons,  Franeoiiiaus^  and  Swabiaus,  arc  iu 
great  part  Catholics,  But  the  aim  of  the  hierarchy  has  always  been 
and  is  still  to  keep  the  people  in  spiritual  subjection.  The  bierarcLy 
does  not  desire  superior  mental  power  or  culture  in  its  clergy. 
Hence  it  opposes  the  laws  of  the  State  which  require  of  the  clergy  a 
high  scientific  education.  It  feels  that  if  the  clergy  received  such  aa 
education,  if  they  became  in  scicutific  and  general  culture  the  equals  or 
superiors  of  physicians,  barristers,  &c. — as  might  easily  be  the  case  if 
all  clergymen  were  educated  according  to  the  laws  in  Prussia  and  Baden 
- — they  would  no  longer  consent  to  be  the  mere  tools  of  the  bishops 
without  will  or  judgment  of  their  own. 

The  bishops  cannot  but  perceive  that  the  adoption  of  a  higher  educa- 
tional standard  for  the  clergy  would  lessen  their  numbers,  aud  this 
would  not  suit  the  Roman  system.  Rome  must  have  a  great  body  of 
ecclesiastics,  who  may  be  constantly  influencing  the  masscii  of  the  people 
by  means  of  the  confessional.  This  clerical  body  is  recruited  for  the  most 
part  from  the  common  i>eople,  who,  thanks  to  the  celibate  system,  find 
in  it  a  profitable  source  of  income,  since  on  the  death  of  the  spiritual 
uncle  or  brother,  his  poor  relations  goiierally  step  into  his  comfortable 
little  fortune.  The  priest,  as  family  adviser,  generally  recommends  the 
itudy  of  theology.  With  the  great  merchant  aud  manufacturer  he  is  not 
sympathetic;  he  finds  them  too  independent;  the  officers  of  State  only 
find  favour  with  him  when  they  luud  themselves  to  carry  out  the 
clerical  policy,  in  which  case  be  allows  them  to  be  ostensibly  the  leadew. 
For  common  folk  it  is  best,  so  the  clergy  deem,  to  retain  their  sim- 
plicity, aud  just  learn  enough  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic  to  carry 
them  through  the  world.  The  school  returns  show  that  the  Catholic 
population,  as  a  whole,  content  themselves  with  the  minimum  of 
culture,  that  is  to  say^  with  the  elemeutary  schools,  through  which  the 
State  requires  them  to  pass.  And  even  this  compulsory  education,  as  it 
is  called,  is  strongly  opposed  by  the  clergy  in  Belgium,  France,  and 
many  parts  of  Germany. 


THE   RELIGIOUS    CONDITION   OF   GERMANY, 


779 


These  educational  conditions  must  be  kept  in  mindj  in  order  to 
understand  much  that  we  shall  have  to  say  presently. 

Attendance  at  the  primary  schools  from  the  age  of  seven  to  fourteen 
is  required  of  every  German  child  by  the  laws  of  tbe  State.  How  far 
this  is  practically  carried  out  we  have  proof  only  with  regard  to  those 
drawn  for  military  scn^ice  ;  but  as  military  service  is  required  of  every 
man  throughout  Germany,  this  may  be  regarded  as  conclusive  with 
respect  to  the  men.  The  results  with  regard  to  the  women  will  not  be 
likely  to  be  more  favourable,  for  there  is  no  stricter  supervision  over 
their  attendance,  and  iu  the  country  there  are  fewer  girls'  schools,  only 
boys'  or  mixed  schools.  We  have  before  us  the  official  returns  for 
Prussia  for  several  years,  and  they  present  many  points  claiming  attention. 

In  Prussia  the  number  of  recruits  without  school  education  were  : — 


Frovioce. 

Prussia 

Brandenburg 

Pomerania 

Poacii 

Silesia  . 

Saxony 

3fihleswig-Holstein 

ITanover 

Westphalia    . 

llesse-NaaBau 

Province  of  t]je  Rb 

Lauenburg 

HohenzoUern 

All  Prussia 


ne 


Percent. 

l876-7«. 
8-784 
0-666 
li>28 

13-972 
3-347 
0-322 
0-261 
0-838 
1056 
0-531 
0-744 
0-000 
0-386 
3-214 


Percent. 

Per  oeot 

187e-77. 

1877-78 

8-675 

7-830 

0667 

0-411 

1-198 

0-943 

13004 

.        11-204 

2-506 

2-2*22 

0-860 

0-293 

0-466 

0-407 

0-553 

0-424 

0-746         ...         0-525 

0-332 

0-173 

0-518 

0-315 

0-000 

0000 

0000 

0-000 

2-959 

2-483 

Tliis  Table  shows — 1st.  That  the  provinces  of  Prussia,  Posen,  and 
Silesia^  which  have  a  lai^e  population  of  Sclaves,  are  the  lowest.  2ud. 
The  purely  Protestant  provinces  stand  best,  and  next  to  them  those 
which  have  a  large  mixed  industrial  population,  and  little  Ilohenzollem. 
3rd.  There  is  a  steady  improvement  in  the  returns,  and  this  is  accounted 
for  by  the  fact  that  every  year  the  State  appoints  more  school  inspectors, 
especially  lay  inspectors,  who  do  not  wink  at  abuses  as  the  clerical 
inspectors  did.  The  number  of  school  inspectors  was,  in  the  year  1876, 
114;  in  1877,  155;  and  in  the  following  year,  172. 

Another  point  deserving  to  be  carefully  noted,  in  estimating  the 
social  condition  of  Germany,  is  the  edticaiion  of  the  girts.  Up  to 
the  year  1875  there  were  in  the  purely  Catholic  districts,  or  in  those  in 
which  the  Catholics  predominated,  very  few  higher  class  schools  for 
girls,  except  those  which  were  in  the  hands  of  religious  bodies  or  of 
sisterhoods.  AVith  these  boarding-schools  were  always  associated. 
Catholic  girls  of  the  well-to-do  middle  class,  on  leaving  the  primary 
schools,  were  placed  in  these  establishments  for  a  year  or  more.     Many 


780 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


were  passed  into  them  when  they  irere  onljr  ten  or  twelre  years  of  age. 
The  education  in  many,  indeed  in  most  of  these  schools,  "was  condncted 
after  the  model  of  the  French  Ultramontane  establishments,  with  the 
object  of  gi\'ing  a  strong  bias  towards  a  religious  life. 

Among  the  Protestant  populations  the  case  is  altogether  differcut. 
There  is  scarcely  a  large  or  moderate-sized  town  which  has  not  one  or 
more  public  high  schools  for  girls,  besides  a  number  of  private  schools 
in  all  places  of  importance.  These  Protestant  schools  are^  on  the 
whole,  better  as  regards  the  instruction  given  than  the  Catholic  Bchools, 
and  are  in  no  way  inferior  to  them  in  order  and  in  the  calibre  of  their 
teachers.  Hence  it  is  a  rare  thing  for  Protestant  girls  to  attend  t 
Catholic  schools,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  Catholic  girls  belonging 
the  middle  class,  and  still  more  frequently  those  of  higher  aocial  grade^ 
are  found  attending  the  Protestant  schools.  They  are  also  sent  to 
Protestant  boarding-schools  in  Belgium  and  Switzerland.  It  is  obvious 
that  this  actual  intercourse  must  have  a  great  influence.  The  Protes- 
tant girls,  using  Protestant  school-books,  and  coming  in  contact  with 
teachers  of  ttieir  own  faith,  have  their  religious  views  developed  as  a 
part  of  their  education,  while  the  Catholics,  on  the  contrary,  either 
receive  a  bigoted  trainings  or  learn  to  think  of  religion  as  something 
apart  from  their  general  education.  While,  therefore,  the  Protestant 
women  of  the  higher  classes  generally  hold  fast  their  religion,  the 
Catholics  frequently  grow  up  mere  indiffercntists. 

We  shall  now  turn  to  another  important  feature  of  the  ecclesiastical 
life  of  Germany — the  Universities. 


1 


III,  Universities  and  their  Influence, — In  Germany  the  name 
University  is  given  only  to  institutions  which  have  at  least  four 
faculties^ — a  faculty  of  theologj^,  jurisprudence,  medicine,  and  phi- 
losophy. Of  these  institutions  G  ermany  possesses  20.  Three  of 
these — the  Universities  of  Bonn,  Breslau,  and  Tiibingen — have  both 
a  Catholic  and  Protestant  faculty  of  theology ;  14  have  a  Pro- 
testant  faculty  only;  three — Freiburg,  Munich,  and  Wiirzburg — a 
Catholic  faculty  alone.  Besides  these  we  have  two  academies — 
Braunshcrg  and  Miiuster — which  have  only  a  Catholic  theological,  and 
a  philosophical  faculty.  There  are  also  17  Protestant  and  8  Catholic 
theological  faculties  established  by  the  State.  In  these  there  are  150 
Protestant  and  60  Catholic  students.  Of  the  other  faculties  there  ia 
none  with  a  distinctively  Catholic  character,  though  there  are  some 
distinctly  Protestant  Universities.  The  proportion  of  Catholic  students 
to  Protestants  is  in  the  entire  number  of  faculties  of  jurisprudence  as 
I  to  5 ;  in  the  faculties  of  medicine  as  1  to  9  ;  in  the  philosophical 
faculties  as  1  to  5.  The  influence  of  the  Universities  is  enormous  in 
Germany,  as  Government  officials  of  all  ranks,  unless  they  belong  to  tlic 
purely  technical  departments,  such  as  arehitectiu*e,  husbandry,  or  the 
management  of  woods  and  forests,  &c.,  must  complete  their  studies  there. 

It  is  required  in  the  same  way  of  physicians,  teachers  of  higher  g^ado 


I 


\ 


I  THE   RELIGIOUS   CONDITION   OF  GERMANY,       7W 

I 

schools^  and  allpersous  who  wisb  to  lay  claim  to  a  good  education,  that  they 
should  spend  some  years  at  one  of  the  Universitiea.  It  may  also  be  said 
that,  with  comparatively  few  exccptious,  almost  all  the  scientific  works 
that  arc  written  owe  their  authorship  to  professors  in  these  institutions. 
Of  the  direct  influence  of  the  Universities  upon  ecclesiastical  life  we 
can  say  nothing.  lleligion  ia  simply  a  separate  branch  of  know- 
ledge, an  academic  exercise  in  the  theological  faculty.  Thei*c  are, 
indeed^  in  every  University  one  or  more  Univepsity  preachers ;  but, 
apart  from  the  theological  students,  their  sermons  meet  with  a  very 
scanty  appreciation  or  hearing.  There  is  no  obligation  on  the  part  of 
either  professors  or  students  to  attend  the  academic  service,  and  prac- 
tically it  seems  to  be  merely  a  pretext  for  giving  the  officiating  professors 
or  clergy  an  increased  salary. 

The  academic  celebrations  have,  as  a  rule,  no  religious  character.  In 
a  word,  the  ecclesiastical  or  religious  element  in  the  Universities  is 
simply  a  private  affair.  Since  the  year  1850,  however,  the  Church  has 
been  labouring  in  a  particular  direction,  to  get  a  footing  for  itself  in  the 
Universities;  while  in  connection  with  the  effort  put  forth  in  18*18, 
1^  chiefly  under  the  direction  of  the  Jesuits,  or  persons  instructed  by  them, 
in  almost  all  the  Universities  where  Catholics  arc  in  a  majority,  associa- 
tions of  students  have  been  formed,  calling  themselves  sometimes 
\  "  Catholic  Unions,"  sometimes  "  Brotherhoods,"  sometimes  by  indifferent 
luunes,  but  all  having  the  same  object  in  view — to  promote  Catholic 
iriterests,  that  is,  to  be  active  in  the  cause  of  Ultramontanism. 

\Thercver  these  Unions  were  of  a  distinctly  Jesuitical  character,  they 
have  been  prohibited  by  virtue  of  the  law  which  excludes  Jesuits  from 
the  Gtnnan  empire  ;  but  in  this  way  the  form  only  is  reached,  not  the 
fact.  Ii  is  unquestionable  that  these  Unions  are  those  which  have  tlie 
greatest  influence  over  the  students.  Through  them  the  battles  of 
Ultramontanism  arc  fought ;  they  are  the  organs  of  the  priest  behind 
the  scenes,  through  whom  he  learns  what  is  going  on,  keeps  it  under  his 
own  control,  and  weaves  his  meshes  around  the  unwai'y  youth.  To 
belong  to  one  of  these  Unions  is  an  excellent  introduction  for  theyoimg 
physician,  or  other  professional,  to  the  parish  priest. 

To  a  smaller  extent  the  Protestant  students  also  attach  themselves  to 
certain  theological  schools.  This  fact,  however,  has  very  little  to  do  with 
the  influence  of  the  Universities  upon  the  religious  and  social  life  of  the 
nation.  Tlie  source  of  this  influence  is  to  be  sought  in  quite  another 
direction.  The  religious  teaching  iu  the  Universities  is  absolutely  free 
and  uncontrolled.  That  a  professor  should  be  called  to  account  for  his 
teaching  and  deprived  of  his  ofiBce,  has  been  a  very  rare  occurrence  in 
the  present  century  among  Protestant  divines,  though  there  are  such 
instances,  as  iu  the  case  of  Professor  liaumgarten  of  Uostock.  Among 
Catholic  divines  it  more  frequently  happens  under  pressure  from  Rome, 
as  at  Bonn,  where  the  adherents  of  Hermes,  Achterfeld,  and  Braun  arc 
forbidden  to  lecture. 

The  student  has  free  choice  among  the  professors.    Medical  students, 


782 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


candidates  for  the  higher  brauches  of  teaching  in  the  Gymnasia  and 
RealschulcDj  uud  all  students  who  have  to  pass  au  examination  before 
the  Commission  composed  exclusively  or  chiefly  of  teachers  in  the 
University^  are  in  the  habit  of  choosing  among  the  various  professors  ia 
any  one  department  (as  philosophy,  history,  &c.)  the  one  who  will  be 
their  future  examiner.  If^  however,  it  should  happen  that  the  same 
person  is  appointed  always,  or  through  mauy  years  in  succession,  to  the 
post  of  examiner,  so  that  it  becomes  a  monopoly,  it  is  open  to  the 
student  to  join  any  other  University  he  pleases  iu  the  same  State,  and 
thus  to  choose  his  examinerj  so  that  this  disadvantage  is  considerably 
lessened.  It  would,  however,  be  more  fair  to  make  all  examiners  in 
turn,  as  is  the  caac  iu  the  faculty  of  law.  Attendance  at  the  Universities 
is,  as  we  have  said,  perfectly  free ;  but  iu  all  the  States,  attendance  for 
a  certain  period  (two  years  at  longest)  at  one  or  other  of  them  is  a 
necessary  qualification  for  all  candidates  for  Government  offices. 

It  is  well  known  that  all  shades  of  opinion  on  religion,  philosophy,  and 
politics,  are  represented  in  the  German  Universities.  The  students  arc 
under  no  sort  of  supervision,,  only  tiie  Unions  are  placed  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  University  authorities,  just  as  the  individual  is  subject  to  the 
laws,  general  and  particular,  for  the  maintenance  of  discipline.  Life  in 
a  German  University  is  thus  specially  adapted  to  develop  the  indepen- 
dent formation  of  character.  This  end  is  most  fully  attained  in  the  case 
of  the  Protcstftut  students,  on  whom  only  the  influence  of  the  parents 
or  guardians  ia  brought  to  bear;  while  in  the  case  of  the  Catholics,  in 
numberless  instances,  the  student  is  prevailed  upon  by  clerical  influence 
to  choose  the  lectures  of  certain  professors  who  will  train  him  in  the 
desired  direction,  and  to  attend  by  preference  at  those  Universities  iu 
which  this  kind  of  teaching  is  most  easily  secured.  We  find  iu  the 
UnivcrsiticSj  as  in  the  schools,  that  there  is  a  much  larger  proportion  of 
Protestant  than  of  Catholic  students.  The  two  things  are,  indeed,  cou- 
nected,  for  the  certificate  of  proficiency  {AbUurienten-Zeitgrnss)  which 
is  given  to  tliose  who  have  passed  the  examination  iu  the  highest  class  of 
the  Gymuasium,  is  the  condition  of  entrance  to  the  Universities  for  all 
those  who  wish  to  enter  their  names  for  examination  for  any  of  the 
learned  professions.  Without  this  no  one  is  qualified  to  practise  as  a 
judge,  barrister,  doctor,  teacher  in  a  Gymnasium,  &c. 

Jt  follows,  therefore,  from  the  tables  alreiuly  given,  that  out  of  every 
hundred  persons  receiving  a  scientific  I'niversity  education  iu  Germany, 
68  arc  Protestants,  21  Catholics,  and  0  Jews.  If  wc  consider  the  social 
influence  naturally  possessed  by  a  man  of  education,  wc  arrive  at  the 
following  conclusions  :— 1.  That  the  mass  of  the  Catholic  jwpulation  is 
far  more  under  clerical  influence  than  the  Protestant.  2.  Iliat  a  really 
highly-educated  Catholic  layniuu,  if  he  stands  well  with  the  clergy — 
that  is  to  say,  if  he  is  au  Ultramontane — has  a  far  greater  influence 
over  Catholics  than  a  Protestant  of  the  same  intellectual  standing  has 
over  his  co-rcligiouists,     3.  The  Catholic  who  does  not  stand  well  with 


THE    REUGIOUS    CONDITION    OF   GERMANY,        TSS 

the  clergy  has,  as  a  nilCj  no  influence  at  all  iu  places  where  the  popula- 
tion is  purely  or  mainly  Catholic.  4.  The  Catholic  who  is  not  iu 
favour  with  the  UltTamontane  clergy  can,  as  a  rule,  only  achieve  a 
position  of  political  iuflucuce  in  places  where  the  population  is  wholly 
or  mainly  Protestant,  AVe  will  show  by  figures  the  correctness  of  all 
these  statementa. 

The  German  Kcichstag  has  397  members.  The  proportion  of  the 
Catholic  to  the  Protestant  population  in  Germany  is  3^  to  62.  There 
ought,  therefore,  according  to  the  numerical  proportion,  to  be  143 
Catholic  members.  But  the  returns  for  the  election  of  July,  1878,  arc 
as  follows  : — 137  Catholics,  2-4<j  Protestants,  4  Jews,  10  belonging  to  no 
religion  (Protestants).  Among  the  Catholics  are  12  Poles  and  10 
natives  of  Alsace  and  Lorraine  ;  iu  }>oth  these  cases  llltramoutanism,  or 
what  is  here  identical  with  it,  has  decided  the  poll.  Eleven  Catholics 
are  sent  up  by  wholly  or  mainly  Protestant  electoral  tlistricts  ;  three  of 
these  owe  their  election  to  the  circumstauce  that  they  are  very 
large  landowners  iu  the  district.  If  we  subtract  the  Poles  and  Alsace- 
Lorrainers  and  the  11  just  named,  there  remain  lO^i  Catholic  members. 
Of  these  93  belong  to  the  Centre,  which  means  to  the  extreme  Ultra- 
montane party;  and  the  remaining  II  are  chosen  in  places  which  have  a 
]>opulation  nominally  Prote^tautj  or  a  wholly  or  mainly  Catholic  but 
not  Ultramontane  population  (as  in  Baden).  It  is,  therefore,  a  fact, 
that  in  whoUy  or  mainly  Catholic  districts,  only  an  Ultramoutaae  can 
1)6  elected^  proving  that  in  these  places  the  creed  decides  the  rote, 
while  it  does  not  do  so  in  Protestant  districts.  This  comes  out  still 
more  clearly  from  an  analysis  of  the  93  members  of  the  Centre.  We 
find  that  of  these  23  are  ecclesiastics,  30  were  formerly  officers,  land- 
ownei's,  &c. ;  while  amongst  all  the  other  members  one  only  is  an  eccle- 
siastic ;  and,  lastly,  we  find  a  loug  list  of  members  of  the  Centre  to 
be  entirely  unknown  persona,  of  no  position  or  influence,  so  that  their 
election  is  to  be  traced  simply  tu  the  fiat  of  the  priest. 

The  Ultraraontancs  have  formed  the  plan  since  18 iS  of  founding  a 
Catholic  University  under  ecdesiastical  direction.  Iu  the  year  1862  a 
formal  resolution  to  this  cflcct  was  passed  at  the  "  Catholic  General 
Assembly,^'  and  an  attempt  was  made  to  collect  the  necessary  funds. 
In  eight  years,  however,  the  amount  raised  is  less  than  100,000  marks ; 
and  it  is,  moreover,  certain  that  no  German  Government  would 
recognise  such  a  University  or  the  degrees  conferred  by  it,  not  only 
because  it  is  at  once  obvious  that  it  would  have  supplied  no  guarantee 
for  the  actual  scientific  knowledge  and  the  moral  discipline  required^ 
but  idso  on  general  grounds. 

Among  these  the  question  of  the  exclusively  Catholic  or  Protestant 
character  of  the  schools  is  one  of  so  much  importance  that  it  calls  for 
closer  investigation. 

We  have  now  a  united  Germany.  The  confession  of  faith  makes  no 
diflference  in  the  enjoyment  of  civil  or  ])olitical  rights  ,-  all  have  equal 


784 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVfEfK 


duties ;  the  Emperor  ia  a  Protestant,  aud  we  hear  no  more  of  the  pre* 
tensions  of  the  old  Imperialism.  Every  one  rejoices  to  be  freed  fixnn 
the  bondage  of  creeds ;  and  feels  that  in  a  time  of  railways,  a  time  of 
progress  in  all  the  natural  sciences,  the  fitness  of  a  man  for  a  certain 
office  should  uo  longer  be  made  to  depend  on  his  religious  profession. 
It  has  become  clear  also  even  to  the  most  short-sighted  that  in  bnsiness 
and  trade  such  a  rule  cannot  be  adopted.  Till  the  year  1872  there 
were  in  only  a  few  German  provinces  (Nassau  among  them)  unscctarian 
schools,  in  which  the  religious  convictions  of  both  Catholics  and  Protes- 
tants were  respected  alike.  Since  then,  in  other  places — namely,  in 
Prussia  and  in  Baden — communities  have  been  empowered  to  establish 
such  schoolsj  or  to  make  the  schools  already  existing  unscctarian ;  bnt 
the  State  sanction  has  not  yet  been  given.  In  some  towns  where  the 
change  has  been  effected,  opposition  has  been  raised  by  both  the 
Catholics  and  Protestants,  on  grounds  partly  the  same,  partly  different. 
The  clergy  fear  the  loss  of  influence ;  the  Ultramontane  of  course  rests 
his  claim  to  the  direction  and  supervision  of  the  national  schools  as  a 
part  of  the  pastoral  ofBcc^  upon  the  divine  right  of  the  Church  ;  and  a 
section  of  the  Protestant  Church  bases  the  same  demand  upon  statutory 
provisions  more  or  less  ancient.  The  Ullramontane  must  fail  to  main' 
tain  his  "divine  right"  over  an  institution  which,  in  its  present  form,  is 
purely  a  creation  of  the  laws  of  the  State;  and  the  Protestant  assump- 
tion proves  equally  inadequate.  Since  the  Protestants  admit  that  it  was 
the  State  which  by  the  old  law  bestowed  upon  their  clergy  the  right 
they  now  claim,  they  cannot  logically  dispute  the  right  of  the  same 
power  to  make,  if  it  pleases,  other  dispositions.  They  have  recognized 
in  principle  the  authority  of  the  State  in  school  matters,  and  the  point 
now  in  dispute  refers  only  to  the  means  best  adapted  to  the  enil  in  view. 
The  question  is  practically  important  to  the  Protestants  only  in  places 
where  the  Catholics  are  in  a  decided  majority;  in  these  places  the  sec- 
tarian schools  are  almost  sure  to  fall  in  time  into  Ultramontane  hands, 
because  the  preponderating  influence  among  the  town  authorities  will 
always  secure  the  appointment  of  teachers  holding  these  views.  Protes- 
tantism wonUl,  of  course,  in  such  a  case,  be  imperilled.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  sectarian  schools  have  been  and  are  a  support  to  Pro- 
testantism in  places  where  the  Protestant  population  predominates  ;  but 
this  has  only  been  so  because  they  were  supported  by  a  Government  which 
has  never  allowed  any  injustice  to  or  interference  with  Protestantism, 
and  which  was  practically  and  liistorieally  in  harmony  with  it.  This 
will  remain  the  same  in  the  future.  The  elementary  schools  are  almost 
everywhere  maintained  by  funds  raised  by  the  commuoiticfl ;  the 
Government  only  gives  supplementary  grants,  though  these  are  cer- 
tainly large.  In  Prussia  the  budget  for  elementary  education  for  the 
year  Ist  Aprilj  1879,  to  31st  March,  1880,  is  in  ordinarimn  nineteen 
millions  of  marks.  In  separate  provinces  (therefore,  in  the  greater 
part  of  Prussia)  the  maintenance    of  sectarian  schools  falls  upon  the 


THE    RELIGIOUS    CONDITION    OF   GERMANY.        785 

inhabitants  of  the  community  professing  the  faith  taught,  unless  the 
political  authorities  of  the  town  make  the  cost  of  education  a  part  of 
their  budget.  AMiere  the  members  of  a  religious  body  form  the  poorer, 
even  though  it  may  be  the  more  numerous  part  of  the  population, 
the  schools  have  fallen  into  arrears.  The  result  of  this  has  beeu  that  in 
mauy  places  the  schools  have  been  handed  over  to  the  town  council.  In 
mked  communities  of  industrial  places,  in  the  Rhine  Provinces,  West- 
phalia, Saxony,  Silesia,  &c.,  the  Protestants  form  for  the  most  part  the 
wealthier  portion.  The  taxes  for  educational  purposes  are  always  high ; 
in  some  places  they  often  amount  to  three  times  as  much  as  the 
Government  grants.  It  is  clear  that  this  will  long  continue  to  cause 
ditficulties. 

The  Gymnasia  are  for  the  most  part  supported  by  the  State ;  many 
by  foundations  or  by  the  communities,  the  State  granting  a  certain 
proportion  iu  aid,  but  only  when  the  institution  is  unsectarian.  The 
Realschulcn  arc  almost  all  founded  and  maintained  by  the  communities, 
with  supplementary  grants  from  the  State ;  most  of  these  are  unsecta- 
rian. The  State  budget  in  Prussia  for  both  the  Gymnasia  and  the 
Realschuleu  amounts  for  the  current  year  to  five  millions  of  marks. 

In  order  to  form  a  true  estimate  of  the  influence  of  the  sectarian 
schools,  the  following  facts  must  be  borne  in  mind.  It  is  unques- 
tionable that  the  clergy,  especially  among  the  Catholics,  have  the 
greatest  influence  over  the  common  people.  Now  the  Protestant  clergy 
arc  educated  in  Germany  exclusively  in  the  Protestant  theological 
faculties  at  the  Universities.  In  these  they  can  acquire  a  more  general 
culture,  and  arc  brought  into  contact  with  students  belonging  to  the 
other  faculties,  and  thus  get  their  views  widened.  Many  of  them  have 
received  their  previous  training  in  Catholic  Gymnasia,  in  places  where 
the  population  is  a  mixed  one,  and  they  are  thus  early  accustomed  to 
intercourse  with  those  holding  religious  views  different  from  their  own. 
Thus  it  comes  about  that  almost  everywhere  the  Protestant  pastor  has 
access  to  Catholic  families.  The  Catholic  clergy  arc,  with  very  few 
exceptions,  educated  only  at  Catholic  Gymnasia.  As  they  arc  generally 
destined  for  the  Church  from  a  very  early  age,  they  associate  exclusively 
with  their  Catholic  schoolmates.  A  very  small  proportion  of  them  carry 
on  their  theological  studies  at  the  Catholic  theological  faculties  connected 
with  the  University.  By  far  the  larger  number  attend  the  two 
Catholic  academics,  and  the  fourteen  purely  Catholic  seminaries  which 
arc  under  episcopal  direction.  Neither  at  these  institutions  nor  at  the 
Universities  does  the  future  priest  associate  with  Protestants.  Hence  it 
comes  that  the  Catholic  clergy,  though  they  may  be  on  friendly  terms 
with  Jews,  seldom  have  any  social  intercourse  with  Protestants.  This 
exclusivencss  is  further  fostered  by  the  practice  recently  introduced  in 
very  many  of  the  Universities  (notably  iu  those  of  Berlin,  Bonn, 
Brcslau,  Freiburg,  Gottingen,  Munich,  Tiibingen,  and  Wiirzburg)  of 
forming    associations    of  students   {Studenten-Vereine)   to   which    only 


786 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEJV. 


Catholics  arc  admitted.      The   student   who   bclougs   to   one    of  these 
aocieties  or  clubs,  or  brotherhoods  (Bvrschertschafteft),  as  a  nile   oaljr 
associates   with   Lis    fellow-members,   uud    it  is    understood    that    this 
exclusiveness  is  to  be  carried  on  in  later  life.     The  existence  of  prac- 
tices like  this  in    the   Universities  goes  far  to  explain  the  fact  that  the 
line  of  separation  between  Catholics  and  Protestants  has  of  late  been 
much  more  strongly  marked  than   formerly.      If  the  stranger  observes 
that  in  the  larger  towns  religious  differences  do  not  hinder  personal  and 
family  relations,  let   him  not   be  misled.     This   is  not  the  general  rule. 
In  Berlin,  Cologne,  Munich,  Miinstcr,  Maycuce,  Frankfort,  Wurzburg, 
Breslau,  and  other  towns,  there  are  exclusive  Catholic  circles,  though 
there  may  be  families  whiehj  from  social  considerations,  have  formal  rela- 
tions  with  individual  families   among  the   Protestants.     And  in   most 
smaller  towns  of  mixed  population,   friendly    relations  are  decided   by 
religious  considerations,  wherever  the   number  of  cultivated  families  of 
cither  religion  is  not  so  small  aa  to  render  this  impossible.    When  we  find 
it  otherwise  it  is  because  religious  indiffcrcntism,  political  partisanship, 
or  material  interests  override  religious  scruples.     As  a  whole,  it  must 
be  admitted  that  tlie  great  body  of  the  German  people  is  divided  by  its 
religious  dilFercnccs  into  two  parts;  the  statistics  we  have  already  given 
about  the  elections  furnish  proof  of  this.     After  all  that  can  be  said,  it 
is  certain   that  the   sectarian  schools   of  all  grades  tend   to   foster  this 
state  of  things.      Only   by  the  adoption  of  the  unsectarian  s^^stem  for 
elementary  scliools,   gymnasia,    &c.,  can    a   change   be  brought    about. 
Where   a  community    is    either   wholly  Catholic    or    Protestant,    the 
sectarian  school  is  a  matter  of  coui'sc ;  where  the  community  is  a  mixed 
one  the  unsectarian  will  carry  the  day. 

After  this  general  view  of  the  social  asjrecfc  of  the  question,  wc  pass 
on  now  to  descril>e  the  character  of  German  Church-life  itself. 

lY.  Worship  in  its  Externals. — Tlie  observance  of  Sunday  and  of 
holidays  in  Germany  must  strike  the  Knglishman  very  strangely.  By 
law,  work  is  forbidden  on  these  days,  at  least  such  work  as  would  be 
disturbing  to  others.  Till  the  year  1878,  however,  in  many  places  (for 
instance  in  the  Catholic  province  of  the  Rhine),  Sundays  and  holidays 
were  tlic  days  on  wliieh  the  largest  business  was  done  in  the  shops. 
After  the  attack  upon  tlie  life  of  the  Emperor,  the  police  regulations 
were  made  more  strict,  and  during  the  principal  services  of  the  day, 
from  9  to  11  a.m.  and  2  to  3  p.m.,  all  shops  everywhere  were  ordered  to 
be  shut ;  but  there  arc  only  a  feyf  States  and  towns  where  the  shops 
are  not  allowed  to  be  open  at  all.  The  postal  service  is  limited  to 
shorter  hours ;  letters  and  parcels  are  not  delivered  so  often  as  ou  other 
days ;  and  there  arc  similar  restrictions  on  the  telegraph  service.  Oa 
the  other  hand,  the  railway  traffic  is  left  quite  free ;  and  not  only  do 
the  trains  run  as  on  otlicr  days,  but  by  almost  every  line  there  arc  also 
extra  trains  for  the  convenience  of  the  holiday-makers.      For  example. 


• 


1 


THE    RELIGIOUS    CONDITION   OF   GERMANY.        787 


the   Rhine   railway  runs  every   Sunday  and   holiday,  from  the  15th  of 
May  to  October, three  extra  trains  in  the  afternoon;  and  other  lines  do 
the   same.      In    many    places,  especially   iu   Austria,  companies  choose 
Sundays  and  holidays  for  their  gpreat  excursions  ;  extra  trains  are   put 
on  especially    in   the  morning ;   and  arrangements  for  dancing  for  the 
people,  popular  concerts,  &c.,  are  fixed  almost  exclusively  for  these  days. 
This  is   especially  the   case  in    places    where   the   population   is  chiefly 
Catholic.      Iu  the  province  of  the  Rbiue,  in  Bavaria  and   Austria,  the 
better   classes    avoid  making  excursions   on   Sundays  or  holidays,  not 
because   they  Ti*ish  to  observe  the  days  more  strictly,   but  because  the 
throng   is   so  great  in  fine  weather   at   all    the   spots   of  beauty   and 
wherever  refreshments  can.  be  had.     Any  one  who  wants  to  see  the 
light-hearted  nature  of  the  Rhinelander,   and   still  more  of  the  Fran- 
conian,  and  the  way  in  which  the  ''old  Bavarian  "  enjoys  himself,  must 
visit  some  place  of   recreation  on  a  Sunday  or  holiday.      The  Church 
festivals,  which  arc  usually  on  Sundays,  are  opportunities  for  the  clergy 
to  meet  at  the  house  of  the  parish    priest   for  high  feeding  and  hard 
drinking  till  a  late  hour  of  the  evening ;  the  people  amuse  themselves  with 
dancing,  with   rope-dancers,  carousals,   eating,  drinking,  &c;     Quarrels^ 
which  among  the  genuine    Catholic    old  Bavarians    often    end    with 
mortal  blows  or  stabs  with  the  knife,  form  the  practical  application  of 
the   specially   fine   sermon   for  the    Saint's    Day.       Triumphal    arches, 
banners,  shooting  with  little  mortars,  &:c.,   attest  the  good   Catholicity 
of  the  town.     Of  work,  as  a  rule,  tlicrc  is  none,  unless  there  be  here  and 
there  a  poor  tailor,  sempstress,  or  servant  who  is  glad  to  turn  to  account 
the  Sunday  rest.      In  this  respectj   however,  many  of  the  public  offices 
set  a  bad  example,  for  it  is  by  no  means  an  exceptional  thing  for  work 
to  be  carried  on  as  usual  in    the    Government  and  municipal  offices, 
and  this  not  only  in  times  of  special  pressure.    Everywhere  the  inns  and 
taverns  do  most  business  on  Sundays   and  holidays,  because  the  people 
have  most  leisure.     The  further  west  and  south  wc  get,  the  more  do 
mc  find  the  above  description  verified,  especially  in  the  towns  ;   and  the 
places  where  the  countryman,  after  attending  afternoon  service,  walks 
cjuietly  out  into  the  fields  to  rejoice  in  the  blessing  of  heaven,  must  be 
sought  chiefly    in  Westphalia  and  the   north.      If,  on   the   whole,    the 
Protestants  are  more  observant  of  Suudav  rest  than   the  Catholics,  the 
reason  is   without  doubt    to  be  found  in  the  fact — 1st,  that   the  Pro- 
testant population  belongs  for  the  most    part  to  the    colder  and  quieter 
branches  of  the  German  family;  and  2ud,  that  the  Protestant  worship 
is  not  at  all  exciting  to  the  senses,  and  is   peculiarly  sombre  as  com- 
pared with  the  Catholic  ritual. 

In  addition  to  the  Sundays,  there  arc  a  number  of  holidays  recognized 
by  law,  the  chief  of  which  arc  the  day  after  Christmas  Day,  Easter,  Whit- 
suntide, New  Year's  Day,  Ascension  Day,  and  a  day  for  humiliation  and 
prayer.  Good  Friday  is  only  kept  as  a  holiday  by  the  Protestants.  The 
Catholics  have,  in  addition  to  these,  a  number  of  other  holidays:  Kpiphany 


788 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


(Jamiary6th)j  Candlemas  (February  2nd)j  Annunciation  Day  (in  someplaon 
as  in  Saxony,  this  is  also  observed  by  the  Protestants) ;  Corpus  Chrt^ 
Day,  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul's  Day,  the  Assumption  of  the  Holy  Virgin 
and  her  birthday.  All  Saints'  Day,  the  Conception  of  the  Holy  Vir^n 
(December  8th);  and  in  Austria  one  or  two  of  the  patron  saints  have  also 
fete  days.  Thus,  in  the  course  of  the  year  there  are  as  many  as  fifty-niae  or 
even  sixty-eight  holidays,  or  more  than  this.  In  Catholic  districts  all  these 
are  also  practically  observed  by  the  Protestants  by  the  cessation  of  work. 
For  the  last  few  years  it  has  become  the  practice  to  celebrate  September 
2ndj  the  day  of  the  capitulation  of  Sedan,  as  a  national  festival.     The 
Ultramoutaucs  take  no  part  iii  this.      Public  worship  appointed  by  the 
Stale  is  held  on  the  Emperor's  birthday,  on  tbe  day  of  the  opening  of 
tlic  Landtag,  of  the  Reichstag,  and  on  s|)eeial  occasions.    It  is  too  often 
apparent  in  these   observances,  however,  that   religious  differences  are 
stronger  thau  patriotism. 

Among  the  Catholics  there  are  also,  in  larger  or  smaller  measure, 
according  to  the  size  of  the  place,  a  number  of  ecclesiastical  or  religious 
celebrations  attended  with  much  pomp  and  show.  Among  those  which 
are  comparatively  rare,  I  may  meutiou  the  installation  of  the  pansh 
priest,  the  cuthronization  of  a  bishop  or  a  pope ;  and  among  those  re- 
curring more  regularly,  the  ceremonials  attending  the  viait  of  a  bishop 
for  confirmations.  On  all  such  occasions  the  town  assumes  the  festive 
appearance  already  described ;  generally  the  day  is  crowned  by  a  feast 
given  to  the  bishop  by  the  parish  priest,  or  sometimes  held  in  an  inn. 
Proc*"ssious  and  jiilgrimages  form  a  very  important  feature  of  Church 
life.  Processions  are  universal  on  Corpus  Christi,  and  on  two  or  three 
other  days.  These  are  great  Catholic  demonstrations^  and  too  often 
become  the  occasion  of  street  brawls  and  disturbances  of  the  peace,  if 
some  townsmen  not  of  the  faith  refuse  to  show  the  customary  reverence 
by  removing  the  hat,  &c.  It  has  often  been  proposed  to  forbid  these 
processions,  but  hitherto  they  have  only  been  placed  under  special 
police  regulations  for  checking   innovations. 

Pilgrimages  flourish  in  the  Pronnce  of  the  Rhine,  in  Westphalia, 
in  some  parts  of  Baden  and  Nassau,  and  particularly  in  Bavaria  and 
Austria.  Sometimes  miraculous  pictures  or  statues  of  the  Holy  Virgin, 
ometlmes  the  bodies  of  saints,  &c.^  form  the  attraction  of  the  pilgrim 
shrine.  Thousands  arc  often  thus  drawn  together  to  one  place;  it  in 
not  an  uncommon  thing  to  meet  companies  of  several  hundreds  of  these 
pilgrims  all  marching  together  through  the  country  with  banners, 
praycTSj  and  psalma,  accompanied  or  unaccompanied  by  priests.  From 
eight  to  fourteen  days  are  often  occupied  ou  the  way.  The  pilgrims 
consist,  with  few  exceptiotia,  of  the  poorer  classes,  old  and  young, 
married  men,  women,  boys  and  girls.  The  innkeepers  and  priests  make 
most  out  of  the  attair.  This  is  shown,  as  far  as  the  landlords  arc  con- 
cerned, by  the  number  of  inns  and  taverns  to  be  found  in  such  places, 
and  in  almost  all  the  houses  lodgings  for  the   night  can   be  bad  for 


THE   RELIGIOUS    CONDITION   OF  GERMANIL       789 


pajmeut.  The  scenes  presented  by  such  places,  where  men  and  womeuj 
married  and  single,  are  crowded  together  by  doscus  for  the  night  in  one 
rooiDj  may  be  better  imagined  than  described.  Hundreds  of  years  ago 
the  spiritual  princes  and  other  enlightened  rulers,  like  the  Empress 
Maria  Theresa  and  the  Emperor  Joseph  IL,  sought  to  put  a  stop  to 
this  nuisance,  which,  in  our  day,  the  bishops  are  doing  all  in  their  power 
to  encourage.  For  the  last  eight  years  the  infatuation  has  been  intro- 
duced into  Germany  by  the  so-called  appearances  of  the  Mother  of  God 
at  !Marpingen  and  elsewhere,  after  the  manner  of  Loiurdes  and  La  Salette. 

It  has  been  fostered  of  late  by  the  visits  of  German  princesses  to 
such  places,  aud  by  the  patronage  of  the  Ultramontane  nobility  of  all 
ranks.  The  priests  encourage  it  because  it  brings  showers  of  gifts  to 
the  Church  and  enriches  them  by  the  payments  for  endless  masses.  If 
a  priest  sees  the  danger  associated  with  such  practices,  he  dare  not  speak, 
because  he  would  make  himself  suspected  as  a  liberal  and  a  freethinker. 
The  bishops  bear  the  blame.  But  what  can  they  do?  Pius  IX.,  by 
sanctioning  the  Lourdes  mystery,  &c.,  by  granting  countless  indulgences, 
by  promulgating  the  dogma  of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  by  pro- 
moting the  worship  of  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus  and  of  Mary,  gave 
a  sensuous  aud  superstitious  tone  to  the  whole  Catholic  worship.  This 
has  been  taken  up  by  the  numberless  orders  of  Jesuits,  male  and 
female,  and  by  them  so  instilled  into  the  youthful  Catholic  mind,  that  it 
will  be  generations  before  a  really  healthy  tone  can  agaiu  prevail,  even 
if  the  bishops  should  see  their  folly  and  enter  on  another  course.  We 
shall  refer  presently  to  another  point,  which  will  throw  fresh  light 
upon  this  subject. 

The  worship  of  God,  as  observed  by  both  Protestants  and  Catholics^ 
calls  for  our  attention  as  presenting  differing  and  in  some  respects  very 
peculiar  features.  In  reference  to  this  subject  it  will  be  found  that 
what  is  true  of  the  great  towns  does  not  necessarily  apply  at  all  to  the 
smaller  towns  or  to  the  country.  As  a  rule,  it  is  unquestionable  that 
the  Catholic  worship  is  throughout  Germany  better  attended  thau  the 
Protestant, — that  is  to  say,  a  larger  proportion  of  Catholics  than  of 
Protestants  attend  church.  It  is  not  our  intention  here  to  pronounce 
any  judgment  on  one  or  the  other  form  of  worship,  but  we  may  say 
at  once  that  the  reason  for  this  is  to  be  found  in  a  purely  external 
circumstance.  There  is  a  far  larger  number  of  Catholic  than  of 
Protestant  clergy  in  proportion  to  the  population,  aud  iu  Protestant 
churches  with  one  clergyman  public  worship  is  held  only  once  on '  a 
Sunday ;  among  Catholics  it  is  very  often  Iield  twice.  Numbers  of 
priests  read  mass  twice,  since  it  is  much  easier  to  do  this  than  to 
preach.  In  the  country  and  in  the  smaller  towns  we  find  almost 
eveiywhere  that  these  remarks  apply.  In  the  larger  towns  the  Protestant 
churclies  are  often  deidorably  empty,  never  crowded  except  when  some 
celebrated  preacher  is  expected.  Iu  the  Catholic  churches  also  of 
Vienna,  Prague,  Munich,  &c.,  there  is  not,  as  a  rule,  a  large  atiendauoe 

VOL.  XXZV,  3    F 


790 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


at  the  sermons.  Amoug  what  arc  called  the  higher  class  Catholics,  it 
is  not  tlic  custom  of  polite  society,  in  most  places,  to  attend  any 
service  except  a  very  conveuieut  **  low  mass/'  which  begius  at  eleven 
o^clock,  half-past  eleven,  or  a  quarter  to  twelve.  This  is  called  by  the 
common  people,  "  Snap  moss,"  and  lasts  at  the  most  half  an  hour. 
Many  priests  get  through  it  in  twenty  minutes,  and  the  worshippers 
feel  they  have  satisfied  their  consciences  by  this  for  a  week.  The 
earlier  services  are  attended  chiefly  by  servants ;  the  high  naasses  and 
sermons  by  artisans  and  small  tradespeople ;  the  nobility  have  for  the 
most  part  a  private  chapel  in  the  house,  where  worship  is  conducted 
according  to  their  convenience.  There  is  a  much  smaller  attendance  of 
men  than  of  women  at  the  church,  though  the  difference  is  not  so  great 
as  in  France,  where  the  men  are  rarely  more  than  one  in  ten  to  the 
women.  There  arc  many  thousands,  however,  in  the  larger  and  smaller 
towns  of  Germany  who  never  enter  a  church,  except  now  and  then  out 
of  curiosity,  or  for  their  wedding,  the  confirmation  of  their  children, 
fiiuerals,  &c.  j  and  this  is  true  alike  of  Catholics  and  Protestants.  It 
is  othcnvjae  in  places  where  one  church  or  the  other  is  in  a  minority, 
and  feels  itself  ecciesia  pressa.  Then  to  attend  church  becomes  a  party 
matter,  an  aflair  of  bon  ion.  Any  one  ^dsiting  the  Catholic  churches 
in  Berlin,  Dresden;  Leipzig,  Hamburg,  &c.,  or  the  Protestant  churches 
in  Bonn,  Cologne,  Prague^  Vienna,  Sec,  and  drawing  their  conclusions 
as  to  the  general  religious  life  and  practice  of  the  nation  from  what  they 
see,  would  fall  into  grave  mistakes. 

The  same  remarks  apply  to  the  partaking  of  the  sacrament  as  to 
attendance  at  church.  It  is  beyond  doubt  that  the  number  of  Protes- 
tants who  every  year  receive  the  sacrament  is  extremely  small  compared 
with  that  of  the  Catholics.  For,  first,  the  general  custom  with  the  Protes- 
tants is  to  receive  the  sacrament  only  once  a  year,  while  amoug  the 
Catholics,  in  the  country  generally,  and  also  in  the  towns,  there  is  a 
quarterly  celebration.  There  are  Catholic  parishes  of  from  3000  to 
'1()00  souls,  in  which  every  year  from  6000  to  10,000  persons  receive  the 
sacrament.  Monthly,  fortnightly,  weekly  celebrations  are  not  uncommon, 
chiefly  in  the  larger  towns,  and  in  places  where  there  are  Jesuits, 
Liguorians,  &:c.  There  are  also  districts  where  wliole  classes  of  the 
population,  mcu  and  women  alike,  never  go  to  the  sacrament ;  this  is 
true  of  the  Catholics  almost  throughout  Austria,  as  in  Italy  and  France. 
We  may  say,  generally,  that  the  so-called  educated  classes.  Catholic 
or  Protestant,  especially  the  men,  trouble  themselves  very  little,  as  a 
rule,  about  the  aatjramcut,  Stc.,  though,  of  course,  there  arc  exceptions  to 
this  rule,  as,  for  instance,  when  an  individual  is  identifled  by  parly 
interests  with  the  Church  party,  or  when  his  presence  at  church  is 
required  by  his  oflicial  position,  as  in  the  case  of  those  employed  about 
the  Court.  The  same  remarks  hohl  good  of  confession  amoug  the 
Catholics.  It  may  be  safely  said  of  Austria  that  75  per  cent,  of  the 
educated  men,   and  00  per  cent,  of  the  women,  neither  attend  church 


THE    RELIGIOUS    CONDITION   OF   GERMANY,       791 

nor  go  to  confession  or  to  the  sacrament ;  and  this  ia  the  case  iu  manj 
other  places  also.  It  must  be  further  said  that  taking  the  sacrament  hy 
no  means  necessarily  implies  a  belief  in  Christianity.  A  Catholic 
physician,  in  a  Catholic  village  or  small  town,  must  go  to  church  and 
take  the  sacrament,  though  he  may  be  an  infidel  in  sentiment.  The 
Catholic  clergy  make  it  as  easy  as  possible  to  people  of  this  sort :  the 
ecclesiastics  belonging  to  the  district  assemble  at  Easter,  six,  eight,  ten, 
or  twelve  at  a  time,  in  the  parish  church,  and  by  turns  receive  confession. 
It  is  soon  known  who  does  the  thing  most  easily,  and  he  is  chosen  by 
all  those  who  do  not  prefer  really  or  nominally  to  confess  in  some 
other  place.  There  are  some  districts — the  Tyrol  and  others  in  Austria, 
and  some  in  Bavaria,  and  in  other  parts  of  Germany — where  the  parish 
priest  goes  round  from  house  to  house  collecting  the  confession  or  com- 
munion tickets,  which  are  given  to  those  who  have  discharged  these 
duties.  In  Austria  such  a  certificate  of  confession  duly  performed  is 
generally  requii'ed  of  persons  desiring  to  marry.  The  consequence  of 
this  is  that  many  beggar  women  make  it  a  business  for  a  shilling  or  less 
to  go  to  confession,  get  the  ticket,  and  sell  it. 


V.  ReHglon  in  the  Home. — There  is  no  point  on  which  there  are 
more  strongly  marked  differences,  according  to  condition  and  locality, 
than  on  tins  of  religion  In  the  home.  In  the  country  and  iu  small 
towns  in  North  and  in  some  parts  of  South  Germany,  the  domestic  life 
of  both  the  educated  and  uneducated  classes  bears  the  impress  of  their 
religious  convictions.  Grace  is  said  before  and  after  meals,  and  in 
Catholic  families  a  litany  or  some  other  prayer  is  read  iu  the  evening, 
and  on  Sunday  afternoons  there  are  readings  and  expositions  from  some 
Catholic  books  of  devotion.  In  Protestant  families  the  Bible,  the 
liturgy,  &c.,  are  read  aloud  on  Sundays.  In  the  Catholic  families  of  the 
higher  class  it  is  the  women  who  observe  these  practices,  scarcely  ever 
the  men;  even  among  the  Uitramontanes  it  would  be  very  rare  to  meet 
with  a  really  devout  mau.  Since  the  commencement  of  the  so-called 
Culturkampf,  religion  has  become  from  political  grounds  a  subject  of 
conversation.  Before  1870  it  was  so  essentially  a  mark  of  bon  ton  not 
to  toiich  on  such  subjects  iu  "  good  society,"  that  it  was  scarcely  ever 
mentioned ;  even  in  small  towns  religious  and  ecclesiastical  questions 
were  quite  tahnocd  in  social  circles.  In  Austria  this  is  quite  the  nde, 
and  with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  districts,  every  indication  of  religion 
has  well-nigh  vanished  from  family  life.  Although  the  German  princes 
are  at  the  head  of  the  Protestant  Churches  of  the  country,  it  is  not 
fashionable  at  Court  to  repeat  a  grace  at  table  ;  and  even  at  oQicial 
dinners  of  the  Catholic  dignitaries  (as,  for  instance,  on  the  birthday  of 
the  Emperor  of  Austria)  this  is  altogether  omitted.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Court  and  all  the  Court  officials  take  their  place  on  Corpus 
Christi  Day  in  the  procession,  and  all  the  officers  and  household  staff 
about  the  Court  appear  in  ftill  glory  at  the  great  public  festivities  of  the 

3  r2 


792 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEff^. 


Church.  Order  on  such  occasions,  both  within  and  without  the  building, 
is  kept  by  the  police.     Any  one  who  regards  the  Church  as  a  place  of 
worship,  and  does  not  wisb  to  be  annoyed,  had  better   keep  away  from 
these  official  celebrations^  for  anything  more  indecoroxis  cau  hardly  be 
conceived   than    the   perpetual    whisperingj    gazing    about,    ogling    the 
singers  through  opera-glasses,  &c.,  which  goes  on  all  the  time  at  the 
very  elbow  of  men  occupying  prominent  positions  in  the  Church  and  in 
society.     In  thousands  and  thousands  of  families  the  influence  of  tJic 
home-life  upon  the  religious  education  of  the  children  is  absolutely  nil; 
they  see  no  religious  act,  they  hear  no  religious  word.      This  is  partly 
to  be  explained  on   historical  grounils  by   the  numerous    legal   prohibi- 
tions  of  former   times  against   religious  meetings   in  private   houses, 
&c.      Among  the  Catholics  there  has  grown  up,  therefore,  a  system  of 
religious  education,    the  chief  aim  of  which  is  to   guard  the  young 
against    any   attempt   at   thinking  for  themselves    on   these   matters, 
and  to  refer  them  on  all  doubtful  points  to  the  parish  priest  or  father 
confessor.      The  laity  arc  taught  to   abstain  from   all   useless  inquiries, 
to  read  nothing  religious ;  aud  thus  they  gradually  become  accustomed 
to  satisfy  their  conscience  with  a  half-hour  given  to  God  on  a  Sunday 
or  feast  day,  and^  with  the  yearly  Easter  confession  and  communion 
That   in    this  way    no    distinct    religious    convictions    are   formed 
obvious  ;  and  what  the  parents  do  not  possess  they  are  not  likely  to 
impart  to  the   children*       The   consequence  of  this  is   the  otherwise 
extraordinary  fact  that  we  find  girls  out  of  Ultramontane  liomes  marry- 
ing men  who  are  cither   Protestant  or  entirely   indifferent  to   religion, 
and  that  the  men  are  for  the  most  part  quite  unconcerned  about  the 
religious  bias  of  their  wives.      Wc  have  here,  however,  also  the  explana- 
tion of  the  determined  efforts  of  the  Ultramontane  party  to    get  the 
people's  schools   into   their   hands,  because  the  clergy   know    perfectly 
that    Ultramontane  training  is   seldom   given  in  the  home.      Family 
worship  is  a  thing  unknown  among  cither  Catholics  or  Protestants  be- 
longing to  the  National   Church,  except  in  a  few   piously-disposed  Pro- 
testant homes.      After  all  that  can  be  said,  the  fact  remains  that  reli- 
gion has  become  a  mere  matter  of  official   routine.     This   is  pre-emi- 
nently the   case  amoivg  the  Catholics.     The    man  who  is  in  outward 
observances  a  good  Papist,  is  the  man  to  whom   honour  will  be  done, 
though  he  may  be  notoriously  immoral.     There  arc  instances  in  which 
men  living  in  open  concubinage,  or  known  to  be  usurers,  &c.,  have  been 
made  presidents  of  Catholic  societies,  simply  because  they  observed  the 
outward  forms  of  religion  and  gave  money. 

There  is  an  entire  lack  in  Germany  of  religious  home-culture.  Thia 
is  soon  apparent  to  any  one  competent  to  form  a  judgment,  even  to  » 
foreigner,  from  the  fact  that  the  great  mass  of  educated  people  take  no 
interest  whatever  in  religious  or  ecclesiastical  questions-  And  the 
reason  is  that  they  possess  no  knowledge  of  the  subject,  for  the  little- 
they  learnt  at  school,  never  being  practically  exercised  or  developed  in  the 


n. 


THE   RELIGIOUS    CONDITION   OF  GERMANY.       793 

home  life,  they  have  gradtially  forgotten.  We  speak  here  of  the  educated 
classes  onlyj  because  from  the  rest  nothing  more  than  a  bare  catechetical 
knowledge  could  be  eipectcd.  Herein,  then,  lies  the  sufiBcicnt  explana* 
tion  of  the  utter  indifFercucc  of  the  greater  part  of  the  nation  to  religion. 
How  serious  will  be  the  consequences  of  such  a  state  of  things,  and 
how  prejudicial  to  political  well-being,  few  have  any  idea.  Those  who 
do  know  it,  and  understand  how  to  make  use  of  it  for  their  own  ends, 
are  the  Jesuits  and  their  followers,  or  at  least  those  Ultramontane  party 
leaders,  both  clerical  and  lay,  who  act  in  their  spirit.  They  have  based 
their  calculations  upon  it.  If  in  our  day  the  infallibility  of  the  Pope 
has  bceu  made  an  article  of  faith;  if  indulgences  have  been  granted 
in  such  a  way  as  they  never  were  before  ;  if  in  an  age  of  scientific 
progress  undreamed  of  fifty  years  ago,  superstition  and  false  miracle* 
mongcring  can  be  carried  to  an  unprecedented  length ;  all  is  ex- 
plained by  the  prevailing  ignorance  and  inditierence  which  we  have 
just  described.  The  Jesuit  party  knew  perfectly  that  they  might 
venture  anytliing,  because  the  great  mass  of  the  people  laugh  at 
religion,  and  read  with  avidity  works  which  describe  Christianity  as  an 
obsolete  and  %vorn-out  thing.  That  party  rightly  deemed  that  the 
great  body  of  the  lower  classes  who  feel  the  need  of  religious  help  would 
he  all  the  more  inclined  to  receive  the  Ultramontane  form  of  religion  as 
the  true  one,  and  to  submit  themselves  blindly  to  its  authority,  the  more 
they  saw  the  higher  classes  rejecting  all  external  authority  and  finding 
their  satisfaction  in  pure  subjectivism.  Only  in  this  way  can  it  be 
explained  that  in  Germany,  which  once  gloried  in  a  people  so  deeply 
and  intelligently  religious,  the  whole  episcopal  body,  in  spite  of  its 
resistance  at  the  Vatican  Council^  submitted  to  the  Papal  dogma  of 
infallibility,  and  acquiesced  in  the  overthrow  of  the  existing  order  of 
things.  Forsaken  already  by  the  cultivated  portion  of  the  nation,  the 
bishops  felt  themselves  isolated,  and  submitted  in  order  to  save  their 
external  authority.  A  hundred  tliousand  educated  men  laugh  at 
Papal  infallibility,  as  at  religion  itself,  but  tliey  have  not  the  courage  to 
stand  forth  openly ;  and  thus  they  allow  themselves  still  to  be  numbered 
with  the  Ultramontane  party.  They  pay  the  Church  dues  because  it  is 
inconvenient  to  expose  themselves  to  annoyance ;  and  they  find  it  perfectly 
convenient  to  believe  nothing,  to  trouble  themselves  about  nothing,  and 
to  be  left  alone.  The  thoroughly  bad  religious  education,  or,  to  speak 
more  correctly,  the  absolute  want  of  any  religious  education  at  all,  in  the 
home  and  in  the  family^  supplies  alone  ample  explanation  of  the  existing 
state  of  things.  ' 


VI.  Reliffious  Societies,  the  Religious  PresSj  Literature^  Meetings,  6fC. 
— If  the  number  of  societies  and  organs  of  the  press  gave  a  just  mea- 
sure of  the  soundness  of  the  life  of  the  Church  and  of  religion,  then 
Germany  might  stand  forth  pre-eminent  in  both.  Among  the  Catholics 
there  are  associations  which  extend  over  the  whole  Empire.     We  pass 


794 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJK 


over  those  which  are  simply  unions  for  prayer,  &c.,  and  confine  ourselves 
to  those  which  are  influential  through  their  organs  in  the  presa^  or  by 
the  sums  of  money  they  raise,  Tlie  "  Borromicus-Verein/'  which  h^ 
its  quarters  at  Bonn,  has  for  its  object  the  dissemination  of  good  books. 
It  formerly  enjoyed  in  Prussia  and  elsewhere  the  privilege  of  free 
carriage,  and  as  every  bookseller  supplied  it  at  half  of  the  selling  price, 
it  was  able  to  compete  with  all  the  colportcur8.  In  1872  it  had  more 
than  38jO00  members^  who  subscribed  annually  142,160  marks^  and  paid 
for  books  more  than  50,000  marks.  It  had  1424  libraries,  to  whicli 
20,000  volumes  were  given;  about  180,000  marks  were  invested  iu 
books.  It  circulates  a  few  scientific  works,  but  chiefly  books  of  devotion, 
novels,  &c.,  with  an  Ultramontane  tendency.  For  the  advancement  of 
Catholicism  in  Protestant  parts  of  Germany,  there  is  the  "  Bonifacius- 
Verein,"  which  is  spread  over  the  greater  part  of  Germany ;  for  missions 
beyond  Europe  there  is  the  "  Frauz-Xaverius-Vcrein,"  which  has  often 
sent  more  than  250,000  francs  in  a  year  to  Lyons,  The  object  of  the 
"  St.  MichaeVs  BruderachaiV'  is  to  c5ollect  money  for  the  "  Holy  Father 
at  Rome  ;'*  it  received  for  this  purpose  from  the  diocese  of  Cologne 
alone,  from  1861  to  July,  1873,  the  sum  of  2,015,874  marks.  For  all 
these  societies  the  bishops,  or  persons  appointed  by  them — priests,  chap- 
lains, &c. — are  the  agents.  It  will  be  seen  at  once  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  have  a  better  organization.  Beside  this  there  are  in 
Germany  journeymen's  clubs  [Gesellen-Verexne),  at  the  head  of 
which  there  is  always  a  priest^  in  many  places  these  clubs  poasess 
houses,  in  which  they  arrange  concerts  aud  other  entertainments,  and 
thus  the  artisan  class  is  placed  under  clerical  guidance.  Beside  these 
places  of  resort,  there  are  the  Catholic  casinos,  under  various  names,  in 
which  every  evening  good  Catholics  meet  in  larger  or  smaller  numbers, 
to  cat,  drink  beer  and  wine  together,  and  talk  politics;  these  have 
become  since  1860,  when  they  were  first  started  in  Mayence,  the  best 
supporters  of  the  clerical  policy.  In  some  places  the  casino  occupies  a 
splendid  house,  while  the  Catholic  elementary  schools  are  in  anything 
but  a  flourishing  condition.  From  1849  to  1865  there  was  held 
annually  (since  then  only  occasionally]  a  general  assembly  of  the 
Catholic  Unions  of  Germany,  which  gained  a  footing  by  degrees  in 
the  larger  towns,  and  by  its  resolutions,  &c.,  did  much  to  diffuse  the 
influence  of  the  Ultramontane  political  party.  The  Culturkampf, 
which  began  in  1872,  has  also  its  unions,  as  for  example  the  '^  Catho- 
liken-Verein"  of  Mayence,  which  has  branches  over  the  greater  part  of 
Germany;  the  " Pius-Vereiue,"  founded  iu  1849,  have  been  dissolved 
by  the  authorities,  either  on  account  of  their  political  tendencies  or  for 
violations  of  the  laws  regulating  such  imions. 

The  Protestants  have  nothing  eorrespoudiug  to  this  great  system  of 
unions ;  for  the  "  Gustav- Adolf- Verein,^'  founded  in  the  Diaspora  for 
the  support  of  the  Protestant  Church,  and  that  for  the  Homo  Missioi 
however  beneficial  their  eflect  may  be  on   the  Church  itself,  have 


THE  RELIGIOUS   CONDITION   OF  GERMANY. 


'93 


social  or  political  significauce.  And  these  are  the  only  general  societies 
•which  collect  regular  subscriptions. 

If  we  turn  now  to  the  press,  we  find  that  here  also  the  Catholics 
have  displayed  wonderful  actiTity.  The  Ultramontane  bookseller  Leo 
Worl,  of  Wiirzburg,  published,  in  1878,  "  A  Glance  round  the  World  at 
the  Catholic  Press  in  the  New  Year,  1878/'  This  shows  that  there  are 
all  over  the  world  1072  Ultramontane  organs,  and  of  these  267  are  in 
Germany;  in  Baden,  12 j  Wurtemburg,  12;  Saxony,  2;  Bavaria,  73; 
Prussia,  148  (Hesse-Nassau,  5  ;  Province  of  the  Rhine  and  HohenzoUem, 
77;  Westphalia,  28  ;  Hanover,  7;  Saxony,  1;  Brandenburg,  5 ;  Silesia, 
16;  Posen,  4;  Pnissia,  5).  These  figures  show  a  marvellous  activity, 
and  prove  that  the  organization  of  the  Roman  Catholic  press  determined 
on  by  the  German  bishops  at  the  Fulda  Conference  in  1867  has  made 
gigantic  strides.  In  the  year  1867  there  were  barely  six  Catholic  political 
publications.  These  267  periodicals,  to  which  more  might  be  added  since 
1878,  appear,  some  of  them  daily,  some  once,  twice,  or  three  times  a 
week,  some  fortnightly,  some  monthly.  They  are  all  of  a  political  and 
ecclesiastical  character,  but  are  made  attractive  and  entertaining  by  illus- 
trations, &c.  Catholics  are  strictly  forbidden  to  read  any  other  publica- 
tions. If  an  article  appears  in  any  of  these  papers  which  the  bishop 
disapprovesy  the  editor  is  warned,  ordered  to  withdraw  the  article,  and 
80  on.  The  reading  of  certain  papers  is  denounced  from  the  pulpits,  as, 
for  example,  the  Cijlnische  Zeitung,  In  this  way  the  common  people 
come  to  see  no  papers  except  such  as  are  approved  by  the  Church.  No 
independent  periodical  is  allowed.  It  is  well  known  that  a  few  months 
ago  Leo  XIII.  condemned  Dr.  Sigl'a  publication,  the  Vaterland,  in 
Munich,  because  it  attacked  the  nuncio ;  Dr.  Sigl  submitted,  and  was 
commendcil  for  doing  so. 

The  Ultramontane  party  governs  the  people  through  the  press.  The 
political  bias  thus  given  is  strengthened  from  the  religious  side  by  certain 
organs  which  devote  themselves  to  fostering  superstition  by  narratives  of 
miraculous  appearances,  &c.  Among  these  is  the  Sendbote  des  Gbtllicf^en 
Herzens  Jesuj  with  21,000  subscribers,  which  pours  forth  every  month  a 
perfect  flood  of  the  most  foolish  and  amazing  answers  to  prayer,  Sec.  If 
any  one  wishes  to  see  to  what  a  really  fearful  depth  this  school  has  sunk, 
we  recommend  to  them  a  book  entitled,  "  Die  deutschen  Bischofe  und 
der  Aberglaube,"  a  memoir  of  Dr.  F.  Heinrich  Rcusch,  Professor  of 
Theology,  Bonn,  1879. 

For  the  purpose  of  popularizing  science  in  the  interest  of  Ultramon- 
tanism,  another  society  was  formed  in  1867 — ''  Die  Gorres-Gesellschaft 
zur  Prtege  der  Wissenschaft  in  Catholischen  Deutschland."  This  society 
publishes  pamphlets,  &c.,  on  all  possible  subjects,  and  has  just  announced 
a  historical  year-book. 

If  we  now  compare  with  all  this  the  issues  of  the  Protestant  press,  we 
fi  ud  them  scanty  indeed .  There  is  no  one  great  political  daily 
paper  of  which  we  can  say  that  it  is  specially  devoted  to  the  interests  of 


796 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  Protestant  Church.  There  are  a  number  of  theological  journals, 
email  Chxirch  periodicals,  weekly  religious  papers,  &c.,  advocatiug  the 
causCj  but  thiH  is  all.  There  is  uutlung  like  organization.  Only  the 
Old  Catholics  havCj  iu  the  Deuischer  Merkur  (Munich),  and  in  the 
Aitkaiholisc/ter  Bole  (Heidelberg),  two  weekly  papers^  which  make  it 
their  object  to  oppose  Ultramontanism  both  politically  aud  ecclesiastical lyp 
and  carry  out  this  deaigu  with  diligence  and  ability.  ■ 

Germau  literature  prcseuts  the  same  features.      There  ia    no  longer 
any  Catholic  organ  wliich  scientifically  opposes  Ultramontanism.       The. 
only    one    which     did    this     was     the     Theologisches     L'Ueraiurblalt^ ' 
published   by  Dr.  Reusch,  Professor  at  Bonn  ;  this  was  set  on  foot  in 
1865,  first  appeared  ou  January  1st,  1866,  and  ceased  in  1877.    Its  histoij.j 
is  the  history  of  the  growth  of  Ultramontanism.      Its  object  was,  from  si 
purely  scientific  point  of  view,  to  discuss  literary  works  in  the  domain] 
of  theology,    philosophy,   history,    Church   law,  &c.,  and  it  was  beyoud 
question  the  best  critical  organ  of  the  kind  iu  Germany.       In  its    first 
years  men  took  part  in  it  who  are  to-day  prominent  among  the  sup- 
porters of  Ultramontauism ;  for  example.  Bishop  Hefele,  Cardinal  Hen* . 
geurother,   Professor   Hettinger,    Professor  Janssen,  Professor  Mcrkle, ' 
Professor  Schmid,  Werner,  and  others.     The  Vatican  Council  caused  the 
rupture.        The  Lilerarisclie  Handweiser,   printed  iu  Miinster,  and   the  j 
Literantche  Rttndschau  in  ALx-la-Chapelle,  now   guide  Catholic  criti- 
eism  iu  the   Ultramontane  spirit.     There  is  among  the  Romanists  no 
scientific  work  that  treats  of  theology,  philosophy,   liistory,  &c.,   with- 
out attempting  to  make   it  in  some  way  subserve  the  objects  of  the 
Ultramoutaues.     Men  like   Bishop  Hefele,  who  formerly  endeavoured 
to  study  objective  science,  do  not  hesitate  now  to  make   even   scientific- 
inquiry   subservient    to   their  own  purposes.     The    so-called    scientific  ■ 
works  issued  by  Romanists  are  now  purely  treatises  with  an  ecclesias- 
tical bias.      If  we  consider  this,  and  remember  the  observations  already  J 
made  by  us  under  lieads  IL  aud  HI.,  we  shall  feel   justified  in  the  con* 
elusion  that  if  this  state  of  things  continues,  the  Catholics  will  soon 
cease   to   play  any  part  in  Germany,  and  will  gradually  disappear  from. 
the  chairs  of  our  Universities,  except,  perhaps,  as  lecturers  oa  mathe«J 
matics,  chemistry,  medicine,  and  philology.  \ 

The  Protestants  are  altogether  free  from  any  such  theological  bias  intJ 
their  scientific  studies;  they  arc  indeed  more  in  danger  of  falling  into^ 
the  mistake  of  a  systematic  negation  or  indifference  to  the  reli^ous 
aspect   of  things — a  mistake  which,  both  socially  and  politically,  helpftj 
the  cause  of  the   Jesuits.     In  order  to  be  convinced  of  this,  we  neodf 
only  read  the  pamphlets  or  books  which  discuss  the  present  condition  of 
things,    aud  we  shall  be  astonished  at  the  ignorance  often  displayed  ' 
The  Ultramontane  press,  botli  political  aud  scientific,  has  gone   to  such 
lengths  of  absurdity,  that  it  is  positively  ignored  by   the  other  side. 
This   is   easily   understood   and   well  deserved,  because  tlie  tone  of  the . 
clerical  press  is  so  coarse  aud  vidgar,  that  silence  is  the  most  dignified] 


THE    RELIGIOUS    CONDITION    OF   GERMANY. 


797 


\ 


mode  of  reply,  and  because  it  is  not  worth  while  to  discuss  and  refiito 
the  absurdities  of  Catholic  science.  But  this  very  silence  emboldens 
the  Ultramontane  disputants,  and  gives  them  a  sort  of  glory  among 
their  own  people,  to  whom  they  say,  "  See,  nobody  dares  to  contradict 
us ;  they  would  ouly  like  to  keep  us  silent." 

As  we  go  about  the  country,  and  observe  what  ia  the  spiritual  pabulum 
of  the  ordinary  Catholic,  we  make  very  painful  discoveries.  Formerly 
he  had  always  at  hand  a  book  of  devotion,  a  collection  of  sermons,  and 
a  calendar.  These  were  harmless  and  good  in  their  way.  But  now  he 
has  the  Ultramontane  calendar,  novels  of  the  same  tendency,  pamphlets 
and  books  which  falsify  history,  and  journals  which  sap  his  patriotism, 
and  teach  him  to  hate  law  and  government.  The  classic  authors  find 
no  place  in  hia  house ;  there  are  many  rich  and  educated  Roman 
Catholics  to  whom  Goethe,  Schiller,  Herder,  Lessing,  and  others  are 
little  more  than  names  learnt  at  school,  who  know  nothing,  or  next  to 
nothing,  of  the  classical  literature  of  England,  Prance,  and  other 
countries.  Mental  narrowness  and  one-sidedness  is  the  inevitable  result 
of  such  training.  Any  one  who  knows  Germany  well  cannot  help  obser- 
ving that  the  great  body  of  the  Catholic  population^  in  spite  of  all 
efforts  made  by  the  State  and  by  the  community  for  improving  the 
schools,  &c.,  are  mentally  retrograding — a  condition  which  is  sure  to  be 
followed  by  social  deterioration,  unless  some  radical  change  takes  place. 
If  by  the  foregoing  observations  we  have  shown  how  largely  the 
Catholic  population  is  made  use  of  by  the  Romish  system,  and  how  com- 
pletely it  is  dominated  by  the  clergy,  we  shall  now  adduce  evidence  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  Church  manages  to  get  hold  of  the  money  of 
the  people,  through  the  collections  for  ecclesiastical  purposes.  The 
ofEeial  report  for  the  diocese  of  Cologne  is  the  authority  for  the  state- 
ments which  follow.  If  the  proportion  is  perhaps  larger  in  this  district, 
^  the  facts  are  the  same  everywhere.  From  1860  to  1873  there  was 
raised  in  special  contributions  for  the  Pope  (apart  from  the  siibscrip- 
tions  to  the  "  St.  Micliael's  Bruderschaft"  already  named)  the  sum  of 
£60^1  sterling  ;  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem  from  1856—73 
over  £8900.  In  the  year  1868  the  practice  was  introduced  of  allowing 
the  strict  fasts  of  the  Church  to  be  partially  commuted  for  alms  ;  any  one 
who  made  use  of  this  opportunity  put  his  offering  into  a  box,  and  up 
to  1873  the  sum  thus  paid  amounted  to  more  than  j£;9700.  In  the 
CoInUche  Zeitung  of  1874  a  calculation  is  made  from  the  same 
source^  which  shows  that  from  185^  to  1873  there  was  received  iu  the 
diocese  of  Cologne  only,  for  Catholic  unions  and  other  objects,  the  sum 
of  j£283,946,  which  gives  a  yearly  average  of  about  i;i2,900.  This, 
from  a  population  of  1,350,000  souls,  is  an  enormous  amount,  if  we  con- 
aider  that  the  more  wealthy  for  tlie  most  part  did  not  contribute.  But 
if  we  turn  to  objects  of  general  benevolence,  we  find  very  different 
results.  For  the  widows  and  orphans  of  elementary  school  teachers, 
we  find  the  same  district  raised  in  the  twenty-two  years  from  1851  to  1873 


08 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIF. 


only  €989 ;  for  the  deaf  and  dumb  schools  during  the  same  period,  only 
i£2301 ;  for  the  poor  students  of  the  University  of  Bona  for  the  same 
period,  .€3825.  This  is  enough  to  show  that  it  is  not  true  Christian- 
charity  which  fixes  the  measure  of  the  gifts.  For  objects  which  the 
clergy  have  at  heart  means  are  not  iiaually  wanting.  This  is  shown 
also  since  the  year  1875,  in  connection  with  the  revenues  of  the  clergy 
as  administered  by  the  State.  In  some  cases  these  have  been  withheld, 
and  some  of  the  clergy  have  in  this  way  lost  a  large  part  of  their 
income ;  but  hitherto  this  has  been  made  up  to  them  privately  by  col- 
lections or  gifts  from  individuals.  The  Catholic  nobility  are  the  largest 
contributors  in  this  way.  Some  of  them  maintain  half  a  dozen  or  more 
priests,  aud  only  iu  isolated  eases  do  the  communities  cease  to  pay. 
We  are  thus  brought  to  the  question,  whether  the  present  stage  of  the 
conflict  between  the  Prussian  State  aud  the  Romish  Church  is  likely  to 
last  much  longer  ?  We  will  not  further  enlarge  upon  this,  but  just  mak^ 
two  remarks  which  must  often  suggest  themselves  to  the  careful  observer. 

It  is  certain  that  the  GoverDment  in  1873,  and  even  after  that,  did 
not  believe  that  the  clergy  would  let  the  contest  go  as  far  as  it  has  gone. 
About  1200  clerical  posts  arc  vacant,  and  if  this  state  of  things  lasts 
much  longer  the  number  will  go  on  increasing.  But  there  is  another 
point  still  more  important.  The  episcopal  colleges  are  suffering 
seriously.  At  the  four  theological  faculties  established  by  the  State  in 
Prussia,  there  were  in  the  winters  of  1875-6,  344  theological  students ; 
in  the  summer  of  1876,  310  ;  in  the  winter  of  187G-7,  265  ;  in  the 
summer  of  1877,  269 ;  iu  the  winter  of  1877-8,  238  ;  in  the  summer  of 
1878,  271.  The  numbers  entering  as  students  of  theology  since  1871 
are  scarcely  half  those  in  the  previous  years- 

None  of  those  who  have  been  consecrated  priests  since  1875  can  be 
appointed,  because  they  have  not  passed  the  Government  examination. 
It  is  obvious  that  the  supply  of  recruits  is  iusufhcient  to  fill  the  vacant 
places,  and  that  the  Catholic  cure  of  souls  will  come  to  an  end  if  the 
Roman  Curia  does  not  give  way  aud  the  State  continues  firm.  Under 
these  conditions,  in  ten  years  half  the  pulpits  in  Catholic  parishes  wi 
probably  be  empty. 

The  next  point  to  which  we  would  call  attention  is  the  most  remark 
able  phenomenon  of  our  times.  The  Centre,  the  Ultramontane 
political  party  in  the  Reichstag,  has  adopted  the  protective  programme 
of  Prince  Bismarck.  Now,  however  true  it  may  be  that  many  of  the 
members  have  done  this  because  their  constituencies  demand  it,  the 
object  of  the  leaders  of  the  party  iu  this  policy,  whatever  may  be  said  to 
the  contrary,  is  beyond  question.  They  hopCj  by  supporting  the  Chan- 
cellor on  this  point,  to  induce  him  to  change  his  policy  with  regard  to 
the  Church.  We  shall  see  whether  they  have  miscalculated  ornot,  aud  shall 
return  to  this  subject  at  some  future  time.  There  is  no  trace  of  any  su 
political  combination  among  the  Protestants.  Free-traders  aud  Prot 
tionista  are  found  alike  iu  the  Protestant  Church  aud  in  all  its  bnm 


be       , 
er 


THE   RELIGIOUS    CONDITION   OF   GERMANY. 


799 


VII,  External  Ch  urch  Organizaiian, — We  have  endeavoured  to 
throw  light  upou  various  aspects  of  Church-life  in  Grermany.  In  order 
rightly  to  uuderstaud  them,  the  external  organization  of  the  Church 
mu&t  be  kept  in  view,  as  it  alone  supplies  the  full  explanation  of  many 
of  the  phenomena  we  have  observed. 

The  Roman  Catholic  Church  is  one  compact  organization.  The  Pope 
stands^  since  the  dogma  of  July  IB,  1870,  was  universally  adopted,  as 
its  sovereign  infallible  head ;  his  colleagues  and  vicars  are  the  bishops ; 
they  carry  out  what  Rome  wills ;  the  people  obey,  and  still  recognise  as 
bishops  those  whom  the  State,  by  a  judicial  sentence,  has  deprived  of 
office.  The  name  Catholic  embraces  three  groups,  which  in  the  eye  of 
the  State  all  occupy  the  same  legal  status.  The  first,  the  Ultramontancs 
or  strict  Roman  Catholics,  comprehend  the  great  mass  of  the  Catholic 
population,  and  the  majority  of  the  nobility.  These  are  blind  followera 
of  Rome.  The  second,  the  Old  Catholics,  who  openly  avow  their  allegiance 
to  old,  as  distinguished  from  modern  Catholicism,  are  a  small  uuralxjr, 
about  60,000  in  all  Germany,  Their  importance  consists  in  this  :  that  they 
form  a  living  protest  against  the  violence  done  by  the  Papacy  to  the 
Church ;  that  they  make  an  essential  point  of  rejecting  all  abuses  ;  that  by 
their  organization  they  have  restored  to  the  Church  its  rights,  and  have 
brought  the  State  to  recognise  religion  and  Church-life  as  a  thing  which 
cannot  be  overruled  by  a  mere  peremptory  decision.  The  third  group 
con<ifit8  of  the  indifferent,  those  who  are  absolutely  without  any  faith, 
and  the  State  Catholics,  who  thiuk  they  can  unite  their  belief  in  an 
infallible  Pope  with  their  duties  to  the  State,  who  attempt  to  obey  at 
once  the  laws  of  the  Pope  and  those  laws  of  the  State  which  Rome 
has  denounced  as  subversive  of  the  divine  right. 

Ultramontanism  can,  as  we  have  already  shown,  ignore  the  utterly 
indifferent,  nay,  can  even  regard  them  as  its  best  helpers.  It  ia 
accustomed  to  pay  as  little  regard  to  the  State  Catholics,  since  it  kuowa 
that  these  are  carried  hither  and  thither  by  any  wind  that  blows  from 
high  quarters,  and  that  they  would  soon  alter  their  course  if  the  Govern- 
ment sounded  the  summons  to  retreat. 

Against  the  Old  Catholics,  Ultramontanism  uses  the  weapons  of 
calumny,  lies,  mockery,  and  scorn.  Whether  it  will  succeed  in  au 
apparent  reconciliation  with  the  State,  and  induce  it  to  withdraw  its 
protecting  hand  from  the  only  opponents  it  really  fears,  may  be  doubted. 
Should  it  succeed,  the  withdrawal  of  outward  favour  from  its  opponents 
would  only  increase  their  inward  strength.  One  thing,  however,  is  clear. 
Ultramontanism  finds  itself  in  a  position  in  which  it  must  either  slowly 
succumb,  or  must  rush  blindly  into  a  life-and-death  struggle.  If  it 
chooses  the  latter,  then  a  page  of  history  will  begin,  the  result  of 
which  will  be  the  triumph  or  the  collapse  of  the  Romish  Church  system 
in  Germany. 

TheProtestant  Church  presents  a  completely  different  picture.  In  Prussia 
the  Established  Church  has  two  branches  under  the  King  as  head.  The 
control  of  the  one  is  vested  in  the  Protestant  Obcrkirchenrath,  of  the 


800 


THE    CONTEMPOEAEY  EEFTEJF. 


^m  other  in  the  Minister  of  Worship.  In  Bavaria  it  is  the  same.  Each  of  the 

^M  other  twenty-four  States  has  its  own  Established  Church.    Thus  there  ore 

^m  twenty-six  different  Churdies,  besides  the  Old  Lutheran,  and  a  number  of 

^1  sects  not  belonging  to  the  National  Chureh.     There  is  neither  unity  nor  a 

^M  willingness  to  unite  for  practical   purposes.     When,  in  Jazmarr,  1876, 

^B  Prussia  succeeded  in  drawing  up  for  the  eight  old  provinces   a  united 

^1  Constitution   with    a  general   synod   as    its  organ,   it  might  have  been 

^m  thought  that  there   would   have   been  an  eager  attempt  made  by  all 

^B  parties  to  hold  fast  that  which  had  been  gained  with  so  much  difficult, 

^M  and  that  they  would  Iiavc  appreciated  the  value  of  such  an  organizatiou 

^M  for  the  sake  of  the  position  and  power  of  the  Church.      Instead  of  this 

^H  it  was  soon  found  that  the  Constitution  was  too  liberal  for  the  orthodox, 

^m  and   too  orthodox   for  the   liberal.     The  former  are  doing  all  in  their 

^m  power  to  pull  down  the  scarcely- completed   edifice.     They  are  making 

^B  every  effort  to  banish  again  the  liberal  element,  and  to  restore  creeds  and 

^M  confessions.    Ou  the  other  hand,  the  Protcstantcn-Verein  is  endeavouring 

H  to   get  rid   of  all  dogmatic  confessions.     The  choice  of  a  frecthinking 

^m  preacher  is  mngnincd  by  the  orthodox,  and  its  non-ratification  is  mag- 

^m  njfied  by  the  liberals,  iuto  a  matter  of  the  first  importance  to  the  State; 

^m  and  tlic  appointment  of  this  or  that  orthodox  Court  preacher  is  declared 

^m  by  tlic  highest  ecclesiastical  authority  in  Prussia  to  be  a  Cabinet  qucs- 

^M  tion.      The   religious   literature  and  Church  periodicals   all  take  up  the 

^m  same  strain  ;  indeed,  it  is  almost  as  much  the  case  with  the  Protestanta 

^1  as  with  the  Ultramontaues  that  the  stronger  ecclesiastical  bias  forms  a 

H  social  barrier  and  becomes  the  shibboleth  of  a  political   party.     If  thii 

^1  contiuucs,  we  can  form  no  hopcfu.1  augury  for  the  Protestant  Church. 
^B  The  signs  of  the  tinier  arc  not  to  be  mistaken.  Orthodoxy  has  already 

^m  begun  to  hold  out  a  hand  to  I'ltramontanism.     There  ia  a  large  clan 

H  of  the  Protestant  clergy  who  long  for  the  same  sort  of  power  which  the 

^m  Romish    clergy    possess.     There    are    very    many    Consen-atives    who 

^B  earnestly  desire  a    more  rigid  ecclesiastical  constitution,    because  they 

H  think  this  Avould  give  them  that  firm  support  of  authority  which  secfMi 

^m  to  them  so  imposing  in  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  would  enable  themtOi 

^F  hold  in   clicck   tlie   Social   Democrats,  and  to   remedy  all  other  socialj 

political,  and  domestic  evils. 

Every  day  shows  that  the  more   sentiments  like  these  prevail  in  the 

high  places  of  the  Church,  the  more  rapid  will  be  the  growth  of  indif* 

H  ferentism  and  atheism  all  around. 

^1  In  fiue,  Church-life  in  Germany  is  sharing  in   the  restlessness  which 

^M  pervades   every    other    dej)artmeut    of   society — social,    political,     and 

^M  economic.     Every  one  is  dissatisfied,  and  each  accuses  the  other  as  the 

^B  cause  of  the  general  depression.    Meanwhile  there  is  but  one  reasonable 

^M  way  to  amend  matters  :  namely,  to  cease  the  present  system  of  experi- 

H  menting;  to  allow  existing  institutions  quietly  to  work  out  their  own, 

^1  issues  ;  and  leave  it  to  time  to  prove  what  is  true  and  lasting,  and  what 
^^^^      must  be  abandoned  as  injurious  and  false. 


CHEAP  JUSTICE. 


IT  too  often  happens  that  our  law  reformers  arc  prcciselj  those  who 
profit  most  by  the  abiLscs  of  the  law.  A  leading  Queen's  Counsel 
who  takes  the  chair  at  some  Law  lloform  Committee  or  Social  Science 
Seetion  ean  hardly  be  expected  to  sec  the  merits  of  cheap  justice  and 
the  demerits  of  our  extravagant  system  as  clearly  as  those  who  are  not 
daxzled  by  the  enormous  fees  now  current  in  the  profession.  Litigants 
are,  no  doubt,  always  in  a  minority,  non-litigants  in  a  majority;  but 
the  minority  has  so  smarted  and  bled  under  legal  extortion,  that  the 
threat  of  legal  proceedings  is  to  most  of  us  a  more  formidable  threat 
than  that  of  personal  ^-iolcucc.  Those  who  really  know  the  state  of 
things  arc  the  persons  who  shrink  most  from  going  to  law,  or  even  from 
defending  an  action  brought  against  them.  They  would  rather  put  up 
with  an  injury  than  seek  justice  in  our  superior  courts ;  they  would 
rather  pay  a  small  sum  to  an  unjust  clmmant  than  nni  the  risk  of  the 
loss  or  ruin  consequent  upon  an  adverse  verdict.  The  remedy  is  two- 
fold— firstly,  to  extend  cheap  and  local  justice ;  secondly,  to  reform  the 
system  of  advocates  and  their  remuneration,  Superior  courts  will 
always  be  more  expensive  than  inferior  courts.  To  obtain  cheap  justice, 
tlie  inferior  court  should  be  made  the  first  stage  to  the  superior  court. 
An  action  should  only  be  removed  from  a  local  iufcrior  court  into  a 
superior  court  for  some  distinct  reason— such  as  difficulty  in  the  law, 
the  intricate  nature  of  facts,  or  the  importance  of  the  question  from  a 
social  or  moral  point  of  view.  This  is,  in  truth,  only  the  completion  of 
that  i)rogress  whicli  has  been  accomplished,  and  is  the  final  outcome  of 
what  has  occurred  during  the  last  thirty  years.  All  other  reforms,  like 
that  of  the  system  of  advocacy,  are  secondary  and  incidental  to  this, 
which  is  primary  and  fundamental. 

Two  views  have  been  held,  which  are  unfavourable  to  cheap  justice: 


802 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


one  is,  that  the  very  fact  of  justice  being  expensive  operates  as  a  deter- 
rent, preventing  quarrelsome  people  from  going  to  law,  and  promoting 
peaceful  settlements  and  the  compromise  of  disputes.  In  this  there  is  a 
fragment  of  truth ;  but  the  same  argument  might  be  used  for  the  aboli- 
tion  of  all  jfistice.  There  is,  indeed,  no  justification  for  the  expensive 
system.  It  has  grown  up  as  a  system  of  redress  for  the  wealthy,  for 
which  they  were  able  and  willing  to  pay.  The  rule  has  been — law 
for  the  rich,  not  for  the  poor.  A  real  progress  has  been  effected  on 
this  subject  in  modern  times.  A  just  legislation  has  gradually,  bat  onlv 
partially,  destroyed  this  iniquity  by  substituting  a  system  of  cheap  and 
equal  justice.  Reforms  are  required  to  complete  this  process  of  conver- 
sion, Looking  to  the  fact  that  in  the  past  our  laws  were  made  for  the 
ricli,  and  ixot  for  the  poor,  we  understand  why  the  amount  of  damages 
should  still  be  the  measure  of  the  importance  of  the  dispute ;  why  this 
"  money  value"  idea  lias  so  deeply  tainted  our  laws  and  vitiated  our 
justice.  This  is  tlic  case  with  the  rules  relating  to  the  assessment  of^^^ 
damages,  and  with  what  now  couecrns  us  more — namely,  the  legal  ruJet^^| 
as  to  jurisdiction  and  costs.  In  l>oth  these  respects  there  has  beeji  ^1 
considerable  Improvement,  The  judicial  powers  have  been  increased  in 
reference  to  costSj  enabling  the  courts  to  make  just  orders  in  reference 
to  costs  in  many  eases  where,  if  the  coats  followed  the  event,  injustice 
would  occur.  But  stiO  there  is  great  room  for  improvement.  The  absolute 
money  value  of  the  wrong  to  the  injured  person  determines  the  question 
of  whether  the  lawsuit  shall  be  in  a  superior  or  inferior  court.  A  great 
relief  to  the  higher  courts  would  be  attained  l>y  reform  in  this  direction. 
Not  only  is  justice  in  the  superior  courts  very  expensive,  but  its  price  has 
hitherto  continually  increased.* 

Another  objection  to  cheap  justice  lias  been  found  in  the  abuses  of 
the  process  of  justice.  A  learned  and  eminent  judge,  when  he  heard 
any  one  expatiate  on  the  advantages  of  cheap  justice,  used  to  say,  doubt- 
ingly,  that  there  were  as  many  defendants  as  there  were  plaintiffs.  He 
meant  that  many  uDJust  claims  were  prcferredj  and  that  justice  consisted 
in  resisting  wrong  claims  as  well  as  in  establisliing  right  ones.  "  Gentle- 
men," said  the  same  judge,  summing  up  to  a  jury,  "  in  days  long  gone 
by  the  man  wlio  intended  to  rob  you  presented  a  pistol  at  your  head, 
demanding  your  money  or  your  life — he  now  scnes  you  with  n  writ.'' 
The  evil  effect  of  the  law  being  abused  and  made  the  instrument  of 
intimidation,  extortion,  or  fraud,  can  hardly  be  exaggerated,  Tha] 
admiuistration  of  justice,  civit  and  criminal,  is  beset  with  tliese  diflicidties. 
Our  rules  of  evidence  and  our  rules  of  practice,  even  when  most  mistakea 
and  mischievous,  have  always  been  framed  with  a  view  to  elucidate  truths 
and  guard  against  error  and  deceit.  If  it  were  true  th;:t  cheap  justice 
would  increase  these  evils,  that  would  be  a  real  objection.     No  doubt 

•  Tliia  article  wan  written  before  the  introduction  of  the  Government  nicasaro  now  before 
the  llouHc  of  Lortls,  in  which  it  is  iironosed  to  extend  the  couutj'  ooiirt  jurtsdioiion  from 
jLAO  to  £300,  and  that  plaintiffs  s})Oulil  h&ve  tlie  power  of  0uiaiui'ijciu>!  siuts  iu  the  county 
court*  for  still  hu^cr  amouuta. 


CHEAP   JUSTICE.  803 

clieap  justice  in  one  sense  increases  litigation — there  arc  more  trials; 
but  it  docs  not  follow  that  it  increases  improper  or  fraudulent  Htigatiou 
iu  the  same  proportion,  or  at  alL  There  ore,  on  the  contrary,  reasons 
for  believing  that  cheap  justice  is  the  mtwt  effective  remedy  against  such 
abusesj  proWded  that  it  be  speedy,  locals  and  efficient,  as  well  as  cheap. 

