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1 

V 

1 

« 

THE 


QUARTERLY   REVIEW. 


VOL.  123. 


PUBIJSHED  IN 


JULY  &  OCTOBER,  1867.    ••.•-•;. 


:    

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•••••  •••••  * 

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LONDON: 


JOHN  MURRAY,  ALBEMARLE  STREET. 
1867. 


10  0  3  9  1 


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••  ••  • 

!•••• 

*  •••• 

•  •   •   • 
•••• 

•...• 

•••:. 

::::• 

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»•       •• 

••v; 

.•:* 

'••. 

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•..••. 

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•  •    • 

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LONDON: 

Frfnted  hf  Wiluax  CLOwn  and  Sorb,  SUmfaid  Street, 

and  QutrtDg  CroH.  : 


CONTENTS 


No,  245. 


AufT,  Pagt 

J* — 1.  lift  H'onvell©  Babylono.  Par  Eiigeno  PelletoHi  Qua- 
triemo  Editioii-     Parie,  18S5. 

2,  Paiifl  Capitale  du  Hondo,  Far  E<lmond  Tcxier  et 
Albert  Kiiempfer,     Troieiijme  Edition*     Paris j  1867, 

3.  Lea  Franyais  de  la  Becadonets.  Par  Henri  Ilocliefort, 
Paris,  1867, 

4..  La  Grando  BohL^mo.  Par  Henri  Koebefort.  Paris, 
1867. 

5,  LesOdetu^de  Paris.  Pat  Louis  Veuillot.  Cinqnieme 
Edition.    Paris,  1867* 

6,  La  Famille  Benoiton :  CcsmMie.  Par  YictOTien  Sardon. 
Vingt-troisieme  Edition,     Parisj  1866, 

7,  La  Vie  Parisienne  :  Piice  en  cinq  Acted.  Par  Henri 
Meilhac  et  Ludoyic  Hai^iy^  MtLsique  do  J.  0£fbn^ 
bach.     PariB,  1S67, 

8*  Paris  boi  Somicnscliein  nnd  LampenlicKt :  ein  Skiz- 

^Ecnbncb  znr  Wcltatiestellmig.  Von  Julius  Bodenberg. 

LeipKig,  1867, 
9.  P^9  Guide.    Par  les  principanx  Ecrivains  ct  Artigtea 

do  la  France,     Premi<T6  Partio:   la  Science,  TArt. 

London  and  Paris,  1867  *        .        -        ^        -       1 

IL— I ,  Antiquities,  Historical  and  Monumental,  of  tho  CSounty 
of  ComwalL    £7  William  Borlase,  LL.D.     London, 
1769. 
2.  A  W(^k  at  the  L^d's  End*    By  J,  T,  Blight.    Lon- 
.    dbu,  1861      ----'-•        -    35 

III. — 1.  I  Mioi  Eicordi  di  Maaalmo  d'Azeglio,    Doe  Volumi, 
Firenze,  1867, 
2,  Correspondance  Politique  de  Massimo  d'AEegUo.  Ed. 
Enguno  Eendu.    Paris,  1867  -----    66 

IV. — Courts  of  Justice  Commiflsion :    Instructioua  for  the 

Competing  Architects    -         •        -        -        -        -    93 

V, — L  Murray's  Handbook  for  Travellers  in  Switzerland, 
and  the  Alps  of  Saroy  ajod  Piedmontt  Now  Edition^ 
Londonj  18G7, 

2.  Murray's  Knapsack  Guide — Switzerland,  New  Kdi* 
tion.     London,  1867. 

Sf.  Ball's  Guide  to  the  Alps.  New  Edition,  London,  1866. 


IV  CONTENTS. 

Art.  Pag© 

4.  The  Alpine  Journal.  Vols.  I.  and  IL  London,  18G4- 
1866. 

5.  JahrbnchdesCEsterreichisclienAlpen-Yereines.  Wicn, 
1863-1866. 

6.  Bnlletino  Trimestrale  del  Clnb  Alpino  di  Torino. 
1865,  1866. 

7.  Les  Alpes  SoisseB.  Par  Eugene  Hambart.  Paris  and 
Geneva,  1866 118 

VI. — The  History  of  the  Norman  Conquest  of  England,  its 
Causes  and  its  Besults.  By  Edward  A.  Freeman,  M.A. 
Vol.  I.     Oxford,  1867 Ui 

Vn. — 1.  Sixth  Eeport  of  the  Commissioners  of  the  Children's 
Employment  Commission.     1867. 
2.  Seventh  Beport  of  the  Medical  Officer  of  the  Privy 
Council,  with  Appendix.     1864       -        _        _        _  173 

VIII.— 1.  The  Alps  of  Hannibal.    By  William  John  Law,  M.  A., 
formerly  student  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford.     1860. 

2.  A  Treatise  on  Hannibal's  Passage  of  the  Alps,  in 
which  his  route  is  traced  over  the  Little  Mont  Cenis. 
By  Eobert  Ellis,  B.D.,  Fellow  of  St  John's  College, 
Cambridge.     1854. 

3.  Two  Papers  by  the  same  Author.  *  Journal  of 
Classical  and  Sacred  Philology.'  Vols.  IX  and  III. 
Cambridge,  1856. 

4.  An  Enquiry  into  the  Ancient  Boutes  between  Italy 
and  Graul :  with  an  Examination  of  the  Theory  of 
Hannibal's  Passage  of  the  Alps  by  the  Little  St.  Ber- 
nard.   By  Robert  Ellis,  B.D.    1867. 

5.  The  March  of  Hannibal  from  the  Bhone  to  the  Alps. 
By  Henry  Lawes  Long,  Esq.    London,  1831. 

6.  Dissertation  on  the  Passage  of  Hannibal  over  the 
Alps.  By  the  Bev.  (Dean)  Cramer  and  G.  L.  Wick- 
ham,  Esq.     1820   -        -        -        -  -        -  191 

IX. — 1.  The  Position  and  Prospects  of  Stipendiary  Curates : 
a  l^aper  published  by  oi^er  of  the  Provisional  Council 
of  the  Curates'  Augmentation  Fund,  setting  forth  a 
Plan  for  the  Improvement  of  the  Position  and  Pros- 
pects of  Stipendiary  Curates,  with  certain  Objections 
to  the  Fund  considered.  Third  Edition.  London, 
Oxford,  and  Cambridge,  1867. 

2.  Beport  of  the  Society  for  Promoting  the  Employment 
of  Additional  Curates  in  populous  Places.     1866. 

3.  Beport  of  the  Church  Pastoral  Aid  Society.     1866. 

4.  Sons  of  the  Clergy  Beport.     1867. 

5.  Beport  of  the  Bishop  of  London's  Fund.    1866-67   -  220 

X. — 1.  Essays  on  Beform.    London,  1867. 

2.  Questions  for  a  Beformed  Parliameni   London,  1867  244 


CONTENTS 

No.  246. 


Akt,  Page 

I. — The  Early  Yootb  of  His  Eojal  Higlincfis  the  Prince 
Coiifiort*  Compiled  nnder  tlio  Direction  of  Her 
Majesty  the  Queeii.  By  Lieut^-Croneral  tlie  Hon. 
Clmrlcs  Grey,     London,  18G7  -        -        -        -  270 

n,— 1.  Souvonirfi  MiHtaires  do  1804  a  1814.  ParM,  le  Duo 
do  Fezensac,  G<5niSral  do  Division*  (Journal  do  la 
Oamp&gne  do  Eussie,  1S12 ;  on  dou^eo  oliapitree.) 
Paris,  1863. 
2-  Momoires.  Par  L.  F.  J*  Baussot,  anden  Pr^fot  do 
Palais  Iiiip<irial,     2  vols,     BrnxeUcs,  1827, 

3,  Itin^raire  do  Napoleon  I.  de  Smorgoni  a  Palis.  Ex- 
trait  dcs  Memoires  du  Baron  Paul  de  Bom^oing, 
Paris,  1862. 

4.  Loben  des  Foldmarschalln  Grafen  York  von  Warten- 
burg.     Von  J.  G,  DroyBen.     3  Bande.    BcrHn,  1851  306 

TTT- — 1,  First  Report  of  tho  CommissionorB  appointed  to 
inquire  into  tho  Organization  and  Kulca  of  Trades' 
Uniona  and  other  Assoeiations :  together  with  Mimit^a 
of  Evidence.    London,  1867, 

2*  Strikes  and  Loek-Onts,  or  tho  Law  of  Combinatioiu 
By  a  Barrister,    London,  1867. 

3,  Beprjrt  of  tho  various  proceedings  taken  by  tho  London 
Trades'  Conncil  and  the  Conference  of  Amalgamated 
Trades,  m  reference  to  tho  Koyal  CommiEsion  on 
Trades'  Unioag,  and  other  subjects  in  connection 
theremth*  Londonj  1867  -  -  .  -  -  351 
IV, — ^Historical  dmracters.    By  the  Eight  Hon,  Sir  Henry 

Lytton  Balwer,  G.CB.     2  vols.  8vo.     1867     -        -  388 

v.— 1,  Talmud  Babylonicum.      Venice,   1520-23.  Folio. 
12  vols. 

2.  Talmud  Hioroeolymitannm.    Venice  [1623],  Folio. 

1  vol.   -        -        -        -        -        -        -  -        -  417 

VL — 1*  Eopoi't  from  the  Soleet  Oommitteo  of  tho  House  of 
Lords  on  the  Public  Seboolfi  Bill,  together  with  the 
Proceedings  of  the  Committoo^  Minutes  of  Evidence, 
and  AppendiiL    1865. 


CONTENTS. 

rage 
2-  R-rTiort  of  the  Committco  appointod  by  the  Cotmcil  if 

ti#5:  Britifih  Associatiou  for  flio  mlvancement  of  ScicnitJ 

to  consider  tho  best  means  for  promv^ting  Scientinc 

Ii>incation  in  Schools.     1867. 
3.  Lessons  in  Elementary  Physiology.     By  Prof.  T.  H. 

Huxley.     London,  1866. 
4-  Lessons  in  Elementary  Botany.      By  Prof.  OliTcr, 

London,  1866. 

5.  Lessons  in  Elementary  Chemistry.  By  Prv^f.  Koecot. 
London,  1860. 

6.  A  Loctoro  delivered  at  tho  Royal  Institution  of  Gtc^ 
Britain.  By  Rev.  F.  W.  Farrar,  M.A.,  F J^.S.  L  2- 
don,  1866 104 

Vn. — 1.  Christus  Archfloologie :  Studien  iiber  Jesns  Chrlstus 
nnd  sein  wahros  Eb^bild.  Von  Dr.  Logis  Gliickselig. 
Prag,  1863. 

2.  Die  Sago  vom  Urspnmg  dcr  Ghristnsbilder.  Yon  W. 
Grimm.     Berlin,  18-1-1. 

3.  Ilecherches  sur  la  Personne  do  Jt^sns-Christ.  Par  G. 
Peignot.    Dijon,  1829. 

4.  Beeherches  ^difiantes  et  corieuscs  sor  la  Porsonno  de 
N.  S.  Jesns-Christ    Par  TAbbo  Pascal.    Paris,  lJ>40. 

5.  Histoire  de  la  Face  de  N.  S.  Josns-Christ,  expo6<.'o 
dans  Tegliso  do  Montrcuil-les-Dames  do  Laon.  Laon, 
1723. 

6.  De  imaginibns  non  mann  fi&ctis.    J.  Grotscri.     1734. 

7.  J.  Beiskii  exercitationes  historicaa  do  imaginibos  Jesn 
Christi.    Jena),  1684. 

8.  T.  Heapy.  Examination  into  tho  Antiquity  of  thi- 
Likeness  of  our  Blessed  Lord,  in  tho  'Art  Journal/ 
New  Series,  vol.  vii.     1861. 

9.  Croyances  et  Legendes  de  I'Antiquite.  Par  Alfred 
Maury.     Paris,  1863       ....  .  4^0 

VIII. — 1.  Travels  to  discover  the  Source  of  the  Nile.    By  James 
Bruce,  of  Einnaird,  Esq.     London,  1790. 

2.  A  Voyage  to  Abyssinia.  By  Henry  Salt,  Esq. 
London,  1814. 

3.  Life  in  Abyssinia:  being  Notes  collected  during 
Three  Years*  Besidenco  and  Travels  in  that  Country. 
By  Mansfield  Parkyns.     London,  1853. 

4.  Voyage  en  Abyssinie.  Par  Messrs.  Ferret  et  Galinier. 
Paris,  1847. 

5.  Reisen  in  Ost-Afirika.  Von  J.  L.  Krapf,  Ph.  Dr. 
Komthal,  1858. 

6.  The  Highlands  of  Ethiopia.  By  Major  W.  Com- 
wallis  Harris.    London,  1844. 

7.  The  British  Captives  in  Abyssinia.  By  Charles  Beke, 
Ph.  Dr.    London,  1867. 


CONTENTS.  V 

Abt.  Page 

8.  Further  Correspondence  respecting  the  British  Cap- 
tives in  Abyssinia.  (Presented  to  fiie  House  of  Com- 
mons by  Order  of  Her  Majesty,  in  pursuance  of  their 
Address,  dated  July  8,  1867.) 

9.  Boutes  in  Abyssinia.  (Compiled  at  the  .Topographical 
and  Statistical)  Department  'of  !the  War  Office.  By 
Lieut.-Colonel  A.  C.  Cooke,  C.B.,  E.E.     1867. 

10.  Map  of  Upper  Nubia  and  Abyssinia.     By  Eoith 
Johnston,  F.R.S.E.     1867. 

11.  Map  of  Abyssinia.    By  James  Wyld.    1867    -        -610 

IX. — 1.  Speech  of  the  Right  Hon.  B.  Disraeli  on  the  Motion 
for  the  Second  Beading  of  Mr.  Baines'  Bill,  1865. 
London,  1865. 

2.  Speech  of  the  Bight  Hon.  B.  Disraeli  on  the  Third 
Beading  of  the  Bepresentation  of  the  People  Bill, 
1867.    London,  1867. 

3.  Speech  of  the  Earl  of  Derby  on  the  Second  Beading 
of  the  Bepresentation  of  the  People  Bill,  in  the  House 

of  Lords,  1867.    London,  1867       -        -        -        -533 


THE 


QUARTERLY    REVIEW. 


Art,    L — Ig    La   Novvelle    Bah/kme*      Par    Eugene    Pelletan* 

Quatrieme  Edition.     Paris^  1865. 
2,  PartJt  Capitaie   du  Monde.     Par  Edmond  Teicier  et  Albert 

Kaempfer,     Troisieme  Edition.     Parisj  1867. 
3-  Les  Pran^ais  de  la  Decademe,     Par  Henri  Rocliefort*     Paris, 

1867, 

4.  La  Grande  Bohhme.     Par  Henri  Rochefort.     Paris,  1867. 

5.  LeA  Odeurs  de  Paris.  Par  Li^uis  V'euillot  Cinqur^me 
Edition.     Paris,  1867. 

6.  La  FamiUe  BenoitQui  ComMte*  ParVictorien  Sardon*  Vingt- 
troisitme  Edilion.     Paris,  1866. 

7.  La  Vie  Parisienne:  Piece  en  cinq  Actes^  Par  Henri  Mcilhae 
et  Ludovic  Halerj.     Musique  de  J.  Offenbach.     Paris,  1867, 

8.  Paris  Im  Sonneuscheiii  nnd  Lampenlicht :  ein  SMzzenhftch  zur 
Wekausstellung.     Von  Jul  ins  Rod  en  berg-.     Leipzig,  1867* 

9.  Paris  Guide,  Par  les  principaux  Ecrivains  et  Artistes  de 
la  France.  Premiere  Partie:  la  Science,  I'Art.  Londtm 
and  Paris,  1867, 

BALZAC  relates  that  when,  in  1815,  Blucher  and  Sacken 
reached  the  heights  overlooking  Paris,  Sacken  exultingly 
doomed  it  to  destruction.  *It  will  suit  our  purpose  belter  to  let 
it  stand/  said  Blucher:  *that  g^reat  cancer  will  be  the  ruin  of 
France.*  The  remark,  if  the  gallant  veteran  ever  uttered  it^  does 
credit  to  his  sagacity,  Paris  is  the  head,  the  heart,  the  bmin,  of 
the  French  people.  She  does  more  than  govern  and  legislate ; 
she  thinksj  feels,  acts,  and  speaks  for  them.  They  are  intuitively 
guided  by  her,  as  the  human  body  is  guided  by  the  will.  They 
are  identified  with  her  strength  and  her  weakness,  her  glory 
and  her  shame.  They  reflect  her  grasping  ambition,  her  spirit 
of  self-glorification,  like  a  mirror.  They  repeat  her  vain  utter- 
ances, her  half-truths,  her  wild  sophisms,  like  a  mocking- 
bird The  follies,  the  hallucinations,  the  social  and  political 
disorders,  toMvhich  she  seems  periodically  liable  by  the  very 
law  of  her  being,  are  diffused  throughout  the  entire  nation  with 
the  rapidity  and  virulencf  of  poison  in  the  blood.  No  matter 
how  erratic  or  headlong  her  course,  they  are  dragged  along  in 
Vol  123.— JVa.  245.  B  it. 


2  New  Paris. 

it  It  is  as  if  a  planetary  system  drew  all  its  light,  life  and 
movement  from  a  comet  We  see  the  centripetal  force  in  full 
action,  without  the  counterpoise  of  the  centrifugal.  Modem 
history  supplies  no  parallel.  To  find  a  plausible  one  we  must 
revert  to  Babylon,  or  to  Rome  under  the  Caesars ;  and  a  capital 
standing  in  this  relation  to  a  nation  of  thirty-four  millions  is  a 
perpetual  source  of  alarm  and  perplexity,  a  standing  menace,  and 
a  curse. 

Although  the  moral  and  social  effects  of  Parisian  influence 
may  require  to  be  pointed  out  and  illustrated,  the  political 
results  lie  on  the  surface  for  him  who  runs  to  read.  Every 
fifteen  or  twenty  years  the  whole  existing  order  of  things  is 
suddenly  reversed.  The  nation  at  large  has  no  voice  in  the 
matter  :  the  provinces  are  not  allowetl  time  to  assent  or  dissent : 
the  metropolis  has  grown  restless  and  craving  for  novelties :  the 
atmosphere  has  become  surcharged  with  the  revolutionary  ele^ 
ment,  like  a  storm-cloud  with  electricity :  a  murmured  sound  like 
muttered  thunder  is  heard ;  then  a  stir,  a  flash,  an  explosion 
and  one  fine  morning  Europe  is  astounded  and  convulsed  bv  the 
intelligence  that  a  constitutional  monarchy  under  a  citizen  king, 
a  republic,  or  a  second  empire,  has  been  proclaimed. 

A  single  instance  may  suflicc  to  show  to  what  an  extent  this 
combined  centralisation  of  authority  and  opinion  may  be  pushed. 
The  Provisional  Government,  nominated  (and  more  than  half 
self-nominated;  at  Paris,  in  February,  1848,  was  accepted  with 
acclamation  by  the  depart  men  ts«  most  of  which  sent  up  deputa- 
tions to  pay  homa^  to  it ;  but  when  the  National  Assembly  met 
in  the  following  May  and  the  real  opinion  of  the  nation  could  be 
made  known,  this  same  Provisional  Government  was  summarilv 
and  almost  contemptuously  superseded.  It  was  made  clear  to 
demonstration  that  the  rejime  of  the  preceding  three  months, 
emanatin*;  from  and  imposed  by  Paris,  was  the  work  of  a 
minority  of  the  population  of  Paris,  and  intensely  disagreeable 
to  the  vast  majority  of  the  French  people. 

Habits  survive  laws;  there  is  about  as  much  chance  of  the 
repeal  of  the  law  of  the  division  of  property  as  of  decentralising 
the  administration ;  and  the  one  measure  would  no  more  cure 
the  baneful  habit  of  Kxiking  to  the  capital  than  the  other  would 
destroy  the  popular  passion  for  equality.  Before  the  machinerv 
of  office  can  be  set  in  mr>tion.  the  blow  vibrates  over  the  entire 
surface,  the  shock  lives  a  Ion?  the  line.  ^Do  you  wish  to  have  a 
notion  of  this  city?'  asks  M.  Victor  Hugo.  *  Do  an  otld  thing. 
Suppose  her  in  conflict  with  France ;  ^d  first  arises  a  question. 
Which  is  the  daughter;  which  is  the  mother?  Pathetic  doubt 
Scopefitrfion  to  the  thinker !   These  two  giantesses  come  to  blows. 

O 


Nmv  Paris* 

On  which  side  is  the  impiety  ?  Has  that  ever  been  seen  ?  Yes, 
It  is  almost  a  normal  fact.  Paris  §ro^s  off  alone ;  France  follows 
perforce,  and  irritated:  a  little  later  she  recovers  her  good  temper 
and  applauds ;  it  is  one  of  the  forms  of  our  national  ]ife.  A 
diligence  or  railway  carriage  passes  with  a  flag-;  it  comes  from 
Paris,  The  flag  is  no  longer  a  flag  ;  it  is  a  flame,  and  the  whole 
train  of  human  powder  takes  fire  behind  it/ 

There  are  elderly  observers  of  passing  events,  quidnuncs  of  tlie 
cafe  or  Talle^Tands  of  the  Bourse,  who  will  forecast  the  signs  of 
coming  events  of  this  kind  as  confidently  as  a  knowing  Neapolitan 
wiil  foretell  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius;  and  there  are  Cassandra 8 
of  the  press  who,  at  every  fresh  extravagance,  declare  Paris  to  be 
a  doomed  city  and  the  imperial  dynasty  to  be  tottering  to  its 
fall.  Nothing  to  outward  seeming  can  be  fairer  than  their 
prospects  at  this  hour,  when  the  Champ  de  Mars  is  the  cynosnro 
of  every  eye,  the  point  ut  attraction  to  the  whide  of  the  civilised 
worlds  and  a  good  deal  of  the  uncivil isetl ;  when  the  mighty  ones 
of  the  earth,  from  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west,  are  hurrying 
to  enjoy  the  splendid  hospitality  of  the  Tuileries;  when  the  most 
brill  inn  t  pens  that  could  be  enlisted  in  the  cause  have  been 
emuloiisly  striving  to  personify  Paris  as  a  goddess,  a  muse,  a 
grace — or  rather  as  all  the  goddesses,  muses,  and  graces  rolled 
into  one.  MM.  Louis  Blanc,  Sainte-Beuve,  Renan,  Michelet, 
Thecjphile  Gautier,  Hdgar  Quinet,  Aleacandre  Dumas  (pere  ct 
fils),  Augieri  &c.,  figure  amongst  the  contributors  to  the  First 
Part  of  the  new  '  Paris  Guide  ;*  and  M*  Victor  Hugo  has  written 
an  Introduction,  in  which  he  has  racked  his  imagination,  and  well 
nigh  exhausted  bis  vocabulary,  to  deify  the  city  of  cities,  the  wonder, 
capital^  and  destined  mistress  of  the  world  : — 

*  Paris  is  the  city  on  which,  on  a  given  day,  history  has  turned. 
Palermo  hae  Etna,  Paria  hm  thought.  Constantinople  is  nearer  to 
the  sun,  Paris  is  nearer  to  civilisation.  Athens  built  tiic  Par- 
thenon, but  Paris  deinollshcd  the  Bastille Paris  works  for 

the  terrestrial  comnniuity.  Hence,  round  Paris,  with  all  men,  in  all 
races,  in  all  colonisations,  in  all  tlie  labora tones  of  thought^  of  science, 
and  of  industry,  in  oil  the  capitals,  in  all  the  little  towns,  a  imiversal 
consent,  Paris  reveals  tUo  ninltitudo  to  itself.  This  multitude  that 
Oioero  calla  pldf»,  that  Boccaria  caUs  canafjlia,  that  Walpolo  calls  mob^ 
that  De  Midstro  calls  poptthee^  and  which  ia  no  other  than  the  elemen- 
tary material  of  the  nation,  at  Paria  feels  itself  People,  It  is  at  onco 
mist  and  dearness.  It  is  the  nebiila  which,  eoudoused,  will  be  the 
et&r,     Paria  ia  the  condenser/ 

As  this,  io  far  as  it  h  intelligible,  may  be  thought  paradoxical, 
let  U9  try  again.     Dipping  into  M.  Victor  Hugo's  essay  is  like 

B  2  dipping 


4  New  Paris. 

dipping:  into  Meg  Merrilies'  kettle  or  Cainacho*8  cmoldnm :  some* 
thing  rich  and  racv  is  sure  to  turn  up : — 

*  The  oniTerse  without  the  citj  would  he  like  a  decapitaticm.  Ono 
cannot  fancy  civilisation  scephalous.  We  want  the  citj  of  which  all 
the  world  is  citizen.  The  human  race  needs  a  point  of  uniTenal 
mark.     To  keep  to  what  is  elucidated,  and  without  going  to  sesich  &v 

mysterious  cities  in  the  twilight  Gour  in  Asia.  Palanque  in  America 

three  cities,  risihle  in  the  full  light  of  history,  are  incontestahle  types 
of  the  human  mind :  Jerusalem,  Athens,  liome,  the  three  riiythmical 
cities.  The  ideal  is  composed  of  three  rays  :  the  True,  the  Beautilul, 
the  Grand.*  From  each  of  these  three  cities  emanates  one  of  theae 
three  rays.     The  three  together  make  all  the  light 

'  Jerusalem  brings  out  Uie  True.  It  is  there  that  the  supreme  word 
was  spoken  by  the  supreme  martyr :  £i?<cTfjr,  Equality^  Fmiermity. 
Athens  brings  out  the  Beautiful.  Bome  brings  out  the  Grand. 
Around  these  three  cities  the  human  ascension  has  accomplished  ite 
reTolution.  They  hare  done  their  work.  At  present  there  remains  of 
Jerusalem  a  gibbet  Calvary ;  of  Athens,  a  ruin,  the  Parthenon :  of 
Borne,  a  phantom,  the  Boman  Empire. 

'  Are  these  cities  dead  ?  No.  The  cracked  egg  represents  not  the 
desih  of  the  egg.  but  the  life  of  the  bird  :  outside  thvse  prostrate  en- 
velopes. Borne,  Athens,  Jerusalem,  hovers  the  idea  that  has  taken  wing. 
Outside  Borne,  Power  :  outside  Athens,  Art :  outside  Jerusalem, 
Liberty.  The  Grand,  the  Beautiful,  the  True.  Moreover,  they  live 
in  Paris.  Paris  is  the  sum  of  these  three  thinge^  She  ^m^igimnfii^j 
them  in  her  unity.  On  one  side  she  resuscitates  Bome ;  on  another 
Athens :  on  a  third.  Jerusalem.  From  the  cxy  of  Golgotha,  she  has 
drawn  the  Bights  of  Han.' 

'  This  logarithm  of  these  civilisations  digested  into  sn  unique  for- 
mula, this  infusion  of  Athens  in  Bome  snd  of  Jerusalem  in  Athens, 
this  sublime  tetralogy  of  progress  struggling  towards  the  Ideal,  gives 
this  master,  and  produces  this  masterpiece, — Paris.  In  that  city  theie 
has  been  a  crucifix.  There,  and  during  eighteen  hundred  years,  too-^- 
we  have  just  been  counting  the  drops  of  blood — in  presence  of  the 
great  crucified  one,  God,  who  for  us  is  Man,  has  bled  the  other  great 
crucified  one,  the  People.  Paris,  place  of  the  revolutionary  revolu- 
tion, is  the  human  Jerusalem.' 

This  nonsense,  not  to  say  blasphemy,  may  be  a  fine  prospect  for 
the  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  phrenzy  rolling ;  but  the  calm  obser^'er  will 
discover  something  besides  the  grand,  the  true,  or  the  beautiful  in 
the  human  Jerusalem.  These  historical  parallels  are  far  from  re> 
assuring  at  the  best;  and,  strange  to  say,  they  are  confident! v 
employed  to  point  a  diametrically  opposite  moral  as  we  write. 
Here  is  M.  Veuillot,  with  his  *  Odeurs  de  Paris,'  comjiaring  himself 

*  '  Lt  Trs/.  le  Beam,  U  Gnn'V    M.  Mctor  Hu((i>  b«rtf  differa  cfientially  from 
M.  Onais,  vbo  vroCe  *  Jx  Vrai^  dm  Beav^  ei  dn  Bien.' 

to 


New  Paris* 


to  the  man  who  tan  up  and  down  the  walls  of  Jenisaleni,  crjing, 

'  Woe  !  Woe  I  Woe  to  the  city  and  the  temple  ! '  Then,  we  have 
the  author  of  '  La  Nouvelle  Baby  lone,'  who  can  read  already  the 
writing  on  the  wall ;  anjd  M  Henri  Rtjchefort^  who  sketches  his 
countrymen  and  contemporaries  under  the  complimentary  title  of 
*  Les  Franca ii  de  la  Decadence;*  and  M,  Emile  Girardiuj  who 
loudly  complains  that  the  least  a  nation  can  expect  in  return  for  her 
liberty  ia  glory  and  prosperity,  and  that  his  beloved  France  has  got 
neither  of  the  three  ;  and  the  authors  of  *  Paris  Capitale  du  Monde,' 
who  vow  that  J  in  becoming  cosmopolitan,  she  has  lost  everything^ 
that  constituted  her  legitimate  superiority— her  traditions,  her 
associations,  her  taste,  her  manners,  her  gallantry,  and  her  wit 

According  to  them,  through  some  unaccountable  fatuity  or 
occult  Machiavcllsm,  the  jjast  and  the  future  have  been  sacriEced 
to  the  present,  the  ideal  and  Immaterial  to  the  actual  and  material, 
whilst  the  aesthetic  part  of  man's  nature  has  been  altogether 
overlookeil : 

'  Who  (they  continue)  uow  gives  a  thought  to  thig  Paris  of  yesterday  ? 
Who  recalls  what  is  no  more,  ia  preseneo  of  what  is  ?  Ah,  the  dead  are 
dead,  whether  cities  or  men.  Old  cabarets,  old  parliamentary  hotels, 
old  cloisters,  old  atones  hietonfied  and  historical  I  yonr  grand  offence, 
in  this  city,  where  groand  has  growm  so  dear,  was  occupying  spaee. 
Boon  the  clearings  were  made  on  all  sides  at  once.  The  pickaxe 
was  everywhere  at  work ;  and  on  the  spaces  thus  obtained  arose  the 
etone  mansion  with  five  stories,  the  pitiless  mansion  whose  doors  are 
closed  to  the  humble  lodger.     The  emigration  began. 

•  Each  new  boulevard  ejected  beyond  the  fortifications  a  mass  of 
poor  derOe  of  whom  Paris  would  fain  be  rid,  Veki*t»y  migraie,  cohni 
Begone,  workmen,  small  shopkeepers,  little  tradespeople,  w©  decline 
lodging  yoTi  any  longer  I  and,  for  the  first  time  in  history,  was  seen 
ihis  strange^  antichristian  fact :  a  city  which  excluded  the  poor  and 
inaifited  on  being  henceforth  inhabited  exclusively  by  the  rich,  ,  .  .  , 

*  What,  may  I  ask,  is  that  edifice  with  Corinthian  columns,  pedi- 
ment, &e,  V  It  is  a  theatre.  And  this  other  edtfieo  with  Corinthian 
columns,  pediment,  Sec,  ?  It  is  a  palace.  And  this  third  edifice  with 
Corinthian  columns,  pediment,  &c,  ?  It  is  a  church.  And  thie  fourth 
edifice  with  Cormthian  pediment,  to.  ?  It  is  a  prison.  Admirable 
architecture,  this  architecture  with  columns  and  pediments  that  are 
suited  for  everything  1  * 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  the  uniformity,  which  is  wearisome 
in  the  extreme  ;  and  the  expulsion  of  the  lower  class  beyond 
the  walk  is  a  fact  which  any  early  riser  may  verify  for  himself. 
Let  him  take  his  stand  at  daybreak  at  one  of  the  main  en- 
trances, and  he  will,  see  files  of  omnibusses  and  hackney-car- 
riages freighted  with  workmen  and  their  tooK  The  late  Sir 
Robert  Peel  once  drew  a  picture,  which  he  meant  to  be  pathetic, 

of 


6  New  Parti. 

of  a  labourer  riding  to  his  work  on  a  donkey.  The  House  of 
Commons  laughed,  and  neither  French  nor  English  labourers 
would  have  much  ground  of  complaint  if  they  could  always 
afford  cabs  and  donkeys.  An  impartial  German  observer,  M. 
Julius  Rodenberg,  contends  that  the  destruction  of  the  narrow 
streets  and  old  houses,  those  hotbeds  of  disease  and  strongholds 
of  crime  as  he  alls  them,  has  been  most  advantageously 
replaced,  and  that  the  bulk  of  the  population  have  been  lai^ 
gainers  on  the  whole  by  their  removal  to  a  purer  atmosphere  and 
healthier  site.  This  may  be,  but  many  of  tnem  do  not  think  so : 
we  are  all  more  or  less  creatures  of  habit,  and  our  sympathies 
are  warmly  invoked  for  respectable  individuals  of  both  sexes  who 
have  died,  or  are  dying,  heartbroken  by  the  change. 

The  episode  of  *  TExpropriee '  turns  on  the  fate  of  an  old  lady, 
the  Comtesse  de  Solermes,  who  receives  notice  that  her  hotel  is  to 
be  pulled  down.  Rapidly  running  over  the  happy  days  she  has 
passed  in  it,  the  thousand  ties  that  link  her  to  the  spot,  she 
wildly  asks  why  she  is  to  be  torn  from  it  ^Madame,  replies 
the  doctor  who  is  supposed  to  relate  the  story,  '  they  are  about 
to  open  a  ^reat  boulevard.'  *Yes,  but  what  will  be  the  use 
of  this  boulevard  ? '  ^  It  will  cut  a  straight  line  through  this  side 
of  Paris,  which  will  be  connected  by  a  bridge  with  another 
straight  line  on  the  other  bank  of  the  Seine;  and  these  two 
straight  lines,  then  forming  one,  will  be  the  shortest  road  between 
two  of  the  great  railway  stations  of  Paris.*  *  And  how  much 
will  this  shorten  the  distance.'  *  Perhaps  three  minutes  for 
carriages.'  *'  Three  minutes  I  this,  then,  is  your  ground  of  public 
utility.'  *  Yes,  Madame,  sometimes  it  is  not  so  evident — a  simple 
question  of  symmetry,  of  regularity,  of  gratification  for  the 
eyes,  which  see  pleasure  in  uniformity.  Besides,  the  gain  of  a 
minute  at  the  epoch  in  which  we  live  is  enormous,  and  no 
sacrifices  are  too  great  for  its  acquisition.  The  wisdom  of 
nations  has  pronounced  that  time  is  money.'  Then  she  almost 
rises  to  eloquence : 

^  Ah,  doctor,  take  care,  the  public  good  may  lie  perhaps  in  a  minnto 
gained,  but  it  does  not  lie  there  only,  and  better  lose  this  minuto 
than  risk  the  loss  of  things  prccions  for  far  different  reasons.  To 
treasure  up  in  one's  soul  the  faithful  remembrance  of  what  one  has 
loved  —  to  live  surrounded  with  what  occupies  and  warms  it — to  blend 
unceasingly  the  present  with  the  past— does  not  this  elevate  the 
heartof  man?    And  is  it  not  good  for  all  thateach  should  be  bettor?  ' 

This  old  lady's  warning  or  lament,  at  which  a  go-ahead  genera- 
tion will  smile,  sounds  very  like  an  amplification  of  Burke's 
memorable  saying,  that  men  seldom  look  forward  to  posterity 
who  never  look  backwards  to  their  ancestors.     Or  it  may  recal 

Johnson's 


New  Paru* 

Johnson's  Tefiections  at  looa;  ^To  abstract  the  miod  (torn,  all 
local  emotion  would  be  impossible  if  it  were  endeavoured,  and 
would  be  foolish  if  it  were  jiossible^  Whatever  withdraws  us 
from  the  power  of  our  senses,  whatever  makes  the  past,  the 
distant,  and  the  foture  predominate  over  the  present,  advances 
us  in  the  dig-nity  of  thinking  beings/  It  may  safely  be  con- 
ceded to  her  that  when  the  spirit  of  progress  is  compelled  to 
efface  the  footmarks  of  the  past,  this,  though  not  a  tenable 
objection  to  improvementj  is  at  all  events  a  fair  subject  of 
regret  Feelings,  habits,  and  moral  influences  should  surely  be 
taken  into  the  calculation  when  the  entire  population  of  large  dis- 
tricts are  to  be  simultaneously  unhoused^  M,  Rodenberg  computes 
that,  if  the  new  buildings  of  Paris  were  ranged  in  a  straight  line, 
they  would  reach  fifteen  German  (nearly  seventy  English)  miles. 
They  consist,  he  says,  of  200  boulevards  and  streets,  eight  churches, 
eighty  schools,  twelve  bridges,  the  central  hall,  tlie  new  temple, 
four  slaughter-houses,  twenty-two  squares,  and  three  new  parks, 
with  50,000  new  trees.  'When  I  was  in  London,  1  knew  a 
little  old  Jew  who  was  constantly  clapping  his  hands  and  calling 
out  whenever  he  passed  over  the  great  bridges  and  saw  the 
great  ships,  the  great  streets,  and  the  great  houses,  "  God  pre- 
serve us;  what  can  London  have  cost?"  This  would  be  difficult 
to  say,  for  in  London  there  is  no  Prefect  of  the  Seine,  Here,  in 
Paris,  however,  we  know  tolerably  well  what  Paris,  the  new 
Paris,  has  cost, — a  mUIiaTd  and  a  half  of  francs  (sixty  millions 
storling)  in  fifteen  years/  This  we  know  to  be  much  below  the 
mark,  although  it  only  includes  what  has  been  already  completed^ 
The  New  Opera,  with  the  decorations,  is  expected  to  cost  more 
than  three  millions  sterling;  more  than  double  the  original 
estimate. 

The  Chinese  ambassador  is  reported  to  have  said,  *I  have 
seen  everything  in  this  city,  even  to  the  schools  and  the  barracks, 
but  I  wonder  why  the  schools  are  so  small,  and  the  barracks  so 
large/  His  Excellency  is  not  alone  in  his  wonder.  The  precise 
purpose  nf  the  imperial  projector  has  puzzled  many  with  ampler 
means  of  informatttm  at  command.  When  the  King  of  the 
French  procured  the  adoption  of  his  fortification  project,  it 
was  said  that,  under  the  pretence  of  investing  the  Parisians  with 
a  suit  «)f  defensive  armour,  they  were  about  to  be  coaxed  into  a 
straight  waistcoat  Has  not  Louis  Napoleon,  under  the  pretence 
of  beautifying  their  city,  turned  it  into  a  sort  of  intrenched  camp 
in  a  lately  conquered  country  ?  This  topic  is  amusingly  dis- 
cussed in  'La  Noovelle  Babjlone/  in  a  conversation  between  a 
general,  a  man  of  letters,  and  a  Baroness  of  the  empire. 

'  Paris  has  been  demolished/  begins  the  General,  'because  the 

revolution 


8  New  Paris. 

revolation  of  February  has  demonstrated  that  no  honest  govern- 
ment could  hold  out  in  this  coupe-gorge  of  a  million  of  souls,  in 
this  tangled  skein  of  streets,  passages,  and  galleries,  where,  with 
a  dozen  of  pavements  one  upon  the  other,  and  as  many  blouses 
behind  these  pavements,  the  first  faction  that  turned  up,  the  first 
secret  society,  could  stop,  one  day,  two  days,  three  days  even,  all 
the  infantry,  all  the  cavalry,  all  the  artillery,  all  the  gendarmerie 
of  the  garrison  of  Paris.  This  was  an  insult  to  the  uniform,  an 
irregularity  that  could  not  be  permitted  to  last' 

Then,  running  rapidly  over  the  many  plans  for  resisting 
popular  movements,  and  demonstrating  their  insuflSciency,  he 
continues :  ^  Well,  this  Government  has  had  the  good  sense  to 
complete  the  first  system  of  defence  (Napoleon's)  :  it  has  pushed 
the  Rue  de  Rivoli  quite  up  to  the  Rue  Saint-Antoine :  it  has 
sapped  the  opaque  compact  quarters  of  Saint-Denis  and  Saint- 
Martin  ;  it  has  at  last  completed  the  military  position  of  the 
Louvre  and  the  Carrousel.  This  position  could  not  now  be 
carried  without  cannon,  an  arm  which  the  insurrectionists  will 
not  find  at  the  gunmaker's.  These  are  the  real  reasons  for 
demolishing  Paris.  The  object  was  to  turn  it  into  an  intrenched 
camp,  and  make  the  Louvre  a  quadrilateral ;  with  that  and 
the  imperial  guard  for  garrison,  the  principle  of  authority  can 
go  to  sleep.  Orderly  well-disposed  people  will  never  more  see 
men  in  aprons,  a  pot  of  paste  in  hand,  smearing  the  wall  with 
a  brush,  and  gravely  placarding  the  comer  of  the  street  with  an 
advertisement  of  a  new  Government.' 

When  the  General  had  concluded  the  development  of  his 
system  he  left  the  room,  and  the  man  of  letters  struck  in :  *  Vou 
want  to  know  why  Paris  has  been  rebuilt.  1  believe  1  am  the 
man  to  enlighten  you  on  this  head ;  for,  between  ourselves,  the 
General's  opinion  is  not  worth  a  rush.  He  received  a  sabre  cut 
on  the  head  at  the  passage  of  the  Beresina;  worse  again,  he 
married  at  seventy  a  girl  of  eighteen,  and  he  now  dreams  of 
nothing  but  systems  of  defence.  1  am  not  acquainted  with  the 
Prefect  of  the  Seine,  but  1  undertake  to  say  that,  in  demolishing 
half  Paris,  he  has  never  thought  of  barricsiding  the  Government. 
Barricade  it !  and  against  whom  ?  Against  the  people  ?  Why 
the  Government  has  the  pretension  to  be  the  people  compressed 
into  one  by  the  vote.  On  this  h^-pothesis,  then,  it  would  be 
arming  against  itself.  No,  believe  me,  when  the  Prefect  was 
turning  Paris  topsy-turvy,  it  was  not  from  fear  of  a  chimera, 
bat  by  an  inspiration  of  genius.'  Tliig  inspiration,  he  explains, 
was  to  supply  remunerative  employment  for  the  operatives,  and 
to  supply  it  in  a  way  that  should  prevent  its  real  character 
or  probable   results   from   being  suspected  or  exposed.     'The 

revolution 


New  Paris. 

revolution  of  February  resolved  to  bestow  charity  on  the  labour- 
ing' class ;  to  spare  their  delicacy,  to  give  alms  the  semblance  of 
wa^es,  it  invented  a  species  of  work;  it  employed  indiscrimin- 
ately jewellers,  g'dldsmiths,  tailors,  printers^  saddlers,  mechanics, 
in  digging;  the  Champ  de  Mars,  in  carrying  the  earth  in  wheel- 
barrows from  north  to  south  and  then  back  again— an  operation, 
the  utility  of  which  was  so  evident  to  them  that,  at  the  second 
barrowful  they  lighted  their  pipes  and  read  the  newspaper,  all 
at  the  exjiense  of  the  public/ 

But  now,  *a  hundred  thousand  workmen^  a  huTidred  thousand 
electors^  receive  their  wages  regularly  every  Saturday,  and  bless 
Providence  from  Sunday  to  Monday  ;  and  the  l>est  of  it  is  that 
everybody  gains  by  the  transaction.  The  workman  gets  a 
provision  against  want ;  the  master  a  profit ;  the  speculator  a 
dividend  ;  the  population  the  beauty  of  the  coup  d\eii  ;  the  nurse 
a  shady  square  to  dandle  her  baby  in ;  the  Government  a 
guarantee  for  tranquillity  j  for  when  the  workman  has  work,  he 
eats,  and  when  he  has  eaten  he  thinks  soundly ;  digestion  is 
conservative;  it  is  thought  on  spare  diet  that  dreams  of  revo-' 
lution/ 

The  objection  of  the  portentous  rise  of  house  rent  and  of 
prices  generally  in  the  metitipolis  is  adroitly  parried  ;  but  the 
more  formidable  argument  from  ultimate  and  inevitable  results 
seems  to  admit  neither  of  evasion  nor  of  satisfactory  reply.  *  Have 
the  goodness  to  follow  your  hypothesis  to  the  end.  The  Govern- 
ment will  have  unpeopled  the  rural  districts,  already  too  thinly 
peopled  J  it  will  have  torn  a  hundred  thousand  more  hands  from 
the  plough  I  it  will  have  transformed  peaceable  agriculturists, 
brought  up  on  the  virtuous  heath,  in  whfjlesome  awe  of  the 
garde-chamj>ctrej  into  denizens  of  the  faubourgs  of  Paris,  in 
the  atmosphere  and  focus  of  insubordination  and  insurrection* 
By  so  doings  it  will  have  entered  into  a  tacit  engagement  with 
them  to  supply  them  indefinitely  with  work,  and  consequently 
to  demolish  and  rebuild  Paris  indefinitely :  to  renew,  trowel  in 
hand,  the  ingenious  fable  of  Penelope,  Yet,  after  all,  you  cannot 
go  on  pulling  down  and  reconstructing  to  eternity*  When  this 
fever  of  masonry  abates,  what  is  the  Government  to  do  with  these 
two  hundred  thousand  workmen  without  work  ?' 

The  dispute  was  growing  warm  when  the  lady  of  the  house 
intervened  with  her  theory,  which  is  that  the  object  of  the 
Imperial  Government  was  neither  political,  strategic,  nor  indus- 
trial ;  that  it  simply  aimed  at  making  Paris  a  becoming  place  of 
reception  for  the  strangers  that  are  docking  from  every  quarter 
of  the  worUL  *  I  hear  all  round,  "  Respect  for  old  Paris !  it 
is  history,  and  history  is  in  some  sort  the  soul,  the  memory,  of  a 

nation." 


10  xV«c  Paris. 


Wbaty  because  since  the  middle  age,  people  have  been 
hanzed  and  broken  on  die  wheel  on  the  Place  de  Grcve,  was  this 
a  reaaoo]  to  presenre  this  place  out  of  r^;ard  for  history  ?  And 
because,  at  the  angle  of  this  same  place  there  was  a  cabaret  oma- 
mated  with  a  turret,  where  Madame  de  La  Popelinierc  gave 
twentr  kniis  for  a  window  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  a  man  quar- 
tered, was  this  hovel  to  be  proclaimed  inviolate  in  remembrance 
of  Madame  de  La  Popeliniere  ?  If  such  or  such  a  celebrated  ruin, 
inventoried  on  a  page  of  Felibrien,  goes  down  in  the  mel^e^  what 
after  all  does  it  signify,  so  long  as  Paris  is  better  looking  and  better 
behaved  ? '  This  theory,  it  is  objected,  assumes  that  luxury  is  the 
sole  motive  principle  of  the  hour.  ^  And  if  so,  where  would  be 
the  harm  ?  Is  not  luxury  the  sign  of  the  superiority  of  race  over 
race?  For  myself^  I  declare  I  would  rather  go  without  dinner 
than  lace/ — *  How  long,  Madame  ? ' — *  All  my  life,  Monsieur.' 
— *Snch  a  fast  would  not  prevent  luxury  from  ruining  the  State.' 

We  pass  over  the  demonstration,  to  come  to  the  summary-. 
'  The  General,'  she  continues,  'has  told  you  that  Paris  was  putting 
on  a  new  skin  to  organise  a  system  of  defence  against  a  popular 
outbreak ;  you  shook  your  head  and  rejected  the  hypothesis.  My 
young  friend  has  just  told  you  that  it  was  to  institute  a  national 
workshop  which  should  ensure  employment  to  the  labouring  class ; 
you  continued  incredulous  and  demanded  another  reason.  I  have 
told  you  in  my  turn  that  it  was  to  make  the  capital  the  principal 
ornament  of  the  French  people,  and  you  have  pronounced  a 
downright  homily  against  this  opinion.  Since  you  reject  these 
three  opinions,  one  after  the  other,  take  all  of  them  together 
in  the  lump.' 

We  are  disposed  to  follow  this  advice.  A  variety  of  mixed 
motives  has  probably  led  to  the  transformation ;  and  projects  once 
put  in  action,  with  unlimited  resources,  expand  till  they  far  tran- 
scend die  original  conception,  or  become  absolutely  uncontrollable. 
Prior  to  1867  the  number  of  workpeople  depending  for  employ- 
ment on  the  improvements  certainly  exceeded  200,000.  We  have 
heard  it  computed  at  nearly  double.  It  was  thought  a  happy  hit 
to  get  foreigners  to  spend  a  million  and  a  half  sterling  amongst 
French  artisans  and  mechanics  in  completing  and  fitting  up 
their  respective  departments  of  the  Exhibition.  But  the  regular 
demand  for  hands  not  being  suspended,  the  extraordinary 
demand  simply  added  about  200,000  more  to  the  army  of 
proletaires  quartered  in  and  about  the  capital  and  placing  the 
Government  very  much  in  the  condition  of  the  enchanter  who 
was  compelled  to  find  employment  for  the  spirit  he  had  raised, 
under  the  penalty  of  being  torn  to  pieces.  When  the  laws  of 
political  economy  agree  with  common  sense — and  they  are  sadly 

misnamed 


New  Paris. 


11 


misnamed  when  they  do  not — they  are  never  long-  transgressed 
with  impunity.  As  most  of  the  large  towns,  Lyons,  Marseilles^ 
Bordeaux,  &c,,  have  been  emulously  beautifying'  already,  they 
aflbrd  no  outlet^  and  imagination  is  let  loose  to  discover  what 
fresh  marvels  of  expenditure  will  suffice  to  prevent  or  pro- 
crastinate the  crisis.  Is  the  noble  faubourg  to  be  the  next 
victimj  to  punish  it  for  its  legitimist  recollections  ?  or  is  the 
Latin  quarter,  with  its  unruly  students,  to  be  treated  like 
the  Faubourg  Saint-Antoine? 

The  prospect  is  far  from  pleasant  without  the  lowering  thun- 
der-cloud in  the  distance*  It  is  already  clear  that  people  with 
moderate  incomes  will  soon  find  It  impossible  to  live  in 
Paris  without  a  sacrifice  of  many  things  which  their  habits 
and  position  imperatively  require,  *By  decenciesy^  observed 
Mr,  Senior  in  his  article  on  Political  Economy  in  the  Ency- 
clopcedia  Metropolitanaj  *  we  express  those  things  which  a  given 
individual  must  use  in  order  to  preserve  his  existing  rank  in 
sDcietyp  A  carriage  is  a  decency  to  a  woman  of  fashion/ 
According  to  this  criterion,  the  number  of  born  and  bred 
Parisians  capable  of  commanding  decencies  must  be  rapidly 
on  the  decrease  ;  for  the  price  of  apartments,  dress,  equipage, 
furniture,  and  consumable  commodities,  has  doubled  or  trebled, 
whilst  custom,  fashion,  or  caprice  has  simultaneously  imposed 
a  more  luxurious  scale  of  living  and  establishment  on  all  who 
are  reluctant  to  lose  caste.  An  old  nobility  may  repose  on  its 
ancestral  advantages,  on  inborn  refinement,  on  inherited  ease, 
air,  manner,  and  tone.  The  genuine  f/ra7ide  dame  can  afford  to 
appear  in  the  same  velvet  gown  at  successive  bouses ;  to  receive 
her  company  in  a  salon  hung  with  faded  tapestry,  and  drive 
about  in  a  shabby  old  coach  with  the  armorial  quarterings  half 
effaced.  But  the  great  lady  of  the  new  rigimc  is  placed  under 
different  circumstances,  and  gifted  with  a  corresponding  quality 
of  taste — 

*  Her  manners  have  not  that  repose, 
Which  stamps  the  cast©  of  Vere  de  Vere.* 

Moreover,  persons  of  both  sexes  who  acquire  riches  and  rank 
in  revolutionary  times^  or  by  any  sudden  stroke  of  fortune,  are 
naturally  prone  to  make  the  best  of  their  time.  We  can  easily 
understand,  therefore,  why  an  imperial  court,  founded  by  a  coup 
d'eiatf  should  set  the  example  of  Ia>dsh  expense,  and  why  the 
example  should  be  followed  with  avidity  by  all  who  desire  to 
stand  well  at  the  Tuileries  or  l>e  included  in  the  select  invitations 
to  Fontainebleau  and  Compie^ne,  The  item  of  dress  may 
serve  as  a  sample  of  the  current  extravagance  and  the  way  in 

which 


12  New  Paris. 

which  it  gains  vogue.  A  fair  guest  at  Compiegne  must  change 
her  dress  four  times  a  day,  and  she  is  expected  never  to  appear 
more  than  once  in  the  same  dress.  An  ambassadress  who  ven- 
tured to  infringe  the  rule,  and  was  reminded  by  the  Empress  of 
her  transgression,  quietly  replied,  '  I  wore  this  gown  a  second 
time,  because  your  Majesty  did  me  the  honour  of  noticing  it 
the  first'  A  Frenchwoman  who  should  risk  such  a  solecism 
would  never  see  her  name  on  the  chosen  list  again.  Nor  would 
a  Frenchwoman  be  likely  to  risk  it  True,  the  cost  of  an  eight- 
day  visit  has  been  roughly  computed  at  ten  thousand  francs ;  hot 
(as  the  Charming  Woman  sings)  '  that  is  her  husband's  affair  ;* 
and  it  has  been  shrewdly  observed  that  we  all  of  ui  somehow 
find  time  and  money  for  the  gratification  of  our  vanity  or  oar 
caprices.  • 

*  Would  you  like  to  know,'  asks  the  author  of  *  La  Nouvelle 
Babylone,'  ^  what  a  woman  of  the  world  costs  her  husband  ?  I 
will  introduce  you  for  an  instant  into  the  interior  of  an  establish- 
ment The  scene  is  a  breakfastrtable  at  which  the  mistress^  a 
marquise,  appears  in  a  morning  dress  trimmed  with  lace,  valued 
loosely  at  2000  francs : — 

' "  Comment  trouvez-vons  cette  robo-de-chambro  ?  "  disait-elle  2k  son 
mari. 

'  Le  marquis  jetait  un  coup-d'oeil  a  madame. 

'  ^  Parfaite,"  repliquait-il  bmsquement.  Et  comme  il  avait  fedm  de 
bonne  heure,  il  attaquait  une  cro^te  de  pdt^. 

*  "  C'est  pour  toi  que  je  Tai  miso,"  reprenait  la  jeune  fcmmo,  en 
oscortant  ce  toi  exceptionnel — car  uno  femme  bien  ^lev^e  doit  dire  voum 
^  son  mari — d*un  de  ces  longs  r^ards  qui  somblent  promettre  Tetor- 
nit^. 

'  ^  D^cid^ent  ma  femme  m'aime,''  pensait  le  mari.' 

At  one  in  the  afternoon  she  appears  in  a  toilette  de  bois^  to  go 
to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne ;  a.  robe  of  grey  velvet,  with  cloak  to 
match,  both  trimmed  with  sables,  the  robe  and  the  fur  having 
cost  about  4000  francs  at  least : — 

*  Elle  pr^sente  d*abord  son  front  a  son  mari :  puis,  lui  appuyant  les 
deux  bras  sur  la  poitrine,  et  le  regardant,  de  baut  en  has,  dans  une 
Borte  d'extase : 

<  ^  Yous  avez  encore  oubli^  de  me  fiure  compliment,"  disait-elle  d'un 
ton  de  rcproche  caressant. 

*  "  Et  de  quoi,  madame  ?  " 

'  Elle  reculait  vivement  d'un  pas,  et  prenant  sa  robe,  a  deux  mains, 
comme  une  danseuse : 

*  I*  Mais  de  cela,"  disait-elle :  "  ingrat  que  vous  ^tes  I  c*est  encore  ii 
ton  intention.     Enfin,  comment  trouvez-vous  cette  metamorphose  ?  " 

*  "  Delicieuse  I "  r^pliquait  le  mari.     Et  il  ajoutait  mentalement: 

"Je 


N&W  Parts. 


13 


**  Je  croirals  volontiors  quo  tie  minute  en  mmute  ma  fommfi  redouble 
de  tendresee."  * 

When  the  dinner-hour  arrived,  and  Madame  appeared  in  a 
third  dress,  he  resolved  to  make  up  for  his  former  remissness,  and 
exclaimed  J  the  moment  she  entered,  *  Divine  1 '  He  had  made 
a  still  worse  hit  this  time.  *  Wiiat  can  you  mean  ?  *  is  the  retort ; 
*  this  g^own  is  a  complete  failure*  1  am  really  ashamed  to  be 
seen  in  it  by  you/  She  pouts  during  the  whole  dinner,  and 
then  hurries  away  to  put  on  a  bali  dress  which  bid  added  about 
4000  francs  to  the  dressmaker's  account*  '  C^est  done  quatre 
Jemmes  par  jour  quejai  epoushs^  is  the  melancholy  reflection  of 
the  husband*  At  the  end  of  the  year  he  has  to  pay  60,000  francs 
for  extraordinary  expenses  of  toilette  in  addition  to  her  regular 
allowance.  This  is  complacently  endured  the  first  time ;  impa- 
tiently, the  second  \  not  at  all  the  third,  when  he  turns  the  dress- 
maker out  of  doors,  and  comes  to  a  downrig-ht  quarrel  with  his 
wife.  She  tT.kes  to  her  bed,  in  which,  however,  she  receives 
\^sits,  most  becomingly  and  appropriately  costumed-  Then,  all 
of  a  sudden,  under  pretext  that  the  physician  recommended 
eatercise^  she  quits  her  hotel  during-  a  part  of  every  day.  One 
evening  she  returns  with  a  flushed  cheek,  casts  a  gl.ance  of 
triumph  at  her  looking-glass,  throws  off  her  burnous  as  if  she 
pantetl  for  air,  and  exclaims,  ^  p}nfin^je  stiis  vengve  /' 

One  of  the  worst  features  of  Parisian  life  is  the  position 
occupied  by  the  Phrynes  and  Aspasias  of  the  present  day. 
The  fabulous  sums  lavished  on  them,  and  the  influence  they 
exercise  over  the  gay  world  of  both  sexes,  is  mainly  owing  to 
the  constant  influx  of  wealthy  foreigners,  who  hurry  to  Paris  as 
to  a  perpetual  carnival,  where  all  the  restraints  of  prudence  and 
propriety  may  be  laid  aside.  French  fortunes  alone  would  not 
bear  the  drain  ;  and  even  the  public  taste  would  revolt  if  it  were 
unalloyed  by  the  extraneous  clement,  and  the  full  responsibility 
were  thrown  upon  the  French*  There  is  an  occasional  protest 
as  it  is.  When,  very  recently,  a  siren  of  the  first  class  thought 
proper  to  exhibit  herself  on  the  stage  '  in  %*ery  thin  clothing,  and 
but  little  of  it,'  the  students  threatened  to  stop  the  performance, 
and  the  police  were  compelled  to  prohibit  it  Whenever  *Le8 
Filles  de  Marbre  *  was  acted,  no  passage  was  more  applauded 
than  '  Rai^ez  vos  voitures  un  pen^  Mesdames ;  place  mix  honneies 
femvws  qui  void  a  pied !  *  The  English  have  largely  contri- 
buted towards  the  promotion  of  this  phase  of  vice,  but  the  worst 
ciffenders  of  late  have  been  the  Ru, Asians  and  the  rich  jmrvemis 
from  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic*  In  *  La  Vie  Parisienne/ 
now  acting  at  the  Palais  Royal,  the  pigeon  is  a  Brazilian : 


14  New  Paris. 

'  Je  sois  Br^silien,  j*ai  de  Tor, 
Et  j*amye  de  Janeire, 
PltiB  riche  anjonrdliui  quo  naga^re. 
Paris,  je  ie  reviens  encore  ! 
Deox  foifl  je  snu  vena  deji^ 
tTavais  de  Tor  dans  ma  valiflc, 
Des  diamants  h  tp^-  chemise, 
Combien  a  dur^  tout  cela? ' 

We  gladlj  pass  from  this  subject,  which  cannot  be  kept  cat 
of  sight,  nor  even  thrown  into  the  background,  without  convej- 
ing  an  inadequate  impression;  but  it  is  impossible  in  these 
pages  to  give  it  that  prominence  which  it  unfortunately  occapies 
m  the  corrupted  society  of  New  Paris.  It  is  a  melancholy 
but  undoubted  fact,  that  women  of  position  endeavour  to  copy 
the  dress,  manners,  and  language  of  these  mercenary  beauties ;  but 
they  weaken  instead  of  improving  their  position,  by  encountering 
their  rivals  on  their  own  ground  and  with  their  own  weapons. 
The  ffrandes  dames  who  reproduce  the  aiyot  of  a  cab-driver,  or 
sing  * Bien  nest  sacr4 pour  un  sapeur'  before  an  applauding  audi- 
ence at  Compiegne,  are  feeble  imitators,  at  best,  of  the  (happily) 
inimitable  originals. 

No  excuse  can  be  made  for  those  of  the  rising  generation  who 
are  fond  of  debasing  society,  but  one  reason  for  it  may  perhaps  be 
found  in  the  disappearance,  or  extreme  rarity,  of  the  salon^  by  which 
we  mean  something  very  different  from  a  drawing-room, — the  scene 
of  a  succession  of  soiries  or  evening  parties,  at  which  a  mixed  com- 
pany assemble  by  invitation  on  set  days.  '  No,'  exclaims  Madame 
Ancelot,  ^  that  is  not  a  salon.  A  salon  is  an  intimate  reunion^ 
which  lasts  several  years,  where  we  get  acquainted  and  look  for 
one  another.  The  persons  who  receive  are  a  tie  between  those  who 
are  invited,  and  this  tie  is  the  closer  when  the  recognised  influence 
of  a  clever  woman  has  formed  it'*  There  were  formerly,  she 
says,  in  France  many  salons  of  this  kind  which  have  acquired 
an  almost  historical  celebrity;  and  *If  they  have  been  less 
numerous  and  less  before  the  public  in  our  time,  it  is  that,  in 
general,  intelligence  has  been  more  actively  employed,  and, 
moreover,  that  politics  have  made  such  a  noise  as  has  prevented 
anything  else  from  being  heard.'  There  is  another  and  stronger 
reason.  The  system  oi espionage  that  prevailed  for  some  years  sub- 
sequently to  the  coup  d'etat  J  and  is  still  partially  kept  up,  has 
banished  confidence.  Only  four  or  five  years  since  a  literary  man 
of  distinction,  who  was  summoned  before  the  Police  Correc- 
tionnelle  touching  the    circulation   of  a   pamphlet,    discovered 

*  <  Les  Salons  de  Paris :  Foyers  Eteints.'    Parii,  1858. 

from 


NeiB  Farit, 


15 


n  tbe  course  of  the  proceedings  and  ttie  tone^  that  much  of 
the  conversation  at  his  last  evening^  P^rty  had  been  reported  to 
the  authorities.  In  this  state  of  things,  the  master  or  mistress  of 
a  house  may  be  pardoned  for  regarding  a  new  acquaintance,  or 
a  stranger  desirous  of  an  introduction^  with  distrust,  or  even  for 
subjecting  him  to  a  kind  of  moral  quarantine  before  admitting 
him  to  the  full  privileges  of  intimacy, 

Althoug^h  not  encountered  by  any  similar  obstacle,  the  galmi 
has  never  flourished,  indeed,  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  been 
established,  in  this  country,  where  social  habits  are  altogfether 
alien  from  it.  The  nearest  approximation  within  our  recollection 
was  made  by  the  Misses  Berry,  '  with  whose  lives,' remarks  Lady 
Theresa  Lewis,  *  closed  a  society  which  will  ever  be  remembered 
by  all  who  frequented  the  pleasant  little  gatherings  in  Curzon 
Street.'  There  is  also  an  eminently  accomplished  lady  of  rank  still 
living,  who  (health  permitting)  is  always  at  home  to  a  chosen  few, 
and  affords  in  her  own  person  an  illustration  of  the  brilliant  and 
varied  conversation  which  was  the  pride  of  the  Parisian  salon  in 
the  olden  time.  The  indispensable  sacrifice  is  one  to  which 
few,  except  under  peculiar  circumstances,  will  submit.  Madame 
de  Bassonville  states,  in  her  '  Salons  d' Autrefois;  that  the  Princesse 
de  Vaudemont  made  a  point  of  being  at  home  every  evening, 
giving  up  balls,  plays,  concerts,  and  other  evening  engagements, 
for  thirty  years  |  and  for  more  than  half  the  same  length  of  time 
a  French  author  and  statesman  of  world-wide  fame  has  devoted 
every  evening  in  the  week,  except  Thursday,  to  the  reception  of 
his  friends. 

*  The  clubs  in  England,  the  salom  in  France,*  observes 
Madame  Mohl  in  her  *  Madame  Recamier/  'have  long  been 
places  where,  like  the  porticos  of  Athens,  public  alTairs  have 
been  discussed,  and  public  men  criticised,*  This  was  why 
Napoleon  I.  closed  Madame  de  Staol's  salon  by  banishing 
her,  and  why  Napoleon  UK  has  taken  effective  means  to  suppress 
tribunals  where  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  condemned  without 
appeal.  Their  suppression  or  discouragement  is  one  of  the 
worst  consequences  of  revived  imperialism.  *  Literary  sahns 
are  everywhere  the  sign  of  an  exuberant  civilisation;  tbey  are 
also  the  sign  of  the  happy  influence  of  women  on  the  human 
mind.  From  Pericles  and  Socrates  at  Aspasia's,  from  Mitjhael 
Angelo  and  Raphael  at  Vittoria  Colonna's,  from  Ariosto  and 
Tasso  at  Eleonora  d'Este's,  from  Petrarch  at  Laura  de  Sade's, 
from  Bossuetand  Racine  at  the  Hotel  Rambouillet,  from  Voltaire 
at  Madame  du  Defland's  or  Madame  du  Chatelet'sj  from  J.  J^ 
Rousseau  at  Madame  d^Epinay's  or  Madame  de  Luxembourg's, 
from  Vergniaud  at  Madame  Roland's,  from  Chateaubriand  at 

Madame 


16 


Nftu  Paris, 


Madame  Recamier^s, — everywhere  it  is  from  the  fireside  or 
bQudoir  of  a  lettered,  political,  or  enthusiastic  woman,  that  an 
age  b  lighted  up  or  an  eloqueoce  bursts  forth.  Always  a 
woman  as  the  nurse  of  genias^  at  the  cradle  of  literature  I  VVlieii 
these  sahns  are  closetl,  I  dread  civil  storms  or  literary  decline. 
They  are  closed*'  * 

To  return  to  the  inexhaustible  subject  of  modern  luxury. — If 
capitals  could  be  named  in  wkich  the  folly  and  extravagance  of 
the  courtly  and  aristocratic  circles  have  been  condemned  and 
eschewed  by  the  middle  class^  modern  Paris  is  not  of  the  number. 
Since  the  best  days  of  Scribe,  no  piece  has  had  a  greater 
run  or  made  more  noise  than  'La  Famille  Benuiton/  first 
acted  at  the  Vaudeville  in  Novemberj  1865,  The  ex- 
planation of  its  success  is  thus  given,  and  we  think  cor- 
rectly given,  by  M*M,  Texier  and  Kaempfer:  *  At  certain 
moments  there  are  currents  of  ideas  in  the  air,  which  wait 
only  for  the  pencil  of  tlic  artist  or  the  pen  of  the  writer  to 
turn  them  on.  The  author  of  the  piece,  a  skilful  forager, 
picked  up  the  satirical  shafts  shot  from  all  quarters,  and  jmraded 
the  whole  belore  the  foot-ligbts*  The  theatre  has  this  advantage 
over  the  book :  it  is  the  electric  spark.  It  arrives  with  the 
rapidity  of  the  telegram  at  the  point  wliich  the  book  takes  ten 
years  to  reach.  In  this  comedy  there  was  nothing  new,  bat  it 
summed  up  with  more  or  less  art  the  vices  and  ridicules,  so 
often  exposed  already,  of  the  ^reat  of  the  present  time/  The 
success  of  *  Le  JVIariage  de  Figaro/  with  all  its  wit,  may  be 
accounted  for  on  the  same  principle.  It  ruthlessly  exposed  th« 
vices  and  ridicules  of  the  great.  But  the  tp^eat  of  Bean  march  ais' 
day  were  the  privileged  cla^,  the  claimants  ot"  tjie  droii  de 
geif/itetir :  it  was  they  who  made  the  fortune  of  the  comedy , 
because  tliey  saw  themselves  reflected  in  it;  the  profligate  Due 
de  Richelieu  was  its  most  eager  patron  ;  and  the  phren^ey  of 
applause  reached  its  acme,  where  Figaro  apostrophises  the  Count, 
*  Noblesse,  fortune,  un  rang^  des  places— tout  cela  rend  si  fier  I 
Qu*ave2-vous  fait  jiourtant  de  bien?  Vous  vous  etes  donne  la 
peine  de  naitre  et  rien  de  plus/ 

The  ffreat  of  the  present  time,  represented  by  *  La  Famille 
Benoiton*  and  their  friends,  are  the  btmrf/eomt\  the  industrial 
classes,  the  traders  who  have  made  their  fortunes  or  are  engaged 
in  making  them,  with  their  hardness,  their  materialism,  their 
phrenxied  love  of  speculation,  their  contempt  for  the  alow  result* 
of  Tegular  industry,  their  affectation,  their  vanity,  and  their 
extmvogance.     M,  Benoiton  is  a  millionaire,  who,  after  making 


Nmo  Pam* 


his  millioii  by  elastic  beds,  has  taken  a  yilla  at  St.  Cloud,  and 
carries  oo  the  gcnteeler  business  of  a  house  agent  and  builder 
with  his  son-in-law.  The  family  consists  of  this  son-in-law  and 
his  wife  (the  eAdest  daughter),  two  unmarried  daughters,  one  son 
of  fifteen  J  and  another  often  or  twelve.  The  two  principal  cha- 
racters,  not  belonging  to  the  family,  are  a  Viscount,  who  has  fallen 
in  love  with  the  youngest  daughtefj  Jeanne^  at  first  sight^  and  a 
widow,  a  well-disposed  woman  who  has  the  mania  for  making 
marriages,  but  is  urged  by  a  feeling  of  probity  to  put  her  friend 
tlie  Viscount  on  his  guard, 

Fanfan  Benoiton  gets  up  an  imitation  Bourse  with  his  school - 
fellowsj  whilst  his  elder  brother  aims  at  notoriety  by  dissipation 
and  debt.  But  the  all-pervading  tendency  and  tone  are  best  illus- 
trated by  the  dialogue  between  Didier  the  son-in-law  and  his 
wife  Martha,  who,  on  being  reproached  with  her  prodigality, 
stands  boldly  on  the  defensive  : — 

*  "  I  do  not  spond  moro  than  another  woman — *' 

*  ''Who  spends  as  much,  no  I  twenty  thousand  franca  a  year  only — " 

*  **  It  is  but  the  interest  of  my  fortune  i  " 

'  "  Ah  !  I  guessed  you  wore  coming  to  that  So  it  seeme  to  you  just 
and  legitimate  that  tliie  money  should  bo  spent  m  your  eaprices.  And 
as  to  any  aid  from  your  fortune  towards  the  common  c^^tablisbraent,  for 
onr  child  as  regards  the  future,  for  myself  in  alleviation  of  present 
toil,  that  goea  for  nothing.  ConfeRS,  then,  that  I  was  ivrong  to  interest 
mjreelf  in  the  amount  of  your  fortune  before  marriage.  I  should  have 
sent  for  the  dressmaker,  the  milliuor,  the  jeweller^  and  have  asked 
them  if  it  was  sufficient  for  them,  since  it  was  meant  for  them,  and  not 
for  me/' ' 

Shifting  her  ground  a  little,  she  contends  that  her  mode  of 
dressing  redounds  to  their  common  credit ;  that  it  conveys  an 
impression  of  their  good  taste  and  their  commercial  prosperity: 
*  C^B^t  ma  manihre  a  moi  de  jjorter  le  dropeau  de  la  malmn,^ 
When  this  argument  failsj  and  she  is  told  distinctly  that  the 
expenses  of  her  toilette  must  be  cut  down,  she  openly  rebels  : — 

*  "  Excuse  me :  I  belong  to  a  class  where  a  certain  style  is  indis- 
pensable. What  is  more,  I  have  acquired  a  reputation  for  elegance 
which  I  do  not  choose  to  forlbit*  As  I  am  not  the  woman  to  incur 
the  ridicule  of  wearing  the  same  ball-dreea  twice  following,  I  should 
bo  forced  to  deny  rojeelf  one  ball  in  two,  and  to  stint  my  pleasures 

\  well  as  my  expenses.     This,  I  tell  you  faiiiy,  I  will  not  do.     My 

^fortune  of  400,000  francs  was  given  me  to  supply  the  twenty  thousand 

'francs  of  elegant  eapricoe  per  annum  to  which  1  am  entitled  by  my 

position  and  my  habits.     And  because  it  is  your  fancy  to  turn  hermit, 

I  am  to  bury  my  twenty  years  under  the  cinders  of  the  domestic 

hearth.     AUvn»,  done  /  it  is  a  pleasantry,  is  it  not  ?     1  swear  to  you  in 

Hght  earnest  that  never,  never  will  I  consent, — h%%  to  make  myself 

Vol  123,— iV^.  245,  C  a  skve; 


18  Neto  Paris. 

a  slave ;  yonng,  to  mako  myself  old ;  and  living,  to  deprive  myself  of 
life.'" 

Another  play  by  the  same  author,  *  La  Maison  Neuve,* 
brought  out  at  the  Vaudeville  in  December  last,  tells  a  similar 
tale  and  points  the  same  moral.  We  collect  from  it,  first,  that, 
according  to  Parisian  notions,  the  best  as  well  as  the  pleasantest 
mode  of  founding  a  fortune  is  to  begin  by  spending  one  :  secondly, 
that  a  mercer  and  his  wife,  who  make  a  show,  may  speedily  win 
or  force  their  way  into  society.  Hardly,  indeed,  into  the  highest 
or  most  respectable,  despite  of  the  pervading  doctrine  of  equality, 
but  into  many  houses  of  a  class  which,  in  London,  would  be  closed 
against  the  best-dressed  wife  of  the  most  thriving  shopkeeper  in 
Regent  Street  or  Bond  Street.  In  fact,  the  conventional  lines 
of  demarcation  between  callings  and  professions,  which  we 
familiarly  recognise  in  England,  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist  in 
the  French  capital,  where  money  is  the  grand  object  of  pursuit, 
and  success  the  idol  of  the  hour.  There,  consccjuently,  a  rich 
parxTenu  or  parveime  may  attain,  rapidly  and  unaided,  a  position  to 
which  he  or  she  would  only  approximate  amongst  us  after  long 
years  of  struggle  and  endurance,  under  patronage.  Immediately 
beyond  a  few  small  and  carefully  drawn  circles,  the  confusion  of 
ranks,  orders,  and  degrees  is  complete  ;  so  that  the  most  practised 
observer  would  be  puzzled  to  specify  the  precise  point  at  which 
the  monde  slides  into  and  becomes  undistinguishable  from  the 
demi-monde. 

People  live  so  much  in  the  open  air  in  Paris  tliat  all  the 
notabilities,  male  and  female,  are  well  known,  and  a  stranger 
will  easily  learn  from  his  next  neighbour  in  the  Champs- Ely  sees 
the  leading  occupants  of  the  long  lines  of  carriages  that  are 
defiling  before  his  eyes  : — 

*  The  return  through  the  Bois  is  a  spectacle.  Two  rows  of  chairs 
reach  from  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  to  the  course.  Hero  sits  the 
bourgeoisie  of  Paris.     They  go  racing  for  a  penny,  and  sit  on  wires 

i literally)  from  dewy  mom  to  shadowy  eve.  Then  there  are  six  rows 
at  least)  of  carriages,  each  getting  in  the  other's  way,  tlie  drivers 
swearing  like  troopers.  Here  a  new  brougham  is  polled  by  a  break, 
on  which  it  is  driven  by  a  jibbing  and  recalcitrant  cab-horse  in  front. 

There  M.  de  B 's  phaeton  is  in  awful  grief,  "  having  locked  itself" 

(so  says  the  driver)  in  the  wheels  of  Mdlle.  Aspasie's  brougham,  which 
is  coming  the  other  way ;  and  this  accident  is  the  more  serious,  as  it 
brings  about  a  moral  as  well  as  a  material  collision.  On  looking  into 
it,  you  will  perceive  at  once  that  the  carriages  thus  locked  together 
are  painted  exactly  alike,  and  bear  the  same  monogram ;  and  then 

Madame  de  B ,  by  an  imlucky  accident,  chances  to  be  with  her 

husband,  having  had  words  on  the  course  with  Count  de  C .    Alas  I 

Amantium  ircB  aro  sometimes  anything  but  a  renewal  of  love.    From 

this 


New  Parif. 

this  accidoiit  your  attention  is  soon  distracted  bj  the  aight  of  Prince 

Z ,   who   wiU   drife   a  drag.     **  What  tho  Prince   wants,"  said 

Whipper,  who  lives  here  now,  "  m  another  hand  for  his  whip :  he  most 
have  more  hands  or  Ims  horses,  or  to  grief  he  must  come."  It  hm 
come  to-day,  you  see.  The  loaflers  are  looking  him  in  tho  face,  and 
he  has  caught  hii^  whip  in  tlie  hind  wheel ;  his  reins  are  in  a  knot.,  and 
his  servants'  breeohos  bo  tight  that  it  takes  them  several  minutes  to 
doscend  from  their  ''^  perilous  eminenee."  Crack — bang — smack— any 
otiier  hideous  noise  you  can  suggest — cries,  too,  of  ■ '  Eh  la  has,'*  **  Ay  t 
a— y  I  "^ — and  buKold  two  la<lies  of  the  semi- world,  with  bright  goldem 
tresses  and  chiffmns  of  much  hair,  tlio  property  of  several  ladies^  who, 
I  suppose,  to  nsc  tho  words  of  IVIr.  Tatter  sail,  "  have  no  farther  use  for 
them,  and  they  arc  to  he  sold,"  dressed  in  every  colour  of  the  rainbow, 
and  some  othera,  such  as  mauve  and  magenta,  which  have  been  invented 
fiince  minbows,  having  iirst  made  tlieLr  postboy  so  drunk  that  his  very 
tail  quiven^,  and  his  boots  and  spurs  keep  up  a  nmning  accompamraent 
to  the  mad  gallop  of  the  Percheron  marea,  are  running  amuck  throngti 
the  dense  crowd,  laughing,  as  if  killing  a  man  or  two  in  the  Ohamps- 
Elysces  was  as  good  fim  m  ruining  them  m  the  Bue  de  Breda^'  * 

If  the  outward  and  visible  life  of  Paris  derives  much  of  its 
coUmrincj  from  the  foreign  element,  we  are  assured  that  one 
stronj^hold  of  taste  (besides  the  Academy)  has  uniformly  resisted 
the  invaders.  The  theatre  is  thoroughly  and  essentially  Parisian, 
and  when  the  dramatist  and  actors  are  putting  fortlt  their  full 
powers^  they  may  rest  assured  that  a  genuine  Parisian  audience 
is  sitting  in  jutigment  on  their  performances.  One  of  the  most 
remarkable  of  the  contributions  to  the  *  Paris  Guide '  is  entitled 
*Lcs  Premieres  ReprcsentationSj'  by  M.  Alexandre  Dumas  the 
younger,  who  is  well  qua]  i  lied  by  personal  experience  for  his 
allotted  task  ^ 

*  Les  Premierei^  in  our  Parisian  language  (which  must  not  be  con- 
founded with  French),  means  the  first  representations.  Les  Premieroa 
are  net  like  the  i-accs  in  England,  like  tho  bull-fights  in  Bpain,  like 
tho  Kerme^^eB  (popnlar  revels)  in  Holland^  one  of  the  national  pleasures 
wliich  absorb  for  a  given  time  a  whole  district  or  city :  it  is  but  the 
past?ion,  at  a  stated  hour,  of  this  fraction  of  Paris  which,  in  the  same 
language  peculiar  to  the  Parisians,  is  called  all  Paris,  and  which  in 
reftlity  is  composed  of  two  himdred  individualsj— let  us  say  three 
hundxed,  not  to  give  offence  to  any  one* 

*With  these  three  hundred  individuals  who  transport  themselYes 
during  the  whole  winter  to  all  the  theatres  of  the  capital,  but  only  for 
Premises,  we  dramatie  authors  have  to  lay  our  account,  for  they 
constitute  without  appeal  what  is  called  the  opinion  or  rather  the  taste 
of  Parisj  consequontiy,  of  France,  and,  as  regards  art,  of  the  whole 

•  ■  Wlmt's  What  in  Parii/  London,  ieS7»  Skime  useful  hints  may  he  collected 
from  this  little  book,  though  it  ii  readered  almost  anr^dablo  hj  flippancj  aad 
pretension. 

c  2  world; 


20  New  Paris. 

world ;  for  the  French  have  ended  by  making  believe  that  they  mle 
the  taste  of  the  world.  Let  ns  say  at  once  that  this  world  is  London, 
Petersburg,  and  Vienna.' 

This  group  of  judges,  he  explains,  is  formed  of  the  most  dis- 
similar elements,  the  most  incompatible  the  one  with  the  other, 
as  to  capacity,  manners,  and  position.  They  are  men  of  letters, 
men  of  the  world,  artists,  men  of  the  Stock-Exchange,  officials, 
great  ladies,  clerks,  women  of  good  character,  women  of  light 
character.  They  all  know  one  another  by  sight,  sometimes  by 
name,  and,  without  having  eyer  exchanged  a  word,  they  know 
that  they  shall  meet  at  the  Premieres  and  are  glad  to  meet 
at  them.  How  this  is  brought  about,  is  a  myster>'  even  to  a 
Parisian.  Equally  mysterious  is  the  process  by  which  they 
arrive  at  their  conclusions,  which  arc  infallible.  It  is  a  fatal  mis- 
take to  pack  an  audience ;  and  the  fine  ladies  are  pronounced  by 
this  experienced  judge  to  be  a  most  detestable  public  for  a  first 
performance.  ^  They  think  they  do  you  a  favour  in  coming,  and 
are  not  at  all  obliged  to  you  for  ^riving  them  places,  for  which  you 
are  tormented  and  besieged.  They  may  not  go  to  the  extent  of 
wishing  the  play  to  fail,  but  it  is  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference 
to  them  whether  it  succeeds  or  not  In  either  case,  they  lisp, 
"  It  is  charming,"  as  they  would  say,  "  It  is  going  to  rain,"  and 
think  they  part  quits.  Ten  women  of  the  world  in  the  lower 
tier  of  boxes  at  a  first  representation  are  to  the  author  what  an 
overweight  of  a  hundred  pounds  is  to  a  favourite  in  a  race.'  The 
best  use  that  can  be  made  of  a  fine  lady,  according  to  M.  Dumas, 
is  to  place  her  in  the  second  or  third  tier,  so  as  to  attract  attention, 
and  suggest  that  no  better  place  was.  disengaged. 

A  new  beauty,  perfectly  new,  may  also  do  good  service  in  a 
conspicuous  part  of  the  house  by  occupying  attention  between 
the  acts.  A  rival  author  may  become  dangerous  at  critical 
moments,  when  the  fate  of  the  piece  is  wavering  in  the  balance^ 
and  a  gesture,  an  exclamation,  or  an  impatient  movement,  may 
turn  the  scale ;  as  when  Charles  Lamb,  being  present  incognito 
in  the  pit  at  the  first  representation  of  his  farce  ^  Mr.  U.,  was 
thus  addressed  by  a  gentleman  who  sat  next:  'This  is  sad  stufl^ 
sir :  I  will  hiss  if  you  will  begin.'  Godwin,  who,  after  his  own 
failure,  never  missed  a  first  representation,  was  shrewdly  sus- 
pected of  being  attracted  by  much  the  same  motive  as  the  gentle- 
man who  never  missed  an  exhibition  of  Van  Amburgh  and  the 
lions.  If  he  did  not  absolutely  hope  or  pray  for  a  catastrophe^ 
he  was  resolved  not  to  lose  an  opportunity,  if  it  came  off. 

It  may  be  an  open  question  whether  the  French  drama  has 
deteriorated  under  the  second  empire  in  point  of  power,  genius, 
or  wit ;  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  believe  that  it  has  deteriorated 

in 


Nmo  Paris* 


in  point  r»f  taste  or  morals^  without  forgetting^  the  masterpieces  of 
Victor  HujEi'o  and  A»  Dumas  the  elder,  which  appeared  under  the 
monarchy.  Compare  for  example^  *  Lucrece  Borgia/  or  'LeRoi 
a'Amase,'  or  'Anttmy/or  *  Henri  Trois/  better  known  in  Eng- 
land (through  Mrs.  Fanny  Komble's  admirable  version)  as  ^  Cathe- 
rine of  Cleves.' 

Perhaps  the  worst  injury  the  drama  has  sustained  at  the  bands 
of  the  Imperial  Government  is  the  erection  of  the  two  great 
theatres  of  the  Cbatelet  and  the  Lyrique,  whiehj  by  stimulating 
a  mischievous  rival ry^  bave  accelerated  the  downward  tendency 
towards  melodrama,  and  made  tbe  author  subservient  to  the 
machinist^  the  decorator,  and  the  ballet-master,  A  great  theatre 
IS  pretty  sure  to  prove  a  great  evil,  as  Johnson  predicted  long 
ago  in  bis  famous  Prologue  : — 

*  And  who  the  comiug  changes  can  presage^ 
And  mai-k  the  future  periods  of  the  stage  ? 
Perhaps,  where  Lear  has  rav'd  and  Hamlet  died, 
On  flying  cars  new  sorcerers  may  ride ; 
Perhaps  (for  who  can  grasp  th'  effects  of  chance) 
Hero  Hunt  may  box,  or  Mahomet  may  dance.' 

e  is  also  the  spirited  protest  of  Byron  in  1812  ; — 

*  Gods !  o'er  these  boards  fib  all  FoUy  rear  hor  head. 
Where  Ganick  trod,  and  SiddoaB  loves  to  tread/ 

But  what  avail  the  protests  of  poets,  critics^  or  real  lovers  of 
the  drama?  Those  who  live  to  please  must  please  to  li%^e,  and 
managers,  only  too  glad  to  fall  in  with  the  popular  taste,  will 
naturally  give  the  preference  to  pieces  which  admit  of  their 
ntilising  their  space.  The  manner  in  which  they  contrive  to 
draw  crowded  houses  in  Paris  has  provoked  one  of  M,  Veuillot's 
most  truculent  diatribes^  The  foulest  of  les  Odetirs  de  Parts  is 
that  which  rises  in  a  thick  noxious  vapour  from  the  theatre.  *  It 
is  the  theatre  more  than  the  press  that  addresses  itself  to  the 
destruction  of  families  and  social  order.  Concubinage  and 
adultery  figure  in  it  openly  as  of  common  right.  The  majority 
of  heroes  and  heroines  are  illegitimate  children  and  unmarried 
mothers/  This  is  a  reproach  of  long  standing,  Tbe  following 
couplet  was  printed  by  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  amongst  specimens  of 
French  wit  in  1834: — 

•  A  croiro  ces  messiem^,  on  ne  yoit  dans  les  rues 
Que  des  enfaus  trouves  et  des  femmes  perduee** 

The  play  most  in  vogue  during  tbe  present  f 
Idees  de  Madame  d'Aubray,'  at  tbe  Gymimse. 


22  New  Paris. 

an  unmarried  mother,  who  is  restored  to  respectability  by  a  mar- 
riage with  (not  the  father  of  her  child  but)  a  young  physician  of 
unimpeachable  morals  and  excellent  expectations.  The  idea  of 
Madame  d'Aubray  is  that  this  kind  of  social  condonation  is  right 
on  general  principles,  although  she  rather  objects  to  its  being 
put  in  practice  by  her  own  son. 

The  CqfS'chantant  is  one  of  the  specialities  of  new  Paris, 
which  owes  its  celebrity  to  a  singer,  Therese,  who  has  won  her 
way  to  the  imperial  presence,  and  has  found  imitators  amongst 
the  beauties  of  the  Court.  Yet  her  favourite  songs  are  unde- 
niably such  as  no  modest  woman  would  willingly  listen  to,  much 
less  learn  and  sing.  They  are  exactly  adapted  to  the  meridian 
of  the  cabaretj  for  which  they  were  originally  composed.  M. 
Veuillot's  account  of  her  public  may  be  accepted  as  substan- 
tially correct,  notwithstanding  the  bitterness  of  his  tone  : 

'  What  an  atmosphere,  what  a  smell,  made  up  of  tobacco,  spirits, 
beer,  and  gas  I  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  entered  such  a  place, 
the  first  time  I  saw  women  in  a  cafe-fumant.  Wo  had  around  us  not 
only  women  hut  ladies.  Twenty  years  ago,  you  would  have  looked 
for  this  spectacle  in  vain  through  all  Paris.  Obviously  these  ladies 
had  dragged  their  husbands  there  after  a  struggle.  The  vexed  and 
pre-occupied  air  of  the  gentlemen  proclaimed  this  plainly  enough. 
But  as  for  the  wives,  they  hardly  seemed  out  of  their  element.  He 
was  right,  that  old  and  honest  valct-dc-chamhro,  who,  speaking  of  his 
marquise,  completely  dSvoy^e,  observed  to  mo :  "  Monsieur,  on  no  sait 
pas  ce  qu'im  maladroit  pout  fairc  d'une  femme  comme  il  faut."  The 
presence  of  these  women  comme  ilfaut  gave  the  company  a  peculiar 
stamp  of  looseness,  social  looseness.' 

French  taste  must  have  arrived  at  a  low  ebb  when  gentlemen 
take  their  wives  to  a  cabaret  to  hear  coarse  songs  in  low 
company. 

The  principal  picture  galleries  of  Paris  have  been  fully  and 
fairly  described  by  competent  writers  in  the  *  Paris  Guide.' 
M.  Alexandre  Dumas  (pere)  has  taken  charge  of  the  Museum  of 
the  Luxembourg,  which  he  describes  as  the  salle  d'attente  of  the 
Louvre,  the  best  French  paintings  of  the  last  forty  or  fifty  years 
bein":  provisionally  deposited  in  it;  and  the  collection  is  certainly 
highly  creditable  to  the  artistic  period  which  it  includes.  But 
none  of  the  fine  arts  can  remain  unaffected  by  the  moral  atmo- 
sphere in  which  they  live,  painting  least  of  all,  and  we  are  inclined 
to  agree  with  the  German  critic,  M.  Rodenberg's  coadjutor,  when 
he  complains  that  no  fresh  development  of  '  high  art'  is  to  be  ex- 
pected from  the  rising  generation,  'inclining  on  every  side  to  the 
sensual-frivolous    (zum    Sinnlich-Frivolen) ;    the   deniUmonde^    it 

seems. 


seems,  governs  tasto  even  here/  The  baneful  influences  at  work 
are  described  by  M»  Taine  in  his  article  on  Art  in  France  in 
the  *  Guide/  *  He  (the  student)  is  French,  he  resides  at  Paris  in 
the  nineteenth  century  j  contemporaries  brought  up  like  himself 
judge  him,  reward  him,  buy  bis  pictures;  he  is  encompassed  and 
mastered  by  opinion.  Granted  that,  hy  dint  of  volition,  he  resists 
the  fashion  and  lets  it  flow  on,  like  an  undercurrent,  beneath 
bis  talent!  Stilly  being'  of  the  same  race  and  same  time  as 
the  others,  he  will  feel  like  the  others,  and  his  taste  in  its  pro* 
minent  features  will  correspond  with  the  public  taste/  And 
who  are  they  that  constitute  bis  public?  'There  is,  first  the 
great  public  of  the  Exhihition,  They  come  there  as  to  a  fairy 
piece  or  a  perforniance  of  the  circus*  They  demand  melodramatic 
or  military  scenes,  battles,  and  murders:  Andromedas  on  their 
rocks,  Venuses  rising  fn^rn  the  sea,  and  undressed  women  in  all 
kinds  of  scenes  and  characters/  Even  the  practised  critic  loses 
all  power  of  discrimination  after  passing  a  cf*uple  of  hours  in  the 
midit  of  three  thousand  pictures,  and  feels  drawn  in  his  own 
despite  to  what  is  daring  and  showy  in  preference  to  what  is 
graceful,  delicate,  and  true^  The  painter  takes  his  line  accord- 
ingly. He  aims  perforce  at  a  new,  salient,  and  unexpected  effect. 
A  quantity  ol  nice  shades  can  only  he  appreciated  in  silence  and 
solitude;  he  neglects  them,  'His  picture  is  like  a  woman  at  a 
ball ;  she  must  be  the  queen  of  it ;  she  adorns  herself,  she  makes 
herself  up,  she  is  affected ;  see  her  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later  in 
her  chamber^  she  %vill  have  tlfe  air  of  an  actress  exhausted  with 
her  part/  The  painter  is  constantly  saying  to  himself,  like  her, 
*  by  what  positions  and  gestures  can  I  rise  above  the  level  and 
make  a  sensation/  The  compromising  compulsion  now  put  upon 
the  artist  was  thus  illustrated  by  M.  Cbampfleury  :  *  The  painter 
should  keep  a  loaded  pistol  in  his  atelier^  and  fire  it  out  of  the 
window  from  time  to  time  to  attract  attention/ 

The  rich  foreigners  are  an  incidental  cause  of  the  degradation 
of  art»  A  century  since  the  tone  was  given  by  an  elegant  aris- 
tocracy, which  has  dird  out  or  got  mingled  with  the  crowd. 
There  were  then  a  hundred  collections  j  there  are  now  two 
thousand.  There  was  then  one  taste  and  one  art ;  there  are  now 
twenty,  and  of  different  degrees.  '  A  Brazilian,  Moldavian,  or 
American^  who  is  tired  of  living  among  his  slaves  or  peasants, 
comes  to  Paris  to  enjoy  life*  He  buys  a  carriage,  figures  in  the 
Bois,  goes  behind  the  scenes  at  the  opera,  admires  tlie  dancing 
girls,  orders  Venuses  qui  sont  des  drohssei  ;  and  tlxe  artist,  under 
the  pretext  of  archseologv,  or  free  art,  supplies  him  arcordn 
his  taste,'     Or,  as   M.  Veuillot  has  it,  the  Temptef 


24  New  Paris. 

ringing  his  infamous  gold  and  saying  to  the  painter,  ^  You  know 
what  pleases  me.'  The  millionaire  who  has  made  more  money 
than  he  knows  what  to  do  with,  and  is  simply  aiming  at  notoriety 
by  buying  pictures,  will  of  course  bid  highest  for  those  which 
are  most  talked  about,  in  other  words,  those  which,  judged  by  an 
elevated  standard,  are  the  worst. 

It  is  undeniable  that  a  great  deal  of  this  is  equally  true  of 
England,  where  what  is  called  high  art  is  at  a  discount  for  want 
of  purchasers,  and  known  pictures,  or  pictures  by  known 
painters,  are  run  up  to  fabulous  prices  by  newly  enriched  rail- 
way contractors,  stockbrokers,  and  manufacturers.  The  demand, 
if  not  for  a  name,  is  for  something  real  and  material,  familiar 
and  lifelike,  something  that  can  be  tested  by  comparison  with 
an  actually  existing  original.  The  vast  majority  of  the  exhi- 
bition-going public  think  more  of  subject  than  execution,  and 
prefer  the  subject  which  they  understand  at  a  glance  to  that 
which  makes  a  call  on  the  reflective  or  imaginative  faculty. 
Hang  up  the  ^  Transfiguration '  alongside  of  Frith's  *  Derby 
Day;*  let  the  initiated  stand  aside  or  hold  their  tongues;  and 
the  *  Derby  Day '  would  attract  ten  times  as  many  ardent 
admirers  as  the  ^  Transfiguration.' 

^  After  all,'  exclaims  M.  Taine,  in  reference  to  the  institu- 
tions and  funds  provided  for  artistic  education,  ^  a  school  is  not 
bound  to  fabricate  genius.  Orthography,  not  thought,  is  taught 
in  it :  when  the  young  people  have  learnt  orthography,  let  them 
talk  away  if  they  have  anything  to  say.'  The  orthography  of 
the  French  artist  is  drawing  and  colour.  In  these  he  is  com- 
monly a  proficient.  It  is  in  thought,  in  feeling,  in  delicacy,  in 
choice  of  subject,  and  mode  of  treatment,  that  he  fails ;  and  no 
wonder.  The  highest  poetry  of  art,  the  aesthetic  element,  is  so 
systematically  discountenanced  as  dreamy  and  mystic,  that  Mrs. 
Grote  thought  herself  obliged  to  apologise  for  one  of  Ary 
Scheffer's  finest  efforts  in  this  line : — 

'  Forihermorc,  I  would  ask  whether  the  department  of  realistic  ma- 
terial art  be  not  abundantly  famished  with  able  interpreters.  Many 
renowned  painters  of  onr  day  have  given  us  splendid  examples  of  feli- 
citous colouring,  of  imitative  texture,  of  ingenious  treatment  of  light 
and  shade,  of  truth  of  "  character,**  of  severe  and  learned  '*  drawing,** 
of  all  excellences,  indeed,  pertaining  to  the ''  craft  :*'  excellences  some  of 
which,  speaking  candidly,  cannot  be  ascribed  to  Ary  Scheffer.  I  may 
instance  William  Etty,  Paul  do  la  Roche,  Maclise,  Herbert,  Watts,  F. 
Leigbton,  Rosa  Bonheur,  Edwin  Landsoer,  Molready,  Frith,  Millai% 
Hunt,  and  many  more,  to  illustrate  my  meaning.  Yet  though  the 
admiration  of  mankind  may  be  justly  due  to  the  exhibition  of  these 
qualities,  it  is  nowise  regrettable,  but  is  even  fortunate  for  the  world, 

thai 


t 


Nmi^  Paris, 


tliftt  ministers  of  art  should  now  and  t^bon  m«e,  wlio,  being  differently 
gifted,  essay  a  new  flight,  and  seek  to  employ  their  pencil  upon  other 
than  purely  familiar  subjects  or  great  historical  passages/  ♦ 

Where  what  can  faidy  be  called  a  schtiol  of  painting  exists, 
it  forms  its  public  instead  of  bein^  formed  by  it.  There  is  no 
contemporary  French  school  in  this  sense,  and  of  the  many 
striking^  productions  of  living  artists  there  are  few  that  please 
upon  any  high^  sound,  and  recog^nised  principle  of  art  VVhat 
constitutes  the  attraction  of  ^The  Duei  after  a  Masked  Ball*  ? 
Neither  more  nor  less  than  what  constitutes  the  attraction  of  a 
sensation  novel.  What  draws  the  crowd  to  '  Phryne  Before  her 
Judges '  ?  We  had  rather  not  particularise.  The  numerous 
pictures  of  Crimean  battles,  in  which  the  English  are  represented 
by  patches  of  haxy  red  in  the  distancCj  are  coarse  appeals  to 
national  vanity  ;  and  when  Meissonnier,  a  painter  de  genre^  was 
commissioned  to  paint  the  Emperor  at  Solferino,  it  was  much 
as  if  Teniers  had  been  commanded  to  commemorate  the  crossing 
of  the  Rhine  by  Louis  XIV,  But  the  Grand  Monarque  was  more 
likely  to  err  in  an  opposite  direction,  '  Tirez  de  dtvant  nioi  cei 
nmgoU^  was  his  peremptory  order  when  some  of  Tenier*s  works 
met  his  eye.t 

We  take  journalism  next  The  influence  of  the  English 
newspaper  press,  although  eminently  beneficial  on  the  whole,  and 
indeed  indispensable  to  English  institutions,  is  not  and  cannot 
be  exercised  without  offending  the  feelings  or  prejudices  of  a 
large  pirt  of  the  community,  and  we  have  little  doubt  that  severe 
measures  of  restriction  would  be  hailed  with  unmixed  pleasure 
and  relief  by  many  who  cannot  make  up  their  minds  to  accept 
the  evil  with  the  pfood.  The  influence  of  the  newspaper  press 
in  France  under  the  monarchy,  was  far  greater  than  in  England 
at  any  period  j  it  did  more  than  lead  opinion  or  initiate  change  ; 


*  '  Memoir  of  the  Life  of  Ary  ScheflTer.'    By  Mrs.  Grote.     Becond  edition, 
18G0,  pp.  no,  14K 

f  Should  our  eallmate  of  French  art  be  attributed  to  natioual  prejudice,  we  beg 
IfAve  to  p«ftr  to  tho  *  Rev  vie  dtfa   Dl-ux   Moodes  *  for  Juue,   186  7»  Art.  5:  *  t« 
Salon  dt  \M1,*  Isy  M.  Maxime  Du  Camp;  und  *  Le  Correspoudant'  for  May  2fi, 
1807»  Art,  '  Iu;rrt?s/  by  M-  LtM>D   Lagrangts  who  uaourns  over  tHt*  $^imtiltaDiK>UB 
decline  of  painting  and  sculpture  lu   Frauce.     Au  internet  ion  ul  e^Iiibition,  as 
bitberto  mannged,  c&nuot  be  expected  to  »uppTjr  complete  matermU  for  com  paring 
tuiiional  progr««s  iii  any  brmneh  of  production^  for  the  obybus  reason  tbftt  tlie 
quantity  iiud   quality  of  the  articleii  exhibited  are  left  di^ptrndent  on  indindual 
iuu^rest  aud  caprice.     Thii  is  particularly  obsefTiible  la  the  department  of  art  in 
the  Paris  Ex  hi  bit  loo  of  thta  year.     The  French  artbts  are  inadeouateJy  repre- 
sented, despite  of  Gerome  aud  SleiASoniilen    The  Eiidis*'  *^^ 
be  represented  at  all.     The  countries  wtiOEC  artisf' 
thoEie  whose  productions  were  cocnparativelj  unkn'^ 
example,  wbkh  exhibit  some  kndseapea.,  mid  two 
undisputed  eieeUence. 


26  New  Paris. 

it  brooglit  aboat  one  revolatioo  after  another ;  it  did  so  with  a 
tone  of  triumph  and  an  air  of  arrogant  superioritj ;  it  thremtened 
to  leave  nothing  stationary  or  fixed  ;  and  it  conseqncndT  excited 
little  sympathy  when  it  fell.  Indeed  its  unrestrained  and  capri- 
cious despotism  had  begun  to  be  regarded  by  the  nation  at  htrge 
as  incompatible  with  order  and  stability.  But  all  enlightened 
Frenchmen,  whose  interests  are  not  bound  up  with  imperialism^ 
will  admit  that  the  present  condition  of  French  journalism  is 
unsatisfactory  in  the  extreme.  A  servile  writer  may  say  any- 
thing he  likes  against  anybody  who  is  in  bad  odour  with  the 
Government,  or  disapproves  of  its  spirit,  its  policy,  or  its  acts. 
Thus  the  *  Pays'  (edited  by  ^I.  Granier  de  Cassagnac,  the  author 
of  a  carefully  suppressed  historj'  of  the  coup  d*t'tat)  is  permitted, 
probably  encouraged,  to  call  for  summary  measures  against  the 
Academy,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  the  hotbed  of  disaffection  and 
disloyalty,  whilst  no  editor  can  admit  the  polished  contribu- 
tions of  M.  Prevost  Paradol  without  incurring  the  worst  penalties 
of  libel.  As  to  the  promised  modifications  of  the  law,  which 
are  to  be  a  partial  *  crowning  of  the  edifice,*  they  recal  the  posi- 
tion of  Figaro:  *They  told  me  that,  during  my  economical 
retirement  (his  imprisonment),  a  system  of  free  circulation  of 
commodities  had  been  established  which  comprised  even  the  pro- 
ductions of  the  press ;  and  that,  provided  I  spoke  in  my  writings 
neither  of  authority,  nor  public  worship,  nor  politics,  nor 
morals,  nor  of  people  in  place,  nor  of  people  in  credit,  nor  of 
the  opera,  nor  of  other  spectacles,  nor  of  anybody  who  was  con- 
nected with  anything,  I  could  freely  print  everything,  under  the 
inspection  of  two  or  three  censors.' 

ft  would  be  safer  to  write  under  the  inspection  of  two  or  three 
censors,  than  to  be  liable  to  fine  and  imprisonment,  at  the  discre- 
tion of  a  Tribunal  of  Police  Correctionnelle,  for  any  item  of  news 
that  may  turn  out  false,  or  any  comments  on  the  administration 
that  could  be  construed  into  a  design  to  bring  authority  into  con- 
tempt* M.  Emile  Girardin  has  been  heavily  fined  two  or  three 
times  within  the  year  for  articles  which  did  not  exceed  the  limits 
of  fair  discussion.  In  one  instance  he  was  fined  for  publishing 
an  opinion  without  the  grounds ;  and  a  man  of  inferior  note, 
who  should  have  been  found  guilty  of  the  same  alleged  trans- 

•  The  Parif  Correspondent  of  *  The  Times/  Jane  1 7th.  remarks:  •  If  the  jnrit- 
dictWm  in  the  matter  of  meetings  be  the  same  as  that  existing  for  the  press,  the 
law  will  be  little  more  than  a  mockery  and  a  snare.  Some  time  since  the  -  Echo 
Agricole"  was  pTf>»ecuted  and  condemned  for  an  article  on  the  sliding  scale — a 
subject  efseutialiy  connected  with  agriculture;  but  the  Courts  dwided  tliat  ths 
sliding  scale  was  exclofcively  a  political  and  by  no  means  an  agricultural  question 
and  that  it  was  illegal  for  a  print  especially  devoted  to  agricultural  topics 
treat  it* 


New  Farii. 


27 


gressioj],  would  haply  be  now  eicpiating"  his  imprudence  at 
Cayenne.  M.  Veuillot  who,  like  M,  de  Girardinj  had  claims 
to  indulgence  on  the  strength  of  former  services,  gives  an 
amnstng  account  of  the  annoyances  he  experienced  between  the 
suppression  (in  1860)  and  the  recent  revival  of  his  newspaper, 
'L^Univers/  He  was,  during  the  entire  interval,  homnie  com- 
promise a  position  bearing  a  close  analogy  to  that  of  femme 
compwmue  in  society.  There  were  days^  he  says,  when  he  would 
gladly  have  written  at  the  rate  of  a  month  of  imprisonment  per 
line.  But  he  must  either  find  an  editor  ready  to  be  compromised 
along  with  him,  or  set  up  a  newspaper  of  his  own,  and  he  could 
do  neither. 

No  class  has  suffered  so  much  from  the  loss  of  liberty  as  the 
literary  class ;  and,  speaking  generally,  no  set  of  men  ever  bore 
np  against  a  crushing  blow  with  mt>re  firmness  and  constancy 
than  the  French  men  of  letters  since  t]xQa>up  d'etat,  ititimidation 
and  corruption  have  been  tried  in  vain  with  the  main  body,  nobly 
represented  by  the  Academy ;  and  the  few  who  have  fallen  away 
can  no  longer  meet  their  compeers  without  being  the  conscious 
objects  of  suspicion  or  distrust.  To  a  still  lower  category  belong' 
those  who  have  prostituted  their  pens  to  depreciate  liberty,  or  to 
uphold  the  author  of  the  ^Histoire  dc  Jules  Cesar'  as  the  most 
profound,  most  enlightened,  most  eloquent,  historian  of  the  age ; 
and  we  bave  seen  articles  on  this  book  by  French  critics  of  note 
in  which  adulation  was  pushed  to  slavishnesa.  There  would  be 
no  great  harm  done  if  the  indirect  influences  were  as  limited  and 
as  shortlived  as  the  reputation  of  the  work  ;  but  in  the  attempt  to 
form  a  public  for  the  imperial  aspirant  ti*  literary  fitme^  the  rising 
generation  have  been  studiously  imbued  with  false  views  and 
doctrines.  '  This  morning,'  says  the  mentor  of  *  Paris  Capitale 
du  Monde,'  *  my  young  nephew  came  to  te!l  me  that  he  is  com- 
peting for  the  pri^e  in  historical  composition  by  an  essay ^  to  prove 
that  the  epoch  of  the  true  greatness  of  Rome  was  the  empire/  On 
learning  that  the  authorities  in  support  of  this  theory  had  been 
supplied  bj  a  professor,  he  resolves  to  come  to  an  explanation 
with  so  original  a  teacher,  calls  on  him  accordingly,  and  describes 
the  interview: — 

*  And  so.  Sir,  since  we  of  an  older  generation  completed  our  studioa, 
you  young  masters  of  the  n^evr  generation  have  ehanged  the  history  of 
Eome,  and  perhai^s  that  of  Franco  ?  Aud  douhtless^  to  prepare  your 
pupils  far  aoimd  doctrines,  you  teach  them  that  all  we  wore  once 
taught  t[>  admire  is  perfectly  absurd  and  ridiculous :  that  aU  we  he- 

Ilieved  true  on  the  word  tif  our  masters  was  but  falsehood  and  impoa- 
tare.     Kome  grtis^t  in  the  time  of  MarceUus^  of  the  8cipios,  of  Paulas 
-^'-liliuB  I     What  are  yon  talking  about  ?    Eomc  great  when  she  was 
repahltcan  I 


28  New  Paris. 

republican !  Home  great  when  she  was  free !  Rome  great  when  she 
was  yirtnons !  Narrow  and  stupid  prejudice !  Away  with  these  super- 
annuated follies !  And  Plutarch,  and  Livy,  and  Bossuet,  and  Mon- 
tesquieu, blockheads  like  their  heroes!  The  greatness  of  Rome,  it 
dates  from  Ccesar,  it  dates  from  the  Empire :  it  is  at  its  apogee  under 
Tiberius,  under  Caligula,  under  Claudius,  and  Nero/ 

On  his  appealing  to  Persius,  Tacitus,  and  Suetomus,  the  pro- 
fessor puts  diem  aside  as  malcontents : — 

'  Malcontents !  you  are  right.  Malcontents,  who  had  the  audacity  to 
be  indignant  when  Tiberius  revolted  the  world  by  his  despotism  and 
debauchery,  when  Caligula  gave  the  consulship  to  his  horse,  when  Nero 
played  the  flute,  danced  in  the  theatre,  set  fire  to  Rome  and  looked 
on  whilst  it  was  burning,  or  paraded  the  streets  with  his  wife  Sporus. 
Do  not  suppose,  however,  that  I  attach  an  undue  weight  to  your  new 
doctrines :  they  will  not  make  much  way  in  the  world,  and  they  will 
not  be  long-lived.  Good  sense  will  kill  them,  and  ridicule  will  bury 
ihem.  Your  scholars,  as  soon  as  they  get  away  from  you,  will  unlearn 
them,  and  I  should  not  wonder  if  some  sound  understandings  among 
ihem  are  already  laughing  at  you  in  their  sleeves.  Never  mind,  it 
is  not  good  that,  even  for  an  instant,  young  minds  should  make  light 
of  the  noblest  instincts,  hesitate  between  what  is  good  and  what  is 
bad,  and  believe  that  there  are  nations  great  and  happy  in  slavery  and 
abasement.' 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  imperial  historian  rejects  the 
authority  of  Suetonius  and  Plutarch,  and  leaves  no  room  for  doubt 
as  to  the  precise  object  of  his  work  : — *  This  object  is  to  prove 
that  when  Providence  raises  men  like  Caesar,  Charlemagne,  Na- 
poleon, it  is  to  mark  out  for  the  people  the  track  they  ought  to 
tread — to  stamp  a  new  era  with  the  seal  of  their  genius,  and 
accomplish  in  a  few  years  the  work  of  many  ages.  Happy  the 
people  who  understand  and  follow  them !  Woe  to  those  who 
misunderstand  and  oppose  them.  They  act  like  the  Jews — they 
crucify  their  Messiah.'  Again,  with  the  profoundcst  air  of  con- 
viction it  is  laid  down :  *'  When  extraordinary  facts  attest  an 
eminent  genius,  what  more  contrary  to  good  sense  than  to  attribute 
to  him  all  the  passions  and  all  the  sentiments  of  mediocrity.' 
Never  mind  evidence.  Do  not  listen  to  poets  or  philosophers 
when  they  recal  ^  fears  of  the  brave  and  follies  of  the  wise.' 
Argue  a  priori.  Napoleon,  with  the  littlenesses  and  weaknesses 
of  humanity,  could  not  have  been  Napoleon.  Therefore,  he 
had  no  littlenesses  or  weaknesses.  ^  Soyons  hgiques^  et  nous 
serons  justes.^  ^  It  is  in  the  attempt  to  follow  suit,  to  be  logical 
and  just  in  this  fashion,  that  the  professors  and  critics  have  gone 
astray. 

*  '  Histoire  de  Jales  Cdsar.'    Tome  premier,  pr^fkce. 

M.  Veuillot 


New  Paris. 


29 


M,  Veuillot  mamtains  that  the  very  language  has  suffered  from 
the  prevalent  corruption  and  subserviency  : — 

*  A  fiuo  and  noble  langtiago  ia  the  French,  One  does  not  know 
French,  one  does  not  apeak  it,  oae  does  not  Tvrite  it,  without  a  qiiantity 
of  other  things  which  coaBtitnte  what  was  formerly  called  an  honest 
tnan.  French  u  a  had  vehicle  for  a  Ue,  To  speak  Freneh,  there  must 
he  in  the  sold  a  fund  of  nobleness  and  sincerity*  You  object  Yoltaire* 
Voltaire,  who  moreover  was  not  a  fool,  spoke  only  a  dricd-up  language, 
already  notorioualy  debased*  The  fine  French,  the  gi-and  French,  is 
at  the  command  of  the  honest  man  alone*  A  vOe  soul,  a  lying  soul,  a 
jealous  and  even  simply  turbulent  soul,  will  never  speak  perfectly  \vell 
thiB  tongne  of  the  Bossuets,  the  F^nelonB^  the  SevigneSj  the  Corneillei, 
the  Ea*;mes;  he  wiH  master  some  notes,  never  the  entire  gamut* 
There  will  be  alloy,  obscurity,  emphasis.  As  to  these  raw^  scholars  (of 
the  *  Constitutionnel '),  I  defy  them  to  rise  even  to  mere  correctnesa. 
How  could  they  manage  to  lie  and  talk  nonsense  without  breaking, 
iwelling,  bursting  a  tongue  that  Christianity  has  made  for  logic  and 
truth?' 

A  pure  style  is  also  unattainable  by  a  writer  who  is  not  a 
sincere  Catholic^  and  *  the  sincere  Catholic  is  he  whose  profession 
of  faith  is  the  belief  that  Jesus  Christ,  true  God  and  only  God, 
speaks  by  the  mouth  of  Peter,  who  is  the  Pope*' 

We  earnestly  wish  that  M,  Veuillot  could  establish  so  much  of 
his  theory  as  relates  to  the  dependence  of  a  pure  French  style  on 
truth  J  for  then  we  should  possess  an  easy  and  never*failin£p 
method  of  testing  the  accuracy  of  French  writers,  We  should 
lie  under  no  necessity  of  disproving  by  authorities  M,  Thiers' 
account  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo ;  for  the  hopeless  confusion  into 
which  he  throws  the  English  army  prior  to  the  arrival  of  the 
Prussians  would  be  reflected  in  his  own  pages,  and  he  would  be 
self-refuted  as  he  wrote.  The  last  (the  ej«:htb)  volume  of  M* 
Guizot*s  *  Memoirs,'  especially  the  chapter  on  the  Spanish  mar- 
riag-es,  would  be  un wittingly  defaced  by  neologisms  and  irrei^-u- 
larities  of  construction  that  would  go  nigh  to  lose  him  his 
JauteufL  M,  de  Lamartine*s  ^History  of  the  Restoration*  would 
be  positively  unreadable  ;  and  if  the  touchstone  of  faith  and 
morals  (as  understood  by  M.  Veuillot)  were  also  brought  into 
play,  there  might  be  a  startling-  deteriorcition  in  the  beautiful 
French  of  Georges  Sand.  But  the  provoking  thing  is  that  it  in 
precisely  those  writers  who^  according  to  the  proposed  criterion^ 
should  halt,  stumble,  or  break  down,  that  stand  highest  for  flow, 
spirit,  and  lucidity. 