Justice  should  be  speedy  atid  local.  It  should  be  sought  by  the  com- 
plainaut  as  soon  as  possible.  The  defendant  should  be  required  to  answer 
as  soon  as  possible  j  and  there  should  be  no  delay  about  the  final  decisiou. 
Lapse  of  time  between  the  wrong  committed  and  the  complaint  made, 
means  increase  of  difficulty.  The  difficulty  tends  to  increase  with  the  time, 
and  is  least  when  the  facts  arc  fresh  in  the  minds  of  the  witnesses. 
Immediate  recourse  to  law  raises  a  presumption  in  favour  of  the  bona  Jidva 
of  the  complainant — just  as  when  a  girl  charges  a  man  with  having  out- 
raged her,  the  fact  of  licr  having  made  an  immediate  complaint  to  her 
mother,  or  to  the  first  person  she  meets,  is  a  strong  confirmation,  not 
of  the  correctness  of  her  statement,  but  of  the  honesty  and  truthfulness 
of  her  belief.  Unreasonable  delays  on  one  side  or  the  other  excite  sus- 
picion. Time  is  required  for  fraudulent  iuvcutions  and  mantEuvres, 
whether  concocted,  by  the  parties  or  by  counsel  drawing  up  the  perjured 
affidavits  in  their  chambers.  At  the  same  time  many  honest  persons  do 
constantly  let  a  considerable  time  elapse  before  they  have  recourse  to 
law,  hoping  to  avoid  the  necessity  by  delay.  Still  the  practical  advan- 
tage, for  the  purposes  of  justice,  of  having  claims  preferred  as  soon  as 
possible  is  sufficient  justification  of  time  limitations,  by  which  legal 
remedy  is  limited  to  a  definite  time.  The  law  is  right  that  discourages 
delay.  If  there  wcrc  no  statute  of  limitations,  that  would  encourage 
delay,  and  give  opportunity  and  facility  to  fraud. 

Ourcrror  lies  iu  not  making  these  limits  narrower  and  more  sti'ingent.  I 
believe  this  view  is  contrary  to  legal  opinion,  which  is  opposed  to  limitations 
of  the  right  to  legal  redress.  We  often  hear  professional  lamentations  over 
the  Statute  of  Limitations  and  the  Statute  of  Frauds.  The  latter  of  these 
enacts  that  certain  contracts  shall  not  be  enforced  at  law,  unless  reduced 
to  writing  and  signed  by  the  person  liable.  Happily,  popular  commou 
sense  has  triumphed  over  legal  sophisms  and  legal  interests,  and  the 
principle  will  not  only  be  maintained,  but  will  be  in  the  future  largely 
extended  iu  its  application.  For  example,  the  mass  of  the  workiug 
classes  arc  quite  satisfied  that  such  contracts  as  those  of  yearly  hiring 
should  be,  and  arc  projx^rly  required  by  law  to  be,  in  writing.  They 
treat  M'ith  ridicule  and  contempt  the  notion  that  the  value  of  this  is 
done  away  with  l}ecause  sometimes  employers  take  imdue  advantage  oi 
men,  and  get  them  to  sign  written  contracts  which  they  do  not  under- 
stand. This  is  often  the  case  with  the  yearly  liirings  of  agricultural 
labourers.  But  the  leaders  of  the  Agricultural  Union  aud  the  most 
intelligent  farm  labourers  are  precisely  those  who  arc  insisting  most 
strongly  on  the  advantages  of  such  restrictions  and  contracts.  Nor  must 
we  forget  that,  on   the  discussion  of  Mr.  Cross's  Labour  Lavs  in  the 


804 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


House  of  Commons,  the  two  workmen  members  deliberate]/  urged  upon 
the  Government  the  policy  of  not  enforcing  any  labour  contract*  that 
were  not  in  writing.  Probably  the  Goremment  was  right  in  declining 
to  take  so  large  a  step,  the  consequences  of  which  it  was  extremely 
difficult  to  foresee.  But  the  fact  remains  that  the  working  classes  are 
desirous  to  have  these  restrictions  forced  npon  them  by  law.  Thcj 
clearly  see  that  which  our  so-called  "  scientific  lawyers''  do  not  see,  thst 
the  object  of  law  is  to  prevent  disputes  by  practical  rules  and  wcll-deiined 
limitations.  The  jurists,  who  believe  that  law  is  a  science,  generally  tell 
us  that  the  great  object  of  the  law  and  of  our  judicial  system  is  to 
discover  and  carry  out  by  law  the  actual  ''  intention"  of  the  parties. 

This  doctrine  is  only  calculated  to  multiply  litigation  and  fill  the 
pockets  of  the  lawj'crs,  not  to  settle  differences  and  create  habits  of 
prudence  and  foresight  among  us.  Therefore,  to  obtain  speedy  justice, 
complainants  must  be  made  to  come  early  by  stringent  limitations  of 
time,  and  to  the  local  court  by  ])reventiug  them  from  bringing  their 
actions  in  distant  places.  Moreover,  these  conditions  of  justice,  that  it 
should  be  speedy  and  local,  obviously  contribute  towards  justice  being . 
cheap.  The  longer  the  time  and  the  greater  the  distance,  the  greater 
the  expense. 

A  system  of  clieap,  speedy,  local,  and  efficient  justice  would  doubt- 
less be  very  disagreeable  lo  the    wroug-docr  and  contract -breaker,  who 
profit   by  the  law^s  delays.    Complicated,  protracted,  expensive  justice, 
such  as  tlie  lawyer's  soul  is  supposed  to  delight  in,  is  more  of  a  terror  to 
the  injured  than  to  the  iujurer.      And  why  is  this  ?     Because  we  know 
that,  apart  from   the  uncertainty,  success  is  very  often  a  money  loss«l 
We  see,  " Verdict   for  the  plaintiff,  damages  £100,' in  the  newspapcv] 
report.     But  how  much  of  that  £100  ever  finds  its  way  into  the  plaintitPa 
hands?    He  may  be  in  reality  a  considerable  loser,  though  victorious  irfJ 
the  Qction-at-law. 

Another  source  of  dissatisfaction  and  of  bitter  complaint  is  the 
practice  of  compelling  causes  to  be  referred  to  arbitration  when  the 
parties  have  come  to  trial.  The  parties  select  their  tribunal,  they  have 
on  one  side  often  exhuusted  all  other  means  of  settlement.  They 
come  to  fight  it  out  and  have  it  finally  decided  by  judge  and  jury.  The 
judge,  who  does  not  like  the  trouble  of  trying  it,  suggests  an  arbitration, 
which  he  thinks  would  ai-range  matters  in  a  more  satisfactory  way,  the 
result  of  which  is  that  neither  party  is  satisfied,  that  often  the  affair  is 
not  finally  disposed  of,  and,  lastly, that  there  are  the  costs  of  the  arbitration 
plus  the  costs  of  the  trial.  Again  and  again  have  I  known  parties  com" 
pellcd  by  the  judge  against  their  will  to  forego  the  very  tribunal  upon 
whose  decision  they  i*clied,  and  to  accept  one  iu  which  they  had  no 
confidence. 

It  is  now  thirty  years  since  the  establishment  of  the  county  courts^ 
unquestionably  the  greatest  legal  itmovation  of  modern  times.  For 
thirty  years,  in  spite  of  many  difhcidties,  of  many  bad  appointmcaits  by 


CHEAP    JUSTICE. 


805 


Lord  Chancellors  of  incompetent  judges,  there  has  been  a  continuous 
development  of  a  cheap  and  popular  system  of  justice.  In  these  courts 
the  aims  aud  objects  of  law  reformers  have  been  realised ;  and  if  our 
legal  statesmen  had  been  wise  enough  to  complete  this  development, 
and  then  take  the  county  court  system  as  the  basis  of  their  reconstruc- 
tion, we  might  have  been  saved  from  the  expensive  and  incomplete 
system  they  have  erected,  and  many  valuable  acquisitions  of  time  might 
have  been  preserved  from  destruction.  All  the  more  necessary  is  it  then  to 
point  out  that  the  county  court  system  has  been  one  of  organic  growth 
and  development ;  standing  firm  in  the  midst  of  the  tottering  chaos  of 
legal  institutions. 

At  first  the  powers  of  these  courts  were  carefully  circumscribed  by 
the  Legislatiu*e.  But  as  they  have  grown  in  popularity,  their  powers 
have  been  continually  extended.  At  first  they  had  only  a  common  law 
jurisdiction,  and  no  claim  for  debt  or  damage  above  £20  could  be  tried. 

lu  the  year  1850  this  was  extended  to  j£50,  and  this  limit  still 
remains.  But  statutes  were  passed  in  1856,  1858,  1859,  1865,  increas- 
ing the  jurisdiction  in  various  ways.  Again  in  1867  another  statute 
was  passed,  adding  to  the  common  law  jurisdiction  of  these  courts;  and 
that  measure,  half-hearted  as  it  was,  gave  such  an  impetus  to  the  common 
law  business  of  the  county  courts,  that  whereas  the  number  of  writs 
issued  in  the  superior  Courts  of  Common  Law  in  1867  amounted  to 
127,702,  in  1868,  the  year  after  the  Act  was  passed,  they  dimiuished  by 
rather  more  than  one-third,  and  fell  to  83,174.  In  1870  they  had  fallen 
to  72,760.  Now,  the  reforms  proposed  by  the  Judicature  Commissiionera 
approximated  very  closely  to  and  are  in  the  same  direction  as  the  reform 
which  it  is  the  object  of  this  paper  to  insist  upon — namely,  that  the  county 
court  shall  be  the  basis  of  the  system,  and  that  every  action  shall  be 
begun  in  the  county  court,  and  only  transferred  to  a  superior  court 
upon  proper  cause  being  shown. 

The  Judicature  Commissioners  thought  that  these  courts,  as  branches 
of  the  High  Court,  should,  subject  to  a  power  of  transfer,  have  a 
jurisdiction  unlimited  by  the  amount  claimed,  whatever  be  the  nature  of 
the  case,  provided  the  parties  to  the  dispute  arc  content  it  should  bo 
decided  in  the  county  court;  that  in  common  law  matters  an  excla« 
sive  jurisdiction  should  be  given  in  all  matters  of  contract,  and  in 
all  actions  of  tort,  without  any  exception,  up  to  the  limit  of  £50.  My 
objection  to  this  limitation  is  that  no  mere  money  distinction  ought  to 
give  a  right  to  proceed  in  a  superior  court.  And  a  further  proposal  was 
made  by  the  Commissioners  that  the  registrars  of  the  courts  should  have 
power  to  deal  with  the  smaller  class  of  cases.  This  was  another  vicious 
money  proposal,  against  which  Lord  Penzance  and  Mr.  Justice  Quaiu 
firmly  protested.  Tl»ere  is,  of  course,  no  objection  to  the  decision 
by  the  registrar  in  any  case  where  both  sides  consent ;  but  the  amount 
of  money  claimed  ought  to  make  no  diflfcrence.  Justice  for  small 
claims  is  as  important  as  for  large  ones. 

VOL.  XXX^'.  3   o 


806 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfV. 


"  One  of  tho  great  hindrances,"  says  an  authority,  "  to  commercial  acd  tradii 
Bucceaa,  especially  in  Bmall  towns,  ia  the  limitation  to  £50  as  the  sum  recovenik 
in  the  county  courta.  Numbers  of  traders  of  the  classes  found  in  these  toi 
and  neighbourhoods^  such  as  millers,  bnildoTs,  fermei-s,  lime-barners^  and  otlierj, 
are  hampered  hy  this  restriction.  A  c£50  credit  is  too  sniaU,  a  few  pouaiia 
more  would  suffice  to  save  many  a  concern  ;  but  a  creditor  knows  ha  cstnu^A 
recover  more  than  £50  in  the  county  court,  and  when  tho  deht  gets  near  that 
amount  ho  atopa  supplies.  £50  or  less  he  c^n  sue  for  without  expense ;  tS  hegirea 
further  or  larger  credit  he  knows  that  (o  recover  he  must  encounter  the  exp< 
and  delay  of  tho  superior  courLa,  and  the  trader  will  have  none  of  them.  A?  H 
a  county  court  is  not  often  held  without  a  plaintiff  giving  up  som-  f 

the  money  due   to  him,  so  as  to  hring  his  claim  below  £50,  uud  ccm  \j 

recover  the  debt  there." 

In  some  districts  where  the  county  court  judges  are  very  good,  the 
county  court  has  almost  superseded  the  higher  courts.  Trials  of  the 
most  important  causes  take  place  by  consent,  and  the  attorneys  thus 
obtain  cheap  and  satisfactory  justice  for  tlieir  clients.  Too  much  praise 
can  hardly  be  given  to  sucli  conduct  in  these  days  of  enormous  costs 
and  fees.  There  arc,  however,  some  litigants  who  will  fight,  who  will  not 
listen  to  reason  or  ad^Hce,  who  will  not  compromise  a  jot  of  their  sup- 
posed rights,  who  will  go  on^  and  who  will  fight  while  they  have  mou 
to  siiend.  For  them  the  full  trial  at  Nisi  Prius  before  judge  and  jury 
the  right  arena,  and  if  Ic^al  harpies  leave  them  sucked  dry  of  coin  and 
credit,  we  can  only  look  upon  them  as  more  foolish  than  the  litigants  ol 
old,  who  fought  it  o\it  valiantly  with  their  bands  of  armed  rctaiDcrs. 

Besides  the  county  courts,  we  have  another  remarkable  success  to 
point  to,  namely,  the  cheap  justice  administered  by  the  5i-  -  '■  -v 
magistrates  and  the  best  country  justices,  under  Mr.  Cross's  ] 
and  Workmen  Act.  It  is  quite  refreshing  to  read  in  tho  newspaper 
reports  of  important  cases,  often  settling  a  wliole  series  of  caJM**,  in 
which  the  costs  only  amount  to  seven  or  eight  shillings.  This  jurisdic- 
tion is  confined  to  labour  and  work,  as  between  employers  and  craplo; 
and  the  court  has  no  jurisdiction  when  the  claim  is  over  £10.  In  that 
event  the  county  court  is  the  proper  tribunal.  Whether  thb  limit  is  right 
or  wrong  in  this  class  of  legal  actions,  is  not  material  now,  1  wish  lu 
point  out  the  great  success  of  this  tribtmal  wherever  the  magistrates  arc 
competent,  and  to  ask  the  question,  why  should  employers  and  em- 
ployed have  this  benefit  and  not  the  rest  of  the  community?  Is  not 
this  the  typical  justice — local,  speedy,  and  cheap  ?  Ought  we  not  to, 
aim  at  a  development  of  this  part  of  our  system  by  incrcaaiug  t 
jurisdiction  and  improving  the  quality  of  the  administration?  It  h 
often  been  insisted  that  a  reform  iu  the  quality  of  the  magistracy  shou 
be  undertaken  to  improve  the  administration  of  criminal  justice  at 
petty  sessions.  We  now  urge  a  dififcrcnt  object  for  the  ^nme  refonn, 
namely,  the  construction  of  a  system  of  cheap,  speedy,  local  justice  on  tha 
model  and  by  a  development  of  the  Employers  and  Workmen  Acl  of  187 
In  the  extension  of  the  county  court  and  petty  sessions  s} 
the  true  path  of  luw  reform ;  coupled  with  the  iimplification 


CHEAP   JUSTICE, 


807 


fication  whicli  is  required  in  al!  branches  of  the  law,  for  its  more 
practical  aud  efficient  adniiuistratiou.  Tliis  is  the  real  relief  wanted  for 
overcrowded  superior  courts,  not  the  midliplicatioa  of  superior  judges. 
If  our  Chancellors  aud  lawyers  had  not  been  so  blinded  by  their  system 
and  surroundings,  instead  of  judicature  acts  and  palaces  of  justice, 
endless  expense  with  small  aud  doubtful  result,  wc  might  now  be  seeing 
the  rise  and  working  of  efficient  and  commodious  little  courts  in  the 
towns  and  villages,  and  we  might  have  advanced  a  long  way  towards 
the  ideal  formulated  by  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  Coekburnj  of  justice 
brought  to  eveiy  man's  door,  and  law  to  every  man's  knowledge. 

In  the  establishing  of  a  scheme  like  the  one  suggested,  there  wiU  be 
some  difficult  questions  of  a  practical  nature  that  will  have  to  be  solved. 
Such,  for  example,  ai*e  those  relating  to  the  right  of  trial  by  jury  in 
civil  cases.  An  exteusion  of  the  county  court  aud  petty  sessional 
jurisdictions  obviously  means  the  trial  of  a  larger  number  of  causes  by 
a  judge  without  a  jury.  When  both  sides  consent  to  the  trial  of  a  civil 
cause  by  a  judge  without  a  jury  no  oue  can  object:  not  e\'eu  where  the 
wrong  complained  of  is  of  a  criminal  character;  as,  for  instance,  libel. 
The  difficulty  is  to  define  the  rights  of  the  parties  when  they  do  not  agree: 
when  is  each  side,  in  a  civil  court,  entitled  to  claim  trial  by  jury  as  a  right 
and  against  the  will  of  the  other  ?  It  would  be  easy  to  suggest  some 
practical  rule  tliat  would  sufficiently  guarantee  the  liberties  of  the 
individual.  On  the  whole,  greater  evils  at  present  exist  from  the  fact 
that  there  are  a  great  many  cases  disposed  of  at  petty  sessions  without 
a  j^ry?  ^^  which  there  is  the  greatest  conflict  of  testimony,  which 
require  the  best  judicial  faculties,  aud  which  involve  the  highest  human 
interests.  Such,  for  example,  are  the  bastardy  cases.  Not  only  are  a  man's 
business  and  material  position  imperilled  by  a  charge  of  this  sort,  but 
his  happiness  and  reputation.  And  yet,  any  man  may  have  a  false 
chaise  trumped  up  against  him  j  and  if  this  happens,  the  accusation 
must  be  heard  without  a  jury;  too  often  by  two  country  gentlemen, 
wholly  ignorant  of  law  and  incompetent  to  discharge  the  judicial  duty. 
A  few  years  ago  I  knew  of  an  instance  in  which  a  servant-girl  fathered 
her  child  upon  an  old  gentleman  of  seventy,  of  unblemished  life  and 
reputation.  Two  country  justices  decided  against  him.  The  law  is, 
that  there  shall  be  no  couvictiou  unless  there  be  some  evidence  to 
corroborate  the  story  of  the  prosecutrix.  Luckily,  there  was  no  corrobo- 
ration of  any  kind,  aud  the  justices  ought  to  have  dismissed  the  charge, 
even  if  they  had  believed  the  girl.  The  Court  of  Quarter  Sessions  did 
quash  the  connctiou  on  appeal;  but  it  was  thought  to  be  so  perilous  a 
situation  that  an  eminent  and  judicious  Queen's  Counsel  was  retained 
at  great  expense.  In  this  instance,  the  whole  fault  lay  in  the  incom- 
petency of  the  magistrates ;  but  in  many  eases,  especially  where  there 
is  some  corroborative  evidence,  the  accused  ought  to  be  able  to  claim 
to  have  so  important  an  issue  tried  by  a  jury. 

One  thing  that  might  be  easily  efl'ected  is  the  complete  separation  of 

3  o  2 


808 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


the  criminal  from  the  civil  side  of  the  Court  of  Petty  Sessions.*  At  tho 
assizes,  as  everybody  knows^  the  distinction  is  veiy  clear.  The  judge 
who  presides  iu  the  Crown  Court  wears  his  red  robes.  When  he  first  opens 
the  Crown  Court  for  the  trial  of  prisoners^  and  charges  the  grand  jury, 
Le  wears  all  the  marks  and  insignia  of  His  oflfice,  and  of  this  duty. 

The  Nisi  Prius  judge  sits  in  a  plain  black  silk  gown.  The  forms  and 
procedure  of  the  two  courts  are  quite  different.  There  should  be  the 
same  practical  distinction  for  the  two  sides  of  the  petty  sessions — the 
criminal  and  civil ;  different  formalities,  and,  if  possible,  some  visible 
distinction,  to  mark  the  difference  of  jurisdiction.  Let  no  one  regard 
this  as  unimportant.  Such  an  idea  as  that  of  the  "red  judge"*'  is  a 
valuable  popular  acquisition,  to  be  used,  not  to  be  thrown  away.  It  is 
a  great  mistake  for  the  judge  at  quarter  sessions,  or  stipendiary  magis* 
trates,  to  liave  no  official  dress.  The  use  of  dress  and  formalities  is 
chiefly  to  mark  these  important  differences,  and  prevent  the  coniuaioa 
which  now  exists  not  only  in  the  popular  mind,  but  in  the  law,  and  in 
the  minds  of  the  administrators  of  the  law. 

A  magistrate,  who  occupies  an  important  position  in  a  county  as  a 
large  landowner,  and  who  is  thoroughly  competent  as  a  lawyer  and 
cflBcient  as  a  judge,  writes  on  this  very  point  as  follows  : — 

"  I  am  glnd  to  see  you  insist  so  etrongly  on  the  necessity  of  distinguishing 
between  the  civil  and  criminal  jurisdiction  of  magistrates.  I  am  sure  one  c&Qse 
of  miscai-riage  of  justice  is  the  almost  uuiversal  belief  (which  is  fostered  by  the 
forms  of  procedure)  that  any  proceeding  before  magistrates  is  necessarily  of  a 
criminal  nature.  The  result  is  that  magistrates  who  have  not  had  a  leg&l  training 
are  prone  to  treat  every  defendant  as  a  criminal  the  moment  any  case  is  made 
out  against  him.  I  think  it  is  this,  the  feeling  that  an  offence  for  which  a  man. 
can  be  *had  up'  before  the  magistrates  must  necessarily  be  legally  and  morally 
a  crime,  which  is  tlie  cause  of  severe  sentences  ratlier  than  any  class  or  other 
sinister  motive.  This,  of  course,  would  be  much  altered  by  codiftcation,  which 
would  at  once  set  the  distinction  between  the  civil  and  criminal  duties  of  magis- 
trates iu  a  clear  light." 

Cheap  justice  at  petty  sessions  is  perfectly  feasible ;  but  it  should  be 
accompanied  by  a  reform,  improving  the  quality  of  the  magistracy.  It 
is  useless  to  give  large  powers  to  iucDGcicut  magistrates  ;  more  especially 
when  there  is  so  much  distrust  and  dissatisfaction  abroad,  which  caunot 
be  removed  except  by  a  wide  measure  of  reform. 

Tlic  great  obstacle,  after  all,  to  the  institution  of  cheap  justice  is  the 
existence  of  the  lawyers  as  a  powerful  and  numerous  body,  not  only 
interested  in,  but  living  and  making  large  fortunes  out  of  the  present 
system.  The  lawyers  will  not  readily  part  with  the  sources  of  their 
wealth  and  power.  If  cheap  justice  is  desirable  for  the  mass  of  the 
people,  dear  justice,  prolonged  lawsuits,  extravagant  attorneys'  bills, 
and  gigantic  counsel's  fees  arc  desirable  for  the  lawyers.  It  would  be 
a  great  step  for  us  to  get  a  development  of  the  local  courts.     But  before 

•  Mr.  CroM,  in  hia  excellent  Bill  on  Siimmuy  JuriBdiotion,  now  bt-rore  tho  House  of 
rnramoiia  has  takea  a  ^tep  in  this  direction,  the  importance  of  which  cumot  Ik:  otcp- 
estimated,  snd  from  which  there  may  be  gradually  developed  the  whole  of  tb«  rofono  relai- 
iug  to  petty  aessions,  advocated  in  this  article. 


CHEAP   JUSTICE. 


809 


cheap  justice  is  really  obtained,  the  lawyers,  their  corporations  and 
interests  must  be  fought.  Let  us  see  what  the  lawyers  consider 
as  legitimate  gain,  which  they  appropriate  without  scruple.  There  is  a 
moral  as  well  as  a  political  question  here.  We  have  no  occasion  to 
examine  cases  of  fraud,  or  of  any  malpractices ;  to  point  to  mere  abuses 
of  the  system  only  would  be  to  fail  in  proving  the  charge  against  the 
system.  We  ought  to  examine  a  case  where  dona  fides  is  not  disputed, 
where  the  attorneys  and  counsel  are  in  the  highest  position  and  of  un- 
blemished reputation ;  then  wc  should  be  in  a  position  to  judge  the  system 
fairlVjits  uses  and  its  practice.  However  large  an  attorney's  bill  may  be,  his 
position  cannot  be  impugned  merely  on  that  account.  He  is  always  entitled 
to  say,  "  It  may  be  that  these  things  could  be  done  more  cheaply,  but  we 
are  first-class  attorneys,  and  set  a  high  value  on  our  knowledge  and  skill, 
and  we  name  our  own  price,  and  do  not  care  to  do  the  work  for  less." 
This  happens  with  the  best  firms.  In  no  sense  arc  such  attorneys  to  be 
blamed,  except  as  part  of  the  system  of  extravagant  justice.  So,  a 
barrister  ought  to  be  able  to  put  his  own  price  upon  his  own  services. 
A  great  orator — an  Erskiue  or  a  Cockburn — might  well  say,  "  I  only 
intend  to  advocate  great  causes,  and  ray  fee  is  a  thousand  guineas." 
He  ought  to  be  able  to  do  so.  But  supposing  him  retained,  and 
supposing  him  to  win  his  cause,  the  defeated  litigant  ought  not  to  be 
condemned  to  pay  the  thousand  guineas,  but  only  such  costs  as  are  com- 
patible with  cheap  and  reasonable  justice.*  These  remarks  may  be 
illustrated  by  reference  to  the  fact  that  the  Hour  newspaper,  after  being 
defeated  in  an  action  and  condemned  to  pay  the  plaintiff's  costs,  actually 
printed  verbatim  the  whole  of  their  opponent's  bill  of  costs,  which  they 
were  compelled  to  pay  ;  and  certainly  a  more  extraordinary  and  melan- 
choly document  has  seldom  appeared  in  a  newspaper.  We  assume  that 
each  transaction  is  perfectly  honest,  and  that  it  is  sanctioned  by  profes- 
sional opinion.  Our  puriwsc  is  only  to  protest  against  the  system,  and 
against  any  opinion  which  sanctions  such  proceedings.  Indeed,  the  very 
force  of  this  bill  of  costs,  as  against  the  system,  is  that  it  applies  to  the 
highest  and  most  respectable  members  in  both  branches  of  the  profession. 

The  action  was  for  libel,  and  was  settled  by  agreement  on  the  terms 
that  the  defendant  should  pay  a  hundred  guineas  and  tlie  plaintiff's 
costs  j  and  no  doubt  he  was  astonished  when  that  bill  was  sent  in,  for 
the  amount  was  £1592  3*.  6rf.,  and  he  had,  after  taxation,  to  pay 
£1361  as.  lOd.;  the  difference,  £230  14*.  8rf.,  being  the  amount  taxed 
off.  Unfortunately  the  defendant's  costs  in  this  case  have  not  been 
published.  But  few  persons  will  say  that  where  the  costs  of  one  side 
amount  to  i:i361  8^.  10^.,  it  is  not  an  extravagant  and  monstrous 
system  of  cxi>ensive  justice,  more  especially  as  the  case  was  not  tried 
out,   though  a  verdict   was   taken  by  consent.     The   items   are  even 


^ 


if>»i 


*  It  will  be  sud  that  a  fee  of  a  thousand  gxiiucaa  would  be  taxed  dovn.  And  it  might  be ; 
fant  the  fact  is  true,  that  the  litigaot  who  ia  condemned  in  coaU  haa  to  pay  coeU  calculated 
on  ft  meet  extniragaat  acale. 


810 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


f 


more  extraordinary  than  the  total.  Counsel  is  constdted  and  feed 
for  the  most  trivial  things,  for  instance  for  "  settling^'  a  letter  which  the 
attorney  writes  to  tlie  defendant.  Three  counsel  are  employed, 
Mr. ,  the  junior  counsel,  gets  thirty-eight  diftbreut  fees,  amount- 
ing   to   :£  1 98    4*.,    the    action     extending    over    rather    more    thaa 

two  mouths.     Mr.  ,   Q.C.,  gets  j6193  175.   6ff.,  being   in  twelve 

fees,  and  the  Attorney-General  £247  7$,  6rf.  in  eight  fees.  Total  of 
fees  £639  9*.  None  of  this  was  taxed  off.  One  fee  of  £1  6*.,  which 
I  have  not  reckoned,  was  taxed  off  the  junior  counsel's  fees,  and  I 
suppose  was  paid  by  the  plaintiff  out  of  his  damages.  This  is 
what  any  of  us  are  liable  to  have  inflicted  upon  us  if  an  action  is 
brought  against  us,  £105  damages,  and  £1361  8^.  lOrf.  the  enemy*! 
costs — ^without  counting  our  own  attorney's  bill  I  And  one  cannot  but 
make  the  observation,  though  it  counts  for  little,  that  this  very  Attorney- 
General,  Sir  John  Holkcr,  was  the  man  who  got  up  in  the  House  of 
Commons  and  lectured  the  colliers  on  their  not  being  satisfied  with  £1 
a  week  wages  f  It  is  useless  to  go  into  the  attorney's  charges,  we  all 
know  what  an  attorney's  bill  is, — how  every  visit  and  every  letter  and 
everytliiug  done  is  charged  for.  We  are  after  all  concerned  with  the 
total  and  not  with  the  items.  But  what  is  to  be  thought  of  a  system 
in  which  the  attorney  charges  £210  for  one  item,  and  the  respectable 
attorney  who  taxes  the  bill  of  costs  reduces  this  to  £105  ;  that  is,  by 
half?  That  amount  is  taken  off  by  the  gentle  and  hesitating  taxation  of 
the  friendly  attorney.  We  take  it  at  the  l>est,  we  assume  the  taxation 
right.  It  is,  then,  in  the  legal  profession  thought  morally  right  for  & 
respectable  attorney  to  make  out  a  bill  for  double  the  proper  chargo. 
What  can  be  said  in  defence  of  a  system  which  allows  such  things  to 
occur,  and  attaches  no  disgrace  or  discredit  to  those  who  share  and 
profit  by  the  plunder  ?  Let  those  who  choose  spend  what  they  will  ia 
law;  let  them  employ  attorney.generals  and  solicitor-generals  as  they 
like.  But  when  a  man  is  condemned  in  costs  by  order  of  a  tribunal 
and  by  the  force  of  law,  it  should  only  be  for  an  amount  wliich  is 
consistent  with  a  system  of  the  cheapest  and  most  reasonable  justice.* 

This  subject  of  the  extortionate  charges  of  attorneys  might  be  illus- 
trated in  many  ways:  by  the  enormous  expense  of  legal  charges  iot- 
conveyance  and  transfer  of  land  or  houses;  or  by  the  way  in  which 
attorneys  charge  for  copying  and  abstract-making.    Where  a  respectable 


*  It  iR  deeply  to  be  regretted  thftt  the  Legislature  ahonld  hftve  been  to  onwtM  u  to  gir< 
criminal  courta  power  to  maku  the  accuaed  pay  the  oosta  of  tlit:  prosecution,     lliero  ia  no* 
relation  whatever  bet^veen  the  degree  of  guilt  and  the  costa  uf  tht:  pro«cciitioD,  and  th# 
power  hoe  only  been  given  in  felonies,  uot  in  misdemeanours  :  that  ia,  in  respect  of  tlie  morS*' 
■erions  crimes,  for  wliich  pa\'mcut  of  costfi  is  not  a  proj^r  punishment,  but  which  must  baY%' 
tho  effect  of  offering  to  wcaK  tribunals  the  temptation  to  forej^  real  punishment  in  considtK 
imtion  of  the  defen<mit's  payinu  the  expcuses  uf  the  j)ro»ecution.     xnis  ix>w«r  has  aotuallj^ 
been  given  in  cases  where  the  Lcgifilaturo  hu  not  given  tho  power  to  fiuc !     It  hoa  bc«a 
done  in  deference  to  the  opiniou  of  lawvers,  who  have  thus  introduced  this  mischieTOOS 
provision  into  the  administration  of  criminal  justicei  which  hod  hitherto  been  free  from  iC 

I  am  sorrj-  to  say  that  the  Royal  Commisatun  on  tho  Criminal  Code  haabecato  iU*adn«*d 
M  to  retain  this  law  as  part  of  tbe  revised  Code. 


CHEAP  JUSTICE, 


811 


fliolicitoT  has  to  investigate  a  title^  and  requires  the  production  of  deeds 
in  the  custody  of  a  second  attorney,  the  latter  sends  in  an  enormous  bill 
of  charges,  which  the  first  solicitor  is  obliged  to  pay  without  remedy.  I 
have  come  chiefly  in  contact  with  the  extortion  of  attorneys  in  reference 
to  criminal  matters.  Now  with  very  few  exceptions  (the  game  laws 
being  the  chief)  all  the  expenses  of  prosecutions  of  serious  crimes  are 
paid  by  the  Government.  Speaking  generally,  the  scale  of  payment  is 
sufficient^  and  when  occasion  requires  there  is  no  stint.  But  the  expenses 
of  the  defence  are  not  paid,  and  when  an  attorney  is  privately  engaged 
to  prosecute,  he  is  not  satisfied  with  the  Government  allowances,  which 
he  gets ;  but  brings  in  a  bill  against  his  client.  I  have  seen  a  good 
many  of  these  bills  against  private  persons ;  and  a  good  many  of  those 
against  trade  societies,  both  for  prosecuting  and  defending.  I  have  now 
before  me  several  bills,  which  oue  trade  society  ha»  paid.  These  cases 
can  only  be  described  as  a  wilful  plundering  of  the  working  classes.  It  is 
true  that  the  leaders  of  the  workmen  ought  to  have  known  better,  in 
some  eases ;  but  that  does  not  diminish  the  iniquity  of  the  practice.  In 
Other  cases  the  attorneys  have  simply  cheated  the  men  by  persuading 
them  that  a  certain  course  was  necessary ;  having  taken  advantage  of  the 
position  of  men  who  had  been  accused  of  crime  under  the  labour  laws. 
Again  and  again,  when  a  number  of  men  have  been  accused,  attorneys 
have  used  the  situation  to  multiply  expenses  and  wring  costs  out  of  their 
\ietims.  They  employ  a  great  array  of  counsel,  they  make  the  accused 
"sever"  in  their  defences, — that  means  that  each  prisoner  must  have 
separate  counsel  and  separate  briefs.  This  has  been  done  when  one 
counsel  for  all  would  have  been  much  better;  but  the  attorneys  have 
deliberately  sacrificed  the  interests  of  their  clients  for  the  purpose  of 
robbing  them.  I  could  cite  instances  and  give  undoubted  testimony. 
But  I  am  not  going  to  give  any  one  a  chance  of  bringing  an  action  of 
libel  against  me,  to  make  me  pay  his  costs.  I  give  the  statement  as  the 
result  of  my  own  experience,  having  been  an  officer  of  a  criminal  court 
for  twenty  years,  employed  in  the  taxation  of  costs,  and  therefore 
familiar  with  the  special  detail  of  the  subject.  I  have  known  a  bill  for 
the  defence  in  a  criminal  trial  exceed  a  thousand  pounds,  in  which  two 
hundred  would  have  been  amply  sufficient  remuneration  and  good  pay 
for  the  work  to  all  concerned  in  it. 

Probably,  however,  the  greatest  abuses  in  the  way  of  extravagant 
costs  are  those  which  have  grown  up  iu  parliamentary  committees  : 
where  it  is  openly  allowed  that  there  is  no  relation  between  the  costs  and 
the  work  done.  This  has,  most  likely,  had  a  noxious  influence  upon  the 
whole  of  our  system^  and  has  more  than  anything  else  tended  to  increase 
the  coats  of  litigation  in  the  superior  courts.  The  time  is  in  fact  come 
for  a  searching  inquiry  into  the  subject,  and  it  would  be  well  if  the 
whole  subject  could  be  brought  before  the  House  of  Commons. 

Meanwhile,  it  is  comforting  to  know,  that  better  systems  exist  in 
more  favoured  parts  of  the  earth,  and  those  who  take  up  this  question 


812 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


would  do  well  to  study  the  institutions  of  North  Germany.  It  scemi 
that  in  that  country  real  efforts  arc  made  to  supply  the  proper  means  of 
defence  or  of  prosecuting  litigation  in  the  case  of  the  poor.  There  arc 
a  certain  class  of  advocates,  who  arc  government  and  official  advocates, 
and  who  are  obliged  to  take  cases  at  a  certain  scale  of  prices  from  any  cue 
who  chooses  to  employ  them  ;  not,  however,  to  the  exclusion  of  others, 
who  arc  free  to  ask  what  price  their  talents  can  command.  I  regret 
that  I  have  not  sufficient  materials  at  present  to  give  an  account  of  this 
state  of  things,  so  interesting  to  us  from  the  present  point  of  view. 
But  the  knowledge  that  different  systems  exist  elsewhere  may  serve  to 
strengthen  and  support  the  conviction  so  many  people  now  entertain : 
that  the  narrow  and  obstructive  character  of  our  Inns  of  Court,  and  the 
monopolies  which  our  barristers  and  attorneys  possess,  had  better  give 
way,  either  to  a  free  system,  or  to  one  really  regulated  and  controlled  by^ 
some  efficient  power. 

The  luns  of  Court  pretend  to  regulate  the  conduct  of  barristera; 
but  tbey  never,  in  fact,  do  so,  except  in  some  extraordinarily 
gross  case — or  where  some  unfortunate  sinner  has  been  discovered 
and  trampled  on,  iu  which  case  they  solemnly  eject  him  from 
their  associations.  The  most  notorious  and  disgraccfdl  conduct,  if 
not  actuaUy  criminal,  does  not  procure  expulsion  or  even  rebuke. 
The  most  crass  ignorance  is  admitted  and  allowed  by  the  Inns  of  Court. 
If  counsel  take  fees  and  neglect  their  work,  this  is  not  even  thought 
disgraceful.  Very  recently  a  case  of  murder  was  called  on  at  the  sitting. 
of  the  court.  This  was  a  trial  of  life  and  death,  where  the  prisoner's 
life  depended  upon  a  judicious  defence.  When  the  prisoner  came  to  the 
bar  he  was  informed  that  his  counsel  had  just  returned  the  brief.  There 
was  no  one  present  to  defend  him,  I  need  hardly  say  that,  under  the 
circumstances,  the  court  postponed  the  trial  for  a  day.  Yet  this  kind  of 
dereliction  of  duty  is  never  taken  notice  of.  Not  long  ago  in  the 
House  of  Commons  Mr.  Burt,  M.P.,  in  answer  to  some  very  unworthy 
and  prejudiced  taunts  by  the  Attorney-General  upon  the  colliers,  said  that 

"  He  was  sorry  the  Attorney- General  had  not  confined  himself  to  the  purely 
legal  aspect  of  the  question — a  point  on  which  he  spoke  willi  clearness  and 
authority,  Ue  had  drawn  upon  his  imagination  for  illustrations,  sonie  of  which 
were  not  only  irrelevant,  but  displayed  exceedingly  bad  tuste.  (Hear,  hear.) 
The  hon.  and  learned  gentleman  spoke,  for  instance,  of  the  high,  and  what  ho 
was  pleased  to  call  the  extravagant,  wages  earned  hy  thu  miners;  and,  not  satis-, 
fied  with  this,  he  went  on  to  speak  moat  offensively  of  their  luxurious  living,  iind^ 
of  their  drinking  champagne.  He  (Mr.  Burl)  would  not  degrade  himself  by 
attempting  to  make  a  serious  answer  to  such  stuff  and  nonsense.  (Laughter  and 
cheers.)  Such  expressions  might  bo  tolerated  and  excused  as  the  gossip  and 
claptrap  of  idlers  and  loungers  at  the  street  corners  or  iu  the  taprooms ;  hut 
they  were  utterly  unbecoming  and  indefensible  when  uttered  in  a  grave  debnte 
in  that  House  by  an  hon.  and  learned  member  who  held  a  high  and  responsible 
position  in  the  government  of  the  country.  (Loud  cheers.)  He  (Mr.  Burt)  did 
not  know  what  llie  hon.  and  iGornod  gentleman  considered  extravagant  wages. 
On  a  matter  of  that  kind  opinions  would  no  doubt  diflfer.  (Hear,  hear.)  Ha 
had  heard  of  a  certain  profesaion,  of  which  perhaps  the  hon.  and  learned  gentle- 


CHEAP   JUSTICE, 


818 


num  knew  something,  in  which  it  was  not  at  all  unusual  for  men  to  earn — or  at 
any  rate  to  obtain— as  much  in  a  single  hour  aa  the  best  paltl  miner  with  the 
utmost  energy  and  exertion,  notwithstanding  all  the  risk  to  which  he  was  admittedly 
exposed,  could  earn  in  a  full  year's  hard  work.  In  that  learned  profession,  too, 
it  was  not  illegal,  and  he  believed  it  was  not  even  deemed  dishonourable,  for  a 
man,  after  having  been  handsomely  remunerated,  never  so  much  as  to  honestly 
attempt  to  perform  the  work  for  which  he  had  already  pocketed  the  pay.  (Loud 
laughter  and  cheers.)" 

The  ooly  rule  among  the  barristers  tending  towards  cheap  justice  is 
that  any  prisoner  is  supposed  to  be  entitled  to  the  services  of  any  barrister, 
practising  in  the  court  before  which  he  is  arraigned,  for  the  sum  of  one 
guinea.  But  this  rule  is  constantly  and  openly  disregarded  ;  the  guinea 
fee  is  invariably  refused  by  those  who  think  it  prudent  to  do  so.  But  the 
expenditure  in  criminal  courts  and  the  justice  administered  in  them  contrast 
well  with  those  of  civil  conrtSj  because  a  stricter  system  is  maintained,  and 
even  if  there  is  room  for  economy  in  certaiu  directions,  there  is  on  the 
other  hand  need  of  further  expenditure  to  make  justice  less  one-sided 
than  it  is  at  present.  If  the  Inns  of  Court  are  to  retain  their  mono- 
polies, they  ought  to  be  compelled  to  aflford  a  system  of  cheap  justice  to 
the  mass  of  the  people  as  far  as  barristers  are  concerned.  But  tliis  can 
best  be  done  by  legislation.  The  Law  Society,  which  is  entrusted  by 
law  with  important  duties  with  reference  to  the  examination  and  regis- 
tration of  attorneys,  although  better  in  some  respects  than  the  Inns 
of  Court,  does  not  attempt  really  to  purge  their  branch  of  the  profession 
of  wicked  and  corrupt  members,  though  I  believe  they  do  take  steps 
for  getting  attorneys  struck  off  the  rolls  who  have  been  convicted 
of  crime.  Not  long  ago  I  was  applied  to  by  the  Law  Society,  as  clerk 
of  assize,  for  information  as  to  whether  a  certain  attorney  had  been 
convicted  on  my  circuit  of  a  criminal  offence.  I  replied  that  he  had 
been  convicted,  under  a  particular  statute,  of  a  fraudulent  crime,  in  the 
course  of  his  practice  as  an  attorney,  but  that  the  Court  of  Criminal 
Appeal  had  quashed  the  conviction  on  a  technical  point  of  law.  Owing 
to  the  inadequacy  and  clumsiness  of  our  criminal  laws  this  particular 
fraud  did  not  come  within  the  terms  of  the  statute.  I  ix>inted  out  that 
the  jury  had  found  by  their  verdict  that  what  was  done  was  done  witli  a 
fraudulent  intention;  I  offered  to  answer  any  further  questions,  and 
referred  them  to  the  judge  who  tried  the  case.  Great  pressure  was  also 
put  upon  them  from  the  locality  to  take  action  in  the  matter,  and  they 
were  informed  by  unquestionable  authority  that  this  attorney  was 
pursuing  practices  of  a  similar  character.  Nothing  was  done.  And 
this  is  only  one  example  of  the  inefficiency  of  the  Law  Society  to  fulfil 
its  duty,  which  gives  rise  to  feelings  of  great  dissatisfaction  throughout 
the  country  at  its  culpable  neglect  iu  these  matters.  The  long  and 
short  of  the  whole  matter  is,  that  cheap  justice  cannot  be  obtained  while 
these  associations  arc  permitted  to  exist  in  their  present  unreformed 
condition.  They  have  had  these  monopolies  and  advantages,  and  have 
not  done  their  duty  in  educating  their  members,  or  in  controlling  and 


814  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

weeding  out  the  disreputable.  They  have  most  certdnly  failed.  The; 
not  even  attempted  to  reform  or  regtdate  the  system  of  costs  or  f< 
they  might  have  done.  The  reason  is  that  the  heads  of  these  ac 
tions  are  the  very  persons  who  have  profited  by  the  system.  Wl 
barrister  or  attorney  becomes  eminent  and  makes  a  great  deal  of  x 
by  the  system^  he  is  at  once  elected  to  be  one  of  the  heads  of  the 
tution  of  which  he  is  a  member.  The  Inns  of  Court  profess  ezul 
loyalty  to  grandees  and  royal  personages^  and  spend  lavishly  on  bui 
and  feastings  sums  of  money,  often  wrong  by  force  and  coercion 
unwilling  subscribers,  whom  they  compel  to  contribute  by  the  l^al 
they  hold,  and  which  they  have  not  scrupled  to  use  in  the  most  offi 
and  unjust  way.  Sut  they  have  been  entirely  wanting  in  the 
patriotism  which  should  have  led  them  to  make  efforts  to  instit 
system  of  cheap  justice,  which  might  have  piade  them  a  help  and  l 
to  the  nation,  instead  of  an  incubus  that  the  English  people  won 
glad  to  shake  off  and  be  rid  of. 

Henbt  Cboufth 


AN  AMERICAN  DIVINE 


HOIUCE  BUSHNKIX,   D.D. 


THAT  honourable  title,  MinUter  et  Interpres,  which  has  been  con- 
ferred on  man  in  his  relationship  with  Nature,  may  also  bo  claimed 
by  him  in  reference  to  the  system  which  comprehends  all  spiritual 
existence^  and  of  which  Nature  is  the  mere  platform  and  instrument. 
Gathered  round  the  materialism  of  creation^  it  is  this  system  wliich  is 
chiefly  in  our  view  when  we  speak  of  the  Universe.  In  large  measure, 
it  has  been  made  known.  And,  whatever  "  advanced  thinkers"  may 
aflBrm,  we  instinctively  feel  that,  if  we  arc  living  in  it  as  its  loyal  ministers, 
we  can  intelligently  survey  it  as  interpreters. 

"What  relation  it  bears  to  the  subordinate  system,  how  it  is  constituted, 
by  what  laws  it  works,  what  relations  arc  contained  in  it,  and  to  what 
ends  it  is  directed,  may  surely  be  in  large  measure  ascertained  by  one 
who  is  duly  qualified  for  the  inquiry.  Watchful  against  false  judgments, 
however  generally  accepted — exercising  the  same  habits  of  patience  and 
humility  and  diligence  which  have  won  such  illustrious  triumphs  in  the 
inferior  region — large  and  invaluable  knowledge  may  here  also  be 
obtained  by  him.  And  he  who  has  thus  esercised  the  fimctiona  of  an 
interpreter  with  regard  to  our  higher  sphere  of  life,  should  be  gratefully 
recognised  as  one  of  the  benefactors  by  whom  human  thought  has  been 
advanced.  He  has  carried  our  regards  into  regions  hitherto  unexplored, 
besides  casting  a  fuller  light  on  scenes  and  movements  which  have  been 
already  brought  within  our  range  of  contemplation. 

Not  many,  indeed  very  few,  in  any  generation,  answer  this  description. 
But  it  may  be  justly  applied  to  that  distinguished  man,  lately  removed 
from  his  people,  whose  name  is  given  in  the  title  of  this  paper.  Of  Dr. 
Bushnell  it  may  be  trxily  aflSrmed  that,  in  the  sense  above  explained,  he 
was  one  of  the  advanced  thinkers  of  his  age.  In  a  very  effective  manner, 
and  very  usefully  also,    he  discharged  the  functions  of  an  interpreter, 


816 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


both  by  making  known  the  true  order  of  the  universe,  and   explaining 
the  lawB  by  which  it  is  moving  onwarda  to  its  appointed  ends. 

We  hope  to  establish  these  claims  on  behalf  of  one  whoj  comparativelr 
speakingj  is  aa  yet  uuknowu.  He  has,  indeed,  a  continually  widen- 
ing circle  of  disciples  who  are  distinguished  as  much  by  their  personal 
affection  for  the  man  as  they  are  by  their  zeal  in  diffusing  the  lessons  whicH 
they  have  learnt  from  him.  For  they  find  that,  in  a  very  practical  sense, 
his  is  helpful  thinking  t  he  strengthens  his  readers  while  he  instructs 
them ;  and  obligations  of  gratitude  make  them  spread  his  influence  with 
a  zealous  enthusiasm  which  is  unusual  among  disciples  in  our  day.  And 
yet  he  has  not  hitherto  commanded  that  wider  public  which  he  is  so  well 
entitled  to  address.  Perhaps  this  may  in  part  be  accounted  for  by  his  ^m 
pi-ofessionai  designation,  and  by  the  nature  of  the  subjects  with  which  ^1 
he  has  been  chiefly  occupied.  For,  certainly,  it  is  no  help  to  a  writer'a 
reputation  in  these  times  that  he  can  put"  Reverend^'  before  his  name ; 
and  we  know  that,  in  the  eyes  of  many  readers,  anything  in  the  gui^c 
of  theology  looks  uncouth  and  mystical,  if  not  absolutely  repulsive. 
Moreover,  that  so  little  can  be  learned  about  him,  has  been  a  serious 
drawback  to  his  influence :  men  like  to  have  some  knowledge 
of  the  place  and  occupations  of  one  who  puts  forth  such  claims  on 
their  attention.  And  further,  if  this  may  be  said  without  offence, 
his  position  as  an  American  divine  is  not  in  his  favour ;  aud 
es]>eeially  when  the  dialect  is  so  tlioroughly  native  as  it  is  in  his 
pages.  Yet  stilly  after  all  these  deductions  have  been  made,  it  remains 
strange  that  he  has  not  received  that  wide  hearing  to  which  he  is  as  welt 
entitled  as  any  of  the  thinkers  of  our  day.  Not  unfairly  may  he  be 
described  aa  Isaac  Tuylur  aud  Tliomas  Carlyle  combined  ;  looking  as  be 
does,  ill  their  manner,  with  searching  and  courageous  gaze  on  the  most 
momentous  problems  of  existence,  piercingly  looking  into  all  mysteries, 
and  then  discoursing,  often  with  rarest  eloquence,  respecting  them,  in 
tones  the  genuineness  of  whose  ring  cannot  be  mistaken.  lie  seems  to 
moke  liimscJf  at  once  tlic  trusted  friend  of  his  readers,  although  what  little 
is  generally  known  about  him  can  be  told  in  very  few  sentences.  "We 
gather  from  his  writings  that  he  was  trained  after  the  usual  hardy  manner 
of  the  rustic  settlements  of  New  England,  some  sixty  years  ago;  aud  that  he 
thence  proceeded,  in  what  he  calls  ^'  homespun  guise,"  to  Yale  College, 
where,  after  passing  honourably  through  hisundergraduateship,  he  becam 
one  of  the  Professors.  What  are  called  practical  matters,  as  apart  from 
theological,  seem  to  have  engaged  him  at  that  time,  for  he  was  then 
employed  as  editor  of  the  Journal  of  Commerce.  So  far  as  we  can 
ascertain,  he  went  direct  from  Yale  to  Hertford  in  Connecticut;  and 
there,  as  minister  of  a  Presbyterian  church,  passed  the  remainder  of  his 
life.  He  seems  to  have  been  always  known  as  a  genial,  assiduous,  persever- 
ing man;  frugal,  brave,  aud  self-controlled;  possessing  his  soul  in  patience^ 
yet  ever  intent,  and  even  eager,  in  his  work,  and  always  striving  to  make 
it  fruitful  and  effective.     Here  aud  there,  autobiographical  passages  may 


DR    BUSHNELL, 


817 


be  gathered  from  his  writings.  And  hia  appearance  corresponds  with 
the  impression  which  they  convey.  An  excellent  photo^aphic  likeness 
of  him  is  now  before  the  writer.  The  broad  and  lofty  forehead,  the  eyea 
fixed  and  wistful — mournful,  too,  in  their  expression — bring  before  ns 
just  such  a  man  as  his  readers  would  expect  to  look  upon.  It  is  a  face 
which  remarkably  expresses  arduous  toil  of  spirit,  earnest  aud  exhausting 
intellectual,  and  also  moral,  conflict.  Any  one  considerately  looking  at 
him  would  say  at  cuce,  "  Evidently,  he  has  walked  through  the  valley 
of  the  death-shadow  ;  he  has  seen  the  mocking  faces,  and  heard  the  dole- 
ful voices,  in  the  abysses  which  border  it  on  either  side ;  and  he  has 
manfully  fought  Apollyon  upon  the  way."  His  look  reminds  one  of  a 
memorable  passage  in  his  Discourse  on  "The  Dissolving  of  Doubts,"  where 
he  describes  one  "  clear  of  all  the  vices,  having  a  naturally  active-minded 
inquiring  habit,  never  meaning  to  get  away  from  the  truth,  who  has  yet 
relapsed  into  such  doubt  as  to  find  that  he  has  nearly  lost  the  conviction 
of  God,  and  cannot,  if  he  would,  say  with  emphasis  that  God  exists.  Such 
an  one,  pacing  his  chamber,  comes  some  day  suddenly  upon  the  question, 
•  Is  there  then  no  truth  that  I  do  believe?  Yes,  there  is  one.  There 
is  a  distinction  of  right  and  wrong.  That  I  never  doubted ;  and  I  see 
not  how  I  can.  Nay,  I  am  even  quite  sure  of  this/  Then,  forthwith, 
starts  up  the  question,  '  Have  I  ever  taken  the  principle  of  right  for  my 
law  ?  have  I  ever  thrown  my  life  out  on  it  to  become  all  that  it  requires 
of  me?  No  matter  what  becomes  of  my  difficulties  if  I  cannot  take 
a  first  principle  so  inevitably  true,  and  live  in  it.  Here  then  will  I 
begin.  If  there  is  a  God,  as  I  rather  hope  than  dimly  believe  there 
is.  He  is  a  right  God.  If  I  have  lost  Him  in  wrong,  perhaps  I  shall 
find  Him  in  right.  Will  He  not  help  me,  or  perchance  even  be  dis- 
covered to  me  ?"  ,  .  .  Then  he  prays  to  the  dim  God  so  dimly  felt.  It 
is  an  awfully  dark  prayer  in  the  first  look  of  it ;  but  it  is  the  truest  and 
best  that  he  can,  the  better  and  more  true  that  he  puts  no  orthodox 
colours  on  it ;  and  the  prayer  and  the  vow  are  so  profoundly  meant,  that 
his  soul  is  borne  up  with  God's  help  as  it  were  by  some  unseen  chariot, 
and  permitted  to  see  the  opening  of  heaven.  He  rises,  and  it  is  as  if  he 
had  gotten  wings.  The  whole  sky  is  luminous  about  him.  It  is  the 
morning  of  a  new  eternity.  After  this,  all  troublesome  doubt  of  God's 
reality  is  gone.  A  being  so  profoundly  felt  must  inevitably  be."  Wc 
feel  certain  that  Dr.  Bushnell  was  here  describing  his  own  experience. 
He  was  preaching  in  the  chapel  of  Yale  College ;  and  after  the  above 
description,  occurs  this  bracketed  passage  in  his  sermon — '^ There  U  a 
stoinf  lodged  in  a  little  bedroom  of  one  of  these  dormitories  which ^  I  pray 
God,  His  recording  angel  may  note,  allounng  it  never  to  be  lost.'* 


The  rabstance  of  what  we  have  called  his  interpretation  of  the  order  of 
spiritual  existence,  and  of  the  laws  by  which  its  ends  are  carried  forward, 
is  given  in  his  "  Nature  and  the  Supernatural,"  and  in  his  "  Treatise 
on  Vicarious  Sacrifice."     In  the  former  of  these  works,  with  which  his 


818 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


"  Moral  Uses  of  Dark  Things"  should  be  connected,  he  lays  down,  as  ibe 
basis  of  his  expositions,  the  absolute  subordination  of  all  the  mate- 
rialism of  the  universe  to  the  uses  and  ends  of  its  spiritual  occupant*; 
and  in  these  ends  and  uses  he  recognises  the  "  final  causes,  abont 
which  Puleyan  and  Bridgewater-Treatisc  writers  have  perplexed  them- 
selves." 

Thus,  speaking  of  Nature,  in  which  he  includes  the  substances  and 
forces  of  the  earth,  the  worlds  outside  our  own,  and  in  short  all  natural 
things  bound  together  by  the  chain  of  cause  and  effect — those  whichj  in 
our  view,  are  their  last  causes  being  "  determined  by  causatious  back  of 
them" — speaking  of  all  this  materialism,  which  he  generalises  under 
the  head  of  "  things,"  he  says,  "It  is  not  the  system  of  God,  and  \a 
really  no  co-ordinate  part  of  His  universe,  considered  as  related  to  the 
'  powers  ^  that  have  their  society  in  it,  and  get  their  reactions  from  it. 
They,  the  'powers/  arc  practically  the  universe,  baring  Nature  as  their 
field  of  activity,  and  the  tool-house  of  their  instrumentalities.  Nature 
is  only  the  stage,  medium,  vphicic  for  the  universe,  that  is,  for  God 
and  His 'powers/  These  are  the  real  magnitudes,  because  they  contaiu 
at  once  the  import,  and  the  final  causes,  or  last  ends,  of  all  created 
substance.  The  grand,  universal,  invisible  system  of  God,  therefore,  ii 
a  system  that  centralises  in  these,  subordinating  all  mere  '  things,'  and 
ha\ing  them  for  its  instruments.  For  the  serving  and  training  of  its 
members.  He  loosens  the  bonds  of  Orion,  and  tempers  the  sweet  influ- 
euecs  of  Pleiades,  spreading  out  the  heavens,  not  for  the  heavens'  sake, 
but  as  a  tent  for  these  to  dwell  in.  Is  it  anything  new  that  the  tent  ia 
a  thing  less  solid,  and  of  meaner  consequence,  than  the  occupant  ?" 

This  view  of  the  entire  subordination  of  ^'  things,"  under  whatever 
foim  they  are  beheld,  to  the  "  powers"  which  are  everywhere  acting  on 
them,  is  brought  out  with  amazing  force  and  rividness  in  many  parts  of 
"  Nature  and  the  Supernatural."  (See  especially  pp.  3-1,  57,  173.)  Under 
the  designation  of  "  powers,''  he  comprehends  all  beings,  where^-er 
existing,  which  arc  kindred  with  God.  He  speaks  of  them  as  consti- 
tuting those  "  dominions  and  principalities,"  whose  identity  with  man- 
kind in  essence,  and  probably  in  form  and  aspect  too,  is  guaranteed  by 
the  relationship  which  is  sustained  towards  them  by  Him,  -who  is 
declared  to  he  their  Head  and  Chief.  lie  is  the  representative  and 
pledge  of  their  oneness  with  ourselves ;  and  the  witness  of  that  close 
fellowship  in  which  we  here  live  with  thera.  They  all  work  upon 
the  lower  creation  with  an  cfFeelivcness  which  is  proportioned  to  their 
degrees  of  knowledge  and  abiUty.  And  since,  by  endowment  and 
exercise,  these  are  inconceivably  varied,  the  working  "upon  the  chain  of 
cause  and  effect  on  the  part  of  some  of  these  'powei-s'  will  produce 
effects  that  move  the  wonder  of  other  lower  natures,  and  evince  the 
presence  of  faculties  greater  than  their  own."  This  is  illustrated  by 
our  own  experience.  Many  of  our  nchievcmcnts  in  the  present  day 
uuuld  have  been  wholly  unaccountable  in  the  view  of  earlier  generatioi 


DR.   BUSHNELL. 


819 


So,  in  like  manner,  beings  higher  than  ourselves,  with  8Uj)erior  faculties 
and  knowledge,  may  now  produce  results  which  would  bear  the  same 
aspect  iu  our  regard  and  apprehension :  in  the  same  sense  they  also 
would  be  unaccountable.  It  is  in  like  manner,  and  with  the  same  results, 
that  God,  also,  as  the  Chief  Representative  of  wise  intelligence,  carries  out 
His  will.  His  workings  upon  Nature  are  the  highest  illustrations  of 
supernatural  agency,  differing  infinitely  in  degree  from  our  common 
working  upon  ^'  things,"  and  yet  at  the  same  time  being  similar,  or,  we 
should  rather  say,  identical,  in  kind.  In  the  manner  of  their  working,  as 
"  things"  are  thus  seen  to  be  always  pliant  and  submissive  to  the  behests  of 
"  powers,"  they  are  identical ;  and  they  are  so,  also^  in  their  objects, 
wherever  they  are  working  in  their  appointed  order.  For  this  is  the 
order  of  obedience  to  God's  will,  which  is  fixed  upon  the"  schooling^'  of 
each  creature's  choice  or  consent,  as  one  of  the  "  powers,"  so  that  it 
may  be  fully  established  in  harmony  with  His  character,  and  hence 
may  share  with  Him  in  His  eternal  blessedness. 

In  this  view  of  the  universe,  as  constituted  of  "  powers"  and 
"  things" — of"  things"  fast  set  in  fixed  order,  and  of  "  powers"  moving 
fireely  under  the  influence  of  reasons  authoritatively  made  known 
to  them — Dr.  Bushnell  discerns  the  origin  of  evil,  and  the  main 
characteristics  both  of  the  ordinary  and  of  the  miraculous  agencies  by 
which  man  is  to  be  delivered  from  its  influence  and  its  consequences. 

For,  in  order  that  the  beings  who  are  thus  moving  amidst  the 
system  of  agencies  which  has  been  made  subject  to  them,  may  work  out 
their  appointed  ends,  consenting  obedience  is  needed,  and  this  by  its 
very  nature  implies  a  power  of  non-consent.  Now,  what  is  this  but  a 
power  of  deviation  or  disobedience  ?  And  who  can  decide  beforehand 
whether,  having  such  a  power,  its  possessor  will  not  sometimes  use  it. 
*'  If,"  our  author  says, — *'  if  it  be  asked  why  God  should  have  created  a 
realm  of  powers'  or  free  agents,  since  they  must  needs  be  capable  in  this 
manner  of  wrong  and  misery,  then — without  acknowledging  for  one 
moment  that  I  am  responsible  for  the  answer  of  any  such  question,  and 
denying  explicitly  the  right  of  any  mortal  to  disallow  or  discredit  an  act 
of  God  because  he  cannot  comprehend  its  reason — I  will  only  say,  in  reply, 
that  it  ia  enough  for  me  to  be  allowed  the  simple  hypothesis  that  Go<l 
preferred  to  have  '  powers,'  and  not  '  things'  only,  because  He_.  loves 
character;  and,  apart  from  this,  cares  not  for  all  the  mere  'things' 
that  can  be  piled  in  the  infinitude  of  space,  even  though  they  be 
diamonds.  In  bestowing  ou  a  creature  the  i>erilou8  capacity  of 
character,  he  bestows  the  highest  possibility  of  wealth  and  glory ;  a 
capacity  to  know,  to  love,  to  enjoy,  to  be  consciously  great  and  blessed 
in  the  participation  of  His  own  divinity  and  character."  Now,  which- 
ever among  conceivable  systems,  the  "possibles,"  as  Leibnitz  called 
them.  He  may  choose  for  carrying  out  this  purpose  of  His,  limitations, 
"  defects,  and  privations,"  are  involved  in  it.  Defects  of  knowledge,  lack 
of  experience,  exposure  to  the  assaults  of  agents  already  gone  astray — 


820 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJf^. 


these  are  disadvantages  necessarily  involved   in  every   system    possible. 
Without  any  positive  necessity  for  evil  being  created,  these  "  privative 
conditions"  will  have  all  the  eflects  of  such  a  necessity.     In  an  illustration 
resembling  that  of  Leibnitz  in  the  '' Theodicee,"  but  more  de^nitely  put. 
Dr.  Bushncll  imagines  the  case   of  one  who  is  founding  a  school.     Hi* 
end  is  the  training   and   instruction  of  men  for  useful  service  in  the 
world.      For  this  end  his  school-house,  with   its  implements    of    educa- 
tion, is  provided;  and  the  founder  makes  this  provision  with  a  distinct 
foresight   of    the    evils    flowing    from    the  conduct  of  those    who,  from 
various  causes,  do  not  sympathise  with  his  wish  and  purpose.      Yet,  for 
the  sake  of  that  purpose  and  desire,  he  establishes  the  iustitution.      The 
eviUj  so  foreseen,  which  corac  into  existence,  do  not  come   from   him. 
Nay,  in  foresight  of  and  provision  for  them,  he  may  be  ima^ned  to 
establish  a  rcracrlial  system,  embedded  in  the  constitution  of  the  school, 
which  shall  avert  or  mitigate  the  foreseen  evils,  and  so  help  in  working  out 
his  main  intention,  which  system  will  of  course  be  effective  in  proportion 
to  the  extent  of  his  foresight  and  the  amount  of  his  resources. 

In  and  by  means  of  this  illustration,  Dr.  Bushnell  uses  his  view  of 
the  relation  of  "  things"  and  '^powers"  to  show  how  evil  has  originated. 
And  steadfastly  holding  the  same  view,  he  also  brings  forward  the 
main  characteristics  both  of  the  ordinary  and  of  the  miraculous  agencies 
hy  which  man  may  be  delivered  from  the  influence  of  evil,  and  from  its 
consequences. 

Among  the  first  of  these  two  classes,  he  places  what  he  calls  the  "  dark 
things"  of  the  universe,  those  unsightly  and  cruel  facts  the  existence  of 
which  is  unaccountable,  unless  Grod's  supreme  regard  to  character  is 
borne  in  mind.  "  All  the  enigmas  and  lowering  difliculties,"  he  says^ 
"  which  we  meet  with,  are  shadows  from  moral  evil,  for  it  is  to  meet  the 
condition,  and  prepare  the  discipline  of  this,  that  so  many  rough  unseemly 
kinds  of  furniture  are  required.  .  .  .  Hence  our  treatises  on  natural  the- 
ology are  so  commonly  at  fault  in  tracing  what  they  call  their  '  argument 
from  design,'  assuming  that  physical  uses  are  the  decisive  tests  or 
objects  of  all  the  contrivance  to  be  looked  for  in  God's  works.  Whereas 
they  are  resolvable,  in  far  the  greater  part,  by  no  such  tests,  but  only 
by  their  '  moral  uses,'  which  are,  in  fact,  the  last  ends  of  God  in  everv- 
thing,  including  even  His  '  physical  uses'  themselves."  From  this  posi- 
tion he  is  enabled  to  confront  fuUy  and  boldly  the  sombre  problems  of 
existence,  as  they  present  themselves  in  "  want  and  waste,"  "  physical 
pain  and  danger,"  "  insanity,"  "  bad  government,"  and  evUs  of  like 
kind.  Dr.  Bushnell  is  here  seen  to  high  advantage  as  an  interpreter 
and  teacher.  Courageously,  he  looks  the  ugliest  and  most  terrible  facts 
of  man's  life  all  round  and  in  their  face  ;  and  he  shows  that  all  may  be, 
if  not  complacently,  yet  unanxiously,  regarded.  Not  one  of  the  "  advanced 
thinkers,"  to  say  nothing  of  the  mocking  atheists  of  our  day,  has 
explored  with  such  boldness  the  "  dark  places  of  the  earth,"  or  looked 
so  firmly  and  deliberately  on  the  menacing  forms  which  arc  ever  rising 


DR.    BUSHNELL.  ^^^  821 

from  the  abysses  by  which  man's  life  is  everywhere  surrounrled. 
Searchingly  and  bravely  iu  the  strength  of  the  revealed  principles  of  the 
Divine  government,  yet  mournfully,  too,  ''  sighing  iu  his  spirit^'  white 
he  looks  heavenward,  he  declares,  "  I  know  in  whom  I  have  believed," 
Wonderful  glances  of  insight,  and  passages  of  singular  power  and  vivid- 
ness, as  also  of  high  sublimity,  abound  in  his  %-oIume  "  On  the  Moral 
Uses  of  Dark  Things."  See,  for  example,  the  chapters  on  "  Bad  History,'' 
on"  Winter,"  on  "  Insanity,"  where  he  shows  that  in  all  these  severities 
of  discipline  we  may  discover  the  deepest  counsels  of  beneficence. 

But,  besides  explaining  the  reasons  of  these  severe  provisions  in  the 
constitution  of  Nature  for  averting  or  curing  mischiefs  which  necessarily 
arise  from  the  "  defects  and  privations"  of  the  system  chosen,  this  view  of 
the  relations  of  ''  powers"  and  "  things/'  and  the  absolute  subjection  of 
the  latter  to  the   former,  brings  under  a  new   and  very    striking  aspect 
those  miraculous  interpositions  which  God  has  undertaken  for  the  same 
end.     The  value  of  the  contribution  which  has  been  made  by  Dr.  Bush- 
nell  in  bis  *'  Nature  and  the  Supernatural,"  on  the  subject  of  miracles, 
has  been  widely  acknowledged,  and  yet  not  so  widely  as  it  should  have 
been.      For   the   truth  is,  that  he  has  so  stated  this  greatest  problem  of 
theology,  that  he  has  practically  solved  it.     Carefully  defining  miracles 
as  "  supernatural  acts, — acts,  f  .e.,  which  operate  on  the  chain  of  cause 
and  effect  iu  Nature  from  without  the  chain,  producing  in  the  sphere 
of  the  senses  results  which  move  our  wonder,  and  evince  the  presence 
of  more  than  human  powcr,"-~hc  brings  them  forward  as  manifestations 
of  a   prerogative  which  belongs  to  every  creature  which  is  kindred  with 
God  and  created  in  His  image.      All  these,  regarded  as  "powers,"  work 
supernaturally  upon  "  things ;"  and  hence  the  miracles  of  Scripture,  con- 
sidered in  relation  to  man,  arc,  in  respect  of  kind,  as  the  work  of  higher 
beings  arc  to  his   own  works,  or  they  are  in  the  same  relation  to  the 
works  which  he  does  at  the  present  time  as  these  arc  to  those  of  which  he 
was  capable  centuries  ago.      His  knowledge  of  "things"  is  now  so  much 
enlarged,  and   '  things'  themselves  are   now  so  pliant  to  his  will,  that 
the  difference  between  what  he  now  does  and  what  lie  did  formerly  is 
of  the  same  kind  as  that  between  the  miracles  recorded  in  tlie  Gospels 
and  the  achievements  which  are   at  present  beyond  his  knowledge  and 
ability.     Christ's  miracles  were  supcrhuLman,  but  they  were  not  super- 
natural in  any  other  sense  than  that  in  which  man's  works,  as  one  of  the 
"  powers"  which  are  ever  operatiug  upon  ''  things,"  may  be  so  designated. 
"  Tliere  are,"  says  our  author,  "  many  grades  of  the  supernatural."    And 
he  shows,  in  a  wcll-kuown  chapter  on  Christ's  character,  that  the  four 
Gospels  contain   internal  evidence  that  "  He  is  the  supernatural  mani- 
fested in  the  highest  grade,  or  order — viz.,  the  Divine.     The  laws  of 
Natnre  are  not  suspended  in  His  works  any  more  than  they  are  by  our 
own  supernatural  action  ;   but  they  are  so  subordinated  as  to  permit  the 
performance  of  '  signs  and  wonders'  in  which  wc  may  recognise  super- 
human force." 

« 

VOL.  :[x.\v.  3  B 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


This  u  an  outline  of  Dr  Bnshnelt's  Theory  of  Mindca.  It  mg^ 
gcaU  no  interference  with  the  systematic  fixedsess  of  Nature,  or  vitb 
the  ateadfastnesft  of  Nature's  laws.  In  no  war  does  it  affect  the 
researches  and  conclusions  of  the  natural  philosopher.  His  vork  and 
its  Insults  are  altogether  undisturbed.  Nor  are  the  highest  Ycrities  of 
thec^gy  disregarded  in  this  theory,  becanse  it  repTeaents  God  aa  betng 
moved  by  a  fixed  law  and  purpose^  even  "the  lav  of  His  cod,  the  law 
which  His  wisdom  imposes  in  the  way  of  attaining  His  end.  Hotal 
law  shapes  the  character  of  God,  and  determines  His  purpose.  Pcrfectaon 
and  holiness  i»  the  last  end  of  His  being,  tliat  for  which  He  cmtea  and 
rules.     If  He  uere  to  value  holiness  only  as  the  means  toaome  other  end, 

>h  as  hu]>pine&s,  then  He  would  disrespect  holiness,  rating  it  only  as  a 
mvenienoe,  which  is  not  the  character  of  a  holy  being,  but  only  an  im- 
posture ill  the  name  of  such  a  character.  Regarding  holiness,  then,  as 
God's  last  end.  His  world-plan  will  be  gathered  round  it  to  fulfil  it,  aod 
all  Jlis  counsels  will  crystallise  into  order  and  system,  subject  to  that 
end.  Tor  this^  Nature  will  exist  in  all  her  vast  machinery  of  coorsea  anil 
laws;  to  this,  all  the  miracles  and  supeniatural  works  of  redemptioa  will 
bring  their  coutribution.  Having  this  for  His  end,  and  the  supernatural 
UH  means  to  His  end,  the  Divine  Keasou  will,  of  course,  order  all  under 
fixed  laws  of  reason,  which  laws  will  be  so  exact  and  universal  as  to  make 
u  perfect  system." 

Of  courtie^  in  this  view  of  miracles,  tlieir  constancy  ia  implied ;  and 
to  thiu  Hubjcct,  accordingly,  our  author  addresses  himself  in  one  of  the 
most  interesting  of  his  chapters.  The  opinion  that,  **  because  the 
canon  of  Scripture  is  cloBcd,  there  is  no  longer  any  use  or  place  for 
mirnclcs,  is,''  he  says,  "  a  conclusion  taken  by  a  mere  act  of  judgment, 
when,  plainly,  uo  judgment  of  man  is  ublu  tu  penetrate  the  secrets  and 
grasp  the  economic  reasons  of  God's  empire,  with  sufGcient  insight  lo 
nflirm  anything  on  a  subject  so  deep  and  diflicult.  Tlicrc  may  certainly 
be  reasons  for  mirnclcs  and  special  gifts  of  the  Spirit,  apart  from  auwj 
authentication  of  new  books  of  Scripture.  Indeed,  they  might  possibll 
be  wanted  even  the  more,  to  break  up  the  monotony  likely  to  folK 
when  revelations  have  ceased,  and  the  wonl  of  Scripture  is  for  ci 
closed  up;  wanted  also  possibly  to  lift  the  Church  out  of  the  abvsaes  of 
n  mere  sccond-hond  religion,  keeping  it  olive  and  open  to  the  reaJiticv 
of  God's  innnedinto  visitation.  At  the  same  time,  there  are  claasea  of 
teachers  and  dlMciples,  now  and  then,  who  spring  up,  raising  the  questioi} 
V'hetiicr  miniclca  are  not  restored,  or  some  time  to  be  restored  ?  Thi 
Archbishop  Tillotson  was  of  opinion  that  they  probably  enough  mig] 
he,  in  the  case  of  an  attempt  to  publish  the  gospel  among  hoathi 
nations.  But,  in  all  these  coses,  the  point  is  virtually  conceded  th 
miracles  have  been  discontinued  ;  whereas  the  truer  and  more  rstioo-i 
question  is,  whether  they  have  not  always  remained  as  in  the  ApostoUi 
age  ?  Of  cotirsc  there  have  been  cessations  here  and  there,  just  as 
havebf'cn  crKsalioiift  of  fuith,  and  decays  of  holy  Hving  ;  just  as 


DR.    BUSHNELL, 


823 


are  cessations  of  spiritiial  iaflueace^  too,  for  tbe  same  rcaaoa ;  though  no 
cue  supposes,  on  that  account,  that  the  work    of  the   Holy   Spirit   lias 
been  discontinued,  and  requires  to  be  reinstituted  in  order  to  be  an  exist- 
ing fact.     There  is  no  likelihood  that  a  miraculous  dispcnsatiou  would  be 
restored  after  beiug  quite  passed  by  and  lost.     But  there  may  be  casual 
suspenBions  and  reappearauces,  sometimes  in  one  place  and  sometimes  in 
another,  that  are  quite  consistent  with  the  conviction  that  the  dispensation 
is   perpetual,  never  withdrawn,  and  never  to  be  withdrawn.      Aud  this, 
on  very  deliberate  and  careful  search,  appears  to  be  the  true  opinion. 
We  are  able  too,  it  will  be  seen,  to  verify  tins  opiniou  by  abundance  of 
facts."     Many  of  the  facts  wliich  in  this  view  he  brings  forward,  arc, 
for  this  purpose,  suificiently  remarkable.     Now,  however,  they  must  be 
passed  over,  for  we  wish  to  call  attention  to  the  agreement  of  the  above 
remarks  with  some  words  of  Dr.  Newman,  in  his  "  Essay  on  Miracles," 
where  (p.    103),  he  says,   "There  is  uo  presumption   against   miracles 
generally,  because  iuapiration  has  stood  the  brunt  of  any  such  antece- 
dent objection,  whatever  it  be  M'orth,  by  its  own  supernatural  histories ; 
and,  in  establishing  their  certainty  iu  fact,  has  disproved  their  impossi- 
bility in  the  abstract.     If  miracles  arc  antecedently  improbable,  it  is 
either  from  want  of  a  cause   to  which  they  may   be  referred,  or  of 
experience  of  similar  events  in  other  times  and  places.      What  neither 
Las  been  before,  nor  can  be  attributed  to  an  existing  cause,  is  not  to  be 
expected,  or  is  improbable.     But  miracles  are  occurrences  not  without 
a  parallel ;  for  they  followed  upon  Apostolic  works,  and  they  are  refer- 
able to  the  author  of  those  as  an  All-sufficient  Cause.    Whatever  be  the 
regularity  and  stability  of  Nature,  interference  with  it  can  be,  because 
it  has  been :  there  is  One  who  both  has  power  over  His  own  work,  and 
who  before   now  has  not  Imjcu  unwilling  to  exercise  it.  .  .  .  What  has 
happened  once,  may   happen  agaiu."      Undoubtedly.     And,   from  the 
commanding  position  iu  which  Dr.  Bushuell's  great  generalisation  places 
ns,  we  sec  not  oulv  that  it  mav,  but  that  it  must. 

Such  is  the  nature  of  his  interpreting  work,  so  far  as  his  statement  of 
the  order  of  the  uuiverse  and  its  relations  is  concerned.  It  not  ouly 
gives  all  the  defiuitencss  of  wliich  it  is  capable  to  the  great  problem  of 
the  origin  of  evil,  and  enables  us  to  face  the  most  sombre  aspects  of  our 
earchly  life;  but,  besides,  it  brings  the  miracles  by  which  the  Chris- 
tian revelation  has  been  commended  to  our  acceptance  into  "continuity 
and  correlation"  with  our  experience  elsewhere. — Nor  has  he  been  less 
helpful  in  his  interpretation  of  the  great  Fact  which  lies  at  the  centre  of 
that  revelation,  in  what  he  has  written  on  Vicarious  Sacrifice,  for  that  is 
the  title,  many  will  say  the  ill-omened  title,  of  one  of  his  cliief  works. 

The  subject  is  not  treated  by  Dr.  Bushuell  as  a  systematic  theolo- 
gian. Indeed  the  designation  of  theologian  cannot,  in  any  technical 
sense  at  all  events,  be  applied  to  him.  And  this  is  just  saying,  in  other 
words,  that  he  did  not  regard  man's  condition  as  exceptional  in  auy  sense 
which  implies  that   it   mars   the  symmetry    of  the   Dinne    Order,  or 

3  II  2 


824 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEfK 


r 


coutravenes  laws  which  are  universally  prevailing.     On  the  contrary,  ht 
evidently  looked  on  our  human  sphere  as  entering  so  harmoniously  into 
the  Universal  Economy  that  the  oneness  of  the  material  universe,  and  thf 
uniformity  of  its  laws,  may  be  taken  as  a  symbol  of  the  oneness  of  the 
individual  and  social  life  whereof  it  is  the  platform  and  instrument.   Thi« 
he  rcgarfled  as  the  same  everywhere;  though  in  many  scenes  it  is  developed 
into  more  various,   and  into  unspeakably  higher,  modes  than   any  with 
which  we  have  been  made  acquainted.     This  view  is  illustrated  in  the 
work  of  which  wc  are  now  speaking.      For  its  keynote  is  just  this — Tbat 
the  redeeming  and  restoring  work  which  The  Eternal  Son    has    carried 
forward  on  man's  behalf,  is  simply  the   manifestation,   in  its  intensest 
fonu,  of  Divine  Love,  as  this  is  seen  in  all  natures  and  all  worlds.  '*'  Love," 
he  says,  '*  is  a  principle  essentially  vicarious  in   its   nature,   identifying 
the  subject  of  it  with  others,  so  as  to  suffer  their  adversities  and  pains, 
and  take  upon  itself  the  burden  of  tlicir  evils.      It   does  not  come  in, 
oflficiouBly  and  abruptly,  and  propose  to  be  substituted  in  some   formal 
and  literal  way  that  overturns  all   moral  relations,  but  it  clings  to  the 
evil  and  lost  man,  as  in  feeling  afflicted  for  him^  burdened  by    his   ill- 
deserts,  capacitiesj  iind  pains,  encountering  gladly  any  loss  or   sufl'ering 
for  his  sake.     Approving  nothing  wrong  in  him,  but  faithfully  reproving 
and  condemning  him  in  all   sin,    it   is   yet   made   sin — plunged,    so  to 
spcakj  into  all  the  fortunes  of  sin   by   its  friendly  sympathy.      In  thi* 
manner  it   is   entered   vicariously  into  sacrifice   on    his    account.     Sa 
naturally  and  easily  does  the  vicarious  sacrifice  commend  itself  to  our 
intelligence  by  the  stock  ideas  and  feelings  out  of  which  it  grows." 

Such  is  love  in  its  genuine  manifestation.  And,  thus  regarded, 
it  may,  as  our  author  shows,  be  recognised  in  all  holy  ]>eings.  It  is  iu 
this  form  an  essential  attribute  of  goodness.  In  God  Himself,  and  in  the 
Holy  Spirit,  it  may  be  discerned  as  truly  as  in  The  Eternal  Son. 
Good  angels,  all  holy  beings,  all  the  glorified  and  good  minds  of  the 
heavenly  kingdom,  have  borne  the  burdens,  struggled  in  the  pains  of 
their  vicarious  feeling  for  others,  and  it  necessarily  begets,  iu  the  objects 
towards  wliich  it  is  exercised,  the  same  feeling,  through  M'hich  they  bi*c 
rescued  and  restored  and  blessed,  thus  *'  gathering  us  in  after  Christ 
our  Master,  as  they  that  have  learned  to  bear  His  Cross,  and  be  with 
Him  iu  His  passion.''  He  is  thus  a  power  on  character  and  life,  and  after 
this  is  seen,  we  are  able  to  discern  what  our  author  calls  the  "greatly 
inferior  question,  how  far,  and  in  what  manner,  He  becomes  our  substitute 
before  tlic  law  which  has  been  violated  by  our  transgression.*' 

In  His  work  we  see  the  typal  example  of  love's  vicarious  saeri- 
ficeg.  He  is  iu  it  not  by  office  but  by  character,  and  is  "  only  ju*t 
as  good  as  he  ought  to  be,  and  suffers  what  he  ought  to  sulTcr. 
He  has  no  thought  of  doing  an  artificial  somewhat,  in  a  scheme  of 
artificial  compensations,  when' He  can  be  actuated  by  no  assignable 
motive  within  tlic  possible  range  of  moral  ideas.  How  far  off  do  wc 
place  IliiU;  how  poorly  conceive   Him,  whcu  we    put  Him  thus  awa\ 


DR,    BUSHNELL.  ^^^         825 

and  compel  Ilim  to  die  for  ends  contrived,  apart  from  all  behests  of 
character  I  All  that  is  most  central  in  Ilia  mission — the  love  of  God 
in  tears  and  deep  groanings— is  dried  away  and  lost  to  feeling,  in  the 
sterile  and  dry  figment  we  require  it  to  be,  as  a  mere  quantitative  suffi- 
ciency of  painj  contributed  under  no  assignable  principle,  and  having  no 
moral  quality  whatever." 

lu  the  human  life  of  Jcstis  of  Nazareth  we  see  the  highest  example 

of  vicarious  affection,  and  those  who  have  been  released  or  recovered  by 

\  po  great   expense  of  suffering  and  sacrifice,  give  Him  their  testimony 

i  of  thanks  in  the  most  natural  way  possible^  by  telling   how    He  "  was. 

made  a  curse  for  them,'*  "  bore  their  sins  in    His  own    body,"   "  gave 

!  Himself  for  them,"  "  was  made  sin  for  them,"  "  gave    Himself  to   be 

j  their  ransom,"  "  died  for  them,"  **  suffered,  the  just  for  the  unjust."   Dr. 

BushncU  illustrates  this  by  imagining  that  a  prison  has  been  contrived 

.  for  the  punishment  of  public  malefactors  on   the    plan   of  an  ordeal  by 

I  Providence.     *'  It  is  placed  in  the  region  of  some  deadly  miasma,  the 

'  design  being  to  let  every  convict  go  free,  after  some  given  nimiber  of 

years  are  passed ;  ou  the  ground  that,  being  still  alive,  he  must  have 

learned  to  govern  himself  for  so  long  a  time,  and  is  also  marked  for  life 

and  liberty  by  the  acceptance  of  Providence.     The  fell  poison  of  the 

atmosphere  decimates  of  course  the  number  of  the  prisoners  almost  every 

I  week.     At  length  it  comes  to  the  knowledge  of  a  certain  Christian  in  the 

I  city,  who  has  learned  to  follow  his  Master,  that  a  notable  prisoner  who, 

\  a  long  time  ago,   was  his  bitter  private   enemy,   begins  to  show  the 

working  of  the  poison,  and  is  giving  way  to  the  incipient  burnings  of 

'  the    fever — whereupon  this   godly  servant    says,   *  This  man   was  my 

enemy,  and  for  Christ's  sake  1  must  go  to  him,  tryingj  if  I  can,  to  save 

him.'     Becoming  thus  the  prisoner's  faithful  nurse  and  attendant,  the 

sufferer  is  recovered  and  goes  free  ;  but  the  benefactor  takes  the  infection 

\  and  dies.    And  now  the  rescued  man  throws  out  his  soul  on  words,  trying 

vainly  to  express  the  inexpressible   tenderness  of  his  obligation.      He 

,  writes,   and   talks,  and   sings  nothing   but   gratitude   all   his   life  long, 

f  telling  how  the  Christly  man  saved  Iiini,  by  what  poor  figures  he  can 

raise.     '  O  he  bore  my   punishment'—'  l)ccamc  the  criminal  for  mc' — 

*  gave  his  life  for  mine' — ^  died    that    I    might   live' — '  stood  in  my  lot 

of  guilt' — *  suftcred  all  my  suffering.*     It  will  not  be  strange  if  he  should 

even  go  beyoud  Scripture  and  testify  in  the  fervour  of  his  homage  to  so 

great  kindness — *  He   took  my  debt  of  justice' — '  satisfied  the  claims 

of  justice  for  me ;'   for  he  will  mean  by  that  nothing  more  than  he  has 

meant  by  all  he  has  been  saying  before.     Then,  after  a  time,  when  he 

and  his  benefactor  are  gone,  some  one,  we  will  imagine,  undertakes  to 

writes  their  story ;  and  the  dull,  blind-hearted  litcraliscr  takes  up  all 

this  fervour    of  expression  in  the  letters   and   reported   words  of  the 

■  rescued  felon,  showing  most  conclusively  from  them  that  the  good  man 

actually  got  the  other's  crime  imputed  to  him,  took  the  guilt  of  it,  suf- 

L  fered  the  punishraentj  died  in  his  place,  and  satisfied  the  justice  of  the 


826 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  RE\nEW, 


law  that  he  might  he  released  !  Why,  the  malefactor  himself  would  luv« 
even  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  a  construction  so  revolting,  hcrcafted 
to  be  put  upon  his  words  !  The  honours  now  for  Christian  theologf||l| 
by  this  kind  of  interprctatioUj  put  upon  the  free  words  of  Scripture 
make  a  very  sad  figure,  and  are  better  lost  than  preserved.  I  do  not, 
to  speak  franklvj  know  a  passage  of  Scripture  that  can  with  any  fairness 
be  turned  to  signify  a  legal  or  judicial  substitution  of  Christ  in  the 
place  of  transgressors ;  none  that,  taken  with  only  a  proper  Christian 
intelligence,  can  be  understood  as  affirmingj  either  the  fact  or  the 
necessity,  of  a  compensation  made  to  God's  justice  for  the  release  of  siu." 
It  will  be  gathered  from  these  extracts  that  the  entire  work  is  a  pro- 
test, supplied  by  great  principles,  and  uttered  in  a  lofty  spirit,  against 
those  ghastly  theories  of  the  atonement  which,  in  effect,  convert  Him, 
'^  TMio,  of  Hia  tender  love  for  mankind,"  gave  His  Son  for  man'i 
redemption,  into  a  sanguinary  Moloch  who  demanded  so  much  blood  and 
pain  as  a  penalty  equivalent  to  so  much  ti*ausgression.  Tlie  evil  influ- 
ence of  this  theology,  so  called,  lingers  where  it  is  formally  denied ;  and 
this  cxplaius  a  lurkiug  suspicion  of  our  author,  which  is  entertained  in 
many  quarters,  and  ominoTis  suggestions  of  doubt  which  are  cast  upon 
hia  orthodoxy.  Dr.  Bushnell  knew  his  liability  to  misrepresentations  of 
this  kind  ;  but,  unlike  so  many  of  our  advanced  thinkers,  instead  of 
defyiug,  he  souglit  to  convince,  those  from  whom  he  anticipated  such 
opposition.  Under  the  title  of  a  "reclamation  of  lost  texts,'*  he  care- 
fully showed  tliut  the  Moloch  theory  of  atonement,  as  it  may  be  called^ 
is  not  sanctioned  by  the  passages  which  arc  brought  forward  to  support 
it.  He  said  that  he  acceptetl  the  "  term  propitiation,  but  accounted  for 
it,  as  a  phrase  by  which  the  disciple  objcctifizcs  his  own  feelings;  con- 
ceiving tliat  God  Himself  is  representatively  mitigated,  or  made  propitious, 
because  tlie  man  himself  is  inwardly  reconciled  to  God."  In  a  later  work, 
however,  which  he  put  forwai'd  as  a  "revision  of  the  third  and  fourth  parts 
of  his  '  Vicarious  Sacrifice,'  "  and  of  which  he  says  that,  ''  having  under* 
taken  to  find  the  truth  of  this  great  subject,  at  whatever  cost,  he  is  not 
willing  to  be  excused  from  further  obligation  because  the  truth  appears  to 
be  outgrowing  his  published  expositions," — he  tells  us  he  "  now  asserts  a 
real  propitiation  of  God,  finding  it  in  evidence  from  the  propitiation  which 
we  instinctively  make  ourselves  when  we  heartily  forgive.  But/'  he 
continues,  "  if  it  should  bo  imagined  that  1  now  give  in  to  the  legal- 
substitution,  legal-satisfaction  theory,  it  will  only  be  true  that  I  assert  a 
scheme  of  discipline  for  man^  which  is  contrived  to  work  its  own  settle- 
ment, in  being  fulfilled  and  consummated  by  an  obedience  in  the  higher 
plane  of  liberty  itself.  I  still  assert  the  *  moral  view '  of  the  atonement »' 
as  before,  and  even  more  completely  than  before,  inasmuch  as  I  pro]X)8e 
to  interpret  all  that  is  prepared  and  suffci'cd  in  the  propitiation  of  God 
and  the  justification  of  men,  by  a  reference  to  the  moral  pronouncements 
of  human  nature  and  society ;  assuming  that  nothing  can  be  true  of 
God,  or  of  Christ,  which  is  not  true,  in  some  sense,  more  humano,  and  is 


DR,   BUSHNELL. 


827 


not  made  intelligible  by  human  analogies.  We  cannot  interpret  Godj 
cxecpt  by  what  we  find  in  our  own  personal  instincts  and  ideas.  And 
just  here  is  the  sin  of  all  our  thcologie  endeavours  in  the  past  ages, 
especially  as  regards  this  particular  subject^  that  we  invent  so  many 
ingredients  that  are  verbals  only,  having  no  reality  and  no  assignable 
meaning.  We  contrive  a  justice  in  God  which  accepts  the  pains  of 
innocence  in  place  of  the  pains  of  wrong,  and  which  is,  in  fact,  the 
very  essence  of  injustice.  Wc  contrive  a  forgiveness  on  the  score  of 
compensation  J  which  to  our  human  conception  mocks  the  idea.  We 
imagine  that  Christ  has  a  virtue  more  transcendent  than  any  of  mortal 
kind,  because  it  is  optional ;  whereas  nothing  is  a  virtue  save  as  it  is 
done  for  the  right,  and  as  beiug  under  moral  obligation.'* 

In  the  course  of  the  introduction  to  this  revision  of  his  work, 
we  have  a  very  charactenstic  disclosure  of  his  feelings  respecting 
it.  "  It  will,"  he  says,  "  be  understood  that  I  suppose  the  revised 
statements,  or  solutions  of  doctrine  I  am  now  going  to  propound,  to  be 
really  new.  I  frankly  allow  that  I  do ;  and  also  as  frankly  confess  that, 
in  this  simple  fact,  my  courage  and  confidence  are  most  MCakened  by 
misgivings.  For  who  can  expect  a  great  subject  like  this,  which  haa 
engaged  so  many  of  the  most  gigantic  minds  of  so  many  past  ages,  to 
be  now,  in  these  last  times,  more  sufficiently  apprehended,  and  better 
expounded,  hy  an  ordinary  teacher,  at  his  common  level  of  standing? 
It  is  difficult,  I  allow,  not  to  be  greatly  appalled  when  confronted  by 
this  objection.  But  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that,  now  and  then,  some 
person  will  be  stronger  in  his  accidents,  than  other  and  greater  men 
have  been  in  their  powers ;  also  that  God  Himself  sometimes  makes 
accidents  for  mind  by  His  own  private  touch,  which  will  imfold  some 
needed  lesson  ;  further  that  God  has  a  way  of  preparing  times  for  the  un- 
covering of  truth,  and  that,  as  He  woiUd  not  have  His  Son  appear  till 
the  '  fulness  of  time'  should  come,  so  He  will  not  expect  His  Sou's 
gospel  to  be  duly  conceived  till  the  times  arc  ready,  and  all  the  sug- 
gestive conditions  ripe  that  may  set  us  in  upon  it.  No  greatest  man, 
or  champion,  is  going  to  conquer  a  truth  before  its  time,  and  no  least 
competent  man,  we  may  also  dare  to  say,  need  miss  of  a  truth  when  its 
hour  has  come,  and  the  flags  of  right  suggestion  are  all  out  before  him. 
How  easy  a  thing  it  is,  in  fact,  to  think  what  the  times  have  got  really  to 
be  thought,  and  are  even  whispering  to  us  from  behind  all  curtains  of 
discovery,  aud  out  of  all  most  secret  nooks  and  chambers  of  experience  1 
That  now  the  clock  has  finally  struck,  and  the  day  has  fully  come,  for 
some  new  and  different  thinking  on  this  great  subject,  I  most  verily 
believe,  ^Vnd,  to  make  this  evident,  I  propose  to  occupy  the  few 
remaining  pages  of  this  preliminary  chapter  in  showing  by  what  signs 
the  two  staple  matters  of  what  has  heretofore  been  called  the  Christian 
Atonement — viz.,  Propitiation  and  Legal  Substitution — appear  to  be 
asking,  or  rather  expectantly  waiting,  for  some  more  satisfactory,  better- 
grotmdcd  exposition." 