What  is  partly  true  of  French  journalism,  cannot  fairly  be 
predicated  of  French  literature  as  a  whole.  Under  every  species 
of  oppression  and  temptation  it  has  preserved  its  independence, 

its 


30  New  Paris. 

its  dignity,  its  elevation,  its  self-respect  Indeed,  we  are  not 
quite  sure  that  the  existing  regime  has  not  been  indirectly  and 
unintentionally  favourable  to  it  Excluded  from  political  life, 
such  men  as  MM.  Charles  de  Reniusat,  Duvergier  De  Hauranne, 
Barthelemy  St  Hilaire,  Montalembert,  &c.,  &c.,  have  occupied 
their  compelled  leisure  in  the  composition  of  valuable  works. 
Freedom  of  thought,  debarred  from  one  field,  finds  speedy  com- 
pensation in  another.  The  wings  of  Science  have  not  been 
clipped ;  and  MM.  Renan  and  About  are  living  examples,  in 
contrasted  ways,  that  there  is  still  ample  scope  for  the  dispi<iy  of 
wit,  knowledge,  boldness,  and  originality.  One  important  branch 
of  political  study  —  political  economy  —  also  has  made  rapid 
advances  under  imperial  patronage,  which  it  certainly  would  not 
have  made  under  an  administration  inspired  by  M.  Thiers.  It 
may  be  doubted  whether  the  Commercial  Treaty  with  England, 
negotiated  by  Mr.  Cob<len  and  M.  Michel  Chevalier  in  imme- 
diate communication  with  the  Emperor,  would  have  been  enter- 
tained at  all  by  a  popular  ministry,  or  sanctioned  by  a  fairly 
elected  representative  assembly. 

Space  permitting,  we  should  have  liked  to  have  instituted  a  more 
detailed  comparison  between  New  Paris  and  Old  Paris  at  pre- 
ceding periods  ;  for  which  ample  materials  are  at  hand.  There  is 
Mercier's  *  Tableau  de  Paris,'  published  in  1781,  which  speedily 
acquired  a  European  reputation.  It  was  published  anonymously  ; 
and  the  story  goes  that  Lavater,  meeting  Mercier,  declared,  after 
studying  his  physiognomy,  that  he  must  be  the  author  of  the 
work.  Then  there  is  *  France  Social,  Literary,  Political,'  by  Sir 
Henry  Lytton  Bulwer,  published  in  1834 :  abounding  in  striking 
pictures  of  manners,  illustrative  anecdotes,  and  valuable  facts. 
And  to  take  a  third  resting  place  a  little  later,  there  is  ^  Les 
Franqais  Peints  par  Eux-memes:  Textc  par  les  Sommites 
Litteraires,'  &c. ;  nine  volumes  grand  octavo,  in  1840-1842 ; 
besides  some  thirty  volumes  of  *  Physiologies,'  for  which  there 
was  a  perfect  mania  in  1842. 

Widely  diversified  as  are  the  points  of  view  and  the  mode  of 
treatment  in  the  books,  they  convey  the  same  broad  impression 
of  Parisian  life,  and  show  that  its  essential  features  are  un- 
changed. Nay,  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  quotes  the  letter  of  a  Sicilian 
gentleman  of  the  time  of  Louis  A IV.,  which  might  pass  for  a 
letter  of  a  Sicilian  gentleman  of  the  time  of  Napocon  111. : 

'  It  is  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  Paris  is  one  vast  hotel.  You  seo 
everywhoro  caf6s,  estaminets,  taverns,  and  the  frequenters  of  taverns. 
The  kitchend  smoke  at  all  hours,  and  at  all  hours  eating  is  going  on. 
The  luxury  of  Paris  is  something  extraordinary  and  enormous ;  its 
wealth  would  enrich  three  cities.     On  all  sides  yon  are  surrounded  by 

splendid 


61>leiidid  sliopsj  where  everjtliing  ig  Bold  that  you  don't  ^aiitj  as  well 
as  evorj'tkmg  jou  do.  AH  wish  to  livo  Bplendidlj ;  and  the  poorest 
gcnUcmiinj  jeilous  of  his  ueiglibour,  mshcs  to  livo  as  wuU  jum  ho  does. 
Ribbons  ^and  looking -gkstscs  aro  things  without  which  tho  French 
could  not  Uvo.  Fiiiihion  ia  tho  veritable  demon  of  tho  nation.  ♦  .  *  - 
Inhere  13  not  a  peopLe  so  imperiotiB  and  amdaciouB  as  thofie  Pari- 
eianSi  .  .  . 

*  The  women  dot©  npon  little  dogs.  They  command  their  hii^hands, 
and  oboj  nobody.  They  di-esB  with  grace.  We  see  tliem  at  all  hours, 
and  they  dote  on  conversation.  As  to  love,  they  love  and  listen  to 
their  lovers  ^vithoufc  much  difficulty ;  but  they  never  love  long,  and 
they  never  love  enongh,  I  have  not  seen  a  jealous  husband ^  or  a  man 
who  thinks  himself  imhappy  and  dishonoured  becauso  his  wife  is  un- 
faithful/ 

A  hundred  and  fifty  years  later  we  find  an  EnglisL  author 
quoting  for  its  enduring  truth  the  saying  of  Mantosquieu,  '  Que 
le  Frangais  ne  parle  jamais  de  sa  femme,  parce  qu'il  a  peur  d'en 
parler  devant  les  gens  qui  la  connaissent  mieux  que  lui,*  But 
both  Montesquieu  and  the  Sicilian  were  speaking  of  an  idle  and 
luxurious  classi  whose  habits  would  convey  an  unfavourable  im- 
pression of  national  domestic  lite  at  any  period*  It  was  Mercier 
who  called  Paris  the  New  Babylon;  and  the  gmnd  scheme  of 
improvement  now  in  progress  originated  with  Voltiure: 

*  Wlien  London  was  consumed  by  flames,  Europe  said  London  will 
not  bo  rebuilt  under  twenty  yeai-s,  and  will  still  eeo  its  disaster  in  tho 
repairs  of  its  niins.  It  was  rebuilt  in  two  years,  and  rebuilt  with 
magnificence.  Wlmt  t  will  it  nover  bsj  except  at  this  last  extremity, 
that  we  shall  do  anything  groat.  If  half  Paris  were  burnt,  we  should 
rebuild  it  commodious  and  superb ;  and  we  are  unwilling  to  give  her 
now,  at  a  thousand  times  less  cost,  tho  conveniences  and  magnificence 
she  requires.  Yet  such  an  enterprise  would  make  the  glory  pf  the 
nation,  an  immortal  honour  to  the  municipality  of  Paris,  encourage  aU 
the  arte,  draw  foreigners  from  the  extremities  of  Europe,  enrich  the 
Btato,  very  far  from  impoverishing  it,  accustom  to  work  thousands  of 
wretched  do-nothings  who  at  present  support  their  miserable  existence 
hj  the  infamous  and  penal  trade  of  bagging,  and  help  to  disbonour  our 
city  into  the  bargain  :  the  good  of  the  whole  world  would  result  from 
ii^  ftud  more  than  one  sort  of  good.  Heaven  grant  that  some  mm.  may 
arise,  some  man  stiJBoiently  zealous  to  conceive  such  projects,  of  a  soul 
£rm  enough  to  follow  them  out,  of  a  mind  sufBeiontly  enlightened  to 
reduce  them  to  practicOj  and  that  he  may  enjoy  sufficient  credit  to 
ensure  their  succees,*  * 

The  realisation  of  Voltaire's  dream  is  not  sufficient  for  M, 
Victor  Hugo,  who  confidently  announces  that,  in  the  twentieth 

*  *  CEuvr^  OomptMes  de  Voltaire/  tome  xxvi*  Essay  an  *  L'liaibeliisBement 
de  Pari*/  writt^jn  in  1749* 

century, 


32  New  Paris, 

centUTj,  there  will  be  an  extraordinary  nation,  great,  free,  illus- 
trious, rich,  intellectual,  pacific,  cordial  to*  the  rest  of  humanity : 
that  this  nation  will  be  called,  not  France,  but  Europe,  and  that 
Paris  will  be  its  capital.  This  consummation  will  be  enor- 
mously accelerated  by  the  Exhibition : — 

'The  year  1866  was  the  shock  of  peoples:  the  year  1867  will  be 

their  rendezTOUs. Paris  is  thrown  open.     The  peoples  obey 

this  enormous  magnetisation.  The  continents  are  hnrrying  up: 
America,  Africa,  Ama,  Oceania,  all  are  on  the  way ;  and  the  Sublime 
Porte  and  the  Celestial  Empire,  these  metaphors  which  are  kingdoms, 
these  glories  which  are  barbarisms.  *'  To  please  you,  O  Athenians !  ** 
was  the  cry  of  the  ancients :  '*  To  please  you,  O  Parisians  I "  is  the  cry 
of  the  modems.  This  very  China,  which  believed  herself  the  centre, 
begins  to  doubt  of  it,  and  comes  abroad.  The  Japanese  brings  his 
porcelain,  the  Nepaulese  his  cachemire,  and  the  Corib  his  dub.  Why 
not  ?    You  display  your  monster  cannon  ! 

'Here  a  parenthesis!  Death  is  admitted  to  the  Exhibition.  It 
enters  under  the  form  of  a  cannon,  but  it  enters  not  under  the  form  of 
a  guillotine.  A  very  handsome  8ca£fold  was  offored,  and  refused.  Let 
us  make  a  note  of  these  caprices  of  decency.  Delicacy  does  not  admit 
of  discussion.  Come  what  may,  clubs  and  cannon  will  be  out  of  place. 
One  sees  that  they  are  ashamed  of  themselves.  The  Exhibition, 
apotheosis  for  all  otiier  instruments  of  man,  is  for  them  pillory.  Let  ub 
move  on.  Hero  is  the  whole  of  life  under  all  forms,  and  each  nation 
presents  its  own.  The  millions  of  hands  which  clasp  each  other  in  the 
great  hand  of  France — there  is  the  Exhibition ! ' 

But  what,  when  they  unclasp?  What  will  happen,  and  how 
will  they  or  their  hosts  feel,  when,  the  pageant  ended,  the  proud 
show  is  o'er,  and  nothing  remains  but  to  set  the  gain  against  the 
cost? 

On  the  eve  of  the  Revolution  of  July,  a  fete  at  the  Palais  Royal 
in  honour  of  the  King  of  Naples  gave  occasion  for  the  memorable 
mot  of  M.  de  Salvandy  :  *  Cest  une  fete  toute  najwlitainey  Mim^ 
seigneur  I  vaiis  dansons  sur  un  volcaiu  The  month  after  the 
opening  of  the  Exhibition,  the  '  peoples '  who  had  come  to 
clasp  bands  in  the  great  hand  of  France  were  also  standing  on 
a  volcano,  and  were  within  an  ace  of  witnessing  an  eruption 
which  might  have  shattered  Europe  to  its  centre  or  have  toppled 
down  a  throne.  When  the  exasperation  caused  by  the  Luxem- 
burg aflfair  was  at  its  height,  a  French  soldier,  making  light  of 
the  adversary,  exclaimed  :  *  Pour  ces  Prussiens-la^  nous  les  man^ 
fferons,^ — *  Mais  si  les  Prussiens  vous  manyent  ? ' — *  AlorSy  nous 
mangerons  VEmpereur,'  The  prestige  of  success  is  indispensable 
to  the  Emperor,  who  has  had  an  unbroken  run  of  ill-luck  since 
Solferino.  The  really  great  things  he  effected  for  Italy  were  op- 
posed to  the  traditional  policy  of  France,  which  is  to  have  weak 

States 


Neio  Paris, 


Stales  on  her  frontiers^  Tlie  Mestican  expetlitioa  was  con- 
fessedly a  costly  blunder:  checkmate  twice  in  the  German  game 
with  Bismark.,  checkmate  again  in  the  Polish  game  with  the 
Czar,  have  wounded  the  national  vanity  to  the  quick ;  whilst 
the  threatened  organisation  of  the  army  has  created  a  dangerous 
amount  of  alarm  and  irritability,  especially  amongst  the  peasantry, 
whose  steady  Buonapartism  would  hardly  hold  out  ag-ainst  in- 
creased taxation  or  conscription. 

Neitber  has  the  Kithibition  proved  so  dazzling  a  success  as  to 
make  the  Parisians  forget  these  multiplied  mortifications,  or 
induce  foreign  nations  to  admit  the  supremacy,  and  place  perfect 
confidence  in  the  peaceable  intentions,  of  France,  Many  do  not 
think  themselves  handsomely  tieated  in  being  required  to  pay 
largely  for  their  accommodation :  many  complain  loudly  of  the 
monopolies  by  which  petty  contributions  have  been  levied  on 
eihibitors.  The  returns  in  the  shape  of  profit,  or  other  in- 
cidental advantages,  have  not  answered  the  expectations  of  the 
producer  or  manufacturer ;  the  award  of  prizes  is  unsatis* 
factory  ;  and  admirable  as  are  the  arrangements  for  all  practical 
purposes,  the  mere  sight-seer,  or  Jianeur^  comes  away  disap- 
pointed for  want  of  a  coup  cCwil  or  grand  effect  of  any  kind,  or 
even  an  agreeable  promenade  or  lounge.  The  utter  absence 
of  novelty  would  argue  that  inventive  genius  had  lain  dormant 
since  the  last  great  show  of  the  sort,  if  we  did  not  allow  for  the 
operation  in  others  of  the  same  cautious  and  calculating  spirit 
that  has  influenced  the  Emperor,  who,  whilst  inviting  rival 
monarchs  to  the  most  unreserved  display  of  tbeir  resources,  has 
kept  back  the  revolving  cannon,  which,  wlien  the  time  comes  for 
it  to  take  the  field,  is  to  sweep  hostile  armies  from  his  path.  The 
mixture  of  melodramatic  display  and  unabashed  cupidity  in  the 
whole  affair  caused  the  sufferer  from  a  petty  exaction  to  apply  to 
it  what  was  said  of  the  Mexic  an  expedition— that  it  was  made  np 
of  Franco ni  and  Robert  Macaire  ;  and  the  broad  consolatory  con- 
clusion which  may  be  heard  on  all  sides  is,  that  we  shall  have  seen 
the  last  of  International  Exhibitions  in  18G7^ 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  temporary  stimulant  to  pro- 
duction does  good  in  the  long  run,  and  the  additional  rise  of 
prices  in  Paris  caused  by  the  Exhibition  falls  ruinously  upon 
numbers  who  have  no  chance  of  being  compensated*  An  upper 
clerk  in  the  civil  service  is  introduced  complaining  that  all  the 
money  gained  by  the  keepers  of  hotels,  cafes j  and  restaurants^  or 
other  caterers  for  the  public,  will  not  enable  him  to  pay  double 
or  treble  for  all  the  necessaries  of  llfe^  and  his  friend  replie 
*  Never  mind.     Think  of  what  M.  Hausmann  has  done  for  * 

Vol.  123<— iVb.  245,  D 


34  New  Paris. 

native  city.  Paris  rebuilt,  Paris  capital  of  the  worid,  is  natOTmllj 
the  caravansery,  the  inn,  the  cuisine^  of  the  universe.  At  liC 
Prud'homme  would  say,  we  are  going  to  dine  in  all  languages.' 
But  then  comes  the  question,  are  we  going  to  dine  better  ?  anSl 
sorrowful  experience  compels  the  confession  that  we  are  not. 
How  can  we  expect  to  dine  well,  if  we  dine  in  a  hurry  and  » 
crowd?  What  sensible  cook  of  any  country  will  put  forth  his 
skill  under  such  circumstances  ?  Gastronomy  has  steadily  de- 
clined at  the  restaurants  since  the  establishment  of  clubs,  which 
draw  away  the  best  judges  of  eating,  and  the  multiplication  of  a 
class  of  travellers  who  would  be  puzzled  to  tell  the  difference 
between  an  entree  and  an  entremei.  It  must  be  they  who  are  an- 
swerable for  the  worst  of  modem  heresies,  the  introduction  of 
underdone  meat,  which  in  the  good  old  days  of  French  cookery 
was  unknown.  If  the  same  causes  produce  the  same  effects,  the 
decline  will  simply  be  accelerated  by  the  Exhibition. 

It  is  just  thirty-two  years  ago  that  we  gave  a  critical  and 
analytical  account  of  the  principal  restaurants  of  Paris  ;*  and  so 
strong  is  the  principle  of  permanence  in  these  establishments, 
that  an  account  of  them  written  in  1832  (with  two  or  three 
additions  and  omissions)  might  stand  good  for  1867.  The 
most  important  changes  are  the  closing  of  the  Rocher  de 
Cancate  and  the  Cafi  de  PartSy  with  the  establishment  of  Philippe 
in  the  Rue  Mont  d'Orgueil.  The  restaurants  roost  in  repnte 
at  present  are  Les  Trois  Freres  Provengaux^  Le  Cafi  Anglais^ 
Philippe^  Le  Cafi  de  la  Madeleine  {Durand\  Richer  Vefours^  Maiscm 
Doree^  Voisin^  Vachette.  A  good  dinner  may  be  had  at  most  of 
them  if  ordered  by  a  qualified  habitu^^  i.e.,  by  one  who  is  prac- 
tically acquainted  with  the  capabilities  of  the  cellar  and  the  chefi 
but  no  one  accustomed  to  the  best  French  and  English  tables 
should  any  longer  anticipate  the  highest  gratification  of  an  edu- 
cated palate  at  a  restaurant. 

To  which  side,  then,  in  which  direction,  high  or  low,  to  What 
department  of  art  or  social  life,  to  what  development  of  intellectual 
power,  to  what  new  elements  of  healthy  vigour,  are  we  to  look, 
hopefully  or  confidently,  for  the  confirmation  of  M.  Victor  Hugo's 
prophecy?  Why  should  all  the  *  peoples' of  Europe  gravitate 
towards  Paris,  except  as  people  gravitate  towards  a  theatre  or  a 
fair?  Why  should  she  be  proclaimed  their  capital?  Why 
should  they  become  blended  and  identified  with  her  more  than 
they  are  now  ?     Or  would  it  be  a  gain  for  Europe,  for  humanity^ 


♦  S€€  the  •Quarterly  lleview'  for  July,  1836.     Art,,  •Gastronomy  and  Gas* 
tronomers.' 

if 


Comifh  Antiquities. 


35 


If  they  took  ter  for  tlieir  mistress,  their  polestar,  their  guide,  in 

manners,  morals,  literature,  politics,  or  philosophy?  'This  city/ 
exclaims  the  prophet,  '  has  one  inconvenience.  To  whomsoever 
posiesses her,  she  gives  the  world.  If  it  is  by  a  crime  that  one 
possesses  her,  she  gives  the  workl  to  a  crime/  It  would  be 
difficult  to  adduce  a  better  reason  for  deprecating  her  aggran- 
disement and  restricting  her  influence  to  France, 


Art.  11* — 1.  AfUiqmties^  HiMorical  and  Monummital^  of  the 
Cmmti^  of  CornwalL  By  William  Borlase,  LL.D.  London, 
1769. 

2,  A  Week  at  the  Land^s  End.  By  J,  T.  Blight  London^ 
1861, 

IT  is  impossible  to  spend  even  a  few  w^k%  in  Cornwall  without 
being  impressed  with  the  air  of  antiquity  which  pervadei 
that  county,  and  seems,  like  a  morning  mist^  half  to  conceal  and 
half  to  light  up  every  one  of  its  bills  and  valleys.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  loe^k  at  any  pile  of  stones,  at  any  wall,  or  pillar,  or  gate- 
post, without  asking  oneself  the  question,  Is  this  old,  or  is  this 
new?  Is  it  the  work  of  Saxon,  or  of  Roman,  or  of  Celt?  Nay, 
one  feels  sometimes  tempted  to  ask,  Is  this  the  work  of  Nature  or 
oi  man  ? 

^  Among  iheio  rocks  and  stoues,  m^thinks  I  aae 
More  than  the  heedless  impress  that  belongs 
To  lonely  Nature's  casual  work :  thoy  bear 
A  Bemblance  strange  of  power  intelligent, 
And  of  design  not  wholly  worn  ^Tt^j,^— Excursion* 

The  late   King  of  Prussia's  remark   abi^ut   Oxford,   that  in  it 
everything  old   seemed   new^  and  everything  new  seemed  old^ 
applies  with  even  greater  truth  to  CornwalL     There  is  a  con- 
tinuity between  the  present  antl  the  past  of  that  curious  peninsulai 
such  as  we  seldom'  find  in  any  other  place,     A  spring  bubbling 
up  in  a  natural  granite  basin,  now  a  meeting-place  for  Baptists 
or  Methodists,  was  but  a  few  centuries  ago  a  holy  well,  attended 
hy  busy  friars,  and  visited  by  pilgrims,  who  came  there  'nearly 
lame/  and  left  the  shrine  *  almost  able  to  walk,'    Still  further  back 
the  same  spring  was  a  centre  of  attraction  for  the  Celtic  inha- 
bitants, and  the  rocks  piled  up  around  it  stand  there  as  witnesses 
of  a  civilisation  and  architecture  certainly  more  n"" 
the  civilisation  and  architecture  of  Roman 
settlers*     We  need   not   look   beyond.      H* 
buttress  of  England  has  stood   there,  dt 

p3 


36  Cornish  Antiquities. 

Atlantic,  the  geologist  alone,  who  is  not  awed  by  ages,  would 
dare  to  tell  us.  But  the  historian  is  satisfied  with  antiquities  of 
a  more  humble  and  homely  character ;  and  in  bespeaking  the 
interest,  and,  it  may  be,  the  active  support  of  our  readers,  in 
favour  of  the  few  relics  of  the  most  ancient  civilisation  of  Britain, 
we  promise  to  keep  within  strictly  historical  limits,  if  by  his- 
torical we  understand,  with  the  late  Sir  G.  C.  Lewis,  that  only 
which  can  be  confirmed  by  contemporaneous  monuments. 

But  even  thus,  how  wide  a  gulf  seems  to  separate  us  from  the 
first  civilisers  of  the  West  of  England,  from  the  people  who 
gave  names  to  every  headland,  bay,  and  hill  of  Cornwall,  and 
who  first  planned  those  lanes  that  now,  like  veins,  run  in  every 
direction  across  that  heath-covered  peninsula !  No  doubt  it  is 
well  known  that  the  original  inhabitants  of  Cornwall  were  Celts, 
and  that  Cornish  is  a  Celtic  language ;  and  that,  if  we  divide 
the  Celtic  languages  into  two  classes,  Welsh  with  Cornish  and 
Breton  forms  one  class,  the  Cymric;  while  the  Irish  with  its 
varieties,  as  developed  in  Scotland  and  the  Isle  of  Man,  forms 
another  class,  which  is  called  the  Gaelic  or  Gadlielic,  It  may  also  « 
be  more  or  less  generally  known  that  Celtic,  with  all  its  dialects, 
is  an  Aryan  or  Indo-European  language,  closely  allied  to  Latin, 
Greek,  German,  Slavonic,  and  Sanskrit,  and  that  the  Celts,  there- 
fore, were  not  mere  barbarians,  or  people  to  be  classed  together 
with  Finns  and  Lapps,  but  heralds  of  true  civilisation  wherever 
they  settled  in  their  world-wide  migrations,  the  equals  of  Saxons 
and  Romans  and  Greeks,  whether  in  physical  beauty  or  in  intel- 
lectual vigour.  And  yet  there  is  a  strange  want  of  historical 
reality  in  the  current  conceptions  about  the  Celtic  inhabitants  of 
the  British  isles ;  and  while  the  heroes  and  statesmen  and  poets 
of  Greece  and  Rome,  though  belonging  to  a  much  earlier  age, 
stand  out  in  bold  and  sharp  relief  on  the  table  of  a  boy's  memory, 
his  notions  of  the  ancient  Britons  may  generally  be  summed  up 
*  in  houses  made  of  wicker-work,  Druids  with  long  white  beards, 
white  linen  robes,  and  golden  sickles,  and  warriors  painted  blue.* 
Nay,  strange  to  say,  we  can  hardly  blame  a  boy  for  banishing  the 
ancient  bards  and  Druids  from  the  scene  of  real  history,  and 
assigning  to  them  that  dark  and  shadowy  comer  where  the  gods 
and  heroes  of  Greece  live  peacefully  together  with  the  ghosts 
and  fairies  from  the  dream-land  of  our  own  Saxon  forefathers. 
For  even  the  little  that  is  told  in  *  Little  Arthur's  History  of 
England '  about  the  ancient  Britons  and  the  Druids  is  extremely 
doubtful.  Druids  are  never  mentioned  before  Caesar.  Few 
writers,  if  any,  before  him  were  able  to  distinguish  between  Celts 
and  Germans,  but  spoke  of  the  barbarians  of  Gaul  and  Germany 
as  the  Greeks  spoke  of  Scythians,  or  as  we  ourselves  speak  of 

the 


the  negroes  of  Africa,  without  distiog'uisliing'  between  racet  so 
<]ifferent  from  each  other  as  Hottentots  and  Kafirs.  Carsar  wa* 
one  of  the  first  writers  who  knevv  of  an  ethnological  distinction 
between  Celtic  and  Teutonic  barbarians,  and  we  may  therefore 
trust  him  when  Jie  says  that  the  Celts  had  Druidij,  and  the 
Germans  had  none.  But  his  farther  statements  about  these 
Celtic  priests  and  sages  are  hardly  more  trustworthy  than  the 
account  which  an  ordinary  Indian  officer  at  the  present  day 
might  give  us  of  the  Buddhist  priests  and  the  Buddhist  religion 
of  Ceylon,  Ca^sar*s  statement  tliat  the  Druids  worshipped  Mer- 
cury, Apollo,  Mars,  Jupiter,  and  Minerva,  is  of  the  same  base 
metal  as  the  statements  of  more  modern  writers, — that  the  Bud- 
dhists worship  the  Trinity ^  and  that  they  take  Buddha  for  the 
Son  of  God.  Caesar  most  likely  never  conversed  with  a  Druid, 
nor  was  he  able  to  control,  if  he  was  able  to  understand,  the 
statements  made  to  him  about  the  ancient  priesthood,  the  religion 
and  literature  of  Gaul,  Besides,  Caesar  himself  tells  us  very  little 
about  the  priests  of  Gaul  and  Britain  ;  and  the  thrilling  accounts 
of  the  white  robes  and  the  golden  sickles  belong  to  Pliny's  *  Na- 
tural History/  by  no  means  a  safe  authority  in  such  matters. 

We  must  be  satisfied,  indeed,  to  know  very  little  about  the 
mode  of  life^  the  forms  of  worship,  the  religious  doctrines,  or 
the  mysterious  wisdom  of  the  Druids  and  their  flocks.  But  for 
this  very  reason  it  is  most  essential  that  our  minds  shouhl  be 
impressed  strongly  with  the  historical  reality  that  belongs  to  the 
Celtic  inhabitants,  and  to  the  work  which  they  performed  in 
rendering  these  islands  for  the  first  time  fit  for  the  habitation  of 
man.  That  historical  lesson,  and  a  very  important  lesson  it  is, 
is  certainly  learnt  more  quickly,  and  yet  more  effectual fy,  by  a 
visit  to  Cornwall  or  Wales,  than  by  any  amount  of  reading.  We 
may  doubt  many  things  that  Celtic  enthusiasts  tell  us;  but  where 
every  village  and  field,  every  cottage  and  hill,  bear  names  that 
are  neither  Ensrlish,  nor  Norman,  nor  Latin,  it  is  difficult  not  to 
feel  that  the  Celtic  element  has  been  some  thin  ^^  real  and  per- 
manent in  the  history  of  the  British  isles.  The  Cornish  language 
is  no  dtmbt  extinct,  if  by  extinct  we  mean  that  it  is  no  ionger 
spoken  by  the  people.  But  in  ihe  names  of  tovvns^  castles,  rivers, 
mountains,  fields^  manors,  and  familieSj  antl  in  a  few  of  the 
technical  terms  of  mining,  husbandry,  and  fishing,  Cornish  lives 
on,  and  probably  will  live  on,  for  many  ages  to  come.  There  Is 
a  well-known  verse  : — 

*  By  Tre,  Roe,  Pol,  LaB,  Caer,  and  Pen, 
^ You  may  know  most  Cornish  men.'  • 

*  IVw,  homiest  end  ;  rm,  moor,  peatlaod,  a  commou  j  jwi,  a  pool ;  kn,  an  eoclo- 
sure,  ebarch ;  oiw,  town  ;  pen^  bead. 

But 


38  Cornish  Antiquities. 

^  But  it  will  hardly  be  believed  that  a  Cornish  antiquarian,  Dr. 
Bannister,  who  is  collecting  materials  for  a  glossary  of  Cornish 
proper  names,  has  amassed  no  less  than  2400  names  with  Tre, 
500  with  Pen,  400  with  Ros,  300  with  Lan,  200  with  Pol,  and 
200  with  Caer. 

A  language  does  not  die  all  at  once,  nor  is  It  always  possible 
to  fix  the  exact  date  when  it  breathed  its  last.  Thus,  in  the  case 
of  Cornish,  it  is  by  no  means  easy  to  reconcile  the  conflicting 
Statements  of  various  writers  as  to  the  exact  time  when  it  ceased 
to  be  the  language  of  the  people,  unless  we  bear  in  mind  that 
what  was  true  with  regard  to  the  higher  classes,  was  not  so  with 
regard  to  the  lower,  and  likewise  that  in  some  parts  of  Cornwall 
the  vitality  of  the  language  might  continue,  while  in  others  its 
heart  had  ceased  to  beat.  As  late  as  the  time  of  Henry  VIII. 
the  famous  physician  Andrew  Borde  tells  us  that  English  was 
not  understood  by  many  men  and  women  in  Cornwall.  *In 
Cornwal  is  two  speeches,'  he  writes,  *  the  one  is  naughty 
Englyshe,  and  the  other  the  Comyshe  speche.  And  there  be 
many  men  and  women  the  which  cannot  speake  one  worde  of 
Englyshe,  but  all  Comyshe.'  During  the  same  King*8  reign, 
when  an  attempt  was  made  to  introduce  a  new  church  service 
composed  in  English,  a  protest  was  signed  by  the  Devonshire 
and  Combh  men  utterly  refusing  this  new  English : — 

'  We  will  not  receive  the  new  Servioe,  because  it  is  but  like  a 
Christmas  game ;  but  we  will  have  our  old  Service  of  Matins,  Man, 
Evensong,  and  Procession,  in  Latin  as  it  was  before.  And  so  we  the 
Cornish  men  (whereof  certain  of  us  understand  no  English)  utterly 
refuse  this  new  English.'  * 

Yet  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  when  the  liturgy  was  appointed 
by  authority  to  take  the  place  of  the  mass,  the  Cornish,  it  is 
said,t  desired  that  it  should  be  in  the  English  language.  About 
the  same  time  we  are  told  that  Dr.  John  Moreman  %  taught  hit 
parishioners  the  Lord's  Prayer,  the  Creed,  and  the  Ten  Com- 
mandments, in  the  English  tongue.  From  the  time  of  the 
Reformation  onward,  Cornish  seems  constantly  to  have  lost 
ground  against  English,  particularly  in  places  near  Devonshire. 
Thus  Norden,  whose  description  of  Cornwall  was  probably 
written  about  1584,  though  not  published  till  1728,  gives  a  very 
full  and  interesting  account  of  the  struggle  between  the  two 
languages : — 

♦  Cranmer*8  Works,  ed.  Jenkynu,  vol.  ii.  p.  230. 

t  Observations  on  an  ancient  Manuscript,  entitled  *  Passio  Christi/  by  — — 
Scawen,  Esq.,  1777,  p.  26. 
X  Borlase  s  '  Natural  History  of  Cornwall/  p.  315. 

'Of 


(Ornish  Af^quitkE, 

'  Of  late/  ho  saya  (p.  26),  *  the  CoraUho  men  hayo  muche  con- 
fermed  themselvoB  to  the  use  of  the  Englisho  tounge,  Skud  their 
Eiiglishe  IB  equall  to  the  l>eate,  espetiaily  in  the  eaeteme  partes ;  even 
from  Tniro  eaetwa^rde  it  is  in  manner  wholly  Englisbe.  In  the  west© 
parte  of  the  ooimtrye,  m  in  the  himdreda  of  Pen  with  and  Kerrier,  the 
Comishe  tonnge  is  moste  in  use  amongste  the  inhiihitantes,  and  yot 
(whiche  is  to  bo  marveyled),  though  the  hnsbund  and  wife,  parentce 
find  children,  master  and  Borvanfces,  doe  mutually  communicate  in  their 
native  language j  yet  ther  is  none  of  them  in  manner  but  is  able  to 
convers  with  a  Btraunger  in  the  Englisbo  touuge,  unleea  it  be  seme 
obscure  people,  that  BddoDio  conferr  with  tlie  better  aorto ;  But  it 
seemeth  that  in  few  yoares  the  ComUhe  language  wilbe  by  litis  and 
litlo  abandoned,' 

Carew,  who  wrote  about  the  same  time,  goes  so  far  as  to  say 

that  most  of  the  inhabitants  '  can  no  word  of  Cornishj  but  very 
few  arc  ignorant  of  the  English,  though  they  sometimes  affect  to 
be.'  This  may  have  been  true  with  regard  to  the  upper  classes, 
particularly  in  the  west  of  Cornw^all,  but  it  is  nevertheless  a  fact 
that,  as  late  as  1640,  Mn  William  Jack  man,  the  vicar  of  Feock^* 
was  forced  to  administer  the  sacrament  in  Cornish,  because  the 
aged  people  did  not  understand  English;  nay,  the  rector  of 
Landewednak  preached  bis  sermons  in  Cornish  as  late  as  1678, 
Mr.  Scawen,  too^  who  wrote  about  that  time,  speaks  of  some  old 
folks  who  spoke  Cornish  only,  and  would  not  understand  a  word 
of  English^  but  he  tells  us  at  the  same  time  that  Sir  Francis 
North,  the  Lord  Chief  Justice,  afterwards  Lord  Keeper,  when 
holding  the  assises  at  Lanceston  in  WlH,  e-x pressed  his  concern 
at  the  loss  and  decay  of  the  Cornish  languag-e.  The  poor  people^ 
in  fact,  could  speak,  or  at  least  understand,  Cornish,  but  he  says 
*they  were  laughed  at  by  the  rich,  who  understood  it  not,  which 
is  their  own  fault  in  not  endeavouring  after  it'  About  the  begin- 
ning of  the  last  century,  Mr.  Ed,  Lbuyd  (died  1709),  the 
keeper  of  the  Ashmolean  Museum^  was  still  able  to  collect  from 
the  mouths  of  the  people  a  grammar  of  the  Cornish  lang^uage, 
which  was  published  in  1707<  He  says  that  at  this  time  Cornish 
was  only  retained  in  five  or  six  villages  towards  the  Land's  End; 
and  in  his  *  Archieologia  Britannica  '  he  adds,  that  although  it  was 
spoken  in  most  of  the  western  districts  from  the  Land*s  End  to 
the  Lizard,  *  a  great  many  of  the  inhabitants,  especially  the  gentry, 
do  not  understand  it,  there  being  no  necessity  thereof  in  regard 
there^s  no  Coniish  man  but  speaks  good  English/  It  is  generally 
supposed  that  the  last  jierson  who  spoke  Cornish  was  Dolly 
Pentrcath,  who  died  in  1778,  and  to  whose  memory  Prince  Louis 


Borlase's  '  Natural  History  of  ComwaJl,*  p»  315. 


Lucien 


40 


Cwnuh  Aniiqmtmw 


Lucien  Bonaparte  iias  lately  erected  a  oionument  in  the  cburdi* 
jard  at  Mausebole.     The  i[]S4rription  it : — 

'  Here  li^th  interred  Dorothj  Fentneath,  who  died  in  177B»  said  to 
hft^  been  the  lajit  person  who  conversed  in  the  ancient  Cornish ,  the 
peculiar'  langtiago  of  this  countrj  Iroui  the  earliest  records  till  it 
expired  in  this  parish  of  St.  Paul.  This  atone  is  erected  hj  ths 
Prinoe  Louis  Lueien  Bonaparte,  in  union  with  the  Ber.  John  Gacret, 
vicar  of  St  Paul,  Juno,  186(J/ 

It  seems  hardly  right  to  deprive  the  old  lady  of  her  fair  name; 
but  there  are  many  people  in  Cornwall  who  maintain^  that  when 
travellers  and  grandees  came  to  see  her  she  would  talk  anything 
that  came  into  her  head,  while  those  who  llgteued  to  her  were 
pleased  to  think  that  they  had  heard  the  dying  echoes  of  a  primeval 
timgne.*  There  is  a  letter  extant,  written  in  Cornish  by  a  poor 
fisherman  of  the  name  of  William  Bixlener.  It  h  dated  July  3, 
1776,  that  is,  two  yeari  l>efore  the  death  of  Dolly  Pentreath  ;  and 
the  writer  says  of  himself,  in  Cornish  :- — 

^  My  ago  is  threescore  and  five.  I  am  a  poo?  Sherman.  I  leaznl 
Gomish  when  I  wtis  a  hoy.  I  have  hoen  to  sea  with  my  father  And 
five  other  men  in  the  boat,  and  have  not  heard  one  word  of  English 
apoko  in  the  boat  for  a  week  together,  I  never  saw  a  Comiah  book* 
I  learned  Comisli  going  to  so*  witli  old  meu.  There  is  not  mote 
than  four  or  five  in  our  town  can  talk  Comi&h  now — old  peopla  four- 
score  years  old*     Cornish  is  all  forgot  with  young  people*! 

It  would  seem,  therefore,  that  Cornish  died  with  the  UiC 
century,  and  no  tme  now  living  can  boast  to  have  heart]  it^  sound 
when  actually  spoken  for  the  sake  of  conversation.  It  seems  to 
have  been  a  melodious  and  yet  by  no  means  an  cfTeminatc 
langua^e^  and  Siawen  places  it  in  this  respect  above  most  of  tlie 
other  Celtic  dialects  :— 


»  Her  age  wai  certainty  mythicaU  aad  her  case  formi  a  sirong:  coniirmatjcMi  of 
the  late  Sjf  G.  C,  Lewis's  (Eeoeral  Fcepticittm  on  that  poitit,     tkilJy  Prutirftlh  IS 
generally  brrufvirtl  to  have  tlied  at  the  agt  of  102,     Dr.  Jferlase,  who  knt^nr  hrfi 
and  has  left  agi>CHl  difscription  of  iiec*  itated  tbit,  &boiit  1774,  she  wns  in  iu*r  87!h 
year.    This,  if  she  died  in  IT  TF,  woald  only  briii|^  her  nge  lo  91 .    Bui  Mr  IkUvrrU, 
who  ejtaiuiiied  the  rt^itttr  at  Paul,  found  thai  l>olly  Petureflth  was  baptixtfd  in 
irU;  lo  thfttf  uiikss  fihcj  was  haptued  Itte  id  lifr,  this  supposed  centenarinn  had 
mAy  T«wbod  her  G-lth  yi*ar  at  the  time  of  her  liealh,  and  wa&  no  niftre  thjws  60 
%heii  Dr,  BoHafie  guppcjsM  h<T  to  be  87,     And  Bnoth*?r  inglance  of  entraordinary 
oM  age  h  meTitiojied  by  Mr.  Scawen  (p.  25),  about  a  hundred  yt*iirs  earlier,     '  Let 
uot  ihe  old  woman  W  forgoticn/  be  says*  *  who  died  about  two  years  »iiiee^  who 
was  liiA  yearb  old,  of  g;o<id  memury,  and  healthful  at  that  age,  living  in  the  pajidl^ 
ofGtktthmnt  hy  the  chnrhy  moi^tly  of  bucIi  as  c^ame  purpo««ly  to  see  her^  apeatdai^^ 
li>  them  (in  lU'fank  of  English)  by  jm  interpreter,  yet  partly  untlvrstanding  it    Bhm^ 
mamed  a  si^cond  husband  after  ihe  wa*  8(*,  and  buried  him  after  he  waa  SO  f^asml 
ot  age; 

t  '  Specimen*  of  Cornish  Proiriccial  Dialecti,'  hj  Uoclc  Jan  Tre^tioodle,    Lon- 
don^ 1846,  p.  S2. 

*  Comiah,* 


'  Comiflh/  be  eaye,  *  is  not  to  be  gutturaUy  prouotmced,  as  the 
Welsh  for  tbe  most  part  is,  nor  muttormgljj  as  the  Armorickj  nor 
whinmgly  as  the  Irish  (which  two  latter  qualities  seem  to  have  been 
contracted  froto  their  servitude),  but  must  be  lively  and  mmly  spoken, 
like  other  primitive  tongues,* 

Although  Comisb  must  now  be  classed  with  the  extinct 
languages,  it  has  certainly  shown  a  marvellous  vitality.  More 
than  four  hundred  years  of  Roman  occupation j  more  than  six 
hundred  years  of  Saxon  and  Danish  sway,  a  Norman  conquest, 
a  Saxon  Reformation,  and  civil  wars,  have  a!  I  passed  over  the 
land ;  but,  like  a  tree  that  may  bend  before  a  storm  but  is  not  to 
be  rw»ted  up*  the  language  of  the  Celts  of  Cornwall  has  lived  on 
in  an  unbroken  continuity  for  at  least  two  thousand  years.  What 
does  this  mean?  It  means  that  through  the  whole  of  English 
history  to  the  accession  of  the  House  oi^  Hanover,  the  inhabitants 
of  Cornwall,  in  spite  of  intermarriages  with  Romans,  Saxons,  and 
Normans  J  were  Celts,  and  remained  Celts.  People  speak  indeed 
of  blood,  and  intermingling  of  bUxxi,  as  determining  the  na- 
tionality of  a  people  j  but  what  is  meant  by  blood  ?  It  is  one  of 
those  many  vague  terms^  one  of  those  scientific  idols,  that  crumble 
to  dust  as  soon  as  we  try  to  define  or  grasp  them.  We  can  give 
a  scientific  deBnition  of  a  Celtic  language ;  but  no  one  has  yet 
given  a  definition  of  Celtic  blood,  or  a  Celtic  skull.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  hereafter  chemical  differences  may  be  discovered  in 
the  blood  of  those  who  speak  a  Celtic,  and  of  those  who  speak  a 
Teutonic  language.  It  is  possible  also  that  patient  measure- 
ments, Jike  those  lately  published  by  Professor  Huxley,  in  the 
'Journal  of  Anatomy  and  Physiology,'  may  lead  in  time  to  a 
really  scientific  classification  of  skulls,  and  that  physiologists 
may  succeed  in  the  end  in  carrying  out  a  classification  of  the 
human  race,  according  to  tangible  and  unvarying  ph)siological 
criteria.  But  their  definitions  and  their  classifications  will 
hardly  ever  square  with  tbe  definitions  or  classifications  of  the 
student  of  language,  and  the  us«^  of  common  terms  can  only 
be  a  source  of  constant  misunderstandings*  We  know  what  we 
mean  by  a  Celtic  language,  and  in  the  grammar  of  each  langua^re 
we  are  able  to  produce  a  most  perfect  scientific  definition  of  its 
real  character-  If,  therefore,  we  transfer  the  term  Celtic  to  people, 
we  can,  if  we  use  our  words  accurately,  mean  nothing  but  people 
who  speak  a  Celtic  language,  the  true  exponent,  ay,  the  very  life 
of  Celtic  nationality.  Whatever  people,  whether  Romans,  or 
Saxons,  or  N firmans,  or,  as  some  think,  even  Phoenicians  and 
Jews,  settled  in  Cornwall,  if  they  ceased  to  speak  their  own 
language  and  exchanged  it  for  Cornish,  they  are,  before  the 
tribunal   of  tbe  science  of  language,  Celts,   and    notliing   but 

Celu; 


k 


I 


42  Camish  Awtiquitim. 

Celts ;  while,  whenever  Ctjniislitnea,  like  Sir  Humphrey  Dairy  1 
or  Biihcip  Colenso^  hmve  ceajied  to  speak  Comisli,  and   ipeu 
nothing  hut  EiigUsh^  thej  are  no  longer  Celts,  but  try«  Teuimii 
or  Saxoni,  in    the   only    scientifically  lefjitiinate    sen^  of  tbftt  ^ 
wortL     Stranflre  stories,  indeed,  would  be  revealed^  if  blood  could 
Cfj  out  and  tell  of  its  repeated  mixtures  since  the  beginning  of 
the  world.     If  we  think  of  the  early  migratioDS  of  man  kind —-of 
the  battles  fought  before  there  were  hierpglyphies  to  record  them 
— of  conquests,  lending  into  captivity,  piracy,  slavery,  and  colooi* 
sation,  all  without  a  sacred  poet  to  hand  them  down  to  posterity 
— we  shall  hesitate,  indeed,  to  flpeak  of  pure  races,  or  tinmixec] 
blood,  even  at  the  yety  dawn  of  real  history.     Little  as  wft  know 
of  the  early  history  of  Greece,  we  know  enough  to  warn  us  against 
looking  upon  the  Greeks  of  Asia  or  Eurf3pe  a^  an  unmixed  race, 
iEj^yptus,    with   his   Arabian,    Eihiopian^    and    T^Tian    wives; 
Cadmus^  the  son  of  Libya  ;  Phfenix^  the  father  of  Eurc:ipa  \  all 
point  to  an  intercourse  of  Greece  with  foreign  countries,  what- 
ever else  their  mjtbological  meaning  may  be.     As  soon  as  we 
kntiw  anything  of  the  history  of  tlie  world,  we  know  of  wars  and 
alliances  between  Greeks  and  Lydians  and  Persians— of  Phoe*l 
tueian  settlements  all  over  the  world — of  Carthaginians  trailing j 
in  S|mia  aad   encamji^d   in   Italy — of  Romans  conquering  wsA\ 
coloiiiising  Gaul,  Spain,  Britain,  the  Danubian  Prinrijmlities  i 
Greece,  Wcs^tern  Asia,  and  Northern  Africa*     Then  a^&in«  at  m 
later  time,  follow  the  great  etbiiic  com ulsions  of  Eastern  Europe 
and  the  devastation  and  re-population  of  the  ancient  seats  of 
civilisation  by  Goths,  and  Lombards,  and  Wndals,  and  Saxom ; 
while  at  the  same  time,  and  for  many  centuries  to  come,  the  feir] 
strongholds  of  civilisation  in  the  East  were  again  and  again  oveT^i 
whelmed  by  the  irresistible  waves  of  Hunuish,  Mongol  ic,  and 
Tartaric  invaders.     And,  with  all  this,  people  at  the  latter  end. 
of  the  nineteenth  century  venture  to  speak,  for  instance,  oLpii 
Norman  blood  as  something  definite  or  definable,  for|retting  how' 

ttlw  ancient  Norsemen  carried  their  wives  away  from  the  coasts  of 
Germany  or  Russia,  from  Sicily  or  from  the  very  Piraeus ;  while 
others  married  whatever  wives  they  could  find  in  the  North  of 
France,  whether  of  Gallic,  Roman,  or  German  extraction,  and 
then  settled  in  England,  where  they  again  contracted  marriageft^^ 
with  Teutonic,  CeUic,  or  Roman  damsels.  In  our  own  days,  i^^f 
we  see  the  daughter  of  an  English  officer  and  an  Indian  Rane*" 
married  to  the  son  of  a  Russian  nobleman,  how  are  we  to  data 
the  ofi*:ipring  of  that  marriage?  The  Indian  Ranee  may  hare  had 
Mongid  bloodf  so  may  the  Russian  n<»bleman  ;  but  there  are  ntbef, 
possibltj  ingreilients  of  pure  Hindu  and  pure  Slavonic — of  P' 
man,   German,  and   Roman   blood — ^all    of  which   who  is 


Uwnuh  AnHquiUm* 

chemist  bald  enough  to  disengage  ?  There  Is  perhaps  no  nation 
which  has  been  exposed  to  more  frequent  admixture  of  foreign 
blood,  dnrin*  the  Middle  Ages,  than  the  Greeks,  Professor 
Fallmerayer  maintained  that  the  Hcdlenic  population  was  entirely 
exterminated,  and  that  the  people  who  at  the  present  day  call 
themselves  Greeks  are  really  Slavonians*  It  would  be  difficult 
to  refute  him  by  arguments  drawn  either  from  the  physical  or  the 
moral  characteristics  of  the  modem  Greeks  as  compared  with 
the  many  varieties  of  the  Slavonic  stock*  But  the  following 
extract  from  '  Fehon's  Lectures  on  Greece,  Ancient  and  Modern/ 
contains  the  only  answer  that  can  be  given  to  such  charges,  without 
point  or  purpose  i — ^  In  one  of  the  courses  of  lectures,'  he  says, 
'which  I  attended  in  the  University  of  Athens,  the  Professor  of 
History,  a  very  eloquent  man  as  well  as  a  somewhat  fiery  Greek, 
t<K>k  this  subject  up.  His  audience  consisted  of  about  two 
hundred  young  men,  from  every  part  of  Greece,  His  indignant 
comments  on  the  learned  German,  that  notorious  Mi^tXXj^j/,  or 
Greek-hater,  as  he  stigmatised  him,  were  received  by  his  hearers 
with  a  profound  sensation^  They  sat  with  expanded  nostrils  and 
flashing  eycs^ — a  splendid  illustration  of  the  old  Hellenic  spirit, 
rousetl  to  fury  by  the  charge  of  barbarian  descent*  '^^  It  is  true," 
said  the  eloquent  Professor,  "  that  the  tide  of  barbaric  invaders 
poured  down  like  a  deluge  ujion  Hellas,  filling  with  it5  surging 
Hoods  our  beautiful  plains — our  fertile  valleys.  The  Greeks  fled 
to  their  walled  towns  and  mountain  fastnesses.  By  and  bye  the 
water  flubsided  and  the  soil  of  Hellas  reappeared.  The  former 
inhabitants  descended  from  the  mountains  as  the  tide  receded, 
resumed  their  ancient  lands  and  rebuilt  their  ruined  habitations, 
and,  the  reign  of  the  barbarians  over,  Hellas  was  herself  again," 
Three  or  four  rounds  of  applause  followed  the  close  of  the  lectures 
of  Professor  Manouses,  in  which  I  heartily  joined*  I  could  not 
help  thinking  afterwards  what  a  singular  comment  on  the  German 
anti-Hellenic  theory  was  presented  by  this  scene — a  Greek  Pro^ 
fessor  in  a  Greek  University  lecturing  to  two  hundred  Greeks  in 
the  Greek  language,  to  prove  that  the  Greeks  were  Greeks,  and 
not  Slavonians/  * 

And  yet  we  hear  the  same  arguments  used  over  and  over  again, 
not  only  wit!i  regard  to  the  Greeks,  but  with  regard  to  many  other 
modern  nations;  and  even  men  whose  minds  have  been  trained 
in  the  school  of  exact  science,  use  the  term  '  bloc^d  *  in  this  vague 
and  thoughtless  manner^  The  adjective  Greek  may  connote 
many  thingSj  but  what  it  denotes  is  language.  People  who  speak 
Greek  as  their  mother   tongue  are   Greeks,  and  if  a  Turkish- 


'GreeoCf  Ancient  and  Modern/  by  C,  C,  Felton;  Boston,  1867f  w 


44 


C&mhh  Anttqnities. 


speaking  inbabitant  of  Constantinople  could  trace  his  pedigree 
straight  to  Pericles,  he  would  still  be  n  Turk,  whatever  hb  name, 
his  faith,  his  hair,  features,  and  stature,  whatever  his  blood,  might 
be*  We  can  classify  languages,  and  as  languages  presuppose  people 
that  speak  thcm^  we  can  so  far  classify  mankind,  according  to 
their  grammars  and  dictionaries;  while  all  who  possess  scienti^e 
honesty  must  confess  and  will  coniess  that»  as  yet,  it  has  been 
impossible  tt>  derise  any  truly  scientific  classification  of  skullt, 
to  say  nothing  of  blood,  or  iKines,  or  hair.  The  label  on  one  of 
the  skulls  in  the  Munich  Collection,  *  Etruscan-Tyrol,  or  Inca- 
Peruvian,*  characterises  not  too  unfairly  the  present  state  of 
ethnological  craniology*  Let  ibose  who  imagine  that  the  great 
oatlines,  at  least,  of  a  classification  of  skulls  have  been  firmly 
established  consult  Mr.  Bracers  useful  manual  of  '  The  Races  of 
the  World,'  where  he  has  collected  the  opinions  of  some  of  die 
best  judges  on  the  subject      We  quote  a  few  passages: — • 

*  Dr.  Bachmann  concludes  from  the  lEeasureraents  of  Dr,  l^iedemann 
and  Dr.  Morton,  that  the  negro  skidl,  though  lesR  thaw  the  European, 
ia  within  one  inch  as  large  as  the  Persian  aud  the  Armenian,  and 
three  square  inches  larger  than  the  HindcK*  and  Egy|>tian.  The 
ieale  is  thus  given  by  Dr,  Horton  :  European  skull,  87  cubic  inches ; 
Mftlaj,  85  ;  Negro,  83  :  Mongol,  82 ;  Ancient  Egyptian,  80 ;  AmerieaJi, 
79.  The  ancient  Peruvians  and  Mexicans,  who  construe  tod  so  elabck- 
rat©  a  civilisation,  show  a  capacity  only  of  from  75  to  79  tnchee* 
.  *  ,  ,  Other  obscrrations  by  Husohke  inake  the  average  eapaeity  of 
the  skull  of  Europeans  40*88  oz, ;  of  Americans,  39"13;  of  Mongola, 
38-39  ;  of  Negroes,  37-57  ;  of  Malays,  36*41/ 

*  Of  the  shape  of  the  skuU,  as  distinctivo  of  different  origin^  Pro- 
fi^sor  M.  J,  Weber  has  said  there  is  no  proper  mark  of  a  deBnite 
race  from  the  cranium  so  firmly  attaehod  tlxat  it  may  not  bo  found  in 
some  other  race.  Tiedemarm  has  met  with  Germans  whose  skulls 
bore  all  the  elxaracters  of  the  negro  race ;  and  an  inhabitant  of  Nuka- 
hiwa^  nccording  to  Silesius  and  Blumenbach,  agreed  exactly  in  his 
proportions  with  the  Apollo  Belvodere/ 

Professor  Huxley,  in  his  '  Observatiopf  on  the  Human  Skulls 
of  Engts  and  Neanderthal/  printed  in  Sir  Charles  LyelKs 
•Antiquity  of  Man,'  p.  81,  remarks  that  'the  most  capacious 
European  skull  )et  measured  bad  a  capacity  of  114  cubic 
inches,  the  smallest  (as  estimated  by  weight  of  brain)  about  55 
cubic  inches  ;  while,  according  to  Professor  Schaaffhauscn,  some 
Hindoo  skulls  have  as  small  a  capacity  as  4(J  cubic  inches 
(27  oz,  of  water);'  and  he  sums  up  by  stating  that  'cranial 
measurements  alone  afTord  no  safe  indication  of  race/ 


•  *The  Raeet  of  the  Old  World:  A  Mimual  ofEUmology.' 
Brace.     Ldodon,  lS69t  p.  362  »eq. 


By  ChATles  L. 
And 


Cornish  Atititjuitiet. 


45 


And  even  if  a  scientific  classificEition  of  skulls  were  to  be  carried 
out,  if  instead  of  merely  being'  able  to  guess  that  this  may  he  an 
Australian  and  this  a  Malay  skull ^  we  were  able  positively  to 
place  each  individual  skull  under  its  own  definite  category, 
what  sboald  we  gain  in  the  classification  of  mankind  ?  Where 
is  the  bridge  from  skull  to  man  in  the  full  sense  of  that  word? 
Where  is  the  c(mnecting  link  between  the  cranial  proportions 
and  only  one  other  of  man's  characteristic  properties,  such  as 
language?  And  what  applies  to  skulls  applies  to  colour  and  all 
the  rest.  Even  a  black  skin  and  curly  hair  are  mere  outward 
accidents  as  compared  with  language.  We  do  not  classify 
parrots  and  magpies  by  the  colour  of  their  plumage,  still  less 
by  the  cages  in  which  they  live ;  and  what  Is  the  black  skin  or 
the  white  skin  but  the  mere  outward  coverings  not  to  say  the 
mere  cage,  in  which  that  being  which  we  call  man  lives,  moves, 
and  has  his  being?  A  man  like  Bishop  Crowther,  though  a 
negro  in  blood,  is,  in  thought  and  speech,  an  Aryan.  He  speaks 
English,  he  thinks  English,  he  acts  English ;  and,  unless  wc 
take  English  in  a  purely  bis  tori  ca!,  and  not  in  its  truly  scientific^ 
I'.e,  linguistic,  sense,  he  is  English-  No  doubt  there  are  many 
inSuences  at  work  ^ old  proverbs,  old  songs  and  traditions, 
religious  convictions^  social  institutions,  political  prejudices, 
besides  the  soil,  the  food,  and  the  air  of  a  country— that  may 
keep  up,  even  among  people  who  have  lost  their  national  lan- 
guage, that  kind  of  vague  similarity  which  is  sptjken  of  as 
national  character.*  This  is  a  subject  on  which  many  volumes 
have  been  written,  and  yet  the  result  has  only  been  to  supply 
newspapers  with  materials  for  international  insults  or  interna- 
tional courtesies,  as  the  case  may  be^  Nothing  sound  or  definite 
has  been  gained  by  such  speculations,  and  in  an  age  that  prides 
itself  on  the  careful  observance  of  the  rules  of  inductive  reasoning, 
nothing  is  more  surprising  than  the  sweeping  assertions  with 
regard  t*>  national  character,  and  the  reckless  way  in  which 
casual  observations  that  may  be  true  of  one,  two,  three,  or  it 
may  be  ten  or  even  a  hundred  individuals,  are  extended  to 
millions.  However,  if  there  is  one  safe  exponent  of  national 
character,  it  is  language.  Take  away  the  language  of  a  people, 
and  )  ou  destroy  at  once  that  powerful  chain  of  tradition  in  thought 


*  Comisli  proyerbs  liave  lived  on  after  the  extinction  of  Comijih,  ami  even  as 
traiulsited  iiiTo  Engliili  they  naturally  conlinue  to  exercise  thdr  own  peculiar 
■pell  on  the  miiidG  of  men  and  chUdreu.    Such  proverbs  are  ;^ 

*  J t  i*  better  to  keep  than  to  bcj?/ 

*  Do  good,  for  thyself  ihou  dost  It,' 
*Spe»k  Utllr^  iipeak  well,  and  well  wjU  be  »i)Oken  i^aln/ 

*  There  is  uu  dowu  without  eye,  no  hiidge  without  ears/ 

&nd 


46  Cornish  Antiquities. 

and  sentiment  which  holds  all  die  generations  of  the  same  race 
together,  if  we  may  use  an  unpleasant  simile,  like  the  chain  of  a 
gang  of  galley-slaves.  These  slaves,  we  are  told,  very  soon  fall 
into  die  same  pace,  without  being  aware  that  their  movements 
depend  altogether  on  the  movements  of  those  who  walk  before 
them.  It  is  nearly  the  same  with  us.  We  imagine  we  are  alto- 
gether free  in  our  thoughts,  original  and  independent,  and  we 
are  not  aware  that  our  thoughts  are  manacled  and  fettered  by 
language,  and  that,  without  knowing  and  without  perceiving  it, 
we  have  to  keep  pace  with  those  who  walked  before  us  thousands 
and  thousands  of  years  ago.  Language  alone  binds  people 
together  and  keeps  diem  distinct  from  others  who  speak  different 
tongues.  In  ancient  times  particularly,  ^  languages  and  nations  * 
meant  the  same  thing ;  and  even  with  us  our  real  ancestors  are 
those  whose  language  we  speak,  the  fathers  of  our  thoughts,  the 
mothers  of  our  hopes  and  fears.  Blood,  bones,  hair,  and  colour, 
are  mere  accidents,  utterly  unfit  to  serve  as  principles  of  scientific 
classification  for  that  great  family  of  living  beings,  the  essential 
characteristics  of  which  are  thought  and  speech,  not  fibrine^ 
serum,  colouring  matter,  or  whatever  else  enters  into  the  compo- 
sition of  blood.  If  this  be  true,  the  inhabitants  of  Cornwall, 
whatever  the  number  of  Roman,  Saxon,  Danish,  or  Norman  settlers 
within  the  boundaries  of  that  county  may  have  been,  continued 
to  be  Celts  as  long  as  they  spoke  Cornish.  They  ceased  to  be 
Celts  when  they  ceased  to  speak  the  language  of  their  forefathers. 
Those  who  can  appreciate  the  charms  of  genuine  antiquity  will 
not,  therefore,  find  fault  with  the  enthusiasm  of  Daines  Barrington 
or  Sir  Joseph  Banks  in  listening  to  the  strange  utterances  of 
Dolly  Pcntreath  ;  for  her  language,  if  genuine,  carried  them  back 
and  brought  them,  as  it  were,  into  immediate  contact  with  people 
who,  long  before  the  Christian  era,  acted  an  important  part  on 
the  stage  of  history,  supplying  the  world  with  two  of  the  most 
precious  metals,  more  precious  then  than  gold  or  silver,  with 
copper  and  tin,  the  very  materials,  it  may  be,  of  the  finest  works 
of  art  in  Greece,  aye,  of  the  armour  wrought  for  the  heroes  of 
the  Trojan  war,  as  described  so  minutely  by  the  poets  of  the 
^  Iliad.'  There  is  a  continuity  in  language  which  nothing  equal% 
and  there  is  an  historical  genuineness  in  ancient  words,  if  but 
rightly  interpreted,  which  cannot  be  rivalled  by  manuscripts,  or 
coins,  or  monumental  inscriptions. 

But  though  it  is  right  to  be  enthusiastic  about  what  is  reallj 
ancient  in  Cornwall — and  there  is  nothing  so  ancient  as  language 
— it  is  equally  right  to  be  discriminating.  The  fresh  breeses  of 
antiquity  have  intoxicated >  many  an  antiquarian.  Words,  purely 
Latin  or  English,  though  somewhat  changed  after  being  admitted 

into 


Gffidth  AiOiquUies. 


4T 


into  the  Comist  dictionarj,  have  been  quoted  as  the  originals 
from  which  the  Roman  or  English  were  in  turn  derivetL  The 
Latin  Uher^  book,  was  supposed  to  be  derived  from  the  Welsh 
Uyvifr ;  literaj  letter,  from  Welsh  Ih/tht/r ;  persona^  person,  from' 
Welsh  person^  &€,  Walls  built  within  the  memory  of  men 
have  been  admitted  as  relirs  of  British  architecture ,  nay,  Latin 
inscriptions  of  the  simplest  chaj*ncter  have  but  lately  been 
interpreted  J  by  means  of  Cornish  j  as  containing  strains  of  a 
mysterious  wisdom*  Here,  too,  a  study  of  the  language  gives 
fiome  useful  hints  as  to  the  projier  method  of  disentangling  the 
traly  ancient  from  the  more  modern  el  em  en  ts*  Whatever  in 
the  Cornish  dictionary  cannot  be  traced  back  to  any  other  suurce, 
whether  Latin,  Saxon,  Norman,  or  German,  may  safely  be  con- 
sidered as  Cornish,  and  therefore  as  ancient  Celtic*  Whatever  In 
the  antiquities  of  Cornwall  cannot  be  claimed  by  Romans,  Saxons, 
Danes,  or  Normans,  may  ikirly  be  cons ide ret!  as  genuine  remains 
of  the  earliest  civilisation  of  this  island^  as  the  work  of  the  Celtic 
discoverers  of  Britain, 

The  Cornish  language  is  by  no  ^means  a  pure  or  unmixed 
language,  at  least  we  do  not  know  it  in  its  pure  stAte,  It  is,  in 
liict,  a  mere  accident  that  any  literary  remains  have  been  pre* 
served,  and  three  or  four  small  volumes  would  contain  all  that  is 
left  to  us  of  Cornish  literature.  'There  is  a  poem,*  to  quote 
Mr.  Norris,  'which  we  may  by  courtesy  call  epic,  entitled 
**  Mount  Calvary/' '  It  contains  259  stanzas  of  eight  lines  each, 
In  heptasy liable  metre,  with  alternate  rhyme.  It  is  ascribed 
to  the  fifteenth  century,  and  was  published  for  the  first  time  by 
Mr,  Davies  Gilbert  in  1826.*  There  is,  besides,  a  scries  of 
dramas,  or  mystery- pi  ays,  first  published  by  Mr,  N  orris  for 
th«  University  Press  of  Oxford  in  1858,  The  first  is  called 
*  The  Beginning  of  the  World^'  the  second  '  The  Passion  of  our 
Lord,'  the  third  *The  Resurrection/  The  last  is  interrupted  by 
another  play,  'The  Death  of  Pilate.'  The  oldest  MS.  in  the 
Budleian  Library  belungs  to  the  fifteenth  century^  and  Mr,  Norris 
is  not  inclined  to  refer  the  composition  of  these  plays  to  a  much 
earlier  date*  Another  MS.,  likewise  in  the  Bodleian  Library, 
contains  both  the  text  and  a  translation  by  Keig^wyn  (1695}» 
Lastly,  there  is  another  sacred  drama,  called  *Tbe  Creation  of 
the  World,  with  Noah's  Flood.*  It  is  in  many  places  copied 
from  the  dramas,  and,  according  to  the  MS,,  it  was  written  by 
William  Jordan  in  16 IL     The  oldest  MS,  belongs  again  to  the 

*  A  critical  edllian,  with  some  excellent  notes,  wi«  piibliihdl  lijr  Mr. 
Sloketi  uodef  tbe  title  of  *  The  Passion/  MSS.  of  it  exist  at  the  British 
aad  lit  the  BcKllemn.  One  of  the  Bodleian  MSS,  (Gough^  CorQwall,  a^  ui 
Eoglkh  trmoBliition  bj  Reigw|ra,  made  in  1682. 


48 


C^fmiih  AniifuiHei. 


Bodleian  Library^  wkicb  likewise  possesses  a  MS.  of  the 
lion  by  Kdgwyn  in  161*  L* 

These    mystery-plays,  as  we   may    learn    from   a  paatage 
Carew's    *  Survey    of   Cornwall'  (p,  71),  were   still    j 
in  Cornish  in  his  tijue^  L  f.,  at  the  beginning  of  the  seventeejitll 
century.     He  says ; — 

^  Pastiines  to  delight  the  minde,  the  Odmish  men  have  Giurj 
mhmcles  and  three  mens  songs ;  and^  for  tho  c^orelso  of  the  bodjr, 
hunting,  hawking,  shooting,  wTOjetling,  hurling,  and  such  other  gamce^ 

*  The  Guary  miracle- -in  English,  a  miraele*play^ — is  a  IdwH  of 
enteflnde,  oompiletl  in  Comiah  out  of  gome  Scripture  history,  witii 
that  grosfienes  which  aecompanied  the  EomaneB  t^lug  Conwdia*  Fat 
repruBenting  it,  they  raise  an  earthen  aiuphi theatre  in  some  open 
BM,  having  the  diameter  of  his  enclosed  pkyne  some  forty  or  fifty 
foot.  The  country  people  floek  from  all  sidea^  many  miles  off^  to 
heare  and  see  it,  for  they  have  therein  denla  and  devices,  to  delight 
m  well  the  eye  as  the  eore ;  the  play  em  eonne  not  their  partf^  without 
booke,  but  are  prompted  by  one  called  the  Ordinary,  who  folJoweth  at 
their  back  with  the  bookc  in  his  haiAd,  and  telleth  them  eofUy  what 
they  must  pronounce  aloud «  Which  manner  once  gave  occaaton  to  a 
pleasant  coneeyted  gentleman,  of  proetieing  a  raery  pranke ;  for  ht 
undertaking  (perhaps  of  set  purpose)  an  nctor  s  roome,  was  accord^ 
ingly  lessoned  (heforcband)  by  the  Ordinary,  that  ho  must  say  witex 
him.  His  turn  came.  Quoth  the  Ordiimry,  Gee  forth  man  and  ahow 
thy  selfe.  The  gentleman  steps  out  upon  the  stage,  and  like  a  hmA 
Clarke  in  Scripture  matters,  cleaving  more  to  the  letter  then  the  soEDse, 
pronounced  those  words  aloud.  Oh  I  ^sayes  the  fbllowe  softly  in  his 
eare)  yon  marxe  all  the  play.  And  with  this  his  ^ssion  the  actor 
makes  the  andieuee  in  like  sort  acquainted.  Hereon  the  prompter 
falls  to  Bat  ray  ling  and  cursing  in  the  bitterest  termes  he  could  devisn; 
which  the  gentleman^  with  a  set  gesture  and  countenance,  still  aoberlj 
related,  untill  tbe  Ordinary,  driven  at  last  into  a  madde  rage,  WAi 
laine  to  give  all  ovei\  Which  trousso^  though  it  brake  ofif  the  edler- 
lude,  yet  defrauded  not  the  beholders,  but  dismisaed  them  with  ft 
great  deale  more  sport  and  laughter  then  sneh  Qnaries  could  haw 
aibrded/t  ~ 

Sea  wen,  at  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century,  speaks  of  1 
miracle- plays,  and  considers  Uie  suppression  of  the  GutrrimtarM^^ 

*  la  the  MS.  in  tlie  Btitwb  Museum*  the  trmtiskiioa  ii  said  Kjr  Mn  Kmrts  Id  be 
dated  1698  (vol.  it.  p,  -tin),  h  vas  pubLi^bed  in  1827  hy  Dj^vits  Gilbert;  and  a 
«]itJ^  edition  >vks  prepai^d  hy  Mr.  Whitley  Stokf««  utid  publiKhfd  with  la 
EngtiRh  tm Delation  in  1862,  Mr.  Stokes  htkVL'ti  h  doubtful  wbelkvr  WlUiitn  Jordaa 
wa^  ibe  jatuh()i%nf  nicrt'ly  the  copjipt^and  thinks  tin*  text  may  belong  t^un  earli^ 
dnfe*  thfiugb  it  i«  decidedly  more  modem  limn  the  other  ipecim^iia  of  Cornii-h 
whieh  wt  ^iPB»  hi  tht  dramas*  and  la  the  poem  of*  The  PaMion/ 
t  triuire^  \u  Comifch,  me&tift  a  plny^  a  gRtne^  the  Welah  j^tivoffl, 
I  Aeeordiug  lo  Lhnyd,  ijtiirhtdr  would  bis  a  isorruptlou  of  gnari^mirkl*'^  •>,  % 
mlracle>play. — (Norrb,  vol.  ii*  p.  4r*r>,} 


Comish  An 


i^mi 


!(Wi 


49 


or  Great  SpeecheSj  as  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  the  decay  of  the 

Cornish  language, 

*  Theae  C^mrritnears,'  he  says,  *  which  were  used  at  the  great  con- 
fentions  of  the  pGoplo,  at  which  they  had  famoTJs  interludes  colcbrated 
with  great  preparationi,  and  not  without  shows  of  devotion  in  thorn, 
Bolcmnised  in  great  and  spacious  downs  of  great  capacity,  encompassed 
about  with  earth  on  banks^  and  soino  in  part  stone- work^  of  largeness 
to  contain  thoUi3aiids,  the  shapes  of  which  remain  in  many  places  at 
this  day,  though  the  use  ef  them  long  since  gone,  .  .  .  This  was  a 
great  means  to  keep  in  use  the  tongue  with  delight  and  admiration* 
They  had  recitationa  in  them,  poetical  and  divine,  one  of  which  I 
may  fiuppoBo  this  small  relicxue  of  autic[mty  to  be,  in  wluch  the  passion 
of  our  fcjaviour,  and  his  resurrectionj  is  described/ 

If  to  these  mystery- pi  ays  and  poems  we  add  some  versions  of 
the  Lord*s  Prayer,  the  Commandments,  and  the  Creed,  a  pro- 
testation of  the  bishops  in  Britain  to  Augustine  the  monk,  the 
Pope's  lo^atCj  in  the  year  600  after  Christ  (MS.  Gough,  4), 
the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  and  some  songs^  proverbs,  riddles, 
a  tale  and  a  glossary*  we  have  an  almost  complete  catalogue  of 
what  a  Cornish  library  would  be  at  the  present  day. 

Now,  if  we  examine  the  language  as  preserved  to  us  in  thesa 
fragments,  we  find  that  it  is  full  of  Norman,  Saxon,  nnd  Latin 

I~  ;words.  No  one  can  doubt,  for  instante,  that  the  following 
Cornish  words  are  all  taken  from  Latin,  that  iis,  from  the  Latin 
of  the  Chnrch  : — 


Ahal,  an  abbot ;  Lat*  nJjbag^ 

Alter ^  altiir ;  Lat.  altar(\ 

Apoglol,  apostle  ;  Lat.  apostolaA, 

Ct^mster^  cloister  ;  Lat»  elmtslnifiL 

Coiom^  dove :  Lat,  columha, 

Gwe.'^par^  vespers  ■  Lat.  veftper. 

CkintuU,  candle ;  Lat.  earideta. 

Caniiiiihren^  candlestick ;  Lat,  candtJahnm* 

Axl^  angel ;  Lat-  ajigehts, 

Archailf  archangel ;  Lat.  arehangdm. 


Other  words,  though  not  immediately  connected  with  the  service 
and  the  doctrine  of  the  Church,  may  nevertheless  have  passed 
from  Latin  into  Cornish,  either  directly  from  the  daily  conversa^ 
tion  of  monks,  priests,  and  schoolmasters,  or  indirectly  from 
English  or  Normnn,  in  both  of  which  the  same  Latin  words  had 
naturally  been  adopted,  though  slightly  modified  according  to 
the  phonetic  peculiarities  of  each.     Thus:— 

Ancar,  anchor ;  the  Latin,  an€ara^    This  mig 
through  English  or  Norman-FrencL 
Voh  123.— iVb.  245.  E 


50  CoimUh  AntiquUieM. 

Aradar^  plough ;  the  Latin,  aratrnwi,  ThiB  muBt  hkie  oome  dixect 
from  Latin,  as  it  does  not  exist  in  Norman  or  English. 

ArghanSj  silver;  argentum, 

Keghin,  kitohen  ;  eoquina.  This  is  taken  from  the  same  Laliii  word 
from  which  the  Romance  languages  formed  cuisine^  cucina ;  not  fKm 
the  classical  Latin,  culina. 

Liver,  book ;  Ztbar,  originally  the  bark  of  trees  oil  4rhioh  bodki 
were  written. 

Dinaivj  coin ;  denariu9, 

8eth,  arrow ;  sagiita. 

Cau$,  cheese ;  caseus, 

CauLy  cabbage ;  cauLis. 

These  words  are  certainly  foreign  words  in  Cornish  and  the 
other  Celtic  languages  in  wnich  they  occur,  and  to  attempt  to 
supply  for  some  of  them  a  purely  Celtic  etymology  shows 
a  complete  want  of  appreciation  both  of  the  history  of  words 
and  of  the  phonetic  laws  that  govern  each  family  of  the  Lado* 
European  languages.  Sometimes,  no  doubt,  the  Latin  words 
have  been  considerably  changed  and  modified,  according  to  the 
phonetic  peculiarities  of  the  dialects  into  which  they  were  received. 
Thus,  gwespar  for  vesper^  $eth  for  sdgitta^  cam  for  eoMut^  hardly 
look  like  Latin  words.  Yet  no  real  Celtic  scholar  would  claim 
them  as  Celtic ;  and  the  Rev.  Robert  Williams,  the  author  of 
the  *  Lexicon  Comu-Britannicum,'  in  speaking  of  a  list  of  words 
borrowed  from  Latin  by  the  Welsh  during  the  stay  of  the 
Romans  in  Britain,  is  no  doubt  right  in  stating  ^  that  it  will  be 
found  much  more  extensive  than  is  generally  imagined.' 

Latin  words  which  have  reached  the  Cornish  after  they  had 
assumed  a  French  or  Norman  disguise,  are,  for  instance, — 

Emperur,  instead  of  Latin  impercUor  (Welsh,  ymherawdwr). 

Laian,  the  French  loyal,  but  not  the  Latin  legalU,  Likewise, 
didaian,  disloyaL 

Fruit,  fruit ;  Lat.  fructus ;  French,  fruit, 

Funten,  fountain  ;  Lat.  foniana ;  French,  foniaine, 

Gromersy,  i.e,,  grand  mercy,  thanks. 

Hoyz,  hoyz,  hoyz  !  hear,  hear !    The  Norman-French,  Oyez. 

The  town-crier  of  Aberconwy  may  still  be  heard  prefacing  hia 
notices  with  the  shout  of  '  Hoyz,  hoyz,  hoyz  I '  which  in  other 
places  has  been  corrupted  to  '  O  ye%.^ 

The  following  words,  adopted  into  Cornish  and  other  Celtfa^ 
dialects,  clearly  show  their  Saxon  origin  : — 

Cafor,  a  chafer ;  Grerm.  kdfer. 

Craft,  art,  craft. 

Medior,  a  reader. 

Store,  a  stork. 

Let,  hindrance,  let ;  preserved  in  the  Qer 


Cornish  Antiquities. 

considering  that  Cornish  and  other  C^hio  dialects  are  members 
i>f  the  same  family  to  which  Latin  and  German  belong,  it  is 
^metimes  difficult  to  tell  at  once  whether  a  Celtic  word  was 
sally  borrowed,  or  whether  it  belongs  tn  that  ancient  stock  of 
rords  which  all  the  Aryan  lang'uag'es  share  in  common.     This 
a  point  which  can  be  determined   by  scholars  only  and  by 
leans  of  phonetic  tests*     Thus   the  Cornish  Auir,   or  hoer^  is 
Ijplearly  the  same  word  as  the  Latin  soror^  sister.     But  the  change 
liif  *  into  h  would  not  have  taken  place   if  the  word  bad   been 
limply  borrowed  from  Latin,  while  many  words  beginning  with  s 
tin  Sanskrit,  Latin,  and  German,  change  the  s  into  h  in  Cornish 
well  as  in  Greek  and  Persian.     The  Cornish  hoer^  sister,  is 
[idecd   curiously    like    the    Persian  khdher^   the   regular   repre- 
sentative   of  the  Sanskrit   svasar^  the  Latin  saroK     The  same 
applies  to  brand,  brother,  dedlt,  day,  cfr?,  three,  and  many  mora 
words   which  form   the   primitive  stock  of  Cornish,   and  were 
common  to  all  the  Aryan  languages  before  their  earliest  dis- 
persion. 

What  applies  to  the  language  of  Cornwall  applies  with  equal 
force  to  the  other  relics  of  antiquity  of  that  curious  county.  It 
has  been  truly  said  that  Cornwall  is  poor  in  antiquities,  but  it  is 
equally  true  that  it  is  rich  in  antiquity.  The  difficulty  is  to  dis- 
criminate, and  to  distinguish  what  is  really  Cornish  or  Celtic  from 
what  may  be  later  additions,  of  Roman,  Saxon,  Danish,  and 
Norman  origin.  Now  here,  at  we  said  before,  the  safest  rule 
is  clearly  the  same  as  that  which  we  followed  in  our  analysis  of 
language.  Let  everything  be  claimed  for  English,  Norman, 
Danish,  and  Roman  sources  that  can  clearly  be  proved  to  come 
from  thence ;  but  let  what  remains  unclaimed  be  considered 
as  Cornish  or  Celtic,  Thus»  if  we  do  not  find  in  countries 
exclusively  inhabited  by  Romans  or  Saxons  anything  like 
a  cromlech,  surely  we  have  a  right  to  look  upon  these  strange 
structures  as  remnants  of  Celtic  times.  It  makes  no  difference  if 
it  can  be  shown  that  below  these  cromlechs  coins  have  occasion- 
ally been  found  of  the  Roman  Emperors*  This  only  proves  that 
even  during  the  days  of  Roman  supremacy  the  Cornish  style  of 

Sublic  monuments,  whether  sepulchral  or  otherwise,  remained* 
J^ay,  why  should  not  even  a  Roman  settled  in  Cornwall  have 
adopted  the  monumental  style  of  his  adopted  country  ?  Roman 
and  Sajcon  hands  may  have  helped  to  erect  some  of  the  cromlechs 
which  are  still  to  be  seen  in  Cornwall,  but  the  original  idea  of 
gucli  monuments,  and  hence  their  name,  is  purely  Celtic* 

Cromleh  in  Cornish,  or  cromlech  in  Welsh,  means  a  bent  slab, 
from  the  Cornish  cromi  bent,  curved,  rounded,  and  ISh^  a  slab* 
Though  many  of  these  cromlechs  have  been  destroyed,  Cornwall 

E  2  still 


58  CcmxA  Antiquities, 

still  possesses  some  fine  specimens  of  these  ancient  stone  tripods. 
Most  of  them  are  large  granite  slabs,  supported  by  three  stones 
fixed  in  the  ground.  These  supporters  are  likewise  huge  flat  stones, 
but  the  capstone  is  always  the  largest,  and  its  weight  inclining 
towards  one  point,  imparts  strength  to  the  whole  structure.  At 
Lanyon,  however,  where  the  top-stone  of  a  cromlech  was  thrown 
down  in  1816  by  a  violent  storm,  the  supporters  remained 
standing,  and  the  capstone  was  replaced  in  1824,  though  not, 
it  would  seem,  at  its  original  height  Dr.  Borlase  relates  that  in 
his  time  the  monument  was  high  enough  for  a  man  to  sit  on 
horseback  under  it  At  present  such  a  feat  would  be  impossible, 
the  cover-stone  being  only  about  five  feet  from  the  ground. 
These  cromlechs,  though  very  surprising  when  seen  for  the  first 
time,  represent  in  reality  one  of  the  simplest  achievements  of 
primitive  architecture.  It  is  far  easier  to  balance  a  heavy 
weight  on  three  uneven  props  than  to  rest  it  level  on  two 
or  four  even  supporters.  There  are,  however,  cromlechs  resting 
on  four  or  more  stones,  these  stones  forming  a  kind  of  chamber, 
or  a  kist'Vaen^  which  is  supposed  to  have  served  originally  as 
a  sepulchre.  These  structures  presuppose  a  larger  amount  of 
architectural  skill ;  still  more  so  the  gigantic  portals  of  Stone- 
henge,  which  are  formed  by  two  pillars  of  equal  height,  joined 
by  a  superincumbent  stone.  Here  weight  alone  was  no  longer 
considered  sufficient  for  imparting  strength  and  safety,  but  holes 
were  worked  in  the  upper  stones,  and  the  pointed  tops  of  the 
pillars  were  fitted  into  them.  In  the  slabs  that  form  the  crom- 
lechs we  find  no  such  traces  of  careful  workmanship,  and  this, 
as  well  as  other  considerations,  would  support  the  opinion  *  that 
in  Stonehenge  we  have  one  of  the  latest  specimens  of  Celtic 
architecture.  Marvellous  as  are  the  remains  of  that  primitive  style 
of  architectural  art,  the  only  real  problem  they  offer  is  how 
such  large  stones  could  have  been  brought  together  from  a 
distance,  and  how  such  enormous  weights  could  have  been 
lifted  up.  The  first  question  is  answered  by  ropes  and  rollers, 
and  the  mural  sculptures  of  Nineveh  show  us  what  can  be  done 
by  such  simple  machinery.  We  there  see  the  whole  picture 
of  how  these  colossal  blocks  of  stone  were  moved  from  the 
quarry  on  to  the  place  where  they  were  wanted.  Given  plenty 
of  time,  and  plenty  of  men  and  oxen,  and  there  is  no  block  that 
could  not  be  brought  to  its  right  place  by  means  of  ropes  and 
rollers.  And  that  our  forefathers  did  not  stint  themselves  either 
in  time,  or  in  men,  or  other  cattle,  when  engaged  in  erecting 
such  monuments  we   know,   even  from   comparatively  modem 

*  *  Quarterly  ReTiew/  vol.  cviii.  p.  200. 

timet. 


CornUi^  Atttiquitiei. 


53 


times,  Under  Harold  Harfagr,  two  ktn^s  spent  three  whole 
^ears  in  erecting  one  sing^le  tumulus ;  and  Harold  Blatand  is  said 
to  have  employed  the  whole  of  his  army  and  a  va&t  number  of 
oxen  in  transporting  a  large  stone  which  he  wished  to  place  on 
his  mother*s  tomb.*  As  to  the  second  question,  we  can 
readily  understand  how,  after  the  supporters  had  once  been  fixed 
in  the  ground,  an  artificial  mound  might  be  raised,  which^  when 
the  heavy  slab  had  been  rolled  up  un  an  inclined  plane,  might 
be  removed  again,  and  thus  leave  the  heavy  stone  poised  in  it9 
startling  elevation. 

As  skeletons  have  been  found  under  some  of  the  cromlechs, 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  chambers  enclosed  by  them^ 
the  so-called  kist-vaens,  were  intended  to  receive  the  remains  of 
the  deadf  and  to  perpetuate  their  memory*  And  as  these  sepul- 
chral monuments  are  most  frequent  in  those  parts  of  the  Britlsli 
isles  which  from  the  earliest  to  the  latest  times  were  inhabited 
hy  Celtic  people,  they  may  be  considered  as  representative  of  the 
Celtic  style  of  public  sepulture*  Kist-iyaen^  or  ci^t-vaen^  means  a 
stone-chamber,  from  cist,  the  Latin  ti'sta^  a  chest,  and  vaen  the 
modified  form  of  ntaen  or  men,  stone.  Their  size  is  generally 
the  size  of  a  human  body.  But  although  these  monuments  were 
originally  sepulchral,  we  may  well  uadcrstand  that  the  burying 
places  of  great  men,  of  kings^  or  priests,  or  genei-als,  were  like- 
wise used  for  the  celebration  of  other  religious  rites.  Thus  we 
read  in  the  Bot)k  of  Lecan,  *that  Arahalgaith  built  a  cairn,  for 
the  purpose  of  holding  a  meeting  of  the  Hy-Amhalgaith  every 
year  J  and  to  view  his  ships  and  fleet  going  and  coming,  and  as  a 
place  of  interment  for  himself/  t  Nor  does  it  follow,  as  some 
antiquarians  maintain,  that  every  structure  in  the  style  of  a 
cromlech,  even  in  England,  is  exclusively  Celtic*  We  imitate 
pyramids  and  obelisks,  why  should  not  the  Saxons  have  built 
the  Kitts  Cotty  House,  which  is  found  in  a  thoroughly  Saxon 
neighbourhood,  after  Celtic  mmlels  and  with  the  aid  of  Celtic 
captives?  This  cromlech  stands  in  Kent,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill 
about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Aylesford,  to  the  right  of  the  great 
road  from  Rochester  to  Maidstone.  Near  it,  across  the  Medway, 
are  the  stone  circles  of  Adding  ton.  The  stone  on  the  south  side 
is  8  feet  high  by  74  broad,  and  2  feet  thick  ;  weight  about  8  tons. 
That  on  the  north  is  8  feet  by  8^  and  2  thick;  weight  8  Ions 
10  cwt  The  end  stone  5  ft*  6  in,  high  by  5  ft.  bro.id  *  thick- 
ness 14  inches ;  weight  2  tons  Si  cwt.  The  imnn^t  ;*»  1 1  Jt, 
long   by  8  ft  broad,  and  2  ft  thick  t 


t  Quoted  m  Feint ^  *  Eccles.  Architectot 


Comiih  Ant^ukiu* 

It  is  higher,  therefore,  than  the  Cortiuh  cromlechi,  but  in  other 
respects  it  k  a  true  specimen  of  that  claEs  of  Celtic  monuments;. 
The  cover- stone  of  the  eromlecli  at  Molfrii  is  9  it  8  in.  by  14  ft. 
3  ill ;  its  supporters  are  5  ft  high.  The  coveF-itonc  of  the  Chilli 
cromlech  measures  12 J  ft  in  Icng^th  and  11  ft  in  witlth.  The 
largest  slab  is  that  at  Lanyon,  which  measures  18^  ft  in  length 
anct  9  ft  at  the  broadest  part. 

The  cromlechs  are  no  doubt  the  most  characteristic  and  most 
ttrikljig  among  the  monuments  of  Cornwall  Thtm^h  htstonans 
have  differed  as  to  their  exact  purpose,  not  even  the  most  careless 
traveller  could  pass  them  by  without  seeing  that  they  did  not 
gtand  there  without  a  purpose.  They  speak  for  themselves,  and 
they  certainly  speak  in  a  language  that  is  neldier  Roman,  Saion^ 
Danish,  nor  Norman.  Hence  in  England  they  may,  by  a  kind 
of  exhaustive  process  of  reasoning,  be  claimed  as  relics  of  Celtic 
civiUiation.  The  same  argument  applies  to  the  cromlechs  anil 
stone  avenues  of  Carnac,  in  Brittany-  Here,  too,  language  and 
history  attest  the  former  presence  of  Celtic  people^  nor  could  any 
other  race,  that  influenced  the  historical  destinies  of  the  north 
of  Gaul,  claim  such  stmctures  as  their  own*  Even  in  still 
more  distant  phices,  in  the  South  of  France,  in  Scandinavia, 
or  Germany,  where  similar  monuments  have  been  discovered, 
they  may,  though  more  hesitatingly^  he  classetl  as  Celtic,  par- 
ticularly if  they  are  found  near  the  natural  high  roads  on  which 
wc  know  that  the  Celts  in  their  westward  migrations  preceded  the 
Tcutimir  and  Slavonic  Aryans.  Byt  the  case  is  totally  different 
when  wc  hear  of  cromlechs,  cairns^  and  kist-vaens  in  the  north 
of  Africa^  in  Upper  Egypt^  on  the  Lebanon,  near  the  Jordan,  in 
Circassia,or  in  the  South  of  India.  Here^  and  more  particularly 
in  the  South  of  India,  we  have  no  indications  whatever  of  Celtic 
Aryans  ;  on  the  contrary,  if  that  name  is  taken  in  its  strict  scientific 
meaning,  it  would  be  impissible  to  account  for  the  presence  of 
Celtic  Aryans  in  tliose  southern  latitudes  at  any  time  after  the 
original  dispersion  of  the  Aryan  family*  It  is  very  natural  that 
English  officers  living  in  India  should  be  surprisefl  at  monuments 
which  cannot  but  remind  them  of  what  they  had  seen  at  home, 
whether  in  Cornwall,  Ireland,  or  Scotland.  A  description  of 
some  of  these  monuments,  the  so-called  Pandocj  Coolies  in 
Malabar,  was  given  by  Mr.  J,  Babington^  in  1820,  and  published 
in  the  third  volume  of  the  *  Transactions  of  the  Literary  ScKriety 
of  Bombay/  in  1823.  Captain  Congreve  called  attention  to 
what  he  considered  Scythic  Druid  leal  remains  in  the  Nilghiri 
hills,  in  a  papt^r  published  in  1817,  in  the  *  Madras  Journal  of 
Literature  and  Science/  and  the  same  subject  w^as  treated  in  the 
same  journal    by  the   Rev*  W,  Taylor.     A   most   careful    nuii 

interesting 


Cornish  Antiquities, 

intereatlng  description  of  similar  monuments  has  lately  been 
published  in  the  'Transactions  of  the  Royal  Irish  Academy^' 
by  Captain  Meadows  Taylor,  under  the  title  of  *  Description 
of  Cairns,  Cromlechs^  Kist-vaens,  and  other  Celtic,  Drutdical, 
or  Scythian  Monuments  in  the  Dekhan.'  Captain  Taylor  found 
these  monuments  near  the  village  of  RajunkoIIoor,  in  the 
principality  of  Shorapoor,  an  imlepeudent  native  state,  situated 
between  the  Bheema  and  Krishna  rivers,  immediately  abov^e 
their  junction.  Others  were  discovered  near  Hug^eritgi,  others 
on  the  hill  of  Yemmee  Good  a,  others  again  near  S  ha  poor, 
Hyderabad,  and  other  places.  All  these  monuments  in  the 
South  of  India  are  no  doubt  extremely  interesting,  but  to  call 
tliem  Celtic,  Druid ical,  or  Scythic,  is,  at  all  events,  exceedingly 
premature.  There  is  in  all  architectural  monuments  a  natural  or 
rational^  and  a  conventional,  or,  it  may  be,  irrational  element, 
A  striking-  agreement  in  purely  conventional  features  may  justify 
the  assumption  that  monuments  so  far  distant  from  each  other 
as  the  cromlechs  of  Anglesea  and  the  *  Mori-Munni '  of  Shora- 
poor owe  their  origin  to  the  same  architects,  or  to  the  same 
races.  Bat  an  agreement  in  purely  natural  contrivances  goes  for 
nothing,  or,  at  least,  for  very  little.  Now  there  is  very  little 
that  can  be  called  auiventional  in  a  mere  stone  pillar,  or  in  a 
cairn,  that  is,  an  artificial  heap  of  stones.  Even  the  erection  of  a 
cromlech  can  hardly  be  claimed  as  a  separate  style  of  architec- 
ture. Children,  all  over  the  world,  if  buildings  houses  with  cardsj 
will  build  cromlechs  ;  and  peoplcj  all  over  the  world,  if  the 
neighbourhood  supplies  large  slabs  of  stone,  will  put  three  stones 
together  to  keep  out  the  sun  or  the  wind,  and  put  a  fourth  stone 
on  the  top  to  keep  out  the  rain.  Before  monuments  like  those 
described  by  Captain  Meadows  Taylor  can  be  classed  as  Celtic 
or  Druid  ical,  a  possibility,  at  all  events,  must  be  shown  how 
Celts,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  could  ever  have  inhabited 
the  Dekhan.  Till  that  is  done,  it  is  better  to  leave  thf^m  anony- 
mous, or  to  call  them  by  their  native  names^  than  to  give  to  them 
a  name  which  is  apt  to  mislead. 

Returning  to  Cornwall,  we  find  there,  besides  the  cromlechs, 
pillars,  holed  stuncs,  and  stone  circles,  all  of  which  may  be 
classed  as  public  monuments,  Tliey  all  bear  witness  to  a  kind 
of  public  spirit,  and  to  a  certain  advance  In  social  and  political 
life,  at  the  time  of  their  erection*  They  were  meant  for  people 
living  at  the  time,  who  understood  their  meaning  ;^ — if  not  as 
messages  to  pjsterity,  and  if  so,  as  truly  historical  monuments, 
for  hi  story  begins  when  the  living  begin  to  care  about  the  good 
opinion  of  those  who  come  after  them*  Some  of  the  single 
Cornish  pillars  tell  us  little  indeed;  nothing,  in  reality,  beyond 

the 


56  Cornish  Antiquities. 

the  fact  that  they  were  erected  by  human  skill,  and  with  some 
human  purpose.  Some  of  those  monoliths  seem  to  hav'e  been 
of  a  considerable  size.  In  a  village  called  Men  Perhen,  in  Con- 
stantine  parish,  there  stood,  *  about  five  years  ag^o' — so  Dr.  Borlaae 
relates  in  the  year  1700 — a  large  pyramidal  stone,  twenty  feet 
above  the  ground,  and  four  feet  in  the  ground  ;  it  made  above 
twenty  stone  posts  for  gates  when  it  was  clove  up  by  the  farmer 
who  gave  the  account  to  the  Doctor.*  Other  stones,  like  the 
Mdn  Scrifa,  have  inscriptions,  but  these  inscriptions  are  Roman, 
and  of  comparatively  late  date.  There  arc  some  pillars,  like 
the  Pipers,  at  BoUeit,  which  are  clearly  connected  with  the 
stone  circles  close  by,  remnants,  it  may  be,  of  old  stone  avenues, 
or  beacons,  from  which  signals  might  be  sent  to  other  distant 
settlements.  The  holed  stones,  too,  are  generally  found  in  close 
proximity  to  other  large  stone  monuments,  lliey  are  called 
m^n-an-toly  hole-stones,  in  Cornwall ;  and  the  name  of  tol~men^  or 
dol-meny  which  is  somewhat  promiscuously  used  by  Celtic  anti- 
quarians, should  be  restricted  to  monuments  of  this  class,  toll 
being  the  Cornish  wonl  for  hole^  men  for  stone,  and  an  the  article. 
French  antiquarians,  taking  dol  or  tol  as  a  corruption  of  tatmlOf 
use  dolman  in  the  sense  of  table-stones,  and  as  synonymous  with 
cromlech,  while  they  sometimes  use  cromlech  in  the  sense  of  stone 
circles.  This  can  hardly  be  justified,  and  at  all  events  Jeada  to 
much  confusion. 

The  stone  circles,  whether  used  for  religious  or  judicial  purposes 
— and  there  ^was  in  ancient  times  very  little  difference  between 
the  two — were  clearly  intended  for  solemn  meetings.  There  is 
a  very  perfect  circle  at  Boscawen-iln,  which  consisted  originallj 
of  nineteen  stones.  Dr.  Borlase,  whose  work  on  the  Antiquities 
of  the  County  of  Cornwall  contains  the  most  trustworthy  informa- 
tion as  to  the  state  of  Cornish  antiquities  about  a  hundred  years 
ago,  mentions  three  other  circles  which  had  the  same  number  of 
stones,  while  others  vary  from  twelve  to  seventy-two. 

<  The  figure  of  these  monuments,'  he  says,  '  is  either  simple,  or 
compounded.  Of  the  first  kind  are  exact  circles ;  elliptical  or  semi- 
circolar.  The  construction  of  these  is  not  always  the  same,  some 
having  their  circumference  marked  with  large  separate  stones  only; 
others  having  ridges  of  small  stones  intermixed,  and  sometimes  wafia 
and  seats,  serving  to  render  the  enclosure  more  complete.  Other 
circular  monuments  have  their  figure  more  complex  and  varied, 
consisting,  not  only  of  a  circle,  bat  of  some  other  distingoishing 
properties.  In,  or  near  the  centre  of  some,  stands  a  stone  taller  than 
th)B  rest,  as  at  Boscawen-Ctn ;  in  the  middle  of  others  a  kist-vaen.  A 
cromleh  distinguishes  the  centre  of  some  circles,  and  one  remarkable 

*  Borlase, '  Antiquities  of  Cornwall,'  p.  162. 

rook 


Cornish  Antiquities. 


67 


rock  that  of  others ;  somo  have  only  one  line  of  stones  in  their  cir- 
cumference, and  Bome  have  two ;  some  circles  ore  adjacent,  some  con- 
tigUDUs,  and  eomo  include,  and  some  intersect  each  otliDr.  Sometimes 
urns  are  found  in  or  near  them.  Some  are  curiously  erected  on 
geometrical  plans,  the  chief  entrance  facing  the  cardinal  points  of  the 
heavens ;  some  have  avenues  leading  to  them,  placed  exactly  north 
and  south,  with  detached  stones,  eometimee  in  straight  lines  to  tho 
east  and  west,  sometimes  triangular*  These  monnments  ai-o  found  in 
many  foreign  countries,  in  Iceland,  Svpeden,  Denmarkj  and  Germany, 
as  well  as  in  all  the  isles  dependent  upon  Britain  (the  Orkneys, 
Western  Isles,  Jersey,  Ireland,  and  the  Isle  of  Man),  and  in  most 
parts  of  Britain  itsell^ 

Modern  traditions  tavc  everywbere  clustered  round  ttese 
curious  stone  circles*  Being  placed  in  a  circular  order,  so  as  to 
make  an  area  for  dancing,  they  were  naturally  called  Dawm-mhi^ 
i,e.  dancing  stones.  This  name  was  soon  cormpted  into  dance- 
men,  and  a  legend  sprang  up  at  once  to  account  for  the  name, 
viz^5  that  these  men  had  danced  on  a  Sunday  and  been  changed  into 
stones.  Another  corruption  of  the  same  name  into  Dauis-mhi^ 
led  to  the  tradition  that  these  circles  were  built  by  the  Danes. 
A  still  more  curious  name  for  these  circles  is  that  of  ^  Nine 
Maidens*  which  occurs  at  Boscawen-un,  and  in  several  other  places 
in  Cornwall,  Now  the  Boscawen-un  circle  consists  of  nineteen 
stones,  and  there  are  very  few  '  Nine  Maidens'  that  consist  of 
nine  stones  only.  Vet  the  name  prevails,  and  is  likewise  sup- 
ported by  local  legends  of  nine  maidens  having  been  chanf^ed 
into  stones  for  dancing  on  a  Sunday,  or  some  other  misdeeds  One 
part  of  the  legend  may  perhaps  be  explained  by  the  fact  that 
mMn  would  be  a  common  corruption  in  modern  Cornish  for  mm^ 
stone,  as  fteji  becomes  pcdn^  and  (/loj/n  tpDydn^  &c,j  and  that  the 
8axons  mistook  Cornish  wedn  for  their  own  7naiden.  But  even 
without  this,  legends  of  a  similar  character  would  spring  up 
wherever  the  popular  mind  is  startled  by  strange  monuments 
the  history  and  purpose  of  which  has  been  forgotten.  Thus 
Captain  Meadows  Taylor  tells  us  that  at  Vibat-Hullie  the  people 
told  him  'that  the  stones  were  men  who^  as  they  stood,  marking 
out  the  places  for  the  elephants  of  the  king  of  the  dwarfs,  were 
turned  into  stone  by  him,  because  they  would  not  keep  cjuiet/ 
And  M.  de  Cambry,  as  quoted  by  him,  says  in  regard  to  C*'' 
•that  the  rocks  were  believed  to  be  an  army  turned  in*'* 
or  the  work  of  the  Croins — men  or  demons,  two  or  ^ 
high,  who  carried  these  rocks  in  their  hands,  and  pla 
there/ 

A    second    class   of   Cornisli    antiquities    compfi 
buildings,   whether  castles  or  huts  or  caves.     Wha" 


58  Cornish  Antiquities. 

castles  m  Cornwall  arc  simple  entrenchments,  consisting  of  large 
and  small  stones  piled  up  about  ten  or  twelve  feet  high,  and  held 
together  by  their  own  weight,  without  any  cement  There  are 
everywhere  traces  of  a  ditch,  then  of  a  wall — sometimes,  as  at  Chtn 
castle,  of  another  ditch  and  another  wall — and  there  is  generally 
some  contrivance  for  protecting  the  principal  entrance  by  walls 
overlapping  the  ditches.  Near  these  castles  barrows  are  found, 
and  in  several  cases  there  are  clear  traces  of  a  communication 
between  them  and  some  ancient  Celtic  villages  and  cares,  which 
seem  to  have  been  placed  under  the  protection  of  these  primitive 
strongholds.  Many  of  the  cliffs  in  Cornwall  are  fortified  towards 
the  land  by  walls  and  ditches,  thus  cutting  off  these  extreme  pro- 
montories from  communication  with  the  land,  as  they  are  by 
nature  inaccessible  from  the  sea.  Some  antiquarians  ascribed 
these  castles  to  the  Danes,  the  very  last  people,  one  would  think, 
to  shut  themselves  up  in  such  hopeless  retreats.  Here  too,  at  in 
other  cases,  a  popular  etymology  may  have  taken  the  place  of  an 
historical  authority,  and  the  Cornish  word  for  castle  being  JDinaSf 
as  in  Castle  an  Dinasj  Pendennisy  etc.,  the  later  Saxon-speaking 
population  may  have  been  reminded  by  Dinas  of  the  Danes,  and 
on  the  strength  of  this  vague  similarity  have  ascribed  to  thaae 
pirates  the  erection  of  the  Cornish  castles. 

It  is  indeed,  difficult,  widi  regard  to  these  castles,  to  be  posi- 
tive as  to  the  people  by  whom  they  were  constructed.  Tradition 
and  history  point  to  Romans  and  Saxons,  as  well  as  to  Celts,  nor 
is  it  at  all  unlikely  diat  many  of  these  half-natural,  half-artificial 
strongholds,  though  originally  planned  by  the  Celtic  inhabitants, 
were  afterwards  taken  possession  of  and  strengthened  by  Romans 
or  Saxons. 

But  no  such  doubts  are  allowed  with  regard  to  Cornish  huts, 
of  which  some  striking  remains  have  been  preserved  in  Corn- 
wall and  other  parts  of  England,  particularly  in  those  which, 
to  the  very  last,  remained  the  true  home  of  the  Celtic  inha- 
bitants of  Britain.  The  houses  and  huts  of  the  Romans  were 
rectangular,  nor  is  there  any  evidence  to  show  that  the  Saxon 
ever  approved  of  the  circular  style  in  domestic  architecture.  If, 
then,  we  find  these  so-called  bee-hive  huts  in  places  peculiarly 
Celtic,  and  if  we  remember  that  so  early  a  writer  as  Strabo  *  was 
struck  with  the  same  strange  style  of  Celtic  architecture,  jre 
can  hardly  be  suspected  of  Celtomania,  if  we  claim  them  as 
Celtic  workmanship,  and  dwell  with  a  more  than  ordinary 
interest  on  these  ancient  chambers,  now  long  deserted  and  nearly 

*  Strabo,  iv.  1 97. — rohs  5*  o%kov%  iK  ffoyl^uy  koX  y4^^o»y  ix^vffi  fitydxovs  0o\o9i^it, 

smothered 


Cornuh  Antiquitiei* 


59 


smothered  with  ferns  and  weeds,  but  ia  their  general  planning^ 
as  well  as  in  their  masonry,  clearly  exhibiting'  before  us  some- 
thing of  the  arts  and  the  life  of  the  earliest  inhabitants  of  theie 
isles*  Let  anybotly  who  has  a  sense  of  antiquity,  and  who  can 
feel  the  spark  which  is  sent  on  to  us  through  an  unbroken  chain 
of  history,  when  we  stand  on  the  Acropolis  or  on  the  Capitol, 
or  when  we  read  a  ballad  of  Homer j  or  a  hjmn  of  the  Veda,^ — 
nay,  if  we  but  read  in  a  proper  spirit  a  chapter  of  the  Old 
Testament  too^ — let  such  a  man  look  at  the  Celtic  huts  at  Bos^ 
prennis  or  Camchywiddaii,  and  discover  for  himself,  through  the 
ferns  and  brambles^  the  old  gre^'  walls,  slightly  sloping  inward, 
and  arranged  according  to  a  design  that  cannot  be  mistaken; 
and  miserable  as  these  shapeless  clumps  may  appear  to  the 
thoughtless  traveller,  they  will  convey  to  the  true  historian  a 
lesson  which  he  could  hardly  learn  anywhere  else.  The  ancient 
Britons  will  no  longer  be  a  mere  name  to  him,  no  mere  Pelas- 
gians  or  Tyrrhenians,  He  has  seen  their  homes  and  their  handi- 
work ;  he  has  stood  behind  the  walls  which  protected  their  lives 
and  property  j  he  has  touched  the  stones  which  their  hands 
piled  up  rudely,  yet  thoughtfully.  And  if  that  small  spark  of 
sympathy  for  those  who  gave  the  honoured  name  of  Britain  to 
these  islands,  has  once  been  kindled  among  a  lew  who  have  the 
power  oi  LnMuencing  public  opinion  in  England,  we  feel  certain 
that  something  will  be  done  to  preserve  what  can  still  he  pre- 
served  of  Celtic  remains  from  further  destruction.  It  does 
honour  to  the  British  Parliament  that  large  sums  arc  granted, 
when  it  is  necessary,  tt>  bring  to  these  safe  shores  whatever  can 
still  be  rescued  from  the  rnins  of  Greece  and  Italy,  of  Lycia, 
Pergamos,  Palestine,  Egypt,  Babylon,  or  Nineveh,  But  while 
explorers  and  excavators  are  sent  to  those  distant  countries,  and 
the  statues  of  Greece,  the  coffins  of  Egypt,  and  the  winged  mon- 
sters of  Nineveh,  are  brought  home  in  triumph  to  the  portals  of 
the  British  Museum,  it  is  painful  to  see  the  splendid  granite 
slabs  of  British  cromlechs  thrown  down  and  carted  away,  stone- 
circles  destroyed  to  make  way  for  farming  improvements,  and 
ancient  huts  and  caves  broken  up  to  build  new  houses  and  stables, 
with  the  stones  thus  ready  to  hand^  It  is  high  time,  indeed, 
that  something  should   be  done,  and  nothing  will  avail  but  to 

f>lace  every  truly  historical  monument  under  national  protection* 
ndividual  efforts  may  answer  here  and  there,  and  a  right  spirit 
may  be  awakened  from  time  to  time  by  local  societies;  bat 
during  intervals  of  apathy  mischief  is  dune  that  can  never  be 
mended  again;  and  unless  the  damaging  of  national  monuments, 
even  though  they  should  stand  on  private  ground,  is  made  a 
misdemeanour,  we  doubt  whether,  two  hundred  years  hen  re,  any 

enterprising 


Cornhh  Antitpdtiei. 

eoterprising  explorer  would  be  as  fortunate  as  Mr,  Lajard  aad 
Sir  H.  RawUnson  hnve  been  in  Babylon  and  Nineveh,  and  wb^ 
ther  one  sing^le  cromlech  would  be  left  for  him  to  carry  a  way 
to  the  National  Museum  of  the  Maoris.  It  is  curious  Ibal  the 
wilful  damage  done  to  Logan  Stones,  once  in  the  time  of  Croa* 
well  by  Sbrubsall,  and  more  recently  by  Lieutenant  Goldsaiil3i« 
should  have  raised  such  indignation^  while  acts  of  Vandalism^ 
committed  against  real  antiquities,  arc  allowed  to  pass  unnoticed 
Mr.  Scawen,  in  speaking  of  the  mischief  done  by  stiangeri  in 
Cornwall,  says  : — 

*  Here,  too,  we  may  add,  what  wrong  another  sort  of  strangera  hiS 
dime  to  na,  especially  in  the  civil  ww^  and  iu  particular  by  df^trtyay 
of  Mmeamher,  a  famous  mouument,  being  a  rock  of  iufimto  weo^Hi 
which;  as  a  burden,  was  laid  upon  other  great  stones,  and  yet  so  ei|i]iiU^ 
thereon  poised  up  by  Nature  ouly,  as  a  little  child  could  iBBteilfy 
move  it,  hut  no  one  man  or  many  remove  it.  This  natural  mouum^ 
all  travaUers  that  came  that  way  desired  to  behold  \  but  iu  the  time  of 
Oliver's  usurpation,  when  all  monumental  things  liecame  deepicjiblti, 
one  ShmbsaH,  ono  of  Oliver's  heroes,  then  Guvemor  of  Peudt^nnie, 
by  labour  and  much  ado,  caused  to  be  undermined  and  thrown  dowti^ 
to  the  great  grief  of  the  country ;  but  to  his  own  great  glory,  as  hb 
thought,  doing  it,  as  he  said,  with  a  small  cane  in  his  hand.  I  my«df 
hftTO  heard  him  to  boast  of  this  act,  being  a  prisoner  then  under  him*' 

Mr.  Scawen,  however,  does  not  tell  us  that  this  Shrubsall^  in 
throwing^  down  the  Mincamber,  i.c,,  the  Menamber,  arted  very 
like  the  old  missionaries  in  felling  the  sacred  oaks  in  Oen 
Merlin,  it  was  lielieved,  had  proclaimed  that  this  stone 
stand  until  England  had  no  king,  and  as  Cornwall  was  a  s1 
hold  of  the  Stuarts,  the  destruction  of  this  loyal  stone  may  have 
seemed  a  matter  of  wise  policy. 

Even  the  fnolish  exploit  of  Lieutenant  Goldsmith,  in  1824 
would  seem  to  have  had  some  kind  of  excuse.  Dr.  Borlase  had 
asserted  'that  it  was  morally  impossible  that  any  lever,  or  indeed 
force,  however  •applied  in  a  mechanical  way^  could  remove  the 
famous  Logan  rock  at  Trereen  Dinas  from  its  present  position/ 
Ptolemv,  the  son  of  Hephii*stion,  had  made  a  similar  remark  about 
the  Gigonian  rock,*  stating  that  it  might  be  stirred  with  the  stalk 
of  an  asphodel,  but  could  not  be  removed  by  any  force*  Lieu- 
tenant Goldsmith,  living  in  an  age  of  experimental  pbilosophyt 
undertook  the  experiment,  in  order  to  show  that  it  was  ph/stcalfy 
possible  to  overthrow  the  Logan  ;  and  he  did  it.  He  was,  bow* 
ever,  very  properly  punished  for  this  unscientific  eitperiment, 
and  he  bad  to  replace  the  stone  at  his  own  expense. 


Corni$h  Antvptities. 


61 


As  this  matter  is  really  serious,  we  have  drawn  up  a  short  list 
of  acts  of  Vandalisin  committed  in  Cornwall  within  the  memory 
of  living  man.  That  list  could  easily  be  increased,  but  even  as 
it  is,  we  hope  it  may  rouse  the  attention  of  the  public : — 

Between  St*  Ives  and  Zen  nor,  on  the  lower  road  over 
Tregarthen  DownSj  stood  a  Logan  rock*  An  old  man,  perhaps 
ninety  years  of  age,  told  Mfp  Hunt,  who  mentions  this  and  other 
cases  in  the  preface  to  his  charming  collection  of  Cornish  tales 
ajid  legends,  that  he  had  often  logged  it^  and  that  it  would  malve 
a  noise  which  could  he  Itenrdfor  miles. 

At  Balnoon,  between  Nancledrea  and  Kniirs  Steeple,  some 
miners  came  upon  '  two  slabs  of  granite  cemented  together,' 
which  covered  a  walled  grave  three  ieet  square,  an  ancient 
kist-vaen.  In  it  they  found  an  earthenware  vessel  containing 
some  black  earth  and  a  leaden  spoon »  The  spoon  was  given  to 
Mr„  Praedj  ofTrevetha*  the  kist-vaen  was  utterly  destroyed. 

In  Bosprennis  Cross  there  was  a  very  large  coit  or  cromlech. 
It  is  said  to  have  been  fifteen  feet  square,  and  not  more  than  one 
foot  thick  in  any  part  This  was  broken  in  two  parts  some 
years  since,  and  taken  to  Penzance  to  form  the  beds  of  two 
ovens. 

Another  Comishmanj  Mr.  Bellows,  reports  as  follows: — 

*  Itt  a  field  between  the  recently  discovered  Beehive  hut  and  the 
Boscawen-Cni  circle,  out  of  the  public  road,  we  discovered  pai-t  of  a 
"  lfl"ine  Maidens/*  perhaps  the  third  of  tho  circle,  the  rest  of  the  etonea 
being  dragged  out  and  placed  against  the  hedge,  to  inako  room  for  the 
plough/ 

The  same  intelligent  antiquarian  remarks : — 

*The  Boscawen-vlii  circle  Beemg  to  have  consisted  originally  of 
twenty  stones^  Seventeen  of  them  are  upright,  two  are  down,  and 
a  gap  eiciflts  of  eatactly  the  double  space  for  the  twentieth.  We  fomid 
the  missing  stone  not  twenty  yards  oC  A  farmer  had  removed  it, 
and  made  it  into  a  gate-post.  He  h&d  eul  a  road  through  the  circle, 
and  in  such  a  manner  that  he  was  obliged  to  remove  the  o&judiug 
stone  to  keep  it  straight.  Fortunately  the  present  proprietress  is  a 
lady  of  taste,  and  has  surrounded  the  circle  with  a  good  hedge  to  pre* 
vent  further  Yandahsm/ 

Of  the  Men-an-tolj  at  Boleit,  we  have  received  the  following 
description  from  Mr,  Botterele,  who  supplied  Mn  Hunt  with  so 
many  of  his  Cornish  talcs  ;— 

*  Theee  stones  are  from  20  to  25  feet  above  the  surface j  and  we  were 
told  by  some  folks  of  Bplcit  that  more  than  10  feet  had  been  sunk 
near,  without  imding  the  base*  The  Men-an-tol  have  both  been  dis- 
placed, and  removed  a  consider  able  diHtauce  from  their  original  site. 
They  are  now  placed  in  a  hedge,  to  form  tho  aide  of  a  gateway.    The 

m 


()2  Comiih  AntufuiHu. 

upper  portion  of  ono  is  so  mnch  broken  that  one  cannot  detennine 
the  angle,  yet  that  it  worked  to  an  angle  ia  quite  apparent.  Tin 
other  is  turned  downward,  and  senres  as  the  hanging-poat  of  a  gula, 
From  the  head  being  bnried  so  deep  in  the  ground,  only  part  of  tha 
hole  (which  is  in  both  stones  about  six  inches  diameter)  could  be 
seen ;  though  the  hole  is  too  small  to  pop  the  smallest,  or  all  bat  tlie 
smallest,  baby  through,  the  people  call  them  criclc-idonea,  and  maintain 
they  were  so  called  before  they  were  bom.  Crick-stones  were  used 
for  dragging  people  through,  to  cure  them  of  various  disoasee.' 

The  same  gentleman,  writing  to  one  of  the  Cornish  papeiii 
informs  the  public  that  a  few  years  ago  a  rock  known  by  the 
name  of  Garrack-zans  might  be  seen  in  the  town-place  of  Sawahi 
in  the  parish  of  St  Lcvan  ;  another  in  Koskcstal,  in  the  sama 
parish.  One  is  also  said  to  have  been  removed  from  near  the 
centre  of  Trereen,  by  the  family  of  Jans,  to  make  a  grandff 
approach  to  their  mansion.  The  ruins,  which  still  remain,  an 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Jans  House,  although  the  family  became 
oxtinct  soon  after  perpetrating  what  was  regarded  by  the  old 
inhabitants  as  a  sacrilegious  act.  The  Garrack-zans  may  at  ill  be 
remaining  in  Roskestal  and  Sawah,  but,  as  much  alteration  his 
recently  taken  place  in  these  villages,  in  consequence  of  building 
new  farm-houses,  making  new  roads,  6cc.,  it  is  a  great  chance  if 
they  have  not  been  either  removed  or  destroyed. 

Mr.  J.  T.  Blight,  the  author  of  one  of  the  most  useful  little 
guide-books  of  Cornwall,  '  A  Week  at  the  Land's  End,'  states 
that  some  eight  or  ten  years  ago  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Chapil 
of  St  Eloy,  in  St.  Burian,  were  thrown  over  the  cliff  by  tht 
tenant  of  the  estate,  without  the  knowledge  or  permission  of 
the  owner  of  the  property.  Chun-castle,  he  says,  one  of  the 
finest  examples  of  early  military  architecture  in  this  kingdoBii 
has  for  many  years  been  resorted  to  as  a  sort  of  quarry. 

From  an  interesting  paper  on  Castallack  Round  by  the  sama 
antiquarian,  we  quote  the  following  passages  showing  the  constant 
mischief  that  is  going  on,  whether  due  to  downright  Vandaliim 
or  to  ignorance  and  indifference: — 

^  From  a  description  of  Castallack  Hound,  in  the  parish  of  St  Ptoal, 
written  by  Mr.  Crozier,  perhaps  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ago^  it 
appears  that  there  was  a  massive  outer  wall,  iiith  an  ontranco  on  Hm 
south ;  from  which  a  colonnade  of  stones  led  to  an  inner  endosiua^ 
also  formed  with  stones,  and  nine  feet  in  diameter.  Mr.  Ilaliwell,  so 
recently  as  1861,  refers  to  the  avenue  of  upright  stones  leading  fron 
the  outer  to  the  inner  enclosure. 

'On  visiting  the  spot  a  few  days  ago  (in  18G5),  I  was  surprised  to 
find  that  not  only  were  there  no  remains  of  an  avenue  of  stones,  M 
that  the  existence  of  an  inner  enclosure  could  scarcely  be  traced.  II 
was,  in  fact,  evident  that  some  modem  Vandal  had  hero  been  at  wofL 

A  labourer, 


Wl  Antiquities, 

A  kbonr^,  emplnyod  in  the  field  close  by,  witb  a  oomplaisaiit  smile, 
informed  me  that  the  old  Bound  bad  been  dug  into  laet  year,  for  tlia 
gake  of  tba  stones.  I  found,  however,  enougb  of  tbo  work  left  to  be 
worthy  of  a  few  noteSj  suiKcient  to  ahow  that  it  was  a  kindred  structure 
to  that  at  Kerrifij  known  aa  tho  Bound agg,  and  described  and  figured 
in  Borlase's  *'  Antiquities  of  Cornwall/'  ,  ,  ,  ,  Mr.  Crozier  also  referg 
to  a  Btoue^  5  feet  high,  which  stood  within  a  huudred  yards  of  the 
Ca«Uklkck  Bound,  and  &om  which  the  Fipcra  at  Boleit  could  be 
seen. 

'  The  attention  of  the  Boyal  Injstitntion  of  Cornwall  has  been 
repeatedly  called  to  the  defltruetion  af  Cornish  antiquities,  and  the 
interference  of  landed  proprietors  has  been  frequently  invoked  m  aid 
of  their  preservation  ;  but  it  nnforttmatoly  bappensj  in  most  casee,  thai 
important  reiuains  are  demolished  hj  tho  tenants  without  tho  kaow- 
ledge  or  consc^nt  of  the  landlords*  On  comparing  tho  present  condition 
of  the  Caatallack  Bound  with  a  description  of  its  appearance  so 
reoently  as  in  ISGl^  I  find  that  the  greater  and  more  interesting  part 
has  been  barbarously  and  irreparably  destroyed ;  and  I  regret  to  say, 
I  could  draw  up  a  long  list  of  ancient  remains  in  Cornwall^  partially 
or  totally  demolished  within  the  last  few  years/ 

We  can  bardly  hope  that  the  wholesome  superstition  which 
preirented  people  in  former  days  from  desecrating  their  ancient 
monuments  will  be  any  protection  to  them  much  longer,  though 
the  following'  story  shows  that  some  grains  of  the  old  leaven  are 
still  left  in  tlio  Cornish  mind.  Near  Carleen,  in  Breage^  an  old 
cross  has  been  removed  from  its  place,  and  now  does  duty  as 
a  gate-post*  The  farmer  occupying  the  farm  where  the  cross 
stood,  set  his  labourer  to  sink  a  pit  in  the  required  spot  for  the 
gate-post,  but  when  it  was  intimated  that  the  cross  standing  at 
a  little  distance  off  was  to  be  erectetl  therein,  the  man  absolutely 
refused  to  have  any  hand  in  the  matter,  not  on  account  of  the 
beautiful  or  the  antique,  but  for  fear  of  the  old  people*  Another 
farmer  related  that  ne  had  a  neighbour  who  '  haeled  down  a  lot 
of  stoans  called  the  Roundago,  and  sold  'em  for  building  the 
docks  at  Penxance,  But  not  a  penny  of  the  money  he  got  for 
'em  ever  prospered,  and  there  wasn't  wan  of  the  bosses  that 
haeld  'ena  that  lived  out  the  twelvemonth  ;  and  they  do  say 
that  iotne  of  the  stoans  du  weep  blood,  but  I  don't  believe 
tliat.* 

There  are  many  antiquarians  who  affect  to  despise  the  rude 
architecture  of  the  Cehs^  nay^  who  would  think  the  name  of 
architecture  disgraced  if  applied  to  cromlechs  and  bee-hive  huts. 
But  even  these  will  perhaps  be  more  willing  to  lend  a  helping 
hand  in  protecting  the  antiquities  of  Cornwall  when  they  hi 
that  even  ancient  Norman  masonry  is  no  longer  safe  in 


64 


Cornish  Ant%qmH€$. 


country*  An  antiquarian  writes  to  ns  from  Corowa!l : — * 
heard  nf  some  farmers  in  Meneage  (the  Lizard  district)  who 
dragged  down  an  ancient  well  and  rebuilt  it  When  cmlled  ID 
task  for  it  they  said,  **  The  ou!d  thing  was  got  so  shaky  that 
a  was  n  fit  to  be  seen,  so  we  thoyght  we'd  putten  to  rights  and 
build*un  up  Jiilt/ J* ' 

Such  things,  we  feel  sure^  should  not  be^  and  would  not  bfv 
allowed  any  longer,  if  public  opinion,  or  the  public  con&cienoei, 
was  once  roused.  Let  people  laugh  at  Celtic  monumenU  as 
much  as  they  like,  if  they  will  only  help  to  preserve  their 
laughing- stocks  from  destruction.  Let  antiquarians  be  as  seepti<ml 
as  they  like,  if  they  will  only  prevent  the  dishonest  \^  ithdrawa! 
of  the  evidence  against  which  their  scepticism  is  directed.  Are 
lake^d we) lings  in  Switzerland,  are  flint-deposits  in  Francei  is 
kitchen-rubbish  in  Denmark,  so  %'ery  precious,  and  are  the 
magnificent  cromlechs,  the  curious  holeti  stones,  and  even  the 
rock-basins  of  Cornwall,  so  contemptible?  TTiere  is  a  fashion 
even  in  scientific  tastes.  For  thirty  years  M.  Bt>acher  de  Perthes 
could  hardly  get  a  hearing  for  his  flint- heads,  and  now  he  has 
become  the  centre  of  interest  for  geologists,  anthropolugists,  and 
physiologists.  There  is  every  reascm  to  expect  that  the  interest^ 
once  awakened  in  the  early  history  of  our  own  race,  will  go  on 
increasing,  and  two  hundred  years  hence  the  antiquarians  and 
anthropologists  of  the  future  will  call  us  hard  names  if  they  find 
out  how  we  allowed  these  relics  of  the  earliest  civilisation  of 
England  to  be  destroyed.  It  is  easy  to  say,  What  is  there  in  a 
holed  stone?  It  is  a  stone  with  a  hole  in  it,  and  that  is  all. 
We  dij  not  wish  to  propound  new  theories^  but  in  order  to  show 
how  full  of  interest  even  a  stone  with  a  hole  in  it  may  become, 
we  will  just  mention  that  the  Mm-Ufi-ioi^  or  the  holed  stone 
which  stands  in  one  of  the  fields  near  Lanyon,  is  flanked  by  two 
other  stones  standing  erect  on  each  side.  Let  any  one  go  there 
to  watch  a  sunset  about  the  time  of  the  autumnal  equinoac,  and 
he  Will  see  that  the  shadow  thrown  by  the  erect  stone  would  fall 
straight  thrt>ugh  the  hole  of  the  Min-an-toL  We  know  that  die 
great  festivals  of  the  ancient  world  were  regulated  by  the  snn» 
and  that  some  of  these  festive  seasons — the  winter  solstice  about 
Yule-tide  or  Christmas,  the  vernal  equinox  about  Easter,  the 
summer  solstice  on  Mid  sunn  mer-eve,  about  St*  Juhn  BaptiitV 
day,  and  the  aiUumnal  equinox  alwut  Michaelmas— are  still  kept, 
under  changed  names  and  with  new  objects,  in  our  own  lime. 
This  M(m-a7i^t0l  may  be  an  t>ld  dial  erected  originally  to  fix  thr 
proper  time  for  the  celebration  of  the  autumnal  equinox  ;  and 
though  it  may  have  been  applied  tfi  other  purposes  likewise,  st 


7omi$h  Aniiqfiities, 

as    the   curing   of   cliiklreii   by    dragging-    them    several    times 
through  the   bole,   still    its   original    intention   may   have  been 
aEtronomicah     It  is  easy  to  test  this  observation,  and  to  find  out 
whether  the  same  remark  does  not  hold  good  of  other  stones  in 
Cornwall,    as,    for   instance,    the   Two    Pipers.     Nay,    if   their 
astronomical    character   could    once    be    firmly    established,    it 
might  even  be  possible,  at  least  approximately,  to  fix  the  time 
of  their  erection.     If  we  suppose  that  the  shadow  of  the  stones 
on  each  side  of  the  Min-an-tol  was  intended  to  fall  through  the 
hole  on  the  day  of  the  autumnal  equinox,  then  if  there  is  any 
slight  deviation  at  present,  and  that  deviation  in  the  direction 
demanded    by    the    precession   of   the    equinoctial    points,   the 
difference   might  be   calculated  and  translated  into  years,  and 
we  should  thus   be   enabled  to  fix^  at   least  with  a  margin  of 
a  century  or  two,  the  time  when  that  time-piece  was  first  set 
up  on  the  high  plains  of  Cornwall*     We  do  not  wish  to  attribute 
to  this  guess  as  to  the  original  intention  of  the  Meii-an-tol  more 
importance  than  it  deserves,  nor  would  we  in  any  way  countenance 
the  opinion  of  those  who,  beginning  with  Caesar,  ascribe  to  the 
Celts  and  their  Druids  every  kind  of  mysterious  wisdom.  A  mere 
shepherd,  though  he  had  never  heard  the  name  of  the  equinost, 
might  have  erected  such  a  stone  for  his  own  convenience,  in 
order  to  know  the  lime  when  he  might  safely  bring  his  flocks 
out  J  or  take  them  back  to  their  safer  stables.     But  this  would  in 
no  way  diminish  the  interest  of  the  Men-an-toL     It  would  still 
remain  one  of  the  few  relics  of  the  childhood  of  our  race  ;  one 
of  the  witnesses  of  the  earliest  workings  of  the  human  mind  in 
its   struggle   against,  and    in    its  alliance   with,  the  powers  of 
nature  ;  one  of  the  vestiges  in  the  first  civilisation  of  the  British 
Isles*     Even  the  liomans,  who    carried   their  Roman  roads  in 
a  straight  line  through  the  countries  they  had  conquered,  unde- 
terred  by  any  obstacles,  unawed  by  any  sanctuaries,  respected, 
as  can  hardly  be  doubted,  Silbury  Hill,  and  made  the  road  from 
Bath  to  London  diverge  from  the  usual  straight  line,  instead  of 
cutting  through  that  time-honoured  mound.  Would  the  eogitieers 
of  our  railways  show  a  similar  regard  for  any  national  monument, 
whether  Celtic,  Roman,  or  Saxon  ?     When  Charles  IL,  in  16G3, 
went  to  sec  the  Celtic  remains  of  A  bury,  aixty-throi-  atones  were 
still  standing  within   the  entrenched   enclosure 
hundred  years  later  they  had  dwindled  dowr 
rest  having  been  used  for  building  purpose*^ 
published  a  description  of  A  bury  in  1743 
saw  the  upper  stone  of  the  great  cromlec 
away,  the  fragments  of  it  making  no 
After  another  century  had  passed,  s< 
Vol  123.— JV.j.  245,  F 


Meminiimieei  if  Massimo  dtAze^ik. 

wUUq  tte  great  enclosurr,  and  tliese^  too,  are  bein^  pTiilually 
broken  up  and  carted  away»  Surely  such  things  ou^ht  not  tci 
be.  Let  those  whom  it  concerns  look  to  it  before  it  is  too  late?. 
Tbese  Celtic  monuments  are  public  property  as  much  as  LoEutoQ 
Stijne,  Coronation  Stone^  or  Westminster  Abbey,  and  poslerily 
will  bold  the  present  generation  responsible  for  the  safe  keepii^ 
of  the  national  heirlooms  of  England. 


AiiT,  III.  —  1.    I  Mid  Bicordi  dt  Mmnmo  d'Azeglio-      Due 

Volumi.     Firenze,  1867, 
2.   CorrespmidtincB  Politique  de  Maisimo  d*AzeffHo,     Ed.  Eugene 

Rendu.     Paris^  1867. 

rilHE  life  of  a  mao  who  was  soldier,  artist,  diploma tist, 
i  novelist,  and  statesman;  whose  earliest  reminiscences  were 
of  Alfieri  and  the  Countess  of  Albany,  and  wb«  lived  to  be  intm> 
duced  to  the  present  heir-apparent  of  the  British  throne ;  w| 
bum  in  the  highest  social  circle,  mingled  by  choice  and  by 
fession  with  members  of  every  class,  and  who  exercised  no  small 
inllueDce  upon  the  destinies  of  his  native  Italy,  can  hardly  fail  to 
preseDt  some  points  of  interest.  Whether  the  *  Reminiscences ' 
lying  before  us  can  be  placed,  as  an  intellectual  effort,  on  the 
same  level  as  the  author^s  '  Nicolo  de*  La  pi,*  may  reasonably  \m 
doubted.  Nevertheless  the  book  has  beauties  and  merits  of  its 
own,  and  we  trust  that,  even  in  the  comparatively  brief  account  of 
it  which  we  propose  to  lay  before  our  readers,  its  attractions  may 
be  found  not  to  have  wholly  disappeared, 

Massimo  Taparelli  d'Azeglio  was  born  at  Turin  on  the  34th 
of  October,  17118.  The  family  came  originally  from  Brittany, 
which  perbaps,  as  our  author  playfully  remarks,  accounts  lor  the 
existence  of  a  certain  vein  of  stubbornness  {testa  un  pa  dum) 
running  through  the  race*  At  the  close  of  die  thirteenth  centu^ 
a  member  of  this  house  descended  into  Italy,  most  probably 
with  Charles  of  Anjou,  and  settled  in  the  Piedmontese  town  of 
Savigliano,  Here  their  ancient  and  honourable  appellation  of 
Chapel  or  Capel  got  corrupted,  no  one  knows  how,  into  Tapa- 
lelli,  to  which  the  coffn&nten  of  AzegHo  has  been  subsequently 
added,  in  consequence  of  the  acquisition  of  a  village  of  thai 
name. 

Axeglio's  grandfather,  Count  Robert  of  Lagnasco,  married 
Christina,  Countess  of  Genola,  a  member  of  anotJjer  branch  of 
the  same  family.  From  this  marriage  sprang  two  sons,  of  whom 
the  elder  died  in  youth:  the  younger^  Caesar,  became  the  father 
of  the  subject  of  this  narrative.     Cieiar's  mother  died  a  few  days 

after 


Eeminisemces  of  Massimo  ^Azi^lio. 


St 


after  having  ^ven  him  birth ;  but  bj  a  second  marriage  Coimt 
Robert  had  a  daughter,  who  became  the  wife  of  Count  Prospero 
Balbo,  and  the  mother  of  CEesar  Bat  bo.  Thus  of  the  three 
Piedmontese  of  our  time  who  have  most  deeply  affected  the  for* 
tunes  of  Ituly — Gioberti,  Azeglio,  and  Balbo^ — the  two  latter 
were  first  cousins. 

The  parents  of  our  author  stand  forth  in  the  pages  of  these 
volumes  in  marked  outlines  and  vivrd  colouring.  The  Marquis 
Caesar  d'Azeglio  appears  to  have  been  a  fine  type  of  the  old 
Piedmontese  nobility  ;  brave,  simple  in  his  tastes  and  habits  of 
life,  sincere  I J  religious^  and  self-sacrificing.  He  was  poor, 
because  his  fortune  was  always  at  the  service  of  his  country  and 
the  house  of  Savoy.  By  'his  country'  must  be  understood  rather 
the  kingdom  of  Sardinia  than  the  Italian  peninsula ;  for  this  last 
was  to  him,  at  least  in  his  earlier  years,  little  more  than  'a  geo- 
graphical expression/  Personally  attached  to  his  Sovereign,  he 
lost  some  sixteen  thousand  pounds — a  very  large  sum  in  that 
country — during  the  wars  arising  but  of  the  great  French  revo- 
lution. When  taken  captive,  he  had  only  accepted  liberty 
on  the  express  condition  of  mi  promising  to  give  up  military 
service  on  behalf  of  his  native  soih  He  was  not  a  man  of  bril- 
liant abilities,  nor  had  he  any  very  great  capacity  for  adapting 
himself  to  that  new  order  of  things  which  (both  in  the  world  of 
thought  and  the  world  of  action)  began  to  overshadow  and  to 
induence  the  mind  and  conduct  of  Europe  after  the  overthrow  of 
Napoleon.  But  he  was  willing  to  let  the  new  pliase  of  consti- 
tutional, as  opposed  to  absolute,  monarchy  have  its  trial  in  the 
kingdom  of  Sardinia;  provided  always  that  such  change  arose 
out  of  the  deliberate  will  and  consent  of  the  reigning  monarch, 
and  was  not  forced  upon  him  from  without  by  the  threats  or 
rebellion  of  his  subjects.  There  was  much  in  Massimo  d'Azeglio 
that  was  especially  his  own ;  much  that  was  produced  by  the 
tnoulding  impress  of  the  times  in  which  he  lived*  His  great 
and  varied  abilities  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  inherited  from 
his  fat  hen  But  there  is  manifested  throughout  these  *  Reminis- 
cences' an  earnest  desire  to  impress  upon  the  mind  of  his 
countrymen  the  all-important  lesson— that  it  is  only  by  the  forma- 
tion of  such  characters  as  those  of  his  parents  that  Italy  can  hope 
to  succeed  in  the  great  experiment  which  she  is  now  engaged  in 
trying*  Another  country  supplies  a  weighty  warning.  'From 
1814  to  1848/  says  the  distinguished  son  of  one  who  was  an 
emineat  minister  under  Louis  Philippe,  *  France  tried  for  thirty- 
four  years  the  experiment  of  representative  government.  Three 
unfavourable  tendencies  have  chiefly  contributed  to  make  this 
Attempt  twice  prove  a  failure ;  a  general  and  systematic  spirit  of 

F  2  opposition 


68  BeminUoeneei  of  Massimo  dtAzsgKon 

opposition  to  authority,  excessive  pretensions,  and  the  keouMSS 
of  personal  enmities.  These  three  features  of  the  natiooal  cha- 
racter, common  to  nearly  all  our  politicians,  have  rendered  all 
but  impossible  a  government  with  institutions  whose  freedom 
encourages  resistance,  excites  ambition,  and  gives  full  play  to 
rivalry/  These  sorrowful  reflections  of  Prince  Albert  de  Broglie,* 
so  applicable  just  now  to  Italy,  may  not,  perhaps,  be  wholly  oat 
of  place  even  in  a  country  like  our  own.  ^ut  we  must  not 
wander  from  our  more  immediate  subject 

The  manner  in  which  we  have  just  referred  to  our  author's 
parents  implies  that  his  mother  was  not  unwoiihy  of  her  hus- 
band. She  might  have  been  able  to  accomplish  even  more  for 
her  children,  if  her  health  had  been  robust  But  in  the  fourth 
year  of  her  wedded  life  she  received  a  shock  from  which  she 
never  thoroughly  recovered.  She  was  officially  informed  that  her 
husband  had  been  slain  in  battle,  fighting  against  the  French 
invaders  of  Piedmont  So  circumstantial  was  the  account,  that 
the  will  of  the  supposed  deceased  was  formally  opened.  It  left 
the  widow  most  handsomely  provided  for,  with  a  jointure  which 
was  not  (apparently  a  rare  event  in  Italy)  to  suffer  diminution  in 
the  event  of  a  second  marriage.  And  it  was  specially  insisted 
on  that  she  was  on  no  account  to  put  on  mourning  if  her  husband 
had  fallen  with  arms  in  his  hands  for  his  country  and  his  king. 
Two  months  later  came  the  news  that  Caesar  d'Azeglio  was  alive 
and  unhurt,  although  a  prisoner  in  France.  But  the  sudden  and 
unlooked-for  joy  was  a  fresh  trial  to  one  already  weakened  by 
grief,  and  expecting  at  no  distant  date  to  add  to  the  number 
of  her  family.  Subsequent  events,  as  was  natural  during  the 
troublous  times  in  which  her  lot  was  cast,  increased  the  injury 
thus  wrought ;  and  we  are  not  surprised  to  learn,  that  from  this 
parent  the  young  Massimo  and  his  brethren  were  not  able  to 
obtain  any  g^eat  amount  of  intellectual  culture.  But  she  gave 
them  what  her  son  jusdy  calls  the  loftier  benefit  of  admirable 
precepts  and  example ;  an  education  of  the  heart,  a  right  guidance 
of  the  sentiments  and  of  the  affections. 

ITie  war  in  which  Caesar  d'Azeglio  was  taken  captive,  had 
fallen  upon  Piedmont  after  the  land  had  known  some  six-and- 
forty  years  of  peace.  With  a  generation  untrained  in  military 
habits  and  discipline,  the  small  Subalpine  kingdom  was  left 
alone  to  contend  against  the  power  of  France.  The  issue  cc^ld 
not  long  be  doubtful.  There  were  some,  indeed,  who  hoped, 
says  our  author,  that  liberty  might  come  to  the  vanquished,  like 
other  articles  nouveauth  from  Paris,   without   the  need  of  any 


*  *  Etudes  Morales  et  Litteraires.*    Paris,  1853,  p.  305. 

personal 


Seminiscetices  of  Massirm  d'Azeglh, 


m 


personal  merit  on  the  part  of  tlie  recipients.  They  had  to  learn 
by  sad  experience  the  stern  lesson  taught  by  the  course  of  events 
to  so  many  enthusiasts  of  that  date, — a  lesson  nobly  expressed  by 
one  of  those  very  enthusiasts  when  he  sang^  of  the  hollow  joy  of 
Greece  on  receiving  liberty  as  a  gift  from  the  favour  of  Rome^ 
and  of  the  exceptional  soundness  of  heart  displayed  in  iEtolia  : — 

'  Ah  I  that  a  Confpieror's  words  shoidd  bo  eo  dear ; 
Ah  1  that  a  hiyon  could  shed  such  rapturous  joys  I 
A  gift  of  that  which  is  not  to  bo  given 
By  all  the  blended  powers  of  Earth  and  Eeaveo. 
The  rough  ^toliaus  smiled  with  bitter  seoru  : 
"  Tifi  known,"  cried  they,  *'  that  he  who  would  adorn 
His  envied  temples  with  the  Isthmian  crown 
Mnflt  either  win^  through  efibrt  of  Hs  own. 
The  prize,  or  be  content  to  see  it  worn 
By  moro  desorving  brows.**  * 

These  lines  Irom  two  sonnets  by  Wordsworth  might  not  unfitly 
be  placed  as  a  general  motto  to  the  autobiog^raphy  of  Massimo 
d'Azegliop  But  if  these  lessons  were  needed  by  all  Italians,  the 
Piedmontese  perhaps  required  them  the  least.  It  is  well  known 
that  Massimo  d^Azeglio  was  one  of  the  first,  perhaps  the  very 
first,  to  suggest  that  Florence  should  be  the  capital  of  the 
kingdom  of  Italy,  In  singular  contrast  with  this  event  of  1864 
stands  the  account  of  the  departure  of  the  Azeglio  family  in 
1800  from  Turin  to  Florence  as  to  a  land  of  exile.  Such,  bow- 
ever*  was  the  feeling  of  his  parents,  when  the  battle  of  Marengo 
bad  laid  northern  Italy  at  the  feet  of  Napoleon,  and  had  induced 
them  to  remove  to  the  Tuscan  city  until  better  days  should  dawn* 
Among  the  earliest  infantine  recollections  of  Massimo  was  a 
picture  of  Turin,  in  his  father's  study  at  Florence,  with  the  motto 
^tiii  inscribed  below.  Happily  the  flight  of  the  family  was  by 
no  means  a  solitary  one.  The  distinguished  houses  of  Balbo, 
Perrone,  DelborgOj  Pric,  and  others,  all  adopted  the  same  course, 
preferring^  such  banishment  to  the  acceptance  of  foreign  rule  in 
Turin,  and  to  the  implied  rejection  of  the  house  of  Savoy,  whose 
head  bad  retired  to  the  maritime  portion  of  his  realm,  the  island 
of  Sardinia, 

One  day  J  in  a  house  belonging  to  a  member  of  this  set,  a  little 
child,  unembarrassed  by  clothing,  was  being  held  on  his  motherV 
knees,  wkile  a  painter  was  drawing  from  the  form  before  him  an 
infant  Jesus.  *Now,  Mammolino,  be  quiet!  {Eln\  Mammi^Hiio^ 
siai  Jennoy  was  the  ejcclamation  uttered  in  a  deep  voice  by  a 
bystander,  a  tall  gentleman,  wholly  dressed  in  black,  with  a  pale 
face,  bright  eyes,  frowning  eyebrows,  locks  of  a  hue  inclining 
towards  red,  and  thrown  back  from  the  temples  and  the  brow. 

The 


70  Beminiscencei  ofMasiimo  JTAx^gKa. 

The  deep  roice  coming  from  a  fi^re  regarded  bj  the  child  with 
much  awe  produced  the  desired  eflTect,  and  a  Holy  Familj  was  the 
result.  The  picture  is  believed  to  be  in  a  church  at  Montpellier. 
The  house  was  the  studio  of  the  artist  Fabri ;  the  child  was  the 
infant  Massimo,  then  called  endearingly  Mammolino;  the  awe> 
some  bystander  was  the  celebrated  Vittorio  A I  fieri.*  In  Ma»* 
simo  d*Azeglio's  latest  days  he  had  only  to  shut  his  eyes,  and 
there  rose  up  before  him  the  house  where  AI fieri,  and  the 
Countess  of  Albany  in  her  dress  a  la  Marie- Antoinette^  used  to 
receive  their  company ;  the  pictures  by  Fabri  (one  of  Saul  at 
Endor,  and  one  of  Pompeii)  on  the  walls,  and  his  father  in  con- 
versation with  some  of  their  circle,  or  with  M.  LAngensverd,  the 
Swedish  minister. 

*  The  heavy  hand  of  Napoleon  was  ere  long  to  fall  on  this 
retreat.  With  a  minuteness  of  persecution,  which  in  many 
quarters  seemed  to  outweigh  all  the  advantages  which  Italy 
derived  from  the  imperial  sway,  the  new  ruler  forbade  his 
Turinese  subjects  to  send  their  children  abroad  for  educaticm. 
Three  of  Massimo's  brothers  were  students  at  the  Tolomei 
college,  in  Sienna,  when  this  decree  was  promulgated.  But 
Sienna  not   being   a    Piedmontese   city,   was  considered  to  be 

*  abroad,'  and  the  youths  had,  of  necessity,  to  be  withdrawn. 
A  second  order  compelled  all  the  emigrants  to  return  from 
Florence  and  elsewhere  to  their  Subalpine  homes. 

The  domestic  education  received  by  the  young  family  on  their 
return  to  Turin  was  admirable  in  the  way  of  discipline.  To 
speak  low,  to  treat  their  sister  with  the  same  courtesy  as  a  young 
lady  of  another  house,  to  bear  great  pain  without  complaint,  and 
even  to  preserve  under  it  the  appearance  of  cheerfulness,  to  take 
all  possible  care  not  to  add  to  the  illness  of  their  mother,  not  to 
expect  praise  and  petting,  such  were  the  home  lessons  received 
in  the  house  of  the  Taparelli  d'Azeglio.  The  following  incident 
is  an  illustration.  It  occurred  when  the  family  had  a  villa  near 
Fiesole,  and  in  the  course  of  a  long  ramble  with  his  father: — 

'  I  had  gathered  an  enormous  bunch  of  wild  broom  and  other  flowers, 
and  I  was  also  carrying  a  stick  in  my  hand,  when  somehow  I  became 
entangled,  and  fell  heavily.  My  father  harried  to  lift  me  up  again, 
examined  mo  to  seo  where  I  was  hurt,  and  observing  that  I  complained 
much  of  one  arm,  he  laid  it  bare,  and  found  that  it  deviated  decidedlj 
from  the  straight  line ;  in  fact,  I  had  broken  the  nlma,  the  large  bone 
of  the  arm. 

'  I,  who  was  gazing  fixedly  into  his  face,  saw  his  countenance  change, 

*  The  lapposed  haibHai  of  this  picture,  which  is  not  mentioDed  in  '  I  Miei  Rioofdi,' 
is  supplied  in  an  able  and  suggestive  critique  of  the  work  by  M.  de  Mazade,  in  the 
'  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes*  for  15th  February,  1867. 

and 


Beminucefwes  of  MasBimo  d'Azefflto, 


71 


and  assume  an  exprossion  of  nmk  keen  unci  tender  soilcitudo,  that  ho 
eearce  Boomed  to  nie  like  the  flame  man.  He  fastened  my  arm  to  my 
nock  as  well  as  ho  could,  and  we  again  eet  out  homeward*  Aitef  a 
few  moments  had  passed,  duriDg  which  he  had  bad  time  to  regain  his 
usual  nature^  he  eaid  to  me,  "  Listen,  Mammolino,  jour  mother  is  not 
strong.  If  she  were  to  see  how  you  have  hurt  yourself,  it  might  make 
her  very  ill.  Yon  must  bo  brave,  my  child.  To-morrow,  wo  will  go 
to  Florence,  and  do  all  that  can  he  don©  for  you ;  but  this  evenjngi 
you  must  not  let  her  boo  that  anything  is  wrong  with  you*  Do  you 
undorstaud  ?  " 

*  All  this  he  said  to  me  with  his  usual  fiinnness,  but  with  the  grtatest 
aSbotiou  ;  and  as  for  me,  I  did  not  feel  that  I  had  any  very  important 
or  difficult  affair  to  manage  :  in  fact,  I  kept  in  a  comer  aU  that  evening, 
holding  up  my  broken  arm  as  well  as  I  could,  my  mother  thinking  I 
was  tired  after  my  long  walk,  and  perceiving  nothing  more. 

*Ne5t  day  I  was  taken  to  Florence,  and  my  arm  was  duly  sot.  But 
its  euro  bad  to  bo  completed  by  the  muddy  waters  of  Yiuadio,  some 
years  later. 

*  Dooe  any  one  think  this  proceeding  of  my  father's  a  harsh  one  ?  I 
fsan  recal  that  incident  as  if  it  had  happened  yesterday,  and  I  well 
remembor  that  it  never  entered  into  my  head  for  an  instant  to  think 
Iiim  harsh  or  unkind.  I  was,  on  the  contrary,  so  happy  at  the  im- 
speakftble  tenderness  I  bad  seen  in  his  face,  and  also  I  felt  it  so  rea- 
sonable not  to  alarm  my  mother,  that  I  regardeti  the  difficult  command 
rather  m  an  excellent  opportunity  of  doing  myself  credit. 

*  And  that,  because  1  had  not  been  spoiled,  but  had  had  some  good 
foundationa  laid  in  my  heart.  And  now  that  I  am  old,  and  have  seen 
the  world,  I  blosa  my  father's  stern  firmness ;  and  1  would  that  all 
Italian  children  poBsesaed  a  parent  liJte  him,  and  would  profit  more  by 
it  than  I  did  :  within  thirty  years  Italy  would  be  the  first  of  nations !' 
— i.  pp,  105-107, 

The  compulsory  return  to  Turin  Lad  involved  a  correspondence 
between  the  head  of  the  family  and  his  Sovereig-n,  which  was 
highly  houoLirable  to  both  parties.  Cfiesar  d'Azeglio  oflTered  to 
join  Victor  Emmanuel  in  the  island  of  Sardinia.  But  the  king' 
advised  him  to  submit ;  he  could  not  think  of  removing  from  the 
youtliful  Taparelli  a  father  of  whom  they  now  bad  more  than 
ever  such  a  special  need.  The  Marquis  d'Azcglio  consequently 
took  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  Napoleon,  and  preserved  it  faith- 
fully. But  he  aided  to  the  best  of  his  ability  those  who  suffered 
under  the  French  r^qimc^  more  paTticuIarly  some  of  the  digni- 
taries of  the  Roman  Church  and  Court 

These  recollections  suggest  some  striking  thoughts  to  our 
author.  During  several  years  of  Napoleon  a  reif^n,  most  notably, 
perhaps,  about  1809,  after  the  triumph  of  Wagram  and  his 
marriage  with  Maria  Louisa^  he  impressed  on  his  contemporaries, 
say»  Aiseglio,  the  idea  that  be  was  simply  ^Jate  that  could  not 


72  Remimsoenoejt  of  Mauiuio  dCAzeglio. 

he  resisted.  Now  we  need  not  go  to  Italy  to  seek  for  the  preva- 
lence of  sach  notions.  They  arc  marked  in  the  diaries  of  many 
English  politicians  of  the  time,  as,  for  example,  that  of  Sir  James 
Mackintosh  ;  and  we  suspect  that  expressions  tending,  to  say  the 
very  least,  in  that  direction,  might  be  plentifully  culled  without 
much  difficulty  from  the  pages  of  the  *  Edinbui^h  Review.' 

We  have  seen  so  many  instances  in  this  country  of  the  political 
and  religious  differences  between  brothers,  that  perhaps  we  ought 
not  to  be  astonished  to  learn  that  the  elder  brother  of  Massimo 
d'Azeglio  not  only  took  holy  orders,  but  joined  the  Jesuits,  and 
ultimately  became  the  editor  of  tlie  most  extreme  ultramontane 
paper,  the  organ  of  that  society,  and  of  the  Roman  Court,  the 
*Civilta.'  He  was  known  as  Father  Taparelli.  It  must  be 
mentioned,  to  the  honour  of  both  brothers,  that  their  differences 
were  never  allowed  to  chill  the  warmth  of  their  fraternal  affec- 
tion. Massimo  expresses  a  keen  sense  of  the  purity  and  sincerity 
of  his  brother  8  mind,  and  of  the  sacrifices  which  he  had  made  in 
joining  the  Order. 

The  fall  of  Napoleon,  the  delirious  joy  of  the  Turinese  when 
their  Sovereign  made  bis  re-entry  into  their  city  (borrowing  in 
his  poverty  a  carriage  from  the  Marquis  d'Azeglio),  the  delight 
at  the  departure  of  those  French  to  whom  they  have  since  owed 
so  much,  their  equal  amount  of  pleasure  at  witnessing  tlie  arritoal  of 
the  Germans^  are  all  set  forth  in  these  volumes  with  much  liveli- 
ness. Well  might  the  writer  italicize,  as  we  have  done,  the 
above  clause,  and  almost  doubt  whether  he  can  be  the  writer 
of  such  words.  Assuredly  the  vast  majority  of  the  Italians,  who 
were  then  young,  lived  to  alter  their  sentiments  as  regards 
these  nations. 

Changes  in  the  great  world  carry  with  them  of  necessity  a 
vast  number  of  changes  in  the  lesser  worlds  of  private  circles. 
The  altered  state  of  affairs,  which  ensued  upon  the  events  just 
mentioned^  transformed  the  youthful  Massimo  from  being  a  mere 
boy  into  an  attache^  and  then  into  an  officer.  The  former  position 
arose  from  the  circumstance  of  his  father  being  sent  as  a  provi- 
sional minister  to  the  Court  of  Rome,  to  congratulate  Pius  VIL 
on  his  return.  The  kind  offices  of  Caesar  d'Azeglio  towards  the 
persecuted  clergy  were  fully  acknowledged  by  the  Pontiff  Ma»* 
simo  was  likewise  much  noticed,  and  found  himself  plunged  at 
once  into  the  midst  of  high  clerical  and  diplomatic  society.  And 
here  it  may  be  observed  that  if  any  of  our  readers  shall  hftve 
chanced  to  look  at  that  part  of  Dr.  DoUinger's  book,  *The  Church 
and  the  Churches,*  which  treats  of  the  Papal  Temporalities,  he 
will  find  its  comment  on  the  rule  inaugurated  by  Cardinal  CoiH 
salvi  entirely  confirmed  by  the  reflections  of  Azeglio.   The  general 

imprewion 


'  of  Massimo  ^Azeglio. 

impression  left  by  both  writers  appears  to  us  to  be  Identical ; 
namely,  that  the  new  Papal  regime  aimed  at  carrying  out  the 
French  system  of  central  i  sat  ion  without  having  the  French  skill 
and  energ-y  that  were  needed  for  such  a  task.  Thus  the  ancient 
municipal  liberties  of  the  towns  in  the  Ecclesiastical  States  were 
not  restored;  and  the  Legations,  finding  that  they  had  lost 
French  order  without  gaining  Italian  freedom,  sunk  before  long 
into  a  chronic  state  of  insurrection- 

The  honesty  of  onr  autobiographer  compels  him  to  record 
with  shame,  that  for  four  or  five  years  (that  is  to  say,  between 
the  ages  of  17  and  22)  he  passed  an  idle,  and  far  worse  than 
idle,  existence.  He  acquired,  however,  a  love  for  pictorial  art, 
and  became  also  passionately  fond  of  music. 

Of  all  U'ustwQrtluj  accounts  of  the  Roman  clerical  society  of 
that  date,  Azeglio's  appears  to  us  to  be  one  of  the  lesist  favour^ 
able.  His  father  seems  to  have  been  a  far  stricter  man,  both  in 
word  and  deed,  than  many  of  the  canons  and  prelati  whom  they 
met.  The  fact,  that  the  youthful  Masstoio  himself  was  more 
than  once  pressed  to  take  holy  orders^  did  not  exalt  in  his  eyes 
the  suitors,  and  generally  he  maintains  that  there  was  very  little 
of  what  is  known  as  unction  among  the  Roman  clergy  of  that 
day*  He  had  been  accustomed  to  a  much  higher  standard  of 
duty  and  devotion  by  the  conduct  of  the  priesthood  at  Turin. 

The  study  of  antiquities  is  one  of  the  very  few  branches  of 
knowledge  that  can  be  said  to  flourish  in  the  Rome  of  the  present 
century.  Some  chances  were  offered  of  prosecuting  researches 
into  the  curiosities  of  pagan,  or  of  the  early  Christian  times ; 
but  our  author  at  that  season  loved,  as  he  puts  it,  le  novita  e  lion 
le  aniichitlu  However,  the  gay  career  of  an  attache ^  with  its 
dinners,  balls,  and  soirees^  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of  the 
actual  ambassador  from  Turin,  the  Marquis  of  San  Saturnino. 
A  great  consolation  for  the  young  man  lay  in  the  circumstance 
that  a  commission  had  in  the  meantime  been  obtained  for  him 
in  the  Royal  Cavalry  of  Turin,  Before  leaving  Rome  he  saw 
his  brother  Prospero  formally  installed  into  the  Order  of  the 
Jesuits.  The  gravity  of  the  ceremony  was  for  a  moment  dis- 
turbed by  a  mistake  of  the  aged  general,  Father  Panizzoni,  Dim 
of  sight,  he  advanced  to  embrace  Massimo,  instead  of  the  elder 
brother.  '  A  pretty  business  we  two  should  have  made  of  it.' 
says  the  former, 

Azeglio's  experience  of  the  army  led  him  to  take^ 
in  the  theory  of  war,  and  also  in  such  practical  ]* 
can  be  acquired  in  a  time  of  peace.     His  first 
home  with  hi»  regiment  is  reckoned  by  him 
six  most  joyful  events  of  his  strangely  ¥ai 


62  Camith  Antupiitiei. 

upper  portion  of  one  is  bo  much  broken  that  one  cannot  detennine 
the  angle,  yet  that  it  worked  to  an  angle  ia  quite  apparent  The 
other  is  turned  downward,  and  senres  aa  the  hanging-poat  of  a  gate, 
From  the  head  being  buried  ao  deep  in  the  ground,  only  part  of  the 
hole  (which  ia  in  both  stones  about  six  inches  diameter)  could  be 
seen ;  though  the  hole  is  too  small  to  pop  the  smallest,  or  all  but  the 
smallest,  baby  through,  the  people  call  them  cnck-stones,  and  maintain 
they  were  so  called  before  they  were  bom,  Crick-Atones  were  used 
for  dragging  people  through,  to  cure  them  of  various  diseases.' 

The  same  gentleman,  writing  to  one  of  the  Cornish  papers, 
informs  the  public  that  a  few  years  ago  a  rock  known  by  the 
name  of  Garrack-zans  might  be  seen  in  the  town-place  of  Sawah, 
in  the  parish  of  St  Lcvan  ;  another  in  Roskestal,  in  the  same 
parish.  One  is  also  said  to  have  been  removed  from  near  the 
centre  of  Trereen,  by  the  family  of  Jans,  to  make  a  grander 
approach  to  their  mansion.  The  ruins,  which  still  remain,  are 
known  by  the  name  of  the  Jans  House,  although  the  family  became 
extinct  soon  after  perpetrating  what  was  regarded  by  the  old 
inhabitants  as  a  sacrilegious  act.  The  Garrack-zans  may  still  be 
remaining  in  Roskestal  and  Sawah,  but,  as  much  alteration  haa 
recently  taken  place  in  these  villages,  in  consequence  of  building 
new  farm-houses,  making  new  roads,  &c.,  it  is  a  great  chance  if 
they  have  not  been  either  removed  or  destroyed. 

Mr.  J.  T.  Blight,  the  author  of  one  of  the  most  useful  little 
guide-books  of  Cornwall,  '  A  Week  at  the  Land's  End,'  states 
that  some  eight  or  ten  years  ago  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  Chapel 
of  St  Eloy,  in  St  Burian,  were  thrown  over  the  cliff  by  the 
tenant  of  the  estate,  without  the  knowledge  or  permission  of 
the  owner  of  the  property.  Chun-castle,  he  says,  one  of  the 
finest  examples  of  early  military  architecture  in  this  kingdom, 
has  for  many  years  been  resortea  to  as  a  sort  of  quarry. 

From  an  interesting  paper  on  Castallack  Round  by  the  same 
antiquarian,  we  quote  the  following  passages  showing  the  constant 
mischief  that  is  going  on,  whether  due  to  downright  Vandalism 
or  to  ignorance  and  indifference : — 

*  From  a  description  of  Castallack  Hound,  in  the  parish  of  St  Paol, 
written  by  Mr.  Crozier,  perhaps  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ago,  it 
appears  that  there  was  a  massive  outer  wall,  with  an  entrance  on  the 
south ;  from  which  a  colonnade  of  stones  led  to  an  inner  enclosure^ 
also  formed  with  stones,  and  nine  feet  in  diameter.  Mr.  Haliwell,  so 
recently  as  1861,  refers  to  the  avenue  of  upright  stones  leading  from 
the  outer  to  the  inner  enclosure. 

^On  visiting  the  spot  a  few  days  ago  (in  1865),  I  was  surprised  to 
find  that  not  only  were  there  no  remains  of  an  avenue  of  stones,  but 
that  the  existence  of  an  inner  enclosure  could  scarcely  be  traced.  It 
was,  in  fact,  evident  that  some  modem  Vandal  had  here  been  at  woiL 

A  labourer, 


A  kisotirer,  employed  in  the  field  close  by,  with  a  oompkmnt  amile, 
informe<i  me  that  the  old  Round  had  be  on  dug  into  laat  year,  for  the 
sake  of  the  itencs.  I  found,  however,  enough  of  the  work  loft  to  be 
worthy  of  a  few  notes,  sufficient  to  show  that  it  was  a  kindred  stracture 
to  that  at  Kerrifl,  known  as  the  Ronndago,  and  deecrihed  and  figured 
In  Bor last's  *'  Antiquities  of  Cornwall-"  .  .  ♦  ♦  Mr-  Croxier  also  refers 
to  a  stonoj  5  feet  high,  which  stood  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
Costallack  Bound,  and  from  which  the  Pipers  at  Boleit  could  be 
seen. 

'  The  attention  of  the  Royal  Inntitution  of  Cornwall  has  been 
repeatedly  called  to  the  destruction  of  Cornish  antiquities,  and  the 
interfereno^  of  landed  proprietors  has  been  frequently  iovt^ked  in  nid 
of  their  prisservation  j  but  it  unfortunately  happens,  in  roost  cases,  that 
unportant  remain*  are  deraoliehed  by  the  tenants  without  the  know- 
lad^  or  consent  of  the  landlordis.  On  comparing  the  present  condition 
of  the  CastaUaek  Round  with  a  description  of  its  api)Cftrance  so 
recently  as  in  1861 »  I  find  that  the  greater  and  more  interesting  part 
lias  bean  barbarously  and  irreparably  destroyed  ;  and  I  regret  to  say, 
1  could  draw  up  a  long  list  of  ancient  remains  in  ComwaU,  partiaUy 
or  totally  demolished  within  the  last  few  years/ 

We  can  hardly  hope  that  the  wholesome  superstitian  which 
prevented  people  ip  former  days  from  desecrating  their  ancient 
monuments  will  be  any  protection  to  them  much  longer,  though 
the  foUowing  story  shows  that  some  grains  of  the  old  Jeaven  are 
still  Ifift  in  the  Cornish  mimi»  Near  Carleen,  in  Brcage,  an  old 
cnns  has  been  removed  from  its  place,  and  now  does  duty  as 
m  g-ate-post.  The  fanner  occupying  the  farm  where  the  cross 
stood,  set  his  labourer  to  sink  a  pit  in  the  nquired  spot  for  the 
gate-post,  but  when  it  was  intimated  that  the  cross  standing  at 
a  little  distance  off  was  to  be  erected  therein,  the  man  absolutely 
refused  to  have  any  hand  in  the  matter,  not  on  account  of  the 
beautiful  or  the  antique,  but  for  fear  of  the  old  people.  Another 
farmer  related  that  he  had  a  neig-hbour  who  '  haeled  down  a  lot 
of  stoans  called  the  Roundaj2fo,  and  sold  'em  for  boilding  the 
docks  at  Penxance,  But  not  a  penny  of  the  money  he  got  for 
'em  ever  proipered,  and  there  wasn't  wan  of  the  bosses  that 
haeld  'em  that  lived  out  the  twelvemonth  ;  and  they  do  say 
that  some  of  the  stoans  da  weep  bloody  but  I  don^t  believe 
that' 

There  are  many  antiquarians  who  affect  to  despise  the  rude 
architecture  of  the  Celts,  nay,  who  would  think  the  name  of 
architecture  disgraced  if  applied  to  cromlechs  and  bee-bivc  huts. 
But  even  these  wiJl  perhaps  be  more  willing?-  to  lend  a  helping 
hand  in  proteclinf^  the  antiquities  of  Cornwall  when  they  hear 
that  even  ancient  Norman  masonry  is  no  longer  safe  in   that 

countrVp 


64  Cornish  AntiquiiieM, 

countrr.  An  antiquarian  writes  to  us  from  Cornwall: — ^^t 
heard  of  some  farmers  in  Meneagre  (the  Lizard  district)  who 
dragsred  down  an  ancient  well  and  rebuilt  it  When  cmlled  to 
task  for  it  they  said,  "  The  ould  thing  was  got  so  aliaky  that 
a  was'n  fit  to  be  seen,  so  we  thought  we'd  putten  to  ri^ts  and 
build  un  up/Z/y." ' 

Such  things,  we  feel  sure,  should  not  be,  and  would  not  be^ 
allowed  any  longer,  if  public  opinion,  or  the  public  conscience, 
was  once  roused.  Let  people  laugh  at  Celtic  monnmenta  as 
much  as  they  like,  if  they  will  only  help  to  presenre  their 
laughing-stocks  from  destruction.  Let  antiquarians  be  as  sceptiaJ 
as  they  like,  if  they  will  only  prevent  the  dishonest  withdimwal 
of  the  evidence  against  which  their  scepticism  is  directed.  Are 
lake-dwellings  in  Switzerland,  are  flint-deposits  in  France,  is 
kitchen-rubbish  in  Denmark,  so  venk*  precious,  and  are  the 
magnificent  cromlechs,  the  curious  hole«i  stones,  and  even  the 
rock-basins  of  Cornwall,  so  contemptible?  There  is  a  fashion 
even  in  scientific  tastes.  For  thirty  years  M.  Boucher  de  Perthes 
could  hardly  get  a  hearing  for  his  flint-heads,  and  now  lie  has 
become  the  centre  of  interest  for  geologists,  anthropologists,  and 
physiologists.  There  is  every  reason  to  expect  that  the  interest, 
once  awakened  in  the  early  history  of  our  own  race,  will  go  on 
increasing,  and  two  hundred  years  hence  the  antiquarians  and 
anthropologists  of  the  future  will  call  us  hard  names  if  they  find 
out  how  we  allowed  these  relics  of  the  earliest  civilisation  of 
England  to  be  destroyed.  It  is  easy  to  say.  What  is  there  in  a 
holed  stone?  It  is  a  stone  with  a  hole  in  it,  and  that  is  alL 
We  do  not  wish  to  propound  new  theories,  but  in  order  to  show 
how  full  of  interest  even  a  stone  with  a  hole  in  it  may  become, 
we  will  just  mention  that  the  Mni-^m-tolj  or  the  holed  stone 
which  stands  in  one  of  the  fields  near  Lanyon,  is  flanked  bj  two 
other  stones  standing  erect  on  each  side.  Let  any  one  go  there 
to  watch  a  sunset  about  the  time  of  the  autumnal  equinox,  and 
he  will  see  that  the  shadow  thrown  by  the  erect  stone  would  &11 
straight  through  the  hole  of  the  Altn-nn^oL  We  know  that  the 
great  festivals  of  the  ancient  world  were  regulated  by  the  sun, 
and  that  some  of  these  festive  seasons — the  winter  solstice  about 
Vule-tide  or  Christmas,  the  venial  equinox  about  Easter,  the 
summer  solstice  on  Midsummer-eve,  about  St  John  Baptist's 
day,  and  the  autumnal  equinox  about  Michaelmas — are  still  kept, 
under  changed  names  and  with  new  objects,  in  our  own  time. 
This  Men-an-tol  may  be  an  old  dial  erected  originally  to  fix  the 
proper  time  for  the  celebration  of  the  autumnal  equinox;  and 
thoneh  it  may  have  been  applied  Xo  other  purposes  likewise,  such 


Cornish  AntiquUiei. 


es 


ft5   the   curing   of  children    by   dragging    them    several   times 
through  the  hole^  still    its   original    intention    may  have   been 
astronomical.     It  is  easy  to  test  this  observation,  and  to  find  oat 
whether  the  same  remark  docs  not  hold  ^ood  of  otber  stones  in 
Cornwall,    as^   for   instance^    the   Two    Pipers,     Na}\    if   their 
astronomical    character    could   once    l>e    firmly    established,   it 
might  even  be  possible,  at  least  approximately,  to  fix  the  time 
of  their  erection.     If  we  suppose  that  the  shadow  of  the  stones 
on  each  side  of  die  Mm-an-tol  was  intended  to  fall  through  the 
hole  on  the  day  of  the  autumnal  equinox,  then  if  there  is  any 
slight  deviation  at  present,  and  that  deviation  in  the  direction 
demanded    by   the    precession    of   the    equinoctial    points^    the 
diflerence   might  be  calculated  and  translated  into  years^  and 
we  should   thus  be   enabled  to  fix,  at   least  with  a  margin  of 
a  century  or  two,  the  time  when  that  time-piece  was  first  set 
up  on  the  high  plains  of  Corn  walk     We  do  not  wish  to  attribute 
to  this  guess  as  to  the  original  intention  of  the  Mtri-an'tol  more 
importance  than  it  deserves,  nor  would  we  in  any  way  countenance 
the  opinion  of  those  who,  beginning  with  Caesar,  ascribe  to  the 
Cells  and  their  Druids  every  kind  of  mysterious  wisdom,   A  mere 
shepherd^  though  he  had  never  heard  the  name  of  the  equinox, 
might  have  erected  such  a  stone  for  his  own  convenience,  in 
order  to  know  the  time  when  he  might  safely  bring  his  flocks 
out,  or  take  them  back  to  their  safer  stables.     But  this  would  in 
no  way  diminish  the  interest  of  the  Min^aii-toL     It  would  still 
remain  one  of  the  few  relics  of  the  chiIdhfK)d  of  our  race  ;  one 
of  the  witnesses  of  the  earliest  workings  of  the  human  mind  in 
its  struggle  against,  and    in    its   alliance   with,  the  powers  of 
nature  i  one  of  the  vestiges  in  the  first  civilisation  of  the  British 
Isles*     Even  the  Romans,  who    carried   their  Roman  roads   in 
a  straight  line  through  the  countries  tliey  had  conquered,  unde- 
terred  by   any  obstacles,  unawed  by  any  sanctuaries,  respected, 
as  can  hardly  be  doubted,  Silbury  Hill,  and  made  the  road  from 
Bath  to  London  diverge  from  the  usual  straight  line,  instead  of 
cutting  through  that  time-honoured  mound.   Would  the  engineers 
of  our  railways  show  a  similar  regard  for  any  national  monument, 
whether  Celtic,  Roman,  or  Saxon  ?     When  Charles  il.,  in  1663, 
went  to  see  the  Celtic  remains  of  Abury,  sixty-three  stones  were 
still  standing  within  the  entrenched   enclosure*      Not  quite  a 
hundred  years  later  they  had  dwindled  down  to  forty-four,  the 
rest  having  been  used  for  building  purposes.    Dn  Stukeley,  who 
published  a  description  of  Abury  in  1743,  tells  us  that  he  himself 
saw  the  upper  stone  of  the  great  cromlech  there  broken  and  carried 
away,  the  fragments  of  it  making  no  leas  than  twenty  cart-^Ioads. 
After  another  century  had  passed,  seventeen  stones  only  remained 
VoL  123.— Aa  24r}.  f  within 


78  Beminiteenees  of  Massimo  dCAzegha. 

a  liard  life,  but  Massimo  enjojed  good  health,  and  thoagh  poor, 
he  was  independent  In  May  he  went  into  the  country  to  make 
landscape  studies  from  nature.  His  first  essay  of  this  kind  was 
at  Castel  Sant'  Elia,  a  village  between  Nepi  and  Civita  Castellana. 
He  seems  to  have  learnt  much  in  this  department  of  art  from 
the  school  of  Hackert,  whose  style  in  landscape  was  followed 
for  some  twenty  years  by  the  Dutch  artists  Woogd  and  Therlink, 
the  Fleming  Verstappen,  Denis  and  Chauvin  from  France,  and 
a  Bolognese  of  the  name  of  Bassi.  In  Azeglio*s  eyes  it  was 
one  especial  charm  of  this  beautiful  part  of  Italy,  that  it  was 
unknown  to  the  foreigner  and  the  tourist 

In  Piedmont,  Massimo,  as  a  younger  son,  had  been  simply  II 
Cavaliere.  The  different  practice  of  the  south  was  manifested  in 
his  case  under  the  following  circumstances  :— 

'  I  carefully  concealed  my  biiih,  which,  however,  some  mifbrefleen 
incident  often  revealed,  to  my  great  discomfiture.  And  thus  it 
chanced  at  Castel  Sant'  Elia. 

'  I  must  first  inform  my  reader  that  in  Central  and  Southern  Italy, 
all  the  sons  enjoy  the  same  title  as  their  father.  My  fiither  was  a 
Marquis,  consequently  I  was  a  Marquis  too.  One  day  I  had  written 
to  the  Orengo  family  for,  I  forget  now  what  clothes,  which  were 
accordingly  sent  to  me  in  a  parcel  directed  to  **  The  Marquis  Massimo 
dAzeglio^  Nepi : "  and  a  letter  was  posted  at  same  time  to  me  to 
inform  me  where  they  should  be  inquired  for.  I  went  in  person,  and 
presented  myself  to  I  know  not  what'Yetturino,  who  undertook  parcel 
carriage  both  from  and  to  Borne.  I  had  forgotten  to  make  any 
change  in  my  toilette,  so  appeared  in  my  usual  costume ;  shirt  sleeves, 
a  camicia  thrown  over  one  shoulder,  and  no  stockings,  because  of 
the  heat  I  walk  in,  and  say ;  ^  There  ought  to  be  a  parcel  here  for 
Azeglio."  "  There  is  one,  but  it  is  for  the  Marquis."  "  All  right, 
I  am  come  for  it ;  how  much  is  there  to  pay  ? "  "  Oh  don't  be  in 
such  a  hurry,  I  can't  let  you  have  it ;  his  lordship  the  Marquis  must 
come  and  give  mo  his  receipt  for  it,  and  my  payment."  '*  But  I  am 
the  Marquis  1"  I  exclaim  at  last,  annoyed  at  being  compelled  to 
reveal  myself.      ^^You  are  the  Marquis  I  " 

'  I  laugh  even  now,  when  I  recal  the  look  of  incredulity  and 
contempt  which  my  interlocutor  threw  on  me,  a  man  without  stockings, 
guilty  of  such  outrageous  presumption. 

'  I  forget  now  whether  I  had  to  bring  evidence  to  prove  my  identity, 
or  whether  I  ended  by  being  believed.  But  I  well  remember  that  I 
had  a  good  long  battle  before  I  could  carry  my  clothes  off  home  ;  and 
the  grand  news  of  my  Marquisate  spreading  rapidly,  I  found  myself,  at 
Castel  Sant*  Elia  in  the  same  predicament  as  Almaviva  in  the  last  act 
of  the  Barber  of  Seville,  ^  I  am  Almaviva,  liU  not  Lindoro  I "  Luckily, 
I  too  was  at  the  last  **  Act "  of  my  country  life.  July  had  come,  and 
the  malaria  with  it,  so  I  was  compelled  to  change  my  climate.' 

While  oar  hero  was  thus  employed,  a  hasty  and  ill-judged 

political 


Jtennniscences  of  Massimo  ffAzeglio^ 

political  movement  occurred  at  Turin.  This  was  in  1821.  His 
elder  brother  Robert  was  implicated  in  the  movementj  and  was 
compelled  for  a  time  to  retire  with  his  wife  into  Switzerland. 
The  Jesuit  party  and  the  reactionary  society  of  the  San-fedisti 
became  more  triumphant  than  ever.  But  in  the  Roman  States, 
in  1821  as  now  in  1867,  brigandage  was  extremely  rife.  Nor 
did  this  second  sojourn  of  Azeglio's  change  for  the  better  his 
opinion  of  the  population  of  Rome  itself.  His  first  visit  had  led 
to  an  unfavourable  comparison  of  the  Roman  with  the  Turinese 
clergy.  He  now  saw  more  of  the  laity,  especially  when  his  name 
as  an  artist  began  to  win  him  fame  and  bread.  In  his  judgmentj 
his  Inability  to  mix  much  with  his  own  class  of  society  was  a  real 
advantage^  What  he  did  see  convinced  him  that  they  lived  in 
an  atmosphere  of  fawning  and  intrigue.  Of  their  man'ellous 
ignorance  he  supplies  us  with  one  or  two  specimens. 

We  should  have  supposed  that  if  there  was  a  naval  battle  of 
European  celebrity,  it  was  the  sea-fight  of  Lepanto.  But  at  Rome 
it  ought  to  enjoy  a  special  claim  to  reputation^  because  ardent 
Roman  Catholics  maintain  (and  not  without  some  reasonable 
grounds)  that  the  reigning  Pontiff,  Pius  V,,  assuredly  one  of  the 
very  best  who  ever  occupied  the  Papal  chair,  was  mainly  instrU' 
mental  in  bringing  about  this  mighty  destruction  of  Turkish 
vessels  and  overthrow  of  Turkish  domination  on  the  Mediterranean, 
It  is  even  claimed  for  Pope  Pius,  that  with  prophetic  instinct  he 
foreknew  that  prosperous  issue  of  the  battle  for  which  he  had 
prayed  ;  and  a  hymn  in  his  honour  (for  he  was  afterwards  canoD" 
ized)  declares  ;— 

^  Til,  comparaiis  classibus, 
VotiB  magis  sed  fervid  is, 
Ad  insulas  Eohinadas 
Fnndis  tyrannum  Thmciso.' 

Massimo  d'Azeglio  was  one  evening  in  the  palace  of  Prince 

A •     In  one  of  the  halls  he  observed  a  picture^  evidently  of 

the  Flemish  school,  representing  an  inland  scaling  of  a  tower  by 
an  armed  host : — 

'  "  What  scene  is  represented  by  the  capture  of  this  fortress  ?*'  said  I 
to  the  prince.  He  rephcd ;  ^'  It  must  be  the  battle  of  Lepanto  !  1 1 " 
I  gave  a  look  at  him  to  see  whether  hie  oouutcuaQoe  betrayed  any 
merTiment ;  but  it  rcnmiiied  perfectly  Berious,  and — mnmiJ^iL  p.  79. 

Ladies,  of  course,  are  not  to  be  expected  to  rise  in  these  matters 
much  above  the  level  of  fathers  and  husbands.  One  fair  dame 
requested  from  Azeglio  an  account  of  a  great  Paramano  which 
had  arrived  in  Rome  from  Paris,  and  had  been  the  subject  of 
much  conversational  eulogy.     He  was  at  first  utterly  at  a  lots  for 

a  reply, 


80  Beminueences  of  Mauimo  dtAxeglh, 

a  reply,  not  knowing  what  in  the  world  a  Paramano  could  be ; 
but  in  time  he  made  out  that  it  was  a  Panorama  !  ^  La  differenza 
era  poca*  is  his  comment 

There  arrived  in  Rome  a  Piedmontese  noble,  a  friend  of  Mas- 
simo, the  Marquis  Lascaris  di  Ventimiglia,  whose  only  daughter 
subsequently  married  a  brother  of  the  celebrated  minister  CaTour. 
Ventimiglia  was  a  man  of  excellent  character,  highly  cultivated, 
amiable,  original,  and  passionately  fond  of  art  and  artists.  He 
saw  a  picture  which  Massimo  had  just  completed,  and  offered  to 
buy  it  Now  much  as  our  artist  had  desired  this  consummation, 
it  was  with  something  of  a  struggle  that  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
the  acceptance  of  his  first  payment  for  his  picture.  But  haying 
argued  with  himself  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of,  he 
resolved  to  take  his  money  like  a  man  with  his  own  hands,  and  to 
look  boldly  into  the  face  of  the  purchaser.  He  was  not,  however, 
quite  sure  whether  at  the  critical  moment  he  thoroughly  and 
unflinchingly  carried  out  his  programme.  For  the  means  of 
independence  thus  acquired  he  felt  thankful  to  the  Giver  of  all 
good.  He  was  destined  in  after  years  to  feel  doubly  thankful  for 
such  a  means  of  subsistence.  Having  munificently  spent  his 
official  gains  in  works  of  charity,  he  had  recourse  to  his  pencil 
again  on  ceasing  to  be  a  minister  of  the  Crown. 

Meanwhile  his  artistic  tours  taught  him  much  concerning  the 
governors  and  the  governed  in  the  Papal  States.  He  learnt  more 
and  more  to  think  favourably  of  the  latter  and  unfavourably  of  the 
former.  Our  limits  will  not  permit  us  to  go  into  details,  though 
some  of  them  are  amusing  enough.  But  Azeglio's  general  report 
of  the  population  around  Rome  strikes  us  as  being  remarkably 
accordant  with  the  twenty-third  chapter  of  that  excellent  work, 
so  justly  recommended  by  Lord  Stanhope,  '  Six  Months  in  Italy,' 
by  the  American  traveller,  Mr.  Hillard.  On  the  Roman  aris- 
tocracy we  have  the  following  general  reflections : — 

*  Good  service  has  doubtless  been  done  by  vigorous  aristocraoiea. 
The  French,  our  own,  the  German,  and  others,  in  war,  the  English 
in  statesmanship,  have  produced  great  and  admirable  men  and  deeds ; 
but  from  an  aristocracy  of  the  dolce  far  ntente,  such  as  is  the  Boman 
(tho  ofi&pring  and  slave  of  the  papacy  for  the  most  part),  what  could 
be  hoped  ?  Tho  clergy,  who  made  it  rich,  were  half  afraid  of  it,  and 
would  not  have  it  powerful ;  but  excluded  it  from  all  political  inter- 
ference; extinguished  in  luxury  and  forced  idleness  all  its  higher 
qualities :  hence  followed  sloth,  degradation,  ruin !  But  we  shall  come 
back  to  this  subject  again  presently. 

'  This  vice  is  by  no  means  specially  confined  to  aristocracies ;  it 
may  be  seen  in  eJl  classes  to  whom  are  granted  such  privileges  as 
render  it  needless  for  them  to  possess  any  intrinsic  value,  or  real 
merit,  or  any  laudable  object  of  existence. 

'The 


Metmmicenc&i  of  Mmmm  ttAze^Uo.  81 

*  The  Romao  plebeians,  who  were  priyilegied  to  live  on  regular 
alms  from  tEieir  Emperors,  without  doing  anything  whateverj  became 
the  most  colosBal  mountain  of  canaiUe  recorded  by  history, 

*  And  alfts  I  tho  ancient  do^iattv^t  and  the  monies  for  indulgences, 
in  Papal  RomOj  havo  perpetuated  those  *5ad  traditions,  still  living  and 
powerful  in  the  people  to  this  day ;  and  their  eldorado  is^  to  make 
halfpence  mthmit  caruimj  them. 

'  Nepotism  was  the  creator  of  the  largest  portion  of  the  Eoman 
families  in  the  **  Book  of  Gold/'  Whilst  in  our  lands,  a»  I  said  before, 
tho  nobility  won  their  titles  on  the  battle-field^  the  Roman  nofolcB 
gained  theirs  ia  eourts;  and  as  for  tbeir  riches,  I  think  I  do  not 
gX>^k  too  severely  of  thsir  origin  wlien  I  say,  that  if  the  shades  of  all 
the  Cardinal  nephews  could  be  evoked,  and  each  of  them  made  to 
publish  his  account  book,  we  should  have  some  sti^ange  revel  ationja** — 
ii.  pp.  C9,  77, 

It  mustf  we  think,  be  owned,  that  Massimo  d'Azeglio  did  not 
wholly  and  entirely  escape  the  contagion  of  the  tone  of  society  around 
him.  In  his  first  volume  he  tells  of  an  early  love  which  was  pure 
and  honourable ;  and  he  takes  occasion  to  express  his  indignation 
at  those  popular  French  novelists  of  the  time  of  Louis  Philippe, 
who  had  done  their  best  to  lower  the  tone  of  national,  and  perhaps 
of  European,  sentiment  in  all  that  concerns  the  tender  passion. 
But  the  long  and  fervent  admiration  which  he  cherkhed  for  a 
lady  in  Rome,  though  never  leading  apparently  to  any  overt  mis- 
chief, was,  we  fear,  irregular  and  culpable.  The  object  of  his 
passion  was  endowed  with  a  beauty  that  was  extraordinaryj  even 
in  that  land  of  beautiful  women.  But  she  was  utterly  destitute 
of  any  elevation  of  mind,  and  finally  cashiered  Azeglio  for  another 
admirer  by  a  ruse^  which  could  hardly  have  succeeded  with  one 
less  infatuated  than  he  appears  to  have  been.  Perhaps  men  of 
letters,  especially  the  imaginative  writers,  feel  more  deeply  or 
disclose  more  openly  their  wounds  of  the  heart.  As  reg^ards 
AzeglioV  unfortunate  attachment,  it  is  our  earnest  desire  to  abstain 
from  anything  like  Pharisaic  criticism.  A  country  with  such 
records  as  those  of  our  Divorce  Court  before  it  had  better  be 
chary  of  censure  upon  the  manners  of  other  lands.  Above  all,  it 
must  not  be  forgotten,  that  but  for  our  author's  unflinching  honesty 
no  word  of  this  episode  would  ever  have  reached  the  general  ear. 
He  who  thus  lays  bare  his  faults  has  earned  the  right  of  demand- 
ing our  faith  in  his  truthfulness  and  honesty*  Most  gladly  would 
we  have  passed  by  this  topic  in  silence,  after  the  example  of  a 
French  critic  of  the  *  Reminiscences/  But  would  such  reticence 
be  paying  real  honour  to  the  memory  of  one  so  candid  and  so  open 
in  all  his  words  and  deeds?  We  cannot  think  it  In  his  own 
emphatic  language,  '  Sirivendo  di  mCy  debbo  most mr mi  quale  sono* 

.  Voh  123,— JV<?,  24a,  o  Dcbba 


82  HmmnUcencei  of  Massimo  dCAzegho. 

Debbo  esser  w,  proprio  iOy  e  non  un  altro.^     We  speak,  then,  as 
as  we  believe  that  he  would  have  wished  us  to  have  spoken. 

In  1823  occurred  the  death  of  Pope  Pius  VI  i.  Such  an  event, 
says  Azeglio,  always  fills  the  population  of  Rome  with  incredible 
delight.  It  is  not  necessarily  hatred  of  the  deceased  that  evokes 
such  sentiments,  but  the  excitement,  the  possibility  of  advantage. 
For  as  each  Cardinal  has  a  long  tale  of  connections,  every  city  in 
Italy  has  its  own  interests — its  own  hopes  and  illusions.  The 
election  of  the  aged  valetudinarian  Delia  Genga,  who  took  the 
title  of  Leo  XII.,  thus  far  increased  the  joy  that  it  involved  the 
overthrow  of  the  administration  of  ConsalvL  Our  author's  refieo 
tions  on  the  many  virtues  of  this  famous  Cardinal  Secretary,  and 
his  many  mistakes,  form  a  valuable  contribution  to  history.  But 
we  have  not  space  for  them  in  our  pages. 

The  new  Pope  determined  to  have  the  year  1825  kept  as  a 
year  of  jubilee.  The  mention  of  this  subject  brings  us  to  the 
consideration  of  one  cause  of  the  g^at  interest,  which  Massimo 
d'Azeglio*s  writings  possess  for  many  minds.  There  are  those 
who  feel  an  instinctive  distrust  of  partisan  works  respecting  Rome. 
In  all  places  men  have  a  great  tendency  to  see  what  they  desire 
to  see ;  but  nowhere  is  this  tendency  more  marked  than  in  books 
about  Italy  and  Rome.  An  emissary  from  Exeter  Hall,  an  Irish 
ultramontane  member  of  Parliament,  might  be  thought  to  be 
describing  two  different  cities  and  two  different  sets  of  men.  It 
is  one  great  charm  of  these  ^  Reminiscences'  that  we  have  in  them 
the  evidence  of  a  man  who  was  always  a  sincere  Roman  Catholic 
in  his  creed,  in  his  later  years  a  very  earnest  one,  but  who  was  also 
an  eye-witness  of  facts  which  he  recorded  when  no  one  else 
dared  to  speak,  and  when  such  speech  involved  the  risk  of 
banishment  from  Italy. 

Now  a  jubilee  is  sometimes  described  on  the  one  side  by  ultm- 
protestants  as  a  mere  means  of  making  money.  Cardinal  Wise- 
man, on  the  other  hand,  in  his  weak  and  reticent  'Personal 
Reminiscences  of  Four  Popes,'  declares  that  it  is  a  great  pecuniary 
loss,  although  (if  we  recollect  aright)  he  regards  it  as  an  unmixed 
spiritual  benefit  for  all  concerned.  It  is  curious  to  find  Aseglio 
leaving  Rome  because  of  the  jubilee.  He  knew  that  for  twelve 
months  every  form  of  amusement,  theatres,  feasts,  balls,  receptions, 
would  have  to  give  way  to  sermons,  missions,  processions,  and 
other  religious  functions.  Of  the  sincerity  of  the  proceedings  he 
appears  to  have  felt  no  doubt ;  but  he  had  likewise  no  doubt  of 
what  would  be  the  effect  on  his  own  mind.  Convinced  that  the 
result  would  be  injurious,  he  visited  his  parents  at  Turin.  When, 
in  the  following  year,  he  returned  to  Rome,  he  found  his  youthful 

lay 


Remimscences  of  Mammo  ctAzeglio. 


83 


lay  contemporaries  perfectly  maddened  iarrabbiati}  against  the 
priests  and  their  system,  ^One  may  imagine,*  he  adds,  *tlie 
profit  that  thence  accrued  to  the  true  moral  and  religious  sense/ 
Surely  if  jubilees  must  be  held,  they  ought,  in  a  city  of  150,000 
people,  to  be  restricted  to  a  particular  area,  and  the  rest  of  the 
place  left  free  for  its  usual  occupations. 

In  the  meantime  his  skill  and  reputation  as  an  artist  had 
obtained  for  him  a  really  enalted  position.  And  here  it  may  Ije 
observed  that  Azcglio^s  *  Reminiscences'  tend  greatly  to  support 
the  observations  made  by  Mr,  John  Stuart  Mill,  in  his  address  at 
St.  Andrew's,  respecting-  the  far  more  intimate  connection  between 
life  and  art  whicb  obtains  in  continental  countries  than  is  at  all 
the  case  io  England/  It  is  true  that  many  of  Azeglio's  pictures 
were  only  landscapes,  and  tliat  some  of  his  historical  pieces,  such 
as  that  of  the  *  Death  of  Montmorency,'  do  not  betray  any  inti- 
mate association  with  the  dominant  current  of  bis  thoughts*  But 
many  of  them  are  closely  intertwined  with  the  objects  of  his  political 
aspirations.  To  an  English  spectator,  for  example,  a  picture  of 
the  baitle  of  TbermopyltJe  may  be  replete  with  noble  assoclationif 
but  the  thoughts  suggested  are  mainly  those  of  the  past.  It  was 
far  otherwise  with  the  youth  of  Italy  some  forty  years  since.  To 
them  the  Persians  meant  Austrians,  and  the  Spartans — who  were 
to  prove  the  Spartans  was  still  the  question?  But  many  a  one 
would  probably  walk  away  from  Azeglio's  painting,  repeating 
inwardly  that  stately  ode  of  Leopardi*s  addressed  to  Jtaly^  which 
begins  with  the  words — 

*  0  patria  mia,  vedo  le  miira  e  gli  archi 
E  le  coloune  e  1  eimulacri  e  Termo 
Torn  dogli  tti?i  nostri. 
Ma  la  ^hria  n<m  pedo* — 

and  presently  proceeds  to  apostrophise  the  '  ever-honoured  and 
glorious  Thessallan  straits,  where  Persia  and  Fate  proved  less 
strong  than  a  few  frank  and  generous  souls/ 

The  picture  of  Montmorency's  death  made  a  great  impression 
both  in  Rome  and  in  Turin.  The  artist's  father  was  in  ecstacies. 
He  desired  to  present  Massimo  to  the  King,  Charles  Felix ;  and 
hoped  to  obtain  for  his  son  a  |:»ost  at  court,  the  ofHce  known  as 
that  of  gefUiluomo  di  bocca.  JSIasaimo's  heart  sank  within  him. 
Life  at  court  would  to  him  be  misery,  and  yet  to  refuse  his  father 


♦  We  may  venture  to  say  that  A^eglio  wo^ld  have  read  with  8|-i£ipathy  and 

delight  the  article  on  LcopBrdi  which  appeared  id  this  *  Review  *  a  kw  yciirs 

^  Msee  ;  hut  we  stispect  that  he  waa  no  grt?at  master  of  Euglish,  and  w*j  caatiot  hut 

^  tfedok  that  he  tearcely  did  justice  to  ilie  Eiiglish  character  and  Euglisih  itaicsmeo. 

Q  2  «      and 


84  Reminiscences  of  Massimo  dCAzegUo. 

and  run  counter  to  all  the  parental  notions  of  life  was  hardlj  pos- 
sible. He  assented,  but  coldly,  and  the  matter  was  soon  dropped. 
^Mj  entrance  at  court,'  he  adds  with  natural  exultation,  *was 
destined  to  be  in  another  shape  and  on  other  grounds  twenty-one 
years  later.'  At  that  date  he  came  into  the  presence  of  his 
Sovereig:n,  not  as  an  Usher  or  Chamberlain,  but  as  first  Minister 
of  the  Crown. 

The  autobiography  before  us  does  not  include  that  later  period 
of  Azeglio's  life,  to  which  reference  is  here  made.  But  the 
affectionate  daughter  (his  only  child,  the  Countess  Ricci)  who  has 
given  to  the  world  these  interesting  volumes,  has  added  in  a  sup- 
plement a  brief  epitome  of  its  chief  events.  Much  light  is  thrown 
upon  this  later  portion  by  the  other  work  placed  at  the  head  of 
this  article  ;  the  collection  of  Azeglio*s  political  correspondence 
during  the  last  nineteen  eventful  years  (1847  to  1866)  of  his 
strangely-varied  life.  These  letters  are  lovingly  and  excellently 
edited  by  his  friend  M.  Eugene  Rendu,  to  whom  the  majority  of 
them  were  addressed,  and  we  much  regret  that  we  cannot  find 
room  for  the  many  interesting  citations  which  might  be  made 
from  them.  Azeglio's  remarks  concerning  Victor  Emmanuel ; 
his  criticisms  on  MM.  de  Montalembert  and  Veuillot;  his  refer- 
ences to  the  Pope's  Encyclical  of  1864  ;  the  delight  with  which 
he  quoted  a  speech  delivered  in  the  same  year  by  Lord  Stanley  at 
King's  Lynn,*  in  favour  of  the  proposal  of  Florence  as  the  capital 
of  Italy ;  these  and  several  other  features  in  M.  Rendu's  collec- 
tion, combined  with  the  eloquent  preface  of  the  editor,  would 
possess  for  many  readers  great  attractions.  We  must  at  this 
point  content  ourselves  with  a  single  sentence,  which  embodies 
one  of  our  author's  most  favourite  and  prominent  ideas,  *  Le  bien 
de  PEglise !  nul  ne  le  desire  plus  que  moi,  a  condition  qu'elle 
soit  une  Eglise  en  effet,  et  non  une  Police,^ 

During  those  latter  years  Azeglio  went  through  an  eventful 
career.  He  fought,  and  received  a  severe  wound,  at  the  disastrous 
battle  of  Novara.  He  was  then  for  some  three  years,  until  1852, 
chief  Minister  to  Victor  Emmanuel,  until  his  friend  Cavour 
(whom  he  had  introduced  into  office)  became  the  more  trusted 
adviser  of  the  King  and  people  in  Piedmont.  Cavour's  ascen^ 
dancy  was  fairly  won,  and  Azeglio  supported  him  in  his  policy  of 


*  In  this  speech  Lord  Stanley  slightly  satirized  the  desire  to  hare  Rome  fortbe 
capital  of  the  Italian  kingdom.  '  Avouez'  said  Azeglio,  after  having  quoted  the 
speech,  •  qiCon  ne  naurait  nous  railler  arec  plu$  de  grace  et  plus  de  bon  sens.* — 
(p.  303,  note.)  It  is  a  cnrious  coincidence  that  Lord  Stanley,  as  Foreign  Secretair, 
should  Iiave  summoned  Massimo  d'Azeglio's  nephew,  the  present  Marquis,  to  take 
his  seat  at  the  recent  conference  concerning  Luxemburg. 

joining 


Memitmcences  of  MasMinw  fTAzefflith 

joining  the  allies  in  the  Crimean  war.  At  a  subsequent  date, 
when  Garibakli  made  his  famous  expedition  into  tlio  Jiin^dnm  of 
Naples,  Azeglio  differed  from  Cavour  both  as  to  means  and  ends. 
He  could  not  approve  of  the  manner  in  which  the  attack  on  Sicily 
was  made,  and  his  deep  conviction  of  the  corrupt  state  of  the 
Neapolitan  dominions  led  him  ia  question  the  possibility  of  their 
proving^  a  real  acquisition  to  the  kingdom  of  Northern  Italy.  But 
when  Italy  had  at  length  been  acknowledged  by  the  majority  of 
the  great  powers  as  a  consolidated  kingdom,  he  in  time  not  only 
accepted  the  new  condition  of  things,  but  protested  against  any 
attempt  to  undo  what  had  been  accomplished.  In  1859  Cavour 
sent  him  as  plenipotentiary  to  Paris  and  to  Londtm,  rejoicing  in 
the  convictioti  that  Azeglio's  acceptance  of  such  a  post  would  be 
regarded,  both  by  France  and  England,  es  a  proof  that  the  then 
newly- formed  North  Italian  kingdom  did  not  desire  to  play  the 
part  of  a  revolutionary  fire-brand  in  Europe.  During  the  summer 
of  1859,  the  year  of  the  campaign  of  MagcnLi  and  Solferino,  ha 
had  employment  both  civil  and  military  ;  and  in  1860  he  became 
for  a  few  months  Governor  of  that  city  of  Milan,  in  which  he  had 
previously  spent  some  years,  and  had  married  the  daughter  of  the 
celebratetl  Manzoni*  Tiie  difference  of  opinion  between  him  and 
Cavour  on  the  matters  of  Southern  Italy  did  not  dissolve  the  ties 
I  of  friendship,  and  AzegHo  bitterly  regretted  the  death  of  the 
premier,  which  occurred,  as  our  readers  will  remember,  in  the 
summer  of  186L 

To  a  certain  extent  Massimo  d*Asfieglio  occupied  a  peculiar 
and  isolated  position.  Ever  since  the  death  of  his  father,  in 
1^31,  he  had  become  an  earnestly  religious  Roman  Catholic  t 
although  the  avarice  respecting  fees  exhibited  on  that  occasion  by 
the  Turinese  clergy  and  officials  was  a  trial  alike  to  his  faith  and 
tempen  But  diis  increased  seriousness  only  intensified  his  strong 
convictions  respecting  the  badness  of  the  Papal  Government, 
es]}ecially  in  the  Ho  magna  :  though  5,  in  conjunction  with  other 
elements  in  his  character,  it  renderetl  him  more  completely  anti- 
Mazzmian,  Two  famous  personages,  Garibaldi  and  Pius  IX,, 
are  both  referred  to  in  his  letters  in  tones  of  lamentation  on 
account  of  the  deplorable  interval  whichj  in  each  of  them,  exists 
between  the  heart  and  the  head.  Of  the  Pope  he  writes  even  so 
lately  as  1854,  after  all  the  disappointments  of  1849,  ^J'aiaimeie 
pauvre  Fio  Nono  etje  taime  eiicoreJ  Of  Garibaldi  he  says,  *  Co^ur 
d'or^  tete  de  huffie,^  Again,  referring  to  his  own  position,  he  adds, 
*  I  am  under  the  ban  of  the  court  for  too  great  sincerity ;  under 
the  ban  of  the  Catholic  party  for  tresison  against  the  Papal 
Government ;  under  the  han  of  die  freemasons  as  an  opponent  of 

the 


8B  Beminiseenees  of  Mammo  dtAzylio. 

the  plan  for  having  Rome  as  our  capital ;  under  the  bmn  of  the 
sects  and  of  the  reds  for  having  told  them  too  hard  truths.** 

We  have  been  compelled  to  pass  in  silence  many  portioiis  of 
the  ^Reminiscences;'  more  especially  the  author's  general  re- 
flections upon  such  themes  as  education.  Napoleon  I.,  and 
conquerors  in  general,  the  characteristics  of  the  ancient  RomaQS, 
and  other  topics.  This,  however,  we  regret  the  less,  because 
these  parts  of  the  book  are,  in  our  judgment,  decidedly  the  least 
happy  and  successful.  Undeniably  great  and  most  deservedly 
loved  and  honoured  as  an  Italian,  we  question  whether  Aieglio 
shines  equally,  when  he  comes  forward  as  a  citizen  of  the  world. 
Indeed  in  some  cases  his  very  prominence  and  ardour  in  the  one 
character  seem  to  have  proved  injurious  to  his  performance  of 
the  more  extended  role.  It  has  been  said,  that  in  novels  written 
by  ladies,  men  are  usually  described,  not  as  they  appear  to  their 
fellow-men,  but  only  as  they  appear  to  women :  that  the  main 
question  at  issue  is,  not  how  did  this  man  act  in  his  calling, 
whatever  that  may  have  been,  but  how  did  he  behave  towards 
the  heroine?  A  somewhat  analogous  sentiment  seems  occa- 
sionally to  pervade  the  reasonings  of  Azeglio.  Italia  is  Aw 
heroine ;  and  alike  concerning  men  and  nations  his  first  question 
is,  how  have  they  behaved  towards  her  9  Thus,  for  instance,  he  is 
found  constantly  denouncing  Napoleon  I.,  and  as  constantly  eulo- 
gizing Napoleon  III.  *Afon  ideefixey  he  says  in  a  letter,  *eMque^ 
dans  r/iistoirey  le  neveu  aura  le  dessus  sur  Foncfe,*  We  do  not 
pause  to  discuss  the  correctness  or  incorrectness  of  this  opinion  ; 
but  thus  much  we  may  safely  assert,  that  Massimo  d'Azeglio 
is  not  an  unprejudiced  judge  in  the  case.  He  thinks,  almost 
exclusively,  of  the  relation  which  each  bore  to  Italy.  The  work 
achieved  by  the  First  Consul  for  France  does  not  seem  to  come 
into  his  field  of  vision.  This  is  the  more  remarkable  when  we 
call  to  mind  that  he  had  the  sincerest  admiration  for  his  father^ 
in-law,  Manzoni ;  whose  famous  ode  on  the  death  of  Napoleon, 
entitled  Ml  Cinque  Maggio,'  does  such  ample  justice  to  the 
statesman  as  well  as  to  the  captain.  We  must  add  with  regret, 
that  his  attack  upon  the  utility  of  classical  studies  seems  to  us 
commonplace  and  superficial ;  and  we  fear  that  a  similar  verdict 
must  be  pronounced  upon  his  criticisms  concerning  pagan  Rome. 
Often,  however,  when  we  differ  most  from  Azeglio's  judgments, 
we  find  ourselves  charmed  by  the  fresh  and  lively  style  in  which 
his  opinions  are  recorded.     Possibly  some  idea  of  the  merits  of 

*  The  eridenee  for  the  assertions  made  in  this  paragraph  will  be  found  partly 
in  the  '  Reminiscences,'  but  more  emphatically  and  summarily  in  M.  Rendu  s  pre- 
face to  the  Letters. 

the 


Itemimscmces  of  Masmmo  ^Azefflio. 


87 


the  *  Reminiscences*  in  this  respect  may  bare  been  suggested, 
even  in  a  translation,  by  our  extracts.  As  regards  his  command 
over  the  French  language,  M.  Rendu,  no  mean  judge,  has  declared 
liat  many  of  his  letters  are  models  da  plm  Jin  et  anssi  dti  plus 
t^and  style  ;  that  in  all  of  them  may  be  traced  the  graces  of  a 
mind  which  showers,  playfully  and  unconsciously,  felicitous 
expressions  as  well  as  lofty  thoughts. 

But  we  have  not  yet  tracetl  the  links  of  connection  between 
Azeglio  the  artist,  and  Azeglio  the  author  and  the  pfjlitician. 
To  do  this  we  must  have  recourse  to  the  latter  half  of  the  second 
volume  of  the  *  Reminiscences/  It  has  been  shown  that  his 
pencil,  not  content  with  the  production  of  mere  landscapes, 
had  been  successfully  engaged  upon  historical  subjects,  In 
1833  he  selected  for  pictorial  treatment  an  event  in  Italian 
history  known  as  T/ie  Chaliem/e  of  Burhtta;  a  ^w a 5! -duel  which 
had  occurred  at  the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth  century  between 
certain  French  and  Italian  officers.  While  he  was  engaged  with 
his  brushy  a  conviction  of  its  inadequacy,  as  a  means  of  saying 
ail  tbat  he  wished,  rushed  forcibly  upon  his  mind*  His  father- 
Lin-law  bad  won  European  fame  by  '1  Fromessi  Sposi;'  his 
friend  Grossi  had  followed,  if  at  some  distance,  yet  not  unsuc- 
cessfully, with  his  *  Marco  Visconti.*  Might  not  he,  Mcissimo 
d'Azegiio,  succeed  in  hinting,  through  a  tale  of  the  past,  some 
of  his  thoughts  upon  the  actualities  of  the  present :  some  of  his 
views  on  matters  pol  iticai  and  ecclesiastical  ?  The  work  was 
begun,  and  in  due  time  its  opening  pages  were  read  by  the 
author  tt>  his  cousin,  Caesar  Hal  bo,  himself  an  able  writer, 
.and  one  not  want  to  be  prodigal  of  praise*  With  considerable 
srvousness  did  Massimo  commeneo  his  task.  Twenty  pages 
rere  read  when  the  critic,  who  had  sat  motionless^  turned  and 
Slid,  *But  this  is  exceedingly  well  written — Ma  qtiesto  e  malia 
bmi  scrittQ^  ^  Never/  says  AzegUo,  *did  mnsic  oi  Rossini  or 
Bellini  sound  more  sweetly  in  my  ears  than  those  words/ 

The   work  was  finished,  and  entitled  *  Ettore  Fieramosca^  o 

La  Sfida  di  Barletta.'    The  next  question  was>  would  the  Austrian 

censor  permit  the  publication  in  Lombardy  of  a  book  intended 

to  suggest  inier  a/fVj,  that  the  Austrians  ought  to  be  driven  out 

^of  Lombardy?     Fortunately  for  Azeglio,  the  censor,  the  Abate 

(fielllnsomt,  was  kindly,  dull,  and  anxious  to  save  himself  trouble* 

The  novelist  plied   htm  with  all  sorts  of  small   attentions,  and 

watched  his  opportunities,     The    imprimatur  was  granted,   the 

book  enjoyed  an  astonishing  and  overwhelming  success ;    and 

.poor  Bellinsomi  was  deprived  of  bis  office*     The  only  marvel  is 

tthat  he  was  ever  appointed  to  it.     The  often-quoted  words  of 

Pindar  speak  of  things  which  aj^  full  of  meaning  for  those  who 


88  Beminiseeneei  of  Massimo  dCAzsgKo. 

are  quick  to  understand,  bat  which  need  interpreting  for  the 
many.  But  here,  amoni^  the  world  of  Italian  readers,  the  awferai 
and  the  to  irav  were  well-nigh  co-extensive  terms.  All  educated 
persons  in  Italy  read  ^  Ettore  Fieramosca,'  and  all  who  read  it 
understood  its  drift  and  purpose. 

The  longer  and  still  finer  tale  of  ^Nicolo  de'  Lapi'  followed 
a  few  years  later.  This  time,  not  unnaturally,  me  Austrian 
censor  forbade  its  publication  in  Lombardy.  But  the  author's 
fame  was  now  established.  The  success  of  die  second  story  was, 
as  it  deserved  to  be,  even  greater  than  that  of  the  former ;  and 
it  will  remain  a  question  for  anodier  generation  whether  it  may 
not  be  placed,  to  say  the  least,  on  a  level  with  *I  Promessi 
Sposi,'  and  claim  with  it  an  enduring  place  in  European,  rather 
than  in  merely  Italian  literature. 

But  with  all  his  success,  both  in  letters  and  in  art,  he  still  felt 
the  want  of  a  great  work  to  engage  his  heart  and  understanding. 
It  came  to  him  unexpectedly ;  it  came  to  him,  he  firmly 
believed,  with  the  blessing,  as  well  as  by  the  ordering,  of  a 
divine  and  benignant  Providence. 

Azeglio  had  gone  to  Rome  for  a  visit  connected  with  art. 
Before  long  messages  from  Adolphus  S.,  of  Pesaro,  and  Philip 
A.,  of  Cesena,  were  conveyed  to  him,  desiring  a  political  conver* 
sation.  He  visited  them  under  pretence  of  seeking  medical 
advice  for  an  asthmatic  complaint  The  asthma,  though  real, 
was  very  slight,  and,  in  fact,  a  mere  pretext ;  and  the  soi-disant 
patient  cannot  recal  the  incident  without  remarking  that  it  is 
one  of  the  worst  evils  of  such  a  government  that  it  leaves  for 
many  no  choice  between  a  prison  and  a  life  of  systematized 
dissimulation.  His  new  friends  told  him  that  a  man  was  needed 
who  should  traverse  many  parts  of  Italy,  but  specially  the  Papal 
States.  The  mission  of  this  mentor  was  to  be  as  follows:  to 
urge  on  the  inhabitants,  that  small  and  isolated  risings  were  a 
mistake,  and  only  did  harm  to  the  cause  they  were  intended  to 
subserve ;  that  it  were  better  to  hold  aloof  from  such  societies  as 
the  Mazzinian  Giovine  Italia  ;  that  it  was  a  duty  to  endure  until 
some  great  occasion  arose  ;  that  an  attempt  must  be  made  to 
win  the  support  of  the  treasury,  army,  and  rulers  of  Piedmont. 
The  emissary  must  be  some  man  not  mixed  up  with  clubs,  sects, 
or  former  uprisings  ;  *  and,  dear  Signor  Azeglio,'  they  added, 
*  we  all  think  that  it  ought  to  be  yoiu  * 

After  his  first  unfeigned  astonishment  was  over,  Azeglio 
consented.  His  freedom  from  all  previous  complicity  with 
plots,  and  his  known  habits  as  an  artist,  gave  him  every  chance 
of  travelling  without  molestation.  He  went  alone,  as  a  painter, 
through  many  a  town  and  hamlet,  carrying  from  each  the  name 

of 


Meminis€mc€s  of  Massimo  (TAze^lia. 

of  the  person  to  wliom  he  was  to  have  recourse  in  the  next  place 
on  his  route.  Although  too  late  to  prevent  the  jU-ad vised  rising 
at  Rimini,  his  exhortations  elsewhere  produced  great  effect, 
Terni,  Spoleto,  Camerino,  Loretto,  Ancona,  were  all  visited  ; 
and  he  then  went  by  Genoa  to  Turin  and  demanded  an  audience 
of  the  King  of  Sardinia,  the  unfortunate  Charles  Albert, 

A  living  English  poet  has  composetl  a  powerful  drama  upon 
an  episode  in  the  history  of  the  house  of  Savoy  in  1730*  When 
a  generation  or  two  shall  have  passed  away^  if  a  man  of  Robert 
Browning's  genius  shall  need  a  subject  for  dramatic  poetry^  the* 
career  of  Charles  Albert  will  furnish  him  with  a  nobler  theme 
than  the  story  of  *  King  Victor  and  King  Charles/  For  Charles 
Albert's  character  presents  one  of  those  singular  mixtures  of 
elements  with  which  second  and  third-rate  writers  of  fiction  or 
of  history  are  utterly  unfit  to  grapple,  but  in  which  masters  of  the 
art^  a  Shakspeare  or  a  Walter  Scott,  revel  with  delight,  because  the 
very  difficulties  arouse  their  genius  and  afford  scope  and  oppor- 
tunity for  their  noblest  triumphs.  Such  an  one  may  some  day 
tell  how  the  Prince  de  Carignano,  when  heir  to  his  uncle's 
throne,  was  known  to  have  cherished  aspirations  on  behalf  of 
Italian  freedom;  how  in  1821  and  1832  he  disappointed  his 
partisans;  how  his  uncle  apparently  forced  him,  almost  as  a 
condition  of  succeeding  him,  to  fight  at  the  Trocadero  in  the 
French  army  which,  in  1823,  crushed  the  premature  attempts  of 
the  Spaniards  ;  how  a  deeply-rooted  vein  of  mystical  piety  (to  the 
sincerity  of  which  even  Azeglio  seems  scarcely  to  do  justice) 
crossed  the  path  of  a  love  of  freedom  which  in  many  minds  was 
unhappily  associated  with  anti-religious  tendencies.  And  then, 
before  he  comes  to  the  campaigns  of  1848-49,  the  overthrow  at 
NovarEj  die  abdication  and  speedy  death  of  the  last  King  of 
Sardinia,  he  will  study  the  following  recited  from  the  pen  of  one 
of  the  chief  actors  in  this  eventful  drama  i — 

'  I  requested  an  audience  and  it  was  grauted  at  once,  which  I 
thought  a  good  omen*  The  time  fitted  was,  as  was  usual  with  Charles 
Albert,  six  in  the  mornings  which  at  that  season  of  the  year  meant 
before  day  dawned ;  and  at  the  appointed  hour  I  entered  the  Eoyal 
pal&ce  (which  was  all  awake  and  fully  lighted  up  whilst  the  city  still 
i^pi)^  and  I  entered  it  with  a  bating  heart.  After  one  minuta  of 
antechamber,  the  equerry  in  waiting  opened  a  door  for  me,  and  I  found 
myself  in  tho  saloon  next  after  the  state  antechamber,  and  in  presence 
of  Charles  Albert^  who  stood  erect  near  a  ivindow ;  he  replied,  by  a 
courteous  bend  of  the  head,  to  my  re  spec tf id  reverence,  pointed  to 
a  stool  in  the  embrikflure  of  the  window,  invited  me  to  seat  myself 
thereon,  and  placed  himself  immediately  opposite  to  n^e* 

*  The  King  was  at  that  date,  a  mystery ;  and  (although  his  sub-* 
sequent  conduct  was  explicit  enough)  wiU  remain  a  mystery  in  gome 


90  Reminisemces  of  Moisimo  JPAzegUo. 

degree,  eyen  for  liiBtory.  At  that  period  the  prinoipal  events  of 
his  life,  the  twenty-one  and  the  thirty-two,  were  assuredly  not  in  his 
fitYOor :  no  one  could  make  out  what  was  the  connecting  link,  in  his 
mind,  between  his  grand  ideas  of  Italian  Independence  and  Austrian 
marriages ;  between  tendencies  to  the  aggrandizement  of  the  House  of 
Savoy,  and  the  favouring  of  Jesuits  or  retaining  in  his  service  such 
men  as  Escarena,  Solaro  della  Margherita,  &c. ;  between  an  apparatus 
of  even  womanish  piety  and  penitence,  and  the  greatness  of  mind  and 
firmness  of  character  implied  by  such  daring  projects. 

'  Hence  no  one  trusted  Charles  Albert.     A  great  evil  for  a  man 
*  situated  as  he  was ;  for  the  small  arts  whereby  men  hope  to  retain  the 
support  of  all  parties,  usually  end  in  alienating  alike  the  goodwill 
ofalL 

'  His  very  appearance  had  something  inexplicable  about  it.  Ex- 
tremely tall  and  slight,  with  a  long  pale  &ce  of  habitually  stem 
character,  he  had,  when  he  spoke  to  you,  the  gentlest  expression,  most 
sympathetic  tones  of  voice,  and  kind  and  familiar  words.  He  exer- 
cised a  positive  fascination  over  all  with  whom  he  conversed ;  and  I 
recollect  that  during  his  first  few  words,  whilst  he  inquired  after 
myself  (whom  he  had  not  seen  for  some  little  time)  wiUi  a  kindly 
courtesy  peculiarly  his  own,  I  had  to  make  a  continued  effort,  and  say 
to  myself  perpetually, — "  Trust  not,  Massimo  I  "  to  prevent  my  being 
carried  away  by  the  winning  seduction  of  his  words  and  manner. 

'  Unfortunate  monarch !  He  had  in  him  so  much  of  the  good  and 
great,  why  would  he  believe  in  intrigue  ? 

'In  his  courteous  inquiries  after  me,  he  happened  to  say  ^And 
where  do  you  come  from  now  ? ''  which  exactly  furnished  me  with  the 
thread  whereon  to  hang  all  I  had  to  say,  1  did  not  let  it  escape  me, 
but  addressed  him  as  follows : 

*  "  Your  Majesty,  I  have  traversed  city  by  city,  a  great  part  of  Italy, 
and  if  I  have  now  asked  for  admission  to  your  presence,  it  is  because, 
if  your  Majesty  will  permit  me,  I  should  like  to  explain  to  you  the 
present  state  of  Italy,  and  what  I  have  seen  and  talked  of,  with  men 
of  every  country  and  of  every  rank,  concerning  political  questions." 

*  Charles  Albebt.  '*  Oh  speak,  by  all  means,  you  will  do  me  a 
pleasure." ' 

Azeglio,  after  recounting  all  that  he  had  seen  and  done,  asked 
the  King  whether  he  approved  or  disapproved  of  his  conduct. 

'  I  awaited  in  silence  the  reply,  which  the  expression  of  the  Song's 
countenance  told  me  would  not  be  harsh ;  but  which,  so  far  as  tibe 
important  part  of  the  matter  was  concerned,  I  expected  would  be  an 
i&M  redHbis^  leaving  me  as  wise  as  before.  Instead  of  this,  without  in 
the  least  hesitating  or  avoiding  my  glance,  but  (on  the  contrary) 
fixing  his  eyes  on  mine,  Charles  Albert  said  calmly,  but  resolutely : 
,.  '  *'  Tell  those  gentlemen  to  be  quiet  and  not  to  move;  as  there  is 
nothing  possible  to  be  done  at  this  moment.  But  tell  them  that  when 
the  opportunity  does  arise,  my  life,  the  lives  of  my  sons^  my  arms,  my 
treasure,  my  army,  all  shaU  he  spent  in  the  cause  of  Italy" 

*  I,  who 


Meminiscences  qf  Mammo  StAzegUo*  91 

*  I,  wljo  had  expected  bo  different  a  responga,  stood  a  moment  mute, 
unable  to  fiiid  one  syllable  of  reply*  I  thought  I  must  have  mifl- 
understood.  I,  however,  speedily  recovered  myself;  but  I  think  the 
King  perceived  the  amazement  I  had  felt, 

*  Tlie  scheme  ha  had  io  reeolutely  laid  down  to  me,  and  ftbove  all 
the  pbraae  '*  Tell  thme  genflernen^'  hii  so  astounded  me,  that  I  could 
scarcely  believe  T  had  henrd  aright. 

*  Bat  mea.n while,  the  great  matter  for  me  was  to  comprehend  folly ; 
for  then  as  now,  I  always  like  to  play  with  mj  cards  on  the  table ; 
and  I  think  that  all  equivocating,  and  worse  still  all  deception,  doei 
barm. 

*  Thanking  him  therefore,  and  saying  that  I  felt  (m  indeed  I 
a^m^edly  did)  touched  and  delighted  at  his  frankneB%  1  took  ca3>e  to 
engraft  into  my  answer  his  very  words,  sayings"  /  tcill  then  tell  tho$e 
ffmilemm.''  *  .  *  .  He  bent  his  head  in  token  of  assent,  to  escpkin  to 
ma  Ihat  I  had  rightly  understood  him,  and  then  dismissed  me ;  and 
wben  we  both  rose  to  our  feet,  ho  laid  his  hands  on  mj  shoulder,  and 
toncbed  both  my  cheeks  with  both  his,  first  the  one,  then  the  other. 

*  That  embrace  had  about  it  something  so  studied,  so  cold,  indeed  I 
might  w^y  so  funereal,  that  it  froze  me ;  and  the  internal  voice,  that 
terrible  •*  irtM  noi,^^  arose  in  my  heart :  tremendous  condemnation  of 
the  habitually  mstmte,  to  be  suspected  even  when  they  speak  the  truth. 

*  And  he  had  spoken  it  then— my  unfortunate  Bovereign  I — aa  eventa 
liroved, 

'  Who  eottld  have  told  me,  as  we  two  sat  in  that  embrasoT©  of  a 
window,  on  those  two  gilded  ottomans  covered  with  green  and  white 
lowered  silk  (which  make  me  shudder  now  every  time  1  see  them), 
tliat  whilst  he  was  offering  through  mo  arms,  treasure,  and  life  to  the 
Italians,  I  was  unjust  not  to  trust  him  instantly  and  wholly  ?  Who 
could  have  foretold  to  me^  that  that  great  opportunity  (so  distant 
apparently  in  1845,  and  which  both  of  us  despaired  of  living  to  see 
arrive)  was  appointed  by  God  to  appear  only  three  years  later  ?  And 
tliat  in  that  war,  so  im])ossibIe  according  to  alt  appearanceB  then,  he 

\  to  lose  his  Crown,  then  his  conutry,  then  his  life ;  and  that  for 
loat  as  Firat  Minister  to  his  son,  ivas  reserved  the  mournful  duty  of 
fleeing  him  laid  (myself  di-awing  up  the  formal  notices)  in  the  royal 
sepulchres  of  the  Buperga  1 1 1 

Poor  hmnan  beings  I  who  fancy  they  direct  events. 


*  As  will  ho  imagined,  I  left  the  palace  with  a  tumult  in  my  heart 
over  which  hovered,  on  outspread  wings,  a  great  and  splendid  hope, 

*  I  returned  to  my  little  room  on  the  last  slope  of  Trombetta,  and 
sat  down  instantly  at  my  desk  to  write  to  the  one  among  my  cor- 
i*espondents  who  was  to  communicate  the  reply  to  the  remainder, 

'  Before  quitting  them  I  had  invented  a  cypher,  of  an  utterly 
different  nature  from  all  the  usual  ones ;  a  most  safe  cypher  and  ono 
which  m  my  opinion  would  defy  all  attempts  to  road  it,  hut  most 
troublesome  to  compose  in.    So  I  did  not  write  my  letter  ctuicklj. 

It 


92  Beminiacences  of  Massimo  ^Azeglio. 

It  conyejcd  all  tho  precise  tenoiir  of  Charles  Albert's  replj ;  bat  in 
order  to  be  scrapulously  exact,  and  not  risk  giving  as  a  oeirtainty  what 
might  be  only  my  own  impression,  I  ended  thus ;  *'  Tk&se  were  (he 
icords  ;  the  heart  God  se^s.''*  * 

Each  kept  his  promise  faithfully.  Charles  Albert,  thoagb  no 
strategist,  and  out-general  led  by  the  superior  skill  of  Radetxky, 
fought  to  the  last  with  that  calm  courage  in  which  none  of  his 
long  and  ancient  line  have  ever  shown  themselves  wanting. 
An  Austrian  officer  has  done  full  justice  to  the  hapless  monarch's 
coolness  amidst  the  hail  of  bullets  at  Novara.  *  He  was  one  o( 
the  last/  says  this  eye-witness,  ^  who  abandoned  the  heights  of 
the  Bicocca.  Several  times  in  the  retreat  he  turned  towards  ns, 
reining  up  his  horse  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  then,  as  the  balls 
seemed  to  be  unwilling  to  strike  him,  he  walked  his  horse 
slowly  onward  and  regained  the  town.'*  Azeglio,  according 
to  an  agreement  (he  could  not  remember  whether  he  or  the  king 
first  suggested  the  idea),  soon  after  the  interview  published  that 
little  pamphlet  '  On  the  Latest  Events  in  the  Romagna'  {D^li 
uUimi  Cast  di  Romagna)  ;  t  which,  while  blaming  the  imprudence 
of  the  outbreak,  narrated  the  grievances  of  the  inhabitants  in  a 
style  so  calm  and  measured,  so  calculated  to  carry  conviction  of 
the  writer's  truthfulness  into  the  minds  of  its  readers,  and  so 
careful  in  its  details,  that  it  admitted  of  one  reply  and  one  only. 
The  reply  was  the  expulsion  of  himself  from  Tuscany  and  of 
his  wife  from  Lombardy.  But  for  the  first  time  since  1814  the 
banishment  of  an  assailant  of  the  Papal  Court  did  not  include 
the  whole  of  Northern  Italy.  Piedmont  was  still  open;  and 
Azeglio's  sojourn  for  a  season  on  his  native  soil  was  the  com- 
mencement of  a  confidence  on  the  part  of  his  countrymen  in  his 
calmness,  his  reasonableness  and  moral  courage,  which  made 
all  his  words  henceforth  to  be  utterances  of  weight  and  influence. 

We  have  said  that  he  seemed  scarcely  to  do  justice  to  England 
and  Englishmen.  But  we  also  believe  that  he  never  knew  us 
well.  We  trust,  however,  that  such  want  of  knowledge  and 
want  of  appreciation  may  in  no  wise  prove  reciprocal.  Like 
Sismondi,  who  was  the  last  of  an  Italian  race  not  less  ancient 
and  noble  than  the  Taparelli  d'Azeglio,  he  has  given  us  ample 
means  of  knowing  him  ;  and  not  to  avail  ourselves  of  the  oppor- 
tunity would,  we  feel  sure,  be  a  serious  loss  to  ourselves.     We 

♦  Cited  by  M.  Monnier,  •  L'ltalie  est-elle  la  Terre  des  Morts/ 
t  The  '  Christian  Uemembrancer '  has  given  copious  extracts  from  this  pamphlet 
in  an  article  on  the  Papal  Temporalities,  published  in  January,  1867.    It  seems 
right  to  say  that  a  great  moral  improvement  in  the  conduct  of  the  clergy  in  Rome 
1  to  have  taken  place  during  the  last  thirty  yc»ar8, 

shall 


shall  know  more  of  Italj  in  learning  to  understand  one  who  has 
so  powerfiillj  influenced  her  destinies*  And  Italy,  on  her  side, 
is  not  slow  to  recoj^nise  her  debt.  The  graceful  officer-like  form 
of  her  soldier* artist-author-statesman  dwells  deeply  in  the  remem- 
l^aace  of  many  hearts.  Even  while  we  write,  medals  are  beings 
struck  which  display  a  reproduction  of  the  fine  and  striking 
portrait  which  adorns  these  volumes.  The  council  of  Florence 
have  decreed  to  lay  his  mortal  remains  in  thehr  Westminster 
Abbcy^  the  far-famed  sanctuary  of  S&iiia  Croce,  The  muni* 
clpality  of  Turin  has  presented  that  of  Venice  with  an  album 
containing-  photographs  of  the  choicest  productions  of  Asjeglio* s 
pencil.  A  monument  to  his  honour  is  being  raised  by  national 
subscription  in  Turin,  and  a  square  in  the  capital  of  the 
Kingdom  of  [taly  will  long  remind  his  countrymen  of  the  noble 
words  and  deeds,  of  the  exalted  genius  and  lofty  character,  of 
Massimo  d'Azeglio. 


Art,  IV.— Ccjwrfjr  of  Justice  Commmion:   Instructions  for  tM 

Competing  Architects. 


I 


WHEN  Lord  Palmerstons  Government  obtained  the  sanc- 
tion of  Parliament  to  their  scheme  for  the  concentration 
and  reconstruction  of  our  Courts  of  Law,  the  most  essential 
elements  of  the  problem  were  left  to  find  their  own  solution. 
Those  long  years  of  discussion^  which  are  required  by  the  British 
public  for  the  apprehension  of  what  is  obvious,  had  brought  us 
to  see  the  inconvenience  of  having  our  Courts  of  Chancery  seated 
in  sheds  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  and  those  of  Common  Law  crowded 
into  small  ill- ventilated  rooms,  equally  distant,  whether  at  West- 
minster or  Guildhall,  from  the  legal  quarter  of  the  town.  Funds 
were  provided  from  a  source,  the  very  existence  of  which  is  a  md 
proof  of  the  losses  attendant  on  litigation.  The  first  idea  of 
choking  up  the  largest  square  in  London,  by  building  over 
Lincohi^s  Inn  Fields,  having  been  happily  rejected,  a  space 
which  for  the  time  seemed  ample  was  found  a  little  further  to 
the  South,  covered  for  the  most  part  with  that  class  of  tenements 
whose  existence  is  a  foul  blot  on  London*  These  squalid  fever- 
breeding  courts  and  alleys  are  now  in  course  of  demolition,  and 
the  appointed  judges  have  been  for  some  months  deliberating  on 
the  merits  of  eleven  designs  for  occup)jng  the  ground  with 
buildings  covering  an  area  of  soine  seven  acres,  and  presenting 
on  their  several  sides  a  total  frontage  of  2400  feet,  of  which 
700  lo*>k  upon  the  great  thoroughfare  of  the  Strand.  The  mag- 
nificence of  the  drawings  seems  to  have  captivated  the  eyes  of 

inea 


94  The  New  Courts  of  Law. 

men  with  visions  like  that  of  the  youthful  poet,  as  he  ^  beheld 
a  sudden  Thebes  aspiring '  at  the  music  of  Amphion : — 
'  There  might  you  see  tho  lengthoning  ^ures  ascend ; 
The  domes  swell  up,  the  widening  wshea  bend ; 
ITie  growing  iowen  like  exhalaiione  rise. 
And  the  huge  [chimneys]  heave  into  the  skies.' 