828 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEJF. 


We  should  not  pass  from  this  valuable  treatise  without  remarking  iu 
very  practical  suggestions  of  a  better  use  in  public  teaching  of  the  "  lustra] 
and  altar  figures"  of  the  Bible  :  its  mention  of  washings  and  blood, 
which  often  are  so  dwelt  upon,  and  so  sensuously  reprcsentedj  that 
thinking  hearers  find  thera  objectionable^  and  even  revolting.  His 
suggestions  show  that  the  "  offence  of  the  cross,"  which  will  alwari 
continue  to  be  an  '*  offence  "  to  the  carnal  and  self-willed,  need  not,  as 
noWj  be  made  offensive  to  docile  and  tender  spirits :  that  the  gospel 
of  our  salvation  need  not  be  made  repellent  to  the  minds  before  which 
it  is  presented. 

Thus  has  Dr.  Buahuell  done  his  work  as  an  interpreter  of  the  moral 
system  into  which  wc  have  been  incorporated.  Fixing,  steadying 
himself,  iu  deliberate  comprehensive  survey  of  the  things  within  hii 
range;  listening  with  reverent  attention  to  the  reports  of  others,  and 
striving  to  discern  their  meaning  amidst  whatever  uncouthness  of 
expression, — he  has  seen  and  shown,  more  than  any  man  of  our  genera- 
tion has,  the  true  order  of  the  universe,  its  laws,  and  its  relationships. 
In  large  measure  its  open  secrets  have  been  beheld  by  him,  and  by  him 
have  been  revealed.  In  noble  unlikcness  to  many  of  our  so-called 
"  advanced  thinkers/'  and  with  powers  of  insight  and  of  expression  inferior 
to  none  of  them,  renouncing  all  Voltairian  methods  of  scorn  and  denun- 
ciation, with  calmness  and  dignity  too,  and  with  tender  prophetic 
sympathy, — he  takes  liis  place  amongst  the  greatest  teachers  of  our  age, 
building  up,  in  the  spirit  of  all  true  prophets,  the  "old  waste  places, 
raising  up  the  foundations  of  many  generations,  repairing  the  breaches 
and  restoring  paths"  for  men  to  dwell  and  walk  in. 


And  like  all  benefactors  of  that  order,  he  was  not  satisfied  unless  he 
made  his  insight  constantly  and  practically  serviceable  in  daily  useful- 
ness, however  humble.  Every  week  he  looked  into  the  faces  of  wearied 
and  perplexed,  of  struggling,  tempted  men,  and  they  looked  up  to  him 
for  help  and  guidance,  and  for  encouragement.  Nor,  whatever  may  be 
the  case  elsewhere,  were  they  ever  disappointed*  Even  Newman  and 
Robertson  were  surpassed  by  him  in  that  direct  contact  with  human 
spirits  which  makes  the  volumes  of  those  men  so  precious  to  all  who  want 
motive  and  impulse  to  help  them  in  their  weakness,  and  who  seek  wis« 
guidance  in  their  spiritual  perplexities.  Dr.  BushnclTs  readers  feel  that 
they  are  indeed  taught  by  liim  and  helped,  lliey  feel  that  a  brother  is 
by  tlicir  side,  who  tells  them  exactly  how  their  case  stands,  and  who  is 
pointing  out  the  next  step  that  must  be  taken,  and  that  can  be  taken  by 
every  one  whose  will  is  seriously  bent  towards  what  is  right  and  good.  One 
might  illustrate  these  statements  by  almost  every  sermon  in  the  three 
volumes  M'hich  lie  published.  As  a  discerning  critic  has  well  said, 
"^  There  is,  in  all  of  them,  an  insight  into  the  working  of  the  human 
soul,  a  grasp  and  breadth  of  thought,  and  a  depth  of  experience,  such  as 
we  have  never  seen  equalled.     The  soul  of  the  reader  comes  into  vital 


DK   BUSHNELL. 


contact  with  aiiotLcr  soul  which  has  reflected  deeply  on  life's  great 
problems^  has  suffered  in  life's  struggleSj  and  found  a  healing  balm  in 
Christ^s  workj  and  repose  in  communion  with  God."  AVhat  strikes  one 
fii-st  and  chiefly,  as  in  Robertson's  Sermons,  is  that  each  topic  is  pre- 
sented in  closest  and  most  logical  order,  and  witli  a  strong  intensity  of 
purpose.  It  is  not  anxiously  chipped  and  squared  into  conformity  with 
any  theological  system,  though  at  the  same  time  it  is  governed  in  its 
treatment  by  the  ruling  verities  of  the  Apostolic  Creeds.  There  is 
evidently  in  the  man  a  tixed  determination  to  work  the  matter  out  ia 
its  individuality,  and  in  all  its  bearings  on  daily  life.  In  this  respect, 
even  Robertson  is  surpassed  by  him.  Even  more  closely  does  he  wind 
himself  around,  in  a  close  grapple  with,  the  spirits  of  his  readers.  Yet 
this  is  always  kindly  done.  His  suggcstious  too  are  always  practicable, 
as  well  as  practical.  Herein  his  readers  feel  that  they  get  more  help 
than  even  from  Dr.  Newman.  Things  at  hand  are  suggested  which  can 
be  done  at  once  :  steps  arc  shown  which  can  be  taken  immediately  in 
the  way  of  recovery,  or  usefulness.  His  sermons  can  never  be  burdened 
with  the  common  reproach  of  sermons,  that  they  are  unpractical.  See 
for  example  those  on  "  The  Lost  Purity  Restored,"  on  "  Living  to  God  in 
Small  Things/'  on  **  The  Bad  Consciousness  Taken  Away,"  and  esj>ecially 
the  one  on  "  Christian  Ability,"  where,  taking  up  St,  James's  figure  of 
the  "small  helm  which  turns  about  the  ship  whithersoever  the  governor 
listcth,"  he  works  out  the  truth  that  "man  masters  all  his  hardest 
diliiculties  in  the  same  way.  He  gets  an  immense  power  thus  where 
his  suflSciency  is  most  restricted ;  and  his  Christian  ability  is  of  just  this 
kind.  We  have  no  power  to  handle  ships  at  sea  by  their  bulk;  aa 
little  have  we  to  do,  or  become,  in  the  grand  whole  of  character,  what 
God  requires  of  us.  The  soul  is  a  magnitude  more  massive  than  any 
ship,  and  the  storms  which  it  encounters  are  wilder  than  those  of  the 
sea.  And  yet  there  arc  small  helms  given  by  which  we  are  able  to  steer 
it  triumphantly  on,  .  .  .  AVe  cannot  govern  a  bad  passion,  or  grudge, 
by  choking  it  down,  or  master  a  wild  ambition  by  meltiag  it  away,  or 
stop  the  trains  of  bad  thoughts  by  a  direct  fight  with  them.  All 
that  we  can  do  in  such  matters,  in  the  way  of  self-regulation,  is  simply 
to  steer  the  mind  ofi'  from  its  grudges,  ambitious,  bad  thoughts,  by  getting 
it  occupied  with  good  and  pure  objects  that  work  a  diversion  ....  to 
just  the  good  wc  seek,  and  the  highest  wc  can  even  conceive." 

Moreover,  as  might  have  been  expected,  we  find  him  in  complete 
freedom  from  all  sectarian  trammels  ;  adopting,  in  genuine  catholicity  of 
spirit,  wise  teaching  wherever  he  might  find  it.  This  be  did  in  a 
manner  which  must  have  often  brought  him  into  sore  conflict  with  the 
pedantic  formalists  of  his  communion.  Thus,  in  his  "  Christian  Nurture," 
Avc  find  him  writing  of  Infant  Baptism  almost  in  the  language  of  an 
Anglican  high-churchman.  So  also  we  might  think  that  we  had  fallen 
in  with  one  of  the  ascetic  writers,  when,  in  the  same  volume,  in  his 
discourse    on    "  Physical   Nurture   as  a  Means    of   Grace,"    we  come 


830 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


upon  Bucli  passages  as  this:  "  One  must  be  a  very  inobservant  j>clp«m 
not  to  have  noticed  that  nil  his  finest  and  most  Godward  aspirations 
are  smothered  nnder  any  load  of  excess  or  over-indulgence.  It  is  as  if 
the  body  were  calling  down  all  the  other  powerSj  even  those  of  poetry, 
magnanimity,  and  religion,  to  help  it  to  do  the  scarcely  possible  work  of 
digestion.  At  that  point  they  gather.  The  sense  of  beauty  is  there, 
and  the  soul's  angel  of  hope,  and  the  testimony  of  God's  peace,  and  tLc 
music  of  devotion,  and  the  thrill  of  sermons,  dosiug  all  together,  and 
soughing  in  dull  dreams  round  the  cargo  of  poppies  in  the  hold  of  the 
body.  To  raise  any  fresh  sentiment  is  now  impossible.  Even  prayer 
itself  is  mixed  and  cannot  struggle  out.  The  news  of  some  best  FricudV 
death  can  only  be  answered  by  dry  interjections,  and  forced  postures  of 
grief,  that  will  not  find  their  meaning  till  to-morrow.  .  .  ,  And  mnch 
the  same  thing  holds  true,  only  under  a  different  form,  when  the 
body  is  prematurely  diseased  and  broken  by  the  excesses  of  self- 
indulgence.  Its  maladies  will  distemper  the  higher  nature ;  its  pains 
prick  through  into  all  ibc  spiritual  sensibilities.  Out  of  the  pits  of  the 
body  dark  clouds  will  stcom  up  into  the  chambers  of  the  aoul^  and  all 
the  devils  of  dyspepsia  will  be  hovering  in  them,  to  scare  away  its 
jjeacc,  and  choke  the  Godlike  jwssibilitics  out  of  which  its  lietter 
motions  should  be  springing.  ...  So  important  a  thing  for  the  religiooa 
life  of  tlie  soul  is  the  feeding  of  the  body.  A'ast  multitudes  of 
disciples  have  no  conception  of  the  fact.  Living  in  a  swine's  bodvj 
regularly  overloaded  and  oppressed  every  day  of  their  lives,  th^l 
wonder  that  so  great  difficulties  and  discouragements  rise  np  to  hindcf  i 
the  Chrisliau  clearness  of  their  spirit.  Could  they  but  look  into  Agar's 
prayer,  and  take  the  meaning — *  Feed  me  with  food  convenient  for  me, 
lest  I  be  full  and  deny  thee,  and  say,  M'^ho  is  the  Lord?' — they  would 
find  a  real  gospel  in  it."  ' 

No   question    could   there   be  as  to   Dr.  Bushnell's  strong  conviction 
about  our  missionary  obligations,  as  they  are  set  fortli  in  what  have  been 
well  called  "  the  marchiug  orders"  of  the  Church.      And  yet  one  might' 
think  he  had  forgotten  the  command,  "  Go  into  all  nations,  and  proclaim  1 
the  Gospel  to  ever)'  creature,"  when  hespenks  of  what  he  calls  the  "out- 
populating  power  of  the  Christian  stock."  "  How  trivial,"  he  says, "how 
unnatural,  weak,  and  at  the  same  time  violent,  in   comparison,  is  that 
overdone  scheme  of  individualism,  which  knows  the  race  only  as  merft' 
units  of  will  and  personal  action,  dissolves  even   families  into  monads,* 
makes  no  account  of  organic  relations  and  uses,  and  expects  the  world 
to  be    finally  subdued  by  adult  conversions,  when  growing  up  atxM,  u 
before,  in  all  the  younger  tiers  of  life,  toward  a  mere  convertible  state* 
of  adult  ungodliness.     Such  a  scheme  gives  a  most  ungenial  and  forlorn 
aspect  to  the  family.     It  makes  the   Church   a  mere    gathering  in  of 
adult  atomS;  to  be  increased  only  by  the  gathering  in  of  other  and  more 
numerous  adult  atoms.      It  very  nearly  makes  the  scheme  of  existence 
itself  au  abortion,  finding  no  great  law  of  propagative  good  and  niercj 


DR.    BUSHNELL. 


831 


in  it,  and  taking  quite  away  the  possibility  and  prospect  of  that  sul>lime 
vindication  of  God  which  is  finally  to  be  developed,  and  by  which  God's 
ways  in  the  creation  are  to  be  finally  crowned  with  all  highest  honours  of 
counsel  and  beneficence.  Opposite  to  this,  we  have  seen  how  it  is  God's 
plan,  by  ties  of  organic  unity  and  nature,  to  let  one  generation 
extend  itself  into  and  over  another  in  the  order  of  grace,  just  as  it  docs 
in  the  order  of  nature ;  to  let  us  expect  the  growing-up  of  children  in 
the  Lord,  even  as  their  parents  are  to  be  parents  in  the  Lord,  aud  are 
Bet  to  bring  thena  up  in  the  nurture  of  the  Lord  ;  on  this  ground  of 
anticipation,  permitting  ua  to  apply  the  seal  of  our  own  faith  to  them, 
as  being  iocipiently  in  the  quickening  of  our  faith,  even  before  they 
have  intelligence  to  act  it  and  consciously  choose  it ;  so  accepting  them 
to  be  members  of  the  Church,  as  being  presumptively  in  the  life  of  the 
Cliurch  ;  iu  thi^j  manner  incorix}rating  a  great  law  of  grace  and  sancti- 
fying powcrj  by  which,  finally,  the  salvation  will  become  an  inbred  life 
and  populating  force,  mighty  enough  to  over-live,  and  finally  to  completely 
people  the  world.  This  is  what  we  call  the  day  of  glory.  It  lies,  to  a 
great  degree,  in  the  scheme  of  Christian  nature  itself.  If  I  rightly  conceive 
the  Gospel  work  aud  plan,  this  is  the  regeneration  (iraXcyyti'taio)  which 
our  Lord  promises — viz.,  that  He  will  reclaim  aud  resanctify  the  great 
principle  of  reproductive  order  and  life,  and  at  last  people  the  world 
■with  a  '  Godly  seed/  " 

We  have  no  space  to  dwell  longer  upon  works  which  surely  must  be 
capable  of  considerable  increase.  Every  one  who  has  read  those  which 
have  been  above  referred  to,  will  eagerly  look  for  additions  to  such  wise 
and  helpful  teaching ;  and  the  more  so,  as  his  knowledge  of  that  which 
we  already  have  is  deepened.  Those  piercing  glances  of  insight,  and 
those  singular  felicities  of  expression,  which  so  often  startle  Dr.  BushncU's 
readers,  must  surely  have  often  been  remarked  in  his  letters  and  his 
conversation.  And  we  may  well  ask,  Is  not  his  already  large  aud  con- 
stantly increasing  audience  to  be  satisfied  with  more  knowledge,  from 
these  sources,  of  '  the  nian  and  hia  communications  ?'  "We  have  ourselves 
applied  for  such  information,  but  hitherto  without  success.  Others,  we 
trust,  will  be  more  fortunate.  For,  after  all  the  disappointments  which 
we  have  snflcrcd  from  *^  biographies,"  we  cannot  resist  the  conviction  that 
thought  so  lofty  and  heroic  as  Dr.  Bushnell's,  must  have  had  practical 
developments  which  should  be  more  widely  known.  It  must,  surely, 
have  had  an  outcome  in  a  lofty  and  heroic  life,  the  record  of  which 
would  greatly  bless  our  generation. 

G.  8.  Dbsw. 


THE    CLASSICAL    CONTROVERSY 


ITS  PRESENT  ASPECT. 


IN  the  present  state  of  the  controversy  on  classical  studies,  the  publi-^ 
cation   of   George   Corabe's   contributions  to   Education    is   liighlj 
opportune.     Combe  took  the  lead  in  the  attack  on  the«e  studies  fifty] 
years  ago,  and  Mr.  Jolly,   the  editor  of  the  volume,  gives   a   connected 
view  of  the  struggle  that  followed.     The  results  were,  on  the  whole,  not 
very  great.     A  small  portion  of  natural  science  was  introduced  into  the 
secondary  schools ;  but  as  the  classical  teaching  was  kept  up  as  before, 
the  pupils  were  simply  subjected  to  a   greater  crush  of  subjects ;  they 
could  derive  very  little  benefit  from  science  introduced  on  such  tei 
The    effect   on  the   Universities   was  tuL       They  were  true   to  DiigaldJ 
Stewart's  celebrated  deliverance  on  their  conservatism.*      Tlic  public 
however,  were  not  uumovcd ;  during  a  number  of  years  there  was 
most  material  reduction  in  the  numbers  attending  all  the  Scotch  Univer- 
sitiesj  and  the  auti-classical  agitation  was  reputed  to  be  the  cause. 

The  reasonings  of  Combe  will  still  repay  perusal.  He  puts  with 
great  felicity  and  clearness  the  standing  objections  to  tho  classical 
system;  while  he  is  exceedingly  liberal  in  his  concessions,  and  moderate 
in  his  demands.  "  I  do  not  denounce  the  ancient  languages  and 
classical  literature  on  their  owu  account,  or  desire  to  sec  them  cast  into 
utter  oblivion.  I  admit  them  to  be  refined  studies,  and  think  that  there 
arc  individuals  who,  having  a  natural  turn  for  them,  learn  thrm  cofiilj 
id  enjoy  them  much.  They  ought,  therefore,  to  be  cultivated  by  all 
ich  persons.  My  objection  is  solely  to  the  practice  of  rendering  them 
the  main  substance  of  the  education  bestowed  on  young  men  who  havi 
no  taste  or  talent  for  them,  and  whoBc  pursuits  in  life  will  not  rcnd< 
them  a  valuable  acquisition." 

*  "The  ocAiIemioAl  cstAbliahincnU  of  some  parts  of  Enrope  are  not  without  tlirir 
U>  the  hutoriv)  of  the  human  miud.  Immovably  moorvtl  t^  tl>f<  kahio  staticn  Ity 
•trcngth  of    tlieir  ciiblea  aud  the  weiglit  of   their  aDchors,  t'  him  to  uuAiuni 

the  miiidity  of  the  ciurent  by  which  tbo  rest  of  the  worU  ia  li-  ! 


THE    CLASSICAL    CONTROVERSY, 


833 


Before  alludiug  to  the  more  recent  utterances  in  defence  of  ehissical 
teaching,  I  wish  to  lay  out  as  distinctly  as  I  can  the  A'arious  alternatives 
that  are  apparently  now  before  us  as  respects  the  higher  education — that 
IS  to  say,  the  education  begun  in  the  secondary  or  grammar  schools 
and  completed  and  stamped  iu  the  Universities. 

1.  The  existing  system  of  requiring  proficiency  in  both  classical 
languages.  This  requirement  is  imperative  everywhere  at  present.  The 
Universities  agree  iu  exacting  Latin  and  Greek  as  the  condition  of  an 
Arts  Degree,  and  in  very  little  else.  The  defenders  of  classics  say  with 
some  truth  that  these  languages  are  the  principal  basis  of  uniformity  in 
our  degrees;  if  they  were  struck  out,  the  public  would  not  know  what 
a  degree  meant* 

How  exclusive  was  the  study  of  Latin  and  Greek  in  the  schools  in 
England,  until  lately,  is  too  wcU  known  to  need  any  detailed  statement. 
A  recent  utterance  of  Mr.  GladstonCi  however,  has  felicitously  supplied 
the  crowning  illustration.  At  Etouj  in  his  time,  the  engrossment  with 
classics  was  such  as  to  keep  out  religious  instruction  ! 

As  not  many  contcud  that  Latinaud  Greek  make  an  education  in  them- 
selveSj  it  is  proper  to  call  to  mind  what  other  things  have  been  found 
possible  to  include  with  them  iu  the  scope  of  the  Arts  Degree.  The 
Scotch  Universities  were  always  distinguished  from  the  English  in  the 
breadth  of  their  requirements  ;  they  have  comprised  for  many  ages  three 
other  subjects — mathematics,  natural  philosophy,  and  mental  philosophy, 
including  logic  and  ethics.  In  exceptional  instances,  another  science  is 
added;  in  one  case,  natural  history,  in  another,  chemistry.  According 
to  the  notions  of  scientific  order  and  completeness  in  the  present  day, 
a  full  course  of  the  primary  sciences  would  comprise  mathematics, 
natural  philosophy,  chemistry,  physiology  or  biology,  and  mental 
philosophy.  The  natural  history  brauclics  are  not  looked  upou  as 
primary  sciences  ;  they  give  no  laws,  but  repeat  the  laws  of  the  primary 
Bcieuces  while  classifyiug  the  kingdoms  of  Nature- 

In  John  Stuart  5Iiirs  celebrated  address  at  St.  Andrews,  he  stood 
up  for  the  continuance  of  the  classics  iu  all  their  integrity,  and  suddenly 
became  a  great  authority  with  numbers  of  persons  who  probably  had 
never  treated  him  as  an  authority  before.  But  hia  advocacy  of  the 
classics  was  coupled  with  an  equally  strenuous  advocacy  for  the  extension 
of  the  scientific  course  to  the  full  circle  of  the  primary  sciences ;  that  is 
to  say,  he  urged  the  addition  of  chemistry  and  physiology  to  the  received 
seiences.  Those  that  have  so  industriously  brandished  his  authority  for 
retaining  classics,  are  discreetly  silent  upon  this  other  recommendation. 
He  was  too  little  conversant  with  tlic  working  of  Universities  to  be 
aware  that  the  addition  of  two  sciences  to  the  existing  course  was 
impracticable;  and  he  was  never  asked  which  alternative  he  would 
prefer.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  be  would  have  sacrificed  the 
classics  to  scientific  completeness ;  he  would  have  been  satisfied  with 
the  quantum  of  these  already  gained  at  school.      But  while  we  have  no 


834 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


positive  assui'ance  od  this  pointy  I  cousider  that  his  opiaion  should  ^ 
wholly  discounted  as  not  bearing  ou  the  actual  case. 

The  founders  of  the  University  of  Londou  attempted  to  realize  MilT* 
conception  to  tlic  full.      They  retained  classics;  they  added  Euglish  and 
a  modern  langruage,   and  completed   the  course   of  primary  science  by 
including  chemistry  and  physiology.     This  was  a  noble  experiment,  and 
we  can  now  report  on  its  success.     The  classical  languages,  English  and 
French   or   German,    mathematics  and  natural  philosophy,  and   (after  a 
time)  logic  and  moral  philosophy,  were  all  kept  at  a  good  standard ;  thas 
exceeding  the  requirements  of  the  Scotch  Universities  at  the   time  by 
English    and    a    modern   language.       The    amount    of   attainment    in 
chemistry  was  very  smallj  and  was  disposed  of  in   the    matnculatioa 
examination.      Physiology  was  reserved  for  the  final  B.A.  examiuatioa, 
and    was    the  least  satisfactory    of    all.     Hanng    myself  sat    at   the 
Examining    Board   while  Dr.    Sharpey   was  Examiner  in    Phyaiology, 
I  had  occasion  to  know  that  he  considered  it  prudent  to  be  content 
with  a  mere  show  of  studying  the  subject.     Thus,   though   the   experi- 
ence of  the  University  of  Londou  as  well  as  of  the  Scotch  Univeraitics 
proves  that  the  classics  are  compatible  with   a  very  tolerable   scientific 
education,  they  will  need  to  be  curtailed  if  every  one  of  the  fuudamental 
sciences,  as  Mill  lu'gcd,  is  to  be  represented  at  a  passable  figure. 

In  tlie  various  new  proposals  for  extending  the  sphere  of  scientific 
knowledge,  a  much  smaller  amouiit  of  classics  is  to  be  required,  but 
neither  of  the  two  languages  is  wholly  dispensed  with.  If  not  taught 
at  college,  they  must  be  taken  up  at  school  as  a  preparation  for  entering 
on  the  Arts  curriculum  in  the  University.  This  can  hardly  be  a  perma- 
nent state  of  things,  but  it  is  likely  to  be  in  operation  for  some 
time. 

2.  The  remitting  of  Greek  in  favour  of  a  modem  language  is  the 
alternative  most  prominently  before  the  public  at  present.  It  accepts 
the  mixed  form  of  the  old  curriculum,  aud  replaces  one  of  the  dead 
languages  by  one  of  the  living.  Resisted  by  the  whole  might  of 
the  classical  party,  thin  proposal  finds  favour  with  the  lay  professions  a> 
giving  one  laognage  that  will  actually  be  useful  to  the  pupils  as  a 
language.  It  is  the  \'iiry  smallest  change  that  would  be  a  real  relief. 
That  it  will  speedily  be  carried  we  do  not  doubt. 

Except  as  a  relaxation  of  tlie  gripe  of  classicism^  this  change  is  not 
altogether  satisfactory.  That  there  must  be  two  languages  (besides 
English)  in  order  to  an  Arts  Degree  is  far  from  obvious.  Moreover, 
although  it  is  very  desirable  that  every  pupil  should  have  facilities  at 
school  or  college  for  commencing  modern  languages,  these  do  not 
rank  as  indispensable  and  universal  culture,  like  the  knowledge  of 
sciences  and  of  literature  generally.  They  would  have  to  be  taught 
along  with  their  respective  literatures  to  correspond  to  the  classics. 

Another  objection  to  replacing  classics  by  modern  langaages  is  the 
necessity  of  importing  foreigners  as  teachers.     Now,  although  there  arc 


CLASSICAL    CONTROVERSY. 


835 


plenty  of  Freucbmen  aud  Germans  that  can  teach  as  well  as  any 
Englishmen,  it  is  a  painful  fact  that  foreigners  do  ofteuer  miscarry,  both 
in  teaching  and  discipline,  with  English  pupils,  than  our  own  country- 
men. Foreign  masters  are  well  enough  for  those  that  go  to  them 
voluntarily  with  the  desire  of  being  taught;  it  is  as  teachers  in  a  compul- 
sory curriculum  that  their  inferiority  becomes  apparent. 

The  retort  is  sometimes  made  to  this  proposal — Why  omit  Greek 
rather  than  Latin?  Should  you  not  retain  the  greater  of  the  two 
languages  ?  This  may  be  pronounced  as  mainly  a  piece  of  tactics ;  for 
every  one  must  knowi  that  the  order  of  teaching  Latin  and  Greek  at 
the  schools  will  never  oe  topsyturvied  to  suit  the  fancy  of  an  individual 
here  and  there,  even  although  John  Stuart  Mill  himself  was  educated 
in  that  order.  On  the  scheme  of  withdrawing  all  foreign  languages 
from  the  imperative  curriculumj  and  providing  for  them  as  voluntary 
adjuncts,  such  freedom  of  selection  would  be  easy. 

3.  Another  alternative  is  to  remit  both  Latin  and  Greek  in  favour  of 
French  and  German.  Strange  to  say,  this  advance  upon  the  previous 
alternative  was  actually  contained  in  Mr.  Gladstone's  ill-fated  Irish 
University  Bill.  Had  that  Bill  succeeded,  the  Irish  would  have  been 
for  ten  years  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  full  option  for  both  the  languages,**^" 
From  a  careful  perusal  of  the  debates,  I  could  not  discover  that  the 
opposition  ever  fastened  upon  this  bold  surrender  of  the  classical  ex- 
clusivencss, 

Tlie  proposal  was  facilitated  by  the  existence  of  professors  of  French  and 
German  in  the  Queen's  Colleges.  In  the  English  and  Scotch  Colleges  en- 
dowments are  not  as  yet  provided  for  these  languages  ;  although  it  would 
be  easy  enough  to  make  provision  for  them  in  Oxford  and  Cambridge. 

In  favour  of  this  alternative,  it  is  urged  that  the  classics,  if  entered 
on  at  all,  should  be  entered  on  thoroughly  and  entirely.  The  two 
languages  and  literatures  form  a  coherent  whole,  a  homogeneous  disci- 
pline ;  and  those  that  do  not  mean  to  follow  this  out  should  not  l)egin 
it.     Some  of  the  upholders  of  classics  take  tliis  view. 

4.  More  thorough-going  still  is  the  scheme  of  complete  bifurcation  of 
the  classical  and  the  modern  sides.  In  our  great  schools  there  has 
been  instituted  what  is  called  the  modern  side,  made  up  of  sciences  and 
modern  languages,  together  with  Latin.  The  understanding  hitherto 
has  been  tliat  the  votaries  of  the  ancient  and  classical  side  should  alone 
proceed  to  the  Universities  ;  the  modern  side  being  the  introduction  to 
commercial  life,  and  to  professions  that  dispense  with  a  University 
degree.  Here,  as  far  as  the  schools  arc  concerned,  a  fair  scope  is  given 
to  modem  studies. 

As  was  to  be  c.\pcctcd,  the  modem  side  is  now  demanding  admission 
to  the  Universities  on  its  own  terms ;  that  is,  to  continue  the  same  line 

*  No  doubt  tlic  classical  languages  would  have  beeu  required,  to  come  extent,  in  matricn- 
luting  to  enter  college.  Tliis  arraugemeut,  however,  as  regarded  the  studeutA  that  cbose 
the  modern  languages,  would  have  uc«n  found  too  bnrdcusome  l>y  our  Irish  fnendSj  and  on 
their  ezpresinDg  themselves  to  that  effect,  wutild  have  be«n  loon  dispeoscd  with. 


836 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW 


of  studies  there,  and  to  be  crowned  with  the  same  distinctions  as  the 
classical  side.  This  atteirtpt  to  reuder  school  aud  college  homogeneous. 
throughout,  to  treat  ancient  studies  and  niodcm  studies  as  of  equal  value 
iu  the  eye  of  the  law,  will  of  course  be  resisted  to  the  utmost.  Yet  it 
seems  the  only  solution  that  can  bring  about  a  settlemeut  that  will 
las^ 

The  defenders  of  the  classical  system  in  its  extreme  exclusirencss  arc 
fond  of  adducing  examples  of  very  illustrious  men  who  at  college  showed 
au  utter  incapacity  for  science  in  its  simplest  elements.  Tliev  sav  that 
by  classics  alone  these  men  are  what  they  are,  and  if  their  way  had  been 
stopi)ed  by  serious  scientific  requirements,  they  would  have  never  come 
before  the  world  at  all.  The  allegation  is  somewhat  strongly  put ;  yet 
we  shall  assume  it  to  be  correct,  on  condition  of  being  allowed  to  drav 
an  inference.  If  some  minds  are  so  constituted  for  languages,  and  for 
classics  in  particular,  may  not  there  be  other  minds  equally  constituted 
for  science,  and  equally  incapable  of  taking  up  two  classical  languages? 
Should  this  be  grautcd,  the  next  question  is,  Ought  these  two  classes 
of  minds  be  treated  as  equal  in  rights  aud  privileges?  The  upholders 
of  the  present  system  say,  No.  The  language  mind  is  the  true  aristocrat ; 
the  science  mind  is  an  inferior  creation.  Degrees  and  privileges  arc 
for  the  man  that  can  score  languages,  with  never  so  little  science;  outer 
darkness  is  assigned  to  the  man  whose  forte  is  science  alone.  IJut  a 
war  of  caste  in  education  is  an  unseemly  thing;  and  afler  all  the 
levelling  operations  that  wc  have  passed  through,  it  is  not  likely  that 
this  distinction  vvill  be  long  preserved. 

The  modern  side,  as  at  present  constituted,  still  retains  Latin.  There 
is  a  considerable  strength  of  feeling  in  favour  of  that  language  for  all 
kinds  of  people  ;  it  is  tliouglit  to  be  a  proper  appendage  of  the  lay 
professions;  aud  there  is  a  wide-spread  opinion  in  favour  of  its  utility 
for  English.  So  much  is  this  the  case,  that  the  modern-siders  are  at 
present  quite  willing  to  come  under  a  pledge  to  keep  up  Latin,  and  to 
pass  in  it  with  a  >iow  to  the  University.  In  fact,  the  schools  find  this 
for  the  present  the  most  convenient  arrangement.  It  is  easier  to  supply 
teaching  in  Latin  than  in  a  modern  language,  or  in  most  other  thing*; 
and  while  Latin  continues  to  be  held  in  respect,  it  will  remain  untouched 
Yet  the  quantity  of  time  occupied  by  it,  with  so  little  result,  must  ulti- 
mately force  a  departure  from  the  present  curriculum.  The  real  desti- 
nation of  the  modern  side  is  to  be  modern  throughout.  It  should  not 
be  rigorously  tied  down  even  to  a  certain  number  of  modern  languages. 
English  and  cue  other  language  ought  to  he  quite  enough ;  and  the 
choice  should  be  free.  On  this  footing,  the  modern  side  ought  to  ha%'c 
its  place  iu  the  schools  as  the  co-equal  of  classics ;  it  would  be  the 
natural  precursor  of  the  modernized  alternatives  iu  the  Universities  ; 
those  where  knowledge  subjects  predominate. 

The  proposal  to  give  nn  inferior  degree  to  a  curriculum  that  excludes 
Greek  shouldj  iu  ray  judgment,  be  simply  declined.     It  is,  however,  a 


THE  CLASSICAL  CONTROVERSY, 


Sir 


m&tter  of  opinion  whether,  in  point  of  tacticSj  the  modern  party  did 
not  do  well  to  accept  this  aa  an  instalment  in  the  meantime.  The 
Oxford  offer,  as  I  understand  it,  is  so  far  liberal,  that  the  new  degree  is 
to  rank  equal  in  privileges  with  the  old,  altliough  inferior  in  prestige. 
In  Scotland,  the  degree  conceded  by  the  classical  party  to  a  Greekleas 
education  was  worthless,  and  was  offered  for  that  very  reason.* 

Among  the  adherents  of  classics.  Professor  Blackie  is  distingiiished 
for  surrendering  their  study  in  the  case  of  those  that  cannot  profit  by 
them.  He  believes  that  with  a  free  alternative,  such  as  the  thorough 
bifurcation  into  two  sides  would  give,  they  would  still  hold  their  ground, 
and  bear  all  their  present  fruits.  His  classical  brethren,  however,  do 
not  in  general  share  this  conviction.  They  seem  to  think  that  if  they 
can  no  longer  compel  every  University  graduate  to  pass  beneath  the 
double  yoke  of  Rome  and  Greece,  these  two  illustrious  nationalities 
will  be  in  danger  of  passing  out  of  the  popular  mind  altogether.  For 
my  own  part,  I  do  not  share  their  fears,  nor  do  I  think  that,  even  on 
the  voluntary  footing,  the  study  of  the  two  languages  will  decline  with 
any  great  rapidity.  As  I  have  said,  the  belief  in  Latin  is  wide  and 
deep.  Wliatever  may  be  urged  as  to  the  extraordinary  stringency  of 
the  intellectual  discipline  now  said  to  be  given  by  means  of  Latin  and 
Greek,  I  am  satisfied  that  the  feeling  irith  both  teachers  and  scholars  is 
that  the  process  of  acquisition  is  not  toilsome  to  either  party  ;  less  so 
perhaps  than  anything  that  would  come  in  their  place.  Of  the 
himdreds  of  hours  spent  over  them,  a  very  large  number  are  associated 
with  listless  idleness.  Carlyle  describes  Scott's  novels  as  a  "  beatific 
lubber  land;"  with  the  exception  of  the  "  beatific,"  we  might  say  nearly 
the  same  of  classics.  To  all  which  must  be  added  the  immense  endow- 
ments of  classical  teaching;  not  only  of  old  date  but  of  recent  acquisi- 
tion. It  will  he  a  very  long  time  before  these  endowments  can  be 
diverted,  even  although  the  study  decline  steadily  in  estimation. 

The  thing  that  stands  to  reason  is  to  place  the  modern  and  the 
ancient  studies  on  exactly  the  same  footing  ;  to  accord  a  fair  field  and 
no  favour.  The  public  will  decide  for  themselves  in  the  long  run.  If 
the  classical  advocates  are  afraid  of  this  test,  they  have  no  faith  in  the 
DQcrits  of  their  own  case. 


The  arguments  pro  and  con  on  the  question  have  been  almost  ex- 
hausted. Nothing  is  left  except  to  vary  the  expression  and  illustration. 
Still,  so  long  as  the  monopoly  exists,  it  will  be  argued  and  counter- 
argued  ;  and,  if  there  are  no  new  reasons,  the  old  will  have  to  be 
iterated. 

Perhaps  the  most  hackneyed  of  all  the  answers  to  the  case  for  the 
classics  is  the  one  that  has  been  most  rarely  replied  to.  I  mean  the 
fact  that  the  Greeks  were  not  acquainted  with  any  language  but  their 

*  One  powible  conteqaenc«  of  the  n«w  l^atoral  Science  Deoree  may  be,  that  th4*  pnblic 
will  turn  to  it  with  favour,  while  the  old  one  sinks  into  dfaereoit 
VOL.    XXXV.  3    I 


838  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 

own.  I  have  never  known  an  attempt  to  parry  this  thnist.  Yet, 
besides  the  fact  itself^  there  are  strong  presumptions  in  favour  of  the 
position  that  to  know  a  language  well^  you  should  devote  your  time  aoii  ■ 
strength  to  it  alone,  and  not  attempt  to  learn  three  or  four.  Of  course, 
the  Greeks  were  in  possession  of  language  A  1,  and  were  not  likely  to 
be  gainers  by  studying  the  languages  of  their  contemporaries.  So  we 
too  are  in  possession  of  a  very  admirable  language,  although  put 
together  in  a  nondescript  fashion ;  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  if  Plato 
had  his  Dialogues  to  compose  among  us^  he  would  give  his  whole  strength 
to  working  up  our  own  resources,  and  not  trouble  himself  with  Greek- 
The  popular  dictum — mullum  non  mulia,  doing  one  thing  well — may  be 
plausibly  adduced  iu  behalf  of  parsimony  in  the  study  of  languages. 

The  recent  agitation  iu  Cambridge,  in  Oxford,  and,  indeed,  all  over 
the  country,  for  remittiug  the  study  of  Greek  as  an  c-sscntial  of  the 
Arts^  Degree,  has  led  to  a  reproduction  of  the  usual  defences  of  things 
as  they  are.  The  articles  in  the  March  number  of  this  Review,  by 
Professors  Blackie  aud  Bouamy  Price,  may  claim  to  be  the  derniers  awti. 
Professor  Blackic's  article  is  a  warning  to  the  teachers  of  classics,  to 
the  effect  that  they  must  change  their  front ;  that,  whereas  the  value  of 
the  classics  as  a  key  to  thought  has  dLminishcd,  and  is  diminishing,  thev 
must  by  all  means  in  the  first  place  improve  their  drill.  In  fact,  unlets 
somethiug  can  be  done  to  lessen  the  labour  of  the  acquisition  by  better 
teaching,  aud  to  secure  the  much-vaunted  intellectual  discipliue  of  the 
languages,  the  battle  will  soon  i)e  lost.  Accordingly,  the  professor  goes 
minutely  into  what  he  conceives  the  best  methods  of  teaching.  It  is 
not  my  purpose  to  follow  him  iu  this  sufRciently  interesting  discussion. 
I  simply  remark  that  he  is  staking  the  case  for  the  continuance  of  Latin 
and  Greek  iu  the  schools  on  the  possibility  of  something  like  an  entire 
revolution  iu  the  teaching  art.  Revolution  is  not  too  strong  a  word  for 
what  is  proposed.  The  weak  part  of  the  new  position  is  that  the  value 
of  the  languages  as  languages  lias  declined,  and  has  to  be  made  up  by 
the  incident  of  their  value  as  driU.  This  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  paradoxi- 
cal position  for  a  language  teacher.  If  it  is  mere  drill  that  is  wanted. 
a  very  small  comer  of  one  language  would  suffice.  The  teacher  and  the 
pupil  alike  are  placed  between  the  two  stools^ — interpretation  and  drill. 
A  new  generation  of  teachers  must  arise  to  attain  the  dexterity  requisite 
for  the  task. 

Professor  Blacklegs  concession  is  of  no  small  impoHance  iu  the  actual 
situation.  "No  one  is  to  receive  a  full  degree  without  showing  a  fair 
proficiency  in  two  foreign  languages,  one  ancient  and  one  modern,  with 
free  option."  This  would  satisfy  the  present  demand  everywhere,  anil 
for  some  time  to  come. 

The  article  of  Professor  Bonamy  Price  is  conceived  in  even  a  higher 
strain  than  the  otlier.  llicrc  is  so  far  a  method  of  argumentation  in  it 
that  the  case  is  laid  out  under  four  distinct  heads,  but  there  is  no  decisive 
separation  of  reasons  ;  many  of  the  things  said  under  one  head  might 


THE  CLASSICAL  CONTROVERSY. 


839 


easily  be  transferred  without  ths  sense  of  dislocation  to  any  other  head. 
The  writer  indulges  in  high-flown  rhetorical  assertions  rather  than  in 
specific  facts  and  arguments.  The  first  merit  of  classics  is  that  '*  they 
arc  languages;  not  particular  sciences,  nor  definite  branches  of  know- 
ledge, but  literatures."  Under  this  head  we  have  such  glowing  sentences 
as  these  :  ''Think  of  the  many  elements  of  thought  a  boy  comca  in 
contact  with  when  he  reads  Csesar  and  Tacitus  in  succession,  Herodotus 
and  Homer,  Thucydidea  and  Aristotle."  "  See  what  is  implied  iu 
liaving  read  Homer  intelligently  through,  or  Thucydidea,  or  Demosthenes  ; 
what  light  will  have  beeu  shed  on  the  essence  aud  laws  of  humau 
existence,  on  political  society,  on  the  relations  of  man  to  man,  on  human 
nature  itself"  There  are  various  conceivable  ways  of  counter-arguing 
these  assertions,  but  the  shortest  is  to  call  for  the  facts — the  results  upon 
the  many  thousands  that  have  passed  through  their  ten  years  of  classi- 
cal drill.  Professor  Campbell,  of  St.  Andrews,  once  remarked,  with 
reference  to  the  value  of  Greek  ia  particular,  that  the  question  would 
have  to  he  ultimately  decided  by  the  inner  consciousness  of  those  that 
have  undergone  the  study.  To  this  we  are  entitled  to  add,  their  powers 
as  manifested  to  the  world,  of  which  powers  spectators  can  be  the  judges. 
When,  with  a  few  brilliant  exceptions,  we  discover  nothing  at  all  remark- 
able iu  the  men  that  have  been  subjected  to  the  classical  training,  we 
may  consider  it  as  almost  a  waste  of  time  to  analyse  the  grandiloquent 
assertions  of  Mr.  Bonamy  Price.  But  if  we  were  to  analyse  them,  we 
:»hould  find  that  boys  never  read  Ctesar  and  Tacitus  through  in  succes- 
sion;  still  less  ThucydideSj  Demosthenes,  and  Aristotle;  that  very  few 
men  read  and  understand  these  writers;  that  the  shorieat  way  to  come 
into  contact  with  Aristotle  is  to  avoid  his  Greek  altogether,  and  take 
his  expositors  and  translators  in  the  modern  languages.; 

The  professor  is  not  insensible  to  the  reproach  that  the  vaunted  classi- 
cal education  has  been  a  failure,  as  compared  with  these  splendid  pro- 
mises. He  says,  however,  that  though  many  have  failed  to  become  classi- 
cal scholars  in  the  full  sense  of  the  word,  "  it  does  not  follow  that  they 
have  gained  nothing  from  their  study  of  Greek  and  Latin  ;  just  the  con- 
trary is  the  truth."  The  "  contrary"  must  mean  that  they  have  gained 
something;  which  something  is  stated  to  be  "the  extent  to  which  the 
faculties  of  the  boy  have  been  developed,  the  quantity  of  impalpable  but 
not  less  real  attainments  he  has  achieved,  and  his  general  readiness  for 
life,  aud  for  action  as  a  man.''  But  it  is  becoming  more  and  more  diffi- 
cult to  induce  people  to  spend  a  long  course  of  youthful  years  upon  a 
confessedly  impalpable  result.  We  might  give  up  a  few  mouths  to  a 
speculative  and  doubtful  good,  but  we  need  palpable  consequences  to 
show  for  our  years  spent  on  classics.  Next  comes  the  admission  that  the 
teaching  is  often  bad.  But  why  should  the  teaching  be  so  bad,  aud 
what  is  the  hope  of  making  it  better?  Then  we  are  told  that  science 
by  itself  leaves  the  largest  and  most  important  portion  of  the  yoath'it 
nature  absolutely  undeveloped.      But,  in  the  first  place,  it  ia  not  pro- 

3  1  2 


840 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


posed  to  reduce  the  school  and  college  enrriculum  to  science  alone ;  and, 
in  the  next  place,  who  can  say  -what  are  the  "  impalpable'*  results  of 
science? 

The  secoud  branch  of  the  argument  relates  to  the  greatness  of  the 
classical  writers.  Undoubtedly  there  arc  some  very  great  writers  in  the 
Greek  and  Roman  world,  and  some  that  are  not  great.  But  the 
greatness  of  Herodotus,  Thiicydides,  Demosthenes,  Plato,  and  Aristotle 
can  be  exhibited  in  a  modern  rendering  ;  while  no  small  portion  of  the 
poetical  form  can  be  made  apparent  without  toiliug  at  the  original 
tongues.  The  value  of  the  languages  then  resolves  itself,  as  has  been 
often  saidj  into  a  residuum.  Something  also  is  to  be  said  for  the  greatnen 
of  the  writers  that  have  written  in  modem  times.  Sir  John  Herschel 
remarked  long  ago  that  the  human  intellect  cannot  have  degenerated,! 
80  long  as  we  are  able  to  quote  Newton,  Lagrange  and  Laplace,  against 
Aristotle  and  Archimedes.  I  would  not  undertake  to  say  that  any' 
modern  mind  has  equalled  Aristotle  in  the  range  of  his  intellectual 
powers ;  but  in  point  of  intensity  of  grasp  in  any  one  subject,  he  has 
many  rivals ;  so  that  to  obtain  his  equal,  wc  have  only  to  take  two  or 
three  first-rate  moderns. 

If  a  number  of  persons  were  to  goon  lauding  to  the  skies  the  exclusive 
and  transcendent  greatness  of  the  classical  writers,  we  should  probably  bft 
tempted  to  scrutinize  their  merits  more  severely  than  is  usual.  Manj 
things  could  be  said  against  their  sufficiency  as  instnictors  in  matters  of' 
thought,  aud  many  more  against  the  low  and  barbarous  tone  of  their 
morale;  the  inhumanity  and  brutality  of  both  their  principles  and  their 
practice.  All  this  might  no  doubt  \w.  very  easily  overdone,  and  would 
certainly  be  so,  if  undertaken  in  the  style  of  Professor  Price's  panegyric. 

The  professor's  third  branch  of  the  argument  comes  to  the  real 
point ;  namely,  what  is  there  in  Greek  and  Latin  that  there  is  not  in  the 
modern  tongues  ?  For  one  thing,  says  the  professor,  they  arc  dead, 
wlurh  of  course  wo  allow.  Then,  being  dead,  they  must  be  learnt  by 
book,  and  by  rule  ;  they  cannot  be  learnt  by  ear.  Here,  however. 
Professor  Blackic  would  dissent,  and  would  say  that  the  great  improve- 
ment of  teaching,  on  which  the  salvation  of  classical  study  now  hangs^ 
is  to  make  it  a  teaching  by  the  car.  But,  says  Professor  IVice  :  '*  A 
Greek  or  Latiu  sentence  is  a  nut  with  a  strong  shell  concealing  the 
kernel — a  puzzle,  demanding  reflection,  adaptation  of  means  to  end,  and 
labour  for  its  solution,  and  the  edueatioual  value  resides  in  the  shell  and 
in  the  puzzle.'^  As  this  strain  of  remark  is  not  new,  there  is  nothing 
new  to  be  said  in  answer  to  it.  Such  puzzling  efforts  arc  certainly  not 
the  rule  in  learning  Latin  and  Greek.  Moreover,  the  very  same  terms 
would  describe  what  may  happen  equally  often  in  reading  difticult 
authors  in  French,  German,  or  Italian.  Would  not  the  pupil  find 
puzzles  and  difficulties  in  Dante,  or  in  Goethe?  And  are  there  not 
many  puzzling  exercises  in  deciphering  English  authors?  Besides, 
what  is  the  great  objection  to  science^  but  that  it  is  too  piutzling  for 


THE  CLASSICAL  CONTROVERSY.  841 

mincls  tliat  are  quite  competent  for  the  puzzles  of  Greek  and  Latin. 
Once  more,  the  teaching  of  any  language  must  be  very  imperfecti  if  it- 
brought  about  habitually  such  situations  of  difiBculty  as  are  here 
described, 

I  The  professor  relapses  into  a  cooler  and   correcter  strain  when  he  re- 

marks that  the  pupil's  mind  is  necessarily  more  delayed  over  the  expression 
!  of  a  thought  in  a  foreign  language  (whether  dead  or  alive  matters  not), 

I  and  therefore  remembers  the    meaning   better.      Here,    however,  the 

I  desiderated  reform  of  teaching  might  come   into  play.     Granted  that 

the   boy   left   to  himself  would  go    more  rapidly  through  Burke  than 
through  Thuoydides,  might  uot  his  pace  be   arrested   by  a  well-directed 
I  cross-examination;   with  this  advantage  that  the   length  of    attention 

i  might  be  graduated  according  to  the  importance  of  the  subject,  and  not 

!  according  to  the  accidental  difficulty  of  the  language  ? 

'  The  professor  boldly  grapples  with  the  alleged  waste  of  time  in  classics, 

and  urges  that  "  the  gain  may  be  measured  by  the  time  expended," 
which  is  very  like  begging  the  question. 

One  advantage  adduced  under  this  head  deserves  notice.  The  languages 
being  dead,  as  well  aa  all  the  societies  and  futereats  that  they  represent, 
they  do  not  excite  the  prejudices  and  the  pa3sions  of  modern  life.  This, 
however,  may  need  some  qualification.  Grote  wrote  his  history  of  Greece 
to  counterwork  the  pai'ty  bias  of  Mitford.  The  battles  of  despotism, 
oligarchy,  and  democracy  are  to  this  hour  fought  over  the  dead  bodies  of 
I  Greece  and  Rome.     If  the  professor  meant  to  insinuate  that  those  that 

have  gone  through  the  classical  training  are  less  violent  as  partisans,  more 
dispassionate  in  political  judgmeutSj  than  the  rest  of  mankind,  we  cau 
only  say  that  we  should  not  have  known  this  from  our  actual  experience. 
The  discovery  of  some  sweet,  oblivions  antidote  to  party  feeling  seems, 
as  far  as  we  can  judge,  to  be  still  in  the  future.  If  we  want  studies 
that  will,  while  they  last,  thoroughly  divert  the  mind  from  the  prejudices 
of  party,  science  is  even  better  than  ancient  history ;  there  are  no  party 
cries  connected  with  the  Binomial  Tlieorem. 

The  professor's  last  branch  of  argument,  I  am  obliged,  with  all 
deference,  to  say,  contains  no  argument  at  all.  It  is  that,  in  classical 
education,  a  close  contact  is  established  between  the  mind  of  the  boy 
and  the  mind  of  the  master.  He  does  not  even  attempt  to  show  how  the 
effect  is  pecidiar  to  classical  teaching.  The  whole  of  this  part  of  the 
paper  is,  in  fact,  addressed,  by  way  of  remonsLrauce,  to  the  writer's  own 
friends,  the  classical  teachers.  He  reproaches  them  for  their  inefficiency, 
for  their  not  being  Arnolds.  It  is  not  my  business  to  interfere  between 
him  and  them  in  this  matter.  So  much  stress  does  he  lay  upon  the 
teacher's  part  in  the  work,  that  I  almost  expected  the  admission,  that 
a  good  teacher  in  English,  German,  natural  history,  political  economy, 
might  even  be  preferable  to  a  bad  teacher  of  Latin  and  Greek, 

The  recent  Oxford  contest  Laa  brought  out  the  eminent  oratorical 


840 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


J 


powers  of  Canon  Liddon ;  and  we  have  some  curiosity  in  noting  hia 
contributions  to  the  classical  side.  I  refer  to  his  letters  in  the  Times. 
The  gist  of  his  advocacy  of  Greek  is  contained  in  the  following  allega- 
tions. First,  the  preacut  system  enables  a  man  to  recur  with  profit 
and  advantage  to  Greek  literature.  To  this,  it  has  been  often  replied, 
that  by  far  the  greater  number  are  too  little  familiarized  with  the 
classical  languages,  and  especially  Greek,  to  make  the  literature  easy 
reading.  But  farther,  the  recurring  to  the  study  of  ancient  authors  by 
busy  professional  men  in  the  present  day,  is  an  event  of  such  extreme 
rarity  that  it  cannot  be  taken  into  account  in  any  question  of  public 
pohcy.  The  second  remark  is,  that  the  half- knowledge  of  the  ordinary 
graduate  is  a  link  between  the  total  blank  of  the  outer  world,  and  the 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  accomplished  classic.  I  am  not  much 
struck  by  the  force  of  this  argument.  I  think  that  the  classical  scholar 
might,  by  expositions,  commentaries,  and  translations,  address  the  outer 
world  equally  wellj  without  the  intervening  mass  of  imperfect  scholars. 
Lastly,  the  Canon  puts  in  a  claim  for  his  own  cloth.  The  knowledge 
of  Greek  pares  the  way  for  serious  men  to  enter  the  ministry  in  middle 
life.  Argument  would  be  thrown  away  upon  auy  one  that  could  for  a 
moment  entertain  this  as  a  sufficient  reason  for  compelling  every  gra- 
duate in  Arts  to  study  Greek.  The  observation  that  I  would  make 
upon  it  has  a  wider  bearing.  Middle  life  is  not  too  late  for  learning 
any  language  that  we  suddenly  discover  to  be  a  want ;  the  stimulas  of 
necessity  or  of  strong  interest,  and  the  wider  compass  of  general  know- 
ledge, compensate  for  the  diminution  of  verbal  memory, 

A.  Bain. 


I 


INDIAN    RELIGIOUS    THOUGHT 


Part  III. 


IN  my  last  paper  on  Indian  religious  sects  I  endeavoured  to  show 
how  the  worship  of  the  god  Vishnu,  who  was  origiually  a  form  of 
the  Sun,  and  subsequently  the  second  member  of  the  Hindu  trinity  of 
Creator,  Preserver,  and  Dissolvcr,  has  become  the  most  popular  religion 
of  two  hundred  million  subjects  of  the  British  Empire.  Not,  indeed, 
that  every  Hindu,  educated  and  uneducated,  is  aVaishnava,  or  exclusive 
worshipper  of  the  god  Vishnu,  but  that  the  peculiar  aspect  of  the 
Supreme  Being  represented  by  the  attributes  and  character  of  that  god 
has  attraction  for  all  the  adherents  of  Hinduism,  to  whatever  sect  or 
school  of  thought  they  may  belong. 

What  I  attempted,  in  fact,  to  point  out  was  that  Vishnu  is  the  most 
human  and  humane  god  in  the  Hindu  Pantheon,  and  that  the  system 
called  Vaishnavism  is  a  kind  of  protest  in  favour  of  a  personal  deity  as 
opposed  to  the  imiicrsonal  Pantheism  of  Brahmanical  Philosophy. 

I  then  gave  an  account  of  three  principal  sects  of  Vishnu- worshippers 
— founded  by  three  religious  leaders  (dchdryas)  named  Bamanuja, 
Madhva,  and  Vallabha  respectively, — and  of  one  minor  sect  founded  by 
Svami-Narayana,  Tlie  first  three  leaders  arc  believed  to  have  been 
natives  of  Southern  India,  and  the  followers  of  the  first  two  are  chiefly 
found  in  the  South. 

1  come  now  to  another  principal  division  of  Vishnu-worshippers — 
those  found  in  Bengal.  They  are  the  followers  of  a  celebrated  teacher 
named  Chaitanya,  and  constitute  the  fourth  principal  sect  of  Vaishnavas. 
It  should,  however,  be  noted  at  the  outset  that  their  precepts  and 
practices  have  a  close  community  with  those  of  the  Vallabhacharyans 
already  described.  The  biography  of  Chaitanya,  as  given  by  native 
writers,  is,  as  usual,  chiefly  legendary.  Only  scattered  elements  of  truth 
are  discoverable  amidst  a  confused  farrago  of  facts,  fiction,  and  romance. 


841  THECONfEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

I  believe  there  is  no  doubt  of  his  having  been  bom  at  Nadiya  (=Nava- 
dvTpa)  in  Bengal  in  the  year  1485  of  our  era,  two  years  after  Luther  in 
Europe.  His  father  was  an  orthodox  Brahman  named  Jagannath 
Misra.  His  mother  was  the  daughter  of  Nilambar  Chakravarti.  Since 
Chaitanya  is  held  to  have  been  an  incarnation  of  Krishna  various  pro- 
digies are  described  as  having  marked  his  first  appearance  in  the  world. 
He  was  thirteen  months  in  the  womb.  Then  soon  after  his  birth^  at  the 
end  of  an  eclipse,  a  number  of  holy  men  (among  whom  was  bis  future 
disciple  Advaita)  arrived  at  the  house  of  bia  parents  to  do  homage  to 
the  new-born  child,  and  to  present  him  with  offerings  of  rice,  fruits, 
gold  and  silver.  lu  his  childhood  he  resembled  the  young  Krishna  in 
eondcsceuding  to  boyish  sports  (ftla).  Yet  his  intellect  wras  so  acute 
that  he  rapidly  acquired  a  complete  knowledge  of  Sanskrit  grammar  and 
literature.  His  favourite  subject  of  study  was  the  Bhagavata-Purana. 
Tliis  book, with  thcBhagavad-glta — a  celebrated  poem  in  praise  of  Krishna 
inserted  into  the  Mahn-bharata— may  be  regarded  as  together  constituting 
the  Vaishuava  bible.  Both  works  exalt  Vishnu  under  the  name  of  Krishna 
to  the  highest  possible  cminencCj  identifying  him  with  the  one  God  in 
opposition  to  the  orthodox  Brahmanical  doctrine  that  his  position  aa  & 
manifestation  of  Brahma  must  always  be  secondary  to  that  of  the 
Supreme  Being. 

Yet  Chaitanya,  notwithstanding  his  addiction  to  religious  study,  did 
not  shrink  from  what  every  Hindu  believes  to  be  a  sacred  obligation — 
the  duty  of  marrying  a  wife,  and  becoming  a  householder  {grihastha). 
He  even  married  again  when  his  first  wife  died  from  a  snake-bite.  At  the 
age  of  twenty-five  (a.d,  1609)  he  resolved  to  abandon  all  worldly  con- 
nexions, and  give  himself  up  to  a  religious  life.  Accordingly,  like  Valla- 
bhacharya  and  at  about  the  same  period,  he  commenced  a  series  of  pilgrim- 
ages. His  travels  occupied  six  years,  and  he  is  known  to  have  visited 
some  of  the  most  celebrated  shrines  of  India,  especially  those  of  Benarca, 
Gaya,  Mathura,  Srirangam,  and  ultimately  the  temple  of  Jagan-nath  at 
Puri  in  Orissa. 

Having  thus  prepared  himself  for  his  mission,  he  addressed  himself  to 
the  real  work  of  j)reaching  and  propagating  his  own  view  of  the  Vaiah- 
nava  creed.  It  is  noteworthy  that  just  about  the  time  when  Luther  was 
agitating  the  minds  of  men  in  Europe,  Chaitanya  was  stirring  the  hearts 
of  the  people  of  Bengal.  After  making  many  converts  he  seems  to  have 
appointed  his  two  most  eminent  followers,  Advaita  and  Nityauauda,  to 
preside  over  his  disciples  in  that  part  of  India.  He  himself  settled  for 
twelve  years  at  Katak  in  Orissa.  There  he  lived  for  the  rest  of  his  life 
in  close  proximity  to  the  great  temple  of  Jagan-nath,  and  contributed  to 
the  reputation  of  the  shrine  by  his  presence  at  the  annual  festivals. 

His  success  as  a  preacher  was  remarkable.  Even  his  encmiea  were 
attracted  by  the  persuasiveness  of  his  manner  and  the  magnetic  power  of 
hift  eloquence.  The  lower  classes  fioeked  to  him  by  thousands.  Nor 
was  their  admiration  of  him  surprising.    The  first  principle  he  inculcated 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


840 


was  that  all  the  faithful  worshippers  of  Krishna  {  =  Vi8huu)  M'erc  to  be 
treated  as  equals.  Caste  was  to  be  subordinated  to  faith  in  tu-ishna.* 
"  The  mercy  of  God/'  said  Chaitanya^  "  regards  neither  tribe  nor 
famUy/' 

By  thus  proclaiming  social  equality  he  secured  popularity.  In  this 
respect  he  wisely  imitated  the  method  of  Buddhists  and  Tantrikas,  whose 
systems  he  professed  otherwise  to  oppose.  Nor  were  his  doctrines  alto- 
gether different  from  theirs.  It  is  true  that  long  before  his  time  the  atheis- 
tical teaching  of  Buddha  had  been  generally  rejected  by  the  Hindu  com- 
munity. The  Buddhists  had  disappeared  iu  name  from  most  parts  of 
India.  Yet  much  of  the  spirit  of  Buddhism  survived  in  Yaishnarism. 
Even  the  doctrine  of  Nirvana,  or  individual  annibilationj  emerged  again 
in  the  Vaishnava  dogma  that  the  highest  object  of  himiau  aspiration  was 
to  lose  all  individual  existence  in  union  witli  Krishna  identified  with  the 
Supreme  Being.  Nothing,  too,  could  hare  been  more  consonant  with 
the  spirit  of  VaishnaATsm  than  the  Buddhist  respect  for  animal  life.  As 
to  the  Tautrikas  or  followers  of  Sakti&m,  they  abounded  everywhere, 
especially  in  Bengal.  Their  doctrine  was  that  magical  jwwers  might  be 
acquired  by  the  worship  of  the  female  principle  or  generative  faculty 
{sakii)  iu  nature,  personified  as  Siva's  wife.  They  believed  that  the 
male  principle,  personified  as  the  great  Reproducer  (the  god  Siva,  or 
''  the  Blessed  One"),  was  helpless  in  the  work  of  Reproduction  without 
the  energizing  action  of  the  female  principle.  Hence  the  union  of  the 
sexes  was  wdth  Tautrikas  (rpical  of  a  great  cosmieal  mystery. 

Chaitanya  professed  to  oppose  these  Sakta  doctrines,  both  as  tending 
to  licentious  practices^  and  as  ignoring  the  supremacy  of  the  god  Vishnu 
over  Siva,  Yet  his  system,  like  that  of  Vallabhacharya,  had  a  tendency 
in  the  same  direction.  He  taught  that  the  devotion  of  the  so\il  to 
Vishnu  was  to  be  symbolized  uudcr  the  figure  of  human  love.  " '  Thou 
art  dear  to  my  heart,  thou  art  pai-t  of  my  soul,'  said  a  young  man  to 
his  loved  one;  'I  love  thee,  but  why,  I  know  not.'  So  ought  the  wor- 
shipper to  love  Krishna,  and  worship  him  for  his  sake  only.  Let  him 
o£Fer  all  to  God,  and  expect  no  remuneration.  He  acts  like  a  trader 
who  asks  for  a  return.^'  Such  are  the  words  of  a  modern  exponent  of 
the  Vaishna^'a  system. 

I  hare  already  pointed  out  that  the  idea  of  faith  [bkakli)  as  a  means 
of  salvation,  which  was  formally  taught  by  the  authors  of  the  Bhagavad- 
glta,  Bhagavata-Puraua  and  Sandilya-sutras,  was  not  unknown  in  earlier 
times.  It  was  certainly  adumbrated  in  the  Upanishads.  The  leading 
doctrine,  however,  of  the  Vedic  hymns  and  Brahmanas  is  that  works 
(karma)^  especially  as  represented  by  the  pcrfonnancc  of  sacrifices  {yajna)^ 
constitute  the  surest  pathway  to  beatitude^  while  the  Upanishads  insist 
mainly  on  abstract  meditation  and  divine  knowledge  {jnnna)  as  tne  true 

*  TMa  wftfl  Ilia  theory,  bat  among  Uia  nmneroas  foUowow  of  the  present  day  the  doctrine 
of  equality  does  tmt  overcome  oMtc-feeling  aod  (;a«t«-ol>6ervances  except  during  rrlimotu 
aerrioea.  The  food  jire^cntod  to  the  idol  of  Jaean-ui&th  is  distributed  to  all  caatea  uike, 
Jkad  eaten  by  all  indiscnminately  at  the  anaual  teativiU. 


846 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW 


J 


method.  Chaitauya  affirmed  that  faith  and  devotion — displayed  by 
complete  submissiou  of  the  soul  to  Krishna — was  the  only  road  (o 
heaven.  Faith,  iu  fact,  superseded  all  other  duties.  "  Whatever  is 
accomplished  by  works,  by  penance,  by  divine  knowledge,  by  suppression 
of  the  passions,  by  abstract  meditation,  by  charity,  by  virtue,  by  otbn 
excellences, — all  this  is  effected  by  faith  in  me.  Paradise,  Ilearen, 
supreme  beatitude,  union  with  the  godhead, — every  wish  of  the  heart  is 
obtainable  by  faith  in  me,"  Such  are  Krishna's  own  words,  according 
to  the  belief  of  Chaitanya  and  other  Yaishnava  teachers,  (Bhagavats* 
Puraua  XI.) 

But  the  devotional  feelings  of  Krishna's  votaries  are  supposed  to  be 
susceptible  of  five  phases,  or  rather,  perhaps,  to  be  exhibited  in  ^st 
diflferent  ways,  which  are  thus  enumerated: — 1.  Calm  contemplation  of 
the  godhead  (adtUi) ;  2,  Active  servitude  (ddsya) ;  3.  A  feeling  of  per- 
sonal friendship  (sukhya) ;  4.  A  feeling  of  filial  attachment  like  that  of 
child  for  its  parent  {vdtsalya) ;  5,  A  feeling  of  tender  affection  like  th 
of  a  girl  for  her  lover  [mddhuryd). 

The  last  of  these  is  held  to  be  the  highest  feeling.  Indecdi 
Chaitanya  taught  that  the  great  aim  of  every  worshipper  of  Kr 
ought  to  be  to  lose  all  individuality  and  self-consciousness  in  ecstatic 
union  with  his  god.  To  bring  about  this  condition  of  intense  religious 
fervour  various  expedients  were  enjoined — such  as  incessant  repetition 
of  the  deity's  name  {ndma-klrlatia),  singing  {sanklrtana),  music,  dancing, 
or  movements  of  the  body  compared  to  dancing.^  Chaitanya  waa 
himself  in  the  constant  habit  of  swooning  away  in  paroxysm  of  ecstatic 
emotion,  which  at  last  affected  his  reason.  His  biographers  assert  that 
in  one  of  these  fits  he  was  translated  directly  to  Vishnu's  heaven 
{Vaikuniha),  According  to  some  accounts  he  ended  his  life  by  walking 
into  the  sea  near  Ptui  in  Orissa,  fancying  he  saw  a  beatific  vision  of 
Krishna  sporting  on  the  waves  with  his  favourite  Gopis.  Certain  it  is 
that  he  disappeared  iu  a  mysterious  manner  about  a.o.  1527,  at  the  age 
of  forty-two. 

Then  happened  what  has  constantly  taken  place  in  the  history  of 
India.  Men  of  high  religious  aspirations^  who  have  laboured  for  the 
revival  or  reformation  of  religion,  and  received  homage  as  inspired 
teachers  firom  crowds  of  disciples  during  life,  have  been  worshipped  as 
actual  deities  at  death.  The  only  question  in  the  minds  of  Chaitanya's 
devoted  followers  was  as  to  whether  he  was  a  full  manifestation  of  the 
Supreme  Being  (Krishna)  or  only  a  descent  of  a  portion  (ansa)  of  his 
essence.  The  dithculty  seems  to  have  been  settled  by  deciding  that 
Chaitanya  was  none  other  than  very  Krishna  incarnate,  and  that  his 
two  principal  disciples,  Advaita  and  Nityananda,  were  manifestations  of 

*  These  correapoud  to  the  Zikr  aud  reli^noua  dunouig  uf  the  Muhanunad&n  derriBbea. 
Fnr  oven  cold  lalizn  has  iU  dcvotcca  who  aim  at  roli^^ouB  ec«tAsy,  reAortiitg  to  «xpedMOti 
vco'  "iuiilu-  to  tboM  of  the  Chaitanyos.  I  havo  been  twice  present  at  the  weekly  •orvioef 
uf  the  Cikiro  dcnriahee.  One  »ect  repeat  the  name  of  God  with  violent  ejacnlatioiu  «od 
coutortioua  uf  tliu  body,  while  another  fraternity  whirl  tbemBelves  round  till  they  awooa 
away  in  the  intensity  of  their  religiuiu  fcrvoar. 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT, 


847 


portions  of  the  same  deity.  These  three  leaders  of  the  sect  arc  there- 
fore calJed  the  three  great  lords  [Praphus).  They  constitute  the  sacred 
triad  of  this  phase  of  Vaishnavism. 

But  a  fourth  leader,  named  Hari-das,  who  during  his  lifetime  was  a 
companion  of  CLaitanya,  is  worshipped  as  a  separate  divinity  in  Bengal. 
Indeed,  all  the  living  successors  and  the  present  leaders  of  the  scctj 
called  Gosainsj  are  venerated  as  little  less  than  deities  by  the  Vaishnavas 
of  this  school. 

Per  the  worship  of  living  religious  leaders  and  teachers  (usually 
railed  hy  the  general  name  Gvrv)  is  a  marked  feature  of  this  as  of  all 
forms  of  Vaishnavism.  The  Guru  with  Vaishnavas  is  far  more  than  a 
teacher,  and  even  more  than  a  mediator  between  God  and  men.  He  is 
the  present  god — the  visible  living  incarnation  of  the  deity.  His  anger 
or  favour  make  themselves  instantly  felt.  He  is  on  that  account  even 
more  feared  and  honoured  tban  the  very  god  of  whom  he  is  the  repre- 
sentative and  embodiment. 

Another  marked  feature  of  the  system  is  the  extraordinary  value 
attached  to  the  repetition  of  Krishna's  names,  especially  of  his  name  Hari. 
The  mere  mechanical  process  of  constantly  repeating  this  word  Hari 
secures  admission  to  Vishnu's  heaven.  Nothing  else  is  needed.  All 
religious  ceremonies  and  Vedic  texts  are  comparatively  useless.  Hari-das 
is  said  to  have  retired  to  a  secluded  place  in  a  wood  for  the  purpose  of 
repeating  the  word  Hari  300^000  times  daily.*  Even  a  blasphemous 
repetition  of  Krishna's  name  is  believed  by  his  followers  to  be  quite 
auflicient  to  secure  final  beatitude.  The  Pandits  of  the  Maratha 
country  affirm  that  there  is  a  form  of  devotion  called  Virodha-bhakti, 
which  consists  in  a  man's  cursing  the  deity  with  the  sole  object  of 
achieving  the  supreme  bliss  of  being  utterly  anniliilated  by  him,  and  so 
reabsorbed  into  the  god's  essence. 

A  great  many  treatises  (such  as  the  Chaitauya-charilamrita  written 
by  Krishna-das  in  1590)  have  been  composed  by  the  disciples  of 
Chaitanya  in  aujiport  of  his  tenets.  These  works  are  in  high  repute  in 
Bengal. 

Two  other  sects  of  Vaishnavas  merit  a  brief  notice — the  followers  of 
Nimbarka  and  those  of  Eumananda^  scattered  over  particular  districts 
in  Upper  India  and  Bengal. 

The  former  are  sometimes  called  Nimunandis  or  Nimuvats,  and  in 
point  of  time  are  probably  the  earliest  of  the  A^aishnava  sects.  Their 
founder  Nimbarka  (or  Nimbaditya)  is  thought  to  have  been  identical 
with  the  astronomer  Bhaskaracharya,  who  flourished  about  the  twelfth 

*  The  repetition  of  particular  Vedic  texts  is  by  •ome  regarded  as  equally  cfficaoiouB.  A 
certain  convertctl  llintfu  took  nccaaion  not  long  ago  to  recount  his  exj>criences.  It  appear* 
that  he  was  oocc  troubled  with  a  constant  longing  for  a  rision  of  Viahnu,  and  in  his  distress 
consulted  a  certain  Brfibman,  wliu  iuforinc-d  Lim  ibat  to  obtain  the  ileftircd  viflinn  he  would 
have  to  repeat  a  particular  text  {Mantra)  UUO,000  timca.  This  bo  accomplished  by  dint  of 
hard  work  night  and  day  in  three  montha,  and,  ou  complaining  to  bia  friend  the  Br&bxnan 
that  no  result  folluwcd,  was  told  that  he  must  have  made  some  mistake  in  repcAtiug  tho 
text,  and  that  he  mu«t  go  through  the  whole  process  again. 


848 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REFIEfV. 


century.  The  poet  Jaya-deva^  wLo  is  also  supposed  to  have  lived  in  the 
twelfth  century,  may  have  been  his  disciple.  If  so,  it  is  certain  that  the 
disciple  did  more  than  his  master  to  promote  the  doctrine  of  devotion 
to  Krishna.  In  Jaya-deva's  mystical  poem,  Gita-govinda  (compared 
by  some  to  our  Song  of  Solomon),  are  described  the  lores  of  Krishna 
and  the  Gopis  (wives  and  daughters  of  the  Cowherds),  and  especially  of 
Krishna  and  Radha,  as  typical  of  the  longing  of  the  human  soul  for 
union  with  the  divine. 

Others  again  believe  Nimbarka  to  have  been  an  actual  incarnation 
of  the  Sun-god,  and  maintain  that  he  derived  his  name  of  "  Nimb-trce- 
Sun"  from  having  one  day  stopped  the  course  of  the  sun's  disk, 
dislodged  it  from  the  heavens,  and  confined  it  for  a  brief  season  iu  a 
T^imb  (Nim)  tree.  According  to  Hindu  ideas,  this  remarkable  miracle 
was  worked  for  no  unworthy  or  inaufficicut  puq>ose.  It  enabled  Nim- 
bai*ka  to  offer  food  just  before  sunset  to  a  holy  guest  whose  religious 
vows  prevented  his  eating  after  dark. 

No  peculiar  doctrines  distinguish  Nimbarka's  creed,  except,  perhaps, 
that  his  followers,  who  are  not  very  numerous,  are  particular  to  worship 
the  goddess  R^idha  in  conjunction  with  Krishna. 

As  to  Ramananda,  the  sect  founded  by  him  about  the  end  of  the 
fom*tccntli  or  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  has  many  adherents  in 
Gangetic  India,  especially  around  Agra.  They  are  often  called  Rama- 
nandls  or  RamavatSj  and  are  sometimes  confounded  with  the  RamanujaSj 
the  fact  being  that  Ramananda  was  probably  one  of  Ramanuja's  dis- 
ciples. The  Ramananda  ^'aishnavas,  however,  have  distinctive  doctrines 
of  their  own.  Tliey  worship  Vishnu  under  the  form  of  Rama  (the  hero 
of  the  Ramayana)  cither  singly  or  conjointly  with  his  wife  Sita,  and  they 
are  not,  like  the  Rfunanujas,  hyperscmpulous  about  the  privacy  of 
their  meals.  Tlicir  favourite  book  is  the  Bhakta-mala  of  Nabhaji — a 
work  interesting  for  its  biographies  of  certain  Vaishuavas  and  adherents 
of  the  sect,  among  whom  arc  included  two  well-known  poets,  Sur-das  and 
Tulasi-das  (commonly  TulsT-das).  The  former  was  blind.  He  wrote  a 
vast  number  of  stanzas  in  praise  of  Vishnu,  and  is  regarded  as  a  kind 
of  patron  of  blind  men,  especially  if  they  roam  about  as  wandering 
musicians. 

Tulsi-das,  whose  verses  are  to  this  day  household  words  in  every  town 
and  rui*al  district  where  the  Hindi  language  is  spoken,  ranks  aa  a  poet  of 
a  higher  order.  He  was  born  near  Chitra-kiita  about  A.n,  1544,  and 
settled  at  Benares,  where  he  became  an  enthusiastic  worshipper  of  Rama 
and  Sita.  His  Hindi  poem,  the  Ramayana,  or  history  of  Rama,  is  no 
mere  translation  of  Valmiki's  great  work.  It  has  all  tlie  freahuefis  of 
an  independent  and  original  composition.      He  died  about  1624. 

But  Hnmananda  is  chiefly  noted  for  his  twelve  immetliate  disciples, 
the  most  celebrated  of  whom  were  Kabir,  Pipn,  and  Ravi-das,  Of 
those  again  by  far  the  most  remarkable  was  Kablr.  He  founded  a 
distinct  sect;  and  his  doctrines  are  worthy  of  a  full  description,  both  on 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


B41& 


their  own  account,  and  as  having  exercised  a  most  important  influence 
throughout  Upper  India  in  the  fifteenth  century.  That  they  formed  the 
basis  of  the  Sikh  movement  in  the  Panjab  is  clear  from  the  fact  that 
they  are  constantly  quoted  by  the  Guru  Nanak  and  his  successors,  the 
authors  of  the  sacred  writings  which  constitute  the  bible  {Grantha)  of 
the  Sikh  religion. 

Kabir  was  a  weaver,  and  in  all  probability  a  Musalman  by  birth.  He 
is  believed  to  have  lived  partly  iit  Benares  and  partly  at  Magar,  near 
Gorakhpur,in  the  reign  of  Sikandar  Shah  Lodi,  between  1488  and  1512. 
According  to  a  legend  he  was  miraculously  conceived  by  the  virgin  widow 
of  a  Braliman,  His  name  Kablr — au  Arabic  word  meaning  "  Great" — 
gives  support  to  the  now  generally  accepted  opinion  that  he  was  origin- 
ally a  Musalman.  But  he  never  had  any  sympathy  with  Muhammadan 
intolerance  and  exclusiveuess.  It  is  certain  that  in  the  end  he  became 
a  true  Hindu,  and,  what  is  important  to  bear  in  mind,  a  true  Vaishnava, 
who,  like  other  Vaishnava  leaders,  had  imbibed  much  of  the  democratic, 
tolerant,  and  liberal  spirit  of  Buddhism,  No  wonder,  then,  that  he 
laboured  to  free  the  Vaishnava  creed  from  the  useless  incrustations  of 
caste-obsen^ancc^  with  which  it  had  become  overlaid.  But  he  did  more 
than  other  Vaishnava  leaders.  He  rejected  all  idol-worship  and  taught 
Yaishnavism  as  a  form  of  strict  monotheism.  True  religion,  according 
to  Kabir,  meant  really  nothing  but  devotion  to  one  God,  who  is  called 
by  the  name  \ishuu,  or  by  synonyms  of  Vishuu  such  as  Rama  and 
Hari,  or  even  by  the  names  current  among  Muhammadans.  For  Kabir, 
in  his  tolerance,  had  no  objection  to  regard  Muhammadans  as  worship- 
ping the  same  God  imder  a  different  name.  In  this  way  he  was  the 
first  to  attempt  a  partial  bridging  of  the  gulf  between  Hiuduism  and 
Islam. 

It  might  seem,  indeed,  to  an  ordinary  observer  that  Hinduism  and 
Islam  are  as  wide  apart  as  opposite  poles.  "What  fellowship  can  there 
be  Ijetween  Pantheism  with  its  countless  diWne  and  scmi-diviue  mani- 
festations, and  monotheism  with  its  severe  conception  of  the  Unity  of 
the  Grodhead  ?  Yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  more  severe  the  mono- 
theism the  more  likely  is  it  to  lapse  into  forms  of  both  Pantheism  and 
Polytheism.  In  India,  as  in  other  countries,  the  opposite  extremes  of 
religious  beliefs  are  constantly  meeting ;  and  frequent  interchange  of 
ideas  takes  place  between  the  adherents  of  hostile  systems.  Pantheism  is 
continually  sliding  into  Monotheism,  Monotheism  into  Pantheism,  and 
both  into  Polytheism.  Hinduism  in  its  universal  receptivity  is  open  to 
impressions  from  Islam  ;  Islam,  notwithstanding  its  exclusiveuess,  is  adul* 
tcratcd  with  Hinduism.  Hence  it  happeus  that  Vaishnavism,  however 
decidedly  it  may  insist  on  the  separate  personality  of  the  Godhead,  is 
perpetually  slipping  back,  like  a  broad  wheel,  into  the  old  Pantheistic 
rut.  And  Islam,  however  uncompromising  its  view  of  the  Unity  of  the 
Deity,  has  its  school  of  Sufi  philosophers,  who  hold  opinions  almost 
identical  with  those  of  the  Vedfmta  Pantheists.    It  is  no  matter  of  wonder 


850 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


therefore^  that  Kabir — while  asserting  the  Unity  of  God,  the  Creator  oi 
the  worlds  who  is  admitted  to  have  attributes  and  qualities  and  eau 
assume  any  shape  at  will — also  maintaiucd  that  God  and  man  arc  parts 
of  oue  esaeucc,  and  that  "  both  are  iu  the  same  manner  everything  that 
lives  and  moves  and  has  its  being." 

Kabir*s  adherents — still  very  numerous  in  Northern  India — are  called 
Kabir-panthis,  or  Kabir-bhaktas.  His  doctrines  and  precepts  are 
embodied  in  the  Sukh-nidbaxi  and  other  Hindi  works,  as  well  as  in  the 
Sikh  Grantlia.  His  succesaora  have  added  precepts  of  their  own,  many 
of  which  are  attributed  to  Kabir.    His  alleged  sayings  are  innumerable. 

I  subjoin  a  few  specimens: — * 

"  Hear  my  word ;  go  not  astray.     If  man  wishes  to  know  the  truth  let  him  in- 
vestigate the  word. 

*'  Sly  word  is  from  the  first.     Meditate  on  it  every  moment. 

•'  Witliont  hearing  the  word,  all  is  utter  darkness.     Without  finding  the  gateway 
of  the  word,  man  will  ever  go  astray. 

"  There  nre  many  words.     Take  the  pith  of  them. 

"Lay  in  provender  sufficient  for  the  road  while  time  yet  serves.    Evening  comee 
on,  the  day  is  flown  and  nothing  will  be  provided. 

"  With  the  five  elements  is  the  abode  of  a  great  mystery.     When  the  body  is 
decomposed  has  nny  one  found  it  ?     The  word  of  the  teacher  is  the  guide, 

"  That  a  drop  falls  into  the  ocean  all  can  perceive ;  but  that  the  drop  and  the 
ocean  are  one.  few  can  compreht^nd. 

*'  The  dwelling  of  Kabir  is  on  the  peak  of  a  mountain,  and  a  narrow  path  leads 
to  it. 

"  No  act  of  devotion  can  eqtial  truth ;  no  crime  is  so  heinous  as  falsehood  ;  in 
the  heart  where  truth  abides,  there  is  my  abode. 

"  Put  a  check  upon  the  tongue  ;  speak  not  much.     Associate  with  the  wi 
Investigate  tlie  words  of  the  tcaclicr. 

"  W"hGa  the  master  is  blind,  what  is  to  become  of  the  scholar?  When  tho  btiod 
leada  the  blind  both  will  fall  into  tho  weU.** 

It  is  evident  from  these  examples  that  the  key-note  of  Kabir** 
teaching  was  the  duty  of  obeying  spiritual  teachers.  He  maintained,  iu 
fact,  that  every  man  was  bound  to  search  for  a  true  and  trustworthy 
spiritual  pastor  {Gurm),  and,  having  found  one,  to  make  him  his  mastex, 
— to  submit  mind,  conscience,  and  even  body  to  his  will  and  guidance. 
Yet  he  never  claimed  infallibility  for  his  own  utterances.  He  constantly 
warned  his  own  disciples  to  investigate  the  truth  of  every  word  he 
uttered  for  themselves. 

And  this  leads  me  to  some  further  notice  of  the  religious  aystem 
founded  in  the  Panjab  by  Kabir*s  most  celebrated  follower  Nanak, 
about  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Babar.  In  my  last  paper  I  viewed  the 
Sikh  system  iu  its  political  bearing  on  the  Afghan  quastion.  It  remains 
to  treat  of  it  more  ftilly  Suits  religious  aspect. 

It  is  well  known  that  certain  sects  of  Christians  call  themselves 
"  brethren,"  to  denote  their  relationship  to  each  other  and  to  their  Heatl 
as  members  of  a  religious  society  typified  by  a  family.  Much  in  the 
same  way   the  sect  founded    by  Nfinak  styled    themselves     '*  disciples' 

<  These  are  lelecfccd  from  H.  H.  WiUon^e  '*  Qlnda  Beligioos  SeoU." 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


86L 


{Bikhs)  to  express  their  close  dependence  on  their  teachers  or  Gurus. 
For  if — to  borrow  the  Premier's  metaphor — the  diapason  of  Kabir's 
doctrine,  and,  indeed,  of  all  Vaishnava  teaching,  was,  "  Hear  the  word  of 
the  Gum,  the  word  of  the  Guru  is  the  guide,"  much  more  did 
Nauak  insist  on  a  similar  submission.  Literally  interpreted,  the 
Sanskrit  terms  G«r«  (derived  from  the  Sanskrit  root  gri,  "to  ntter 
words"),  and  Sishya  (corrupted  into  Sikh),  meaning  in  Sanskrit  "  one 
who  is  to  be  instructed/'  are  simple  correlatives  like  teacher  and  taught. 
Hcncej  the  system  might  as  suitably  be  called  Gnruism  as  Sikhism. 

Great  light  has  recently  been  thrown  on  its  religious  aspect  by  the 
labours  of  Professor  Trurapp,  of  Munich.  He  was  commissioned  by  our 
Government  to  translate  what  is  called  the  Adi-Granth,  or  first  Sikh 
bible,  and  his  work  has  recently  appeared  with  valuable  introductory 
essays.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  we  arc  now  for  the  first  time 
able  to  form  an  accurate  idea  of  the  true  nature  of  one  of  the  most 
interesting  and  important  religious  and  political  movements  in  the 
history  of  India.  ' 

I  have  already  pointed  out  that  the  first  Sikh  Guru,  Nanak,  was 
merely  a  religious  reformer,  He  did  not  even  claim  to  be  the  founder 
of  a  new  sect ;  nor  were  his  precepts  marked  by  any  originality  of 
either  conception  or  diction.  They  followed  in  the  lines  laid  down  by 
his  predecessor,  Kablr.  In  plain  truth,  Nanak  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  thoughtful  and  energetic  Hindu  who  aimed — as  others  had 
done  before  him — at  delivering  Hinduism  from  the  festering  mass  of 
corruption  with  which  it  had  become  surrounded. 

Of  course  the  various  biographies  of  Nanak — called  Janam-saldiTs, 
and  written  in  the  Panjabi  dialect — were  filled  with  myths  and  stories 
of  miraculous  events,  invented  to  justify  the  semi-deification  of  the 
founder  of  the  sect  soon  after  his  death. 

It  seems  certain  that  he  was  bom  in  a  village  called  Talvandl  on  the 
river  Ravi,  not  far  from  Lahore,  in  the  year  1469,  a  few  years  before 
Chaitanya  in  Bengal  and  Martiu  Luther  in  Europe.  That  all  the  Hindu 
gods  appeared  in  the  sky  and  announced  the  birth  of  a  great  saint 
(Bhagat)  to  save  the  world,  is  not  quite  so  capable  of  proof,  Nor  can 
we  quite  accept  as  a  fact  another  statement  of  his  chroniclcrsj  that  one 
day  angels  seized  him  while  bathing,  and  carried  him  bodily  into  the 
presence  of  the  Deity,  who  presented  him  with  a  cup  of  nectar  and 
cliarged  him  to  proclaim  the  one  God,  under  the  name  of  Hari,  upon 
earth.  But  we  need  not  disbelieve  the  statement  that  at  an  early  age 
be  became  a  diligent  student  of  Hindu  religious  books,  and  that  in  his 
youth  he  imitated  the  example  of  other  incipient  reformers,  wandering 
to  various  shrines  in  search  of  some  clue  to  the  labyrinth  of  HindOism. 
It  is  even  affirmed  that  his  travels  included  the  performance  of  a  hajj 
to  Mecca,  and  that  on  being  reproved  by  the  KaEi  for  lying  down  with 
his  feet  towards  the  Ka'bah,  he  replied,  "  Put  ray  feet  in  that  direction 
where  the  bouse  of  God  is  not." 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV. 


852 


His  death  ia  known  to  have  occurred  on  the  10th  of  October,  1538. 
One  of  his  sons  expected  to  succeed  him,  but  to  the  surprise  of  those 
who  were  present  at  Nfiuak^s  death,  he  passed  over  his  own  »on  and 
nominated  as  second  Guru  his  disciple  Lahana^  whose  name  had  been 
changed  to  Angada  because  of  his  devotion.  He  had,  so  to  speak,  gtvea 
up  Lis  person  (angd)  to  the  ser^-icc  of  his  master.  This  appears  to  hafe 
been  his  chief  merit.  He  was  quite  illiterate,  though  tradition  makes  him 
the  inventor  of  the  peculiar  alphabet  called  Guru-mukhi  (a  modificatioa 
of  the  Devanagari)  in  which  the  Sikh  bible  was  written.  Angada 
nominated  Amar-das  to  succeed  him  as  third  Guru.  Seven  others  were 
•  Ap^Kiinted  to  the  succession  in  a  similar  manner.  These  make  up  the 
ten  chief  Gurus  of  the  Sikh  religion.  They  were  4.  Ram-das;  5. 
Arjuu;  G.  Har-Goviud  ;  7.  Uar-Rai;  8.  Har-Kiaau  (for  Har- Krishna); 
9.  Teg-Bahadur ;  and   10.  Govind-Sinh. 

Professor  Trurapp  has   given   an    interesting  account  of  each,  though 
he  does  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  native   biographies  from  which 
his  details  are  taken.     One  thing  is  certain,  that  notwithstanding  the 
agreement   of  Sikhs  and   Muhammadans   in   regard    to   the  great  doc- 
trine of  the  Unity  of  the  Godhead,  a  violent  political  antagonism  soon 
sprang  up  between  the  atUiereuts  of  the  two  creeds.     The  real  fact  was 
that  when  the  Sikhs  began  to  combine  together  for   the  promotiou  of 
their    worldly   as    well   as   spiritual    interests,   they  rapidly   developed 
military  tastes  and  abilities.     This  was  the  signal  for  an  entire  change 
of  attitude  between  Sikhs  and  Muhammadans.      So  long  as  the  former 
were  a  mere  religious  sect  they  were  left   unmolested ;  but   when   they 
began  to  band  themselves  together  for  purposes  of  political  aggrandize- 
ment, they  encountered  opposition  and  persecution.     The  Mnharamudaa 
Government  naturally  took  alarm.     It  could  not    permit  the   growth  of; 
an  imperiwn  in  itnpeno.     Internecine  struggles  followed.      Both  partial 
treated  each  other  as  deadly  enemies ;  but  the  hardy  and  energetic  Sikhs, 
though  occasionally  vanquished  and  dispersed,  were  not  to  be  driven  off 
the  field.     Nor  is  it  surprising  that  they  gradually  developed  a  taste  for 
rapine  and  spoliation.      The  decaying  Mogul  Empire  was  quite  unable  to 
hold   its  own  against  their    aggressiveness.     Ultimately,  as    we    have 
already  seen,  they   combiacd  into  powerful  associations   {misals)   under 
independent  marauding   chiefs,  seized  large   tracts  of  land,  and   took 
possession  of  the  whole  Paujab. 

The  first  to  inspire  the  Sikhs  with  a  desire  for  political  union  was  tho 
fourth  Guru,  Rum-das.  He  was  himself  a  quiet  unassuming  man,  but 
he  understood  the  value  of  money  and  the  advantage  of  organization. 
His  affable  manners  attracted  crowds  of  adherents,  who  daily  flocked  to 
liis  house  and  voluntarily  presented  him  with  oQcrings.  With  the  con- 
tributions thus  received  he  was  able  to  purchase  the  sacred  tank  of 
Ararita-sar,  and  build  the  well-known  lake-temple  which  afterwards 
became  a  rallying  point  and  centre  of  union  for  the  whole  Sikh 
community. 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


853 


Bam-das  conveyed  his  precepts  to  his  followers  in  the  form  of  vcrsca. 
Many  of  his  stansas,  together  with  the  sayiugit  of  the  previous  Gurus, 
aud  especially  of  the  first  Guru,  Kanak,  were  for  the  first  time  collected 
and  introduced  iuto  the  Adi-Granth,  or  first  Sikh  bible,  by  his  son,  the 
fifth  Guru,  Arjun,  who  was  appointed  by  his  father  to  the  Gurushipjust 
before  his  death  in  1581.  From  that  time  forward  the  succession  was 
made  hei'editary,  and  the  remaining  live  Gurus  were  regarded  as  rulers 
rather  than  as  teachers. 

A  distinguished  place  among  the  ten  chief  Sikh  Gurus  must  be  claimed 
for  Arjun.  lie  was  the  first  to  convert  the  Sikh  community  from  a 
religious  sect  into  au  important  political  organization.  He  not  only 
compiled  the  first  Sikh  bible,  but  substituted  a  regiUar  tax  for  the  volun- 
tary contributions  of  his  followers.  He  was  the  first  Sikh  Pope  who 
aimed  at  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual  power.  It  is  not  surprising,  then, 
that  his  death  i»  said  to  have  been  brought  about  by  the  Emperor 
Jehanglr. 