And  we  should  almost  as  soon  expect  to  see  a  Temple  of  Fame 
actually  built  from  the  descriptions  of  Chaucer  and  Pope,  as  the 
visions  which  these  competitors  have  shown  us  upon  paper 
translated  into  a  permanent  fabric.  At  this  point  we  most 
earnestly  call  upon  the  judges  and  Parliament,  the  architects  and 
the  public,  to  pause  for  reflection  before  it  is  too  late.  The 
vastness  of  the  undertaking,  its  enormous  cost,  the  irrevocable 
permanence  of  the  work,  and  the  lasting  effect  it  must  have  on 
the  architectural  character  of  our  capital,  justify  any  degree 
of  caution  against  an  irreparable  mistake.  It  has  been  assumed 
from  the  first  that  the  perfect  arrangement  of  so  vast  a  plan,  and 
the  designing  of  such  *  stupendous  elevations,*  as  seem  to  have 
formed  the  general  idea  of  this  building,  was  quite  within  the 
compass  of  our  architectural  skill  :  that,  as  in  the  great  engi- 
neering works  of  our  age,  we  had  only  to  find  the  money  and  the 
thing  was  as  good  as  done.  Will  any  one  hold  to  this  opinioo 
after  a  careful  study  of  the  designs  ? 

And  here,  once  for  all,  we  feel  it  but  due  to  our  readers  and 
the  competitors,  as  well  as  to  ourselves,  to  avow  the  fact  that, 
looking  at  the  question  from  an  unprofessional  point  of  view,  we 
have  nothing  to  do  with  any  rivalry  of  professional  claims  or 
reputations.  We  believe  we  are  right  in  assuming  that  the 
eleven  selected  architects  do  fairly  represent  the  strength  and  the 
weakness  of  our  architectural  skill.  Their  unanimous  choice  ot 
Gothic  (for  the  only  exception  is  an  alternative  design)  exempts 
us  happily  from  the  '  battle  of  the  styles.'  Each,  while  striving 
for  the  future  prize  of  having  his  name  associated  with  the 
greatest  building  of  modern  times,  has  been  comforted  by  an 
ample  present  remuneration  for  his  drawings.  We  may  be  sure 
that  each  and  all  have  done  their  best,  according  to  the  instruc- 
tions they  had  to  follow ;  and  not  a  word  that  we  have  to  say  is 
meant  to  detract  from  the  praise  due  to  so  striking  a  display  <^ 
cleverness  and  industry.  But  the  more  entire  our  conviction 
that  we  have  here  the  best  that  any  competition  can  do  for  us,  the 
more  serious  is  the  question,  whether  that  best  is  the  very  thing 
we  want     In  other  words,  have  we  a  right  conception  of  the 

£Iain  common-sense  principles  on  which  a  concentration  of  our 
AW  Courts  should  be  planned,  or  of  the  way  in  which  artistic 
design  should  be  combined  with  the  first  requisites  of  utility  ? 

This 


Thit  corapetition  may  be  fairly  regarded  as  the  climax  of 
arcMtectural  opportunities  unparalleled  in  our  country  since 
Wr^n  formed  his  grand  scheme  for  rebuilding  London.  The 
burning  down  of  the  Houses  of  Parliament  happened  to  coincide 
with  a  new  phase  of  that  eclecticism  which  has  marked  oiir 
architecture  ever  since  we  ceased  to  have  an  indig-enous  stvle^ 
The  interval  of  one-third  of  a  century  since  that  event  has  wit^ 
nesaed  a  development  of  wealth,  and  a  growings  taste  for  material 
vastness,  which  has  found  expression  alike  in  the  city  warehouse, 
the  government  office,  and  the  homes  of  art  and  science,  real  or 
so  calledi  Meanwhile  there  has  grown  up  among  us  a  fashion, 
imported  from  abroad,  of  calling  these  big  things  by  very  big 
names.  While  city  warehouses  and  banks  are  praised  as  pala- 
tial— a  doubtful  eampiiment,  considering  their  use — what  our 
forefathers  were  content  to  call  the  *  Houses  of  Parliament'  have 
become  the  ^Palace  of  Westminister,'  and  the  '  Court $^  used  for 
the  ail  ministration  of  law  are  called  by  the  outlandish  name  of 
a  *  Palam  of  Justice/ 

This  contrast  in  names  is  signiticant  of  the  whole  spirit  in 
which  the  things  are  now  undertaken.  There  was  a  charm  of 
utility,  as  well  as  of  picturesque  homeliness,  in  the  group 
fornned  of  old  by  Westminster  Hall,  St.  Stephen's  Chapel,  the 
Painted  Chamber,  the  comfortable  houses  of  the  Speaker  and 
other  officers,  each  showing  its  distinct  form  amidst  the  trees  of 
Thorney  Island ^  under  the  shadow  of  the  Abbey*  W^bat  have 
we  in  their  place  ?  A  Palace^  with  a  front  of  about  a  thousand 
feet,  fulfilling  Pope  s  idea  of  Gothic — 

"  Overwrought  with  oraoments  of  barbarous  pride,* 

but  destitute  of  any  structural  variety,  with  its  long-drawn  facade 
crashed  to  insignificance  by  its  unwieldy  towers. 

We  take  the  Palace  of  Westminster  as  the  great  existing  type 
of  the  kind  of  edifice  aimed  at  for  the  Law  Courts,  It  was 
deftigned  by  the  most  skilful  architect  of  the  day.  It  is  admirably 
planned,  and  for  technical  accuracy  it  is  a  perfect  pattern.  But 
it  is  tt  mere  mechanical  feat  The  rooms  are  fitted  together  as 
closely  and  cleverly  as  the  hexagonal  cells  of  bees :  but  the  bees 
don^t  want  light  nor  much  air;  whereas  the  occupants  of  these 
rooms  (excepting  <mly  those  along  the  river  front)  find  them  most 
cheerless  and  revolting  to  every  sense.  The  extent  is  great,  but 
there  is  no  space.  The  windows  are  numerous^  but  light  is 
wanting*  Colour  is  lavished,  but  the  effect  is  a  rusty  dulness, 
at  least  where  there  is  light  enoug-h  to  see  it  at  all.  The  whole 
resulting  impression  on  those  daily  using  the  building  has  been 
soch  a  strong  antipathy  to  Gothic  Architecture,  ax  thus  ezem^ 

piifiedt 


Tkt  JVw  CifuHs  of  Lmm. 

vlijied^  thsL%  in  aur  ne^tt  gremt  niitional  hull  clings  we  hiive  even 
to  be  tliankful  for  the  new  India  and  Foreign  Offices!  Onlj, 
the  chief  error  was  not  in  the  architeeture,  but  in  the  scheme. 
Cuticentration  was  carried  lo  excess.  A  Palace  was  ordered, 
where  there  shauhl  have  been  Howsei :  just  as  now  we  ask  fi>r 
C&urts  of  Lati\  and  they  offer  us  a  Falau  de  Justice,  Palaces 
are  state  residences  :  not  places  for  public  business.  Thej  me 
built  not  far  convenience  or  comfort ;  but  for  pomp  and  i^re- 
mony. 

The  vital  error  of  the  palatial  idea  is  equally  seen  in  the  ex- 
terior of  the  Houses,  that  is,  so  far  as  the  exterior  is  seen  at  all : 
lor  the  external  features  that  we  should  most  wish  to  see  are^  from 
the  nature  of  the  plan  adopted,  totally  invisible.  It  is  only  br 
glimpses  snatched  through  a  window  here  and  there,  as  through 
the  peepholes  of  a  cosmorama,  that  we  ever  see  the  exterior  of  the 
central  and  more  importajit  buildings.  And  this  is  the  more 
tantalizing,  since,  when  disco ver^^  tbese  simpler  parts  are  so 
superior  to  the  external  fatjadcs^  that  sound  judges  admired  the 
building  most  before  it  was  ^nished.  Who  has  not  felt  the  ab- 
surdity of  a  pile  called  the  Houses  of  Parliament^  in  which  neither 
a  House  of  Lords  nor  a  House  of  Commons  is  externally  dis- 
coverable ?  Who  wishes  to  see  a  Palace  of  Justice  in  which  the 
Courts  themselves  shall  be  equally  invisible  ?  For,  be  it  remem- 
bered, the  birdVeye  views  now  shown  on  paper  will  never  be 
seen  again,  except  by  *  intrepid  aeronauts  ^  at  a  risk  almost  as 
great  as  that  of  the  suitors  within. 

What  meets  the  eye,  then,  at  W^estminster  is  but  a  icrmti, 
masking  the  e^cntial  parts  of  the  buildings  Yet  this  has  to  be 
relied  on  to  give  character  to  the  whole.  The  secondary  apart- 
ments placed  in  it  forbid  dignity  and  variety  of  treatment^  and  so 
the  architect  was  thrown  back  upon  the  mere  confoctionar)'  of 
ornamentation.  No  doubt  the  design  is  good  as  a  whole,  and 
some  parts  of  the  river  front  are  exceedingly  graceful.  But, 
because  the  north-east  pavilion  is  excellent,  why  repeat  it  lit  the 
south-east  angles,  and  twice  in  the  space  between?  Why  should 
the  enjoyment  of  tliirty  feet  of  architectural  display  entirely  use 
up  all  the  delight  for  which  the  thousand  feet  of  tlie  river  frontage 
affortletl  so  glorious  an  oppirtunity?  To  be  sure,  we  may  be 
thankful  that  the  frontage  is  towards  the  river,  and  that  we  can^ 
if  so  minded,  get  a  view  free  enough  to  embrace  it  as  a  whole — 
a  view  worth  seeing  from  its  grouping  with  the  Abbey  and  the 
bridge.  But  imagine  the  like  symmetrical  longitude  of  wall 
and  window  planted  in  the  midst  of  the  Strand !  As  many  feet 
of  iceberg  would  scarcely  be  more  chilling  and  repulsive. 

The  finest  aixhitciture  of  Christi:ndom  could  never  be  ac- 
ceptable* 


Th£  Netc  Courts  of  Law. 

ceptable  m  sach  a  position.  Tlic  Strand  is  a  street  of  shops,  a 
long  bazaar;  and  to  interrupt  the  line  of  business  frontages  along 
seven  hundred  feet  would  be  a  commercial  error,  as  well  as  an 
artistic  grievance.  True,  the  present  condition  ol"  Pickett-strcet 
is  so  forlorn  as  scarcely  to  admit  of  injury  ;  but  tliese  Law  Courts 
will  do  little  for. the  architecture  of  London,  if  they  do  not  cheer 
and  glorily,  instead  of  obstructing  and  saddening^  the  street  in 
which  they  stand.  In  such  a  matter  it  is  scarcely  necessary  to 
^o  into  detail ;  but  a  reminiscence  of  Mr,  Garling-*s  range  of 
bottress-plinths,  of  Mr.  Lockwood's  laborious  flight  of  steps, 
of  Mr.  Burges*s  dismal  arcade,  of  the  obstructive  projections  in 
the  centre  of  Mr.  Scott's  and  Mr.  VVaterhouse's  designs^  or  of  the 
compound  of  the  three  latter  in  the  plan  by  Mr.  Seddon,  ought 
to  ensure  the  condemnation  of  the  palatial  idea,  at  least  in  such  a 
position.  Look  at  the  buildings  of  Lincoln*s  Inn  along  the  west 
side  of  Chanceiy-lane  :  would  any  amount  of  ornamentation  make 
such  a  dead  walling  a  permissible  condition  of  irontag^e  in  the 
Strand  ?  Our  visitors  to  Paris  can  give  the  answer.  The  new 
northern  wing  of  the  Louvre  is  certainly  not  deficient  in  orna- 
ment. The  ablest  artists  have  been  employed  in  its  decoration - 
But  can  any  one  walk  half  the  length  of  that  gorgeous  fa9ade 
without  intensely  longing  for  a  glimpse  at  the  simple  shop-fronts 
of  the  boulevard  ?  *  Or,  iW  those  who  remain  at  home  and  know 
the  weariness  of  the  walk  along  Victoria-street  on  a  summer 
afternoon, — would  a  parliamentary  agent  from  Westminster  con- 
gratulate his  Templar  friend  on  the  transfer  to  the  Strand  of  one 
of  those  dreary  lengths  of  palatial  chambers  ?  No !  carv^e  and 
decorate  Jt  as  you  will,  you  do  but  substitute  dismal  materialism 
for  cheery  humanity.  Let  us  look  from  the  site  of  the  Law  Courts 
across  the  Strand,  and  imagine  the  condition  of  the  street  were 
a  continued  fat;ade  of  Somerset  House  to  be  substituted  for  the 
present  simple  commercial  buildings.  Or  what  if,  in  the  busy 
life  of  the  City,  tbe  baldness  of  the  Bank  were  repeated  along 
the  sides  of  the  Royal  Eiccbange  ? 

We  want  no  Palace  along  the  Strand  :  but  the  ground  now 
cleared  gives  the  best  possible  opportunity  for  the  commence- 
ment of  the  noblest  reform  ever  instituted  in  the  architecture  of 
London.  Sir  Thomas  Gresham's  Exchange  was  but  an  example 
of  what  was  then  the  universal  practice  of  appropriating  to 
tlie  requirements  of  commerce  the  ground-floor  of  all  secular 
buildings  in  great  thoroughfares.  On  the  Continent  instances 
without  end  might  be  quoted  of  this  common-sense  armngement. 


*  Some  of  cmr  readers  vem  renieinb^t  the  e&tniiiie  case  of  siidl  wUX^lf 
moDOtOEiy  pre«i2ated  by  tbe  Ludingi-Stnisae  at  Munich. 

Voh  123.— iVo.  245,  n  In 


98  TIte  New  Courts  of  Law. 

In  Rome,  Xaples,  Milan,  noble  and  even  royal  palaceg  are  thus 
arranged.  And,  to  take  a  more  familiar  case,  the  Palais  Royal 
lost  none  of  its  dignity,  and  gained  immensely  in  popularity, 
by  its  conjunction  of  the  homeliness  of  trade  with  the  splendour 
of  the  Court.  In  the  same  manner  we  should  propose  to  treat 
the  Strand  frontage  of  the  Law  Courts.  And  here  we  would  at 
once  object  to  the  notion  involved  in  the  word  Mesign,'  as  ap- 
plied to  an  architectural  elevation.  The  idea  is  that  of  careful 
composition,  involving  symmetry,  balance  of  ^  wings '  and  *  flanks,' 
towers,  windows,  and  other  architectural  features.  One  section 
of  the  front  is  a  jierfect  index  to  the  whole ;  and  a  spectator 
standing  opposite  the  centre  of  the  building,  and  looking  towards 
the  left,  is  charmed  to  observe  that  the  view  is  an  exact  reflex 
of  the  prospect  to  the  right.  To  be  sure  it  would  require  a 
distance  five  times  as  great  as  the  width  of  the  Strand  to  obtain 
such  a  view  of  the  seven  hundred  feet  frontage  of  the  Law  Courts. 
But  that  matters  little  :  we  know  that  the  design  is  symmetrical ; 
for  by  walking  along  it  we  can,  with  the  help  of  memory,  dis- 
cover the  pro|>er  balance  of  }>arts  and  detail ;  and  we  are  thank- 
ful. The  practice  has  not  been  limited  to  architecture;  our 
earlier  landscape  gardening  is  entirely  subject  to  its  rules :-~ 

*  GroTo  nods  at  grovo ;  each  alloy  has  its  brother, 
And  half  thu  platform  just  reflects  the  other.' 

We  have  got  rid  of  this  foolish  formality  in  our  parks  and 
gardens ;  and  it  is  time  to  endeavour  to  release  our  buildings 
from  such  absurd  ^  designs.'  It  should  be  noticcnl,  however,  that 
these  formal  groves  had  a  dignity  and  spaciousness,  of  which 
in  our  modem  work,  architectural  or  sylvan,  we  have  no 
examples. 

An  accident  in  the  site  of  the  proposed  Courts  seems  almost 
to  force  upon  us  the  arrangement  which  common  sense  and  the 
best  precedents  suggest.  The  ground  slopes  in  such  a  manner 
from  Carey-street  as  to  make  the  lowest  story  towards  the  Strand 
in  reality  a  basement,  running  side  by  side  and  on  the  same  level 
with  that  busy  thoroughfare.  On  tliis  front,  then,  we  would 
place  a  range  of  really  noble  houses,  with  shops  all  life  and  utility 
along  the  street ;  their  upper  stories  (which  might  contain  cham- 
bers and  legal  offices)  enriched  with  delicate  and  varied  wch-k: 
and  all  crowned  with  those  picturesque  gables  which  would  give 
us  the  only  sky-line  fit  for  a  London  street,  and  the  restoration  of 
which  is  as  essential  to  the  very  beginning  as  to  the  completion 
of  a  revival  in  our  street  architecture.  Let  any  one  who  doubts 
it  give  one  look  at  the  few  gables  still  left  us  in  London,  or  those 
at  Rouen,  Hanover,  Frankfort,  or  on  the  Grande  Place  at  Brus- 
sels. 


The  Nem  Courts  of  Law, 


m 


seis.  Suet  a  varied  line  of  distinct  houses— designed,  not  with 
sjmmetry  of  form  and  detail,  nor  yet  without  suitable  combination 
and  consistency  of  effect — if  entrusted  to  a  dozen  or  a  score  of 
onr  best  Gothic  architects,  might  be  made  so  charming  a  display 
of  the  beauties  and  capabilities  of  our  native  English  style,  that 
a  swift  and  sweeping  revolution  of  our  street  arcbdtecture  would 
be  the  Inevitable  result 

The  mutual  respect  engendered  bv  active  co-operation  in  so 
great  and  useful  a  work  would  cherish  the  conscious  dignity  of 
the  true  artist.  A  generous  and  friendly  emulation  would  be 
substituted  for  an  anxious  competitive  rivalry.  Each  architect 
would  feel  himself  a  true  builder* — the  very  name  of  which  the 
fellow-workmen  of  Phidias  were  not  ashamed  * — not  a  mere 
maker  of  clever  and  captivating  pictures.  Instead  of  perhaps 
the  mere  name  of  an  architect,  and  the  fact  of  a  number  of 
clerks,  we  should  have  a  number  of  architects  engaged  on  the 
work.  We  should  use  their  united  talents,  instead  of  throwing 
away  the  grace  of  one,  the  dignity  of  an«3ther,  the  picturesque- 
ness  of  a  third^  the  organising  genius  of  a  fourth,  to  peril  all 
in  one  questionable  venture^  The  comparison  of  their  works 
would  be  infinitely  instructive  to  the  public  taste,  which  sadly 
needt  teaching  from  the  very  beginning^  but  would,  when  so 
taught,  recognise  the  right  with  an  *  unerring  instinct  5 '  and  evea 
any  serious  errors,  being  partial  and  detachedj  would  not  be 
irreparable.  The  force  of  such  an  example  would  spread  first 
over  a  neighbourhood  in  which  there  is  almost  unlimited  room 
for  improveraentj  and  would  speedily  transform  the  whole  of 
London* 

There  must  of  course  be  some  special  frontage  for  the  Courts 
of  Law;  A  noble  portal,  with  or  without  a  tower,  might  form  a 
mitabJe  and  characteristic  entrance  to  the  legal  buildings^  and 
would  give  ample  scope  for  as  full  a  display  of  the  resources 
of  the  art  as  the  greatest  advocate  for  the  splendid  decoration  of 
our  metropolis  could  possibly  desire*  Let  this  Gate  of  Justice 
be  as  grandiose  and  splendid  as  you  please,  a  majestic  portal^ 
whose  whole  form  and  every  feature  should  express  the  calm 
dignity  of  English  law ;  not  a  mere  freak  of  fancy,  caricaturing 
the  poet's 

'  BVontispiecs  of  diamond  and  gold^ 
Embelliehed  thick  with  sparkling  Orient  gems,* 

bat  a  glorious  and  worthy  monument  of  our  highest  English  art. 
At  Someiaet  House  we  have  a  Strand  frontage,  bearing  a  similar 

*  The  gcnaiDe  old  Greek  for  an  urckllect  is  otnMfAa^^  a  home^hmidimm  Tbe 
iimiic«rcftiMci{^X*W«Twp^)  is  but  ibe  <*>«/ arti/foefj  the  *  skilful  marter^flcfcr' 
of  oar  good  old  Bible  EtigBsli.  Here  ii  another  case  in  which  aamc«  perrett  our 
ideaof  tlie  Uiitigs. 

H  2  EelQh.dQfCL 


100  The  New  CowU  of  Law. 

relation  to  the  noble  building  behind  it  But  there,  the  style 
being  in  its  main  lines  horizontal,  more  width  was  required 
than  would  be  necessary  in  a  design  governed  by  the  per- 
pendicular lines  of  Gothic  Art.  The  obvious  jSroji^ui/  adTan- 
tages  of  this  plan  need  only  be  referred  to.  The  first  saving 
of  cost  in  needless  ornamental  detail  would  be  immense ;  and  the 
rental  of  the  shops  and  of  the  chambers  or  residences  above 
would  be  a  most  valuable  property.  While  combining  in  itself 
all  these  advantages,  this  Strand  frontage  would  be^  not  as  at 
Westminster  a  screen  to  hide,  but  a  suitable  enclosure  to  Gontain, 
the  Courts  themselves. 

The  interior  must,  in  one  word,  be  treated  as  an  aggregoHm  (f 
Courts^  not  a  building  cut  up  into  rooms.  As  a  sort  of  Testibule 
and  centre,  common  to  all  who  have  or  fancy  they  have  bnsinett 
with  the  law,  a  very  spacious  Hall  no  doubt  is  necessary.  And 
here  we  may  point  out  the  utter  impracticability  of  excluding 
the  public  from  the  floor  of  such  a  hall,  as  is  proposed  in  some 
of  the  very  designs  which  make  the  Hall  the  great  point  of  view 
for  the  whole  interior.  This  is  not  the  day  when  so  unpopular  a 
scheme  can  be  insisted  on.  The  same  free  access  that  is  given 
to  the  Central  Hall  at  Westminster  will  assuredly  not  only  be 
demanded  here  but  will  be  obtained,  and  the  exclusive  acccm- 
modation  required  by  the  profession  can  be  supplied  elsewhere. 
Not,  however,  that  wc  are  indicating  a  hall  of  the  pretensJons 
shown  in  these  designs.  Intended  for  use  rather  than  for  show, 
it  should  be  decidc<lly  simple  in  its  details.  Any  tendency  to 
enrichment  would  be  quite  inappropriate.  No  one  would  con- 
sider the  style  of  St.  Stephen's  Hall  more  suitable  than  that  of 
Westminster  Hall  for  a  *  Salle  des  Pas  Perdus.' 

Next  come  the  separate  Courts,  each  with  its  precincts  forming 
a  group  distinctly  visible.  Each  should  have  its  special  ante- 
chambers and  ambulatories  ;  and  these,  with  the  courts  them- 
selves, and  all  their  adjuncts,  should  be  spacious,  well  ventilated 
by  direct  access  to  the  open  air,  and  cheerful  in  all  their  aspects 
and  surroundings.     These  essentials  can  only  be  secured  by  the 

?lan  of  good-sized  open  courts  or  quadrangles^  not  mere  welUy  as  at 
^Westminster,  but  admitting  plenty  of  free  air,  with  dired  and 
ample  light,  to  at  least  every  important  part  of  the  building.  By 
direct  light  we  mean  light  from  the  shjy  not  cut  off  by  intervening 
buildings — light  from  a  sky  visible  to  the  eye  within.*  Whoever 
has  at  any  time  inhabited  a  London  street  will  remember  the 
eSect  of  tibat  dismal  shadow  cast  by  the  op}X)site  houses  on  all 

*  W«  may  take  thU  opportanity  of  denoaucing  the  use,  proposed  by  some  of  the 
soinpetfaig  arahitcets,  of  so-called  *  sky-lights ;  *  which,  instead  of  what  we  metn 
bj^direot  ii|^t,  give  a  cold  reflection  mm  the  walls,  and  are  always  dirty,  leaky, 

but 


Tk£  New  Courts  of  Law, 


101 


Irat  a  few  favouretl  spots  into  which  the  light  of  heaven  contrives 
to  plung^c  rather  than  enter  freely.  Be  it  remembered  that  the 
boil  clings  shown  in  these  designs  are  high  enough  to  overshadow  the 
width  of  Portland  Place.  It  is  therefore  superfluous  to  ask  whether 
the  small  courts  or  narrow  streets,  which  have  been  contrived  with 
so  much  ingenuity,  will  be  sufficient  for  their  object  Nor  let  it  be 
forgotten  that  the  season  during  wliich  the  Courts  sit  in  London  is 
that  which  demands  that  the  little  light  of  a  northern  winter,  already 
impeded  by  the  atmosphere  of  fog  and  smoke  which  our  foijy, 
rather  than  nature,  permits  to  brood  over  London,  should  be  hus- 
banded to  the  last  precious  beam*  What  crime  have  our  Judges 
committed,  that  they  who  sentence  malefactors  to  prisons  replete 
with  air  and  light,  should  be  doomed,  with  all  over  whom  they 
preside,  to  ply  their  own  hard  labour  amidst  darkness  visible, 
alternating  with  the  injurious  light  and  pestilential  fumes  of 
London  gas?  The  Judges  are  among  the  hardest  worked  of 
public  servants.  They  and  the  bar,  of  all  professions^  ought 
oot  to  be  denied  those  conditions  of  light  and  air,  which  are  essen* 
tial  to  the  health  of  eye^  and  mind,  and  nerve.  And  yet  these 
gorgeous  Palaces,  wiih  their  crowded  areas  and  excessive  height, 
are  worse  conditioned  than  the  squalid  tenements  which  they 
supplant  Take  the  design  which  has  been  justly  praised  as  one 
of  the  best  for  its  provision  of  light  and  air.  In  Mr.  Street's 
bird's-eye  prospect,  we  look  down  on  the  space  between  the 
Central  Hal!  and  the  outer  shell  occupied  almost  entirely  by  the 
roofs  of  the  Courts  :  that  is,  the  internal  space  would  be  ample,  if 
the  Courts  were  removed  ;  or,  in  other  words,  the  site  is  adequate 
for  all  the  necessary  buildings,  CJtcept  the  Courts  themselves.  But, 
together  with  the  first  necessaries  of  light  and  air,  each  Court 
should  have,  so  to  speak,  its  own  atmospher6  and  circumstances 
well  defined  and  self-contained  ;  and  above  all,  the  Court  and  the 
rooms  for  counsel,  solicitors,  clients,  and  witnesses,  should  all  be 
on  the  ground-floor*  Some  of  our  readers  may  share  our  painful 
recollection  of  the  *  going  up '  to  the  Committee-rooms  at  West- 
minster. Each  Court  should  have  a  dignity,  a  completeness,  an 
individuality  of  its  own,  with  all  its  belongings  carefully  designed 
to  suit  each  case.  This  being  secured,  let  the  combination  of 
all  be  boldly  and  judiciously  effected. 

We  are  quite  prepared  for  the  obvious  inference*  These  con-* 
ditions  cannot  possibly  be  satisfied  on  the  ground  at  present  pre- 
scribed* The  fact  has  become  evident  alike  to  the  architects  and 
the  profession  ;  and  we  cannot  doubt  its  recognition  by  the  public. 
Hlio  could  be  expected  to  foresee  what  space  would  be  required 
for  four  and  twenty  courts,  with  all  their  appliances?  And,  now 
that  the  truth  is  seen,  who  desires  to  see  the  gentlemen  of  the 

long 


102  The  New  Courts  of  Lam. 

long  robe  as  close  packed  as  the  four  and  twenty  winged  bipeds 
of  the  nursery  rhyme?     If  we   have  now  discoverad  that  the 
Palace  of  Westminster  is  too  small    for  the  two  Honaet  and 
their  adjuncts,  what  will    this  building  be  for  all  these  courts 
and  offices  ?     Is  it  to  be  endured  for  a  moment  that  a  million 
sterling,  or  much  more,  should  be  spent  in  huddling  together 
a   number   of   dark   and    dismal    chambers,    with    tunnels   and 
dungeons,  dirty  skylights  and  hanging  galleries,  viaducts  and 
bridges,  pits  and  hydraulic    lifts,  and  every  variety  of   clever 
scheme  to  make  seven  acres  of  land  do  the  duty  of  fourteen? 
The  country  does  not  wish  it ;  the  public  feeling  is  decidedly 
in  favour  of  a  dignified  and  satisfactory  solution  of  this  question. 
No  one  will  say  that  these  designs  do  furnish  such  a  solution. 
They  are  clever,  far  too  clover  for  practical  utility.     The  rooms 
are  packed  so  close  as  to  make  the  whole  inflexible.    The  building 
may  be  conceived  to  be  perfect,  or  nearly  so :  this  may  be  within 
the  scope  of  the  imagination.     On  the  other  hand,  it  may  have 
faults ;  and  how  a  single  fault  can  be  remedied,  where  all  the 
parts  are  fitted  so  tight  together,  it  is  impossible  to  see.     It  is  the 
fashion  of  our  age,  in  every  new  scheme,  to  expect  a  Minerva  out 
of  the  head  of  Jove.     Even  in  mythology  this  only  happened 
once ;  and  in  human  affairs  the  hope  is  sure  to  be  disappointed. 
*  Do  the  thing  well  while  you're  about  it.'    Yes  1  in  the  provision 
made  for  improvement  by  experience.  But  think  of  the  alternative: 
the  whole  thing  may  be  done  badly  and  the  fault  will  be  irreparable. 
The  erroneous  calculation  of  space,  which  has  now  become  un- 
deniable, will  for  ever  spoil  every  part  of  the  building.     Our 
readers  will  probably  be  amazed  to  learn  that  the  ruling  dimen- 
sions of  the  Courts  are  40  feet  by  30  feet,  and  this  area  of  a  mere 
room  is  overhung  by  galleries  for  spectators,  which,  after  all,  like 
the  gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons,  are  so  small  as  to  mock 
the    idea    of   publicity.     How    all    this   must   preclude   proper 
ventilation  is  best  seen  from  the  painfully  elaborate  contrivances 
of  some   of    the   competitors.     Mr.   Scott   is  content  with   the 
assumption   that   any  good    building   ought   to   be   capable   of 
ventilation  as  easily  as  another :  and  in  one  sense  he  is  quite 
right     No  mechanical  appliances  will  keep  a  room  well  venti- 
lated which  has  not  plenty  of  cubic  space :  the  alternative  is  foul 
air  or  painful  draughts. 

The  plan  of  distinct  quadrangles,  besides  being  absolutely  the 
best,  would  have  these  two  immense  advantages:  it  could  be 
completed  gradually,  and  an  error  could  be  retrieved  without 
touching  any  but  the  faulty  part.  The  portions  first  completed 
would  serve  as  an  experiment  to  govern  all  the  rest :  and  new 
oflSces  might  rise  up  round  each  quadrangle  as  the  need  of  them 

was 


The  New  Cmrts  of  Law, 

was  felt.  Corridors  or  cloisters,  whict  add  a  charm  to  interior 
quadrangles,  would  be  provide*!  where  they  are  wanted,  instead  of 
dismal  arcades  along  the  Strand,  behind  the  gratings  of  which 
the  lawyers  would  seem  to  the  busy  passengers  to  be  doing 
penance  like  the  boys  at  St,  PauFs  Schooh  The  business  of  each 
court  would  be  kept  sufficiently  apart  from  the  rest,  and  jostling 
and  overcrowding  would  be  avoided.  Every  needful  accom mo- 
dal ion  for  the  sepamte  nse  of  Judges,  the  Bar^  the  suitors,  and 
witnesses,  could  of  course  be  better  given  in  the  larger  space; 
and  the  consultations  of  the  Judges  could  be  provided  for  at 
least  as  well  as  by  the  long-drawn  passages  shown  in  some  of 
these  plans,  from  which  one  would  think  that  their  lordships  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  go  about  the  building  paying  visits  to  each 
other.  In  architectural  effect,  we  should  have  a  true  interior  a^ 
well  as  exterior ;  two  things  for  one :  or  rather  a  varied  exhibi- 
tion of  both ;  for  the  separate  quadrangles  might  he  entrusted  to 
separate  architects  with  immense  advantage* 

The  extended  site  needful  to  carry  out  this  scheme  stands 
ready,  inviting  occupation.  Tbe  present  western  boundary 
along  Clement's  Lane  is  as  arbitrary  as  a  glance  at  the  map 
shows  it  to  be  awkward*  Beyond  it  we  have  no  valuable  busi- 
ness ground,  to  be  paid  for  by  paving  it  with  gold,  hut  the  three 
small  '  Inns/  the  occupants  of  which  might  be  far  better  accom- 
modated by  a  judicious  exchange,  and  further  west  the  filthy 
purlieus  of  Clare  Market  and  Holywell  Street.  It  needs  no 
minute  calculation  to  show  that  the  whole  ground  from  Chancery 
Lane  to  Newcastle  Street,  and  from  the  Strand  to  Carey  Street, 
jibould  come  within  the  scope  of  the  present  scheme.  The  Strand 
frontage  must,  in  any  case,  be  *  rectified  *  by  the  removal  of  the 
two  churches  from  their  present  obstructive  and  noisy  sites. 
This,  and  the  demolition  of  the  ■  middle  row  *  of  Holywell  Street, 
would  be  the  appropriate  work  of  the  coming  Municipal  CounciL 
Our  block  plan  shows  how,  in  amnection  with  the  designation 
of  the  site,  to  provide  for  two  thoroughfares  from  north  to  south, 
which  have  long  been  felt  to  be  indispensable,  without  infringing 
on  the  tranquillity  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  That  Mung  *  must 
l>e  preserved,  and  oup^ht  to  be  so  laid  out  as  to  form  a  noble  and 
healthful  centre  for  the  legal  quarter  of  the  town,  the  systematic 
arrangement  of  which  would  be  begun  by  this  plan.* 


•  The  western  eEteniion  of  Carey  Street  might  be  »o  modified  o*  not  to  interfere 
whh  King'ft  College  HoEpitQ,l ;  but  indeed  the  rem  oral  of  the  Kospital  to  a  new 
m^M  overlooking  tfie  Thames  Embankment,  east  of  the  College  itself ^  would  be  lin 
iuestiikiAble  benefit  j  and  so  would  the  devoiion  of  the  whole  space  from  Caivy 
Street  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to  chambers,  extending  and  widening  Portugsii 
&tfiee:t,  and  sweeping  away  €lari>  Market. 

The 


104 


The  New  CaurU  of  Laui, 


■oiirih==''ttfi''- 


R  f    V  £  R        T  H  A  M  C 


I 


'  The  needful  site  being'  thus  defined,  the  frontage  to  the  Strand 
would  be  occupied  as  we  have  described^  The  central  portal 
woukl  occur  opposite  the  broad  site  of  St,  Clement's  Danes, 
whence  a  noble  avenue  might  lead  down  to  the  Thfimes  embank- 
ment, with  a  bmnd  subway  connecting  the  Law  Courts  with 
the  Metropolitan  Railway  station;  and  independent  entrances  to 
the  several  quadrangles  migbt  he  provided  on  the  other  fronts- 
This  seems  the  fittest  place  to  notice  the  absurd  scheme  of 
rebuilding  Temple  Bar  as  a  part  of  the  general  design »  Artisti- 
trail  J  it  would  destroy  the  sharp  termination  of  the  fa(;fade  at  its 
south-east  angle,  and  carry  the  eye  across  the  street  with  an 
expectation  of  seeing  the  design  continuetl  daere,  PracticaUy, 
the  folly  of  making  a  permanent  limit  to  the  width  of  the  street^ 
and  the  obstruction  of  light  and  air,  would  be  perpetuated  j  and 
to  what  end  ?  The  passenger  from  the  chief  floor  of  the  Law 
Courts  to  the  lower  level  of  the  Temple  must  first  mount  over 
the  additional  height  required  for  the  proper  rise  of  the  arch,  and 
then  <lescend  to  a  depth  which  might  be  reached  at  once  by  a 
subway.  As  for  the  climb  upwards  from  the  Temple^  it  is  painful 
even  to  think  of.  This  feature  of  the  project  must  be  got  rid  of 
altogether-  To  ensure  the  needful  quiet^  the  Courts  themselves 
must  of  necessity  be  placed  round  the  inner  quadrangles ;  and 
the  frontages  to  Chancery  Lane^  Carey  Street,  and  Newcastle 
Street  may  be  appropriated  to  less  important  uses,  with  a  cor- 
responding simplicity  of  architectural  detail.  The  rents  of 
oHices  and  chambers  along  these  fronts,  and  especially  of  the  shops 
towards  the  Strand,  would  go  some  way  to  cover  the  extn  cost  of 
the  site. 

This  added  cost  would  also  be  in  a  great  measure  compen- 
sated by  the  adtjption  of  a  fit  style  for  all  the  buildings.  Courts 
of  Law  are  not  Palaces  ;  but  places  where  the  business  of  private 
persons  i&  finally  adjusted.  Display  is  here  impertinent  and 
distracting*  Quiet  dignity,  free  from  absolute  baldness,  is  all 
Aat  is  needful  or  appropriate.  There  must  be  propriety  and 
fubordi nation  in  the  style.  Courts  of  Law  are  not  ecclesiastical 
buildings ;  and  to  apply  to  them  the  forms,  and  lavish  on  tliem  the 
ornaments,  consecrated  to  sacred  associations,  is  to  degrade 
the  latter  without  elevating  the  former.  This  question  of  style 
is  of  supreme  importance  in  the  present  crisis  of  our  national 
architecture  :  for  a  crisis  it  really  is,  brought  about  by  a  long 
course  of  errors  on  the  part  of  the  profession  and  ignorance 
in  the  public*  It  has  l^een  resolved  by  a  sort  of  universal 
sentiment,  concurring  with  the  wishes  of  the  legal  profession, 
that  the  noblest  use  shall  be  made  of  this  opportunity.  How 
then  are  we  to  use  it?  Are  we  to  do  a  thing  which  is  of  sub- 
stantial 


106  7%6  New  Courts  of  Law. 

stantial  architectural  merit,  or  are  we  to  make  a  mere  display  of 
fashion — the  chignons  and  crinolines  of  art?*  For  the  list 
three  hundred  years,  we  have  been  copying  and  impoitiiig 
foreigni  fancies  and  fashions.  With  a  national  clevemeat  alniost 
Chinese,  we  have  imitated  most  continental  and  some  remoter 
nations  in  their  architecture  as  in  their  millinery.  Looking 
back  from  what  we  trust  may  prove  the  end  of  this  process  to 
its  earliest  epochs,  what  reason  have  we  to  boast  over  Inigo 
Jones?  There,  at  any  rate,  was  grandeur.  There  were  giants 
on  the  earth  in  those  days,  and  they  gave  us  Whitehall:  the 
pr<ictice  of  our  modem  Gothic  imitations  has  brought  as  to  such 
classic  work  as  the  India  Office. 

The  so-called  revivers  of  Gothic  architecture  are  as  yet  meie 
imitators,  however  clever  and  well-intentioned ;  but  this  is  not 
the  worst,  their  imitaticmshave  taken  a  most  unfortunate  direction. 
They  choose  the  cathedrals  for  their  models.  The  most  ornate 
style,  elaborated  for  the  highest  objects,  is  transferred  by  them 
to  mere  secular  work  ;  and  this  not  so  much  by  copymg  its 
beautiful  forms,  as  by  depending  on  the  piquant  prettinesses  of 
Gothic  detail,  which  they  have  used  up  without  restraint.  They 
have  gone  over  to  France,  and  worked  the  Sainte  Chapelle  and 
Notre  Dame;  or  they  have  explored  Italy  and  even  Spain  in 
search  of  novelties.  They  have  had  to  satiate  an  ignorant  and 
exacting  multitude,  who  have  money  and  will  have  show.  There 
may  be  students  here  and  there,  whose  intelligence  and  culture 
might  direct  and  guide  the  mass  ;  but  these  are  not  the  men  to 
whom  the  conduct  of  our  public  buildings  is  confided.  Mere 
wealth  and  position  are  sufficient  to  ensure  the  appointment  of  a 
Committee  to  decide  on  a  public  work  ;  and  we  know  the  results. 

The  popular  idea  of  Gothic  architecture  is  that  of  a  laige 
symmetrical  building.  Thousands  visit  the  English  and  foreign 
cathedrals,  admire  their  fronts,  and  wonder  at  their  interiors. 
But  how  few  are  aware,  or  take  the  pains  to  consider,  that  these 
Cathedrals  were  in  fact  but  the  chief  rooms,  those  devoted  to 
the  highest  purposes,  in  a  vast  assemblage  of  conventual  or  mo- 
nastic buildings  ?  Consequently,  a  mere  glimpse  at  York,  at 
Notre  Dame,  or  at  Cologne,  will  give  a  most  imperfect  idea  of 
the  true  character  and  spirit  of  Gothic  architecture.  It  would 
be  as  reasonable  to  take  the  grand  soliloquy  of  Wolsey  as  a  sub- 

*  Since  writing  this  sentence,  we  find  the  same  illustration  used  by  Mr. 
Fergnsson  in  an  able  paper  in  'The  Builder'  (April  6,  1867),  and  we  gladly 
wel^me  the  concurrence  of  so  high  an  authority.  Having  abstained  fkom 
reading  any  of  the  criticisms  on  these  designs  which  have  appeared  in  the  daily 
and  weekly  pimers,  till  our  own  views  were  matured  and  wntten  down,  wc  are 
gratified  to  find  how  fiur  we  are  from  being  alone  in  our  opinions. 

stitute 


k 


siitute  for  the  raried  incident  and  tra^c  poller  of  the  whole 
dramEf  as  to  assume  that  these  isolated  buildings  form  by  them- 
selves an  exhibition  of  llie  whole  method  of  Gothic  work. 
We  appeal  to  those  who  have  repeatedly  seen  that  model  of 
perfect  symmetry^  Cologne  Cathedral,  whether  at  each  successive 
Tisit  there  is  not  a  constant  diminution  of  interest.  Is  it  not, 
after  all,  felt  to  be  infinitely  inferior  in  sustained  effect  to  the 
homely  variety  of  Peter  bo  roug^h  or  Canterbury,  where  the  limbs, 
though  mutilated,  are  still  seen  in  their  connection  with  the 
head?  Here  we  behold  the  essentials  of  variety,  fitness,  and 
subordination;  and  we  feel  that  the  collection  of  buildings 
stimulates  the  imagination  and  elevates  the  mind.  But  when  vye 
go  back  to  our  imitations,  and  see  the  high  enrichment  and 
graceful  conceptions  of  ecclesiastical  architecture  brought  into 
secular  buildings,  the  effect  is  merely  the  sense  of  degradation* 

When  we  thus  view  these  ancient  buildings  as  a  whole,  we 
see  that  tfimj  grew^  not  only  in  their  plan  and  their  forms,  but 
in  every  detail  and  decoration.  Each  part  was  made  as  it  was 
wanted,  every  room  had  its  proper  use,  and  that  use  was  ex- 
pressed in  its  style.  Decoration  was  not  put  on  by  bits  to 
please  the  eye;  but,  as  a  rule,  it  w^as  distributed  according  to 
the  relative  importance  of  the  buildings.  The  whole  was  a 
htdhUnfj^  not  a  dedgn  ;  and  the  builders  were  true  workmen,  who 
would  have  felt  that  to  '  design  '  a  building  in  the  modern  sense, 
was  like  designing  a  tree^  much  as  our  fathers  cut  their  yews 
and  boxes  into  elephants  and  pin-cushions.  These  were  houses 
made  with  hands  and  heads,  not  with  drawing-boards  and  T 
squares,  bow«pens  and  hair-dividers.  As  in  those  works  of  lite- 
rature which  live  the  longest,  and  tike  the  strongest  hold  on 
Kuman  sympathies,  Shaksjjere  and  Scott  did  their  work  as  crafls- 
men^  so  art  will  never  live  till  sculptors  turn  their  studios  into 
workshops,  and  architects  are  content  to  be  chief  masons. 

The  simple  sad  truth  is,  that  Architecture  in  England  is  a 
dead  art.  Let  not  the  reader  start  with  incredulity.  A  noble 
poet  has  expressed,  in  language  too  familiar  to  need  repeating, 
the  truth,  that  beauty  may  for  a  while  survive  death^  in  its  *  fixed 
yet  tender  traits/  but  a  beauty  only  lighted  by 

*  ErpressionV  Wt  reeeding  ray, 
A  gilded  halo  hovering  round  decay, 
The  &rewell  beam  of  FceHng  past  away.' 

The  ever  active  powers  of  nature  soon  sweep  with  dissolution  the 
form  that  has  lost  its  life;  but,  in  art  and  literature,  the  ^one 
treacherous  hour '  may  be  prolonged  into  an  age  before  we  know 
that  we  have  lost  *the  lines  where  beauty  lingers;'     Alexandrian 

grammarians 


108  Th€  New  Courts  of  Law. 

grammarians  may  drawl  out  their  dull  hexameters  in  the  dead 
language  of  Homer,  and  architects  may  reprodace  the  lifeless 
forms  of  Doric  or  Ionic,  Gothic  or  Palladian,  with  wondrous  un- 
consciousness. The  dress  of  the  mammy,  that  same  constant  guest 
at  our  artistic  feasts,  may  be  changed  so  often  as  to  distract  our 
attention  from  the  inexpressive  features,  till  at  length  the  truth  is 
suddenly  revealed — 

'  We  start,  for  $oul  is  wanting  there ! ' 

To  ourselves,  we  candidly  confess,  after  years  of  sympathy  with 
the  Gothic  revival,  this  discovery  has  come  while  studying  the 
designs  exhibited  in  New  Square. 

The  works  of  our  modem  architects  are  composed  in  a  foreign 
language;  a  style  as  suitable  for  our  Law  Courts  as  if  the 
barristers  were  to  plead  in  Greek  or  medieval  Latin,  or  the 
judgments  were  to  be  given,  as  of  old,  in  Norman  French.  Not 
only  is  the  language  foreign,  it  is  a  heterogeneous  jargon ;  these 
towers  are  literally  towers  of  Babel.  If,  by  that  evil  fate  which 
dogs  our  national  efforts  at  building,  any  of  them  should  come 
to  be  erected,  and  if  workmen  from  France  and  Flanders,  Italy 
and  Spain,  with  small  helps  from  almost  unknown  lands,  each  in 
some  antique  dress,  were  to  be  heard  mingling  their  native 
tongues  in  admired  confusion,  the  result  would  not  be  more 
absurd  than  that  already  presented  to  our  eyes.  One  dialect, 
perhaps,  predominates  over  the  rest,  and  this  certEiinly  is  not 
native.  There  was  a  time,  while  Pugin  was  in  the  ascendant, 
when,  like  an  infant  trying  his  Arst  steps  with  his  mother's  aid, 
our  architects  were  content  to  lean  on  the  pure  Edwardian  Gothic. 
But  the  infant  gained  no  strength  of  his  own ;  as  he  grew,  he 
still  wanted  go-carts  and  crutches,  and  he  found  comfort  and 
amusement  in  varying  their  pattern  ;  if  they  could  not  give  him 
strength,  they  might  amuse  him  as  toys.  The  favourite  toy  has 
been  Italian  Gothic.  Its  forms  are  picturesque,  and  to  the  igno- 
rant public  they  offer  a  novelty,  which  only  makes  the  more 
instructed  wonder  whether  these  artists  think  that  no  one  has 
been  in  Italy  but  themselves.  It  matters  little  that  the  Italian 
Gothic  is  essentially  a  southern  variety,  with  shadowy  arcades, 
diminutive  windows,  and  a  compactness  of  plan  suited  to  the 
oppressive  brilliancy  of  a  southern  climate,  and  to  a  town 
like  Venice,  where  the  light  is  absolutely  painful.  The  long 
frontages  of  the  proposed  building  seem  to  have  offere<l  a  special 
temptation  to  the  adoption  of  the  horizontal  lines  peculiar  to  this 
style,  together  with  a  constraint  of  symmetry  which  is  as  much 
in  place  as  if  counsel  were  bound  to  plead  in  hexameters  or 
ottava  rima.  After  all,  Venetian  is  but  half  Gothic,  Italian 
r  arcading 


The  New  Courts  of  Law, 

arcading  enriched  with  Gothic  detail^  and  tbe  style  is  in  its 
principles  essentially  antag-onistic  to  pure  English  work.  Ours 
ijrinjinatcs  in  a  perfect  simplicity,  admits  of  any  amount  of 
enrichment,  and,  in  its  authentic  examples,  is  never  known  to 
be  anything  but  beautiful. 

It  seems  at  first  a  wonder  how  the  eleven  competitors  could, 
with  one  consent,  have  given  us  such  extravagant  versions  of  the 
palatial  idea*  The  confined  area,  the  over  minute  instructions^ 
and  the  specific  requirements  of  certain  tt)wers,  will  account  for 
many  faults  of  the  plans,  but  not  for  tbe  prevailing  character  of 
the  designs.  A  lawyer  might  find  the  cause  in  a  recent  pre- 
cedent Some  few  years  ago  Manchester  was  raised  to  the 
dignity  of  an  assize  towti^  on  the  conditioti  of  providing  suitable 
courts.  The  enterprising  citizens^  res^^jlving  to  do  well  what 
scarcely  a  town  in  England  had  done  at  all,  advertised  for 
designs.  The  judicious  architect  understands  how  to  respond  to 
such  an  invitation.  He  knows  that,  like  a  cook  or  a  comedianj 
he  bas  to  please : 

'  Id  sibi  negoti  credidit  solum  dari 
Populo  ut  placerent  quas  focisset  [curias].* 

SaccesSf  not  excellence,  must  be  his  first  object.  Merit  would 
be  of  doubtful  value;  but  there  could  be  no  question  of  the 
advantage  of  display.  The  judges,  whose  studies  of  architecture 
had  chiefly  extended  from  the  Royal  Infirmary  to  the  Free 
Trade  Hall,  might  probably  be  repelled  by  the  simple  dignity 
appropriate  to  courts  of  law,  and  would  certainly  be  captivated 
by  the  pretty  confusion  of  English  and  Italian  Gothic*  We 
have  as  the  result  the  undigested  design  of  the  Manchester 
Assize  Courts,  in  which  from  base  to  roof  it  is  difficult  to  find 
two  features  consistent  in  style,  combination,  and  effect.  Judges 
and  counsel,  mindful  of  the  miseries  of  the  London  Courts, 
joined  in  a  chorus  of  commendation  at  the  efficiency  with  which 
their  convenience  had  been  secured  |  and  merits,  which  judicious 
criticism  would  have  limited  to  the  plan,  were  attributed  to  the 
general  design »  When,  therefore,  the  present  competition  was 
announced,  what  could  the  selected  architects  do  better  than  to 
follow  so  fortunate  an  example  ? 

Our  readers  will  see  that  in  this  discussion  we  have  dealt 
throughout  with  principles  ;  and  so  anxious  are  we  to  keep 
clear  of  any  personal  questions,  that  we  would  gladly  have 
refrained  from  criticising  the  designs*  But  this  is  of  course 
impossible.  Not  only  are  wc  bound  to  justify  by  examples  our 
firm  conviction  that  the  whole  scheme  has  to  be  revised  j  but 
we  see  in  these  designs  the  great  climax  of  the  wrong  path  that 

has 


I 


110  The  New  Courts  of  Law. 

has  so  long  been  followed.  The  errors  we  want  to  expoto  are 
here  concentrated  into  a  focus ;  and  one  advantage  at  least 
results  from  the  competition :  it  has  brought  the  palatial  idea 
to  a  reductio  ad  absurdum,  , 

Let  us  commence  with  the  elaborate  series  of  perspective  views 
which,  while  they  do  full  justice  to  Mr.  Scott's  acknowledged 
powers  of  selection,  fail  to  exhibit  one  valuable  original  idea.  The 
design  is  a  patchwork  of  English  and  continental  Gothic  details, 
carefully  spread  over  the  entire  fa9ade.  Instead  of  consistent 
variety,  we  have  monotonous  incongruity,  a  medley  of  prettiness 
and  expense,. with  neither  individuality,  character,  nor  eflEsct  of 
contrast  Those  parts  in  which  there  is  an  appearance  of  design 
— for  instance,  the  two  flanking  towers  of  tne  centre  pavilioD, 
and  the  two  Record  Towers  in  the  western  wing — are  failures  as 
conspicuous  as  can  be  met  with  in  the  whole  collection.  The 
latter  towers,  by  the  way,  compel  a  painful  reminiscence  of 
the  strange  addition  placed  on  the  top  of  the  new  building 
in  St  James's  Park.  The  abrupt  termination  of  the  JRecord 
Towers  is  as  amazing  as  the  lantern  spires  which  seem  to  have 
alighted  on  the  roofs  of  the  other  pair ;  and  the  whole  sky-line 
is  curiously  composed  of  Flemish  pinnacles,  Venetian  parapets, 
Florentine  cornices,  and  fretwork  from  the  Rhine.  The  pro- 
jecting centre  has  a  roof,  but  the  flank  walls  seem  to  be  mere 
screens.  Is  the  Venetian  arcade  in  the  lower  storey  to  be  a 
grateful  shelter  from  our  November  sun,  or  a  peaceful  promenade 
in  full  view  of  the  Strand  ?  In  its  whole  effect  this  version  of 
the  palatial  idea  would  be  equally  appropriate  for  a  warehouse 
or  even  a  railway  station  ;  and  we  may  now  be  fully  consoled  for 
the  loss  of  the  Italian-Gothic  design  for  the  Foreign  Office. 

Mr.  Burges  also  has  been  to  Venice,  of  which  his  remini- 
scences are  fairly  accurate.  At  the  City  in  the  Sea  the  Doge's 
Palace  and  the  Dungeons  are  in  contact ;  but  in  Mr.  Burges's 
mind  they  are  in  combination,  and  they  are  further  associated 
with  the  medieval  fortress.  Other  people  besides  Mr.  Burges 
go  to  Italy,  and  we  esteem  it  no  favour  that  he  should  bring 
over  to  us  a  specimen  of  a  Veronese  campanile  or  the  machi- 
colated  towers  of  a  medieval  civic  fort  These  towers  have,  by 
some  mistake,  been  capped  with  conical  roofs ;  but  why  should 
our  Courts  of  Law  be  encumbered  at  all  with  any  such  inappro- 
priate and  useless  adjuncts  ?  Such  towers  had  their  uses  when 
every  Italian  city  was  a  battle-field  of  rival  factions,  and,  worn 
and  battered  as  they  are,  they  are  doubtless  picturesque  ;  but  is 
our  art  reduced  to  Ais,  that,  for  sheer  want  of  ideas  to  develope, 
we  must  import  whole  features  of  an  outlandish  style,  and  actually 
build  for  ornament  an  imitation  of  works  which  were  laboriously 

raised 


The  New  Cmrts  of  Law, 

raised  for  the  sake  of  security  and  defence  ?  As  to  the  detail s, 
the  key-note  of  the  whole  seems  to  be  a  persevering:  ^se  of 
stumpy  cylinders*  The  paucity  of  window  opening,  the  long 
row  of  dark  arcades,  the  controUing'  inHuence  of  the  horizontal 
lines,  and  the  lumpishness  of  the  details,  form  as  great  a  contrast 
as  could  well  be  imagined  to  the  light,  cheerful,  and  healthy 
expression  which  is  essential  to  the  permanent  popularity  of  any 
English  buildings  Elaboration  without  grace,  heaviness  without 
power,  and  not  dignity  but  dulness,  are  the  effective  impressions 
of  this  design.  The  whole  thing  is  an  overstrained  effi>rt  at 
massivenesSi  which  only  results  in  sheer  oppression,  and  withal 
has  an  utterly  unreal  and  unpractical  air,  and  gives  the  idea  of  a 
scene-painting  rather  than  a  building, 

Mr.  Brandon  is  somewhat  too  ecclesiastical  in  his  suggestions ; 
but  still  his  design  evinces  more  variety  and  independent 
thought  tljan  any  other  in  the  room.  The  detail  is  refined  and 
pure^  and  the  centre  compartment  of  the  Strand  front^  with  the 
two  portal  towers^  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  acceptable  features 
in  the  whole  series,  though  a  plain  waU  face  might  with  advan- 
tage be  substituted  for  the  bay-windows.  But  the  design,  as  a 
whole,  cannot  be  considered  suitable  for  the  object 

In  Mr,  Waterhouse's  design  the  salient  feature  is  the  central 
p&vilion,  sadly  undermined  by  the  great  weak  spreading  arch  of 
the  carriage  entrance.  This  weakness  of  constitution  extends 
from  floor  to  floor  to  the  very  top,  %vhere  the  high  walls  of  roof, 
balanced  on  tottering  arcades,  seem  to  invite  the  fate  of  a  child*s 
house  of  cards.  The  design,  extensive  as  it  ii^  has  no  breadth, 
but  is  an  utter  fritter  both  of  face  and  outline.  The  continental 
sketch-book  has  evidently  been  well- filled,  and  not  forgotten. 
Ranges  of  small  windows,  little  arcades,  and  all  the  decorative 
features  that  could  be  crowded  into  so  many  superficial  feet  of 
frontage,  have  been  studiously  collected  to  make  up  this  flashy 
composition,  in  which  there  is  not  a  mark  of  dignity  or  merit. 
The  folly  and  extravagance  of  the  towers  only  enhance,  by  a 
grotesque  contrast,  the  insipidity  and  utter  worthlessness  of  the 
remainder  of  the  design. 

The  general  conception  of  Mr,  Seddon's  building  is  pic- 
tutesqne,  though  erroneous.  He  has  shewn  the  good  sense  of 
simplicit)%  if  not  in  outline^  at  all  events  in  decoration,  and  hia 
SirsJad  front  would,  in  njany  respects,  be  very  appropriate  for 
commercial  buildings.  The  oblique  porches  and  most  extra- 
ordinary steeples,  together  with  the  excessive  dimensions  of  the 
Record  Tower,  give  an  air  of  absurdity  to  the  rest  of  the  work. 

Passing  over  Mr,  Deane,  we  come  to  the  designs  exhibited  by 
Mr*   Garling  and   Mr,  Lockwood,     Both  are  mere  mechanical 

commonplaces^ 


112  The  New  Courts  of  Law. 

commonplaces,  Gothic  counterparts  to  the  terraces  in  the  Regent's 
Park,  of  which  it  will  suffice  to  remark  that  monotonous  and 
mechanical  repetition  is  more  suggestive  of  weariness  than  of 
extent.  While  scanning  Mr.  Barry's  drawings,  with  recollec- 
tions of  many  works  bearing  that  honoured  name,  we  were 
irresistibly  reminded  of  the  resolve  expressed  by  Dionysus,  in 
Aristophanes,  not  to  deem  lophon,  the  son  of  Sophocles,  a  great 
tragedian,  till  it  should  be  seen  what  he  could  do  without  his 
father :  and  the  design  of  Mr.  Abraham  recals  a  more  familiar 
allusion : — 

. '  The  thing  itself  is  neither  rich  nor  rare  :' 

though  perhaps  the  next  line  might  be  hardly  applicable. 

Mr.  Street's  drawings  contrast  with  all  the  rest  by  the  fact  that 
their  entire  conception  is  in  harmony  with  the  true  principles  of 
building.  His  Strand  front  exhibits  much  variety  of  treatment; 
the  walling  is  simple  and  solid,  and  the  rooms  shew  their  lelatiTe 
importance.  In  some  respects,  indeed,  the  design  is  deficient: 
the  entrances  are  insignificant,  and  the  chamfered  angles  of  the 
centre  compartments  have  a  most  impoverished  effect:  bot  the 
work  lives,  though  with  no  very  sturdy  vitality.  No  one  would 
associate  it  widi  a  phantasmagoria  or  scene-painting.  The 
great  tower,  with  the  ornamental  screen  at  its  base,  is  beyond  all 
comparison  the  finest  thing  in  the  entire  series.  We  speak,  not 
of  the  alternative  tower,  but  of  the  original,  which,  if  properly 
carried  out,  would  be  unsurpassed  by  anything  of  the  kind  in 
Europe.  The  way  in  which  dignity  of  proportion,  simplicity, 
and  grandeur  of  outline,  are  combined  with  multiplicity  of  parts 
and  utility  of  plan,  is  absolutely  successful.  To  those  who  have 
not  the  opportunity  of  studying  these  drawings  in  detail,*  we 
would  recommend  the  selection  of  this  very  important  feature  for 
consideration  and  comparison  throughout  the  whole  series ;  and 
it  will  be  evident  that  the  principles  on  which  this  tower  of  Mr. 
Street's  has  been  designed  are  thoroughly  sound,  while  all  the 
rest  fall  away  into  error  or  debasement,  monstrosity  or  common- 
place. But  Mr.  Street  seems  to  have  exhausted  himself  in  this 
effort ;  and  his  remaining  elevations  are  certainly  inferior.  The 
exterior  of  the  Great  Hall,  which  forms  the  central  feature  of 
the  bird's-eye  view,  will  be  reserved,  by  the  essential  fault  of  the 
whole  scheme,  for  the  exclusive  admiration  of  the  plumbers  and 
gasmen.     And,  chiefly  through  this  innate  viciousness  of  the 


*  A  very  fair  idea  of  the  drawings,  except  of  course  as  to  minor  details*  may  be 
obtained  from  the  en^vings  published  with  the  current  weekly  numbers  of  the 
•  BnlldiDg  News,'  which  we  would  advise  our  readers  to  bang  up  and  keep  in 
frequent  view  for  some  little  time. 

whole 


The  Nmo  Courts  of  Law. 


113 


wtole  conception  J  we  are  compelled  to  sum  up  all  by  plainly 
saying  that  the  designs  are  utterly  worthless  for  their  purpose. 
Genuine  hmldiu^s  have  only  to  be  properly  arrang:ed  and  carried 
out ;  but  these  drawings  would  give  us  merely  big  wallsj  covered 
with  architectural  details.  The  decorations,  which  look  so 
pretty  in  these  brightly  coloured  drawings,  innocent  of  London 
fog,  will  seem  coarse  when  done  into  stone,  dull  in  the  twilight 
and  dirty  in  the  smoke  of  our  city,  even  if  they  do  not  perish 
in  its  atmosphere.  The  lawyers  will  permit  us  for  once  to 
apply  their  own  Cassian  maxim  in  its  more  popular  sense — 
Cut  bono?  Who'^s  to  get  any  gwKl  from  it?  VV^ho  will  care  to 
look  at  it  in  a  year's  time?  Our  architects  have  been  long 
enough  lifted,  like  the  Socrates  of  comedy,  above  the  level  of 
humanity ;  they  have  to  come  down  and  walk  on  the  earth* 

Of  the  interiors  we  have  little  to  say*     They  may  be  generally 
characterised  as  elaborate  misconceptions  of  the  tone  and  feeling 
required  for  that  conjunction  of  the  utilitarian  and  the  dignified 
which  befits  the  supreme  administration  of  the  law.     The  whole 
thing  is  elaborately   overdone  :  these   carvings  and   mouldings, 
paintings   and   decorations,    marbles    and    statues    and    niches^ 
would   seem   merely  to  flout  the  pre-occupied   lawyer  and   the 
anxious   client.     Let  any  one  examine  Mr.  Scott*s  perspective 
views,  his  halls  and  ambulatories,    his  Venetian-Gothic  arcades, 
his  dome  from  St  Mark's,  his  statutes  and  paintings,— and  it  will 
assuredly  be  felt  that  the  whole  is  a  mere  travesty  of  ecclesiastical 
work,   not  genuine  in  any  sense,  but  merely  borrowed  from  an 
example  which  has  of  late  obtained  an  accidental  and  temporary 
noUmety,     The   lavishing  of  needless  expense  is  mere  vulgar 
bad  taste,  an  appeal  to  the  same  low  instincts  which  are  grati- 
fied by  the  costly  folly  of  a  Popish  shrine*     This  outlay  would 
be  fairly  paralleled  by  the  substitution,  in  the  library  of  Lin- 
coln's   Inn  J   of   '  Riviere's  best  crimson   morocco  binding,  gilt 
extra,'  for  the  simple  and  appropriate  '  vellum*  and  '  law  calf,* 
or  by  an  argument  in  an  easement  case  interlarded  with  quota- 
tions from  the  second  book  of  *  Paradise  Lost'     Above  allj  the 
mosaic  ceiling  of  the  dome  is  here  a  painful  impertinence,  pre- 
su-min^   to   associate   our   erring  attempts  at  justice  with    the 
ineflrable  sanctity  of  Divine  judgment  in  a  way  which  would   be 
ridiculous  were  it  not  much  worsse.     Mn   Waterhouse  has  not 
erred   in   this  direction  ;  we  cannot  charge  him   with  even  the 
travesty  of  dignity.     His  Central   Hall   has  the  glass  roof  and 
crossing  bridges  of  a  railway  station,  over  two  ranges  of  model 
Jodging^housesy  tricked  out  with  orange-trees  and  oleanders  from 
m.  continental  hotel-yard,   from  which   extend  lengths  o(  dark 
erypt  described  as  corridors,     Mr,   Street  has  avoided  the  too 
VoK  123» — No.  245.  1  ecclesiastical 


114  The  New  Courts  of  Law. 

ecclesiastical  effect  of  Mr.  Brandon's  otherwise  noble  Hall,  by 
the  use  of  a  single  arcade  down  the  centre,  forming  two  equal 
aisles ;  and  his  courts,  as  well  as  this  hall,  are  characterised  by 
a  very  commendable  simplicity  of  style.  But,  after  all,  we 
cannot  doubt  that,  if  the  architects  had  not  been  trammelled  by 
the  utter  inadequacy  of  the  allotted  space,  they  would  haye 
depended  for  public  approval  on  the  essentials  of  good  arrange- 
ment, instead  of  being  thrown  back  on  mere  decorative  outlay. 
As  it  is,  light  and  air,  convenience  and  dignity,  have  been  alike 
sacrificed.  The  plan  is  a  sort  of  mosaic  work,  a  cabinet  of 
courts  and  chambers,  packed  tight  and  close,  without  windage 
or  possibility  of  modification  ;  admirable  in  stowage,  but  miser- 
able for  any  work  of  human  life.  A  visitor  has  but  to  step  out 
of  the  rooms  where  the  designs  are  exhibited,  and  to  see  counsel 
and  attorneys  coming  out  of  the  neighbouring  courts  into  the 
open  spaces  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  to  feel  the  necessity  for  some  tach 
immediate  access  to  the  fresh  air. 

The  separation  of  the  profession  and  the  clients,  the  witnesses 
and  the  public,  by  flights  of  stairs  through  several  floors,  is 
quite  impracticable  and  absurd.  The  free  circulation  of  visitCHV 
has  become,  by  long  usage,  an  inseparable  part  of  the  public 
administration  of  justice.  No  greater  misfortune  could  befal 
either  bench  or  bar  than  any  diminution  of  that  interest  and 
supervision  which  maintains  the  popularity  of  our  judicial  sy»> 
tem.  Each  Court,  too,  should  have  its  own  individual  character, 
instead  of  twenty-four  repetitions  of  the  same  fashion,  which  may 
bo  suddenly  discovered  to  be  faulty  or  inadequate.  This  fatal  pre- 
cision and  inflexibility  is  alone  a  sufficient  condemnation  of  the 
present  scheme  ;  while  a  more  tentative  process  would  have  mani- 
fest advantages.  Let  the  plans  be  simple.  It  is  perfectly  easy  to 
invent  all  sorts  of  convenient  arrangements,  but  true  judgment  is 
shown  in  dispensing  with  them.  Most  m(Klern  plans  are  over- 
designed.  There  are  many  things  that  it  seems  desirable  to 
have,  but  there  are  nearly  as  many  that  we  should  be  thankful  to 
get  rid  of.  When  satisfied  of  our  method  by  the  experience  of 
a  part,  how  much  more  boldly  might  we  proceed  to  the  remainder 
of  the  work.  Time  properly  expended  is  never  lost;  and  we 
should  escape  the  danger  of  perpetrating  a  huge,  costly,  symme- 
trical blunder.  The  true  interests  of  architecture  and  law  would 
be  equally  advanced.  At  present,  architecture  is  not  an  art,  but 
a  profession,  and  may  even  be  called  a  trade.  Its  practitioners 
no  doubt  adroitly  meet  the  tastes  of  their  special  public,  employ- 
ing for  that  end  their  own  powers  of  memory  and  the  combining 
clerkmanship  of  their  assistants.  These  large  buildings  are  no 
doubt  designSy  in  the  nature  of  the  manufacturer's  pattern,   but 

not 


The  New  Caurti  of  Law, 


115 


not  of  the  artist's  conception.  Technical  knowledge  and  skill 
»re  of  course  employed,  as  they  are  in  the  constrnction  of  a  craok- 
axle  or  of  a  siphon-pump ;  but  genuine  thought,  real  dignity  of 
idea,  power  of  supfgestion,  fertility  of  fancy,  and  variety  of 
expression,  are  scarcely  to  be  met  with  even  in  the  best  works 
&f  modern    Gothic    architects.       Knowledge    is    not   wanting, 

're-search  has  even  ceased  to  be  a  merit,  as  the  present  competi- 
tion proves.  Mouldings,  and  carvingSjand  plinths,  and  cornices, 
und  panels,  and  groins,  are  exhibited  with  a  profusion  and 
variety  which  to  the  learned  and  unlearned  vulgar  is  abundantly 

I  captivating.    By  constant  professional  practice  they  have  attained, 

'in  their  art,  to  the  *  fatal  fluency'  of  the  habitual  popular 
speaker.  The  public  taste  is  like  that  of  a  child  charmed  with 
the  raw  colours  in  a  druggist's  window,  the  mere  materials  for  the 

l-effects  which  art  is  needed  to  develope ;  and  artists,  clever  but 
half-taught,  can  quickly  learn  the  tricks  and  knacks  which  satisfy 
the  popular  demand.  They  have  a  conceit  of  their  knowledge 
of  the  mere  grammar  of  the  art ;  and  their  style  resembles  a  dis- 
course made  up  of  extracts.  After  detecting  bits  from  the 
palaces  of  Westminster  or  Venice,  from  the  works  or  books  of 
Viollet-le-duc,  we  now  and  then  come  upon  some  fancy  or  folly 
of  detail  or  combination  which  is  decidedly  the  architect's  own. 

We  are  not  objecting  to  influence  and  instruction  from  old 
examples :  *  but  mere  readiness  of  memory,  quickness  of  eye,  and 
facility  of  finger,  are  not  to  be  substituted  for  weight  of  brain. 
Much  less  must  this  be  done  with  an  air  of  knowingness  and 
instruction,  as  if  it  were  a  new  revelation*  The  method  is 
neither  new  nor  inexhaustible ;  we  have  been  fain  to  use  it  ever 
since  the  Reformation :  Roman,  Grecian,  EgyptiaOj  and  Chinese 
have  been  used  up  in  turn;  and  what  satisfaction  shall  we  gain 
when  by  these  designs  we  shall  have  vulgarized  Venice?  We 
are  only  imitating,  neither  practising  nor  developing  an  art ;  we 
are  btit  players,  ready  to  produce  any  drama  adapted  from  abroad, 
These  designs  are  not  genuine  builder's  work,  but  mere  ■  art 
manufacture,"  against  the  continuance  of  which  we  feel  it  our 
solemn  duty  to  protest.  What  gain  to  art  hajs  resulted  from  the 
Palace  at  Westminster?  It  has  been  totally  unfructifying,  and 
has  but  served  to  produce  a  number  of  superior  mechanics,  whose 
works,  whether  in  wood  or  metal,  are  destroying  the  individual 

•  Among  the  ideas  that  we  might  import  with  advantage  from  nbroadj  i«  the 
itee,  *o  soitied  to  oar  climate,  of  terra-cotta  and  g taxed  riles.  How  admimbly  sact 
tiiAieriala  may  be  introduced  into  arcbit^ctuml  workt  of  a  high  order  may  t>t  geen 
frxiju  Gnmer^«  recently  pabli&hed  work  on  ihe  •  Term-eottm  Architecture  of  North 
Italy;'  a  megfitScretit:  volume^  cootaining  48  iOustrationf,  engravtd  and  printed 
in  c«lowr«t  which  will  be  found  nlike  oseful  to  the  architect,  and  inieresttog  to  all 
Imvn  of  art 

I  2  artistic 


116 


Hie  NiiiJ  Courtt  of  Lam, 


aruttic  dmmcter  of  every  church  and  cathedral  that  falls  within 
the  scope  of  the  '  restoring  mania,* 

What  we  want  is  a  growth^  and  not  a  toy;  a  building,  ocit  m 
design ;  an  edifice  that  shall  rise  up  as  a  thing  of  life  and  beauty, 
not  a  mere  ornamented  wall  set  down  in  the  tnidst  of  oar  streets, 
In  everything  we  are  too  elaborate^  A  city  warehouse  in  tlie 
Gothic  style  must  have  the  marbles  and  enrichments  of  a  cmthe^ 
dral  presbytery  :  even  a  village  church  is  not  allowed  the  dignity 
of  simplicity,  and  is  nothing  if  not  pretty.  To  this  itate  we  bare 
been  brought  by  the  principle  of  competition;  and  the  preaetit 
occasion,  on  which  the  evil  has  reached  it«  height^  presents  m 
fitting  opportunity  for  entering  a  better  way.  Let  the  work  be 
distributed  according  to  the  practical  dividon  we  have  already 
indicated.  Let  Gothic  architects  of  proved  ability  be  invited, 
without  previous  restriction  of  number,  to  confer^  and  settle  the 
geneml  plan  of  the  buihi  ings.  While  each  architect  would  assume 
the  initiative  in  designing  bis  own  separate  portion,  every  part 
might  bt;  subject  to  such  critical  judgment  of  the  entire  number 
as  would  ensure  the  harmonious  combination  of  tbe  whole  work. 
On  this  plan,  it  may  confidently  be  expected  that  the  architects 
will  no  longer  treat  the  business  as  one  of  mere  technical  super- 
intendence, but  will  give  to  the  moderate  amount  of  work  that 
may  be  entrusted  to  the  care  of  each  such  studious  rej  ^ 
as  a  generous  emulation,  to  say  nothing  of  professional 
terest,  would  naturally  Induce.  Thus  the  greatest  amount  of 
architectural  ability  and  judgment  that  our  country  can  produce 
will  be  brought  to  bear  up*m  the  work.  The  initiative  of  one 
architect  for  Ccich  court  will  give  that  individuality'  and  variety 
which  we  have  shown  to  be  so  essential  j  while  a  t borough  har- 
mony of  effect  will  be  secured  through  the  genei-al  cu*opcration 
of  the  architects.  And  certainly  foLir-and-tw*t*nty,  or  even  thirty 
men  can  be  found  to  whom  as  many  sections  of  the  work  can 
be  advantageously  entrusted ;  even  for  the  larger  number  there 
would  be  an  average  amount  of  some  fifty  tbousand  pounds' worth 
of  work»  which  would  give  ample  employment  to  a  lealoua  and 
conscientious  artist.  VVe  altogether  refuse  to  admit  the  idea  that 
the  true  spirit  of  harmonious  co-operation  would  be  wanting  :  and, 
as  for  the  sense  of  resjionsibility^  nothing  could  possibly  strengthen 
it  more  than  the  arrangement  we  propose.  This  combinattfm  of 
spcL-lal  knowledge  with  rcsponsibilily  is  the  essential  condition 
of  success  in  every  well-ordered  undertaking  ;  and  this  is  the  plan 
we  habitually  follow  in  politics,  law,  and  medicine.  Where 
special  knowledge  is  required^  to  judge  and  select  it  by  special 
ignorance  is  absurd.  The  Commissioners  are  able,  intclligenc, 
^and  cultivated  men,  but  they  arc  not  architects ;  and  to  ask  them 

to 


The  NmD  Courts  of  Law.  117 


^P   to  decide  on  tbe  merits  or  demerits  of  these  designs  is  as  sagacious 
^    as  to  require  the  eleven  competitors  to  ^ive  judgment  in  a  rase 
^^    of  contingent  remainders.     We  have  had  enough  of  djlettantism  ■ 
^m    let  us  get  wel !  rid  of  it ^  and  give  the  architects  fair  play»     Our 
^"    national   architecture  —  from  cathedrals  to   cottages  —  was   not 
created  by  inviting  people,  who  had  so  well  devoted  their  lives  to 
other  studies  as  to  have  achieved  distiogaished  success  in  them, 
to  decide  on  the  practice  of  an  art  in  which  they  were  jierfectly, 
or,  what  is  still  worse,  imperfectli/  ignorant,     ^  VVestminster '  and 
•Lincoln,'  'Strasburg'  and  *  Cologne,*  were  built  by  honest  work- 
men, who  knew  nothing  of  Commissioners,  and  who  found  that 
^m    they  had  more  than  enough  to   do  to  satisfy  themselves.     But 
^P    now^  our  architects  are  required,  not  to  build  nobly,  but  to  please 
^    committees;   and  w^c  know  thtt  contemptible  results.     It  would 
r         be  interesting  to  compare  first,  the  drawing  instruments  of  the 
^m    two  ages,  and  then  the  work  on  which  tbey  were  employed  ; 
^M   tbe  manly  roughness  of  the  one  with  the  finicking  precision  of 
^P  the  other*     Let  us  retnm  to   the   old   paths.     It  is  only  by  a 
^^  union   of  practical   artists   that  worthy   thoughts  can  be  inter- 
changed and  feeble  fancies  eliminatetf.     Institutes  and  societies 
w^ill  not  do  this  i  there  must  be  community  in  practice.     In  the 
really  great   periods  of  art  there  have  always  been  schools  not 
merely  of  students,   but  of  workers,  who  at  once  thought  and 
acted.     In  tlie  creative  age  of  Greece  we  find  families  of  artists 
with   such   significant  names   as   Eucheir,   Eupalamtis^   Cheiri- 
sophus  {f/(mti  arid  cleave  with  the  hand\  and  Chersiphron  {handy- 
minded).     And  in  th(?  middle  ages  it  is  clear  that  the  builders, 
by  constant   association,    perfected    method,   and   thus    t>ecaine 
true  '  masters '  of  their  art, 

There  must  of  course  be  some  acknowledged  principle  of  style ; 
and  this  must  be  purely  English.  We  have  a  style,  national  and 
indigenous,  which  for  utility  and  beatity  has  never  been  equalled, 
and  every  substitute  we  have  tried  has  proved  a  failure.  Let  us 
st&rt  again  from  the  pure  Gothic  of  the  fourteenth  century,  and 
let  every  advance  be  a  genuine  and  sympathetic  development  of 
thisj  not  a  mere  addition  of  inconsistent  and  incoherent  forms, 
We  daily  hear  complaints  that  our  architects  are  for  ever  imi-  ^H 
taling,  and  never  able  to  attain  to  an  original  and  truly  English  • 
style.  But,  in  truth,  a  new  English  architecture  is  no  more 
wanted  than  a  new  English  language:  both  have  the  growth 
and  fleatibility  needful  to  meet  every  requirement  of  modern  life.  ^A 
Of  this  we  are  well  assured,  that  there  is  no  lack  among  us  of  ^| 
roen  fully  competent  to  carry  forward  the  style  of  our  old  builders : '  ^ 
but  would  any  one  mistake  these  designs  for  the  productions  of 
those  true  workmen?     The  very  ruins  of  the  old  work  are  full  of 

dignity 


I 


i 


118  Mtmntain  Climbing. 

dignity  and  suggestion  ;  but  suppose  a  Palace  of  Justice,  built  after 
the  designs  we  have  been  examining,  to  be  in  ruins,  what  sense  of 
dignity  or  reverence  would  be  associated  with  them  ?  Buildings 
are  enduring  monuments  of  the  character  of  an  age.  By  them 
we  know  the  ancients :  what  idea  of  us  would  these  give  to  our 
posterity  ?  Once  erected,  they  must  stand,  to  bear  such  a  witness ; 
unlike  perishable  pictures,  and  statues  that  can  be  removed  from 
the  places  they  adorn  or  encumber.  Much,  indeed,  is  due  to  the 
mellowing  effects  of  time ;  but  we  should  work  like  men  who  can 
wait  for  the  fruits  of  age,  not  strive,  like  children,  to  anticipate 
them  by  the  petty  artifice  of  decoration  and  display. 


Art.  V. — 1.  Murray  s  Handbook  for  Travellers  in  SwitzerlaMd, 
and  the  Alps  of  Savoy  and  Piedmont.  New  Edition*  London, 
1867. 

2.  Murray  s   Knapsack    Guide — Switzerland.     New    Edition. 
London,  1867. 

3.  Bairs  Guide  to  the  Alps.     New  Edition.     London,  1866. 

4.  Tim  Alpine  Journal.  '  Vols.  I.  and  II.     London,  1864-1866. 

5.  Jahrbuch  des  (Estetreichischen  Alpen-  Vereines.    Wien,  1863- 
1866. 

6.  Bulletino  Trimestrale  del  Club  Alnino  di  Torino.    1865, 1866. 

7.  Les  Alpes    Suisses.      Par    Eugene  Kambart.      Paris    and 
Geneva,  1866. 

STEAM  and  iron  are  the  two  great  magicians  of  the  age. 
Besides  the  wonders  which  they  can  boast  in  the  field  of 
commercial  enterprise,  they  have  cast  a  not  less  potent  spell 
over  our  lighter  occupations.  Ease  and  rapidity  of  transit 
from  place  to  place  have  effected  as  much  for  the  light  step 
of  pleasure  as  for  the  toiling  hand  of  care.  Our  recrea- 
tions have  undergone  a  thorough  transformation.  This  is  true 
in  no  small  degree  even  if  we  do  not  look  beyond  the  home- 
department  of  relaxation.  The  sea-side  in  summer,  the  race- 
course, the  cricket-ground,  the  arena  of  athletic  sports,  all  bear 
their  testimony  to  the  mighty  energy  by  which  crowds  are 
poured  upon  them ;  each  stands  out  in  remarkable  contrast  to 
what  it  was  a  generation  ago.  But  in  no  respect  has  the  strong 
hand  laid  upon  time  and  space  worked  greater  wonders  for  us 
islanders  than  in  the  vastly  increased  opportunity  and  facility 
for  continental  rambles.  What  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  was 
the  costly  privilege  of  a  few  with  trouble  and  difficulty,  is  now 
the  economical  boon  of  the  many  with  ease  and  comfort  In 
twenty-eight  hours  from  London  we  may  scent  the  Mediter- 
ranean breeze  at  Marseilles ;  or  we  may  be  set  down  among  the 

very 


Mmmtain  CUmhin^. 


119 


very  fastnesses  of  the  Alps  in  less  time  and  widi  less  fatigue 
ttan  it  cost  our  grandsires  to  achieve  the  journey  from  York  to 
London.  Human  flesh  now  creeps  at  the  thought  of  the  old  mail- 
coach  journey  het ween  London  and  Edinburgh  ;  and  reeo] lections 
of  the  old  summer  crawl  through  heat  and  dust  between  Paris 
and  Geneva  are  as  a  horrible  nightmare.  Yet  we  have  still  hardy 
stuff  among  us  ready  for  other  forms  of  endurance j  to  which  the 
speed  of  modem  travelling  has  introduced  us.  Whereas  for- 
merly the  busy  haunts  of  men,  and  the  treasures  of  art  which  they 
boasted,  were  the  usual  and  almost  exclusive  objects  of  travel, 
now  the  solitude  of  the  Alpine  valley,  and  the  palaces  of  nature, 
attract  thousands.  If  that  pleasant  sprinkling  of  incident  which 
gave  a  mst  to  the  travelling  of  the  last  century  has  been  lost  in 
the  rapidity  with  which  we  are  hurried  from  place  to  place,  it 
has  in  some  measure  found  a  substitute  in  adventure  of  another 
description.  The  mountain  side  affords  a  rich  field  of  enter- 
prise. The  Handbooks  for  Switzerlandj  the  Tyrol,  and  the 
Monntitns  of  France  belong  essentially  to  a  generation  of  changed 
tastes  and  habits*  Travelling  is  now  for  the  many,  and  will 
become  BO  more  and  more*  The  exclusive  may  sigh,  and  the 
orthodox  traveller,  whose  night's  sleep  has  fled  before  the  noisy 
intrusion  of  one  of  Mr.  Cook*3  excursion  parties,  may  groan,  but 
the  stream  of  tourists  wiil  be  as  the  Alpine  torrent  when  the  sun 
strikes  down  upon  the  snows  ;  and  Switzerland  will  be  its  main 
channel.  Our  forefathers  bound  for  Italy  by  any  of  the  great 
Alpine  passes  used  to  catch  a  jiassing  gtimpse  of  the  majesty  of 
the  mountains,  but  even  that  was  the  privilege  of  the  few.  Now 
it  miv  be  said  that  the  precincts  of  the  Alps  have  become  the 
playground  of  Englishmen.  There  by  many  the  marks  of  the 
jcar's  toil  are  rubbed  out,  and  the  frame  is  braced  anew  for  a 
fresh  round  of  exertion* 

While  the  Pyrenees,  and,  the  portions  of  the  great  Alpine 
chain  towards  the  east  and  south-west,  are  sought  by  some 
for  variety  or  from  love  of  quiet,  the  central  district  of  the 
Alps  is  that  which  attracts  by  far  the  greater  number  of 
travellers.  It  contains  an  endless  variety  of  the  grandest 
scenery  in  a  very  moderate  compass;  From  Geneva  east- 
ward to  the  Ortler  is  little  more  than  two  hundred  miles  in  a 
direct  line,  and  from  the  Rhine  at  Basle  to  Monte  Rosa  is  less 
than  a  hundred  and  twenty.  If  we  regard  only  a  central  area^ 
comprising  Switzerland  and  the  portion  of  Italy  corresponding 
to  it  on  the  other  side  of  the  chain,  taking  our  stand  on  the  St. 
Gothard  as  a  central  point,  a  radius  of  from  eighty  to  a  hundred 
lailes  will  include  the  entire  extent  of  mountain  scenery  i  and  its 
more  ftrikbg  features,  both  towards  the  north  and  towards  the 

souths 


120  Mountain  Climbing. 

south*  lie  within  a  much  narrower  limit.  The  courses  of  the  great 
rivers,  especially  in  their  upper  channels,  are  a  key  to  the  con- 
figuration of  the  Alps,  and  no  better  station  can  be  found  for  a 
preliminary  study  of  the  mountain-groups  than  the  St  Gothard. 
Within  a  sweep  of  a  dozen  miles  are  the  sources  of  six  normal 
streams ;  towards  the  west  rise  the  Rhone,  the  Aar,  and  the  Reuss, 
— towards  the  east  the  Rhine, — and  on  the  south  the  Tlcino, 
and  the  Toccia  or  Tosa,  flowing  to  different  points  of  the  Lago 
Maggiore.  The  other  rivers,  whose  courses  should  be  particu- 
larly noted  as  defining  the  Alpine  chain,  are  the  Dora  Baltea, 
the  Inn,  and  the  Adda.  The  general  parallelism  of  the  upper 
valleys  of  the  Rhine,  the  Rhone,  the  Aar,  the  Inn,  and  the  Adda, 
is  particularly  worthy  of  obser\'ation.  The  main  or  Pennine 
chain  of  the  Alps  extends  between  the  valley  of  the  Rhone 
and  that  of  the  Dora,  and  is  continued  towards  the  east  in  the 
Rha^tian  and  Bemina  group,  between  the  valleys  of  the  Rhine 
and  those  of  the  Inn  and  Adda.  Between  the  Rhone  and  the 
Aar  is  the  range  of  the  Bernese  Oberland.  From  the  valleys 
parallel  to  the  main  ridge  others  strike  up  at  intervals  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  ice-world  :  and  it  is  chiefly  by  exploring  these 
that  nature  is  to  be  seen  in  succession  in  her  fairest,  grandest, 
and  wildest  aspects. 

Among  the  earlier  English  travellers  in  the  Alps,  Mr.  Brocke- 
don  stands  conspicuous  by  the  valuable  volumes  which  he 
published,  with  illustrations,  in  1827-29.  During  the  few  years 
which  preceded  that  publication  our  countrymen  seem  to  have 
sought  the  Alps  in  unusual  force  for  those  times.  The  attention 
which  the  accident  to  Dr.  Hamel's  party  in  1820  attracted  may 
have  contributed  to  tliis.  In  1823  Mr.  Clissold  published  his 
*  Narrative  of  an  Ascent  to  the  Summit  of  Mont  Blanc  ;*  and 
this  was  followed  shortly  afterwards  by  those  of  Messrs.  Sherwill, 
Fellowes,  and  Auldjo,  in  three  successive  years.  Mr.  Fellowes 
and  his  companion  Mr.  Hawes  were  the  first  to  pursue  the  route 
by  the  Corridor.  The  '  Pedestrian '  and  the  '  Alpenstock  '  of 
Latrobe  were  the  contribution  of  an  intermediate  period  to  the 
stock  of  Alpine  literature,  which  of  late  years  has  so  rapidly 
increased,  and  includes  so  many  works  of  interest,  that  enumera- 
tion is  impracticable  and  selection  invidious. 

The  Guide-books  have  accomplished  with  great  judgment 
and  skill  the  diflicult  task  of  breaking  up  the  complicated 
mountain  masses  into  groups,  and  pointing  out  the  routes 
which  will  best  reward  the  traveller.  Murray's  '  Handbook  for 
Switzerland  and  Savoy '  could  not  have  been  brought  to  its 
present  state  without  repeated  accessions  of  special  local  obser- 
imtion.     Compilation  from  miscellaneous  books  of  travel  would 

have 


Mamdain  Climbittf/, 


121 


have  failed.  The  soundness  of  the  plan  has  been  strongly  attested 
by  the  number  of  imitators  on  the  Continent,  and  the  genuineness 
of  its  execution  by  the  book  having  already  attained  its  eleventh 
etlition.  It  is  indeed  by  this  rapid  succession,  not  of  reprints, 
but  of  new  editions,  that  even  fiucb  matters  as  the  character  of 
hotels  and  mountain  inns,  which  often  vary  much  within  a  short 
time,  are  so  seldom  found  to  mislead.  Nor  is  it  only  in  the 
m jitter  of  topog:raphy  that  the  Guide-books  are  useful  compa- 
nions^— they  brings  tog^ether  every  conceivable  advice  and  infor- 
mation which  the  incipient  traveller  can  desire  or  needj  to 
secnrej  as  far  as  may  be,  kis  health  and  comfort  and  pleasure 
during  his  trip  Passports,  money,  the  country,  the  people, 
warniug^s  (often  much  needed)  not  to  degrade  John  Bull  in 
their  eyes,  horses,  guides,  and  inns,  tours  for  those  who  don't 
ride  and  ibr  those  who  dt>^  for  those  who  walk,  and  for  those 
who  climb,  dangers  and  precautions,  glacier  thcorios  and  meteoro- 
logy, the  Alpine  fauna  and  flora,  these  are  all  in  the  Handbooks, 
The  *  Alpine  Guide'  of  Mr.  Ball  is  planned  to  consist  of  three 
parts,  comprising  severally  the  Western,  the  Central,  and  the 
Kastern  Alps*  Of  these  the  first  ^vas  published  in  1863  j  the 
second  followed  in  1804  *  the  third  has  not  yet  appeared.  Of  the 
two  parts  published  there  were  new  editions  in  the  course  of  last 
year;  and,  as  in  the  case  of  the  *  Handbooks/  fresh  information 
15  being  continually  gathered  for  future  incorporation.  On  the 
geologist  and  the  botanist  Mr,  Ball  has  conferreil  an  especial 
l>oon  by  some  fiftv  chisel y  printed  pages  of  prefatory  matter  on 
the  Geology  of  the  Alps,  and  by  noting  tlie  botanical  treasures 
of  each  district  in  their  proper  place.  To  those  who  travel 
chiefly  by  can- i age  or  even  by  mule,  a  somewhat  bulky  Guide- 
book in  the  portmanteau  is  of  small  account,  but  to  the  pedestrian, 
whose  impedimenta  must  be  crarrjed  by  himself  or  his  guide,  this 
becomes  a  more  serious  consideration.  The  Knapsack  Guides 
of  Mr^  Murray,  being  smaller  volumes,  not  only  relieve  the  incon- 
venience, but,  by  judicious  selection  and  rigid  conciseness,  pro- 
vide for  the  pedestrian  just  what  he  needs, 

*^  Many  magnificent  scenes  in  the  Alps,  which  were  formerly 
sealed  to  all  except  those  able  and  willing  to  endure  the 
rough  accommodation  of  the  chalet,  are  now  brought  within 
the  reach  of  travellers  in  general*  Alpine  inns  have  been  esta- 
blished in  the  most  attractive  spots,  some  perched  high  among 
the  mountains^  some  nestling  in  the  upper  valleys.  We  note 
a  few  to  which  either  their  very  recent  establishment,  or  the 
excellence  of  their  situation  and  management,  gives  prominence!. 
At  the  foot  of  the  Rhone  Glacier,  at  a  height  of  5700  feet, 
there  i^  now  a  comfortable  hotel,  replacing  the  mere  hut  of  some 

years 


122  Mountain  Climbinff. 

years  ago.  On  the  slope  of  the  -^l^^grischhom,  above  \  iesck 
more  than  700()  feet  above  the  sea,  the  traveller  wUl  find  good 
qucirtcrs.  Wellijr,  the  spirited  proprietor,  exerts  hinuelf  to  the 
utmost  for  the  comfort  of  his  puest:s,  and  has  so  macadamised 
the  upper  rocks  of  the  mountain  as  to  make  the  summit  with  its 
glorious  view  easily  accessible.  A  smaller  but  excellent  innr stands 
at  nearly  an  equal  elevation  on  the  Lusgen  Alp,  now  named  the  Bel 
Alp,  com  mam  lino-  a  fine  view  of  Monte  Leone  in  front,  and  orer- 
lookine:  the  Aletsch  Glacier  behind.  Soiler  s  inn,  at  the  Riffel 
ovi»r  Zcrmatt,  occupies  still  higher  pround,  being  little  leas  than 
8500  feet  above  the  sea.  It  was  much  enlarged  in  1864,  and  is 
both  comfortable  and  well  kept.  The  Theodule  pass  has  now  the 
Ix^nefit  of  a  good  inn  at  Breuil,  besides  the  hut  on  the  summit, 
and  those  who  cross  the  Mon>  find  not  only  much  improved 
quarters  at  Macugnaga,  but  a  decent  homely  inn  at  the  Mat- 
marksee.  At  Gressonay  a  second  sulntantial  and  well-appointed 
hotel  has  been  opened  ;  it  is  a  spot  at  which  the  traveller  should 
linger.  In  the  Val  d'Anniviers  at  St.  Luc  and  at  Zinal,  in  the 
Vald'Erin  at  Kvolena,  in  the  Val  de  Bagnes  at  Pont  de  Man- 
voisin  under  Mont  Pleureur,  there  arc  new  inns,  by  the  help  of 
which  districts  formerly  un visited  may  be  conveniently  explored. 
At  Chermontane,  the  head  of  the  Val  de  Bagnes,  such  a  refuge 
would  be  a  great  accjuisition.  At  Champery,  under  the  Dent  da 
Midi,  on  the  west,  and  at  Pontresina  and  Samaden  on  the  east, 
hotel  accommodation  has  been  much  increased  and  improved,  and 
a  new  inn,  likely  to  be  very  useful,  has  just  been  completed  be- 
tween the  foot  of  the  Morteratsch  Glacier  and  the  Bernina  Pass. 
The  new  carrijige-road  by  the  Albula  to  Tiefenkastcn  was  opened 
last  year,  giving  further  choice  of  routes  to  the  Engadine. 
Though  it  is  now  full  forty  years  since  our  illustrious  country- 
man Sir  J.  W.  llerschel  made  the  first  ascent  of  the  Breithom 
above  Zermatt,  few  Englishmen  set  foot  in  the  village  for  many 
years  afterwards.  Fifteen  years  ago  there  was  only  one  litde 
inn  th(Te,  with  accommodation  Jor  hardly  a  dozen  persons. 
Great  is  the  contrast  now  presented  on  a  {Sunday  in  August  in 
that  line  Alj>ine  retreat. 

Saas  has  long  been  a  halting-])oint  in  crossing  the  Mom. 
Some  half-hours  ascent  from  the  village  by  a  good  path  unfolds 
an  Alpine  scene  unique  and  unsurpassed  in  grandeur,  the  ¥ee 
Glacier  backed  by  the  peaks  of  the  Mischabel;  yet  numbers 
of  travellers,  from  ignorance,  incredulity,  or  apathy,  go  their 
way  without  beholding  it.  Numbers  of  visitors  to  Chamonix 
both  go  and  return  by  the  St  Martin  and  Geneva  road,  and, 
without  ever  having  quitted  the  valley,  think,  if  they  have  been  for- 
tunate in  the  weather,  that  they  have  had  a  i>erfect  view  of  Mont 

Blanc. 


Mouniain  Climbing, 


1S8 


Blanc.  Some  leave  tie  place  mistaking,  not  unnaturally,  the  Dome 
du  Goutt5  for  tlie  summit.  But,  while  the  Aiguilles  are  a  perfect 
picture  from  ChamoniXj  and  the  real  charm  of  the  situation, 
Mont  Blanc  projier  can  be  no  more  advantageously  seen  from 
the  valley  than  a  pnrtait  hanging  liigh  on  a  wall  can  from  a  point 
of  the  floor  too  immediately  beneath  it  To  estimate  tlie  vastaess 
of  the  Monarch,  and  the  proportions  of  his  giant  limbg,  it  is 
necessary  to  ascend  the  northern  side  of  the  valley,  the  nearer 
to  the  ridge  of  the  Brevcnt  the  better.  Indeed,  by  placing  this 
ridge  between  Mont  BJanc  and  the  beholder,  so  that  it  becomes 
a  foreground,  a  more  perfect  picture  is  obtained.  The  views 
from  the  Col  d' Ante  me,  and  from  the  summit  or  some  of  the 
slopes  of  the  Buet,  are  of  this  kind.  For  those  who  ride  there 
is  no  better  way  of  approaching  Chamonix  than  by  the  Col 
d'Anterne.  It  combines  several  advantages  ;  it  takes  the  traveller 
to  Siatf^  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  which  are  beauties 
too  little  kDown^and  the  best  route  thence  to  the  Col  lies  through 
the  Vallee  des  Fonds,  the  loveliest  of  glens,  passing  close  to  Mr. 
Wills  s  house^  the  Eagle's  Nest,  From  the  Col  Chamonix  may 
be  reached  either  by  Servo2>  or  (which  is  much  better)  by  crossing 
the  ridge  of  the  Br^vent.  From  Sist  to  Chamonix  is  too  long  a 
day  for  the  generality  of  travel lers.  An  inn  near  the  Chalets 
d'Anterae  would  be  a  great  boon.  It  would  then  be  only  a 
motlerate  day^s  work  to  reach  Chamonix  by  the  Col  d' Anteme 
and  the  Brevent  Sixt  is  within  forty  miles  of  Geneva  \  there  is 
&  gnod  carriage-Toad  thither  j  the  part  between  Samoens  and  Sixt, 
fofjnerly  full  narrow  for  a  pair  of  horses,  has  been  lately  widened 
and  improved.  Sixt  is  also  easily  reached  from  the  Rhone 
valley  by  the  Val  dllliez.  When  he  has  seen  the  beauties  of 
Champery,  two  easy  Cols  conduct  the  traveller  to  Sixt  it  is 
singular  that  the  death  of  two  Bnlmats,  both  celebrated  in  the 
annals  of  Chamonix,  should  be  associated  with  the  Valley  of 
Sixt.  Jacques,  the  first  person  who  ascended  Mont  Blanc,  perished 
on  the  Glacier  of  Mont  Ruan>  it  is  ^id  in  a  search  for  gold; 
Auguste,  the  well-known  guide  of  Professor  Forbes,  died  at  the 
house  of  Mr,  Wills,  and  is  interred  in  the  churchyard  at  Sixt, 
close  to  the  inn,  which  is  in  fact  an  adaptation  of  the  old  con- 
vent, A  traveller  leaving  Chamonix  in  the  direction  of  Mar- 
tigny  will  do  well  to  combine  the  Col  du  Balme^  the  Tete  Noire, 
and  the  Gorge  of  Trient  in  his  route.  From  the  Col  du  Balme  a 
mule-path  descends  to  a  point  near  the  Tete  Noire  inn.  Sleeping 
quarters  may  be  bad  eithf^r  there,  or  at  the  Barberine,  and  the 
journey  be  continued  by  Finhaut  and  Sal  vent,  after  a  visit  to  the 
cascade.  TTie  rough  part  of  the  road,  where  it  ascends  from 
the  Eau  Noire,  was  improved  last  year, 

A  succession 


124  Mountain  Climbing^ 

A  succession  of  wet  days  at  a  mountain  inn  is  a  sore  trial  to 
the  unhappy  traveller,  cut  off  from  resources  which  solace  him 
at  home  for  the  loss  of  a  favourite  pursuit  or  pleasant  engage- 
ment    When  he  has  written  up  his  journal  and  despatched  his 
letters,  he  may  chance  to  have  a  somewhat  weary  time  of  it 
If  he  happen  to  be  weather-bound  in  some  of  the  more  frequented 
haunts,  surrounded  by  the  comforts  of  a  large  and  suinptuoas 
hotel,  he  may  fall  back  upon  the  study  of  character.     He  will 
most  probably  find  not  only  several  nations   represented,  bat 
various  types  of  each.     Considering  the  intervening  stretch  of 
ocean,  the  general  prevalence  of  the  trans-Atlantic  element  in 
these  gatherings  is  remarkable.     The  tide  sets  strongest  along 
the  route  of  the  Great  St.  Bernard,  and  attains  its  height  at  the 
Hospice  itself,  which  seems  with  many  to  be  the  great  object  of 
the  pilgrimage.     Sterne,  in  his  ^  Sentimental  Journey,*  classifies 
the  whole  circle  of  travellers  under  heads.     His  vain  traveller, 
if  of  the  talkative  order,  is  a  lucky  resource  to  a  party  whose 
spirits  are  down  with  the  barometer.     He  is  doubly  diverting. 
He  has  a  budget  of  good  stories  on  the  perplexities  of  the  unso- 
phisticated tourist,  and  he  is  a  good  story  himself  in  his  grand 
air   of  superiority  to  criticism,   while  he   is  probably  a  very 
gullible  mortal.     We  once  heard  him,  after  unsparing  ridicule 
of  others,  come  out  with  the  remark  that  Mont  Blanc  would  be 
at  a  discount  now  thirty  dressmakers  of  Geneva  had  been  to  the 
summit     A  mild  suggestion  of  doubt  as  to  the  fact  was  repelled 
with   magnificenca      Smellfungtis  and   Mundungus  are  not   yet 
extinct  even  in  the  Alps,  though  the  mountain  air  is  not  favour- 
able to  spleen,  nor  the  mountain  scenery  to  apathy.     We  cannot 
iiiiag:ine   why    people   who   are    perpetually  grumbling   should 
travel,  unless  it  be  that  they  grumble  worse  at  home.     But  AtuU' 
dunffUSj  who  '  looks  neither  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left,'  must  still 
make  the  grand  tour.     For  though  he  cares  not  to  sce^  he  must 
be  able  to  say  that  he  has  seen.     He  must  be  presented  at  the 
Court   of  Nature,    and    do   homage    in    her   gorgeous   palaces. 
«  What,'  asks  he,  '  is  that  opening  ? '     *  It  is  the  R**  Glacier  ;  if 
you  walk  only  a  few  hundred  yards,  you  will  have  a  superb  view 
up  its  whole  extent  to  the  highest  j>eaks.'     *  Enough,'  saj's  M., 
suiting  the  action  to  the  word  in  a  book  he  carried :  *  the  R** 
Glacier ;  thanks ; — I've  ticked  it  off.' 

The  distinction  between  the  traveller  and  the  tourist  is  well 
known.  It  is  said  to  have  been  more  definitely  marked  twenty  or 
thirty  years  ago  than  it  is  at  present  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  Alps 
may  have  a  wholesome  influence  towards  its  obliteration.  Already 
there  is  a  goodly  proportion  of  such  as  come  not  only  to  see,  but 
to  gaze  and  to  understand.  And  much  indeed  is  there  to  be  under- 
stood, 


Mouniain  Climhijv;, 


stood,  raucli  to  evoke  energy  of  mind,  as  well  as  to  confer  vigour 
ol  botly.  Mountain  excursions  possess  this  advantage  over  most 
alher  recreations,  that  they  may  be  blended  with  pursuits  of  an 
elevating  and  instructive  cliaracter.  Close  to  oft-trod  ways,  the 
botanist  and  the  geologist  may  find  profusion  of  treasure  to 
enrich  their  collectians,  while  in  Alpine  recesses  guarded  by 
rocks  and  ice  are  laid  up  evidences  concerning  some  of  Nature^s 
most  interesting  secrets,  like  the  golden  apples  in  the  garden  of 
the  Hesperides,  The  names  of  De  Saussure,  Rendu,  Agassiz, 
Studer,  Forbes,  Hopkins,  and  Tyndall,  declare  how  much  various 
departments  of  physics  owe  to  ardent  exploration  of  the  Alps. 
The  eternal  snows  indeed  furnish  some  of  the  most  intricate  pro- 
blems in  the  range  of  mechanical  science.  It  is  only  lately  that 
the  constitution  of  the  glacier,  and  the  descent  of  the  great  ice- 
stream  on  its  uneasy  bed,  have  been  rigorously  explaiDed  and 
settled,  and  there  still  remain  minor,  though  hardly  less  engross- 
ing, questions,  which  require  patient  observation  and  further 
evidence  for  their  elucidation. 

The  growing  taste  for  exploring  the  snow-fields  of  the  Alps 
soon  led  to  the  establishment  of  Alpine  Clubs  both  in  Eng- 
land and  on  the  Continent*  By  the  association  of  a  few  con- 
genial spirits  at  home  about  ten  years  ago  the  English  Alpine  Club 
was  organised,  and  in  1S59  was  fairly  inaugurated  with  the  public 
by  their  favourable  reception  of  a  volume  recording  some  of  the 
Alpine  experiences  of  its  members.*  As  the  Club  gave  a  fresh  im- 
pulse to  mountaineering,  it  was  only  reasonable  that  it  should  take 
aJa  interest  in  improving  the  means  and  appliances  of  the  moun- 
taineer This  responsibility  it  has  not  ignored,  and  has  perhaps 
done  even  greater  service  by  the  influence  which  it  has  exercised 
on  the  guide-systems  abroad,  than  by  the  attention  which  it  has 
bestowed  on  the  various  articles  of  Alpine  gear.  The  usual 
qualilication  for  the  Club  is  acquaintance  with  the  higher  Alps, 
but  eminence  in  litemture,  science,  or  art,  combined  with  a  fair 
extent  of  ordinary  Alpine  travelling,  is  also  a  passport  to  admis- 
sion* It  is  a  worthy  object  to  bring  together  genuine  lovers 
of  the  Alps,  and  it  would  l>e  matter  for  regret  if  a  mere  climbing 
qualiftcation  were  ever  pressed  to  the  exclusion  of  such  persons, 
while  it  admitted  the  man  who  by  mere  accident  o(  company, 
and  under  other  favourable  circumstances,  bad  made  two  or 
three  caurs  ertraordinaires^  but  whose  tastes  w*ould  perhaps  never 
draw  him  to  the  Alps  again.     It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  a 


'  A  seccjTid  series  cif  the  *  Pi*aks»  Paiiscf,  and  Glaciers,*  in  two  rolumes,  jtp- 
ired  hi  i8?J2;  mjU  the  *  Alpine  Journar  was  published  quiwlerlj  fmm  Mdreli^ 
•3,  tt*  the  t'wd  of  bfit  joar. 

club 


126  Mountain  Climbing. 

club  constituted  as  this  is  should  possess  a  distinctly  scientific 
character,  but  it  certainly  has  great  opportunities  of  promodngr  a 
kind  of  observation  of  which  scientific  inquiry  craves  a  fuller 
store,  and  we  would  gladly  see  a  continued  prevalence  of  time 
spirit  in  which  a  few  years  ago  minimum  thermometers  were 
under  its  sanction  placed  on  some  of  the  highest  peaks  of  the 
Alps. 

Of  the  contributions  of  some  of  its  members  to  Alpine  geo* 
graphy  the  Club  may  be  justly  proud,  the  more  so  as  in  three 
instances  their  merits  have  received  a  graceful  recognition  from 
the    Sovereign   in    whose   territory    they   had    been   active  ex- 
plorers.    Mr.  Ball,  the  first  president  of  the  Club,  Mr.  W.  Uimr 
thews,  and  Mr.  Tuckett,  were  honoured  in  1865  with  the  order 
of  SS.  Maurice  and  Lazarus  by  the  King  of  Italy,  in  considera- 
tion of  their  scientific  and  geographical  investigations  in  the 
Alps.     When  it  is  remembered  how  much  of  their  work  con- 
sisted in  exposing  the  numerous  and  grievous  errors  of  the  Ssr- 
dinian  Government  maps,  the  generosity  of  this  acknowledgment 
will  be  the  better  appreciated.     Mont  Iseran,  for  so  many  yesrs 
the  culminating  point  of  the  Tarentaise  on  the  maps,  and  described 
in  glowing  colours  as  little  lower  than  Mont  Blanc,  vanished  it 
the  magic  touch  of  genuine  exploration.     Like  Mont  Cenis,  it 
was,  in  truth,  not  a  peak  but  a  col,  on  whose  site  imaginstiTe 
surveyors,  as  Mr.  Mathews   suggests,  had  probably  dropped  » 
duplicate    of  the    Grand    Paradis,  transferring  it  some   fifteen 
miles  across  the  Val  di  Locana,  and  giving  it  the  name  of  tli9 
Col.     Other  figments  of  Alpine  geography  were  discovered  bf 
Mr.  Adams  Reilly.     On  the  maps  the  Glacier  du  Tour  had  been 
elongated  towards  the  south  by  more   than  two  miles,   and  sn 
imaginary  summit,  named  the  Point  des  Plines,  had  been  erected 
at  a  distance  of  more  than  a  mile  and  a  half  on  the  northenn 
flank  of  the  Aiguille  d'Argentiere,    being,    as    Mr.    Reilly  no 
doubt  rightly  conjectures,  a  reproduction  of  the  back  of  that 
peak.     He  shows,  in  like    manner,   that  the  Aiguille  de  Tre- 
latete   and    Aiguille   de   T Alloc  Blanche,    which  had  assumed 
separate  existences,  are  in  reality  one  and  the  same.     He  gives 
an  entertaining  description  of  the  process  by  which  peaks  have 
been  thus  manufactured  in  duplicate: — 

*  An  engineer  points  his  theodolito  at  a  rather  blnnt-looking  rockj 
peak,  and  asks  his  guide  its  name.  Guide,  being  a  native  of  the  vallej, 
with  small  appreciation  of  scenery,  and  an  utter  disregard  of  all  rocks 
which  do  not  afford  pasture  for  liis  goats,  thcsnt  know  ;  but  as  he  fears 
that  a  betrayal  of  his  ignorance  will  damage  him  in  the  eyes  of  his 
employer,  he  says,  "  On  Tappello  ici  TAiguillo  de  so-and-so."  And 
this  may  be  the  name  by  which  it  is  known  in  that  valley,  or  simply  a 

coinage 


Mountain  ClimhiJtff. 


127 


coinage  of  his  own  bmm ;  but,  at  all  events,  down  i£  goes  in  the  note- 
.|iook,  mill  an  observation  tacked  on  to  it.  In  tbe  mean  time  the  en- 
ar  of  the  next  district  iees  a  sliarp-looking  snow-peak,  and  makes 
^5  Bimilar  inquiry.     Guide,  being  a  native  of  this  valley,  goes  through 

the  same  process,  and  at  best  gives  it  the  name  by  which  it  is  kno^m 

there — a  name  in  all  probability  totally  different  from  that  given  in 

valley  number  one,  and  down  that  goes.* 

The  work  Mr<  Reilly  had  set  himself  was  to  connect  Professor 
Forbes's  survey  of  the  Mer  de  Glace  with  the  Carte  Fed er ale  Suisse, 
and  to  fix  the  intermediate  points  with  some  certainty.  The  map 
which  resulted  from  these  labours  is  a  masterpiece  of  beautiful 
drawing,  whose  accuracy  has  a  double  voucher  in  Mr,  Re  illy  *s  own 
verification  at  the  close  of  his  triangulation,  and  in  the  ag^rce- 
ment  found  to  exist  between  his  determination  of  various  ptants 
scattered  over  the  range,  and  those  of  the  same  points  kindly 
furnished  by  M,  Mieulet,  Captain  of  the  French  Etat-Major»  As 
the  work  of  an  unassisted  amateur,  the  map  is  indeed  a  marvel ; 
we  have  only  to  regret  that  it  was  not  engraved  and  published  as 
Mr*  Reilly  drew  it,  observing  the  usual  role  for  north  with  refer- 
ence to  the  edges  of  the  paper*  The  saving  of  space  by  the 
sacrifice  of  the  convention  is  insignificant ;  and  were  it  greater 
we  should  consider  it  too  dearly  purchased.  The  map  of  the 
GraianSj  in  tlie  second  scries  of  '  Peaks^  Passes,  and  Glaciers/ 
labours  under  the  same  disadvantage^  What  is  allowable  in  an 
eye«sketch  ceases  to  be  so  in  laying  down  a  district,  which  should 
be  so  placed  before  the  eye  as  to  facilitate  clear  notions  of  its 
relations  with  surrounding  parts^  which  have  to  be  studied  in 
other  maps.  We  trust  that  Mr*  ReilJy's  more  recent  work  on 
the  south  side  of  Monte  Rosa  and  in  the  Valpelline  may  shortly 
find  its  way  into  the  bands  of  the  engraver,  and  that  this  blemish 
may  not  be  repeated.  The  Massif  du  Mont  Blanc,  for  which 
M.  Mieulet  was  at  work,  was  published  in  1865  j  the  glaciers 
are  laid  down  in  contour  lines,  and  we  have  understood  that  by  & 
laborious  use  of  these  a  model  of  Mont  Blanc  has  been  con* 
structed  for  the  French  Exhibition, 

The  example  set  in  England  was  followed  in  the  course  of  a 
few  years  on  the  Continent.  The  Alpine  clubs  established  there 
are  generally  of  a  more  comprehensive  character  than  their 
English  predecessor.  They  eiact  no  mountain  qualification; 
ftnd^  admitting  members  on  the  easiest  possible  conditions,  they 
are  joined  by  greater  numbers.  Their  declared  object  is,  by 
reports,  social  gatherings,  organisation  of  guides,  erect  ion  of 
cabins^  to  promote  Alpine  tastes^  to  facilitate  Alpine  travelling, 
and  to  disseminate  A  J  pine  lore.  The  Austrian  Club  was  founded 
in  1862,     Its  management  is  vested  in  a  committee  of  twelve 


128  Mountain  Climbing, 

members,  half  of  whom  retire  each  year,  being  immediate! j 
rc-eligible.  The  committee  elects  a  president  and  officers  firom 
its  own  IxmIv,  and  appoints  persons  empowered  to  represent  the 
club  in  the  several  districts  of  the  Austrian  Alps.  Ladies  are 
members  of  the  club.  It  has  published  a  volume  yearly  since  its 
establishment.  In  that  for  18(J0,  among  a  large  store  of  descrip- 
tions and  illustrations,  arc  to  be  found  an  ascent  of  the  Mangert, 
the  second  highest  mountain  in  Carniola,  sketches  from  the 
Stubayer  range,  and  an  ascent  of  the  Gross  Venediger  Spitz  firom 
Gschloss.  But  the  most  interesting  contribution  is  an  enthusiastic 
paper  on  the  Ortelcr  by  Dr.  Ed.  Mojsisovics,  in  which,  after 
remarking  that  no  mountain  so  little  ascended  has  such  a  variety 
of  routes  to  its  summit,  he  proceeds  to  describe  these,  concludiDg 
with  that  of  Messrs.  Tuckett  and  Buxton  of  18(>4,  and  his  own  of 
1865.  In  this  he  crossed  from  the  Sulden  Thai  to  Trafoi  over 
the  summit  of  the  Orteler,  ^  a  route  by  which  Trafoi  had  never 
received  guests  before.'  He  records  also  a  variation  of  this  roate 
on  the  south  of  the  Tabaretta  Spitz,  effected  a  fortnight  after- 
wards by  Poll,  the  guide  of  Hcrr  Weilenmann.  The  Swiss  and 
Italian  Alpine  Clubs  were  established  in  1863 :  the  former  has 
published  a  yearly  volume  of  proceedings  since:  and  five  nom- 
bers  of  the  ^  BuUctino  Trimestrale '  of  the  latter  appeared  in  1865 
and  1866.  It  may  be  remembered  that  it  was  through  the  agency 
of  the  Italian  Club  that,  on  the  day  of  the  fatal  accident,  a  party 
was  assailing  the  south  side  of  the  Matterhorn,  and  effected  the 
second  ascent  from  that  side  a  few  days  later.  It  is  the  practice 
of  the  Swiss  Club  to  select  each  year  a  certain  district,  and  to 
make  local  preparations  tliat  it  may  be  more  conveniently  visited 
by  their  members  in  the  coming  season.  The  Silvretta  district 
was  the  one  fixed  u|Km  for  1865.  A  hut  was  erected  there 
capable  of  accommodating  eighteen  or  twenty  persons,  and  a 
smaller  shelter  was  provided  in  the  Medelser-thal  for  about  six. 
At  the  same  time  a  corps  of  guides  was  organised.  The  volume 
for  18<J6  is  specially  occupied  with  excursions  in  the  club  dis- 
trict of  the  ])receding  year,  and  contains,  besides,  the  ascent  of 
the  Piz  Basodino,  on  the  confines  of  Switzerland  and  Italy,  by  Herr 
Studer ;  of  the  Grand  Com  bin,  the  Monte  della  Disgrazia,  the 
Breithorn,  and  Gross  Gninhorn  :  also  of  the  Viescherhorn,  by  Herr 
Gerwer  of  Grindelwald  and  Dr.  Weber  of  Tendon,  in  which 
they  found  the  bottle  with  the  names  of  ^lessrs.  Geoi^e  and 
Moore  deposited  in  1862,  and  a  second  left  by  Mr.  Tuckett  in 
the  following  year,  Christian  Aimer  accompanying  both  the 
parties  as  guide.  There  is  also  described  a  winter  ascent  of 
the  Faulhorn  by  Herr  Gerwer,  27th  December,  1865,  in  which 
the  open  space  before'  the   main   buildinjj:  on  the  summit  was 

found 


found  free  from  snow,  the  whiter  being^  unusually  mild.  Among' 
other  matters  we  find  a  geological  survey  of  the  Rhrsttaii  Alps, 
remarks  on  the  red  snow,  and  a  translation  of  Rev.  L.  Stephen's 
paper  on  Alpine  dangers*  And  it  is  to  these  that  our  attention 
must  now  be  directed. 

With  so  much  to  recommend  Alpine  excursions,  both  in  the 
present  enjoyment  which  they  afftnd,  and  in  the  store  of  health 
which  they  infuse,  it  is  not  possible,  in  the  face  of  recent  sad 
experience^  to  ignore  the  element  of  danger.  Alpine  accidents 
have  been  increasing  at  a  rate  more  rapid  even  than  Alpine  tra- 
vellers; they  are  generally  fatal  in  their  results,  and  they  find 
their  victims  in  our  best  and  most  vigorous  blood*  Looking  to 
the  terrible  penalties  exacted  during  the  last  two  years  on  the 
Alps,  it  cannot  be  matter  of  surprise  that  wives,  mothers,  and 
sisters  at  home  should  be  disquieted  by  a  nervous  apprehension 
when  a  husband,  son,  or  brother  leaves  them  to  woo  the  virgin 
snows.  In  this  anxiety  many  a  mountaineer  finds  a  drawback  to 
his  pleasures  from  which  he  was  formerly  free.  And  it  will  be 
a  comfortiible  conclusion  both  to  the  traveller  and  his  friends  if 
it  can  fairly  be  made  out  that  the  risk  in  Alpine  expeditions  is 
not,  or  need  not  be,  greater  than  in  other  pastimes  which  raise 
no  feelings  of  anxiety  for  those  engaged  in  them,  *  Who  repeats 
in  tones  of  sorrow  the  name  of  friend  or  relative  that  has  perished 
among  the  solitudes  of  the  Higher  Alps?  The  Junefrau's  spot- 
less  snows,  the  crested  summit  of  the  Wetterhorn,  Monte  Rosa*s 
craggy  peaks,  are  all  guihless  of  the  traveller's  blood.  These 
and  many  other  h^fty  pinnacles  of  Switzerland  have  welcomed 
the  adventurous  mountaineer,  and  death  or  severe  accident  is 
unknown/  Thus  hardly  more  than  ten  years  ago  wrote  a  true- 
hearted  gentleman,  a  skille<l  and  tlauntless  cragsman,  whose  early 
fate,  and  not  his  only,  stands  out  in  the  saddest  emphasis  of  con- 
trast to  bis  words.  The  Matterhorn  catastrophe^  in  which  he 
perished  with  his  lamented  companions,  is  far  from  standing 
alone  on  the  black  list  which  has  accumulated  since  those  words 
were  penned^  At  that  time  si K-and- thirty  years  had  softened 
iiown  the  recollection  of  the  fatal  accident  to  Hamel's  party  on 
Mont  Blanc,  and  six-and-twenty  that  of  the  loss  of  two  English- 
men near  the  Col  du  Bonhomme  in  a  tourmente.  But  only  some 
three  years  more  had  passetl,  when  a  series  of  fatal  seasons  com- 
menced with  the  loss  of  Archdeacon  Hard  wick  in  descending 
from  the  Pic  de  Sauvegarde^  near  the  Porte  de  Venasque  in 
the  Pyrenees,  and  of  M.  Grottc  on  the  Findelen  Glacier  near 
Zermatt.  These  accidents  occurred  in  1859.  In  the  year  fol- 
lowing we  were  again  saddened  by  the  fatal  accident  in  descend- 
ing from  the  Col  du  Geant  to  Courmayeurj  in  which  three  young 

Vol  123,— JVb-  245.  K  Englishmen 


130  Mountain  Climbing, 

Englishmen  and  a  guide  perished :  and  before  the  last  notes  of 
that  mournful  intelligence  had  quite  died  away  we  had  to  mourn 
the  loss  of  Mr.  Watson  in  a  crevasse  on  the  Winacher  Femer  in 
the  Tyrol.      The  marvellous  escape  of  Mr.  Birkbeck  jnn^  on 
the  northern  glacier  of  Miage  in  1861,  after  a  slide  from  the  Col 
to  a  point  a  full  third  of  a  mile  vertically  lower,  is  well  known. 
In  the  same  year  a  French  lady,  descending  the  Gemmi  on  a 
mule,  was  thrown  over  the  edge  of  the  precipice  and  killed, 
Mr.  Lonsrman,  jun.  also  had  a  narrow  escape  in  1862  on  the 
Aletsch  Glacier,  where  he  fell  into  a  deep  crevasse.     The  same 
year  Bennen  and  his  friend  Professor  Tyndall,  aided  by  Sir  John 
Lubbock,  rescued  a  porter  from  a  crevasse  in  the  Aletsch  Glacier, 
in  which  he  had  been  wedged  for  more  than  an  hour,  entirely 
covered  up  by  the  snow  and  icicles  which  he  had  carried  witn 
him  in  his  fall.      Then    followed  a  year  of  respite  from  fatal 
accident     But  on   the  28th  February,    1804,   a  traveller,  with 
the  famous  guide  Bennen  and  a  porter,  perished  on  the  Hant 
de  Cry  near  Sion,  in  an  avalanche,  three  of  the  part^  escaping. 
The  same  year  a  porter  was  lost  in  a  crevasse  on  Mont  Blanc, 
and   Professor  Tyndall  and  two  friends,  with  the  guides  Jenni 
and   Walther,    had  a    narrow  escape   from  worse   than  bruises 
on    the    Morteratsch    Glacier.      A    still    more   terrible   record 
belongs  to  the  two  following  seasons.     In  the  first,  the  death 
of  Mrs.   Arbuthnot   by    lightning   on   the  Schilthom    was  fol- 
lowed by  the  catastrophe  on  the  Matterhorn,  and  that  almost 
immediately  by  the  loss  of  Mr.  Knyvett  Wilson  on  the  Riffel* 
horn,    while  the  lapse  of  another    ten    days    saw    a  thinl  fatal 
accident  6n  Monte  Rosa  by  an  avalanche,  from  which,  however, 
all  the  party  escaped  except  one  of  the  porters.     These  three 
fatal  occurrences  took  place  within  a  fortnight,  on  ground  which 
might  be  swept  by  a  radius  of  less  than  five  miles.     But  still 
three   more  deaths  were  due  to  that  year.      In  the   following 
month   Ilerr  Hupner,  of  Dresden,   perished  with  his  guide  on 
the  Titlis ;  and  a  student  of  Erlangen  found  a  grave  in  a  crevasse^ 
descending  the  Gross  Venediger  Spitz.     Last  year  was  hardly  less 
fatal.     Besides  the  two  accidents  on  Mont  Blanc,  which  resulted 
in  the  loss  of  five  lives,  three  ladies,  with  the  carriage  and  horse 
which  conveyed  them,  were  precipitated  into  the  Tamina  between 
Rag^tz  and  PfefTers,  and  there  was  at  least  one  other  loss  of  life 
on  the  borders  of  the  Lake  of  Lucerne.     This  is  a  fearful  array 
of  casualties  for  only  eight  seasons,  nor  can  it  be  regarded  as 
absolutely  complete.   But  if  we  set  it  down  that  about  twenty-two 
travellers  and  eleven  guides  or  porters  have  perished  in  Alpine 
expeditions  in  the  last  eight  years,  we  shall  not  be  far  from  the 
truth. 

Few 


_  will  think  that  deliverance  from  a  like  succession  of 
tsters  in  coming  seasons  is  to  be  looked  for  in  the  abandon- 
it,  or  even  in  any  great  diminution,  of  mountain  travelling  or  of 
imtain  climbing*  The  cliarm  of  enterprise  and  difficulty,  even 
■ecreations,  meets  with  too  ready  and  ardent  a  response  in  the 
^lish  character.  But  other  inEuences,  we  would  fain  hope,  may 
be  unfelt  or  unheeded*  From  the  sad  experience  of  the  past^ 
*B  of  discretion  and  prudence  may  be  derived,  conformity  to 
ich,  thouE^h  it  cannot  secure  absolute  immunity  from  accident, 
f  forbid  approaches  to  aelf-immolatioo,  and  place  mountain- 
Ktbing  in  respect  of  danger  on  a  par  with  other  athletic  exer- 

^  Accidents  of  every  kind  have  been  purposely  included  in 
tement ;  those  which  have  occurred  in  the  more  ordinary 
ttse  of  travelling  in  Switzerland,  as  well  as  those  to  be  placed 
the  account  of  mountaineering  proper  and   its  more  arduous 
Icrtakings*     We  shall  recur  presently  to  these  sad  occurrences 
the  hope  thatj  by  eliciting  the  causes  which  have  severally 
itrlbuted  to  them,  some  beacons  may  l>e  set  up  as  a  warning 
the  future.     It  must  be  admitted  by  its  most  ardent  votaries 
Lt  mountain-frlimbin^  is  put  upon  its  trial  by  the  large  number 
fatal   accidents   which  have   recently  occurred.      We  wouM 
tpeak  for  it  a  fair  hearing,  including  even  those  more  arduous 
erprises  which  it  is  the  fashion  to  denounce  as  foolhardy  and 
riy  unjustiliable.     And  here  there  is  a  prejudication  to  be 
ited*     In  no  respect  do  men   exhibit  greater  constitutional 
erslty  than  in  their  capacity  for  looking  down  from  a  giddy 
eht    ^rbere  are  some  who  have  a  good  head  from  their  cradle, 
•le  othera  who  soon  acquire  it,  but  there  remains  a  very 
&US  class  to  whom  a  precipice  is  the  chief  of  horrors*     To 
'  who  can  endure  it,  the  downward  gaze  from  a  steep  face  of 
!  or  ice  is  a  sublime  pleasure  ;  but  with  many,  perhaps  with 
the  bare  thought  of  it  makes  the  blood  curdle*     Such  can 
be  admitted  as  impartial  judges  in  the  matter.     In  their 
khe  man  who  ventures  among  fastnesses  of  steep  rock  or 
Its  possessed  by  an  almost  criminal    depravity;  they  can 
Thing  but  aimless  folly  in  climbing  a  mountain;  and  they 
Iwe  have  said,  a  very  numerous  class. 
forth cr,  while  giving  its   due   weight   to  the  amount  of 
in  the  Alps,  it  is  not  to  be  forgotten  how  strongly  the 
toung  and  ardent  aspirants  set  towards  their  towering  pin- 
efore  a  just  estimate  had  been  formed  of  the  precautions 
for  scaling  them  with  safety.     The  earlier  explorers,  a 
more  years  ago,  naturally  enough  fell  into  a  strain  of 
l>n  calculated  to  convey  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  diffi- 
dang^i  to  be  encountered  in  such  enterprises*     We 
E  2  ar^ 


132 


Mouniain  dimhiiig. 


are  far  from  imputiog  to  thc?se  writers  any  want  of  tnadifulQess  oi 
fidelity  :  tiiey  wrote  as  they  felt,  some  simply  moved  by  the  steral 
grandeur  of  the  scenes  they  beheld  and  the  novelty  of  the  obstacles^! 
to  he  overcome ;  others  also  under  the  incubus  of  want  of  tjaiolng 
and  fitness  for  the  work  they  essayed.  Of  the  last  class  the  late- 
Mr-  Albert  Smith  was  a  very  notable  instance.  The  much  earlier 
narrative  af  Mr*  Auldjo  seems  also  to  have  taken  its  cotnpleJtion 
from  the  same  circumstance.  Both  these  descriptions  have  refer- 
ence only  to  Mont  Blanc,  which  is  now  well  known  to  be  an  easy 
mountain  to  ascend,  except  in  the  single  respect  of  height.  The 
icy  chasms  with  their  snow  bridges,  the  avalanches^  the  often 
bitter  cold,  the  attenuated  air,  are  !io  fictions ;  but  they  are  more 
terrible  in  the  name  than  in  the  reality.  Pictures  from  the 
ice-world^  however  truly  drawn,  appear  sensational  and  exagge- 
rated. The  earlier  editions  of  Mn  ^lurray's  '  Handt>ook  for 
Switzerland/  in  describing  the  coura  €jdr<wrdmaiTei^  naturally, 
or  rather  necessarily ^  took  their  tone  from  the  Alpine  literature 
then  existing.  There  was  a  prevailing  belief  that  the  higher 
ascents  were  closed  except  to  the  very  few,  by  reason  of  the 
enormous  trouble,  exertion^  and  expense  which  they  entailed. 
But  when  men  in  the  vigour  and  activity  of  early  manhocid,  well 
trained  withal  in  athletic  exercises,  pressed  on  to  scale  these  for- 
tresses of  nature,  and  found  in  their  own  experience  what  hftd 
been  described  as  dangers  and  difficulties  dwindle  into  compara* 
tive  insignificancej  there  came  a  sharp  recoil.  It  was  said,  and 
said  truly  enough,  more  especially  in  the  case  of  Mont  Blanc, 
tliat  it  was  the  interest  of  the  natives  to  surround  these  esped  itions 
with  a  halo  of  awe  and  mystery,  because  by  so  doing  they  main- 
tained guide-regulations  which  were  unreasonablej  and  tarifis 
which  were  exorbitant,  A  strong  party  of  some  experienoe 
might  do  without  guides  at  all  ;  and  so  came  the  epoch  of  undue 
venture.  Nor,  as  will  appear  presently,  is  this  the  only  way  in 
which  the  guide-system,  as  administered  in  various  parts  of  the 
Alps,  has  contributed  to  swell  the  list  of  accidents. 

Man>-  who  strongly  press  the  argument  from  danger  against 
mounlain-excursions  seem  to  forget  that  liability  to  accident  is 
shared  also  by  other  manly  exercises,  to  which  they  may  be 
attached^  or  to  which  they  would,  at  least,  be  uu willing  to  show 
an  unfriendly  spirit.  The  question  involved  is,  indee<l,  one  of 
the  amount  of  risk.  If  we  are  to  look  for  two  or  three  fatal  occur- 
rences in  a  season  from  the  prevailing  Alpine  taste,  mountain- 
climbing  cannot  too  soon  become  caviar  to  the  general.  On  the 
«)ther  hand,  it  is  not  to  be  condemned  for  an  occasional  accident, 
nor  for  fatalities  resulting  purely  and  simply  from  gross  ignorance 
or  perverse  folly.  In  various  other  pursuits  and  (lastimes  accidents 

art 


Mountain  Climhinff, 


ISft 


are  constantly  occurring  from  these  causes,  and  even  from  wLat 
En  a  J  be  called  pure  miicbaoce,  where  no  such  cause  is  in  opera- 
tion ;  but  we  do  not  hear  of  shooting,  or  huntings,  or  bathings  or 
skatin^^  being  on  this  cTic count  proscribed.  With  only  occasional 
hard  frosts^  and  these  generally  of  short  continuance,  how  nume- 
rous are  the  accidents  which  occur  in  winter  on  the  ice,  while  in 
each  summer's  bathing  the  number  of  those  who  are  drowned  is 
far  larger  than  would  on  a  cursory  view  be  imagined*  Indeed 
accidents  in  the  water  are  so  frequent  and  common,  that  even  if 
aJl  are  reported  in  the  daily  journals  and  noticed  by  the  reader 
(which  is  ^r  from  being  the  case),  unless  marked  by  circnm-* 
stances  more  than  ordinarily  startling  or  touching,  they  are  forgotten 
almost  as  soon  as  read^  But  an  accident  in  the  Alps  instantly  rings 
throughout  Europe:  it  is  described  in  vivid  colours,  and  dis- 
cussed again  and  again  under  every  aspect  through  the  press,  and 
is  finally  embalmed  in  the  oft-repeated  homily  on  the  aimless 
folly  of  c-limbing  mountiins.  On  the  day  on  which  the  last  sad 
news  from  Cham  on  ix  reached  England,  the  newspapers  reported 
the  death  by  drowning  of  four  boys  while  bathing,  as  was  sup- 
posedj  in  their  depth,  and  under  a  watchful  eye.  Yet  no  one 
proposes  to  limit  the  strong  swimmer  to  four  or  five  feet  of  water. 
Here,  as  it  ought  to  be,  the  protest  is  against  undue  venture. 
What  that  is  each  adult  must  judge  for  himself,  and  that  which 
is  to  one  a  risk  hardly  appreciable  may  be  highly  dangerous  for 
another*  Because  men  form  wrong  or  even  rash  judgments  of 
their  powers,  or  of  the  odds  against  them,  as  some  will  ever  do^ 
cir  because  they  have  unguarded  moments,  no  one  steps  in  to  say — 
give  up  bathing.  The  recent  mournful  accident  in  the  Regent's 
Park,  which,  from  its  great  fatality,  its  harrowing  details,  and 
from  its  being  w^itnessed^  like  some  terrible  drama,  by  hundreds 
of  spectators,  made  so  deep  and  lasting  an  impression  on  the 
mitKl,  has  not  drawn  forth  protests  against  skating,  but  appeals 
for  measures  of  prudence  and  safety,  which  will  give  additional 
facilities  to  that  winter  pastime. 

The  casualties  which  have  been  enumerated,  though  they  have 
occurred  chiefly  to  explorers  of  the  higher  peaks  and  passes^ 
are  not  confined  to  this  class.  The  travellers  by  mule  and  by 
carriage  have  their  representatives  on  the  fatal  list.  We  have  felt 
an  infinitely  stronger  sense  of  danger  in  a  char-a-banc  on  an 
Alpine  bye-road,  and  in  being  whirled  down  the  zigzags  of  the 
Simplon  or  the  Splugen  in  the  diligence,  than  in  cautiously 
fighting  the  way  step  by  step  along  the  most  forbidding  face  of 
rocks  or  ice.  Be  the  driving  of  unsurjiasscd  skill,  as  it  almost 
always  is  on  the  great  roads — be  the  horses,  as  they  invariably 
are,  of  the  steadiest — still  the  contrast   between  the   lumbering 

diligence 


134 


MmtUaiu  Climlnn^* 


diligence  and  the  apparently  fmil  tftckle  hj  which  it  is  attached 
to  the  team  is  no  small  trial  to  the  nerves^  when  onlj  that  tackle 
stands  he t ween  the  traveller  and  destruction.  Yet  tine  accidents 
on  the  road  are  very  rare.  The  reason  maj  be  found  in  lfa« 
absence  of  that  clement  of  danger  wliich  arises  from  the  txaTclIer^i 
inexperience,  unfitness,  or  rashness.  He  makes  himsdf  oreit  mi 
it  were  bound  hand  and  foot,  to  those  whose  single  business  it  is 
to  provide  careful  1)  far  his  safety.  It  is  not  that  there  is  raally 
a  greater  risk  of  a  slip  Co  the  skilled  eragsaiaii  in  the  most  diffi- 
cult bit  of  climbing  ce  essays,  than  of  a  fatal  start,  or  stumble, 
or  snap,  in  descending^  aii  Alpine  pass  on  wbaela  If  climbtog 
parties  consisted  only  of  eiLpericoced  travellers  and  ej^perienoed 
guides.  It  is  not  presumptuous  to  say  that  accidents  would  he 
almost  unknown.  But  experience  comes  only  of  ^aituai  pcactiot 
in  a  state  of  inexperience ;  and  the  danger  lies  in  the  tHU  ' 
content  to  acquire  this,  as  it  Is  acquired  in  other  pursuits, 
advancing  from  small  thmga  to  great  Year  by  year  men 
f<»rth  eager  to  win  their  spurs  in  the  Alps :  nor  are  these  for 
moit  part  such  as  aspire  to  nothing  else  ^  sad  memories  crowd 
upon  us  in  denial  of  that  They  are  often  the  men  who  would 
be  foremost  in  the  breach  or  in  the  storm,  prompt  and  cool  in 
the  hour  of  difTicuIty  or  danger,  able  advocates  or  statesmen, 
stanch  workers  in  the  abodes  of  sickness  and  squalid  mlserr. 
By  those  who  deprecate  or  despise  mountain  cliinbing  two  motives 
are  generally  supposed  to  actuate  its  deluded  votaries.  They  g%i 
up  '  for  a  view,  or  they  go  to  say  *  they  have  done  it.'  Bui  to 
the  true  mountaineer  the  whole  of  his  day's  work  ii,  to  say  the 
least,  as  full  of  life  and  enjoyment  to  him,  as  a  day  with  the 
hounds  or  with  the  gun  is  to  the  keen  sportsman.  Exhilarated 
by  the  ljracin|r  mountain  atr,  he  so  revels  in  tlie  pleasure  that  it 
would  he  almost  more  true  lo  say  that  his  first  visit  to  the  Alps 
has  given  him  a  new  sense  than  a  new  sensation.  To  the  man 
overtasked  and  worn  down  by  incessant  headwork  or  anxiety,  the 
renovating  influence  of  Alpine  travel  is  a  boon  beyond  all  telling* 
Here  is  the  experience  of  the  present  Chairman  of  Committees 
of  the  House  of  Ccjmmons ;  that  he  has  health  for  the  dischargv> 
of  such  an  oJBce  would  seem  to  be  the  highest  tribute  to  th«i 
mountain  elixir, 

'  The  use  of  Alpin©  oipcditiona  Is  of  fiimikr  character  with  that 
a  ftm  aoroii  a  stiff  coimtry,  of  a  cruise  at  sea,  of  a  hard  day  on' 
smoii,  or  of  many  other  eiercisea  in  which  Englishoieji  imlulgo^ 
rebuked*     It  hracea  tbo  musclety  steadies  tlie  nerves,  gi vt^s  readinGos  lal 
the  vjo^  hmid,   and  imt,  and  ^sh  hedth  and  vigour  to  the  whi 
fram^*     AUt  however,  in  a  higher  degree^    Neither  the  breeae  of  thi 
Atlantic,  nor  tho  clear  air  of  the  desert,  nor  the  bracing  utmoBphen 

oil 


Mountain  CUmhxng,  135 

of  tlid  Scoteh  hills  or  Englinli  dowDB,  can  Tie  for  aa©  infltant  with  the 
Inspiriting,  lifegivijag  broath  of  the  glacier*  I  speak  from  experience* 
*I  bad  been  a  good  doal  out  of  health,  and  not  a  little  out  of  spirits, 
for  two  years,  I  had  tried  hard  work,  I  hrvd  tried  rclaKfttion  fr um  iill 
work*  I  had  tried  hjgiene,  orthodox  medieiBe,  and  heretical  cures* 
NothiBg  would  do.  In  the  auhmm  of  1859  I  was  persuaded  to  try 
Switzerland,  It  did  not  cure  me,  but  H  effocted  mneh.  Before  I 
left  England  it  was  pain  and  grief  to  crawl  up  a  Malvern  HiU, 
Before  I  had  been  flix  weeks  in  Switzerland  1  made  the  ascent  of 
Mcmt  Blano,  and  enjoyed  it  thoroughly/ 

Without  questioning  the  restorative  powers  of  Alpine  tmvel 
Upon  exhausted  enerjsries  of  mind  or  body^  it  may  still  be  asked 
wty  this  benefit  should  be  regarded  aa  inseparable  from  a 
venturesonie  intrusion  Into  Nature's  strongholds?  The  most 
gltjrious  viewsj  the  most  invigorating  exercise  may  be  found,  if 
Dot  by  absolute  adherence  to  the  mule- path,  at  least  by  safe  and 
easy  tlivcrgence  from  it.  To  many  this  will  suffice.  But  there 
are  others  to  whom  confinement  to  the  beaten  track  would  prove 
tame  and  uninteresting.  They  crave  harder  physical  exercise, 
as  well  as  more  of  mental  excilement ;  and  a  spice  of  difficulty 
and  enterprise  is  an  ingredient  in  their  pastime,  conducive  not 
less  to  health  than  to  enjoyment  However  this  mny  he,  and  on 
whatever  ground  or  pretext  such  expeditions  be  undertaken,  it 
will  be  conceded  that  the  taste  for  exploring  the  High  Alps  is 
not  at  present  on  the  decline^  or  likely  to  be  so.  It  becomes 
tberefore  a  matter  of  some  im|>ortance  that,  in  the  Itght  cast 
upon  the  subject  by  past  fatalities,  some  maxims  of  prudence 
should  be  written  down  for  future  guidance. 

The  causes  of  accident  may  be  considered  as  on  the  one  band 
residing  in  the  parties  themselves  or  in  their  guides^  and  on  the 
other  hand  as  inherent  in  the  mountains.  Generally  speaking, 
accidents  are  produced  by  concurrence  i>f  causes  from  each  set. 
A  rough  analysis  exhihits  in  the  individual  traveller  physical 
weakness,  want  of  training^  inexperience,  undue  venture  \  and  in 
the  jiarty  want  of  drtll^  concert,  and  mutual  confidence ;  improper 
u*e  or  omission  of  the  rope,  misconduct  or  incompetency  of 
gaidea.  By  the  mountains  themselves  are  furnished  weather, 
airalancheSf  seracs,  stones,  bidden  crevasses,  steep  faces  of  rock 
or  ice,  The  loss  of  life  on  the  way  to  the  Col  du  Eonhomme 
•ecms  to  have  been  entirely  due  to  want  of  physical  strength  in 
the  travellers  to  resist  a  spell  of  bad  weather.  None  of  the 
guides  perithed^  tliough  they  must  have  had  more  to  endure 
than  the  travellers  in  their  desperate  efforts  to  avert  the  calamity 
by  such  help  as  they  could  render.  The  accident  to  Dr.  HameVs 
party  came  of  undue  venture  immediately  after  fresh  snow.     An 

avalanche 


136  Mountain  Climbing. 

avalanche  was  started  in  crossing  a  steep  slope.  The  whole 
party  were  carried  down ;  some  were  engulfed  in  a  deep 
crevasse,  while  the  rest  escaped  without  injury.  Mr.  Watsoa 
and  the  Eriangen  student  found  a  tomb  in  a  hidden  crevasse, 
from  which  a  competent  guide  with  a  rope  would  have  been  an 
absolute  security.  Mr.  Watson's  guide  was,  we  believe,  visited 
with  severe  punishment,  which  he  richly  deserved.  This  man 
had  only  a  season  or  two  before,  by  the  same  folly,  almost  on 
the  same  spot,  consigned  another  traveller  to  a  danger  from 
which  he  had  a  marvellous  escape,  after  being  lodged  for  some 
hours  at  a  depth  of  60  feet  in  an  icy  abyss.  Yet,  to  save  the 
trouble  of  roping,  the  guide  had  plied  the  travellers  with  the 
hardy  falsehood  that  such  precaution  was  quite  superfluous. 
M.  Grotte  also  perished  in  a  crevasse,  though  fastened  by  a  rope 
between  two  so-called  guides,  who  admitted  not  having  had  the 
rope  round  their  waists.  Whether  tied  round  their  arms  or 
merely  held  in  the  hand,  it  alike  afforded  no  security.  Their 
allegation  that  the  rope  broke,  no  one  believed.  An  eye-witness 
described  it  as  of  unusual  thickness,  and  there  was  every  reason 
to  think  that  it  had  been  tampered  with  in  support  of  a  fabri- 
cated story.  This  sad  accident  was  clearly  due  to  the  incom- 
petency of  the  guides.  A  short  time  before  it  occurred  no  guide 
system  existed  at  Zermatt.  There  were  in  the  district  some 
really  good  guides,  who  could  be  thoroughly  depended  on,  but 
these  were  not  numerous.  As  Zermatt  was  becoming  more  and 
more  a  centre  of  attraction,  they  must  needs  emulate  Chamonix; 
and  the  bergers  of  the  neighbourhood  flocked  in  to  enroll  them- 
selves on  the  authorised  list.  The  surprise  under  such  circum- 
stances is,  not  that  life  should  have  been  sacrificed,  but  that 
fatality  should  have  ended  where  it  did. 

The  information  which  we  possess  concerning  the  terrible 
catastrophe  on  the  Matterhorn  is  derived  from  a  single  source,  a 
remarkably  able  letter  of  the  only  traveller  who  survived  it.* 
While  making  every  allowance' for  one  writinjj  under  circum- 
stances so  overwhelming,  we  cannot  help  regretting  the  absence 
of  some  details  which  it  was  natural  to  expect,  and  the  presence 
of  conjecture  which  had  lx»tter  have  been  withheld.  Whether 
the  fatal  slip  was  made  by  the  young  traveller,  or  was  forced 
upon  the  brave  and  sure-footed  guide  in  his  perilous  efforts  to 
render  assistance,  is  a  matter  which  it  is  neither  desirable  nor 
possible  to  determine.  It  is  a  question  which  can  in  no  way 
affect  our  estimate  of  the  accident,  the  cause  of  which  is  only 
too  painfully  obvious.      It  was  an  expedition  to  be  undertaken 

♦  « Alpine  Jourual/  vol.  ii.  p.  148. 


MomUain  Climbing. 


187 


by  skilled  crajE^smE^n  alone,  and  to  a  party  composed  entirely 
of  tbeae  the  risk  may  be  estimated  as  certainly  not  greater 
than  that  incurred  in  riding  a  steeplechase  over  a  stiff  country. 
Yet  let  not  blame  rest  upon  the  memories  of  those  who  paid  so 
clearly  for  an  error  of  judgment,  A  terrible,  a  fatal,  but^  ' 
knowing  all  the  circumstances,  we  say  deliberately  not  a  cul- 
pable mistake,  was  committed.  The  veteran  mountaineer  who 
perished  was  himself  so  skilled  and  dauntless  a  cHtnber,  and  so 
capable  withal  of  rendering  large  assistance  to  another,  that  he 
had  no  appreciation  of  mountain  danger  either  for  himself  or 
his  companion  \  while,  on  the  other  hand^  he  was  full  of  the 
most  generous  impulses  to  help  a  young  hand  to  a  success^  No 
man  would  have  shrunk  with  a  more  sensitive  horror,  on  high 
grounds  of  duty,  from  taking  a  step  which  bis  judgment  told 
him  was  foolhardy-  By  a  physical  incapacity  for  discerning  the 
dangers  of  a  precipice,  he  was  betrayetl  into  venture  from  which, 
in  the  mere  pursuit  of  recreation,  his  moral  nature  would  have 
sharply  recoiled.  His  young  companion  too,  so  far  from  being 
presuming  or  rash,  was  possessed  with  a  strong  sense  of  his  own 
youth  and  inexperience,  and  was  little  likely  to  put  himself 
forward  for  an  arduous  undertaking.  In  touching  upon  this  sad 
event  these  statements  are  due  to  the  memory  of  the  departed. 

The  fatal  accident  which  occurred  on  Mont  Blanc  in  October 
last  was  owing  to  a  fall  of  ice  on  the  direct  route  between  the 
Grand  Plateau  and  the  summit.  That  route  lies  to  the  right  of 
the  Rockers  Rmtgfs;  and  from  its  having  been  abandoned  since 
the  accident  to  Dn  Hamers  party  in  1820  until  recently,  in 
favour  of  the  deUmr  by  the  Corridor,  it  has  acquired  the  name 
Ancien  Passage,  In  the  *  Alpine  Journal/  of  December,  the 
recent  accident  is  discussed  at  some  length*  It  is  attributed  to 
the  inefficiency  of  the  Chamonis  guides.  Heartily  concurring 
with  the  writer  in  his  general  estimate  of  guides  whose  experi- 
ence is  limited  to  a  single  mountain,  we  think  him  too  positive 
and  indiscriminate  in  his  censure  of  those  who  accompanied 
Captain  Arkwright,  and  also  too  sweeping  in  his  assumption  of 
fuperiority  for  the  Oberland  over  the  Chamonix  guides  in 
generals  Of  the  former,  two  or  three  stand  out  in  brilliant  pre- 
eminence ;  but,  leaving  these  out  of  the  question,  the  Chamonix 
men  will  not  lose  by  comparison  w*ith  their  brethren  of  the  Ober- 
land or  the  Vallais,  and  they  are  to  be  met  with  accompanying 
travellers  in  districts  remote  from  their  own  not  less  frequently 
than  the  others*  Doubtless  there  are,  and  always  will  be, 
both  at  Chamnnir  and  elsewhere,  guides  possessing  a  local 
knowledge  only,  ,men  of  mere  routine,  helpless  in  the  hour 
of  doubt  or  difficulty ;  but  the  traveller  is  no  longer  con- 
strained 


188 


MtmntamTTimo 


strametl  to  einploj  tljom,  or  to  dm^  at  tis  heels  iip  Moot  Blajtc 
a  train  of  incapable  supemumet^eA.  It  is  true  also  that 
particular  caution  U  required  both  at  Chamonix  and  Zermatt, 
because  the  higli  tarUfei  there  far  the  two  gfm^t  tnoutitain%  which 
in  a  fine  season  show  a  well-troiUlen  wsjg  fti^  s  great  temptation 
to  such  men  to  press  iheir  sc^rvices*  Conccmitig  the  particular 
guides  in  question  it  is  said  that  *they  must  be  held  to  be 
guilty  of  ignorance  of  the  first  rules  of  their  business^  that  inum 
ifffioranlia  which  our  law  reasonably  deems  to  be  criminal/  To 
justify  such  a  verdict  as  this  surely  some  positive  evidence 
ought  to  be  adduced  beyond  the  occurrence  of  the  accident 
Whereas  the  arg-ument  seems  to  stand  barely  thus.  The  accideol 
happened.  *The  conditions  of  safety  arc  perfectly  notorious^ — 
therefore  the  guides  were  inefTieient  and  culpable.  Members  of 
the  Alpine  Club  have  occasionally  recorded  their  passage^  ia 
company  widi  the  best  guides  of  the  Oberland  or  the  VaUads^  in 
llie  track  of  avalanches  or  under  treacherous  s^racs^  where  A 
deadly  fall  of  snow  or  ice  might  have  occurred  at  any  moment. 
Had  such  a  fatality  befallen  any  of  these  parties,  the  goiAm 
would  have  had  no  reason  to  apprehend  a  verdict  of  crttsm 
ignorantia*  Good  men  will  sometimes  fail  in  judg'mrnt^  diej 
will  have  their  weak  moments ;  nay,  they  will  be  placed  ind#* 
jpendently  of  themselves  in  circumstances,  if  we  may  so  spcftk, 
be|r<^iling  them  into  daoger*  How  was  it  with  poor  Benuen  on 
the  Haut  de  Cry?  If  we  were  to  judge  only  by  results,  in  the 
tibsence  of  all  other  inculpatory  evidence^  the  best  guide  of  the 
Vallab  would  be  open  to  the  charge  so  trenchantly  brougbl 
against  the  Chamonii:  men,  of  ignorance  of  the  first  rules  of  his 
business.  This  charge  is,  indeed^  nothing  more  than  an  assump- 
tion that  a  really  good  guide  can  tell  to  a  certaintt/  when  a  placCf 
down  which  snow  and  ice  are  falling  from  time  to  time,  will  be 
safe  to  pass.  Reposing  the  highest  confidence  in  the  sagacity  of 
a  first-rate  guidej  we  still  believe  that  there  are  places  with 
reapect  to  which  no  such  certainty  is  attainablcj  and  that  the 
Ancien  Passage  of  Mont  Blane  is  one  of  them.  Of  the  two 
assertions  made  concerning  it,  *  that  it  is  not  uniformly  or 
generally  dangerous^*  and  Mhat  it  is  sometimes,  though  by  no 
means  always,  quite  as  safe  as  the  Corridor^*  wc  must  certainly 
demur  to  the  second.  It  is  nevm'  quite  as  safe  at  the  Corridor 
route*  Under  favourable  circumstanres  the  risk  is  no  doubt 
Yery  small^  so  small  that  the  epithet  dangerous  is  out  of  place ; 
but  still  falls  of  debris  are  known  to  occur  there  without  any- 
thing in  the  previous  weather  to  account  for  them,  and  m 
defiance  of  the  *  perfectly  notorious  conditions  of  safely  !  *  Tb© 
saving  of  time  by  adopting  the  Ancien  Passage  we  believe  to  be 

geneiaUj 


generally. 


Mountain  CHmUng. 

generally  over  estimated*  Even  witb  the  distance  added  by  tlie 
Corridor  route,  tlie  pitch  between  the  Grand  Plateau  and  the 
summit  is  sufficiently  steep  for  gocid  progress.  In  any  case  the 
Ancien  Passage  fju|2:ht  to  be  undertaken  only  by  experienced 
travellers,  with  expert  guideSj  after  careful  reconnaissance.  For 
variety  the  route  by  the  Bosse^  in  calm  weather,  is  infinitely  to  be 
preferred- 

The  accident  which  occurred  In  August  last  near  the  summit 
of  Mont  Blanc  to  a  party  which  had  ascended  without  guides 
was  the  subject  of  much  comment  at  the  time.  It  was  naturally 
regarded  by  many  as  the  legitimate  consequence  of  attempting 
the  ascent  without  proper  assistance,  while  others  maintained 
that  the  vigour,  training,  and  experience  of  the  party  warranted 
luch  a  venture.  In  the  absence  of  information,  which  nodiing 
short  of  intimate  personal  knowledge  of  those  concerned  could 
furnish,  we  are  glad  to  be  spared  the  consideration  of  this  case, 
believing  that  the  interests  of  future  travellers  will  be  better 
served  by  a  discuBsion  of  the  general  question  of  occasionally 
dispensing  with  guides  in  high  glacier  work.  Some  remarks  on 
this  topic  have  become  tlie  more  necessary  because  a  well-known 
Swiss  mountaineer  J  moved  perhaps  by  some  extravagant  and 
merciless  censure  pronounced  upon  the  party,  adopted  a  tone  in 
their  defence  calculated  seriously  to  add  to  the  already  lamentable 
frequency  of  Alpine  accidents*  ■  Coming  to  the  question  of  not 
having  taken  any  guides,'  he  sayi,  '  the  charge  is  puerile.  Nearly 
all  the  guides  have  made  their  glacier  studies  without  being  led 
by  others :  and  they  have  sought  out  the  road  for  themselves, 
whether  by  striking  out  ways  for  themselves,  or  by  adopting  the 
experience  of  others/  Whatever  the  writer  may  intend  to  convey 
by  these  words,  of  their  probable  effect  upon  the  young  and  inex- 
perienced no  doubt  can  be  entertained.  They  really  seem  to 
plead  for  winning  experience  in  the  jaws  of  danger.  We  would 
urgr,  on  the  contrary,  that  a  strong  frame  and  good  bead,  coupled 
with  indomitable  pluck  and  powers  of  endurance,  dt>  not  ahnc 
qualify  a  man  to  undertake  high  ascents  without  a  guide.  Still 
less  does  mere  activity,  in  which  many  a  young  Englishman 
would  outdo  the  best  of  Swiss  guides,  A  certain  apprenticeship 
is  necessary  for  mountaineering,  as  for  other  crafts,  if  men  are  to 
truj&t  entirely  to  their  (»wn  resources.  This  the  best  guides  (and 
the  question  is  of  no  other)  have  passed  through  ;  they  have  been 
accumulating  experience  from  their  vouth  up;  and  it  tells  espe^ 
cially  in  two  respects,  in  whieh  the  amateur  will  seldom,  if  ever, 
acquire  the  same  perfection*  Tbe  guide  stands  prominent  in  his 
Juifffmmt  on  the  state  of  the  snow,  or  the  risk  from  seracs,  or  the 
track  of  stones,  and  in  his  resources  in  fog  and  bad  weather  :  nor 

is 


Mauntaiji  CHmlinff. 


is  kis  superioriry  less  smkiDjpr  m  tie  skill  with  wliich  he  adjusts 
his  whole  frame  to  difficulties  on  steep  faces  of  rock  or  icp* 
Many  a  traveller,  who  may  venture  to  traverse  steep  ice-slope* 
where  large  steps  are  cut  for  him,  runs  serious  risk  of  a  slip  if  he 
attempts  to  cut  the  steps  himself;  not  that  we  are  disposed  to 
leave  such  work  altogether  to  the  guides,  or  deny  to  the  traveller 
who  finds  pleasure  in  step-cutting  this  use  of  the  axe :  only  let 
his  training-ground  be  chosen  where  a  slip  is  not  destruction. 
We  conclude  then  that  the  additional  spice  of  enterprise  infused 
into  an  expedition  by  going  without  guides  is  a  great  temptation, 
which  ought  in  the  case  of  high  ascents,  except  under  very 
special  circumstances,  to  be  resisted ♦  When  tl»e  venture  is 
made^  the  following  would  seem  to  be  essential  conditions  oipru* 
dence.  One  at  least  of  the  party  (which  should  not  be  too 
numerous)  must  bring  to  the  enterprise  a  judgment  matured  by 
varied  experience  extending  over  many  Alpine  seasons;  two  st 
least  ought  to  be  thoroughly  expert  cragsmeo,  well  used  to 
difficuU  step-cutting ;  all  should  be  men  of  tried  steadtnes^ 
coolness,  and  endurance ;  and  above  all,  the  party  must  not 
imperilled  by  the  admission  of  that  fatal  element  of  weakness,  mt 
untried  member.  It  is  no  valid  objection  to  these  conditions  to 
urge  that  flisaster  is  escaped  and  success  achieved  without  them, 
nor  is  it  by  any  means  sufficient  t*)  justify  an  ex[iedition,  thatth« 
chances  of  an  accident  may  not  be  very  great,  for  they  ough^ 
where  the  consequences  are  so  deadly,  to  be  the  very  smallest 

The  case  here  discussed,  that  of  dispensing  willi  guides,  is 
exceptional ;  the  general  practice  is  to  take  them,  and  nearly  all 
the  accidents  enumerated  have  occurred  to  parties  so  provided* 
It  remains  to  enforce  the  safeguards  and  precautions  suggested 
by  this  sad  experience,  for  we  believe  there  is  hardly  a  single 
instance  on  irecord  of  fatality  occurring  where  these  have  been 
respected  and  observed.  No  man,  however  vigorous  and  active, 
ought  to  venture  on  steep  rocks  or  ice,  where  the  occurrence  of  a 
slip  would  be  fatal  to  himself  or  his  party,  until  he  has  well 
learned  how  to  plant  his  feet,  use  his  hands,  and  poise  his  body, 
in  difficult  places  where  no  such  danger  exists*  On  a  level  or 
moderately  inclined  neve,  a  sound  rope  is,  humanly  speaking,  an 
absolute  security  from  the  danger  of  concealed  crevasses.  But 
this,  the  most  unquestionable  use  of  the  rope,  is  just  the  ooe  most 
€>ftcn  neglected^  or  at  least  unduly  postponed  until  perhaps 
hairVbreadth  escape  of  one  of  the  party  has  given  a  perempti 
warning.  Tbe  truth  is,  that  tying  is  some  little  trouble  and 
inconvenience,  and  that  it  is  pleasanter  going  at  large,  and  sa 
the  rope  is  sometimes  neglected.  But  it  should  be  remem- 
bered, on  the  otlier  hand,  that  among  crevasses  roping  Is  a  saving 

of 


of  time,  diminisluQg  the  necessary  frequency  of  sounding  witli 
tlie  pole^  and  allowing  a  less  stealthy  advance.  It  must  be 
observed  that  the  rope  by  no  means  gives  the  security  claimed 
for  it^  unless  good  drill  is  rigorously  observed  throughout  the 
party*  All  slackening  of  the  rope  must  he  carefully  eschewed  : 
it  must  in  every  case  be  attached  at  the  waist,  not  to  the  arm,  still 
less  may  it  be  merely  held  in  the  hand.  The  latter  practice  was 
frequent  among  guides  some  time  ago,  but  has,  wc  hope,  now 
altogether  disappeared.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  the  fatal 
issue  of  the  accident  below  the  Col  du  G^ant  (tbuugh  other 
elements  of  weakness  were  at  work)  was  due  to  the  guides  being 
improperly  attached.  With  respect  to  the  use  of  the  rope  on 
steep  and  hard  slopes,  where  there  are  no  concealed  crevasses,  it 
is  as  easy  to  lay  down  a  principle  as  it  is  difficult  to  apply  it. 
The  rope  should  never,  be  used  where  the  chance  of  the  party 
being  pulled  duwn  in  case  of  a  slip  is  greater  than  that  of  their 
being  able  to  hold  the  slipping  member.  But  to  estimate  when 
this  may  be  the  case  is  a  task  of  the  utmost  delicacy  and  respon- 
sibility, requiring  the  exercise  of  a  matured  and  sound  judgment, 
A  call  to  discard  the  rope  as  fraught  with  more  danger  than 
lecurity  is  one  which  ought  very  rarely  to  occur,  because  a  party 
ought  rarely  to  find  themselves  in  circumstances  where  a  slip 
could  not  by  care  and  vigilance  be  arrested.  Where,  however, 
such  extreme  circumstances  do  occur,  social  and  generous  feeling 
is  almost  certain  to  prompt  the  risking  of  the  party  rather  than 
that  of  the  individual.  They  set  out  to  share  a  common  enter- 
prise, and  they  will  share  a  common  danger,  even  where  a  cool 
calculation  of  chances  would  dictate  the  opposite  course.  A 
frequent  argument  for  roping  in  these  extreme  cases  is  that  it 
gives  confidence,  but  far  better  is  it  for  those  who  need  such 
reinforcement  never  to  undertake  expeditions  which  may  lead  to 
such  critical  situations.  Where  they  do  occur,  if  the  party  adopt 
the  rope,  no  pains  must  be  spared,  no  rate  of  progress  must  seem 
too  shiw,  which  may  materially  diminish  the  risk. 

The  first  and  last  consideration  should  be  to  lessen  the  possi- 
bility of  disaster.  Now  tbere  is  a  methcnl  of  accomplishing  this, 
which,  on  account  of  the  trouble  it  gives  and  the  time  it  occupies, 
is  unwillingly  resorted  to,  especially  by  English  mountaineers.  If 
on  the  glacier,  where  the  rope  may  even  save  time,  the  temptation 
to  neglect  it  is  too  often  unresisted,  on  the  steep,  where  its  employ- 
ment with  real  effect  involves  much  delaVj  strict  precaution  is 
still  less  palatable.  The  modus  operandi  is  as  follows  i*-*A  party 
descending  a  steep  tie  themselves  at  intervals  regulated  by  the 
nature  of  the  holding.  These  will  generally  be  longer  than  what 
if  tisual  oo  the  glacier,  and  may  extend  to  as  much  as  thirty 

feet. 


142  Mountain  Climbing. 

feet     We  suppose  the  travellers  collected  at  a  point  where  there 
is  good  anchorage.     One  of  them  commences  the  descent,  the 
rope  being  paid  out  from  above  and  kept  tight  so  as  to  give  him 
security  until  he  finds  a  good  resting-place  where  he  may  be 
joined  by  his  comrades  in  succession,  each  of  whom  receives 
similar  support  except  the  last,  who  should  be  the  most  expert 
cragsman  of  the  party.     Durin^^  his  descent  the  rest  will  plant 
themselves  as  firmly  as  possible,  and  gather  in  his  rope  as  he 
approaches  them,  preparing  themselves  always  for  the  event  of  a 
slip,   however  improbable  that  may  be.     The  same  process  is 
repeated  as  long  as  the  nature  of  the  descent  seems  to  require  it. 
The  security  which  this  process  affords  in  descending  a  steep 
obliquely  is  less  than  when  the  descent  is  directly  down  its  fiu^e, 
and  it  is  desirable  that  the  lengths  of  rope  between  the  successive 
members  of  the  party  should  be  shorter.     The  most  favourable 
number  to  be  linked  for  proceeding  as  above  is  three :  not  only 
is  the  progress,  which  can  never  be  other  than  slow,  much  retarded 
by  every  additional  traveller  in  the  rope,  but  the  difficulty  of 
finding  suitable  stations  for  anchoring  is  also  increased.     It  is 
therefore  much  better,  if  the  party  is  large,  to  divide  it,  and 
employ  separate  ropes.  Additional  security  may  often  be  attained 
by  driving  the  axe  or  baton  firmly  into  the  steep  and  hitching  the 
rope  round  it  near  its  lower  extremity.     In  this  case  each  man  as 
he  descends  takes  hold  of  the  rope,  which  is  some  encumbrance 
to  the  hand  in  climbing,  but  this  is  more  than  compensated  by 
the  firmness  secured  for  the  point  of  support.    In  the  event  of  any 
weight  coming  upon  the  rope  a  large  proportion  of  it  is  sustained 
at  the  fulcrum  of  the  lever,  whil«  little  stress  falls  upon   the 
traveller  who  applies  his  power  at  the  longer  arm.     The  above 
remarks  are  limited  to  the  case  of  descending,  that  being  the  part 
of  an  expedition  in  which  experience  shows  that  a  slip  most  fre- 
quently occurs.     And  this  fact  may  be  quite  compatible  with  the 
opinion  held  by  some  that  the  descent  of  a  steep  slope  is  not 
more  difficult  than  the  ascent     For  the  descent  of  an  awkward 
place  generally  falls  towards  the  end  of  the  day's  work,  when, 
though  no  actual  fatigue  may  be  felt  by  any  of  the  party,  the 
sinews  cannot  be  so  well  braced  up  as  earlier  in  the  day  to  con- 
tend with  difficulty.     The  method  described  will  serve  equally 
well  for  the  ascent,  only  in  this  case  the  strongest  of  the  party 
must  lead   the  way  instead   of  following   the  others.     Having 
secured  a  position  above,  and  found  a  fulcrum  for  his  axe,  he 
will  hitch  the  rope  round  it  as  before,  for  the  support  of  those 
who  are  to  join  him  from  below. 

When  all  has  been  said  and  done,  an  accident  which  no  human 
care  or  foresight  could  prevent  is  of  course  possible  on  the  moun- 
tains, 


Mountain  Climbing, 


U& 


tains»  as  elsewhere.  But  such  an  event  will  be  of  very  rare 
occurrence ;  and  its  record  in  the  experience  of  the  past  is  not 
easy  to  find.  In  proportion  as  the  considerations  for  which  we 
have  endeavoured  to  obtain  a  hearing  are  recognised  and  acted 
upon,  expeditions  in  the  higher  Alps  are  likely  to  lose  that  name 
of  ill-omen  which  attaches  to  them.  An  absolute  immunity  from 
accidents  it  would  be  vain  to  expect  There  always  will  be  men 
whose  temperament  leads  tliem  to  chafe  at  precautions,  and  who 
will  neg^lect  them  when  they  entail  trouble  or  retard  progress. 
And  from  time  to  time,  as  the  warning;  note  of  past  fatality  dies 
away  in  remoter  distance j  it  is  only  too  probable  that  expeditions 
not  necessarily  dangerous  may  be  undertaken  to  their  great  danger 
by  parties  whose  powers  and  previous  training  justify  no  such 
venture.  Nor  indeed  is  it  only  in  inexperience  that  danger  is 
to  be  found.  The  very  opposite  extreme  of  expertness  and 
familiarity,  which  ought  to  be  a  protection,  sometimes  becomes  a 
snare.  Unless  zealously  watched,  it  is  apt  to  breed  an  easy  care- 
lessness. This  is  a  truth  which  applies  alike  to  every  pursuit 
on  the  skirts  of  which  there  is  room  for  risk  to  lurk.  The 
careless  slip  by  which  Dtirler,  an  active  mountaineer  and  one  of 
the  earliest  climbers  of  tlie  Todi,  lost  his  life  on  the  Uetliberg 
near  Zurichj  has  its  counterpart  in  the  lamented  death  of  Captain 
Speke  by  his  own  gun  near  Bristol, 

The  foregoing  remarks,  though  of  universal  application,  may 
have  their  peculiar  significance  for  our  countrymen.  A  hundred 
years  ago,  when  Yorickj  finding  himself  in  Paris  without  a  pass- 
port^ made  light  to  his  lantllord  of  the  threatened  teiTors  of  the 
Bastile  *,  ,  .  said  my  host,  '*  Ces  Messieurs  Anglais  sont  des 
gens  tres  extmordinaires,** '  We  hare  not  yet  lost  that  character 
with  our  continental  neighbours,  probably  because  it  is  in  some 
measure  deserved.  In  our  capacity  of  mountaineers  we  elicit 
from  M,  Rambert  the  following  epigram  : — *  J*ajouterai  que 
beau  coup  d*  Anglais  me  paraissent  joucr  gros  jen  dans  leurs 
courses  Alpestres,  Cette  race  est  audacieusc  autant  que  calcula- 
trice  ;  et  dans  ses  fantaisies  elle  moprisc  la  prudenccj  presqirk 
I'egal  du  danger,*  Professor  Ty  ndall  speaks  somewhat  to  the  same 
effect  'Surely  those  who  talk  of  this  country  being  in  its  old 
age  overlook  the  physical  vigour  of  Its  sons  and  daughters  :  they 
are  strong,  but  from  a  combination  of  the  greatest  forces  we  may 
obtain  a  small  resultant,  because  the  forces  may  act  in  opposite 
directions  and  partly  neutralise  each  other.  Herein  in  fact  lies 
Britain's  weakness;  it  is  strength  ill  directed,  and  is  indicative 
rather  of  the  perv^ersity  of  young  blood  tlian  of  the  precision  of 
mature  years/  M,  Rambert  concludes  his  strictures  on  the 
Alpine  imprudente  of  the  English  by  expressing  a  wish  *that  the 

Swiss 


144  Charaderistics  of  English  Hidory. 

Swiss  Alpine  Club  may  become  the  centre  of  another  school  of 
climbers,  which,  without  attempting  less,  shall  risk  much  less,  and 
with  whom  mountaineering  will  never  degenerate  into  a  simple 
question  of  tenieritj  and  defiance.'  So  far  as  the  imputation  here 
cast  upon  our  countrymen  maj  be  just,  we  will  fain  hope  that 
their  wild  oats  of  Alpine  enterprise  may  have  been  already  town^ 
and  that  whatever  of  truth  there  is  in  the  contrast  may  be  found 
In  the  past  alone,  not  in  the  present  or  in  the  future.  Great 
differences  of  national  character  there  will  always  be,  bat  the 
material  which  produces  able  generals,  in  whose  case  no  brmvery 
would  compensate  for  wanton  exposure  of  troops,  no  vigour  of 
enterprise  for  constant  waste  of  resources,  need  not  be  despaired 
of  for  corresponding  results  in  the  smaller  matter  of  mountain 
recreation.  No  one,  we  are  persuaded,  will  be  more  gratified 
than  M .  Kambert,  that  his  comparison  should  melt  away  before 
a  golden  age  of  prudence.  Few,  we  trust,  will  desire  to  see  this 
inaugurated  by  sealing  the  more  arduous  Alpine  expeditions 
against  the  traveller.  Let  mountain  climbing  by  all  meant  hold 
its  own  among  the  manly  and  vigorous  recreations  to  which  the 
English  character  owes  so  much,  on  this  condition,  that  no  less 
than  heretofore  shall  be  attempted,  but  much  less  risked. 


Art.  VI. —  The  History  of  the  Norman  Conquest  of  England^ 
its  Catises  and  its  Results.  By  Edward  A.  Freeman,  M.A, 
Vol.  I.     Oxford,  18(57. 

JUST  eight  centuries  ago  was  fought  on  English  soil  the  most 
memorable  battle  of  English  history.  Great  forces  were 
engaged  on  either  side.  On  the  one  hand  was  the  English  people 
animated  by  much  the  same  feelings,  and  possessed  of  much  the 
same  merits  and  defects  as  are  their  descendants  of  the  present 
day ;  on  the  other  were  drawn  up  the  Norman  invaders,  a  race 
which  for  great  qualities  knew  no  superior,  and  hardly  an  equal, 
amongst  the  nations  of  the  middle  ages:  on  the  one  side  the 
passionate  love  of  independence  and  national  life,  on  the  other 
the  lust  of  conquest  and  the  religious  sanctions  of  that  sjjiritual 

E)wer  which  was  about  to  overshadow  every  other  dominion  in 
urope :  on  both,  the  ablest  captains  that  either  of  the  contending 
nations  could  produce.     But  the  strength  put  forth  by  the  two 

Parties  was  not  equal.  The  Norman  Duke  could  do  no  more, 
le  had  adopted  every  precaution  that  the  wisest  policy  and  the 
coolest  good  sense  could  dictate ;  he  had  selected  for  the  enter- 
prise the  flower  of  his  army ;  he  had  exhausted  all  the  resources 
which  his  own  means,  or  the  liberality  of  his  barons,  or  the 

favour 


Characterises  of  English  Ilisior^. 


145 


CiYoar  of  the  Papal  court  could  supply.  England,  on  the 
contrary,  staked  everytliini^  upon  an  army  unequal  in  numbers, 
worn  out  by  previous  fighting  and  loug^  marches,  and  compf^sed  of 
hirelinjars  and  liasty  levies.  She  staked  then,  as  it  is  conLeivable 
Uiat  she  mii^ht  stake  again,  her  constitution^  her  monarchy,  her 
national  independence  upon  the  merest  fraction  of  her  real 
stren^rth,  and  the  chances  of  a  single  battle.  For  some  hours, 
indeed,  the  issue  of  that  battle  hung-  doubtful,  but  before  eveninfc 
it  ha<l  inclined,  as  was  natural,  to  the  side  of  policy  and  prudence, 
and  the  cause  of  England  was  irretrievably  lost.  She  had  but 
one  general,  and  he  was  slain;  the  legitimate  heir  to  the  Crown 
was,  from  extreme  youth,  if  not  from  character,  unequal  to  the 
cmergenry  |  her  natural  leaders  were  unready  and  divided  ;  her 
traders  thoug-Kt  only  of  their  selfish  interests.  In  October,  the 
English  army  was  defeated  in  Sussex :  at  Christmas  the 
Conqueror  was  crowned  King  of  England  in  Westminster 
Abbey* 

It  is  a  story  that  has  been  written  more  than  once,  but  the 
interest  of  it  is  und}  ing,  and  it  will  long  be  read  and  re-read  by 
successive  generations  of  Englishmen.  To  no  man  on  this 
subject  is  a  deeper  debt  of  gratitude  due  than  to  Sir  F,  Palgrave; 
and — marred,  as  it  is,  by  frequent  faults  and  shortcomings,  and 
rendered,  alas^  still  more  imperfect  through  his  untimely  loss, — 
his  great  work  on  England  and  Normandy  will  probably  grow 
with  age  in  reputation  and  value.  But  there  remain  broad 
spaces  to  be  filled  in^  many  scattered  threads  to  be  gathered  into 
the  unity  of  a  complete  and  consecutive  history,  much  careful 
criticism  to  be  applied  to  conflicting  narratives  and  doubtful 
facts.  This  Mr.  Freeman  has  undertaken  in  the  volume  now 
before  us,  which,  though  it  contains  050  pages,  treats  of  events 
and  political  conditions  preliminary  to  the  Conquest,  and  brings 
OS  down  only  to  the  death  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  And  it 
lias  been  undertaken  with  a  fulness  of  research,  a  critical  exacti- 
tude, and,  in  spite  of  obvious  prepossessions  on  particular 
subjects,  with  a  fairness  and  honesty  of  purpose  which  will 
d^er^xdly  give  it  a  worthy  place  amongst  English  histories*  We 
are,  however,  bound  to  add  that  whilst  we  are  ready  to  accept 
many  of  Mr,  Freeman's  conclusions,  and  to  give  unqualified 
praise  to  the  patient  and  exhaustive  method  by  which  be  has 
reached  them,  we  shall  not  follow  him  into  the  archaic  and, 
to  modern  eyes,  the  somewhat  grotesque  spelling  to  which  he  has 
abandoned  himself.  Early  French  history  is  not  so  familiar 
to  the  great  mass  of  readers  that  it  need  be  still  further  darkened 
by  tlie  substitution  of  Merlings  and  Karlings  fcjr  Merovingians 
and  Carlovingjans:  it  is  doubtful  whether  substantial  advantage 

Vol.  123.— iVo-.  245.  L  is 


146 


Charadmi^m  of  Er^luh  Ehtory* 


is  gained  by  the  conversion  of  Canute  into  Cnut,  even  thoagh  ibe 
latter  name  be  technically  correct;  and  if  it  were  not  tliat  Mr» 
Freeman's  real  Ieamin§^  places  him  abore  the  chaffre,  we  ml 
say  that  there  is  an  affectation  in  replacing  names  so  familiar 
rooted  in  the  English  language  as  Egh<?rt,  Edward,  and  the 
great  name  of  Alfred,  by  the  unnatural  and  distorted  equivaktita 
of  Ecgberht,  Eadward,  and  iElfred, 

But  apart  from  all  miiior  ronsideratlons,  we  follow  Mr,  Free* 
man  with  unqualifie<l  pWsure  through  the  main  course  of  the 
present  volume.  We  are  disposed  to  agree  in  most  of  his  con- 
clusions, and  in  none  more  than  in  his  conception  of  the  relations 
which  the  great  event,  that  he  has  undertaken  to  describe,  bestii 
to  the  times  preceding  it  and  following  upon  it*  Equally  in  the 
first  as  in  the  last  page^  he  assigns  to  the  Norman  Conquest  its 
true  jTOsition,  protests  against  the  common  belief  that  it  is  the 
beginning  of  English  history^  and  insists  upon  the  fact  that  it 
was  but  one  scene  in  the  great  and  continuous  drama  of  Englisll 
life  and  nationality:  Not  merely  that  the  rudiments  of  our 
present  political  and  social  organisation  may  be  discovered  by 
the  curious  antiquarian  in  the  dooms  and  charters  of  Anglo-Saxoo 
kings;  but  that  the  very  framework  of  that  organisation,  complet<t 
in  its  essential  parts,  though  rude,  can  be  distinctly  traced  in  the 
chronicles,  the  laws,  the  institutions,  and  the  temper  of  our  fofc- 
fathers  nine  hundred  years  ago. 

'  No  ovcnt^'  Mr.  Freeman  says, '  ie  lais  fitted  to  be  tAken,  m  it  too 
of  ton  has  been  taken,  for  the  beginning  of  our  national  hhetory.  For 
its  whole  importance  is  not  the  importance  which  belongs  to  a  be- 
ginning, but  the  importance  which  belongs  to  a  tomiug^point.  The 
Norman  Conqnest  brought  with  it  a  most  extensive  foreign  infasioii, 
which  aflbcted  our  blood,  our  language,  our  laws,  our  arts ;  still.  It  wm 
only  an  infusion ;  the  older  and  eitronger  elements  gtill  surriTOd,  ind 
in  the  long  run  they  again  made  good  their  supremacy.  So  fiir 
being  the  beginning  of  our  national  history,  the  Norman  Conqneefc 
tiie  temporary  oTOrthrow  of  our  national  being  (p.  1-2).  .  *  •  .  It 
mot  at  once  sweep  away  the  old  kws  and  libertic«  of  the  la^d  ;  but  it 
At  once  changed  the  manner  and  Rpirit  of  their  administratton,  and  il 
opened  the  way  for  endlea«  later  chaugea  in  the  laws  themselye^  (p^*^)^ 
4  ,  ,  .  Bufc  thii  t^on&titution  remaiuod  the  name ;  the  lawa,  with  a  few 
changes  in  dotaU,  remained  the  same ;  the  language  of  public  document 
leciiftuied  fchefi&tne.  The  powers  which  were  vested  in  Kiirg  WtUiun 
and  Mfl  Witan  rematBod  confititutionally  the  sanie  as  tho&o  which  hod 
been  ireBted  in  King  Eadgar  and  his  Witan  a  hundred  years  befrirc* 
•  .  ,  .  I  cannot  too  often  repeat,  for  the  Baying  is  the  very  etunming 
up  of  the  whole  history,  that  the  Nonnan  Conqiie»t  was  not  the  wiping 
out  of  thi3  constitution,  the  lawe,  the  language,  the  national  \i&i  m 
EnglMffuen*'— p,  72* 

Probably 


.  ma 


Cfiaracterittia  of  EnglUh  Kut&nf. 


U1 


Probably,  indeeJ,  no  country  or  people  can  show  an  equally 
continuous  and  connected  existence.      From  the  sisth  century,  at 
least,  to  the   present  day  three  distinct  languages  and  races — 
Engli&h,  Welsh,  and  Gaelic — have  occupied  this  island:  and 
from   the  tenth  century  downwards    the   main  division*  of  the 
country  and  tiie  hjcal  names  of  the  great  bulk  of  iu  towns  and 
villages  have  descended  to  us  with  little  alteration,  whilst  the 
general    temper   and    character   of    the    people   have    remained 
substantially  unaltered.    The  monarchy  limited  by  constitutional 
restrictions,   the  great  powers  exercised   by  Witan  and   Parlia* 
ment,  the  open  and  une% elusive  chnracter  of  the  aristocracy,  are 
alike  common  to  the  tenth  and  nineteenth  centuries.     The  jury 
system  and  the  territorial  division  of  hundreds  behjng  to  a  still 
earlier  period;   but  we   may   count   the   formal   organisation  of 
a  State  Church,  and  perhaps  the  establishment  of  our  laws  of 
exitail,  as  legacies  of  the  great  Alfred  :  we  may  trace  the  connec- 
tion of  rank  and  territorial  rights  in  the  histories  of  Anglo-Saxoa 
Earls  and  EaUlormen  ;  we  may  note,  then  as  at  a  later  period, 
the  mingled  elements  of  monaichital  and  democratic  forc^  which 
come  out  in  the  succession  and  the  power  of  our  early  kings ;  we 
may  refer  the  mild  character  of  English  legislation  back  to  the 
times  when  the  bishop  sat  as  presiding  judge  of  the  Shire  court; 
we   may  even    identify  the  shipmoney  of  Charles   1.    with  the 
statute  of  the   thirtieth    year  of   King   Ethel  red,  and  with   the 
legal  assessments  made  by   him   and  his   Witan   on  the  inland 
counties.     And  thus  the  stately  and  unbroken  procession  of  our 
history  unfolds  itself — the  Crown,   the  nobility,  the  Parliament, 
the  legii^lation,  ever  the  same  in  their  attributes  and  functions, 
referable  lo  no  one  single  event  or  date,  but  l<>sing  themselves  in 
the  primeval  forests  of  Germany,  or,  as  Mr.  Freeman  does  not 
scruple  to  say,  in  the  very  origin  of  the  Aryan  race.     It  is  in 
this  slow  and  sure  development  that  the  secret  of  our  national 
strength^  our  steadiness  of  purpose^   our   cautious  love  of  pre^ 
cedent,  our  temperate  avoidance  of  political  extremes,  is  to  bo 
founds 

As  we  write,  indeed,  changes  are  in  progress  which  threaten 
to  make  these  great  characteristics  things  of  the  past  The 
political  ground  on  which  so  many  generations  of  Englijshmen 
baTe  walked  in  faith  and  security  is  crumbling  under  our  feet, 
mml  new  inui  tut  ions,  as  strange  as  they  are  sudden,  are  starting 
into  exiittence.  What  the  issue  wall  be  no  man  can  say  ;  but  thia 
at  least  is  certain,  that  if  the  results  of  so  great  a  shoe  k  are  \em 
disastrous  to  us  than  they  would  be  to  any  other  nation,  it  will 
be  due  to  those  many  centuries  of  consecutive  and  consistent  dis- 

is  2  ,  cipUne 


148  Characteristics  of  English  Hidory. 

cipline  that  have  contributed  insensibly  to  the  formation  of  our 
national  character. 

That  England  has  always  been  the  same  might  be  shown  by 
more  than  one  illustration ;  and  it  would  be  easy  even  to  enlarge 
the  picture  which  Mr.  Freeman  has  drawn.  Not  only  may  her 
historical  continuity  be  traced  onward  from  the  sixth  century^bnt 
it  may  be  recognised  even  at  an  earlier  date  and  under  an  older 
race.  Thus  in  the  analogies  to  be  discovered  between  the  succes- 
sive civilisation  of  the  British,  Roman,  and  Saxon  racres,  the 
England  of  the  earliest  and  the  latest  times  remains,  in  a  sense 
beyond  that  of  other  countries,  one  and  the  same.  Much,  of 
cour^e,  was  due  to  the  natural  fertility  of  the  soil,  the  advantages 
of  the  climate,  and  the  happy  effects  of  that  climate  upon  the 
character  of  the  population.  At  a  very  early  period,  indeed, 
there  was  a  popular  and  common  superstition,  founded  upon  such 
rep)rts  as  those  of  Himiico,  the  Carthaginian  explorer,  that 
beyond  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  darkness  and  perpetual  night 
brooded  over  the  ocean,  and  that  in  a  sea  heavy  with  weed  and 
swarming  with  strange  monsters  nature  herself  sickened  and 
almost  (lied.  Nor  is  it,  in  passing,  uninteresting  to  observe  how 
centuries  afterwards,  more  than  one  hundred  years  after  the  fall  of 
the  Western  Empire,  when  Britain  had  for  a  time  dropped  out 
of  the  sight  of  Europe,  by  some  strange  freak  of  Fortune,  these 
weird  fables  were  adopted  and  recast  even  in  a  still  more  fantastic 
form  by  the  Byzantine  historian.  But  it  was  substantially  Canards 
invasion  that  opened  up  the  ^  alter  orbis'  of  Britain,  as  theological 
and  lay  writers  alike  designated  her,  to  the  then  civilised  world; 
and  from  Ca^sar^s  time  the  general  tenor  of  allusions  to  the  climate 
and  the  physical  resources  of  the  island  is  favourable.  Even 
Caesar,  according  to  the  popular  belief  of  the  time,  was  said 
to  have  been  attracted  by  the  promise  of  the  pearl  fisheries. 
Cspsar  indeed,  found  no  jewels  to  reward  him  for  the  dangers  of 
his  expedition,  though  on  his  return  to  Rome  he  dedicated  a 
pearl  breastplate  to  Venus  Genitrix,  the  tutelar  deity  whom  his 
policy  and  his  family  traditi(ms  had  chosen;  but  he  found  broad 
tracts  of  corn  in  the  rich  soil  of  Kent,  and  he  found  in  the  Southern 
counties  the  evidence  of  a  civilisation,  which,  though  slender 
when  measured  by  a  modern  standard,  was  not  inferior  to  that  of 
many  parts  of  the  continent  to  which  Roman  ideas  had  obtained 
access.  He  says  that  the  Britons  used  no  money ;  but  there  are 
numerous  coins  extant  which  were  struck  in  Britain  nearly  a 
century  before  his  invasion.  Rude  as  they  are,  they  show  some 
technical  skill.  They  were  mostly  copied  from  Greek  types, 
which,  with  Byzantine  and  Eastern  coins,  found  their  way  at  a 

very 


Clutraelerislici  of  Ejujlish  Htsiortf, 


149 


Yety  <?arly  period  across  Russiii  tfj  the  shores  of  ihc  Baltic,  or, 
wereemrried  into  Gaul  aiul  thence  into  Britain*  Thus  iho  descent 
0f  a  Briti:*b  coin  from  a  ^uhX  stater  oi  Philip  of  Macndon  cannot 
be  mi&taken.  The  Greek  rhariot  and  horses  gradually  degenerate 
through  successive  imitations  aJid  imitfilions  of  i  mi  tattoos  Into 
grotesque  Hoes  and  figures— at  first  seemin*?  to  assume  the  fi^rm 
of  some  Northern  centaur  or  griffin,  and  at  length  wholly  losing" 
the  original  idea  in  a  tangle  of  mean i napless  arabesques.  Yet  such 
as  they  are,  when  we  look  either  to  the  device  or  the  work- 
manship, the  inference  is  irresistible,  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
Southern  counties  at  least  had  already  acquired  a  certaiii  and  a 
distinct  degree  of  civilisation. 

Again,  though  mere  coincidences  must  not  be  taken  for  a 
systematic  continuity  of  national  history ^  it  is  curious  to  observe 
the  singular  reprwluctinn  of  some  of  its  leading  features  at  each 
luccessive  stage,  Thus  with  each  of  the  great  conquests  in  turu 
—Roman,  Saxon ^  Danish,  Nonnan^an  infusion  of  fresh  blofjd, 
and,  aUowing  for  the  circumstances  <d' the  time,  a  singular  amal- 
gamation i»f  race,  have  taken  place.  Under  the  rule  of  Rome,  her 
auxiiiarv  troops  came  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  Britain,  The 
Sarmatian  and  Gaul,  the  Spaniard  and  Dalmatian,  even  the 
strange  Afritan  and  Egyptian,  seem  to  have  settled  down  in 
the  country  of  ihcir  adtqition  and  tt>  have  become  incorporated 
with  the  people  whom  they  had  been  sent  to  control  and  protect. 
To  this  day  the  fragments  of  inscription  and  altar  give  evidence' 
of  the  strange  medlev  of  race  and  religion  which  was  then  nccom- 
plizkhed.  But  when  Roman  supremacy  was  at  an  end,  another 
similar  renewal  of  our  national  life  toi^k  place.  It  may  be  that 
the  famous  '  littus  Saxon i cum,*  which  has  been  the  battle-field  of 
so  mocb  historical  c<mtroversy,  bears  witness  to  a  still  earlier  and 
more  gradual  mingling  of  races  that  had  occurred  ;  but  an) how, 
during  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries,  England  received  her  largest 
and  most  important  accession  of  foreign  blood  in  the  Saxrms, 
Angles,  and  Jutes,  between  whom  she  was  partitioned.  This 
was  a  conquest  in  the  full  and  the  old  sense  of  the  word.  The 
conquenirs  overspread  the  countrj^,  appropriated  all  property^ 
rhanged  the  customs,  and  mingling  more  *»r  less,  as  the  case  may 
be,  with  tlje  native  race,  became  hrnceforw^ard  the  nation.  It  waa 
rhe  migrat i<m  of  a  people ;  and  the  only  question  is,  hnw  far  the 
national  existence  of  the  original  population  was  or  was  ntit  crushed 
out  and  obliterated  by  the  invaders.  Hut  when  the  etmquesi  was 
completed  and  the  Saxon  settlers  established  throughimt  the  lengtli 
of  the  land,  once  more  the  same  process  was  repeated,  thou^rh  on 
a  soniewhat  narrower  scale — it  can  scarcely  be  said  under  circum- 
stances of  much  less  cruelty  and  bloodshed.     The  earlier  Danish 

invasions 


150  CharaeteriMiiet  of  EnyKsk  HiMonf. 

invasinDt  were,  ms  Mr.  Freeman  has  pointrd  oat.  widi  d^  nmple 
object  of  plunder;  and  that  object  was  gained  bj  ihm  altamate 
nse  or  threaU  of  fire  and  iwonL  'Thev  land^  chej  hairj  the 
couotrr,  ther  fifErbt,  if  need  be,  to  secure  their  bootj  ;  bat  whether 
defeated  or  victorious  thej  equally  retain  to  their  ships  and  sail 
awav  with  what  they  have  gathered*  (p.  45).  Bat  mboat  the 
middle  of  the  ninth  century  there  came  a  pniod  in  which  settle* 
ment  rather  than  plunder  was  their  object  Their  earliest  and  their 
princi(»I  settlemenu  were  to  be  found,  as  might  be  expected,  ia 
East  Anglia,  and  round  the  &horrs  of  the  Wash  in  oonseqaenoe  of 
its  neighbourhood  to  the  J  utland  coast ;  but  before  long  tncj  ibroed 
their  way  inland — wherever  they  could,  up  the  rivers  in  their  iaTOor- 
ite  galleys ;  where  they  could  not,  on  hones  taken  from  the  popala- 
tion — and,  spreading  themselves  over  the  rich  dbtricta  of  Mercia, 
they  gradually  appropriated  the  larger  part  of  the  coantrj  which 
lay  north  of  the  VVatling  Street,  and  which  was  ceded  bj  Alfred 
at  the  peace  of  Wed  more.     It  was  here  that  the  great  Danish  qain- 

iuiiateral  was  situated — the  five  famous  boroughs  of  Stamford, 
eicester,  Derby,  Nottingham,  and  Lincoln,  consolidated  bf 
separate  judicial  and  municipal  institutions  ii||o  a  oonfcdeiacj 
powerful  for  war,  for  commerce,  and  for  colonisation,  and  fiimuag 
the  very  key  and  centre  of  Dani«h  influence  in  England.  There 
was,  indeed,  subsequently  a  third  period,  when  the  desire  of  set- 
tlement gave  way  to  the  ambition  and  policy  of  conqoest;  bat 
the  real  colonisation  that  has  affected,  and  will  to  all  time  aflect, 
the  character  of  our  population,  tcMik  place  during  the  latter  port 
of  the  ninth  century.  Vet  even  now,  when  Saxon  and  Dane  had 
successively  conquered  and  taken  possession — whilst  the  consoli« 
dation  was  still  incomplete — a  fre^h  element  of  singular  force 
was  tlirown  into  the  cTucihle  in  which  our  national  character  was 
gradually  taking;  form.  Comparatively  scanty  in  numbers,  but 
powerful  in  superior  cultivation  and  in  their  fiery  vigour,  the  Nor^ 
mans  burst  upon  the  country  and  at  once  engrossed  its  entire 
government,  with  all  the  influences  and  effects  which  such  a  sa« 
premacy  involves.  But  not  even  then  was  our  history  weary  of 
repeating  itself,  or  was  the  combination  of  differing  elements 
completer.  The  wisdom  of  Edward  HI.,  the  policy  of  Elisabeth, 
the  tolerance  of  William  of  Orann^e,  in  turn  welcomed  the  indus- 
trious artisans  or  the  religious  exiles  whom  foreign  persecution 
had  made  outcasts  from  their  own  land.  Thus  national  circum- 
stances, temper  and  policy,  have  at  all  times  concurred  in  opening 
wide  the  diMir  to  foreign  elements,  and  have  contributed  to  the 
formation  of  a  |>eopIe  which,  thf>ii<rh  like  the  Roman,  sprung 
from  a  *  coUuvies  gentium,'  has  played  no  mean  part  in  the  world's 
history. 

Bat 


Ckaracteriitim  of  Englhk  HUtortj, 

But  if  our  History  has  repeated  itself  in  these  successive  addl* 
tions  to  the  population  and  their  contribution*  to  the  sum  total  of 
English  life  and  nationality ^  there  is  also  a  resemblance  to  be 
traced  in  the  manner  in  which  each  new  race  took  its  place  by 
the  side  of  the  one  which  it  had  dispossessed,  Mn  Freeman,* 
indeed,  believes  in  an  extirpation  of  the  British  population  so  far 
^s  such  a  phenomenon  is  jiossible,  and  he  founds  bis  belief  upon 
the  Teutonic  nomenclature  of  Engl  ish  towns,  and — adopting  the 
argument  which  Niebubr  originally  applied  to  the  old  Ituliaa 
races — U|ion  the  domestic  and  menial  character  of  those  Celtic 
words  which  form  a  part  of  the  language*  But  of  these  two 
reaMJOs  the  latter  only  indicates  that  which  we  know  to  be  the 
historical  fact — the  subjugation  of  the  native  race,  Subjug^ation 
does  not  necessarily  involve  ejttermination*  Slaves  were  obviously 
of  the  greatest  use,  if  they  were  not  absolutely  necessary,  to  the 
Saxon  freemen  who  conquered  and  divided  the  country  :  and  it  is 
but  natural  to  suppose  that  slaves  would  leave  the  impress  of 
slavish  ideas  upon  the  national  language.  Nor  did  it  always  hap- 
pen that  the  conquered  people  were  reduced  to  the  condition 
of  slaves*  The  relations  of  the  two  parties  were  frequently  of  a 
more  friendly  and  equal  character,  Exeter,  for  instance,  in  the 
rei^n  of  Athelstan,  as  Lis  been  remarked  by  an  antiquarian,t 
was  inhabited  by  Saxons  and  British  who  lived  on  equal  terms 
(fequa Jure),  which  they  could  only  have  done  by  virtue  of  an 
original  composition  with  the  Saxon  conquerors.  So  too^ 
although  it  is  true  that  the  greater  part  of  our  towns  are  Teutonic 
in  name,  the  map  of  modern  England  bears  ample  witness  to  her 
pre-Teutonic  juasters.  The  ancient  traveller  uf  the  second  and 
third  centuries,  who  landed  on  the  south-east  coast,  traversed  in 
his  journey  westward  many  towns  identical  in  name  with  those 
now  exist  in  or.  Dubrae,  Kutupiae,  RegQlbium  correspond  with 
Dover,  Rich  borough,  Reculver  on  the  coast,  as  Londinium,  Spina*, 
Glcvum  are  the  faithful  equivalents  of  London,  Speen,  and 
Gloue^ter,  And  if  the  nomenclature  of  towns  and  villages  is 
Saxon  (in  the  northern  and  north-eastern  parts  of  England  it  is  at 
least  as  much  Danish  as  Saxon)  the  aspect  of  die  peasantry  in 
many  districts  shows  an  underlying  element  of  British  origin. 
Of*  that  native  race,  some  fled  to  the  Welsh  mountains,  some  to 
the  western  peninsula  of  Devon  and  Cornwall,  but  'the  mass  of 
the  people/  as  Mr.  Kemble  says,  J  ''  accustomed  to  Roman  rule  or 
■the  oppression  of  native  princes^  probably  suffcretl  little  by  a 
f change  of  masters  and  did  little  to  avoid  it/     Each  successive 


P.  18.  +  Mn  Wnght,  'Celt,  Roman  and  Saitcwa/  p.  446, 

t  *  Saxons  ill  England/  i-  p.  20, 

conquest, 


1 52  Characteristics  of  English  History. 

r<jnr|uest,  Roman,  Saxon,  Danish,  forced  back  towards  tbe  south- 
wc^t,  in  much  the  same  geographical  direction,  that  part  of  the 
Cioquered  race  which  refused  all  terms  with  its  conqneiors,  and 
with  each  conquest  the  more  pliable  part  of  the  conqnered  race 
was  amalgamated  with  their  conquerors.  As,  at  a  later  period, 
\ormans  settled  down  by  the  side  of  English,  and  Danes  bj  the 
side  of  Saxons,  so  the  Saxons  incorporated  the  British  inhabitants 
of  the  island — those  of  the  towns  as  tributaries,  those  of  the 
rountrv  as  slaves.  It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that,  whilst  the  majoritj 
of  the  iar^e  Romano-British  towns,  which  stood  within  purelj 
British  territory — Ariconium,  Magna,  Bravinium,  Uriconiam — 
were  swept  away  (the  Roman  coins,  which  have  been  found 
in  the  blackened  ruins  bearing  distinct  testimony,  by  their  regular 
succession  and  their  abrupt  termination,  to  the  time  at  which  the 
work  of  destruction  was  consummated),  the  greater  number  of 
those  tlint  stornl  east  of  the  Severn  survived  the  deluge  of  Suxon 
invasion. 

We  are  naturally  led  on  from  such  questions  as  these  to  the 
*  Imperial  anfl  Roman'  theories  of  whicli  Sir  F.  Palgrave  was  so 
emin<'nt  an  advocate,  and  from  which  Mr.  Freeman  expresses  a 
stnMi;:i*r  dissent  than  in  our  opinion  can  be  justified  by  the  facts  of 
i\\f  case  or  by  its  i^cneral  probabilities.  In  the  speculation  indeed, 
which  is  one  of  the  most  interesting — whence,  how,  with  what 
olijfct,  to  what  extc-nt,  the  Kings  of  England  adopted  the  im- 
|N*riiil  titlf*s  an<l  insignia  of  Rome — Mr.  Freeman  has  taken  a 
in  I'M  If*  vif*w.  That  such  titles  were  assumed,  that  the  King  of 
Kii^laiid  was  stylcHl  in  contemporary  documents  and  annals 
ItimiiftiK,  (*ii*Hfir,  linperator  ;  that  his  coinage  bore  the  world-wide 
device*  of  (he  Latin  wolf;  thnt  his  laws  and  charters  were  written 
in  tliff  ifn|N*rinl  language  ot  Rome  ;  that  he  adopted  its  forms  and 
ccn'nioniuls,  and  that  he  had  a  certain  ground  historically  and 
actually,  as  the  ruler  of  that  which  Empemr  and  Pope  allowed 
to  Im*  *  alter  orliis,'  upon  which  he  could  claim  equality  with  the 
(fernian  or  Kyxaiitine,  or  Italian  representative  of  the  empire,  are 
indinputable  facts.  On  the  other  hand  that  the  pretension  came 
prominently  forward  for  the  first  time  with  Athelstan,  and  that, 
where  policy  sanctioned  and  actual  circumstances  warranted  the 
assumption  of  a  mon*  imposing  state,  it  was  natural  and  likely 
that  such  state  would  be  assumed  without  too  nice  an  enquiry 
^o  its  right  and  moral  fitness,  are  equally  true.     Mr.  Freeman 

icAtes  three  hypotheses :  * 

•  That  such  titles  were  adopted  out  of  mere  vanity. 

H  That  they  implied  a  real  claim  to  the  imperial  succession. 

•  P.  i4r». 

3.  That 


Charaeierisiics  of  English  Hhtorj/, 


153 


3.  Tliat  they  were  borrowed  from  &  feeling  that  the  English 
monarch V  was  essentially  an  imperial  one,  and  in  protest  and 
reptidlation  of  the  allegred  supremacy  of  the  German  Empire. 

The  first  of  these  views  has  never  found,  we  believe,  any  real 
defender;  the  second  fairly  represents  Sir  F,  Pal  grave's  opinion; 
the  last,  which  has  also  been  sug-g^ested  by  Mr*  Bryce  in  his  very 
Intisresting  volume  on  the  '  Holy  Roman  Empire/  is  adopted  by 
Mr,  Freeman. 

It  would  carry  us  beyond  our  present  limits  were  we  to  enquire, 
with  tlie  care  which  the  question  deserves,  into  the  merits  of  the 
two  last  theories.  If  Sir  F.  Pal  grave's  viewj  enhanced  as  it  is  by 
the  personal  incidents  and  the  fresh  colouring  of  his  narrative, 
possesses  the  greatest  fascinationj  Mr.  Freeman's  may  claim  for 
itself  a  sobriety  and  moderation  of  argument  which  will  prepos- 
sess  the  general  student  in  its  favour.  It  is  not  improbable  that 
he  has  assigned  the  known  facts  to  the  true  cau^e*  At  the  same 
time  he  has  allowed  a  very  obvious  repugnance  to  the  Roman 
theory  to  carry  him  too  far,  when  he  says  that* the  English  wiped 
out  everything  Celtic  and  everything  Roman  as  thoroughly  as 
everything  Roman  was  w^iped  out  of  Africa  by  the  Saracen  con- 
querors of  Carthage'  (p*  20).  It  is  hard  to  believe  that  the 
occupation  of  Britain  was  merely  superficial,  and  that  'the  arts, 
language,  and  religion*  of  Rome  utterly  perished  at  the  approach 
of  the  Saxon  invaders.  The  Hoinan  occupation  of  Britain  was 
not,  like  that  of  the  French  in  Algeria,  one  of  a  day.  It  had 
endured  more  than  four  times  the  length  of  our  tenure  of  India, 
and  it  had  been  gradually  extended  from  the  south  through  the 
midland  parts  of  the  country  into  the  '  Caletlonia*  pruina?'  of  the 
north.  How  extensive  it  was  may  be  conjectured  from  the  traces 
of  cultivation  that  can  yet  be  distinguished  upon  the  Northum- 
berland hills,  and  from  the  construction  of  a  second  wall  to  give 
security  to  the  Roman  settlers  who,  with  the  hardihood  of  Eng- 
lish colonists,  had  ventured  beyond  the  proteetioo  of  the  first* 

What  may  have  been  the  precise  character  of  Roman  rule  ; 
w^hetber  the  feeling  of  nationality  in  its  modern  sense  had  any 
existence  in  the  native  population ;  are  questions  which  do  not 
admit  of  a  simple  answer.  If,  on  the  one  hand,  the  violence  of 
Boadicea's  insurrection,  provoked  though  it  was  by  the  insolence 
and  injustice  of  a  provincial  official,  suggests  an  unfavourable 
inference,  on  the  other,  we  know  tliat  at  the  very  time  of  that 
outbreak  a  town  like  Colchester  was  un walled,  and  that  a  Httle 
later  the  presence  of  four  legions  was  considered  a  suilBcient 
gxiarantee  for  the  maintenance  of  order  in  Britain.  It  is  pro- 
bable that  historians  generally  have  laid  too  little  stress  upon  the 
influence  which  that  long  occupation  by  Rome  exercised  upon  the 

life 


154  Characteristics  of  English  History. 

life  and  character  of  the  races  which  succeeded  to  it.  England, 
and  especially  those  southern  districts  which  in  Saxon  times 
constituted  the  kingdom  of  Wessex,  and  which  subsequently,  till 
the  rise  of  our  great  manufacturing  towns,  have  been  the  centre 
and  almost  the  impelling  cause  of  national  energy,  must  have 
been  penetrated  with  Roman  civilisation.  In  the  villas,  the 
baths,  the  amphitheatres,  the  tesselated  pavements,  the  articles 
of  personal  comfort  and  luxury,  which  are  so  freely  scattered 
througli  the  country,  it  is  impossible  to  mistake  the  existence  of 
a  wealthy  class,  who  engrafted  u pern  the  occupations  of  provincial 
life  the  ideas  and  politics  of  Roman  citizens.  Independent  in 
temper  as  the  Province  on  more  than  one  occasion  showed 
herself  to  be,  the  connection  maintained  with  Italy  must  have 
been  close  ;  and  the  significant  fact  has  been  noted,  that  on  the 
deposition  of  Heliogabalus  in  Rome  an  inscription  in  his  honour 
in  Briuin  was  immc*tliately  effaced — a  curious  instance  of  that 
uniformity,  which,  whilst  it  impressed  the  civilised  world,  failed 
to  create  a  nation,  and  which,  like  mosaic  work,  though  it  re- 
duced the  whole  to  one  single  pattern  and  type,  left  each  single 
piece  separate  and  distinct. 

When  even  Roman  ascendancy  was  utterly  broken,  and 
England  had  become  in  her  main  features  Teutonic,  it  seems 
incredible  to  suppose  tliat  the  influences  of  a  dominion^  which 
had  lasted  for  as  long  a  time  as  that  which  has  intanrened 
between  tlic  Wars  of  the  Roses  and  the  Crimean  war,  could  have 
been  *•  wiped  out,*  without  leaving  some  substantial  traces  upon 
the  institutions  and  mind  of  the  people.  Tlie  heathen  conquerors 
destroyed  the  statues  and  the  works  of  art  just  as  an  ignorant 
Arali  mutilates  an  Assyrian  sculpture  or  impression:  they  laid 
waste  graceful  villas,  and  converted  municipal  buildinfr>  to  their 
own  rude  purposes,  with  as  little  scruple  as  the  Italian  of  the 
middle  ages  turned  the  Coliseum  into  a  quarry;  but,  for  genera- 
tions after  the  sceptre  of  Roman  authority  had  been  broken,  the 
external  symljols  of  Roman  power  must  have  been  continually 
present  to  the  public  eye.  The  great  camps  and  military  stations, 
placed  on  the  most  commanding  sites,  the  massive  walls,  which 
even  the  waste  of  time  and  weather  and  the  accidents  of 
fourteen  hundred  years  have  failed  to  destroy,  must  have  long 
preserved  the  recollection  of  the  rul<*  under  which  Britain  had 
lived  and  prospered.  Some,  indeed,  of  those  military  stations, 
which  had  been  protected  only  by  earthworks,  might  under  the 
plough  or  from  the  silent  growth  of  W(mx1  disappear,  or  when 
grasse<]  over  might  in  the  course  of  a  few  generations  be  attributed 
in  popular  imagination  to  the  work  of  elf  or  giant ;  but  whenever 
more  durable  materials  were  employed,  and  the  form  and  use  of 

the 


Ckaraderistics  of  English  Histonj, 

the  original  buildings  remained,  it  is  but  natural  to  suppose  that 
some  recollection  of  the  builders  would  exist.  Incapable  as  our 
lore  fathers  were  of  constructing^  the  bridges  and  light-houses 
which  Bede  has  recorded,  thej  could  not  be  inseniiible  to  them 
and  to  the  other  indestructible  vestiges  of  ancient  administrative 
organisation ;  incapable  as  they  were,  even  after  sir  hundred  jcars 
of  supremacy,  of  any  but  a  rough  and  ponderous  and  unornamented 
architecture,  fbey  must  have  recognised  in  the  gilded  domes  of 
Caerleon,  which,  as  we  know  from  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  were  still 
lobe  seen  in  the  time  of  Henry  IL,  a  higher  type  of  artistic  splen- 
dour than  any  within  their  powers  of  imitation.  As  conquered 
Greece  had  led  Rome  captive,  so  Rome  in  turn  threw  a  spell 
over  her  conquerors*  Goth,  Vandal^  Lombard,  even  whilst  they 
forced  their  w^ay  into  the  treasure-house  of  ancient  civilisatioaa, 
found  themselves  unconsciously  bending  to  the  charm  of  that 
great  name :  nor  is  it  easy  to  see  why  Saxons  or  Danes  in 
England  should  have  been  less  susceptible  or  more  unyielding 
dian  their  northern  fellows  elsewhere. 

But  of  all  the  great  works  which  visibly  recalled  the  advan- 

lages  of  that  unrivalled   administration^  the   most  conspicuous 

rere  the  military  roads,  which  by  the  end  of  the  fourth  century 

inected   the  different    parts    of  Britaim      What  the    Hneg  of 

^  Jail  way  are  to  modern  Eng^land,  what  the  system  of  canals  is  to 

China — the  military  highways,  supplemented   by  a  network  of 

.  commercial   roads^  were   to  the    Ri>man    Empire.       It  was   by 

lihem  that  the  external  defence  and  the  internal  unity  of  that  vast 

[system  were  maintained.      Thus,  when  the  Helvetli  in  a  body  of 

'nearly  4005000  souls  broke  across  the  Gaulish  frontier,  Ciesar 

took  ibe  commund  in  person^  and  travelled  from  Rome  to  Geneva 

in  eight  days.     And  as  the  roads  were  in  Italy  in  the  time  of 

Caesar^  so  they  were  afterwards  in  Britain  in  the  days  of  Hadrian 

or  the  Antonines,  the  former  of  whom  incurred  some  ridicule  for 

his  waudering^  tendencies  in  the  well-known  lines  of  Floras: — 

*  Ego  nolo  Cassar  esse, 
Ajmbulare  per  BritannoB, 
Scythieaa  pati  pruinas/  • 

We  not  only  know  the  materials  and  the  exact  mode  of  con- 
struction adopted,  but  wo  have  no  less  than  three  distinct  sources 
of  iijftirmation   extant   to   guide  us  in    our    inquiries  into  the 
.bighwuvs  of  Roman  Britain.     For  centuries,  indeed,  those  roads^ 
'though  neglected  and  unrepaired,  remained  the  be«t  nnd  almost 
the  only  lines  of  traffic.     What  their  condition  was  after  thirteen 


*  Attthologia  batian,'    Na»  %\%    E4  Mtyer, 


hundre'tt 


156  Characteristics  of  English  Hilary. 

hundred  years  of  ceaseless  wear  and  equally  ceaseless  neglect  at 
the  period  of  the  Restoration,  Lord  Macaulay  has  described ;  when 
Thoresby,  the  antiquarian,  lost  his  way  between  Doncmster  and 
York,  when  Pepys  and  his  wife  lost  their  way  between  Reading 
and  Newbury,  when  the  Viceroy  on  his  road  to  Ireland  was  five 
hours  in  travelling  fourteen  miles,  and  when  Prince  George  of 
Denmark,  on  a  visit  to  Petworth,  was  six  hours  in  going  nine 
miles  ;  but  still  they  remained  the  best  if  not  the  only  high  roadsi 
and  De  Foe,  writing  in  1720,  could  anticipate  no  better  prospect 
for  them  and  for  the  country  than  that  they  should  be  restored  to 
their  original  condition  under  the  Romans. 

But  whilst  her  roads  have  within  the  last  century  been  replaced 
by  a  modem  and  still  more  eflective  system  of  commanicmtion, 
the  influence  of  Rome  lived  cm  and  still  lives  in  those  institutions 
which  it  is  the  custom  to  refer  to  our  Teutonic  forefathers.  The 
guilds  and  associations,  which  are  jealously  and  persistently 
claimed  as  their  legacy,  are  really  the  bequest  of  Rome,  jnst  as 
the  forms  of  popular  self-government  established  in  the  principal 
cities  of  Gaul  were  founded  upon  the  image  of  a  Roman  senate 
and  municipality.  It  is  in  the  Roman  towns  of  Britain,  in  the 
combination  of  the  ercupia  system  of  the  South  with  the  Nortfaeni 
notions  of  frank-pledge,  that  the  origin  of  English  self-gorem* 
ment  is  to  be  found  :  it  is  in  the  Roman  *  collegia '  of  trades  that 
the  guilds  of  our  forefathers  have  their  birth.  The  Saxon 
officials  in  many  instances  corresponded  with  their  Roman  pre- 
decessors, and  the  municipal  functions  of  some  of  our  great 
corporations  date  back  rather  to  the  organising  character  of 
Imperial  administration  than  to  the  instincts  of  the  German 
tribes. 

In  studying  the  first  volume  of  Mr.  Freeman's  *  History  of  the 
Norman  Conquest,'  it  is  imp>ssiblc  to  avoid  an  occasional  refer- 
ence to,  and  sometimes  a  comparison  with,  the  works  of  his  two 
great  predecessors,  Sir  Francis  Palgrave  and  M.  Thierry,  EUkch 
is  distinguished  by  excellencies  peculiarly  its  own,  and  all  three 
are  worthy  of  the  great  subject  of  which  they  treat.  But  there 
is  a  marked  difference  of  view  not  less  than  of  style.  Sir  F. 
Palgrave  presents  a  striking  picture  founded  upon  a  wide  course 
of  study,  though  unfortunately  his  great  work  is  marred  by  the 
almost  total  absence  of  references;  but,  in  the  midst  of  his 
happiest  descriptions,  we  sometimes  become  sensible  of  a  critical 
inexactitude  which  is  painful.  M.  Thierry  has  also  given  us  a 
picture  of  the  same  period,  so  vivid  in  its  colouring  that  its  very 
improbabilities  seem  reasonable,  and  so  consistent  as  a  whole, 
that  it  fascinates  the  mind  on  a  first  reading  with  an  irresistible 
charm.     But    here   again,    great   command    of  facts  and   great 

imaginative 


Characteristics  of  English  Histor}/^ 

itnag^lnative  power  are  in  a  measure  vitiated  bj  the  absence  of 
the  critical  Ikcultj*  In  Mr,  Freeman's  work  we  have  also  a 
picture  ;  and  if  he  were  equal  in  imag^inative  power  tt>  Sir  F. 
Palg-rave  and  M.  Thierry,  that  picture  would  be  almost  perfect, 
because  it  is  founded  upon  an  exhaustive  investigation  of  facts 
and  a  keen  discrimination  of  their  relative  value.  Ethel  red,  the 
King  without  'rede,'  the  man  without  moral  principle,  the  worst 
and  weakest  of  English  sovereigns,  whose  rei^n  was  one  un- 
broken record  of  misgovern  in  en  t,  treachery  ^  and  failure — Edmund, 
the  patriot,  the  hero,  the  great  captain,  the  representative  and 
embodiment  of  that  indomitable  English  spirit  which  shone  out 
in  the  six  pitrhed  battles  of  those  short  seven  months,  when  he 
won  back  the  whole  kingdom  of  W esses  from  the  Danes — 
Canute,  who,  like  Augustus,  was  improved  by  success,  and  whose 
character.  In  its  early  ferocity  and  its  later  mildness,  its  sternness 
tf  I  wards  his  own  countrymen  and  its  conciliation  towards  the 
favoured  country  of  his  adoption,  Mr.  Freeman  has,  we  think, 
delineated  with  remarkable  discrimination  and  delicacy  of  touch  : 
the  great  King,  the  Emperor  of  all  kings  and  nations  in  Britain, 
the  lord  of  five  if  not  of  six  Crowns,  as  politic  as  he  was  powerful 
— Brightnoth,  the  hero  alike  of  his  church  and  country,  redeem- 
ing both  in  life  and  death  the  evil  days  in  which  his  lot  was 
cast,  and  showing  even  in  defeat  what  Englishmen  could  do 
when  worthily  led — Edric,  whose  ceaseless  and  inexplicable 
treacheries  are  reduced  to  a  semblance  of  reason  and  consistency 
— all  these  are  invested  with  a  distinctness  and  personality  which, 
when,  as  in  this  case,  unattended  by  a  sacrifice  of  truth,  are 
very  welcome. 

Apart  from  the  history  and  personal  inBnences  of  individuals, 
few  inquiries  are  more  interesting  than  those  which  serve  to  deter- 
mine the  relations  of  Anglo-Saxon  England  to  the  other  coun- 
tries of  the  then  civilised  world.  What  those  relations  were — 
political,  commercial,  dynastic,  religious — what  their  character 
and  extent,  are  questions  necessary  to  a  right  understanding  of 
early  English  history,  and  nowhere,  as  it  appears  to  us,  worked 
aut  with  the  fulness  which  they  deserve.  Sir  F.  Palgrave  has 
shadowrcd  out  the  idea,  and  Mr.  Freeman  has  followed,  but  can 
hardly  be  said  to  have  fdled  up  the  sketch.  The  further  indeed 
this  question  JS  pursued,  the  clearer  it  will  be  that  the  geogra- 
phical position  of  England,  though  it  necessarily  lessened,  did 
not  prevent  a  connection,  and  sometimes  a  close  connection, 
with  the  courts  and  capitals  of  other  countries. 

At  no  time  in  our  history,  since  the  Carthaginian  galley  is 
said  to  have  been  run  aground  by  her  own  crew  to  preserve  the 
secrets  of  their  commerce  with  Britain,  was  the  '  toto  divisos 

or  be 


lis 


Charadfritiki  cf  Engliik  Sidory* 


orbc  Britiuiiios*  of  tlic  Roman  poet  <i  strirtly  faitliral  filiatemani 
of  ihp  r&se*  In  the  pArlirst  dawn  at  niittonal  rxiAtence  &  grad 
Tiortitm  of  tlie  tin  wbich  w&s  prmlmxHl  In  Britam  was  taken  nvet- 
land  through  FmocP  and  shippnl  ut  the  Phocn^ati  caltirij  wf  W^* 
seiUes^  just  as  amber  wajs  iarnc;<l  an  pac  k-hon»es  friftn  the  shorn 
of  the  Baltic  to  Southern  ftermany,  Laier^  Strmbci  dfscribeit 
not  only  the  petty  trade  whuh  i>aifed,  and  doulitli^fls  hml  ml  wait 
passed,  with  the  nrighhouring'  shores  of  Gauh  but  the  larger  and 
more  valuable  exjiorts  of  (x>m,  cattle,  gold,  Mhcr,  iron,  alares^and 
hounds — itrengtlieiiing  the  intercourse  which  a  comxnan  Dniidim 
had,  as  we  know,  created. 

With  the  ordered  rule  of  Roman  institutions  Britain  Ijeoune 
a  living  and  inseparable  part  of  the  empire ;  with  the  dccmj  of 
tliat  rule  the  connceliou  was  dissolved.  It  was  diaaolrrd  la 
those  ti^rriblc  waves  of  barbarian  invasion  which  swept  over  the 
face  of  Kuropo ;  but  when  the  storm  bad  abated^  nod  the  bif- 
bariaiis^  in  England  at  elsewhere,  had  tiiken  root  in  tJbe  laodl 
which  they  had  won  for  tbemieiires,  the  old  connection  revtvad. 
It  is  true  that  the  rourse  of  religions  and  ecclesiastical  iiflaiffi^ 
after  the  landing  of  Augustine,  was  mainly  devcb»pecl  by  ouf 
own  internal  action.  Whilst  the  German  triheii  that  ctOBmd 
the  Rhine  or  the  Alps  came  within  the  magic  charni  of  Latin 
Chri^tianitVi  the  English  Church,  in  its  clergy^  its  bymiii,  iti 
legends,  and  its  leading  names,  remained  essentially  TeuCcinXc 
On  the  other  hand^  whiUt  that  Church  sent  forth  ber  misaiom- 
aries  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  their  kinsmen  abroad,  the  faretgfi 
influences  which  they  imported  were  comparatively  few*  Tot 
English  Church  thenn,  as  in  later  times,  was  singularly  tiaticmal 
in  character;  and  perhaps  it  is  to  this  that  we  must  refer  the  fact 
that,  from  the  time  of  Dunstan  to  thnt  of  the  Norman  Conqueit, 
no  one  English  ecclesiastic  stands  out  into  historical  ptiMiiW 
nence.  But  in  almost  every  other  department  of  life  the  relatiunf 
of  England  with  the  rest  of  the  civilised  world  were  cIomt 
and  more  frequent  than  we  might  at  iirst  sight  have  supposed. 
Commercial  ties  were  forming*  By  the  eighth  century  English- 
men were  in  the  habit  of  visiting  the  chief  cities  of  Francr  and 
Italy  ;  Constantinople  was  well  known ;  and  the  great  fair  ia 
Jerusalem  attracted  travellers  and  merchants  from  alt  pnrts  of 
the  world p  By  that  time^  too^  had  aritien  the  commerce  whidi 
was  contlnuouBly  carried  on  between  England  and  Scandinavia* 
Thence  it  followed  the  line  of  a  regular  commercial  route  by 
Novgorod  through  Russia  to  Conitantinople,  and  even  to  the  for 
East;  and  how  varied  were  the  natiuns  and  countries  thus 
brought  into  connection  with  f^igland,  we  know  from  the  famoua 
treaaure- trove  of  Cuerdale  in  Lancashire,  buried  probably  about 

a  hundred 


a  hundred  years  before  the  rei^n  of  Canute,  and  containing,  not 
only  French  and  Italian,  but  Byzantine  and  Kufic  coins.  It  is 
perhaps  to  the  Danes  and  their  passionate  love  of  the  sea  that 
we  mainly  owe  that  spirit  of  corntnerclal  enterprise  which  the 
laws  of  Alfred  and  Athebtane  soufjht  to  foster,  but  which,  until 
I>ani&h  influences  had  penetrated  the  national  character^  was  less 
congenial  to  the  landward  instincts  of  oar  Saxon  forefathers. 

In  the  same  way  art,  though  at  a  low  ehb,  shows  some  evl^ 
deuce  of  the  connection  with  the  great  cities  of  the  Continent. 
The  ramparts  of  Exeter  built  of  square  stone,  the  '  fair  walls '  of 
Rochester^  the  stone  minster  of  Assandiui  on  the  scene  of 
Canute's  gfreat  victory,  were  doubtless  due  to  the  teaching  of 
foreign  workmen.  Even  the  religious  spirit  which  canied  noble 
and  royal  pilgrims  to  the  feet  of  the  Roman  Pontiff,  which 
attracted  king  and  warrior,  monk  and  scholar^  to  what  has  been 
truly  called  the  Jerusalem  of  Christianity,  reacted  uptm  the 
artistic  knowledge  and  skill  of  the  day.  Wilfrid,  the  greatest  of 
those  early  pilgrims,  accomplished  the  journey,  and  brought 
back  with  him  the  art  which  filled  the  windows  of  York  Cathe- 
dral with  stained  glass*  Offa,  the  great  Mercian  sovereign  (the 
correspondent  and  compeer  of  Charlemagne),  Alfred,  and  Canute, 
all  in  turn  visited  Rome.  Alfred  received  his  consecration  at 
the  hands  of  the  Pope  ;  Alfred *s  brother-in-law  actually  ended 
his  days  in  Rome;  Canute,  in  one  of  the  most  striking  letters 
of  the  age,  has  recorded  his  reception  by  the  two  heads  of 
Christendom*^  whilst  we  have  a  curious  trace  of  Ofla's  pO- 
grtinage  in  his  coinage,  which  immeasurably  exceeds  in  clearness 
^Wld  fineness  of  workmanship  the  rude  money  both  of  his  prede- 
^'iscsi^jrs  and  successors,  it  is  not  improbable  that  he  may  have 
imported  some  of  the  foreign  artisans  who,  even  in  the  midst 
of  her  decay,  were  still  to  be  found  in  the  capital  of  the  Christian 
world. 

Nor  was  it  only  a  commercial,  or  personal,  or  artistic  relation, 
that  drew  England  during  so  many  centuries  into  connection 
with  the  Continent  The  tie  was  often  a  political  one.  Thus 
Elhelwulfj  the  father  of  Alfred,  when  an  old  man,  returning 
from  his  Roman  pilgrimage  and  hospitably  received  at  the 
French  court^  married  Judith  the  daughter  of  Charles  le  Chauve  j 
whilst  in  the  next  generation  a  son  of  Judith  by  a  subsequent 
husband  renewed  the  connection  by  a  marriage  with  Alfred's 
daughter.  So,  too,  Charles  le  Simple  had,  as  a  boy,  been 
conveypd  to  England  by  his  frientls,  to  bide  the  time  when  more 
favourable  circumstances  would  allow  him  to  reclaim  his  here- 
ditary rigbti.  So  Erigena  studied  at  Oaiford ;  so  Fulro  Arch- 
bishop of  Rheims  sought  the  protection  of  Alfred,  and  became 

Chancellor 


-^    '   m    ..5.    .-ij    "z. 

•  •      •      •.,^ir.r.^r.*f!        ".iii'irj-l     U "     la-^ir^" 

'''f  ■**■'»*    w  '.\    *.»-»■  r^x    •-.•iirr'j**    £":•»»    ::»fxr    ih«'11 

^/.    *-  ,.       ■>■      *»  '.  .:^:--  I -.11  -iLn^r'^.r?  2t**i"r^^  zai^im  4C  arCofr 

•'  '*     4.-J'.  II*  . "  .  •.  w  •■  :ft.vc  \i  "-Iff  r~v:»i  n^^"*  4i>&ecaBCtBd 

<*-*»-    /»-.<»••«.-  ^   -.-.F*  i-.vtJiii-.-v  :•:  ii»»  \  :r3Z2i:i  izcsLT  is  dlxon 

-/  "/kn   /^  /4--  rf  •/  .v-.ij  .»*i  » ..-7.     r  :c  iir?  fr«  'liane  Eaeiaad  aad 

•  -.-V. >»■••.  ■  '^v>  .-•,  .v^*...*  rr....j:-.c:  :-:c  ti«r  £ncii^  Eaplaod 

•  '*.  *  '.-r  4/'-'.  '  4**  -.  •..*^:  r.i  %  •'^'*-  =-»rri»£».    Tbe  JkMsilecoUi- 

♦-•^  .r,*«^r./*  '/  ;/*;/=• .  '''*r*/..^*J'iii  r*<*xG?d  in  Eiuriba  kistocr^- 
p/>'  •<^  rt,t't,A/*'  0/  L*^^\t*<  u>:  EzcmA  vis  as  ^ittol  in  000- 
i^/f  >4fy4<  «4  «■  ^'T  iv4»  ro'%.'  or  rolltiral  cnioo.  BeaatilaL  daiinfi 
mrf/f^t^rHt^  *t^  J'w^i  ui  N'irmftLi'lv/  as  she  was  called  in  lier 
f^¥^*tft^f  *\nyt,  f/«^  y»ii*'  of  two  hurcpssive  kin^s.  aod  the  mother 
•4  Ut^  )«4^  Ltr/tK:*  jtt'inf^  of  tfK'  h'lase  nf  Cerdic.  Emma  was 
•Hl^  *A  \\%^  **titri»t  Uj  If'-,  of  Knzlis-'i  bi&t«in'.  From  her  time 
miA   if4l'i*'9tt  if  *\hU'*  tif"  irnrni'/ration  of  those  Norman  uoblcs 

who 


Charactensties  of  Ei^luh  Hutortf. 


161 


who  were  the  ioreninners  of  the  greater  invasion  under  William : 
from  her  time  the  Romance  tongue,  the  language  of  our  ancient 
j urisprudeocej  was  freely  i^poken  in  the  English  court;  then  first, 
French  favourites— such  as  Hugo  the  Norman j  who  was  the 
governor  and  betrayer  of  Exeter  to  the  Danes,  Eustace  of  Boulogne, 
whose  licentious,  marauding  soldiery  contributed  to  the  capture  of 
the  unfortunate  Alfred,  or  Archbishop  Robert,  whose  expulsion 
afterwards  furnished  the  Conqueror  with  one  of  his  grounds  of 
quarrel — obtained  high  posts  of  trust  and  honour;  then  first 
was  imported  the  French  custom  of  affixing  the  great  seal  to 
public  documents  in  addition  to  the  plain  English  cross  \  then  a 
French  chancery  was  established;  until  at  last  the  day  came 
when  Edward,  a  foreigner  in  tastes,  language,  and  habits, 
returned  from  his  French  exile  to  mount  the  English  tbrone. 