The  lives  of  the  sixth,  seventh,  and  eighth  Gurus  may  be  passed  over 
as  unimportant.  The  ninth  Guru,  Teg-Bahiidur,  attracted  the  attention 
of  the  Emperor  Auraugzlb.  This  fanatical  monarch,  who  was  bent  on 
forcing  the  whole  world  to  embrace  Islam,  did  not  long  leave  the  Sikhs 
undisturbed.  lie  imprisoned  Teg-Dahadar,  and  tortured  him  so  cruelly 
that  the  Guru,  despairing  of  life,  induced  a  fellow-prisoner  to  put  an 
end  to  his  sufferlugs.  But  Aurangzlb's  tyranny  was  quite  powerless  to 
suppress  the  Sikh  movement.  It  was  rather  the  chief  factor  in  Sikh 
progress.  The  murder  of  the  ninth  Guru  was  the  great  turning-point 
in  the  history  of  the  sect.  Thenceforward  the  Sikhs  became  n  nation 
of  fighting  men. 

Teg- Bahadur's  son,  Goviud-Sinh,  succeeded  ns  tenth  Gum.  Burning 
to  revenge  his  father's  death,  he  formed  the  ambitious  design  of  esta- 
blishing au  independent  dominion  on  the  mins  of  the  ISluhammadan 
Empire.  lie  was  a  man  of  extraordinary  energy  and  strength  of  will, 
but,  born  aud  brought  up  at  Putua,  was  deeply  imbued  Avith  Hindu 
superstitious  feelings.  The  better  to  prepare  himself  for  what  he  felt 
was  too  gigantic  a  task  to  be  accomplished  without  supernatural 
assistance,  he  went  through  a  course  of  severe  religious  austerity.  He 
even  so  far  abjured  the  principles  of  his  pre<lecessors  as  to  propitiate  tlie 
goddess  DurgH.  Nay  it  is  even  aflirmed  that,  instigated  by  the 
Brahmans  to  offer  one  of  his  ow^u  sons  as  a  sacrifice,  and  unable  to 
obtain  the  mother's  consent,  he  allowed  one  of  his  disciples  to  lie 
beheaded  as  a  substitute  at  the  altar  of  the  bloody  goddess.  The  story 
is  noteworthy  as  pointing  to  the  prevalence  of  human  sacrifice  at  that 
time  in  Upper  India. 

We  need  not  repeat  the  account  already  given  of  the  history  aud 
character  of  Govind,  nor  dwell  on  the  process  by  which  he  converted 
the  Sikhs  from  a  religious  sect  to  a  nation  of  fighting  men.  One  point, 
however,  must  be  adverted   to  again.       The   first  bible   (Adi-Granih), 

YOL.  xxrv.  3  K 


854 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


contaiDing  the  precepts  of  Nanak  and  his  successors,  which  had  been 
compiled  by  Guru  Arjun,  was  too  full  of  passages  suggestire  of  meek- 
ness and  patiific  feelings  to  satisfy  Goviud.  A  second  canonical  book 
was  needed,  suited  to  the  revolution  effected  by  him  in  the  whole 
character  of  the  Sikh  community — a  revolution  well  symbolized  by  the 
name  Sinh  (lioii)  which  he  required  to  be  appended  to  that  of  every  Sikh. 
This  second  bible  was  added  by  Govind  as  a  supplement  to  the  firsts  aud 
called  the  book  of  the  tenth  Guru.  Yet,  in  regard  to  mere  religious 
doctrine,  Govind  in  his  own  portion  of  the  Granth  adhered  to  tlic  half 
monotheistic,  half  pnntheistic  teaching  of  the  Adi-Grauth.  He  prohi- 
bited idolatry,  and  insisted  on  the  Oneness  of  God.  His  chief  innova- 
tion was  the  inculcation  of  war  as  a  religious  duty.  He  was  himself, 
more  of  a  military  than  a  religious  leader.  He  was  not  only  a  brare 
soldier,  but  a  dariug  and  resolute  commander,  and  his  fighting  propen* 
sities  were  intensified  by  his  innate  superstition  and  fanaticism. 

It  need  not,  therefore,  be  matter  of  astonishment  that  the  greater 
part  of  Govind's  own  life  was  passed  in  strife  and  warfare.  But  he  was 
no  match  far  tlio  Emperor  Auraugzlb,  who  was  his  equal  in  fanaticaL 
intolerance,  and  greatly  his  superior  in  ability  and  military  resources. 
Forced  to  withdraw  from  a  hopeless  contest,  he  built  himself  a  large 
residence  in  Malwa  (called  Damdamfi),  This  place  is  still  a  central 
point  of  resort  for  the  Sikh  connmuuity,  On  the  death  of  Aurangzib, 
Gt)vind  ia  said  to  have  gained  the  goodwill  of  his  successor,  Bahadur 
Shah,  and  even  to  have  accepted  a  military  coinmaud  in  the  Dckhan. 
There  a  certain  Pathan,  who  owed  him  a  grudge,  attempted  his  assassi* 
nation  and  wounded  him  severely.  He  is  said  to  have  lingered  some 
time,  but  eventually  died  of  his  injuries  at  a  town  called  Nader,  in 
the  valley  of  the  Goddvari  (a.d.  1708).  Perhaps  the  most  remarkable 
feature  of  the  later  Sikh  system  was  the  qnasi-deiHcatiou  of  the  sacred 
book,  or  (iranth.  Govind  refused  to  appoint  a  successor  to  the  Guniship, , 
but  he  well  knew  that  toniaintaiu  the  Sikh  religion  as  a  distinctive  creed 
some  visible  representative  and  standard  of  authority  was  needed.  He 
therefore  constituted  the  Granth  a  kind  of  permanent  religious  Guru, , 
gifting  it  with  persouality,  and  even  endowing  it  with  the  |)cr»onal  title 
Sahib  (Lord).  "  After  me/'  he  said,  "you  shall  everywhere  mind  the 
book  of  the  Granth-Sahib  as  your  Guru ;  whatever  you  shall  ask  it 
will  show  you." 

It  may  be  worth  while,  therefore,  to  inquire  a  little  more  closely  into 
the  nature  of  the  book  thus   exalted   to  the  position   of  an   infallible 
guide,  aud  made  to  do  duty  as  a  kind  of  visible  vicegerent  of  God  upon  i 
earth.  ] 

It  consists,  as  we  have  seen,  of  two  parts,  the  Adi-Grauth  or  first 
book,  which  is  the  portion  most  generally  revered,  and  the  book  of  the 
tenth  Guru,  Govind,  which  finds  greater  favour  with  the  more  fanatical 
section  of  the  community.  AVe  can  only  here  glance  at  the  form  and 
contents  of  the  Adi-Granth.    The  translator  (Professor  Trumpp)  considers 


INDIAN  REUGIOVS  THOUGHT, 


85S 


it  to  be  "  an  extremely  incoherent  and  ■wearisome  book,  the  few  thoughts 
and  ideas  it  contains  being  repeated  in  endless  variations."  Nor  will 
this  estimate  of  its  merits  be  matter  of  wonder  when  it  is  found  that 
the  Adi-Granth  is,  in  fact,  a  jumbling  together  of  metrical  precepts  and 
apophthegms  supposed  to  have  been  composed  by  at  least  thirty-five 
diftcrcnt  authors,  among  whom  were  six  of  the  ten  chief  Gurus  (Niinak, 
Angada,  Amar-das,  Ram-das,  Arjun,  and  Tcg-Bahildur),  fourteen  Bhagats 
or  saints  (llamfinand,  Kabir,  Plpa,  Ravi-das,  Dhanna,  Namdev,  Sur-das, 
&c.},  and  fifteen  Bhatts  or  professional  panegyrists,  whose  names  are 
not  worth  recording.  These  latter  were  employed  to  write  eulogies  on 
the  Gurus,  and  their  panegyrics,  introduced  into  the  Grauth,  are  curious 
as  specimens  of  abject  adulatioUj  though  absolutely  worthless  in  them- 
selves. It  is  noticeable  that  one  verse  by  Govind-Sinh  has  been 
appended  to  the  Adi-Granth,  and  is  regarded  as  an  integral  portion  of 
the  volume. 

The  language  in  which  the  whole  work  is  written  is  not  so  much  the 
old  I'anjabi  dialect  as  the  old  Hindi.  This  ancient  dialect  was  probably 
used  by  the  Sikh  Gurus,  though  natives  of  the  Paujab,  that  they  might  be 
better  able  to  commend  their  utterances  to  the  whole  Hindu  community. 
It  may  be  conveniently  called  Hiudu-i  to  distinguish  it  from  the  modern 
Hindi.*  The  graphic  system  used  by  the  writers  was  a  modification  of 
the  Dcvanagari  alphabet,  called  Gum-mukhl,  the  chief  peculiarity  of 
which  is  that  it  preserves  the  forms  of  most  of  the  Sanskrit  letters,  but 
changes  their  phonetic  power. 

Perhaps  it  is  as  unjust. to  disparage  the  Granth  as  to  exalt  its  mei'its 
tmduly.  To  say  that  it  contains  many  noble  thoughts  is  as  true  as  to 
say  that  it  abounds  in  mere  twaddle  and  silly  repetition.  Nor  can  it  be 
fairly  accused  of  absence  of  arrangement.  The  verses,  though  uncon- 
nected, are  arranged  in  six  divisions: — (1)  we  have  the  Japu  (commonly 
called  Jap-jl),  which  consists  of  introductory  verses  by  Nanak  ;  (2)  then 
follows  the  So-daru ;  (3)  the  So-purkhu  ;  (4)  the  Sohila,  three  short 
sections,  consisting  chiefly  of  verses  adapted  for  evening  devotion  ; 
lastly  come  (5)  the  Ragus,  verses  sung  in  iiarticular  Rags  or  musical 
keys,  thirty-one  in  number,  which  constitute  the  great  body  of  the 
Granth,  especially  tlic  first  four,  called  Siri  Rag,  Rag  Magh,  Rug  Gauri 
and  Rag  Asa;  and  (6)  the  Bhog,  cousiating  of  verses  by  Nanak,  Arjun, 
and  the  earlier  Gurus,  besides  others  by  Kabir,  whose  sayings  are  also 
scattered  everywhere  through  every  section  of  tlie  Granth. 

I  select  a  few  examples  from  different  parts  of  the  book,  slightly 
abridged  and  altered  from  Professor  Trumpp's  version  : — 

'*At  the  beginning  is  the  True  One. 

"The  True  Oue  is,  O  Naniik  I  and  the  True  One  also  will  be. 
"  Kuow,  that  there  are  two  ways  (that  of  Hindfis  and  that  of  MuaaliimnB),but 
only  one  Lord- 

"  «  Professor  Trunipp  dengzutes  it  by  this  n&ino.     I  believe  I  was  one  of  the  first  to 
reoomincnd  itii  bein^  so  (listingDiahed,  in  the  Prcfacetomy  Baaskrit-Kngluib   Dictionary, 

published  by  the  Untveraity  of  Oxford  in  1872. 

3  K  2 


856 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEJV. 


^  By  thyself  all  the  creation  is  {produced ;  by  thji«elf,  Uaviog  crefttedy  the  wL«W 
is  caused  to  disappear. 

*^Thou,  O  Iluri,  alcme  art  iiuide  and  outside  ;  tliou  knowest  the  secrets  (oftlie 
heart). 

"Mutter  the  name  of  Hari,  Hari,  O  my  heart.,  by  which  comibrk  i^  brou|^ 
abo\it;  by  which  all  sina  and  yices  disappear;  by  which  poverty  and  pain  cease. 

'*  Thoii  art  I,  I  am  tliou^  of  what  kind  is  the  difference  ?  Like  goM  and  the 
bracelet,  like  water  and  a  wave. 

"  la  the  seven  insular  continents,  the  seven  oceans,  the  nine  r^onx,  the  fber 
Vedoa,  the  eighteen  Pui*aQa3  :  In  all,  thou,  0  Uari,  art  abidizigy  in  all  thy 
decreCf  O  Hari,  is  workiug, 

"  By  the  perfect  Guru  the  name  of  Hari  is  made  firm  in  me.  Hari  is  my  beloved, 
my  king.     If  some  one  bring  and  unite  (him  with  me),  my  life  is  revived. 

**  Thm>  art  my  father,  my  mother,  my  cousin,  my  brother,  my  protector  in  all 
places.     Then  what  fear  and  grief  can  there  be  to  me  ?    By  thy  mercy  I  have 
kno^vn  thee.    Thou  art  my  support,  my  trust.     Without  thee  there  ia  none  other 
all  iB  thy  play  and  thy  arena,  O  Lord  ! 

"Tlie  Lortl  is  my  dear  friend.  He  is  sweeter  to  me  than  mother  and  father^ 
mster,  brother,  and  all  friends ;   like  thee  thuro  is  none  other,  O  Lord  I 

**  Be  united  with  the  Lord  of  the  Universe.  Ai\er  a  long  time  this  (human) 
body  wna  obtained.  Li  sonic  births  thou  wast  made  a  rock  and  mountain.  In 
some  births  thou  wast  produced  as  a  pot-herb.  In  the  eighty-four  lakhs  (of 
forms  of  existence)  thon  wast  caused  to  wander  about, 

"  No  hot  wind  touches  those  who  are  protected  by  the  true  Guru.  The  Gum 
is  the  true  creator. 

"  Protected  by  the  Guru  he  is  admitted  to  the  true  house  and  palace  (of  Hari). 
Death  cunnot  eat  him. 

"  I  am  continually  a  sacrifice  to  my  own  Guru. 

"  I  am  become  a  sacrifice  to  my  own  Lord.  From  the  Veda,  from  the  book  (th<* 
Kuran),  from  the  whole  world  he  in  conspicuous.  The  King  of  Nonak  is  openly 
Been. 

'*  Having  forgotten  all  things  meditate  on  the  One !  Drop  false  conceit,  offer  up 
(thy)  mind  and  body  !" 

The  following  are  examples  of  Kabir'a  sayiDgs  quoted  in  ih^ 
Granth  :— 

"  Kabir  sjiys :   I  am  the  worst  of  uU.  every  one  ia  good  except  me. 

*'  Death,  of  which  the  world  is  afraiJ,  is  joy  to  my  mind. 

*•  The  gate  of  salvation  is  narrow,  not  wider  than  the  tenth  partof  nmustard-soetlJ 

"  If  I  moke  the  seven  oceans  ink,  if  I  make  the  trees  ray  pen,  if  I  make  the' 
earilt  my  paper,  the  glory  of  God  (Hari)  cnnnot  bo  written. 

**  Hope  should  be  placed  on  God  (Rum),  hope  in  others  is  useleae. 

*'  What  thou  art  doing  to-morrow  do  now ;  what  thou  art  doing  now  do  at 
once.     Afterwards  nothinif  will  be  done  when  deatli  descends  ou  thy  head." 

It  will  be  sufHcicutly  evident  from  these  passages  that  Sikhism  was  a 
great  religions  relbrmj  and  yet  in  its  essence  very  little  belter  than 
Brahmaiiism.  The  Granth  declares  the  Oneness  of  the  Deity,  but  whcti 
we  souud  the  depths  of  itH  inner  doctrines  we  find  that  this  unity  is  to 
be  interpreted  panthcistically.  There  is  but  One  God,  but  he  manifests 
Himself  evcj-ywhcrc  and  is  everything.  From  various  passages  of  the 
Granth  it  is  elear  that  the  Hindu  names  Harij  Krishna,  Rama,  and 
Govind  are  accepted  by  the  Sikhs  as  names  of  the  Supremo.  They  arc 
even  willing  to  regard  the  different  divine  personalities  represented  by 
these  names  as  manifestations  of  the  one  Supreme  Being.     The  point 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


857 


ou  wTiicli  they  pride  themselves  is  the  prohibitiou  of  image-worship. 
Yet  they  make  au  idol  of  their  own  sacred  book,  worshippiag  it  as 
truly  as  the  Hindus  do  their  idolsj  dressing  itj  decorating  it,  fanning  it, 
putting  it  to  bed  at  night,  and  treating  it  much  in  the  same  manner  as 
the  idols  of  Krishna  ai*e  treated. 

We  have  seen  that  one  great  distinguishing  feature  of  their  system  is 
that  war  is  made  au  essential  part  of  religion.  To  indicate  their  belief  in 
this  doctrine  they  worship  the  military  weapons  of  their  Gums.  In 
other  respects  they  conform  to  the  customs  of  the  Hindus.  They  even 
surpass  the  ordinary  Hindu  in  some  of  his  most  inveterate  superstitions ; 
as,  for  example,  in  ascribing  divine  sanctity  to  the  cow.  Tlie  killing  of 
a  cow  is,  with  Sikhs,  the  most  heinous  of  crimes,*  meriting  nothing  less 
than  capital  punishment — not,  however,  from  any  injunction  to  that 
effect  in  the  Granth,  hut  from  simple  opposition  to  the  Musalmans, 
who,  whenever  they  conquered  any  district  peopled  by  Hindus,  inva- 
riably slaughtered  cows,  both  to  ratify  their  victories  and  to  show  their 
<x)ntempt  for  Hindu  superstitions. 

Then  again  they  accept,  in  more  than  its  fulness^  the  Hindu 
doctrine  of  metempsychosis,  believing  that  there  are  eighty-four 
lakhs  (or  eight  millions  four  hundred  thousand}  forms  of  existence 
through  which  all  souls — represented  as  flames  emanating  from  the 
great  fountain  of  light — are  liable  to  pass  before  rcttirning  to  their 
source.t 

But  after  all  the  chief  distinctive  feature  of  Sikhism  is  that,  accepting 
the  Vaishnava  doctrine  of  complete  submission  to  the  Guru  or  ordained 
religious  teacher,  the  Sikh  Gum  is  made,  so  to  speak, to  out-Guru  all  other 
Ourus.  His  word  is  to  be  law  in  every  single  matter,  human  and  divine. 
First,  he  baptizes  the  novice  with  a  decoction  of  sugar  and  water,  which 
he  has  previously  consecrated  and  stirred  with  a  two-edged  dagger. 
Then  he  imparts  the  name  of  Hari  to  his  disciple  in  a  partieidar  sacred 
text,  which  loses  all  its  efficacy  unless  orally  communicated.  He  tells 
him  to  mutter  it  jierpetually,  enjoins  him  to  fix  his  miiul  on  Hari's 
excellences,  and  never  to  rest  until  he  has  extinguished  all  self-con- 
sciousness, and  merged  his  own  separate  existence  in  that  of  Hari.  In 
return  for  the  instruction  thus  imparted,  the  disciple,  even  in  the  earliest 
period  of  Sikhism,  had  to  render  a  certain  amount  of  personal  and  even 
menial  service  to  his  Guru.  Then  as  Sikhism  advanced  and  the  Gum 
gained  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual  authority,  he  became  to  the  dis- 
ciple not  only  teacher  and  spiritual  pastor,  but  master,  military  leader^ 
and  kiDg.  Finally,  when  he  had  ceased  to  act  as  a  military  leader,  he 
was  regarded  as  an  all-powerful  mediator  between  God  and   man,  and 


*  At  one  time  in  the  Fun  jib  it  was  intiaitcly  more  crimiiul  to  kill  n  cow  tbAn  to  kin  a 
daughtfir. 

+  These  fonDS  of  li/e  are  supposed  to  consijit  of  2,300,000  q^aadnipeds;  900,000  aqoatio 
animals;  1,000,000  featliered  aninials  ;  1,100,000  cnqring  aaxmaLi ;  1,700,000  immoTable 
creatures  ^such  as  trees  and  stones) ;  1,400,000  <or  aocording  to  some  only  400,000}  forma  of 
hiiuan  bexDgs.    Final  emancipation  can  only  be  aohie\'ed  in  Uiii  last  form  of  exiatcuce . 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


CTcn  as  an  actual  god  to  whom  prayers  were  to  be  addi'eased  as  to  the 
Supreme  Being  Himself. 

Before  concluding  tins  sketch  of  one  of  the  most  interesting  religions 
movemeuts  that  have  e%'cr  taken  place  in  India,  I  ought  to  state  that  I 
visited  the  tombs  of  Ranjit  Sinh  and  Guru  Arjun  at  Lahore,  the  birth- 
place of  Govind  at  Patua^  and  the  sacred  metropolis  or  Jerusalem  of 
Sikhism  at  Amritsar. 

I  noticed  that  the  mausoleum  which  contains  the  ashes    of   Ranjit 
Siuh  at  Lahore  had  idols  of  the  Hiudu  gods  Ganesa  and  Brahma  over 
the  entrance.     InsidCj  resting  on  a   small   elevated  platform,  was  the  I 
sacred  Granth,  and  all  around  were  eleven  small  tombs,  mere    mounda  I 
of  earth,  under  which  are  preserved  the  ashes  of  Ranjit's  eleven  wives,  j 
"who  became  Satis  at  his  death.  I 

It  may  be  worth  while  here  to  mention  that  it  is  against  the  practice  1 
of  the  Hindus  to  prescrs^c  the  remains  of  their  deceased  relatives  in  I 
tombs.  The  body  is  burnt,  and,  however  illustrious  the  mau  may  have 
been,  the  ashes  are  scattered  on  sacred  rivers.  The  Sikh  leaders  were, 
like  the  Muhammadans,  ambitious  of  perpetuating  their  own  memories- 1 
alter  death.  They  continued  the  Hindu  practice  of  burning  their  dead,  j 
but,  like  the  Muslims,  spent  larger  sums  in  erecting  magnificent  tombt] 
for  the  reception  of  theii'  o^n  ashes  than  in  building  palaces  for  theiu 
own  ease  and  self-indulgence  during  life.  M 

The  temple  dedicated  to  the  tenth  Guru  Govind,  at  Patna,  was  rebmlil 
by  Ranjit  Sinh  about  forty  years  ago.     I  found  it,  after  some  trouble,  i 
in  a  side  street,  hidden  from  view  and  approached  by  a  gateway,  over 
which  were  the  images  of  the  first  niue   Gurus  with   Nanak    in   the^ 
centre.     Tlie  shiinc  is  open  on  one  side.     Its  guardian  had   a   high- 
peaked  turban  encircled  by  steel  rings  {chakra)y  used  as  weapons.      He 
was  evidently  an  Akali — or  "  worshipper  of  the  timeless  God" — a  term . 
applied  to  a  particular  class  of  Sikh  zealots  who  believe   themselves 
justified  in  putting  every  opponent  of  their  religion  to  the  sword.      As 
I  entered  the  court  of  the  temple,  accompanied  by  a  Musalman  friend,  J 
this  Akali  displayed  great  excitement,  and  I  began  to  fear  an  outburst 
of  fauaticism  which  might  have  been  dangerous  to  both  of  us.    Happily 
my  companion  knew  the  man  we  had  to  deal  with,  and,  under  a  process  of 
judicious  handling,  the  fiery  zealot  cooled  down,  and  even  allowed  us  to 
inspect  the  interior  of  the  tenth  Guru's  shrine.  J 

On  one  side,  iu  a  small   recess — supi>osed  to  be  the  actual  room  ia  I 
which  Govind  was  bom  more  than  two  centuries  before — were  some  of] 
hia  garmcuts  and  weapons,  and  what  was  once  his  bed,  with  other  relicsj! 
all  in  a   state  of  decay.     On  the  other  side  was  a  kind  of  low  altar, 
on  which  were   lying  under  a  canopy  a  beautifully  embroidered  copy  of 
the  Adi-Grauth  and  of  the  Grauth  of  Govind.    In  the  centre,  on  a  raised 
platformj  were  a  number  of  sacred  swords,  which    appeared   toj  be  as 
much  objects  of  worship  as  the  sacred  books. 

As  to  the  golden  temple  at  Amritsar,  called  Hari-mandir,  or  some-. 


INDIAN  REUGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


859 


times  Biirbnr  Sahib,  it  may  be  said  to  rank  next  to  the  Taj  at  Agra  as 
one  of  tlie  most  striking  sights  of  India.  To  form  an  idea  of  the 
unique  spectacle  presented  by  this  sacred  locality,  one  must  picture  to 
oneself  a  large  square  sheet  of  water,  bordered  by  a  marble  pavement, 
in  the  centre  of  a  picturesque  Indian  town.  Around  the  margin  of  this 
artificial  lake  arc  clustered  numerous  hue  mansions,  most  of  them  ouce 
the  property  of  Sikh  chiefs  who  assembled  here  every  year,  and  spent 
vast  sums  on  the  endowment  of  the  central  shrine.  One  of  the  houses 
is  now  occupied  by  Sirdar  Mangal  Siuh  Ramgharla,  a  well-known  and 
much  esteemed  member  of  tbc  Sikh  community.  It  has  two  lofty 
towers,  from  oue  of  which  I  enjoyed  a  grand  panoramic  viewof  the  lake 
and  its  vicinity — one  of  those  rare  sights  seen  at  intervals  during  life, 
■which  fix  themselves  indelibly  on  the  memory.  In  the  centre  of  the 
water  rises  the  beautiful  temple  with  its  gilded  dome  and  cupolas,  ap- 
proached by  a  marble  causeway^  aud  quite  unlike  any  other  place  of 
worship  to  be  seeo  throughout  India.  In  structure  and  appearance  it 
is  a  kind  of  compromise  between  a  Hindu  temple  aud  a  Muhammadaa 
mosque,  reminding  one  of  the  attempted  compromise  between  Hin- 
duism and  Islam,  which  was  ouce  a  favourite  idea  with  both  Kabir  aud 
Nanak. 

In  point  of  mere  size  the  shrine  is  not  imposing,  but  its  proportions 
strike  one  as  nearly  perfect.  All  the  lower  part  is  of  marble,  inlaid, 
like  the  Taj,  with  precious  stones,  and  here  and  there  overlaid  with  gold 
aud  silver.  The  principal  entrance  facing  the  causeway  looks  towards 
the  north.  The  interior  is  even  more  gorgeous  than  the  exterior.  Oa 
the  ground-floor  is  a  well-proportioned  vauUctl  hall — its  richly  gilded 
ceiling  ornamented  with  an  infinite  number  of  small  miiTors,  aud  its 
walls  decorated  with  inlaid  work  of  various  designs,  flowers,  birds,  and 
elephants.  Four  short  passages,  entered  by  caned  silver  doors,  one  on 
each  of  its  four  sides,  lead  to  this  vaulted  chamber,  giving  it  a  shape  not 
unlike  that  of  a  Greek  cross.  All  around  on  the  outside  is  a  narrow 
corridor.  lu  the  interior,  opposite  the  principal  entrance,  sits  the  presiding 
Guru — his  legs  folded  under  him  on  the  bare  ground — with  the  open 
Grantli  before  him.  He  is  attended  by  other  officials  of  the  temple, 
who  assist  him  in  chanting  the  sacred  texts. 

And  be  it  observed,  that  although  the  temple  is  conspicuously  free 
from  images,  and  is  dedicated  to  the  one  Supreme  Being  (under  his 
name  HariJ,  a  visible  representation  of  the  invisible  God  is  believed  to 
be  present  in  the  sacred  book.  The  Granth  is,  in  fact,  the  real 
divinity  of  the  shrine,  and  is  treated  as  if  it  Iiad  a  veritable  personal 
existence.  Every  morning  it  is  dressed  out  in  costly  brocade,  and 
reverently  placed  on  a  low  throne  under  a  jewelled  canopy,  said  to  hare 
been  constructed  by  Uanjit  Siuh  at  a  cost  of  50,000  rupees.  All  day  long 
chowries  are  waved  over  the  sacred  volume,  and  every  evening  it  is 
transported  to  the  second  temple  on  the  edge  of  the  lake  opposite  the 
causeway,  where  it  is  made   to  repose  for  the  night  in  a  golden  bed 


860 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


witliin  a  consecrated  chamber,  railed  off  and  protected  firom  all  profane 
intrusion  by  bolts  and  bars. 

On  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  the  Golden  Temple  two  or  three 
rows  of  temple  officials  and  others  were  seated  in  a  circle  round  the 
vaulted  chamber,  to  the  number  of  about  a  hundred,  listening  to  the 
Granth  which  was  being  chanted  by  the  presiding  Guru  and  his  assistants 
in  a  loud  tone,  with  an  accompaniment  of  musical  instruments.  The 
space  in  the  centre  was  left  vacant  for  offerings  and  was  strewn  with 
flowers,  grain,  and  small  coin-  A  constant  line  of  worshippers,  male  and 
female,  entered  one  after  the  other,  cast  down  their  offerings,  bowed 
their  heads  to  the  ground  before  the  Granth  and  before  the  presiding 
Guru,  and  reverently  circumambulated  the  corridor  of  the  temple.  I 
noticed  that  one  poor  old  woman  threw  m  two  coins,  and  then,  bending 
low,  touched  the  marble  floor  with  her  forehead. 

On  leaving  the  temple  1  talked  for  a  time  with  an  intelligent  Sikh 
who  had  received  an  English  education.  Pointing  to  an  idol  of 
Krishna  which  had  been  set  up  on  the  margin  of  the  lake,  I  asked' 
whether  the  Sikhs  were  returning  to  the  worship  of  the  Hindu  godsr 
"Yes,"  he  said,  "we  are  gradually  lapsing  back  into  our  old  habits. 
Our  first  Guru  abolished  caste  and  forbad  the  worship  of  idols.  Our 
tenth  Guru  was  a  thorough  Hiudu  at  heart,  and  by  his  own  example  en- 
couraged the  return  to  tlindu  practices;  so  that  out  of  the  200,000  Sikhs 
now  found  in  the  Panjab  a  large  number  adopt  caste,  wear  the  Brah- 
manical  thread,  keep  Hindu  festivals,  observe  Hindu  ceremonies  (such 
as  the  Sraddha),  and  even  present  offerings  to  idols  in  Hindii  temples," 

In  shortj  a  careful  observation  of  the  present  condition  of  Sikhism' 
must  lead  to  the  conclusion  that  the  Sikh  reforming  movement,  likel 
others  which  preceded  it,  is  gradually  being  drawn  back  into  the  all- 
absorbing  current  of  ordinary  Hinduism.  Yet  the  possession  of  a  dis- 
tinct rule  of  faith  and  standard  of  doctrine  in  the  Granth  must  have, 
30  to  speak,  a  proi>liy lactic  cflcct.  It  must  keep  the  crumbling  element* 
of  Sikliism  together  for  a  time.  Nor  need  the  process  of  reabsorption 
involve  the  obliteration  of  all  distinctive  marks.  For  just  as  the  strength 
of  Hinduism  is  Vaishnarism,  so  the  strength  of  VaishnaWsm  is  its 
tolerance  of  an  almost  infinite  diversity  within  its  own  pale.  Probably 
in  the  end  the  Granth  itself  will  be  accepted  by  the  whole  body  of 
Vaishnavas  as  a  recognised  portion  of  their  sacred  literature,  and  its 
creed  as  a  recognised  variety  of  the  Vaishnava  system. 

To  compress  a  description  of  all  such  varieties  within  the  limits  of 
these  papers  would  be  impossible.  Even  the  school  founded  by  the 
great  reformer  KabTr  branched  out  into  many  ramifications  in  dflierent 
parts  of  India.  Sikhism  was  not  its  only  offshoot.  Kabir  is  said  to  have 
had  twelve  disciples,  like  his  predecessor  Raniananda  ;  and  each  disciple 
is  supposed  to  have  taken  a  distinct  line  {jpantha)  of  his  own,  and  to 
have  originated  a  distinct  school  of  religious  thought. 

Of  minor  sects  thus  brought   into  existence  two  may  be  singled  out 


INDIAN  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT. 


861 


for  special  notice — the  Dudu-panthls  and  the  Satnamls.  The  former  scct^ 
founded  by  Dadu,  a  cotton-cleaner  of  Ahmedahad,  who  flourished  about 
A.D.  1600^  arc  Vaishuava  mouotheists ;  that  is,  worshippers  of  the 
one  God  under  some  of  the  names  of  Vishnu,  according  to  the  doctrine 
of  Kablr,  on  whose  precepts  the  religious  works  of  the  sect  arc  all 
founded. 

In  the  same  way,  the  Satuamis  arc  really  only  Vaishuava  Uuitariansi 
who  call  the  one  God  by  a  peculiar  name  of  their  own  (Satnam)^  and 
base  their  doctrines  on  Kabir's  school  of  theology. 

According  to  Professor  H.  H.  Wilson,  the  founder  of  the  Satuamla 
was  Jag-jtvan-daSj  a  native  of  Oudh,  whoee  samadh  or  tomb  is  shown  at 
Katwa^  a  place  between  Lucknow  and  Ajudhya.  He  is  said  to  have 
flourished  about  the  year  1750,  and  to  have  written  certain  tracts  in 
Hiudl^  called  Jnana-prakas,  Maha-pralaya,  and  Prathama-grantha.  When 
I  was  last  iu  India  1  heard  of  a  branch  of  the  Satnamls  at  Chatisgarhj 
in  the  Central  Provinces.  They  are  the  followers  of  a  low-caste  Chamar 
named  Ghasl-das  and  his  sou  £illak-das,  who  flourished  about  the 
beginning  of  this  century.  I  was  able  to  obtain  some  account  of  their 
tenets  and  practices  from  the  missionaries  of  the  Church  Missionary 
Society  at  Madras.  They  are  also  described  in  one  or  two  numbers  of 
the  Madras  Missionary  Record  for  1872. 

Like  other  varieties  of  Hindu  Unitarians,  all  of  whom  mix  up  pan- 
theistic ideas  with  monotheistic  doctrines,  they  submit  implicitly  to  their 
Gurus,  regarding  them  aa  vicegerents  of  God  upon  earth,  and  occasionally 
as  actual  incaruatioui;  of  the  Deity. 

Here  are  a  few  of  their  precepts  and  rules ; — 

"  God  pervadea  the  \miverse.  He  is  present  in  every  single  thing.  The  title 
Lord  (Sahib)  should  be  added  to  every  object  in  which  God  is  present.  God  is 
the  spring  and  source  of  ever}'tliin^  good  and  evil.  Idols  must  not  be  worabipped. 
The  ordained  r<*Ugiou8  teacher  (Guru)  is  holy.  Even  the  water  iu  which  his  fcot 
are  wajshed  is  holy,  and  should  be  drunk  by  his  disciples.  Distinctions  of  caste 
are  not  to  be  observed.  Fasts  need  not  be  kept.  Feed  the  poor.  Woimd  no 
one's  fecliaga  When  the  dead  arc  biu*ned  let  no  one  cry  or  weep ;  let  them  only 
exclaim,  '  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  had  taken  away  V  " 

My  next  paper  will  contain  an  account  of  some  remaining  religious 
creeds  of  India,  including  those  of  the  Jains  and  Parsis. 


MoNiEK  Williams. 


THE  PROGRESS  OF  EDUCATION  IN 
ENGLAND, 


11  HE    subject    of   education  is    one  full  of  such   motneutout>  issues, 
wliether  considered  in  relation  to  its  probable  influence  upon  indi*^] 
viduala,  upon  communities^  or^  in    course  of  time,  on  the  future  of  the 
whole  human  race,  that  it  justly  demands  most  careful  attention. 

In  using  the  word  ''education,"  it  is,  however,  necessary  to  avoid 
limiting  its  meaning  to  the  acquirement  of  a  few  arts,  such  as  reading 
writing,  and  arithmetic.  Indeed,  we  object  to  restricting  the  term  to»^ 
any  merely  mental  traiuing,  and  seek  from  the  word  itself,  M'hcn  traced 
fully  backj  an  apt  notion  of  the  pi-oper  extent  of  the  subject.  To  educate 
is  to  develop  all  those  faculties  and  talents  which  arc  latent  in  the  indi- 
vidual ;  to  train,  harmonizej  and  regulate  the  properties  of  that  three- 
fold nature  comprised  in  the  body,  mind  or  soul,  and  spirit  of  mau. 
Nor  is  it  possible  to  start  fairly  on  this  inquiry  without  a  right  concep- 
tion of  these  three  distinct^  but  inseparable,  parts  of  which  human  nature 
is  composed,  and  which  must  each  receive  its  proper  education  if  we 
would  elevate  the  whole. 

Every  person  professes  to  be  aware  that  if  the  body  receives  undue 
indulgence,  and  the  intellectual  and  spiritual  natures  arc  neglected,  the 
man  sinks  to  a  position  little  above  that  of  one  of  the  lower  animals. 
And  ao  likewise  if  the  mental  and  physical  only  are  educated^  the  result 
is  still  defective — namely,  the  production  of  a  powerful  intellectual 
being,  but  one  in  whom,  no  counterpoise  having  been  provided  against 
the  inherent  8el6shness  of  man's  nature,  the  finer  qualities  of  humanity 
will  be  more  or  Jess  wanting  and  the  baser  predominant.  Or  again,  if 
the  spiritual  be  cultivated  aud  the  intellectual  neglected,  the  result  will 
be  superstition  and  other  defects  arising  from  uarrowness  of  view.  Andj 
lastly,  even  the  neglect  of  bodily  traiuing  tends  to  produce  a  state 
physical  ill-health,  whicii  is  found  often  so  to  react  upon  the  mental  aud 
spiritual  faculties  as  seriously  to  impair  their  usefulucf:^. 


THE    PROGRESS    OF  EDUCATION  IN  ENGLAND.    863 

If  these  views  be  correct^  it  is  a  question  of  most  serious  importance 
whether  the  progress  of  education  at  the  present  time  is  in  harmony 
with  them — whether  the  tendency  of  present  systems  is  beneficially 
to  affect  the  whole  man,  or  to  operate  only  partially^  and,  so  far,  inju- 
riously. The  subject  receives  additional  interest  from  the  evident  fact 
that  we  are  now  passing  through  one  of  the  recognisedly  critical  periods 
of  the  world's  history. 

The  beginning  of  this  era  may  be  dated  from  the  establishment  of  the 
great  American  Republic  and  the  occurrence  of  the  French  Eerolution  ; 
events  which  developed  an  intellectual  activity  largely  concentrated  on 
acquiring  a  knowledge  of  the  physical  phenomena  of  the  world  and  on 
tbe  application  of  physical  forces  to  useful  purposes.  The  electric  tele- 
graph,  the  introduction  of  steam  power,  the  invention  of  the  many 
varieties  of  labour-saving  machinery,  arc  amongst  the  greatest  triumplis 
of  this  period,  and  illustrate  the  great  characteristic  of  the  present  age  : 
the  conquests  won  by  the  power  of  mind  in  the  enslavement  of  matter. 
From  the  immense  achievements  of  the  past  it  is  hard  to  place  a  limit 
upon  the  possible  triumphs  of  the  future. 

We  dud,  abo,  that  by  means  of  these  inventions  the  whole  world  is 
being  brought  into  closer  intercourse.  Its  remotest  corners  are  being 
explored,  the  inferiority  of  uncivilized  nations  as  compared  vrith  those 
more  civilized  is  being  intensified,  savages  are  becoming  powerless  in  the 
face  of  modern  weapons,  and  thus  a  way  is  preparing  for  the  civilization 
of  all  peoples — a  civilization  which  will  necessarily  include  education. 
We  arc,  therefore,  folly  justified  in  saying  that,  for  the  welfare  of  the 
whole  world,  the  most  important  question  a  Christian  or  philanthro- 
pist has  now  to  consider  is  the  principles  upon  which  education  shall 
proceed. 

Important,  however,  as  this  subject  is  to  all  nations,  its  consideration 
has  an  especial  interest  for  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  which  is  fast  covering 
the  habitable  parts  of  the  American  continent,  Australia,  and  the  isles 
of  the  sea,  and  appears  destined  to  supplant  the  aborigines  of  these 
countries,  to  absorb  emigrants  of  other  nationalities,  and  before  long  to 
make  the  English  language  the  language  of  the  world  ;  so  that  not  only 
for  this  one  race,  but  for  all  who  arc  being  brought  within  the  sphere  of 
its  influence,  it  is  of  the  first  importance  that  the  principles  On  which 
its  education  is  conducted  shall  be  calculated  to  raise  and  ennoble 
mankind. 

It  would  be  vain  to  deny  that  hitherto  the  English  nation  has  been 
sadly  oblivious  of  its  important  obligations  in  this  respect.  Switzerland, 
Germany,  the  American  Republic,  and  other  nations  have  left  it  far 
behind  in  the  matter  of  national  education,  although  it  must  be  allowed 
that  the  results  in  these  countries  have  not  always  becu  such  as  might 
have  been  hoped  for  and  seem  to  point  to  imperfect  systems.  We  may 
take  as  an  example  the  great  German  nation,  which  presents  the  striking 
phenomenon   of  a   highly-educated  people  unable  to    maintain  either 


861 


THE   C0NTE^fPORARY  REVIEW. 


political  freedom  or  reasonable  faith ;  whose  citizens  are,  for  the  most 
partj  either  devotees  of  the  Romish  superstition,  or  actual,  if  not  avowed, 
atheists ;  who  either  bow  submissively  to  military  despotism  or  break 
out  m  manifestations  of  wild  socialism. 

It  is,  however,  necessary,  in  order  to  realize  the  progress  made,  and 
rightly  to  understand  the  educational  position  of  England,  to  glance  back 
to  the  latter  part  of  the  last  century.  At  that  time  the  social  position  of  this 
country  was  lamentable,  and  presented  a  state  which  may  be  described  as 
almost  total  stagnation.  The  higher  clasesswcre  openly  profligate,  the  lowei 
sunk  iu  a  state  of  abject  misery  and  degradation.  Vast  wealth  was  being"' 
squandered  by  its  rulers  and  princes,  while  the  poor  were  so  heavily  ta\ed 
that  the  most  industrious  could  barely  eke  out  a  miserable  existence^^ 
and  the  operation  of  the  old  poor-law  had  almost  destroyed  the  indepen- 
dence of  the  labouring  classes.  Of  course^  at  such  a  time,  any  system 
of  education  for  tlic  people  was  entirely  unthought  of,  aud  a  proj 
to  form  one  would  have  been  only  met  with  derision.  But  the 
of  revolutionary  ideas  iu  Fraucc,  aud  their  propagation  in  neighbouring 
countries,  followed  by  the  development  of  many  of  the  nobler  qualities 
of  the  British  people  during  the  life -and-death  struggle  between  England 
and  France,  roused  the  country  from  its  state  of  apathy ;  and  conse* 
quently,  after  the  close  of  the  war,  when  remunerative  occupations  foe, 
the  people  increased  and  wealth  began  to  accumulate,  when  the  pasj 
of  the  Reform  Bill  inspired  the  country  with  hope  of  better  government, 
and,  lastly,  when  the  religious  revival  commenced  long  previously  by 
Wesley  amongst  the  poor  began  to  arouse  the  attention  and  startle  the 
consciences  of  the  wealthier  classes,  an  effect  was  produced  which  brought 
the  subject  of  education  prominently  forward. 

The  earliest  movement  towards  a  system  of  national  education  may/ 
perhaps,  be  said  to  date  from  1832,  or  about  the  time  of  the  passing  of 
the  Reform  Bill.  The  position  of  the  country  at  that  time  is,  perha] 
fairly  represented  by  the  city  of  Manchester,  where,  out  of  a  populatioir' 
of  SOOjOOO,  only  11,000  scholars  were  found  attending  school,  although 
the  number  of  children  neediitg  education  was  over  3 1',000.  Thus  abuut 
two-thirds  of  the  population  were  growing  up  iu  entire  ignorance.  As 
regards  the  quality  of  the  education,  we  have  a  remarkable  description 
in  a  report  of  the  Statistical  Society,  issued  in  1834.     It  says : — 


**  One-half  of  the  achooia  are  the  so-called  *  dame-schools' — the  greater  port 
kept  by  females,  but  some  by  old  men,  whose  only  qualification  for  thii  employ* 
raent  seems  to  be  their  uufituess  for  every  other.  These  schools  are  geuerally 
found  in  very  dirty,  unwholesome  rooma,  frequently  in  close,  damp  cellars^  or 
old,  dilapidated  garrets.  In  by  far  the  greater  number  there  ai-e  only  two  or 
three  books  amongst  the  whole  number  of  scholars.  The  terms  vary  from  two-< 
pence  to  sevenpeuce  per  week,  .'iveraging  foiupejice.  It  uppeare/'  add  the  Com< 
mittee,  "  that  no  iustrucCion  really  deserving  the  name  is  received  iu  them,  and 
in  reckoning  the  number  of  those  to  be  considered  as  partaking  of  the  condition 
of  useful  ediicalionj  the  4700  children  attending  these  sdiools  must  be  left  en- 
tirely ^out  of  the  account. 


THE    PROGRESS    OF  EDUCATION  IN  ENGLAND,    865 

"  Th«  oommoa  day-aoboc^  kept  by  private  adTentore  teachers,  are  iu  rather 

better  condition,  but  still  wry  little  fitted  to  give  really  useful  education.  The 
masters  arc,  generally,  in  no  way  qualified  for  their  occupation,  and  take  little 
interest  in  it.  Rcligiouff  instruction  is  seldom  attended  to,  and  moral  education 
totally  neglected.  '  Morale,'  said  one  master,  in  answer  to  the  inquiry 
whether  he  tauglit  them  morals,  Miow  am  I  to  teach  lUoraU  to  the  like 
of  these  r" 

The  facts  thus  brought  forward  are  sufiBcicntly  startling,  but  still 
more  sod  evideuce  of  the  absence  of  education  among  the  people  is  found 
iu  the  reports  sent  up  to  the  Government  by  the  prison  authorities  in 
1838.  It  is  stated  in  tliese  that  only  nine  out  of  every  hundred 
criininala  were  able  to  read  and  write,  and  that  "  the  leading  characte- 
ristic of  the  prisoners  committed  for  crime  was  a  heathenish  ignorance 
of  the  n^implcst  truths  of  religion  and  morality." 

Moved,  no  doubt,  by  tiicsc  melancholy  disclosures,  the  Government 
brought  in  an  Act  which  enabled  it  to  make  grants  in  aid  of  education 
and  contributions  towards  the  building  of  schools,  and  from  this  time 
the  attention  of  the  country  continued  to  be  directed  with  increasing 
earnestness  to  this  subject,  so  that  by  the  year  1868  almost  every  parish 
church  had  a  school  attached  to  it,  while  various  Nonconformist  bodies, 
especially  the  Wesleyaus,  were  also  actively  providing  for  the  education 
of  the  poor.  At  length  Mr.  Forstcr  succeeded  in  passing  what  is  known 
as  the  Elementary  Education  Act  of  1870,  by  which  it  became  the  law 
of  the  laud  that  every  child  should  receive  a  certain  amount  of  education, 
and  that  parents  should  be  lield  legally  responsible  for  the  attendance  of 
their  children  at  school. 

The  position  of  education  iu  the  United  Kingdom  at  the  time  of  the 
passing  of  this  Act  was  stated  by  Mr.  Forster  to  be  as  follows  :— Volun- 
tary effort  had  provided  1 1,000  day  and  2000  night  schools.  The  number 
of  children  upon  the  registers  was  1,450,000,  M'ith  an  average  attendance 
of  about  1,000,000  ;  bo  that,  even  in  these  schools,  the  education  could 
be  but  very  imperfect,  owing"  to  the  irregularity  of  the  attendance. 
Thus,  only  two-fifths  of  the  children  between  the  ages  of  six  aud  ten 
years,  aud  only  one-third  of  those  between  the  ages  of  ten  aud  twelve, 
were  receiving  even  this  iusuffieieut  amount  of  education ;  and,  although 
many  others  may  have  bceu  receiving  some  sort  of  instruction  from  other 
sources,  yet,  as  the  educational  standard,  even  in  the  inspected  schools, 
was  90  very  low,  it  may  be  concluded  that  in  those  uninspected  it  was 
almost  worthless. 

In  regard  to  the  general  question,  one  of  the  speakers  in  the  debate 
on  this  Bill  brought  forwanl  the  following  curious  comparisons.  He 
mentioned  a  town  containing  a  population  of  12,(X)0,  where  less  than 
700  children  were  attending  school,  whereas  in  a  town  of  the  same  popu- 
lation in  Germany  there  would  have  been  2000  scholars.  In  Birming- 
ham, Leeds,  Liverpool,  aud  Manchester,  with  an  estimated  population  of 
1,500,000,  the  average  attendance  in  elementary  schools  was  I24-,000, 
while  if  the  four  towns  had  been  in  Germany,  there  woiild  have  been 


866 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


found   at    least    250^000    cLildreu    attending   schools    daily    for   eight 
vears. 

So  far  as  to  what  may  be  called  the  atatistics  of  quantity  iu  respect  of 
popular  education,  llcgarding  the  quality  of  the  instruction  given  in 
the  inspected  schools,  one  of  the  Government  Inspectors,  referring  to  the 
sixth  standard,  -which  required  that  the  pupil  should  be  able  to  read  an 
ordinary  newspaper  paragraph  with  fluencyj  write  the  same  from  dicta- 
tion, and  do  suras  in  bills-of-parcola,  stated  that  in  Birmingham  and 
Leeds,  with  a  population  of  GOOjOOO,  only  530  pupils  succeeded  iu 
passing  it. 

In  contrast  to  this,  we  find  that,  on  au  inquiry  being  made  as  to  the 
number  of  children  who  left  school  in  Germany  and  Saxony  without 
acquiring  such  an  amount  of  education  as  would  be  equivalent  to  our 
sLvth  standard,  the  answer  given  was  that  it  was  below  the  iowest  Saxon 
or  German  standard.  In  Saxony,  the  pupils,  before  leaving  school,  were 
required,  not  only  to  read  ftncntly  and  to  write  a  good,  readable  hand, 
but  also  to  write  from  memory,  in  their  own  words,  a  short  story  which 
had  been  previously  read  to  them,  and  were,  besides,  instructed  in  geo- 
graphy, in  singing,  and  in  the  history  of  their  Fatherland.  With  the 
exception  of  children  mentally  deficient  or  else  suffering  from  ill-health, 
no  child  failed  to  pass  this  examiuation.  This  comparison  may  be  put 
very  brieily  : — ^lu  England  only  20,000  children  iu  a  population  of 
20,000,000  passed  the  sixth  standard  ;  in  Old  Prussia,  380,000  in  a  popu- 
lation of  11),000,000  passed  every  year. 

By  the  Elementary  Education  Act  of  1870  the  country  was  divided 
into  school  districts,  iu  each  of  which  it  was  required  that  a  sufficient 
amouut  of  accommodation  should  be  provided  for  all  the  resident  chil- 
dren, and  where  such  accommodation  was  not  provided  within  a 
certain  time  by  voluntary  effort,  a  School  Board  should  be  erected  to 
supply  the  deficiency  and  compel  the  attendance  of  the  children.  So 
much  lack  of  iufonnation  is  being  constantly  shown  as  regards  the  work- 
ing of  this  great  me^isure,  that  it  may  be  useful  to  give  a  short  account 
of  the  way  in  which  its  provisions  are  carried  out. 

The  members  of  the  School  Boards  are  elected  by  the  ratepayers  in 
the  diU'crcnt  districts,  and  each  Board  must  consist  of  not  less  than  five, 
nor  more  than  fifteen  members,  except  in  the  case  of  the  Metropolis, 
which  possesses  fifty  representatives.  These  Boards  have  the  power 
committed  to  them  to  build  schools,  to  borrow  from  the  Government  the 
necessary  funds,  repayable  in  fifty  years,  with  interest  at  three-and-a- 
half  {>er  cent,  to  provide  industrial  schools,  and  to  carry  out  the  inten- 
tion of  the  Industrial  Schools  Act  iu  regard  to  children  who  are  in 
danger  of  becoming  ci-iminals.  It  also  rests  with  them  to  appoint  local 
Managers  to  Schools,  and  Divisional  Committees  to  enforce  the  Bye-laws 
for  compelling  the  regular  attendance  of  the  children.  They  possess 
power  to  raise  the  funds  for  carrying  on  their  work  by  levying  a  rate 
over  the  whole  school   district,   and    to  charge  fees    to    the   poreuUi. 


THE    PROGRESS    OF  EDUCATION  IN  ENGLAND.     867 

Board  Schools,  as  well  as  Voluntary  Scliools,  obtain  grants  from  Goveru- 
ment,  according  to  the  excellence  of  the  pupils. 

It  is  left  with  each  Board  to  decide  whether  the  education  given  in 
the  schools  under  its  control  shall  be  purely  secular  or  shall  include 
religious  instruction  :  provided  that,  in  any  such  iustruction  given,  no 
catechism  or  religious  formulaiy  distinctive  of  any  particular  denomi- 
nation is  taught. 

It  will  sufficiently  illustrate  the  operation  of  this  Act  during  the  past 
eight  years,  if  we  confine  our  remarks  to  the  work  of  the  London  School 
Board,  since  not  only  does  this  Board  control  a  population  of  over  three 
and  a  half  millions,  but  it  has  had  to  deal  with  all  kinds  of  cases,  exem- 
plifying the  practical  requirements  arising  in  most  of  the  other  large 
towns  iu  the  country.  Before  proceeding,  however,  to  this  part  of  our 
task,  it  will  be  interesting  to  compare  the  present  state  of  education  in 
the  whole  of  England  with  the  description  already  given  of  its  condition 
in  1834. 

\ye  find,  then,  that  in  the  year  ending  31st  August,  1877,  15,187 
day-schools  were  inspected  by  the  Government,  containing  22,033  de- 
partments, under  separate  teachers,  and  furnishing  accommodation  for 
3,653,418  scholars.  There  were  on  the  registers  the  names  of  3,154,973 
children;  1,100,000  being  under  seven  years  of  age,  1,929,000  between 
seven  and  thirteen,  and  125,000  above  thirteen  years  of  age. 
771,000  passed  the  prescribed  examiuation  without  failure  in  any  one 
of  the  three  subjects — reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic.  In  addition  to 
the  (lay-schools,  1,733  night-schools,  having  57,000  scholars  above  twelve 
years  of  age,*  were  recognised  asefiicicut  by  the  Government.  Of  these 
57,000  scholars,  48,000  were  examined,  and,  out  of  every  1(X)  scholars, 
eighty-seven  passed  in  reading,  sixty-uiue  in  writing,  and  fifty-eight  in 
arithmetic.  To  carry  on  this  education,  24,811  certificated  teachers  were 
at  work,  these  teachers  being  mainly  supplied  from  forty  training 
colleges,  containing  over  3000  students.  We  find,  also,  that  270,000 
children  were  presented  for  examination  in  specific  subjects,  and  that,  of 
these,  45,000  passed  snccessfuUy.  Grammar,  elementary  geography, 
and  history,  which  up  to  187G  were  treated  as  specific  subjects,  are  now 
included  in  the  ordinary  work  of  the  schools,  and,  in  1877,  formed  (with 
needlework)  part  of  the  examination  of  more  than  a  millioa  scholars. 
Ordinary  school  drill  is  also  part  of  the  work  in  every  good  school,  and 
in  1178  day-schools  military  drill  is  systematically  taught  to  the 
boys. 

The  following  Table,  from  the  Government  Report,  will  best  show  the 

•  number  of  schools  of  different  classes,  and  of  the  scholars  provided  for  in 

them,  together  with  the  principal  sources  of  the  income  by  which  they 

are  supported — such  items  as  endowments,  &c.,  being  omitted,  as  beside 

the  purpose  of  the  present  article  : — 

*  No  oliiUI  nnder  tweire  yeara  of  age  it  allowed  to  attend  a  night^Kbool. 


4 


868 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


CUJM  or  Soaoou. 

Numher  of 
ScSooIb— 

I.*.. 

iDftitutione 

under 

fieparalo 

MitDiiffe- 

men!. 

Numb«TOf 
Bchol&rs 
for  whom 

Accomoda- 
tion ii 
proTidod, 

W  8  Bq.  fwt 

of  am  per 
Scliolor. 

Ivoom. 

BUS 

mSSt 

toAnnp 

Volontanr 
CoDtributiaiw. 

Bobool  Feaeo. 

OoTtmmrot 

oOealiW 
ooGaapMe 

6<^ooli  Mnnect«d  with 
tba  KatiooAl  Soclet;  or 
U)«  CfavrDb  of  Enfftftixl 

BritUh,  WenleyttD.  and 
other  BehooU.  mi  con- 
nected Hiilt  the  Cbarch 
of  £drIiw(1 

Bonn  Cfttfaolic  SchooU  . 

BchoolBovdSrhooU  . 

10,472 

I.&7i 
658 

3,082 

2,171,«3© 

063.165 
S13,17S 
7ft5,lM 

C         r.  <f. 

lO^MO    1    8 

B7.U0  U    « 

•(4^17,700  13   S) 

OHMS  13  21 

SW.rS8  17  » 
n,SKI  IS    4 
108,797  17    0 

A      :    d, 

tiA^mn  8 

7agS98    0    8 
>l8,»t9    •    7 

M    B.    J, 

lU  0 

mm 
1  n  n 
s  1  « 

TOIAX     .... 

16.1A7 

a,6«1.4l8 

782.43-*    I     1 
•447.709  13    2 

1,138,170    4    2 

1^13,675  17    1 

lU-Ul 

*  School  Board  Rate,  no/  tnditdtd  in  IWo/. 

From  tbese  figures  some  idea  will  be  gathered  of  the  progress  that 
Las  already  been  made  towards  a  thorough  aystcm  of  national  elementary 
education^  aud,  iu  order  further  to  explain  how  the  work  is  being  carried 
on  by  the  School  Boards,  we  now  proceed  to  give,  by  way  of  example, 
an  account  of  the  procedure  of  that  of  London. 

This  Board  is  elected  once  every  three  years  by  all  the  ratepayers, 
male  or  female,  in  the  Metropolis,  which  for  this  purpose  is  divided  into 
ten  districts,  each  having  a  number  of  representatives  proportioned  to  its 
population.  By  this  arrangement  a  knowledge  of  the  various  wants  of 
the  diifcrent  districts  is  better  obtained  than  would  be  the  case  were  the 
vast  Metropolis  treated  as  a  whole. 

At  the  passing  of  the  Act,  in  1871,  the  number  of  children  in  the 
Metropolis  requiring  elementary  education  was  found  to  be  574^693, 
and,  from  recent  scheduling,  this  number  is  found  to  have  increased  to 
over  614,000.  At  Midsummer,  1878,  about  279,000  of  these  were  pro- 
Tided  for  iu  Voluntary  Schools,  and  186,468  in  Board  Schools;  but 
Schools  to  accommodate  53,000  were  in  course  of  erection,  which  would, 
when  completed,  make  a  total  provision  for  518,000  children;  shovring 
an  increase  of  seventy-seven  per  cent,  iu  efficient  School  places  over  the 
number  which  existed,  in  1S71. 

The  London  Board,  at  its  commencement,  found  it  necessary,  iu  order 
properly  to  execute  tlie  large  work  with  which  it  was  entrusted,  to  appoint, 
from  among  its  members,  six  standing  Committees,  namely  :  (1)  Statistical 
and  Law ;  (2)  Works  and  General  Purposes ;  (3),  Finance ;  (4)  Bye- 
laws  or  Attendance ;  (5)  Industrial  Schools ;  (6)  School  Management ;. 
and  each  Committee  appoints  Sub-Committees  for  such  purposes 
as  the  management  of  the  cookery  instruction,  the  teaching  of  the 
blind,  deaf  and  dumb,  &c.  The  full  Board  meets  once  every  week, 
when  the  reports  and  recommendations  of  the  Committees  are  brought 
up  for  discussion. 


I 

I 
I 


I 


I 
I 


THE   PROGRESS    OF    EDUCATION  IN    ENGLAND.    869 


P 


In  additiou  to  the  general  control  by  the  'dlvi^onid  members,  each. 
School  has  a  Committee  of  Local  Managersj  appointed  by  the  Board,  and 
is  also  looked  after  by  one  of  live  Board  Inspectors,  who  holds  a  periodi- 
cal examination  and  makes  visits  of  surprise,  to  see  that  the  rules  of 
the  Board  are  pi-operly  carried  out. 

The  subjects  taught  in  the  schooLs  are  as  follows  : — Instruction  in 
reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic  is  given  to  all  the  boys  and  girls,  as 
well  as  the  rudiments  to  a  majority  of  the  infants.  The  class  subjects 
required  by  the  code  are  grammar,  history,  and  elementary  geography ; 
iu  the  girts'  department,  iuslructiou  in  plain  needlework ;  and  in  the 
infants'  department,  sewing.  The  elements  of  cb^wing  are  universally 
taught ;  and  singing  is  also  an  essential  subject  for  boys^  girls,  and 
infants,  the  teachers  being  at  liberty  to  use  cither  the  established  nota- 
tion or  the  tonic  sol-fa  system.  Instruction  in  drill  is  given  to  eighty- 
one  per  cent,  of  the  boys  and  twenty-eight  per  cent,  of  the  girls,  and 
nearly  all  the  infants  go  daily  through  some  physical  exercises.  In 
addition  to  the  subjects  included  in  the  ordinary  standard  work,  the  laws 
of  health  (or  animal  physiology)  arc  explained  to  6079  children ;  prac- 
tical instruction  iu  cookery  is  given  to  800  giils  at  centres ;  object  and 
kindergarten  lessons  are  given  to  over  83,000  children ;  mensuration 
and  book-keeping  are  taught  as  extra  subjects  to  1724  boys  and  76  girls. 
Instruction  in  Latin  is  confined  to  192  boys,  most  of  whom  are  in 
training  to  become  teachers.  Provision  is  made  for  the  deaf  and  dumb 
at  four  centres,  and  at  Midsummer,  1876,  there  were  134  children  of 
this  afflicted  class  on  the  books.  Corporal  punishment  is  allowed  to  be 
inflicted  by  the  head  teachers  only,  and  every  case  of  punishment  has  to 
be  entered  in  a  book. 

With  regard  to  the  work  of  the  Industrial  Schools'  Committee,  the 
reports  show  that  up  to  June,  1876,  its  ofiicers  had  dealt  with  524& 
cases  of  children  found  in  the  streets.  Of  these,  2374  were  referred  to 
the  parish  authorities,  41  were  sent  to  refuges,  381  to  certified  industrial 
training  ships,  and  2419  were  placed  iu  various  Industrial  Schools  or  in 
the  Board's  own  School  at  Brentford.  Emphatic  testimony  has  been 
borne  by  the  Commissioner  of  Police  to  the  marked  diminution  of  juve- 
nile crime  and  vagrancy  effected  by  the  efforts  of  the  School  Board. 

Prom  the  foregoing  statement  a  pretty  clear  conception  will  be  formed 
of  the  amount  of  work  carried  on  iu  respect  of  secular  education  since 
the  passing  of  the  Act  of  1870.  The  only  point  that  remains  to  be 
dealt  with,  is  as  to  the  way  in  which  the  religious  and  moral  training 
of  the  children  thus  brought  under  the  care  of  the  School  Boards  is 
attended  to. 

The  question  nf  religions  instruction  was  very  hotly  contested  at  the 
formation  of  most  of  the  Boards,  being  unfortunately,  in  many  cases, 
made  a  battle-field  for  political  parties.  A  large  number  of  Noncon- 
formists looked  upon  the  introduction  of  religious  teaching  into  the 
schools  as  a  violation  of  those  principles  on  which  they  were  grounding 

VOL.    XXXV.  3    L 


870 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


their  opposition  to  the  Established  Church.  But,  notwithstanding  the 
cSbrts  of  this  party,  there  was  so  strong  a  national  feeling  that  it  woulil 
be  a  fatal  miistake  to  exclude  the  Bible  from  the  schoolsj — that,  having 
at  great  expense  and  trouble  gathered  the  children  of  the  irreligious  and 
profligate  into  the  schools,  it  would  be  utterly  unjustifiable  to  send  them 
forth  ignorant  of  the  principles  of  religion  and  morality, — that,  with  the 
exception  of  Birmingham  (a  borough  which  is  ruled  by  a  political  caucus, 
controlting  the  municipal  and  educational^  as  weU  as  political  elections, 
and  allowing  no  difiference  of  opinion  on  any  point  from  the  tyrannical 
will  of  the  majority)  and  a  few  small  towns  (mostly  in  Wales)  where 
religious  bigotry  is  peculiarly  vLruleutj  every  School  Board  has,  in  some 
form  or  other,  adopted  Biblical  instruction  as  one  of  the  subjects  to  be 
taught  in  its  schools. 

In  LondoUj  the  issue  of  the  contest  was  very  striking — thorough 
systematic  Biblical  education  as  one  of  the  essential  subjects  being 
carried  by  a  majority  of  five  to  one  in  a  Board  consisting  almost  equally 
of  Churchmen  and  Nonconformists.  So  well  has  the  system  worked 
during  the  whole  term  of  the  Board's  existence,  that  no  single  coniplainc 
has  been  made  of  the  teaching  that  has  been  giveu,  and  not  more  thau 
oue  in  four  thousand  children  attending  the  schools  has  been  withdrawn 
by  its  parents,  although,  by  the  rules  of  the  London  School  Board,  any 
persou  who  objects  tu  his  child  receiving  Biblical  instruction  may 
require  that,  during  the  time  aet  apart  for  this  purpose,  the  teacher  shall 
give  it  secular  lessons. 

Four  years  ago,  the  London  Board  accepted  an  offer  of  4O00  prize 
Bibles  and  Testaments,  to  be  giveu  annually  to  those  scholars  who 
excelled  in  Biblical  knowledge,  and  arranged  for  a  thorough  examina- 
tion, once  every  year,  of  those  pupils  who  should  voluntarily  offer 
themselves.  The  result  of  this  scheuic  has  been  most  satisfactory. 
38,356  children  presented  themselves  for  examination  iu  187G,  80,513  in 
1877,  102,700  in  1878,  and  112,979  in  1879.  These  numbers  practically 
included  all  that  were  available  for  examination,  inasmuch  as  it  is  a  ml 
of  the  Board  that  only  childrcu  who  have  attained  the  second  standard 
(which,  of  course,  excludes  all  infants),  and  only  those  who  have  made 
250  attendances  during  the  year,  may  compete. 

The  London  School  Board,  not  long  since,  with  only  one  dissentient, 
sent  out  to  its  teachers  the  following  letter,  which  will  show  the  views 
held  by  Its  members  as  to  the  objects  to  be  aimed  at  in  the  religious 
instruction  : — 

Stit  (or  Madam), — 

I  am  directed  by  the  School  Management  Committee,  to  call  your  attention 
to  Article  91  of  the  Board  Code,  and  to  the  Syllabus  of  KoHgious  Instruction. 

Article  91,  which  was  adopted  by  the  Board  after  mature  deUberation,  is 
as  follows : — 

Iu  the  SchooU  provided  by  the  Boaid,  the  Bible  shnll  be  read,  and  thert' 
shall  be   given  audi  cxplnuatJons  and  ^such   instruction   therefrom    in  the 


u^ 


THE   PROGRESS    OF   EDUCATION   IN    ENGLAND.      871 


principles  uf  Morality  and  Keligion,  as  are  suited  to  the  capacities  of  children^ 
provided  ahvaj-s— 

1.  That  in  sucli  explanations  and  instruction,  the  provisions  of  the  Act  in 
Sections  VI  I,  and  XIV.  be  strictly  observed,  botli  in  letter  and  spirit,  and 
that  no  attempt  be  made  in  any  such  Schools  to  attach  children  to  any  par- 
ticuUr  Denomination. 

2.  Tliat  in  regard  of  any  particular  School,  the  Board  shall  consider  and 
determine  npon  any  apfpHrationrt  hy  ^fanagers,  Parents,  or  Hatcpayersof  the 
District,  who  may  show  sjtecial  cause  for  exception  of  the  School  from  the 
operation  of  this  Resolution  in  whole  or  in  part. 

The  Committee  have  reason  to  know  that,  in  some  cases,  the  Bible  lesson  is 
confined  too  exclusively  to  mere  formal  exphiuntions  of  the  history,  or  the 
geography,  or  the  grammar  of  that  portion  of  Scripture  which  is  selected  for 
the  day. 

Tliey  accordingly  direct  me  to  say  that  the  Board,  whilst  assigning  due  weight 
to  the  explanations  referretl  to,  attach  great  importance  to  the  *'  instruction  in  the 
principles  of  Morality  and  Kcligiou"  which  their  resolution  has  in  view.  The 
Committee  hope  that  during  the  Bible  lesson,  the  Teachers  will  keep  this  object 
before  ihem,  and  that  every  opportunity  will  be  used,  earnestly  and  sympatlieti- 
cally,  to  bring  home  to  the  minds  of  the  children  those  moral  and  religious 
principles  on  which  the  right  conduct  of  their  future  lives  must  necessarily 
depend. 

I  am  further  to  call  your  attention  to  the  Article  of  the  Government  Code 
(IDa)  which  aays  that  all  reasonable  care  must  be  taken  **in  the  ordinary'  manage- 
ment of  the  School,  to  bring  up  the  children  in  habits  of  punctualit}*,  of  good 
manners  and  language,  of  cleanliness  and  neatness,  and  also  to  impress  upon  the 
cliildren  the  importance  of  cheerful  obedteiice  to  duty,  of  consideration  and  re- 
sjKjct  for  others,  and  of  lionour  and  truthfulneis  in  word  and  act." 

The  Board  are  glad  to  believe  that  they  will  have  the  hearty  co-opcrntion  of 
the  Teachers  in  carryint?  out  the  above  instructions. 
I  am,  Sir  (or  Madam), 

Your  obedient  Servant, 

G.  11.  CROAD,  Clerk  of  the  Board. 

To  all  Head  Masters  and  Head  ^listresses. 

The  Govenimcnt  Inspectors  are  precluded  from  examining  iti,  or 
taking  any  notice  of  religious  instruction,  other  tlian  to  see  that  the 
(lovernment  regulations  in  reference  to  it  are  observcdj  but  it  is  carefully 
watched  by  the  Board  Inspectors,  whose  reports  arc,  on  the  whole,  most 
favourable.  They  point  out,  indeed,  deficiencies,  but  at  the  same  time 
l>ear  testimony  that,  '*  with  all  defects,  a  sound  moral  tone  pervades  the 
whole  of  the  answers."     Au  Inspector  adds  : 

"That  this  is  mainly  the  result  of  the  teaching  actually  imparted  in  the  schools, 
and  but  to  a  very  slight  degree  of  the  home  teaching  which  the  competitors  may 
huve  received,  is  proved  from  tlic  fact,  that  competitors  from  the  same  school, 
when  attempting  to  answer  the  same  ([uestion,  almost  in  every  case  treat  it  alike 
— the  answers  an.-  made  up  of  the  same  facts  and  disfigured  with  tlie  same  defects. 
The  results  of  lionie  leaching  are  not,  indeed,  ditUcult  to  trace  in  a  few  of  the 
papers,  but,  taken  as  a  whole,  they  show  how  much  has  been  accomplished  by 
the  religious  iastruction  given  at  the  Public  Elementary  Schools." 

Those  who  believe  in  the  influence  of  the  study  of  the  Bible  upon 
character  must  rejoice  in  the  result  of  this  experiment,  and  will  look 
forward  with  Lope  to  the  effect  to  be  produced  in  the  future  by  aucb  a 
widcspreafl  knowledge  of  JJible  truth. 

3  L  2 


872 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


During  tlic  earlier  controversies,  it   was  sometimes  argued  that  the 
teaching  of  the  Bible  in  the  elementary  day-schools  was  not  only  opposed 
to  the   priuciples  of  religious  freedom,   but  actually   uunecessary,  oo 
accouut  of  the   provision  for  it   in   Sunday  schools^   &c.      This  view, 
however,  will  not  be  endorsed  by  those   who  have  actual  knowledge  of 
the  gross  ignorance  which  exists  on  the  subject  of  religion   among  the 
masses  of  the  population,  eveu  of  those  who  have  attended,  or  are  attend- 
ing, Sunday  schools.       Certain  religious  truths,  indeed,  they  may  know,1 
but  the   Bible,   as  a  whole,  is   comparatively  a  sealed  book  to  them. 
Besides  thescj  we  have  the  vast  numbers   whom  it  was  the  very  obji 
of  the  compulsory  clauses  of  the  Education  Act  to  force  into  the  dayJ 
schools,  but  who  attend  neither  Sunday  school  nor  any  place  of   worship^, 
and  whoj  but  for  the  Scriptural  knowledge  gained  in  the  day-school 
would  grow  up  in  a  heathenish   ignorance  of  the  very  principles  oj 
religion  and  morality. 

It  is  not,  of  course,  intended  to  depreciate  the  great  work  whidf 
Sunday  schools  have  done  and  are  still  doing,  but  a  little  reflection 
ou  the  shortness  of  the  time  the  scholars  pass  in  them,  the  large  pro- 
portion of  this  time  that  is  occupied  with  religious  observances  and  in 
other  matters  inseparable  from  a  Sunday  school,  and  the  difficulty  of 
obtaining  competent  teachers,  will  clearly  show  the  impossibility  of 
making  these  schools  the  medium  of  impai'ting  thorough  Biblical  know- 
ledge, for  which  purpose  trained  teachers  aud  systematic  lessons  are 
absolutely  necessary.  If  these  are  secured  during  the  week,  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  Sunday  school  becomes  most  valuable  as  a  supplement. 

A  noteworthy  instance  of  the    inability  of  ordinary   Sunday  achool 
teaching  to  give  this  knowledge  has  recently  been  shown   in  the 
of  a  town  in  Wales,  a  country  where  the  Sunday  schools  arc  considered' 
most  efiicieat.     The  introduction  of  the  Bible  into  the  Board  Schools 
of  this  town  was  opposed  on  the  ground  of  its  being  unnecessary,  and.4 
the  Chairman  of  the   School  Board,  very   wisely,  took  the  trouble   to*j 
examine  personally  200  scholars,  between  nine  and  thirteen  years  of  age^.'! 
of  whom  eighty  per  cent,  attended  Sunday  schools.      He  put  to  each' 
scholar  the  following  questions:    "Whose  book  is  the  Bible?"     "Who 
was  Adam?"     "Who  was  Jesus  Christ?"     Three-fourths  kucw  whoee 
book  the  Bible  was ;   only  sixty-eight  out  of  the  200  knew  Avho  Adam 
was;  and    only    ninety-eight    out    of  the   200    knew   who  Jesus  Christ 
was! 

Such  ignorance  is,  unhappily,  not  confined  to  any  one  part  of  tlie 
country.  On  examining  two  Sunday  schools  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
London,  one  of  which  was  iu  connection  with  the  Church  of  England, 
the  writer  was  unable  to  find  a  single  child  who  could  eiplaiu  whom  he 
intended  to  address  as  "  Oar  Father"  when  uttering  the  first  sentence 
of  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

That  such  a  state  of  iguorance  of  the  very  simplest  truths  of  Chris- 
tianity sliould  exist  in  a  Christian  country  like  Britain,  and  especially 


THE   PROGRESS    OF  EDUCATION  IN  ENGLAND,     878 

amongst  children  attending  Sunday  schools,  is  certainly  lamentable, 
and  may  appear  almost  incredible  to  many  who  have  not  thoroughly 
investigated  the  subject.  Those  "who  have  learned  from  experience 
the  immense  difficulty  of  teaching  in  crowded  Sunday  schools^  the 
general  inattention  of  the  scholars,  the  irregularity  of  their  attendance, 
the  very  short  time  in  which  they  may  learn  the  Bible  as  a  whole,  and 
lastly,  the  slight  impression  which  lessons  fi-om  untrained  teachers  make 
upon  them,  will  feel  these  almost  imiversal  and  practically  unavoidable 
dif&culties  arc  sufficient  to  account  for  a  great  deal  of  these  unsatis- 
factory results  in  the  acquirement  of  religious  knowledge  as  distinct 
from  personal  Christian  influence.* 

It  is,  however,  impossible  to  look  forward  to  the  future  without  some 
amonntof  apprehension,  lest,  from  a  cessation  of  public  interest,  educa- 
tion may  become  a  matter  of  lifeless  routine.  There  are  too  many 
signs  that  this  is  not  an  imaginary  danger.  Any  one  nho  compares  the 
composition  of  the  first  and  of  the  present  School  Boards  will  find  that 
a  great  change  has  already  taken  place,  that  many  of  the  best  men, 
both  socially  and  intellectually,  have  withdrawn,  and  that  their  places 
have  not  been  adequately  supplied.  A  lack  of  interest  in  bringing 
forward  and  supporting  candidates  has  also  been  shown  by  the  wealthier 
classes,  while  loud  complaints  of  the  indifference  displaye<l  by  school 
managers  are  made  by  many  of  the  teachers,  who  sorely  feel  the  loss 
of  that  personal  sympathy  and  aid  wliich  were  amongst  the  happiest 
effects  of  the  voluntary  system.  Those  conversant  with  the  subject  also 
remark  that,  since  the  Government  ceased  to  take  any  cognizance  of 
religious  instruction,  and  introduced  a  system  of  payment  based  exclu- 
sively  upon  success  in  secular  subjects,  a  change  for  the  worse  has  taken 
place  in  the  teachers,  especially  the  younger  ones,  who  contrast  very 
unfavourably  with  their  seniors  by  displaying  a  lukewarmness  in  the 
religious  instruction  and  moral  training  of  their  pupils— in  fact,  in 
everything  which  does  not  pay.  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  all 
who  recognise  their  duty  aa  Chriatians,  or  even  citizens,  should  bestir 
themselves  to  remedy  these  evils  before  it  is  too  late. 

Having  thus  given  somewhat  full  information  in  regard  to  elementary 
education,  we  return  to  the  question  proposed  at  the  outset :  namely, 
whether  it  is  founded  upon  such  a  basis  as  satisfactorily  to  meet  the 
threefold  need  of  man's  nature ;  to  which,  on  the  whole,  an  affirma- 
tive reply  may  be  given.  The  proWsion  of  play-grouuds,  and  the 
attention  bestowed  upon  physical  exercises  and  drill,  show  that  the 
requirements  of  the  body  are  not  altogether  ignored  ;  the  inclusion  of 
drawing,  singing,  and  the  elements  of  science  as  parts  of  the  regular 
school  instruction,  is  also  a  sign  that  a  higher  and  better  view  of  mental 
education  now  prevails  than  was  formerly  the  case ;  and,  lastly,  the 
almost  universal  adoption  of  some  amount  of  religious  teaching  proves 

<  In  the  rvport  of  the  Resone  Society  of  1877  it  is  stated  that,  out  of  9M  cues  with 
which  it  bod  dealt,  320  b»d  attended  Soodny  schooU. 


874 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


a  general  concurrence  in  the   opinion  that  the  spiritual — that  is,  the 
highest — part  of  human  nature  is  one  that  must  not  be  neglected.         M 

In  this  brief  and  imperfect  review  of  the   progress   of  education,  it™ 
has  been  necessary  to  confine  our  attention  to  the  elementary  instruction 
of  the   poorer   claascs  of  the  community.      With  regard  to  higher  edu- 
catiouj  whether  in  Schools  for  the  middle  classes  or  at  the  Universities, 
no  national  system  exists,  and  with  the  exception  of  the  education  given 
in  a  comparatively  few  eminent   public  schools,   middle-class  educatioaj 
is  in  a  most  unsatisfactory  state.      Unless  strenuous  efforts  arc  made  to' 
remedy   this   evil,   the   result  must   soon  be  that  the  labourer  will  be 
better  educated  than  his  employer.  J 

There  is  less  excuse  for  this  state  of  things,  since  immense  sums  or" 
money  are  applicable,  even  according  to  the  conditions  of  trust,  to 
education,  and  would,  if  properly  used  to  develop  private  enterprise, 
probably  suffice  to  regenerate  and  place  on  a  satisfactory  footing  the 
whole  of  the  middle-class  education  of  the  country,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  pro'ide  facilities  by  means  of  which  the  ixx)rest  children,  if  of 
surpassing  ability,  might,  through  scholarships,  progress  from  the  Ele- 
mentary School  to  the  highest  Academical  honours.  This  matter  must 
come  promiucutly  forward^  na  a  political  question,  if  in  no  other  form. 
It  is  one  worthy  of  the  earnest  attention  of  our  legislators  and  stat< 
men. 

Francis  Peek, 


CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA. 


II 


I  HAVE  given  in  a  previous  article  a  rapid  sketch  of  the  political 
movements  and  conspiracies  in  Russia,  which  had  for  their  object 
the  catabliahment  of  parliameutary  government  or  of  a  democratic 
commonwealth.  By  way  of  parallel,  something  may  be  said  now  of 
the  Cossack  and  Serf  Conspiracies^  iu  which  there  is  a  mixed  national, 
social,  and  political  element. 

In  1670  the  Empire  was  for  the  first  time  shaken  by  a  vast  Cossack 
and  Peasant  Insurrection.  It  occurred  in  the  reign  of  Czar  Alexei, 
the  father  of  Peter  I.  Stenka  Razin  was  its  leader.  Tlie  course  of 
the  insurrection  lay  along  the  Volga,  where  Tatar  and  Finnic  races 
mainly  dwell.  In  subsequent  risings,  too,  this  south-eastern  quarter, 
which  contains  a  more  martial  stock  than  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Central  Russian  provinces,  has  always  proved  the  more  troublesome  for 
imperial  and  aristocratic  misrule. 

Stenka  Razin,  who  sought  to  make  an  impression  upon  the  peasantry 
by  professing  to  have  the  Czar's  eldest  son  and  a  high  Church  dignitary 
with  him,  rapidly  took  Astrakan,  Samatov,  Simbirsk,  and  other  chief 
towns  along  the  Volga,  meaning  to  strike  from  thence  towards  Moscow, 
then  still  the  capital  of  Russia. 

I  find  in  an  old  little  book,*  written  by  an  Englishman  who  had  been 
in  Muscovy  at  the  time,  but  who  speaks  of  the  insurrection  as  "  a  vil- 
lainous attempt,"  some  highly  interesting  details,  showing  the  extent  and 
strength  of  the  rising,  and  the  danger  there  was  for  the  throne  and 
the  aristocratic  possessors  of  the  serfs.  ''  If  this  power  of  the  rebels," 
says  the  anonymous  writer,  "consisting  of  200,000  men,  had  been 
united  and  unanimous,  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  the  forces  of 

*  A  Relation  Concerning  the  ParticulAn  of  the  lUbelLion  lately  raised  in  Muscovy 
by  Steoko  Razin.  In  the  Savoy :  1672, 


876 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


the  Czar  to  liave  resisted  and  mastered  the  same."  But  the  rebels 
were  ''  divided  amongst  themselves^  and  coukl  not  a^ree  abont  thc- 
supremc  command."  Stilly  Razin  made  his  way  y^ry  quickly.  "  Every- 
where," the  English  author  of  1672  says,  "  he  promised  liberty,  and  a 
redemption  from  the  yoke  (so  he  called  it)  of  the  bojars^  or  nobles, 
which  he  said  were  the  oppressors  of  the  countr}'.  In  Moscow  itaelf 
men  began  to  speak  openly  in  his  praise,  as  if  he  were  a  person  that 
sought  the  public  good  and  the  liberty  of  the  people;  for  M-hich  cause 
the  Great  Czar  was  necessitated  to  make  a  public  example  of  some,  to 
deter  the  rest." 

Jn  order  to  quell  the  insurrection,  Knes  Dolgorukoff,  as  the  com- 
mander of  the  Czar's  army,  had  to  make  use  of  the  help  of  German 
officers,  who  "  afterwards  were  highly  applauded  by  his  Majesty  for 
having  acquitted  themselves  so  well  in  leading  on  their  men."  \Mien 
the  victory  was  achieved,  the  customary  torturing,  hanging,  bebead.ing, 
and  burning  of  prisoners  was  ordered  by  the  Autocrat.  "  Within  the 
space  of  three  months  there  were,  by  the  liaiids  of  the  executioners, 
put  to  death  11,000  men,  in  a  legal  way,  upon  the  hearing  of  wit- 
nesses." A  hundred  thousand  men  had  been  killed  in  the  field.  Raxmi 
and  his  brother  were  put  to  the  rack.  Then  Kazin  had  his  right  an&^ 
and  Ids  left  leg  cut  ofif,  and  was  afterwards  beheaded. 

There  is  a  pathetic  stoi-y  of  a  nuu  in  man's  habit,  which  she  had  put 
over  her  monastic  dress,  who  had  sided  with  the  rebels.  There  appeared 
not  any  alteration  in  her,  nor  any  fear  of  death,  when  the  sentence  of 
being  burnt  alive  was  pronounced  against  her.  Crossing  herself,  iu  the 
Russian  manner,  o^^er  the  forehead  and  breast,  she  "  laid  herself  quietly 
down  upon  the  pile,  and  was  burnt  to  ashes." 

This  semi-emancipated  nun  may  be  said  to  have  l>een  the  first  type 
of  a  Russian  woman  acting,  and  even  dying,  in  the  people's  cause. 
Others  were  to  follow  in  our  days. 


II. 


There  had  at  first  been  a  law  which  ordained  that  the  serf  can  only 
be  sold  together  with  the  laud.  This  law  was  soon  set  aside  in  practice. 
The  same  Czar  who  burnt  the  public  registers  of  nobility,  in  order,  as  he 
alleged,  to  put  an  end  to  the  ceaseless  disputes  as  r^ards  rank — or^asis 
more  probable,  in  order  to  do  away  with  some  of  the  last  remnants  of 
the  prestige  and  influence  of  old  families — quietly  allowed  the  peasant  to 
be  treated  like  a  beast.  Peter  I.,  it  is  true,  thundered  in  a  ukase  against 
the  evil  custom  of  the  sale  of  children,  who  were  toi-n  away  from  their 
parents,  or  of  whole  families  who  were  sold  from  their  native  cottage 
into  distant  and  unknown  parts  of  the  realm.  But  the  reforming  ten- 
dencies of  this  arbitrary  ruler  did  not  reach  far  in  the  question  of 
serfage.  He  who  handed  the  cnp  of  poison  to  his  own  son  in  the  very 
presence  of  his  Courts  and  who  felt  greatly  astoui&hcd  when  to  his  questioa 


•  CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA. 


877 


as  to  "what  was  the  price  for  a  German  Professor  of  natural  science," 
the  reply  was  made  that  they  *'  were  not  accustomed  in  Germany  to  sell 
Professors" — this  Caar  Peter  the  Great,  -who  stood  himself  on  so  low  a 
level  of  human  culture^  could  not  be  expected  to  be  over-entbusiaatic 
in  the  matter  of  peasant  emancipation. 

Catherine  II.,  the  philosophical  Empress^  the  firiend,  as  she  called 
herself,  of  Hellenic  regeneration,  but  whose  life  showed  a  sadder  want 
of  the  most  ordinary  decency  thau  is  usually  exhibited  among  the  most 
degraded  classes,  extended  serfdom  over  the  Ukraine,  or  Little  Russia, 
which  at  the  time  of  Boris  had  not  formed  part  of  the  Muscovite 
Empire.  If  Boris  had  acted  with  artful  suddenness,  surprising  his  in- 
tended victims  with  a  tiger-like  spring,  the  deed  of  enslavement  iu  the 
Ukraine  was,  under  Catherine,  accompanied  by  even  more  loathsome 
falseness.  Courtiers  who  were  in  the  secret,  and  who  had  estates  iu 
Southeru  Russia,  allured,  shortly  before  the  appearance  of  the  ukase,  as 
many  working  men  as  they  could  to  their  land,  in  order,  on  the  given 
day,  to  throw  the  lasso  over  their  headj^.  Potemkin,  the  well-knowa 
favourite  of  the  Empress,  succeeded,  before  her  decree  was  promulgated, 
in  having  two  regiments  of  grenadiers  quartered  on  his  estates.  The 
result  was  that  they  became  Potemkiu's  serfs  !  It  was  a  State-stroke 
of  the  most  tricky  and  hideous  kind.  n    «*><t    •< 

The  farcical  manner  in  which  the  philosopher-Empress  dealt  with 
serfdom  may  be  seen  from  the  fact  of  a  decree  having  been  issued  by 
her  which  struck  out  the  word  "slave"  fix>m  the  Russian  vocabulary, 
whilst  she  herself  converted  so  many  men  into  slaves.  By  another 
decree  of  Catherine  (ukase  of  August  U2,  17G7)  it  was  enacted  that  any 
serf  bold  enough  to  present  a  petition  against  his  master  should  be 
kuouted  aud  sent  for  life  to  a  Siberian  mine.  It  is  reported  that 
Catherine,  "  in  order  to  honour  philosophy,"  asked  the  Academy  to  ex- 
press an  opinion  on  the  rightful  validity  of  bondage.  This  servile 
body  of  (lemi -savants  and  thorough  lackeys  replied — "  that  no  doubt 
all  priuciples  of  right  were  iu  favour  of  freedom,  but  that  there  wa^ 
a  measure  in  all  things  (in  favorem  hhertalis  omnia  jura  clamant,  sed 
est  modus  in  rebus)." 


III. 

The  wholesale  enslavement  of  the  peasantry  in  what  is  now  Southern 
Russia,  by  Catherine  II.,  had  been  preceded  by  the  great  conspiracy  and 
insurrection  at  whose  head  lemeljan  PugatchefT  stood. 

For  two  years — from  1773  to  1775 — that  dreadetl  Cossack  shook  the 
south-eaat  of  the  empire.  Having  served,  during  the  Seven  Years*  War, 
first  under  Frederick  II.  of  Prussia,  and  then  in  the  Austrian  army,  he 
rose  under  the  name  of  Peter  III.,  whom  the  popular  legend  declared 
to  be  still  alive.  The  foul  crime  Catherine  II.  had  committed  she  now 
felt  sticking  on  her  hands.  It  came  home  to  her  through  this  terrible 
rebellion,   in   which  the  counterfeit  figure  of  her   murdered    husband 


878 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  RBVJEJf. 


iDOvedj   like  an  avenger's  form;  from  the  miflty  banks  of   the  Vd£& 
towards  Moscow^s  gilded  domes. 

The  history  of  Kussia  is  full  of  such  false  royal  apparitions — weird 
mirages  of  secret  murders.  The  very  attempts  of  races  and  classes  bent 
upon  escaping  from  oppression  have  generally  been  mixed  up  in  Busaik 
with  these  impostures  of  a  half-tragic,  half-grotesque  character.  In  the 
story  of  the  pseudo-Demetriuses,  and  the  numerous  conspiracies  con- 
nected with  their  rise  and  fall,  there  is  a  succession  of  horrors  and 
deceptions  iu  whiuh  the  ghastly  continually  verges  upon  the  ridiculous. 
After  Pugatchcff  had  been  on  the  scene  for  a  while  under  the  pretence 
of  being  Peter  III.,  not  only  a  number  of  false  Peters,  but  even  many 
false  PugatchcfTsj  started  up,  as  armed  heads,  everywhere,  until  a  large 
part  of  the  empire  was  filled  with  a  perfect  mastjuerade  of  returned 
ghosts  and  living  doubles. 

However,  the  teiTific  nature  of  the  insurrection  was  ever  present 
before  the  eyes  of  the  affrighted  Empress  Catherine.  Malcontents  of 
all  kinds  took  up  arms  in  the  lauds  near  the  Ural,  the  Volga,  and  the 
Don.  These  iusm'rectionary  outbreaks  were  not  the  mere  achievement 
of  an  ambitious  leader;  they  were  the  result  of  a  widespread  discontent- 
Tribes  which  had  lost  their  national  independence  made  common  cause 
with  enslaved  men  that  once  were  yeomen  on  their  own  freehold 
property.  The  spii-it  of  Spartacus  mingled  with  that  of  Verciugetorix 
and  Civilis.  Hebellious  hinds,  workmen  from  the  salt  and  metal  miuesi 
religious  dissenters,  Raskoluiks,  aud  the  like,  together  with  Cossacks, 
Calmucks,  Bashkirs,  Wotjaks,  Perrajaks,  and  other  Finnic  and  Tatar 
hordes,  were  taken  into  the  ranks  of  the  insurgents,  whom  Pugatcheff 
)iurlcd  against  the  Muscovite  Empire.  Poles,  exiled  as  captives  to 
those  south-eastern  provinces,  helped  to  organize  his  artillery.  Kasan, 
the  old  Tatar  capital,  fell  into  his  hands.  One  Russian  general  after 
the  other  was  defeated  by  him.  The  troops  of  Catherine  II.,  in  many 
cases,  went  over  to  Pugatcheff,  delivering  their  officers  into  his  hands. 
He  hanged  the  officers,  and  took  the  soldiers  into  his  army,  dressing 
them  in  Cossack  fashion,  with  their  hair  and  beards  trimmed  in  the 
manner  of  those  bold  raiders.  For  a  time  Pugatchcff  was  the  Caar  in 
Eastern  Russia. 

!Moseow,  where  a  hundred  thousand  serfs  lived,  showed  signs  of  deep 
agitation.  The  masses  began  to  talk  boldly  of  freedom.  Threats  of  a 
wholesale  massacre  of  their  masters  were  heard.  In  this  grave  crisis 
Generals  Suwaroff  aud  Paniu  at  last  succeeded  in  cutting  off  the  leader 
of  the  insurrection  from  the  hulk  of  his  forces.  Beiug  surprised,  he  was 
pinioned,  put  in  an  iron  cage,  and  thus  delivered  over  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  the  philosoplicr-Em press. 

1  have  before  me  a  painfully  interesting  aceoimt  of  the  last  days  of 
the  bold  Cossack  leader  of  this  servile  revolt,  published  in  London  in 
1775,  under  the  title  of  "  Lc  Faux  Pierre  HI."  There  we  read  :— "  The 
clemency  of  the  Empress  having  restricted  the  action  of  the  judges,  who 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA, 


879 


would  have  coBsidered  it  a  duty  to  acctimulate  torturea  in  order  to 
punish  him  for  his  misdeeds,  they  simply  condemned  him,  iu  their 
sentence,  to  have  his  feet  and  hands  cut  oflP,  and  then  to  be  beheaded." 
This  was  the  merciful  view  which  Catherine,  the  murderer  of  her  own 
consort,  took.  But  by  a  strange  aberration  of  the  executioner  she  was 
foiled  in  her  humane  desire. 

Instead  of  first  cutting  off  PugatcliefTs  feet  and  hands,  the  execu- 
tiouer  began  by  striking  otF  his  head.  Taken  to  task  for  this  reversal  of 
the  order,  he  excused  himself  by  saying  that  he  had  laboured  under  a  sud- 
den access  of  forgetfulnesB.  The  book  quoted  above,  which  is  a  translation 
from  a  Russian  work,  says,  liowcver,  that  many  believed  there  had  been 
secret  orders  from  adherents  of  the  condenined  leader,  forcing  the 
executioner  to  act  as  he  did.  This  reminds  one  almost  of  the  secret 
orders  at  present  so  often  issued  by  the  so-called  Nihilist  League. 