There  remains  indeed  the  i;iquiry,  which  no  mere  narrative  of 
events,  nor  even  a  phikjsophical  inquiry  into  their  meaning  and 
relations,  will  satisfy.  What  were  the  physical  characteristics  of 
the  country  in  which  our  ancestors  moved,  and  lived,  and  played 
the  parts  which  we  delight  to  retrace  ?  Can  we  at  all  rediscover 
their  existence  in  the  England  of  our  generation,  and  is  there 
any  continuity  to  be  traced  in  this^  as  we  believe  that  there  was 
in  our  political  and  constitutional  history?  Or,  if  we  were 
suddenly  removed  into  that  earlier  stage  of  society,  should  we 
find  little  in  her  features  to  remind  us  of  the  rich  and  cultivated 
garden  which,  amidst  endless  towns,  and  smiling  villages,  and 
rillas^  and  country-houses,  stretches  from  sea  to  sea,  and  every 
year  seems  to  acquire  additional  beauty  ?  There  is  probably  no 
part  of  Lord  Macaulay's  great  work  which  is  of  livelier  interest 
than  the  chapter  in  which  he  has  described  the  general  appear- 
ance of  the  country  at  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  The  materials 
from  which  a  picture  of  still  life  in  the  tenth  and  eleventh  cen- 
turies might  be  drawn,  are  of  course  fewer  and  more  conjectural 
than  those  which  were  at  Lord  Macau  lay's  command  ;  but  a 
grea^t  writer,  at  once  acquainted  with  the  entire  range  of  con-^ 
temporary  literature,  and  possessed  of  imaginative  power  to 
project  himself  into  the  thoughts  and  circumstances  of  the  time 
— ^witbout  which  the  writing  of  history  is  but  the  partial  and 
frigid,  and  in  a  measure  untruthful,  chronicling  of  events — would 
find  tufficient  for  his  purpose.  His  conclusions  would  doubtless 
be  of  a  mixed  character;  but,  on  the  whole,  it  is  probable  that 
ill  the  physical  aspect  of  the  country  he  would  recognise  cbangei 
far  larger  and  more  striking  than  those  which  have  taken  place 
in  the  character  of  the  people  or  the  elements  of  constitutional 
life^  to  which  we  have  already  alluded.  The  climate  itself  has 
undergone   an  undoubted  change.     The  complaints   which  are 

Vol.  123. — No^  245,  U  sometimes 


1S» 


Clmf 


ofEnffluh  MU 


sometimes  made  tliat  die  May -day  of  tlie  Qlneteentli  ccntujy  m 
not  marked  by  the  warm  burst  of  springs  ms  our  early  write» 
luved  to  represent  it,  are  iUle ;  fof  il  tbey  have  any  poontl  of 
tnithf  and  are  to  be  taken  as  erpressiiig  aDytbiQg  more  tfam  t!» 
warmth  and  colouring  in  which  poets  are  accustomed  to  drefS 
their  ideas,  they  proceed  from  a  forg^etfalness  uf  the  alteration 
in  the  calendar.  But  in  fact  the  climate  has  been  modified.  The 
extremes  of  weather  bavc  been  in  Eng^laml,  as  they  are  already 
laid  to  be  in  Canada,  tempered  ;  the  cold  of  winter  has  grow  a 
less  severe,  the  heat  of  summer  less  sLH>rt'hiag.  But  the  greatest 
and  happiest  change  has  been  the  substitution  of  dry  land  and 
fertile  curn-fieldj  for  wastes  of  sedge  and  inland  water.  The 
marshes,  which  Herodian  thought  worth  noticing  in  the  time 
Severus'  expedition,  were  familiar  object*  in  the  landscape 
Saxon,  Dane,  and  Norman,  and  have  only  disappeared^  with  their 
wildfowl  and  their  aj^ues,  before  the  draining-engines  of  the 
present  century,  Somersetshire  was  defended  by  a  wild  tract  of 
marsblaxid;  East  Auglia  was  cut  off  from  Mercia;  the  Isle  of 
Thaii«lp  where  the  early  leaders  of  the  Saxon  invaj^ion  are  ^Ld 
to  have  disembarked,  was  separateil  from  the  main  land  i 
GUstonbury,  the  *  insula  Avallonia'  of  King  Arthurs  false  tomb^ 
was  an  island ;  Ely^  which,  as  it  bad  given  shelter  to  Heiewaid 
and  his  Saxons,  so  afterwards  became  a  camp  of  refuge  to  thiK 
Angevin  Normans^  was  an  island.  Crow  land,  too,  was  an  Lilaudl 
When,  about  the  middle  of  the  ninth  century,  the  Danes  took  and 
sacked  the  monastery,  putting  every  soul  except  one  child  to  ih* 
a  word,  the  sacred  vessels  and  relics  were  carried  away  in  a  bout 
atitl  secreted  in  the  marshes.  And  when  Crowland  had  became 
famous  as  the  '  Bec^  of  Danish  England,  and  was  governed  by 
Danish  abbots,  it  still  preserved  its  insular  character.  But  these 
great  marsblaixls  were  doubtless  in  some  measure  connected  with 
the  existing  condition  of  roast  on  both  sides  of  ibe  chiUiDeL 
The  shores  were  less  shallow,  the  rivers  were  deeper,  and  the 
tides  ran  further  inland — all  of  them  conditions  which  facilitated 
the  invasions  of  the  Northmeo,  Nor  has  the  line  of  coast  itself 
remained  unchanged  during  the  last  thousand  years.  In  some 
parts,  as  Sir  F.  Falgrave  has  pt:}inted  out,  the  sea  has  gained 
on  the  land.  The  Goixl  win  Stands  are  now  far  out  at  sea  ;  Raveosi- 
btirgb^  where  Henry  IV.  landed,  is  sunk  below  the  wavea  la 
other  places,  as  on  the  shores  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk,  the  sett 
has  receded^  and  on  the  Sussex  coast  to  this  day  may  be  seen^ 
far  inland^  the  iron  rings  to  which  the  boats  of  an  earlier  geaecar 
tion  were  atlachtid. 

Not   less  conspieuoas  were   the   great   woods — for    the  term 
'forest'  properly  included  moorland  as  well  as  timber — which 

covered 


Ckaracierutics  &f  English  Hi&tOTy^ 


163 


covered  so  large  a  part  of  England,  and  which,  as  in  the  case 
of  the  ADclredswealtl,  or   forest  of  Antlerida,  extended  over  the 
best  part  of  several   counties.     But   how    largely    these   foresta 
affected  the  public  mind,  the  every  day  life,  the  legislation  and 
the  superstitions  of  each  successive  race  that  held  possession  of 
i  the  country,  it  would  be  difTicuJt  to  say.     The  Roman  colonists 
Idellghted  in  the  chase  of  the   wild  animals  with  which  those 
rforests  abounded  ;    their  pottery  was  ornamented  with  hunting 
iacenes ;    their   inscriptions^   like    those  of   the    Assyrian  kings^ 
iiecorded  the  events  of  any  memorable  day's  sport ;  their  coins 
[lK>re  the  device,  sometimes  of  a  boar,  sometimes  of  a  charging 
I  bull  1  and  their  poets,  who  had  never  themselves  been  in  Britain, 
[•constantly   sang  the  merits  of  the    British   hounds.     With  the 
F Saxon  freemen  again,  whose  earlier  life  and  pursuits  were  those 
[of  the  country,  the  love  of  sport  was  not  less  strong*     It  mingled 
€ven  with  the  duties  of  war,  and  the  wild  boar  was  a  favourite 
badge  on  the  Saxon  hel  mets.     The  forest  laws  of  Canute  have 
I  been  said,  though  Mr.   Freeman  does  not  apparently  concur  in 
this  vieWj  to  have  been  in  strict  anticipation  of  the  more  jealous 
I  code  which  was  afterwards  adopted,  first  for  the  benefit  of  the 
[  Norman  sovereign,  later  for  that  of  his  barons.     But,  however  this 
^  wx^y  be,  that  forest  code  was  in  practice  a  far  more  severe  one  than 
Hogland  had  as  y^t  known.     The  woods  became  truly,  as  they 
are   described  in  the  black  book  of  Henry   IL,   *tula   ferartim 
uaansio;^  whole   parishes  were  sometimes  afforested,  laws  were 
passed  to  give  protection  to  wild  beasts^  from  the  boar  to  the 
bare ;  so  that  not  without  some  justice  did  popular  belief  hold 
that  William  *  loved  the  beasts  as  though  he  had  been  theu-  father/ 
Through  these  dense  woodlands,  broken  by  dreary  moor  and 
sedgy  pools,  ran  in  straight  lines   the  great  military  highways 
which   the   Romans  had  formerly  constructed  ;  here  and  there 
broad  hunting  tracks  were  cut,  and  cut  so  durably  that  in  some 
parts  even  to  this  day  they  have  never  been  obliterated  ;  whilst 
nbove  the  tree  tops  rose  the  wooden  towers  of  the  little  Norman 
churches,   which  were  often   built  upon   artificial   platforms  of 
earth,   in  order  to   make  them    landmarks  to  the  huntsman  or 
traveller.     Human  forms,  except  those  of  the  sportsman,   and 
later  the    outlaw,   were    rare ;    but    legends  of  giants   and  evil 
spirits  haunted  these  weird  tracts,  and  sometimes  fact  itself — as 
in  the  successive  deaths  of  members  of  the  Conqueror*s  family 
within  the  limits  of  the  New  Forest^ — seemed  almost  to  justify 
the  papular  superstition^ 

This  has  now  greatly  disappeared,  and  Englaml  owes  her 
wooded  appearance  rather  to  her  thick  hedgerows  and  parks 
than  to  the  remains  of  her  old  forests;  bat  many  of  the  trees 

M  2  which 


164  Characteristics  of  English  History. 

which  diversify  our  landscape  at  the  present  day  were  then  to 
be  found  in  those  woodlands — some  native  to  the  soil,  some 
introduced  by  our  first  and  greatest  civilisers.  The  oak,  the 
beech,  the  elm,  the  hazel,  the  Scotch  fir,  the  ash  (the  favourite 
tree  of  the  Anglo  Saxons),  were  indigenous.  Caesar,  indeed, 
excepts  the  *  fagus  et  abies '  from  the  timber  which  he  found  in 
Britain ;  but  by  these  he  meant  the  fagus  castanea  or  chestnut, 
and  the  silver  fir.  These  we  owe  to  our  Roman  masters.  From 
them  also  we  have  derived  the  cherry  and  the  vine  ;  and  to  this 
day  *  the  Vyne '  in  Hampshire,  which  gives  its  name  to  the  Hunt 
so  well  known  to  sportsmen,  is  said  to  record  the  vine  which  was 
first  planted  there  in  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Probus. 

The  animals  and  birds,  indeed,  that  gave  life  to  these  wood- 
lands, no  less  than  many  of  the  plants  that  gave  their  colour 
and  variety,  have  in  a  great  measure  passed  away.  The  boar 
and  wolf  disappeared  more  than  two  hundred  years  ago ;  the 
wild  bull  with  his  white  mane  is  preserved,  we  believe,  only  in 
two  parks ;  the  otter  and  the  red  deer  linger  on  in  the  northern 
and  western  parts  of  the  island ;  the  badger  and  the  snake  are 
fast  dying  out  under  rustic  ignorance  and  cruelty;  the  beaver  Vmi 
left  the  bare  trace  of  its  existence  in  such  names  as  Beverley 
and  Beverege ;  the  fen-eaglcs  have  abandoned  the  marshes,  and 
the  bustards  are  no  longer  coursed  on  the  Norfolk  downs ;  the 
bittern  and  crane  have  vanished ;  the  quail  is  nearly  extinct  in 
the  face  of  advancing  cultivation. 

These  are  some  of  the  incidents  of  country  life  which  we  have 
gradually,  and  in  some  cases  very  slowly,  lost  But  there  were 
other  features  common  to  that  as  well  as  to  the  present  time. 
Even  whilst  large  tracts  of  country  were  surrendered  to  manh 
and  forest,  the  breadths  of  English  corn-land  must  always  have 
been  remarkable.  On  one  occasion,  indeed,  Julian  supplied  the 
famishing  population  of  the  Rhine  districts  from  British  granaries, 
and  even  now  the  marks  of  the  Roman  plough  and  the  lon^  lines 
of  their  terrassed  cultivation  may  be  traced  upon  ground,  which  a 
modern  farmer  is  content  to  keep  as  sheep-walk.  From  those 
Romans  our  Teutonic  forefathers  inherited  their  knowledge  of 
agriculture.  Nor  was  that  agriculture  insignificant  or  partiaL 
In  the  treatment  of  pasture,  indeed,  they  were  slovenly  and 
ignorant ;  but  in  the  cultivation  of  arable  land  they  had  no  cause 
for  shame,  and  Mr.  Kcmble  has,  from  an  ingenious  calculation 
of  the  size  of  the  *  hide,'  argued  that  at  the  close  of  the  10th 
century  there  was  probably  a  larger  tract  of  land  under  the 
plough  than  at  the  accession  of  George  III.* 


*  '  SazoDS  in  England/  i.  p.  112-18. 

In 


Characteristics  qf  Engluh  Hhtoff/, 


Ui 


In  more  ways  than  one,  then,  we  believe  that  the  identity  of 
England  in  former  and  present, times,  the  historical  continuity  of 
the  national  life,  are  facts  founded  upon  a  rock  of  unassailable 
arg-ument.  But  whilst  we  do  justice  to  the  strength  of  that 
argument  we  cannot  close  our  eyes  to  the  great  temporary 
changes  which  were  involved  in  the  Norman  Conquest.  The 
Conqueror  claimed,  indeed,  to  succeed  to  tht*  Eng-lish  throne  as 
Kini^  Edward's  heir,  and  to  govern  according  to  King  Edvvard's 
laws ;  but  his  acts,  like  those  of  many  another  heir-at-law,  were 
of  necessity  harsh — harsher  as  conspiracies  were  formed  or 
insurrections  broke  out — ^and  leading  to  still  deeper  oppression 
when  the  administration  of  the  country  had  passed  out  of  his 
hands  into  those  of  his  successors.  The  very  disparity  of 
numbers  as  between  conquerors  and  conquered,  in  such  an  age, 
made  oppression,  for  a  while  at  least,  almost  necessary,  and  an 
antaifonism  of  race  to  race,  of  castle  to  cottage,  of  wealth  to 
poverty,  unavoidable,  M,  Thierry  is  only  in  error  when  he 
prolongs  from  generation  to  generation  the  enmities  and  diffi- 
culties which  belonged  to  a  single  and  limited  period  of  our 
history.  Intermarriage,  the  language  of  mothers  and  the  teaching 
nf  the  nursery,  exercised  their  never-failing  influence,  and  the 
Norman  invaders,  as  they  had  previously  assimilated  themselves 
to  a  Romanised  Gaul,  so  before  long  became  fused  in  the  Ten- 
tOQtsm  of  England. 

But  the  immediate  change  was  not  the  less  sweeping  or  severe, 
It  was,  moreover,  peculiarly  felt  to  be  so  because  it  formed,  as 
we  can  now  see,  the  conclusion  and  consummation  of  a  par- 
ticular stage  of  government  and  society  which  had  lasted  for  a 
long  time,  and  which,  though  often  modified,  had  never  before 
been  so  rudely  dislocated.  Yet  such  a  period  was  the  Norman 
Conquest,  and  a  vast  number  of  causes  were  alreadv  in  active 
operation,  preparing  the  way  for  the  change.  Fresh  elements 
were  probably  needed  to  renew  the  life  of  the  English  people, 
and  it  is  clear  that,  even  if  undisturbed  by  foreign  intervention, 
the  existing  state  of  society  conld  not  long  have  been  protracted - 
Tbe  Saxon  element  in  the  south  of  the  island,  inferior  in  its 
military,  was  undoubtedly  superior  in  its  }>o1iticat  and  social 
organisation  to  the  Danishry  of  the  midland,  eastern,  and 
narthem  shires,  and  was  continually  asserting  a  pre-eminence. 
Wessex,  not  East  Anglia,  was  t!ie  centre  of  English  action  ; 
London,  not  York,  conferred  the  crown.  But  the  Danishry  of 
the  north  bore  this  ascendancy  with  impatience,  and  was  as  yet 
indisposed  to  that  consolidation  of  nationalities  which  was  neces- 
sary, and  which  was  effected  under  the  stronger  government  of 
tbe  Norman  dynasty.     It  is,  perhaps,  a  question  whether  under 

other 


166  Characteristics  of  English  History. 

other  circumstances  the  tendency  of  England   would   not   for 
a  while  have  been  to  division  rather  than  unity.     Certainly  the 
independence  of  character  which  marked  the  Danish  part  of  the 
population — an  independence  which  showed  itself  on  all  occa- 
sions and  in  all  affairs,  ecclesiastical  as  well  as  civil;  in  the 
utter  disregard   of  the   religious   rule   of  celibacy,   as   in   the 
turbulence  and  armed  opposition  which  provoked  so  terrible  a 
retaliation  on  the  part  of  the  Conqueror — was  likely  to  increase, 
rather  than  diminish,  the   chances   of  such   a  division.     The 
clergy,  by  simony,  by  corruption  of  life,  and  by  gross  ignorancci 
were   losing  their  hold   upon  the   people.     We   are,   perhaps, 
inclined   to   lose   sight   of  their  shortcomings  in  a  feeling  of 
indignation  at  the  cruelty  with  which  they  were  treated  after  the 
Conquest — compelled   not   only  to   see   the   revenues   of  their 
monasteries  appropriated,  and  the  ornaments  of  the  altar  plun- 
dered, but  even  deprived  by  their  Norman  abbots  of  nourishiqg 
food  and  instructive  books,  until  the  Roman  Court  itself  pro* 
tested  against  such  tyranny.     But  it  is  clear  that  the  work  of  the 
Church  and  the  State  needed  fresh  agencies.    With  the  exception 
of  Wulfstan,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  ^ere  was  at  the  time  of  the 
Conquest  scarcely  one  of  the  higher  prelates  whose  charmctBT 
coulu  command  respect     So,  also,  was  it  with  other  parts  of  the 
national  system.     Familiar   names   and   old   associations   were 
waning.     Winchester,  the  constitutional  capital  of  England^  had 
.  given  place  to  London,  the  commercial  and  the  real  metropolis. 
Even  the  hereditary  principle  of  monarchy,  which  with  some 
qualification  had  till   now  been  observed  or  had  only  been  set 
aside,  as  in  the  case  of  Canute,  under  a  sense  of  overwhelming 
necessity,  was  thrown  to  the  winds  in  the  case  of  Harold.     So 
great,    in    fact,    were   the    changes  that   had    taken   place ;    so 
obviously   was  a  reconstitution  of  society  at  hand,  that  at  the 
time  of  Edward's  death,  men's  minds  were  in  that  sensitively 
ner\'ous   condition    which,   independently  of  the   interpretation 
that  such  an  age  would  naturally  assign  to  the  meteoric  pheno- 
mena of  the  moment,  sometimes  makes  as  well  as  anticipates 
revolution. 

It  may,  perhaps,  be  that  a  growing  consciousness  that  the 
times  in  which  we  live  are  also  times  of  a  closing  political 
dispensation,  gives  a  more  than  ordinary  interest  to  the  history 
of  the  Norman  Conquest ;  and  we  may  be  excused  if — whilst 
we  do  not  allow  speculation  to  become  fanciful  and  extravagant 
— ^we  seek  to  trace  some  of  the  analogies  which  may  exist,  and 
which  a  thousand  years  hence  a  dispassionate  observer  might 
note,  between  the  11th  and  the  19th  centuries.  In  both  cases  he 
would  recognise  the  signs  of  increasing  age,  of  waning  institu- 
tions 


Ckaracteristlet  of  Engliih  Sxstory. 


167 


tions,  of  a  decaying  society  which  had  lost  faith  in  itself  and  its 
earlier  prioclples — in  both  cases  the  precise  form  alone  which 
the  future  will  assume  heln^  hid  from  the  V''^^^  of  the  existing 
g'eaeratinn.  He  would  see  that^  though  the  great  forces  of  our 
immediAte  future  and  their  effects  are  different  from  the  political 
agencies  of  the  llth  century^  the  preparatory  advances,  the 
relative  positions,  are  not  wholly  unanalogous*  Feudalism  over- 
shadowed them,  as  democracy  overshadows  us.  Perhaps  a 
forcible  change — ^a  marked  break  with  past  traditions  and 
policy — might  be  necessary  in  order  to  effect  the  transition  from 
one  state  to  another.  But  they  had  the  elements  of  feudalism 
already  implanted  in  their  political  system,  just  as  we  have  all 
the  conditions  of  democracy  attached  to  our  own*  The  very 
cotistitution  of  England  in  the  llth  century  was  a  mixture.  It 
tad  formed  it&elf  upon  an  unconscious  compromise  of  contrarient 
rights  and  powers ;  it  was  the  result  of  gradual  growth  rather 
than  design,  almost  as  much  as  Is  the  English  constitution  of 
toKlay.  It  was  conicquently  then,  as  now,  devoid  of  any  extreme 
powers,  and  the  general  administration  of  the  country  was 
mamlj  carried  on  by  the  exercise  of  moderation  and  good  sense* 
The  three  great  principles  of  democracy,  nobility,  and  monarchy, 
were  distinctly  represented  :  but  none  of  them,  up  to  the  gene- 
ration immediately  preceding  the  Conquest,  were  in  exeegg,. 
Then  for  the  first  time  there  are  indications  of  a  disturbance  of 
the  hitherto  balanced  and  equal  distribation  of  power.  In  early 
English  history  there  is  not,  as  Mr*  Kemble  says^  even  a 
fabulous  Arcadia  of  democracy  :  but  the  Witan*-which,  though 
it  was  not  based  upon  any  principle  of  representation,  every 
freeman  had»  at  least,  a  theoretical  right  to  attend— in  its  great 
but  unwritten  powers^  its  legislative,  its  taxing,  and  even  its 
executive  authority,  anticipated,  if  it  did  not  exceed^  the  popular 
rights  and  indefinite  jurisdiction  of  our  modern  Parliament,  So, 
too,  the  nobility  had  passed  through  a  succession  of  stages  not 
Udlike  tliose  which  may  be  traced  since  the  Conquest  down  to 
our  times.  An  aristocracy,  indeed,  and  the  rights  of  primo- 
geniture, existed  in  the  German  forests,  and,  as  has  been  noticed 
by  Schlegel,  in  no  nation  were  the  relatinns  of  the  aristocracy 
to  th^  pe<>ple  so  good  as  amongst  the  Germans,  But  before 
long  the  distinctions  of  descent,  as  known  to  our  earliest  history, 
assumed  a  new  form,  and  a  change  is  to  be  noticed  in  which  the 
ancjent  noble  by  birth,  with  his  j^rsonal  privilt-ges  and  powers, 
is  gradually  superseded  by  the  new  noble  of  service  and  creation 
with  his  titular  and  ministerial  functions. 

iSuch  was  the  English  aristocracy  of  the  tenth  and  eleventh 
eeottiries.     The  older  class  had  disappeared  to  very  much  the 


168  Characteristics  of  English  Hisimy. 

same  extent,  and  from  very  much  the  same  causes,  as  soppbuited 
the  Norman  arist(X?racy  bv  the  later  peera^  of  En|rlaiid.    Perhaps 
it  was  in  tlie  earlier  instance  as  much  the  Danish  struggle,  as  it 
was  in  the  later  the  Wars  of  the  Roses,  that  contributed  to  their 
destruction.    But  the  Saxon  noble  of  creation  had  in  turn  acquired 
much  of  the  power  possessed  by  his  predecessor.      His  rights 
had  become  hereditary,  his  influence  in  the  WiUn  was  weightr, 
his  title  to  executive  power  and  command  undoubted,  though  not 
exclusive,  and  his  territorial  possessions  immense.      The  occnps- 
tion  of  vast  territories  by  a  few  individuals  was  as  markeds 
feature  of  the  generation  immediately  preceding  the  Conquest  as 
is   the  accumulation  of  land  by  individual    proprieton   at  die 
present  day.     Thus  Go<lwin,  independently  of  the  great  Earidom 
of   VVessex,   was    master  of   Kent   and  Sussex;    his  eldest  sod 
Sweyn  held  equal  authority  in  the  Counties  of  Oxford,  BeAs, 
Gloucester,  and  Hereford  :  Harold  on  the  death  of  his  father  and 
the  exile  of  his  brothers  became  lord  of  these,  and  oferen  moi« 
than  these  territories.     His  earldoms  extended  from  West  Waks 
and  the  banks  of  the  Tamar  to  the  German   Ocean.     In  the 
North,  Edwin  and  Morcar — names  which  even  now,  after  the 
lapse  of  so  many  years,  may  claim  a  sigh,  so  tragical  is  their 
story — swayed  the  vast  principality  which  Algar  had  previoiulr 
x\x\eA  :  and  Waltheof,  the  son  of  Siward,  the  son,  as  was  fabled  in 
Northumbrian  legends,  of  a  bear,  the  last  and  in  character  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  of  the  English  nobles,  administered  a  territosT 
which  exceeded  in  extent  even  the  great  Earldom  of  Northumbrit. 
On  the  other  hand,  vast  as  were  the  possessions  of  these  great 
nobles,  the  avenues  to  high  rank  were  no  more  barred  to  abilitv  vbA 
success  in  the  eleventh  than  in  the  nineteenth  century.     Blue 
blood,  though  highly  prized,  was  not  the  sole  condition  of  public 
honour.     Then,  as  now,  the  English  aristocracy  was  singularly 
comprehensive,  and  the  greatest  names  amongst  them,  whether 
for  good,  as  Earl  Godwin,  or  for  evil,  as  the  traitor  Edric,  are  of 
men  who  rose  from  the  lowest  degree  to  the  highest     So,  too, 
descending  below  the  ranks  of  the  great  nobles,  we  may  find  a 
very  fair  equivalent  for  the  distinctions  of  that  day  in  the  division 
of  our  modern  society  into  a  titular  and  a  non-titular  class.     The 
*  Earl  and  Ceorl ' — at  a  later  time  the  ceorl  or  churl  became  con- 
founded   with    the    serf — represent   the  'gentle  and  simple' of 
medieval,  and  the  'peer  and  commoner*  of  modem  England. 

The  monarchical  power,  though  varying  with  the  personal 
ability  and  character  of  the  sovereign,  had  passed  through  stages 
at  least  equally  important,  and  was  tending  to  increase.  At  first 
litde  more  than  the  chiefs  of  a  clan,  without  territorial  influence 
or  the  subsequent  attributes  of  sovereignty,  the  Kings  of  Britain 

were 


Characterish'ei  of  English  WMory. 


169 


irere  numerous  and  tin  import  ant.  But  before  Xan^  these  prince- 
lings coalesced  in  tlie  rale  of  a  singfle  sovereign,  and  with  the 
unity  of  rule  came  at  once  the  rise  and  enlargement  of  monar- 
chical powers.  To  Alfred  the  real  origin  of  the  km|rly  authority, 
as  indeed  the  first  conception  of  a  complete  and  Christian  State, 
U  due  ;  to  A  the]  si  an  the  development  of  the  monarchy*  as  also 
the  consolidation  of  the  State  into  an  Empire,  must  he  assigned. 
That  succession  of  very  able  sovereigns,  from  Alfred  to  Edgar, 
comprising  a  term  of  more  than  one  hundred  years,  founded  the 
English  monarchy  upon  so  strong  a  basis,  that  its  principle 
remained  unshaken  through  the  thirty-eight  disastrous  years  of 
Ethelred^'s  reign,  and  the  long  and  feeble  administration  of 
Edward  the  Confessor,  As  times  grew  critical,  and  as  the 
sovereign  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  so  the  prerogative  was 
freely  used  ;  but,  side  by  side  with  the  exercise  of  large  royal 
powers,  the  Witan  maintained  all  that  the  highest  popular  pre- 
traisions  could  claim. 

Nor  was  the  constitutional  position  of  the  Church  very  widely 
(liffereni  from  that  of  modern  times.  Subject  though  it  has  been 
of  late  years  to  perpetual  attack,  and  curtailed  of  many  of  its 
former  powers,  the  Church  of  England  is  still  constitutionally 
and  actually  an  integral  part  of  the  State,  But  these  relations 
we  owe  to  our  Anglo- Sa^cnn  ancestors.  It  was  the  statesmanship 
of  Alfred  that  bequeathed  the  principle  of  a  national  Church, 
which  after  an  existence  of  unparalleled  beneficence  and  honour 
for  fully  a  thousand  years,  threatens  to  become  in  our  day  one  of 
those  decisive  controversies  on  which  the  lovers  of  the  Constitu- 
tion and  the  partisans  of  radical  change  must  join  issue.  But 
that  which  led  to  the  establishment  of  this  intimate  union  in  the 
nlotb  century^  and  which  has  rendered  possible  ihe  maintenance 
of  it  to  our  day,  was  the  essentially  religious  temper  of  the 
people.  In  those  times  it  showed  itself  in  the  jiassion  for 
monastic  liJe^  which  led  so  many  Saxon  kings  to  exchange  the 
sceptre  for  the  cowl  during  their  Vi(e^  and  to  enjoy  the  honours  of 
canonisation  after  death  ;  in  peace  it  suggested  the  frequent 
pilgrimages  to  the  shrine  of  St  Peter  and  the  court  of  his  suc- 
cessor ;  in  war  it  animated  the  patriotism  of  the  people,  and  gave 
almost  a  religious  character  to  the  Danish  struggle;  it  was 
written  over  and  over  again  in  the  legislation  which  asserted  the 
existence  of  one  God  and  one  King,  which  united  witchcraft 
and  treason  in  its  denunciations,  and  which  in  its  zeal  for  a 
literal  compliance  with  Scripture  sought  to  rest  the  foundations 
of  the  State  in  the  dogmas  of  the  Mosaic  code.  How  far,  in  our 
days,  that  temper  will  bear  the  strain  of  the  lower  principles  and 
the  more  democratic  agencies  with  which  it  must  come  in  con- 
tact. 


170  Characteristics  of  English  History. 

tact,  is  a  question  on  which  wc  cannot  here  enter.  It  ii  enoogh 
for  our  present  purpose  to  obsen'e  that  till  now  it  hu  never 
failed. 

The  influence  indeed  of  the  Church  upon  every  depaitmcnt  of 
internal  and  external  poHcv,  both  in  earlier  and  later  timeSi  has 
been  manifold  ;  but  nowhere  perhaps  more  plainly  marked  than 
in  the  generally  lenient  and  merciful  character  of  the  EngUah  lav. 
The  severities  which  at  a  subsequent  period  darkened  oar  statnts- 
book  were  not  of  Anglo-Saxon  origin.  Capital  punishment  was 
very  rare ;  torture — such  as  the  Norman  system  introdaced,  or 
such  even  as  the  Roman  Church,  to  its  dieep  discredit  has  in 
recent  times  sanctioned — was  unknown ;  crime  was  rrpifssrdi 
and  the  distinctions  of  degree  were  mantained,  by  a  scale  of  fines 
graduated  to  the  offence  and  the  person.  Even  the  stem  laws  of 
evidence  were  tempered  by  and  subordinated  to  the  practioeof 
compurgation  through  the  oaths  of  friends  and  neighboaiSi  and 
the  Englishman  was  early  taught  that  he  must  live  by  the  good 
opinion  of  his  countrymen.  But  this  general  leniency  in  the 
spirit  of  the  law,  to  which  after  eight  centuries  we  have  gradaallj 
returned,  was  due  directly  to  the  presence  of  the  bishop  who 
look  part  as  a  Judicial  Assessor  in  every  shire-conrt  of  tke 
country — indirectly  to  the  influence  of  our  State  Chnrch,  and  to 
the  inter-dependenco,  in  numberless  forms,  of  clergy  and  kitjr 
upon  each  other.  When,  shortly  after  the  Conquest,  the  Bishop 
of  Durham  held  his  synod,  Waldieof,  the  civil  head  and  governor 
of  Northumbria,  'sat  humbly,'  as  Sir  F.  Palgrave  oays,*  *in  a 
low  place  amongst  the  presbyters,  concurring  in  every  measure 
needed  for  the  preservation  of  Christianity  in  the  Earldom.' 

These,  then,  are  some  of  the  conditions  common  to  oor 
ancestors  and  ourselves.     But  it  would  be  easy  to  add  to  them. 

Abroad,  liingland  had  then,  as  now,  become  a  widely  extended 
power.  Under  the  exceptional  rule  of  Canute  she  was  the  centre 
of  a  great  system  of  foreign  Powers  ;  and,  even  under  the  pacific 
government  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  she  could  fairly  lay  claim 
to  the  title  of  '  Empire.'  The  Scotch  and  Welsh  Kings— always 
difiicult  to  retain  in  any  bonds  of  subjection — were  vassals ;  whilst 
the  (rommercinl,  ])oliticaI,  and  dynastic  connection  of  the  coantry 
with  the  Continent  gave  her  a  prominence  in  Europe  far  beyond 
that  to  which  her  geographical  position  entitled  her  to  look.  It 
might,  perhaps,  l>e  doubted  whether  the  English  empire  of  that 
time  was  not,  like  that  of  to-day,  stretched  somewhat  beyond  the 
strength  and  resources  of  the  naticm — losing  in  compactness  what 
it  had  gained  in  extent.     It  is,  however,  curious  to  observe,  coin- 


'  England  and  Nonnandy/  iii.  509. 

cidently 


Chamctmitics  of  Enfflisk  ffistory,  171 

cidently  with  the  spread  of  dominion^  the  orgnnisatioi]^  under 
precise  and  re^lar  articles  of  war,  of  a  permanent  military  force 
in  the  famous  *  house-carls;  exercising  an  influence  fully  pro- 
portionate to  that  enjoyed  by  the  more  numerous  array  of  modern 
warfare,  and  attached  to  the  service  of  the  Crown  by  ties  of  fed-i' 
ing  not  very  unlike  those  of  a  standing  army. 

At  Lome,  the  great  towns  founded  by  Roman  ciYiIisation,  &nd 
in  some  cases  half  obliterated  bj  the  ferocity  of  the  earliest 
S&xon  invaders,  were  acquiring  or  regaining  importance.  There 
are  coins  extant  that  hear  witne^  to  the  local  mints,  which  royal 
ia%^our  or  policy  sanctioned,  Bath,  in  the  reign  of  Ethehed,  had 
na  Jess  than  eight  privileged  money ers-  Bristol  was  the  centre 
of  a  great  slave-trade  with  Ireland  ;  Exeter  was  then,  as  in  later 
tijnes,  the  key  of  the  West,  and  showed  a  spirit  worthy  of  her 
poiition  ;  Yorkj  with  its  imperial  associations,  Chester,  with  its 
Koman  ramparts,  had  become  ptiints  of  first-class  importance 
whether  in  peace  or  war ;  whilst  London  was  already  asserting 
that  pre-eminence  and  authority,  which  henceforward  marked 
thm  entire  course  of  her  history,  and  have  uniformly  placed  her 
oo  llie  winning  side  in  the  political  controversies  of  each  succes* 
*!¥©  generation.  It  was  tlie  cradle,  as  it  was  the  first  emanation, 
of  that  great  urban  force,  suppressed  for  a  while  by  the  irresistible 
influences  of  feudalism,  but  reviving  after  the  wars  of  the  Roses, 
and  strengthening  under  Tudor  imperialism  year  by  year,  until, 
in  theje  later  days,  we  recognise  it  as  the  preponderating  power 
of  the  State» 

With  the  rise  of  these  great  towns  arose  also,  and  naturally,  a 
moneyed  class,  England  now  is  the  wealthiest  country  in  the 
world*  The  reproductive  energy  of  countless  industries  both  in 
town  and  country  ;  the  sweep  of  a  commerce  which  covers  every 
»ea,  and  is  approached  by  no  rival;  above  all,  the  continuance 
for  half  a  century  of  unbroken  peace — fur  the  Crimean  war  never 
cost  US  a  single  merchantman — have  accumulated  an  amount  of 
capital  which  makes  her  the  centre  of  trading  operations  to  the 
whole  world.  ThiS|  of  course,  was  not  the  case  in  the  eleventh 
century.  But  it  is  curious,  even  then,  to  note  the  indications  of 
very  considerable  wealth.  During  the  worst  and  most  shameful 
periods  of  the  Danish  wars,  when  English  steel  was  powerless  to 
defend  the  country,  English  gold  was  never  wanting.  The  ran- 
soms, when  measured  by  the  value  of  money  of  that  time,  were 
Ijntnense  ;  and  when,  after  the  Conquest  and  his  coronation  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  William  returned  to  Normandy,  the  mo- 
nastic chroniclers  are  lost  in  ail  miration  of  the  bullion,  the  rich 
drinking-horns  (the  work  for  which  Anglo-Saxon  goldsmiths 
were  already  famous),  the  sacred  vessels,  tlie  embroidery,  which 


1 72  CharacierisHcs  of  English  History. 

he  displayed.      But  with  this  wealth  CJime  also,  as  might  be 
surely    expected,    an    increase   of   luxury.       *The    English,'    as 
William   of  Mai mesbury  says,  'ate  and  drank  to  excess;  they 
loaded  themselves  with  heavy  bracelets  of  gold,  and  transformed 
their  old-world  national  manners  into  those  of  foreigners.'     The 
spirit  of  luxury  is  many-sided ;  and  this  was  the  form — though  a 
somewhat    broad    and   coarse    one — which   it   not    unnaturally 
assumed  under  the  circumstances  of  the  time  and  people.     But 
this  luxury  was    not  the   only    result   of  the  increased  wealth. 
Wealth  made,  as  it  always  makes,  men  timid.     After  the  battle 
of  Hastings,  the  rich  citizens  of  Canterbury  set  the  evil  example 
of  a  bltx)dlcss  and  uncompelled  surrender ;  on  the  other  hand,  it 
was  from  the  rugged  and  far  poorer  population  of  the  North  that 
William  encountered  an  opposition  which  was  only  overcome 
inch  by  inch,  and  which  left  for  years  afterwards  a  record  of  its 
obstinacy  in  so  pitiless  a  devastation,  that  it  was  said  that  not 
one  village  between  the  Tyne  and  Hum  her  remained  inhabited. 
Meanwhile,  as  this  rich  and  luxurious  class  became  ever  richer 
and  more  luxurious,   the  great  body  of  the  English  freemen — 
those  who  had   formerly  been  the  main-spring  of  national  life, 
and  who,  in  modem  times,  would  find  their  representation  in  the 
middle  classes  whether  of  town  or  country — decayed.     No  prole- 
tariat indeed  existed.     That  curse  of  ancient  and  modem  civili- 
sation had  no  being  apart  from  great  cities ;  and  these,  though 
citizen  life  was  on  the  increase,  were  as  yet  wanting.     But  our 
ancestors  were  approaching  that  dangerous  point  in  the  life  of  a 
state,  when  for  purposes  of  government  there  are  but  two  classes 
— one  rich,  powerful,  few  in  number;  the  other  poor,  without 
direct  political  power,  numerous.     The  institutions,  not  less  than 
the  men,  that  in  former  times  had  rendered  less  marked  the  broad 
space  which  now  separated  the  two  classes  and  had  given  England 
the  character,  if  it  may  so  be  said,  of  a  kingly  commonwealth, 
had   gone.      The   aristocracy  converted   into   satraps  or  Court 
favourites,  the  Church  verging  towards  a  love   of  material  ease 
inconsistent  with  her  higher  duties,  and  the  people  generally 
inclining  to  prefer  what  we   should   now  call  the  absolute  and 
centralised  action  of  government  to  the  reasonable  and  regulated 
liberties  of  the  individual,  seemed  to  hasten  on  the  catastrophe. 
From  time  to  time,  indeed,  the  scene  was  lit  up  by  those  grand 
contrasts  of  good  and  evil,  both  in  persons  and  things,  which  sig- 
nalise the  close  of  an  expiring  system  ;  but  the  issue  could  not 
be  doubtful,  or  very  far  distant.     And  when,  at   last,  the  hour 
struck,  English  independence  vanished,  and  the  whole  fabric  of 
government,  in  that  which  was   then  the  most  highly  civilised 
Dart  of  the  country,  crumbled  into  dust     The  agony  of  that  over- 
throw 


tlirow  was  great.  Property,  station,  influence — all  that  niade 
life  Happy — perished  :  men  became  the  servants  of  others  on 
tbeir  own  lands,  strangers  in  their  own  country-  Personal  hard- 
ship led  to  retaliation  J  retail  atioQ  to  legal  oppression  and  out- 
lawry. Men  fled  to  the  woods,  or  crossed  the  seas,  and  t<K>k 
service  elsewhere.  But,  happily  for  the  country,  it  was  an  age  in 
which  the  conditions  of  wealth  were  not  so  sensitive  and  arlilicial 
Si  they  now  are ;  the  accumulations  of  capital,  which  in  modem 
revolutions  take  wing,  or  the  manufacturing  industries,  which 
migrate  to  places  of  greater  security,  did  not  then  exist;  even 
society  itself  was  not  formed  upon  the  delicate  organisation  of 
present  times*  Private  life  was  rougher,  and  public  life  was 
controlled  by  conditions  more  favourable  to  recovery.  And  so, 
after  several  generations  of  terrible  suffering^  the  waste  was 
repaired^  and  England  revived^  to  run  a  course  of  hcsnour  abroad 
and  happiness  at  home,  out  of  all  proportion  to  her  size  and 
population. 


Abt.  VI  L — 1,  Si^ih  Report  of  the  Commimoners  of  the  Ckil- 

drms  Employment  Commimoiu     18B7. 
2.  Seventh  Meport  of  the  Medical  Officer  of  the  Privtf  Couiml^ 

with  Appendix.     1864, 

IN  a  recent  number  of  the  *  Quarterly  Review'*  we  invited 
public  attention  to  the  several  Reports  of  the  Children's 
Employment  Commission,  in  which  a  frightful  amount  of  human 
suffering  was  brought  to  light,  A  million  and  a  half  of  children, 
young  persons,  and  women,  occupied  in  a  variety  of  manufac- 
tures and  employments  which  had  not  been  brought  within  the 
regulations  of  the  Factory  Act,  were  shown  to  be  subjected  to  an 
excess  of  physical  toil  and  an  amount  of  premature  exertion, 
ruinous  to  their  health,  fatal  in  many  instances  to  their  lives^ 
and  depriving  them  of  every  opportunity  of  relaxation  and  of 
the  means  of  education  and  mental  improvement 

The  facts  which  the  inquiries  of  the  Commissioners  elicited 
were  of  such  an  astounding  nature,  that  it  was  impossible  for 
Parliament  not  to  take  action  upon  them,  and  although  some 
delay  in  legislation  was  inevitable  where  so  great  a  variety  of 
interests  was  concerned,  the  Government  was  so  impressed  by 
the  magnitude  of  the  evils  disclosed,  that  it  made  the  subject  one 
of  the  prominent  features  in  the  Speech  from  the  Throne  on 
the  opening  of  the  present  Session  of  Parliament,  and  almost 
immeiliately  afterwards    brought  into  the  House  of  Commons 

*  For  April,  1866. 

two 


174  Agricultural  Gangu 

two  Bills,  the  object  of  which  is  to  place  all  manufactures  which 
have  hitherto  been  carried  on  without  Government  inspection 
onrJer  rej^Iations  analogous  to  those  which  have  been  foond  ta 
work  so  beneficiailj  under  the  Factory  Act  These  Bills  are 
now  undergoing  the  scrutiny  of  a  select  Committee,  widi  m 
view  of  making  them  more  effectual  against  evils,  the  revehitian 
of  which  at  once  shocked  the  moral  sense  and  woonded  die  hn- 
manity  of  the  nation. 

The  sensation  created  by  those  lamentable  disclosures  had 
scarcely  had  time  to  subside,  when  the  sixth  and  final  Report  of  the 
Commissioners  was  presented  to  Parliament,  the  subject  of  which 
is  a  particular  mode  of  employing  children,  young  persons,  and 
women  in  agriculture.  This  Report  is  one  of  the  most  painfnl 
which  it  has  ever  been  our  duty  to  peruse,  for  it  proves  to 
demonstration  that  the  social  evils  which  were  long  supposed  to 
be  peculiar  to  manufactures  exist  even  in  a  more  aggravmted 
form  in  connection  with  the  cultivation  of  the  soil.  Great  numbers 
of  children,  young  persons,  and  women,  are,  it  appears,  em* 
ployed  in  companies  or  *  gangs'  in  certain  counties  which  have 
acquired  an  odious  notoriety  for  one  of  the  most  flagrant  abuses 
which  has  ever  disgraced  a  civilised  land.  Multitudes  of  the 
youns;  of  both  sexes  have  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  the  lowest 
moral  degradation  by  association  with  each  other,  without  anj 
effectual  supervision  or  control,  for  the  purpose  of  field  labour 
carried  on  at  a  considerable  distance  from  their  homen 

The  system  to  which  we  refer  is  that  peculiar  organisaticm  of 
rural  industry  known  as  the  Agricultural  Gang,  and  which  prfr> 
vails  extensively  in  Lincolnshire,  Huntingdoitthire,  Cambridge 
shire,  Norfolk,  Suffolk,  Nottinghamshire,  and  in  a  more  limited 
degree  in  the  Counties  of  Bedford,  Rutland,  and  Northampton ; 
and  nothing  more  shocking  has  ever  been  brought  to  light  bj  m 
public  inquiry  than  the  sufferings  incidental  to  the  employment 
of  young  children  in  certain  kinds  of  agricultural  labour.  The 
subject^  like  that  of  the  abuse  of  children's  labour  in  manufiM> 
torios,  has  aln»ady  very  properly  occupied  the  attention  of  both 
Houses  of  Parliament,  but  it  deserves  a  fuller  discussion  than 
it  has  yet  received  in  reference  as  well  to  its  causes  as  to  its 
effects :  and  it  forms  so  novel  and  portentous  a  feature  in  the 
rural  ecf>nomy  of  England,  and  is  so  pregnant  with  iiitare  mi»> 
chief,  that  we  need  make  no  apology  for  discussing  the  mbjcct 
in  these  pages. 

It  may  Ih»  pn^ner,  before  we  advert  to  the  disclosures  of  the 
Commissioners*  Kepi>rt  to  take  a  cursory  view  of  the  districts  in 
which  this  evil  originated,  and  in  which  it  now  chiefly  prevails; 
for  the  origin  of  Agricultural  Gangs  is  undoubtedly  connected 

with 


Agricultural  Gangs, 


175 


the  physical  peculiarities  of  certain  counties  and  tlieir 
earlv  social  condition*  The  extensive  employment  of  women 
and  cbildrcn  in  rural  labour  had  its  rise  in  two  causes :  iirst  in 
the  extensive  reclamation  of  waste  lauds ;  and  secondly  in  the 
destruction  of  cottages  and  the  consequent  removal  of  the  people 
which  inhabited  themj  rendering  labour  difficult  to  procure,  and 
imposing  upon  the  farmer  the  necessity  of  obtaining'  it  through 
the  instrumentality  of  a  middle  man,  who  made  it  his  business 
ta  supply  it  at  a  cheap  rate,  gaining  his  living  by  organising 
bands  of  women^  young  persons,  and  child  re n*  of  whom  he  became 
the  temporary  master*  And  the  *  gangs  *  so  constituted  have 
in  some  districts  displaced  the  labour  of  men,  and  the  system 
1%  favoured  by  the  farmers  for  its  economy  no  less  than  lor  its 
convenience. 

The  principal  seats  of  this  agrarian  evil,  which  threatens  to 
extend  itself  over  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  the  rural  districts 
of  England^  are  Norfolk,  Huntingdonshire^  Cambridgeshire,  but 
especially  Lincolnshire,  a  county  which  may  be  considered  in  an 
agricultural  sense  as  almost  a  new  creation.  Its  chief  physical 
characteristics  are  tvvo  parallel  ranges  of  hills,  known  as  the 
Heath  and  the  Wolds,  which  extend  for  a  considerable  distance 
Ijoih  north  to  south,  and  include  a  vast  level  plain,  which 
expands  to  the  south  into  the  district  of  the  Fens,  and  forms  part 
of  that  great  morass  which  once  extended  for  seventy  miles  front 
Cambridge  to  Lincoln,  and  was  inhabited,  Camden  tells  us, 
only  by  ten-men,  '  a  kind  of  amphibious  people,  who,  walking 
high  upon  stilts,  apply  their  mind  to  grazing,  fishings  and 
fovling/  *The  whole  region,'  he  adds,  *  in  the  winter,  and 
some  times  most  parts  of  the  year,  is  overflowed  by  the  rivers^ 
but  again  when  these  streams  arc  retired  it  is  so  plenteous  of  a 
eertain  fat  grass  and  full  hay  which  tbey  call  lid,  that  when  they 
have  mown  down  so  much  of  the  better  as  will  serve  their 
turns,  they  set  fire  to  the  rest  in  November,  at  which  time  a 
nuui  may  see  this  fenny  track  flaming  all  over  everywhere, 
and  wonder  thereat/  Modern  improvements  in  the  science  of 
dfaimug  have  converted  this  tract,  which  seemed  destined  by 
IWtiare  only  for  the  home  of  the  bittern  and  the  snipe,  into  a 
'  garden  of  inexhaustible  fertility.  Wheat  attains  a  height  rarely 
aeen  elsewhere,  the  soil  is  so  rich  as  scarcely  to  need  manure^ 
Qax^  generally  an  exhausting  crop^does  not  impoveri^  it,  and  all 
tlie  ordinary  productions  of  agriculture  are  raised  in  the  greatest 
perfection. 

Another  part  of  Lincolnshire,  known  as  the  Heath,  was  until 
comparatively   recent    times    a    complete    wilderness,    and    the 

t  called  Duston  Pillar,  seventy  feet  in  height,  vim  erected 
: 


176 


Agricultural  Ganfft* 


m  the  middle  of  the  last  century  as  a  land  lighthouse,  the  only 
ediBce  of  the  sort  in  England^  to  guide  the  traveller  over  the 
dfeary  waste.  This  wild  tract  has  now  been  brought  into  a 
state  of  cultivation  not  inferior  to  that  of  any  part  of  England^ 
although  it  retains  the  name  of  Lincoln  Heath,  The  other  part 
of  Lincolnshire  to  which  we  have  referred,  namely,  the  Wolds, 
had  been  from  time  immemijrial  an  immense  rabbit  warren,  but, 
althoug^h  possessing  only  a  few  inches  of  soil  resting  on  a  sub^ 
stratum  of  chalk,  it  has  within  the  memory  of  living  men  been 
brought  into  a  state  of  the  finest  cultivation,  and  has  added 
at  least  230,000  acres  to  the  corn-producing  area  of  England, 
exhi biting,  instead  of  dismal  bills  covered  only  with  thistles 
and  ^orse,  cheerful  uplands  sprinkled  with  comfortable  farm- 
houses, spacious  barns,  lofty  com  ricks,  and  innumerable  Bocks 
of  sheep. 

The  low  country  in  Norfolk,  which  forms  part  of  the 
Bedford  Level,  possesses  some  physical  features  strongly  re- 
sembling those  of  the  fens  of  Lincolnshire.  It  has  long  been 
reclaimed  from  the  sea,  which  is  kept  back  by  bulwarks  of 
Roman  or  Norman  construction;  but  these  extensive  plains  were 
a  hundred  years  ago  one  vast  bed  of  sedges  varied  only  by  a  few 
sallow  bushes.  They  now  glow  with  the  red  clover  and  the 
golden  mustard,  and  gladden  the  eye  with  the  verdure  of  turnip- 
£elds  and  with  heavy  crops  of  jjrain*  Over  an  expanse  of  appa- 
rently boundless  cultivation,  however,  rise  windmills  and  tall 
chimneys,  indicating  that  the  contest  with  water  is  far  from 
being  at  an  end,  and  that  incessant  efforts  are  still  necessary  to 
prevent  one  of  the  richest  districts  of  England  from  reverting  to 
a  wildemesg. 

Rich  as  these  districts^ — ^ where  earth  and  water  seem  to  be 
ctmtinually  struggling  for  the  maslcry^ — now  are  in  most  of  the 
elements  of  agricultural  wealth,  they  are  deficient  in  the  most 
important,  namely  a  sufficient  supply  of  labouring  men.  The 
old  roftds  were  constructed  along  the  ridges  of  such  elevations 
as  the  country  aff<>rdedj  so  as  to  be  above  the  reach  of  the 
winter  floods,  and  in  the  stmgg^Ung  '  open '  villages  scattered  along 
those  roads  is  now  congregated  the  former  population  of  distant 
and  extensive  parishes.  In  this  reclaimed  portion  of  England 
farm-houses,  bams,  and  stables,  sufBcient  for  all  the  requirements  of 
a  prosperous  agriculture,  were  erected.  The  cattle  of  the  farm  were 
housed  in  comfort,  but  no  thought  was  taken  of  the  lalxiuring 
man.  No  cottages  were  built  for  his  accommodation ;  and  as  he 
could  not  reside  on  the  land  where  his  services  were  required, 
he  had  tn  submit  to  the  bard  upcessity  of  rising  an  hour  or  two 
earlier  than  he  otherwise  would,  and  of  walking,  perhaps,  miles 

to 


Agricultural  Gantjfs,  177 

his  work-     On   those  estates,  od  whirh  the   peasant  was  so 

Ttunate  as  to  secure  some  humble  tenement  to  shelter  him  he 
Uras  dispossessed  of  it  as  speedily  as  possible,  ]eht  he  shouki 
Une  day  become  a  pauper  and  a  burthen  to  the  parish,  and  he 
Vras  driven  to  find  a  home  where  and  how  he  could.  This 
pas  been  especially  the  case  in  Norfolk,  where  the  work  of 
l3epopulation  was  proceedings  in  an  accelei-ated  ratiOj  until 
the  change  in  the  law  of  settlement  put  a  partial  stop  to  the 
process,  'It  is  a  melancholy  thing-  to  stand  alone  in  one's 
country/  said  the  J  ate  Earl  of  Leicester  when  complimented  on 
the  completion  of  Ho  Ik  ham.  *  I  look  around  and  not  a  house  is 
to  be  seen  but  mine.  1  am  the  Giant  of  Giant  Castle  and 
hare  eaten  up  all  my  neighbours/ 

One  of  the  worst  results  of  this  mistaken  policy  on  the  part 
of  some  g^reat  landed  proprietors,  is  the  existence  of  those  larg^e 
*open*  villages  common  to  the  Midland  Counties  and  the 
^tern  parts  of  [ingiand,  and  to  which  we  have  already  adverted* 
rhe  aspect  of  these  villages  is  generally  repulsive  in  the  extreme. 
'A  small  proprietor  has  found  it  a  ^ood  speculation  to  build 
houses  for  the  expelhd  cottagers,  or  for  labourers  %vho  can  pro- 
eure  no  other  home^     The  result  is  an  aggregation  of  wretched 

Siovels ;  the  houses  are  low,  the  rents  are  high,  and  they  afford 
he  most  miserable  accommodatioup  These  villages  constitute 
rhat  may  be  termed  the  penal  settlements  of  the  surrounding- 
bieigh  hour  hood  ;  to  them  the  scum  of  the  country  flows  as  by  a 
^natural  affinity,  and  they  afford  a  natural  asylum  for  every  man 
Jwho  has  lost  his  character  and  for  every  woman  who  has  forfeited 
rher  virtue, 

I  It  is  to  this  revolution  which  has  taken  place  in  the  rural 
j^conomy  of  extensive  districts  in  England  that  the  change 
which  has  occurred  in  the  relations  between  labour  and  capital 
is  owing,  and  it  has  been  the  means  of  greatly  extending  that 
system  of  organised  labour  which  forms  the  subject  of  the 
Commissioners'  Report.  So  great  is  the  depopulation  of  some 
parishes  in  the  eastern  districts  of  Ejigland,  that  many  farms 
consisting  of  300  acres  do  not  possess  a  single  resident  labourer, 
and  the  few  men  who  are  em  ployed  on  them  are  obliged  to  walk 
four  tmi\  even  five  miles  to  their  work.* 

The  faculty  of  making  little  children  work  is  the  peculiar  art 
of  the  gangmaster,  and  he  obtains  his  living  by  pressing  his 
gmg  to  the  very  utmost  of  their  strength,  his  object  being  to 
AXtort  the  greatest  possible  quantity  of  labour  for  the  smallest 


•  At  Babton,  a  village  in  L^icestersbire,  a  man  bad  for  many  ji-arB  walked  S6 
mil«  a  week  to  and  frum  hk  work,  and  all  for  }2$,—JUp&ri  of  the  MeiUad  Ojieer 
; «/  the  Frif^  Omndl  /or  1 866* 
^^Lli3.— iVo.  24S.  N  YO^\feV  i 


178  Agricultural  Gangi. 

possible  remuneration.  He  is  thus  by  the  very  condition  of  his  occu- 
pation a  hard  task-master,  for  he  must  realise  a  profit  upon  erery 
woman,  young  person,  and  child  whom  he  employs.  The  gang«> 
master  is  frequently  stigmatised  as  a  slave-driver,  and  the  system 
has  been  denounced  as  little  better  than  negro  bondage.  If  the 
whip  is  not  employed,*  other  modes  of  compulsion  are  resorted 
to,  and  one  of  the  most  painful  facts  elicited  by  the  Commii- 
sioners'  inquiries  is,  that  children  are  occasionally  compelled  to 
work  in  the  gangs  for  two  or  three  hours  longer  than  adults. 

Gangmasters,  as  a  rule,  belong  to  a  class  termed  catchwork 
labourers.  They  are  generally  men  of  indolent  and  drinking 
habits,  and  not  unfrequently  of  notorious  depravity.  Their 
example  is  represented  as  very  pernicious  to  the  morality  of 
the  children  and  young  persons  of  both  sexes  under  their  com- 
mand. They  are  described  as  having  almost  the  entire  control 
of  the  children  in  every  district  where  the  system  prevails,  for 
they  alone  are  able  to  provide  them  with  regular  employment 
In  some  places  a  farmer  cannot  get  even  a  boy  of  twelve  or 
thirteen  to  do  a  week's  work  except  by  hiring  him  of  the 
gangmaster.  These  men  collect  their  gangs  very  early  in  the 
morning,  and  the  scene,  when  500  or  600  women,  boys,  and  girls 
assemble  at  early  dawn,  to  be  marshalled  by  their  respective 
gangsmen,  and  led  off  in  different  directions  to  their  work,  is  de- 
scribed as  most  revolting.  There  are  to  be  seen  youths  who  hare 
never  known  either  the  restraints  of  parental  discipline  or  the 
humanising  influences  of  a  respectable  home ;  girls  depraved  by 
constant  association  with  some  of  the  worst  characters  of  their  sex ; 
married  women  who  prefer  the  rude  independence  of  the  fields  to 
the  restraints  of  domestic  life ;  little  children  who  should  be 
receiving  their  first  lessons  in  the  village  school  instead  of 
imbibing  those  of  premature  and  certain  vice  ;  and,  above  all, 
the  gangmaster,  often  hoary  with  years,  too  certainly  profligate 
in  character,  'corruptus  simul  et  comiptor,'  and  therefore 
more  disposed  to  encourage  obscene  language  than  to  check 
itt  As  it  is  important  to  the  gangmaster  that  the  whole  of  hit 
flock  should  arrive  at  the  scene  of  their  labour  quickly  and 
simultaneously,  the  pace  at  which  the  gang  travels  is  trying  to 
the  strongest.  When  driving  is  found  ineffectual,  the  younger 
children  are  tempted  to  over-exert  themselves  by  the  promise  of 
sweetmeats.    The  ages  at  which  young  children  commence  work, 

•  In  Nottinghamshire,  however,  it  seems  to  be  resorted_to.    *  The  master,'  said 

)retty  freelj 

hat  ffoes  on  in  et 

laoghs  at  iV—Evid.,  28. 


a  witness,  *  carries  a  whip,  which  he  uses  pretty  freely.    The  parent  of  one  of  the 
bovs  described  it  as  **  nicger  driving."  *—!Evid.,  219. 
t  *  The  conversation  tlmt  goes  on  in  gangs  is  dreadful,  and  the  ganger  only 


and 


AgficuUural  Gangg, 


I7d 


mnd  the  distances  they  have  to  walk,  or  rather  to  run,  before  they 
begin  the  labours  of  the  day,  are  aatoutiding'.  Eight  appears  to 
be  the  ordmarj  n^e  at  whirh  children  of  both  sexes  join  the 
common  gang-,  although  seven  is  not  unusual j  and  instant es  aro 
mentioned  in  which  ehiJtlren  only  six  years  of  age  were  found 
regularly  at  work*  One  little  girl  only  four  years  old  was  car- 
ried by  ber  father  to  the  fields,  and  put  to  work  under  a  gang- 
mastt^r,  and  it  seems  to  be  a  common  practice  with  parents  to 
itipulate  that  if  the  elder  children  are  hiretl  the  }'ounger  ones 
thall  be  so  too.  When  the  gangs  are  working  at  a  cunsider- 
ftble  distance  from  home,  the  children  leave  as  early  as  five 
in  the  morning  and  do  not  return  before  eight  at  night,  and 
the  few  who  attend  the  Sunday-schools  after,  the  labours  of 
the  week  are  described  as  in  a  state  of  exhaustion  which  it 
i&  distressing  to  witness.  A  little  boy  only  six  years  of  age 
is  stated  to  have  regularly  walked  more  than  six  miles  out  to 
work,  and  often  to  come  home  so  tired  that  he  could  scarcely 
standi  Walking,  the  gangmasters  themselves  admits  is  more 
ta^ying  to  the  children  than  working*  When  the  gang  has  a 
long  distance  to  go  the  children  become  so  exhausted,  that  the 
elder  ones  are  seen  dragging  the  younger  ones  home,  sometime* 
carrying  them  on  their  backs.  In  winter,  the  children  often 
return  from  the  fields  crying  from  the  cold.  *  Last  nigbt/  said 
the  mother  of  a  little  boy  seven  years  of  age,  '  when  my  Henry 
came  home  he  lay  up  quite  stiff  and  cold  ;  he  is  often  very  tired, 
and  will  fall  down  and  drop  asleep  with  the  food  in  Ids  mouth- 
In  some  parts  of  the  fen  districts  the  children  are  compelled  to 
jump  the  dykes,  an  exertion  causing  frequent  accidents,  and 
one  poor  girl  died  from  the  effects  of  an  effort  beyond  her 
strength. 

It  is  a  common  practice  for  the  gangmaster  to  carry  a  stick  or  a 
whip,  but  rather,  it  is  said,  to  frighten  the  children  with  than  for 
me  I  but  the  treatment  depends  entirely  upon  the  disposition  of 
the  gangmaster  There  is  no  control,  or  possibility  of  control^ 
for  the  children  know  that  remonstrance  would  be  immediately 
followed  by  expulsion  from  the  gang,  and  the  parents,  having  a 
pecuniary  interest  in  their  labour,  would  but  too  certainly  shut 
their  ears  to  any  complaints/  Instances  are  not  uncommon  of 
severe  and  lasting  injuries  having  been  inflicted  by  brutal  gang- 
masters,  and  gross  outrages,  such  as  kicking,  knocking  down, 
beating  with  hoes,  spuds,  or  a  leather  strap,  'dyking/  or  pushing 
into  the  water,  and  *  gibbeting,*  t;e*  lifting  a  child  off*  the  ground 


•  *  One  of  ray  givh  complained  that  th©  pQugmaBtcr  had  bit  her  with  a  spad* 
tmt  t  (the  moUier)  told  her  that  no  doubt  it  was  her  own  fault.'— iVd*  7?. 

N  2  and 


180 


Agricultural  Gw^u 


and  liolding  it  there  by  the  chin  aatl  back  of  the  neck  until  tt  is 
black  in  the  face,  are  said  to  be  frequent*  *  You  se*/  said  the 
mother  of  two  girls,  one  seven,  the  other  eight  yeart  of  age^ 
belonging  to  a  gang,  Hheir  little  spirits  get  so  high,  that  they 
will  talk  while  at  work,  and  that  is  the  aggravation.* 

The  constitution  of  a  ganjcj  varies  according  to  local  circum- 
stances^  In  &c>me  there  is  a  larger  proportion  of  women  than  of 
children ;  but,  as  a  rule,  children  largely  preponderate.  In 
Nortbamptonshire,  a  ^^n^  of  seventy-two  persons  was  composed 
of  thirty- five  boys  and  twenty-six  girls,  all  between  the  agiM  of 
leven  and  twelve,  of  five  boys  under  the  age  of  seven,  and  mm 
of  five  years  of  age  (who  was  gen  era  Uy  carried  home  fram  his 
work),  and  of  five  young  women* 

The  work  done  by  gangs  is  continuous  throughout  the  yeu> 
with  the  exception  perhaps  of  the  months  of  January  and  Febrnarj* 
It  consists  generallr  of  picking  twitch  or  the  roots  of  couch 
grass,  spreading  manure,  setting,  hoeing,  and  taking  up  potatoes^ 
weeding  growing  crops,  singling,  iVe.  thinning  turnips,  pulling 
flax,  man  gold*  wurzel,  and  turnips,  and  stone  gathering.  Much 
of  this  labour  is  of  a  kind  highly  injurious  to  children^  re- 
quiring a  continued  stooping  posture  with  a  ronsiderable  amount 
of  physical  effort  Pulling  turnips  is  perhaps  the  most  per- 
nicious employment  to  which  a  child  can  be  set;  it  strains  the 
spine,  and  often  lays  the  foundation  of  chronic  disease.  Even  to 
strong:  workmen  the  labour  is  very  trying  and  exhausting,  and 
the  thildren  are  constantly  complaining  of  their  backs  and  en- 
deavouring to  snatcli  a  short  interval  of  rest,  placing  their  hands 
behind  ihem  ;  but  the  gangmaster  is  ever  on  the  watch,  and  an 
oath  or  a  blow  is  too  often  the  inevitable  consequence.  The 
turnip-leaves  in  the  early  morning  are  often  full  of  ice,  which 
greatly  aggi-avatcs  the  sufferings  of  those  employed  in  the  work; 
the  backs  of  the  hands  become  swollen  and  cracked  by  the  wind 
and  cold  and  wet,  the  palms  blister,  and  the  fingers  bleed  from 
frequent  laceration.  If  strong  women  thus  suffer,  how  great 
must  be  the  torture  of  children  whose  frames  are  unknit,  whose 
strength  it  undeveloped,  and  whose  tender  hands  must  smmtt 
and  agonise  at  every  pore  under  exertions  so  unsuited  to  their 
delicate  ahd  sensitive  organisation! 

The  medical  officer  of  the  Privy  Council  is  of  opinion  that 
the  employment  of  women  in  gangs  has  a  very  decided  influence 
in  increasing  the  rate  of  infant  mortality,  the  death  rate  of 
infants  in  the  gang  provinces  being  three  times  greater  than  in 
the  districts  where  it  is  the  lowest*  The  extraordinary  mortality 
of  intents  and  of  children  under  two  years  of  age  in  a  parish 
in   Cambridgeshire  is  attributed  to  the  constant  employment  of 

women 


Aep^cultural  Gangs,  181 

womeD  in  the  fields  bf?fore  and  snon  after  their  confinement.  The 
practice  of  drugging  infants  with  opium,  to  enable  their  mothers  to 
go  to  their  labtmr,  must  greatlj  contribute  to  this  result,  for  out 
of  seventy-two  burials  in  one  year  in  the  parish  referred  to^ 
thirty  were  those  of  infants  under  one  year  old.  Women  are 
naturally  more  susceptible  than  men  to  injury  from  cold  and 
wet,  their  clothes,  which  are  often  soaked  through,  retain  moisture 
longer ;  weeding  standing  corn  is  therefore  an  occupation  in  which 
women  should  never  be  employed,  for  in  moist  weather  they  are 
drenched  to  the  skin  in  a  few  minutes  by  the  water  from  the 
stalks  which  often  rise  alxne  their  shoulders. 

Stone  picking'  is  one  of  the  worst  kinds  of  labour  in  which 
women  and  children  can  be  employed.  The  effect,  like  that  of 
pulling  turnips,  is  to  strain  the  spine  and  the  loins  often  to  their 
permanent  injury.  Stones  from  the  fields  arc  collected  in  aprons 
suspended  from  the  necks  and  shoalderu,  and  as  many  as  twenty- 
four  bushels  are  not  unfrequently  picked  up  by  one  person  in  a 
day*  It  is  a  fearful  labour  for  children^  ^ml  yet  lifty  tons'  weight 
have  been  collected  by  six,  one  of  which  was  only  ^\%  years  of 
age,  within  a  fortnight  *  Stone  picking,*  said  an  old  gang- 
master,  *is  bad  for  the  children,  and  bad  for  me  too,  I  carried 
off  myself  this  year  twenty-five  loads,  but  it  is  not  one  mnn  in  ten 
who  could  do  it;  it  made  my  shoulders  quite  raw,*  *  Children 
can  do  more  in  this  way,'  he  added,  'by  working  eight  hours 
m  day  than  nine,  but  in  the  last  hour  thei/  are  askiiif^  Jhrly  times 
what  ockick  it  L% 

We  might  crowd  our  pages  with  proofs  of  the  injurious  effects 
of  gang  labour  upon  the  health  and  welfare  of  the  children  engaged 
iu  itt  but  the  following  case,  in  which  three  young  girls  succumbed 
trnder  its  effects,  will  be  sufficient  to  condemn  a  system  under 
which  such  cruel  oppressitm  can  be  practised  with  impunity. 

Statement  of  a  labourer's  wife  of  Denton,  Huntingdonshire  :*— 

*  In  June,  1862,  my  daughters,  Harriet  and  Sarah,  agod  res|>ec;tively 
11  And  13,  were  engaged  by  a  ganger  to  work  on  laud  at  Stilton, 
When  they  got  there  he  took  them  to  Peterborough  \  there  thoy 
worked  for  six  weeks,  going  and  returning  each  day.  The  distance 
eidi  way  is  8  miles,  bo  that  they  had  to  walk  16  miicB  each  day,  on 
aU  the  6  working  days  of  the  week,  besidea  working  in  the  tiold  from 
B  to  5,  or  5i,  in  the  afternoon.  They  need  to  start  from  home  at  5  in 
the  morning,  and  seldom  got  back  before  9,  Sometiraes  they  were 
pat  to  hoeing,  sometimes  to  twitching,  and  tliijy  had  Id,  a  day.  They 
had  to  find  all  their  own  meals,  aa  well  as  their  own  tools — such  as 
hoes.  They  (the  girls)  vc^m  good  for  nothing  at  the  end  of  the  six 
weeks.  The  ganger  made  a  great  fuss  to  liave  my  cliiidren,  be^mose 
they  were  so  ([mek  in  their  work^  and  he  persuaded  mo  to  send  my 

litUe 


m 


§^mliural  G&nff§* ' 


little  girl  Susan  who  wa^  then  6  jmr»  of  a^.  She  watted  all  llie 
wij  (B  tuilm)  to  Peterborough  to  her  work,  mud  worked  from  8  to  5i| 
snd  poecivetl  4*1,  She  wo*  tbiit  lired  timt  her  piBttirs  1m  d  to  cattv  Tier 
the  beet  piirt  of  the  wsj  hocio^S  miles,  tmd  Bho  wms  ill  from  ll  for  S 
woeki,  und  ncveo*  went  ftgiun." 

Lamrntablt  fts  tro  the  phy»ical  re«ultt  of  sucli  over  exertioB, 
which  is  for  from  bcini;  rxreptional  in  the  gan^  di&tri<t%  the 
caniequencet  of  the  intermixture  of  the  sc&es  while  going  to 
and  returnini;  from  work,  as  well  as  iti  the  tields,  are  represented 
as  mci)»t  di»aiitn)us.  ClergYmen,  m^tgistratas,  schotjluia^tert, 
policemen,  even  farmers^  all  concur  in  representing  the  cx>rnsp- 
tix»n  of  morals  vrhirh  agriruUural  fn^ngs  have  been  the  meaot  of 
brincring^  alicnit  tii  the  rami  jiopulation  tu  complete.  The  gttii|p 
are  <  composed  chiefly  of  young  women  hardened  in  a  life  of  de- 
pravity, and  of  hiiy%  and  girls  early  contaminated  by  their 
eiampie.  The  young'est  children  swear  habitually .  The  nii 
of  illegitimacy,  where  the  system  prevail*^  is  double  tliat  <rf 
the  kingdom  in  general,  sind  cases  of  seduction  by  the  gang^ 
tnasters  of  young  g^trls  in  their  employ  are  far  from  being  aneotii" 
mon.  The  medicat  officer  of  a  Union  workhouse  stated  that 
many  girh  of  from  thirteen  to  seventeen  years  of  ago  had  been 
brought  there  to  be  confined,  whose  ruin  had  been  eflectod  In 
going  to  or  returning  from  gang  work,  and  there  had  been  aix 
girls  belonging  to  one  small  parish  in  the  house  at  the  same 
time  lying4n,  not  with  their  first  nor  even  with  their  aecond 
child. 

Girls  become  qnickly  depraved,  and  boys  attain  «  precodotis 
iodepemlence  which  makes  them  impatient  of  parental  or  of  nmj 
other  controL  Respectable  persons,  even  ladies,  if  they  are  wa 
unfortunate  as  to  meet  a  gang,  arc  certain  to  be  assailed  by  fiml 
language  and  ribald  jests,  A  policeman,  speaking  of  the  gaAfis 
in  his  district,  and  especially  of  the  gross  immorality  of  the  girts 
at  an  early  age,  says  that  although  he  had  been  employed  for 
many  years  in  detective  duty  in  some  of  the  worst  parts  of 
London,  he  never  witnessed  ecpial  boldness  and  shamelessness ; 
and  that  the  obscenity  of  their  conversation  and  of  their  songs 
was  such  as  needed  to  be  heard  to  be  believed.  The  life  of  the 
fit^lds  seems  indeed  to  possess  a  peculiar  fascination  for  girls,  for 
when  once  they  have  adopted  it  they  cannot  be  induced  ti>  enter 
domestic  service,  nor  indeed  are  they  fit  for  it  *  1  have  no  best* 
tstion/  said  a  clergyman,  speaking  of  the  moral  condition  of  bli 
own  parish,  '  in  saying  tbat  its  corruption  exceeds  anythhig  of 
whjt:h  1  liave  any  experience.  I  have  been  to  Sierra  Leone,  but  t 
have  seen  shameless  wickedness  in  --  such  as  I  never  wit* 

nessed 


A^oultural  Gangt. 


X93 


nessed  in  Africa ;  95  per  cent,  of  tliosD  who  work  in  the  gangs 
never  enter  a  place  of  worship,  and  the  system  is  so  degrading'  and 
demoralising  to  those  si>  eraplojed  that  they  neetl  to  be  civilised 
before  they  can  be  christian! setl/  It  seems  almost  an  impos- 
sibility that  a  girl  who  bas  worked  for  a  single  season  in  a  gang 
can  become  a  modest  and  res^iec table  woman,  or  that  a  boy  who 
aisociates  day  after  day  with  some  of  the  most  abandoned  of 
the  other  sex  can  grow  up  otherwise  than  grossly  sensual  and 
profane.  The  effect  of  gangs  on  the  marrietl  women  employed 
m  theni  is  to  be  iJestractive  of  all  the  domestic  virtues.  Absent 
from  their  homi^n  from  seven  in  the  morning  until  late  in 
the  evening,  they  return  jaded  and  dispirited  and  unwilling 
to  make  any  further  exertion.  The  husband  finds  the  cottage 
untidy,  the  evening  meal  unprepared ^  the  children  querulous  and 
disobedient,  bis  wife  dirty  and  ill-tempered,  and  his  home  so 
thoroughly  uncomfortable  that  he  not  unnaturally  takes  refuge 
in  the  public  house^ 

That  which  seems  most  to  lower  the  moral  tone  of  the  elder 
gflrls  employed  in  gangs  is  the  feeling  of  intlependence  which 
takes  possession  of  them  as  soon  as  they  find  they  can  obtain  re- 
munerative occupation  in  the  fields.  They  feel  that  they  are  at 
once  emancipated  from  all  parental  control,  and  no  longer  bound 
to  submit  themselves  to  their  teachers  or  to  their  spiritual  pastors 
and  masters.  Gregarious  employment,  too,  almost  inevitably 
induces  boldness  of  deportment  and  impudence  of  manner,  and 
gives  to  their  language  that  unpleasant  peculiarity  denominated 
'ilang/  The  dress,  moreover,  which  rural  labour  requires,  must 
tend  further  to  unseat  them ;  and  with  buskins  on  their  legs,  petti* 
coats  tucked  up  above  the  knees,  and  garments  clinging  tightly  to 
the  body,  their  appearance  is  by  no  means  adapted  to  inspire 
aiespect  for  their  character,  *1  object,  as  a  rule/  said  the  prin- 
cipal tenant  on  his  Royal  Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales^a 
Sandringbam  estate,  *  to  the  employment  of  females  in  outdoor 
work  at  alL  More  is  lost  than  gained  by  it,  even  to  their  families 
themselves,  and  die  girls  become  altogether  unfitted  for  domestic 
fter\:ice.  No  one,  whatever  he  may  say,  would  choose  for  a 
servaat  a  girl  who  had  been  in  a  gang,  or  at  outdoor  work,  if  he 
could  help  it*  The  behaviour  and  language  of  women  and  girls 
in  gangs  is  such  that  a  respectable  man,  of  whatever  age,  if  he 
meets  ihem,  cannot  venture  to  speak  to,  scarcely  even  to  look 
at  them  J  without  the  risk  of  being  shocked/  A  mixed  gang  cora* 
posed  of  women,  boys,  and  girls  returning  from  their  distant 
iab«>ur  on  a  rainy  evenings  weary,  wet,  and  foot  sore,  but  in  spite 
of  their  wretchedness  singing  licentious  or  blasphemous  songs, 
is  a  spectade  to  excite  at  once  pity,  detestation  and  disgust, 

We 


184 


A^cuUura!  Gm^i, 


We  bad  occasion,  in  some  recent  obserrations  whicL  we  made 
nn  the  Children's  Employment  Commission,  to  remark  that  the 
worst  instances  of  overwork  of  which  children  were  the  victims 
were  those  of  which  the  parents  were  themselves  the  jticiters. 
The  same  unpleasant  fact  is  equal ly  prominent  in  the  evidence 
relating  to  a^ricullural  gan^.  The  temptation  of  adding  two 
or  three  shillings  to  the  weekly  earnings  of  the  familj  is  generally 
too  great  for  parents  to  withstand.  Mothers  are  represented 
as  forcing-  their  ihildren  into  the  gaoffs/  and  prefer  keeping 
them  at  home  to  placing  them  in  service  that  they  may  farm 
them  out  to  the  gangmaster;  and  it  not  unfrequently  happens 
that  the  father  is  indulging  in  voluntary  idleness  at  home  while 
his  offipring  are  toiling  in  the  fields.*t 

Education  is,  as  may  be  supposed,  in  a  very  neglected  state  m 
the  districts  where  ''ganging'  prevails.  Children  who  leave  school 
for  field  work  at  the  age  of  seven  or  eight  can  have  scarcely 
acquired  the  rudiments  of  knowledge^  and  if  they  return  to  it  for 
a  few  weeks  after  the  principal  agricultural  operations  of  the  year 
are  over,  they  are  generally  found  to  have  become  rough,  demo- 
ralised, and  intractable.  As  it  is  the  interest  of  farmers  that  the 
supply  of  juvenile  labour  should  always  be  equal  to  his  re<|uire- 
ments,  they  are  represented  as  gen  end  ly  opposed  in  the  gan^ 
district  to  the  education  of  the  poor.f 

The  almost  constant  employment  of  children  in  field  labour  ob- 
viously renders  systematic  instruction  out  of  the  question.  Schools, 
where  they  exist,  are  systematically  ignored  by  the  parents,  and  it 
rests  with  the  legislature  to  en  fierce  a  duty  which  the  parent  frotn 
interested  motives  neglects.  The  half-time  system,  which  ha« 
been  found  to  work  so  satisfactorily  in  the  manufacturing  dis- 
tricts seems  to  be  that  which,  with  some  modifications,  the  con* 
dition  of  these  niial  districts  requires.     Labour  and  school  on 


*  *  I  heard  one  raoming,  befor<*  it  wft*  Vig^U  CTy*^g  in  tlit  itreet*  and  looking 
oat  of  the  wladov  1  saw  a  child,  whom  I  knev  to  be  not  dx  yeai^  oJd.  rutmtiig 
nway,  Riia  the  motht?r  runtiitig  after  it,  and  heurd  her  thrtRtenfr  -  '^  -  hip  tbftt 
■bt  would  birat  it  if  it  did  not  po  10  work/— Eriehucc  of  a  aurgt  lt:t£a. 

t  Oi*o  of  the  Aj^sistant'CammisiiflDefs  statfs,  as  coijiirig  ^ithi.  u  kDOW* 

Mge,  th«  fbcl  of  sevemi  parents  of  large  families  remaiuit'g  at  home  in  Yolttutiry 
idle&cM  as  toon  mt  they  ean  gvt  th^ir  chjLdrrn  to  work. 

I  A.  B..  Nalioiial  Sehordniasier:— *  It  is  a  well  ItBOwn  fact  that  tkrmtTt  as  a 
body  Bre  not  frieitdly  to  tlie  cause  of  ed»i cation,  mot^  eipifciaUy  in  the  gmop  di»* 
tiicu,  and  U  h  in  tht^  district  that  mir  school  it  slmat^.  J  know  a  cogo  m  wlr'-^ 
S  fanner,  caUnig  hini^iflf  an  iudef>eDdt.me  gentlestu^  sftid  that  he  would 
give  ivL  to  close  a  rcSkjoI  than  W.  to  keep  It  open.  In  another  cafe  a  1 
said,  *'  We  don't  wnnt  sehools.  We  can't  gel  servants  at  it  it."  Their  ruUike 
motive  \n  tbia  is,  I  believe,  that  by  keeping  their  JaJ«>upera  In  Ignoranctf  they  wiil 
gvi  Uilnmr  at  a  cheap  rnle»  sueh  men  being  more  easily  concent  This  h  ooi  my 
own  opiiijon  only  t  oibere,  who  know  more  of  thei4?  things  than  1  do,Kiy  that  there 
can  W  no  doubt  thai  this  is  their  motive.* 

alternate 


Agricultural  Gangs, 

altemate  dajs  are  tKe  best  correctivea^  as  regurds  boys,  of  tlie 
evils  of  the  gang  system.  In  reference  to  this  subject,  the  admi- 
mble  remarks  of  Mr.  Pag^et,  late  M,P.  for  NottiogLim,  on  the 
plan  which  he  introduced  with  conspicuous  success  on  his  own 
estates,  are  well  worthy  of  consideration. 

*  In  November,  1854/  he  eajB,  *  I  determined  to  employ  8  boye  on 
my  farm  to  do  the  work  hitherto  performed  by  4,  each  boy  spending 
half  his  day  at  work  and  half  at  school — relieving  eoch  other,  bo  that 
I  should  always  have  4  on  the  farm  and  4  at  suhooL  I  found  an 
inconvenience  in  this  arrangement ;  when  the  boys'  clothes  were  wet 
and  dirty,  from  thoir  morning's  work,  they  wei-e  unfit  for  schooL 
I  therefore  changed  my  method,  and  the  boys  now  work  on  alternate 
daya. 

*  After  four  years*  experience,  I  speak  confidently  of  the  satisfactory 
working  of  this  system.  Aa  an  employer  of  labour,  I  have  every 
reason  to  be  satisfied  with  it.  The  boys  having  an  alternative  day  of 
reat,  work  with  more  pleasure  and  spirit ;  and  I  have  no  difficulty  in 
fmding  aa  many  williug  to  accept  employment  on  these  conditions  as 
I  wantp  The  parent  who  might  feel  the  entire  loss  of  his  son's  wages 
to  be  too  great  a  sacrifice,  is  willing  to  forego  one-half  the  amount  to 
eecnre  to  him  the  advantages  of  an  education  which  does  not  interfere 
with  the  actiuisition  of  the  knowledge  which  is  essential  to  his  power 
of  maintaining  himself  at  an  early  age, 

^  The  great  advantage,  however^  is  to  the  children  themselves. 
They  are  never  weary  either  of  school  or  of  work.  Their  progress  is 
found  to  be  very  nearly  ei^ual  to  that  of  those  whose  sole  busings  is 
attending  schooL  At  14  years  they  have  received  not  only  a  very  Imr 
amount  of  the  rudiments  of  school  learning,  but  they  have  also 
tto^uired  a  knowledge  of  tho  business  of  life,  and  are  ready  to  enter 
into  service  with  all  that  skill  arising  from  habits  of  labour,  combined 
with  hardihood  from  exposure  in  out-of-door  work,  which  the  farmer 
who  hires  thoni  has  a  right  to  expect*  They  are  much  better  servants 
than  the  m^^  schoolboy  could  be.  Their  school  life  being  compared, 
not  vnth  a  holiday,  but  with  a  day  of  labour,  they  look  upon  it  afl  a 
reet ;  and  their  associations  with  books  are  not  irksome,  but  agree- 
ftble ;  fto  that,  as  a  rule,  they  will  retain  what  they  have  acquired* 

'This  alternate  system  of  labour  and  rest  appears  to  be  indicated 
by  our  nature,  in  which  the  activity  of  the  body  is  a  good  preparation 
for  tho  activity  of  the  mind,  and  every  hard-working  professional  man 
haa  found  that  tho  best  rest  for  his  overtasked  mind  is  in  bodily 
exertion.' 

The  system  of  public  gangs  has  hitherto  alone  occupied  the 
attention  of  the  Commissioners  \  but  the  evils  are  not  con- 
fined to  ihem.  They  exist  to  a  much  greater  extent,  and  it  is 
believed  in  even  a  more  aggravated  lurm^  in  the  private  gangs 
which  are  organised  and  superintended  by  farmers  themselves. 
They  exist   wherever   women  are  employed ;  in   a  worse  form 

where 


18fl 


AffTiatUural  Gung$. 


where  g"irls  are  employed  ;  and  in  n  worse  form  still  whefe 
boys  and  girls  ore  employed  to^ctlien  A  very  small  proper- 
tioa  of  the  young  engaged  ia  agrictdtural  labour  will^  it  is 
admitted,  be  reached  by  any  measure  which  applies  to  public 
gan^  alone;  and  there  is  good  reason  for  beiteving  that  iba 
oppression  exercised  by  individual  farmers  in  their  private  gang^ 
does  not  fall  short  of,  if,  indeed,  it  does  not  considerahly  exceed, 
that  of  the  public  gangmasters  themselves.  It  is  certain  dial 
the  aggregate  number  of  children,  young  personii  and  womeO| 
employed  in  the  private  gangs  in  those  counties  which  are  the 
subject  of  the  Repirt,  is  greatly  in  excess  of  the  public  pkn^%i 
for  it  teems  to  be  a  generally  and  necessarily  prevailing  practace^ 
wherever  farms  are  large,  ft>r  the  oceupier  to  employ  at  cert&in 
aeftscins  either  a  public  or  a  private  gang. 

There  is  much  testimony  to  the  effect  that  the  treatment  of  the 
young  in  the  private  is  occasionally  not  so  good  as  in  the  public 
gaitgs.  Instances  are  recorded  in  which  children  have  cried 
bitterly  on  being  told  that  they  were  going  to  work  for  a  parlicu« 
lar  farmer.  The  hours  of  la  Injur  are  generally  longer.  '  Farmers,* 
said  an  old  gangmaster,  a  favourable  specimen  of  his  dasa,  and 
possessed  of  more  humanity  than  his  employers,  'have  m^ny 
times  tried  to  get  me  to  work  til  I  6  p*M.  instead  of  5,  but  I  told 
them  I  would  never  begin  it'  Where  the  sexes  are  mixed,  as 
is  almost  always  the  case  in  the  private  gangs,  the  results  are 
nuite  as  bad  as  in  public  gangs*  It  is  occasionally  the  prme- 
tree  of  the  private  gangs  to  pass  the  night  on  the  farms  where 
they  work  \  according  to  one  witness  this  is  a  common  practioo 
when  they  go  long  distances,  and  they  sleep  in  a  barn  or  a  stable. 
Sometimes  they  remain  on  a  farm  sleeping  in  this  way  for  week* 
together,  some  of  the  parly  going  home  from  time  to  time  ta 
fetch  provisions  for  the  rest.  A  day  or  two  previous  to  the  visit 
of  one  of  the  A  sststant-Com  miss  toners  to  a  place  in  Cambridge* 
ahire,*  a  gang  bad  passed  a  night  on  a  farm,  the  gangmaster 
with  his  whole  party  having  been  locked  up  in  a  granary  by  tha 
foreman  of  the  farm  with  as  little  thought  of  the  impropriety  of 
the  proceeding  as  if  he  had  been  folding  a  Bock  of  sheep.  Some 
employers  have  endeavoured  to  separate  the  sexes  in  the  private 
gangSf  and  to  limit  the  age  at  which  children  are  permitted  to 
work  in  them,  but  such  efforts  have  been  generally  unsuccessful 
for  want  of  support,  or  of  the  means  of  enforcing  their  regu- 
lations. 

Such  evidence  as  the  Assistant^Commissioners  have  recorded 
relating  to  these  private  gang%  tends  on  the  whole  to  show  that 


*  Mr  Loage,  AsusidiJi-CoDimiMioner  i  Hfport«  p,  $, 


10 


AgrimUural  Gangs, 

in  their  moral  efTects  Mpon  the  joung  they  are  scarcely  distin- 
guishable fnjtn  the  public  gangs.  It  is  therefore  satisfactory  to  find 
that  a  new  Commission  has  been  issued  which  will  forthwith 
enter  upon  a  comprehensive  inquiry  into  the  whole  subject  of 
the  emplojm*l!nt  of  children^  y*>ung  persons,  and  women  in  agri^ 
cultyre.  But  sufficient  has  been  already  disclosed  to  justify 
immediate  Ipgislation,  althoagh  that  legislation  mn,y  have  to  be 
supplemented  by  other  measures  as  soon  as  the  labours  of  the 
new  Commission  come  to  an  end,* 

Field  work  seems  to  be  essentially  degrading  to  the  female 
character^  no  regulations  will  abate  its  evils  in  that  respect.  For 
^irls  therefore  it  should  be  absolutely  prohibited,  and  it  is  the 
opinion  of  those  well  competent  to  judge  that  women  would  be 
physically  unetjual  to  the  out-door  work  of  farms  in  after  life  if 
they  have  not  been  bardeneil  to  it  from  very  earlj  years. 

The  want  of  a  proper  distribution  of  labour  is  the  chief 
cauge  of  the  existence  of  agricultural  gangs  in  the  counties 
to  which  they  have  hitherto  been  confined*  The  prevalence 
of  large  farms,  without  cottages  or  any  other  accommfKlation 
for  the  labourer^  is  a  great  and  an  increasing  evil  in  the  rural 
economy  of  England,  Its  extent  and  growing  magnitude  m^y  be 
inferred  from  the  fact  educed  from  the  last  census  returui  by  Dr, 
Hunter,  namely ^  that  the  destruction  of  houses,  notwithstanding 
the  increased  clem  and  for  them,  has  for  the  last  ten  years  been  in 
progress  in  822  separate  parishes  or  townships  in  England  ;  io 
that,  irrespective  of  persons  who  had  been  forced  to  become  non- 
leaidents,  these  parishes  and  townships  were  receiving  in  1864, 
fts  compared  with  1861,  a  population  5^  per  cent  greater  into 
bnuse  rf*om  ^\  per  cent  less,  and  that  there  were  innumerable 
other  parishes  in  which  the  demolition  of  bouses  was  proceeding 
far  more  rapidly  than  any  diminution  of  the  population  could 
explain^.  The  rural  peasantry  are  thus  being  removed  from  their 
parishes  and  relegated  to  open  villages  and  towns^  and  the  bouse^ 
hold  condition  of  the  English  labourer  is  becoming  in  the  highest 
degree  deplorable.  Whether  he  shall  find  cottage  accommoda- 
tion on  the  estate  which  he  tills,  and  to  which  hi  a  labour  is  as 
indispensable  as  the  influences  of  the  sun  and  the  rain,  depends 
not  on  his  ability  to  pay  a  reasonable  rent^  but  on  the  use  which 

•  The  oew  Commission  U  noiiceabk  for  the  proraiiieDCe  given  to  the  stihject  of 
tdoc&tioQ.  h  U  ii{ldresE*d  lo  the  furmer  Dminu&si oners,  Mr.  Hugh  Seymnur  Tre* 
«ieiih^rp&nd  Mr*  Edward  Qirletoji  Tufiitill,  who  ar«  jniiructifd  *  to  tiiqaire  inta 
ftod  rvporl  on  the  emplojrment  of  cbUdren,  joung  per^ooft,  and  women  id  ajpi- 
cnUnre,  for  the  purpoee  of  mcerlaiinlng  to  what  extent  tad  wLth  what  modifications 
the  prineipL-s  of  the  Factory  Act  can  be  adopted  for  the  regalation  of  snch 
employ mecti  and  especially  with  a  view  to  the  edsication  of  such  children/ 

the 


1^^  Agricultural  dmgt. 

ihfr  own'Ts  think  fit  to  make  of  their  propeitr;  mod  a  qacatioD^ 
f  '-  M''fJ:c al  Off.cpr  of  the  Pri\-T  Council  jnstlv  9MJ%^  maj  have 
%r0,Ti  Uf  be  ron^iiirred  whr:Lpr  the  proprietary  of  all  land  which 
/<-<j*jjrr-«  regular  ]abr>ur  ou:;ht  not  to  be  held  liable  to  the  oUi^- 
tjorj  of  providing  suitable  dwell  iocs  for  those  whom  ther  em- 
p.-oy.  It  cannot  bo  to  the  interest  of  a  landlord  that  his  estate 
sh'HilfJ  \m*  imperfectly  culti^-ated,  nor  can  it  be  to  the  interest  of 
i:,"  fHTTTifiT  to  employ  labour  in  an  exhausted  condition,  as  must 
it-f  €'\hHr\l\  be  the  case  when  men  have  to  walk  miles  to  their 
¥.*/rk^  HU*\  ^ran^s  of  women  and  children  commence  the  opera- 
tinji%  tA  x\if  t\^y  in  a  state  of  lassitude  inevitable  from  thedis- 
Uti'"  whirh  they  have  travelled. 

()u*'  of  thr;  r-onser|uenres  of  the  want  of  proper  cottage  accom- 
ino'l'iMori  JH,  thnt  in  districts  where  the  population  is  alieadv 
iritijffjr  j<-rit,  iht'Tc  is  a  tendency  to  its  further  diminution.  The 
«z«"n^  u,  whi'-h  this  deficiency  prevails  in  the  g:ang  districts 
in:i'.  U*  'tuU'trt'i\  from  t!ie  fact  that,  in  a  parish  of  Cambridgeshire 
tortnnUtt'j  of  t'tirhiovn  thousand  acres,  the  whole  of  which  is  the 
j»r'flft^y  of  \\i«'  Duke  of  Bedford,  the  labour  required  for  its  cnlti- 
»ii*i'/ri  *  7iri  onl%  U*  obtained  from  a  distance  of  between  seven  and 
tr/itr  itiiU'%.  In  fttatiii{2:  this,  it  is  far  from  our  intention  to  impute 
hii't  h|K'f  i.'i!  blamr  to  liis  Grace  for  «-in  omission  which  is  common 
to  \iitn  and  many  otiier  g:reat  proprietors,  but  we  record  it  as  a 
%UiUtnir  iuhinnrr  of  the  neglect  by  landlonls  of  their  tme  interests 
w»  J<'cft  t)i:iri  of  tlie  welfare  of  the  people  whom  they  employ.  There 
rfi<-  iii>.UuiH  lit  t)ie  ff'iis,  in  which  estates  consisting  of  200  and 
«y/>  m  M'li  do  not  possess  a  single  resident  labourer,  and  of  which 
thf  iiiitmi  ^^UU  two  or  three  servants  are  tlie  only  inhabitants 
J  )i(-  popuhitloii  of  tlir  town  of  Spalding,  in  Lincolnshire,  con- 
feiti>f  •!  in  1><<JI,  of  >S72.'J  jKTsons,  nearly  the  whole  of  whom  were 
ijvf  j«  ijltijiiil  liiUiijivrM.  >So  in  the  Isle  of  Ely,  which  consists 
itiinimi  <-fif  jn-lv  oi  frii  land  under  tillage,  the  labouring  popula- 
tj«/ij  \ty  wlii<  li  it  is  rnjtivated  is  almost  entirely  located  in  large 
lifMiik  iiifd  villap'tf  dihtaiit  seven  or  eight  miles  from  each  other, 
wjtli  biujd'ly  an  Intervening:  cottage  between  them. 

'J 'lie  pifi)M'i'  pio|Hirtion  of  cottages  to  an  estate  is  supposed  to 
lie  five  OI  bix  lor  every  five  hundred  acres.  The  present  Eiarl  of 
lifirehtei  ih  li  noble  example  of  a  great  landed  proprietor  alive  to  the 
neceithity  of  bti]>|}|yin^  an  important  social  want  and  of  redeeming 
die  f^eononiiral  errors  which  his  predecessors  committed  in  the 
manu}r(*nieiit  of  their  princely  domains.  '  I  have  no  hesitation,' 
he  said  at  a  meeting  of  a  Norfolk  Agricultural  Association,  and 
speaking  from  his  own  experience,  *  that  where  there  is  a  deficiency 
of  cottages,  the  supplying  that  deficiency  is  one  of  the  best  in- 
vestments 


: 


Agriculttiral  Gangs.  189 

vestments  a  landlord  can  make'  Previously  to  the  enactment  of 
18i^5,  by  wticU  the  area  of  rating  was  extended,  it  had  r>ccurred 
to  him  that  it  would  be  desirable  to  provide  bouses  for  labourers 
in  the  pariiihes  in  which  they  were  employed,  even  though  by  so 
dioinf^T  the  certainty  of  increased  rates  was  incurredj  but  after  the 
passing  of  that  Act  there  could  no  longer  exist  a  doubt ;  but  he 
added  that,  although  he  was  the  owner  of  521  coLtag^es,  providing 
450  able-bodied  kbrmrers  fur  his  estates,  there  still  remained  a 
deficiency  of  500  to  be  procured  from  a  distance.  When  men 
liave  to  walk  three  or  four  miles  to  and  from  their  work  In  all 
weathers,  we  ought  not  to  feel  any  surprise  that  they  should  seek 
in  emigration,  or  in  some  other  occupation  at  home,  those  com- 
forts and  conveniences  of  life  which  the  conditions  of  agricul- 
tural employment  deprive  them  of.  Wherever  there  are  mines 
or  manufactures  within  reach  of  his  home,  the  result  has  been, 
as  in  the  counties  of  the  north-west  from  Worcestershire  to  North 
Lancashire,  little  short  of  the  abandonment  of  agriculture  by  the 
English  labourer,  and  the  substitution  in  his  place  of  the  Irish 
emigrant.  The  manufacturing  districts  are  drawing  year  after 
year  increasing  supplies  of  workmen  from  the  country,  and  we 
have  now  the  unsatisfactory  social  phenomenon  of  a  constantly 
increasing  urban  and  town  population  with  a  dwindling  rural 
people. 

The  gang  system  is  stated  by  the  Commissioners  to  be 
greatly  on  the  increase.  It  is  already  resorted  to  in  counties  ill 
which  there  is  no  excuse  in  any  deficiency  of  population  for 
its  adoption,  and,  If  not  checked  by  timely  legislation  it  will 
spread  like  a  moral  leprosy  over  the  land.  We  have  been 
shocked  by  the  former  revelations  of  the  Commissioners  of 
little  git  Is  wielding  sledge-hammers  and  working  as  black- 
smiths, of  young  boys  exposed  night  and  day  to  the  fearful  heat 
of  glass-furnaces,  of  infants  pent  up  in  fetitl  garrets  and  damp 
cellars  sinking  under  the  effects  of  premature  and  exhausting 
labour,  and  we  cannot  fail  to  be  impressed  with  the  frightful  evils 
which  seem  to  be  inseparable  from  agricultural  gangs.  The 
children  employed  in  them  may  not  be  liable  to  the  same  physical 
deterioration  as  those  engaged  in  lace-making  and  straw- plaiting, 
for  they  breathe  the  pure  air  of  heaven  while  occupied  in  their 
yearly  round  of  toil,  but  they  are  enveloped  in  an  atmosphere 
of  moral  corruption,  paralleled  probably  only  in  the  interior  of 
Africa,  It  is  for  the  State  to  interpose  to  avert  the  evils  with 
which  the  country  is  threatened  from  the  continuance  of  this 
frightful  abuse,  and  to  become  the  protector  of  those  who  are 
unable  to  protect  themselves.  Its  interposition  has  been  invoked 
even  by  the  parents  of  the  little  victims  of  cupidity  and  opprcs- 


sj'.n.  •      V'ij»    vu*    T'-ni^f  •    nil"    n?    difiimt'  w    djcofm.  ir  ir 
111*    biin'r*-.     tJii*.    1    fi*'    ur«    i«!t-  T-itiiini*  nr    ■ » ■■■  iiaa  SBBores 

liit:    su:i»    ^i:    iiti*r    ti«ruu«*-ni'fir   n    viiici.  ivmedB^  ^vriL  il»  nu 

j'.iijr?'"  f'  1-  ii-i'i»     iif    ;ii»T   rial   vil    laivi   j 
aac  •-.•IT  :'i»"i» 

W*  v.ixj*  u:i»   '.iu*   T'-niu-ij   vrj.  tiiB    excel  iar 
tLf  r^  :*s  !:  .MM:»ii*r-!L  w  v  liwn   Ui*   luuiiz  i^we^  l  ueir  uf 
fir  :.:j*'i-    u*^*.^:iu*- ii;  •-:  ;i-.i:iuv   u    inif    ii:  uh    iimis*  binft  m.  rte 
cLlt»'.i»-  '.i:   t  •■  «  .  .w;:    •.•iiuiir7  via:a  puulir 

*  Ii   .n»>:    \i  lilt   rt«u:u  tif  iiitaiuiir  iuA  imiilii  |PBi^  ' 
ler^.A^.'^i  r»'riau;..-.iii»  mi^iuic    i**  \.   cimmuHL  im  dimiBZUB.  if  an 

lirr  jr;:»tT  Lfi-ir  -.luii.n.  y  ur'i'.'ui'uru.  ii.SKiir  ii  ftunuuk  wi 

LfcJ•:^^":'^  L^i  v*L^->.  :i:r  .r?  ui*  !u.:i:nr*ni£  iniic  s.  "SifiH  oiRcazi^  ; 
1*   I.-.    l-«    lif  ^■ta-«uff*MU*    jj.    ui    wj-.mintJSLl  pnnn    nf  thw  «• 
ectliT'*?.  IT  lii*  w-T:r   .•?  "saiit  Uii  Rnnirsi.  unv  iiiniiu.  sw 

fi»i.5">=  iT.»ij'.vji  «:  'mU*  jt.'.».iir\^  Liii  •:  i-i*  LxJiCrat:  -f^cnr ; 
in  '■Li.L  1^  :iij«cL.i  ihlj  n^^t  s-u'.itti  Ujt  ilicw  nzn.  4£  lu^intflii 
si*  x^iiJtL:z.-i.z  -f  itL*tA'7  ij  li»*  iTtrar:^^^  Kg  of  ncc&ipfib.  jt »i> ik 
CTfii^::_:i-v::- r  -f  j'.:l>j*  .f  "Jjt  }-"l:L:  rt-'g:  h-iks  i*"«'t  Iwbl  w-  shbj 

TL-:v  :::-.-  \^_  -...'L.'^-.s.rLA  ;^l-  i:  ai":  :•  'ilj  t:i*i  iDis:;*!  7*3.  iiH  ^ai 
l^AL  :i£  iVii  TTi'i  ij*"!!  ^.*  n  ia.i.fr-*  -  :  ■»1_:1  liifj  in*rf  rx  air 

ETerr  r:^**,..^**  o.^;r.  •.•.:::: ^  •^.  r-^-*^  i^-J*-  '.'.r-LCr  fc«VB 


*  '  •  *-5A*»*-7  iyj^.  mid  a  cr  ti^r,  •  :Li:  &  liv  itiy  b*  pooM  to  pRrcat  pik 
M/'M^  Ivr  b*^v«  ^SLfict  rtfaie  •*£*  aoc«rT/ 


Art. 


Art.  Vlll— 1.  The  Alps  of  Hannibal  By  William  John  Law, 
M.A.,  formerlj  student  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford,     1866* 

2.  A    Treatiae  on  HarmUmVs  Fasmge  of  the  Ahsy  in  ichick  his 
^  route  is  traced  met  the  Little  Mortt  Cenis.     By  Robert  Ellis, 

B.D.J  Fellow  of  St.  John's  College,  CaDibridge,     1854. 

3,  Two  Papers  hj  the  mme  Author.  '  Journal  of  Classical  and 
Sacred  Philology/     Vols,  IL  and  III*     Cambridge^  1856, 

i^  An  Enqnin/  into  the  Ancient  Routes  between  Jtatt/  and  Gauh 
with  an  Examimtion  of  the  Theori/  of  Hannihafs  Pamtge  of  the 
Afjn  bfj  the  Little  St,  Benmrd,    By  Robert  Ellis,  B.D,     1867. 

5.  The  iMareh  (f  Hanmhal  from  the  E/mne  to  the  Alps.  By  Henry 
Lawes  Long,  Esq.     London,  1K3L 

6.  Dissertation  on  the  Passaf/e  of  Hannihat  aver  the  Alps.  By  the 
Ren  (Dean)  Cramer  and  G,  L,  Wickham,  Esq.     1820. 

THE  happy  touches  of  ingenious  absurdity  which  adorn  the 
character  of  Scott's  Antiquary  are  so  easily  to  be  paralleled 
in  the  theories  of  many  among^  the  speculators  on  the  great  Car- 
thaginian march,  thaE  it  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  appropriate 
text  for  the  head  of  this  article  than  Mr,  01dbuck*s  learned  dis- 
qnisition  on  the  camp  of  Agricola  and  the  Kaim  of  Kinprunei. 
The  investigation  of  doubtful  historical  sites  is  a  dignified  and 
praiseworthy  pursuit,  if  carried  on  with  scientific  and  scbolarlike 
tdcaetnesSf  and  a  comparatively  innocent  one  even  when  eDthusiasnt 
persuades  itself  into  perversity.  But  as  the  practical  value  of  the 
pursuit  IS  only  to  be  measured  by  the  extent  to  which  it  attains 
historical  truth,  the  kindest  office  of  the  disinterested  critic  is 
t0  set  antiquarian  ingenuity  right  whenever  it  ^oes  visibly  wrong, 
as  ruthless])'  as  Edie  Ochiltree  turned  Mr.  Oldbuck*s  sacri5cial 
vessel  and  its  inscription  a^dx.l.  {Agricola  Dicavit  Lihenx 
LuhenM)  into  *  Aiken  Drum's  Lang  Ladle/ 

Between  Domo  d'  Ossola  and  Barcelonnettc,  there  is  scarcely  a 
practicable  pass  of  the  main  chain  of  the  Aljis,  or  a  passable 
route  leadinpr  towards  the  main  chalnj  over  which  some  theorist 
has  not  carried  Hannibars  8000  cavalry,  37  elephants,  and 
40,000  infantry.  The  Simplon,  Great  Sl  Bernard,  Col  de  La 
Seig^ne  and  Allee  Blanche,  Little  St.  Bernard,  Mont  Cenis, 
Gcn^vre  and  Col  de  Sestrieres,  Col  d^Argentiere  and  Monte 
Visoj  have  all  in  turn  found  promoters  of  their  claims,  in  virtue 
of  some  supposed  peculiar  congruity  with  the  words  of  either 
Pol)  bius  or  Livy,  Mont  Blanc  himself  has  been  gravely  iden- 
tified by  a  'jurisconsult'  of  Annety  with  'a  certain  defensible 
white  rock/  about  which  Hannibal  once  stood  to  arms  with  half 
bis  forces  all  night  long.  Traditions,  which  must  claim  a  con- 
tinuity of  two  thousand  years  to  give  them  any  value,  are  enlisted 

on 


192  Hamtibars  Pmsaqe  of  thi  A(p$, 

on  all  sides.  The  local  guide  of  Mr.  WicHiiun  and  Mn  Cramer 
talkeiT  freely  of  Hapnlbal^s  march  up  the  Little  St»  Bernard  *  in 
the  time  of  the  Saracen*/  of  tlic  g:reat  battle  at  the  foot  of  tlie 
Roche  Blanche^  and  of  the  bones  of  mighty  beasts  still  washed 
out  of  the  soil  of  the  ravine  above  it.  A  druidical  circle  on 
the  summit  of  the  same  pass  is  consecrated  by  the  peasants  to  a 
council  of  war  held  by  Hannibal.  M.  Larauza  again  was  shown 
the  Coma  Rossa  near  the  Mont  Cenis  by  the  country  folk  to 
whom  *  leurs  ancicns  aVaient  raconte  qu'nn  fameux  g-encral 
nomme  Anniiial  tHait  passe  par  la  il  y  a  bien  lon^tems  i  whence* 
he  concluded  '  tres  naturellement  que  ce  fut  la  ce  promontorintn 
d*ou  ce  irr^nd  capitaine  montra  Tltalie  a  son  armee/ 

A  remark  which  naturally  arises  on  the  surface  of  so  many- 
sided  a  controversy  is,  that  there  can  surely  exist  nothing  fit  to  be 
called  evidence  upon  the  question.  Yet  the  account  of  Hannibals 
march  preserved  in  the  }Ta^es  of  P0I3  bius  was  written  by  an  h^ 
torian  of  remarkable  jud^menty  clearness  of  intention,  and  pre- 
cision of  lanj^uage,  who  bad  enjoyed  peculiar  opportunities  of 
learning  the  facts,  and  had  no  interest  in  distorting  them.  He 
knew  intimately  Roman  generals  and  statesmen  who  had  fought 
against  the  grreat  Carthaginian  invader  He  explored  in  person^ 
and  for  the  purposes  of  his  narrative,  the  track  of  Hannibal  across 
the  Alps  within  some  fifty  years  after  the  march  took  place,  and 
within  some  forty  years  after  Hasdrubal  repeated  the  adventurous 
ejtploit  over  the  same  line,  to  reinforce  his  brother*s  dwindling 
legions  in  Italy*  At  such  a  date  the  local  memories  and  traditions 
of  a  passage  that  was  b<nh  recent  and  rare  would  be  fresh  and 
strong.  If  any  tale  is  entitled  to  credit  which  does  not  profess  to  be 
told  by  an  actual  spectator  of  its  incidents,  if  any  writer  deserves 
attention  upon  a  particular  point  from  the  general  character  of 
his  writings  on  other  points,  the  evidence  of  Polybius  is  worthy 
of  implicit  confidence  as  that  of  a  competent  and  unbiassed 
inquirer  at  the  best  source  of  information,  describing  clearly  and 
consistently  facts  which  he  had  taken  special  pains  lo  understand^ 
and  which  he  was  desirous  of  explaining  unmistakably  after  his 
own  manner.  Whatever  be  the  reason  why  the  passage  of 
Hannibal  should  have  remained  so  long  a  veied  historical  ques* 
titin,  it  is  not  because  the  evidence  of  the  nearest  accessible 
witness  is  incapable  of  a  simple  and  obvious  interpretation*  It 
has  been  found  possible  to  impute  ambiguity  to  the  account 
given  by  Polybius,  mainly  because  modern  readers  have  been  too 
anxious  to  reconcile  it  with  the  statements  and  opinions  of  the 
more  brilliant  but  looser  Roman  historian  of  a  hundred  and  fiftv 
years  later,  and  too  prone  to  treat  the  Augustan  writer  as  an 
equally  original  and  equally  trustworthy  authority  with  the 
Greek,  whose  details  be  translated,  and  e.\|iauded,  and  misundcr- 

stixxj, 


Hanuihars  Passage  of  the  Alps,  103 

stood,  and  threw  aside,   at  his  pleasure,  and  witbaut  acknow* 
lede^ment. 

Dr.  A  mold  J  in  both  text  and  notes  of  hb  Roman  history, 
depreciates  the  g^eographtcal  ability  of  PolybiuSj  and  attributes 
the  supposed  iiTemoveable  uncertainty  of  the  route  entirely  to 
hii  want  of  *a  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  bearings  of  the  country,* 
and  of  ^sufficient  liveliness  as  a  painter,  to  describe  the  line  of 
the  march  so  as  to  be  clearly  recognised/ 

*  To  any  man  who  comprehended  the  whole  djajactcr  of  a  mountain 
conntry,  and  the  nature  of  its  passes,  nothing  could  have  been  easiei* 
than  to  have  conveyed  at  once  a  clear  idea  of  Hanuibftre  touto,  by 
naming  the  valley  by  which  he  had  ascended  to  the  main  chain,  and 
afterwards  that  which  he  followed  in  descending  from  it.  Or  ad- 
mitting that  the  names  of  barbarian  rivers  wonld  have  conveyed  little 
infonoation  to  Greek  readers,  Ktill  the  eeveral  Alpioo  valleys  bavo 
each  their  peculiar  character,  and  an  observer  with  the  least  power  of 
deacription  could  have  given  such  lively  tonchea  of  the  varying  scenery 
of  the  march,  that  future  travellers  must  at  once  have  recognised  Ids 
description/  • 

Arnold  regards  the  *  rare  sterility  of  fancy/  particularised  by 
Gibbon  as  one  of  the  most  valuable  elements  of  Polybius' 
character,  as  a  fatal  defect.  Niebuhr  (as  appears  from  bis  lec- 
tures published  by  Dr.  Leonhard  Schmits!)  formed  a  far  higher 
and  jnstcr  estimate  of  the  power  of  Polybius  to  convey  a  clear 
impression  of  the  scenery  of  his  history.  Niebuhr  and  Mommsen 
are  both  satisfied ,  and  Arnold  concurs  with  them  in  thinking, 
that  Hannibal  crossed  the  Alps  by  the  Little  St  Bernard.  Mr, 
LaWj  the  latest  upholder  of  this  route,  is  jostified  in  reminding' 
those  who  may  rely  upon  Arnold  s  authority  for  the  idea  that 
Polybius  was  an  incompetent  geographical  describer,  that  the 
only  possible  sonrce  from  which  Arnold  can  have  drawn  a  single 
argument  or  indication  of  an  arg:ument  to  warrant  his  own  belief 
is  the  narrative  of  the  slighted  Greek  historian* 

To  do  Polybius  justice,  we  must  not  only  comprehend  but 
acquiesce  in  the  method  which  he  lays  down  in  so  many  words 
as  the  one  he  intends  to  folloiv.  It  was  certainly  not  his  business 
to  identify  a  controverted  route  by  the  distinguishing  marks 
between  it  and  other  passages  across  the  Alpine  chain  that  have 
become  familiar  to  travellers  living  2000  years  later.  There 
wag  no  such  controversy  in  his  day  ;  ond  there  is  no  reason  to 
suppose  that  be  explored  a  single  pass,  except  the  one  over  which 
he  iollowed  the  recognised  track  of  Han nl bah  The  Alps  were 
an  unknown  country  to  the  Greek  audience  to  which  Polybius 
spake  ;  and  Arnold's  admission  that  the  barbarian  names  of  rivers 

•  *  Arnold's  Rome,'  vol,  iiu  p.  479. 

Vol  123.— iVb.  2  #5.  o  mii 


194 


ffannibarM  Pasioge  ^fihe  AlpM. 


smA  valleyt  wouM  convey  little  information  to  gudi  is  M  oace 
scanty  and  superfluous,  when  the  historian  pxpresslj  repudiates 
that  ftyle  of  explanation  as  eauivalcnt  in  their  case  to  unintelli- 
gible and  inarticulate  babble.*  To  place  ourselves  in  th« 
position  of  111  s  proper  readers,  we  should  lay  aside  not  onlj  our 
power  of  referring  to  accurate  Alpine  maps,  but  our  meresc 
schoolboy  ideas  of  the  relative  positions  of  the  various  localities^ 
Wi  must  interpret  Folybius  by  himself,  and  himself  only,  Th* 
gecgnphical  scheme  laid  down  at  the  commencement  of  his 
nwiative  of  the  miirch  must  be  the  basis  on  which  our  geogra- 
phical conceptions  of  the  march  are  to  grow.  We  give  the 
expboatjon  of  tliat  basis  from  the  36th  chapter  of  the  third  book 
of  hii  history,  as  rendered  by  Mr,  Law  : — 

*  For  so  long  as  the  mmd  has  nothing  to  lay  hold  of,  and  eamiol 
apply  the  worda  to  any  known  ideas,  the  uarmtive  is  w-itbont  opdar 
ind  without  poiut,  Wherefor©  a  way  is  to  be  shown  by  which, 
fiiotigh  speakiug  of  unknown  things,  it  is  praeticablG  to  hi-ing  one*s 
hn(Lrc-rs  in  some  measure  to  conceptions  that  havo  truth  and  knowledge. 
Tbe  first  and  main  thing  to  know,  and  which  all  men  may  know,  it 
the  difision  and  sjmngement  of  the  firmament  which  surrooixda  us; 
hy  tk&  perception  of  which  all  of  us,  that  is  all  in  whom  lhef«  ia 
usefulness,  comprehend  oa^t,  west,  south,  and  north.  Neii  is  thai 
knowledge  by  which,  apportioning  tho  several  regions  of  the  earth 
iooording  to  those  distinctions,  wo  come  to  have  d«ir  and  familiag 
nottons  about  pkoes  unknown  to  us  and  unseen.' 