It  was  also  said  at  the  time  that  "  powerful  secret  friends  of  the 
Impostor  had  promised  the  executioner  a  considerable  reward,  as  well  as 
impunity,  for  his  culpable  '  distraction  of  mind/  "  Others  alleged  that 
even  the  executioner  was  a  friend  and  adherent  of  PugatchefF,  and  had 
promised  him  to  shorten  his  sufTeringa  by  hasteniug  his  death. 

In  all  this  the  dark  and  doubtful  character  of  everything  connected 
with  an  irresponsible  Autocracy,  which  shuns  the  light  and  avoids 
public  control,  comes  out  in  perfection, 

Pugatcheff  died  bravely,  as  even  his  enemies  acknowledge.  His 
rising  was  the  last  grand  attempt  at  restoring  the  independence  of  the 
Steppe  tribes,  and  taking  the  yoke  of  villeinage  from  the  cottier. 
After  tiic  fall  of  this  rebel  chieftain,  the  south  could  not  any  longer 
resist  tlie  institution  of  serfdom*  ''The  peasant  of  the  Ukraine,"  says 
Ogarcff,  ''yielded  to  force;  but  never  did  he  believe  that  the  soil  on 
which  he  dwells,  and  which  he  tills,  did  not  belong  to  liim ;  and  there 
are  still  old  men  who  recollect  the  time  when  there  was  no  serfage. 
The  Russine  peasant  considers  himself,  therefore,  proprietor  of  the  soil, 
and  looks  upon  serfdom  as  a  temporary  yoke,  inflicted  upon  him  by  a 
foreigner — that  is,  by  the  Imperialism  of  St.  Petersburg,  which, 
traditionally,  he  designates  as  *  Muscovite.'  " 


IV. 


In  this  way  it  came  to  pass  at  last  that  nearly  the  whole  population 
of  Russia,  north  and  soutli,  with  the  exception  of  a  small  fraction, 
comprising  the  upper  classes  and  a  few  of  the  nomadic  tribes,  had  lost 
the  simplest  rights  of  personal  freedom.  The  Slavonic,  or  Slavonized, 
Russian  race  of  the  centre  was,  in  its  peasant  population,  almost  to  a 
man  under  the  yoke  of  serfdom.  "Whatever  *'  free"  peasants  still  existed 
were  mainly  found  among  the  Fins  and  the  Tatars  of  the  outlying 
provinces.  Out  of  about  60^000,000  inhabitants  of  European  Russia, 
nearly    50,000,000   were   serfs,  more    than   half  of  whom,  at    the  time 


880 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV, 


oi  the   Emaucipatiou  Decree^  uudcr  Alexander  II.,  were  scrl's   of   tUe 
Crown  domains. 

At  the  same  time,  the  severity  with  which  oppression  was  exercised^ 
had  grown  year  by  year^  since  the  days  of  BorLsj  in  a  frightful  degree* 
The  ukase  prohibiting  the  sale  of  land-slaves  without  the  land  was' 
openly  broken  in  the  capital  itself.  Bondsmen  were  sold  by  auction 
under  the  windows  of  the  Imperial  Palace,  The  labour,  the  body,  the 
life  of  the  peasant  rcmuiued  at  the  absolute  disposal  of  the  owner.  With 
the  whip  the  latter  inculcated  upon  his  serf  the  Muscovite  proverb  that 
"  a  beaten  man  is  worth  two  unbeaten  ones.''  If  ever  a  proprietor 
wished  to  get  rid  altogether  of  a  hated  or  incapable  worker,  he  could,  on 
his  own  responsibility,  send  him  to  Siberia.  Scarcely  ever  was  a  land- 
owner taken  up  for  downright  murder  committed  against  his  human 
cattle. 

Such  being  the  general  state  of  things,  it  looked  like  progress  that 
Alexander  I.  sought  to  create  a  class  of  peasant  freeholders  by  gradual 
redemption,  though  on  an  almost  infinitesimal  scale.  The  measure  leil 
to  very  little,  from  its  execution  being  siUTOunded  by  a  maas  of  trouble- 
some and  oppressing  formalities.  As  often  as  iVutocraey  put  its  hand  to 
this  questiou,  it  did  so  in  a  halting,  half-hearted  way.  Two  opposite 
currents  of  thought  were  ever  at  war  with  each  other  within  tlie 
Inii>crial  Government.  The  Czar  was  continually  thrown  backward  and 
forward  between  the  desire  of  breaking  the  social  power  of  the  nobility 
by  an  act  of  "  liberalism/*  and  the  fear  lest  the  nobles  should  do 
an  act  of  vengeance  against  him,  or  outrun  him  even  in  liberal 
aspirations. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  the  comparatively  more  decided 
action  was  taken  by  the  Court  of  St.  Petersburg  with  regard  to  serfdom 
in  those  provinces  which  had  been  recently  acquired  or  conquered — in 
Kurlaud,  Livonia,  Esthonia,  Lithuania,  and  Poland.  Tlierc  the  object 
was  to  gain  over  the  great  mass,  as  against  a  nobility  of  ancient  renown 
and  infiuence.  In  those  parts  of  the  empire  the  Russian  Government, 
therefore,  acted  with  some  degree  of  resolution.  However,  apart  from 
such  considerations  of  autocratic  State  policy,  the  attitude  of  the  fettered 
multitude  itself — especially  in  the  Baltic  provinces — strongly  suggested 
to  the  authorities  the  overthrow,  or  at  least  the  considerable  alleviation, 
of  serfage.  Towards  the  end  of  last  century,  a  deputation  of  the  dis- 
contented Baltic  peasantry  went  to  Kiga  and  St.  Petersburg.  After  their 
demands  had  been  refused,  the  enraged  people  broke  out  in  open 
insurrection  (1783—84).  It  was  only  suppressed  after  much  bloodahed| 
and  by  means  of  a  large  force  of  troops.  A  few  years  later,  when  the 
news  of  the  French  Revolution  and  of  the  abolition  of  all  soccagc  service 
came  to  those  distant  sliores  of  the  Finnic  Gulf,  the  Baltic  pea^antrj 
compelled  the  nobility  to  make  some  concessions^  which,  however,  w< 
soon  retracted.  In  1802  a  new  servile  revolt  took  place.  It  had 
prepared  by  a  conspiracy  similar  to  that  of  tlie  German  Peasant  Le< 


CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA. 


SSI 


in  the  sLxtccnth  century.  This  time,  again,  the  rising  was  overthrown. 
Not  many  years  afterwards,  however,  an  Imperial  ukase  appeared,  at 
least  for  Livonia  and  Esthonia,  which  somewhat  bettered  the  lot  of  the 
suffering  bondmen. 

The  whole  position  of  that  class  iu  the  Baltic  provinces  was  regulated 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  Napoleonic  wars.  From  the  position  of  men 
bound  to  the  soil,  the  agricultural  labourers  were  raised  to  that  of 
farmers  enjoying  personal  freedom,  though  by  no  means  holding  the  same 
position  as  the  corresponding  class  in  other  parts  of  Continental  Europe. 
For  the  Lithuanian  and  Polish  peasants  also,  Alexander  I.  meditated  some 
alight  reform.  The  French  invasion,  albeit  quickly  rej>elled,  yet  brought 
some  change  for  the  better  there. 

In  the  Old  AFuscovite  parts  of  the  empire  matters  remained  as  bad 
and  as  cruelly  oppressive  as  before.  The  atrocities  practised  on  the  estate 
of  Count  Araktcheyeff,  the  favourite  of  Alexander  I.,  were  of  a  nature 
so  revolting^  that  their  ficndishness  can  only  be  said  to  have  been  sur- 
passed by  those  of  almly  of  the  name  of  Soltykoff,  who  had  been  brought 
to  justice  in  1788  for  having  killed,  by  inhuman  tortures,  in  the  course 
of  ten  or  eleven  years,  about  a  hundred  of  her  serfs,  chiefly  of  the  female 
sex — among  them  several  young  girls  of  eleven  and  twelve  years  of  age ! 
The  aole  alleviation,  under  Alexander  I.,  of  the  lot  of  the  peasantry,  was 
the  gradual  conversion  of  not  a  few  of  the  serfs  of  the  nobitity  into  serfs 
of  the  Crown.  That  is  to  say,  the  Crown,  by  way  of  redemption  or  of 
loans  made  to  the  nobles,  bought  a  number  of  land-slaves  in  order  to 
put  them  into  its  own  domains. 

These  *'  Crown  peasants"  were,  of  course,  not  free.  Their  treatment  was 
better  than  that  of  their  brethren  on  the  estates  of  the  landowners.  They 
even  possessed  the  right  of  removing.  But  in  reality  they  still  were  far 
from  having  freedom  in  our  sense  ;  for  the  right  of  removing  was  dependent 
upon  HO  many  formalities,  not  to  mention  the  pecuniary  difficulties,  that 
the  thought  of  exercising  that  right  could  but  seldom  take  the  shape  of 
an  act.  The  small  difference  between  the  two  kinds  of  peasants  may 
be  seen  from  the  fact  that,  down  to  Alexander  I.,  even  the  Crown 
peasant  could  be  given  away  as  a  present,  like  any  head  of  cattle.  This 
custom  only  ceased  after  the  influence  of  modern  idea.s  had  brought  about 
a  better  treatment  of  subject  classes  all  through  the  Continent. 

It  was  the  appearance  of  a  foreign  army  on  Russian  soil  in  1812  which 
forced  the  Czar  to  occupy  himself  with  the  question  of  the  abolition  of 
bondage.  lu  order  to  beat  back  the  invader,  the  i)easautry  had  to  be  armed 
as  a  maas-levy.  The  nobility,  on  their  i>art,  readily  responded  to  the 
call  of  Alexander  I.,  who,  iu  his  great  affright  at  the  approach  of  the 
tricolour,  hastened  in  person  to  the  ancient  Kremlin  of  Moscow,  to 
beseech  and  entreat  the  aristocracy  and  the  merchants  to  lend  their  aid 
to  him.  Since  the  days  of  Peter  I.,  the  Sovereign  had  not  condescended 
to  speak  in  this  way  to  the  nation.  The  peril  was  extreme.  The  answer 
to  the  imploring  request  was  not  lacking  in  patriotic  decision.    \Vhilst  the 


882 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


Pole,  the  Fin,  the  Krim  Tatar,  aiul  other  subject  raocs,  listened,  as  it 
were,  with  ear  held  to  the  ground,  to  catch  the  tramping  sound  of  the 
approaching  foreign  hosts,  the  landowners  of  Russia  personally  took  up 
arms  to  repel  the  foe,  giving  at  the  same  time  a  serf  out  of  every 
ten  for  the  Czars  army.  The  merchants  ofi'cred  the  tenth  part  of 
their  revenues. 

In  the  memor}'  and  the  imagination  of  the  masses,  Moscow  was 
always  looked  upon  as  the  real  capital.  ^Xlicn  Moscow  was  burnt,  as 
au  earnest  of  the  national  resolve  to  throw  back  the  invasion  at  all 
costSj  the  gigantic  flood  of  flames  spoke  with  fiery  tongfucs,  across 
the  stillness  of  the  Rusaiau  snow-desert,  to  many  a  sluggish  mind. 
So  great  a  sacrifice  seemed  worthy  of  a  reward  in  the  shape  of  liberty 
at  home.  Not  a  few  believed  in  the  existence  of  a  patriotic  conspiracy, 
which  had  brought  about  the  terrible  event.  This  was  an  error,  no 
doubt.  The  initiative  of  the  startling  act  had  been  taken  by  the 
Government  authorities  themselves.  Yet  the  impression  upon  the 
public  mind  remained  a  powerful  one.  The  conflagration  of  Moscow 
roused  many  a  political  sleeper. 


V. 

1  have  described  before  how  the  contact  of  the  Russian  troops  with 
AVesteru  nattous  hud  led  to  lil)erai  and  parliamentary  anpirations.  New 
ideas  of  human  dignity  were  learnt  by  tlicm,  both  from  the  Germans,  with 
whom  RuBsia  then  was  allied,  and  from  their  enemies,  the  French.  Some 
of  the  oSiccrs  warmly  caught  this  progressive  infection.  In  a  smaller 
degree  the  uniformed  serfs  became  imbued  witli  unaccustomed  notions. 

No  wonder,  under  these  circumstauces,  that  the  proposal  to  do 
away  with  compulsory  labour  and  serfdom  should  have  found  warm 
advocates  in  the  more  enlightened  circles.  At  first,  the  Court  cntererl 
into  the  question  with  apparent  zeal.  Committees  of  inquiry  were 
apjiointed.  Speeches  and  articles  of  a  promising  character  were  pub- 
lished. A  good  rei^ult  was  deemed  certain;  the  Czar  himself  having 
apparently  been  gained  over. 

15ut  the  promoters  of  the  scheme  had  left  out  of  account  the  fcelingv 
of  mistnist  which  had  only  been  lulled  for  a  while  in  the  heart  of  tlie 
Emi>eror.  When  Alexander  I.  perceived  that  there  were  men  who,  along 
with  their  principles  of  humanity,  harboured  political  views  which  clashed 
witli  tlic  interests  of  autocracy,  their  devotion  to  the  cause  of  peasant 
emancipation  suddenly  filled  him  with  suspicion.  The  thought  rose  in 
him  whether  the  movemeut  in  favour  of  the  abolition  of  serfage  was 
not  a  desire  for  bringing  about  a  union  of  all  the  elements  of  opposi- 
tion. An  irresponsible  ruler  is  easily  frightcued  by  a  shadow  on  the 
wall.  He  sees  enemies  lurking  everywhere.  He  is  not  sure  of  UiC 
trustworthiness  of  any  of  his  own  partisans.  Alexander  all  at  once 
rccoIJected    the    attempts    made    bv   the   nobles  at  the  advent  of  the 


CONSPIRACIES    IN   RUSSIA. 


888 


Empress  Anna  to  transform  Russia  in  the  Polish  or  Swedish  sense — that 
is,  to  convert  the  Crown  into  an  elective  one,  or  at  any  rate  largely  to 
curtail  its  privileges,  and  to  introduce  a  parliamentary  representation. 
He  now  feared  the  recurrence  of  similar  aims,  the  more  so  because  the 
standard- bearers  of  peasant  emancipation  might  easily  become  popular 
among  the  masses,  and  thereby  acquire  irresistible  strength. 

The  Czar's  alarm  grew  from  day  to  day.  He  already  saw  himself,  iu 
his  terrified  mind's  eye,  in  the  grasp  of  a  Court  conspiracy.  He 
even  thought  he  was  in  danger  of  being  dethroned.  Poor  almightiness  of 
an  Autocrat ! 

The  deputations  which  appeai^ed  before  him  for  the  furtherance  of 
serf  cmancipatiou  were  now  received  by  him  with  icy  coldness.  With 
the  zeal  of  mistrustfulness,  he  sought  to  find  out  why  men  had 
taken  such  great  trouble  to  combine,  in  order  to  constitute,  so  to  say, 
a  body  of  directing  reformers,  whilst  he  himself  had  been  in  favour  of  the 
rL'form  scheme,  which  he  considered  was  all-sufiieient.  His  mind 
became  deeply  troubled.  The  memory  of  his  father's  violent  death 
tormented  him.  He  would  not  hear  any  more  of  projects  which  might 
lead  to  further  demands.  So  the  whole  afiair,  the  solution  of  which  had 
seemed  to  be  near  at  hand^  came  to  be  stopped  by  the  fears  of  a  sus- 
picious monarch,  and  was  finally  laid  aside  altogether. 

After  Alexander  1.,  Kicholaa  held  the  country  under  his  iron  heel. 
The  events  of  1825  filled  that  tyrant  with  deadly  hatred  against  every- 
thing connected  with  liberal  tenets.  The  stillness  of  death  which, 
during  his  reign,  lay  over  Kussia  in  a  political  sense,  was,  however,  not 
seldom  broken  by  an  agrarian  riot  and  by  the  frequent  murder  of  harsh 
laudownci*s.  As  a  rulcj  the  Russian  peasant  is  a  good-natured,  easy- 
going, lazy,  but  docile  fellow  ;  averse  to  blood-shedding  and  even  to 
personal  encounters  among  his  equals — so  much  so  that  foreigners  often 
wonder  at  the  tamencss  with  which  he  bears  the  grossest  insult.  Great 
musty  therefore,  have  been  the  provocation  which  induced  the  hinds 
to  attack  the  life  of  their  masters. 

In  the  earlier  part  of  the  government  of  Nicholas,  about  seventy  land- 
owners were,  according  to  official  statistics,  killed  every  year.  In  1850 
the  proportion  had  risen  to  200.  Hence  absenteeism  was  continually  on 
the  increase.  Horrible  tales  now  and  then  came  out  of  the  cruelty  prac- 
tised against  landowners  by  the  otherwise  slavish  serfs — such  as  rolling 
the  victim's  living  body  over  splintered  glass  until  death  put  au  end  to 
his  suiferings.  The  utter  neglect  in  which  the  agricultural  masses  were 
left  with  regard  to  mental  culture  thus  avenged  itself  iu  fiendish  bar- 
barities, all  the  more  loathsome  because  the  same  men  who  committed 
them  were  otherwise  of  a  cringing  charactcrj  and,  in  their  cups,  showed  a 
iachrymo.se  sentimentality  which  struck  the  beholder  as  rather  laugh- 
able* 

Haxthausen  says  : — "  Amongst  the  Russians  all  social  power  makes 
itself   respected    by   blows,   which    do  not   change    either  affection  or 


884 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEH^ 


friendship.  Evciy  one  deals'  Wows ;  the  father  beats  his  iwm ;  the 
husband  his  wife  ;  the  territorial  lord,  or  his  steward,  the  peasant»j 
without  any  bitterness  or  revenge  resulting  from  it.  The  Imeks  of  the 
Russians  arc  quite  accustomed  to  blows,  and  yet  the  stick  is  more 
sensibly  felt  by  the  nerves  of  their  backs  tliau  by  their  souls." 

Warned  by  the  dangers  of  the  conspiracy  and  insurrection  which 
had  threatened  his  accession  to  the  thronCj  and  in  which  bo  many  men  of 
the  first  families  were  implicated,  Nicholas  played  towards  the  serfs  a 
double  game.  He  acted  the  part  of  the  "  Little  Father'*  in  liis  dealings 
with  the  peasantry.  He  sometimes  impressed  them,  by  conBdeutial 
agents,  with  goody-goody  talk  about  his  reforming  wishes — that  is  to 
say,  whenever  he  stood  in  need  of  sticking  terror  once  more  into  malcon- 
tent landowners.  But  as  soon  as  the  signs  of  dissatisfaction  with  hia  harsh 
and  arbitrary  government  disappeared  from  among  that  class,  and  there 
were  no  longer  any  whisperings  in  favour  of  parliamentary  rule,  the  pro- 
mises of  social  reform  spread  about  in  his  name  were  quickly  withdrawn. 
Occasionally  a  proprietor  who  had  flogged  a  serf  to  death,  or  murdered 
him  by  slow  demoniacal  tortnre,  was,  under  Nicholas,  punishetl  for  his 
cruelty.  A  few  restrictions  were  also  placed  upon  the  privileges  of  the 
"  slave-holder  ;"  but  beyond  this,  no  change  was  wrought.  To  give  the 
measure  of  the  ideas  of  Nicholas  as  regards  peasant  freedom,  I  need 
only  say  that  he  pushed  the  spirit  of  bureaucratic  regulation  so  far  as 
to  prescribe  the  plan  for  building  village  houses  by  a  decree  from  St. 
Petersburg,  and  that  he  held  to  uniformity  in  the  appearance  of  the 
streets  as  much  as  to  uniformity  in  military  concerns. 

Meanwhile,    as   imder    Czar   Paul,    who    created   the   institution    of 
"  Appanage  Serfs/'    so  also  under  Nicholas,  the  process  of  increasing^' 
the  number  of  Crown  bondmen  steadily  went  on.     Nicholas  definitively 
formed   a  special  administration  over  the  Crown  serfs.     Under  every 
reign,  peasants  had  been  attached    as  serfs  to  the  mines  and  Imperiali 
manufacturing  establishments.      Under  Alexander  II.,  down  to  1862/ 
there  were  still  serfs   of    the  printing   office  of  the  Imperial  Univer- 
sity of  Moscow.     The  compositors  had  to  do  compulsory  lalxiur  for  pay 
below  the  minimum  of  wages  paid  anywhere.     A  strange  irony  of  fal 
that    men  employed  in  the   diffusion  of  that  science   whieh   ought  io* 
strike   off  the    fetters   of  the  intellect    should  have    been  tre&ted 
slaves  I 


The  abolition  of  serfdom  was  the  result,  as  before  stated,  of  the  defeat 
of  Czardom  on  the  Crimean  battle-fields,  and  the  consequent  loss  of  Im- 
perial prestige.  Something  had  to  be  done  to  allay  the  feeling  of 
discontent  which  liad  spread  through  all  classes.  Naturally,  the 
upholder  of  the  principle  of  unlimited  monarchy  preferred  conciliating 
the  large  majority  of  the  people  by  a  boon,  tlic  grant  of  which  did  not 


CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA. 


885 


touch  the  exercise  of  his  unrestricted  sovereignty,  to  satisfying  the  claims 
of  men  who  hoped  for  the  introduction  of  representative  government. 

In  the  probable  course  of  events,  any  convocation  of  a  duma,  or 
parliament,  would  have  led  to  the  discussion  and  the  enactment  of  Bills 
for  the  manumission,  and  even  the  partial  political  representation,  of  the 
peasantry.  This,  however,  did  not  suit  Alexander  II.  At  the  same  time 
entire  inaction  was  no  longer  possible  to  him — the  less  so  because  the 
Polish  aristocracy,  in  the  proWnces  bordering  upon  Germany,  had  taken 
the  initiative  in  favour  of  serf  emancipation.  This  is  a  fact  generally 
lost  sight  of,  but  of  great  importance  in  judging  of  the  causes  of  the 
measure  which  was  happily  accomplished  at  last,  and  for  which  ignorance 
and  courtier-like  adulation  now  give  the  Czar  the  sole  credit. 

By  a  decree  dated  December  2,  1857,  Alexander  II,  accorded  to  the 
nobility  of  Wilna,  Kovno,  and  Grodno  the  necessary  authorization  for 
electing  committees  in  which  peasant  emancipation  was  to  be  discussed. 
Thanking  them  for  the  readiness  they  had  shown,  he  ordered  the  Home 
Secretary  to  communicate  this  rescript  to  the  Marshals  of  the  Russian 
nobility,  so  that  they  might  proceed  to  similar  action,  if  they  chose.  Care 
was,  however,  taken  not  to  let  the  Poliali  landowners  proceed  to  an  im- 
mediate practical  realization  of  their  intention,  lest  they  should  gain 
popularity  thereby. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  readiness  of  the  Polish  aristocracy 
was  iu  some  degree  due,  between  185G  and  1860,  to  the  desire  of 
bringing  about,  by  an  act  of  humanity  and  justice,  such  a  fusion  of 
national  sentiments  aa  to  give  hope  for  the  recovery  of  Polish  self- 
government.  The  Emperor,  on  his  part,  wished  to  make  friends  with 
the  Polish  peasantry  by  planting  the  standard  of  emancipation,  if  ever 
that  had  to  be  done,  with  his  own  hand.  Two  opposite  currents  thus 
met  for  the  same  favourable  solution.  Nevertheless,  even  the  palpable 
Court  interest  was  not  sufficient  to  induce  the  Government  to  pursue  a 
clear  and  persistent  policy  from  the  very  beginning.  As  a  proof  of  the 
strength  of  the  conservative  and  rcot^tionary  Hcntimeut  at  Grst  prevailing 
in  the  councils  of  the  Crown,  I  need  only  point  to  the  circular  of  the 
Superior  Committee  of  April  17  (29),  1858,  which  prescribed,  as  a  basis 
of  " enuiiwipation"  the  continuance  o£  compuisonj  labour! 

Whilst  the  Polish  nobility  in  the  country  bordering  upon  Germany 
were  among  the  most  willing  for  progress,  it  was  different  in  the  old 
Russian  part  of  the  empire.  The  opposition  there  was  partly  traceable 
to  the  avarice  of  the  "  slave-holder  f*  partly  it  arose  from  political 
aspirations  of  a  better  nature.  The  more  liberal  views  had  the  upper 
hand  in  the  nobiliaTy  assemblies  of  the  northernmost  as  well  as  the 
southernmost  provinces,  so  far  as  it  was  possible  to  get  at  the  truth 
under  a  Government  which  did  not,  and  does  not,  permit  a  free  utterance 
in  the  press  or  by  means  of  public  meetings.  The  horror  of  publicity 
among  the  Committees  themselves  was  so  great  that,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  departments — such  as  Twer,  Orel,  and  Nijni — the  sittings  were 

VOL.   XXXV.  3   u 


886 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


everywhere  held  in  secret.  Mystery  characterized  all  the  proceedings. 
The  greatest  reluctance  was  exhibited  by  the  landowners  of  the  Centre — 
of  Muscovy  proper.  In  some  provincial  assemblies,  where  parliamentary 
aspirations  were  strongest,  they  refused  to  discuss  the  Imperial  project 
unless  pennission  were  given  to  bring  in.  amendments.  Eveu  the  idea 
of  the  convocation  of  all  the  nobiliary  county  assemblies  of  Hussia,  as  a 
united  Assembly  of  Notables,  was  broached  by  some  of  the  malcontents. 
This  propoaitiou  was  looked  upon  by  the  Czar  as  the  germ  of  States- 
General,  and  therefore  sternly  rejected. 

When  the  deputies  of  the  nineteen  provinces  which  had  first  finished 
their  labours  arrived  at  St.  Petersburg,  they  were — in  the  words  of 
Priuce  Dolgorukoft'-— -received  with  a  haughty  contempt  quite  peculiar 
to  Ruasiau  bureaucracy.  The  permission  of  meeting  was  altogether 
denied  them.  Five  of  the  deputies — namely,  M.  Unko^-ski,  marshal  of 
the  nobility  nf  Twer;  MM.  Dubrovin  and  Wassilieft',  deputies  of  laros- 
law  ;  MM.  Khriistchoff  and  Schrotter,  deputies  of  Kharkoflf — presented 
to  the  Emperor,  on  October  16  (28),  1859,  an  address  full  of  respectful 
loyalty,  asking  for  a  grant  of  laud  to  the  emancipated  serfs,  with  a 
pecuniary  indemnification  for  the  landowners ;  for  reforms  in  communal 
self-government  and  in  the  administration  of  justice ;  as  well  as  for 
freedom  of  the  press.  These  "unjust  and  ill-becoming  pretensions'* 
were  severely  reprimauded,  and  M,  Unkovski  at  once  deposed  from 
hia  functions. 

The  literal  truth  is,  that,  in  regard  to  the  convocation  of  such  an 
assembly — as  Mr.  Wallace  fully  shows — the  nobility  were  "cunningly 
deceived  by  Government."  The  Emperor  had  publicly  promised  that^ 
before  the  emancipation  project  became  law,  deputies  from  the  pro- 
vincial committees  should  be  summoned  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  the/i 
might  oflfer  objections  and  propose  amendments.  But  wheu  the  deputies 
arrived,  they  were  not  allowed  to  form  a  pnblic  assembly,  but  were  told 
that  they  had  to  answer  in  writing  a  list  of  printed  questions.  Thoae 
who  wished  to  discuss  details  were  invited  individually  to  attend 
meetings  of  the  Commission,  where  they  found  one  or  two  members 
ready  to  engage  with  them  in  a  Httle  dialectical  fencing  in  a  rather' 
ironical  style.  On  making  a  complaint,  by  petition,  to  the  Emperor— 
whom  they  believed,  or  at  least  professed  to  believe,  to  have  been  imposed 
upon  by  the  Administration — they  got  no  direct  answer  from  the  Em- 
peror's Cabinet,  but  a  formal  reprimand  through  the  police  !  Trying  to 
bring  ou  the  question  at  the  Provincial  Assembliea,  they  were  again 
foQed  by  a  decree  issued  before  the  opening  of  those  assemblies,  for- 
bidding them  to  touch  upon  the  emancipation  question  at  all. 

A  perfect  comedy  had  been  played — a  practical  joke  in  politics.  This 
did  not  contribute  to  the  popularity  of  Alexander  II.  among  the 
educated  classes. 


CONSPIRACIES    IN   RUSSIA. 


887 


VII. 

The  ukase  proclaimiug  the  abolition  of  serfdom  was  dated  March  3 — 
or  rather  February  U),  18GI.  As  in  all  other  things,  Russia  is  in 
her  calendar  several  centuries  bebind  the  remainder  of  Europe. 

On  that  occasion,  all  the  uneasy  suspiciousness  of  the  despotic  regime 
again  came  out  glaringly — one  might  say,  under  comic  colours.  Surely, 
on  a  day  when  a  so-called  "  Liberator"  confers  freedom  upon  his  people, 
•we  could  expect  that  he  not  only  trusts  that  people,  but  tliat  he  would 
even  hoj)e  for  expressions  of  gratitude  from  it.      But  what  were  the  facts  ? 

The  thing  was  done  in  a  manner  as  if  some  terrible  conspiracy  were 
on  the  point  of  breaking  out,  or  us  if  Government  itself  had  committed 
some  hideous  deed,  for  which  it  feared  a  revenge.  First,  instead  of 
making  the  ukase  of  February  19  known  at  once,  Alexander  II.  only 
did  so  on  March  5  ;  that  is,  March  17  of  our  reckoning.  He  was  under 
great  apprehension  lest,  in  the  intermediate  Carnival  time,  the  people 
would  proceed  to  excesses  if  the  tenor  of  his  ukase  became  known 
at  once.  On  the  day  when  the  manifesto  was  read  in  the  churches  of 
St.  Petersburg,  the  Palace  was  surrounded  with  troops.  During  the  whole 
night  the  Emperor's  adjutants  had  to  be  next  to  his  room  ;  some  keeping 
watch,  whilst  others  were  allowed  to  s!rep  until  their  turn  came. 

Ignatieff,  the  Governor-General,  having  heard  a  heap  of  snow  falling 
from  a  roofj  thoui^ht  he  hud  heard  a  cannon-shot  from  some  rebel 
quarter^  and  duly  gave  the  alarm.  So  the  "Liberator,"  the  "  Friend  of 
tiie  People^"  trembled  in  his  shoes  before  that  very  people. 

The  mass  of  the  population  in  the  capital  listened  in  silence  to  the  read- 
ing of  the  long-winded  emuueipntion  manifesto  which  the  Archbishop  of 
Moscow  had  drawn  up  in  a  heavy,  pretentious  style.  *'That  population," 
Ogareflf  said  in  18C2,  *'  is  mainly  composed  of  soldiers  and  function- 
aries. Of  real  popular  classes  there  is  little  at  St.  Petersburg."  We 
can  measure  by  what  has  happened  since — from  the  days  of  the  trial  of 
Vjera  Sassulitch  to  the  establishment  of  a  House  Porters*  Army  of 
12,000  men,  for  the  purpose  of  watching  all  the  streets — what  a  change 
haa  been  wrought  during  tbe  last  seventeen  years  in  the  attitude  of  the 
St.  Petersburgers. 

lu  tlie  provinces,  the  Czar's  manifesto  also  led  to  strange  scenes. 
Some  of  the  nobles  sought  to  retanl  its  promulgation  before  the  serfs. 
There  were  priests  who  quaked,  with  ashy-pale  face,  when  they  read  the 
document  after  mass.  Some  of  them  were  apprehensive  of  the  wrath  of 
their  landowners.  Others  feared  n  peasant  revolt.  In  many  cases  the 
Government  oQicialB,  who  ougfit  to  have  been  present  at  the  ceremonyj 
reported  themselves  sick,  or  hid  themselves — also  from  fear  of  a  peasant 
riot.  All  this  does  not  fit  in  with  the  customary  idea  of  a  people 
singing  psalms  of  joy  on  the  occasion  of  their  deliverance  from  a 
galling  yoke. 

The  forty-three  folio  pages  of   the  statute  were  too  much  for  the 

a  M  2 


TUE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


illiterate  millions.  The  peasants  only  underatood  that  there  were  still 
some  hard  years  of  a  trausitionary  condition  before  them,  and  that  the 
Emancipation  Act  did  not  bring  with  it  such  an  ownership  ia  land  as 
they  thought  they  had  a  right  to  expect.  A  cry  went  forth  among  the 
massesj  of  deception  having  been  practised  at  their  cost.  They  said  the 
"  true  law^'  had  not  been  promulgated  ;  and  the  "  true  law*'  they  would 
have.  Meanwhile  they  would  refuse  to  pay  rents  or  perform  soccage 
duty. 

Vague  conspiratory  movements  were  observed  among  the  peasantry — 
not  of  the  threatening  nature  of  those  which  had  marked  the  seven- 
teenth and  eighteenth  centuries,  but  still  movements  not  to  be  treated 
too  lightly.  A  Government  standing  on  the  narrow  basis  of  that  irre- 
sponsible rule  which  found  its  expression  in  France  in  the  royal  saying, 
"  L'Elatf  c'est  moi  J"  cannot  afford  to  despise  the  first  signs  of  an  inci- 
pient rebellion.  Its  coward  conscience  is  terrified  by  a  snowball  gaining 
in  bulk  as  it  falls.  Autocracy  always  fears  the  coming  crash  of  the 
avalanche. 

lu  those  eastern  provinces  of  tlie  empire  where  the  insurrectionary 
spirit  had  repeatedly  shown  itself  before,  the  emancipated  land-slaves  were 
the  most  unruly.  A  few  weeks  after  the  decree  of  Alexander  IT,,  they 
rose  under  Anthony  Pctrott',  who  explained  to  them  the  *'  true  law"  and 
t!»c  true  liberty.  Forming  a  mutinous  troop  about  10,000  strong,  they 
marched  forth  under  the  banner  of  revoltj  though  not  with  the  courage 
of  their  forefathers  who  died  with  Razin  and  Pugatcheff.  It  has  always 
been  the  policy  of  the  peasant  leaders  in  Russia  to  make  an  impression 
upon  their  ignorant  and  superstitious  followers  by  using  the  monarch's 
name,  if  not  by  giving  themselves  out  as  the  real  dynastic  claimant. 
Anthony  Pctroff,  too,  convinced  his  adherents  that  the  manifesto  read  to 
them  was  not  the  one  which  the  Czar  had  signed.  And  when  the  envoy 
of  the  latter  came  in  the  shape  of  Count  Apraxin,  as  general  at  the 
head  of  troops,  the  would-be  insurgents,  with  that  mixture  of  ubtuseness 
and  cunning  which  charaetcrizes  the  peasants  of  many  countries,  pro- 
fessed to  believe  that  A]>raxin  was  a  pseudo-envoy. 

The  cud  was  the  usual  one.  Being  asked  to  disperse  and  to  deliver  over 
Anthony  Petroff  to  the  authorities,  the  rebels  refused  to  do  cither. 
Thereupon  a  massacre  followed.  Pctroff,  however,  surrendered  himself 
of  his  own  free  will,  holding  the  Emancipation  Statute  above  his  head, 
and  declaring  that  the  "true  liberty/^  as  decreed  by  the  C«ar,  bad  not 
been  promulgated.  He  soon  got  his  own  true  liberty  by  being  court- 
martiallcd  and  shot,  whilst  General  Apraxin  was  rewarded  by  Alexander 
the  Liberator  with  an  expression  of  thanks  and  a  decoration — even  as 
General  Kaufmanu  has  received  similar  Imperial  favours  for  his  infamous 
atrocities  iu  Turkestan. 

"  Anthony  Petroff"— so  Ogareff  wrote  in  1862*—"  was  the  first 
martyr  of  peosant  freedom  ;  and  the  affair  of  Besdna  was  the  first  in  which 

*  Essoi  9ur  la  .Situation  Uusso.     I^ndree:  1863. 


CONSPIRACIES  IN  RUSSIA. 


889 


the  benevolent  Eniaucipator-Czar  showed  himself  an  execudoncr  without 
intellect.  Tlien  the  water,  or  the  taste  for  blood,  came  to  his  mouth. 
General  Dreniakin  telegraphed  to  him  from  Fensa  his  good  wishes  as  a 
faithful  subject  on  the  occasion  of  Easter,  asking  at  the  same  time  for  the 
right  of  punishing  the  peasants  without  trying  them  in  accordance 
with  legal  procedures.  The  Emperor  thanked  him  by  telegram,  and 
gave  him  the  right  of  sentencing  and  punishing  the  peasants  as  he 
thought  best.  Thereupon  the  General  began  eourt-martialling  and 
knouting  the  peasants,  until  the  executioner  himself  became  weary, 
lie  reported  at  last  that  order  was  restored.  With  one  or  two 
exceptions,  the  Adjutants-General  of  his  Majesty  introduced  the 
'  Statute  of  Liberty'  in  the  same  manner.  In  many  departments  (here 
was  kilting ;  everywhere  there  was  knouting.  The  irritation  became 
all  the  greater  because  the  peasants  had  not  in  reality  risen ;  they  only 
wanted  an  explanation  of  that  fireedom  which  was  but  another  form  of 
slavery." 

Such  is  the  account  of  a  Russian  writer,  who  otherwise  speaks  in 
comparatively  mild  and  moderate  terms  of  the  character  and  Government 
of  Alexander  IL  To  cap  his  harsh  measures,  the  Czar  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  a  journey  to  the  Crimea  to  assemble,  on  his  way,  the  ciders  of 
some  villages,  and  to  declare  to  them  that  he  would  not  confer  upon 
them  any  other  liberties  than  those  Tnentioncd  in  the  statute.  A  copy 
of  this  Imperial  and  imperious  speech  lie  ordered  the  Home  Secretary  to 
send  into  all  the  departments  for  publication. 


VIll. 


In  the  midst  of  these  sanguinary  dealings  with  the  peasants,  the 
massacres  at  Warsaw  took  place.  There,  an  unarmed  crowd  of  men  and 
women  were  ruthlessly  shot  and  sabred  down,  for  no  other  cause  than 
a  peaceful  demonstration  in  the  interest  of  their  own  nationality,  and  in 
spite  of  their  offering  no  resistance  whatever.  It  was  a  butchery  without  a 
fight.  The  cruel  deed  was  ordained  because  the  Polish  landowners  had 
met  of  their  own  free  will  to  discuss  the  question  of  grants  of  land  for  their 
own  peasants!  This  proposal  had  awakened  the  jealousy,  the  suspicion, 
the  apprehensions  of  the  Autocrat.  Any  attempt  at  a  reconciliation 
between  the  Polish  nobles  and  the  peasantry'  had  to  be  drowned  in  blood. 
So  the  streets  of  Warsaw  ran  with  gore  at  the  veiy  moment  when  the 
emancipation  of  the  serfs  in  Russia  was  carried  out  amidst  scenes  of 
butchery. 

Peasant  emancipation  liad  scarcely  been  decreed  when  Alexander  II. 
supplemented  it  by  a  reorganization  of  the  army  on  the  principle  of  a 
larger  conscription.  Before  the  slave's  yoke  was  taken  from  the  neck  of 
the  labourer,  the  Czar  had  to  depend,  for  the  getting  together  of  his 
troops,  upon  the  lauded  proprietors,  the  possessors  of  the  serfs.  Now 
he  was  able  to  issue  his  conscription  ukases  without  the  slightest  regard 
for    the  nobility.     The   aggressive  policy  of  conquest  had  "Obtained  an 


80» 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


additional  power.   The  true  character  of  autocratic  philanthropy  appeared 
in  its  proper  colours. 

A  Polish  exilcj  Count  Zamoyiskij  was  right  in  describing  the  Czar's 
;  measure,  whilst  it  was  beiug  elaborated,  as  an  experiment  by  which  the 
'Russiou  Government  sought  to  augment  its  military  resources  and 
strength.  In  the  same  way  au  English  Consul^  Mr.  Michell,  some 
years  later,  ably  showed  iu  a  report  that  the  objects  of  the  Emancipation 
Act  were  fiscal  and  recruiting — that  is  to  say,  designed  to  increase 
facilities  for  raising  men  and  money  for  purposes  of  war.  Under  the 
serfage  system  the  Autocrats  experienced  difficulties  which  not  nnfrc- 
queutly  crippleii  their  warlike  designs.  The  proprietor  of  the  soil,  from 
his  position,  naturally  resisted  the  conscription ;  and,  when  it  reached 
certain  limits,  often  resisted  ettectivcly.  Moreovej,  the  serf  l)eing  alto* 
gether  exempt  from  fiscal  obligations,  the  whole  burden  of  taxation  fell 
upon  the  landowners ;  and  the  Government,  in  want  of  money,  had 
often  to  struggle  with  that  class  to  reach  their  pockets.  The  eman- 
cipation entirely  changed  this  state  of  things,  as  it  was  designed  to  do. 
The  landlord  had  no  longer  any  interest  in  opposing  the  conscription,  and 
the  Imperial  taxation  was  henceforth  borne  in  part  by  the  emancipated 
peasant. 

A  ^'  landed  freeman^'  the  Russian  peasant,  since  1861,  is  often  called 
in  Western  Europe.  But  on  looking  more  closely  at  the  state  of  things 
established  by  the  Act  of  Manumission,  a  great  deal  of  the  alleged 
land-holding  and  personal  freedom  vanishes  into  thin  air.  No  better 
description  could  be  given  than  the  one  contained  in  a  valuable  letter 
recently  addressed  to  the  NewcaMle  Chronicle  by  Mr,  George  Rule,  than 
whom  there  are  few  men  more  conversant  with  the  real  aims  of  Russian 
autocratic  policy.  Referring  to  the  Consular  Report  of  Mr.  Michelle 
Mr.  George  Rule  says  : — 

**  The  original  design  of  iho  Emperor  and  his  Ministers  wna  to  give  him  (the 
serf)  his  homestead  only,  and  to  leave  him  otherwise  to  take  his  chance  In  the 
labour  market.  But  this  was  deemed  unsatisfactory  botli  by  peasant  aud  land- 
lord ;  and  naturally  so.  On  the  one  hand  it  despoiled  the  serf  of  the  land  he 
considered  his  own  ;  and,  on  the  other,  deprived  the  landlord  of  the  service-rent, 
which  he  might  not  be  able  to  replace  with  corresponding  advantage.  It  conse- 
quently  fell  ilirough  ;  and  another  arrangement  was  adopted.  The  serf  was  now 
.  to  have  liis  homestead  and  allotment  nt  a  low-fixed  rental,  but  freed  from  his  old 
position  of  bondage  to  thp  owner  of  the  soil.  He  might,  indeed,  by  mutunl 
agreement  with  the  proprietor,  continue  to  pay  his  rent  in  service ;  and  contracts 
for  sucli  purpose  might  be  made  to  last  tliree  years  at  a  time.     This  system  of 

;  service-rent  is  still  extensively  in  operation Usages  of  centuries  are  not 

'to  be  got  rid  of  in  n  day,  either  by  ukase  or  enactment.*' 

Practically — as  Mr.  Michcll  shows — the  Russian  peaaantry  are  as  firmly 
as  ever  fixed  to  the  soil.  Emigration  from  a  rural  commune  may  be 
eaid  to  be  virtually  prohibited  ;  and  immigration  is  almost  impossible. 
It  is  the  policy  of  Governmeutj  for  fiscal  and  military  reasons,  to  pre- 
vent the  peasant  from  quitting  the  land  on  which  he  is  at  present 
settled.     On  this  Mr.  George  Rule  remarks : — 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA. 


891 


"  The  emaacipatod  serfs  were  formed  into  village  communities.  The  memberB 
of  each  community  were  made  collectively  and  individually  responsible  to  the 
landlords,  on  the  one  hand,  for  the  rent  of  the  whole  communal  land  allotted ; 
and  on  the  other,  where  (he  allotments  were  purchased,  they  were  in  a  similar 
manner  responsible  to  the  Goverament  for  the  repayment  of  the  redemption 
money.  It  became,  therefore,  the  interest  of  the  community  to  keep  the  number 
of  the  responsible  members  up  to  the  mark.  Consequently  the  conditions  of  separa- 
lion  imposed  by  the  Government,  though  severe  and  binding,  were  such  as  their 
individual  interests  forbade  them  toroeist.  A  member  may  free  himself  from  hia 
commime  by  payment  down  of  16|  times  hia  yearly  rental — that  is  to  say,  he  can 
purchase  his  freedom  at  a  heavy  price.  Or,  subject  to  the  approval  of  the 
commune,  he  may  be  replaced  by  a  substitute,  willing  to  take  upon  himself  the 
responsibilities  of  the  allotment;  such  substitute,  1  ahotild  suppose,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  find.  It  will  easily  be  seen  that  these  conditions  are  prohibitory  of 
separation,  and  it  will  as  easily  be  observed  that  they  must  have  been  so  framed 
to  prevent  what  would  have  ensued — viz,,  a.  general  relinquishment  of  the  claims 
of  hia  emancipated  inheritance — ^  the  estates  they  were  compelled  to  purchase  at 
more  than  their  worth.  Let  it  be  noted  that  they  can  l)e  cnmpelted  to  purchase^ 
for  in  this  the  hardship  and  the  root  of  thoir  continued  slavery  lie.  The  com- 
pulsory power  is  not  in  the  hands  of  tlie  Governmeut,  but  in  those  of  the  land- 
lords. They  can  compel  the  commune  cither  to  buy  or  rent  the  lands  they 
occupy.  *  In  reality,'  says  Mr.  MIcheU,  *  it  is  not  the  peasant  who  can  select 
between  the  system  of  perpetual  tenancy  and  that  of  freehold.  His  former  master 
haa  the  arbitrary  power  of  compelling  him  to  remain  attached  to  tlie  soil  which 
he  cultivated  before  his  emancipation  by  becoming  its  purchaser,  and  it  is 
evident  that  the  power  has  been  and  still  ,ia  extensively  nsed ;'  and  he  shows 
from  statistics  that  purchasers  by  compulsion  stand  to  voluntary  purchasers  as 
two  to  one,  and  that  two-thirds  of  the  ex-serfs  occupy  limds  thus  mortgaged  to 
the  State.  To  understand  this  it  must  be  known  that  the  purchase  of  the  com- 
munal lands  was  elTected  by  the  Im|)erial  Government  from  State  funds  paid  to 
the  proprietors.  This  purchase-money  tlio  peasantry  are  compelled  to  refund  at 
payments  equal  to  6  per  cent,  over  forty-nine  years.  The  position  may  be  thus 
simply  illustrated :  I  occupy  a  farm  for  which  I  pay  a  rent ;  the  landlord  has 
the  power  to  compel  me  to  purchase  it  nt  an  arbitrary  valuation,  and  to  pay  on 
such  valuation  6  per  cent,  over  forty-nine  years,  before  I  am  fireed  irom  pay- 
ment. A  rare  bargain  for  the  landlord,  but  uot  much  to  my  advantage.  It  is 
trae  that  I  may  get  rid  of  the  bargain,  and  quit  ray  farm,  by  paying  on  the  nail 
16|  years'  rent  to  the  landlord  ;  or  I  may  pay  the  whole  valuation  at  once,  or  by 
instalments  hasten  the  time  of  enfranchisement,  in  which  case  I  should  have 
an  abatement  of  6  per  cent,  of  the  value.  There  would  be  no  benefit  to  me  in 
this;  on  the  contrary,  it  would  be  a  burden  for  life.  The  benefit  would  be  to 
my  grandchildren.  But  what  might  not  happen  in  half  a  century  \  .  .  *  .  \t 
must  be  admitted  that,  save  in  these  conditions  of  bondage,  which  I  have 
attempted  to  indicate,  the  peasantry  have  great  freedom  in  the  commimities. 
But  it  really  is  no  better  than  the  freedom  of  domestic  animals  kept  within 
narrow  and  rigid  limits  for  purposes  of  production.  Wherefore,  then,  the  cant 
about  the  benevolence  which  prompted  the  act  of  emancipation  ?'* 

To  do  away  with  iucrcasing  difScultiea  of  conscription  and  fiuance; 
to  become  better  able  to  carry  on  designs  of  aggression ;  and  to 
traverse,  by  favours  shown  to  the  masses,  a  coustitutioual  movemeut 
among  the  more  enlightened  section  of  the  nation — these  were  the  aims 
and  results  of  the  famed  Emancipation  Ukase. 


892 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


II. 

l^t  only  peasant  outbreaks  followed  that  ukase,  but  fire-raising  too — 
which  had  been  frequent  between  1860  and  1862 — began  afresh,  both  in 
the  agricultural  districts  and  in  various  towns.  This  systematic 
incendiarism  is  known  under  the  name  of  the  Conspiracies  of  the  "  Red 
Coct"» — a  Russian  as  well  as  German  expression  for  arson. 

In  some  instances  the  serf,  dissatisfied  with  what  was  being  done  for 
him,  revenged  himself  upon  a  hard  taskmaster.  The  conflagrations  in 
the  towns  were  attributed  by  Government  to  a  "  party  of  disorder." 
It  was  supposed  that  the  originators  of  these  ever-recurring  fires 
intended  working  upou  the  popular  imagination,  and  that,  if  a  chance 
offered  itself,  they  would  perhaps  make  use  of  the  confusion  created  for 
a  revolutionary  outbreak.  Whole  bands  of  members  of  the  Red  Cock 
League  were  believed  to  exist  all  over  the  Empu*e,  with  regular  branch 
afiBliationa.  In  May,  1862,  St.  Petersburg  was  repeatedly  the  prey  of 
fires  of  threatening  extent.  A  state  of  siege  had  at  last  to  be  pro- 
claimed in  order  to  cope  with  this  conspiracy  of  arson.  But  for  a 
considerable  time  the  authorities  were  utterly  unable  to  meet  the 
mysterious  danger  with  any  degree  of  efficiency. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  the  moral  question  involved  in  these 
Confederacies  of  Fire-raisers,  they  certainly  quickened  the  resolution  of 
Government  to  go  beyond  the  original  narrow  scope  of  the  Emancipa- 
tion programme.  Meantime  the  signs  of  a  sullen  political  unrest 
compelled  the  Czar  to  introduce  a  few  administrative  reforms ;  but  no 
sooner  had  this  been  done  than  it  was  found  to  give  no  real  satisfaction. 
'Discontent  grew  apace.  Severe  repressive  measures  followed  upou  con- 
cessioiis  granted  with  a  reluctant  hand.  The  fetters  put  upon  public 
instruction  were  somewhat  relaxed  ;  but  then  tumidtuous  demonstra- 
tions in  favour  of  fuller  rights  arose  in  the  academies  and  universities. 
And  as  Government  at  once  proceeded  to  the  old  harsh  police  mcasurec, 
riots  increased — whereupon  imprisonments  and  proscriptions  were  resorted 
to,  as  under  Nicholas. 

Even  Turkey  had  long  ago  publislied  financial  statements  concerning 
the  income  and  outlay  of  her  State  exchequer,  though  yet  without  any 
parliamentary  control.  Was  Russia  to  lag  behind  Turkey  ?  The  out- 
cry against  official  corruption  and  mismanagement  during  the  Crimean 
War,  and  the  demand  for  some  insight  into  the  finances  of  the  State, 
becoming  daily  louder,  Alexander  II.  had  to  consent  to  a  publication  of 
the  budget.  The  measure  was  of  little  real  use,  being  a  mere  promise 
to  the  ear.     As  soon  as  the  press  spoke  out  with  some  degree  of  firm- 


n 


*  lu  the  heathen  Germanic  orwd  thcro  is  a  "  bright-r«d  cock,  hight  FialAr,"  that  crow  on 
the  Tree  of  Sorraw  when  the  whole  world,  at  the  End  of  Timea.  falU  down  on  a  Iwd  o( 
flames.  The  bird,  by  its  song,  heralds  in  the  great  fiery  cataatrophe.  Another  cock 
crowa  beneath  the  earth,  a  soot-red  cock,  in  ^e  Halls  of  Hel,  whilst  a  third  cock, 
GuUinkombi  (GoUk'n-(.'omb),  wakens  the  heroes  that  are  with  Odin,  the  Leader  of  the 
Hosts,  to  tell  tbeiQ  of  the  coming  contlagratioc  of  the  Uuirene. 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA. 


893 


iess,  the  censorship   was  agaia  rendered  more  stringent.     Is  it  to  be 
wondered  at  that  a.  secret  press  was  founded  under  the  circumstances  ? 

A  paper  came  out  under  the  same  title  as  the  one  which  of  late  has 
been  revived  by  the  Revolutionary  Committee — namely,  Land  and 
Liberty,  Another  journal  was  called  The  Great  Russian.  It  only 
reached  three  numbers^  but  these  were  largely  propagated  by  au 
apparently  extensive  secret  organization.  The  Great  Russian^  beginning 
with  a  moderate  opposition,  Ijecame  bolder  with  that  miraculous  rapidity 
which  marks  the  transition  from  a  Russian  winter  to  a  flowery  spring. 
It  raised  the  question  as  to  whether  the  dynasty  was  to  be  maintained, 
or  not.  These  were  some  of  the  sheet-light  flashings  on  the  horizon, 
which  Government  thought  might  portend  a  coming  storm. 

The  spies  and  informers  of  the  Czar  inclined  to  the  opinion  that  The 
Great  Russian  was  edited  by  a  secret  society  of  students.  A  war  against 
students  was  therefore  initiated — even  as  in  these  present  days  a  war 
against  women  is  being  waged  by  the  Russian  authorities.  In  Germany 
and  France,  the  students  have  played  a  large  part,  from  1815  to  184-8,  in 
the  struggles  for  national  union  and  freedom.  It  is  a  noteworthy  sign 
that  the  Russian  youth,  too,  should  have  come  forward  iu  a  similar  way, 
in  the  Liberal  or  Democratic  interest. 

The  students  refusing  to  bear  with  new  University  regulations 
firamed  for  purposes  of  what  they  ealled  "  Government  espionage/' 
many  conflicts  took  place  in  various  University  towns.  Some  of 
the  students  were  killed,  or  severely  wounded ;  a  great  many  others 
banished  to  distant  provinces.  There  they  soon  acted  as  propagan- 
dists among  populations  hitherto  sluggish  and  servilely  obedient. 
Many  of  the  students  belonging  to  that  lesser  nobility  which  in 
Russia  is  eager  for  progress,  the  Government  police,  with  the  malig- 
nant craftiness  which  has  been  its  peculiar  mark  since  the  days 
of  Boris  Godunoff,  stirred  up  the  people  by  the  shamefully  false 
statement  that  these  young  men  were  "  mere  lordlings  who  rose  in 
revolt  because  the  Czar  had  abolished  serfdom  \'*  General  Biatrom 
hounded  on  his  soldiers  against  the  students  by  equally  mendacious 
means.  He  told  them  that  "  these  young  fellows  all  wanted  to  become 
officials,  in  order  to  rob  the  |)eople."  The  wiliest  tricks  of  a  corrupt, 
despotic,  and  at  the  same  time  demagogic,  regime  were  thus  flourisliiug 
once  more  under  Alexander  the  Humane. 

The  spirit  of  Liberalism  among  the  students  of  the  Universities  gained 
even  those  of  the  Church  Academy  in  the  capital.  The  latter, 
being  theoQfapriug  of  the  so-called  White  Clergy  (that  is,  of  the  married 
priesthood,  who  are  considered  the  flower  of  the  Orthodox  Church), 
were  declared  guilty  of  rebelliousness,  by  the  Holy  Synod,  for  having 
refused  to  attend  the  lectures  of  an  unpopular,  inefficient,  and  re- 
actionary Professor  of  Greek  literature.  Many  of  them  were  banished 
from  the  capital.  These  measures  laid  the  foundation  of  an  estrange- 
ment between  not  a  few  members  of  tlic  White  Clergy  and  the  Crown. 


894 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Some  of  tlie  Professora  also,  owing  to  the  temporary  closing  of  their 
Universities  in  consequence  of  tumults,  began  \o  join  the  ranks  of  the 
malcontents^  and  bethought  themselves  uf  giving  public  lectures  ivhich 
every  one  could  attend,  "without  being  inscribed  at  the  University.  One 
of  the  best  friends  of  the  students^  a  literary  man^  of  the  name  of 
MichayloiF,  was  about  this  time  exiled  to  the  Siberian  mines.  His  pro- 
scription raised  a  storm  of  indignation.  jVltogether,  if  we  compare  the 
banishments  to  Siberia  under  Nicholas  and  Alexander  II.,  we  find  that 
of  late  years  the  nirniber  of  exiles  sent  thither  has  bccu  iuceasautly 
increasing,  so  that  it  is  now  four  times  larger  than  under  the  rule  of  a 
monarch  who  stands  in  history  as  the  very  type  of  unmitigated  hard- 
heartedness. 


The  Crimean  War,  bringing  to  light,  as  it  did,  the  inner  weakness  of 
Imperialist  rule,  was  calculated  to  embolden  the   centrifugal    tcudcn* 
cies  among  the  discordant  natiouahtics  of  the  Empire.     The  BalticJ 
provinces   have  for  some    time   past  been  looked  upon  as  the  main-«] 
stay  of  the  Russian  Administration.     Yet,  even  there^  Bishop  Walter, 
the    Supciiatcudunt-Gcueru!    of    Livonia,    was     heard   to  saVj  by  va] 
of   reply    to    governmental    tncroachmcnts    u]xm  local    charters  and 
privileges,    "In  religion  we  shall  always  remain  Protestants.     In  politic* 
we  shall  continue  to  be   Germans."     His  deposition  followed  quickljr?| 
upon  the  significant  speech. 

In  Piulandj  which  in  nationality^  speech^  history,  and  cidture,  staudaij 
out    distinctly    from  the   bulk    of  tlie    Muscovite   Empire,    there   werei 
signs  which  Government  could  not  ignore.     Towards  the   end  of  the  J 
Crimean  War,   Sweden-Norway  had  bound  herself  by  a  defensive  treaty 
to  England  and  France.     It  was  considered  necessary,  at  that  time,  to- 
provide  against  the  possibility  of  Eussia  claiming  the  important  Norwe- 
gian harbour  of  Hammerfest,  which  lies  opposite  the  English  coast,  and, 
though   ijituated  in   the  semi-Arctic   region,  is   ice-free  during  winter. 
The  news  of  this  treaty  made  an  impression  all  over  the  North.     There 
was  some  apprehension  in   the  councils  of  Alexander  II.,  tliat  Finland, 
■which   had  been  robbed  by  Russia  of  her  special  coustitution,  should 
gravitate  back  towards  a  couuection  with  the  Swedish  Crown.     The 
l"innic   Diet  was,   therefore,    restored.       Though    the    autonomy    thus 
allowed  was  more  a  name  than  a  strong  parliamentary  reality,  the  fact 
itself  could  not  but  serve  to  bring  out  all  the  more  glaringly  the  dead 
level  of  political  slavery  in  Muscovy  proper. 

Among  the  Russian  nobility,  the  desire  for  parliamentary  rule  was 
fed  by  the  concession  to  Finland.  Some  of  the  nobles  wished  to 
indemnify  themselves  by  political  privileges  on  the  oligarchal  prin- 
ciple for  any  losses  that  might  befall  them  through  serf  emancipation. 
Others,  of  a  more  liberal  turn  of  miiul,  wished  to  benefit  the  interests  of 
the  community  at  large  by  the  introduction  of  full  representative  gorem- 


^P^        CONSPIILiCIES  IN  RUSSIA.  895 

ment.  In  almost  all  the  corporations  of  the  Russian  uobilitj^  the 
language  held  Ttas  of  an  unhearcl-of  boldness. 

Demands  for  some  kind  of  a  Duma,  or  parliament,  were  brought 
forwanl  by  the  assembled  nobiliary  orders  of  Moscott,  Sraolcnskj 
Novgorod,  Pskoff,  Saratoff,  Tula,  and  Twer.  Instead  of  giving  simply 
the  desired  answer  to  the  questions  addressed  to  them  on  the  subject  of 
Serf  Emancipation  by  the  Home  Secretary,  Mr.  Valuieffj  they  combined 
their  replies  with  a  demand  for  a  Charter.  They  also  insisted  ou  strict 
responsibility  before  the  law  of  every  Qovemment  official ;  on  protection 
for  the  rights  of  person  and  property  through  the  introduction  of 
spoken  evidence  in  judicial  proceedings,  and  of  trial  by  jury,  in  the 
place  of  the  accustomed  written  and  clandestine  forms  of  procedure ; 
on  the  publication  of  a  detailed  budget  of  revenues  and  expenses,  so 
as  to  allay  the  fears  of  a  financial  crisis ;  and  on  liberty  of  the  press  in 
the  discussion  of  economical  and  administrative  reforms. 

At  St.  Petersburg  an  Address  was  proposed,  which,  under  outwardly 
respectful  forms  towards  the  Emperor,  spoke  out  strongly  against  "  the 
oppression  exercised  by  those  who  represent  the  sovereign  power.^' 
The  Address  said  : — "  Every  violation  of  the  principles  of  justice  ;  the 
irresponsibility  of  men  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  Majesty^s  confidence ; 
all  the  irregularities,  persecutions,  and  abuses  which  arc  practised  destroy 
the  people's  confidence  in  the  Government,  shake  their  loyalty  towards 
the  monarch,  and  even  sap  his  supremacy."  Stress  was  further  laid  ou 
*'the  tendency  which  shows  itself  in  certain  parts  of  the  empire 
to  withdraw  from  the  general  unity  "  The  Address  concluded  with  these 
words ; — "  Representatives  ought  to  be  convoked  from  all  the  provinces 
of  the  empire,  so  that  the  Sovereign  might  learn  the  wants  of  the 
people,  and  that  legislative  questions  and  important  State  affairs  might 
be  discussed  before  being  settled.  Without  such  a  general  popular 
representation  we  must  fear  for  the  stability  of  the  empire,  and  can 
foresee  its  speedy  dissolution  " 

Unlike  the  resolutions  in  the  other  nobiliary  corporations,  the  Address 
just  mentioned  was  not  put  to  the  vole  at  St.  Petersburg.  The  majority 
of  the  members  there  were  too  much  under  the  fear  of  persecution. 
On  the  other  baud,  the  nobility  of  Twer,  which  for  some  time  past  had 
been  in  the  vanguard  of  the  progressive  movement,  drew  up,  in  its  sitting 
of  March  14-,  18G2,  a  resolution  of  Seven  Points,  containing  a  free  and 
voluntary  surrender  of  all  its  aristocratic  privileges,  and  an  offer  to 
make  to  the  peasantry  large  grants  of  laud ;  insisting  at  the  same 
time  on  "  the  convocation  of  a  National  Assembly  chosen  by  the  whole 
people,  without  distinction  of  classes.^'  The  resolution  was  adopted  by 
120  to  23  votes.  Immediately  afterwards,  thirteen  justices  of  the  peace 
of  Twer,  who  had  acted  in  consonance  with  these  views,  were  arrested 
and  led  as  prisoners  to  St.  Petersburg. 

Alexander  11.  neither  would  grant  the  convocation  of  a  National 
Parliament,  nor  did  he  allow  even  the  petitiouiug  in  favour  of  such  a 


896 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


reform,  witlioiit  giving  practical  proofs  of  his  sovcreigu  displeasure  and 

Imperial  wrath, 

xt. 

Whilst  Muscovy  proper  was  occupied  and  agitated  by  these  demon- 
strations for  the  parliamentary  principle,  and  by  the  widely  ramified  con- 
spiracies of  the  "  Red  Cock/'  the  Polish  provinces  were  excited  by  a 
renewed  movement  in  favour  of  nationality  and  sclf-governmeut. 

Many  had  assumed  there  was  an  end  of  Poland.  Ignorance  repeated 
the  famous,  hut  false  and  forged,  word  ("  Finiji  PolomtB !")  which  is 
attributed  to  Kosciuszko.*  The  Russian  General  FadcyefFj  one  of  the 
most  uncompromising  Panslavists,  who  wishes  to  see  the  sway  of  the 
Czar  extended  over  Austria-Hungary  and  Constantinople,  appreciated 
the  situation  more  correctly  wheu,  even  after  the  overthrow  of  the  rising 
of  1863-64,  he  wrote : — "  No  one  can  imagine  that  the  Polish  Questiou 
is  in  reality  settled.  All  its  componeut  parts  are  quite  as  alive  now  as 
formerly The  western  provinces  of  Russia,  in  their  present  condi- 
tion— and  not  only  the  kiugdom  of  Poland,  but  even  the  province  of 
Volhynia  as  well,  where  tlie  Catholics  number  only  10  per  cent,  of  the 
population — will  certainly  become  thoroughly  Polish  and  hostile  to 
Kusaia  on  the  first  appearance  of  a  foreign  foe  " 

The  insurrection  of  1863  was  nndoubtedly  the  work  of  a  conspiracy 
— led,  not  by  the  older  stock  of  Polish  jjatriots  or  emigrants,  but  mostly 
by  very  young  men.  The  Democratic  Committee  at  Warsaw  which  pre- 
pared,and  the  SecretNational  Government  which  officered,  the  risiug.were 
well-nigh  exclusively  composed  of  men  of  the  younger  generation.  This 
is  an  imjwrtant  fact,  in  so  far  as  it  testifies  to  the  vitality  of  the  national 
elements  in  Russian  Poland.   Nor  had  English  statesmen  and  politicians 


*  Owiug  to  Uto  pcniisteuctf  with  which  this  falsehood  always  crops  up  ofroab,  it  may  be 
usofnl  to  givo  once  iiiorc  the  text  of  the  letter  addressed  by  Kosciuszko  to  Count  tSegur, 
the  author  of  the  Ifianle  iiisluri'/ue,  under  date  of  Paria,  20th  Bnimaire.  year  XU.  (SOth 
October,  l»t)3).  I  liave  tmnalttted  it  from  the  French  original,  which  is  in  the  archives  of 
the  Siigar  family,  and  whicli  has  been  communicated  to  lue  by  Mr.  Ch.  £d,  Choiecki. 
Koaciuseko  wrote :  — 

"  I^oranco  or  malignity,  with  tierce  persistence,  has  put  the  expression  '  Pinit  Poionia^ 
into  my  month, — an  rxprcsaion  I  am  stated  to  have  made  use  of  on  a  fatal  day.  Xow,  6r8t 
of  all,  1  had  been  almost  mortally  wounded  before  the  battle  was  decided,  and  only 
recovered  my  consciniisnt^iia  two  days  afterwards,  when  1  fonnd  myself  in  the  bands  of  my 
onemies.  In  the  second  instance,  if  an  expression  like  the  one  alluded  to  is  inoonaistent  and 
criminal  in  the  mouth  uf  any  I'ole,  it  would  have  been  far  more  so  in  mine.  When  the 
Foliali  nation  called  mo  to  the  defence  of  the  integrity,  inde|>eudence,  dij^nity,  glury,  and 
freedom  of  oiirfatberlantl,  it  knew  woll  that  I  wa.«  not  the  lari  Pole  in  existence,  and  that 
with  my  death  ou  the  battle-tield,  or  elsAwhore,  Poland  oould  not,  and  woidd  not,  be  at  an 
end.  Evcr^-thitig  the  Poles  have  done  since,  or  will  yet  do  in  future,  furnishes  the  proof 
that  if  we,  the  devoted  soldiers  of  the  country,  are  mortal,  Poland  herself  is  immortal ;  and 
it  is  therefore  not  allowed  to  anybody  either  to  utter  or  to  repeat  that  insulting  expresainn 
{Voiumgeantc  ^jA(hlte),  which  is  containeil  iu  the  wonls,  *  Pirns  Polonlce.'  What  would  the 
French  say,  if,  after  tlio  Battle  of  KossbacU,  in  I7fi7,  Marshal  Charles  de  Rohan,  Priooe  de 
Soubtse,  had  exclaimed,  */'ini>  Uallitt/*  Or  what  wonld  they  aay  if  such  cruel  words 
were  attributed  to  him  iu  his  bioCTaphies  ?  I  shall  therefore  be  obliged  to  you,  if  in  the 
new  edition  of  your  work  you  wiU  not  speak  any  more  of  the  '  FinU  Polomia ;'  and  I  bopA 
that  the  authority  of  yoar  name  will  have  its  due  e^ect  with  all  those  who  in  future  may 
be  inolined  ia  repeat  those  words,  and  thus  attribute  to  me  a  blasphemy  agunst  which  I 
protest  with  all  my  heart." 


CONSPIRACIES   IN  RUSSIA. 


897 


of  all  parties  any  doubt,  at  that  time^  either  as  to  the  righteousness  and 
practical  nature  of  the  Polish  cause,  or  as  to  the  atrocious  character  of 
the  Government  of  Alexander  II.  The  news  of  the  simultaneous  rising 
all  through  Poland  on  January  21,  18C3,  at  oucc  revived  Englisli 
sympathies  for  a  downtrodden  nation.  Lord  EUcnborough  and  Lord 
Shaftesbury^  Mr.  Disraeli^  Lord  Stratford  de  RedelifFe^  and  Lord  John 
Russell,  the  then  Foreign  Secretary,  were  strong  upon  Polish  grievances. 
In  both  Houses  of  Parliament  pictures  of  Russian  atrocities  were  drawn, 
which  fired  the  heart  of  England  with  indignation.  Mr.  Forster 
declared  in  the  House  that  England  was  henceforth  freed  from  the  com* 
pact  by  which  she  had  sanctioned  the  Czar's  sovereignty  over  Poland. 
At  an  enthusiastic  meeting  in  St.  James's  Hall,  Sir  John  Shelley  in  the 
chair,  the  question  as  to  whether,  in  case  Russia  persisted  in  her  course, 
England  ought  to  declare  war  against  the  Autocrat,  was  answered  by  u 
tremendous  cry  of  "  Yes  !"* 

lu  the  House  of  Commons  it  was  shown  that,  according  to  a  state- 
ment made  by  the  Town  Council  of  Warsaw,  on  July  20,  1862,  the 
number  of  men  and  women  thrown  into  a  single  prison  in  that  city  since 
the  beginning  oF  the  year,  under  a  charge  of  political  offences,  had  been 
14-,833 ;  that  &uch  had  been  the  ravages  of  forced  conscription  that  in 
November,  18G2,  only  683  persons  had  been  left  at  Warsaw  for  the 
pursuits  of  commerce  in  a  population  of  184,000  inhabitants;  that 
Prince  Gortschaltoff  had  threatened  to  inaugurate  a  policy  of  extermina- 
tion, and  to  make  of  Poland  a  heap  of  ashes ;  that  the  barracks  and 
fortresses  had  been  transformed  into  dungeons  for  political  prisoners  ;  and 
that  in  the  terrible  night  of  January  15,  18S3,  the  houses  of  the 
citizens  were  surrounded  and  invaded  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  iu 
order  to  fill  the  ranks  of  the  Russian  army  with  unfortunate  kidnapped 
men. 

So  strongly  did  English  public  opinion  then  pronounce  against  the 
Government  of  Alexander  II.  that  Lord  John  Russell  at  last  presented 
"  Six  Points"  to  the  Cabinet  of  St.  Petersburg.  They  asked  for  a 
complete  and  general  amnesty  ;  a  National  Parliament  of  Poland,  in 
conformity  with  the  Treaty  of  Vienna  of  1815;  an  Administration 
exclusively  comjwsed  of  Polish  officials  ;  full  liberty  of  conscience  ;  the 
use  of  the  Polish  language  on  all  public  occasions  and  in  the  education  of 
the  people;  and  a  regular  system  of  militaiy  recruitment,  instead  of  the 
arbitrary  seizure  of  persons.  As  a  preliminary  measurCj  an  armistice 
was  insisted  on  by  the  English  Government,  who  also  proposed  a  Con- 
ference of  the  eight  signatory  Powers  of  the  Treaty  of  Paris. 

*  Hftviog  myself  been  called  to  ScotlaaJ  tu  speak  at  Glasgow,  and  ixi  other  towm,  on  the 
Sitnation  to  Germaay  and  the  Risinc^  in  Rnsaian  Poland,  resolutions  were  loaai-d  there  tn 
the  following  effect : — Rupture  of  all  diplomatic  relationn  with  tho  Russian  C^vcrnmcut ; 
Iteoognition  of  Poland  as  a  Belligerent  Nation  ;  iKicIaration  of  British  sympathy  with 
Germany  in  her  efforts  at  gaininf;  her  own  freedom  and  nnity  ;  Formation  of  a  Committee 
destined  to  receive  sabscri}>tions  for  the  Polish  Rising;  Transmission  of  n  Petition  to  the 
Hoou  of  Commons,  and  of  an  Address  to  the  Hon.  Arthur  Kinnaird,  with  the  object  of 
promotiog  the  Polish  moremcot.  (See  Louis  Blanc*B  Lcttrtt  ntr  VAnaUttrre,  Paris,  18G6. 
VoLi) 


«98  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW 


Need  it  be  said  that  Alexander  TT.  utterly  declined  to  disenfls  these 
proposals  ? 

A  sudden  change,  it  is  true,  came  one  day  over  Lord  John  Russell's 
views  iu  this  Polish  matter,  when  he  declared,  in  a  tone  of  great  ex- 
citemcut,  that  the  insurrection  had  been  organized  by  the  "  cosmopolitan 
party  of  revolutionists" — more  especially  by  Ma2zini  and  his  fricuds — 
and  that  the  object  was  to  introduce  Communism  in  Poland!  A  more 
erroneous,  uay,  on  the  face  of  it,  impossible  statement  could  scarcely 
have  been  made.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  a  statesman  of  the 
age  and  experience  of  Lord  John  Russell  could  allow  himself  to  be  thus 
deceived.  Hcmay  have  found  itneccssary  to  oppose  the  demands  for  armed 
English  intervention  in  Poland  when  he  saw  that  Louis  Napoleon  wished 
to  improve  the  occasion  for  an  attack  on  the  Rhine.  Rut  then  Lord  John 
was  not  entitled  to  produce  arguments  which  were  the  reverse  of  facts. 

So  little  vras  Mazzini  inclined  to  Communism  that  he,  on  the  con- 
trary, during  the  best  part  of  his  life,  and  down  to  his  last  days,  attacked 
the  Communistic  doctrines  in  frequent  writings.  Nor  did  he  organise 
the  Polish  insurrection,  To  this  I  can  personally  testify.  He  was  in 
contact  with  patriots  and  exiles  of  many  nations;  and  he,  together  with 
Ledru-Rollin,  and  a  few  others  in  London,  were  informed  of  what  was 
coming  in  Russian  Poland,  some  time  before  the  rising.  The  Warsaw 
Committee  had  their  trusty  agent  here,  through  whom  we  learnt  the 
day  of  the  intended  insurrection.  Opinions  were  exchanged  between 
well-wishers  in  London  and  the  leaders  at  Warsaw  ;  but  the  organization  i 
and  the  direction  entirely  proceeded  from  within  Poland.  Shortly 
before  the  Polish  patriots  rose,  Mazzini  had  even  given  the  distinct 
counsel  to  delay  the  rising.  But  the  tyrannic  Decree  of  Conscription,  or 
rather  Proscription,  by  which  the  Polish  ^'ouths  were  to  be  all  seized  iu 
the  dead  of  night  and  traitsixjrted  as  recruits  into  the  interior  of  Russia, 
left  the  Warsaw  Committee  no  choice.  Under  these  circumstances, 
Mazzini's  counsel  conld  not  possibly  be  followed. 

So  far  from  Communism  having  been  at  the  bottom  of  the  insurrec- 
tionary movement,  the  loaders  aimed  at  nothing  but  national  indepen- 
dence, combined  with  a  Land  Reform,  such  as  IVancc  and  Germany 
have  carried  long  ago,  and  as  England  still  stands  in  need  of.  Equality 
before  the  law,  freedom  for  all  creeds,  and  other  liberal  measures  were 
meutioned  in  the  published  decrees  of  the  Secret  Government  at  Warsaw. 
The  rest  woidd  have  had  to  be  done  by  a  freely-elected  Assembly  had 
the  revolution  been  successful.  The  members  of  the  Secret  Govern- 
ment were  adherents  of  the  Democratic  creed  ;  at  least,  at  the  beginning 
of  the  rising.  Gradually,  a  change  became  observable,  but  certainly 
not  iu  the  Communistic  sense.  I  have  meutioned  more  amply  on 
another  occasion  that  differences,  albeit  only  of  a  passing  character, 
showed  themselves  iu  the  leading  Committee  a  few  months  after  the 
revolution  had  been  begun.  It  was  on  the  question  of  intervention 
and  foreigu  alliances. 


CONSPIRACIES   m  RUSSIA, 


vn 


IjfnuA  Napoleon,  ever  on  the  look-out  for  au  opportunity  of  medtUiug 
with  affairs  abroad,  flattered  himself  with  the  hope  of  being  able  to 
induce  England  to  effect,  in  company  with  him,  an  interveutioa  iu 
Poland.  To  my  knowledge,  some  go-betweens  of  his  made  an  attempt 
to  «ee  whether  a  Polish  demand  for  French  iuterveution  could  uot  be 
addressed  to  him,  so  that  his  own  ambitious  policy  might  find  a  readier 
acceptance  in  the  public  opinion  of  Europe.  The  Jeromist  or  Plon- 
Plonist  connection  was  used  as  a  lever  for  that  purpose.  This  move, 
coupled  with  a  change  of  persons  then  just  going  on  in  thccompositiou 
of  the  Secret  Government  at  Warsaw,  gave  rise  to  a  temporary  dissen- 
sion, which  for  a  while  paralyzed  the  insurrectionary  activity.  Finally, 
the  Napolconistie  tendency  was  entirely  thrown  oat^  and  the  old 
programme  was  maintained,  which  aimed  at  deliverance  by  Polish 
forces  only. 

All  this  had  nothing  to  do  with  Communism.  Lord  John  Russell 
was  egregiously  mistaken, 

XII. 

Before  the  rising  there  were  two  chief  Committees  at  Warsaw — both 
clandestine,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  situation.  The  one  wus  u 
democratic  Committee  ;  the  other  an  aristocratic  one — the  so-called 
Committee  of  the  Szlachta,  or  Nobility.  Tlio  latter  mainly  sought  to 
bring  about  peaceful  but  impressive  manifestations  in  the  streets,  whilst 
the  former  aimed  at  revolutionary  action.  When  the  Szlachta  Com- 
mittee found  that,  in  order  to  obtain  the  aid  of  the  peasantry,  it  would 
he  necessary  to  hold  out  promises  of  a  Land  Reform,  its  members  lost 
heart.  Finally  they  withdrew  altogether  from  the  direction  of  affairs. 
Then  the  Democratic  Committee  obtained  the  upper  hand  and  the  solo 
management  of  th(!  movement.  Its  members  and  adherents,  too,  belonged 
partly  to  the  lesser  nobility ;  and  as  the  landholding  class  and  the  compara- 
tively few  towns  in  Russian  Poland  arc  almost  exclusively  the  reprcsen- 
tatives  of  political  thouglit,  of  national  aspirations,  and  of  general 
progress,  it  will  easily  be  understood  that  even  the  Democratic 
Committee  could  not  go  too  far  in  its  measures  of  social  revolution  lest 
it  should  alicnato  its  best  allies  and  create  division  in  its  own  ranks. 

This  also  Lord  John  Russell  might  have  been  expected  to  know. 

I  will  not  enter  here  into  the  causes  of  the  failure  of  the  Polish 
rising,  on  which  I  have  before  expressed  myself,  beyond  indicating  a 
few  noteworthy  points.  Tlic  leaders  of  the  conspiracy  calculated,  first, 
upon  a  more  energetic  participation  of  their  own  peasantry  than  had 
been  the  case  on  former  occasions.  Secondly,  they  counted  upon  the 
promised  passing  over  to  the  revolutionary  cause  of  Russian  troops, 
especially  of  oflicers,  and  upon  the  outbreak  of  a  popular  movement  at 
Moscow  and  at  St.  Petersburg.  I  know  that  assurances  to  that  effect 
had  been  freely  given  to  the  leaders  of  the  Polish  rising,  though  I 
always  doubted  that  they  would  be  made  good.     The  spirit  of  Pestcl 


900 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIF. 


and  Murawieff  had,  in  1863,  not  been   revived   yet  among  any   note- 
worthy number  of  Uusstan  officers.      Mr.  Ivan  Golovin,  in  1870,  stated 
in  his  book*  that  Alexander  Hcrzen  had  given  an  assurance    that  thai 
Warsaw  garrison  would  pass  over  to  the  Poles  ;   "  but  the  officers,"  MTtJ 
Goloviu.  adds,  "  were  Poles  or  Catholics,  and  not  the  tenth  part  were^ 
real  Russians."      Lastly,  the  Secret  Government  at  Warsaw  hoped  that 
the  constitutional  contlict  then  raging  in  Prussia  between  the   liberal 
House  of  Commous  and  the  reactionary  Government  of  King  William 
and  Herr  von  Bismarck  would  result  in  a  practical  aid  to  the   Poliah 
cause  by  preventing  the  King  of  Prussia  from  taking  action  iu  favour 
of  the  Czar. 

It  is  a  matter  of  notoriety  how  these  various  hopes  were  disappointed. 
As  to  the  manifestoes  which  it  was  alleged  by  Herzen  had  been  issued 
by  Russian  officers  as  a  pledge  of  sympathy  with  Poland,  they  proved  to 
be  mere  words,  if  not  a  downright  invention.  Carrying  on  a  straggle 
of  despair,  without  any  support,  the  Polish  patriots  yet  kept  the  whole 
power  of  Russia  fully  occupied  for  nearly  a  year  and  a  half.  Towards 
the  end  of  the  insurrection,  the  more  advanced  party  which  had 
organized  it  found  itself  compelled,  tlirough  increasing  difficulties,  to 
enter  into  closer  relations  with  the  Moderate,  or  so-called  aristocratic, 
party  of  Poliah  emigrants  abroad,  whose  political  connections  and 
financial  means,  it  was  supposed,  might  give  some  aid  to  a  sinking 
cause. 

It  was  all  of  no  avail.  The  agony  was  a  long  and  tragic  one.  At 
last  the  catastrophe  came ;  and  with  feelings  of  deep  emotion  wc 
greeted  General  Langiewicz  on  his  arrival  in  London  as  a  fellow- 
exile. 

I  will  not  unroll  here  the  picture  of  the  fresh  horrors  that  followed 
upon  the  overthrow  of  a  rising  wliicli  had  been  the  result  of  unbearable 
atrocities.  To  do  so  would  require  the  brush  of  a  Breughel,  the  painter 
of  hellish  demons.  ''There  are  no  innocent  persons,"  General 
Sobolewski  said  in  1863,  when  presiding  over  one  of  the  Commissions 
of  Inquiry  at  Wilna, — *'  there  are  no  iDUOoeut  persona  ;  we  only  inquire 
to  what  degree  every  individual  is  guilty." 

"  The  law  ?"  exclaimed  General  Murawieff,  with  a  Satanic  leer, — "  I 
am  the  law !"  He  was,  according  to  the  well-known  phrase,  not  of  the 
MurawieiTs  who  get  hanged,  but  of  the  Murawieffs  who  hang  others. 
He,  Berg,  Anjenkoff,  and  other  military  executioners  of  the  Torquemada 
school,  did  their  sanguinary  business  efficiently  all  through  this  terrible 
period.  The  very  name  of  Poland  was  struck  from  the  official  phra- 
seology in  Russia.  There  was  henceforth  only  a  Department  of  the 
Vistula.  Tlic  Polish  speech  was  proscribed  in  public.  The  tyrant  tried 
to  tear  out  the  very  heart  from  a  nation's  bosom. 

At  Nice,  Alexander  II.  afterwards  shed  tears  at  the  sight  of  the  misery 
of  an  exiled  Polish   family.     When  asked   whether  his   Majesty  would 
*  Kuuland  noter  Alsxander  II.     Leipng :  1670. 


C0NSPnL4CIES   IN  RUSSIA, 


901 


not,  in  the  fulness  of  his  power,  do  something  to  mitigate  the  sufferings^ 
he  repliedj  "  I  have  given  my  word  of  honour  to  Murawieff  not  to 
interfere  in  such  matters  !"  The  quality  of  the  Imperial  tears  in 
question  need  not  be  described. 

Mr.  Golovin  writes  : — "  Ivan  the  Cruel  has  not  acted  differently  to- 
wards Novgorod  from  what  Alexander  II.  has  done  to  the  Poles.  A 
proof  is  thus  furuished  that  Bussian  Autocrats  have  changed  their 
names  but  not  their  principles.  In  Germany  it  has  been  tnily  said 
that  Germans  still  see  in  the  Poles  fellow-men^  whilst  the  Russians  act 
inhumanly  against  the  Poles."  I  quote  by  preference  the  opinion 
of  a  prominent  Russian  writer,  who,  though  exiled  himself,  speaks 
severely  against  the  Nihilists,  and  who  is  so  far  from  systematically 
opposing  Russian  Government  policy  as  to  say,  in  the  work  in  question, 
that ''  the  present  Emiieror  has  only  followed  the  footsteps  of  Alexander 
the  Great  as  far  as  Samarkand,  and  that  it  remains  reserved  to  Alex- 
ander IV.  io  conquer  India*' 

This  was  written  by  Mr.  Golovin  before  Alexander  11.  had  made  an 
attempt  to  getj  by  a  back  door,  into  Afghanistan. 


xiri. 

In  spite  of  its  failure^  the  Polish  risiug  had  a  remarkable  effect-  It 
actually  brought  a  reform,  not  to  the  crushed  Poles,  but  to  the  Russians. 
Various  symptoms  in  some  of  the  Great  Russian  and  Little  Russian 
provinces,  as  well  as  in  Lithuania,  had  shown,  duriug  the  insurrection, 
that  a  dangerous  spirit  of  discontent  was  rife  there  also.  It  required 
all  the  crafty  arts  of  Government  and  all  the  violent  declarations  of 
Katkoff  and  his  sort  to  keep  even  the  Muscovites  up  to  the  desired  mark 
of  hatred  against  the  Pules,  Among  a  section  of  the  Russian  nobility, 
the  treatment  awarded  to  the  latter  was  strongly  blamed. 

It  was  as  a  sop  to  these  feelings  of  unrest  that  the  Czar  issued^ 
on  January  21,  IttOl,  a  ukase  for  the  inti'oduction  of  Provincial 
(Departmental  and  District)  Assemblies  for  the  di!>cusstou  of  local  econo- 
mical questions.      Politics,  of  course,  were  strictly  forbidden. 

Russiau  Liberalism,  misled  for  a  time  duriug  the  Polish  Revolution, 
revived  after  this  peril  was  over.  A  portion  of  the  Russian  landowning 
class  began  aasertiug  again  that  "  it  was  but  right  the  Crown  should 
give  up  some  of  its  despotic  privileges,  after  the  aristocracy  had  beea 
shorn  of  their  former  power  over  the  serfs."  The  Corporation  of  tha 
Moscow  Nobility  being  on  tlie  point  of  asking  the  Emperor  once  more 
to  grant  representative  government,  its  session  was  hurriedly  closed  by 
a  peremptory  order.  An  Imperial  ukase  declared  that  "  the  right  of 
taking  the  initiative  in  any  reform  was  vested  in  the  Monarch,  and 
inseparably  bound  up  with  his  Oud-conferrcd  autocratic  power;  that  no 
class  was  lawfully  entitled  to  speak  in  the  name  of  another,  or  to  plead 
before  the  tlirone  for  public  concerns  and  wants  of  the  State ;  and  that 

VOL,   XXXV.  3   N 


902 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


irregularities  of  this  kiiid  could  only  delay  the  execution  of  the  planned 
reforms." 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  lay  down  the  despotic  principles  of 
the  Czar-Pope  with  a  morG  uncompromising  severity.  In  the  midst  of 
the  public  indignation  thereby  created,  Knrakasoff — formerly  a  student 
at  the  Mfoscow  University,  and  whose  father  belonged  to  the  class  of 
the  titled  nobility — on  April  16j  1866j  made  an  attempt  against  the  life 
of  the  rclcutleaa  and  scheming  Autocrat. 

This  was  the  fii*st  personal  warning  to  him  who  had  always  feared 
that  he  would  die  a  violent  death. 

Many  were  the  men  whom  a  suspicious  depotism  arrested,  after  Kara- 
kasoff's  deed,  as  probable  or  possible  accomplices; — the  best  evidence 
that  Autocracy,  at  the  slightest  show  of  danger,  feels  the  soil  insecure 
under  its  feet.  Thus  the  poets  Kekrassoff  and  Lawroff  were  imprisoned 
for  a  time.  Karakasoff  was  executed.  Thirty-five  alleged  accomplices 
of  his  conspiracy  were  sentenced  to  imprisonment  or  transportation. 

In  the  following  year,  during  Czar  Alexander's  visit  to  Paris,  the 
Pole  BcrezoM'ski  pointed  the  pistol  at  his  breast.  A  French  jury  taking 
a  lenient  view  of  the  matter,  the  life  of  that  would-be  avenger  of  his 
country's  wrougs  was  spared.  Perhaps  the  jury  thought  of  the  countless 
hosts  that  had  had  to  make  the  pilgrimage  into  the  Valley  of  Death,  in 
onler  that  a  single  man,  might  uphold  his  irresponsible  rule  over  many 
enslaved  nations. 

I  shall  have  to  speak,  in  a  concluding  article,  of  the  time  between 
the  attempt  of  Bcrezowski  and  that  of  SoloviefT.  With  the  obstinacy 
of  the  Autocrat  the  fierce  resolution  of  his  foes  has  grown.  A  very 
natural  law  of  action  and  reaction — which  it  would  be  useless  to  deny, 
sad  as  the  outlook  is  for  the  cause  of  humanity.  The  atmosphere  of 
blood,  which  has  for  ages  hovered  over  the  Imperial  palace  of  Russia, 
has  spread  now  over  the  country  at  large.  A  strange  aurora  borealis 
of  mysterious  fires  once  more  illuraiucs  the  horizon  with  its  dark-red 
arrows.  Nihilists  arc  at  work.  Fire-raisers  are  at  work.  Peasants 
also  have  broken  out  into  revolt.  We  can  only  hope  that  these  arc  the 
inevitable  thunder-clouds  of  a  necessaiy  storm,  destined  to  purify  the  air, 
to  drive  away  the  foul  mists  of  tyranny,  and  to  confer  upon  long-suffering 
Russia  the  blessings  of  Light  and  Right. 

Karl  Blind. 


INTEMPERANCE  'AND  THE    LICENSING 

SYSTEM. 


Report  Jhtm  eA«  S^Ud  OmmitUw  qf  tXg  Sou»§  ff 


I. 

DURING  the  past  ten  years  an  extraordinary  awakening  of  in- 
terest has  occurred  throughout  the  nation  on  the  subject  of 
Intemperance.  Although  the  extent  of  the  evil  was  always  more  or 
leas  generally  adtnittcdj  yet  for  a  long  period  it  did  not  receive  the 
attention  it  demanded.  It  is  true  that  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century 
ago  a  Select  Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons  was  appointed  to 
examine  into  our  public-house  system,  and  sat  for  two  Sessions — 
making  its  Report  in  1851 ;  but  it  attracted  little  attention.  For- 
tunately things  are  improving,  for  the  Report  of  the  Lords'  Committee 
now  presented  has  been  eagerly  looked  for  by  the  whole  country. 

The  history  of  the  Lonls'  Committee  wiU  be  in  the  minds  of  most 
readers.  The  public  conscience  having  been  awakened  to  the  ruin  and 
disgrace  of  our  national  intemperance,  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  in 
the  House  of  Lords,  in  February,  1877,  moved  for  a  Select  Committee 
to  inquire  into  the  subject.  The  Committee  was  granted,  and  we  have 
now  their  Report.  No  State  Paper  of  such  importance  to  the  moral 
and  matenal  interests  of  the  English  people  has  been  issued  for  years ; 
and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  this  Report,  and  the  accompanying  evidence, 
will  be  carefully  studied,  so  that  the  laborious  and  patient  investiga- 
tions may  be  made  to  tell  fully  on  future  legislation. 

The  subjects  referred  to  the  Select  Committee  for  examination  and 
report  were  defined  as  follows : — 

'*Tlmt  a  Stloct  Committee  be  appointed  for  the  purpose  of  inquiring 
into  tlie  prevalence  of  hjibits  of  intemperance,  and  into  tlie  manner  in  which 
tliose  habita  liiive  been  nliected  by  recent  legislation  and  other  causes." 

The  Coraraittcc  confined  themselves  during  the  session  of  1877  to 
taking  evidence  affecting  England  and  Wales;  the  session  of  1878 
was  chiefly  occupied  with  receiving  testimony  from  Scotland  and  Irc- 

3  N  2 


904 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


N 


land  and  the  Report  was  presented  to  the  House  of  Lords  on  Marcli  17, 
1879.  An  inquirj'  thus  carefully  conducted,  and  of  so  extensive  a 
character,  ttcU  deserves  the  thoughtftil  attention  of  all  interested  iu 
improving  the  character  of  the  people. 

I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  stop  to  discuss  the  evils  of  iiitcm])eraQce, 
nor  to  insist  on  the  individual  and  national  ruin  which  must  result 
from  the  excessive  consumption  of  alcoholic  liquors.  All  this  ia 
theoretically  admitted  ;  nor  need  I  refer  to  the  superabundant  testi- 
mony furnished  by  the  evidence  now  before  us  that  intemperance  prevails 
in  every  part  of  the  country.  There  is  no  necessity  cither  to  dwell  on 
the  mistake  of  the  Legislature  and  our  magistrates,  iu  creating  such 
excessive  temptations  to  the  use  of  intoxicating  drink  amongst  us. 
I  take  it  for  granted  that  my  readers  are  impressed  with  the  insidious, 
potent,  and  dangerous  character  of  alcohol,  whether  in  the  form  of 
strong  beer  or  spirits.  I  gi'ant  that  its  use  may,  under  exceptional 
circumstances,  be  attended  with  benefit,  but  the  medical  testimony 
obtained  by  the  Lords'  Committee  shows  that  even  strong  men  canuot, 
without  injury,  habitually  consume  alcohol,  except  iu  small  quantities. 
The  evidence  also  goes  to  show  that  young  persons  in  health,  almost 
without  exception,  are  better  without  it.  Few  persons  can  doubt  that  an 
article  so  dangerous  alike  to  the  welfare  of  the  individual  and  of 
society  should  only  be  allowed  to  be  sold  after  taking  all  reasonable 
gnai'autccs  against  its  abuse.  It  will  be  the  object  of  this  paper  to 
discuss  what  these  guarantees  should  be.  Wliile  it  may  be  impossible 
by  legislation  to  create  that  habit  of  self-coutrol  which  is  so  great  a 
safeguard  against  excess,  yet  it  is  clear  that  undue  temptations  to  drink- 
ing habits  have  beeu  practically  multiplied  by  Parliament;  and  it  is 
equally  obvious  that  these  temptations  may  be  diminished  by  amended 
legislation. 