Where  the  bearings  given  by  Polybius  are  not  absolutely 
correct  bj  the  compass,  we  must  take  them  as  they  iire,  instead 
of  amending  them  by  exacter  modern  observations.  When, 
therefore,  we  are  remiiided  that  tbe  Rhone  does  not  rise  in  fart, 
:ls  Poly  hi  us  says  it  does,  over  the  head  of  the  Adriatic  Gulf,  but 
rather  in  the  longitude  of  the  Gulf  of  Genoa;  that  HamiihaFs 
course  up  the  Rhone  from  the  sea  towards  tlio  midland  regions 
of  Europe  was  not  eastward  in  fact,  as  Pol}  bins  says,  but 
directly  northerly ;  we  deny  that  the  proved  error  in  these 
bearings  should  cast  any  doubt  on  tbe  conclusiveness  of  his 
gsogmphical  description  of  the  general  line  of  march^  or  of  par- 
tifTuIar  points  in  it,  if  they  are  defined  by  reference  to  a  measure 
or  mark  which  in  itself  is  unmistakable.  The  belief  that  the 
general  course  of  the  Rhone  from  its  source  to  its  mouth  ran  in  i 
westerly  or  south-westerly  line  or  curve  was  perfectly  consisteci 
with  an  accurate  knowleclge  of  the  topography  of  the  river  as  far 
as  it  was  visited  by  Poly  bins  in  tracing  the  route  of  HannibaL 

It  flows  as  a  natural  consequence  from  the  historian's  method 


iliord^osf  leal  K^w^^ittrmmt  Xi^i^if* 


of  dcscribmg  the  unknown  throu^li  its  reference  to  the  known, 
that  the  outlines  of  actual  scenery  given  should  be  as  broad  and 
simple  as  possible,  descending  into  local  detail  only  where  such 
detail  is  required  for  the  illustration  of  a  particular  incident, 
and  that  the  distances  along  the  river  and  the  closeness  of  ad- 
herence to  the  river's  banks  should  be  measured  broadly  and 
largely,  without  countinf^  every  wayward  bend,  Strabo  uses 
phrases  which  imply  that  such  was  the  recognised  scholastic 
method,  *  in  speaking^  of  other  measurements  by  Poly  hi  us  of 
rivers  and  coastlines^  We  are  bound  moreover  to  demand  that 
the  words  of  the  story  should  be  construed  throughout  in  the 
plainest  and  simplest  sense  of  which  they  are  capable.  Inter- 
preters of  a  straightforward  narrative,  constructed  to  convey  ita 
own  meaning  in  itself  to  readers  ignorant  of  the  localities,  and 
poftiessing  no  charts  or  books  of  reference  to  help  them,  have 
no  right  to  go  about  ferretting  into  the  innermost  recesBes  of  a 
word  or  a  phrase^  to  put  upon  it  a  secondary  meaning  that  shall 
coincide  with  a  preconceived  historical  theory, 

Reading  Polyfoius  on  these  broad  principles,  we  think  there  is 
no  doubt  that  Hannibal  went  over  the  Little  St  Bernard,  and 
found  his  way  to  it  by  the  Mont  du  Chat,  Ccelius  Antipater, 
the  earliest  author  after  Poly bi us  of  whose  belief  on  the  subject 
we  know  anything^  is  quoted  by  Livy  as  taking  Hannibal  across 
the  *Cremonis  jugam.'  This  name  apparently  remains  as  Mont 
Cram  out,  and  Livy  further  fixes  the  pass  as  the  Little  St,  Ber- 
nard, by  the  remark  that  it  and  the  Penine  Alp  (or  Great  St. 
Bernard)  lead  down  to  the  Salassi  and  Libui,  Cornelius  Nepos^ 
Livy's  contemporary,  speaks  of  the  St  Bernard  range,  or  '  Saltus 
Grains,'  as  taking  its  name  from  Hercules,  in  words  which 
naturally,  but  not  necessarily,  may  be  held  to  mean  that  the 
mythical  route  of  the  Greek  hero  was  identical  with  that  used 
in  fact  by  the  Carthaginian,  We  name  these  writers  only  to  set 
them  off,  so  to  speak,  against  the  opposite  opinions  of  Livy  and 
Strabo ;  standing  by  Poly  bins  as  the  only  extant  source  of  any 
true  knowledge  in  detail  by  which  the  route  can  be  proved.  The 
earliest  modem  inquirer,  who  by  personal  investigation  with 
Poly  bi  us  in  his  hand  arrived  at  a  conviction  in  favour  of  the 
Little  St  Bernard,  was  General  Melville,  in  1775*  His  notes 
on  the  subject  were  communicated  to  Mr,  Whitaker,  a  Cornish 
clergj  man,  and  to  M,  De  Luc  of  Geneva.  Mr.  Whitaker  threw 
aside  General  Melville's  discovery  to  find  an  original  line  for 
hioiBeif  by  Martigny  and  the  Great  St  Bernard.     In  1818  M. 

*  ^^  ^^t  M  KarttK&Kwi^Qmi  and  de^irhei^  96  Si^ou  r^  ^  r§if  eK^Ki^fnaffUft  «^ 

o2  De 


De  Luc  puliUshed  die  substance  of  the  Generars  ootcs,  witli  an 
itnpoftant  correction  of  his  own  upon  the  niarcJi  from  the  Rhooe 
to  the  foot  of  the  pass.  In  1820  Sir,  Wickh&m  and  Mr,  Cramer 
supported  De  Luc*s  view  m  a  '  Dissertatioti '  published  at 
Oxford,  No  writer  has  followed  on  the  same  side  (many  on 
behalf  of  several  rival  hvpotheses)  before  Mn  Law,  the  most 
esthaustive  of  all  the  controversialists.  The  most  ingenious 
pleader  for  the  most  plausible  alternative  is  Mr,  Ellis,  Fellow  of 
St*  John's  College,  Cambridge,  who  takes  the  Little  Mont  Cenis 
under  his  protection,  and  leaves  no  stone  antnrncd  that  may  help 
to  lay  a  foundauoa  for  his  edifice  of  proof. 

Before  entering  on  the  story  of  the  march  as  told  by  Poly  hi  us, 
let  us  glance  at  the  probabilities  of  the  case,  as  ihey  are  to  be 
gathered  from  his  previous  statements  upon  the  policy  and  con- 
duct of  Hannibal's  daring  invasion.  We  are  distinctly  ioformed^ 
that  the  feasibility  of  this  great  conce^ition  was  in  the  mind  of 
the  Carthaginian  General  entirely  based  upon  the  active  assist- 
ance of  the  Cisalpine  Gauls,  Before  crossing  the  Ebro,  he  had 
sent  envoy  after  envoy  to  induce  the  Gaulish  chieftains  of  the 
Alps  and  of  the  plain  of  the  Po  to  enter  into  an  offensive  alliance 
against  Rome.  The  Cisalpine  Gauls  were  so  ready  to  embrace 
the  opportunity  that,  in  the  belief  of  his  early  arrival,  derived 
from  the  messenj^'ers  who  had  passed  to  and  fro,t  their  principal 
trilie^  the  Insubres,  and  their  neighbours  the  Boii,  broke  truce 
with  Rome  and  attacked  her  new  colonies  on  the  Po  before 
Hannibal  had  crossed  the  Pyrenees.  Envoys  of  rank  from  the 
■ame  tribes  met  him  after  his  passage  of  the  Rhone,  ami  accom- 
panied him  into  Italy.  All  considerations  of  policy  seem  to 
point  to  such  a  route  through  the  mountains  as  would  descend 
into  the  plain  at  a  point  where  the  pre-eminence  of  ihe  Inaubres 
was  recognised.  It  is  known  that  the  chief  town  of  the  Insubres 
was  Mediolanum  (Milan) ;  it  is  probable  that  the  Lai,  Libni, 
or  Lebecii,  mentioned  elsewhere  by  Poly  hi  us  as  the  Gaulish 
tribes  who  200  years  earlier  had  settled  higher  up  the  Po  than 
the  InsuhreSj  but  never  mentioned  by  him  as  antagonists  to 
Rome  or  as  historically  important  at  the  time  of  the  second 
Punic  war,  were  then  subordinate  to  the  Insubrian  supremacy. 
Their  position  is  known  from  Livy  to  have  been  between  the 
Insubres  and  the  Salassi,  who  held  the  valley  of  the  Dora  Baltea, 
Farther  westward,  under  the  mountain  side,!  '^J  *^®  Taurini, 
the  nearest  Ligurian  neighbours  of  the  Gauls,  at  enmity  with  the 

litiV7i$tii)  8iftir#fH£ffor  rir  wph  tow  ^LMr^wp^ftt  *h  ravs  wpofipit^itfovt  4^{i(«^#«i  ^Sm^vt 

Insubres, 


Hannihars  Pasmge  of  the  Alps, 

Instibres,  aad  deaf  to  all  proffers  of  alliance  from  the  Carthaginian 
invader.  Even  before  hearing  from  Poljbius  that,  when  the 
last  danger  of  the  Alpme  descent  was  left  bebind,  Hannibal 
came  boldly  down  into  the  plains  about  the  Po  and  the  country 
of  the  Insnbres,  should  we  not  say  that  this  was  the  very  d  irec- 
tion  in  which  he  should  most  rationally  be  looked  for?  From 
tlie  beginning  of  the  march  to  the  end,  Hannibal,  as  the  historian 
expressly  tells  us,  pursued  bis  enterprise  *  in  the  most  business- 
like manner  ;*  for  he  had  investigated  accurately  the  nature  of 
the  country  which  be  designed  to  come  down  upon^  and  the 
estrangement  of  the  population  from  the  Romans/  Until  he 
was  ready  to  strike  bis  first  blow  in  Italy  itself,  he  sedulously 
husbanded  his  strength^  and  had  as  little  as  possible  to  do  with 
any  but  those  who  were  about  to  share  the  hopes  and  fortunes  of 
the  Carthaginian  cause ♦ 

Passes  to  the  east  of  the  Little  St.  Bernard  would  equally 
brin^  Hannibal  among  the  InsubreSj  either  directly  or  through 
the  Libai,  By  passes  to  the  west,  again,  he  might  undoubtedly 
have  found  a  more  direct  line  into  Italy  from  the  Lower  Rhane, 
if  he  valued  the  reasons  to  which  we  bave  adverted  as  lightly  as 
some  of  the  critics  who  have  speculated  on  bis  course.  We 
must  look  to  the  narrative  itself  for  the  clue  that  leads  decisively 
to  the  Little  St  Bernard,  rather  than  to  the  (jreat  St  Bernard 
or  Simplon  on  the  one  bandj  or  the  Mont  Cenis  or  Genevre  on 
the  either.  The  landscape  of  Polybius  is  simple,  clear^  and 
consistent,  if  we  trust  it  altogether;  confusing  and  unintelligible, 
if  we  disregard  or  distort  any  of  its  details.  The  historian  first 
tells  us  shortly  that  Hannibal  crossed  the  Rhone  at  a  certain 
point,  from  which  he  marched  up  the  river  a  certain  distance, 
till  he  came  up<m  and  crossetl  the  Alpine  range,  marching  in  so 
many  days  a  certain  number  of  stadia  from  plain  to  plain.  He 
tells  us  in  detail  that  in  the  march  up  the  Rhone  Hannibal 
reached  a  district  called  the  Island,  bounded  by  the  rivers  Rhone 
and  Isere  and  the  mountains  which  stretch  from  the  one  to  the 
^  other-  After  certain  transactions  in  this  island^  Hannibal 
marched  a  further  distance  (still  along  the  river)  to  the  first 
ascent  of  Alps,  over  ground  practicable  for  cavalry,  and  through 
the  country  of  the  Allobroges,  He  forced  the  first  Alpine 
barrier  against  Allobrogian  enemies,  antl  descended  by  a  pre- 
cipitous path  on  Its  further  side*  He  then  proceeded  without 
annoyance  for  several  days  through  a  productive  and  easy  country. 
On  the  day  before  reaching  the  summit  of  the  main  chain,  he 
came  to  a  difficult  defile  with  a  prominent  white  rock  at  its 


•  ximf  irp«7^ioTi«BT. 


lower 


198  HamiiaTs  Pauoffe  oftli€  Alp$. 

lower  end,  where  he  fought  a  battle  with  the  mountaineers. 
During  the  first  day  of  descent  on  the  Italian  side,  the  army 
was  stopped  by  a  breach  in  the  road,  and  fell  upon  a  drift  of  the 
last  year's  snow.  Shortly  below  this  point  was  a  pasture  ralley ; 
from  which  Hannibal  marched  down  into  the  plain  and  among 
the  Insubres. 

*  These  things/  says  Mr.  Law,  '  with  the  arrangement  of  the 
whole  track  of  the  march  into  intelligible  sections,  and  the 
assigning  to  each  of  them  its  proper  measurement  and  period  of 
time,  these  are  the  landmarks  of  Polybius ;  more  or  less  strong, 
when  taken  separately ;  conclusire,  when  combined.' 

Only  two  alternative  points  hare  ever  been  imagined  to  suit 
the  scene  of  Hannibal's  passage  of  the  Rhone ;  the  reach  above 
Roquemaure,  and  the  neighbourhood  of  Tarascon.  Polybius 
marks  the  spot  by  the  river's  running  there  in  a  single  stream, 
and  by  the  distances  of  nearly  four  days'  journey  from  the  sea, 
and  four  days'  march  to  the  confluence  which  forms  the  island. 
Both  places  can  claim  a  *  single  stream,'  *  if  the  words  are  held 
simply  to  refer  to  the  bifurcation  of  the  Rhone,  alike  below  both. 
The  weightier  import  of  the  phrase  would  be  better  satisfied  at 
Roquemaure,  as  the  single  stream  there  is  undivided  by  islands, 
and  the  reach  is  above  the  confluence  of  the  Durance.  To  have 
crossed  the  Rhone  below  the  junction  of  this  river  would  have 
given  Hannibal  all  the  practical  disadvantages  of'  a  doable 
channel,  by  forcing  him  unnecessarily  to  cross  a  second  stream. 
The  test  of  distances  decides  conclusively  in  favour  of  Roque* 
maure,  which  stands  about  65  Roman  miles  from  the  eastern 
mouth  of  the  Rhone,  and  75  (or  600  stadia)  from  the  confluence 
of  Rhone  and  Isere ;  a  reasonable  four  days'  journey  either  way. 
Tarascon,  nearly  30  miles  farther  down  the  stream,  is  therefore 
only  35  miles  distant  from  the  sea,  and  105  from  the  confluence*; 
spaces  which  can  hardly  be  reduceil  into  any  approximate  equality.! 

Af^er  bringing  his  elephants  across  the  river  (an  operation 
described  by  his  unimaginative  chronicler  with  such  clearness  ol 
detail  as  brings  the  scene  before  the  eyes  of  the  reader,  and 
explains  why  it  was  espcKrially  necessary  to  choose  an  open  nn- 
islanded  reach  for  the  transit  of  these  unwieldy  liWng  engines  of 
war),  Hannibal  took  bis  course  along  the  river  *away  from  the 

t  Bat  for  a  ientence  in  Polybius,  wbidi  mentioiis  Roman  milestones  as  settling 
the  distances  from  Spain  as  far  as  the  passage  of  the  Rhone,  and  the  Hd  that 
Tanscon  afterwards  became  the  crossing-place  of  the  great  Roman  road  between 
Spain  and  Italy,  there  wookl  probably  nerer  hare  arisen  any  controren^  oo  this 
point.  And  this  sentence  is  pronounced  by  adrocatea  of  either  crocsmg.  Dr. 
Ukert  and  Mr.  Law,  to  be  necessarily  sporions  or  misplaced,  as  Roman  toms  and 
Soman  dominioii  in  Ganl  were  alike  aon-ezistent  in  Polybios*  time. 


BamtibaTi  Passage  of  the  Alps, 


'  ie&  as  towards  the  east,  as  if  for  tlie  midland  regions  of  Europe/ 
Undoubtedly  for  all  this  part  of  his  couree  the  Rhoue  runs  from 
north  to  south;  but  the  tangible  and  unmistakable  clue  is  the 
fact  of  marching  up  the  river-  The  error  in  the  bearings  is  con- 
sistent with  and  explained  hy  the  belief  of  Poly bius,*  that  the 
Rhone  rose  over  the  Adriatic  gulf  and  flowed  towards  the  i*  inter 
sunset  to  discharge  itself  into  the  Sardinian  sea.  If  we  imagine 
tlie  upiier  end  of  the  Valais  (perhaps  the  origin  of  the  *  funnel  'f 
through  which  Polybiuj  understood  the  Rhone  to  run  for  most  of 
its  course),  produced  eastward  as  far  as  the  longitude  of  Inns- 
bruck or  Botzen,  the  westing  made  by  the  river  between  its  source 
and  its  mouth  would  be  so  much  greater  than  the  southing,  that 
its  true  line  might  fairly  be  drawn  towards  the  winter  sunset,  and 
the  route  up  its  stream  called  easterly.  If  we  deal  broadly  and 
consistently  with  Poly  bins*  notions  of  geography  j  we  shall  find 
them  (even  where  inaccurate)  coherent  and  plain.  On  the  same 
principle  the  so- much  vexed  phrases,  *  along  the  river/  *  along 
the  river  itsellV| — ap[>ear  to  us  rightly  to  mean  a  continued 
parallelism  to  the  general  course  of  the  river  ;§  not  following 
every  sinuosity*  like  the  angle  at  Lyons,  of  which  Greek  readers 
knew  tiothiog  except  what  Polybius  might  hapj>en  to  tdl  them, 
but  going  by  chord  or  arc  from  the  point  of  crossing  to  the  point 
where  the  guidance  of  the  river  was  left  and  the  new  course  laid 
^mcross  the  mountains. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  no  particular  importance  attached  to 
the  proof  of  the  place  of  crossingj  beyond  the  satisfaction  of 
clearing  up  an  isolated  doubt,  since  it  is  agreed,  by  most  who 
disagree  about  all  subseciuent  details,  that  Hannibal  marched 
thence  straight  up  to  the  confluence  of  the  Rhone  and  Isere, 
Count  Fortia  D' Urban,  *  ancien  proprietaire  de  Lanipourdier, 
departement  de  Vaucluse  * — a  genuine  proprietor  of  a  Kaim  of 
Kinprune*— is  the  one  critic  whose  local  patriotism  impels  him  to 
deny  the  usual  identification  of  the  island,  and  to  carry  Hannibal 
eastward  and  away  from  the  Rhone  by  n  small  riser,  called  the 
Eygues,  immediately  after  crossing  at  Rocjuemaure.  It  is  in  regard 
to  the  measurements  of  the  several  stages  along  the  route  that  it 
ljt.*comes  importint  to  fix  the  point  of  crossing  indisputably.  Poly- 
bius states  two  equations  to  die  distance  travclletl  along  the  river  ; 
the  first  in  Chapter  39:  Jt  =  a^  from  the  crossing  to  the  first 
It  of  Alps,  II  1400  stadia;  the  second  in  Chapters  49  and  50: 

B  6  +  ^1  four  days'  march  from  the  crossing  up  to  the  ijlaiid, 


*  8lftt«d  in  bis  &ext  seulenoe  &  St  P^foj'os  k.  t,  k* 


t  Av^^M. 


200 


Hatmilafs  Passoffe  qftfie  Alps, 


atid   (after  naimtiDg  the  transactions  in  the  island)  8CH)  st*idLi 
nlong  the  river  to  the  'ascent  to  the  Alps/*     Tbe  two  equations 
ftjrrespond  exactly,  if  we  take  600  stadia  as  equivalent  to  the 
t'oor  dajs*  march ;  and  this  has  been  shown  already  to  suit  tJie 
position  of  Roquemaure,     The  agreement  of  two  different  melhods 
of  working  out  the  same  problem  at  least  proves  that  the  historian 
stated  the  problem  deliberately,     Mr,  Henry  Lawos  Long  (wht> 
belie^^es  in  the  Little  St,  Bernard,  but  not  in  the  Mont  du  Chat) 
disputes  the  identity  of  the  subject-mattej  of  the  two  equations, 
^md  makes  the  last  quoted  phrase  mean  the  ascent  tmviirth  the 
Alps;   which  be   places  at  Valence  or    near  the  apex  of   the 
island,  while  his  ascent  of  the  Alps  begins  some  OOU  stadia  ap 
the  Isere^  near  Fort  Barraux,     Mr.  Lnng*s  intuitive  scholarship 
teaches  him  to  repudiate  the  idea  that   'along  the  river  *t   can 
refer   to  any  river  but  the  Rhone  ;  but  inasmuch  as  800  stadia 
ure  less  than  the  distance  between  the  apex  i>f  tlie  island  and  the 
point  where  the  mountains  come  down  to  that  river,  if  the  bank 
he  strictly  followed  all  the  way  round  by  Lyons,  he  attributes  this 
measurement  to  the  length  of  river  travelled  below  the  confluence, 
or  to  the  neighbourhood  of  V^alence.     For  other  reasons  he  leads 
Hannibal  from  that  point  up  the  valley  of  the  here,  with  the 
ascent  totcdrds  the  Alps  already  begun  at  tbe  moment  of  leaving 
the  Rhone,  and  the  ascent  of  the  Alps  looming  in  the  distance 
far  behind  the  mountains  of  Grenoble,     This  fine-drawn  distinc- 
tion involves   the   innocent  Poly  bins   in   hopeless  confusion  of 
language.      It  saddles    him   with    three   different    ascents :     the 
*  ascent  of  the  Alps'  of  Chap.  39,  1400  st-idia  for  general   tra- 
vellers up  the  Rhone  itself  above  the  point  of  Hannibal's  crossing  ; 
the  ascent   of  Hannibal    towarifs   the  Alps    near   Valence,   800 
stadia  at  most  above  that  crossing  |  and  his  ascent  ^the  Alps, 
some  1400  stadia  up  a  mixed   course  of  Rhone  and  Isere,      It 
imports  an  inextricable  dilemma  into  the  49th  Chapter^  where 
we  are  told  that  the  escort  of  the  Gaulish   chief  guarded  the 
rear  of   the   CJarthaginiau   army   as    long    as   the  country   was 
level,  and  until  it  drew  near  to  the  crossing  of  the  Alps:{     Mr. 
Long  plarci  the  *  difficult   places '§  of  the  Allobrogian  attack 
(which  took  place  after  the  native  escort  had  departed  homeward) 
in  front  of  Grenoble,  and  some  days  before  his  first  ascent  of  Alps 
near  Fort  Barraux.     If  that  escort  retired  at  Mr.  Long's  ascent 
towarrh  the  Alps,  it  never  moved  a  yard.    If  it  turned  back  before 
Grenoble,   the  passage  over   the   Alps    commenced   some  days 
before  the  ascent  of  the  Alps,     Utrum  horum  mavis  aceipe^ 


The 


Hmmibats  Passage  of  ike  Alpx* 

The  island  is  described  by  Polybias  as  approximately  tti* 
angular — in  size  and  shape  like  the  Egyptian  Delta^  which  hi« 
countrYnien  knew — only  that  its  base  is  formed  not  by  sea,  but 
bj  *  mountains  difficult  of  approach,  difficult  to  penetrate,  and 
almost,  so  to  speak,  inaccessible/  Comincr  to  this  island,  and 
finding  in  it*  two  brothers  contending  in  the  field  for  the  sove- 
leignty,  Hanmbal  to<5k  part  with  the  elder  and  helped  him  to 
flrive  out  the  other. t  In  recompense  he  received  liberal  supplies 
of  food  and  arms,  as  well  as  of  clothing  and  shoes,  which  were 
highly  serviceable  for  the  passage  of  the  mountains  that  lay  before 
him.  J  The  victor  also  secured  his  march  through  the  country 
of  the  Allobrogian  Gauls  by  the  escort  we  have  re i erred  to 
already.  Is  it  reasonable  to  imagine  that  Poly  bins,  using  such 
words  as  we  have  quoted,  meant  to  inform  his  readers  that  Han- 
nibal never  entcretf  the  island  with  the  main  body  of  his  army, 
but  assisted  the  Gaulish  chieftain  at  most  with  his  light-armed 
troops,  and  led  his  elephants  and  main  train  up  the  left  or  southern 
b^nk  of  the  here  to  Grenoble?  Mr.  Ellis  says  this  must  be  so, 
because  Poly  bins  never  mentions  a  crossing  of  the  Isere,  which, 
but  for  the  lesser  width  of  the  river  and  the  absence  of  hostile 
opposition  on  the  part  of  the  natives,  would  be  as  difficult  as  the 
passage  of  the  Rhone,  detailed  by  him  so  fully.  For  this  and 
atber  reasons  Mr.  Ellis  takes  Hannibal  straight  up  the  south 
bank  of  the  I  sere  to  the  Mont  Cenis- 

Afn  Ellis  and  Mr,  Long  both  understand  from  Polybius  that 
the  friendly  Gauls  and  the  hostile  Allobroges  did  not  and  could 
not  belong  to  the  same  people.  Mr,  Long  recognises  the  island 
as  notoriously  being  the  Insula  Allohrogum  of  Roman  history, 
and  so  infers  that  HannibaFs  friends^  not  being  Allobroges^ 
properly  lived  outside  of  it  He  says  the  chiefs  who  were 
found  fighting  in  it  were  Segalaunians,  from  the  south  of  the 
Isere ;  whose  capital  was  Valence,  and  who  'might  perhaps 
liave  had  some  lands  on  the  north  bank?  as  outlying  enclaves^ 
in  the  Allobrogian  territory ^  to  account  for  their  appearance 
inside  the  island  on  any  terms*  He  tells  us  that  at  Romans, 
ten  miles  up  the  Isi-re,  Hannibal  could  and  did  cross  into  the 
island  of  the  hostile  Allobroges ;  that  from  thence  two  days' 
march  across  the  rolling  plains  or  sandhills  to  Moirans  brought 
bim  in  front  of  the  *  difficult  places*  where  the  Allobroges 
were  lying  in  wait,  at  the  southern  edge  of  the  precipices 
of  the  Grande  Chartreuse  range,  between  which  and  the  equally 
precipitous  Sassenagc  the  lst*re  forces  its  way  from  the  vale  of 


%  Tat  T^*  &pStt  hrtff^^Kh* 

Graisivaudan 


202  HannibaTs  PoMMge  of  the  Alp§. 

Graisivaudan  and  the  city  of  Grenoble.  Mr.  Ellis,  widi  as  bold 
an  inference  in  the  opposite  direction,  marks  Hannibal's  firiends 
as  the  men  of  the  island,  and  places  the  Allobroges  oatude  of 
it,  as  not  yet  in  possession  of  the  district  which  150  yean  later 
undeniably  formed  their  main  dominion.  ConTenientlj  for  his 
theory  that  Hannibal  never  crossed  into  the  island  at  aII,  he 
locates  them  to  the  east  of  the  Grande  Qiartrease  range,  in  and 
beyond  the  plain  country  of  the  Graisivaudan ;  and  (happy  ety^* 
molo^ist !),  by  tuminf^  up  from  the  Isere  through  the  gorge  of 
La  Fay,  finds  the  Allobrogian  town  which  Hannibal  atxnrmed 
after  forcing  the  first  barrier  of  Alps,  still  extant  under  the  con- 
clusively identical  name  of  Allevard. 

We  hold  it  abundantly  clear  that  the  Gauls  of  the  island  and 
the  Allobroges  were  of  the  same  people :  as  in  the  Afghan  war 
of  our  own  history  Mahomed  Akhbsur  Khan  and  the  chiefs  of 
Cabool,  who  remained  to  the  last  in  nominal  treaty  widi  the 
retiring  English  army,  and  some  of  whom  exposed  their  own 
lives  to  protect  it,  were  equally  Afghans  with  the  savage  and 
uncontrolled  tribes  of  the  Khoord-Cabool  and  JugduUok  passes, 
by  whom  that  army  was  annihilated.  Hannibal  was  not  the 
first  nor  the  last  general  who  has  found  that  the  local  chieftains* 
of  a  widespread  barbarian  people  are  practically  independent  of 
the  central  ruler,  especially  at  a  time  when  half  the  country  has 
been  up  in  arms  against  the  other  half  for  the  claims  of  opposing 
pretenders  to  the  supreme  authority.  It  is  plain  on  Polybius' 
words,  that  from  the  point,  wherever  that  may  have  been,  at 
which  HannibaFs  army  received  its  new  outfit,  the  escort  of  the 
Gaulish  ally  accompanied  the  Carthaginians  over  the  level  to 
the  mountain  foot,  and  that  from  the  first  their  march  lay  among 
the  Allobroges,  who  would  have  annoyed  them  but  for  that 
escort  and  their  own  cavalry.  The  appellation  of  Gauls,  or 
barbarians,  is  indiscriminately  applied  to  both  friend  and  enemy : 
and  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  the  Gaulish  guides,  em- 
ployed by  Hannibal  to  go  from  his  camp  into  the  enemy's 
and  discover  their  tactics,  were  of  the  same  tribe  with  those 
among  whom  they  penetrated.  Mr.  Long  presumes  these  spies 
to  have  been  Gauls  from  the  plains  of  the  Po:  overlooking 
the  statement  of  Polybius,  that  Hannibal  used  local  guides  for 
his  Alpine  difficulties.  We  sliould  think  it  needless  to  labour 
this  point,  had  not  the  alleged  dilemma  contributed  to  frighten 
so  many  ingenious  critics  into  the  narrow  gorges  below  Gre- 
noble, on  either  bank  of  the  Iscre. 

.The   difficulty    really   attempted   to   be  turned   by  any  such 


deviations 


Utiniubats  Passage  of  the  Alps. 


soa 


deviations  is  the  exaggemted  bugbear  that  the  phrases  *  along  the 
river/  and  'along  the  river  itseli,**  inw^t  carry  HanniEml  all  the 
waj  round  by  Lyons,  if  they  refer  to  this  portion  of  the  Rhone 
at  alL  Those  who  believe  in  the  simplest  meaning  of  the 
historian's  words,  that  the  first  ascent  of  Alps  is  only  to  be 
found  near  the  exit  of  that  river  from  tlie  mountains,  fuUow  the 
Rhone  from  tho  confluence  of  the  here  up  to  the  historical 
Allobrogian  capital,  Vienne^  then  strike  across  the  plain  by 
Bourgoin  to  touch  it  tigain  near  Aouste  and  St.  Genix,  and  so 
reach  the  foot  of  the  Mont  du  Chat.  Looking  at  the  mere 
probahilities  of  the  case,  nothing  seems  more  consistent  or 
likely  than  that  the  grateful  chief  of  the  island ^  after  supplying 
lh#  necessary  stores  for  his  50,000  guests  at  the  capital  town 
where  so  lar^e  a  quantity  would  be  most  easily  procured ^  should 
speed  them  to  the  passage  out  of  bis  country  by  the  siraightest 
and  easiest  route — a  route  which  afterwards,  in  virtue  of  its 
natuml  facilities,  became  an  important  Roman  road.  The 
Roman  itineraries  make  the  distance  by  this  line  from  Valence 
thmugh  Vienne  to  Lavisco  (Chevelu,  in  front  of  the  Mont  du 
Chat)  98  miles,  which  is  not  far  from  the  historian *s  SOO  stadia. 
The  character  of  the  district  is  thus  dc-scribed  by  Mr,  Wickham 
and  Mr.  Cramer,  when  studying  the  ground  with  reference  to 
this  question  in  1819  :— 

*  From  Yienno  to  Bourgoin  the  road  runs  along  a  broad  valley  with 
low  flat  Mlls^  a  raised  causeway,  probably  tlie  remains  iif  the  EomaQ 
TOiA.  At  Septcme  (ad  Septimimi)  seven  miles  from  Yienne,  country 
qaite  open:  pasB  Otier  (octavtim)  to  Bieme  (Decimmn)  very  well 
cultivated,  clovcrj  com,  fine  walnut-tree^  liiceme,  turnips.  Ml  of 
fiwmhousea ;  before  Bourgoin,  small  round  hUle  of  saudstone.  To  the 
nofHK  hif^h  hilh,  under  whicJi  i/*e  Ehcne  rum^  so  that  Us  cmine  ii  t»eff 

The  extreme  distance  from  the  river,  at  any  point  of  this  line 
bcrw^ecn  Vienne  and  the  next  salient  angle  of  the  Rhone,  may  be 
Jicjme  twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  about  Bourgoin,  where  the  river 'a 
course  Is  very  visible,  skirting  the  base  of  the  high  hills  beyond 
it.  Do  the  words  t  'along  the  river  itself  up  to  the  ascent  of  the 
Alps^  (for  the  whole  context  should  be  construed  together) 
admit  of  such  a  short  cut  under  such  circumstaneea  or  tlOtr 
We  have  no  hesitation  in  answering  in  the  affirmative- 

Again  J  it  is  certain  that  in  describing  the  island  as  a  delta, 
Polybius  cither  purposely  or  unwittingly  disregards  whatever 
aberrations   from   lineal  rectitude  the  Rhone  commits  between 


S04 


Ilamiihats  PoMmge  of  the  Alps, 


the  base  and  the  apex  of  the  island  triangle.  The  compariscm 
Is  an  instance  of  his  general  method  of  explanation  thTon|r^ 
leference  to  simple  and  familiar  forms.  The  Greek  reader,  who 
wai  told  to  consider  the  river  as  approximately  a  straight  line, 
woitld  naturally  understand  an  inner  line  of  march,  coming  close 
to  the  river  at  successive  points,  as  being  a  parallel  line  to  the 
river.  We  believe  that  ?*olvblus  tracked  the  route  of  Hannibal^ 
leaving  the  Rhone  to  the  left  at  Vienne^  seeing  it  to  the  left 
at  Biiurgoin^  and  touching  it  again  on  the  left  at  St>  Geoix.  No 
incident  of  Hannibars  march  marked  the  depth  to  which  the 
river  retreated  in  the  direction  of  Lyons.  For  any  mental 
illustration  of  the  historjs  that  jiortion  of  the  Rhone  was  to 
Polvbius  and  his  audience  a  blank,  except  so  far  as  it  was  always 
on  the  Icftj  always  within  reach,  and  that  the  distance  travelled  to 
the  point  where  it  was  Anally  left  was  so  many  stad  ia. 

Before  quitting  this  ground,  we  must  notice  one  more  argu- 
ment on  which  Mr.  Ellis  relies  to  show  that  Hannibal  never 
marched  through  the  island.  He  mistakes  the  weighty  siio- 
plicity  of  historical  descrijition  for  an  offhand  lightness  of  touch| 
glancing  at  a  purely  collateral  topic  ; — 

'  It  may  alm>  be  mentioned,  that  the  veiy  curBofy  manner  in  whieh 
Poly^bius  epeakfi  of  the  Chartreuse  monntaiua  in  his  description  of  ths 
iBland,  and  his  not  applying  to  them  the  name  of  Alps,  would  hardlj 
lead  lift  to  expoct  that  ho  considcTed  thom  as  forming  the  very  portion 
of  that  great  mountain  system  which  Hannibal  first  en  countered.  We 
^ould  rather  imagine  that  be  looked  upon  them  as  motrntaiim  inde- 
pendent of  the  Alpe^  and  ivith  which  he  had  no  further  concern,  than 
in  as  far  as  thoy  formed  ono  of  the  bomidariea  of  the  district  called 
the  Island/ 

This  finely  edged  weapon  of  proof  turns  in  the  bands  of  the 
holder,  A  few  lines  after  the  mention  of  mountains  as  forming 
the  base  line  of  the  island,  the  shoes  suppUetl  by  the  island  chief 
are  spoken  of  as  most  serviceable  in  crossing  the  mountains.* 
Poly  bins  would  hardly  have  touched,  even  in  the  most  cursory 
manner,  on  the  value  of  new  slioes  for  the  sing^le  day's  climb 
over  the  Mont  du  Chat,  or  any  other  pass  of  the  Chartreuse  range. 
Alps  and  mountains  are  convertible  terms:  'niounlains*t  *re 
mentioned  in  contrast  to  '  sea,*  |  the  mountain- base  corresponding 
to  the  sea- base  of  the  Nilotic  river-delta.  There  is  no  more 
reason  to  confine  the  sense  of  the  one  word^  or  its  accompany iog 
ailjectives,§  to  the  actual  Chartreuse  range,  than  to  say  that  tb© 
<ither  means  only  the  foremost  breakers  which  touch  the 
Egyptian    shore,      'The    passage   over   the    Alps^'l    to  whic^ 


Hannibal 


Passage  oj 

Hannibal  approaches  wtUe  yet  escorted  by  the  friendly  GaiiU> 
iM  co-e]ttensive  witli  'the  passage  over  the  mountains/* 

When  we  take  leave  of  the  problems  of  measurement  and 
direction  along  the  plain,  for  the  question  of  local  scenery  that 
will  suit  the  narrative  of  the  combat  with  the  Allobroges,  we 
find  each  explorer  in  turn  as  staunch  to  his  ideal  of  a  fit  spot  for 
such  a  battle  as  if  there  was  any  lack  of  such  places  in  a 
mountain  region.  Mr.  Long  says  of  his  site  on  the  right  bank 
of  Isere,  at  La  Buiseradc,  below  G  renoble — 

'  The  first  burst  of  it  all  upon  the  view  is  suEcieut  to  show  that 
bere,  along  these  declivities  and  rocky  heights,  are  the  Bva^piat, 
iliroagh  which  the  Carth^imanB  had  of  necessity  to  pass :  there,  at 
ihe  EBstile,  are  the  cv^a^ot  tuwol,  the  advantageeus  positions  com- 
tnanding  the  road  across  Mont  Racihais,  daily  gnitrdcd  by  tbe  Alio- 
brogcs:  and  in  Grenoble,  the  ancient  Cularo,  wo  find  beyond  all 
doubt  the  adjacent  town  to  which  they  retired  during  the  night/ 

Mr*  Ellis  finds  in  his  gorge  of  La  Faj,  on  the  left  bank  of 
Isere,  the  following  -conditions'  of  the  story  of  Polybins: 
a  defile  commanded  by  heights  of  considerable  elevation  above 
it,  and  not  easily  accessible  from  below  :  an  open  space  imme- 
tliately  below  it^  where  Hannib^rs  army  could  have  encamped  in 
sight  of  the*heights ;  the  way  through  the  defile  partly  skirting  a 
precipice,  and  an  open  space  beyond  it,  where  a  town  stands, 
or  might  have  stood,  and  where  the  same  army  might  also 
encamp.  Mr.  Wickham  and  Mr.  Cramer  draw  the  following 
picture  of  the  claims  of  the  Mont  du  Chat : — 

*  The  Chevelu  Pass,  being  lower  than  any  other  part  of  the 
momitain,  presents  every  appearance  of  facility :  it  bends  inwards  to 
tlia  east  in  a  half  circle^  and  tbe  road  rises  very  gradimllj  to  the 
top :  a  small  stream,  which  rises  out  of  a  little  lake  about  half  way  up 
tbe  monntainj  runs  very  slowly  down  its  side,  and  all  the  feattn-es  of 
ihe  place  agree  with  the  eipression  used  by  Poly  hi  as  of  tvKtiLpoi  tottui, 
through  which  alone  the  army  could  pass.  From  the  village  of 
Cbevelu,  which  is  at  the  foot  of  the  steepest  part  of  the  aseont  of  the 
nmimtainj  it  is  about  two  miles  to  the  top.  On  the  top  of  the 
mountain  is  a  flat  of  about  300  yards.  The  passago  is  divided  into 
two  parts  by  an  immense  rock  of  about  200  yards  La  length,  and  nearly 
luilf  that  space  in  breadth ;  the  great  road  runs  to  the  south  of  it,  the 
lodE  standing  &^i  and  west,  and  a  smaller  road  from  some  other 
Tillages  mns  on  the  north  side,  and  joins  the  great  read  at  the  descent 
on  the  Lake  of  Boarget,  .  *  .  The  rock  we  have  described,  and  which 
stands  in  the  middle  of  the  pass,  would,  if  occupied  by  troops,  render 
it  impossible  for  an  attacking  force  to  penetrate  at  all,  and  would 
moet  effectuallj  secnxe  this  passage,  espeeially  as,  from  the  Bteepneaa 

of 


206 


ffamtibars  Pauoffe  of  the  Aipi* 


vi  ihB  eides  of  the  rock,  it  would  bo  almoBt  impoaaibld  lo  iMaSgfi  flui 
ocouponts.  This  rod£,  as  woU  ptirliapa  m  the  higher  part  of  tlw  Mont 
da  Chat  itself  on  the  south  uf  the  x>&sfi,  was  in  all  probabili^  tlia 
poaition  ocenpkd  bj  tlio  AUobroges  fii'st,  and  by  Hannihal  aftarw«rds 
,  ,  -  .  As  mon  m  tbo  road  quits  the  actual  -pamage  through  the 
mountam,  it  il^soends  in  zigzags  upon  the  village  of  Bourdeaux  and 
the  kJt6  of  Bourget,  and  in  tliis  part  the  mountain  is  oitremely  steep, 
fookj,  and  precipitoufj.  Frora  hence  to  the  village  of  Bourg^  a 
diitanee  of  about  four  miles  untl  a  half;  the  mountam  slopes  gradually 
downwards  from  its  top  to  within  about  200  yards  of  the  lake :  after 
which  it  becomes  eiceedln^y  fooi^,  and  in  many  places  plungea  pm^ 
pendicdarly  into  its  iraters.  The  modern  road  runs  at  the  foot  oi  the 
dope,  which  is  itself  so  steep  ea  to  make  it  very  dilBcult  of  asoenL 
Upon  this  slope  the  Barbarians  would  naturally  station  themselYeei 
and  the  Carthaginian  light  troops  might  move  along  the  top  of  U^ 
when  they  saw  tho  baggage  in  danger,  and  so  charge  down  npon 
them/ 

This  fits  the  mcidents  of  the  combat  better  than  the  so- 
called  'conditions'  of  Mr.  Ellis's  defile:  most  of  all  in  that  the 
*  difficult  places'  and  the  precipices  come  after,  and  not  in, 
the  defile.  Hannibars  light  division  went  through  the  defile 
in  the  dark  ♦to  occupy  the  rocks  on  the  top  of  the  puss  itself,f 
not,  as  Mn  Ellis  supposes,  heights  of  considerable  elevation 
al>ove  it  In  the  defile  itself  there  was  no  fighting:  that  began 
only  as  the  long  train  of  baggage  animals  were  winding  out  of 
it-l  Hannibals  descent  to  succour  them  from  the  v^&ntage 
ground  §  of  the  pass  suits  perfectly  with  the  idea  that  the  bar- 
barian onset  took  place  on  the  steep  slanting  descent  towards  the 
Chambery  valley,  above  the  precipices  of  the  lake  side.  Local 
congruity  speaks  most  clearly  in  favour  of  the  Mont  dn  CliaL 
But  the  main  question,  after  all,  is  not,  Which  of  these  defiles,  if 
you  could  transpose  them  at  pleasure,  corresponds  most  closely 
with  the  imagination  we  can  form  of  the  combat  described  by 
Folybiui?  but.  Do  t!ie  measurements  and  indications  of  direction, 
repeated  by  the  historian  in  various  ways,  suit  the  one,  and  are 
they  not  irreconcilable,  except  by  the  most  strained  ingenuity, 
with  either  of  the  others? 

The  next  critical  dispute  is  on  the  determination  of  the  point 
or  points  from  which  the  time  consumed  and  the  distance 
travelled  by  Han ni bat  in  passing  the  Alps  are  to  be  counted  as 
beginning.  In  his  statements  of  consecutive  distances  in  the 
3Uth  chapter,  Polybius  speaks  of  so  many  stadia  along  the  river 
to  the  ascent  of  Alps  which  leads  into  Italy,  and  so  many  more 


t  tAi  viFfpB^Kh$» 

(1200) 


BannibaVB  Pasiage  of  the  Alps* 


207 


I  (1200)  of  the  passage  of  the  Alps.*  In  his  statemc^nt  of  time  in 
^tiie  56th,  he  speaks  of  Hannibars  having  crossed  the  Alpsf  in 
fifteen  days.  De  Luc,  the  authors  of  the  *  Oxford  Dissei  tation,' 
and  Mr.  Law,  hold  the  initial  point  of  the  mountain  march 
alike  fixed  for  time  and  distance  at  the  foot  of  the  Mont  du 
'Chat*  The  river  stage  ends,  the  Alpine  stag-e  begins.  Can  any 
^timple  and  fair  reading  of  the  words  lead  to  any  other  con- 
dosion?  Mr,  ElHs  says,  inasmuch  as  the  base  line  of  the  island, 
wherever  crossed  or  turned,  is  not  Alp,  but  merely  mountain, 
and  the  route  through  the  Graisivaudan  to  the  Cenis  is  not 
Alpine  till  you  turn  away  from  the  south  hank  of  'the  river' 
Isere  through  the  defile  of  La.  Fay,  that  point  is  the  true 
beginning  of  Alps,  as  far  as  distance  is  concerned;  but  as  the 
subsequent  capture  of  Allevard,  and  the  day's  rest  there,  make  a 
natiifa.1  break  in  the  story,  the  time  of  fifteen  days  must  be 
reckoned  from  leaving  that  town.  Mr.  Long,  who  quits  'the 
ri%"er,^  and  begins  to  ascend  tmcards  the  Alps  at  Valence — whose 
stormed  Allobrogian  town  is  Grenoble,  and  whose  first  ascent  of 
Alps  is  near  Fort  Barraux,  at  the  northern  end  of  the  Graisi- 
vaudan^-counts  hoth  stadia  and  days  of  mountain  march  from 
this  last  pointy  leaving  the  intervening  time  and  space  l>etween 
Fort  Barraux  and  Valence  unaccounted  for  by  the  historiaUp 
It  seems  difficult  at  first  to  believe  that  these  two  gentlemen  are 
fteriouSt  But  we  shall  see  how  the  several  calendars  tally  with 
i^the  recorded  incidents  of  the  narrative. 

Mr,  Cramer  and  Mr.  Wickham,  orthodox  in  other  respects, 
[are  puzzled  to  bring  the  days  allotted  to  the  descent  on  the  Italian 
side  within  the  requisite  number,  and  suggest  that  eighteen 
days  of  Alps  must  be  read  in  place  of  fifteen.  M.  De  Luc  and 
Mr.  Law  hold  to  the  fiftet^n,  as  reaching  from  the  Mont  du  Chat 
across  the  Little  St,  Bernard  to  the  esciipe  from  the  mountains 
between  St.  Martin  and  IvTea,  and  account  for  them  as  fuJlows. 
For  easy  reference,  we  quote  in  the  notes  the  material  phrases  of 
Polybiua  concurrently  with  their  interpretation  by  Mr,  Law  :■ — 

*  let,  day.  Haimibal  forces  the  pass  of  Alps,  and  ooonpies  the  town 
fond  it. 
■  2.  He  remains  encamped  »t  the  town. 

*  3j  4,  5.  The  march  is   resumed,  and  continued  for  three  days 
without  interruption*! 

'  6,  On  the  fourth  day  from  the  town,  Hanuibal  holds  conferenee 
i  th  uativeB :  makes  treaty  with  them  :  recdTes  supplies  and  hostages  : 
^they  ftttend  the  march.  § 

%  mid  fdar  ififitiyas  Tf^ipar,  aS^i^  &pfia'  rati  5*  ii^s  h*  t*  \. 

I  Iflij  1}  rrraprra7os  &v  o^i*  f  b  mMmvs  wapty4¥tr&  jwrj^Awt*    d  y^  it.  r,  K 

•7,  8.  The 


HannibaTi  Passage  of  the  Alpi» 

^  7,  8.  The  m^rcli  prooeeds,  the  fidae  frifinds  ftoocMii|Mttiyiiig  it. 

*  8,  Kaimibftl  id  attadced  by  the  oatt^eB  wheen  posaitig  tbrongli  a 
tWDG :  and  ho  staja  back  with  part  of  the  aimy  about  a  oeitain  Wbitd 
Bock  during  the  night** 

*  9.  H0  reachei  the  smnmit  eaily  in  the  moming^'l'  and  encampi.l 

*  10.  H©  remains  on  the  summit  and  addregses  Qib  tmop& 

*  11.  He  begins  the  dosc&nt :  comes  to  the  broken  way ;  faib  in  an 
attempt  to  get  round  it:  encamps,  and  commeneefl  tha  repair  of  the 
road :  which  becomce  practicable  for  hors^  by  the  monuiig ,$ 

*  12.  The  cavalry  and  beasts  of  burthea,  with  the  chief  part  of  the 
in&ntry,  go  forward  :  the  work  of  ro|Miir  is  continued, H 

^  13.  The  work  ia  oontimiied :  and  a  pie«igo  is  elected  for  the 
elephants,  who  are  tuQted  aa  fraa  the  broken  waj.^ 

*  14.  The  army  contiiiues  the  descent 

I   *  15.  The  adYance  of  tho  army  touches  the  pkhi.'  ♦♦ 

We  are  inclinpd  to  demur  to  one  item  only  of  this  arrange- 
ment, as  giving  an  eqoal  extension  of  time  to  'remaining  one 
day '  tt  at  the  town  and  *  two  days '  J  J  at  the  summit.  The  sort- 
ing point  for  time  seems  also  more  naturally  to  coincide  willi  the 
leavini^  the  river  and  manocumii^  upwards  towards  the  pass  of 
the  Mont  du  Chat,  on  the  eve  of  the  seisEure  by  the  light  troops 
of  the  pass  itself  when  left  by  the  Allobrognes  for  the  night  The 
second  day  would  thus  belong  to  the  combat  on  the  precipitous 
descent  from  the  pass  and  the  storming  of  the  town.  The  fresh 
start  from  the  town,  after  a  halt  of  twenty-four  hours,  would  still 
take  place  earlier  or  later  in  the  course  of  the  third  day.  In 
other  respects  we  believe  this  calendar  to  apprehend  most  accu- 
rately the  author's  meaning* 

Mr,  Ellis,  after  ingenuously  confessing  that  the  fifteen  days  of 
Alps  should  naturally  begin  where  the  ten  days  of  river  end, 
lays  down  J  nevertheless,  that  the  days  of  forcing  die  defile  and 
halting  at  the  town  either  do  not  count  at  all,  or  count  as  part  of 
the  days  along  the  river,  because  the  halt  at  the  captUFccl  town 
forms  a  natural  break  in  the  story,  and  the  period  marked  by 
*the  fourtli  day'^f  is  necessarily  to  be  construed  from  that 
pointp  By  an  ingenious  process  of  disintegrating  the  narralive 
of  Pulybius  into  alternating  summaries  and  explanatory  details, 

f  r§  ¥  iwai'ptor  rCff  Vf>h€^lmv  x^^P*^^*^'^'^  *  -  *  wpoviyt  wfiht  tIi  tfwtp$&\Af  tAi 
I  hvarm&s  Sf  Siov^ar  *h  Tsf  i^wtp^aX^t  tt^ov  Ktertarpa.refwiifv{f^  ital  Ivo  ^p.4pm 

WpOtff^HVt, 

\\  T#if  ^wa{vyioti  Kal  ro>tt  Hwrots  lifiud^*^  /irofi^ffi  wd^i^6r  isf  i7^<p<^  ^4^, 


ffannibats  Passage  of  the  Alps, 


209 


so  that  every  prominent  feature  of  the  march  is  first  drawn  in 
outline  and  then  filled  out  in  light  and  shade,  Mr.  ElUs  extracts 
an  interpretation  which  sufficiently  suits  Mont  Cenis^  and  which 
certainly  does  not  fail  in  originality.  His  march  of  nine  days 
from  the  town  of  Allevard  to  the  plateau  of  Mont  Cenis  is  broken 
up  into  two  periods  of  four  and  five  days,  the  fourth  day  bein^ 
marked  by  the  '  great  dangers  '  of  the  battle  of  the  ravine  and  the 
white  rock,  fought  ivith  the  mountaineers  who  bad  accompanied 
the  Carthaginians  from  the  day  after  they  left  the  town.  His 
white  rock  is  the  Rock  of  Baune,  about  hall- way  between. 
St-  Jean  de  Maurienne  and  Modane,  Larauza,  an  earlier  patron 
of  the  Cenis,  had  disco\^ered  a  white  rock  near  Lanslebourg^ 
within  the  ordinarily  understood  distance  of  a  day's  march  from 
the  summit;  so  that  it  is  not  any  lack  of  white  rocks  that  has 
placed  Mn  ElUs  in  a  difficulty  from  which  the  most  violent 
translation  is  needed  to  extricate  him.  His  general  division  of 
the  days  spent  on  the  summit  and  in  the  descent  is  much  the 
same  as  Mn  Law*s,  though  every  incident  narrated  by  Poly  bins 
is  of  course  diflferenlly  coloured  to  suit  his  different  apprehension 
of  the  localities, 

Mr*  Long- J  on  the  sole  authority  of  the  doubt  expressed  by 
Wickham  and  Cramer  as  to  the  sufficiency  of  the  recorded 
term^  alters  the  test  of  Poly  bins  from  fifteen  days  to  eighteen, 
counts  these  eighteen  as  reaching  from  the  capture  of  the 
Allobrogian  town  (Grenoble)  to  the  arrival  in  the  Italian  plain, 
and  then  argues  that  since  of  these  eighteen  only  fifteen  are 
allotted  by  Poly  bins  to  the  passage  of  Alps,  the  day's  bait  at 
the  town,  and  twa  days'  onward  march  up  the  Grai&ivaudan, 
must  be  deducted  from  the  eighteen,  to  leave  the  proper  Alpine 
term  ;  the  beginning  of  which  will  thus  coincide  perfectly  with 
his  first  ascent  of  Alps  near  Fort  Barrauat.  Mr,  Long's  Hannibal 
is  brought  to  the  summit  of  the  Little  St*  Bernard  on  the  ninth 
day*  from  Grenoble,  and  sixth  of  mountain  march;  stays  there 
over  two  full  days  (10th  and  llth)^  begins  to  descend  on  the 
12lh  and  encamps  near  the  broken  way  :  repairs  the  road  on 
the  13th  sufficiently  for  the  horses,  completes  it  on  the  third 
foil  day  (15th)  for  the  elephants,  and  on  the  16th,  17th,  and 
18th,  continues  the  march  of  his  whole  army  toward  the  plains^ 
which  he  touches  on  the  third  day  from  the  broken  way,  the  18th 
from  Grcnoblej  and  the  15th  from  Mr.  Long's  *  ascent  of  the  Alps/ 
thus — ^as  Mr,  Long  triumphantly  observes — *  having  accomplished 
the  main  pass  of  the  Alps  in  fifteen  days/  Ilfaut  quune  porie 
soit  ouverte  oufermie.     If  we  are  forced  to  alter  the  figures   of 


Vol  m.~No.  245. 


P 


Polybius 


SIO 


Smmihafs  Pamiffe  of  the  Alp^ 


rcilybius  to  oigbleeD^  because  it  is  impossible  to  make  his  i 
tnllj  with  fifteen^  there  is  little  osc  in  proving  that  afl 
eiirhteoii  would  be  equivalent  to  fifteen  when  rightly  understoo*!. 
It  would  hardly  be  more  gratuitously  absurd  to  suggest  that  the 
fifteen  days  of  crossing  represent  die  working  days  onlj,  the  day 
of  halt  at  the  town  and  the  two  days  on  the  summit  being  tre^ted^ 
so  to  speak,  as  lay  days. 

If  we  had  the  single  mention  of  fifteen  days  to  deal  with,  it 
would  be  a  matter  of  comparative  indUTerence,  in  estimating  the 
accuracj  of  Poly  hi  us,  whether  we  believed  him  to  be  strictly 
correct  as  to  time.  We  should  hardly  expect  any  vetemns  now 
alii^e  who  shared  Wellington's  retreat  from  Burgos  to  speak 
authoritatively  J  at  the  distance  of  nearly  sixty  years,  to  the 
number  of  days  spent  on  the  retreat,  however  strongly  we 
might  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  their  evidence  as  to  the  line 
of  march  and  the  most  striking  incidents  by  which  it  was 
marked.  But  Polybiug  writes  as  a  man  who  thoroughly  under- 
stood, or  thought  he  undetvtood,  the  arrangement  of  the  suecessire 
events  according  to  the  days  on  which  they  befel :  and  when^ 
after  assigning  its  pcirticular  date  to  each  portion  of  the  eiC|doit, 
he  sums  up  by  saying  that  the  whole  exploit  wia  performed  in 
so  many,  we  are  bound  either  to  make  the  two  accounts  agr^e, 
and  be  the  readier  to  believe  them,  or  honestly  to  say  that  tbey 
do  not  flgre**,  and  that  the  account  of  r  historian  who  blunders 
npcm  a  topic  on  which  he  professes  to  speak  with  so  much 
distinctness  is  not  trustworthy*  We  hold  that  according  to 
proper  rules  of  construction  and  the  common  sense  of  the 
language^  the  detail  and  the  summary  (to  borrow^  a  phrase  from 
Mr,  Ellis  for  once  only)  tlo  agree  on  the  number  of  days.  Let 
us  turn  to  the  question  of  distance — the  distance  named  by 
Polybius^  the  distance  to  be  travelled  over  each  of  the  aJtemative 
passes,  and  the  practicability  of  each  route  in  respect  of  the 
binding  conditions  of  time. 

We  say  nothing  of  Mr*  Whitaker's  route  by  Martigny  and 
the  Great  St.  Bernarrl,  although  it  goes  up  the  river  till  it  turns 
across  the  Alps,  and  ends  by  coming  down  among  the  insnbre% 
because  the  considerations  of  distance  at  once  put  it  out  of  the 

5[ue$tion:  and  the  Simplon  is  excluded  even  more  forciWy^ 
f  we  are  not  to  follow  Polybius,  we  can  take  l^annibal  over  any 
traditionary  or  imaginable  passage  at  our  pleasure.  If  we  are  to 
be  guided  by  him^  1200  stadia^  or  150  Roman  miles, — moro 
or  less,  within  reasonable  limits, — ^should  be  the  length  of  the 
march  from  plain  to  plain.  Mr.  Law  (vol.  L  p.  188)  givea 
die  rt'puted  tUst;»nces  of  his  route  from  the  Roman  itineraries^ 
between   Labisco  (Chevelu)  and  Vitriciam  (Verres)^  some  ten 

»X1m 


HminibaVs  Passage  of  the  Alps,  111 

miles  short  of  St.  Martin,  From  plain  to  plain  the  length 
appears  on  this  authority  to  be  165  Roman  mites.  The  stages 
of  descent  from  the  summit  are : — To  La  Tuille^  6  miles  ;  to 
Pre  St,  Ditlier,  6  miles;  to  Aosta,  25  miles;  to  Verres^  25; 
to  St,  Martin^  10 ;  total  72  miles.  By  Cramer  ami  Wickham's 
measurements  the  distance  from  Chevelu  to  the  summit  is  under 
80  miles  i  which  would  bring  the  whale  distance  close  upon  150- 

Mr.  Ellis  reasons  as  follows  : — There  should  be  150  Roman 
miles  from  the  banks  of  *  the  river '  (Isere)  to  the  Italian  pUio  : 
therefore  from  the  town  of  the  Allobroges  (say)  140  miles. 
Only  eleven  of  the  fifteen  days  were  spent  in  marching,  as  two 
were  given  to  rest  at  the  summit  and  two  lost  at  the  broken 
way;  and  140  divided  by  11  gives  13  Roman  miles  a  day, 
*  On  his  descent  he  might  march  rather  more  rapidly  than 
on  his  ascent:  but  the  diiFerence  would  not  be  considerable, 
for  the  vigour  of  the  army  was  then  much  diminished/  Three 
days'  march  at  13  Roman  miles  a  day  must  account  for  the 
distance  between  tlie  summit  and  the  Italian  plain.  Therefore 
that  distance  could  hardly  e3:ceed  40  Roman  miles.  Therefore  the 
Little  St  Bernard  is  impossible  on  the  score  of  too  long  a  descent ; 
whereas  from  the  central  point  of  the  summit  of  Mont  Cenis  to 
the  plain  at  Avigliana  (Ad  Fines),  between  Susa  and  Turin,  the 
distance  is  39  Roman  miles*  From  the  point  where  Mr.  Ellis 
leaves  the  Uere  for  die  gorge  of  La  Fay  to  Avigliana,  he  makes 
the  distance  132|  Roman  miles. 

As  far  as  the  1200  stadia  are  concerned,  the  variations  in 
excess  and  defect  on  the  contending  routes  are  nearly  equal,  and 
neither  extravagantly  large.  The  point  of  the  length  of  descent 
will  require  notice  by  and  bye* 

If  we  could  allow  that  the  Carthaginians  had  marched  np  the 
left  bank  of  the  Iscre  past  Grenoble,  it  mightj  perhaps,  lie  reason- 
able enough  that  Hannibal  should  turn  up  from  that  river  by  La 
Fay  and  Brame  Farine  to  Allevard,  to  come  upon  the  Arc  at 
Aig^uebelle  very  shortly  before  it  falls  into  the  I  sere.  The  points 
in  which  the  defile  of  La  Fay  feils  in  itself  to  suit  the  conclitions 
of  the  AUobrogian  combat  have  already  been  adverted  to.  But 
is  the  interpretation  of  Pol ybius,  which  places  the  attack  by  the 
higher  mountaineers  near  the  White  Rock  at  five-days'  distance 
from  the  summit,  tenable  on  the  face  of  the  historian's  language? 
To  acquiesce  in  such  a  reading,  we  must  submit  to  the  eccentric 
doctrine  of  Mr,  Ellis  that  Polybins  wTote  his  story  in  sum- 
maries, and  told  it  twice  over,  first  speaking  of  several  days  of 
safe  march  from  the  town^  then  mentioning  the  attack  on  the  fourth 
day,  then  going  back  to  the  two  previous  days  through  which  the 
barbarians  accompanied  the  army,  then  giving  the  fourth  day  in 
detail*     The  crucial  sentence]  is  *  on   the  fonith  day  of  march 

P  2  ^^^\n. 


212 


Jmmbar$  Pasmg^^k 


a^ain  he  came  intrj  grreat  clanger/  *  Mr,  Law  and  Mr.  Ellis  agree 
(though  for  difFiirent  reasons)  that  this  fourth  dav  is  to  be  mea- 
sured from  the  town,  Did  the  dnn^er  bog^in,  and  coosequentlj 
does  the  fourth  day  coincide,  with  the  actual  attack,  or  with  tlif 
first  interview  with  the  mountaineers,  who  eame  out  to  meet 
Hannibal  in  pursuance  of  a  treacliemtis  strataj^em^t  though  Mr. 
KUis  mildly  calls  them  *a  deputjitiou  of  Gauls  bearing'  boughs 
and  crowns'?  The  plain  broad  sense  is  again  with  Mr.  Law* 
The  peaceful  Castle  of  Chester  has  recently  been  the  object  of  an 
analogous  ' danger/  though  no  orert  acts  of  ac^gression  took  place. 
In  the  case  of  the  earl  ier  danger  from  the  AllobrogeSj  the  danger . 
began  when  the  Allobroges  collected  in  front  and  occupied  the-" 
'convenient  places'  through  which  Hannibal  must  pass.  If 
they  had  succeeded  in  keeping  their  ambush  secret,  the  danger 
would  have  turned  into  entire  destruction.  The  danger  here  is 
similarly  inchoate  from  the  moment  when  Hannibal  was  forced 
to  deal  witli  the  mountaineers  either  as  one  thing  or  the  other — 
either  to  let  them  accompany  him  as  friends  and  guides,  or 
openly  to  beat  tbem  olT  as  enemies*  Had  tbey  belonged  to  the 
immediate  neigh bourhtwd  of  the  captured  town,  Polybius  would 
not  have  needlessly  reported  their  assertion  that  they  wctc  aware 
of  the  circumstances  relating  to  its  capture :  and  the  word*  Teti? 
S*  e^}^  aa^aXo}^  hirffi  show  that  more  tlaan  one  day*f  advance 
from  the  town  had  been  completed  in  security.  The  day  of  the 
'deputation'  could  not  have  Iwen  earlier  than  the  third;  and  we 
are  told  that  it  was  in  fact  the  fonrtL  The  danger  from  the 
presence  of  these  ofii clous  companions  culminated  after  two  da)V 
further  prri^ress,  on  the  Gth  ilay  from  the  town ;  when  they 
set  upon  the  long  column  during  the  passage  of  a  defde,  and 
attempted  to  envelope  it  ftoxn  the  rear.  Again,  but  for  the. 
measures  taken  by  Hannibal  before  the  smouldering  danger  hailj 
burst  into  flame,  the  result  would  have  been  the  annihilation  m 
the  Carthaginians.  He  bad  sent  the  cavalry  and  beasts  of  burthen^ 
forward  J  keeping  the  heavy  infantry  back  to  cover  their  rear. 
Had  not  this  arm  of  the  force  held  the  lower  gates  of  the  defile, 
and  the  ground  about  the  adjacent  white  rock,  through  the  day 
and  the  night,  J  till  the  more  unwieldy  half  of  the  army  had 
atrujigled  out  of  the  ravine  to  more  oj>en  ground,  the  mass  of  the 
barbarians  would  have  been  able  to  work  round  on  the  hill  side 
above  (as  some  did),  and  destroy  the  helpless  column  with  the 
natural  missiles  of  loose  rocks  and  stones.  By  the  morning,  the 
whole  length  of  the  defile  was  interposed  between  the  two  jx^r- 
tions  of  Hannibars  army.    The  special  facilities  for  attack  having 


*  TfTii^aJof  h¥  d^tT  f  f*  «i¥%hfovTi  ttvp^yivvrfi  fi^ydKevt* 


thea 


MannUmVs  Passatje  of  the  Alps. 

then  ceasefl,  and  the*  enemy  retirin^^,  Hannibal  rejoined  bis  cavalry 
and  baf^gagre  above  the  defde,  and  led  forward  to  the  summiL 
What  Poljbius  sajs,  and  what  be  does  not  say,  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  attack  was  repelled,  is  alike  plain.  Mr,  Ellis  elaboratea, 
and  illustrates  in  a  laudably  clear  plan,  a  grand  movement  oxt^cuted 
by  Hannibal  with  half  his  force  in  front  of  the  cavalry  and  bag- 
gaije,  carrying"  the  heights  on  either  side  of  the  road,  and  sweep- 
ing round  towards  the  left  to  encamp  for  the  ni^ht  *  with  an 
extended  semicircular  front  of  some  2^  mUes  lonj^^j  at  the  distance 
of  nearly  two  miles  from  his  stron;^  White  Rock  of  Baune,  while 
the  rivalry  and  bng-^agc  are  defiling  close  under  it»  We  cannot 
say  that  Hfinni!m]  might  not  have  adtjpted  these  tactics  if  he  bad 
been  attacked  in  the  neighbour fiood  of  Baune :  but  they  are 
opposed  to  the  testimony  of  the  historian  on  the  matter  of  fact. 
The  stress  of  the  danger  was  certainly  resisted  by  the  rear  of 
Hannibal's  army  alone,  Wick  ham  and  Cramer  give  a  plan  of  the 
Roche  Blanche,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  ravine  of  the  Reclus 
on  the  Little  St.  Bernard,  which  in  character,  as  in  position,  is 
much  more  in  keeping  with  the  strict  sense  of  the  narrative, 
And  we  hold  with  them  and  Mr.  Law  the  clear  and  unstrained 
jnterpretatifm  of  tlie  text,  that  the  morrow  of  the  conflict  of  the 
ravine  was  the  ninth  day  of  Alps,  on  which  Hannibal  reached 
the  top  of  the  pass. 

Tlie  next  cjuestion  rises  on  die  summits  of  the  rival  routes* 
Did  Hannibal  point  out  the  actual  plains  of  the  Po  to  the  eyes 
of  his  discourajjed  soldiery  during  the  days  of  rest  on  the  highest 
plateau,  or  did  he  show  them  merely  what  would  prove  to  their 
minds  that  the  plains  of  the  Po  were  there  below  them?  The 
Hannibal  of  Livy  undoubtedly  *  Italia m  ostentat  subjectosque 
Alpinis  montibus  Circumpadanos  campos.'  The  Hannibal  of 
Poly  bins  takes  as  the  text  of  his  exhortation  the  clear  evidence  of 
Italy,  and  of  the  plains  around  the  Po.f  The  summit  of  the 
Little  St,  Bernard  looks  down  into  ihe  mountain- valley  of  La 
Tuille»  nearly  3000  fec^t  below,  Mn  Ellis  claims  for  the  Little 
Motit  Cenis  an  eminence  to  the  south  of  the  plateau,  from  which 
the  plains  beyond  the  Po,  and  the  Apennines  near  Alba  and  Acquis 
are  to  be  seen  at  a  distance  of  some  sixty  miles.  It  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  a  jieep  so  distant,  with  a  sky-line  so  high,  would 
satisfy  the  simile  of  a  view  from  an  Acropolis  %  any  better  than  a 
more  elevated  valley  closer  beneath  the  feet  of  those  who  had 
gained  the  summit  of  the  Alpine  chain.    Does  the  text  of  Polybius 

*  ifvKT*pfvt^  ttpi  Tt  \tvit6w*rpov  hxyp^^* 

imply 


implj  cicmlar  visicm?  hmprf^ia  ii  tlie  dear  eridence  ol  »  fact: 
ci>6cj4rvu^i€»«o?  !•  equi^'alent  to  pomtmg  oat  or  proving  a  &ct  la 
the  mpprehcuiioii^ — not  neceasarilj  to  the  eyea.*  Had  the  plains 
been  lu  rbtble  at  Mr«  El  Us  thinks  tbej  ought  to  hare  hera,  the 
Cartkagiiitaii  soldiers  would  father  hare  burst  into  a  shout  of 
irrepressible  relief  {bm  Xenophon's  troops  did  at  sight  of  the 
Kuiine  )^  than  have  required  an  exhortation  from  their  geneimi  on 
the  meaning  of  a  fact  which  commended  itself  to  their  eyes. 
The  tradition  of  a  riew  had  undoubtedly  become  positive  in 
Ut  j's  age.  It  may  have  already  exbted  in  the  time  of  PolTbius, 
But  we  ventuie  to  think  that  if  the  Greek  historian,  so  literal 
and  '  sterile  of  fancj/  had  meant  to  say  distinctly  that  Hannibal 
showed  his  soldieTy  the  plains  of  the  Po^  he  m^ould  not  hare 
chosen  a  phrase  of  even  possible  ambiguity,  or  refrained  from  his 
familiar  expedient  of  imh  r^v  o^ii^*  Dr,  Arnold  in  his  histoiy 
gives  exactly  what  we  believe  to  be  the  true  meaning  of  the 
wbole  context^  and  the  true  representation  of  the  facL 

*  But  thair  great  general,  who  felt  that  be  now  stood  Tidoriona  ca 
th<^  mmptirti  of  Italy,  imd  that  th@  torrent  which  rolled  before  him 
wsji  ciUTyimg  iti  waters  to  %hm  rich  plaijis  of  OtBalpine  (janl,  endea- 
Tourod  to  kiiidl©  hli  aoldiera  with  his  own  spirit  uf  hope.  He  called 
them  together:  he  pointed  out  the  valley  beneath,  to  which  the 
descent  seemed  the  work  of  a  moment :  '*  That  TaBey,"  he  eaid  ''  is 
Italy  :  it  leads  lu  to  the  oomitry  of  our  friends  the  Ganla :  and  yonder 
is  our  way  to  Eoma'" 

Mr,  Ellis  urges  strongly  that  notbinfr  but  the  extremely  prv- 
eipitous  character  of  the  descent  from  the  Mont  Ceois  can 
es^plain  the  enormous  losses  suiTered  by  Ilanjilbal  in  his  dorrt- 
ward  journey.  The  road  falls  36U0  feet  in  six  miles  between 
the  summit  and  La  Novalese.  Wickham  and  Cramer  state  thr 
fall  lietween  the  top  of  the  Little  St.  Bernard  and  La  Tuille(alao 
aix  miles)  as  475  toises^  or  2850  feet ;  so  that  the  difference  of 
average  steepness  is  not  very  considerable  after  all.  The  obiitiv 
ration  of  the  path  by  the  snow  would  make  the  descent  from  the 
Little  St  Bernard  difficult  and  dangerous  enough  to  satisfy  the 
facts  of  the  story  ;  and  the  promoters  of  that  route,  from  De  Luc 
downwards,  retort  upon  the  Mont  Cems  that  it  must  have  been 
m  Roman  times  too  difficult  for  an  army  to  attempt  even  without 
the  suQW.  What  we  know  isj  that  the  dangers  of  the  descent 
on  the  Brst  day  culminated  at  a  place  where  the  path  along  the 


*  Mr.  Law  co!tpct«  the  pssssges  in  wliioli  tb^ie  woi^di  am  awd  hj  Poljbitks  on 
cthiT  occa»inriLt,     There  is  oaJj  oii«  of  them  in  which  /vStUvufiat  csn  be  held  ta 
jnTplvc  oculnr  TUicrn  with<>ut  the  speclfie  a^MitSon  of  i^^  t^  £^i#  ;  not  one  ui 
i  irbich  MpytiCi.  hoe  uny  inch  meaning,  unleif  fontBed  by  the  sBine  words. 

mountain 


namiihats  Pmmge  qftJie  Alps.  215 

mountain  side  was  broken  away  for  about  300  yards,  and  quite 
impassable  for  four-footed  beasts*     Hannibal  tried  to  go  round 
the  broken  part  (whether  above  ow  below  it,  Polybius  does  not 
«ay)-i  but  in  vain,  as  in  the  attempt  be  came  upon  old  snow  below 
the  new,  in  which  the  men  slipped  and  fell,  and  the  laden  beasts 
were  soon  imbedded  inextrimbly*     He  was  forced  to  encamp  and 
repair  the  road.     The  scene  is  identified    by  the    followers   of 
General  Melville  with  a  point  in  the  valley  of  the  Baltea  below 
La  TuiUe  (a  view  of  wliich   is  given  in  Brockedon's  *  Passes  of 
the  Alps*),  where  a  ravine  of  three  or  four  hundred  yards'  width, 
immediately   under   a    high    point   of  the   Cramont    mountain 
(Cremonis  jugum),  comes  down  laterally  upon  an  elbow  of  the 
stream.     The  old  road  above  the  left  bank  of  the  Baltea  has,  in 
<x>a3equence   of  its  incurable    liability  to    be    broken   away  by 
avalanches  at  this  point,  been  abandoned  within  the  last  century 
for  a  new  cornice-road  constructed  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
ebasm.    The  length  of  mad  swept  by  the-se  avalanches  corresponds 
to  the  measure  (If  stadia)  given   by   Polybius  with  a   minute 
exactness  that  would  be  almost  suspicious  if  it  wore  not  that  the 
gTound-plan  of  the  ravine,  sloping  down  to  the  river  in  a  funnel* 
shaped  concavity,  confines  die  avalanches  to  the  same  narrow 
limits  year  after  year.     The  w  et  snow  descending  from  a  great 
height  is  gradually  wedged  and  packed  closer  together  as  it  falls, 
by  lateral  pressure  and  its  own  momentum,  and  finally  stopped 
pointblank  by  the  nearly  perpendicular  wall  of  rock  which  here 
,s  the  south  bank  of  the  river.      In  many  years  it  thus  accn* 
ates  in  a  solid  mass  towards  the  sunless  bottom  of  the  ravine, 
first  blocking  up  and  then  bridging  over  the  torrent,  and  remains 
there  unmelted  through  die  summer.     Few,  if  any,  spots  iu  the 
Alps  present  such  a  remarkable  cambtnation  of  physical  condi- 
tions for  the  occurrence  of  this  phenomenon  at  a  point  so  far 
beneath  the  ordinary  limit  of  perpetual  snow,     Mr,  Law  quotes 
fire  recorded  instances  of  this  phenomenon  in  the  years  between 
17^0  and  1823.     If  HannibaFs  attempted  divergence  from   the 
path    was   downwards   (to    which    course  a    more   even   slope 
over  the  hidden  substratum   of  old  snow  might  naturally  tempt 
him)   nothing   could    conform   better  to   the   data  of   Polybius 
than    the   peculiar  and   permanent   character  of  this  point   on 
tbe  Little  St,  Bernard  route,     Mr.  Ellis  produces,  on  the  other 
hand,  a  plan  olf  a  precipitous  and  broken  mountain-stde  on  the 
old  road  from  the  Mont  Cenis  to  Susa,  between  La  Ferriere  and 
Novalesc,     He  understands  Hannibal  to  have  tried  to  make  hig 
detour  above  the  broken  path,  keeping  on  the  upper  ledge  of  the 

Erecipices  till  he  found  a  gully  breaking  tlirough  them  by  which 
&  mi^ht  descend  to  the  path  again.     In  such  a  gully  as  Mn 

ElUi 


poinl 
■^brm: 
■Ida 


SI6 


Hannihats  Pm$ag§  ofihs  Alpi* 


Ell  if  finds  for  Iiim,  he  laiglit  fall  luiawar^  upon  a  concealiHl 
drift  of  the  last  year's  snow^  which  would  render  the  otherwise 
practicable  circuit  a  fatal  trap  for  man  and  beast  The  words  of 
the  storj  are  quite  capable  of  bearings  this  interpretation  ;  which 
is  more  tlinn  can  be  said  for  Mr.  EILis^s  imaginative  sketch  of  the 
Battle  of  Baune.  The  probabiUty  that  any  given  gully  on  n 
mountain-side  fronting  and  open  to  the  south  would  cornain 
a  drift  of  die  last  year's  snow  at  the  cod  of  autumn^  would,  no 
doubt,  be  increased  by  the  colder  temperature  which  Mr.  Ellis 
calls  in  aid  as  prevaiHng  over  Eurcipe  in  Hnnnibars  time,  Bui 
the  argument  that  tends  to  import  a  deep  unthawed  drift  into  the 
sunlit  gully  of  the  Mont  Cenis,  will  render  more  and  more 
frequent  and  characteristic  in  its  recurrence  the  phenomenon  of 
the  snow  blocking  up  through  the  year  the  sunless  trough  of  the 
Baltea  and  the  funnel-shaped  channel  down  which  the  avalanches 
of  the  Cramont  still  falL  If  we  could  free  our  minds  from  the 
other  indications  of  locality  given  by  Poly  bins,  and  decide  on 
tlieir  own  merits  which  of  the  two  sites  corresponds  most  visibly 
to  his  breach  of  the  road,*  we  should  certainly  assign  the  palm 
to  the  funnel  of  La  Tuille, 

We  have  still  to  consider  Mr.  Ellts's  last  grand  attack  on 
the  Little  St  Bernard,  relative  to  the  length  of  descent.  From 
the  summit  to  St  Martin,  and  the  commencement  of  the  plain, 
is  counted  at  72  miles ;  from  the  broken  path  below  La  Tuille  to 
the  plain  would  therefore  be  GCk  Is  it  within  the  natural  rate  of 
an  army's  march  that  Hannibal  should  have  touched  the  plaiti 
*on  the  third  day  from  the  cliffs*  ?t  Mr,  EIHsj  taking  thirteen 
miles  as  an  average  of  an  Alpine  i\^y  (alike  up  or  down  hill!) 
and  construing  'having  collected  bis  whole  force  together/ J  as 
nearly  equivalent  to  marching  on  an  even  front,  concludes  that 
the  perfannance  of  such  an  exploit  within  three  days  would  be 
a  physical  impossibility,  A  column  of  20,000  fighlin^r  men  and 
their  baggage- train,  even  when  advancing  in  military  continuity, 
forms  a  long  thread  down  a  narrow  valley.  The  vanguard  of 
cavalry,  beasts  of  burthen,  and  Iberians^  foraging  slowly  down- 
wards through  a  friendly  country,  while  the  Numidians  stayed 
behind  enlarging  the  road  for  the  elephants,  might  easily  (as  De 
Luc  calculates)  reach  the  valley  of  Aosta  on  the  twelfth  day,  and 
Nuz,  eight  miles  below  Aosta,  by  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  daf 
which  saw  the  elephants  safe  over  the  difficulty.  The  fourth 
day  would  bring  the  advanced  guard  to  Verrex*  and  on 
fifteenth  they  would  easily  touch  the  plain  at  St.  Martin  ;  the 
elephants  (which  even  in  the  hoatUe  Alp&  of  the  ascent  were  able 

*  Aw&fpii>^,         t  TptT^ies  krh  KpfjfivSVt         *  c^va0paiiras  l^^v  irStfoy  rifr  9vira^ur^ 

to 


HrninihaTs  Passage  of  the  Alps, 


217 


to  pratect  themselves  through  the  fear  their  strangeness  inspin?d) 
and  the  Numidians  bringing  up  the  rean  We  conceive  with  Mr. 
Law  thatj  according  to  common  sense^  the  van  of  Hannibal's 
army  would  touch  the  plain  before  the  rear;  and  that  the 
language  of  Pol v bins  is  satisfied  if  the  van  touched  the  plain 
darlog  the  third  day's  onward  march  from  the  precipices  of  those 
who  were  the  last  to  leave  them.  A  difficulty  of  another  kind  is 
suggested  by  Dn  Arnold,  in  the  notorious  character  for  plunder- 
ing, whirh  ihe  Salassian  Gauls  of  the  Dora  Baltea  valley  bore 
in  the  days  of  Caesar.  Yet  it  is  surely  both  conceivable  and 
consistent  that  the  same  people  should  plunder  the  hated  and 
encroaching  Romans,  by  whom  they  wtire  shortly  to  be  extirpated 
as  untamable  savages  — that  is,  as  irreconcilable  foes, —and 
should  refrain  from  plundering"  the  Carthaginians,  when  coming 
at  the  invitation  of  their  neighbours  and  kinsmen,  the  Insubres, 
to  make  common  cause  with  themselves  against  Rome. 

The  vexed  question  of  the  descent  among  the  Insubres  *  has 
been  already  mentioned.  Livy,  while  asserting  a  confident 
opinion  that  Hannibal  came  first  upon  the  Taurini,  says  that 
the  *  Cremonis  jugum  '  or  the  Penine  Alp  would  have  brought 
him  down  through  the  Salassi  into  the  Libai  Galli.  Mr,  Ellis, 
whose  route  goes  straight  through  Turin  (Augusta  Taurinorum), 
leans  strongly  on  this  notice  of  the  Libui  by  Livy^  and  on  the 
silence  of  Poly  hi  us  as  to  their  station  on  the  line  of  march,  to 
infer  that  Hannibal  only  reached  the  Insubres  after  his  victory 
over  the  Taurini,  In  his  recent  *  Enquiry  '  Mr.  Ellis  makes  the 
remarkable  assertion  that  Folybius  twice  states  the  position  of 
die  Taurini  as  close  to  the  foot  of  the  particular  Alps  crossed 
by  Hanoi  bah  Mr.  Law  rejoins  that  Poly  bins,  who  has  never 
mentioned  a  single  people  since  the  AUobroges,  would  not  have 
troubled  himself  to  mention  a  historically  unimportant  tribe  as 
occupying  the  plain  adjacent  to  die  Dora,  while  Hannibal's 
great  allies,  the  chief  nation  in  Cisalpine  Gaul,  were  masters 
of  it  for  military  purposes.  The  descent  into  the  lands  of  a 
smaller  tribe  of  Gauls  subordinate  to  the  contiguous  greater 
tribe,  was  for  the  purposes  of  history  equivalent  to  a  descent 
immed lately  among  the  greater,  Livy's  statement  is  not  evi- 
dence, but  argument  only ;  and  we  believe  with  Mr,  Law 
that  the  whole  historical  basis  of  the  argument  is  the  undis- 
puted fact  that  Hannibars  first  blow  in  Italy  was  delivered 
against  the  Taurini,  Poly  bins  brings  down  Hannibal  among 
the  Insubres^  and  winds  up,  so  to  speak,  the  campaign  of  the 
Alps,  in  his  fifty-sixth  chapter     The  campaigns  of  Italy,  after 


*  jraH^^c  T«A^T7p£f  wh  Th.  ircS^'n  nvX  rb  t£v  *lir6ft$fmv  (Bfoti 


the 


lis 


BmmihaTs  Panose  tfthe  Atp$. 


the  powers  of  Rome  and  Carthage  have  been  bTOtLght  &ce  to 
face  on  the  field  of  a  new  peninsula^  begin  with  the  storming 
of  the  Taarine  town  in  the  sixtieth  chapter-  Under  »ity  system 
of  historical  '  Suminaries^'  it  is  impossible  to  allow  thai  the 
events  told  in  the  sixtieth  chapter  were  intended  to  precede  in 
time  those  told  in  the  fiftv-sixth.  If  we  were  credulous  enon^h 
to  believe  in  such  flexibility  in  the  style  of  Poly  bins,  we  should 
still  ask  how  and  where  Hannibu!  refreshed  his  army  in  its 
utmost  distress,  and  supplied  it  anew  with  tlie  net^ssariea  of 
which  (even  by  Livy*s  account)  it  was  so  much  in  need,  if  the 
hostile  Taurini  lay  in  iVonl  of  him,  and  the  barren  Alps  behind 
him.  It  is  a  hasty  assumption  that  the  Taurine  town  whidl 
Hannibal  laid  waste  with  fire  and  sword  lay  in  the  same  situatioB 
with  the  Turin  afterwards  founded  by  Augustus.  But  howe^ 
tiis  may  have  been,  it  is  by  far  easiest  to  believe  that  Hanni! 
marched  westwartl  after  reorganising  his  forces  in  the  territory 
of  his  allies.  The  sharp  lesson  given  to  the  hostile  neighbours 
of  the  Gauls  was  the  best  method  of  crushing'  any  doubt  as  to  the 
value  of  the  Carthag^inian  alliancei  even  though  tbe  movement 
did  not  advance  him  on  the  flirect  road  to  Rome,  Poly  bios  (aiid 
Livy  also)  speak  of  the  assault  on  the  Taurini  as  if  it  were  detet^ 
mined  rather  by  political  strategy  than  by  military  necessity. 

We  have  endeavoured  to  confine  ourselves  in  the  discussiciii 
of  this  controversy  to  the  real  evidence  upon  its  successive  points* 
A  really  amusing^  variety  of  cases  put  forward  on  behalf  of  divers 
routes  during  tbe  last  century  will  be  found  impartially  stated 
and  thoroughly  ventilated  in  Mr,  Law'S  two  volumes.  The  Mont 
Cenis  has  been  selected  for  notice  here  as  the  most  plausible 
antagonist  to  the  Little  St.  Bernard,  and  Mn  Ellis  as  its  latest 
and  most  determined  partisan,  Mr  Ellis  professes  to  nely 
mainly  upon  the  narrative  of  Poly  bins  for  the  proofs  of  Ms 
thf^ry  in  respect  of  every  step  from  the  Rhone  to  the  Po,  He 
is  perfectly  iree  to  construe  the  language  of  tlie  Greek  his- 
torian as  ingeniously  as  he  can  consistently  with  the  rules  of 
sense  and  scholarship,  and  to  find  in  the  physical  features  of  the 
route  he  favours  the  clearest  marks  of  identity  with  the  track 
of  Hanoi  bah  We  acknowledge  the  boldness,  and  respect  the 
obstinacy,  of  Mr,  Ellis's  attempt  to  prove  that  track  acrcMi 
the  Little  Mont  Cenis,  and  disprove  it  over  the  Little  St,  Bernardt 
out  of  the  pages  of  Polybius;  though  we  disagree  with  him  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  confidently  hope  that  Mr,  Law's  lumioous 
and  exhaustive  treatise  has  set  the  question  at  rest  for  ever.  But 
Mr,  Ellis  (both  in  his  'Treatise'  and  bis  'Enquiry')  trai-eU 
out  of  the  Hmil*  which  he  begins  by  laying  down  for  hini-* 
self,   and   tries  to  find  additional   foundation  for  his  theory  in 

allegations 


Hannibarm  Paisaye  of  the  Alps, 


219 


allegations  which  are  entirely  and  obTiously  mistaken,  and 
which  would  not  in  any  sense  be  evidence  to  prove  it,  if  they 
were  all  as  entirely  and  obviously  true.  Like  the  owner  of 
the  Kaim  of  KinpruneSj  or  any  other  unrecognised  relic  of 
aBtiquity,  he  cannot  be  satisfied  without  makings  every bcnly  see 
it.  He  crosses  the  Mont  Cenis  with  the  Hannibal  of  Livy  m 
ell  as  with  the  Hannibalof  Poly  bins,  though  the  tril>es  (Tri- 
stini,  Vocontii^  and  Tricorii)  and  the  river  (the  Durance) 
named  by  Livy  point  in  only  one  possible  direction^  which  is  not 
Mont  Cenis,  Mr,  Law  shows  conclusively  that  as  far  as  Livy 
knew  what  he  meant j  he  meant  to  aflirm  that  Hannibal  crossed 
the  Mont  Genevre.  Mr.  Ellis  next  takes  Julius  Caesar  over  the 
Mont  Cenis  to  his  campaign  against  the  Helvetii,  Mn  Law 
agrees  with  nearly  every  authority  from  D'AnvUle  to  Napoleon 
II L  in  the  belief,  for  which  he  gives  excellent  reasons,  that 
Capsar  crossed  by  the  Mont  Genevxe,  from  Usseau  (Ocelum)  to 
Grenoble,  Mr,  Ellis  asserts  that  the  Mont  Cenis  was  a  known 
and  welt- used  Roman  highway,  and  that  it  is  laid  down  as  such 
Upon  the  curious  old  map  of  roads  attributed  to  the  fourth 
century,  which  was  found  at  Spiers  in  the  fifteenth,  and  which 
ordinarily  goes  by  the  name  of  Peutinger's  Chart,  or  the  Theo- 
dosian  Table.  The  document  on  which  he  relies  traces  one 
road  leading  from  Turin  through  the  stations  o(  Seg^usio  (Susa), 
Martis,  Gadao,  and  over  the  summit  of  the  Cottian  Alps  to 
Brl^antio  (Briantjon),  and  so  U^  Arles-  After  crossing  the 
summit^  this  road  is  marked  as  branching  out  into  three,  at  or 
near  Brianyon^  One  of  the  tliree  branches  terminates  in  Vienne, 
on  the  Rhone  ;  and  this  Mr*  Ellis,  calling  it  the  Turin  and 
Vienne  road,  asserts  to  be  indisputably  the  Mont  Cenis,  A 
liundred  years  ago,  D^Anville  laiil  it  down,  with  a  precision 
which  Mr,  Ellis's  various  arguments  entirely  fail  to  disturb,  as 
running  from  Brian^on  to  Grenoble  over  the  Col  du  Lautaret, 

The  author  of  *The  Alps  of  Hannibar  bespeaks  the  indul- 
gence of  critics  in  his  preface,  as  *  an  old  man  returning  to 
Greek  after  long  absence  ;*  and  a  glance  at  the  Musw  Ozonienses 
shoivs  that  Mr.  Law  was  writing  Latin  prize^p*jems  at  Oxford 
just  sixty  years  ago*  The  appeal  is  hardly  necessary.  No  one 
can  reaJ  tLe  work  and  not  acquire  a  conviction,  that  in  addition 
to  a  thorough  grasp  of  the  particular  topic,  its  writer  iias  at 
command  a  large  store  of  reading  and  thought  upon  many 
cognate  points  of  ancient  history  and  geography.  Many  veteran 
icholars  maintain  an  easy  interest  in  classical  literature  through 
the  occupations  of  a  busy  life :  few  could  l>oast  the  energy,  the 
enthusiasm,  and  the  patience  required  for  the  production  of  so 
extended  and  so  sound  a  treatise  at  eighty  years  of  age.     The 

subject 


sto 


The  Church  and  her  CarateM. 


subject  may  be  *  cavinre  to  the  general '  \  but  tbose  who  can  follow 
Mn  Law  through  its  wiDclings  will  find  the  Interest  qX  tlie  con- 
troversy ^row  upm  them.  Lucid,  terse,  and  hanl-hittin|r 
throu^rh nut,  \et  full  of  respect  for  all  writers  of  undoubted 
schoiarsbip  who  ba\e  handled  the  matter  before  him,  Mr,  Law 
rises  to  a  pitch  of  genuine  eloquence  in  his  concIudlDg  chapter^ 
which  is  mainly  devoted  to  a  fervid  but  not  unmerited  eulo^ium 
on  his  favourite  hi&torian.  Even  tluise  who  are  disposed  to  hold 
thftt  Mr*  Law  estimates  Polybius  in  some  respects  too  highly 
will  not  quarrel  with  his  closing  lines; — 

*  AH  flxo  constrained  to  own,  that  among  those  to  whoso  labrmm  wo 
are  indobted  for  a  knowledge  of  the  times  that  are  past,  there  is  no 
name  that  ItTee  ennohlad  above  the  name  of  Poly  hi  us  by  the  clear 
spirit  of  truth.  This  was  the  light  of  his  path,  and  thua  he  haila  it : 
'*  Truth  is  the  eye  of  history :  for,  aa  tlie  living  thing  deprived  of 
sight  becomes  nil  useloss.  so,  if  truth  ho  token  from  history,  %vhat 
remains  is  an  unprotitahle  tale."  *  And  again — *  "  If  one  has  come 
to  knowledgei  then  is  the  most  difficult  thiug  of  all;  for  even  the 
ejewitness  to  control  his  know  lodge,  and,  despising  the  panidoacieal 
and  marvellous,  to  give  for  hia  own  sake  the  first  honoura  to 
truth,  and  tells  as  nothing  that  trangreRfies  her,"  WhOe  such  hia 
^eal^  and  such  his  wmm  of  diuDger,  hu  felt  the  higher  principle  in 
which  this  virtue  has  her  safety  ;  he  taught  the  bright  ksson^  that  tmth 
to  man  is  kindled  in  aincerity  to  God — to  yh^t  ^mf$mu¥  iIi/f*t'OT«u^ 
wpav  TCPi"?  ^cois  v7t6Bv\^i%  iorl  rij«  Ttphi  dAAi^/Ayoi^  uA^/^etas/ 


A  aT<  IX. — 1 .  The  Position  and  Prospects  of  Siipmdiart/  Curates  : 
a  Paper  published  bt/  order  of  the  Provinomd  ConuriJ  of  the 
Curates'  Ampmrnttttion  Fund,  setting  Jorth  a  Plan  for  thv  Im* 
promment  of  the  Position  and  Prosjwdjs  of  Slipejtdiartj  CurateK 
with  certain  Objcttions  to  the  Fnml  consider ed.  Third  Edition* 
I-ondon,  Oxford,  and  Cambridge,  18*>7. 

2*  Report  qfth  Society  for  Prmtwting  tfm  Employment  of  Additional 
Curates  in  populous  Places,     1866, 

3,  Mejmri  of  the  Church  PaMoral  Aid  Society,     1868. 

4,  Sam  of  the  Clerf^tf  Report.     1867. 

5,  Report  of  the  Bishop  of  London  s  Fund,     1866r67. 

"V^T^HATEVER  other  results  may  follow  from  the  important 
T  T  change  now  passing  over  our  great  National  Repre- 
sentative Assembly,  one^  if  we  may  judge  from  the  experience 
of  the  past,  is  sure  to  folio w^lhat  many^  if  not  all,  of  our  oldest 
institutions  wilt  be  tested  anew  by  searching  popular  inqulrv* 
The  waves  drive  inward  from  the  ocean  storni,  and  as  their  swell 
reaches  the  shallows,  it  is  lifted  into  more  threatening  crests,  and 


runs 


The  Church  and  fier  Curates, 

mm  in  among  the  creeks  and  gullies  of  the  coast  wit^  whitening 
breakers  and  thundering  voices.  Whether  the  old  cliffs  will 
stand  unmoved,  and  mmpart-iike  beat  back  the  billows,  must 
depend  upon  the  state  in  which  the  attack  finds  them.  If  their 
foundations  are  solid  and  their  front  compact,  the  heaviest 
suif  will  plav  idly  round  them,  and  they  will  hold  their  own 
amidst  *the  Hell  of  waters/  But  if  tht?re  be  rifts  and  cracks 
along^  their  line,  and  over-toppling  crags  weighting  unequally 
their  brow,  there  may  be  many  falls  and  much  loss  of  precious 
ground. 

At  such  a  breathing-  time  then  as  the  present,  it  is  well  to  look 
to  our  state  of  preparationj  and  guard  by  groins  and  jetties  the 
line  of  coast  which  is  sure  ere  long  to  be  tested  by  the  wild  break 
of  the  untamable  waters. 

Now  amongst  the  institutions  which  must  be  thus  tried,  our 
Established  Church  stands  perhaps  in  the  fore-front  Our 
readers  know  that  we  look  with  anxiety  on  some  of  the  con- 
ditions of  its  internal  state,  and  are  not  altogether  satisfied  that 
the  best  of  all  defences  against  anj  external  violence,  a  thorough 
well  compacted  inwartl  coherence,  is  as  fully  maintained  amongst 
us  as  it  might  be*  But  to  that  subject  we  have  no  intention  of 
returning  at  present.  It  is  to  other  aspects  of  our  great  Esta- 
blished Church  that  wc  wish  in  a  few  words  to  call  the  serious 
attention  of  our  readers. 

It  is  then  against  our  Church  as  an  establishment  that  we  ex- 
pect this  first  storm  to  break.  So  it  was  after  the  passing  of  the 
first  Reform  Bill.  Hardly  had  the  passionate  cries  amidst 
which  that  bloodless  revolution  was  accomplished  died  upon  the 
ear,  when  new  voices  awoke  on  every  side  clamouring,  some  for 
the  reform^  some  for  the  remodelling,  some  for  the  abolition,  of 
our  National  Church  Establishment. 

It  argues  surely  not  a  little  for  the  strength  of  the  old  wallsj 
and  on  the  whole  for  the  instincUve  prudence  with  which  their 
defence  was  conducted,  that  in  those  turbulent  times  they  w^ere 
not  dismantled  but  restored,  and  that  the  too  eager  utterers  of 
the  opprobrious  invective  *  Down  with  the  old  hag,'  awoke  in  the 
public  mind  not  the  Divine  Rage  they  hoped  to  excite  against 
their  victim,  but  a  deep  disgust  against  themselves  and  a  settled 
opposition  to  their  attempts. 

Something  of  the  same  sort  is  pretty  sure  to  follow  our  new 
political  reformation.  An  electric  condition  of  the  air  quickens 
into  a  very  b'oublesome  activity  all  the  lower  forms  of  animal 
life  ]  and  speculators,  and  nostrum- mongers,  and  men  of  one 
idea,  are  always  excited  by  a  thundery  state  of  the  political 
and  social  atmosphere.     Societies  for  the  Revision  of  the  Prayer 

Book| 


282 


The  Oturch  and  her 


Book,  and  Anti-State  Churcli  Socriotics,  and  Libemtioa  Sckciel 
and  the  like^  feel  that  their  time  is  come,  and  be^in  buzzing  atxHif 
amidst  the  larger  and  mure  bighlj  animated  organi^.tiotis  wUeli 
they  so  pertinaciously  infest^  and  stinging  or  irritating  all 
whom  tUey  can  reiick  Any  one  who  has  noted  the  degree  to 
which  the  scarcely  visible  insects  which  haunt  the  gem*like 
islnnds  of  the  Lake  of  Killarney  can  at  sucJi  time  madden  the 
old  boat^men,  whose  tawny  skins  look  utterly  midge  proof,  can 
in  some  degree  understand  the  annoyance  which  these 
ncric  swarms  are  ready  to  inflict^  in  such  paroxysms  of 
vitality  on  the  defenders  of  oilr  j^reat  institutions. 

The  first  attack  will  probably,  for  many  reasons^  be  loade 
upon  the  Irish  Establishment,  and  if  that  was  our  subject  we 
could  be  somewhat  largely  if  not  always  very  pleasantly  didactic 
as  to  what  it  should  do  to  pre|>are  itself  for  the  evil  day.  If  is 
not  improbable  that  the  assailanis  of  the  English  Establishmeot 
may  postpone  iheir  more  open  assaults  on  its  existence  till  ihej 
have  played  out  their  Irish  p^me.  This  is  at  the  present  mo- 
ment the  plan  of  their  campaign.  There  is,  we  have  every 
reason  to  believe,  very  little  genuine  Irish  hostility  to  the  Irish 
Church  Establishment  There  is  indee<i  a  band  of  Irish  patric»ts 
who  hate  it  In  common  with  the  Imperial  Parliament  and  the 
Imperial  Crown,  as  a  badge  of  the  long- continued  servitude  of 
Erin,  But  though  on  occasion  a  somewhat  noisy >  these  are  not 
a  very  powerful  Ijody.  They  are  indeed  always  ready  to  break  a 
few  heads  at  a  fair,  but  they  have  no  serious  thoughts  eYcn  of 
mpturing  Chester  Castle^  still  less  of  demolishing  the  Tower  of 
London  J  or  destroying  the  Irish  Church  Establishment  The  leo- 
turers  and  speakers  a^^ainst  it  are,  for  the  most  part,  paid  agents 
of  the  English  Lil>eration  Society,  who  on  Irish  soil  are  opening 
their  first  trenches,  and  constructing  their  earliest  parallels  for 
the  breaching  of  what  they  think  the  most  assailable  point  of  the 
common  fortifications  of  the  two  conjoined  establishments.     The 

*  centres'  who  direct  these  secret  movements  are  likely  to  delay 
their  assault  upon  the  home-camp  till  they  are  reinforced  by  the 
strength  which  any  successful  action  against  these  more  distant 
bands  would  assuredly  give  them. 

But  though  the  main  attack  may  be  delayed,  there  will  pro- 
bably be  a  good  deal  of  useless  preliminary  firing*  As  we  run 
o^T  eye  over  the  not  very  enticing  bill  of  literary  fere  which  the 

*  Liberation  Society'  now  hangs  out  to  tempt  us,  we  can  antici- 
pate tolcrf^bly  well  of  what  the  banquet  will  consist  Thos  we 
are  invited  to  hear  'The  Rev,  Daniel  Kattem  refute  the  objec- 
tions to  organisation  for  Anti-State  Church  purposeSp'  We  are 
bidden  *to  examine ^  with    Mr,  Miall,   *the    title-deeds  of  the 

Church 


Tlw  Church  and  her  Curates,  223 

Chiireli  of  England  to  her  parochial  endowments;'  to  accept 
Mr-  Uinton^s  view  of  the  question,  *  Churcli  proj>erty^  whose  is 
it  ? '  or  to  receive  the  dictum  of  Mr,  Eag-le,  '  Barnster^l-Iaw '  (a 
vulturine  api>enation  very  strangle  to  us  in  the  reports  of  our  Law 
Courts),  that  'Tithes  are  the  property  of  the  public  and  the 
poor,'  These  are  the  heavy  joints  ;  but  more  appetising  fare  in 
the  way  of  entremets  are  not  excluded  from  tne  feast,  and  so 
we  are  treated  to  a  set  of  two  dozen  tracts  on  *  Bishops  and  their 
Salaries'  showing  the  sums  '  squan<lered  on  the  wearers  of  lawn- 
sleeves.'  *  Archdeacons  and  their  Incomes,^ — ^how  nice  and  deli- 
cate the  distinction  I — as  to  whom  we  are  told  that  *  no  class  of 
dignitaries  exhibit  the  mal-administration  of  the  Church  in  a 
stronger  light  ;* — perhaps  because  they  work  harder  and  for  less 
pay  than  almost  any  other  operatives.  We  have  ag^ain  '  Our 
Cathedral  Bodies,  and  what  they  Cost/  wherein  we  lefirn  that 
their  revenues  are  worse  than  Itjst;  that  the  Cathedral  towns  are 
nests  of  immorality,  the  worshrpj»ers  petrifactions,  the  Cathedral 
Close  *  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death  i*  and  we  wind  up  all 
with  the  '  incomes  of  the  working  classes ; '  and  *  The  Curate's 
com  plaint,*  We  have  no  doubt  that  '  tears  of  compassion  tremble 
on  the  eyelids'  of  the  writer  of  this  jeremiad  *  ready  to  fall 
when  he  has  told  his  pitiful  story/  How  near  also  may  be 
the  *  kicking  of  the  spiritless  outcast,*  who  will  not  join  in  over- 
turning the  Church  of  which  he  is  a  minister  it  might  be  rash 
to  prognosticate*  These  straws  show  which  way  the  wind  ii 
setting,  and  where  the  storm  is  likely  to  burst,  and  w^e  think  it 
well  that  before  Its  arrival  every  possible  provision  should  have 
been  made  to  prevent  mischief. 

Now,  all  attacks  of  this  character  rest  for  their  basis  on  two 
propotdtions ;  one  of  which  is  absolutely  false,  and  the  other 
most  exactly  and  painfully  true.  The  6rst  proposition,  repeated 
over  and  over  again  under  every  form  of  false  statement^  is  *  that 
tbc  Established  CTiurch  is  immensely  rich,  by  far  the  most 
richly  endowed  Church  in  Christendom,  with  a  vast  revenuCj  it 
may  be  stated  at  ten  millions  sterling  per  annum/  &:c»* 

We  shall  not  waste  time  and  words  in  confuting  these  mon- 
vtrous  asse lotions*  They  are  made  in  the  %'ery  teeth  of  statistical 
ijK|uiries  most  wide  in  their  extent  and  most  searching  in  their 
minuteness,  the  result  of  which  shows  that  the  Church  of  England, 
instead  of  suffering  under  this  plethora  of  means,  could  not 
secure  a  moderate  competence  for  all  her  working  clergy  if  every 
reservoir  were  broken  down  and  all  her  resources  poured  into  a 
ocnnmon  fund  for  after  subdivision, 

•  ^Oiiirtli  Property,  Who**  is  it  ? '    By  the  Kcv,  J,  H,  Hinton* 

It 


It  may  suffice  for  our  purpose  to  quote  the  general  result  to  bo 
extracted  from  the  Tables  compiled  in  1835  by  the  Commis- 
sioners apjKiinted  by  His  then  Majesty  to  inquire  into  the  Eccle- 
siastical revenues  of  England  and  Wales,  From  these  it  appears 
that  the  whole  net  income  of  the  ^Established  Church,  including 
the  revenues  of  the  arch i episcopal  and  episcopal  sees^  the 
cathedral  and  collegiate  churches,  the  several  dignities  and  bene- 
fices, amounts  to  6,495,218/,  ;  which,  if  divided  amongst  the 
25,000  clergy  of  England  and  Wales,  would  give  to  each  about 
259L  a  yean 

But  false  as  is  the  first  of  these  propositions,  the  second  is 
unhappily  too  true,  and  that  is  that  the  great  body  of  the  Eng- 
lish clergy  are  shamefully  underpaid.  Without  committing 
ourselves  to  such  highly-coloured  statements  as  those  put  forth 
by  the  '  Poor  Clergy  Relief  Society,'  which  represent  *  hun- 
dreds, literally  hundreds/  of  the  clergy  *  with  their  families  as 
struggling  in  rags  and  penury,  and  many  actually  dying  of 
cold  and  hunger;*  and  allowing  for  the  great  increase  in  the 
income  of  the  jioorest  benefices  which  the  judicious  manage* 
ment  of  their  resources  have  enabled,  and  are  year  by  year 
enabling,  the  Ecclesiastical  Commission  to  effect,  it  still  remains 
true  that  the  great  bulk  of  the  English  clergy  are  most  meanly 
remunerated  ior  their  labours.  By  whatever  test  we  try  the 
amount  of  the  remuneration  they  receive,  the  conclusion  is  the 
same.  If,  for  instance^  we  estimate  the  capital  laid  out  in  "fitting  ma 
ordinary  English  clergyman  for  his  work  and  compare  it  with  what 
he  can  hope  to  earn  in  his  profe^ion,  the  result  is  most  startling. 
We  say  nothing  of  the  *  literates/— who  are  still  in  well-regulated 
dioceses  received  rs  candidates  for  Orders  only  in  rare  and  excep- 
tional cases,  and  with  regard  to  whom  it  is  almost  as  impossible 
to  calculate  the  cost  of  production  as  it  is  that  of  the  wares  of  the 
*  cheap  Johns'  of  other  trades  ;^but  as  to  those  who  have  passed 
through  the  regular  school  and  academic  courses,  we  cannot 
estimate  the  outlay  of  capital  under  the  most  favourable  circum- 
stances at  less  than  a  diousand  pounds  sterling.  How  many 
parents,  and  those  not  rich  ones,  would  glatily  compound  the 
actual  escpense  incurred  for  that  sum  I  And  wbat«  so  far  as  thU 
worldV  goods  are  concerned,  is  the  return?  There  is,  first, 
what  may  be  called  the  apprenticeship  time  of  the  young  curate, 
when  he  receives  any  sum  for  his  labours  varying  from  nothing  to 
50/,  a  year.  How  long  this  |jeriod  may  be  extended  in  any  given 
mMe  it  is  imjK>ssible  to  say.  But  when  it  is  passed,  and  the  young 
man  has  learned  his  business^  and  too  often  married  a  wife  and 
begun  to  furnish  a  nursery,  it  is  no  great  increase  to  which  he  can 
Umk  forward.     His  salary  may  be  raised  perhaps  to  100/.  or  120/. 

a  year ; 


m  year  ;  it  is  but  seldom,  since  pluralities  were  happily  abolished, 
that  a  house  is  provided  for  him  j  or  if  it  is,  the  estimated  rent 
is  deducted  from  his  small  salary,  and  on  that  miserable  pittance 
be  may  continue  to  exist  for  an  unlimited  time^  possibly  for  hi* 
whole  life  J  though  his  labours  may  be  honestly  and  ungrudgingly 
given  to  the  work  of  his  high  office.  Many  are  those  to  whom 
preferment  never  does  nor  can  come.  That  to  which  the  poor 
hardworking  curate  may  most  hopefully  look,  the  preferment 
administered  by  his  bishop^  is  utterly  insufficient  to  supply  such 
claims;  for  the  benefices  in  Eng-land,  to  which  the  Bishops 
appoint,  form  but  a  very  small  nomber  in  the  list  of  livings. 
Whether,  on  the  whole,  this  is  an  advantage  or  a  disadvantage 
to  the  Church  is  a  question  on  wbicb  we  will  not  enter 
here.  Its  settlement  would  involve  many  most  conflicting  con- 
siderations, but  this  inevitably  results  from  it,  that,  even  where  the 
Episcopal  patronage  is  most  fairly  administered  (and  we  know 
cases  in  which  none  but  curates  of  the  diocese  ate  admitted  to 
share  in  it)j  a  very  small  proportion  of  the  curates  can  ever  obtain 
pruferment  from  its  resources.  Many^  there forc^  unless  they  have 
claims  on  private  or  political  patrons,  must,  in  spite  of  the  real 
service  of  yearsj  live  and  die  as  curates* 

But  this  is  not  all*  Even  if  they  do  obtain  after  years  of 
wt>rk  a  benefice,  they  are  often  little  better,  and  not  nnfre- 
quently  are  worse  off  than  they  were  before.  Even  the  better 
Endowed  livings  commonly  do  little  more  than  pay  their  ex- 
penses^ and  by  far  the  greater  proportion  of  Eng:lish  benefices 
fall  far  beyond  this  level.  Perhaps  the  cm  ate  of  twenty  years' 
service  succeeds  at  Inst  to  a  living  of  300/.  or  even  400/,  a 
year.  But  with  it  come  a  multitude  of  new  expenses  which 
often  make  the  poor  man  wish  himself  back  a^in  in  his  less 
dignified  position.  The  direct  claims  of  charity  multiply  upoii 
him.  The  mamtenance  of  the  parish-school  rests  in  ordinary 
cases  mainly  upon  him ;  the  parsonage  is  to  be  kept,  too  often 
to  be  put,  in  decent  repair,  whilst  it  may  be  (for  the  entail  of 
such  poverty  is  very  widely  spread)  tliere  are  no  assets  in  the 
bands  of  the  widow  of  the  dead  incumbent,  to  meet  that  most 
sickening  of  all  charges  under  such  circumstances,  the  claim  for 
dilapidations.  Then  for  the  rector  there  are  new  social  claims 
and  new  contingencies.  He  has  now  a  certain  position  to  main^ 
tain;  he  cannot  wholly  abdicate  it  without  greatly  diminishing 
his  usefulness  and  probably  incurring  reproach*  He  finds  him- 
self commonly  in  that  poorest  of  all  positi{)ns  in  a  very  wealthy 
srtclety, — that  of  a  pt>or  gentleman.  He  mixes  in  society,  bound 
lo  conceal  the  secret  grief  which  is  preying  on  him  and  to  wear 
ai  look  of  complacency  over  a  heart  heavy  with  anxiety » 

VqK  123.— iVb.  24S.  Q  How, 


^iw  muT  III';  irr.i  •.:::-.. 's.  ie  '-.gnan  ler^T  iv*»  ^Mi? 
r»  ■  ..-•:•  •  ..iir.'fi.  .iv-».  A  -.i-'-  ii  ;ivp.  inmv  'Q  vil  ^»ili  'rf 
*-»r:-i      rt«t    r;..     »'.iiii    "iiM-.-    ii^iciun    ^  aemoen  •>!  "be  ;«piniff 

^^    -  *»   *ij'ir:.iii     »    «•    r*;j.    ~at    .a   :    tiuv    acT    vine  mi  tiieir 

n«t.Mtj-.r.^*. -. .     «        a'.-'^pmi.ie     aTT^-"    pnim    or  "110  '.bbubwt  Imi* 

IT    .1    -,,»    .-.»;-.!:-..r   -I    :.e    '.uri'-ic    ii.T:r.Taeii- 

<»'r  .  ■^n.n.itt*  :.*»  ■.•:.»',«»  .".ifsii.^n.  'Jilv  wp  .xnzav 'fvnctL  ^ 
A'.^Tiirt  Q  V.  ■  .s«  \i»  .i>i::v»»  rr^ms  -i  neir  niline  i* -i  pro- 
<»«ai,..i.  ^.^iv  :rf«*r!v  /•si :T'.:::i.:uiC  L^tae  irc  vnea  "ompBEvii.  tD 
.nmi*  ^*  rh**-  viT^i  wiijic  i.Tai:iets,  oiuiaesTO.  ►r  He  Jwr  nekl 
tt»»  nari.it:»rr:irpr.  *••»  MiiikL-r.  lu.*  nem;iiizx.  •r  "fle  .aw^er. 
.1.1  rii*  ^i^-i  ,.w  ht»  ■rR.ii..'*5t  ^owitHtj''  •!  ne  -snof^cc  •'aa 
•••'•        '■»•     r.jr.if-.t        ^nnni^jie     i»r    l     nuineac    Dae  *tie  rmmSKt 

9  *ii.  r.-^  i]  !,,»  l.rif  >r.rniirs  Tnrr  tiuai.  '▼iBt  jjuMiiile 
■'•','•'■»•■     •     v;^:ifv    .-;T».ri    »i-r\v.fn    tit*ir    nt-.-esaca :       Eie  imail 

1/       .*^     .1     !r,|i,.      ir    W     lit*     i.ir.     ViHliil     )f    ILnOlUCe  '^VRBUth  *o  "iiif 

y  r  r>r.)>ni>«»nr  -Jiff  *;«»<:t>  .in.iil  -iu\"'.^ase9  iixiuziu  uxi  aiuitxpiy. 
••  .  n.  ..-noTif  ■;  :  ..  n,:.ii  n^u'.iiue  "Traiw  i  lewafT-ii  [w^- 
l»;.i...-  ..,-    ..,*    u:— j»ri»r  •!     ix   '•■•irs     ^cumimr;  Tinier  :lie 

I  .-.<'ir,rr    ■  ,i:  \.Niiiiw    11     'fcie    ii»ii«e    »i    tie  iutxnsiiil 

••If     '.*•     iiiu-    fill'     i  #»   w     .■,!»   v.irtli"    iniU':s±ililI«.       \a\ 
t^».r.*     -r     i..;.     J'!.,  i     , ■.•»'!     Jli»     lUTiT-     iniirlllie.     JUT  "111!   JIUUL'B^ 

I*  III      II I VI      V      V'TilUlTf     Tim    X 

.11*     :iijM-am:iii  Tnae*   natt 
'11  ;#»-i...,:  .-ii    r    ■  »?i    ,>    .n*    ii.i;r:::nii«    n    iiauii  iiriUrtv 

'»»     l..ni?^^     3l!«'-»Ill     lllITtS.     fS- 

v..     *!'•••  Jiiif   JL^iHiiusaiiir    ic 
:.■  *     /  --iif    :i-:aKi  *r  "aif  /cusr 
^.r  .;'■«. -,.-.N   .vs.<    i:.-        ■,»        ■ -iru,*      ..'   v*ri-^    :c   TP'fOwr^*    uu: 
o;  '/irr '.' '^-' ,*     ^.'     i  r^  ■    •      ;..   ,^- -    -,  ^^   -i;i   jjj.   *.«*    n"ff 

»/*  M"/;*;  ".-'■  v?.-.  ..--^  .  ■■  ..,  ,.s^  ..  ,  ,-,.^  -^.^  ^.^.,  ,1^  »iuc  fcir 
i  fi   f i  V  •*  »/«^f    » f,  :    7^  V.  V . .% '    - :.  r     ;  ■• .  /.^  ^    .V .  w    .  ickjai.  ri I*  -^"iri.  ti.' 

lfj#.i/.  f«;(«  ;»/^«|   /I'jM'JrrfJ^   o^    ♦*.'#  rf<^ :.':>.    of   >>^-c-^i".^-    -p.-nnid* 

Ifiit  (■  4rrf»il  jmr»  ttf  th"  whojr-  .i"  >jrr(  ;!:i*)ons  o:  ors-  f^ar^cwasfnl 
iTiiiIrt^.  I''ii  i»  i^  iliHflrir  tivrlv  :.;i  hfi:.'Ji.,;i  }:abl:  lis.:  :i>p  p"-»- 
(WMUb  IM»M  l»nn*  or  irnn  of  bij^incis  »e«'ks  a!  oare  >?  hft'OOf  « 


■   .1 ■ *- 


,ll 

11 

•*»  .     «■■ 

111 

n.»H- 

r 

... 

v 

•• 

.iy\    "i-;*- 

i> 

■  ■  -^rui* 

The  Church  mvd  hei*  Curates. 