It  is  my  intention,  taking  the  Report  of  the  Lords'  Committee  as  my 
text,  to  point  out  the  necessity  for  a  reform  of  our  license  laws  on  the 
principle  of  Local  and  Imperial  Control  ;  that  is,  to  provide  for  placing 
iu  the  Imnds  of  the  people  themselves  the  control  of  the  sale  of  aa 
article  the  unrestrained  use  of  which  so  seriously  affects  their  welfare, 
but  at  the  same  time  supplementing  that  local  control  by  imperial 
oversight. 


n. 


In  order  fully  to  understand  the  Report  of  the  Lords'  Committee, 
some  reference  is  needed  to  the  special  Acts  of  Parliament  which  regulate 
the  selling  of  spirits  and  beer  by  retail  in  England  and  AVales. 

We  may  pass  over  the  Spirits  and  Liqueur  License  Act,  The  Table  Beer 
Dealers  License  Act,  The  Refreshment  Houses  Act  (although  it  has 
beeu  attended  with  much  mischief),  &c.  fee.,  and  only  ask  attention  to 
the  four  principal  Licenses  for  the  retail  sale  of  intoxicating  drink,  and 
to  the  main  conditions  on  which  they  have  been  issued. 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE   LICENSING    SYSTEM.      905 


1.  Public-houses  in  England.  These  arc  licensed  under  Act  9 
George  IV.,  cap.  61,  and  it  may  be  convenient  to  give  the  exact  words 
of  the  principal  points  in  Clauses  L  and  XIII, 

Clause  I.  I>egiu8  as  follows : — "  Whereas  it  is  expedient  to  reduce  into 
one  Act  the  laws  relative  to  the  licensing  by  Justices  of  the  Peace  of 
persons  keeping,  or  being  about  to  keep,  InnSj  Ale-hotiseSj  and  Victualling- 
houata,  to  sell  exciseable  liquors  hy  retail  to  be  drunk  or  consumed  on 
the  premises : 

"  Be  it  therefore  enacted  ....  that  it  shall  be  lawful  for  the  Justices 
....  to  grant  licenses,  for  the  purposes  aforesaid,  to  such  persons  as 
they,  the  said  JusliceSj  shall,  in  the  execution  of  the  powers  herein  con^ 
tainedy  and  in  the  exercise  of  their  discretion,  deem  fit  and  proper,'* 

Clause  XIII. — "  And  be  it  further  enacted  that  every  license  wliich 
shall  be  granted  under  the  authority  of  this  Act  shall  be  ...  .  for  one 
whole  year,  thence  respectively  next  ensuing,  and  no  longer." 

Licenses  are  thus  granted  for  only  one  year,  and  are  required  to  be 
renewed  annually.  And  the  principle  on  which  they  arc  issued  is  solely 
that  of  "  magisterial  discretion."  The  Acts  dealing  with  this  subject  for 
Scotland  and  Ireland  are  substantially  the  same  as  for  England  in  these 
two  main  points.  In  1878  there  were  97,625  of  these  licenses  in 
existence. 

2.  Bkeb-houses  for  the  retail  sale  of  beer  for  consumption  "on  the 
premises."  Dowu  to  1869  these  licenses  were  granted  under  a  system 
of  frec-tradcj  and  were  not  subject  to  the  control  of  the  magistrates. 
In  that  year  beer-house  licenses  were  divided  into  two  classes,  uamely, 
licenses  for  the  retail  sale  of  beer  for  consumption  "  on,"  and  for  the 
retail  sale  of  beer  "off"  the  premises.  Licenses  for  the  sale  of  beer 
"  on"  the  premises  are,  like  those  for  public-houses,  now  issued  by  the 
magistrates  on  the  principle  of  "  magisterial  discretion.'^  In  1878  there 
were  38,80o  of  these  licenses  in  existence. 

3.  Beer-houses  for  the  retail  sale  of  beer  for  consumption  "  off  the 
premises."  Tlie  licenses  for  these  are  obtained  from  tlie  magistrates 
without  the  option  of  refusing ;  this  class  of  houses  being  thus  under 
a  system  of  firee-trade.  Of  such  licenses  8385  had  been  issued  up  to 
1878. 

4.  Grocers'  Licenses.  These  were  first  created  in  1861,  and  ere 
also  beyond  magisterial  control.  Grocers  or  any  other  shopkeepers  may 
obtain  them;  these,  too,  may  therefore  be  called  free-trade  licenses. 
They  authorize  the  sale  of  spirits  in  bottlesj  for  consumption  "off"  the 
premises,  and  the  returns  for  1878  show  that  there  were  9657  of  such 
licenses  issued. 

It  thus  appears  that  of  these  four  principal  licenses,  two  are  issued 
under  "magisterial  discretion,"  and  two  are  "free-trade," — a  carious 
anomaly  in  the  principle  of  License  Law;  the  Acts,  in  one  casCj  pro- 
viding a  certain  control  over  the  issue,  in  the  other,  learing  the  issue 
to  the  ordinary  law  of  supply  and  demand. 


906 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


The  Act  of  1872  (Bruce's  Bill)  introduced  a  new  feature  into  tbe 
granting  of  licenses  by  the  magistrates.  It  required  that  in  borouglis 
new  licenses  granted  by  committees  of  magistrates  should  be  confirmed 
by  the  bench  of  magistrates;  in  counties,  that  new  licenses  granted  by 
the  justices  at  annual  sessions  should  be  confirmed  by  a  committee  of 
their  own  number.  This  has  proved  'a  powerful  means  of  restraining 
their  issue.  That  Act  also  reduced  the  number  of  hours  during  which 
public-houses  could  remain  open,  and  introduced  new  and  heavier  penalties 
for  breaches  of  the  law,  besides  imposing  other  wise  restrictions  and 
regulations. 

It  is  now  admitted  that  the  General  Licensing  Acts  have  worked  rcrj 
unsatisfactorily,  and  even  with  the  amendments  which  have  been  subse- 
quently enacted,  they  still  continue  to  operate  injuriously.  The  action 
of  the  magistrates,  now  becoming  so  general,  iu  refusing  new  licenses  is, 
in  a  certain  degree,  beneficial,  but  these  magistrates  have  no  power  to 
diminish  the  existing  number,  Nor  can  we  shut  our  eyes  to  the  fact 
that  the  restrictive  system  has  created  a  powerful  monopoly  in  the 
country,  each  license  having  an  immediate  saleable  value,  in  many  cases 
of  thousands  of  pounds.  Thus  even  the  refusal  of  licenses  tends  in  some 
degree  to  favour  this  injurious  monopoly.  Tlie  question  we  have  there- 
fore to  consider  is,  not  only  how  the  increase  of  places  of  temptation 
may  be  stopped,  but  how  the  existing  number  may  be  diminished,  and 
how  that  diminution  may  operate  to  the  benefit  of  the  people,  and  not 
simply  to  the  advantage  of  the  favoured  few — the  monopolists. 


III. 


After  tills  general  statement,  we  may  now  be  able  more  satisfactorily 
to  enter  on  a  discussion  of  some  of  the  proposals  recommended  in  the 
Report  of  the  Lords'  Committee  on  Intemperance. 

I  have  already  said  that  the  general  character  of  the  Report 
is  extremely  gratifying.  Tlie  inquiry  was  conducted  patiently 
and  thoughtfully,  all  available  means  api>earing  to  have  been  used 
to  make  it  both  comprehensive  and  searching.  The  concluyions 
arrived  at  show  a  boldness,  a  candour,  and  a  carefulness  which 
demand  thankful  acknowledgment  from  the  whole  nation.  The  Legis- 
lature can  scarcely  fail  to  be  impressed  by  the  fairness  with  whicli 
the  inquiry  has  been  carried  out,  and  by  the  caution,  as  well  as 
firmness,  shown  in  the  conclusions  reached ;  and  we  may  expect  Par- 
liament to  give  the  greatest  weight  to  the  recommendations  finally 
announced.  In  a  word,  the  hope  may  reasonably  be  chcrisheil  that  tliia 
Report  is  to  furnish  a  new  point  of  departure  for  tlic  construction  of  a 
better  licensing  system. 

Of  all  the  recommendations  now  made  it  may  be  stated  that  they  ore, 
without  exception,  in  the  direction  of  restriction,  both  of  the  number 
of  houses  for  the  sale  of  drink  and  of  the  hours  during  which  they 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE   LICENSING    SYSTEM.      907 

shall  be  open.     But  it  will  be  better  to  take  the  points  aeriatimi  adding 
what  historical  review  ia  necessary. 

JPree  JLloenalnf. 

In  1854  the  House  of  Commons'  Committee  on  Public-houses  re- 
ported in  favour  of  free  trade  in  licenses,  and  although  no  legislative 
action  followed  upon  the  Report,  yet  the  procedure  of  magistrates 
throughout  the  country  since  that  time  has  been  greatly  influenced 
by  the  character  and  aim  of  its  recommcudationa.  This  conclusiou 
is  easily  arrived  at,  after  a  perusal  of  the  evidence  given  to  the  Lords' 
Committee  by  witnesses  from  all  parts.  I  may  refer  to  a  striking 
paper  which  was  handed  in  to  the  Committee  by  Mr.  S.  G.  RathbonCj 
one  of  the  Justices  of  Liverpool,  and  which  Appears  in  the  Appendix  to 
the  Report.  This  document  gives  a  list  of  nineteen  boroughs  north  of 
Birmingham,  containing  each  50,000  inhabitants  and  upwards,  and  fur- 
nishes the  proportion  of  licensed  houses  to  the  population  in  each.  Tn 
this  list  Norwich  stands  at  the  headj  having  one  licensed  houKC  for 
every  121  of  its  population.  Manchester  comes  next,  with  one  licensed 
house  for  every  140  of  its  inhabitants.  Liverpool  is  the  fourteenth  on 
the  list,  having  one  public-house  for  every  209  of  its  population.  The 
paper  reveals  in  the  strongest  light  the  frightful  extent  to  which  licenses 
have  been  issued. 

Here  we  have  the  development  of  the  "  free  trade"  Beer  Bill  of 
1830,  of  the  "  magisterial  discretion"  Act  of  1828,  and  of  the  "free 
trade"  Grocers'  License  Act  of  1861,  and  can  see  how  disastrously 
these  have  worked  in  different  localities.  In  Manchester  the  magis- 
trates, notwithstanding  the  "  free  trade "  recommendations  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  issued  no  spirit  licenses  for  many  years.  At  present 
there  are  483,  which  is  about  twenty  fewer  than  were  in  existence 
twenty  years  ago.  But  Manchester  is  swamped  by  having  1989  other 
licenses,  most  of  which  have  been  granted  in  defiance  of  the  magis- 
trates.     In  Liverpool,  on  the  other  hand,  the  cose  stands  thus : — 

iH&r.  1876. 

PopiiUtion 416,119  ...  513,383 

Public-houses     ....                  1,493  ...  l,yj  » 

Beer-houses 897  ...  334 

These  figures  show,  that  during  the  past  twenty  years  (in  part  of  which 
period  free  trade  %'icws  prevailed)  the  magistrates  there  largely  increased 
the  licenses  for  public-houses  while  the  licenses  for  beer-houses  were 
diminished.  It  should  also  be  stated  that  by  structural  additions  many 
of  tho  former  houses  in  Liverpool  have  more  than  trebled  their  drinking 
facilities. 

Fivc-and -twenty  years  ago  the  Liverpool  bench  had  become  wholly 
dissatisfied  with  statute  9  George  IV.,  cap.  61,  under  which  licenses 
are  granted.  A  large  section  of  the  magistrates  felt  that,  while  their 
proper  function  was  to  administer  law,  the  duty  thrown  upon  them  by 
the  above  Act  of  (at   their   own  discretion)  issuing  or  refusing  to  issue 


908 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


licenses  wasiucongruous,  if  not  entirely  inoompatiblc  irith  the  dischi 
of  the    true  duties  of  the  magisterial  office.     They  found  that  the  K\ 
gave  them  no  definite  or  precise  indications  and  limitations  such  as  alonej 
could  have  enabled  them  satisfactorily  to  execute  its  provisions.     Thi 
accordingly  appealed  to  the  Legislature  for  alterations  of  the  liccnsin| 
system,  and  their  chairmauj  the  late  Sir  Wm.  Brown,  then  Member  for] 
South  Lancashire,  moved  in  the  House  of  Commons  for  the  appointment 
of  the  Select  Committee,  of  whose  labours  I  spoke  earlier.     The  recoia* 
mendations  of  that  Committee,  as  has  been  previously  stated^   were   ii 
favour  of  "  free  trade"  in  licenses,  but  they,  at  the  same  time,  omitted^ 
to  propose  such  a  license  tax   aa  would  have  restricted  their  number. 
But,  as  I  said,  no  legislation  followed  the  issue  of  the  Report. 

The  Liverpool  bench,  having  failed  to  induce  the  Government  to  bring 
in  a  general  Act,  found  the  existing  practice  of  exercising  an  unavoidablj 
capricious  discretion  so  irksome,  that  tlicy  adopted  the  determination 
to  grant  licenses  to  all  applicants  of  good  character  whose  premises 
were  considered  suitable.  Accordingly  in  the  five  years  1862-1866  the 
Liverpool  magistrates,  to  the  consternation  of  the  people,  issued  upwards 
of  400  new  licenses.  In  August,  1865,  two  memorials  were  presented 
to  the  bench,  one  from  33,341  inhabitants,  the  other  signed  by  128 
medical  men,  pleading  that  no  more  licenses  should  be  granted  at  the 
ensuiug  Licensing  Session.  To  the  prayer  of  these  petitions  the  magis- 
trates ultimately  gave  heed,  and  substantially  no  new  licenses  have  been 
granted  in  Liverpool  for  some  years. 

It  is  pleasing  to  find  that  the  Lords'  Committee,  after  n  review  of 
the  experiments  tried  in  Liverpool  and  certain  other  parts  of  Lancashire, 
condemn  the  "  free "  liceusing  of  public-houses.  Their  objections  to 
the  proposal  (see  llcport,  paragraphs  29,  30),  are — That 

"It  allows  no  opportunity  to  the  inbabitaats  for  expressing  their  opinion 
against  the  opening  of  public-houses  in  their  neiglibourhood.  Any  number  of 
these  might  consequently  be  opened  against  the  senBO  of  the  community,  and  in 
localities  already  sufficiently  supplied  with  facilities  for  public  refreshment." 

That, 

**  The  free  trade  experiment,  tried  under  the  Boer  Acts,  in  univeraaUy 
admitted  to  have  failed ;  and  there  appears  to  bo  no  reason  for  believing  that  any 
safeguards  can  be  devised  which  would  secure  a  better  result" 

And  that  as 

*'  The  syBtem  is  also  altogether  opposed  to  the  spirit  of  the  recent  policy  of 
restriction,  which  appears  to  meet  with  the  general  approval  of  the  country,  the 
Committee  are  unable  to  recommend  its  adoption." 

Such  are  the  conclusions  arrived  at  by  the  Committee  rcgardiug  the 
licensing  of  public-houses  and  beer-houses  on  the  principle  of  "free 
trade." 

It  will  be  noticed,  that  the  Lords'  Committee  do  not  discuss  the 
reasons  for  the  distinction  which  now  exists  between  the  princii)le  upon 
which  licenses  for  the  sale  of  beer  "  off"  the  premises  are  granted,  and 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE   LICENSING    SYSTEM.      909 

that  adopted  for  the  issue  of  licenses  for  the  sale  of  beer  "  on"  the 
premises.  Licenses  for  the  sale  of  beer  "off"  the  premises  are  "free 
trade"  licenses ;  those  for  consumption  "  on"  the  premises  are  under 
the  control  of  the  magistrates.  The  Lords'  Committee  in  their  Report 
alike  condemn  "  free  trade"  licenses  for  the  sale  of  beer  *'  on"  and 
"  off"  the  premises,  but  they  fail  to  recommend  that  the  issue  of 
licenses  for  the  sale  of  beer  "  off*'  the  premises  should  be  placed  under 
the  eontrol  of  tlie  magistrates.  It  cannot  be  from  inadvertence  that  this 
omission  has  occurred ;  but  I  am  unable  to  explain  the  cause  of  it. 

From  Mr.  Rathbone's  paper  it  may  be  clearly  inferred  that  the  "  free 
trade"  recommendations  of  the  Select  Committee  of  1853-54  power- 
fully affected  the  opinions  of  magistrates  and  were  largely  acted  on, 
although  the  safeguards  by  which  "free  trade"  in  licenses  was  to  be 
accompanied  were  never  legalized.  May  we  not  hope  that  just  as  the 
"  free-trade"  suggestions  of  the  Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons 
of  1853-54  silently  worked  their  way,  and  now  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of 
a  century,  in  conjunction  with  the  free  trade  Beer-house  Act,  have  filled 
the  country  to  repletion  with  drink-shops,  so  shall  the  influence  of 
these  recommendations  of  the  Lords'  Committee  of  1879  bring  about 
enactments  in  favour  of  the  restriction  of  facilities  for  drinking,  and 
gradually  produce  a  changCj  leading  to  a  complete  revolution  of  our 
national  opinions  and  customs  in  regard  to  this  subject  ? 

Orooers'  AloAnse*. 

It  may  be  convenient  under  this  heading  to  refer  to  the  grounds  on 
which  the  Lords'  Committee  recommend  that  Grocers'  Licenses  shall 
continue  to  be  "  free  trade"  ones.  General  complaints  have  been  made 
that  increased  drunkenness  has  arisen  from  the  existence  of  these  licenses. 
Eut  I  should  imi^ine  that  the  mischief  done  to  a  community  by  the 
opening  of  a  shop  for  the  sale  of  bottles  of  spirits,  to  be  consumed  at 
borne  with  all  the  home-restraints,  would  be  little  in  comparison  with 
that  caaised  by  the  existence  of  a  public-house  where  men  are  encouraged 
to  meet  and  drink  spurred  on  by  the  excitements  of  companionship.  So 
I  do  not  lay  much  stress  on  these  complaints. 

But  there  arc  other  reasons  for  deploring  the  existence  and  rapid 
extension  of  grocers'  licenses.  The  Committee  refer  to  these  licenses 
(see  paragraph  39),  as  having  been  instituted  "  to  enable  respectable 
persons  to  obtain  small  quantities  of  spirits  without  going  to  the 
public-house."  But  the  Committee  take  no  account  of  the  evils  of 
familiarizing  the  general  community  with  the  sight  and  sale  of  spirits  in 
shops,  as  if  they  were  articles  like  other  provisions  of  daily  and  indis- 
pensable use,  thus  adding  a  new  temptation  to  those  already  super- 
abounding. 

If  fresh  shops  are  to  be  opened  for  the  sale  of  spirits  in  bottles  for 
consumption  "off"  the  premises,  the  licenses  ought  not,  according  to 
the  admission  of  the  Committee  in  their  Report,  to  be  granted  contrary 


I 


910 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


to  the  wislics  of  the  neighbours,  and  no  provision  is  made  under  free 
trade  for  giving  effect  to  tbesc.  I  urge  the  conviction  that  articles  so 
exceptionally  dangerous  in  their  character  as  spirits,  beer,  and  wine,  should 
only  be  sold  for  consumption  "  off "  the  premises  in  shops  specially 
licensed  for  the  purpose,  and  in  which  these  and  no  other  articles  were 
allowed  to  be  sold.  One  reason  stated  by  the  Lords'  Committee 
against  placing  these  licenses  under  the  control  of  the  magistrates  is  the 
following : — 

"  It  has  been  strongly  urged  hy  many  magistrates,  chief  constablcs«i 
and  other  witnesses,  that  the  same  powers  should  be  given  to  Justices  of 
refusing  shopkeepers'  retail  spirit  licenses,  as  they  have  of  refusing 
public-house  and  beer-house  licenses.  It  is  evident  that  from  the 
moment  these  powers  arc  given,  all  such  licenses  will  carry  with  them  the 
same  kind  of  claim  to  a  tested  interest  as  is  now  put  forward  on  behalf  of  ^ 
public-houses  and  beer-houses" 

The  question  here  arises,  what  is  the  real  worth  of  the  claim  made  by 
publicans  to  a  vested  interest?  The  letter  of  statute  9  George  IV. 
gives  no  right  to  such  a  claim,  nor  could  such  a  privilege  properly  bej 
conferred.  A  license  is  issued  for  one  year,  and  the  statute  has  enacted 
that  at  the  end  of  the  year  it  expires,  and  needs  renewal,  thus  provid- 
ing for  alterations  or  for  its  caucelmsut  as  changing  circumstances  may 
demand.      But  to  this  point  I  shall  have  to  return. 


Tbe  Permlsftlve  Bill, 

In  turning  to  what  the  Report  says  of  this  measure,  I  fear  the 
Alliance  must  think  that  tlie  Lords*  Committee  has  done  the  Per- 
missive Bill  scant  justice.  But  a  careful  perusal  will  show  that 
the  Report  was  a  compromise,  and  not  the  work  of  one  hand.  It 
will  afibrd  some  relief  to  the  supporters  of  the  Alliance  to  discover 
that  the  vigorous  sentences  by  which  the  Committee  dispose  of  the 
Permissive  Bill,  are  from  the  pen  of  tlie  Bishop  of  Peterborough. 
The  remarks  referred  to  stand  as  part  of  the  Report,  and  as  such  they 
will  probably  carry  great  weight  iu  the  Legislature  and  elsewhere;  but 
it  is  to  be  noted  that  previously  to  his  appointment  as  a  member  of 
the  Lords'  Committee,  Bishop  Magee  had  made  himself  conspicuous  by 
the  sentiments  he  had  expressed  in  connection  with  that  measure. 

The  Permissive  Bill  may  be  rough  and  ready,  and  its  details  are  no  doubt 
open  to  discussion,  but  its  underlying  principle  is  not  affected  by  the 
statements  of  the  Lords'  Committee.  The  claim  made  by  the  friends 
of  t!ie  Alliance  is,  that,  in  some  shape  or  other,  a  veto  ought  to  bo 
placed  iu  tbe  hands  of  the  people  against  the  existence  of  drink-shopa 
iu  their  districts;  or,  to  put  it  differently,  that  the  ratepayers  should 
be  the  confirming  authority.  In  reference  to  this  claim  the  Loixla' 
Committee  report  as  follows  (Clause  32) : — 

■'It  is  clear  thnt  tht;  degree  o(  prohibition  aimed  at  in  this  Bill,  e.xtouding  aa| 
it  does  to  all  sale  or  Uieposal  of  liquor,  would  include  all   wholeaale  as  well  us 


INTEMPERANCE    AND    THE   LICENSING    SYSTEM.      911 

retail  dealings,  all  sales  by  wine  merchants  as  well  na  by  grocers,  and  all  sales 
also  in  refreshment  rooms  and  hotels,  as  well  as  in  public-hooaes  and  beer- 
houses. 

"  It  appears  to  the  Committee  that  this  absolute  prohibition  of  sale,  but  of  sale 
only,  of  alcoholic  liquors  is  unsound  in  principle  and  likely  to  prove  in  practice 
either  mischievous  or  inoperative." 

I  venture  to  thiuk  that  the  Lords'  Committeo  aflfirm  rather  too  much 
iu  the  latter  sentence;  for,should  a  community — mcn,womenand  children, 
masters  and  mistresses  as  well  as  servants — ^Ijc  water-drinkers,  and  use 
neither  wine,  beer,  nor  apiritSj  and  prefer  to  be  without  the  temptation  of 
having  shops  for  the  sale  of  these  articles  amongst  them,  surely  it  would 
be  hard  to  deny  to  such  a  community  the  right  to  prohibit  the  shops  if 
any  speculator  wanted  to  ojieii  sucli  ? 

Take  a  ca^sc  existing  on  a  large  scale  in  the  town  of  Lii'crpool  at  this 
moment.  The  firm  of  Mr.  John  Iloberts,  ALP.  for  the  Flintshire 
Borouglis,  has  had  large  dealings  in  laud  in  Liverpool.  Mr.  Roberts's 
firm  has  acted  on  the  principle  of  prohibiting  the  erection  of  public- 
houses  on  the  estates^  large  and  small,  which  they  purchase;  aud  Afr. 
R«l>erts  believes  that,  indirectly  at  least,  they  have  been  gainers  in  each 
instance.  The  lands  whJcli  Iiavc  passed  through  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Roberts's  firm  are  in  extent  something  over  200  acres.  The  number  of 
houses  built  or  in  course  of  erection  thereon  is  about  GOOO,  and  the  popu- 
lation  directly  aftected  may  be  set  down  as  from  35,000  to  40/.K)0.  Mr. 
Roberts  states  that  he  never  yet  heard  of  a  complaint  bcaig  made  of  the 
want  of  a  public-Louse  either  from  the  liouse-owncrs  or  the  tenants, 
although  some  of  the  people  living  within  the  area  to  which  the  pro- 
hibition applies  would  have  to  walk  three-quarters  of  a  mile  to  obtain  a 
glass  of  beer.  This  testimony  is  the  more  striking,  arising  as  it  does 
among  tiie  j)eoplc  of  a  town  so  over-supplied  with  public-houses  as 
Liverpool. 

Here,  then,  is  a  crucial  case,  one  u|X)n  a  sufHcient  scale,  showing  that 
driuk-shops  can  be,  and  actually  are,  absolutely  prohibited,  without  any 
of  the  evil  results  ensuing  which  the  Lords'  Committee  anticipate.  The 
prohibition  of  public-houses  on  ^rcssrs.  Roberta's  estates  is  absolute,  and 
yet  this  prohibition  is  neither  "  inoperative  nor  mischievous,"  as  the 
Committee  deliberately  state  that  it  would  be. 

The  affirmation  which  the  Report  makes  may  also  be  challenged  on 
other  grounds.  In  their  recommendations  the  Committee  advocate  the 
Gothenburg  systeraj  although  this  system  places  in  the  hands  of  the 
local  authorities  jiower  to  diminish  the  number  of  public- houses  dotrn  to 
their  absolute  extinction,  I  shall  refer,  under  a  separate  heading,  to 
the  Committee's  estimate  of  this  system,  but  I  may  so  far  anticipate  as 
to  say  here  that  in  a  passage  of  great  power  they  plead  for  the  intro- 
duction of  the  Gothenburg  scheme,  or  a  modification  of  it,  into 
England.      I  will  quote  the  precise  terms : — 

*'  We  do  not  wiah  to  undervalue  the  force  of  these  objections;  but  if  the  riaks 
be  considerable,  so  are  the  expected  advantages.     And  when  great  communities, 


913 


THE    COSTEMPORJHY  REViEU 


l7«rilHir 

oTtben  etib 
to<gfecf  bM  b«ai 
to 

flSIQ  WbCB 

to  pap^  wtt  dM  dificHl^ 
btaitt  Aoold  lefit  to 


IB  pQpBe  older*  vUfe  ic 
of  nuea^mDce:  it 
are  wiOiag  fli  tfaor  o««  eotf  lad 
it«iWmikftiipTrowB|wiiiinliiwi,  tfattW 
fcr  thoB  tike  iiFriFwirT  inaifcinfii,  or  to  < 


ivitli  Ibt  nqatrite  powi"*  (•••  iwiiigimli  84). 
Ihim    eloquent     lad     fiorcible     appal   prc&cei  a 
in  £i¥oiir  of  Icgkbitive  ikcOhiet  for  tbe  entire  oontrcd  of  tbe 
trade  by   tbe   fcpfeaeptatiirea  of   the  people.     I   rentare  to  saj  tbatj 
no  more  pervcuuire  words  were  erer  written  hj  tbe  most  earnest  SBp^j 
porter  of  the  Alliance  in  faTonr  of  perminiTe  profaibttiOD ;  and  AlHani 
men  may  thank  the  Lords'  Committee  for  tbe  impartial  fpint  vhich  baaj 
aDowcd  them  to  introdace  into  the   tame  Beport  not   ouly  tbe  atrong^j 
dennnciiition  by  Bishop  Magce   of  permissive  prohibition^  bat   also 
tbonghtful,  wise,  and  suggestive  words  of  Lord   Aberdare   in  £aroar 
absolute  local  control   of  a  trade  so  ruinous  as  that  in  Eqnor  baa  now 
become. 

&ocal  Option. 

Every  one,  I  think,  must  regard  with  respect  the  eflbrts  of  the  United 
Kingdom  AUiaucc  for  the  reform  of  our  License  Laws.  Many 
wlio  support  ihc  Association  do  not  entirely  agree  with  its  obJ4 
namely,  the  total  prohibition  of  the  sale  of  drink ;  but  its  executive  baf^j 
laid  tlie  country  under  a  deep  debt  of  gratitude  by  the  earnest  sup] 
they  have  given  to  all  legislation  that  has  aimed  at  the  restriction  and 
regnlation  of  tlio  liquor  traflic.  To  the  energetic  assistanee  of  the 
Alliance,  and  to  the  devoted  help  of  their  agents,  we  are  largely 
indebted  for  the  Irish  Sunday  Closing  Act  passed  Inst  year,  and  th©' 
same  whole-hearted  aid  no  doubt  will  be  given  to  the  passing  through 
Parliament  uf  an  Knglish  Sunday  Closing  Act,  a  strenuous  efibn  for 
which  is  mircly  not  to  be  much  longer  delayed.  Let  up  ho]ic  tin?  is 
the  first  great  Tcmjierancc  reform  to  be  accomplished. 

The  Alliance  have  backed  up  Sir  Wilfrid  l^awson  in  bis    n<:  > 

fiiviiur  of  his  rcrmissivc  Bill.      Year  after  year  it  has  been  im  I 

and  advocated  in  the  House  of  Commons  by  the  dauntless  baronet ; 
year  after  ycai'  the  debate  lias  ended  in  the  defeat  of  the  Bill  by  large^ 
majorities,  but  nccoDi[>anied  with  au  ever- deepening  kuowledgo  of  thi 
principle  of  the  mcasura.  It  is  diflicult  to  express  the  gratitude  due  to  Sir 
Wilfrid  Laxvson  and  the  Alliance  for  their  eflforts.  During  the  present 
scseiijU  Sir  ^\  ill  rid,  instfud  of  again  brinj^ing  forwani  tlie  Pcrmiasire  Bill^' 
intro(lucc<l  a  Kosolution,  declaring  the  principle  of  "  Local  Option/'  and 
the  nindom  of  this  procee<ling  was  proved  by  the  large  acceanaa  of mi 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE   LICENSING    SYSTEM,      913 


he  received :  164  members  voted  in  favour  of  the  resolutionj  252  agaiiist 
itj  so  that  it  was  lost  b}'  a  majority  of  only  88. 
The  words  of  the  resolution  arc : — 

"  That,  inasmuch  as  the  aucicDt  and  avowed  object  of  licsnsiug  the  sale  ot 
intoxicating  liquors  ia  to  supply  a  supposed  public  want,  without  detriment  to  the 
public  welfare,  this  Iloxue  is  of  opinion  that  a  legal  power  of  restraining  theiasua 
or  renewal  of  licenses  should  be  placed  in  the  hands  of  tbo  persona  most  deeply 
interested  and  affected- — namely,  the  inhabitants  themselves,  who  are  entitled  to 
protection  from  the  injurious  coiisei^uences  of  the  present  system  bf/  souu  efficient 
m^ature  of  ^  local  option.*  " 

The  words  in  italics  are  Sir  Wilfrid  Lawson's ;  the  rest  of  tho  reso- 
lution is  a  copy  of  recommendation  Xo.  11,  made  by  the  Committee  of 
Convocation  of  the  Province  of  Canterbury  on  Intemperance.  Sir 
Wilfrid,  in  introducing  the  proposal,  stated  that  what  he  meant  by  it 
■was,  "  to  make  the  desires  and  interests  of  the  public  superior  to  the 
desires  and  interests  of  the  trader  engaged."  Such  is  his  definition  of 
the  resohition.  He  admitted  freely  and  fully  that  the  words  are  wide 
enough  to  include  the  Purmissivc  Bill,  and,  he  addcd^  that  if  they  did 
not,  he  would  not  have  pro[)osed  his  resolution. 

Mr.  Hugh  Rirley  seconded  the  resolution,  and  is  reported  to  have 
said  "  that  the  main  point  at  issue  lay  in  the  assertion  of  the  legal 
powers  to  he  given  to  the  inhabitants,  and  it  was  upon  this  point  that 
he  supported  the  motion.  Although  he  did  not  desire  to  take  away 
the  powers  of  licensing  from  the  magistrates,  he  thought  it  was  exceed- 
ingly inconvenient,  and  even  unjust,  if  the  inhabitants  of  a  locality  were 
not  allowed  to  intiuence  them  in  granting  the  licenses  by  memorial  or 
remonstrance/^ 

In  the  subsequent  debate,  Mr,  W.  E.  Forstcr  made  the  following 
statement : — "  I  am  one  of  those  who  have  always  been  opposed  to  the 
Permissive  Bill.  I  have  never  voted  for  it.  I  have  voted  twice  in  this 
Parliament  against  it,  and  yet  I  support  this  resolution."  I  may  be 
excused  if  I  quote  a  few  more  of  Mr.  Forstcr's  weighty  sentences : — "  It 
has  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  Bill  of  the  honourable  baronet,  the 
Member  for  Carlisle,  contained  two  principles  :  one  the  principle  of  abso- 
lute prohibition  of  the  sale  of  intoxicating  liquor,  in  which  I  do  not 
agree  with  him,  and  the  other  the  principle  of  giving  power  to  the 
inhabitants  over  the  sale,  in  which  I  do  agree.  I  will  not  detain 
the  House  at  any  length  with  my  reasons  for  not  agreeing  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  absolute  prohibition.  They  are  simply  three,  and  I  can  state 
them  in  three  sentences.  First,  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  just  to 
make  a  general  law  to  prevent  the  innocent  use  of  an  article  because 
some  had  abused  it.  Next,  I  think  it  would  be  still  less  just  to 
entrust  such  a  power  to  a  local  majority.  I  think,  also,  that  the  power 
given  to  a  local  majority  merely  to  clioosc  between  enforcing  or  with- 
drawing this  prohibition,  would  not  be  a  practical  remedy  for  the  evil/' 
This  third  objection  of  Mr.  Forster^s  shows  that  something  more  than 
the  Permissive  Bill  is  indispensably  necessary  in  any  adequate  licensing 


914 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


scheme.  It  would  never  doj  supposing  the  Permmivc  Bill  were  to 
become  law,  that  communitie*'  which  voted  for  the  exisceacc  of  public- 
houacs  should  be  left  helpless  under  the  blight  of  the  present  exoeasive 
number  of  drink-shops;  and  accordingly,  while  Sir  Wilfrid  Lavson 
affirms  the  principle  of  permissive  prohibition  in  his  resolatsoa,  Mr. 
I'orster  supports  it,  as  securing  not  only  popular  eoDtrol  over  the  iarae 
of  the  license,  but  popular  control  over  its  use. 

Ttiis,  then,  is  the  superiority  of  the  "  local  option"  resolution  orer 
the  clauses  of  the  Permissive  Bill — namely,  that  it  can  command  the 
assent  of  the  President  of  the  Alliance,  and  also  of  those  who,  like  ilr. 
Forster,  consider  that  the  sale  of  drink  shonld  be  under  the  control  of  local 
representative  authorities.  It  is  matter  of  the  highest  gratification  thai 
Mr.  Birlcy,  Sir  Alexander  Gordon,  Mr.  Forster,  and  Mr.  Bright  all  voted 
for  the  "  local-option"  resolution,  and  it  must  be  felt  by  all  friends  of 
Temperance  tbat  the  great  principle  of  "  popular  control"  now  enjoys  an 
amount  of  consideration  it  never  had  before.  Under  thedcmand  for  "  local 
option,''thc  country  may  be  trained  to  have  regard  to  its  responsibility,  and 
out  of  this  may  come  a  practical  Licensing  Law  framed  on  a  righteous 
basis.  Granting  that  it  is  necessary  in  the  interests  of  morality  and 
temperance  to  restrict  the  sale  of  drink  within  very  narrow  limits, 
security  should  be  taken  that  the  monopoly  occasioned  by  this  re- 
striction should  be  worked  for  the  ]>eucfit  of  the  State,  and  not  of  the 
individual ;  M'hilst  the  State,  throiigh  its  servants,  should  carry  out  the 
law,  not  for  the  profits  of  trade,  but  in  the  interests  of  Temperance. 


aKr.  Chamberlain's  Sclieme  aad  the  Oothenbars  Vlaiu 

But  by  far  the  most  significant  and  important  of  the  recommendation) 
of  the  Lords'  Committee  is  the  first,  viz : — 

"  That  legislative  facilities  should  be  afforded  for  the  local  adoption 
of  the  Gothenburg  and  of  ^Ir.  Chamberlain's  Schemes,  or  of  some  modi- 
fication of  them." 

The  Gothenburg  Scheme  is  defined  (see  Clause  33  of  tlic  Report) 
as  follows : — 

"  The  transference  to  a  limited  liability  company  of  the  whole 
public-house  traffic  of  a  community — the  company  undertaking  not  to 
derive  any  profit  from  the  business,  or  to  allow  any  one  acting  under 
them  to  do  soj  but  conducting  the  business  solely  in  the  interests  of 
temperance  and  morality,  and  paying  to  the  town  treasury  the  whole 
profits  beyond  the  ordinary  rate  of  interest  on  paid-up  capital." 

!Mr.  Cliamberlaiu's  Scheme,  as  he  placed  it  before  the  Town  Council 
of  Birmingham  ou  the  15th  November,  1876,  ia  thus  described  : — 

"  That  local  representative  authorities  should  be  empowered  to  acquire, 
on  payment  of  fair  compensation,  on  a  principle  to  be  fixed  by  Parlia* 
meutj  all  existing  interests  in  the  retail  sale  of  intoxicating  drink* 
within  their  respective  districts;  and  thereafter,  if  they  think  fit, 
carry  on  the  trade  for  the  convenience  and  on  behalf  of  the  inhabitan 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE    LICENSING    SYSTEM.      015 

but  so  that  no  imlividual  shall  have  any  pecuniary  interest  in,  or  derive 
any  profit  fronij  the  sale." 

The  Lords'  Co mniittec  quote  the  views  of  Mr.  Chamberlain,  which  lead 
Lim  to  give  a  preference,  in  the  case  of  England,  to  his  own  schemD  over 
that  of  the  Gothenbur*;  citizens.  On  one  or  two  points  1  shall  have  to 
offer  comments ;  but  before  doing  so  let  me  say  that  too  much  praise 
cannot  be  given  to  Mr.  Chamberlain  for  the  pains  he  has  taken  to 
ascertain  all  the  facts  connected  with  the  formation  of  the  Gothenburg 
Bolag,  and  the  results  of  its  working;  and  also  for  the  industry  and 
ability  with  which  he  has  placed  these  before  the  English  public.  He 
has  rilrcatly  gained  fur  hts  own  scheme  couHiderable  support.  A  resolu- 
tion in  favour  of  it  was  adopted  by  the  Town  Council  of  Birmingham, 
after  a  prolonged  discussion,  by  46  votes  to  10.  And  the  Birmingham 
Board  of  Guardians  passed  a  resolution  unanimously  in  favour  of  the 
plan.  In  the  face  of  this  hearty  support  from  such  a  large  community 
as  Birmingham,  it  seems  hardy  to  question  Mr.  Chamberlain's  proposal 
as  I  am  bound  to  du. 

The  point  I  take  first  seems  to  mo  a  very  important  one,  Mr, 
Chamberlnin,  when  proposiug  his  resolution  to  the  Birmingham  Town 
Council,  indicated  that  by  tlte  phrase  "local  representative  authorities'' 
he  meant  the  Town  Councils  of  boroughs.  Shall  we  in  this  way  secure  for 
the  discharge  of  this  responsible  duty  the  selection  of  the  most  capable 
men  in  the  whole  community?  No  such  security  can  tlius  be  obtained. 
For  it  is  plain,  from  the  evidence  taken  by  the  Lords'  Committee,  that 
our  Town  Councils  are  too  often  under  the  iutiueuce  of  the  drink 
trade ;  and  what  guarantee  can  there  therefore  be  that  any  committee 
ap|}oiutcd  by  them  would  not  be  dominated  by  the  same  power  ?  On 
the  other  hand,  the  ratepayers,  ujjon  the  matter  being  specially 
put  before  them,  may  be  trusted  to  elect  right  men,  just  as  they 
generally  have  elected  suitable  representatives  for  School  Boards.  Tlie 
Town  Council  of  Birmingham  may  be  free  from  the  domination  of  the 
drink  trade,  and  if  so  the  community  there  is  to  be  congratulated  ;  but 
there  is  abundance  of  proof  that  it  is  otherwise  in  many  large  towns  of 
England,  in  whic]!  it  is  nndeuiable  that  municipal  affairs  are  largely  con- 
trolled by  persons  who  favour  the  drink  interest.  In  these  places  it  would 
be  ruinous  to  the  interests  of  morality  and  sobriety  if  the  trade  of  selling 
into.xieating  drink  were  to  be  administered  by  a  committee  of  the  Town 
Council.  I  feel  certain  that  unless  Mr.  Chamberlain  so  modifies  his 
scheme  as  to  put  the  whole  local  control  of  the  drink  tratHc  under  the 
charge  of  Licensing  Boartls,  elected  for  the  purposCj  his  valuable 
proposaU,  however  popular  they  may  be  in  Birmingham,  will  fail  to 
gain  general  acceptance  throughout  the  country.  There  is  a  special 
reason  why  the  above  modification  may  be  urged  on  his  notice  with 
great  earnestness.  In  Sweden  the  success  of  the  Gothenburg  system  is 
no  doubt  largely  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  citizens  who  conduct  the 
drink  trade  consist  of  men  who  give  guarantees  for    their  good  faith 


916 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


and  patriotic  purpose,  by  undertaking  pecuniary  responsibilities  on 
behalf  of  the  community,  without  receiving  any  personal  admntages 
whatever  in  the  shape  of  profit.  There  would  be  no  such  ^arantce  as 
this  in  England.  Accordingly,  the  fullest  opportunity  ought  to  be 
afforded  for  the  selection  of  approved  men. 

Another  of  Mr.  Chamberlain's  proposals  appears  to  me  equally  open 
to  objection — namely,  that  license  holders  should,  in  case  of  an  altera- 
tion of  the  law,  Ixi  compensated,  and  that  at  the  expense  of  the  ratepayers 
of  the  district.  I  contend  that  the  publicans  hare  do  more  right  to 
compensation  for  a  change  and  improvement  in  the  Law,  tlian  the  landloi 
had  when  the  Corn  Laws  were  abolbhed,  or  the  shipowners  when  i\m 
Navigation  Laws  were  repealed.  But,  if  this  claim  is  to  be  atlmittcd, 
then  1  say  that  the  compensation  should  be  at  the  expense  of  the 
National  Exchequer,  which  has  benefited,  and  not  at  the  coat  of 
those  who  have  already  been  heavy  sufferers  by  the  excess  of  Govern- 
ment licenses. 

IV. 

The  U  nited  Kingdom  Alliance  has  undoubtedly  gained  strength  froni? 
urging  the  fact  that  while  the  selling  of  iutoxicating  drink  is  attended 
with  great  danger,  and  requires  to  be  most  carefully  conducted,  the  trust 
which  publicans  iindertook,  when  obtaining  their  licenses,  has  not 
been  respected,  but  has  come  to  be  totally  disregarded  if  not  indeed 
repudiated. 

J  have  before  mc  the  Report  of  the  Town  Clerk  of  Liverpool  ou 
"The  Compulsory  Taking  of  Public-houses"  dated  October,  1878,  I 
quote  a  paragraph  from  page  5  of  this  lieport : — 

**  In  cDcIeavouriDg  to  urrivc  at  a  correct    interpretation  of  Uic  Act  of  Id* 
^9  Geo,  IV.,  cap,  61),  it  is  necessary  to  bear  iu  mind  the  period  at  which  it  wi 
enacted,  to  have  regard  to  the  circumsUinct'S  of  the  whole  country,  aiid  not  ofanj 
particular  town,  nnd  to  remember  thiit  it  was  passed  to  regulntc  the  Iirt?TiMn(» 
'  Inns*  (i.«.,  na  Johnson's  Dictionary  defines  ihu  word,  houses  of  cn^ 
travellers),  'Alehouses,  and  YictHaiUng  houses'  (8oc.  1),  which  ac  > 
of  a  different  class  from  most  of  the  public-bouses  now  built  in  large  towns. ' 

That  is  to  say,  every  puljlie-house  is  licensed  on  the  plea  of  its  being  a 
house  for  the  entertainmeut  of  travellers  or  of  neighbour^;  in  other  words, 
for  the  ptirpose  of  supplying  food  as  well  as  drink,  or  of  being  an  Ale- 
liouse.  But  I  contend  that  these  licensed  houses  have  become  places  of  on 
entirely  dilfcrent  character  from  what  was  originally  meant  by  the  Legis- 
lature— that  respectable  inns  have  been  transformed  into  gin-palaces,  and 
that  licenses  are  used  to  maintain  the  e!cistence  of  drinking-h<Miiies 
pure  and  simple,  wliich  are  places  wholly  unlike  the  houses  known  to 
the  Parliament  which  passed  the  License  Act,  and  which  hare  never 
gained  the  approval  of  the  magistrates  who  under  that  Act  granted  the 
licenses.  Accordingly,  the  supporters  of  the  United  Kingdom  Alliance 
ask  the  Lcgiitlature  that,  by  a  Permissive  Prohibitory  Bill  or  io  any 
better  form,  the  inhabitants  in  each  district  shall  have  n  veto  im  tlio 


^^«^ 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE   LICENSING    SYSTEM.      917 

existence  of  such  bouses,  seeing  that  they  no  longer  fulfil  the  purposes 
for  which  their  licenses  were  granted. 

In  other  words,  the  friends  of  the  Alliance  allege  that  the 
publicans  have  broken  their  contract  with  the  State.  Publicans,  as 
a  rule,  supply  no  food  to  the  frequenters  of  tlieir  houses  but  only 
drink,  and  supply  drink  in  such  quantities  that  the  health  and 
welfare  of  the  citizens  are  injured.  The  promotion  of  the  moral 
and  material  welfare  of  the  community,  and  the  good  oi'der  and  happi- 
ness of  all  classes,  being  the  ends  towards  which  all  legislation  is  directed^ 
it  is  urged  by  the  supporters  of  the  Alliance  that  no  place  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  exist  under  a  Government  license  which  notoriously  contra- 
venes these  purposes.  This  is  how  they  regard  the  case,  and  it  is  easy  to  sec 
that  even  if  the  Bishop  of  Peterborough  were  to  succeed  in  showing  that 
the  country  is  not  ripe  for  permissive  prohibition,  the  complaint  against 
the  existence  of  the  present  class  of  public-houses  is  not  met.  The  Lords' 
Committee,  let  me  add,  do  not  even  propose  an  efficient  inspection  of 
public-houses,  nor  the  adoption  of  any  means  for  vindicating  the  sanctions 
of  the  law,  which  is  broken  by  publicans  every  day  in  hundreds  of 
instances  without  any  attempt  being  made  to  bring  home  guilt  to  the 
offenders. 

Since  the  period  when  9  Geoi^e  IV.  was  passed,  a  complete  change 
has  taken  place  in  the  system  under  which  alcoholic  drinks  are 
retaile<l  to  the  people,  while  no  attempt  has  been  made  to  follow  this 
change  by  adequate  control.  The  public-houses  have  now,  as  a  rule, 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  large  brewers,  who  use  them  as  channels  of 
distribution  for  their  beer ;  hence  an  enormous  and  unhealthy  competi- 
tion both  in  the  strength  of  the  beer  and  in  the  "  long-pull"  meastire, 
whereby  drunkenness  is  so  greatly  fostered.  This  great  immorality, 
therefore,  must  more  and  more  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  men  who, 
possessed  of  ample  means,  are  received  with  distinction  in  society  and 
obtain  scats  in  Parliament.  "Mine  host"  of  the  inn,  so  far  as  large 
towns  are  concerned,  is  a  character  of  the  past.  His  house  has  probably 
been  transformed  into  a  flaming  gin-palace,  owned  by  or  mortgaged  to 
some  wealthy  brewer.  The  change  has  been  silently  made,  and  has  been 
accepted  by  magistrates  and  by  jjeople,  as  involving  no  breach  of  the 
letter  of  the  law  ;  but  no  such  infraction  of  it  could  have  been  possible 
had  our  license  law  been  properly  framed. 


It  can  scarcely  escape  observation  that  very  little  is  made  in  the 
Report  of  the  Lords'  Committee  of  the  testimony  given  in  favour 
of  transferring  the  licensing  authority  to  Boards  elected  for  the 
purpose.  The  License  Boards'  Bill  of  Mr.  Cowen,  M.P.,  is  reviewed, 
and  the  want  of  a  confirming  authority  in  any  of  its  clauses  is 
referred  to.  The  Committee  state  their  opinion  that,  so  far  as  the  issue 
of  fresh  licenses  is  concerned,  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose   that   such 

VOL.  XXXV.  .  3  o 


918  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

%  Board  would  discharge  its  duties  more  efficiently  thaa  do  tlie  Justices, 
controlled  as  these  have  been  since  the  Act  of  1872  by  the  confirming 
authority.  The  strife  that  would  be  caused  at  the  elections  of  the 
Boards  is  also  alluded  to,  as  is  the  objection  that  it  would  add  another 
to  the  numerous  Boards  already  in  existence.  For  these  reasons,  prin- 
cipally, the  Committee  do  not  recommend  the  substitution  of  audi 
elected  local  boards  for  the  present  licensing  authorities.  But  the 
argument  against  the  principle  of  the  existing  license  law,  rii., 
**  Magisterial  discretion,^'  is  not  met  by  the  Committee.  It  is  well 
known  that  public-houses  as  they  are  at  present  conducted  are  to  a 
large  extent  nurseries  of  immorality  and  crime.  Surely  it  is  not  the 
prorince  of  magistrates,  whose  true  function  is  the  punishment  of  evil* 
doers  and  the  protection  of  well-doers,  to  be  the  fosterers  of  these 
nurseries.  Magistrates  are  thus  led  to  occupy  the  invidious  position  of 
judging  and  condemning  criminals  who  fall  into  the  traps  and  temptations 
which  they  themselves  have  placed  in  their  way. 

The  evidence  of  Canon  Ellison,  of  the  Church  (rf  England  Temperance 
Society,  in  fiivour  of  Licensing  Boards,  is  not  expressly  referred  to  in-  the 
Report ;  I,  however,  think  it  well  to  reproduce  the  substance  of  it  here. 
The  Canon's  theses  are  (see  question  8773) : — 

1.  The  liquor  traffic  cannot  properly  be  prohibited. 

2.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  State  to  regulate  and  control  it. 

3.  That  as  the  liquor  traffic  must  necessarily  be  a  monopoly,  the 
State  should  see  that  the  license  to  sell  should  be  disposed  of  for  its  fair 
trade  value. 

4.  Inasmuch  as  the  sale  is  said  to  be  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
people  of  any  locality,  and  as  upon  the  people  the  hurtful  consequences 
of  any  excessive  or  improper  sale  must  eventually  fall,  the  people  of  that 
locality  should  have  a  potential  voice  in  defiuing  the  limits  of  the  traffic, 
and  in  regulating  it  within  these  limits. 

A  Bill,  embodying  these  heads,  was  prepared  by  the  Churdi  of 
England  Temperance  Society  in  1871-72,  and  was  introduced  into  the 
House  of  Commons ;  it,  however,  never  came  to  a  second  reading.  One 
of  its  proposals,  directly  bearing  on  this  part  of  onr  inqnirv,  was  that 
the  issue  of  licenses  should  be  limited  to  ''Licensing  Boards"  to  be 
elected  by  the  people ;  an  essential  point  being  that  if  these  Local  Boards 
are  elected,  they  should  be  elected  ad  hoc  especially. 

As  an  indispensable  preliminary  to  all  license  reform,  I  believe  a  change 
in  the  licensing  authority  must  be  made,  transferring  it  from  the  Magis- 
trates to  Boards  expressly  chosen  for  that  purpose  by  the  ratepayers.  A 
striking  testimony  to  the  existence  of  a  popular  feeling  to  this  effect  was 
given  at  a  pri)*ate  conference  held  in  Liverpool  in  January  last, 
attended  by  all  the  Liverpool  witnesses  who  gave  eridence  before  the 
Lords'  Committee,  and  by  a  number  of  the  magistrates  and  citizens.  The 
meeting  included  representatives  of  very  different  viewa,  ranging  from 
''  »ee  Licensing,"  on  the  one  hand,  to  "  The  PtenaisaiTe  Bill,"  on  the 


INTEMPERANCE    AND    THE    LICENSING    SYSTEM.      919 

other.  At  the  termintitioii  of  the  dlsoussion  it  was  found  that,  of 
the  twenty  persons  who  formed  the  Conference,  scvcuteeu  expressed 
themselves  in  f^ivour  of  a  transfur  of  the  licensing  authority  to  Licensing 
Boards. 

Eiit  Licensing  Doanls  would  only  be  one  part  of  the  foundation  for 
a  right  license  law.  Another  indispensable  provision  would  be  the 
control  by  Government  of  tha  action  of  local  Licensing  Boards  in  the 
interests  of  morality  and  public  oidcr.  It  might  happen  that  in  some 
districts  the  state  of  public  opiuiou  was  so  degraded  that  the  BoardSj  if 
unfettered,  would  vote  evcu  for  increased  facilities  for  drinking-.  To 
meet  this  risk  a  confirming  authority  ought  to  be  established,  which 
miglit  consist  of,  say,  three  or  more  License  Commissioners,  to  be 
appointed  by  the  Home  Secretary.  These  License  Cou)mi'4sioners,  like 
the  Commissioners  of  Customs  or  of  Excise,  would  require  to  be  persons 
of  experience  and  responsibility,  capable  of  organizing,  and  able  to 
take  a  part  in  retlucing  our  drinkiug  system  within  such  limits  as 
to  be  safe  for  the  State  and  beneficial  to  the  individual.  I  contend 
that  Imperial  control  is  just  as  uccessairy  in  any  system  of  license 
law  as  Local  control,  and  that  no  permanent  method  of  licensing  should 
exist  which  docs  not  contemplate  that  the  monopoly  for  the  sale  of  drink 
shall  remain  with  the  State  and  be  controlled  by  its  officers^  while  the 
inhabitants  shall  also  have  efficient  powers  for  reducing  temptation,  and 
every  other  abuse^  to  a  minimum. 

It  must  be  distinctly  provided  that  the  local  licensing  authority  shall  be 
able  to  diminish  the  number  of  public-houses  up  to  the  point  of  extermi- 
nation, and  that  the  Imperial  authority  shall  be  empowered  to  confirm, 
but  not  to  increase,  the  number  of  houses  proposed  by  the  Lieeusiug 
Boards.  To  secure  this  may  involve  a  severe  struggle,  but  no  other 
solution  could  be  accepted  as  satisfactory.  Just  as  the  magistrates 
have  a  confirming  authority  but  no  power  to  grant  licenses,  so  must  it  be 
rendered  clear  that  the  Imperial  Commissioners  shall  have  no  power  to 
grant  licenses  beyond  those  recommended  by  the  License  Boards.  These 
Commissioners,  and  not  any  Magisterial  Committee,  should  be  the 
confirming  authority. 

The  Lords^  Committee  (see  paragraph  37)  propose  that  in  the  event 
of  the  formation  of  County  Boards,  or  a  Local  Board  with  an  extensive 
area,  the  licensing  of  public-houses  should  be  entrusted  to  them.  This 
I  consider  to  be  wholly  inadmissible.  I  have  already  pointed  out  how 
completely  the  drink  interest  has  "  captured"  many  existing  Town 
Councils,  and  a  widening  of  this  catastrophe  in  the  counties  must  be 
guarde<l  against,  by  securing  that  the  election  of  persons  to  regulate  the 
sale  of  drink  shall  be  kept  clear  of  all  other  issues. 

License  Boards,  like  School  Boards,  should  be  elect3d  by  the  rate* 
payers  for  three  years. 

It  may  be  asked,  wh^t  are  the  powers  intended  to  be  given  to  the 
License  Boards?    And  as  a  suggestion  ou  this  im^>ortai.t  subject  I  ventuie 

3  o  2 


920 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


to   place  on  record  the  following  as  fairly  coming  within  tlie  scope  of 
such  Boards  : — 

I.  The  Act  9  George  IV.  grants  the  license  to  Inns,  Ale-houses,  and 
Vietualling-houscs.  It  shall  be  the  duty  of  Licensing-  Boards  to  see 
that  all  persons  licensed  under  their  authority  shall  provide  Victuals  as 
well  as  Driuk  in  their  houses. 

II.  Parliament  having  fixed  the  maximum  hours  during  which 
Public-houses  are  to  remain  open.  Boards  shall  be  empowered  to  give 
effect  to  the  wishes  of  the  ratepayers,  duly  expressed,  in  favour  of 
further  shortening  the  hours. 

IJI.  Tlie  Liccusiug  Boards  shall  coutrol  the  structural  arrangements 
of  all  licensed  houses. 

IV.  The  inspection  of  all  Licensed  Houses  shall  be  maintained  by 
the  Liceasiug  Boards,  through  an  adequate  staff  of  public-house 
inspectors.  The  payment  of  these  to  be  a  first  charge  upon  the  fund 
derived  from  the  letting  of  licenses. 

V.  In  order  to  prevent  the  retail  selling  of  alcoholic  liquors  to 
excess,  the  Boanls  shall  be  empowered  to  contract  with  Companies,  who 
shall  engage  to  ronduot  the  houses  according  to  law,  and  to  devote  the 
profits  from  retail  selling,  not  to  their  individual  advautagc^  but  as  con- 
tributions to  the  National  Exchequer. 

VI.  The  licenses  to  be  issued  by  the  Licensing  Boards  shall  be  for, 
say,  three  years,  and  be  confirmed  by  an  Imi>enal  authority  (say,  three 
or  more  Commissioners  of  Licenses,  to  be  appointed  by  the  Home 
Secretary),  and  shall  be  disposed  of  by  public  tender,  sureties  being 
taken  for  the  fuUilmeut  of  the  law. 

VIL  Existing  licenses  shall  after years  (the  tenn  to  be  fixed 

by  Parliament)  lapse  and  determine. 


Under  a  new  license  law,  the  reciprocal  duties  of  License  Boards 
and  licensees  ought  to  be  left  simply  as  matter  for  contract,  the 
magistrate  beiug  appealed  to  for  securing  the  due  performance,  in  case 
of  need,  of  the  conditions  agreed  to. 

Amongst  tlic  provision  a  to  be  secured  under  License  Boards,  I  would 
specially  allude  to  that  of  the  inspection  of  public-liouscs  by  au  effieicut 
force  of  inspectors,  and  for  which  I  have  stipulated  under  the  above 
Clause  IV.  It  is  e.vtraordiuary  that  the  Lords'  Committee  jmsa 
by  this  subject  in  their  Report  almost  unnoticed,  although  so  much 
evidence  exists  that  scandalous  infractions  of  the  law  now  occur 
in  public-houses  and  go  unpunished.  Acconling  to  the  evidence  of 
Superintendent  Turuerj  of  tiie  East  of  London  (see  question  6431), 
four  out  of  every  five  persons  in  his  district  taken  up  as  drunk  and  dis- 
orderly get  drunk  in  public- houses.  In  other  large  towns  I  should  imagine 
the  |)roportion  was  eveu  greater,  and  yet  convictions  against  publicans  for 
"  permitting  druukeuncss"  are  exU'emely  infrequent.  The  reason  for  tliis  it 
is  not  difficult  to  explain.     In  Liverpool  (and  in  all  large  towns  I  conclude 


INTEMPERANCE   AND    THE   LICENSING   SYSTEM.     921 

it  is  the  same)  the  ordinary  police  constable  is  specially  instructed  not  to 
enter  public-houses  unless  called  iu  to  quell  a  disturbance,  and  thus  the 
publican  may  supply  a  customer  with  drink  far  beyond  what  is  needed 
for  refreshment,  and  even  to  the  extent  of  allowing  the  person  to  become 
drunkj  without  there  being  any  means  of  detection  or  of  bringing  the  law 
to  bear  against  him.  If  tlie  constable  can  only  see  the  drunken 
person  after  he  has  left  the  public-house,  the  chance  of  obtaining  evidence 
against  the  pulihcau  for  '^  permitting  drunkenness"  is  gone,  and  thus,  as 
matters  now  are,  the  provisions  of  the  law  for  insuring  sobriety  and  good 
order  are  rendered  unavailing 

Under  Clause  V.  provision  would  be  made  for  conducting  public- 
houses  according  to  the  Gothenburg  plan — \iz.,  by  Companies,  which 
should  not  realize  from  the  sale  of  spirits  individual  profit  either  to  the 
shareholders,  the  managers,  or  the  employes. 

Under  Clause  VI.  the  number  of  licenses  would  be  fixed  trien- 
nially  by  the  License  Boards,  subject  to  confirmation  by  the  Imperial 
Commissioners,  and  these  licenses  would  be  offered  for  competition  by 
public  tender.  The  sums  accruing  from  the  lettings,  after  deduction  of 
expenses  for  police  inspection  and  other  charges,  would  be  remitted  by 
the  License  Boards  to  the  national  exchequer. 


VI. 


I  might  go  on  to  discuss  the  subject  of  the  taxation  recommended  by 
the  Lords'  Committee  to  be  imposed  on  public-houses,  and  also  the 
question  of  the  taxation  levied  on  beer.  This  taxation,  aa  indeed  all 
taxes,  ought  to  be  arranged  in  the  interests  of  temperance  and  morality, 
and  not  be  fixed  merely  with  a  view  to  increasing  the  revenue. 
The  paltriness  of  the  tax  on  the  alcohol  in  beer  as  compared  with  the 
tax  on  the  alcohol  in  spirits  is  a  great  anomaly,  and,  I  will  even  say, 
a  great  wrong,  so  far  as  the  general  public  interest  is  concerned. 
But  the  discussion  of  that  part  of  the  subject  must  be  reser\'ed, 

I  will  here  summarise  the  views  put  forward  in  the  remarks  above 
offered  : — 

I  believe  that  the  reform  of  our  license  law  has  become  a  subject 
of  pressing  national  necessity,  and  I  hold  that  the  basis  of  license  law 
ought  not  to  be  "free  trade"  in  licenses,  nor  '*^magisterial  discretion," 
which  have,  on  the  clearest  evidence,  proved  great  failures,  but  it 
should  be  the  principle  of  "  local  and  imperial  control,"  exercised  both 
over  the  issue  and  the  subsequent  use  of  the  license.  Whether  I  con- 
sider the  question  iu  the  light  of  first  principles,  or  whether  I  examine 
the  defects  of  the  present  license  systemj  or  look  at  the  underlying 
principle  of  the  Gothenburg  plan  recommended  so  strongly  by  the 
Lords'  Committee,  I  am  led  to  condemn  the  present  state  of  things. 

I  further  consider  it  fully  established,  that  the  number  of  public-houses 
now  in  existence  is  great  beyond  endurance ;  that  they  are  not  what 
they  were  licensed  to  be — viz.,  places  where  people  can  obtain  reasonable 


922 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


and  necessary  refreshment  in  tlie  shape  of  food  as  well  as  driuk ;  and 
that  the  mistakes  formerly  made  by  magistrates  under  a  bad  licensing 
law  are  being  perpetuated,  through  the  denial  to  the  community  of  any 
power  to  control  their  own  affairs. 

Great  benefits  and  blessings  may  be  secured  under  a  new  License 
Law  based  on  right  principles.  To  the  consideration  of  what  I  believe 
to  be  such,  this  paper  has  been  devoted  ;  and  I  shall  be  thankful  indeed 
if  I  have  been  able  to  throw  any  light  on  a  subject  of  acknowledged 
difficulty,  the  just  settlement  of  which  is  of  vital  concern  to  the 
materia],   moral,  and  spiritual  interests  of  the  people  of  this  country. 


(M 


Alexander  Balfouk, 

BALFOUBt  WiUJAMsoK  ft  Co.,  Liverpool.) 


Postscript. — Since  this  article  was  written,  the  debate  on  the  second 
reading  of  Mr.  Stevenson's  Bill  for  the  Sunday  closing  of  public-houses 
in  England  has  taken  place,  and  with  results  of  an  unexpectedly  favonr- 
able  character.  Lnst  yeor  mutterings  "loud  and  deep"  were  heard  in 
the  House,  as  to  the  consequences  likely  to  ensue  were  such  a  Bill  as 
the  Irish  Sunday  Closing  Act  proposed  for  England.  The  debate 
referred  in  brought  to  light  the  gratifying  fact  that  the  ripening  of 
public  opinion  in  the  provincial  towns  in  England  is  being  reflected  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  that  a  large  number  of  members  now 
think  that  the  increasing  public  desire  for  Sunday  closing  should  be  met. 

The  Government  was  induced  to  offer  the  compromise  of  granting 
the  recommendations  of  the  Lords'  Committee.    These  areas  follows: — 

"That  on  Sundays  licensed  houses  in  the  Metropolis  should  be  open  from  1  to  3 
P.M.  for  consumption  'oft'  the  preinis«s  only,  aud  for  coiisuiDption  *ou'  ihe 
prcmisos  from  7  to  11  r.M.  That  in  other  places  in  England  they  should  bt- 
open  from  !2.,'^0  to  2.30  p.m.,  for  consunipliou  'oft"  tho  premises  only,  and  fur 
consumption  '  on'  tho  premises  from  7  to  10  p.m.  in  popidous  places^  and  from 
7  to  9  P.M.  an  other  places," 

Mr.  Stevenson  indicated  a  readiness  to  meet  the  Government  to 
the  extent  of  allowing  tlie  "  off"  tnwlc,  but  on  no  account  to  allow  sale 
for  drinking  *'  on"  the  ])rcmises.  At  the  same  time  it  was  felt  that, 
for  the  presentj  it  might  be  well  to  exclude  the  London  district  froi 
the  operation  of  the  Bill. 

The  division  was  taken  on  the  question  of  the  adjournment  of  the 
debate,  which  was  carried  by  the  small  majority  of  three — namely, 
1*35  against  102.  No  opportunity  was  afforded  of  testing  the  opinion 
of  the  House  for  or  agaiust  the  Bill  itself.  Meanwhile  the  friends  of 
temperance  may  well  take  courage  and  renew  their  efforts,  with  the 
determination  that  these  shall  not  be  relaxed  until  entire  Sunday 
closing  in  England  is  attained. 

A.  B. 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN 

FRANCE. 


Paris,  Julif  16rt,  1879. 

SinatxMJ.^Poliiic$ ;  Ths  lUaaqul  ElccUoa— Tha  Faiy  Idiirt— ProjccU  or  Reform— Berition  of  ihe  Cuftom- 
houie  Tariflb— Retoro  of  Die  Ch»ntwr«  to  P«ru-I>Mib  ofthc  Frince  lm}irrial— M.  OUiTivr  uid  M.  Tbiert. 
Stitmet;  Bl.  Put«iu'aEK]  M.  B«rl^kit—M.  de  LoKiM  ■od  thfl  iBtcrooeMik!  Canal,  rmrri*.- MM.  dr  KcidcU^, 
D6baiu,  Vivien  <Ie  &L  XutUi.  de  Bochn^uart,  Imbard,  d*  Tiircnne.  LiUnUmrt .-  "  Thi^opliilo  Uwticr  "  In  B. 
Bimrat— **  SalntO'Baav*  et  cm  iBocmnuet,"  by  M.  Pont— Tht  manltatoM  of  M.  Zola—**  Fofilc*.'*  by  Halljr 
Pindbonune— "  La  Vie  neiUeiir«,*'bj' Cb.de  Pamaicola — Jean  Aioanl— "Let  SopUiteigrcM«ClM8«mblit«««ni> 
tomponiiu,"  by  H.  runch-Bmitino-  "  Etudes  Mir  rHbtolre  raligicoM  do  b  Ptmhw,*'  b;  M.  BoaUcva— **  La 
6aiD^Bartb|t|»l7  et  laCriliqae  moderoc."  by  It.  llordler— "  Lm  ConvnlaiOQi  d«  Paiit,"  by  Maiiiae  do  Camp— 
'•  J«cqap§  Viniflra*,"  by  Julee  Valla.  Fin»Art$:  The  ImprrsiioDlits- the  Wittr-«o1oar  Pahitcn — The  "Tie 
Modcnie "— Tbe  Salon.  PalttUnii: :  MM.  Uonnal,  Duraii,  (iaiilartl.  Hrvtoo,  Baetien  Wfmn,  Billet,  DuUn, 
Courout,  Duet,  Menon,  lleuner,  Lcforre,  l.aurrud,  Flamen^,  Ilorkummer.  Sculphire:  MlTSalnt-MarL-aKu, 
Merely,  t BlKul^re,  Schorncwcrlt.  Muilc  and  the  Drema :  M.  VuicorbeU,  Director  of  tbe  Opera — "LahetHnin**  la 
Pvi»— **  L'EtitioeUe,''  by  U.  PailWnm— The  BaU  of  "L'AMocQniolr"~Tbe  F«tc  at  tbe  Opera. 

IT  is  not  easy  to  organize  a  new  Government  with  partisans  who 
blame  you  for  slowness  and  hesitation,  and  opponents  who  mis- 
coustme  your  intentions,  and  slander  your  actions.  When,  moreover, 
the  Ministry,  as  in  the  present  case,  instead  of  a  homogeneous  majority 
with  a  settled  programme,  represents  a  majority  bom  of  exceptional 
circumstances,  and  comiwscd  of  elements  so  different  from  each  other 
as  to  be  antagonistic,  the  difficulties  become  all  but  insurmountable. 
Questions  arise,  all  at  the  same  moment,  to  solve  which  is  as  dan- 
gerous as  to  leave  them  unsolved.  Hurry  and  delay  are  equally  inex- 
pedient. 

The  misfortune  of  the  present  Ministry  was  its  not  having,  nor  being 
able  to  have,  a  programme  drawn  up  in  advance.  Its  members  are 
honourable,  intelligent,  and  moderate  men,  perfectly  capable  under  other 
circumstances  of  forming  a  good  Government,  but  it  has  led  a  hand- 
to-mouth  existence  hitherto,  a  prey  to  the  incidents  of  the  moment,  and 
if  it  has  extricated  itself  from  its  difficulties  with  moderate  pains  it  is 
owing  to  a  kind  of  general  goodwill  shown  it  by  the  Republican  majority, 
which  always  ju»t  stops  short  of  committing  any  very  great  blunder. 
The  two  triumphs  of  the  Cabinet,  on  the  Amnesty  question  and  the 
Impeachment  of  the  Ministers  of  May  IG,  were  far  from  establishing  it 
oil  a  firmer  footing.  Some  considered  it  bold,  others  lukewarm.  The 
Left    Centre  accused   it  of  favouring  the  Radicals,  who  in  their  turn 


924  THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW.  ^H 

declared  it  unworthy  of  their  confidence ;  nnd  its  dissolution  and  the 
names  of  its  successors  were  talked  of  ou  all  sides.  The  Bordeaux 
election  rendered  its  position  critical  to  the  last  degree.  Whilst  M, 
Andre  Lavertujou  represented  the  Moderate  party,  and  took  his 
stand  as  a  partisan  of  the  Ministry,  the  two  candidates  of  the  more 
advanced  party  were  its  avowed  antagonists,  and  withdrew  at  the  second 
ballot  in  favour  of  the  Revolutionary  candidate,  AI.  Blanqui.  Although 
still  in  prison  on  account  of  the  part  he  played  in  the  insurrection  of 
October  31,  1870,  and  therefore  iueligiblc,  he  succeeded,  owing  to  the 
ackTiowlcdged  alliance  of  the  Bonapartist  and  Legitimist  electors,  in 
obtaining  a  majority.  By  a  large  section  of  the  Republican  press 
quite  as  much  animosity  was  shown  on  this  occasion  towards 
the  Ministry  chosen  by  a  majority  iu  the  Chambers  as  could  have  been 
shown  towards  a  reactionaiy  Ministry.  It  was  called  upon  in  almost 
denunciatory  terms  to  amnesty  M.  Blanqui^  and  informed  that,  though 
ineligible,  liis  election  would  be  rendered  valid ;  M'hilst  M.  Clemenccau, 
in  a  violent  speech  at  the  Cirque  Fernando,  drew  up  a  deed  of  accusation 
against  the  Ministry,  and  announced  its  fall.  This  was  too  much. 
The  majority  in  the  Chamber  was  obliged  to  look  the  facts  iu  the 
face,  to  ask  themselves  whether  they  intended  to  be  led  by  M.  Cl^men- 
ceau,  and  whether  it  was  possible  to  form  a  Cabinet  with  members  of 
the  Extreme  Left.  M.  BJanqui  was  invalidated  ;  the  Ministry,  for  once 
energetic,  pardoned  without  amnestying  him,  and  on  his  release  from 
prison,  the  old  conspirator  found  few  disposed  to  hail  him  once  again 
as  a  candidate  for  the  deputyship. 

Had  the  Ministry  known  that  they  would  come  out  victorious  and 
strengthened  from  this  delicate  crisis,  they  would  perhaps  not  have 
allowed  M.  Jules  Ferry,  a  few  weeks  before,  to  bring  forward  his 
scheme  for  laws  destined  to  become  a  brand  of  discord  to  the  country, 
and  even  to  the  Republican  majority,  aud  whose  only  raisou  d'etre  at 
first  sight  seemed  to  be  to  assert  the  Ministry's  anti-clerical  zeal,  and 
to  win  the  sympathy  of  the  Extreme  Left.  There  is,  however,  but  one 
point  in  these  Bills  which  is  the  cause  of  all  the  disturbance  ;  the  famous 
Clause  7  of  the  law  relating  to  higher  education.  With  that  excep- 
tion, the  measurea  proposed  are  excellent,  and  calculated  to  meet  with 
the  approval  of  e\ery  reasonable  being.  One  of  these  Bills  requires 
that  ail  elementary  teachers,  male  and  female,  shoxdd  hold  a  diploma^ 
and  abolishes  "  the  letters  of  obedience,"  wliercby  the  bishops  could 
confer  the  right  of  teaching  on  members  of  religious  bodies  not  holding 
diplomas;  another  remodels  the  Supreme  Council  of  Public  Lducatioii, 
by  clinituating  from  it  magistrates,  prelates^  and  generals,  who 
had  no  business  there  whatever,  and  requiring  it  to  consist  exclusively 
of  professors  and  representatives  of  educational  bodies.  The  third 
restores  the  power  of  conferring  University  degrees  to  the  State,  and 
abolishes    the  mixed    juries    established    by    the    law  of   1875,  which 


I 


I 


J 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND   THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     925 

authorized  members  of  the  Catholic  Universities  to  pass  their 
examinations  before  juries,  consistiag  in  part  of  State  Professors, 
ia  part  of  Professors  of  the  Catholic  Uuiversities,  Into  this 
law,  which  relates  entirely  to  questions  of  higher  edueation,  'M. 
J.  Ferry  has  introduced  a  clause  (Clause  7)  which  has  uo  refer- 
ence to  higher  education,  prohibiting  all  members  of  unauthorized 
religious  bodies  from  directing  or  teaching  iu  ]iublic  educational 
establisliments.  This  cluuse  is  aimed  directly  at  the  secondary  schools 
kept  by  the  Jesuits,  Dominicans,  diarists,  &c.  &c.,  whose  scholars 
number  at  present  riO,000.  The  advocates  of  this  interdiction  main- 
tain, not  ^vithout  cause,  that  the  teaching  in  the^e  establishments  is 
inimical  to  our  existing  institutions  and  to  the  modern  spirit  in  general; 
that  the  associations  by  which  they  are  directed  arc  dependent  on  a 
foreign  head,  and  place  the  interests  of  the  Church  above  those  of  the 
country;  lastly,  that  positive  laws  exist  which  prohibit  their  residence  iu 
France,  and  that  therefore  to  deprive  them  of  the  riglit  of  teaching 
only  without  driving  them  from  the  Republican  territory  is  to  treat 
them  witli  indidgence.  But  the  opponents  of  this  interdiction  reply 
j^  with  great  force  that  the  law  of  1850  granting  liberty  of  secondary  iustruc- 
tiou  was  passed  in  favour  precisely  of  these  religious  bodies ;  that  they 
have  been  tolerated  in  France  for  the  last  half  century,  and  have 
thus  acquired  prescriptive  rights ;  that  it  is  barbarous  to  turn  thousands 
of  children^  whom  the  State  has  no  room  for  in  its  schools  and  colleges, 
into  the  streets ;  that  the  Government  should  net  with  frankness  and 
cousistencyj  suppress  the  unauthorized  religious  bodies  if  they  be 
really  a  danger  to  the  State,  and  if  not,  leave  them  the  freedom  enjoyed  by 
all  its  other  subjects ;  thatj  moreover,  Clause  7  ia  quite  out  of  place 
in  a  law  relating  to  higlicr  education  ;  and  that,  finally,  when  there 
arc  so  many  points  on  which  all  sensible  men  arc  agreed  that 
the  inilucncc  of  the  clergy  might  be  combated,  it  is  absurd  to  raise 
a  question  on  which  the  Liberals  arc  so  divided.  And  this  is 
the  most  serious  objection  that  can  be  raised  to  M.  Fcrry^s  law.  It 
has  uselessly  excited  numbers  against  the  Republic  who  were 
nowise  hostile  to  it,  but  who,  for  one  reason  or  another,  had  their 
children  educated  bv  the  Jesuits  or  the  Dominicans;  it  has  furnished  the 
enemies  of  the  Republic  with  an  excellent  battle-field  where  they 
take  their  ground  as  champions  of  the  rights  of  cousciencc,  and  are 
joined  by  a  herd  of  Liberals  and  Republicans.  The  petitions  set  on 
foot  by  the  clericals  show  1,500,000  signaturesj  and  the  Ferry 
laws  have  no  doubt  been  the  cause  of  the  election  of  two  Bonapartists 
iu  Paris  and  Muret.  I  consider  that  M.  Feiry  has  uselessly  provoked  this 
raising  of  bucklers,  for  nothing  is  easier  thau  for  the  members  of  un- 
authorized religious  bodies  to  get  the  Pope's  permission  to  lay  aside 
their  order  and  become  simple  priests  against  whom  there  is  no  eoui'se 
open ;  moreover,  if  persecuted,  public  opinion  is  excited  in  their  favour, 
aud  their  most    ardent  wishes  are  anticipated.     There  were  a  thou- 


926 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


sand  ways  of  fighting  the  clergy  efficaciously  and  legally,  of  correcting 
inveterate  injustices.  Let  priests  who  have  laid  aside  their  vows  be 
allowed  to  marry ;  let  religious  instruction  no  longer  be  obligatory  in  the 
lycees,  colleges,  and  schools ;  let  the  law  of  1875  which  threatens  to 
become  a  scourge  to  France  be  reconsidered  ;  let  a  really  national 
system  of  higher  education  be  established  to  which  all  who  intend  to 
follow  the  liberal  professions  must  be  subject ;  let  the  exemption  from 
military  service  now  granted  to  the  clergy  and  all  members  of  reli- 
gious orders  be  done  away  with — and  so  many  death-blows  will  have 
been  dealt  at  the  Churches  influence  without  any  risk  of  the  Govern- 
ment being  led  into  persecutions,  or  arousing  the  protests  of  conscience. 
Let  us  go  further,  if  it  is  thought  necessary,  and  make  a  law  relative 
to  all  associations,  prohibitive,  as  in  Germany  and  Italy,  of  religious 
orders  generally ;  they  will  have  many  Liberals  against  them,  but  will 
at  least  not  incur  the  odium  of  a  law  of  exception,  whereby  a  parti- 
cular class  is  denied  the  rights  granted  to  all.  Clause  7  of  the  Ferry 
law  is  as  impolitic  ns  it  is  unjust.  The  thorough  discussion  the  subject 
met  with  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  was  very  conclusive.  The  remark- 
able speeches  of  M^l.  Ferry,  SpuUer,  Deschanel,  and  Paul^  Bert  iucon- 
tcstably  proved  wliat  was  already  well  known,  that  the  Jesuits  arc 
animated  by  a  detestable  spirit,  but  not  that  any  one  class  can  for  that 
reason  be  put  beyond  the  pale  of  the  law;  and  MM.  Lamy,  Ribot,  and 
Bordoux  have  had  a  grand  opportunity  of  upholding  the  citizen's 
rigbt  to  liberty  and  equality  before  the  law.  They  were  able,  in 
support  of  their  thesis,  to  invoke  the  opinion  of  two  very  different  men, 
M.  Thiers  and  M.  Ledru-Rolliu,  both  of  them  advocates  of  liberty  of 
instruction,  one  from  a  conservative,  the  other  from  a  radical  spirit. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  Clause  7,  dangerous  as  it  is  to  public  peace,  will 
be  amended  iu  the  Senate,  and  that  the  question  of  unauthorized  religious 
bodies  will  be  postponed  until  such  time  as  the  right  of  free  association 
comes  into  full  consideration.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  also,  that  M.  Ferry 
should  accept  this  solution  and  not  make  it  a  Cabinet  question,  for  it  is  as 
undesirable  tlmt  the  law  should  be  passed  from  personal  considerations  as 
that  the  department  of  Public  Instruction  should  lose  so  able,  active, 
and  energetic  a  Minister, 


I 


I 


The  unfortunate  disturbances  and  lengthy  discussions  occasioned  by 
Clause  7,  have  delayed  the  solution  of  questions  of  far  more  immediate 
interest :  the  organization  of  the  secondary  education  of  girls,  the 
reduction  of  the  term  of  military  senice  from  five  to  three  years, 
and  the  abolition  of  the  voluntary  scrnce  of  one  year,  in  favour  of 
examinations  cuabliug  young  men  who  arc  sufficiently  wcll-informe<l 
and  trained  to  leave  the  array  after  one  year's  service ;  the  important 
reform  of  the  law  courts  proposed  by  M.  Le  Royer,  whereby  the 
judicial  staff,  hitherto  &o  large  as  to  be  one  of  the  curses  of  French 
society,  will  be  reduced  by  one-half  j  the  reorganization  of  the  Council 
of  State   and    the  Prefecture  de  Police,  both  so   urgently  necessary  j 


I 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     927 


and  finally  the  fixing  of  the  custom-house  tariffs  and  the  conclusion 
of  the  commercial  treaties.  The  last  question  is  one  of  the  most 
delicate  of  all,  for  upon  it  the  fortune  of  the  nation  depends.  Although 
less  affected  than  other  nations  by  the  industrial  and  commercial 
crisis  Europe  has  been  labouring  under  since  1875,  consequent  upon  the 
Trar  in  the  East,  the  famines  in  China,  and  the  establishment  of  the 
protective  system  in  the  United  States,  France  has  still  suffered  greatly 
from  it.  The  cotton,  silk,  iron,  and  coal  industries  have  been  seriously 
injured  just  wlien  the  ravages  of  the  phylloxera  were  dealing  a  mortal  blow 
to  tlic  wine  trade — that  of  all  others  iu  France  which  benefited  most 
by  commercial  freedom.  In  face  of  incontrovertible  facts  like  these, 
the  revision  of  our  system  of  international  commerce  became  an  impe- 
rative necessity,  and  the  theory  of  free-trade  lost  many  partisans. 

The  new  economical  laws  passed  by  the  German  Parliament  have 
further  thinned  their  ranks,  for  by  a  leonioe  clause  of  the  Treaty  of 
Frankfort,  France  gives  to  Germany  the  benefit  of  the  most  favoured- 
nation  clause  without  reciprocal  advantage;  so  that  should  France  at 
any  time  enter  into  a  treaty  of  commerce  with  any  other  nation  what- 
soever on  free-trade  principles,  she  will  by  so  doing  give  free  admission 
to  German  manufactures,  whilst  her  own  are  vigorously  excluded  from 
Germany.  In  spite  of  these  unfavourable  conditions,  iu  spite  of  the 
number  and  influence  of  tlie  adversaries  of  free-trade,  the  advantages 
Francchas  reapedfrom  the  commercial  treaties  concluded  by  Napoleon  III. 
have  been  too  great  for  her  entirely  to  give  up  a  system  which  encourages 
her  producers  to  new  efforts  after  improvement,  which  prevents  the  artificial 
development  of  industries  not  likely  to  prove  remunerative,  which  pro- 
motes the  trade  in  articles  of  luxury,  more  especially  the  lesser  manu- 
factures of  Paris,  whose  prosperity  is  of  such  immense  political  import- 
ance, and  is  finally  a  system  of  peace,  of  international  progress  and  general 
harmony,  in  keeping  with  the  genius  and  present  attitude  of  France,  more 
than  ever  desirous  as  she  is  of  making  friends  and  allies  now  that  victorious 
Germany  is  shutting  herself  up  in  her  suspicious  and  jealous  egoism.  Nor 
is  it  surprising  that  a  powerful  association  should  have  been  formed  for  the 
defence  of  commercial  freedom,  headed  by  MM.  Ad,  d'Eiehthal,  Michel 
Chevalier,  Jules  Simon,  Leroy-Bcaulicu,  Raoul  Duval,  which,  by  con- 
ferences, meetings,  and  banquets,  licld  throughout  the  country,  is  creating 
an  agitation  in  favour  of  the  treaties  of  commerce.  M.  dc  Broglic  himself 
has  taken  part  in  these  debates  by  publishing  a  posthumous  pamphlet  of  his 
father's,  "Vues  sur  le  libre  Echange"  (Ijdvy),  in  which  wc  recognise  the 
breadth  and  elevation  of  ideas  habitual  to  Duke  Victor.  The  Ministry, 
and  M.  Tirard,  the  Minister  of  Commerce,  especially,  is  in  favour  of  these 
treaties,  but  until  now  they  have  prorogued  them  from  year  to  year 
without  finding  leisure  to  revise  them,  as  it  is  very  desirable  they  should. 
Meanwhile  the  sufferings  are  very  great,  and  should  the  matter  not 
soon  be  set  right  it  might  affect  the  popularity  of  the  Republican 
Government. 

In  spite  of  these  dark  sides  to  the  picture^  the  Government  feels  itself 


928 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIE^. 


strong  and  confident  of  public  peace,  seeing  it  has  summoned  the 
Chambers  to  return  to  Paris,  aud  that  the  Senate,  first  hostilo  to  the 
step,  has  consented.  Versailles  will  continue  to  be  the  occasional 
residence  of  the  Chambers,  especially  when  the  Ctjngrcsses  meet,  but 
the  Senate  has  not  even  reserved  tlie  right  of  returning  thither  iu  case  of 
disturbance.  The  readiness  with  which  the  Senators,  though  men  of 
weight,  voted  for  the  change,  refusing  even  to  contemplate  the  possibility 
of  an  insurrection  or  a  coup  d^eial,  shows  a  certain  degree  of  reckless- 
ness and  a  naif  optimism.  Their  memory  seems  somewhat  short  and 
their  confidence  rather  too  ready.  Tliey  forget  how  inflammable  Paris  is  ; 
how  quickly  curiosity  grows  into  a  mob,  and  a  mob  into  an  insurrection; 
how  quickly  sound  carries  and  spreads  there;  whereas  at  Versailles  every- 
thing was  subdued  by  distance  and  calm.  In  Paris  decisions  nm  the  risk 
of  being  taken  fi'om  sudden  impulse,  or  iu  consequence  of  a  reaction;  iu 
Versailles  retlectiou  had  the  upper  hand,  not  to  mention  that  the  journey 
thither  threw  the  members  of  the  diflercnt  parties  together,  and  engen- 
dered, owing  to  its  very  tedium,  a  kind  of  fellowship  between  them, 
the  effects  of  which  made  themselves  apparent  in  their  politics.  The 
return  of  the  Chambers  to  Paris  is  evidently  attended  with  great 
advantages  as  far  as  the  prompt  execution  of  business  is  concerned,  but 
whatever  may  happen  the  Republicans  ought  to  cherish  a  feeling  of  lasting 
gratitude  to  Versailles.  Certain  it  is  that  had  the  Chambers  been  resident 
in  Paris  during  these  ycai-g  of  continual  crisis  the  Republic  would  have 
perished  ten  times  over,  a  prey  either  to  an  insurrection"  or  a  coup 
iiiat.  It  owes  its  life  to  the  city  and  palace  of  Louis  XIV,  Strange 
irony  of  history,  co-equal  to  that  whicli  decreed  that  the  new  Empire 
of  Germany  should  be  proclaimed  in  the  salons  of  the  Sun-King,  the 
conqueror  of  Alsace  ! 

The  Governmcut  has,  however,  been  wise  enough  not  to  make  the  resi- 
dence of  the  Chambers  iu  Paris  a  constitutional  necessity.  Their  place 
of  meeting  is  to  be  decided  iu  future  by  law,  and  should  Paris  become 
uninhabitable  for  them,  nothing  will  prevent  their  going  back  to  their 
rural  retreat. 

A  big  cloud  has  just  vanished  from  the  horizon  of  the  young  Republic 
through  the  sudden  catastrophe  which  has  put  an  end  to  the  life  of  Prince 
Eugene  Napoleon.  His  death  took  place  at  the  moment  when  both  in 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies  and  in  the  daily  press  the  Bonapartist  party 
had  been  giving  way  to  tlie  most  scandalous  excesses,  worthy  in  every 
respect  of  drunken  Zulus.  It  had  made  itself  jointly  and  severally 
answerable  for  M.  Paul  de  Cassagnac,  who,  by  his  abusive  language  from 
the  tribune  as  well  as  in  his  organ,  the  Pays^  seems  to  have  made  it  his 
aim  to  render  Bonapartism  odious  to  every  man  of  good  feeling  and  taste. 
Tlie  death  of  the  Prince  Tm])erial  has  roughly  recalled  them  to  calmness 
aud  modesty.  Under  any  circumstance  the  stroke  is  a  heavy  one,  for  it 
is  difficult  for  a  party  dependent  not  upon  the  principle  of  legitimacy 


I 


I 


I 


macy    ■ 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE,     029 

and  dmue  right,  but  on  a  personal  object  and  on  popnlai*  enthusiasm^  to 
change  its  pretender,  espceially  when  the  heir  of  the  Bouapartists'  hopes 
has  broken^  as  Prince  Jer6me  Napoleon  has  done,  with  all  the  views  of 
his  party,  and  allied  himself  with  those  who  have  ]>i*oclaimcd  the  down* 
fall  of  his  race.  For  the  Bonapartista  to  choose  another  pretender  would 
be  to  call  a  private  plebhcile,  and  cover  themselves  with  ridicule.  The 
mentiou  of  Prince  Victor  iu  the  Prince  Imperiars  will  docs  not  lessen 
the  absurdity  of  such  a  proceeding.  For  the  moment,  therefore,  the 
Bonapartist  party  is  rendered  impotent,  and  destined  to  break  itself 
up  amongst  the  other  parties.  For  the  moment  I  say,  for  beneath  the 
militant  and  official  Bonapartist  party  which  desired  the  advent  of 
Napoleon  Ill/a  son  there  lurks  a  latent,  virtual  Imperialist  party,  that 
constitutes  the  abiding  danger  of  evcnr  centralized  democracy,  and  which 
will  be  ready,  should  the  occasion  serve,  to  proclaim  an  Emperor,  whether 
a  Bonaparte  or  not.  Every  democratic  country  which  does  not  succeed 
in  establishing  a  free  and  |)cnccfu!  CTOvcrnmcnt  is  comicniRed  to  a  military 
dictatorship,  the  only  regime  that  reconciles  the  aspirations  after  equality 
with  the  desire  for  order  and  peace. 

The  Republican  party  received  the  news  of  the  Prince  Imperial's  death 
with  the  mixture  of  indifference  and  sympathetic  respect  natural  to  a 
party  conscious  of  it«  strength,  in  presence  of  a  tragic  destiny,  the  last 
act  of  the  Nemesis  attached  to  the  fortunes  of  Napoleon  III.,  and  due 
to  the  profound  grief  of  a  mother  for  whom  every  heart  of  man  is  filled 
with  compassion.  I  must,  however,  add,  that  could  anything  moderate 
this  noble  sentiment  of  compassion,  it  would  have  been  the  exaggerated 
manifestations  of  sympathy  testified  to  the  Prince's  memory  in  England 
— ^a  sympathy  apparently  addressed  to  the  pretender  quite  as  much  as  to 
the  soldier.  People  here,  particularly,  could  not  understand  that  the 
highest  person  iu  the  laud,  next  to  the  Queen,  should  publicly  allude 
to  the  hypothesis  of  the  Prince's  becoming  EmjKiror,  and  appear  to 
regret  that  that  hypothesis  now  is  unrealizable.  French  public  feeling 
was  wounded  by  these  words,  and,  putting  them  and  the  English  Ministiy's 
unfriendly  behaviour  with  regard  to  Greek  and  Egyptian  affairs  together, 
the  nation  was  hurt  to  find  how  little  it  could  count  on  a  Government 
whom  it  had  come  to  regard  as  its  friend  aid  ally. 


The  death  of  the  Prince  Imperial  was  all  but  simultaneous  with  the  re- 
ception of  M.  Henri  Martin  at  the  J'Vcneh  Academy,  the  right  of  replying 
to  whom  devolved  on  the  man  who  has  become  the  living  personification  of 
the  disasters  of  1870 — namely,  M,  Emilc  Olltvier.  Owing,  however,  to  the 
conceited  obstinacy  with  which  he  refused  to  modify  his  speech,  the 
Academy  was  obliged  to  deprive  him  of  his  right,  and  entrust  the  office  to 
M.  Marmier.  The  publication  of  M.  Ollivier's  speech  fully  justified  the 
course  the  Academy  had  taken.  To  allow  the  Minister  "  au  cteiir  Ivger"  to 
read  tlic  statesman,  whose  services  are  still  fresh  in  the  memory  of  every 
Frenehmao,  a  lesson  in  patriotism,  and   extol  the  policy  that  has  ro<^t 


930  THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV, 

U8  two  provinces,  would  have  been  gratuitously  to  provoke  a  storm; 
but  M.  Emile  OUivier,  who,  iu  his  book,  "  L'Eglisc  et  TEtat  au  Coucile 
du  Vatieuu"  (Garuier),  has  just  proclaimed  himself  the  chumpiou  of 
Papal  infallibility,  and  of  his  own  at  the  same  time,  was  incapable  of 
feeling  these  improprieties.  In  spite  of  the  charming  things  contained 
in  his  speech  on  M.  Thiers  as  the  historian  and  orator,  he  has  imilcd 
to  give  us  a  vivid  portrait  of  that  wonderful  compound  of  eontradictioua, 
who  was  at  once  a  liberal  and  reactionary,  a  revolutionist  and  au 
upholder  of  authority ;  who,  whilst  imbued  with  narrow  and  antiquated 
views  at  times,  owing  to  hia  suppleness,  vivacity,  and  variableness,  seemed 
to  be  large-minded ;  who  was  eloquent  by  reason  of  wit  aud  clearness, 
passionately  fond  of  all  intellectual  pursuits,  art,  literature,  philosophy, 
science — but  wanting  in  elevation  aud  originality ;  devoted  to  strategy, 
though  denied  by  Nature  the  requisite  figure  for  a  uniform  ;  a  great 
niau  iu  spite  of  all  his  littlenesses  and  faults,  by  reason  of  his  industry 
and  patriotism.  His  Collected  Speeches — of  which  the  first  three  volumes 
(C.  Levy)  have  just  appeared — enable  us  to  follow  all  the  fluctuations  of 
this  lively  mind,  which,  with  three  or  four  ideas,  and  those  mere  common- 
places, expended  a  prodigious  amount  of  power,  aud  exercised  an  enormous 
inrtucuce  over  his  fellow-citizens,  of  whose  defects  aud  qualities  he  was 
the  faithful  reflection. 

It  is  curious  to  compare  with  M.  Thiers'  the  oratory  of  Lcdru-Rollin 
(Germer  Baiiliere,  2  vols.),  wliose  popularity,  as  we  read  his  for  the 
most  part  empty  declamation,  it  is  liard  in  these  days  to  understand, 
but  who,  nevertheless,  had  momentary  bursts  of  irresistible  eloquence  such 
as  were  imknown  to  M.  Thiers,  and  endowed  France  with  an  insti- 
tution more  enduring  than  all  the  laws  at  which  M.  Thiers  laboured — 
universal  suflrage. 

AVhilst  politics  excite  such  hot  and  often  fruitless  debates,  there  are 
men  who  seem  to  live  in  a  higher  and  more  peaceful  sphere,  inuoceut  of 
the  party  strifes  going  on  around  them,  and  given  up  to  scientific 
research,  or  lo  vast  enterprises  for  the  good  of  mankind.  Of  such  is 
the  distinguished  chemist  and  physiologist,  Pasteur,  who  lately  said  : 
"There  arc  those  wlio  think  me  not  republican  enougli;  nevertheless  it  is 
beiug  truly  republican  to  dcvole  one's  life  to  the  public  interest  without 
requiring  any  salary  "  He  is  pursuing  hia  investigations  into  the  nature 
of  infectious  disorders  with  untiring  energy,  and  will  no  doubt  cud 
in  fiudiug  out  the  cause  and  remedy,  as  he  did  in  the  case  of  the  vine 
aud  silkworm  diseases,  lly  publishing  his  answer  to  the  somewhat  rash 
observatious  M.  Bertliclot  had  made  on  the  incomplete  ex|)eriments  of 
M.  Claude  Bcrnai-d  in  spontaneous  generation,  M,  Pustcur  has  paid  a 
splendid  tribute  to  his  deceased  friend,  and  shown  the  close  bond  that  can 
exist  between  two  learned  men  who  feel  tltemselves  brothers  in  genius. 
Conjointly  with  M.  Pasteur,  mny  be  cited  M.  de  Lessajw,  who,  spite  of  his 
age,  fai'from  cousidciing  himself  entitled  t.»  repojc  bv  the  success  of  his 


L 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     931 

great  undertaking,  tLe  Suez  Canal,  is  now  throwing  himself  with  all  the 
zeal  and  euthusiasin  of  a  youug  man  into  the  project  for  an  intcrooeanic 
canal,  imparts  his  enthusiasm  to  others,  has  already  collected  millions 
for  this  new  and  yet  more  gigantic  enterprise,  and  is  himself  going  to 
America  to  study  the  ground  and  superintend  the  beginning  of  the 
works.  In  addition  to  which  he  finds  time  to  help  M.  Roudaire  in  his 
preparatory  studies  for  the  canal  destined  to  convert  a  part  of  the  desert 
of  Sahara  into  a  lake. 


The  interest  in  great  and  distant  undertakings  such  as  these  is  daily 
increasing  in  France,  voyages  of  discovery  have  hccome  more  frequent, 
and  books  of  geography  and  descriptions  of  foreign  lands  attract  the 
attention  of  an  ever-growing  circle  of  readers.  M,  de  Semelli  has  just 
returned  from  his  expedition  to  the  Upper  Niger;  the  Bishop  of  Algiers 
is  sending  band  nftcr  band  of  missionaries  across  the  Sahara  into  the 
heart  of  Africa;  the  Protestants  are  founding  a  missionary  station  on 
the  upper  course  of  the  Zambesi ;  Abbe  Debaize  is  successfully  continuing 
his  travels  in  the  footsteps  of  Stanley  and  Cameron.  M.  Vivien  de 
St.  Martin's  ndmirnble  "  Atlas  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Geography" 
(llachette),  and  the  simultaneous  publication  of  a  geographical  dic- 
tionary, numbering  already  ten  parts,  records  on  exquisitely  engraved 
maps  the  present  extent  of  our  geographical  knowledge.  Some  travellers, 
like  jM.  Roehcchouart,  in  his  volume  on  "L'lude,  la  Birraanie,  la  Malaisic, 
le  Japon,  les  Etats  Unis"  (Plon),  content  themselves  with  a  rapid  sketch 
of  the  outlines  of  the  countries  they  visit;  others  go  deeper  into  their 
manners  and  customs,  like  M.  Dnbard  in  his  charming  "Sejour  au  Japon" 
(Plon) J  in  which  the  common  cvery-day  life  of  this  attractive  people  is 
depicted  with  lively  detail ;  whilst  others  again  devote  themselves  to  the 
profonnder  study  of  the  laws,  institutions,  economical  and  social  con- 
dition of  the  peoples,  M.  deTurcune's"Quatorze  Mois  dans  TAmerique 
du  Nord"  (Quantin)  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  books  of  the  kind. 
No  such  serious  work  has  appeared  on  the  United  States  since  the  time  of 
Toc(]ueville  and  Duvergier  de  Hauraune.  Nor  are  our  ladies  behindhand 
in  recoi"ding  their  travelling  imprcssiona;  for  instance  the  amiable  anony- 
mous writer  of  "Dc  Paris  h  Shanghai^'  (Hachett€)jMadnmeJudith  Gautier, 
without  leaving  Paris  introduces  us  to  the  inhabitants  of  China,  Siam, 
and  Cochin  China,  under  the  name  of  "  Les  Penplcs  Etranges"  (Charpen- 
tier),  describing  them  not  only  with  the  touch  of  an  artist  enamoured  of 
beautiful  colour  and  grand  and  picturesque  scenery,  but  with  the  pLMi  of 
a  scholar  deeply  imbued  with  the  spirit  and  literature  of  the  far  East. 
Her  sympathy  and  underetauding  for  thcui  seems  inborn.  In  taste, 
in  imagination,  in  her  fatalism,  in  her  calm  aud  majestic  beauty  she  is 
an  Oriental.  She  is  a  true  daughter  of  her  father,  that  Theophile  Gautier, 
who  should  have  been  born  an  Indian  rajah,  but  whom  fate  made 
a  Parisian  artist,  who  was  by  vocation  a  poet  and  a  novelist,  but  from 
necessity  a  journalist,  and  by  reason  of  the  want  of  harmony  between 


I 


( 


933  THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVlEiV. 

his  tastes  and  his  life,  a  Bohemian.  M.  E.  Bergcrat  has  jnat  given 
us  a  portniit  of  him :  "  Theophiltj  Gautierj  entreticas,  souvenirs  at  corres- 
pondence" (Charpentier),  representing  more  especially  the  Gautier  of  later 
years,  worn  out  but  not  changed  by  age,  very  much  as  M.  dc  fioncourt, 
who  knew  him  in  his  full  maturity,  has  represented  him  iu  his  preface. 
M.  Bergerat  cherishes  the  illusions  of  a  son  and  a  disciple  for  his 
master.  He  would  like  to  make  a  kind  of  French  Goethe  of  him,  for- 
getting that  Guulicr  lacked  two  small  things  :  power  of  thought  and 
wide  human  understanding.  Goethe  is  one  of  the  great  representatives  ■ 
of  humanity,  Gautier  is  not  even  one  of  the  great  represeututivca  of 
Prance;  he  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  a  small  group  of  literary  men 
and  artists.  A  writer  of  the  highest  order,  if  to  be  that  all  that  is  ■ 
wauted  is  to  be  an  admirable  workman  as  to  style,  and  if  to  deserve 
the  distinctiou,  it  be  not  necessary  to  exercise  an  influence  on  men's 
minds ;  he  has  enriched  and  added  colour  to  the  French  language,  and  has  ■ 
introduced,  cvcu  to  excess,  the  processes  of  painting  into  the  art  of 
description,  A  man  of  prodigious  fertility  of  mind  and  vivid  imagina- 
tion he  was  not  a  thinker,  as  may  be  seen  from  his  "  Entreliens,"  recorded 
by  M.  Bergcrat,  which  are  little  more  than  brilliant  paradoxes  and 
amusing  freaks  of  fancy,  s^uch  as  artists  and  writers  give  vent  to  iu  the  un- 
restrained atmosphere  of  tlic  studio  or  the  club.  No  one  will  accuse  M,  de 
Sainte-Beuvc's  new  biographer,  M.  Pons,  of  undue  respect  and  venera- 
tion. In  "  Sainte-Beuvc  et  scs  luconnues"  (Olleudorf)  he  shows  us  the 
great  critic  under  more  than  one  aspect  which  might  with  advantage 
have  been  left  unnoticed.  At  tlie  same  time  he  gives  us  a  quantity  of 
valuable  particulars  concerning  Saiutc-Bcuve's  residence  in  Switzer- 
land, his  relations  with  Vinet,  the  great  religious  writer,  and  rather 
long  poetical  extracts,  some  really  beuutiful,  from  a  lost  volume  of  his, 
"  Le  Livre  d'Amour." 

It  is  impossible  to  read  these  works,  consecrated  to  bygone  literary 
epochs,  without  looking  back  with  envy  to  a  time  when  literature  and 
criticism   occupied    such   an  important   place   in   the   interests  of   tho 
cultivated  classes :  when  every  new  book  was  an  event ;  when  men  were    H 
ardent  adherents  of  this  or  that  school. 

In  these  days  we  have,  to  be  sure,  our  literary  quarrels;  we  fight  for 
or  against  the  naturalistic  school;  but  the  works  of  that  school  have  H 
that  serious  drawback  that  they  cannot  for  the  most  pnrt  be  referred  to 
iu  a  woman's  presence:  nor  are  they  discussed  auy where  but  in  the 
papers^  or  amongst  writers  and  artists,  being  of  such  a  nature  as  to 
fiirnish  only  an  instaut's  amusement  rather  than  subjects  forserious  aud 
suggestive  thought. 

Moreover,  unlil  now  the  naturalistic  school,  properly  so-called,  consists 
of  a  head  only — M.  Zola;  for  disciples  like  MM.  Ileuniquc  and  Huys- 
mans,  who  discredit  his  theories  by  caricaturing  his  manner,  aud  rivals 
like  MM.  Vast  and  Ricouard,  who  look  upon  realism  merely  as  a  means 
of  attracting  tlie  attention  of  the  idler,  ai-e  not  to  be  reckoned.  M.  Zola 


I 


Zola    m 


COyTEMPORARY  UFE  AXD  THOUGHT  IX  FRANCE,     933 


is  a  man ;  be  is  not  0&I7  &  powerful  aad  ocigiual  noTelist,  but  he  labours 
with  iade£&tigable  xeal  to  propagate  hit  ideas.  He  multiplies  himself,  so 
to  speak ,-  at  once  a  dramatic,  a  literarr,  and  an  artistie  critic,  he  legis- 
lates in  all  these  domains  with  the  same  formulas,  which  he  cuds  in 
getting  others  to  adopt  by  the  persistency  and  assurance  with 
which  he  repeats  them.  He  has  even  attempted  to  introduce 
naturalism  into  politics,  and  finally,  in  a  great  manifesto  to  '^  the 
young/'  which  appeared  in  hia  "  Voltaire,"  he  celebrates  with  a  certain 
kind  of  eloquence  the  scientific  character  of  the  present  age,  whilst 
criticizing,  though  in  a  narrow  spirit  yet  with  vigour,  the  false  concep- 
tions of  V.  Hugo's  romanticism  and  M.  Renan's  philosophy.  It  is 
deplorable  that  a  man  of  M.  Zola's  merit  should  likewise  shut  himself 
up  in  a  narrow  formula,  should  adopt  the  ungraceful  attitude  of  a 
combatant,  and  consider  himself  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  charla- 
tanism to  attract  the  multitude.  He  has  talent  enough  to  dispense  with 
such  petty  means.  Why,  for  instance,  entitle  a  volume  of  literary 
criticism  "  ilcs  Haines"  (Charpentier),  when  most  of  the  articles  arc 
distinguished  for  their  moderation  and  kindly  feeling,  and  include  a 
very  acute  and  sympathetic  study  on  MM.  Erckmann  and  Chatrian, 
two  novelists  whom  no  one  would  have  expected  M.  Zola  to  praise  ? 
M.  Zola  has  even  shown,  in  a  series  of  excellent  articles,  his  estimation 
of  the  poetSj  aud  speaks  with  great  discriminatiou  of  M.  Sully  Prud- 
homme,  the  most  remarkable  poet  of  our  generation,  drawing  attention 
to  the  fact  of  his  representing  quite  a  new  tendency  in  French  con» 
temporary  poetry,  in  that  he  draws  his  inspiration  direct  from  the  scien- 
tific and  philosophical  movement  of  the  day.  The  third  volume  of 
his  "  Poesies  completes"  (Lemerrc),  just  published,  coutains  the  finest 
piece  due  to  that  inspiration,  "  Lc  Zenith."  Every  line  reveals  a  spirit 
fed  by  the  highest  scientific  speculations  of  the  day,  whence,  like 
Lucretius  from  the  system  of  Epicurus,  it  draws  admirable  fiights  of 
imagination  and  new  poetical  effects.  By  the  side  of  M.  Sully  Prud- 
homme  appears  a  new  aspirant  to  poetical  fame,  M.  Charles  de  Pomairols, 
whose  verse  in  "La  Vic  meilleure"  is  likewise  nourished  byscicncc  and  phi- 
losophy. Some  of  his  pieces,  such  as  ''Dieu  dans  la  Nature^*  and  **  Le  Com- 
bat dc  l'K8prit,"are  worthyof  being  compared  with  the  works  of  his  master, 
and  it  is  a  pleasure  to  meet  with  a  volume  of  verse  which  furnishes  not 
only  passing  excitement  for  the  imagination  and  the  senses,  but  likewise 
food  for  the  mind.  Can  any  subject  be  more  worthy  of  the  poet  than  the 
vast  dreams  of  metaphysic  or  the  grand  conceptions  of  modem  science 
which  go  back  to  the  mysterious  origin  of  things,  and  investigate 
the  inmost  recesses  of  man'a  being  ?  AVe  question  whether  politics 
or  history  could  prove  a  readier  source  of  inspiration.  In  spite  of  his 
fertility  aud  suppleness  of  mind,  M.  Emmanuel  des  Easarts  has  failed  in 
imparting  a  sustained  interest  to  his  ''  Poemes  de  la  Revolution"  (Cbar- 
peutier).  A  man  cannot  have  lyrical  fiights  at  will,  uor  can  enthusiasm 
be  divided  into  chapters  like  history.     Power  of  a  remarkable  order  is 

VOL,    XXZV.  3  P 


934 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


needed  to  handle  a  subject  like  the  Revolution ;  wanting  that,  it 
crushes  instead  of  upholding  you.  Moreover,  nothing  is  more  difficult 
than  to  devote  a  whole  volume  of  verse  to  one  subject  without  letting, 
your  spirit  flag  and  exhaust  itself.  M.  Aicard,  the  young  poet  who 
was  lately  applauded  in  England  for  his  tine  prologue  on  Moliere  axkd 
Shakspearc  and  his  clever  piece  "  Williams/'  has  lately  done  so  with 
success  in  his  "  Poemes  de  Provence"  (Charpcnticr)  and  his  "  Chanson  de 
I'Enfant*'  (Fischbacher),  but  then  the  subjects  he  chose  were,  in  their 
infinite  variety^snch  as  to  inspire  and  stir  the  heart  of  a  poet  in  a  thousand 
different  ways  ;  besides,  Aicard  is  such  a  genuine  Proven9al,  that  with 
him  to  siDg  of  Provence  is  to  siug  of  himself;  he  has  but  to  unlock  his 
heart,  and  hymns  to  the  southcra  skies,  to  the  Mediterranean^  to  the 
beautiful  mountains  of  the  Esterel,  pour  forth.  His  style,  moreover, 
unlike  M.  des  Essarts',  is  pure  and  sober,  though  vivid  and  rich  in  colour  ; 
and  he  combiues  the  most  re6ned  taste  with  genuine  animation.  His 
wonderful  plastic  power  is  seen  in  his  poem  "  Miette  et  Nore/'  in  which 
all  his  qualities  have  found  their  full  development. 

In  the  meantime,  until  our  poets,  guided  by  M.  Zola's  advice,  shall 
have  all  become  the  interpreters  of  science,  the  public,  it  must  be 
owned,  lend  a  more  willing  ear  to  the  scholar  than  to  the  poet.  Even 
our  philosophers  hardly  attract  attention  unless  they  be  the  fellow-worker* 
or  the  disciples  of  the  mathematician,  the  physiologist,  or  the  physician. 
Psychology  itself,  after  long  laying  claim  to  a  proud  independence,  boa 
put  itself  under  the  tutelage  of  the  physiologists,  and  the  science 
of  the  soul  has  come  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  branch  of  the  science 
of  the  brain.  Nothing  is  more  instructive  iu  this  respect  than  M. 
llibot's  book  on  "  La  Psychologic  allcmaude  con  tern  poraine"  (Germer 
]lailliere)j  M'hich  is  much  more  about  physicians  like  Helmholtz^  or 
physiologists  like  Wundt,  than  about  philosophers  properly  so-called. 
Still,  everybody  is  not  agreed  in  applauding  the  line  taken  by  contcm- 
jiorary  philosophy,  eitlicr  by  the  English  psychologist-logicians  or  by 
the  German  psychologist-physiologists*  Not  only  do  the  adepts  of 
traditional  spiritualism  energetically  protest,  but  more  liberal  spirits 
even  than  they  have  expressed  their  distrust  and  imbelief.  M.  Frcuck- 
I^rentano,  a  paradoxical  and  ingenious  spirit,  to  whom  we  owe  a  philoso- 
jibical  and  historical  essay  entitled  "  La  Civilisation  et  ses  Lois,"  has  just 
published  the  first  volume  of  a  work  on  "  Les  Sophistes  grecs  et  les  So- 
jihistes  contemporaias"  (Plon),  in  which  he  compares  Stuart  Mill  and 
J  lerbcrt  Spt-ncer  with  the  sophists  who  preceded  Plato  and  Aristotle.  In 
his  opinion  the  sophists'  part  is  to  try  philosophical  ideas  by  applying  them 
at  random  to  every  form  of  knowledge  and  every  theory,  to  turn  tliem 
over  on  every  side,  and  push  them  to  every  extreme.  It  must  be  added 
that  the  real  object  of  philosophy  in  his  eyes  is  neither  metaphysic  nor 
ihe  inquiry  into  the  end  and  origin  of  things,  but  the  discorcrr  of 
the  laws  of  thouglit.  It  teaches  how  to  think  truly.  Its  only  progrcM 
rioaaist*  in  the  discovery  of  intellectual  laws.     After  the  coming  of  great 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     935 


creative  geniuses  in  pb.ilo30i}]iy>  sucb  as  Bacon  and  Descartes^  there  come 
disciples  who  apply  their  principles,  like  Spinoza,  Locke,  and  Leibnitz, 
and  after  them  sophists  who  abuse,  exaggerate,  and  misrepresent  them. 
It  is  then  only  that  the  laws  which  have  been  discovered  arc  clearly 
defined  and  circumscribed,  then  only  that  ground  has  really  been  gained, 
and  new  discoveries  can  be  made.  "Whatever  one  may  think  of  the 
theories  and  the  opinions  of  M.  Freuck,  it  is  impossible  to  read  this 
original  work,  which  suggests  thought  and  provokes  contradiction,  with- 
out profit. 

There  is  nothing  surprising  in  the  everlasting  ebb  and  flow  of  philo- 
sophy seeing  that  even  in  the  domain  of  facts,  in  history,  the  same  discus- 
sions renew  themselves  incessantly,  and  men  cannot  manage  to  agree  in 
their  mode  of  judging  of  an  epoch  or  a  fact.  What,  for  instance,  are  we 
to  think  of  the  Middle  Ages  ?  Was  it  not  the  golden  age  of  the  Church  ? 
Are  not  even  her  enemies  now  obliged  to  recognise  her  beneficial 
influence,  the  great  virtues  she  inspired,  the  services  she  has  rendered 
to  civilization  ?  Auguste  Comte,  M,  Littr^,  the  men  least  to  be  sus- 
pected of  indulgence  towards  Catholicism,  have  they  not  recognized  her 
services?  M.  Raoul  Rosieres,  in  some  very  racy  studies  on '^L'llistoire 
Keligieuse  de  la  France"  (Laisny),  pretends  that  this  is  all  pure  fancy, 
tliat  the  Church  exercised  no  influence  on  the  great  achievements  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  that  she  did  nothing  either  for  art  or  study,  or  for  the 
moral  improvement  of  nations,  being  herself  hostile  to  the  arts,  igno- 
rant, and  demoralized.  Evidently  M,  Rosi^res  is  partial ;  he  says  him- 
self that  he  wishes  to  "  declericalize"  history,  the  work  he  has  therefore 
uudcrtaken  is  a  polemical  one.  And  his  book  whichj  as  a  complete 
picture  of  facts,  ought  to  be  judged  rather  severely,  is  of  considerable 
value,  viewed  merely  as  a  refutation  of  the  exaggerated  apologies  the 
Middle  Ages  have  been  the  subject  of.  After  reading  Ozanam  or 
Moutalembert,  a  few  pages  of  M,  Rosieres  will  prove  a  useful  corrective* 

Coming  to  a  period  in  history  nearer  to  our  own,  it  seems  as  if  it 
ought  to  be  easier  once  for  all  to  form  decided  judgments.  This  is  not 
the  case,  however.  M,  Bordier  has  just  published  a  most  interesting 
pamphlet,  "  La  Saint-Barthelemy  et  la  Critiquft  moderue"  (Geneve, 
Georg],  in  which  he  reopens  the  discussion  of  questions  supposed  to 
have  been  finally  settled.  Historians  were  agreed  in  denying  that  Charles 
IX.  had  shot  at  the  Huguenots,  August  24, 1572  ;  M.  Bordier  shows  that, 
in  all  probability,  the  King  really  did  take  part  in  the  massacre.  The 
view  that  the  massacre  was  a  long  premeditated  plot  prepared  for  by 
unheard-of  reSnemeuts  of  dissimulation  and  hypocrisy,  had  for  some  time 
been  abandoned.  M.  Bordier,  without  being  able  absolutely  to  prove 
the  premeditation,  shows  that  it  was  exceedingly  probable,  that  that  alone 
can  explain  all  the  documents  and  facts.  A  picture  of  the  Massacre  of 
St.  Bartholomew,  by  Du  Bois,  of  Amiens,  who  fied  to  Geneva  in  1572, 
now  for  the  first  time  brought  to  light  by  M.  Bordier,  bears  all  the  more 
striking  testimony  to  his  thesis  in  that  it  appeals  to  the  eye. 

3  p  2 


936 


THE    CONTEMPORARY    REVIEW. 


Turning  to  events  more  recent  still,  to  those  of  our  own  time,  tre  are 
met  by  the  same  want  of  certainty.  Has  not  M.  ^faxime  du  Camp's 
handsome  book  on  the  Commune,  "Les  ConMilsions  de  Paris"  (Hachctte), 
numbering  already  three  volumesj  based  upon  an  enormous  mass  of 
researchj  investigatiouj  and  impublished  doeumentSj  illumined  by  the 
most  sagacious  understanding,  awakened  the  fiercest  contradiction  ? 

Does  not  M.  Fiaux's  work  on  "  La  Guerre  civile  de  1871"  (Char- 
penticr)  aim  in  a  great  measure  at  refuting  it?  We  believe  that  in 
most  cases  M.  du  Camp  is  in  the  right,  and  cannot  in  any  sense  look 
upon  his  work  as  a  charge  against  the  Commune.  He  has  judged  it 
from  a  psychologist's  point  of  view,  as  a  physician  studying  a  meatal 
disease  rather  than  as  an  adversary  condemning  his  enemies.  Ought 
not  this  difficulty  of  finding  out  and  proving  the  truth  regarding  facts 
even  of  such  recent  date  inspire  us  with  a  salutary  distrust  of  our 
historical  judgments  ? 

In  a  strange,  painful,  and  eloquent  book,  M.  Valles  has  undertaken 
himself  to  show  us  one  of  the  causes  of  the  Commune,  of  which  he  was 
himself  one  of  the  less  violent  members.  The  madness  caused  by 
the  siege,  by  despair,  defeat,  and  hunger,  by  intoxicating  spirits,  by 
the  fear  of  a  monarchical  restoration  and  ill-digested  dreams  of  federalism 
and  socialism,  the  rage  of  the  outcast,  the  Bohemians,  the  rath  against 
the  orderly  classes,  against  those  who  have  been  successful  and  have  their 
settled  place  in  society,  finally  a  confused  mass  of  brutal  instincts,  desires, 
pleasures,  thefts,  orgies,  were,  he  says,  the  chief  causes  of  that  great  con- 
vulsion. M.  Valles  undertakes  to  explain  the  feelings  that  fermented  in 
the  brcasta  of  the  numerous  outcasts  of  society  who  held  office  under 
the  Commune;  for  some  intelligence  and  learning-  they  at  least  had. 
His  "  Jacques  Yiugtras"  (Charpentier)  is  the  son  of  a  school  super- 
intendent and  a  peasant  woman.  His  whole  childhood  and  youth  were 
made  up  of  humiliations,  mortifications,  and  blows.  Not  one  ray  of 
tenderness  from  his  parents'  hearts  eomes  to  soften  the  feelings  of 
bitterness  and  hate  that  grow  up  unchecked  within  him.  He  en(b  in 
taking  I  know  not  what  bitter  delight  in  seeing,  doing,  and  suffering 
wrong,  iu  certifying  that  life  and  the  world  are  evil.  At  the  end  of 
the  book  Jacques  Vingtras  is  a  rebel ;  endently  incapable  of  quiet  and 
regular  activity,  he  is  ripe  for  the  Commune.  This  painful  book  is 
■writteii'witli  real  talent  :  with  different  parents,  Jacques  Vingtras  (for  the 
book  seems  to  be  an  autobiography)  might  have  filled  a  distinguished 
place  amongst  contemporary  novelists.  His  power  of  observation  is 
more  spontaneous,  more  vi\id  than  M.  Zola's,  but  he  is  too  nervous, 
everything  in  him  is  by  fits  and  starts  ;  his  shafts  are  thrown  haphazard. 
Without  cohesion,  he  is  entirely  wanting  in  that  power  of  constructiou 
M.  Zola  is  so  remarkable  for. 


The  naturalistic  school  in  literature  has  often  been  compared  to  tlic 
impressionist    school  in  painting.       A   "visit  to   the  exhibition  of  the 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE,     937 


impressiouists  in  tlie  Avenue  do  I'Opera  is  enougli  to  convince  any  one 
of  the  falseness  of  the  comparison.  The  defect  of  the  naturalistic 
writers  is  too  great  an  attention  to  detail ;  the  general  ensemble  escapes 
them,  they  give  equal  weight  to  insignificant  particulars  and  predomi- 
nant features  of  character  or  scenery.  Notliing  is  left  to  the  reader's  imagi- 
nation; he  must  see  everything,  and  see  everything  as  they  do,  and  the 
general  result  is  a  sense  of  confusion  and  weariness.  The  impressionists, 
on  the  contrary,  or,  as  they  now  call  themselves,  the  "  independents,"  see 
nothing  but  the  general  ensemble;  they  disregard  the  detail  and  the  outline 
altogether,  and  paint  in  masses  and  sjwts.  When,  like  M.  Degas  or 
Mile.  Cassatt,  they  have  great  taleut^  they  furnish  usfful  indications  of 
effect,  colour,  and  light  to  those  painters  who  endeavour  to  represent 
NaturCj  not  as  she  appears  at  a  hasty  glance  to  any  mere  simpleton,  but 
as  she  reveals  herself  to  the  soul  of  an  artist  who  gazes  at  her  long  and 
lovingly.  The  majority  of  pictures  exhibited  by  the  iudepeudeuts  are, 
however,  mere  worthless,  monotonous  daubs,  even  devoid  of  a  sincere 
impressiou. 

The  Exhibition  of  Water- colours  was  the  perfect  antithesis  of  that  of 
the  independents.  Here  vulgar  brutality^  there  the  excessive  refinement 
of  the  most  select  society  j  here  the  pursuit  of  the  real  at  the  expense  of 
the  beautiful,  there  the  pursuit  of  the  graceful  and  pretty  at  the  cost 
even  of  truth ;  here  summary  processes,  there  the  love  of  detail  and 
finish.  There  are  exceptions;  ^I.  Jaquemart's  large  landscapes,  for 
instance,  deserve  a  place  to  themselves.  In  his  hands  the  water-colour 
drawing  preserves  its  true  character ;  the  rapid,  slight,  and  accurate 
repre:3cntation  of  an  efiFect  of  nature.  But  in  those  of  M.  Vibcrt, 
M.  L.  Leboir,  M.  Detaille,  it  vies  with  the  oil- painting,  sometimes  even 
exceeds  it  in  solidity  and  vigour.  Wlieu  the  l>ounds  are  not  exceeded 
there  are  things  of  extjuisitc  delicacy  in  these  highly-finished  water-coloujrs. 
Some  of  M.  Leloir's  figures,  and  M,  Heilbuth's  and  M.  Francais'  land- 
scapes, are  equal  to  their  best  pictures. 

We  have  been  ovemm  with  exhibitions  of  works  of  art  in  Paris  this 
spring  to  console  us  for  the  absence  of  spring  in  the  gardens  and  fields. 
There  was  an  exhibition  at  the  Ecolc  dcs  Beaux  Arts,  of  the  drawings  of 
the  great  masters,  which  formed  a  history  of  art  from  Cimabue  and 
J.  van  Eyck  down  to  Proudhon.  The  journal  L'Arl  lent  its  rooms  for 
the  exhibition  of  the  works  of  numbers  of  French  and  foreign  painters ; 
La  Vie  moderne,  a  new  weekly  illustrated  publication,  which,  thauks  to 
the  co-operation  of  the  first  artists  and  the  most  refined  writers,  ranks 
higher  than  all  other  journals  of  the  kind,  had  the  ingenious  idea  of 
giving  up  the  exhibition  rooms  it  has  opened  on  the  Boulevard  des 
Italtena  to  a  series  of  painters  in  succession  for  the  space  of  a  fortnight 
each,  thus  enabling  them  to  exhibit  such  a  collection  of  their  pictures 
and  drawings  all  at  once,  as  enables  the  public  to  form  an  adequate 
idea  of  their  talent.  There  M.  Butin  exhibited  his  powerful  sea-pieces, 
in  which  the  life  of  the  rough  and  hoacst  inhabitants  of  our  coasts  is 


938 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


depicted  with  so  much  feeling  and  truth  ;  and  M.  de  Nittis^  his  rapid  and 
faithful  sketches  of  Paris  niid  Loudou  life  ;  Mile.  Abbema,  her  portraits! 
distinguished  for  their  petulant  and  lively  character;  M.  VoIIoUj  his' 
studies  of  still-lifc  and  landscapes,  in  which,  even  in  the  least^  his 
knowledge  of  colour  is  manifest. 

Besides  all  these  hora  d'ceuvres  there  was  the  piece  de  resistance,  the 
Salon  of  the  Champs  Elys^eSj  more  difiBcult  to  digest  this  year  than  ever. 
To  look  at  two  thousand  pictures  is  fatiguing  enough,  but  to  look  at  three 
thousand  is  a  superhuman  labour.  Prom  sheer  wearincsSj  you  cease  to' 
distinguish  the  good  and  the  bad ;  the  commonplaceneas,  the  intentional 
eccentricity,  the  poverty  of  invention,  the  absence  of  artistic  emotion  and 
feeling,  characteristic  of  most  of  the  works,  sicken  you.  The  remarkable 
pictures  arc  drowned  in  the  ocean  of  mediocrity.  It  is  no  longer  an 
exhibition,  but  a  bazaar,  and  if  this  year,  for  a  wonder,  the  artists  have 
not  complained  of  the  severity  of  the  jury,  the  public  has  been  unanimoi 
in  complaining  of  its  indulgence.  This  superabundance  of  pictures  was 
unquestionably  the  cause  of  the  severe  judgment  generally  passed  upon 
an  exhibition  in  which  good  pictures  were  no  less  rare  than  in  former 
years.  The  portrait-painters  especially  distinguished  themselves.  M. 
Bonnat  produced  a  vrorthy pendartt  to  his  portraits  of  M.  Thiers  and  M. 
de  Lcascps,  in  his  picture  of  V.  Hugo,  his  elbow  supported  on  a  Homer, 
and  his  large  brow  resting  on  the  rough  hand  which,  like  the  lower  part 
of  his  face,  betrays  the  plebeian  and  sometimes  vulgar  side  of  his 
nature,  whilst  the  upper  portion,  especially  the  brow  and  eyes,  arc  full  of 
nobility  and  inspiration.  M.  Carolus  Duran,  in  his  picture  of  Mme. 
Vandal,  shows  that  it  is  possible  to  represent  a  magnificent  dress  without 
any  sacrifice  to  the  paramount  importance  of  the  human  figure,  and 
analyse  the  delicate  forms  of  a  face,  still  beautiful,  though  bearing 
the  marks  of  age.  M.  Duran  liad  long  yielded  to  the  erroneous  theory 
of  a  narrow  realism  which  demands  that  in  a  portrait,  the  dress,  as  it 
does  in  reality,  should  receive  more  attention  than  the  face.  Materially 
it  may  be  so,  but  of  what  consequence  is  that  if  in  looking  at  a  person 
the  face  is  what  you  see  most  ?  The  painter  must  reproduce  the 
impression  made  on  the  spectator, — not  a  material  reality,  which,  more- 
over, cannot  be  laid  hold  of.  M.  Carolus  Duran  has  now  come  to 
understand  this,  and  the  public  generally  has  ratified  the  judgment  of 
the  jury  who  gave  him  the  medal  of  honour.  We  have  an  excelleut 
portrait  of  M.  Carolus  Duran  by  a  pupil  of  his,  M.  Sargent.  M. 
Gaillard,  by  his  masterly  painting  of  M.  de  Segm*,  seems  to  have 
written  a  pamphlet  in  favoiu:  of  the  Ferry  laws.  There  is  not  a  trace 
of  high  thinking  or  religious  emotion  in  the  crafty,  witty,  red  face  of  the 
celebrated  Catholic  polenust.  This  portrait  seems  the  personification  of 
the  device  :  Omnia  serviliter  pro  dominatione.  The  great  sculptor  Dubois, 
who  is  likewise  a  great  painter,  exhibited  a  charming  girl's  head,  full  of 
life  in  spite  of  the  grey  tone  peculiar  to  all  his  pictures ;  M.  Jules 
Breton,  a  portrait  of  his  wife,  which  is  a  masterpiece  of  simplicity,  of 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     939 


toucliing  gracej  and  broad  sound  workmanship.  Goodness  and  in- 
telligence beam  out  of  those  limpid  eyes,  and  the  fi^re,  wliich  bears 
the  signa  of  maturity,  is  invested  with  the  youthfulness  that  springs 
from  the  heart.  We  prefer  a  work  like  this  to  the  much-admired 
portrait  of  Sarah  Bernhardt,  by  M.  Bastien  Lepage.  Not  that  we 
undervalue  its  rare  merits, — a  purity  of  drawing  worthy  of  the  Florentine 
masters,  exceptional  delicacy  of  form,  a  bewitching  combination  of 
colour, — but  everything  in  the  picture  is  affected,  the  position  design- 
edly stiff,  the  hands  exaggeratedly  long  and  slender,  the  mouth  slightly 
open,  with  an  ecstatic  expression^  half-scusual,  half-mystical. 

This  studied  refinement  and  affectation  is  all  the  more  singular  in 
M.  Bastien  Lepage,  because  by  the  side  of  his  Sarah  Bernhardt  he 
exhibits  a  rustic  picture,  "La  Recolte  des  Pommes  de  terre,"  distinguished 
on  the  contrary  for  its  studied  brutality.  The  quality  of  the  execution 
is  just  as  remarkable,  the  pose  of  the  two  women  is  admirable,  the 
attitude  life-like,  the  transparency  of  the  atmosphere  perfect,  and  the 
smallest  details  of  their  dress  are  painted  with  solidity  and  breadth. 
But  the  general  impression  is  not  satisfactory ;  the  landscape  wants 
animation,  and  the  picture  suggests  no  definite  emotions.  The  painter's 
power  of  vision  and  his  extraordinary  technical  skill  are  unquestion- 
able ;  but  the  intelligence  and  the  artistic  soul  that  interpret  inward 
emotionB  are  wanting.  M.  Bastien  Lepage  is  a  remarkable  personality, 
but  not  a  defined  one;  he  oscillates  between  affectation  and  brutality. 
It  is  impossible  yet  to  say  whether,  like  Millet  and  Jules  Breton,  he  will 
be  one  of  the  great  interpreters  of  rustic  life.  M.  Billet,  much  less 
powerful  than  he,  has  a  far  clearer  conception  of  his  ideal.  He  repre- 
sents with  exquisite  charm  the  poetry  of  the  Channel  coasts  and  of  their 
simple  inhabitants.  His  little  girls,  stretched  on  the  beach  watching 
the  departure  of  the  fishiag-boats,  is  one  of  his  best  pictures,  M.  Butia 
studies  the  same  subjects  and  the  same  race,  but  whilst  M.  Billet 
depicts  the  sailors,  their  wives  and  daughters,  in  their  hours  of  rest 
amidst  the  peacePuJ  charm  of  their  life  on  shore,  M.  Butin  prefers  to 
represent  them  at  work  on  the  sea,  and  with  his  severe  brush  reveals 
the  wild  poetry  of  their  life. 

MM.  Billet  and  Butin  paint  the  seamen,  MM..  Vernier,  Courant, 
Clays,  Meadag,  Hagborg,  the  sea,  MM.  Clays  and  Mesdag  are  known 
to  us.  They  have  lost  none  of  their  merit,  but  their  talent  is  not 
sufficiently  varied  and  their  colouring  becomes  harder  every  year.  M. 
Hagborg,  a  new-comer,  has  more  charm,  but  his  sea-pieces,  like  theirs, 
are  too  many-coloured.  M.  Vernier  is  a  conscientious  artist,  but  in 
contradistinction  to  the  foregoing  painters  his  tints  are  too  uniformly 
grey  and  green.  M.  Courant  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  one  who  is 
endowed  with  the  most  inquiring  spirit,  who  dives  deepest  into  the  sea's 
inmost  recesses,  and  most  faithfully  represents  it  under  all  its  aspects. 
His  calm  eracrakl-grcen  sea  under  a  stormy  sky  has  the  dreadful  and 
enticing    colour    of    the    motionlessness    tliat  precedes  a  storm.     The 


940 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW, 


entrance  of  the  British  Queen  into  the  harbour  of  Havre  is  a  real 
portrait  of  a  ship,  in  which  the  greatest  difficulties  are  attacked  and  over*^ 
come  with  the  power  of  a  master^  and  the  hazv  distance  lends  a 
charm  to  the  whole  picture.  No  one  can  better  than  M.  Couraut 
represent  the  varied  play  of  atmof^phere  and  water  and  the  joint  life 
of  these  two  fluid  elements  which  together  fade  into  infinity.  Af. 
Courant  has  just  gone  to  work  in  England,  where  he  will  find  the 
delicate  and  changing  as[)Gcts  ho  is  so  partial  to,  and  the  English  public 
is  sure  to  appreciate  the  poetical  qualities  and  the  accuracy  that  so  pre- 
eminently characterize  him. 

Other  painters  choose  not  so  much  the  sea  itself  as  the  coast  scenery' 
for  their  subject,  amongst  whom  M.  Guillemet  is  the  master,  and  next 
to  him,  for  distinctive  originalityj  Mrae,  E.  la  Villettc  and  M.  Lansyer. 
Amongst  the  landscapc-piiinters  wc  have  seen  nothing  betokening  nei 
tendencies  ;  but  we  hail  with  sympathy  the  fresh  start  M.  Fran^ais'  nobl 
talent  has  taken,   as   also    the  distinguished   works   of  MM.   Pelouse^ 
Desbrosscs,  Rapin,  Pointelin,  &c. 

What  is  really  new  this  year,  and  no  donbt  due  to  the  influence  of 
the  realistic  or  impressionist  school,  is  the  effort  some  painters  have  made 
to  combine  au  historical  or  religious  subject  with  real  scenery,  M.  LeroUc 
has  tried  it  in  Ids  "  Jacob  chcz  Laban;"  M.  Duez,  with  even  greater  suc- 
cess, in  his  large  triptych,  representing  scones  from  the  life  of  St.  Cuthbert, 
The  centre  panel,  in  which  St.  Cuthbert,  in  company  with  a  child,  i» 
receiving  the  fish  brought  him  by  an  eagle,  is  an  mlmirable  piece  of 
painting.  The  religious  sentiment  is  wanting,  but  the  two  figures 
standing  in  a  well-known  spot  on  the  Calvados  coast,  bathed  in  air  and 
light,  stand  out  in  wonderful  relief,  and  the  harmony  of  the  colouring  is 
a  feast  for  the  eyes,  M.  O.  Merson  has  soared  higher  in  his  St.  Isidore, 
who  kneels  in  the  ecstasy  of  prayer,  whilst  an  angel  guides  the  oxen  at 
the  plough.  The  rustic  and  inspired  face  of  St.  Isidore  is  one  of 
powerful  beauty,  and  the  angel,  who  hardly  touches  the  furrows  with  hi» 
divine  feet,  goads  on  the  animals  with  an  airy  grace.  The  soil  bright^ 
light  of  a  spring  morning  overspreads  the  picture,  which  reminds  us  of 
the  naif  and  affecting  frescoes  of  Picro  del  la  Francesca. 

The  realistic  element  is  wanting  in  M.  Henncr,  who  sets  his  briUiant 
nymphs  in  an  absolutely  black  landscape,  with  a  clear  blue  sky  over- 
head. But  why  (innrrcl  with  him  when  he  enchants  and  tran8i>ort«  lis 
with  admiration  by  a  poetical  charm  which  belies  all  description  ?  Hi 
"  Eclogue"  hivi  an  antique  grace  and  a  morbtde^za  worthy  of  Corrcggio. 
It  reveals  the  hand  of  a  master,  whose  min<l  has  conceived  an  ideal  of 
beauty,  the  secret  of  which  he  holds  and  realizes  foriis.  M.  J.  LefevTc's 
conception  of  beauty  also  consists  in  purity  of  line  and  grace  of  attitude. 
His  "  Diane  an  Bain"  is  the  most  important  work  he  has  produced  j  it 
contains  exquisite  things,  but  viewed  as  a  whole  it  is  cold  and  iusiguiti- 
cant.  M.  Roll's  bacchantes  cannot  be  acciised  of  coldness,  but  of  vulgarity. 
They  are  masculine  females  in  a  very  merry  mood,  these  followers  of 


CONTEMPORARY  LIFE  AND  THOUGHT  IN  FRANCE.     9^1 

Silenus.  "We  are  glad^  however,  to  see  M.  Roll  quit  his  black  tints  for 
bright  and  sparkling  colours. 

With  M.  J.  P.  Laurens  we  leave  mythological  antiquity  for  the 
Mi(Mle  Ages.  His  "  Bemanl  Delicieux  deli\Taut  Ics  prisonniers  de 
I'Inquisitiou"  is  a  cold,  dreary  jjiclure,  but  the  priuci[>al  figure,  with  its 
enthusiastic,  ascetic  face,  is  a  fine  creation.  More  to  be  admired  still  arc 
his  drawings  intended  as  illustrations  to  Augustiu  Thierry's  "  Recits  du 
Temps  merovingien/*  in  which  all  the  wildness  of  that  barbarous  age  is 
depicted.  M.Maignau,  who  it  was  believed  would  rank  next  to  J.  P.  Laurcus 
in  historical  painting,  has  taken  a  wrong  direction  this  year  in  his  "  Christ 
des  Aflliges,"  by  becoming  an  imitator  of  Henri  Levy.  M.  McUngue, 
whose  "  Robespierre"  made  some  sensation  last  year,  continues  to  be  a 
cold  disciple  of  Paul  Delaroche  in  his  "  Etienne  Marcel."  M.  Plameng 
shows  greater  originality  and  vigour  in  the  picture  of  the  "  Girondins."  He 
obtained  the  pt^x  du  Saion,  intended  for  the  encouragement  of  begin- 
ners. Let  us  hope  that  this  prize^  which  has  not  until  now  brought 
luck  to  those  who  obtained  it,  will  enable  him  to  improve  his  talent  by 
^^  travel  and  study.  M.  Le  Blant  continues  to  study  the  history  and  war 
^^  of  Vendee;  his  work    is    full  of   animation,    and    his  sombre    colour- 

ing is  not  without  charm.  Side  by  side  with  these  French  works,  an 
admirable  picture  of  Mr.  Herkommer's — ''  Un  Asile  pour  la  Vicillesse" 
— may  be  noted,  which,  with  greater  harmony  of  colour,  shows  more 
striking  proof  even  than  his  "  Chelsea  Pensiouers"  of  the  artist's  talent 
as  a  physiognomist. 

Sculpture  has  retained  the  superiority  which  has  distinguished  it 
of  late  years.  In  M.  Saint-Marccaux's  "Genie"  there  is  somctliiiig  of 
Michael  Angclo ;  Michelet's  tomb,  by  M.  Mercie,  M.  Falguiere's  "  Saint 
Vincent  dc  Paul,"  M.  Schocnewerk's  "  Matin,"  arc  masterly  works,  that 
witness  to  the  serious  study  and  elevated  thought  of  our  contemporary 
sculptors. 

Tlie  most  imjKjrtant  event  of  the  last  few  months  in  the  musical  world 
was  the  appointment  of  !M,  Vaucorbeil  as  director  of  the  Opera  in  place 
of  M.  Halanzicr.  M.  Halanzicr  was  an  excellent  manufacturer,  who 
enriched  himself  whilst  allowing  the  opera  to  fall  into  complete  decay. 
M.  Vaucorbeil  is  an  artist,  intent  on  raising  our  great  musical  stage,  aud. 
producing  new  works.  "  Eticnuc  Marcel,"  by  M.  Salnt-Sacns,  which  met 
with  great  success  at  Lyons,  where  the  composer  was  reduced  to  hanng 
it  represented,  will  no  doubt  now  be  given  in  Paris.  Wagner's  "  Lohen- 
grin,"  the  first  act  of  which  was  played  at  the  Concerts  du  Cirque,  under 
M.  Pasdeloup's  direction,  will,  it  is  said,  also  be  given.  The  enthusiasm 
which.  In  spite  of  the  iueffieiency  of  the  soloists,  it  excited,  proves  that 
the  musical  and  patriotic  prejudices  which  rendered  the  execution  of 
Wagner's  works  impossible  in  Paris,  have  vanished.  The  young  musical 
school  are  all  disciples  of  Wagner,  and  the  works  of  Berlioz,  now  so 
popidar  in  Paris,  have  educated  the  public  taste. 


942  THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 

Nothing  remarkable  has  been  produced  at  the  theatre  this  spring,  save 
a  charming  bluette  by  M.  Pailleron,  entitled,  "  L'Etincelle,"  which  drew 
crowds  to  the  French  theatre.  The  piece  drawn  firom  M.  Zola's  '^  Assom- 
moir*'  is  nothing  but  a  vulgar  melodrama,  which  has,  however,  seen 
more  than  a  hundred  nights,  the  hundredth  being  celebrated  by  a  ball, 
where  all  the  guests  appeared  dressed  as  workmen  and  waaherwomen. 
People  were  surprised  to  see  that,  thus  disguised,  the  men  and  women  of 
fashion  looked  more  vulgar  than  the  common  people.  In  the  way  of  spec- 
tacles the/<^/e  given  at  the  Opera  for  the  sufferers  at  Szegedin  was  the  one 
which  excited  most  curiosity.  It  consisted  of  a  fine  concert  and  a 
bazaar,  at  which  all  the  celebrated  Parisian  actresses  figured,  and  sold 
the  merest  trifles  at  fabulous  prices.  The  proceeds  amounted  to  150,000 
firancs.  It  is  sad  that  the  love  of  amusement  should  inspire  a  generosity 
which  charity  alone  is  incapable  of  awakening. 

G.  MONOD. 


CONTEMPORARY   BOOKS. 


I.— CLASSICAL  LITERATURE. 


(Under  tlie  Direction  of  tlie  Rev.  Prebendary  J.  Davie*,  M.A.) 


TH&  post  few  months  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  barren  or  uufraitful  in  eitHer 
Boud  or  ornamental  fruits  of  classical  learning,  froita  of  a  nature  to  extend 
themselves,  and  to  be  enjoyed,  as  time  passes,  by  an  ever-increasing  range. 
Already  there  arc  some  eig^ns  of  a  reaction  against  enlarging  the  school  curri- 
culum to  such  widencsB  thut  nothing  can  bo  acquired  thoroughly ;  and,  unless 
we  are  mistaken,  the  good  old  belief  in  classics,  as  the  basis  and  drill,  with«  of 
coarse,  a  certain  amount  of  mathematics,  is  being  re-adopted  in  preference  to  the  lately 
popular  "  everythiag-by-tuma-aud-nothing-long"  curncuUim.  To  make  the  latter 
even  tolerably  teasibie  there  needed  much  co-operation  from  scholars ;  and,  perhaps, 
good  has  come  from  the  loyal  desire  of  some  of  these  to  make  easier  that  classical 
pathway  to  the  overtaxed  minds  of  the  modem  British  achool-boys.  At  any  rate, 
amoui^t  our  best  recent  books  in  classical  Literature  may  be  counted  not  a  few 
valuable  helps  to  pioneering  for  English  readers,  or  those,  whose  acquaintance  with 
Latin  and  Greek  is  slender  and  superficial,  the  way  to  a  knowlixlgc  of  Homer, 
^schylas,  Virsil,  and  the  better  known  of  our  Greek  and  Latin  authors.  And  here 
we  cannot  speak  too  highly  of  the  great  boon  conferred  alike  on  scholars  and  non- 
scholars,  by  the  publication  of  Messrs.  Batcher  aud  Lang's  English  Frose  Odyssey 
(The  Odyeeey  of  Ilomer  done  into  English  Froie,hj  S.  H.  Butcher,  M.A.,  Fellow  and 
Prelector  of  University  College,  Oxford,  and  A.  Lang,  M.A.,  late  Fellow  of  Merton 
College,  Oxford.  London  :  Macmillan  &  Co ,  1879),  a  work  replete  with  matter 
for  scholars,  and  yet  calculated  to  simplify  for  English  reaaers  the  perennial 
charm  and  fascination  of  the  most  delightful  ofmaritmie  epics.  The  very  preface 
consists  of  a  thoughtful  and  shrewd  retume  of  the  relative  characters  of  our  English 
trauBlatioDs  of  Homer,  and  the  reasons  why  none  can  achieve  much  more 
than  the  favour  of  their  own  age  and  style.  For  which  reason  the  translators 
attempt  to  tell  once  more,  in  simple  prose,  the  story  of  Odyssens,  and  to  transfer 
not  im  the  truth  about  the  poem,  but  its  historical  truth,  into  English.  They  have 
caught  and  utilized  the  singular  resemblance  between  the  Homeric  epics  and  the 
Icelandic,  Norwegian,  and  Danish  sagas,  and  turned  this  Ukoness  to  good  occoant  in 
notes  and  illust rations,  besides  aiming  at  reviving,  by  a  compensatory  loan  from 
these  Hagas,  a  meet  e4^ui\'aJeut  for  Homer's  double  epithets  aud  recurrmg  epithets. 
Nothing  can  be  happier  than  the  manitesto  which  they  have  issued,  and  acted  upon, 
that  **  Homer  has  no  ideas  which  cannot  be  expressed  in  words  that  are  *  old  and 
plain  /  and  to  words  that  are  old  and  plain,  and,  as  a  rule,  to  such  terms  as,  being 
used  by  the  translators  of  the  Bible,  are  still  not  unfamiliar,  we  have  tried  to 
restrict  ourselves"  (p.  xi.).  A  glance  at  the  brief  appendix  of  notes  (pp.  407—416) 
will  show  how  serviceably  Scandinavian  and  Homeric  phraseology  and  folklore  have 
been  compared^.j.,   on   the  phrase   occurring  in  Od.  L   6^  tpmot  u^yrntv,   the 


944 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


Icelan<lic  "  tam-garor,"  or  "  tcctli-garth,  tceth-enoloenrc,"  as  Mr.  E.  Magnns*ton  lias 
pointed  out  iu  a  contributtid  note,  oae  of  a  loug  liat  of  parallel  mctuphoricul  cxprea- 
sions  which,  tiiough  indopeadeut  in  origin,  point  to  sLmilar  costoras  uud  conditions 
of  life.  The  traunlatora  do  well  to  ti*anslate,  "My  child,  what  word  hath  escaped 
the  door  of  thy  lips  ?  '*  the  teeth  being  taken  for  the  hedge  or  fence  which  guards  the 
caatle  or  mouth.  So,  again,  there  is  a  comparison  of  Northern  with  Greek  heroic 
manners,  anent  "  Revenge  and  Atonement,"  and  the  jrotw)  paid  for  any  offence  up 
to  manslaughter,  illustrative  of  the  fre<iuent  Homeric  word  i^irtju-or.  As  in  pertinently 
explained,  "  Neptune  does  not  day  iflyssea  for  blinding  his  bou,  the  Cyclops,  hut 
dnves  him  wandering,"  and  this,  *' becauge  heroic  caetoms  did  not  jostify  elaying  & 
man  to  avenge  an  injury  less  than  manslaughter,  inflicted  on  a  kinsman. '^  Auotucr 
kindred  parallel  is  that  of  the  odi^i,  ao  often  mentioned  in  the  Odyssey,  in  the 
technical  sense  of  the  Bride-price,  or  gifts  by  the  woi-pers  to  the  father  of  the  bride, 
the  "  kalym**  of  the  dwellers  on  the  Volga,  where  Uhva  has  a  sense  dislinet  from  the 
bStpa  of  the  wooer  to  the  bride,  or  the  ^ctXta  given  to  her  by  her  sire.  This  distinction 
is  here  put  very  clearly.  In  reference  to  double  epithets  and  the  like,  it  is  only  by 
reading  some  fifty  or  hundred  lines  at  a  stretch  tnat  we  can  gain  an  impressiou  of 
the  two  translators*  practice.  But  taking  a  few  which  we  have  marked  in  Book  IX,  it 
may  be  noted  that  with  them  tvpvona  Zevp  ia  '*  Z<ur  of  the  far-borne  voice ; "  'i$cucr,¥ 
fiSfUov  is  "  well'Seeu  Ithaca  ;"  ^ryupw^  tji  vaierarftn-o)!',  '*  fair-lying  hcJIs  ;**  firyoKt'jTta 
voirrnv,  13  "the  sea  with  the  depths  thereof,"  whereas  Merry  translates  it  "gulphy," 
and  Hayman  regards  it  as  "  tne  whole  sea  gathered  into  one  vast  gulph/*  Otner 
opithut:}  will  arise  for  examination  in  the  passages  to  be  submitted  for  a  sample  of 
tiie '  general  eS'cct  of  this  trauslatiou.  nor  need  moro  here  be  said  than  that  in 
cases  of  a  dubious  interpretatiou — o.y.,1. 105,  ^roi  otpopfii^tav  div^ciXXrro  KaX6y  dcidru'; 
or,  II.  2-H,  lito,  dpyaX€'ov  Of  dpipdvi  Kot  wXfuvftrai  fui)^T}<ra<r6ai  rrepl  hairl,  the  translators' 
rule  is  to  give  their  readers  the  option,  but,  at  the  same  time,  candid  and  loyal 
^oidance  to  their  choice.  The  first  instance  concerns  the  song  of  Phemius  before 
the  suitors  in  JPenelopo's  Hall ;  and  it  is  rendered  in  the  text,  "  Yea,  and  ai 
ho  touched  the  lyre,  he  lifted  up  his  voice  in  sweet  aon^,"  Bnt  they  give  in  a  foot- 
note what  they  designate  the  more  ordinary  interpretation  of  anjStjAXrro,  *'  He  touched 
the  chords  in  prelude  to  his  sweet  singing ;"  and  thia  is,  probably,  the  safer  and 
surer  interpretation,  as  it  is  approved  by  the  not  always  conseotieat  judgments  of 
Dr.  Hayman  and  Mr.  Merry.  lu  the  other  passage,  Leocritus,  one  of  the  suitors, 
retorts  on  Mentor,  the  ally  of  Tclemachus  at  the  Ithacau  council,  who  had  called 
on  the  men  of  Ithaca  to  remember  their  absent  liege,  and  put  down  the  snitors,  and 
says,  "  Nay,  it  is  a  hard  thing  to  fight  about  a  feiwt,  and  that  with  men  who  are  even 
more  in  number  than  you ;"  hut  there  is  another  way  to  which  the  translators  eeom 
to  incline,  as  adding  point  and  simplicity  to  the  passage — viz.,  to  take  vXroMtrtn 
with  apydkeov,  "it  would  he  hard  for  you,  oven  if  you  were  more  in  number  than  jrou 
are,  to  fight  with  us  about  a  feaat.  Against  this,  however,  comes  the  objection 
that  if,  in  251,  rf  7r\€0ift<ra-t  fxaxotro  bo  right,  in  thi>«  passage,  too,  irXtdtvavi  must 
go  with  fiaxntratrBai  \  uud  the  scholiast's  suggestion  that  7rXcuW(r<rt  in  each  case  standB 
for  trvv  TrAeoKf  (Tin  ia  surely  inaduussible-  As  an  average  passage  from  the  Third  Book 
of  the  OdyHsey,  wo  quote  Nestor's  account  of  Agamemnon's  murder,  differing 
znnch  as  it  does  from  the  legend  adopted  by  ^schylua.  It  is  addressed  to  certain 
queries  of  Telemachus,  and  may  bo  found  in  Od.  IH.,  2o6,  jitc.  (cl  (^ovy  'AyurSo^ 
k.tX), 

'*  If  >rcDelaus  of  the  golden  hair,  the  son  of  Atreus,  when  he  came  back  from  Troy,  hod 
found  yEgisihus  still  alive  iu  the  halls,  then  even  iu  his  dvath  would  they  not  hftve  heaped 
the  piled  earth  over  him,  but  doga  and  fowls  of  the  air  wnold  have  dtvourLMl  him  aa  he  lay 
on  tho  plain  far/rom  (Ac  totcn.*  Nor  would  auy  of  the  Acha&an  women  have  Ito wailed  hiia  ; 
so  dread  was  the  dtfcd  he  contrived.  Now  we  sat  in  leader  there,  achieving  miuy  adraa^> 
tares,  but  ho,  vrhilo  living  in  peace  iu  th«  heart  of  Argos,  lM«  fnuturr  UmH  of  AQr«r«  {Irw^ 
^roio),  spako  ofttimes  to  the  wife  of  Asamemnon  and  tempted  hor.  Verily  at  thu  first  alio 
would  have  none  of  the  foul  deed,  the  fair  Clyt«mae«tra,  for  she  bad  a  gwd  underatatiding. 
Moreover,  there  vena  with  her  a  minstrel,  whom  the  son  of  Atreus  straitlv  charged  when 
he  went  to  Troy  to  have  a  care  of  his  wife.  But  wheu  at  laet  the  doom  of  the  gods  boond 
her  to  hor  ruin,  then  did  ^Egisthns  carrj^  the  minstrel  to  a  Ivucly  iale,  and  left  him  to  \>e  a 
prey  aud  spoil  of  birds ;  while  aa  for  her  ho  led  her  to  his  hoimo,  n  williug  lover  with  a 
wilhng  huiy.  And  he  burnt  niauv  thigh  ahcea  upou  the  holy  lUtors  of  the  gods,  and  hujur 
n»  many  oacriugs,  woven  work  and  gold,  seoiiig  that  ho  had  nccompliahcd  agreat  deod, beyond 
aU  hope.'* 


*  MeMTs.  Butcher  aud  Lane  agree  with  most  editors  in  igaoriiig  in  y,  SCO  the  recdins 
'Afiytot,  than  which  drrtcs  ia  obviously  more  probable. 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


9i5 


'Tu  the  Mxi'opivrfui  of  tho  Sleventh  Book,  Agameiiuioa*s  sliaUe  tulla  U1)'h&cs  that  Im 
and  his  male  comrades  were  brutally  murdered  at  a  feast  jfiven  by  i&gisthna,  and 
credit*  C^yt*>mi»e8tra  with  the  murder  of  Gaaeandra,  but  Agisthus  with  his  own  ; 
and  HO  for  Homer's  accoant-s  agroe,  though  not  with  the  tragic  poet.  The  intro- 
duction of  tho  loyal  bard,  and  his  eventual  spiriting-a^vay,  are  a  tfjuch  of  epic  lore, 
for  which  iEschylus  had  obviously  no  scope.  In  the  context  of  thiB  passage  the  traua- 
latory  reprei^eut  AtynT0ov  doXo/ji;r»'  as  "  goilutul  iEgisthus/'  and  ^oi;v  dyt^Cs  McvcXao? 
M  "Menelaus  of  tho  loud  war-cry." 

Passing  to  the  Fifth  Book,  where  Mercury  is  sent  on  the  mission  to  Calypso,  which 
ends  in  the  versatile  hero  (we  hardly  like  his  being  called,  in  translation  of 
sraXuTfWxok,  "the  man  of  many  a  shi/V)  being  accommodated  by  her  with  the 
facilities  for  reaching  hiB  nome,  and  the  Penelope  for  whose  loss  he  had  so  signally 
consoled  himself  in  at  least  a  couple  of  mstunces.  we  find  a  good  test-passago  of  our 
translators  in  tho  account  of  the  raft- building,  which  is  worthy  of  citation.  The 
Goddess,  we  are  told  (in  Book  V.,  234—260), 

*'  Gnvo  him  a  great  axe,  ftud  to  hit  ffrajp^  an  axe  of  hronze,  donhle  edged,  and  with  a  good 
handle  of  olivo-wood  fastened  tlrm.  Next  she  gave  him  a  poliahed  a<lKe,  and  she  letF  tho 
way  to  the  border  of  the  ialu  where  tall  trees  grew,  alder  and  poplar  and  iiine  that  reacheth 
unto  UtiavL'u,  nil  which  were  long  since  dry,  aod  very  acre,  that  might  lightly  float  for  him. 
Kow  after  she  had  shown  him  where  the  toll  trcei  Brew,  Calypso,  tho  fair  goddess, 
dei)arted  homewanl.  And  he  sot  to  cuttiog  planks  and  his  work  went  busily.  And  he 
felled  twcntj'  trees  in  all,  and  then  trimmed  them  with  the  axo  of  bronze  .and  deftly  planed 
them,  and  over  them  mndo  straight  tho  line.  Meanwhile  the  fair  gfxldcss  brou/ht  him 
augers  {r^f>rTpa\  so  he  b<:)red  each  piece  and  jointed  them  together,  and  then  drove  all  home 
with  bolts  and  mortices.  Wide  aa  is  the  hull  of  a  broad  ship  of  burden,  which  some  man 
well  skilled  in  carpentry  may  trace  him  out,  of  such  Iwxua  tlid  Odysseus  foshiou  his 
broad  raft.  And  thereat  he  wrought  and  set  np  the  deckings,  fixing  them  on  the  close 
rows  of  set  ribfi,  and  finished  them  off  with  tho  long  ]i1iuikinK8  of  the  sides,  and  therein 
he  seta  mast,  and  a  yard-arm  fitted  thereto,  and  moreover  he  made  him  a  rudder  to  guide  the 
boat.  And  he  fenci^l  it  with  oaicr  bands  from  stem  to  stern,  to  bo  a  defence  against  the 
waves,  and  piled  up  wood  for  ballast.  Meanwhile  Calypso,  the  fair  goddess,  brought  him 
web  of  cloth  to  make  him  sails,  and  these  too  he  fashioned  very  skiluilly.  And  he  made 
fast  therein  braces  and  halyanls  and  sheets,  and  at  last  he  drew  the  vessel  down  with  rollers, 
to  tho  fair  salt  sea"  (p.  04). 

Comparing  the  details  of  the  traualation  with  Mr.  Merry's  generally  eiact 
annotations,  which  are  in  this  instance  farther  elucidated  by  a  sketch  of  an 
Homeric  ship  with  description  in  the  frontispiece  to  his  lirfit  volume,  we  should 
say  that  they  were  wonaerfuUy  true.  The  object  of  the  osier  wattle  work-fence 
against  tho  waves  described  in  2oi3, 2o7,  was  to  prevent  the  broken  water  from  splash- 
ing into  the  hold.  Aa  Mr.  Merry  aptly  noti::a,  this  (rx'^'T  of  Ulysses  ia  hero  treated  as 
an  ordinarv  ship  of  the  period,  uor  has  it  aught  in  its  description  to  betoken  a  tem- 
porary mateshift.  Such,  however,  aa  it  waa,  it  anccumbed  without  much  conflict  tj 
the  pitiless  storm  raised  by  Xeptxme;  and  in  tho  simdea  describing  that  atonu  in  the 
later  parts  of  the  Fifth  Book  will  be  found  more  than  one  proof  of  the  neat  graphic 
force  of  the  present  translators.  We  must,  however,  vary  our  region  of  quotation,  and 
take  tho  last  which  we  can  afford  to  make  from  the  episode  of  the  Cyclops  in  the 
Ninth  Book,  which  it  will  be  remembered  is  amid.st  the  description  by  TTlysaea  to  King 
Alcinons  of  the  advcnturoa  he  met  with  on  his  route  from  Troy  to  Scheria  or 
Plueacia.  The  whole  of  this  epiaode  reads  excellently,  and  reminde  us  strikingly  of 
the  mixed  narrative  and  comic  vein  of  some  old  chronicle.  Thus  when  IHysses 
beguiles  the  Cyolopa  with  liquor,  aud  the  sly  monslor  pleads  for  more  of  this 
•'  rill  of  very  nectar  and  ambrosia,"  hut  in  the  veracity  of  his  drunkennesa 
will  promise  the  feigned  "Noman'*  the  solo  miserable  boon  that  "he  will  eat 
him  last,"  the  comic  spirit  is  very  marked,  and  tho  whole  scene  tecma  with  touches 
of  the  grotesque.  But  our  quotation  shall  be  from  where  when  the  lubber  fiend 
fdl  backwards  overcome  with  wine  and  sleep,  and  the  bar  of  olivo-wood  waa 
hot  for  its  purpose,  some  god  nerved  them,  and  the  hero  and  his  comrades 
rid  themselves  ot  their  adversary,  so  fur  as  hi«  sight  was  concerned.  "  For  their 
part  they  aeizeil  tho  bar  of  olive-wood  that  was  sharpened  at  the  point,  aud  thrust  it 
into  his  eye,  while  I  from  my  place  aloft  turned  it  round,  aa  when  a  man  bores  a 
ship's  plank  with  an  anger,  while  his  fellows  Ijelow  spin  it  with  a  strap,  which  thoy 
hold  at  either  end.  and  the  auger  runs  round  continually.  Even  so  did  we  seize  tho 
fiery-pointed  brand  and  whirled  it  round  in  hia  eye,  and  the  blood  Hawed  from  tho 
heated  bar.  And  as  when  a  smith  dips  an  axe  or  adze  iu  chill  water  with  a  great 
hissing,  when  he  would  temi>er  it — for  hereby  anon  comes  the  strength  of  iron — eroa 


946 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


so  ditl  liis  eye  hiss,  round  the  state  of  olive*'  {JX..  382 — 394).  The  characteristic 
of  tiia  translaliou  is  its  conscientiotis  faithfulness,  which  even  apart  from  the  help  of 
explanaturr  notes  sets  the  whole  action  before  the  reader.  It  is  almost  possible  to 
realize  to  the  mind's  eye  the  nse  of  the  rpunavov,  a  long-shafted  drill,  and  tne  relative 
position  of  the  master  shipwright  and  his  men.  How  hardly  could  this  be  done, 
when  Oie  translator  is  embarrassed  by  rhyme  or  metre  ?  But  this  reminds  us  of| 
other  fields  which  invite,  and  for  which  must  be  quitted  the  pleasant  pages  of  a  woA 
worthy  to  find  a  place  in  every  scholar's  library,  and  worthy  to  bo  consulted  in  any 
Homeric  question  as  an  oracle  of  more  weight  than  half  a  dozen  scholiasts  for  the 
accuracy  of  its  scholarship,  the  common  sense  of  its  judgment,  and  the  width  and 
research  of  its  collateral  information. 

More  recently  than  this  prose  translation  has  been  pnblished  by  the  same  publisher 
to  whom  the  world  was  indebted  for  Lord  Derby's  Iliad,  a  translation  in  blank  verse  | 
of  the  first  half  of  the  Odyssey.  {The  Odyssey  of  Bomer  rendered  into  Blank  Ferss,, 
Books  I.— XII,  By  General  G.  A.  Schomberg,  C.B.  London :  John  Murray.  1879.) 
Wo  glean  little  from  the  author's  brief  preface  as  to  the  motives  which  have  induced 
him  to  publish  ;  though  it  cannot  be  douhUnl  that,  where  early  cultivation  of  the  dead 
langu  iges  survives  the  period  of  "  status  nupilluris"  or  "  subaltf^miam,"  the  fascination  i 
of  Ho  aer  becomes  moru  notent  and  witcning  ;  and  to  a  travelled  soldier  the  Odysser 
may  well  rank,  ay  he  styles  it,  as  a  "  poem  j>erhaps  more  wonderful  for  its  variety  and 
cxqui-iito  beauty  than  any  other  which  the  mind  of  a  man  has  compassed."  Not 
unaware  that  blank  iambics  can  hardly  give  in  the  ablest  bands  the  pictoresqne 
variety  and  broken  light  and  shadow  of  the  Homeric  hexameter  of  the  Odyssej,  ne 
has  manfully  girt  himself  to  the  task,  relying  on  a  steadfast  aim  at  faithfulness,  and 
only  in  one  or  two  episodic  songs  varying  hie  metre  with  rhyming  lays,  and  here 
and  there  introducing  a  rhyming  couplet  or  a  rhyme  in  the  hemisticns  of  single 
verses.  Ab  these  twelve  books  are  utterly  devoid  of  note  or  comment,  it  is  obvious 
that  they  aim  rather  at  the  merit  of  a  translation  for  the  general  reader  than  the 
cultured  student;  and  it  remains  to  be  seen  whether  tiey  will  win  for  their 
author  a  place  in  Homeric  metrical  translation  which  has  been  contested  by  aach 
diverse  pretensions.  Even  in  their  own  form  of  verse,  Cowper's  Miltonic  versioa 
and  M-usgrave's  blank  verse  translation  have  a  precedence  in  point  of  time,  though 
General  Schomberg  at  least  may  be  said  to  hold  his  own,  m  general  merit,  na 
against  the  latter.  A  few  lines  from  the  close  of  the  Second  Book,  where  Tclemachus  is 
setting  sail,  with  the  guidance  of  Pallas  under  the  disBuiso  of  Mentor,  to  visit  Pyloa 
and  Sparta,  Nestor  and  Menelans,  may  claim  to  be  adequately  spirited. 

"The  hawsers  oflf  they  cast,  and  on  the  thwarts 
The  uaraiuen  eager  sat :  a  favoring  breeze 
The  hhieeved  goddess  eont  from  oat  the  West 
Which  freiilily  ru3tle<l  u'er  the  dark  blue  sea. 

Tulemachufl  theu  urged  thn  ready  crew 
To  fit  the  tackle  to  the  favoring  gaJe  : 
The  pioewood  mast  tliey  raised  and  firmly  placed 
Within  its  stej),  aud  etcadied  it  with  slirouda  : 
And  with  the  halynrda  made  of  twistcnl  hide 
They  hoisted  the  white  sails,  which  the  wind  swelled  ; 
Arouud  the  stem  of  the  awift-rusliiiig  ship 
The  imq)le  wave  resounded  lustily 
As  thru'  the  scuthiug  deep  she  clove  her  way. 
When  all  was  mode  secure  on  hoard  the  ship, 
So  gallant  and  so  trim,  they  filled  with  vino 
Their  overflowing  goblets  which  they  quaffed 
Making  libations  bo  the  immortal  gods. 
And  chieflv  to  the  blue>eyod  child  of  Jove  : 
Through  all  the  night  till  dawn  they  held  their  course." 

The  nautical  phra8eolog3r  here  is,  so  far  as  we  can  observe,  all  ship-shape,  and  Mr. 
Merry's  plan  of  the  Homeric  galley  in  his  first  volume  will  elucidate  it.  In  the  last 
line  of  the  eitract*  as  ^«  is  an  accusative  of  duration,  the  verse  should  have  stood 
■*  Through  all  the  nicht  and  morn  they  held  their  course."* 

The  Sixth  Book  of  the  Odyssey,  wluch  introduces  the  reader  to  Nuasicaa,  has  been 
ever  a  deserved  favourite.    Out  of  the  translation  in  hand  may  bo  cited  the  poet'fl 

*  The  prose  translators  render,  "  So  all  night  long  and  a]]  through  the  dawn  the  ship 
cleft  her  way"  (434),  waifvvxiv  f^'*'  ^^<  *«^  ^  r«(/)f  « Ac vtfor. 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


947 


propria  pwsona   after 
or  a  boaom  friend,  tbe 


brief  description  of  Olympus,  whltKer  Athena  repairs  tti 
baviug  visited  the  princess  itx  &  dream,  and  in  the  form 
daughter  of  Dymaa.    The  goddess,  we  learn  from  YI.  42  seq., — 

"Disappeared 
Straight  to  Olymptis,  where  they  say  for  aye 
The  sods  possess  their  everlasting  seati 
Whicn  never  storm  disturbs  aor  shower  chills  : 
No  anew  falls  there  :  but  ever  shining  light 
Pervades  the  calm  serene,  without  a  cloud: 
There  do  the  happy  gods  in  liftppincas 
Pass  all  thtjir  days  :  thither  tbe  blue-eyed  went, 
Ascending,  when  she  left  the  mortal  maid." — p.  158. 

Every  one  will  recollect  that  the  passage  has  been  essayed  in  Latin  by  Lucretiua  aa 
well  as  Lncan,  and  ia  worthy  in  the  original  of  the  emulation  of  such  poets.  General 
Schomberg  has  evidently  seen  that  as  a  passage  of  more  than  average  beauty  it 
demanded  carefallest  rendering.  And  it  is  the  same  with  the  latter  part  of  Ulysses' 
address  to  Nausicaa  in  pp.  165,  16  (Od.  VI.  175  se<i.  dXXa  Avaav'  tkimpt  tt.r.A),  where 
he  asks  her  compassion  in  peculiarly  soft  and  wily  langnage  :— 

"  Pity  me.  Lady  :  after  trials  sore 
I  coQie  to  thct!  the  Hrst :  noae  else  I  see, 
No  dwellers  in  the  city,  or  the  land  : 
Oh!  guide  me  to  thy  city  :  deign  to  give 
A  rag  to  clotlio  me,  if  thou  hast  to  8}>are 
A  wrapper  from  the  garments  thou  bast  brought. 
So  may  the  gods  fulfil  thy  dearest  wish, 
,  *  A  husband  and  a  home  and  household  peace. 

There  is  no  greater,  truer  blifta  on  earth. 
Than  where  the  husband  and  the  wife  cujov 
A  home,  with  constant  thoughts  of  mutual  love  ; 
Sad  for  their  foes,  but  joyous  to  their  friends  : 
And  they  themselves  the  wondrous  blessing  know." 

As  Dr.  Hayman  interprets  the  last  line  of  this,  as  he  terms  it,  noble  maxim,  fidXttrra 
St  T*  *kXvov  avToi^  the  sense  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  nn-Homeric  fuor  xaKott  wtovttv 
of  later  Greek, and  it  rather  refers  to  the  nnanimity  which, stron^aa  is  the  testimony  of 
enemies  and  friends,  the  wedded  pair  feel  most  profoundly.  This  explanation  General 
8chomberg  seems  to  have  followed,  and  it  is  so  satisfactory  that  we  see  no  nood 
to  resort,  as  Dr.  Hayman  does  by  an  afterthought,  to  a  supposed  various  reading 
avTutv  or  avTou',  i.e.,  "  men  listen  most  to  them." 

How  persuasively  the  shipwrecked  outcast  spoke  here  as  elsewhere,  the  details 
of  the  Sixth  Book,  and  six  more  books  in  succession,  abundantly  show,  whilst  they  re- 
present his  reception  at  the  Court  of  Alcinous  and  Aroto,  the  gardens  and  orchards  of 
Phfcacifti  the  sports  and  games  of  tho  palace  precinct,  the  banquet  and  the  son^  of 
the  minetrei  Demodocus,  and  Ulysses'  narrative  of  his  adventures  from  the  fall  of  Troy 
till  the  ahipwfeck  off' Schnria,  which  ho  telUin  Books  IX. — XLL  after  his  tears  over 
the  minstrel's  account  of  the  uaok  of  lUum  had  necessitated  his  divulging  his  &moua 
name.  One  of  these  adventures,  the  last  from  which  our  space  will  let  us  give  a  quota- 
tion, is  a  part  of  Ulysses*  visit  to  tho  cave  of  the  Cyclops.  The  whole  tale  is  tola  with 
spirit,  ana  not  without  a  dash  of  humour ;  indeed,  the  comic  element  in  the  whole 
device  of  tho  hero  to  make  the  monster  the  worse  for  liquor,  and  frustrate  his  schemes 
for  calling  assistance  by  telling  him  that  his  name  was  "  Ko  one*'  or  '*  No  man"  — 

olfrls  fit  KTf  iwi  d6Xif  uv&€  ^ifftpip — 

should  make  the  tale  of  the  Cyclops  as  omttsing  in  the  narrative  of  Homer,  as  it  is 
in  the  thence-derived  play  of  Euripides.  Our  quotation,  however,  shall  be  limited 
t^  the  Cyclops'  eye,  wnicn  is  found  in  Od.  LK.  375-3U4,  and  in  pp.  2d2, 203  of  this 
translation  ;^ 

"  When  in  tbe  flames  the  stake  of  oUve  wood. 

Though  green,  was  ready  to  hnret  forth  ablaze 

And  redaen'd  with  the  nre  glowed  woudronsly, 

I  took  it  from  the  fire  :  around  me  stood 

My  comrades,  and  a  godhead  nerved  their  hearte. 

They  seized  the  stake,  and  thrust  the  ibarpen'd  point 

Full  in  his  eyeball :  I  above  them  stood, 

And  leaning  hard  against  it  screw'd  it  round. 


948 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEIV, 


Thua  would  the  sbipwrigbt  with  an  nuser  bore 
A  plank  of  wood  ;  his  helpmatoa  fromnolow 
Work  round  with  either  hand  the  leathern  ftrap, 
Which  fasten'd  to  the  haniile  tnma  it  roDod 
Aad  koepa  it  ever  spinning  iu  its  plactj : 
Thws  turned  we  round  the  stake  with  fiery  point 
Full  ill  his  eyo :  spouted  the  bubbling  blood 
Aroiuid  tho  ^tako  all  burning  as  it  waa. 
And  as  his  pyoball  burnt,  tho  fiery  breath 
Shrivelled  his  eycIi^U  and  his  brow  :  with  heat 
Hia  dco2>-sct  eyerooto  crackled  &i  they  buzvt." 

How  tho  inveutive  and  re^onrcefnl  hero  offocted  hia  escapn  from  the  blinded 
monator's  cavern,  and  escaped  the  priviloge  destined  fur  him  in  requital  fur  his 
wiu&-cafiV — 

'*Noone»  I  promiae  I  will  oat  theo  last, 
Tliis  ia  my  promised  hoapitality"— 

IB  beyond  our  limits  to  tell  \  but  cuouf^h  has  boon,  nnfolded  of  this  version,  or  the 
liratliulf  of  it,  to  qnickcu  the  iutereHl  and  expootaucy  of  readers  for  the  crowning 
froit,  iu  due  season,  of  General  Schomberg*^  cultured  Icifloro. 

Another  solid,  vot  withal  clejgant,  a,cces8ion  to  oar  translational  iK>ctT7 
ia  Lord  Carnarvon  a  "Agamemnon  of  ^schylua"  {Agavieiavti(nXy  tranaloted  from 
^achylus,  by  the  Earl  or  Carnarvon.     London :   John  Murray,   1879).  recently 

Enblished  by  Mr.  Murray.  The  noble  author,  it  is  well  known,  ha?  identified 
imsolf  from  his  youth  up  with  the  ranks  of  scholarship,  and  been  evoT' 
ready  to  show  himself  uot  merely  an  active  patron  of  Utcnituro  but  one  of  its  able 
workers  and  promoters.  Tho  clasa  lists  of  the  University  of  which  he  is  ptill 
High  Steward  attest  hia  succesaful  proaccution  in  earlier  days  of  classical  literature, 
but  it  has  been  reserved  lor  his  present  period  of  temporary  emancipation  from  tho 
cares  of  State  polities  to  prove  how  tenacioutdy  ho  has  maintained  his  suit  to  the 
Chtseic  Mose  into  riper  and  more  engrossed  years,  and  to  give  the  general  public  a 
version  of  perhaps  the  grandest  of  ancient  tragedies  in  a  form  and  style  admi- 
rably suited  to  ita  object.  Eschewing,  or  rclegatinjj  to  the  background,  tho  con- 
tliijts  of  annotation,  coujecture,  and  emendation  with  which  the  pchohwtie  com- 
mentaries toem,  he  has  laid  himself  out  rather  to  clothe  hia  English  ver«ioii 
with  such  au  approximation  to  the  eenso  of  tbi  ori^nal  as  may  render  it  intelligible 
to  tho  urileamod  and  ignorant  of  Greek, -than  to  court  the  ear  of  the  scholar  by  an 
exact  rendering.  Deaung,  however,  with  his  snbject,  as  a  scholar  could  uot  help 
doing,  ho  has  in  the  main  preserved  tho  ^ist  of  the  original  sense ;  and  the  result  la 
that  the  verdict  of  scholars  upon  his  achievement  is  likely,  wo  sus]»ect,  to  bear  testi- 
mony to  his  having  i^ainod  tho  ear  of  two  diHtinct  constituencies.  In  an  instructive 
preface  he  justifies  bis  {some  will  callit)  old-world  fashion  of  rhymed  form  for  Lis 
choruses,  and  blank  verse  for  his  iambic  speeches  and  diaJogues;  ht  ^  ' 

E articular  too,  the  use  of  the  Latin  rather  than  tho  Greek  names  of 
0  boa  followed  Lord  Derby  in  his  Iliad  rather  than  Mr.  Grotc  in  his  i:i,-.u.i-..     -  >ji 
the  whole,  whilst   indulging  in  classical  symimthios  and   predilections  enough  to 
make  it  well  seen  that  he  ia  a  scholar,  and  "a  ripe  and  good  one,"  it  is  au  easy 
task  to  him  to  recommend  his  work  to  the  wide  audience  which  has  learut  to  etij<>y 
ancient  noetry  at  second-hand;  and  inasmuch  as  the  Agamemnon  i-  <«iif  al  th.s.* 
extremely  difucult  plays,  both  textually  and  in  point  of  ambiguity  of 
which  tho  general  reader  would  be  sure  to  give  np  as  hopeless  it  he 
diijquisitions  interfering  with  a  clear  and  current  per«»plion  of  the  main  action  of 
the  drama,  it  seems  to  us  extremely  fortunate  that  the  task  of  acoommodatinc  it  to 
the  English  reader  should  have  been  in  this  inatance  one  of  Lor'  -n's 

election.     His  own  account  of  his  work — that  it  has  been  written  durii  -livo 

moments  of  a  scanty  leisure,  and  undergone  less  revision  than  was  iLi  due — -h  only 
what  almost  every  translator  must  have  felt  in  his  time;  while  the  nJal  cliArm 
of  the  self-chosen  task,  aa  "  associating  itself  with  solitary  walks  and  railway  jour- 
neys," and  as  in  some  sense  repaying  his  nurture-fi^e  to  his  old  University,  ia  one 
which  all  will  recognise  ao  one  of  tne  clearest  and  moat  noble  spurs  to  honourable 
exertion. 

One  or  two  cbornl  staves  and  -     '— •  ^^  -f  *K  ■  *-  k..u  ^p^g  from  th-"  »-"«-i"*;  ... 
will,  we  have  no  doubt,  have  the  ■                                               ra  to  Ui- 
Passing  by,  then,  the  well-known  i .. ._^  .....  ^..^iOB,  our  tir^.  j- ....^ 

/' 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


M0 


be  at  Clytemnestra'fl  doaoription  of  the  saccession  of  beacon  firea  as  in  a  torch  race— 
(pp.  1^18.    See  Paley,  272-305). 

**  It  is  the  bcftcoQ  firo  on  tda'R  crest 
By  flaming  convnya  that  hath  brought  tho  news. 
From  Ida  a  wooda  to  the  Kcrmoean  eras 
Of  Leinnoa— theafrom  Lenmoa  to  the  neighti 
Of  Athoa — Atbos  conaocrate  to  Jove — 
FaMod  the  brood  brand  of  flame.     Then  towering  high 
And  gathering  strength,  e'en  as  it  aped  its  course. 
It  apanned  the  sea,  and  like  a  golden  son 
Flashed  its  red  glow  athwart  Macistus*  cliflfs. 
And  there  the  wntchmao,  watchioi;  not  in  vain, 
Wrought  at  hia  labour  till  Kuni>ua*  flood 
E€^ddcn'd  again,  and  by  Mcssapian  towers 
Heaping  the  beacon  high  with  withenid  heath. 
His  comnulca  saw  and  sped  the  message  oa. 
Then  without  atop  or  stay,  nor  yet  bedimmed. 
Like  a  bright  tnoon,  the  flaming  herald  flew 
Over  Asopus*  pUla,  and  wakened  up 
Fresh  tieir  sign.ils  on  Cithnron  s  rock. 
Nor  did  toe  watchouui  on  that  distant  height 
Refuse  the  flaming  message  sent  from  far  ; 
Buttped  U  on  fi//,  biasing  yet  more  higK, 
It  swooped  oD  the  Cjorgopian  lake  and  climbed 
Tlie  clius  of  .'Egiplauctua,  iraminy  uide 
To  heap  the  bafe/irc  iri/A  unttinting  hand. 
And  then  rukiudlud  iu  uubruken  might 
Swept  the  huge  band  of^mA,  and  soared  above 
The  headland  whioh  looks  down  upon  the  waves 
Of  the  Saronio  gulf,  and  thence  once  moro 
It  flawed  upon  the  Arachnscan  clifls 
And  the  watch-towera  that  near  the  city  stand, 
ItU  on  the  Atreidte's  roof  it  lighted  last 
(Riming  ductnt  from  Ida*t/ar-offJira." 

Snch  as  desire  to  test  the  faithfulness  of  Lord  Camarvon  to  his  author's  drift  may 
be  referred  to  Dr.  Kenne<ly'8  Agamemnon,  which  wo  noticed  in  March  ;  bnt  the  com- 
parison of  Paley's  edition  in  the  Bibliotheca  ClaRsico,  or  of  his  translation  of 
^schjlna  (in  prose,  in  1864),  with  our  extract,  and  specially  its  italicized  passages, 
will  anord  abundant  evidence  of  competent  and  skilful  workmanship. 

Another  te8t-i>assa^e  may  well  be  that  which  iu  the  third  chorus  introduces  the 
l)en)oni6ed  Ate,  iu  guise  of  a  lion's  cub,  to  kingly  halls,  to  work  its  subtle  ruin.  (See 
Ag.  ti9&-725.     t$p^^*v  di  Xiovra.     vofi^xXauros  Epiwc.     Eng.  Tr.,  pp.  38.  39.) 

"  So  once  a  lton*a  cub  was  reared 

With  kindly  uurture :  tame  and  mild, 
G«iitle  to  ageil  man  and  child, 
Like  foster-son  he  came  at  call 
Fondled  and  loved.  But  soon  appeared 
The  instincts  of  his  nature  wilot 
A  ouise  within  the  friendly  hall. 
Then,  his  nurture  ill- requiting, 
•  On  men  and  flocks  in  tnm  alighting 

Fell  the  ravening  beast  of  prey. 
And  the  house  was  stained  with  blood 
As  when  some  infernal  brood 
Of  curses  grow  and  cling  and  stay 
In  some  friendly  man's  abode. 
E'en  so  there  seemed  to  come  on  Troy 
The  spirit  of  a  breathless  calm, 
A  dn^m  of  beanty  and  of  joy. 
Revealing  in  her  eyes  the  charm, 
Of  tender  ^aco  and  piercing  Kro 
And  conquering  bloom  of  soft  desire. 

Fatal  neighbour,  cruel  guest. 

Hapless  bride,  domestic  pest 

To  the  sons  of  Priam,  she, 

Claiming  hospitality, 

Came  oommissionRd  to  fulfil 

H«r  marriage  curse  of  grief  and  ill.** 

VOL.    IIXT.  3    Q 


THE    CONTEMPORARY   REVIEW. 


Th%  lioWe  rraln^tor  has  here  caugTit  with  nicety  the  spirit  and  force  of  the 
OTig^nal,  which  is  deaiffiied  to  point  the  influence  of  a  deadly  hut  faecinating 
spell,  "a  spirit  of  vnDOlega  calm,"  over  the  Hpirita  of  the  Trojans,  aud  wrought 
out  of  the  Greek  lyrics  a  modern  counterpart  wkich  will  be  admitted  to  be  full  of 
beauty.  Our  liiat  extract  shall  be  from  another  chonis»  following  Agamemnon'a 
bidding  to  CIytomne«tra  to  rcoeive  kindly  the  "  army's  gift"  to  him,  Cas- 
sandra ;  and  ClytemnoBtra'g  ambiffnonslv  worded  reply.  In  the  Bocoad  strophe  and 
its  antiatrophe  will  bo  found  the  linos  beginning,  fiakh  7*  ri  ^ryaXav  vyiitat,  k.t.X. 
(972-983),  and  two  stanzas  from  IJord  Carnarvon  will  be  found  to  represent  them, 
as  far  aa  their  presumed  scope  can  ba  guessed  from  the  doubtfulness  of  the  Greek 
text: — 

"The  insatiate  Inst  of  newer  and  pride 
Xu  limit  kaows,  yet  Lard  beside  j 

.Dwell  woe  iuid  mortal  grief ; 
And  human  fnte  all  recklesuy  . 

t  poes  Bpdoditiif  o'er  th'  uawaming  sea,  ' 

^       To  strike  upon  the  hidden  reef. 

"Aud  pradvnce  warns  with  feorfol  vosoe 

To  make  some  timely  sacriBoc, 
i-         Uttering  her  siage  bekest  ;— 

So  might  the  house  escape  her  doom. 

So  might  tho  sinking  bark  gome  home 

Safe  to  the  haven's  rest."— E.  T,  p.  54. 

Not  to  go  into  the  sequel  which  applies  the  legend  of  ^sculapius,  it  may  be  said 
that  of  tho  materials  onored  him  here,  as  elsewhere,  the  tnuxslator  has  constructed  a 
telling  aud  transpicuous  strain  of  poetry.  In  truth  we  are  not  sorry  that  he  has 
turned  his  mind  to  the  Greek  drama,  though  it  can  iurdly  promise  evon  as  much 
satisfaction  if  he  essays  the  rest  of  the  Oresteian  Trilogy.  Busier  and  more  manago- 
able  plays,  anch  as  the  Persians  and  the  Seven  against  ThebM,  hare  much  of  scoiiio 
effect^  and  not  a  littJei^poetry,  to  roeoramend  thom  for  sotting  bafore  English  readers ; 
but  we  sbonld  like  to  sec  some  snob  dramas  as  the  Ion  or  the  Iphigenia^  of  Euripides 
chosen  by  q  ecliotivrly  aud  withal  poetically  gifted  translator,  such  as,  if  oar  survey 
has  not  erred.  Lord  Carnarvou  hoH  approved  liimself. 

Whilst  engaged  in  chronicling  recent  works  in  one  way  or  anotJiev  bearing  on 
classical  literature,  we  cannot  overlook  a  volume  the  result  of  long  and  careful, 
not  to  say  loving  research,  and  likely  to  be  subsidiary  to  the  sohohir  as  wWl  as  the 
theologian — viz.,  BihU  ^(thoes  in  the  Ancient  Classics,  by  the  late  Crawford  Tait 
Ramose,  LL.D.  It  is  probably  known  to  most  readers  that  this  veteran  lUteraJtitr 
employed  many  years  m  digging  into  the  depths  of  Greek  and  Latiu  classics  for  th© 
beautiful  thoughts  to  be  derived  from  each ;  and  his  last  and  crowning  labour  was  to 
"  illuiitrate  the  sacred  writers  by  placing  alongside  of  them  the  parallel  thoughts 
to  he  found  in  profane  authors."  Aa  no  has  noticed  in  his  ijrcface,  Duport's 
work  (1660)  was  confined  to  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  aud  most  other  essays  of  tho 
kind  have  been  of  necessity  limited;  and  his  own  aim,  in  endeavouring  to  mako 
his  "Bible  Echoes"  more  comprehensive,  is  not,  a«  wc  understand  it,  so  much  to 
endorse  tho  belief  that  such  "  echoes  "  prove  the  familiarity  of  the  educated  Greeks 
and  Ronaans  with  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  unless  in  a  few  special  instances,  aa 
to  lead  to  a  wider  recognition  of  the  fact  that  God  n^vei:  left  Himself  without 
witness,  and  to  collect  and  multiply  the  proofs  that  heathen  philosophy  paved  the 
way  to  what  was  completed  in  Chnst.  To  make  his  inquiry  the  more  valuable,  Dr. 
Kaimage  has  made  his  index  of  pogau  authors  chronological,  and  therobv  shown 
where  aud  how  far  the  paralloUsais  are  accidental  or.afojrvthought.  Toe  whole 
subject,  however,  is  one  which  is  ao  yet  nuexploreiL  Wh*eii  one  notes  that  "  A 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey"  (Numbtirs  xvi.  13)  is  paralleled  from  Euripides* 
Bacchaj,  14*2,  p*7  &i  yaXoKTi  irt^ou,  and  Theocr.  Idyl,  v.  134,  wo  recognise  that  tho 
iuduence  of  tho  Soptaagint  may  have  innpirod  tho  seoond  at  any  rate  of  these  Bible 
Echoes.  But  when,  aprwpos  of  David's  lament  over  the  child  of  his  sin  (2  Sam,  xii. 
23),  "Can!  bring  him  back  again?  I  shall  go  to  him,  but  he  shall  not  retam 
to  me,"  w©  get  parallels  from  Homer,  iEschylus,  8ophoel*fl,  and  Euripides,  all  in 
a  sliding  scale  of  lax  resemblance ;  or,  apropos  of  BarwUai's  prayer  (2  Sam.  xix.  37), 
are  invited  to  hear  an  echo  of  Homer,  x>r  of  Karipidos,  what  is  it,  after  all,  except  that 
in  all  ages  and  phanos  of  thought,  the  poetic  expression  has  tended  to  one  and 
the  same  manner  of  speech  and  vent;  and  that  sacroil  and  profane  writers  may 
have  leapt  independently,  to  one  aud  tb&  samijX6riai>f.  expression  P    What,  again. 


CONTEMPORARY   BOOKS. 


951 


-ii  more  reasonable  than  that"  the  flower  of  heathen  philosophers  Bhoald  have 
been  led  by  independent  thooght  to  sparklea  and  Klinimennffs  of  the  dinno 
wisdom  which  ingpirod  Job'a  crandest  philosophy,  "What,  shalT  we  receive  good 
at  the  hand  of  God,  and  Hhull  we  not  receive  evil  P"  and  what  in  there  in  Dr. 
Bamage'd  panillelii  that  heathen  philosopher  might  not  have  attained  to,  without 
any  prompting,  even  if  we  include  the  quotation  from  Apollonius  Khodius,  iv.  1165  P 

TfpTwX^j  i-rdfiijfiep  SXi^ToBi,  cvv  3c  ri%  a/el 

^M  Bat  we,  the  race  of  wretched  mortals^  h&ve  never  trodden  upon  joy  with  our 
^whole  foot :  but  together  with  our  joy  some  bitterueBB  is  always  mingled.  *  In  com- 
paring the  language  of  the  prophetic  writers  with  pamlleU  from  the  heathen  writertf, 
uiero  are  some  cases  in  which  the  connection  ia  not  at  &rst  sight  patent — c.^..  in 
.Zsaiaii  lii.  7,  "  How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  him  that  briugeth 
tidings,  that  publisheth  peace  T*  is  iUuatrated  by  Tac.  Annahi,  zii.  19,  "Bellorum 
,egregii  Hues,  qiioties  iguoiM;eudo  tranaigitur ;"  i.e.,  "  The  noblest  end  to  wars  is  when 
matters  arc  settled  by  pardooiog  theconqaered ;"  but  there  are  doubtless  otherparallels, 
such  as  Isaiah  ii.  4^  Isaiah  vi.  4,  and  Isaiah  x.  6,  where  through  the  Septnagint  there 
may  have  been  a  clear  access  on  the  part  of  the  Aleiandrian  writers  to  the  Hebrew 
prophets.  Our  view,  therefore,  of  the  value  of  these  Bible  Echoes  is  rather  as  sub* 
aidiary  to,  and  in  the  nature  of  an  index  for,  subtler  and  deeper  inquiries,  thau  ae  a 
philusophical  help  or  aid  to  an  often  mooted  problem.  It  doea  not  prove  much 
beyond  the  already  clear  connecting  link  betwiit  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  and  the 
Alcxandriajabchoolof  poets,  to  find  fiaviii's  words  in  Psalm  ex.  1,"  The  Lord  said  unto 
my  Lord,  tsjt  thou  on  my  right  hand  until  I  make  thine  eneraiea  thy  fot>tfltv»ol,"  to 
find  Callimachus  asserting  of  Apollo  (A.d.  Ap.  28),  Avvarai  y^p  tvu  ^u  Acfior  q<miu 
One  word,  however,  is  expressly  due  to  the  life-labours  of  the  author  of  this  volume, 
for  his  tenacity  of  pur|>06e,  his  width  of  research,  and  the  industry  which  enabled 
him  to  accomplish  his  task,  in  spite  of  growing  infirmities ;  a  task  which  is  hence- 
forth, at  any  rate,  inseparable  from  the  study  and  literature  of  the  subjects 

Of  the  next  work  on  onr  table  {The  Cla^eic  Poeis^  their  Lives  and  Times;  wUk 
their  Epics  ejpitoviizedt  by  W.  T.  Dobson.  London  :  Smith,  Elder,  &  Co.,  1879),  a 
very  brief  notice  will  suffice,  inasmuch  as  in  no  natural  sense  does  any  part  of  the 
volume,  beyond  the  first  iifty-five  pages,  concern  classical  literature,  and  even  if 
an  author  might  group  the  Ws  of  Nibelungen,  the  Gid,  and  the  works  of  Dante, 
Ariosto,  Tasso,  Spenser,  and  Milton,  under  the  comprehensive  hea^l  of  epic,  what 
can  excuse  his  oversight  in  overlooking  the  Odyssey  and  the  ^Encid,  nay,  oven  such 
poems  as  the  Argonautica  of  ApoUonias  Rhodius,  as  the  works  of  oLai^sic  poets, 
nud  as  cj>icB  in  every  sense  f'  Yertly  in  one  respect  Mr.  Dobson  has  realized  liis 
hope,  "  that  a  buck  of  the  kind  would  prove  a  novelty  ;*'  yet  where  can  have  been 
his  head  when  he  dreamed  of  a  favourable  reception  for  his  rechau^ee  of  his 
so-called  classic  poets,  where  the  object  intended  of  bringing  *'  the  salient  points 
before  the  mass  of  un  scholarly  readers"  has  been  so  well  and  varionsly  acnieved 
beforehand  by  Messrs.  Blackwood's  "Ancient  and  Foreign  Classics  for  English 
Beaders,*'  ana  by  Mr.  A.  J.  Church's  "  Stories  from  Homer  and  from  VireilP  A 
pemaal  of  three  or  four  o£  the  sketches  and  accompanying  epitomes  would  satisfy 
any  acute  reader  that  the  author  makes  scant  pretence  to  throw  auy  new  hght  on 
the  epic  field  which  he  skims ;  does  not  even  essay  to  define  or  discuss  the  nature 
of  epic  poetry :  nor  indeed  is  it  conceivable,  after  the  shallow  and  slender  data  on 
which  he  bases  his  biographical  sketch  of  Homer,  that  he  has  bo  mnch  as  heard  of 
the  questions  touching  his  unity  and  Me  personahty,  which  have  divided  and  con- 
tinue to  divide  the  world  of  scholars,  and  of  which  muut  cultivated  outsiders  have 
some  general  knowledge.  What  heed,  it  may  be  asked,  can  be  giveu  to  a  writer 
who,  ia  his  second  pa^e,  endorses  the  statement  that  Homer's  proper  name  wai 
Melesigenes,  which,  seemg  that  that  name  represents  his  locative  epithet  or  patro* 
nymic,  i.e.,  "  son  of  Meles/'  is  much  as  if  one  shonld  aay  that  the  author  of  **  Tom 
Brown's  Schocddays' *'  proper  name  was  *'  Boffbieensu,  and  that  of  the  author  of 
Shakespeare's  Plays  "liio  Swan  of  Avon/  Equal  trash  i:^  embalmed  in  the 
legend  of  his  relations  with  Thestorides,  the  schoolmaster  at  Fhooiea,  and  perhaps 
prototype  of  plagiarists,  whose  name  Ucs  hid  under  another  obvious  patronymic. 
FrocectEng  from  the  poet's  Ufe  to  his  works,  or  one  of  them»  Mr.  Dobson  very  per- 
functorily skims  the  chief  scenes  of  the  Iliad,  without  tarrying  to  encumber  hia 
pages  with  reference  to  book,  verse,  or  translator,  though  some  tredit  mast  perhaps 

3^2 


952 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


he  allowed  to  his  occasiooal  variation  of  the  notoriously  untrnstwortliy  version  of 
Pope  with  the  truer  and  more  comprehensive  metres  of  the  Dean  of  Ely's  trans- 
lation.  For  the  hundredth  time  tne  "  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache  "  ia 
transcribed  to  fill  up  two  or  more  pa?c3»  and  once  more,  in  p.  47,  seq.,  comes  also 
from  Pope's  presentment,  a  reminder  now 

*'  Ter  circnm  Uiacos  laptaverBt  Hectora  mnros 
Exouimemque  auro  corpoi  vondebat  Achilles." 

Leaving  the  rest  of  the  volame  to  those  who  consider  the  poems  to  which  it  relates 
in  the  Ught  of  "  classical,"  our  own  brief  verdict  on  Mr.  Dobaon's  Iliad  is  to  this 
effect,  that  any  reader  who  baa  scholanihip  enough  to  read  a  conple  of  bociks  of  the 
Iliad  had  much  better  give  the  time  at  hxA  disposal  to  such  a  well-edited  little 
hook  as  Mr.  Arthur  Sidgwick'a  Hovu^'g  Iliad,  Books  I.,  II.  (London,  Bivington,  1877), 
containing  lucid  notes  and  an  excellent,  comprehensive  introduction,  or  to  another  and 
in  some  respects  superior  brochure,  by  Mr.  Monro,  of  Oriel  College,  Oxford  {Bomer't 
Hiad,  Book  I.  (Oxford,  Clarendon  Press,  1878),  either  of  which  would  be  found  a 
mine  I'n  po^/o  of  sound  knowledge.  Others,  whose  Greek  is  ni7,  may  better  be  re- 
mittee! to  Mr.  CoUins's  volume  in  the  "  Ancient  Clasaica,"  or  to  Profeasor  Jebb'a 
*'  Primer  of  Greek  Literature." 

The  prime  merit  of  Mr.  W,  W.  Caj>es*s  valuable  edition  of  that  interesting  portion 
ofLivy  a  pictured  page  which  deals  with  the  Second  Punic  War  {Ijivij:  Books  XXL, 
XXII. .-  Haiinihol's  First  Campaign  in  Italy :  with  Introductory  Not^^a  and 
Appendices  by  Rev.  W.  W.  Capes,  Reader  in^iVncient  History.  liondon:  Marmillan 
&  Co.,  1878,  lies  beyond  doubt  aa  well  in  the  romarkabla  historic  instinct  and  insight 
which  characterize  nig  prefatory  Introduction  and  lacid  Appendices,  oa  in  the  in- 
variable acumen  of  his  notes  on  the  history  of  chapter  by  chapter.  Rarely,  ere  now, 
has  BO  serviceable  a  handbook  to  a  special  period  been  otfered  to  the  hands  of  youn^ 
students,  presenting  in  moderate  s[>ace  all  that  is  needed  for  intelligent  conception  of 
the  progress  of  the  history  related,  along  with  the  collateral  light  on  geography  »o 
imi^ortant  to  be  obtained,  and  a  general  valaation  of  the  credibility  of  the  his- 
torian as  compared  with  the  parallel  sources  from  which  the  events  related  can  be 
collected  or  weighed.  We  commend  a  study  of  Mr.  Capcs'a  introdaction  "  On  the  Early 
History  of  Carthage,  and  the  Antecedents  of  the  Second  Punic  War,"  and  "  On  the 
Authoritiea  for  the  History  of  that  War,"  with  the  Appendices  on  Uaunibal's 
Route  across  the  Alps  (in  which  Mr.  Capes  clearly  leans  to  Polybiua  s  view  of  that 
route  as  across  the  Graiau  Alps  rather  than  to  Livy's  across  the  Cottian;  by 
the  Little  St.  Bernard,  not  across  the  Mont  Oenfivre;  by  the  longer,  not  the 
shorter  route).  On  the  whole,  Le  doubts  the  attempts  to  square  the  two 
accounts,  aa  also  the  admissibility  of  the  third  route,  that  over  the  Mont  Cenis,  of 
coniparutively  modem  aupportere  and  advocates.  Il'  wo  turn  to  Mr.  Capes's 
qualitioations  aa  a  commentator,  they  will  be  found  excellent,  both  as  respects 
philological  criticism  and  explanatory  notes.  In  re-peroaiug  the  chapters  of  the 
twenty-second  book,  up  to  tne  disaster  of  the  Lake  Thrasymene,  capital  notes  of 
tho  former  kind  are  to  be  found  in  c.  i.  §  8,  on  **  scipionom,"  a  statF,  which  ih 
connected  with  trKrJTTrpoy  and  o-r^frrM,  and  which  suggests  a  nice  distinction  between 
the  high-vaulting  association?  of  Greek  proper  names  and  the  humbler  Roman — 
e.g.,  Scipio,  Pabius.  Lentulua,  Piao,  Cicero — almost  all  derived  from  vegetable  pro- 
ducts. On  this  won!  an  excellent  notd  of  Munro,  iii.  1034,  is  appositely  qnoted; 
and  good  etymological  notes  arc  given  in  c.  ii.,  on  tho  derivation  of  "  Mavors,* 
and  lit B  spelling  and  aourco  of  "  rraanraenmia.*'  Before  reading  Livy's  account 
of  the  battle,  the  student  should  post  himself  up  in  Mr.  Capea's  Appendix  on  the 
cburucter  of  Flaminiiia,  from  which  it  will  be  seen  that  there  is  no  justice  in  the 
blame  which  aristocratic  annalists  attach  to  Flamioius  for  aught  before  the  evu 
of  the  battle,  when  he  allowed  himself  to  be  ensnared.  In  c.  iv.  §  4,  a  passage 
which  has  caused  some  puzzling  is  that  which  Lenaius  proposed  to  rea!d,  "  al> 
lergo  ac  super  caput  d^rffpere  insidim/'  the  MSS.  havmg  "  deceptaj  insidias." 
Whichever  reading  ia  adopted,  the  general  aenae  must  be,  "tho  ambuscade  behind 
and  above  him  waa  unperceived,"  but  the  precise  force  of  the  verb  or  participle 
is  dnbions.  Tn  a  note  of  Professor  Jebb  on  the  passage,  in  tho  Clasaical  Transla- 
tions of  a  Triumvirate  in  which  he  figures  first  (Deighton,  Boll,  &  Co..  1878),  at 
p.  2itl.  it  18  fiuggeetod  that  "  decepere  may  mean  "  became  a  snare  to  him."  Mr. 
Capes  may  well  bestow  further  eaitorial  labours  upon  Livy. 

A  chroniolo  of  "  contemporary"  scholarship  must  not  close  without  referring  (it 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS, 


953 


can  Bcarcc  do  more,  either  on  the  score  of  ipace  or  because  the  subject  pertains  mnch 
inore  largely  to  the  department  of  theotofi^)  to  the  learned  ana  most  interesting 
MieceUaiiies  of  the  Biahop  of  Lincoln  {SfUi^eUauiea,  Literary  and  Rcli^jioH'*,  by 
Christopher  Wordsworth,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Lincoln.  London:  Rivingtons,  137it), 
a  worlt  in  three  etout  octavo  volumes,  into  which  he  has  happily  collected  the 
thoughts,  researches*  and  studies  of  a  long  period  of  years,  saggested  by  his 
various  travels  on  the  Continent,  and  devoted  tirst  and  foremost  to  the  sacred 
interosta  of  religion  and  orthodoxy,  but  in  no  small  measure  also  to  questions  of 
scholarship,  literature,  art,  and  archaeology,  in  which  it  need  scarcely  be  said  that 
he  is  not  less  thoronghly  versed  than  tfio  most  learned  bishop  of  the  Anglican 
bench  in  all  time.  His  second  and  enlarged  edition  of  Theocritus  m  1877  met  with  a 
most  favourable  reception  from  scholars  at  home  and  abroad,  and  it  is  an  edifying 
thought  that  so  earnest  and  self -disciplining  a  divine  can  find  no  scruple,  but  quite  the 
oontrary,  in  including  in  his  Miscellanies  such  classical  papers  as  the  Pompeian  In- 
acriptions  of  vol.  i,  1 — 39,  the  Notes  in  Greece  of  the  same  volume,  where  he  hoa 
translated  his  illustrative  qnotationa  from  the  Greek  poets  into  English  trochaics  or 
other  ancient  metres,  and  hiu  instructive  and  kindly  estimate  of  Horace  as  a  poet, 
in  the  third  volume;  or,  as  ho  terms  it,  **Tho  Poetical  and  PoUtical  Mission  of 
Horace."  <See  pp.  19—28.)  The  first  paper  mentioned  contains  an  excellent  resume 
in  a  letter  to  a  Fellow  of  Trinity  in  18J7,  on  the  ^ajfdi^  or  wall-writiugB,  discovered, 
or  first  noticed,  at  Pompeii  about  the  date  of  his  visit  there  in  1632,  and  it  is  ex- 
tremely interesting  to  glean  from  thiia  letter  the  Bishop's  acuteness  in  making  out 
the  names  of  the  players  in  a  game  of  rackets  at  Pompeii,  advertised  in  these  wall- 
writings,  to  be  played  there  seven  hundred  years  before  the  conquest  of  England,  trace- 
able on  the  cement  and  still  decipherable,  after  so  many  centuries  of  buried  sleep.  From 
the  names  of  the  players  it  is  inferred  that  they  were  either  slaves  or  frecdmen,  and 
one  of  them,  Kpaphra  (not  probably  Kpaphros  as  our  Bibles  have  it,  because  as 
Bentley  laid  down  in  his  letter  to  Mill,  the  appellatives  of  slaves  ending  in  cm  in 
Greek  were  Latinized  into  a),  fignres  again  in  these  wall-writings  on  the  strength  of 
his  skill  in  the  racket  court,  some  one  having  scribbled  up  '*  Epaphra,  pilicrepns 
non  es,"  and  some  later  peruser  having  disapproved  the  aetraction,  and  run  his 
«ti/ff(«  through  it.  There  seems  to  have  been  at  Pomj?eii  a  club  of  "  pilicrepi,'*  or 
"  ball-players,"  and  the  Bishop  illustrates  the  etymology  of  the  word  from  a  passage 
of  Sfatitis'a  S^/itt.  lu  several  other  'jru^iM  IBishop  Wordsworth  notes  tne  good 
humour,  raillery,  and  parody  of  the  pompous  style,  in  some  of  these  effusions — e.j., 
where  one  slave  mockingly  writes  to  another: 

Pyrrhos  Geta; 

Conlegie  sal. 

Molene  fero,  quod 

Audivi-te  mortuvm. 

Itaque  vale. 

Upon  which  he  remarks  that  Cicero,  in  hia  Pomjteian  villa,  could  not  have  written 
in  a  more  statesmanlike  style.  But,  in  truth,  the  first  sixty  or  seventy  pa^es  of 
vol.  i.  are  rich  with  illustrations  of  classical  usages  and  phraseology,  and  point  to 
the  ancillary  nature  of  the  Bishop's  rii>e  and  cherished  scholardhip,  even  when  the 
more  vital  concerns  of  his  sacred  profession  are  on  the  tapU,  Amongst  other  re- 
prints, in  the  third  volume,  we  are  glad  to  nee  his  excellent  Latin  preface  to  the 
second  edition  of  his  Theocritnst  full  of  wise  encouragement  of  the  union  of  secular 
and  sacred,  religious  and  classical  study ;  and  it  is  as  a  pendant  to  this,  and  apropos 
of  our  nineteenth  century  marriage  laws,  and  other  modern  sins  and  scandals,  that 
he  goes  far  to  rehabilitate  Horace  from  a  survey  of  his  improved  moral  tone  in  hia 
later  writings,  and  of  his  lofty  conception  of  the  dignity  of  his  office,  as  a  poet, 
teacher,  and  prophet  for  his  age  and  countrv.  It  is  needless  to  say.  however,  that  all 
was  ELS  nothing  for  lack  of  the  teaching  of  uefinitc  Christian  doctrine,  and  vain,  save 
in  pointing  a  prospective  moral,  to  bptculate  what  Horace  might  have  been  had  be 
enjoyevi  the  blessings  of  Christianity  and  the  means  of  grace.  Who  will  regret  that 
there  is  still  a  Bishop  of  such  profound  and  varied  learning  as  the  author  of  "Athens 
and  Attica,"  of  the  "Address  to  the  Old  Catholics  at  Cologne  and  Bonn,"  and  of 
these  well-collected  Miscellanies  P 


954 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


IL— LITERATURE    OF    THE   MIDDLE  AGES. 

{Und^  ih^  Direction  of  J,  Bass  MuLUKfiSK,  HA.) 

THE  first  seven  of  Ledurm  on  MddicBva}  ArchUeciaret  by  the  late  Sir  Gilborfri 
Scott  ("2  voIh.  :  John  Murraj),  were  delivered  at  tUe  Horol  Academy  wlien  iha 
author  wu4  called  upuu  to  relieve  Profe«Bor  Oockerell,  then  in  iafirm  ht:altb,  o£ 
the  duty  of  lecturing  ;  the  eighth  and  ninth,  six  years  later,  snabeequent  to  the  retire- 
ment of  Mr.  Smirke;  the  remaining  nine,  after  the  lecturer's  own  appointment  aa- 
ProfedBor.  A  certain  amount  of  repotitiou  was  accordingly  inevitable,  addresaed  as- 
the  lectures  were  to  different  audiences  at  timoa  wide  arnrt,  but  they  form  aa  a 
whole  a  most  valuable  cmbotlimcnt  of  the  views  of  one  wno  had  watoned  from  ita< 
commencement  the  great  revival  in  the  present  century  in  favour  of  Gothic  archi- 
tecture ;  who  was  at  once  the  able&t  and  moat  indicioua  leader  of  that  revival,  and, 
in  this  country  at  least,  the  most  distinguished  interpreter  of  its  principles  iu. 
practice.  If,  here  .and  there,  we  are  conscious  of  a  certain  deviation  from  the  strict 
impartiality  which  should  characterize  addrcssos  delivered  under  such  high  responsi- 
bility,  wo  feel  that  something  of  the  onthoBiasm  of  the  advocate  may  well  bo 
condoned  in  one  who  rendered  such  eminent  service  to  the  c4iU8e  which  ne  had  at. 
heart;  while  the  criticism  throughout,  in  its  freedom  and  iudependeuoe  of  tonev- 
contrasts  favourably  with  the  unreasouing  and  often  blind  admiratiuu  of  the  school  of^] 
Pugiu.  Nothinc  can  be  more  just  than  the  theory  of  "  restoration"  here  laid  down; 
although  in  reading  the  following  sontencee,  and  at  the  same  time  recalling  some  of 
the  writer's  own  leas  felicitous  efforts  in  that  direction,  we  may  jwrhaps  be  remindedi 
how  often  precept  and  practice  are  found  in  but  imperfect  agreement : —  , 

"  I  know  no  eubject  connected  with  ftrchitcctiu*G  more  mournful  and  distrcsiung  than  the' 
way  in  which  our  old  churches  are  but  too  ueuerally  dealt  with.  Many  of  our  large  towna 
contain  one  or  more  architects  who  habitually  prey  upon  the  surrounding  uhnrchea.  moro  or 
leas  ruioiug  evorx'thiiig  tbcy  touch,  and  tliut  without  rtmorae,  aud  combatmg  with  the  utmost 
energy  every  romonatnince  against  their  dtajtruotive  luihita.  Xor  arc  tftfy  alone  t«>  blamo. 
Thi  mergy  too  often  love  to  have  it  §o.  If  they  can  get  their  churvhus  mode  amort,  they  oftea 
aeem  to  care  Irttle  about  the  destruction  of  their  autiquities,  and  thus,  between  them  and 
their  architects,  whole  counties  are  becoming  denuded  of  a  great  port  of  the  points  of  interest 
in  their  churches.  Na/,  the  man  who  commits  the  great«st  devastatioua  often  oarus  tho 
greatest  amount  (if  commendation ;  and  one  who  venerates  an  old  building  and  seeks  to  pro- 
serve  its  antiquities  lias  ioji'jhtfoi-  etrrytHcA  ofgrvund  against  the  opposition  of  the  partiefl 
interested  in  the  work."    (i,  363,  364).' 

It  partly  snggeets  the  progress  that  has  been  made  sinco  Sir  Gilbert  delivered  hia 
first  lecture  that,  in  defending  hia  subject  from  tho  superficial  prejudices  which  the 
terms  *'  Gothic"  and  '*  Medisoval"  haa  at  one  time  to  encounter,  he  did  not  then 
regard  it  as  superfiuous  to  urge  upon  his  audience  that  this  school  of  architecturo 
was  at  once  essential!)'  modern  and  essentially  Teutonic,  that  it  was,  as  it  wore,  the 
latest  link  in  a  chain  stretching  back  to  prehistoric  times,  when  the  nomad  fix^ 
became  a  settler,  and  lastly  that  it  was  "  |>re-cminentl^  the  architecture  of  our  owu 
forefathers  and  of  our  own  land."  llio  view  that  it  is  also  "essentially  Christian" 
ia  probably  not  one  that  would  now  command  nnhoaitatinc  assent;  Byzantine 
at  any  rate,  might  hero  put  iu  an  equal  claim.  To  the  professional  and  tho  amateur 
alike,  it  will  however  most  likely  seem  that  the  argumeuts  which  the  lecturer  next' 
proceeds  to  draw  from  the  intrinsic  merits  and  beauty  of  the  Gotliic  stylo  are  those 
which  carry  most  weight  and  are  entitled  to  the  most  general  ccncnrrence.  * 

In  adverting,  in  the  fifth  lecture,  to  the  various  theories  that  have  been  pTx>- 
ponnded  respecting  thu  origin  of  the  Gothic  style — ^tliat  it  is,  for  example,  the  expres- 
sion of  religious,  ethnological,  or  political  conception.*!  and  characteristics — tho  manly 
and  practical  sense  of  the  lecturer  is  apparent  in  the  terse  sentences  in  which,  after 
rejecting  each  of  the  foregoing  theories,  he  gives  it  as  his  own  conviction  that 

"  It  arose  from  the  appUcation  of  plain  common  sense  to  plain  practioal  reqairemcnts ; 
that  many  of  these  requirements  were  not  peculiar  to  the  period,  but  belong  to  oU  time ; 
that  many  were  not  limited  to  a  race  or  cUiuate,  but  are  common,  with  certain  modifioa- 
tioni,  to  diflcreut  races  and  countries ;  aud  that  tho  nfipIioAtiou  of  the  same  claia  of  commui 
sense  to  altered  rcquiromcnts  would  produce  results  by  no  moans  militating  against  thoae 
thus  arrived  at,  but,  on  the  contrary,  tending  to  enrioh,  to  amplify,  nud  to  add  new  life, 
vorietj*,  and  harmony  to  the  art  which  it  had  at  first  suggested."     {I  218.) 


*  The  italics  are  the  writer's. 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


955 


The  eighth  lecture,  "  On  the  Practical  Study  of  Gothic  Archltectnre,"  taken  in 
con]  unction  with  the  fonrth  and  fifth,  famishes  almost  a  ffuide-book  in  brief  to  the 
chief  architectural  glories  of  our  own  country,  touching  with  a  master's  baud  chiefly 
on  details  or  features  which  xinder  the  mechanical  guiaancc  of  the  ordinaxy  manualB 
mi^ht  patiH  almont  unobsoircd.  The  remaining  nine  lectures,  in  the  Bocond  volumef 
deliTored  after  the  author's  promotion  to  the  professorial  chair,  are  gn"  Early 
Architecture  iu  Great  Britain,"  "  The  Principle  of  Vaulting,"  "  The  Dome/*  and 
"  Arohitectural  Art  in  reference  to  the  Past,  the  Present,  and  the  Future."  Though 
slightly  more  technical  in  character,  the  method  of  treatment  is  snch  as  to  invest 
the  subject  with  interest  for  all  thoughtful  readers.  As  an  illustration  of  the 
dose  affinities  between  the  history  of  tlie  arts  and  that  of  political  institutions,  it 
is  not  unworthy  of  note  that  just  as  recent  historical  research  has  satisfactorily 
eatabli&hod  the  continuity  that  really  binds  the  modern  to  the  ancient  era,  so  Sir 
Gilbert,  in  revising  his  ^rst  lecture,  saw  lit  (pp.  12, 40)  to  abandou  his  original  notioa 
that  Christian  architecture  was  an  entirely  "  new  creation,"  and  was  wiUing  to  admit 
that  in  Italy,  "  in  spite  of  Gothic  invasions,  itc.,"  the  history  of  architecture  was  fairly 
continuous,  and  to  recognise,  inter  alia^  the  existence  of  a  genuine  liOmbardic  style* 

Of  the  admirable  illustrations  contained  in  these  volumes,  which,  together  with 
the  woodcuts  borrowed  from  Mr.  Fergusaon's  great  work,  sometimes  saccaed  each 
other  so  closuly  that  the  text  might  seem  merely  the  vehicle  for  their  iutroductioOj 
nearly  ouc-half  were  executed  under  the  author'd  own  superintendence,  and  to  theses 
it  is  almost  needless  to  say,  no  exception  can  be  taken ;  some,  however,  in  the  second 
Tolume,  do  not  appear  to  have  received  quite  such  careful  supervision.  Those  which 
ftrc  the  result  of  the  employment  of  photo-lithography  betray  the  defects  as  wcU  oa 
the  advantages  of  the  method.  Tho  illustration  which  forms  the  frontispiece  of  the 
seoond  vokime,  for  example,  taken  from  the  author's  splendid  design  of  a  Central 
fiall  in  the  drawings  submitted  by  him  for  the  New  Law  Courts,  is  wanting  in 
oleaiiiess,  sbude  being  represented  by  mere  mist.  There  are  also  some  typographical 
inaccuracies  which  we  should  not  have  expected  to  meet  with  in  volumes  ofso  much 
merit :  "  N^tre  Dame*'  for  "Notre  Dame"  is  conspicuous  again  and  again;  while  such 
misprints  as  "  Veecica  Piscis"  are  not  wanting.  Here  and  there,  tnc  sddition  of  a 
brief  note  would  have  added  considerably  to  tho  interest  of  tho  text.  For  instance, 
in  ooancotion  with  the  slight  reference  in  the  dfih  lecture  (i.  189)  to  Jesus  College 
Chaml,  Cambridge,  tlie  eminent  services  since  rendered  by  the  lecturer  in  relation  both 
to  iiie  Chtt|>eL  and  the  New  Court  of  the  College  ahould  certainly  not  have  been 
left  unnoticed. 

In  the  Lt/e^  Letters,  and  8«rm(ms  of  Bulwp  Kerheti  de Losin^a  (2  vols,  r  London ; 
James  Parker  &  Son)  and  Canon  Peiry's  Jjtfi  of  Si.  Suah  of  Avalon  (London :  John 
Murray)  we  have  two  studies  of  an  important  era  in  EngUsh  history.  Herbert  da 
LosixLga,  who  was  Bishop  of  Norwich  from  the  year  lOdl  to  1119,  iUustrate»  the  ooadi- 
tion  of  aSairs  under  Willijim  Kufus  and  Henry  L  ;  while  St.  Hugh,  who  was  Bishop 
of  Lincoln  from  1 186  to  1200,  belongs  chiefly  to  tho  reign  of  Henry  II.  and  Itiohard  I. 
As  however  Mr.  Perrv  has  been  at  the  pains  to  ureEx  to  his  Life  of  St.  Hugh  a 
Aeries  of  sketches  of  the  Bishop's  predecessors  in  tne  same  illustriona  see, — Kemigioa, 
Bobert  Bloet,  Alexander,  Robert  de  Chesney,  GeoSrcr  Planta^net,  and  Walter  of 
Coutances, — his  volume,  in  conjunutiou  with  the  ottier  two,  furnishes  an  almost 
continuous  narrative  from  tho  Norman  Conquest  to  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century. 
Of  neither  the  earlier  nor  the  later  period  can  it  be  said,  that  it  presents  a  picture  in 
which  the  brighter  tints  prevail :  in  the  former  we  see  an  episcopal  order  consisting 
almost  cjccln»ively  of  aliens  imposing  a  new  ritual  and  novel  doctrines  on  a  subject 
and  half- rebellion 8  clergy;  in  the  latter,  we  find  the  same  episcopate  in  their  turn 
exposed  to  oppression  and  appealing  from  the  absolutism  of  royalty  to  the  still 
crowing  ambition  of  Rome.  The  more  general  features  of  the  times  are  no  better : 
the  evidence,  in  every  direction,  bringe  home  to  us  the  demoralization  and  corroptioa 
that  prevailed,  as  fuith,  society,  and  jKiUtical  and  religious  oi^^iinizationa  alike, 
waited  for  the  stirring  and  renovating  iutlueuces  of  the  wondrous  thirteenth  century. 

Yet,  notwithstanding,  from  whatever  point  of  view  we  may  be  disposed  to  estimate 
these  Norman  bishops,  it  is  impossible  to  *lcny  the  importance  of  their  work  and  the 
interest  that  attaches  to  their  history.  At  a  time  when  the  proud  race  to  which 
they  belonged  was  at  once  the  terror  and  the  admiration  of  Europe,  they  are  to 
be  found  civilizing  where  the  warrior  too  often  only  conquered;  iu  England,  more 
especially,  quickening  the  ignorant,  apathetic,  and  semi- brutalized  Saxon  with 
hum&ner  thought — wmning  the  sympathies  of  those  whose  language 'they  could 
varely  speak,  by  noble  acts  of  charity,  disinterestedness,  and  self-sacrifice— rearing 


956 


THE   CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


splendid  temples,  nnrivalled  as  examples  of  ChrisUan  art  iniipired  by  the  Teatonic 
cenias — manfully  confronting  the  oppresaor,  mercifully  aiding  the  i)Oor  and  thw 
friendleas — in  fine,  very  striking,  not  to  say  sarpriaing,  lives,  as  h'ved  in  so  corrupt 
and  rude  an  a^e. 

•  The  claims  of  Herbert  de  Losinffa  to  talce  ranV  in  this  class  aro,  however,  bat 
H%ht :  and  his  biographers,  althougli  their  research  may  be  pronounced  exhaaitire, 
still  labour  under  tbc  disadvanta^a*  that  we  really  know  very  little  conoemine  his 
career — some  twenty  lines  in  Florence  of  Worcester  and  rather  less  in  Eaomer, 
together  with  a  brief  allusion  iu  the  Saxon  Chronicle,  constituting  the  only  con- 
temporary sources  of  information  respecting  him.  It  is  even  a  matter  of  doubt  whether 
he  belonged  to  the  dominant  or  to  the  conquered  race,  although  we  know  that  he 
received  his  education  at  the  famous  abbey  of  Fescamp  in  Normandy,  Of  thia 
foundation  he  aubseqncntly  became  the  prior,  and  from  thence,  in  the  rear  1087, 
he  was  transferred  to  be  aobotof  the  wealthy  Benedictine  Monastery  at  kamseyin 
Huntingdonshire.  Here  he  acquired  sufficient  wealth  to  enable  him,  on  the  see  of 
Thetfora  falling  vacant  in  lO'Jl,  to  appeal  successfully  to  the  cupidity  of  William 
Rufus,  and  he  was  accordingly  appointed  bishop.  Judgin^r  from  the  language  of  the 
chroniclers,  it  was  one  of  lie  mostglaring  instances  of  simony  that  occurred  oven 
in  that  venal  reign ;  the  sum  which  i^rberi  paid  into  the  royal  treasury  (£1900)  was, 
in  foci,  ucurly  four  times  as  much  as  Anselm  would  consent  to  pay  when  be 
succeeded  to  the  see  of  Canterbury.  After  his  election,  however,  Herbert  exhibited 
Bi'gns  of  contrition,  though  whether  real  or  feigned  it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  was  the 
time  when  the  English  episcopate  was  seeking  to  escape  from  the  tyranny  of  the 
civil  power  at  home  by  unreserved  recognition  of  the  papal  juria^liction,  and  the 
Bishop  of  Norwich,  mating  his  way  acroas  the  Channel  unobserved  bythe  officers  of 
the  Ked  King,  laid  the  insignia  of  his  office  at  the  feet  of  Urban  XI.  They  were 
graciously  restored  to  him,  the  contrite  bishop  was  comforted  and  counsellwl,  and 
returned  to  Knglaud  to  transfer  hia  see  from  the  decaying  town  of  Thetford  to 
Norwich,  there  lo  found  and  build  the  great  cathedral  of  East  Anglia.  It  is  the 
opinion  of  the  editors,  in  which  they  are  supported  by  the  high  aiithoritv  of  the 
late  Professor  Willis,  that  the  nave  of  the  edifice  is  not  the  work  of  Herbert,,  but  was 
added  towards  the  close  of  the  same  century.  If  we  adopt  thia  condusiou.  oar 
wonder  at  the  vaatneaa  of  the  taak  accomplished  by  tlie  first  oishop  of  Norwich  will 
be  materially  diminished.  Otherwiae,  the  admiration  expressed  by  Sir  fiilbert  Soott 
(Hist,  of  Mediieval  Architecture,  ii.  117)  that  the  "  stupendous  editice,"  as  he  terms 
it,  should  havejbeen  built  and  the  expenses  defrayed  within  a  period  of  twenty-eight 
years,  is  certainly  fully  justified,  especially  wnen  wa  consider  that  the  stone 
employed  hod  all  to  be  brought  from  Northamptonshire. 

Besides  the  above  facts,  we  find  not  much  of  importance.  Herbert  appears  to 
have  preached  at  the  translation  of  St.  Etheldreda,  and  was  an  eye-witnesii  of  the 
miracle  at  the  tomb  of  St.  Witbuiga ;  and  he  was  one  of  Henry*8  envoys  to  Rome  in 
1107  in  connection  with  the  all-absorbing  question  of  investitures.  Fuller  intiiats 
emphatically  on  the  reformation  iu  his  character.  "  When  old,"  he  says,  "  nothing  of 
Herbert  was  in  Herbert," — a  etatement  hardly  lH)rne  out  by  the  fact  of  the  bishop's 
strennons  endeavours  to  bring  under  his  control  the  ancient  Abbey  of  St.  Edmund's. 
For  thia  pnrpoae,  indeed,  he  had,  when  on  the  above  mission  to  Rome,  provided 
himself  with  funds  in  order  to  gain  the  papal  favour  by  the  same  means  which  had 
enabled  him  to  gain  the  royal  ^vonr  sixteen  years  before ;  but  falling  into  the  hands 
of  Count  Onido,  he  was  mercilessly  plundered,  and  his  private  designs  at  Bome 
were  conset^nently  frustrated. 

As  a  writer,  it  can  hardly  be  said  that  Sishop  Herbert  gains  much  in  our 
estimation.  The  incidents  recorded  in  his  letters  are  but  of  trifling  importance,  and 
neither  the  thought  nor  the  diction  ia  suggestive  of  a  mind  of  very  superior  vigour 
or  culture.  He  appears  to  have  been  a  ngid  disciplinarian  ;  and  although  hi*  own 
wealth  as  Abbot  of  RamBey  had  been  acqiurcd  in  gliiring  disregard  of  the  Benedictine 
rule,  we  nevertheless  hud  him  (i.  139)  severely  censuring  a  poor  monk  who  had 
ventured  to  accept  some  slight  remuneration  for  services  rendered  as  a  copyist.  The 
sermons,  though  not  unfavourable  specimens  of  the  cloudy  and  meretricious  rhetoric 
of  the  period,  are  full  of  forced  conceits  in  the  application  of  Scripture,  and  give 
evidence  of  no  superiority  to  the  prevailing  superstition. 

In  Hugh  of  Avalon  we  have  a  very  different  character,  and  one  with  r.>Bp.-H  to 
whom  our  information  is  ample  if  not  complete.     Bom  of  a  noble  fan  :  Ion 

in   Burgundy,  and  educated  in   a   house  of  regular   canons    at   Vi'  .be 

jnbseqnently  embraced  the  monastic  profession  at  the  Grvut  Chartrcnsc.     From 
thence  the  lame  which  he  acquired  by  his  sanctity,  and  singular  power  (which  be 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


957 


ftpp«aT8  to  have  retained  through  life)  of  controllings  hia  fellow-men,  reached  to 
England,  and  from  the  Great  Chartreuse  he  wfi8  summoned  by  Henry  U.  to  preside 
over  0.  newly  founded  monastery  at  Withani  in  Somersetshire.  Hugh  is  said  to  have 
Htrikingly  rCHembled  Henry  in  ]>er8on,  and  it  is  certain  that  he  soon  acquired  the 
monarch  a  special  regard.  In  a  few  years  more,  the  humble  prior,  foreigner  though 
he  wa«,  waa  promoted  from  his  tranquil  obscurity  at  Witliam  to  rule  the  great  see  of 
Lincoln.  Hia  nomination  by  Henry  appears  to  have  filled  the  ecclcsinstical  world 
with  astonishment,  and  none  more  than  the  canona  themselves  on  whom  it  devolved 
to  elect  him.  Enthroned  at  Lincoln,  Hugh's  rare  qualities  of  mind  and  temper 
found  for  the  first  time  full  scope.  Ignorant  of  the  native  aoeech  and  customs,  he 
applied  to  Archbishop  Baldwin  for  certain  discreet  and  Itiamcu  clerks  to  assiut  him  in 
his  work.  Though  iudebt«il  for  his  promotion  almost  solely  to  Henry's  favour,  one 
of  his  first  acts  waa  resolutely  to  oppose  the  cruel  forest  laws,  and  in  the  discharge 
of  thia  duty  he  had  the  courage  to  retort  upon  the  insolence  of  the  King's  chief 
forester  by  a  sentence  of  excommunication.  Pressed  to  confer  a  prebend  on  a  Court 
favourite,  he  evaded  the  demand  with  a  tact  and  firmneas  which  Henry,  though  at 
first  incensed,  rewarded  by  new  marks  of  favour.  His  keenness  of  discernment  and 
rigid  impartiality  caused  his  episcopal  court  to  be  thronged  with  anxious  suitors  for 
justice— althonch,  to  quote  Mr.  Perry's  words,  "he  loved  better  to  be  cleaning  the 
scuttles  at  TVitnam  than  to  bo  taking  his  place  in  the  Cuna  Regis."  He  sustained 
the  reputation  of  the  whole  Angliciu  order  by  the  steadiness  of  his  refusal  to  put 
into  execution  Pope  Celeatiue'a  sentence  of  excommunication  against  Geoffrey, 
Archbishop  of  York.  In  an  age  when  genuine  morality  was  held  of  slight  account, 
and,  E^ain  to  quote  our  author,  "  nothing  was  very  highly  esteemed  save  a  senseless 
and  excessive  asceticism,"  he  could  venture  to  constrain  a  priest  on  whom  the  duties  of 
his  office  pressed  heavily  to  break  bis  fast  before  the  celebration  of  the  Eucharist. 

The  contrast  between  these  two  twelfth-century  studies  is  complete.  The  editors 
of  the  one  have  presented  us  with  two  bulky  octavos,  the  greater  part  of  which  must 
bo  pronounced  almo&t  worthless :  the  compiler  of  the  other  gives  us  a  modest 
duode^^imo,  nearly  every  page  of  which  is  valuable.  As  Bishop  Herbert  strikes  us  as 
neither  better  nor  worse  than  his  age,  so  St.  Hugh  appears  m  almost  every  respect 
superior  to  it.  Where  the  one  gained  the  royal  favour  by  unblushing  simony,  the 
other  commanded  it  by  heroic  resistance  to  the  royal  extortion.  The  one  sought  to 
humble  the  monastic  order  by  counter-plotting  them,  the  other  was  content  to 
remind  his  hearers  that  "  God  did  not  require  of  any  man  to  have  been  a  monk  or  a 
hermit,  but  to  have  been  truly  a  Christian."  While  the  one  hung  over  the  relics  of 
saints  and  recounted  wondrous  miracles,  the  other,  according  to  the  author  of  the 
Mofftia  Vita,  *'  was  wont  to  refer  thuse  things  to  the  desire  felt  by  the  narrators  of 
commending  the  person  to  whom  they  were  attributed,  and  to  the  ])rofit  likely 
to  arise  to  those  who  admired  such  things;  but  for  himself,  the  holiness  of  the 
saints  was  a  sufficient  miracle  for  him,  and  a  sufficient  example.  The  one  universoZ 
miracle  which  was  ever  present  to  kit  mind  wati  tk4^  retnembranee  ofhiit  GreatoTf  and 
tlic  thottght  of  th-e  Hupendous  multitude  and  inexplicahle  greatness  of  His  •mighty 
worksJ'* 

In  one  respect,  however,  it  must  be  allowed  that  Dean  Gonlbum  and  his  coadjutor 
have  much  the  advantage  of  Canon  Perry.  They  have  given  us  two  excellout 
indexes,  while  he  has  given  us  none  whatever.  We  hope  that  in  a  second  edition, 
which  his  volume  is  almost  certain  to  reach,  thia  deficiency  will  be  made  good. 

Mr.  Reeve's  volume  on  Petrarch  in  the  scries  under  the  editorship  of  Mrs. 
Oliphant  [Foreign  Classics  for  English  Readers.  London :  W.  Blackwood  &  Sons) 
has  the  merit  of  setting  forth  very  simply  and  clearly  the  main  incidents  in  the 
poet's  career  and  the  chief  characteristics  of  his  genius.  The  compiler  frankly 
states  that  his  impressions  with  resiwct  lo  Petrarch  are  derived  rather  from  early 
than  recent  research ;  and  although  he  has  availed  himself  of  the  valuable  edition 
of  the  Epistles  by  Pracassetti.  he  does  not  appear  to  have  consulted  the  elegant 
study  of  ma  subject  by  M.  Meziferes,  published  in  1868,  nor  the  for  more  valuable 
criticism  contained  in  Dr.  Georg  Voigt's  well-known  volume  Die  Wiederbehibung 
dee  clnsei»che}i  AUerthume,  Slc.  Hence  nis  general  estimate  of  the  great  Florentine 
is  rather  concerned  with  the  sonneteer  tnon  with  the  scholar  whose  example 
and  influence  opened  up  the  way  to  the  Renaissance.  Hallam's  observations  on 
Petrarch's  Latin  style,  mioted  on  page  78,  certainly  appear  very  meagre  and 
insufficient  when  compareo  with  the  valuable  criticism  inVoigt's  volume  (pp.  20,21). 
As  regards  the  details  of  Petrarch's  life,  the  writer  should  not,  we  thmk,  have 
omitted    the    highly  characteristic   event    told   by  the  poet  himself  [Episi.  Iter, 


958 


THK   CONTEMPORARY   RKVIEIV. 


Seii.  XV.  1)  of  bia  father**  coQaigning  to  the  flames  the  little  oollectioD  of  o1>wifal 
authors  which  the  son  had  acquired  at  Montnellier,  in  order  that  his  attention  miffbt 
not  be  distracted  from  the  study  of  the  civil  law.  It  i»  not  quite  correct  to  »ay  that 
Petrarch's  father  left  bim  "  nothing  bnt  a  very  choice  copy  of  some  of  the  works  of 
Cicero."  There  wan  a  nmall  property  for  him  and  hia  brother,  though,  as  M.  Mezidres 
sayB,  it  was  **tr&s  mince."  It  is  eomowhat  singular  that  the  title  of  Petrarcb** 
tlV-atise  (perhaps  the  boat  known  of  oil)  do  *-ut  ipsius  et  vntUorum  aliorum  ignoraiUia, 
to  which  refert-ucu  is  made  at  three  distinct  j^Iaces  (pp.  3,  62,  123),  should  each  tinia 
have  been  differently  translated,  the  last  version,  '*  On  the  ignorance  of  himself  and 
others,"  being  certainly  wrong. 

A  very  different  treatment  of  a  similar  subject  ia  presented  to  our  notice  ta 
M.  Vast's  elaborate  stnd^.  Le  Cardinal  Bcvearion  (Paris  :  iiachctte  &  Co.).  Bessanoo 
(born  in  1403)  was  a  native  of  Trebizond,  the  capital  of  that  new  empire  which  was 
at  this  period  reaping  the  fruits  of  its  heroic  resistauoe  to  the  Turk  and  the  MQn|^l« 
and  enjoyiD)^,  in  tlie  opinion  of  Mr.  Finlay,  an  amount  of  tranquillity  and  prosperity 
which  m'i^ht  compare  favonrubly  with  that  of  any  Enrowjan  state.  Amid  the 
I>caMful  industry  and  commercial  activity  of  this  thriving  city  Bessarion 
received  his  early  education,  and  rtcw  np  to  manhood;  from  thence,  about  the 
year  1425,  he  Fcpoircd  to  Constantinople.  M.  Vast  considerB,  not  withoai 
reason,  that  the  polity  and  civilization  of  the  Byeantinc  Empire  hare  been  unduly 
depreciated,  and  ne  uotes  with  satisfaction  the  indications  afibrded  in  works  like 
those  of  MM.  Kg^r,  Miller,  and  Bruet  de  Prasles,  and  the  recent  essay  of  M.  Bi 
band  on  Constantino  Porphyrogenitus,  that  these  prejudices  ore  alreadj^  on  the  ws 
It  19  in  this  spirit  that  ho  has  composed  his  present  work.  Bessanon,  he  holda, 
typifioR,  better  than  any  other  man  of  hia  age,  that  fusion  of  the  Greek  and  the 
Latin  genius  which  resulted  in  the  Renaissance.  *'  He  was,"  he  ears,  **  a  monk  of 
the  order  of  St.  Basil,  transplanted  into  the  Sacred  College,  a  cardinal  who  protected 
scholars,  a  scholastic  thealo^ian  who  broke  lances  in  the  defeuce  of  Platonism,  u 
zealous  worshipper  of  antitiuity,  who  contributed  in  an  unec|ualled  degree  to  bring 
about  the  mo<lem  L'i*a."  The  relation  under  which  Bessarion  is  best  known 
posterity  is  that  of  mediator  between  the  Eastern  and  Western  Churches  at 
Council  of  Florence.  The  feelings  with  which  his  abortive  sncceason  that  memoi 
occnsrion  was  hailed  at  Constontinnplo  are  familiar  to  stndents  of  Chnrch  Histovyil 
BS  41.  Vast  pithily  expresses  it,  the  cry  was,  "Plutftt  Ic  turban  des  Tnrca  qne  * 
mitre  du  Pope !"  The  details  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Council,  as  alio  thoee  of  il 
Council  of  Permra,  are  jfireu  by  him  at  considerable  length  and  with  mai 
Not  less  so  are  those  which  belong  to  the  equally  laborious  and  eqoally  fruitlf 
efforts  of  the  patriotic  Cardinal  to  organize  another  crusade.  Most  readers,  bo< 
over,  vnW  probably  turn  with  far  more  interest  to  the  fifth  book,  which  is  concern* 
with  Bofisnrion*B  relations  to  the  R^naissnucc.  His  life  during  his  lit^rai^"  retiremei 
At  Tusculum  (where  he  held  the  bishopric),  and  the  Academy  of  which  he  waa  there 
the  centre,  composed  of  scholars  from  all  quarters  whom  be  aided  and  encourof^ 
with  the  liberality  of  a  M^ceuas, — the  library  of  St,  Murk  at  Venice  that  he 
fbncded,— the  warm  controversies  between  the  Aristotwlians  and  the  rising  echoul  of 
the  Plntonists,  in  which  ho  took  a  foremost  part,  all  make  np  an  episwle  in  the 
history  of  the  learning  of  this  period  which  will  receive  the  more  attention  fi 
the  fact  that  it  has  been  bnt  imperfectly  described  by  those  English  writers  whoy" 
like  Mr.  Symonds,  have  treated  of  the  subject.  To  many  it  wiU  probably  appear 
that  M.  Vast  faae  somewhat  overrated  the  importiuaoe  and  extent  of  Bessanon 's 
influence,  but  his  work  is  evidently  the  result  of  lengthened  and  careful  study  of 
both  the  original  sources  and  recent  writers,  and  it  will  be  admitted  to  l>e  not 
only  attractive  in  style  but  also  scholarly  and  in  come  respects  profound. 

In  StorUsJrnm  Early  EwjlUh  LUcrainrc,  by  Sarah  J.  Tcnables  P   ^  ^ 
GritHth  <fc   Farran),  we  bave   an  attempt  to   bring  within  the   <x>i 
very  youn^  studeuts  some  of  the  more  important  characters  and   li... 
mediieval  lit<?rature.    Tlie  design  is  conceived  in  a  genial  «f>irit,  and  tin  u 

and   treatment  are  certainly  as  simple  as  the  subject  adniitK      It  J-    1  t 

jeast  open  to  question  whetJior  it  would  not  be  bettvr  tn  i 
impart  such  knuwledge  until  it  has  become  unncci'ssnry  ; 

diluted  a  form.     As  young  memories  are  ver}-  tenacious   it  is  desirnbie  that  th, 
should  not  be  taught  anything  which  they  may  afterwards  have  to  uoleora ;  a<w  f 
eiample,  that  Charlemagne  was  a  giant  "'  miuili  over  six  feet,**  and  that  the  famous 
aohool  which  he  instituted  was  at  Paris. 


■lion 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS. 


969 


III.— SCIENCE. 

(Under  the  Direction  qf  R.  A.  Pboctob,  B^) 

I  HAD  occasion  to  discuss  two  years  ago  in  these  pages.  Professor  Draper's  reoogni- 
tion  of  the  brig-ht  lines  of  oxygen  in  the  spectmm  of  the  stin.  Althonch  several 
physicists,  whose  opinion  I  could  not  lightly  disregard,  were  of  opinion  tnnt  I  had 
been  orer-haety  in  regarding  their  erideace  as  conolusiTe^  I  did  not  hesitate  to 
republish  that  essay  in  my  "  rleasant  Ways  in  Science,"  because  I  could  not,  after 
carefully  examining  the  evidence,  pcrceivo  any  good  grounds  for  questioning  the 
▼alidity  of  Professor  Draper's  conclusions.  In  eighteen  cases,  well-uiarked  agreement 
was  shown  between  oxygen  bright  lines  and  bright  parts  of  the  solar  spectrum ;  in 
no  case  was  there  any  recognisable  discordance.  It  appeared  to  me  that  under 
anch  circumstances  no  reasonable  doubt  could  remain.  If  snch  evidence  as  this  was 
rejected,  no  evidence  whatever  could  suffice  to  demonstrate  the  existeiK-e  of  a  known 
element  in  the  sun.  It  appeared  to  me  further  that  some  of  the  doubts  nrged  by 
those  who  declined  to  accept  Professor  Draper's  conclusions  were  urged  without  due 
consideration  of  the  nature  of  the  evidence  no  had  adduced.  Some  said,  for  example, 
that  the  bright  Hues  or  bands  in  the  solar  sjiectrum.  which  he  identified  wth  oxygen 
bright  bands,  were  unlike  the  bands  seen  in  the  spectrum  of  oxygen.  But  what  else 
was  to  be  expected  when  we  remembered  that  the  spectrum  of  oxygen  was  photo- 
graphed after  the  light  from  the  glowing  oxygon  and  nitrogen  (that  is,  from  the 
electric  sparJr  throngn  air)  had  p.-issed  through  only  a  few  foot  of  air.  whereas  the 
light  from  the  glowing  oxygen  in  the  sun  had  passed  probably  through  more  than 
10,000  miles  of  denize  vaporous  matter  in  the  sun,  to  say  nothing  of  100  miles  or  so 
of  vaponrdaden  air  upon  the  earth.  Again  it  wae  said  that  Professor  Draper's 
instruments  did  not  produce  a  dispersion  sufficient  to  make  the  coincidences  certain ; 
yet  they  were  more  powerfiil  than  those  used  in  the  classical  resear<^ea  of  Kirchhoff 
and  Buneen.  Others  again  objected  that  no  clement  in  the  sun  conld  possibly  indicate 
its  presence  by  bright  lines,  for^ting  apparently  that  at  times  hydrogen  certainly 
does  this,  in  the  sun's  case;  while  in  the  case  of  the  stars  Gamma  Cassiopeia?,  and 
others,  hydrogen  persistently  indicates  its  presence  in  this  way  and  no  other. 
However.  Professor  Draper,  though  ho  recognised  the  just  answers  to  these  and 
other  objections,  possessratoo  much  of  the  true  scientific  spirit  to  let  the  matter  rest 
thns.  He  increased  the  dispers  ve  power  of  his  spectroscopic  battery  fourfold.  He 
purified  the  spectrum  of  atmospheric  oxvgcn  by  restraining  tlie  eloctric  spark  from 
its  customary  sigzag  wanderings  (mating  it  travel  between  two  platoa  of  soapstone), 
and  directing  the  plane  of  its  motion  towards  the  slit  of  the  spectroscope.  And 
lastly,  ho  varied  the  conditions  under  which  he  took  his  phot<jgranhic  spectra. 
After  all  these  precautioUH  had  been  taken,  the  coincidences  were  founa  not  only  to 
be  not  impairea,  but  to  be  rendered  more  strikingly  obvious.  It  appears  to  me  that 
tinder  these  circumstances,  Professor  Draper  is  abnndantly  justined  in  taking  up 
the  i)03ition  that  the  balance  of  probabilities  in  stronglj*  in  favour  of  the  existence 
of  oxygen  in  the  sun.  The  burden  of  disproof  now  rests  with  those  who  reject  his 
evidence.  If  oxygen  does  not  exist  in  the  sun,  let  them  photograph,  or  even 
indicate  any  part  of  the  spectrum  of  the  sun  showing  one  of  those  aiscordanoes 
which  in  that  case  mnst  eKLst.  Until  they  have  done  ho,  the  direct  positive  evidence 
obtained  by  Professor  Draper  must  be  regarded  as  convincing.  Tt  may  be  mentioned, 
in  conclusion,  as  shuwing  how  laborious  such  researches  are,  that,  in  obtaining  hia 
photographs  duriuf^  the  last  three  years,  Professor  Draper  has  required  twenty 
milliona  of  electric  fiashes.  Although  only  two  drops  of  petroleum  are  used  to 
produce  each  revolution  of  the  gramme  machine  (one  epark  for  each  revolution), 
150  gallons  of  petroleum  have  alread}'  l>een  consumed.  He  has  been  largely  aided 
in  his  researches  by  Mrs.  Draper,  and  it  was  liopol  she  would  have  accompanied  him 
when  he  presented  an  account  of  his  labours  to  the  Koyal  Astronomical  Society* 
But  in  this  matter  British  conservatism  prevailed,  as  it  usually  does  in  such  cases.  - 

In  his  treatise  on  the  AH  of  Scientific  Discovery  (London :  Longman,  Crroen  & 
Co.),  Mr.  G.  Qure  has  duscribeu  the  nature  of  original  scientific  research,  the  chief 
personal  conditions  of  success  iu  it«  pursuit,  the  general  methods  by  which  dis- 
coveries are  mode  iu  physics  and  chemistry,  and  the  chief  causes  of  tailure.  Ur. 
Gore  remarks  that  "  to  some  the  very  proposal  to  write  a  book  on  such  a  subject  may 
appear  presumptuous,"  chiefly  because  of  the  difficulty  of  communicating  methods  oSf 
diwsovery— a  difficulty  which  he  recognises,  but  considers  not  insuperable.  It  appears 
to  me  that  whatever  presumption  there  may  be,  resides  in  the  attempt  to  present  u 
subject  so  wide  iu  the  compass  of  so  small  a  volume  as  Mr.  Gore  has  written.     As  he 


960 


THE .  CONTEMPORAR  Y  RE  VIEW, 


says  very  truly,  **the  very  magnitTwle  of  the  subject  makes  it  impossible  to  treat  it 
thoroughly"  in  a  single  treatise;  and  ucoordinf^ly  tlie  present  work  "  embraces  bat 
a  email  portion  of  a  great  iubiect.''  But  even  this  small  portion  would  require  for 
its  ade<|uate  treatment  at  least  nve  such  volumes  as  the  present. 

Nevertheless,  it  must  be  admitted  that  Mr.  Gore  has  here  written  a  very  interestinff 
and  a  very  instructive  work.  Ho  has  sketched  correctly,  though  he  cannot  be  eaia 
to  have  fully  delineated,  the  nature  of  original  scientific  research.  He  has  givea 
mauy  illustrations,  though  not  always  the  mo^t  striking  which  might  be  found,  of  tho 
personal  conditions  necessary  for  success  in  scientific  pursuits,  and  he  has  brought 
together  a  number  of  cai^s  bearing  on  the  other  parts  of  his  subject-matter.  It  is 
probable  that  his  book  will  bo  more  generally  uBcful  than  the  special  treatises  which 
nave  been  written  on  the  different  departments  of  the  wide  subject  over  which  Mr. 
Gore  thus  ranges.  The  student  of  aoience  may  prefer  tho  systematic  treatment 
adopted  in  such  works  as  Whewell's  "  History  of  the  Inductive  Sciences ;"  but  the 
general  reader,  for  whom  (however  intended)  this  book  is  more  suited,  has  seldom 
time  to  study  the  history  of  scientific  reseurches  on  so  lar^  a  scale.  He  docs  not 
want  ordnance  surveys,  or  even  county  mans  (the  history  ot  scientific  departments)* 
but  maps  of  countries,  if  not  of  whole  continent*.  Mr.  bore's  treatise,  save  for  the 
arrangement  of  its  subject-matter,  may  be  compared  to  a  map  on  Mercalor's  pro- 
jection, in  which  all  the  countries  of  the  world  are  presented,  but  not  all  on  theaamo 
scale.  If  the  arrangement  of  the  work  had  been  more  systemutic,  I  might  have  added 
that  the  treatise  resembled  a  map  in  which  each  country  is  shown  in  or  near  its 
proper  relative  position.  But  there  is  very  little  system  in  Mr.  Gore's  discussion  of 
the  details  of  scientific  research ;  a  few  lines  are  given  to  a  subiect  in  one  page,  a  few 
more  aomc  five  or  six  chapters  farther  on,  and  so  on,  to  the  end.  Probably  this  scat- 
tering of  remarks  bearing  on  special  scientific  researches  could  hardly  have  been 
avoided.  For  instance,  some  astronomical  inquiries  illustrate  one  method  of  research, 
others  illustrate  a  different  method ;  some  wore  due  to  one  personal  quality,  some  to 
another ;  some  belong  to  the  successca,  others  to  the  failures,  of  science.  But  thongh 
perhaps  inevitable,  and  therefore  more  than  excusable,  the  want  of  consocutiveneas 
m  the  treatment  of  particular  subjects  is  unpleasant.  Half  a  dozen  different  illus- 
trations, from  electncal,  chemical,  astronomical,  physical,  physiological,  and  botanical 
researches,  may  admirably  illustrate  one  and  the  same  principle  or  law  of  scientific 
investigation ;  but  tho  reader  is  more  apt  to  notice  the  incongruity  of  the  successive 
illustrutiona  inter  se  than  their  congrnity  in  relation  to  the  abstract  matter  under 
discussion.  To  say  the  tmth,  tho  book  is  one  to  be  read  piecemeal,  not  seriaivm :  so 
taken,  it  will  be  found  very  pleasant  reading. 

That  ia  a  book  treating  of  so  many  subjects  there  should  be  many  errors  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at,  but  it  may  be  useful  to  correct  a  few  of  the  slips  which  ore  to  be 
noticed  in  its  pages.  Remembering  that  many  of  tho  readers  of  the  book  will  not 
be  scientific,  it  would  be  as  well  if,  in  future  editions,  Mr.  Gore  modified  tho 
remark  on  page  57*  that  Swan  detected  "the  diffused  prosence  of  exceedingly  minute 
quantitiea  of  common  aalC*  Some  unfair  critics  of  whose  ways  T  have  had  experi- 
ence  would  not  hesitate  to  Bay  that  Mr.  Gore  does  not  know  the  difference  between 
sodium  and  the  chloride  of  Bodiura  ;  which  would  be  dishonest  and  absnrd.  In 
fact,  at  p.  179  he  puts  the  matter  quite  correctly.  It  is  of  the  less  experienced 
reader  1  think.  The  statement  that  in  Oersted's  first  experiments  on  the  move- 
ments of  the  magnetic  neetlle  he  found  **  it  always  moved  in  suoh  a  way  ft«  to 
tend  to  place  itself  at  right  angles  to  the  current,"  is  too  vague  to  be  of  use  to  the 
general  reader.  Being  originally  pamllel  to  the  current  tho  needle  could  not  posaiblj 
move  iu  any  other  way,  apart  from  motion  parallel  to  the  current,  which  of  courM  lA 
not  in  question.  Tho  statement  should  have  been  so  worded  as  to  indicate  that  if  the 
current  passes  below  the  needle  the  north  end  of  the  needle  turns  towards  the  west. 
if  the  current  is  from  south  to  north,  towards  the  east  if  the  current  ia  from 
north  to  south, — the  reverse  holding  if  the  current  passes  above  the  needle.  Tho 
statement  in  the  book  is  not  only  vague  but  in  part  iucorroct;  for  Uie  needle 
does  not  move  at  all  if  the  current  is  at  the  same  level.  At  p.  177  it  is  stated 
that  the  moon  turns  always  the  same  face  towards  the  earth,  because  of  tho  extra 
(luaotity  of  matter  at  the  lunar  equator.  This,  which  as  it  stands  would  imply  that 
it  is  the  difference  between  the  moon's  equatorial  and  lunar  diameters  which  causes 
the  phenomenon  in  question,  is  incorrect;  the  real  cause  is  the  excoas  of  that  equa- 
torial diameter  directed  earthwanls  when  the  moon  is  in  her  mean  iK>6ition  (as  to 
libration)  over  U»e  equatorial  diameter  at  right  angles  to  tho  line,  from  t)ie»1 
moon's  centre  to  tho  earth.  Again,  it  is  rather  perplexing  for  the  penenu 
reader   to   be    told    that    in    making    this    discovery    Lagrange    also    arrived   a^ 


CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS.  Wll 

ADotber^  the    cause  of  the  libration  of  the  moon,   liecan»o  thia  discorory  la  to 
all  intentfl  and  purpo^s  identical  with  the  diacovery  of  the  cause  of  tho  Ubrataon.   If 
reference  were  intended  to  what  ia  called  the  physical  libration  of  the  mooo, — a 
libration  no  doubt  existing,  but  not  yet  obsorvea. — the  distinction   between  this 
theoretical  libration  and  the  observed  libratious  (in  lun^tude.  in  latitude,  and  diurnal) 
should  have  been  indicated.     At  p.  609  it  ia  stated  that  Encke,  by  calculating  the 
«flfcct«  of  the  different  planets  on  tno  comet  bearing  his  name,  found  Mercury  to  be 
smaller  and  Jupiter  much  larger  than  previous  astronomers  believed.    The  masses^ 
not  the  sizes,  are  of  course  really  referred  to.     But  Jupiter'a  masa  has  never  been 
largely  corrected  in  this  way,  nor  would  astronomera  consider  the  evidence  respecting 
Jupiter's  mass  derived  from  fiucke's  comet,  as  comparable  in  value  with  that  derived 
from  the  motions  of  Jupiter's  satellites  and  the  perturbations  of  certain  among  tho 
family  of  asteroids.    The  account  of  Biela's  comet  on  the  same  page  is  incorrect.     It 
was  not  in  November.  18*t5»  but  three  months  later,  that  this  comet  was  found  to  be 
divided  into  two ;  nor  were  the  two  portions  at  the  same  distance  (though  Sir  J. 
Herschol  mistakinglv  says  so  in  his  '*  Familiar  Lectures")  when  they  returned  in 
1852.     I  do  not  think  Schiaparelli's  lucky  gu^ss  about  the  August  meteore  and  the 
comet  of  18o2  can  be  regarded  as  suggested  by  calculations  of  his.     It  was  obvious* 
from  the  known  position  of  the  comet'a  orbit,  that  a  body  following  nearly  in  its 
tracks  and  passing  near  the  earth's  orbit  in  August  10  or  11,  would,  if  it  encountered 
the  earth,  appear  to  move  as  the  August  meteors  do.     Schiaparelli  did  not  calculate 
up  to  this  idea,  but  he  did  so  calculate  as  to  prove  the  closeness  of  the  correspondence, 
albeit  the  calcnlation  was  one  which  he  could  have  completed,  and  probably  did  com- 
plete, in  ten  or  tivelve  minutes.    Very  different  was  the  work  of  Aoams  in  regard  to 
tho   November  meteors.     Mr.  Gore  says  Adams  and  Ijeverrier,  by  means  siimlar  to 
those  employed  by  Schiaparelli,  discovered  the  orbit  of  the  Norember  meteorB.  and 
found  the  suggestion  correct  "  that  it  extended  beyond"  [the  orbit  of]  *'  Uranus." 
Ijeverrier'a  work  was  similar  to  Schiaparelli's,  and  very  simple.  ButAdams,  to  whom 
alone  was  due  tho  really  important  part  of  the  result — viz..  the  proof  that  the  November 
meteors  travel  beyond  the  orbit  of  Uranus— accomplished  a  far  more  difficult  task. 
Compared  with  what  he  did  the  work  of  Schiaparelli  and  Leverrier  in  meteoric  matters 
was  mere  child's  play.     Just  in  this  part  of  Mr.  Gore's  work,  by  the  way,  errors  are 
almost  as  numerous  as  sentences.     A  comet  was  not  "  subsequently  observed,"  and 
its  orbit  identified  with  the  path  of  the  November  meteors.  One  of  the  most  interesting 
points  m  the  history  of  meteoric  research  was  the  circumstance  that  TempeVs  comet 
( 1  [.,  1866)  had  been  observed  and  had  passed  beyond  telescopic  range  before  the  orbit 
of  the  November  meteors  had  been  determined.     So  again,  the  short  account  of  the 
discovery  of  Neptune  (pp,  201,  202)  is  erroneous.     In  two  sentences  there  are  three 
distinct  errors.     It  was  not  Adams  and  Leverrier  who  found  that  the  perturbations  of 
Uranna  cannot  be  explained  by  the  action  of  known  bodies;  this  was  found  by  others, 
proved  by  Leverrier,  and  assumed  by  Adams;  tho  known  bodies,  again,  were  not  near 
Uranus,  but  farther  away  from  Uranus  than  Saturn  ia  from  the  sun.    Adams  and 
Leverrier  did  not  leave  the  matter  in  the  vague  form  suggested  by  Mr.  Gore's  account, 
stating — viz.,  that  the  small  amount  of  disturbance  or  deflection  oould  only  be 
accounted  for  by  the  supposition  of  some  unknown  body.     What  they  did  vras  to  show 
where  the  unknown  body  watt  to  be  looked  for.   Again,  Mr.  Gore  presents  among  dis- 
coveries the  theory  that  Jupiter  is  composed  chiefly  of  water  and  watery  vapour  with 
some  solid  nucleus.     This  idea  won  never  more  than  a  fancy  of  WhewelVs,  whose 
opinion  in  astronomical  matters  can  be  of  no  weight  whatever.     It  is  now  known 
from  Bpoctroscopical  research  that  this  idea  was  quite  erroneous. 

However,  these  and  similar  small  errors  in  points  of  detail,  though  they  may  as 
well  be  corrected  in  future  editions,  do  not  detract  much  from  the  general  value,  nor 
at  all,  perhaps,  from  the  general  interest,  of  the  work  before  ns,  which  should  find  a 
place  in  every  scientific  liDrary  claiming  completeness. 

In  the  sixth  edition  of  hia  Fragments  of  SoUnee  (London :  Longman,  Greta  k 
Co.), — I  am  glad,  by  the  w^ajt  to  aee  that  the  title  is  no  longer  "  Fragments  of  Science 
for  Unscientific  People," — Professor  Tyndall  has  found  it  desirable  to  divide  the  work 
into  two  volumes.  The  first  includes  those  eesays  which  deal  with  the  laws  and 
phenomena  of  nature;  the  second  contains  those  which  treat  of  questions  in  which 
the  phenomena  of  matter  interlace  more  or  less  with  those  of  mind.  One  exception 
is  to  be  noted — the  essay  on  the  Electric  Light,  which  was  delivered  too  late  to 
admit  of  being  included  in  the  first  volume.  New  essays  have  been  added,  while 
old  ones  have  been  revised,  and  in  part  recast. 

So  much  in  this  work  has  alr^y  been  before  the  world,  and  has  already  re- 


962 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


ctiived  the  criticUms  of  many  who  view  with  {kvonr  or  with  disfavour  the 
ierisLic  ttiacbiogs    of   oar  great  physiciat  (&ad  of    uot  a   lew  who  &ra    neatnJ) 
thnt  a  complete  survey  of  the  work  here  woiUd  bo  oot  of  plaoe,  even  if  thare  jrete 
not  nuisons,  porsoual  to  myacU't  which  would  detor  ma  from  ofi'^riof^  au  opimon  oa 
the  gouerai  tenor  of   Profuitsor  'ryu^laU'&  teaohiogi.      Tweatv  years  hnvo  padaod 
{almost  to  a  day,  as  I  writo — iu  Jaao,  187^)  bince  I  tirut  heard  hiii  voic«at  tha  Royal 
Institution.     I  date  from  that  day  my  recognitioiit  or  rather  the  first  growth  of 
my  recognitioD,  of  the  true  meaniug  and  value  of  scieatitio  ioQairy  aa  a  meaos  of 
mental  or  moral  cnltare.     Although  I  should  be  no  true  diHcipIe  of  science  If  I  did 
not  foel  ire&  to  form,  and  when  occoaion  serves,  to  enunciate,  independcntopinions 
on  the  qofistions  (difiicult  and  weighty  though  they  are)  which  arediBcassed  in  these 
.Tolumud,  and  especially  in  the  second  uf  tijem,  yet  therti  would  be  something  aavuu] 
-'(to  rh^  own  raind,  at  feast)  of  impcrtiueuce,  in  the  a8Aum|>tiou  of  a  tone  of  acti 
critic^m,  whether  favourable  or  anfavonrable,  in  this  particular  inatance.     If  I  b 
aobaetimea  thought  that  Profettiior  Tyndall  has  unneoeAMbrily  adonted  towards  il 
loffical  opponents  a  manner  of  speaking  which  a  well-known  phrase  indicfttes 
better  suited  for  their  ubc  than  for  hia,  I  must  admit  that  he  naa  had  far  better 
means  than  I  of  Judging  what  may  be  suitable  or  necessary.    He  himself  says  in 
the  preface  to  this  work  that  ho  has  not  "  umpired  to  sit  in  the  i^eat  of  the  soomfal,*' 
whence  we  may  conclude  that  he  woald  not  willingly  adopt  "  a  tone  odioaaly  th«o* 
logic;d"  (a  rendering  I  have  heard  for  odimn  fhcojnjicuinr).     He  recognises  heartilT 
and  admires,  ho  says»  elsewhere,  the  spiritual  radiance  shod  by  religion  on  the  miads 
and  lives  of  many  personally  known  to  him.     At  the  same  time,  "I  cannot  bat 
observe,"  he  aays,  "  how  signally,  as  regards  the  production  of  anything  beautifiU. 
religion  fails  in  other  cases ;  its  profe^Ror  and  defender  is  sometimes  at  bottom  a 
brawltjr  and  a  clown."     The  worus  of  the  clowns  and  brawlers,  however,  among  j>ro- 
fe8s6rs  and  defcuderB  of  religion,  areiiot  those  which  need  be  answered.     SometuDM 
it  has  appeared  to  me  as  though  too  much  attention  had  been  given  to  such  wonJtfl. 
I  am  not  sure  whether  those  theologiami  on  whom  wliat  Professor  Tyndall  calls  the 
spiritual  radiance  has  been  shod  in  greatest  profusion,  have  taken  an  active  part  in 
the  wearisome  "  science  and  religion"  discussious,  or  whether,  if  they  have,  it  ha« 
been  altogether  necessary  to  respond  even  to  their  reasoning.    We  want  to  have 
scicnoti  uol  only  free,  but  widely  known  and  anderstood.    As  time  passes  ftcieaoe 
growi)  freer  and  freer ;  but  science  would  be  freer  than  she  is,  and  the  spread  of  trae 
scientiEc  principles  would  have  been  wider  than  at  present,  if  thcologianfl  hrtd  be^m 
allowed  to  object,  and  if  it  so  pleased  them  to  objurgate,  without  notice  or 
The  defennive  attitnde  aajmmed  by  some  men  of  scrienoe  has  raised  don! 
minda  of  nmny  of  the  simpler  sort.     Qui  jt'n^cuBc  a'acenae  is  not  a  true  saym^',  but 
it  is  widely  accepted  as  a  truth.     In  reality  those  who  assail  modern  science-  fta 
taught    (apart   from  all  cousideratious  of   ita  po«eible  bearing  on  so-called  reli- 
gious questions)  by  such  men  aa  l^ndall,  Huile^',  Darwin,  and  Spoooer,  should 
not  assail  others,  but  defend  themselves.     It  is  not  science  which  claims  to  know 
what  it  has  never  been  given  to  man  to  know.     As  Tyndall  well  puts  it,  onr  refusal 
to  accept  the  hypotheses  of  theologians  is  leas  an  assertion  of  Knowledge  than  a 
protest  against  the  assumption  of  Knowledge,  "  tho  claim  to  which  is  u  souroe  of 
perpeluarcunfusion,''     Strange  indeed  to  tlnd  a  tone  of  defence  and  eicose,  whera, 
protests  such  as  these  are  justly  made,  where,  indeed,  in  so  many  words  the  df 
tiitt  is  told  that  "  abandoning  his  illegitimate  claim  to  knowledge.^'  he  shotlld  "  ph 
with  Job  his  forehca<l  in  the  dost  and  acknowledge  the  authorship  of  the  onJi 
to  be  past  finding  out." 

Professor  Mayer's  treatise  on  "  Sound"  (Sound;  A  Soritt  of  SimpUi,  EnicrioiwiH^, 
and  Jnrxpenrlve  E:tj>erhnent8  in  the  Phenomena  of  SounJ,fur  ihc  use  vf  Studtrntt  of 
everif  Ayr.  By  Professor  Alfretl  M.  Mayer.  London :  Macmillan  aud  Co.)  is  oae  of  the 
most  delightful  little  volumes  on  science  I  ever  remember  Ui  have  read.  It  belooM 
to  an  American  series  called  the  Experimental  Science  seriefit  which.  origiuBted  i^ 
tMe  desire  to  extend  a  knowle<lgo  of  the  art  of  experimenting.  It  shows,  oa  f' 
author  says,  "bow  many  really  excellent  exj'Criments  may  b©  made  with  U 
OQtlay  of  a  few  pounds,  a  little  mechanical  skill,  and  paiience"  "  Teiif*h  tl 
pnpil,"  finjrs   Profe8*»or   Mayor,   "to  read  Natnr<i  in  the   mngungo  ■mcnt.j 

lastract  htm  to  guide  with  thoughtftilness  the  wrirk  of  his  hand,  and  ntit 

to  receive  tho  teachings  of  hia  eyes  and  ears,    B<    "  -11— they  aru  Uidittpi:n*abto] 

in  the  Ftudy  of  principles,  generalixations,  and  i  >;al  deductii^n*  tmade  froa] 

lawB  established  by  experiments — but,  '  Ue  n'eax-  pui*  aHsea  de  snvoir  Ics 
m  fant  savoir  munipul^,' " 

Tile  object  of  the  work  is  to  describe  and  Qlaatrato  a  connected  eeric«  ofarpari-^ 


HH 


^^^^^  CONTEMPORARY  BOOKS.  968 

znent«  in  "  Sound."  They  are  to  be  uaade  with  very  cheap  and  simple  apparatus. 
Each  has  been  made  over  and  over  again  by  Professor  Atnyer  himself,  and  the  series 
Jias  been  |>erformed  before  him  by  beginners  in  the  art.  AU  these  experiments 
Buceeed  if  the  author's  directions  are  peraeveriugly  ibllowdd.  The  follow* 
description  of  a  talking  machine  will  giro  a  good  idea  of  soxoe  of  the 
rosier  experiments  in  the  book ;  bat  the  description  is  lUustnLted*  to  make  it 
OBore  iutelli^ble,  by  a  figure  hideous  beyond  all  description :'—"  Let  us  make  a 
toUdug  macoLuc.  Get  an  orange  with  a  thick  skin  and  cut  it  in  halves.  With  a 
■harp  dinner-knife  cut  and  scrape  out  its  soft  inside.  Tou  have  thus  made  two 
hemispherical  cups.  Cat  a  smaU  semi-circle  out  of  the  edge  of  each  cnp.  Place 
these  over  each  other,  and  yon  have  a  bole  for  the  tube  of  the  trumpet*'  [an  ordinary 
toy-trumpet]  "  to  go  out  of  the  orange.  Now  sew  the  two  cups  together,  except  a 
len^^  directly  opposite  the  trumpet,  for  hero  are  the  lips.  A  pea-nut  makes  a  good 
enough  nose  fur  a  baby,  and  blaclc  beans  make  *  perfectly  lovely'  eyes.  Take  the 
babVe  cap  and  place  it  on  the  orange  and  trr  if  you  can  make  it  say  nuimma !" 

Tlad  work  contains  a  short  but  very  clear  account,  illustrated  by  two  well- 
designed  6gnres,  of  Ediscm's  talking  phonograph.  In  the  last  two  chapters  there  are 
toiae  sngsestiTo  remarks  on  harmony  ana  di.HCord,  with  a  short  statement  of  the 
feaaons  wixy  some  notes  when  aaanaed  together  cause  agreeable  and  others  dis- 
agreeable sensations.  These  also  are  illnst rated  by  experiments,  "  Our  cxperiroents 
in  sound,"  remarks  Professor  Mayer  in  conclusion,  "  have  thus  led  us  into  music. 
We  find  that  fundamental  facts  oiid  laws  of  harmony  may  be  erplained  by  physio- 
logical laws— by  mics  according  to  which  our  sensations  net.  Mnsic  is  the  sequence 
and  concourse  of  sounds  mode  in  obedience  to  these  laws.  The  explanation  uf^manj 
of  these  maybe  beyond  our  power;  for  the  connection  existing  between  festhetio 
and  morml  feelings  and  sensaQons  which  cause  them  remains  behind  a  veil.  But 
it  may  be  imagined  that  distant  ages  may  bring  forth  man  so  highly  organised 
that  he  may  tind  liis  pleasure  and  pastime  in— 

"Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hirlfUn  sonl  of  hAmiony." 

Mx.  Bonwick's  treatise  on  Egijptian  VdUfand  }{odeni  Thougld  (London  :  C.  Kegan 
Paul  k  Co.)  is  designed  on  a  plan  resembling  that  of  his  "  Pyramid  Facts  and 
Fanotea."  He  has  collected  together  a  quantity  of  information  for  the  benefit 
of  those  who  have  little  leisure  for  research.  He  notes  at  the  outset  the 
significant  circumstauce  that  the  sacerdotal  sytttems  of  other  nations  are 
mysteriously  related  to  the  strange  religious  doctrines  of  the  ancient  Egyptians. 
"  While  the  Pyramid  age  is  placed  variously  from  B.C.  2700  to  B.C.  4500, 
it  is  astonishing/*  he  says,  "to  find  that  at  least  five  tboasond  years  ago  men 
trusted  in  Osins  as  the  risen  Savioor,  and  coofidently  hoped  to  rise,  as  he 
arose,  from  the  grave."  Albeit,  he  has  no  views  of  his  own  to  propound.  He 
has  gathered  together  the  facts  of  ancient  religion.  He  says  that  the  relation  of 
these  to  modern  thoaght  is  too  obvious  to  require  verbal  comment  from  him.  Yet 
probably  few  of  those  who  have  become  acquainted  with  such  facts  have  found  in 
them  preciselythe  same  beariug  on  modern  thought  as  our  author.  I  can  answer 
for  myself.  When  I  find  that  modern  religious  teachings  can  thus  be  traced  back  to 
a  remote  antiquity  ^  when  natural  phenomena  and  processes,  utterly  misapnrc- 
headed  as  they  unqucstiouably  wore,  have  appeared  to  suggest  those  special  aoc- 
trines.  doubts  and  difficulties  occur  to  me  which  seom  in  no  way  to  trouble  Mr. 
Bonwick.  Especially  is  this  the  case  when  I  recall  the  remark  of  Max  Milller,  that 
"  whatever  we  know  of  early  religiou,  we  always  see  that  itpresuppo^s  vast  periods 
of  an  earlier  development.**  It  appears  to  me  that  on  the  whole  I  should  prefer 
doctrines  suggested  to  men  more  advanoed  than  the  prehistoric  races  from  whom 
the  religion  of  the  superstitious  Egyptians  and  other  ancient  nations  was  derived  to 
be  passed  onwards  to  ua. 

But  although  nuuiy  readers  will  certainly  not  view  the  facts  colloctod  by  BIr. 
Bouwiuk  in  tue  preiieut  volume  as  he  d':>es,  nor  regard  the  Ef^yptians  as  very 
advanced  because  they  held  doctrines  which  were  in  reality  denved  from  savage 
ancestors,  his  record  of  their  thoughts  and  ways  and  doings  will  be  found  full  of 
interest.  Especially  interesting  is  the  chapter  on  the  Egyptian  Bible.  A  remark  by 
Mr.  Cooper,  the  Biblical  scholax*  qnotcd  in  a  later  chapter,  is  worth  noting :  "  There 
is  scarcely  a  Bentence  in  the  whole  of  the  Egyptian  mythological  or  sacred  texts 
whioh  might  not  be  read  alike  in  the  school  play-^ound,  the  historian's  study,  or 
the  devotee's  cell." 

T^t  chapters  relating  to  star  and  sun  worship,  mramid  worship,  obelisk  worship, 
*Bphinx  religion,  and  the  religion  of  ma^e,  are  also  niU  of  exceedingly  interesting  and 


964 


THE    CONTEMPORARY  REVIEW. 


carious  matter.  Much  that  I  have  found  in  these  chapters  was  altogether  new  to 
TOP,  but  nothing  newer  or  more  startling  than  the  easertion  that  Mr.  Proctor 
"hofl  the  extraordinary  idea  that  Abraham,  'having  learned  the  art  in  Chalda^a 
when  he  joarneye*!  into  Egypt,  tauffht  liie  Egyptians  the  seience  of  arithmetic.*  ** 
"Evidently,"  remarks  Mr.  Bonwictc  on  this,  "  Mr.  Proctor  is  a  better  astronomer 
kthan  an  E(pyptolo((iBt."  (Than  which  particular  Effyptologist  ?)  It  would  neem 
^evident that  Mr.  Bonwick  ia  bettor  acquainted  with  Egyptian  than  with  Hebrew 
literature;  tor  the  sentence  he  has  quoted  as  from  my  "Myths  and  MarveU  of 
Aatronomy,"  is  from  a  well-known  passage  by  Josephus.  It  is  ao  nnotod  by  me, 
and  I  presently  afterwards  remark,  that  "  I  am  in  no  way  concemea  to  show  that 
the  shepherd- astronomers,  who  induced  Cheops  to  build  the  Great  Pyramid,  were 
even  contemporaries  of  Abraham  and  Melchizodek." 

It  would  1>P  well  if  in  future  editions  of  this  work  Mr.  Bonwick  would  distinguish 
more  carefully  than  he  has  yet  done  between  those  matters  which  are  tolerably 
certain,  those  which  are  doubttul*  and  those  which  are  more  or  less  improbable.  In 
many  cases  we  can  only  recognise  the  true  quality  of  the  eridenco  by  noting  to 
/what  author  it  is  referred;  but  when  we  notice  that  Mr.  Bonwick  quotes  the  fooliah 
fancies  of  **  Mazzaroth'*  with  as  little  apparent  question  as  the  results  gathered  by 
the  labours  of  Bnnsen,  Sayce.  or  G.  Smith,  we  are  doubtful  what  weight  to  allow  to 
statements  attributed  vaguely  to  "some  writers,*'  or  to  "other  writers.** 

The  History  of  th«  Growth  of  tha   Steam  Etigrine,  by  Prof.  R.    H.  Thnratou, 
(London :  C.  Kegan  Paul  St  Co.)  gives  a  very  satisfactory  account  of  the  gradual 
development  of   the    philosophy  of    the   steam    engine,   followed    by    a    concise 
description    of    the    progress  of  improvement  dnrinj^  the  past    history    of   th« 
steam   engine,   the  course   which  this    improvement   is    taking  at    present,    and 
the  direction   and    probable  limits  of  that   improvement  in    the    future.      Prof. 
Thurston   has  obviously  read  widely  and   has   oeen  thus  enabled  to  give  a  very 
fair  account   of   many  matters  which   in   most   French,   English,   and   American 
treatises  are  dealt  with  in  a  very  unsatisfactory  manner.    The  weakest  part  of  the 
book  is  the  portion  relating  to  the  modern  locomotive,  which  w  not  brought  up  to 
the  present  time,  and  is  indeed  apparently  nnfiniehed.    Among  singular  points  in 
the  niatoryof  steam  propulsion  may  be  mentioned  the  fact  that  the  tirst  rude  scheme 
for  applving  steam  to  locomotion  on  land  was  that  devised  by  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  who 
proposed  in  1680  a  machine  which  is  found  in  toy  shape  in  nearly  every  collection  of 
illustrative  philosophic  apparatus.     It  consists  of  a  H|)herifal  boiler  mounted  on  a 
carriage.     Steam  issuing  from  a  pipe  pointing  directly  backwards,  by  it»  reaction  on 
the  carriage  drives  the  latter  ahead.     Erasmus  Darwin,  grandfatiier  of  our  Charlc« 
Darwin,   urged  Matthew  Buulton,  subseouently  Watt's  partner,  and  at  that  time 
corresponding  with  Franklin  respecting  tne  use  of  steam-power,  to  construct  a  steam 
carriage,  or  "  fiery  chariot  **  as  he  called  it,  of  which  he  sketched  a  set  of  plans.   Moot 
of  the  plans  suggested  nt  that  time  were  of  little  practical  value.     Passing  to  the 
time  when   really  practicable  schemes  were  devised,  wo  find  the  Quarterltf  B^vieto 
asking,  "  What  can  l»o  more  palpably  absurd  and  ridiculous,  than  the  prospect  held 
out  of  locomotives  travelling  twiee  ae  fatt  as  stago-coachea?    We  woula  as  soon 
expect  the  people  of  Woolwich  to  suffer  themselves  to   be  fired  off  upon  one  of 
Congreve's   ricochet*rockets,  as  trust  themselves  to  the  mercy  of  such  a  machine 
going  at  suoh  a  rate.'*     It  was  at  that  time  that  Stephonion.  being  asked  before  a 
Committee  of  the  House  of  Commons,   "  Suppose,  now,  one  of  your  engines  to  bo 
going  at  the  rate  of  nine  or  ton  mile.1  an  hour,  and  that  a  cow  were  to  stray  upon  the 
lino  and  get  in  the  way  of  the  engine,  would  not  that  be  a  very  awkward  circnm- 
tstanccF"  to  which  foolish  quustiou  he  replied,  as  he  could  scarcely  have  helped 
replying,  "Yes,  very  awkward  for  the  coo."    When  asked  if  men  and  animals  would 
not  be  frightened  by  the  red-hot  smoke-pipe,  he  asked  in  turn,  "  How  would  they 
know  it  was  not  painted?'*    Those  who  suppose  the  credit  of  the  first  use  of  steam 
to  propel  a  vessel,  to  be  at  issue    between    England  and   America,  and  to  refer 
to  a  time  not  yet  a  century  past,  may  bo  surprised  to  learn  that  the  Spaniards 
claim  to  have  found  in  the  archives  of  SimancoA.  the  record  of  the  propulsion  of  a 
vessel  of  200  tons  burden  by  pad<Ile-wheoIs;  it  is  added  that  the  spectators  saw, 
though   not  allowed   closely  to  inspect   the  apparatus,  that  one  psrt  of  it  was  a 
**  vessel  of  boiling  water;"  and  it  is  added  that  objection  was  taken  to  this  uurt  uf 
the  machine  on  account  of  the  danger  of  explosion.    •*  The  account  is  < 
phol,"  says  Prof.  Thurston,  bat  possibly  if  it  had  related  to  an  ox\>*  ■ 
Hudson  or  the  Potomac,  he  might   have   found   it  credible  aod  even  codvuk  iitg. 
The  history  he  cives  of  the  work  and  inventions  of   Pitoh,    Symington,  Miliefp 
Taylor,  &c.,  is  full  of  interest  and  on  the  whole  fair. 


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