22? 


lajidownerY  so  that  Ms  monej  capital  represents  rather  the  stock- 
Is-trade  with  which  he  works  his  business  than  his  whole  fortune. 
Nor  is  even  this  all.  The  vast  increase  of  wealth  and,  as  its 
sure  accompaniment,  the  g^rowth  of  more  expensive  habits^  tends 
eoDtioualtj  to  lower  relatively  the  social  position  of  the  clergy. 
For  whilst  the  incomes  of  others  increaaCj  theirs,  in  the  great 
number  of  instances,  must  stand  stilly  if  not  decrease.  The 
commutation  of  tithes,  however  necessary  it  may  have  been, 
tends  strongly  in  this  direction.  Of  old  the  clergy  had,  through 
the  tithes^  their  share  in  all  the  increased  productiveness  of  the 
laiid.  But  not  only  is  this  share  absolutely  given  up  under  the 
commutation  system^  but  the  increase  of  pHxIuctiveness,  as  it 
tends  directly  to  augment  the  supply  of  the  different  kinds  of 
grain  (on  the  price  of  which  the  clergyman's  income  depends), 
and  so  to  lower  their  market  value,  tends  also  to  lower  the 
standard  measure  of  clerical  remuneration. 

The  evil  of  this  low  standard  of  clerical  remuneration  extendi 
far  beyond  the  class  which  is  directly  affected  by  it.  It  is  a 
matter  of  the  gravest  concern  to  every  Christian  people  that  the 
payment  of  its  clergy  should  be  large  and  liberal,  and  to  none, 
from  various  causes,  is  this  more  important  than  to  the  English 
people.  Hitherto  England  hcts  drawn  her  clergy  from  all  classes 
of  society'.  There  have  been  paths  open  through  which  the  child  of 
the  pwr  man,  if  he  had  character  and  talents,  might  rise  to  the  very 
highest  places  in  the  Establishment  But  at  the  same  time  the 
ranks  have  been  equally  filled  by  the  sons  not  only  of  her  ancient 
gentry  but  of  her  lughcst  nobles.  The  Army,  tbe  Navy,  and  the 
Church  5  as  it  w^as  called,  were  indeed  the  only  professions  entirely 
open,  until  within  these  few  years,  to  these  last  Any  change  in 
the  social  position  of  the  clergy,  which  altered  largely  this  state 
of  things,  would  be  most  injurious  to  the  nation.  Even  if  it 
were  possible  to  give  the  very  best  and  highest  clerical  education 
to  the  children  of  the  lower  orders,  and  then  to  invest  them  with 
the  tninisterial  office,  the  loss  inctirred  by  drawing  the  clergy 
from  them  alone  would  be  incalculable.  The  injury  to  the 
higher  classes  of  society  would  be  immediate.  It  would  not  be 
tftsy  to  estimate  the  degree  in  which,  in  that  rank  of  society,  the 
presence  of  the  clerical  son  or  brother,  or  even  equal,  tends  to 
keep  evil  out  and  to  bring  in  good-  The  whole  tone  of  white 
iociety  in  our  West  India  islands  was,  we  are  told,  in  a  short 
time  altered  by  the  sending  out  of  bishops  who  took  an  equal 
social  standing  with  tbe  highest  members  of  the  community. 
The  real  object  of  maintaining  the  equal  place  of  the  mitre  with 
the  coronet  is  not  thereby  to  exalt  the  spiritualty  but  to  leaven 
the  temjioralty.     Nor  would  the  loss  of  any  change  in  this  con- 

Q  2  dition 


_^j 


Jition  of  the  clergy  be  confined  to  tliese  classes.  The  poor  wouldl 
suffer  perhaps  more  than  the  rich.  It  is  sometimes  asserted  that 
the  poorer  classes  supply  the  best  clergy  for  the  poor-  But  all  ex- 
perience proves  the  contrary.  There  is  under  a  rough  exterior  a  vast 
deal  of  high  sensitiveness  in  the  English  poor  J  aml^  after  truth 
and  reality  in  the  directly  religious  and  moral  character,  there 
is  nothing  which  they  more  appreciate  in  their  pastor  than  the 
character  of  an  English  gentleman*  They  feel  sale  with  such 
an  one.  There  is  no  fear  of  his  prying  into  their  faniily  secrets, 
or  revealing  the  whereabouts  of  the  skeleton  which  is  as  often 
hid  away  in  the  house  of  the  poor  man  as  of  the  rich^  There  is 
a  natural  sympathy  and  kindness  in  a  wcll*bred  clergyman  which 
the  poor  instantly  appreciate,  and  which  wins  to  him  their  con- 
fidence. As  a  class,  a  clergy  drawn  mainly  from  the  gentler 
classes  are  naturally  removed  further  from  that  terrible  picture 
dmwn  by  the  wise  man  of  ime  of  the  ehiefest  e\  ils  of  the  earth — 
*  A  poor  man  that  oppresseth  the  poor  is  like  a  sweeping  rain  which 
leaveth  no  food.*  * 

It  is  one  of  the  main  impediments  to  the  working  of  the  French 
clergy  at  this  time  that  this  social  change  has  been  entailed  on 
them  by  the  Revolution,  and  that  they  are  almost  universally 
drawn  from  the  lower  orders  of  the  nation.  This  has  thrown 
them  out  from  literature  antl  society,  and  more  than  anything 
else  has  tended  to  lower  the  tone  and  influence  of  the  great 
Church  of  Bossuet  and  of  Tillemont,  Yet  the  French  people 
are  far  from  being  as  aristocratic  in  their  temper  as  the  English  ; 
and  the  injury,  therefore,  which  would  be  done  to  us  would  be 
far  greater  than  that  which  this  change  has  inflicted  upon  them. 

This  tendency  to  deteri oration  in  the  social  standing  of  the 
clergy  has  moreover  developed  itself  at  the  very  time  when  it 
was  most  desimble  to  raise,  instead  of  reducing,  their  position- 
Never  was  there  a  crisis  when  it  was  more  needful  in  the 
interests  of  this  people  to  take  every  lawful  means  to  strengthemJ 
and  develope  tke  social  pott^er  of  its  clergy.  On  the  one  band^ 
the  wide-spread  intellectual  activity  of  the  day,  and  its  habit 
of  questioning  everything ;  with  the  ready  tendency  of  activity 
to  become  restlessness,  and  of  questioning  to  lapse  into  see|>- 
ticism^  call  for  a  thoughtful,  highly  educated,  uitellectual 
clergy.  If  the  clergy  do  not  continue  to  be,  as  hitherto  to  so 
great  a  degree  they  have  been,  the  guides  of  thought;  if  they 
lag  l>ehind  tlieir  age,  degenerate  in  scholarship,  eschew  science, 
grow  meagre  in  philosophy,  ami  unfurnished  in  historical  lore; 
the   defence  of   Christianity  against  its   strengthening  enemies 


*  Proverbs  scxviii.  3, 


The  Omrch  ami  Mr  Curates. 


229 


will  have  |>assed  into  hands  fearfully  inadequate  for  the  strife. 
On  another  side,  too,  the  circumstances  of  the  present  time  make 
this  need  equally  pressing-  The  accumulation  of  a  multitude  of 
men  into  a  confined  and  insufficient  compass,  tends  as  much  as 
desert  loneliness  to  produce  among'st  them  a  fierce  and  dangerous 
barbarousness.  This  overcrowding-  produces  a  more  intense  form 
of  separation  between  each  one  and  his  fellows  in  all  the  deeper 
interchanges  of  human  communion  than  the  mere  physical  diffi- 
culties of  distance  can  do.  There  is,  too,  the  same  difficulty  of 
enforcing  law  amidst  the  dense  crowd  as  in  the  dangerous 
desert ;  there  is  the  same  power  of  concealment  amongst  numbers 
as  there  would  be  in  the  forest  or  the  waste  j  there  is  the  same 
Arab-like  freemasonry  of  offenders  and  marauders  against  the 
laws  and  usages  of  civilised  society*  It  is  a  pregnant  sentence 
in  which  a  most  intelligent  American  witness  before  the  Royal 
Commission  now  inquiring  into  Trades  Unions,  states  one  cause 
wblch  has  kept  from  such  associations  id  the  United  States  some 
of  the  evils  which  have  beset  them  here,  'You  know  that  we 
have  no  such  dense  population  as  you  have  here/* 

Nothing  but  a  vigorous  spirit  of  Christianity  can  thoroughly 
leaven  such  masses  as  these.  How  little,  even  as  things  are,  we 
have  succeedetl  in  so  leavening  these  populations,  the  terrible 
revelations  of  this  Commission  may  teach  us.  Such  a  state  of 
feeling  as  they  bring  to  light  with  regard  to  destroying  property, 
maiming  limbs,  breaking  hearts,  and  violently  taking  away  life, 
could  not  possibly  exist  where  there  was  any  dominant  belief  in 
a  God  or  a  future  judgment. 

Now,  there  never  was  a  time  when  our  clergy  as  a  body 
were  for  tbeir  numbers  as  thoroughly  efficient  as  they  are 
now*  There  is  a  lar  higher  standard  both  of  personal  life  and 
of  official  labour  than  was  ever  common  heretofore.  Any  marked 
lack  of  zeal,  piety,  laboriousness,  and  intelligence,  are  the  excep- 
tions, antl  not  the  rule.  The  prevalence  of  these  ^eat  social 
evils  and  national  dangers  is  the  result  not  of  the  negligence  of 
the  clergy,  but  of  their  absolute  insufficiency  in  number  to  deal 
with  them*  A  handful  of  heroes  could  not  long  occupy  a  plain 
against  a  host  of  enemies.  Briareus  himself  could  not  with  his 
hundred  hands  weed  out  the  noxious  growth  of  a  million  of  acres, 
Tlie  clergy  are  utterly  underhanded.  They  cannot  reach  the 
multitude  who  are  nominally  committed  to  them.  How  can  one 
pastor  really  deal  with  the  spiritual  necessities  of  ten  thousand 
souls  ?  A  ml  yct>  at  the  rate  at  which  our  ]Topulation  multiplies,  this 
evil  must  increase  a  thousandfold,  unless  some  efficient  measures 


230  27ie  Church  md  her  Curai€$. 

he  adopted  to  increase  the  number  of  our  clergy,  whilst,  as  we 
have  seen,  the  whole  present  U^ndenej  of  existing^  iniluences  is  to 
lower  their  social  position,  and  so  to  reduce  their  actual  numbers 
and  degrade  the  sources  from  which  hitherto  they  have  been 
drawn^  That  this  must  in  the  long  run  be  the  const-quence  of 
underpaying  the  clergy,  a  very  little  lliought  m^y  convince  any 
one*  For  there  are  few  fallacies  more  transparent  than  the  argu- 
ment tbftt,  a»  no  clergyman  is  really  worth  having  whx>  works  for 
the  temporal  rewards  of  hh  profession,  we  may  safely  lower 
down  those  rewarcls^  trusting  tliat  we  shall  thus  secure  the  ser- 
vices  of  the  niore  eamest-mindedf  and  only  bolt,  through  tbnj 
shakiog  of  our  sieve  of  misery,  the  worldly-minded,  the  ambittou 
and  the  secular.  It  is^  indeed,  true  that  men  who  become  and 
continue  clergymen  for  the  sake  of  these  temporal  provisions 
are,  as  to  their  highest  function,  little  worth  having:  but  it  » 
not  the  less  true  that  without  the  temporal  pn[>vision  you  will  get 
few^  of  the  better  men.  After  all^  the  clergy  are  men,  and  must,  if 
they  are  to  live,  have  the  means  of  Living,  Then  in  this  ccmntry 
we  very  wisely  encourage  a  married  clergy ;  and  this  entails  the 
further  necessity  of  having  that  on  which  tlie  wife  and  family  (for 
where  he  is  pfK>r  thexe  always  is  a  family)  of  the  clergyman,  as 
well  as  the  clergyman  himself,  can  live*  Then,  agaio,  though  an 
overwhelming  love  for  the  highest  duties  of  his  spiritual  office 
may  lead  many  a  clergyman  to  labour  on  in  |KJverty  with  unre- 
warded £eal  and  unacknowledged  devotion,  and  though  these  arc 
the  very  kernels  and  living  centres  of  the  clerical  bodj,  3'et  we 
must  not  reckon  on  securing  these  unless  we  make  a  suiuible  provi- 
sion for  our  clergy.  For  fathers  and  mothers  will  not  l)ring  up 
their  children  for  the  ministry,  unless  they  see  before  them  a  rca* 
souable  hope  of  that  ministry  duly  supporting  its  mem  tiers:  and 
how  trommonly  is  the  ultimate  choice  of  a  profession  biassed  by 
these  early  and  imperceptible  influences  of  the  parents'  will! 

This  is  then  a  great  national  question.  So  long,  indeed,  aga 
as  in  the  time  of  Lord  Bacon  distant  threatenings  of  the  future  e%il 

E resented  themselves  to  the  long  presages  of  his  sagacious  mind, 
le  lamented  the  poverty  which  even   then  was  in  some  caaes 
pressing  on  the  clergy. 

'  As  fur  the  beuetices  and  pastors'  plaoes,"  he  says,  '  it  is  manifeAt 
that  very  many  of  them  ore  very  weak  and  penuriouB*  Tbey  who  gavie 
away  impropriations  &>iu  the  Church  m&m  to  me  to  stand  in  a  sort 
obnoiious  and  obliged  to  God  in  coiiuicieDee  to  do  somewhiit  for  the 
Church,  to  reduce  the  patrimony  thereof  to  a  coini>eteney.  For  since 
ihey  have  debarred  Christ's  wife  of  a  great  part  of  her  dowry,  it  were 
reason  they  made  her  a  competent  jointure.** 

•  Lord  Bm4ki'i  '  Wocki»*  voL  iL  &49.    Ed.  ISOa. 

There 


The  CImrch  emrf  her  Curates. 


There  is  little  hope  of  tnnch  redress  from  the  remedy  to  which 
iie  points.  Well  as  every  patriot  must  wish  if,  no  great  results 
we  fear  will  be  obtained  from  the  labours  of  the  society  which 
seeks  to  regain  for  the  ministry  the  tithes  which  lay  impropriators 
have  abstracted. 

The  temper  of  the  times  is  decidedly,  and  not  altogrether  nn* 
reasonably,  aj^jainst  any  general  or  large  increas**  of  endowments. 
This  is  one  evil  which  has  waited  upon  the  startling  interference, 
whether  necessary  or  not,  with  the  intention  of  founders  which  the 
present  age  has  witnessed^  Men  do  not  feel  anything  like  the 
confidence  of  other  days  that  there  will  be  any  very  lon^-continued 
resjiect  for  their  desires  i(  they  found  institutions  or  endow  livings* 
And  beyond  this  there  is  far  too  much  in  the  present  day  of  the 
spirit  embodied  in  the  well-known  adage,  *  Why  should  1  do 
anything  for  posterity  when  posterity  has  done  nothing  for  me?' 
Such  a  temper  is  altogether  hostile  to  the  creation  of  endowments. 
They  are  indeed  a  growth  which,  as  a  general  rule,  seems  to 
belong  far  more  to  the  youth  than  to  the  maturity  of  states. 
From  this  source^  therefore,  comparatively  gpeaking,  but  little 
It  to  be  obtained. 

The  temper  of  charity  at  present  is  far  more  to  relieve  present 
wants  and  supply  immediately  pressing  necessities*  This  has 
given  birth  to  various  Societies  which  seek  to  do  what  they  can 
to  supply  the  lack  of  endowments.  These  are  principally  con- 
nected with  diocesan  exertions.  Something  they  have  done  and 
are  doing,  aided  as  they  have  most  materially  been  by  the 
excellent  measures  of  the  ecclesiastical  commissioners,  botli  for 

k  management  of  the  estates  which  have  come  into  their  hands 
for  lira  wing  forth  private  charity  to  meet  their  grants.  Two 
other  Societies,  both  inadequately  supported,  collect  funds  for 
relieving  in  a  different  way  die  pressure  of  this  great  necessity. 
The '  Additional  Curates*  Society'  supplies  to  the  incumbents  of 
poor  parishes,  and  mainly  those  which  contain  large  populations, 
funds  to  enable  them  to  secure  the  added  labours  of  a  curate. 
This  Society  has  the  high  merit  of  being  colourless  as  to  any 

Eculiarity  of  doctrine  within  the  Church  of  England*  For  it 
ives  the  incumbents  to  select  and  the  bisthops  of  the  dio- 
ceses to  approve  of  the  curates  whom  it  maintains,  without  endea- 
-r  on  ring  to  enforce  tipon  the  holders  of  benefices  whom  it 
assists  any  peculiar  shade  of  religious  opinion  in  their  fellow* 
workers. 

The  'Church  Pastoral  Aid  Society,'  on  the  contrary,  which  arose 
in  what  is  termed  the  '  Evangelical  *  School,  watches  jealously 
over  the  party  character  of  every  curate  which  it  pays,  and  subjects 

them 


S33  nr 


is  reported  ot  tjiprn  be  zru^  woaki  ouc  be  siiv^jr^^  of  21^        * 


palmj  dAj%  *iL  Parronifflii  iziiier  CiouLweil  ^-^j  R^rrfu^/  niost 

Anocna'  vai  a  sell  ▼oone^  Sccierr — cije  -  CMra^l^' 2lT,'„ 

tioa  Fami ' — wurkm:r  ia  *  kfznircd  Sseid  oc  labocr  l^s  »^^"^^^* 

more  immediafiei j  oe  Clirxacaa  tasUL  oc  ni&i]^  ^fce  cmi^^^*^^ 

tike  cumes  axai  soppijin^  a  sort  oc  eotiowsKK  far  tbe»  ^"* 

doved  labocrers  in  =!»-'  TrineyanL    Tae  ^fesisn  is  ahoeetier  ^"*^ 

knc  and  none  Cisserre  m*xe  zichlj  sacii  ^aua^ac^  tk^.m  tK^.-^^^* 

beball  oc  whom  ;:  ba*  entered  oa  i2i  Tirlde  Seld  ot  charitv**^  ^"* 

There  are  a£  thi.s  time  ibuor  &Te  tiuxisuBd  ciit»*»*   :  * 

empIoTmeoc  m  toe  Casnii  oc  Lxi;r:aaLl.     Tlie  nc^t^Lr^  -^        i 
'^  -'  j»'  j-.T'r*--       1*^*000  Qt  such 

men  is  doc  Ux>  darikiT  coi«>creii  ::i  "  1  je  i-autKxi  ^jw|  ProMiMt«    f 

Sdpendianr  Coraiftk'  as   *si3tiL   ia   cbe  poDspectns  of^/* 
Societr: — 


ekrgjmoi  who.  after  ia^.m  ittwa  ;o  feffer  j«azs'  iotm  -    ■"^"«^* 


tant-cimlesw  with  prv^^>«nccal  rccciB^  scaKelr  aTetagQ^  lOQI. 
being  less  tban  is  «ani<ed  b  j  a  skilLed  aitkuu  or  b j      *  ^ 


bttik. 


ijoniorclaEk 


y«f» 


ma 


•It  b.B  been  argued  cLu  a  ekrgricmi  a  both  aUe  and  wiffimjto 
b^e  an  a  smaUer  mcome  than  hss  ccntenqpoemries  in  «||w  m^T^ 
feedon,  and  tbafi,  as  a  rale,  u>  -Kre  of  ibe  giDspel''  impUea^to  bim^ 
afflnence,  bat  an  adeqiate  saffideccr  for  tlh*  xeqidremenlB  c£  Im 
tiiHi.     Be  tbat  so:  bnt  the  real  qoeetion  now  raised  ia^  whether  te^ 
large  body  of  her  ministers,  the  CliTxrcli  does  provide  even  this  mflT 
ciency  ?    Let  ns  gee  how  fir  llW.  a  year  will  go.     Call  it  2JL  a        V 
Out  of  this  the  curate  has  to  provide  a  home,  the  cost  of  which,  ^a' 
the  most  faTonrable  circmxtstances.  cannot,  coi^derins  the  wwaii^ 
which  he  has  lo  keep  up,  £dl  much  below  oCV,  a  year,  leavinc^m  U 
per  week  for  clothing,  maintenance,  medical  attc^idance,  penonal 
penses,  books,  parochial  and  other  claims.      In  popolons  district 
where  rent  and  taxes  are  high,  and  all  the  necessaries  of  life  dear  it^ 
very  difficult  for  a  single  man,  and  im}io$rible  for  a  married  man  *e   ^ 
with  the  greatest  economy  and  self-denial,  to  live  on  this  income'    ^^ 

*  Compare  the  curate*s  stipend  in  the  manufacturing  districts;  where 
the  services  of  our  ablest  men  are  most  needed,  with  the  labourer' 
wages.  A  skilled  artisan  will  cam  from  6s,  GJ.  to  8».  Sd.,  and  an 
under-agent  from  12«.  Sd.  to  21#.  per  day,  and  yet  the  curate,  with  a 
stipend  equal  to  only^re  ihillings  and  sixpence  per  diem,  is  expected 
and  justly  bo,  from  his  sacred  office,  to  make  a  better  appearance  and 

•  It  is  a  figBificant  fact,  and  one  which  should  appeal  strongly  to  the  liutv  of 
KngUod,  that  in  the  same  diocese  the  tithes  held  by  lay  impropriators  amou^  tJ! 
upwards  of  160,000/.  a  year.— See  '  Exeter  Diocesan  Calendar.* 

to 


lo  give  more  liberally  towards  the  support  of  every  charitable  ^ork, 

than  either  of  these/* 

*  It  would  cheer  loaiiy  an  anxious  heart,  even  in  prospect,  and  even- 
tually till  many  a  poTerty-strioken  home  with  thmiMul  gladnessj  could 
fiuch  a  provision  by  any  possibility  be  made  a  thing  that  coiild  be 
fairly  reckoned  on.  It  would  meet,  pro  ianto^  the  exact  difficiilty  of 
an  unbeneficed  clergy,  which  is  to  hold,  in  matters  temporal  and  social j 
the  social  status  which  the  Church  assumes  that  they  do  maintaiii ; 
the  Ordination  Service  assumes  that  they  arc,  as  a  rule,  householders. 
The  world  expects  them  to  keep  for  themsolves  and  others  the  rank 
and  the  education  of  gentlemen /f 

jNoT  caa  the  often  sinking  hearts  of  men  of  education  and  sensi- 

I  bility,  tried  often^  how  severely  God  only  knows,  by  the  various 

.difficulties  of  such  a  position,  be  upheld  by  the  last  comfort  of 

the  desolate  ;  for  Hope  visits  them  rarely,  and  with  the  slenderest 

imaorinino^s  of  better  days^     Again  we  quote  from  the  *  Position 

and  Prospects,*  p,  1  * — 

I     *  The  prospect  of  preferment  open  to  curates  may  be  t]ius  estimated  : 

'Out  of  about  12,870  liyings,  there  are  only  7010  of  200/.  a  year 

and  np wards.     To  supply  the  vacancies  for  promotion  which  occur  in 

!  these  7010  livings,  the  selectien  must  be  made  amoug  the  following, 
TIE-,  5860  inoinnbenta  of  smaller  livings,  5000  curates,  and  ahout  4000 
dergy,  who,  thoagh  not  engaged  in  parochial  work,  are  for  the  most 
port  seeking  preferment.  It  will  he  seen  at  once  that,  oven  if  Church 
patronage  were  administered  solely  with  regard  to  meritorious  service, 
the  obances  of  a  man  obtaining  a  fair  income,  in  early  or  middle  life, 
WonM  be  much  less  than  in  any  other  profession.  But  when  it  is 
imnfimbared  that  perhaps  the  majonty  of  those  who  are  promoted  are 
lyonng  men,  and  so  hold  their  Udngsfitr  a  liftime^  and  that  they  often 
owe  their  promotion  either  to  their  having  a  " family  living;*  or  to  in- 
;fliieatial  friends,  or  to  tlieir  possessing  the  means  of  purchasing  pro- 
ferment, it  is  evident  that  the  chances  of  a  roan  without  interest  are 
.iin&utegimally  small.  It  is  arithmetically  impossible  that  the  existing 
I Jncnmhencies  can  afford  maintenance  within  a  reasonable  time  for 
more  than  one-third  of  the  clergy  ordained,  there  being  21,000  clergy, 
And  only  7010  livings  of  200/,  a  year  and  npwards.J 

*  With  such  a  remote  probability  of  prefeiment,  even  after  many 
ymti^  Bcrvice,  a  prudent  man,  without  interest,  must  necessarily,  on 
entering  Holy  Orders,  contemplate  the  possibility  of  remaining  a  curate 
Wkll  his  life,  and  if  possessed  of  average  abilities,  may  fairly  require 
wame  guarantee  that  in  that  case  he  will  be  able  to  reckon  upon  his 
income  nltimutely  increasing  to  at  least  200/.  a  year.  It  is  simply  im- 
possible for  incumbents  to  comply  with  this  just  requirement ;  they 
cannot,  that  is,  unless  tissiikd  btf  tim  laUjf,  comply  with  the  law  of 

Epply  and  demand,^ 

'A  Paper  Publisbed,  &c.;  pp*  10,  U,  ^  Ih.  p.  £9,  J  J6.  p.  15, 

It 


234  7%0  Church  and  her  CuraieB. 

It  i«,  moreover,  well  wortby  of  notice,  that  diis  hopeless  vi€*w 
of  preferment  is  to  a  very  great  degree  a  recent  mggpraTatton  of  the 
evils  of  the  curate's  position : — 

'  Formerly  every  curate  looked  forward  to  obtain,  and  generally 
did  obtain  from  a  very  early  period  of  his  ministry,  a  sole  charge. 
He  lived  in  the  parsonage  house,  and,  if  possessed  of  even  very  limited 
private  means,  held  an  independent  and  fsirly  good  position.  From 
many  circmnstanoes  he  was  much  less  liable  to  be  displaoed,  often 
serving  in  the  same  Cure  for  a  lifetime,  generally  for  a  much  longer 
period  than  is  nsual  now ;  whilst  in  the  event  of  his  being  obliged, 
after  some  years'  service,  to  seek  a  new  sphere  of  duty,  his  advanced 
age  was  no  disqualification  in  the  eyes  of  an  incmnbent  who  was 
himself  permanently  non-resident.  The  curate  of  former  days  was, 
therefore,  comparatively  free  from  the  disappointments,  anxieties,  and 
expenses  which  are  inseparable  from  the  wandering  and  unsettled  life 
of  the  curate  of  the  present  day.'  * 

To  understand  fully  the  extent  of  this  aggravation  of  the  curate's 
difficulties,  the  actual  statistics  of  residence  and  non-residence, 
as  they  represent  the  present  and  the  past,  must  be  before  ns : — 

'  In  the  year  1810  it  appears  from  Parliamentary  returns  that  the 
dargy  who  were  non-resident  actually  constituted  a  majority  of  the 
incumbents  in  England  and  Wales.  The  figures  are  thus  given : — 
There  were  10,159  livings,  held  by  9754  incumbents ;  of  £d  latter 
number  4359  only  resided  in  their  own  parishes,  5395  being  non- 
resident, and  for  the  most  part  leaving  a  curate  in  sole  charge.  There 
is  no  return  showing  the  exact  number  of  curates  serving  in  this  way 
as  quasi-incumbents,  but  there  were  certainly  as  many  as  5000. 

'  After  the  passing  of  the  Pluralities  Act  in  the  year  1810,  owing 
partly  to  the  removed  of  incumbents  who,  before  that  time,  had  held 
two  or  more  livings  together,  and  partly  to  increased  power  being 
given  to  the  bishops  to  enforce  residence,  this  state  of  things  gradually 
changed ;  until,  in  the  year  1838,  only  3078  curates  acted  fur  non- 
resident incumbents ;  and  in  1864,  only  955  were  so  employed.'  f 

The  immediate  design  of  the  Society  is  to  relieve  the  amount 
of  distress  which  is  of  necessity  involved  in  these  conditions  of 
the  curate's  office,  by  a  plan  which  is  thus  briefly  described  : — 

'  At  a  meeting  recently  held  at  Lambeth  Palace  a  Provisional 
Ckrancil  was  appointed  to  carry  forward  the  work  of  establishing  a 
Curates'  Augmentation  Fund.  The  object  of  the  fund  is  briefly  diis 
— to  give  to  the  working  curate,  while  at  work,  an  augmentation  or 
additional  stipend  of,  if  possible,  100/.  per  annum  over  and  above  the 
stipend  whidi  he  receives  from  other  sources.  This  augmentation 
wiU  noi  he  given  as  an  eleemostfnary  payment,  but  in  recognition  of  9erviee$j 


♦  *  A  Paper  Pablished,  &c,'  p.  5.  t  -^  P- 

far 


Tks  Church  and  her  Curates.  235 

f&r  wktch  the  pruent  ifco^  of  mraies*  itipmds^  takm  tcgeih^  %nth  ike 
mfficiefti  pnmpej.^  of  p-efermad,  tV  ai£mwledged  on  all  handM  io  he 
^Uim-tjf  inadegtmte  competisalion.  It  ie  proposed,  in  tho  first  mitance, 
iliAt  evory  cmratc  of  fifteon  years'  standing  or  up  wards,  being  in  the 
hondfide  receipt  of  a  clerical  ijieome  of  at  IcMist  100^  a  year,  or  80/,  a 
yeu*  aad  &  houso,  shall  bo  eligible  for  a  grant/  * 

The  special  feature  of  the  plan  is  its  noo^eleemosvnary  cba- 
imcter.  The  grants  of  the  Scjciety  are  to  be  good*service  pensions, 
fairly  won  in  the  field  and  earned  by  long  service,  not  the  doles 
of  charity.  This  is  of  the  utmost  moment.  We  have  already 
too  many  charitable  institutions  for  the  clergy^  with  all  their 
degrading  accidents  of  canvassing-  cards  and  the  laying  hare  of 
bmily  necessities.  It  is  impossible  tlmt  such  Societies  should 
not  lower  the  clerical  character  in  the  eyes  of  others,  whilst  they 
must  infallibly  injure  still  more  deeply  the  unhappy  men  who, 
hred  to  better  things,  are  thus  thrust  into  habits  of  mendicancy. 
As  avoiding  this  g:reat  stunibling*bIock  especially,  the  path  marked 
out  by  this  new  Society  is  safe  anil  honourable. 

The  various  objections  which  ingenuity  can  orge  against  other 
parts  of  the  plan  are  convincingly  met  in  the  pages  of  this  pamphlet, 
which  will  well  repay  a  careful  perusal.  It  is  greatly  to  be  desired 
that  the  scheme  it  sets  forth,  and  which  has  met  at  its  commence- 
ment with  much  valuable  support^  should  enlist  on  its  behalf  the 
general  interest  of  the  laity.  It  is,  in  fact,  in  no  common  degree 
a  laymanV  question.  The  proposal  is,  practically,  that  our  gene- 
mtion,  the  laity  especially,  should  do  in  their  day,  for  the  ass  is  tan  t- 
eurates,  what  our  fathers  did  for  the  clergy  in  theirs,  when  they 
endowed  them  wi'th  the  tithes  of  the  land.  It  will  be  a  fund  for 
the  quasi -endowment  of  assistant-curates.  That  the  creating  such 
an  endowment  l>elongs  to  the  laity  and  not  to  the  clergy  follows 
from  the  pTT*sen£  status  of  the  curates  as  a  body.  They  it  will  be 
[  Aeeo  fi^om  what  has  been  said  above  are  not  now  a  luxury  lor  idle, 
or  even  a  substitute  for  infirm,  incumbents.  If  they  were,  there 
might  be  some  justice  in  leaving  the  better  supply  of  their  neces- 
sities to  th<Jse  by  whom  they  are  employed.  But  there  can  be 
no  such  justice  now,  when  for  the  most  part  the  curate  exists  not 
for  the  assistance  of  the  incumbent,  but  to  supply  those  spiritual 
services  to  the  population  at  large  which  the  end<jwments  of  the 
Church,  reduced  by  the  drain  of  impropriations,  are  wholly  unable 
to  supply.  The  majority  of  curates  at  present  are  engaged  in 
discharging  duties  and  supplying  services  which  cannot  legally 
be  demanded  of  the  incumbent,  but  which  the  great  increase  of 
the  population  requires,  and  which  the  vastly-iucr^jed  zeal  of  the 

•  *  A  Paper  Published,  &c^'  p,  I, 

clergy 


236  The  Church  and  her  Curates. 

clergy  leads  them,  at  every  personal  sacrifice,  to  seek  to  supply. 
It  is  well  urged  {ib,  p.  6)  that — 

*  As  a  general  rule,  it  is  only  a  conseientious  feeling  on  the  part  of 
the  incumhont  which  induces  him  to  pay  any  part  of  his  curate's 
stipend,  supposing,  of  course,  that  he  is  able  and  willing  to  perform 
the  duties  himself  for  which  the  endowment  was  originidly  intended 
to  provide.  And  yet  the  beneficed  clergy,  whose  average  income  is 
only  2i6l.  a  year,  contribute  no  less  than  500,000/.  a  year,  or,  deduct- 
ing the  amount  they  receive  from  societies  and  other  sources,  400,000/. 
a  year,  for  the  maintenance  of  assistant-curates.  On  every  principle 
of  justice  the  laity,  as  representing  the  increased  population,  ought  to 
bear  the  greater  part  of  this  burden.  They  could  certainly  better 
afford  to  bear  the  whole  of  it ;  and  yet  how  few  even  of  our  leading 
laymen  are  there  who,  out  of  their  vast  incomes,  contribute  100/.,  or 
50^  or  even  10/.  a  year  towards  the  support  of  an  assistant-curate ! 
How  many  of  the  clergy,  with  no  more  legal  liability  in  the  matter 
than  the  laity,  out  of  their  straitened  means  pay  a  curate's  whole 
stipend  themselves  I ' 

Such  a  claim  as  this  cannot  be  neglected  in  an  Established 
Church  such  as  that  of  this  land  without  causing  great  injury  to 
all.  The  first  effect  of  such  neglect  must  be  to  diminish  the 
number  and  lower  the  'character  of  those  who  give  themselves 
to  this  most  necessary  work. 

*  If,  under  the  old  system  of  pluralities,  the  stipends  given  by  in- 
cumbents, coupled  with  the  prospect  of  advancement  which  the  ministry 
of  the  Church,  regarded  in  a  professional  point  of  view,  held  out,  had 
not  been  sufficient,  incumbents  would  have  been  obliged  to  give  more, 
or  accept  the  alternative  of  performing  their  own  duties.  In  the 
present  day,  however,  if  incumbents,  after  taxing  themselves  to  the 
utmost,  cannot  afford  to  give  stipends  which,  taken  together  with  the 
existing  prospect  of  preferment^  adequately  represent,  by  comparison 
with  the  emoluments  of  other  professions,  the  value  of  services  ren- 
dered, the  action  of  the  law  of  supply  and  demand  is  virtually  sus- 
pended, and  the  consequence  is  that  the  work  which  the  curate  sbould 
do  must  be  left  undone,  or  be  done  by  inferior  men,  to  whom  other 
professions  do  not  present  a  better  prospect.  In  other  words,  there 
must  ensue  a  deficiency  in  the  supply  of  candidates  for  Holy  Orders^  a$ul 
the  proportion  of  men  of  high  attainments  entering  the  ministry  u;ith  a  vieto 
to  engaging  in  parochial  toork  must  decrease,*  ♦ 

That  this  great  evil  has  already  appeared  amongst  us  is 
asserted  upon  very  high  authority. 

*  Parents,  especially  professional  men  and  others  who  cannot  give 
to  their  sons  an  independent  income,  feel  a  growing  disinclination  to 
incur  the  great  expense  requisite  to  give  them  a  suitable  education  to 


'  A  Paper  Pablished,  &c.,'  pp.  6,  7. 

enable 


The  Church  and  ficr  Curaiest  S37 

EqAIe  them  to  Uko  Holy  Orders,     Ev<^ii  the  clergy  themselYoa  take 

PiEiia  view  of  the  matter  in  the  case  of  their  own  sons.     Though  they 

ibel  that  they  ton  thetnselvcs  bear  hardships,  privations,  and  dis- 

appoiiitnieiite,  they  shrink  £pom  auljjecting  their  children  to  trials  of 

s«ch  severity,  "^ 

*  That  these  results  of  the  suKpension  of  the  law  of  supply  and 
demand  are  already  heing  experienced  to  a  very  great  extent,  there  is 
unhappily  abundant  evidence*  The  Arehbishop  of  Canterbury,  in  his 
primary  charge  (1864),  say  a,  "It  is  certaiiij  irom  correct  statistical 
returns^  that  the  number  of  candidates  ordained  as  dtNicona  has 
diminished  in  tlio  last  ten  years  on  an  average  of  sixty-five  per  year/^  | 

*  In  a  pamphlet  entitled  "Promotion  by  Merit  Essential  to  tho 
Progress  of  the  Church,"  the  author,  tho  Eov.  E,  Bartrum,  after  enter- 
ing very  fiilly  into  tho  statistics  of  the  subject,  and  carry  id  g  them  oa 
&om  the  date  of  the  archhiehep*s  charge,  thus  states  Hie  con  elusion  at 
which  he  arrives  :—'^  It  appenj-s,  then,  that  the  number  of  clergymen 
ordained  is  not  only  decreasing,  but  in  an  fnerrnw/rt//  rtxiio^  while  the 
proportion  of  University  men  is  declining  and  of  literates  increasing, 
-  •  -  -  Tho  calibre  of  those  entering  the  ministry  of  late  years  hag 
"been  gradually  deteriorating,  and  we  are  threatened  with  one  of  the 
greatest  misfortunes  that  can  befall  a  nation—  a  clergy  who  in  intel- 
lect are  not  superior  to  tho  people  they  profess  to  teach.*^  ^  J 

If  this  be  true  J  and  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  it  is,  the 
matter  is  indeed  of  most  serious  moment.  The  evidence  taken 
before  the  Commission  now  inquiring  into  Trades  Unions,  to 
which  we  have  already  referred,  shows  the  danger  to  which  not 
momla  only,  or  individual  life,  but  even  all  skilled  industry  in  this 
land,  and  with  it  her  wealth  and  greatness  amongst  the  nations, 
are  at  this  time  exposed,  mainly  from  the  degree  to  which 
those  working  classes  who  are  the  very  bone  and  muscle  of  om- 
|iopulation  have  been  left  untrained  in  all  religious  babits.  la 
the  great  centres  of  population  this  evil  exists  and  spreads 
All  the  efforts  of  Christian  charity  have  failed  as  yet  to  keep 
pace  with  tbe  increase  of  the  population.  Especially  is  this 
the  case  in  London  itself,  the  very  head  and  centre  of  this  land, 
with  its  court,  and  its  aristocracy,  and  its  great  merchant  princes, 
and  its  vast  hives  of  hoarded  wealth.  The  estimate  of  deficiency 
of  spiritual  supply  given  in  the  statistics  ascertained  by  inquiry 
in  connection  with  the  Bishop  of  London^s  Fund  is  really  appal- 
ling.    Here  are  one  or  two  e^tmcts  from  it§: — 

*  TbiB  h  Eimply  a  snmmary  of  statemcntB  contained  m  letters  i^ceived  hj  the 

t  The  falliog  off  in  tlie  number  of  candidates  from  the  UniTersitjes  of  Oxford 
md  Cttmbridge,  during  the  aami*  d^tadc,  appea^rSt  from  the  tables  given  by  the 
Arehbiibopr  to  have  bt^eu  of  above  eigbiy  a  jear* 

t  '  A  Paper  PubJlshed;  Sec.,  p*  8,  §  Staiisticfp  p.  5. 

*  Two 


238  The  Church  arid  her  Curates. 

*  Two  standards  have  been  adopted  as  necessary  for  the  efficient 
working  of  the  parochial  system* 

*  In  the  first  phice,  we  assmne  that  one  clergyman  cannot  efficiently 
minister  to  a  population  of  more  than  2000  souls,  and  in  this  number 
we  suppose  to  be  included  an  average  proportion  of  Dissenters,  Boman 
Catholics,  and  others. 

'  In  the  second  place  we  assume,  as  a  basis  of  calculation,  that  if  the 
population  generally  were  in  the  habit  of  attending  public  worship, 
the  Church  of  England  would  be  responsible  for  providing  accommo- 
dation for  at  least  25  per  cent,  or  one  in  four  of  the  population,  after 
making  allowance  for  the  efforts  of  all  other  religious  bodies. 

'  This  second  standard  we  have  adopted  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  laid  down  in  the  Eeport  on  the  Religious  Condition  of 
the  Population,  prepared  by  Mr.  Horace  Mann  for  the  Begistnur- 
Greneral,  in  connection  with  the  Census  of  1851.  Mr.  Mann  there 
assumes,  and  apparently  with  good  reason,  after  making  due  allowance 
for  the  aged,  the  infirm,  and  the  young,  as  well  as  for  those  who  from 
various  causes  might  be  unable  to  attend  divine  worship,  that  about 
58  per  cent,  of  the  whole  population  might  attend  if  they  were  willing^ 
either  in  churches  or  chapels,  according  to  the  religious  bodies  to 
which  they  belonged,  and  that  therefore  accommodation  ought  to  be 
provided  by  the  Church  and  by  Dissenters  for  this  number.  It 
appears,  however,  that  in  the  diocese  of  London  little  more  than  half 
this  provision  is  made,  or  about  29  per  cent.,  18  per  cent,  being  fur- 
nished by  the  Church,  and  11  per  cent  by  Dissenters  of  various 
denominations.  Supposing,  then,  that  the  whole  required  accommo- 
dation, that  is  for  58  per  cent,  of  the  population,  were  to  be  furnished 
in  the  same  proportion,  it  is  evident  that  about  36  per  cent  ought  to 
be  provided  by  the  Church  of  England,  and  about  22  per  cent  by 
Dissenters  of  all  kinds.  Instead  of  36  per  cent.,  we  have  adopted  the 
standard  of  25  per  cent,  or  1  in  4 ;  that  is,  nearly  a  third  less  than 
the  proportion  calculated  by  Mr.  Mann  as  the  minimum  amount  of 
Church  accommodation  which  ought  in  due  time  to  bo  provided  by 
the  Church  of  England.  In  making  this  deduction  we  have  been 
influenced  by  the  desire  to  put  forwi^  as  moderate  and  practical  a 
view  as  possible  of  the  wants  of  the  diocese ;  and  we  would  again 
repeat  that  it  is  adopted,  after  due  allowance  has  been  made  for  the 
estimated  proportion  of  Dissenters,  Koman  Catholics,  Jews,  &c.,  as 
well  OS  for  the  aged,  the  infirm,  and  the  young. 

'These  standards  then  being  adopted,  we  have  now  to  state  the 
result  of  our  inquiries  into  the  present  religious  condition  of  the  dio- 
cese of  London. 

'  From  the  returns  obtained  at  this  time,  and  £rom  other  sources,  it 
appears  that  out  of  all  the  parishes  and  districts  included  in  the 
diocese  (amounting  to  about  450),  about  239  are  already  provided  up 
to  the  measure  of  the  standards  nere  adopted.  They  will,  therefore, 
for  the  present  be  left  oat  of  consideration  in  estimating  the  wants  of 
the  diocese.  .  The  remaining  211  parishes  have  been  clawed  as  fdUows, 
according  to  the  amount  of  their  deficiency : — 

a.  As 


The  Church  and  her  Curates. 


tm 


*  1.  Ab  regards  Deficiency  of  Clergy ; 

One  Cli^rejiiiiiii  only*  Population, 

Ck«     I.  for  6,0u(>  anii  »pwartli     >,     11   parishes ..    ,.     22S,uDu 

II,  p,    from   6,000  to  S.fKJO     ..      ,,      14  „  ..     17 J, 400 

m,  „       „      4,000  to  6,000     ..      .*      g9  ,,  ..      757,5^0 

IV.  „     ,,    a,m)o  lo  4,ouo    ,.    .*  no       ,,         ,.    919,30a 

194 
Not    deficient    In   clergy,  bmt  iii\ 
charcb-mom       .,     *.     ,-     -/  "  "       '  * 

211       Total        ..  2,150,000 

'  2,  As  regards  Dcticiency  of  Church-room : 

L  Utohs 

AocoEDmodAUofl  for  tcrathui  Fopubtioii. 

CUis     1 I  in  10     ,*     ..     .*      53  pariihaft       ..     744,C0u 

U I  in    B     >*      ..      ..       27         „  .,     324,400 

[lit 1  in    6     .,      ,,      .*       43         „  -.  4l2,a00 

IV,     ....      1  in    4     ,,      -.      ..        71  „  ,.     609,800 

1^8 
Not  deficient  in  chupth-room,  but)       ,  „  ec  o-u* 

in  clergy     ..     ..      .*      ,.      -.j       ■  •  "       ^^*^^ 

211       Total         ,.  2,150,000 

'The  total  population  of  tkes©  211  deficient  parislies  is  about 
2,150,000,  tbe  number  of  clergy  is  582,  But  this  number  of 
clergy  on  tlie  standard  assumed  is  sufficient  for  the  superrifiion  of 
1,164,000  only  (makiug  aOowance,  as  we  have  donCj  for  the  labours 
uf  other  religious  bodies);  there  remains,  therefore,  a  population  of 
Tery  aearly  1^000,000  persons  for  whom  a  fuiiher  provision  of  500 
islergy  would  be  required  according  to  the  staudai-d  assumed  of  one 
clergyman  for  every  2000  of  the  population.  Wo  would  again  caH 
attention  to  the  extreme  importance  of  maintaining  this  standard, 
especially  with  a  view  to  the  necessity  for  personal  visitation  as  tho 
(^ef  means  by  which  it  can  hi;  hoped  to  mako  any  impression  upon 
tJiciee  who  are  earcQess  about  spiritual  things. 

*  Again  J  in  these  211  panshes,  with  their  population  of  2,160,000, 
there  is  accommodation  of  all  kinds  provided  by  the  Church  of 
England  for  298,000,  Of  this  accommodation  about  155,000  sittings^ 
or  about  one-hitlf,  are  described  as  hee^  besides  about  19^000,  or  mora 
thsM  Hm  per  cent,  of  the  whole^  provided  in  school-roomB^  mission- 
chapels,  iS^e,  But,  according  to  tho  standard  of  1  in  4^  this  total 
provision  m  no  more  than  the  Church  of  Engknd  ought  to  ma^o  for 
1,194,000,  leaving  therefore  about  *j  60,000,  or  neai^y  1,000,000  per- 
sons in  tho^e  211  parishes,  for  whom,  upon  the  standard  assumed,  tha 
Cbureh  of  England  ought  eventually  to  provide,  either  in  churches  or 
xuissioii-roomS}  250^000  additional  sittings. 

In  these  estimates  a  larg-e  margin  is  left  for  the  efforts  made  by 
bodies  not  connected  with  the  Established  Church  to  supply  these 
spiritual  necessities.     We  have  another  statement  which  appears 


240 


TkB  Church  and  her  CurateM. 


to  have  been  carefully  prepared,  and  which,  dealing  more  exact! j 
with  these  extraneous  supplies,  gives  a  picture  of  the  spiritual 
provision,  which  does  not  materially  differ  from  the  estimate 
already  given  :  — 

Places  of  Wobship  in  London  and  theib  Acoomiiodatio!N. 


Number  of 

PUcps 
of  Worship. 

SltUngs. 

IV>pa]atk«. 

PlraportloB 

1851       

1865       

1,097 
1,316 

698,549 
917,895 

2,362,236 
3.015,494 

90*2 
30"4 

Increase     ..      .. 

219 

219,346 

653,258 

•2 

'There  has  thus  been  an  increase  of  accommodation  in  fomieen 
years  of  about  31  per  cent.  Had  the  increase  been  threefold,  it  would 
only  have  sufficed  to  meet  the  increase  of  popuUtion.  Taking  52  per 
cent.,  Mr.  Mann's  estimate,  as  the  maximum  number  to  be  provided 
for,  t^e  following  result  is  obtained : — 

Deficiency  of  AcooifMODATiON. 

Number  of  persons  nnproTided  for  in  London  in  1851     ..     669,514 
Ditto  in  1865 831, 3S7 


Increased  deficiency 161,873 

'  It  would  thus  appear,  that  if  all  the  persons  in  London  who  are 
not  physically  disqualified,  or  for  any  legitimate  reasons,  were  to 
attend  church  or  chapel  at  the  same  time,  52  per  cent.,  or  more  than 
one-half  the  population,  would  be  shut  out  for  want  of  room.  But  a 
worse  feature  of  the  case  is,  that  161,873  more  persons  would  now  be 
excluded,  notwithstanding  the  considerable  augmentation  of  places  of 
worship,  than  in  1851.  Therefore,  although  the  percentage  of  sittings 
as  compared  with  population  has  slightly  improved,  the  actual  de- 
ficiency has  increased.  It  is  estimated,  as  we  have  already  said,  that 
45,000  souls  are  annually  added  to  the  population  of  L<mdon.  To 
meet  only  this  increase  would  require  some  forty-five  new  and  com- 
modious churches  every  year;  whilst  the  average  accretion  yearly 
since  1851  of  places  of  worship  of  all  sizes  has  been  no  more  than 
sixteen.'  * 

To  conscientious  members  of  the  Church  by  law  established  the 
case  is  of  course  far  stronger  than  this.  In  the  estimate  just  quoted 
every  conceivable  form  of  imperfect  or  mischievous  teaching  is 
included  under  the  head  of  provision  for  the  spiritual  necessities  of 
the  population.     The  wide  meshes  here  spread  of  what  by  estab- 


<Beligion  in  London,'  p.  13. 


lished 


The  Church  and  her  Curates. 


lisbed  courtesy  are  en  tied  *  religious  denominationi,'  include 
Church  of  Erij^land,  Church  of  Scotland,  English  Presbyterians, 
CongregationalistSj  Baptists,  Wesleyans,  United  Methodist  Free 
Churches,  Primitive  Methodists,  Plymouth  Brethren,  Friends, 
Countess  of  Huntingdon's  Connexion,  Calvinistic  Methodists, 
Mixed  and  Undefined,  Roman  Catholics,  Latter  Day  Saints, 
Jews,  Bible  Christians,  Methodist  New  Connexion,  Unitarians, 
German  Protestants,  Catholic  and  Apostolic  Church,  Swedish 
Lutherans,  Moravians,  Greek  Church,  French  Protestants^ 
Dutch  Reformed,  German  Catholics,  Samlemanians,  South- 
cottians,  Frecthinking  Christians,  Italian  Roman  Catholics^ 
Welsh  Calvinistic  Methodists,  Free  Church  of  Eng-land,  New 
Church,  and  Christian  Disciples.  Now,  admitting  fully  that 
any  form  whatever  of  religious  faith  raises  the  man  whom  it 
possesses  above  him  who  has  none,  jet  who  that  believes  in  the 
mission  of  our  Church,  or  knows  what  her  work  is  upon  any 
|>opalation  on  which  she  has  really  taken  hohl,  would  be  willing 
to  substitute  for  her  spiritual  guidance  of  the  people  these  dis- 
cordant voices  of  a  mixed  multitude  of  sects,  some  old,  some 
middle  aged,  some  so  young  as  hardly  yet  to  have  assumed 
a  distinctive  appellation  ?  Vet  if  all  these  together  fall  far 
below  the  number  necessary  for  grappling  with  the  annual 
incrt^ase  of  our  people,  how  far  more  must  the  clergy  of 
the  Church  of  England  alone  be  inadequate  to  deal  with  them. 
And  yet,  if  the  clergy  are  to  be  increased  xn  number,  and  the 
endowments  or  quasi-endowments  of  the  Church  are  to  remain 
stationary,  the  clerical  order  will  he  still  more  depressed,  and 
the  augmented  number  more  and  more  recruited  from  the  lower 
classes  of  the  community.  This  is  well  put  forward  by  the 
founders  of  the  new  association  : — 

*Ono  more  strong  incentive  to  hearty  aad  imited  action  in  the 
matter  must  he  mentioned.  A  largo  increase  in  the  eidating  munber 
of  the  parochial  cler^  is  imporativoly  called  for,  Assmiiing  that  tea 
years  ago  the  supply  of  the  clergy  was  adequate  to  the  spiritual  wante 
of  the  cotmtiy— and  tho  assiuaption  is  wholly  nnwarntntable — wo 
have  fitiU  to  nmka  up  the  deficiency  in  the  supply  of  candidates  for 
Holy  Orders  which  has  takca  place  during  this  period,  and  to  overtake 
the  increase  of  the  population  during  the  EMCme  time — an  increase  wMeh 
eonnot  be  computed  at  lees  than  S.SOO^OOO — hefcjre  wo  begin  to  make 
provision  for  a  prospective  increase,  estimated  at  245,000  a  year* 

*  It  will  not  require  an  alistruse  calculation  to  enahle  ub  to  compute 
tho  additional  nmaher  of  clergy  which  will  thus  be  required,  if  the 
Chnrcb  of  England  ig  to  oontuiue  to  do  hor  proper  work  as  the  Esta* 
bligbed  Church  of  the  land.  Allowing  one  clergyman  for  every  2000 
of  incroaaod  population,  according  to  tho  scale  adopted  hy  the  Bishop 
of  London,  and  granting  that  tho  influcnco  of  the  Church  at  different 

Vol.  123.— Ai.  245,  a  imsA 


242  The  Church  and  her  Curates. 

tiineB  will  Taiy,  other  oonditioiiB  being  the  same,  aoootding  to  the 
proportion  whidi  the  numbers  of  the  clergy  bear  to  the  sum  total  of 
the  population,  we  see  that,  to  enable  the  Church  to  exeicifle  the  aame 
influence  in  1876  which  she  did  in  1856,  no  fewer  than  4950  more 
clergy  must  be  ordained  in  the  next  ten  years  than  were  ordained  in 
the  last.  The  most  sanguine  will  hardly  venture  to  anticipate  that 
this  increase  can  really  tfJce  place ;  hut  it  is  impossible  that  anf  increase 
al  aU  can  take  place  tmthout  making  the  prospect  cpen  to  stipendiary 
curates  more  discouraging,  and  the  necessity  for  the  present  movement 
even  greater  than  at  present.  Looked  at  from  this  point  of  view  it 
will  be  seen  that  the  present  movement  is  not  merely  a  measure  of 
justice  to  stipendiary  curates,  but  is  an  effort  imperatively  required 
for  the  good  of  the  Church  at  large.  So  universal  is  the  application 
of  the  principle,  "  if  one  member  suffer,  all  the  members  snfBor  with 
it"'* 

These  are,  indeed,  weighty  words.  Never  had  the  Church  of 
England  a  greater  work  to  do  than  at  the  present  time.  Never  was 
she  more  thoroughly  bent  on  doing  it,  or  was  better  equipped  for 
its  performance.  It  is  not  merely  against  the  weight  of  numbers 
such  as  our  forefathers  never  strove  with,  that  she  has  now  to  labour. 
The  wide  spread  of  superficial  education  leads  all  men  to  talk 
about  religion,  and  numbers  to  beli(*ve  most  unreasonably  that 
they  think  about  it  also.  Opinions  are  formed  rapidly,  and  dis- 
seminated also  miraculously.  Every  man  reads  his  newspaper  ; 
and,  however  unconsciously,  most  men,  to  avoid  the  trouble  of 
thinking,  take  up  with  what  is  therein  day  by  day  repeated  to 
them  and  asserted  for  them.  Every  stratum  of  the  population  has 
its  own  purveyors  of  this  daily  literature.  The  time  is  passed 
even  for  'the  leading  journal'  to  pervade  all  classes  of  society. 
Almost  all  are  able  to  read,  and  all  are  supplied  on  the  cheapest 
terms  with  materials  for  reading  of  some  quality  or  other.  .  At 
the  top  of  almost  every  Hansom-cab,  when  our  fickle  weather 
permits  it,  you  may  see  the  newspaper  spread  out  for  study  in 
the  intervals  of  business  ;  even  the  half-naked  figures  stretched  at 
their  length  on  the  grass  in  our  Parks  often  hold  in  their  soiled 
hands  some  utterances  from  the  all-pervading  printing-office.  The 
influences  which  spring  from  such  a  state  of  things  are  strength- 
ened by  a  multitude  of  other  circumstances.  The  unmis- 
takable descent  of  political  power  from  the  more  educated  and 
better  furnished  to  the  less  educated  and  poorer  classes  ;  the 
weakening  of  parental — that  real  source  of  all  secondary — autho- 
rity ;  the  carrying  out  of  this  principle  to  the  old  sway  of  masters 
and  employers  ;  the  claim  of  all  to  think  and  to  act  for  themselves ; 
all  mark  the  onward  progress  of  a  vast  avofita.     The  sanguine 

*  '  Reli^on  in  London/  p.  9. 

see 


The  Church  and  her  Curdles, 


243 


see  in  this  lawlessness  the  bright  morning  of  a  day  of  perfect 
liberty  of  recognisetl  opinions,  and  of  a  peaceful  contentetJness, 
which  shall  be  a  law  unto  itself.  Less  hopeful  spirits  doubt  the 
mid-day  prospect  of  so  garish  a  dawn.  They  cannot  see  in  the 
whole  system  anrl  temper  of  the  times  that  law  of  self-restraint  under 
the  rale  of  moral  obligfation,  and  of  self-sacrifice  for  the  mainte- 
nance of  great  principles  which  they  believe  to  be  essential  to 
[the  real  well-doing  of  individuals  or  society*  Above  all,  they 
plook  at  the  growing  tendency  to  treat  all  religious  truth  as  matter 
of  opinion  with  many  fears  for  the  incoming  generation*  At 
such  a  time  it  is  all  important  that  the  national  clergy  should  be 
not  only  religious  men,  but  also  men  of  thought  and  etlucatiom 
After  the  want  of  a  hearty  belief  in  what  they  teach,  no  sign 
could  possibly  be  worse  for  our  commonwealth  than  that  the 
priests  of  the  Established  faith  should  be  behind  their  age  in 
the  cultivation  of  their  intellects  or  in  the  true  breadth  of  their 
view,  especially  as  to  all  moral  nnd  spiritual  subjects*  If  the 
clergy  appeared  to  the  laity — instead  of  being  men  oi  more  divine 
knowledge  than  tbemselveSj  of  a  deeper  philosophy,  which  com- 
bines boldness  with  sobriety  and  thought  with  reverence^ — to 
be  ignorant  or  superstitious,  too  weak  or  too  indolent  to  grapple 
with  real  difficulties,  averse  to  progress  and  fearful  of  the  light, 
it  is  not  difficult  to  see  what  the  end  wouhl  be.  Happily  the 
very  oppiJsite  is  the  fact :  never  were  the  clergy  more  earnest, 
and  never,  as  a  class,  more  enli|»htcned  than  now*  The  very 
troubles  of  the  age  attest  it.  The  questions  which  are  vexing 
the  Church,  on  the  one  hand  as  to  what  appears  to  us  the  trivialities 
of  external  ceremonial  is m^  and  as  to  the  all-inip>rtant  verities  of 
doctrine  on  the  other,  alike  bear  witness  to  the  intense  earnest- 
ness both  of  the  clergy  and  of  the  laity  whom  they  influence. 
The  old  sluggard  slumberers  of  the  last  generation,  with  their 
stning  port,  larse  pluralities,  closed  volumes,  and  neglected 
parishes,  are  nowhere.  For  good  or  for  evil,  all  are  awake  ;  all 
Lflje  hard  at  work  ;  all  are  labouring  for  progress.  New  churches, 
rfiew  parishes,  new  schtKjls,  new  institutions,  cover  the  land.  The 
press,  if  it  labours  with  the  utterances  of  the  doubters  and  the 
unbelievers,  groans  under  the  issue  of  sermons,  pamphlets,  and 
volumes  which  speak  of  the  spiritual  steal  and  mental  activity  of 
the  clergy  ;  whilst  in  every  department  of  literature  they  occupy  at 
'this  time  a  leading  place,  Nor  is  even  this  the  greatest  part  of 
the  strength  of  our  clergy  for  the  discharge  of  their  great  work. 
They  pervade  the  land  with  a  leavening  presence  of  immeasur- 
»ble  power.  From  how  many  a  parsonage- house,  whose  inmates 
^  assert  for  themselves  no  high  literary  claims,  is  there  perpetually 
flijwing  forth  a  stream  of  civilising  elevating  in&ueuce^  ^Vvt^ 

R  2  \^9^VSA. 


244  Reform  Es$ayM. 

blesses  all  witfain  its  reach,  and  the  wide-spread  existence  of 
which  constitutes  in  a  very  high  degree  the  strongest  might 
of  the  national  clergy  !  In  the  glowing  words  of  Dr.  Chalmers 
as  to  the  parochial  clergyman : — 

*  All  his  spoDtaneoiis  services  hear  upon  them  the  imequivocal  aspect 
of  pore  and  disinterested  zeal.  And  this  in  the  midst  of  a  -people  to 
whom  he  is  every  day  more  endeared  hy  the  kind  notices  and  oordiali- 
tiea  of  his  growing  acquaintanceship,  gives  to  all  the  forthgoings  of 
aa  earnest  parish  minister  a  power  over  the  hearts  and  habits  of  £uni- 
lies  which  cannot  be  realised  by  any  other  individual  in  the  common- 
wealth/* 

What  may  be  before  us,  God  knows ;  but  if  the  Church  of 
England  as  an  establishment  be  about,  as  some  forebode^  to  enter 
on  a  fierce  struggle  for  her  very  being,  she  will  at  least  enter  on 
it  at  a  moment  when  her  labours  are  greater,  more  varied,  and 
more  successful  than  they  have  ever  been,  and  with  a  body  of 
clergy  serving  in  her  parishes,  such  as  for  hearty  zeal,  for  firm 
faith,  for  varied  erudition,  and  for  self-denying  toil,  probably 
no  Church  before  her  could  at  any  one  time  have  marshalled  for 
her  duties  in  the  day  of  service,  or  for  her  saC^^uard  in  the  hour 
of  peril — 

'  Si  Pergama  dextr& 
Defend!  possent :  etiam  hac  defensa  fdisseni* 


Art.  X. — 1.  Essays  on  Reform,     London,  1867. 

2.  Questions  for  a  Reformed  Parliament.     London,  1867. 

THE  two  volumes  of  essays  that  lie  before  us  are  the  work  of 
different  authors,  each  of  whom  disclaims  any  responsibilitv 
except  for  that  which  bears  his  name.  The  first  volume  is 
devoted  to  the  advocacy  of  Reform  in  Parliament,  the  second  to 
the  consideration  of  questions  with  which  it  is  supposed  a 
reformed  Parliament  would  be  peculiarly  qualified  to  deal,  so 
that  the  second  volume  necessarily  contains  a  repetition  of 
arguments  to  be  found  in  the  first  The  division  is  not  a  logical 
one,  for  the  two  parts  do  not  exclude  each  other.  The  writers 
seem  almost  all  to  have  received  a  good  classical  education ; 
none  of  them  display  any  considerable  knowledge  of  English 
history  or  constitutional  principles  ;  all  are  fervent  advocates  of 
democratic  change,  and  none,  so  far  as  we  are  able  to  gather, 
possess    any   practical    experience    of    the    manner    in    which 

•  Works,  vol.  xvii.  p.  128. 

public 


public  business  is  carried  on,  or  any  very  clear  views  as  to 
the  limits  of  legislalian  or  of  the  action  of  Government,  These 
volumes  wore  only  printed  in  the  present  year,  and  yet  many 
subjects  on  which  they  treat  arc  for  all  practical  purposes 
obsolete.  Tbcy  are  relics  of  a  period  when  reform  in  Parliament 
was  considered  a  matter  of  reason,  and  when  a  necessity  was  felt 
and  acknowledged  for  doing  away  with  the  general  effect  of  the 
debate  of  last  year,  which  seemed  at  the  time  so  discouraging  to 
the  cause  of  democracy.  The  question  has  now  been  decided 
the  other  way,  but  certainly  not  in  consequence  of  any  supe- 
riority in  argument  Still  we  think  even  now  some  service 
may  be  done  by  a  detailed  examination  of  the  arguments 
which  it  was  thought  worth  while  to  bring  forward  in  the 
early  part  of  this  year  on  behalf  of  a  parliamentary  reform, 
once  denounced  as  extreme,  but  moderate  indeed  when  com- 
pared with  that  which  has  been  determined  on.  It  is  curious  to 
observe  that  almost  all  the  writers  of  these  essays  are  much  more 
employed  in  defence  than  in  attack,  in  answering  objections 
than  in  bringing  forward  charges.  There  is  an  anxiety  to 
hedge  and  qualify,  to  limit  the  sweeping  nature  of  assertions, 
and  to  guard  against  passible  misconstructions,  which  denotes 
anything  rather  than  an  assured  confidence  in  the  truth  of 
their  position,  Tbe  constitution  is  assailed,  but  it  is  much 
more  the  object  of  the  besiegers  to  guard  against  dangerous 
sorties  than  to  assault  the  place  tliemselves.  All  this  timidity 
and  circumspection  are  very  curious^  as  compared  with  the  utter 
abandonment  of  all  attempts  to  defend  our  ancient  constitution, 
which  so  speedily  followed  the  publication  of  these  volumes, 
and  may  serve  as  one  proof  among  many  how  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  controversial  considerations  was  the  surrender  by  the 
Government  to  the  cry  for  large  organic  changes.  It  is  curious, 
also,  to  observe  how  little  effect  the  teaching  of  our  public 
schools  and  universities  has  had  on  the  minds  of  our  ablest 
young  men  J  and  how  little  the  study  of  ancient  languages  and 
literature  tends  in  modern  times  to  inculcate  that  conservative 
cast  of  thought  which  used  to  be  the  distinguishing  mark  of  our 
great  universities*  It  is  not  very  easy  to  see  to  what  kind  of 
audience  these  essays  are  addressed.  Those  who  are  already  in 
favour  of  Reform  will  be  willing  to  take  upon  trust  all  the  good 
things  that  it  is  said  a  reformed  Parliament  will  do  for  us;  while 
those  who  are  not,  will  hardly  be  persuaded  by  an  enumeration 
of  the  subjects  with  which  it  is  expected  a  reformed  Parliament 
will  deal,  and  by  suggestions  often  very  crude  and  imperfect  of 
the  manner  in  which  it  w^ill  deal  with  them.  It  is  easier  to 
believe  that  Reform  will  do  good  than  to  adopt  the  precise  views 

of 


246  Reform  Essays. 

of  a  number  of  inexperienced  students  as  to  the  exact  things  it 
will  do,  and  to  seek  to  prove  the  former  by  the  latter,  is  to 
support  a  conclusion  by  premises  less  evident  than  itself.  It  is 
easier,  for  instance,  to  make  up  one*s  mind  to  accept  the  working 
classes  as  the  ultimate  arbitrators  of  our  political  faith  than  to 
do  so  on  the  grounds  suggested  by  Mr.  Harrison  that  they  will 
involve  us  in  perpetual  wars,  or  by  Mr.  Gold  win  Smith  that  we 
shall  approximate  to  the  blessings  enjoyed  by  the  United  States 
of  America. 

First  in  order,  and  perhaps  in  importance,  is  the  essay  of 
Mr.  Brodrick  on  the  utilitarian  argument  against  Reform  as 
stated  by  Mr.  Lowe.  Mr.  Brodrick  states  the  question  to  be 
whether  in  discussing  the  extension  of  the  franchise  we  are  at 
liberty  to  entertain  considerations  of  justice  at  all,  or  whether 
our  judgment  is  solely  to  be  guided  by  considerations  of  expe- 
diency. Against  the  latter  position  he  argues  that  ^  this  canon  of 
political  utility'  has  ^the  radical  defect  of  that  ethical  system 
which  confounds  the  motive  with  the  criterion  of  conduct,  and 
assumes  that  because  the  moral  value  of  actions  may  be  deter- 
mined by  their  ultimate  tendencies,  they  should  therefore  be 
performed  by  the  agent  with  the  well-being  of  the  human  race 
consciously  present  to  his  mind.'  Here  Mr.  Brodrick  seems  to 
beg  the  question,  which  is,  not  whether  the  utilitarian  theory  of 
morals  is  right,  but  whether  the  extension  of  the  franchise  is 
a  moral  or  a  political  question.  If  moral,  it  is  to  be  judged  by 
motives  ;  if  political,  by  results.  A  man  who  contends  that  the 
question  is  political  and  depends  on  results,  is  quite  consistent 
in  requiring  those  results  to  be  steadily  kept  in  view,  as  they 
must  be  if  they  are  to  be  attained,  and  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  defects  or  merits  of  any  ethical  system  whatever. 

Mr.  Brodrick  admits  that  as  to  the  past,  taking  as  an  instance 
the  Reform  of  1832,  it  is  better  to  judge  of  the  goodness  of  a 
measure  by  effects  than  by  preconceived  notions  of  justice,  but  as 
to  the  future  he  says  the  contrary  is  the  case.  *  Real  facts  are 
more  trustworthy  than  the  dictates  of  political  justice,  but  the  latter 
arc  more  trustworthy  than  hypothetical  facts.'  Here  the  essayist 
is  involved  in  a  position  of  some  delicacy.  We  are  to  resolve  on 
measures  with  reference  to  a  criterion  by  which  we  do  not  judge 
them,  and  to  judge  them  by  a  criterion  by  which  wc  did  not 
resolve  on  them.  They  are  to  be  undertaken  with  reference 
to  right,  and  judged  with  reference  to  expediency.  Such  reasoning 
would  condemn  the  most  beautiful  landscape  garden  because  it 
did  not  pay,  and  the  most  prosperous  cotton-mill  because  it  may 
be  a  blot  in  the  landscape.  Surely  if  we  are  to  judge  fairly 
we  should  judge  according  to  the  end  in  view:   if  Reform  be 

a  moral 


Beform  Essayi. 


» 


a  moral  question,  bj  morality ;  if  a  political  question,  bj  expe- 
diency. But  Mr*  Brodrick  would  adopt  Reform  because  it  is 
just^  and  decide  whether  it  ought  to  have  bec^n  adopted  by  con- 
sidcmtU>n5  of  expediency  into  which  right  does  not  enter.  He 
does  not  seem  to  understand  the  way  in  which  Mr,  I^we  strives 
to  apply  experience  to  the  question  of  the  exj^ediencj,  or  as  Mr* 
Brodrick  would  say,  the  morality  of  the  extension  of  the  Iran- 
chise^  Mr,  Lowe  said,  'Treat  Reform  like  all  other  questions^ 
point  out  a  mischief  in  the  present  representation  of  the  people, 
suggest  a  remedVp  antl  show  how  that  remedy  will  cure  the  mis- 
chief, and  I  admit  ^ou  have  proved  your  case/  There  is  nothinfi^ 
here  of  doubtful  analogies,  conjectural  results,  or  hypothetical 
facts.  It  is  the  way  in  which  all  other  questions  arc  treated,  an*i 
lie  asks,  and  has  as  yet  received  no  answer,  why  it  is  not  fol- 
lowed in  this  most  important  of  all  question s» 

Mr,  Brtwlrick  argues  'that  the  happiness  of  the  people  at  large 
is  the  familiar  watchword  of  despotism,'  and  that  the  paramount 
Hbject  of  a  Reform  Bill  is  not  that  Parliament  should  be  as 
efficient  as  ^lossible,  but  that  it  should  duly  reflect  the  will  of  the 
people*  Surely  never  was  more  utter  confusion  between  the 
m^ns  and  the  end.  What  is  the  good  of  reflecting  the  will  of  the 
people  except  that  it  is  believed  to  be  the  best  means  of  promoting 
the  happiness  and  good  government  of  the  people  ?  Mr,  Brodrick 
disclaims  a  priori  reasonings,  and  yet  on  what  other  grounds  does 
he  coademn  despotism  apart  from  experience  ?  Despotism,  oli- 
garchyj  all  governments  which  neglect  the  wishes  of  the  people 
are  bad,  not  from  any  moral  obliquity  involved  in  the  government 
of  cme  or  a  few  over  many^  but  because  experience  has  shown  that 
soch  governments  do  not  on  the  whole  tend  to  happiness  and  good 
administration.  An  absolute  king  may,  if  gootl,  do  more  for 
the  human  race  than  a  mixed  government,  but  he  is  a  fortunate 
accident,  and  lacks  that  which  never  should  be  separated  from  the 
idea  of  goml  government — stability.  But  if  experience  had  been 
as  decisive  in  favour  of,  as  it  is  decisive  against,  absolute  mon- 
archy or  oligarchy,  we  should  hold  it  as  the  most  wretched 
superstition  to  ubject  to  these  forms  of  governments  on  merely 
moral  grounds.  The  best  government  is  that  which  confers  the 
greatest  hcnetits  on  its  citizens.  The  best  man  is  he  who  acti 
from  the  best  motives.  The  test  of  the  one  is  political,  of  the 
other  moral.  The  one  must  be  judged  by  d  ftostmori  em* 
pirical  considerations,  the  other  by  a  priori  principle. 

Mr,  Brodrick  says  that  gwid  government  must  imply  a  con- 
viction of  its  justice  among  its  subjects,  and  thus  involves 
considerations  of  morality.  It  is  true^  it  does  so,  and  no  one  ever 
thought  of  denying  It,  but  it  only  does  so  so  far  as  ientiments  of 


248  Rrform  Ei$ay$. 

moral  displeasure  or  approbation  bear  on  the  question  of  expe- 
diency. In  the  notion  of  good  government  are  involved  the 
ideas  of  stability,  and  of  facility  of  working,  and  the  feelings 
with  which  it  is  viewed  by  its  subjects  are  important  in  tins 
respect  There  is  no  form  of  government  adapted  h  priori  for 
all  cases.  The  circumstances  of  the  time  and  the  country, 
its  previous  history,  its  present  condition,  must  all  be  minutely 
scanned  and  allowed  for.  In  this,  as  in  all  other  things  mudi 
must  be  yielded  to  popular  prejudice  and  feeling.  Lesser  evik 
must  be  endured  in  order  to  avert  greater.  All  this  is  involved 
in  the  very  idea  of  guiding  our.  conduct  by  expediency  and 
experience. 

Having  thus,  as  it  would  seem,  not  very  successfully  combated 
the  position  that  the  extension  of  the  franchise  is  a  matter  of 
expediency  and  not  of  morality,  Mr.  Brodrick  proceeds  to  aigue 
that  the  rejection  of  utilitarianism  does  not  involve  the  assertion 
of  the  a  priori  rights  of  man,  in  other  words  that  an  argument 
may  not  be  h  posteriori  and  not  a  priori  either.  He  takes  for  his 
text  Mr.  Gladstone's  celebrated  dictum,  *  that  every  man  who  is 
not  presumably  incapacitated  by  some  consideration  of  personal 
unfitness  or  political  danger  is  morally  entitled  to  come  within 
the  pale  of  the  constitution.'  The  two  incapacities  that  qualify 
this  principle  are  manifestly  drawn  from  experience ;  but  whence 
did  Mr.  Gladstone  obtain  die  principle — was  it  h  priori  or  a  sof- 
teriori  f  That  is  the  question  the  essayist  has  to  answer,  and  to 
which,  as  it  seems  to  us,  he  gives  no  answer  at  all.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  being  morally  entitled — to  what  standard  does  it 
appeal  ?  We  are  not  told  what  the  standard  is,  but  only  that 
the  principle  rests  on  certain  presumptions,  and  appeals  for  its 
verification  to  the  evidence  of  experience.  We  must  distin- 
guish between  Mr.  Gladstone  and  his  principle.  What  the  prin- 
ciple appeals  to  wc  do  not  know ;  but  Mr.  Gladstone  appealed 
to  nothing.  He  laid  his  proposition  down  as  self-evident,  and 
troubled  himself  neither  with  presumptions  nor  verifications. 
The  presnmptions  on  which  the  principle  rests,  we  are  told,  are 
*  the  equality  of  all  citizens  before  the  law,'  and  the  possible 
existence  of  political  rights  which  have  not  acquired  a  legal  sanc- 
tion. Of  course  the  equality  of  all  citizens  before  the  law  means 
not  the  fact  of  but  the  right  to  such  equality.  So  that  the  essayist, 
whose  object  is  to  prove  that  this  principle  does  not,  as  Mr.  Lowe 
said  it  did,  imply  the  assumption  of  a  -priori  rights,  rests  the 
principle  in  (juestion  on  two  grounds,  the  latter  of  which  asserts 
and  the  fonncr  implies  the  existence  of  those  very  rights.  The 
ex|)erience  to  which  Mr,  Gladstone's  principle  (not  Mr.  Gladstone 
himself)  appeals  for  verification  is,  *  that  men  manage  their  own 

aflkirs 


Reform  Essays, 

EifTnirs  better  than  others  who  have  cnunter  interests  to  serve ;  that 
men  pay  taxes  and  obey  laws  more  loyally  when  tbey  have  taken 
part  in  votinof  the  ibrmer  ami  making^  the  latter ;  and  that  men 
denied  tlie  privileges  are  apt  to  forget  the  duties  of  citizenships' 
VV^e  dare  say  Mr*  Lowe  never  doubted  that  it  might  he  possible 
to  fish  up  some  such  ragged  generalities  as  these,  to  invest  them 
with  the  name  of  experience,  and  to  assert  that  they  verify, 
which  seems  to  mean,  not  prove,  but  confirm  the  proposition. 
Of  course  the  first  verification  only  professes  to  establish  the 
expediency  of  letting  people  manage  their  own  affairs  and  has 
no  reference  to  the  affairs  of  others,  and  the  other  two  are  ]]er- 
haps  a  little  more  frequently  true  than  false.  But  all  this  is 
mere  triHing,  We  ask  whence  came  this  proposition?  Mr. 
Gladstone  would  say  probably  from  his  inner  consciousness  j 
the  proposition  itself  says  by  its  spokesman,  Mr.  Brodrick^  that 
it  rests  on  two  presumptions  involving  the  notion  of  abstract  right, 
and  is  verified  by  three  presumptions^  neither  true  nor  relevant, 
and  this  is  offered  as  a  proof  that  the  proposition  rests  on  no 
assumption  of  ii  priori  rights ! 

One  more   question   remains   for   the    essayist.      The  words 

*  morally  entitled'  used  by  Mr.  Gladstone  have  an  awkward  a 
prioH  sound  about  them.  Whence  comes  this  moral  *  title,^  nr 
claim,  or  right  ?  for  the  essayist  uses  all  these  terms.  This  is  the 
pinch  of  the  controversy,  because  the  query  seems  to  require  an 
answer  in  the  terms  '  h  priori*  or  *  a  posteriori^'  from  internal  con- 
sciousness or  from  experience.  No  such  answer,  however,  do  we 
receive.  We  are  told  that  *  for  the  purposes  of  legislation  it  is 
quite  essential  that  we  should  realise  the  existence  of  rights,  both 
civil  and  political,  distinct  from  so-called  natural  rights,  and 
paramount  to  legal  rights,  which  may  properly  \ie  called  moral 
rights/  If  these  moral  rights  really  exist,  it  is  no  doubt '  essential 
that  we  should  realise  their  existence/  especially  as  they  do  not 
come  by  nature  nor  by  law,  and  are  paramount  to  the  latter, 
without  having  the  sanction  of  the  former.  All  we  can  say  is 
that  we  sincerely  hope  they  do  not  exist,  since  being  paramount 
to  law  they  seem  to  have  a  strong  tendency  to  overthrow  existing 
tocieties,  and  are,  indeed,  fraught  with  all  those  evils  which  have 
led  Bentham  and  Burke  to  unite  in  denouncing  that  most  tlan- 
gerous  of  all  metaphysical  figments,  *  natural  right.*  That  they 
cio  exist  in  any  more  tangible  shape  than  that  of  inaccurate  meta- 
phor we  shall  recjuire  some  better  proof  than  the  assertion  that 

*  it  is  quite  essential  that  we  should  realise  their  existence.*  It  is 
tinly  in  the  mind  that  they  are  formed ;  this  seems  to  portend  for 
them,  if  they  do  exist,  an  a  priori  origin.  The  essayist  waives 
5iny  inquiry  into  their  origin,  which  is  rather  hard,  seeing  that 


250  '  Reform  Essays. 

this  is  the  very  point  in  dispute;  but  he  says  their  validity 
depends  on  the  forum  in  which  they  are  pleaded.  *  The  ultimate 
appeal  is  to  the  public  conscience — to  that  code  of  political  mo- 
rality which,  however  formed^  tacitly  governs  the  course  of  legisla- 
tion.' Yes,  but  Jiow  formed  ?  Is  this  code  formed  a  priori  or  d 
posteiiorif  Where  is  it  embodied?  Who  are  the  depositaries 
of  it  ?  Where  is  the  public  conscience  to  be  found  ?  Does  the 
public  agree  as  to  the  matter  of  the  code  ?  Does  it  come  from 
the  experience  of  the  past  or  from  abstract  principles,  like  that 
which  affirms  the  necessary  connexion  between  taxation  and 
representation,  which  is  violated  every  hour  in  every  country  of 
the  earth  ?  Are  not  the  maxims  of  this  code  just  those  half  truths 
described  by  Mr.  Lowe  in  the  preface  to  his  speeches  and  letters, 
which  are  derived  from  partial  experience  and  lose  all  their 
value  as  soon  as  they  are  stated  in  a  general  or  universal  form  ? 

Before  we  quit  this  essay  we  must  observe  the  writer's  notion 
of  inconsistency.  He  thinks  it  inconsistent  to  oppose  a  mea- 
sure admitting  large  numbers  of  persons  by  lowering  the  fran- 
chise, and  at  the  same  time  to  argue  that  a  large  number  might 
acquire  the  franchise  now  by  a  little  self-denial ;  inconsistent,  to 
denounce  the  tyranny  of  numbers  when  possessed  of  power,  and 
to  point  out  die  apathy  of  the  persons  in  question  as  to  its 
acquisition;  inconsistent,  to  use  ^the  transparent  fallacy'  that 
property  would  be  swamped  by  numbers,  and  that  the  agents  of 
the  multitude  in  this  process  would  very  likely,  as  in  the  French 
Revolution,  be  millionaires!  Perhaps  the  best  summary  of 
the  answer  to  this  essay  has  been  given  by  another  of  the 
essayists,  Mr.  Frederic  Harrison,  in  another  publication  :  *  The 
truth  is,'  he  says,  *  that  the  exercise  of  political  power  is 
a  function,  not  a  right,  that  the  beginning  and  end  of  it  is  good 
government ;  that  it  cannot  be  an  end  in  itself.  .  .  .  The  "  Chris- 
tian "  argument  for  the  extension  of  the  Suffrage  ;  the  "  flesh  and 
blood  "  argument ;  the  "  fathers  of  families"  Jirgument ;  the  "  tax- 
paying  "  argument ;  the  " gross  income  "  argument;  the  " indus- 
try "  argument;  the  "ancient  lines  ot  the  constitution"  argument ; 
the  arguments  from  the  numbers,  the  wealth,  the  progress  of  the 
people  ;  the  famous  argument  about  the  burden  of  proof ;  all  argu- 
ments, in  short,  which  make  the  suflrage  a  privilege,  apart  from 
its  practical  results,  are  only  forms  of  one  and  the  same  fallacy.' 
This  is  true  and  forcible,  and  not  the  less  true  and  forcible  because 
Mr.  Harrison  almost  immediately  proceeds  to  make  use  of  the 
very  fallacy  which  he  denounces,  as  when  he  states  that  it  is  the 
function  of  the  House  to  represent  the  will  of  the  people,  that 
the  people's  money  cannot  be  taken  without  the  people's  leave, 
that  the  suffrage  is  a  ngltt  of  full  citizenship,  and  that  paying 

taxes 


taxes  IS  a  reason  fof^gipltolling"  expenditure,  A  pertinent  com- 
ineiitarj  on  Mr.  Brodhick's  att*^mpt  to  prove  that  the  '  public 
good  is  not  the  supreme  end  of  legislation '  is  to  be  found  in  the 
words  of  Lord  Houghton  in  his  essay  on  National  Unity ; — 
'Those  who  are  urgent  for  Reform  cannot  afford  to  accept  the 
teat^  either  of  the  beneficial  results  of  legislation,  or  of  the  appa- 
rent satisfaction  of  the  mass  of  the  people  ,  ,  ,  in  such  a  moile 
of  argument  the  principles  and  benefits  of  parliamentary  govern- 
ment are  entirely  set  aside/ 

Mr,  Hutton,  who  undertakes  to  explain  '  the  political  eharacter 
of  the  working  class,'  has  done  so  with  an  excruciating  candour 
for  which  his  clients  have  very  little  reason  to  thank  him.  This 
is  his  statement  of  them,  abridged  indeed ^  but  in  his  own  words 
as  far  as  is  consistent  with  abridgment.  If  superior  in  intelli- 
gence  to  the  small  shopkeej^rs,  they  are  less  thrifty,  less  disposed 
to  be  guided  by  their  superiors  in  intelligence^  less  cautious  in 
political  instincts,  less  attached  to  the  institutions  under  which 
they  livCi  Tbey  feel  no  sympathy  with  the  spirit  which  looks 
10  the  leadership  of  the  wealtliy  and  noble,  nay,  sometimes  they 
distrust  men  for  that  very  reason.  They  are  unembarrassed  by 
subtlety  of  mind,  and  their  want  of  culture  stands  them  in  good 
stead  (from  which  we  suppose  we  must  infer  that  the  less  men 
know  ^c  better  they  judge).  Had  they  been  fully  represented 
in  1859  they  would  have  joined  France  in  recovering  Italy,  in 
whic-h  case,  says  the  essayist,  we  should  have  had  far  greater 
weight  in  Europe,  and  saved  the  surrender  of  Savoy  and  Nice. 
In  which  case,  say  we^  we  should  have  waged  an  unjust  war, 
attacked  an  old  ally  for  acting  on  a  treaty  to  which  we  ourselves 
were  parties,  have  done  our  best  to  destroy  the  equilibrium  of 
Europe  and  paved  the  way  for  the  war  of  1800,  without  securing 
the  slightest  advantage  to  England^  or  preventing  the  extortion 
from  Italy  of  Savoy  and  Nice,  The  same  generous  o[ienness  to 
political  ideas  would  have  involved  us  in  war  for  Poland  and 
ijther  pf>litical  blunders*  To  correct  this  tendency  to  go  to  war 
Mr,  Hut  ton  thinks  we  must  rely  on  the  territorial  and  mercantile 
classes*  The  working  claiis  is  cosmopolitan,  they  are  not  They 
deprecate  war,  war  between  North  and  South  in  America,  war 
between  France  and  Austria  in  Italy,  war  between  Prussia  and 
Austria  in  Germany,  They  are,  in  fact,  incorrigibly  pacific.  But 
the  working  classes  judge  impartially,  nay  they  rather  like  to  find 
England  in  the  wrong  ;  thej  have  a  livelier  sympathy  with 
other  nations  tban  with  the  upper  clcasscs  of  their  own.  They 
are  migratory,  Tl»ey  carry  their  own  wealth  with  them  in  die 
shape  of  !abt>un  If  they  don't  succeed  in  the  South  they  try 
the  North,  if  not    iii  England  they  try   America,  or  France, 

or 


252  Reform  Essays. 

or  Belgium.  They  judge  popular  movements  in  Europe  with- 
out an  arribre  pensee  as  to  the  reflex  action  they  may  have  in 
England.  They  will  introduce  into  our  politics  the  radically 
true  and  noble  ideas  of  the  claims  of  the  organised  whole  over 
the  individuals  that  constitute  it,  which  they  have  worked  out 
in  their  Trades  Unions.  Such  an  appreciation  of  true  govern- 
ment is  found  in  no  other  class.  They  possess  a  power  of 
self-sacrifice  and  self-devotion  for  a  common  object,  a  respect 
for  collective  life,  a  conviction  that  the  body  is  greater  than 
its  parts.  They  are  not  afflicted  with  that  obsolete  jealousy 
of  government  which  did  very  well  so  long  as  it  was  in  the 
hands  of  a  small  class,  and  they  incline,  as  the  Trades  Unions 
show  us,  to  equalise  in  some  degree  the  risks  and  hopes  of  all. 
They  like  to  encroach  on  the  liberty  of  the  minority  for  the 
supposed  moral  advantage  of  the  majority.  They  will  show  us 
the  errors  of  our  undue  confidence  in  unlimited  competition, 
they  will  be  unfavourable  to  the  individual  ascendancy  of  great 
men,  capricious,  irreverent  towards  moral  superiority,  and  careless 
in  trusting  their  leaders. 

We  presume  that  the  statements  which  we  have  just  epitomised 
are  intended  to  prove  that  we  shall  do  prudently  and  consult  the 
best  interests  of  the  country  by  taking  power  away  from  the  middle 
classes  and  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  the  persons  thus  graphically 
described.  It  is  curious  to  consider  what,  from  Mr.  Hutton's 
point  of  view,  must  be  the  leading  faults  of  modem  English 
j>olicy  and  character.  From  the  remedies  which  he  prescribes 
we  suppose  the  case  to  be  something  like  the  following.  We  are, 
it  should  seem  then,  afflicted  with  the  vice  of  economy  in  our 
public  expenditure,  too  prone  to  be  guided  by  men  of  superior 
intellectual  calibre,  cautious,  timid  to  a  fault,  and  far  too  much 
enamoured  of  political  institutions  which  we  have  been  silly 
enough  to  suppose  have  contributed  greatly  to  our  peace,  pros- 
perity, and  happiness.  An  infusion  of  vanity,  rashness,  presump- 
tion, extravagance,  and  ingratitude  is  needed,  it  seems,  to  correct 
these  glaring  and  grievous  errors.  We  are  afflicted,  a  fault  of  which 
we  never  were  accused  before,  with  super-subtlety  of  mind.  We 
are  the  victims  of  sickly  over-refinement,  and  need  a  strong  dose 
of  blundering  stupidity  and  ignorance  to  prevent  us  from  falling 
into  mistakes  engendered  by  too  much  knowledge  and  too  much 
culture,  like  the  man  in  the  fairy  tale,  who  was  obliged  to  tie  his 
legs  for  fear  he  should  run  away  from  himself.  We  are  disgustingly 
pacific.  There  were  at  least  three  just  and  necessary  wars,  one 
ap^inst  Austria,  one  against  Russia,  one  against  Austria  and 
Prussia,  which  we  ought  to  have  waged  for  the  sake  of  Italy,  of 
Poland,  and  of  Denmark.     We  are  not  sure  that  we  ought  not 

to 


Reform  EssayM, 


253 


to  have  fig-ured  as  parties  to  th^  battle  of  Sa^owa.  We  are 
hopelessly  patriotic,  and  instead  of  being  alwajs  ready,  as  is 
generally  supposed,  to  run  down  and  depreciate  ourselves^  we  are 
disposed  to  think  we  are  often  in  the  right,  and  to  feel  mora 
sympathy  and  more  respect  for  our  own  than  for  any  foreign 
government.  We  are  very  local  and  instilar,  and  though  we 
have  far  more  to  do  with  the  rest  of  the  world  than  any  other 
nation,  are  very  apt  with  an  incurable  narrowness  to  regard 
passing  events  very  much  as  they  affect  the  interest  of  our  own 
island — nay,  we  are  not  sure,  shocking  as  it  may  be  to  Mr* 
Brodrick,  that  we  are  not  in  the  habit  of  tacitly  assuming  that 
the  welfare  of  England  is  the  aim  of  our  policy.  But  there  is 
still  worse  behind.  We  are  convinced  of  the  truth  of  political 
economy.  We  believe  that  our  prosperity  is  best  promoted  by 
promoting  the  prosperity  of  other  nations,  and  we  l>ase  our  ideas 
of  good  government  on  protecting  the  freedom  of  the  individual 
citizen  and  not  on  the  notion  of  sacrificing  him  to  the  commu- 
nity, we  are  traditionally  jealous  of  the  overpowering  influence 
of  government,  we  believe  that  it  is  quite  possible  to  overgovem, 
that  the  functions  of  the  ruling  power  should  he  circumscribed 
within  very  well-defined  and  even  narrow  limits,  and  we  regard  the 
happiness  iyi  a  State  as  something  that  results  rather  from  the 
bappiness  of  the  individuals  composing  it,  than  as  something  to 
be  produced  by  immolating  them  to  the  will  of  tlie  majority. 
We  abhor  the  notion  of  enforced  equality  as  seen  in  Trades 
Unions^  of  compulsory  virtue  as  in  the  Permissi%''e  Bill ;  we  believe 
in  unlimited  competition;  we  are  anxious  for  great  men  to 
lead  us,  and  have  no  wish  to  do  anything  that  may  check  their 
individual  ascendancy.  We  have  as  yet  no  taint  of  communism. 
These  are  the  qualities  of  the  English  nation  as  at  present 
organised  politically  and  socially,  which  we  are  called  upon  to 
correct  by  a  copious  infusion  of,  we  should  rather  say,  by  a  com- 
plete suppression  of  them  by,  their  contraries.  We  should  think 
iba  reverse  of  his  picture,  as  we  have  endeavoured  to  give  it, 
mii^t  strike  even  Mr,  Hutton  himself.  It  is  like  the  speech  of 
Themistoclea  at  Salamis,  whore  he  opposed  everything  good  in 
liuman  nature  to  everything  bcid,  only  that  Themistocles  exhorts 
the  Greeks  to  take  the  better  and  Mr.  Hutton  advises  us  to  take 
the  worse.  We  are  in  good  health,  let  us  take  poisoni  we  have 
knowledge,  let  us  subordinate  it  to  ignorance  ;  we  have  peace, 
let  us  seek  for  war  \  we  have  directed  our  affairs  on  the  basis 
of  individual  liberty,  let  us  change  it  for  a  deference  for  autho- 
rity, organisation  J  and  such  words  of  evil  nmen ;  we  have  pros- 
pered under  the  prinriples  of  Adam  Smith,  let  us,  just  for  a 
little  variety,  try  Owen  and  St  Simon. 

Of 


254  Reform  Essays. 

Of  course  the  question  of  the  law  of  primogeniture  occnri 
frequently  in  these  volumes.  We  will  take  Lord  Houghton's 
view  of  it  *  The  impolitic  retention,'  he  says,  *  of  one  unwise 
condition  of  the  devolution  of  landed  property  stands  in  the  way 
of  the  recognition  of  that  perfect  liberty  of  inheritance  which 
England  and  the  United  States  alone  enjoy.  When  this  is  once 
done  the  question  of  primogeniture  becomes  one  not  of  law  bat 
of  the  custom  of  the  country.'  In  this  passage  is  either  asserted 
or  implied  that  in  England  the  succession  of  the  eldest  son  to 
the  land  of  the  father  is  a  condition  of  the  devolution  of  land, 
that  is,  no  land  can  devolve  otherwise ;  that  perfect  liberty  of  in- 
heritance is  at  present  enjoyed  in  England,  and  that  the  succes- 
sion of  the  eldest  son  is  now  in  England  a  matter  of  law  and  not 
of  custom.  The  first  of  these  propositions  contradicts  the  second 
and  is  untrue,  as  also  is  the  third  :  so  that  out  of  three  propositions 
we  have  two  false  and  one  point  blank  contradictions.  The  suc- 
cession of  the  eldest  is  not  a  condition  of  the  devolution  of  landed 
property,  any  more  than  the  succession  under  the  statute  of  dis- 
tributions is  a  condition  of  the  devolution  of  personal  property. 
In  both  cases  the  law  only  steps  in  from  the  necessity  of  the  case 
to  make  as  it  were  a  will  for  the  last  owner  who  has  neglected  to 
make  one  for  himself.  The  bulk  of  most  landed  estates  does  find 
its  way  into  the  hands  of  the  eldest  son,  but  this  is  hardly  ever 
by  law,  which  only  operates  in  case  of  intestacy,  nor  even  under 
a  will,  but  generally  by  settlement  made  on  the  marriage  of  the 
eldest  son.  If  Lord  Houghton  will  read  Mr.  Newman's  able 
essay  on  the  Land  Laws  in  the  second  of  these  volumes,  he  will  see 
that  the  complaint  of  this  gentleman  is  that  our  law  has  ^  existed 
so  long  that  it  has  created  a  class-sentiment  in  harmony  with  it ; 
that  the  State  is  too  wise  to  maintain  a  useless  scaflTolding ;  and  that 
it  blurs  the  hard  and  severe  outlines  of  the  law  with  a  safe  and 
skilful  recognition  of  individual  freedom,'  that  is  to  say,  Lord 
Houghton  complains  of  our  law  for  interfering  with  liberty  of 
inheritance.  Mr.  Newman,  who  knows  what  he  is  writing  about, 
admits  that  the  law  does  give  liberty,  but  evidently  thinks  that  as 
the  class-sentiment  is  in  favour  of  using  such  liberty  in  a  par- 
ticular way,  which  he  disapproves,  the  liberty  at  present  enjoyed 
of  devising  or  settling  land  as  the  owner  pleases  should  be  taken 
away.  We  have  here  a  very  fair  specimen  of  the  work  that  is 
cut  out  for  the  Parliament  of  the  future.  One  half  of  its  votaries 
wish  to  art  on  the  grossest  and  most  obvious  errors,  the  other 
half  wish  it  to  give  effect  to  their  own  crotchets  by  curtailing 
that  individual  liberty  of  which  Englishmen  have  at  the  present 
time  the  priceless  monopoly. 

The  essay  of  Mr.  Dicey  on  the  Balance  of  Classes,  in  which  he 

seeks 


Reform  Essays. 


255 


seelcs  to  prove  ttat  this  conaideradon  ouglit  to  have  no  place  in 
a  Reform  Bill,  has,  to  do  it  justice,  thoug^h  only  written  this 
year,  entirely  anticipated  the  course  of  events.  Soraething- 
about  classes  was,  indeed,  put  into  the  Queen's  speech,  but 
it  has  for  several  months  been  left  by  the  framers  of  that 
ipeecb  entirely  out  of  sight.  Mn  Dicey  says,  with  truth, 
that  the  question  really  is,  '  whether  the  greater  number  of  the 
citi;eem  ought  to  be  made  ultimately  supreme  in  the  affairs 
f>f  the  State/  That  is  tlie  question  as  between  property  and 
Intel lijjence  on  the  one  side»  and  mere  numbers  on  the  other. 
Mr.  Dicey  is  in  favour  of  numbers.  In  support  of  this  tx>n- 
elusion  he  urj[^es,  that  the  argument  against  the  supremacy  of 
numbers  is  really  an  argument  against  all  supremacy.  Granted  ; 
bat  be  has  yet  to  show  that  it  is  impossible  to  form  a  Govern- 
ment which  gives  no  supremacy  to  any  class,  in  order  to  make 
this  answer  worth  anything.  This  he  will  scarcely  be  able  to 
do,  for  the  Government  of  England  is  at  this  moment  an  instance 
of  such  a  government.  He  urges,  that  '  the  legitimate  inKuence 
of  the  rich  and  educated  has  immense  weight  with  all  who 
depend  for  their  livelihood  on  daily  wages.'  And  a  little  further 
on^  that  where  the  majority  is  opposed 
is  just  as  likely  to  be  right  as  not.  So 
for  nothing,  and  the  logical  conclusion 
ought  to  be  gijverned  by  ignorance,  and  wealth  by  poverty.  He 
tells  us  '  that'  people  (that  is  pf>or  and  ignorant  people)  gain 
more  by  the  experience  than  they  lose  by  the  errors  of  liberty,' 
VVe  had  thought  that  history  was  rich  in  lessons  of  the  inability 
of  a  democratic  community  to  profit  by  experience.  Did  Athens 
profit  when  she  repeated  at  Syracuse  the  same  ruinous  mistake 
which  she  had  made  in  Egypt *^  Did  Rome  profit  during  the 
ninety  years  that  interposed  between  the  Sedition  of  the  Gracchi 
and  the  Rattle  of  Actium  ?  Have  America  and  Australia  pro 
fited,  when,  in  despite  of  science  and  of  experience,  they  are 
employing  themselves  in  building  up  systems  of  protection  to 
native  inilustn^?  The  truth  is,  that  aristocracies  and  monarchies 
have  their  traditions  ;  but  that  a  democracy  is  the  most  oblivious 
and  inconstant  of  all  governments,  and  therefore  the  least  able 
to  profit  by  experience,  to  remember  facts^  to  reason  from  tht*se 
facts,  or  to  adhere  steadily  to  the  lessons  which  they  teach.  One 
rea^^on  for  the  government  of  numbers  is,  he  tells  us,  that  every 
man  is  the  best  manager  of  his  own  affairs;  an  excellent  argu- 
ment if  the  question  was  only  of  his  'own  affiurs,'  but  utterly 
irrelevant  when  urged  to  prove  that  the  power  should  be  giveji 
of  managing  the  aifiiirs  of  others.  Nor  is  the  proposition  true. 
Men  are  by  no  means  necessarily  good  managers  of  their  own 


to  the  minority,  it 
that  education  goes 
is,    that    knowledge 


256  Reform  Es9ayi. 

affairs.  We  do  not  leave  every  citizen  to  manage  his  own  affairs 
from  any  confidence  that  he  will  manage  them  well,  but  because 
their  mismanagement  is  a  less  evil  than  the  virtual  slavery 
which  is  implied  in  the  claim  of  the  State  to  manage  them  for 
him.  Another  argument  is,  that  citizens  are  to  be  looked  on 
primarily  as  persons,  secondarily  only  as  members  of  classes. 
This  seems  to  amount  to  the  old  *  flesh  and  blood '  argument. 
Looked  on  as  a  person,  a  man  may  be  a  pauper,  a  felon,  or  an 
idiot ;  his  personality  tells  us  nothing  whatever  of  his  fitness  for 
the  franchise.  As  a  member  of  a  class  of  10/.  householders, 
or  of  persons  able  to  read  and  write,  he  has  at  any  rate  some 
prima  facie  claim  on  the  confidence  of  the  legislator.  We  do 
not  see  why  we  are  to  look  primarily  at  what  is  irrelevant,  and 
secondarily  only  on  what  is  relevant.  After  all,  he  tells  us,  not 
being  apparently  very  well  satisfied  with  his  own  demonstration, 
it  is  worth  while  running  some  risk ;  but  he  forgets  to  tell  us 
why,  and  we  are  not  able  to  supply  the  omission. 

We  must  treat  ourselves  to  one  more  extract  from  Mr.  Dicey, 
and  the  rather  because  it  forms  a  sort  of  connecting  link  between 
his  essay  and  that  of  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen,  which  follows  next.  ^  It 
would  be  inconsistent,'  he  says,  *  with  the  idea  of  a  representa- 
tive government  to  attempt  to  form  a  Parliament  far  superior 
in  intelligence  to  the  rest  of  the  nation.'  What  then  is  the  idea 
of  a  representative  government?  Clearly  not  that  of  our  Saxon 
ancestors,  that  of  an  assembly  of  ^wise  men',  but  rather  that 
Parliamentum  indoctum  which  was  the  reproach  of  the  reign  of 
Henry  IV. 

'  Qnod  satis  est  sapio  mihi  non  ego  cnro 
Esse  quod  Arcesilas  aBrumnoBiquo  Solones.' 

Above  all,  no  intelligence.  The  idea  of  a  representative 
government  is  that  the  representatives  should  resemble  the  repre- 
sented, whose  principal  quality  is  *  nos  numerus  sumus,'  and  the 
man  who  greatly  excels  his  fellows  in  intelligence  is  too  unlike 
them  to  deserve  their  confidence  1 

The  essay  on  Popular  Constituencies  by  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen 
is  a  good  instance  of  the  timid  and  qualified  manner  in 
which  the  most  sweeping  and  violent  changes  may  be  advo- 
cated. We  confess  ourselves  disciples  of  the  old  school  of 
discussion,  which  stated  clearly  the  pro|X)sition  to  be  proved 
or  disproved,  gave  its  reasons,  answered  its  adversaries,  and  drew 
its  conclusions.  We  wish  the  advocates  of  democracy  would 
copy  the  LacedcTmonian  assembly,  which  always  said  yes  or  no, 
and  would  discard  the  circuitous  methods  which  are  now  in 
vogue.     Mr.  Stephen  considers  that  a  telling  argument  against 

democracy 


Reform  Essays. 


257 


flemocrarj  is  its  supposed  tendency  tci  itie  dett^rioration  of 
public  men.  Hi^  will  not  commit  himself  to  the  assertion  that 
it  docs  so ;  it  is  onlj  a  supposition  and  only  a  tendency,  80 
qualified  a  proposition  is  scarcely  worth  arguing,  and  so  he 
seems  i*^  think.  First,  its  weight  ii  over-estimated*  *-  It  is  an 
error  to  judg^e  of  nations  bv  their  manners/  We  don*t  see 
why,  but,  if  we  granted  it,  does  it  follow  that  it  is  an  error  to 
judge  assemblies  by  their  manners?  Then  the  difference  be- 
tween an  assembly  of  gentlemen  and  one  not  of  gentlemen  is 
one  of  form  rather  than  of  suhstance.  We  do  not  think  so  ;  but, 
panting  it^  is  not  form  quite  as  essential  a  component  part  as 
mbstance  in  all  objects  of  human  thought?  Our  statesmen^  he 
tells  usj  are  above  all  suspicion  of  personal  corruption  ;  but  then  if 
we  sj>end  money  *  on  certain  departments  witboot  corresponding 
effect,  somebody  must  be  the  better  for  it/  *  Corruption  is  a 
disease  of  the  constitution/  It  is  rather  difBcuIt  to  make  out 
from  this  whether  the  writer  does  or  does  not  mean  us  to  believe 
that  the  House  of  Commons  is  corrupt.  We  are  told  that  *the 
ostracism  of  inielligencc  is  not  (he  worst  of  evils.  We  must 
judge  the  artist,  as  Mr.  Lowe  says,  by  the  quality  of  his  work/ 
'Let  us  be  governed  by  gentlemen  if  they  will  govern  well,' 
Therefore,  and  this  is  the  halt  and  hesitating  conclusion  of  all 
this  half-bearted  reasoning,  '  It  would  not  be  a  conclusive  answer 
to  demands  for  Reform  if  it  could  be  shown  that  members  of 
Parliament  would  in  the  supposetl  case  be  drawn  from  a  lower 
class  or  even  be  men  of  inferior  ed  u cation  or  a  lower  sense  of 
persona!  honour.  A  rogue  sometimes  does  better  under  the 
master's  eye  than  an  honest  man  unwatched/  Surely  ibis  is 
a  melancholy  way  of  handlin**'  a  great  and  interesting  sub- 
ject, Mn  Stephen  propounds  the  question,  whether  democracy 
deteriorates  the  character  of  public  men?  The  answer  is  to 
be  sought  in  Athens,  in  Rome,  in  republican  France,  in 
America,  and  in  all  these  cases  it  is  decisively  against  him. 
But  he  makes  no  assertion.  It  is  all  ifs*  Do  gentlemen  govern 
well  ?  Is  a  rogue  better  than  an  honest  man  for  a  public 
trust?  Is  ostracism  of  intellect  a  great  evil?  Are  our  states- 
men corrupt  ?  We  find  no  answer  to  any  of  these  questions, 
but  only  qualifying  and  extenuating  observations,  a  little  bit 
filed  off  here  and  pared  off  there.  In  a  similar  vein  Mr. 
Stephen  proceeds  to  say  '  ihat  corruption  and  jobbing  are  the 
least  im|wrtant  considerations/  '  If  there  is  an  effective  con- 
trol by  public  opinion  the  work  is  somehow  ilone/  'A  great 
many  pickinj^s  mtiy  be  gained  without  vital  injury  to  the  public 
service/  Still  an  i^^  but  where  did  he  learn  that  democracy 
exereises  an  effective  control  by  public  opinion^  or  is  not  the  con- 
Vol.  123,— iVo.  245.  s  trary 


Mtfbrm  £myc 

traiy  notcmQiislj  tlie  ease?  *Tfa«  English  Fkrliaineiit  is  fht 
CiOtre  of  political  discumcn^  the  gtKHl  done  bj  iti  debates  is 
WM  easily  exa^gerati&d,  the  health  of  potitical  discussioa  depefids 
ttpon  it ;  but  then  the  moral  conditioo  of  the  coaDtry  dependtoii 
far  wider  causes,  and  will  detetroijie  {>iu'Hai]]eKit4ir7  moralitj 
vmther  than  be  determined  by  it^  S(»  that  the  high  intellectiial 
standard  which  was  at  one  moment  all -important  turns  out  «ci 
examination  to  be  of  no  importance  at  aJL  There  wanted  but 
one   element  to  make  this  confusion   complete,  and  that  is  sup- 

ftied  by  the  statement  that  it  is  important  that  members  of 
'arl lament  should  he  drawn  from  our  most  highly  edumted 
classes ;  and  this  finishes  what  the  essayist  calls  an  attempt  Co 
estimate  the  importance  of  the  argument,  but  what  seems  to  m 
little  more  than  a  mass  of  clumsily  qualified  contradict  torts* 

Wc  now  come  to  experience  drawn  from  America,  Mr*  Stephen 
admits  that  the  statesmen  of  the  American  Revolution  once  nae 
to  the  European  level,  fc^ince  then  *  refined  and  delicate  miodi 
have  been  frightened  away/  *The  business  of  the  country 
been  left  to  men  not  above  joining  in  the  dirtiest  intri^es, 
pandering  to  the  lowest  popular  prejudices/  'Money  and  the 
mob  arc  said  to  be  supreme  at  Washington  ;  the  action  of  Con- 
gress is  determined  by  log-rolling  and  buncombe/  This  is  plain 
speakings  and  when  we  couple  with  these  facts  the  notorious 
truth  that  tliese  evil  symptoms  have  increased  just  in  ppoportion 
to  the  increase  of  democracy,  we  seem  to  have  made  out  a  pretty 
strong  case  against  the  imitation  of  American  institutions.  But 
now  begins  the  cutting-down  process.  Jefferson,  Hamilton,  and 
Madison  were  not  as  good  as  they  were  thought ;  Clay,  Calhoun^ 
and  Webster  were  much  better  than  is  supposed  :  *the  temptations 
ti*  a  practiral  life  overpower  intellectual  training — ^  cultivaied 
class,  or  rather  a  class  from  which  cultivated  statesmen  may  he 
A'Ewn,  does  not  exist  in  the  countrj.'  Then  Congress  is  not*  as 
we  readily  admit,  so  important  a  body  as  Parliament  Tkis  is 
something  like  the  excuse  for  a  next  morning*s  headache.  'It 
wasn\  the  wiriCj  it  was  the  salmon,'  Give  what  account  you  like 
of  the  phenomena  of  American  j>olitics,  only  don't  ascribe  them 
to  deinorrary.  It  is  better  to  deny,  in  spite  of  the  notorious 
fact,  that  there  is  a  large  class  of  cultivated  Americans,  than  to 
odmit  that  they  will  not  touch  pitch  for  fear  of  defilement 
To  sum  up  Mr.  Leslie  Stephen's  argument,  the  low  standard  of 
American  political  leaders  depends  upon  the  small  number  of 
educated  men,  the  small  importance  of  political  as  compared  with 
private  life,  the  shifting  condition  of  society,  the  influx  of  pot?r 
foreigrxers,  and  the  absence  of  hereditary  party  discipline;  i^jKin 
anything  in  the  world,  in  fact^  ejLCept  upon  the  leading,  salieei^  noto- 
rious 


Mefarm  Essays. 


SS9 


rious  element  of  American  institutions,  democi'arj.  Mr.  Stephen 
considers  next  how  tlie  absence  of  these  causes  in  En;rlimd  will 
alfect  the  fu  tu  re  o  f  E  n^l  isk  democracy .  He  ad  m  i  ts  that  deinocratic 
changes  will  reduce  the  social  position  of  the  members ;  but  this 
he  thinks  will  nut  diminish  tlje  attractions  of  political  life.  He 
thinks  that  an  esttensiuix  of  the  franrliisc  would  not  materially 
alter  the  composition  of  Parliament,  although  members  of  Parlia- 
ment will  be  drawn  from  '^a  minority  of  the  upper  class,  who  are 
IcKiked  upon  as  traitors  to  its  cause/  Persons  then  who  are  too 
^sensitive  to  encounter  such  a  stigma  for  the  sake  of  a  seat  will  he 
excluded,  *  The  class  of  members  representing-  the  metropolis 
will  be  increased  at  the  expense  of  those  representinjs:  the  small 
boroug^hs/  We  shall  have  fewer  independent  gentlemen,  the 
glory  of  our  country,  and  yet  there  is  no  reason  to  apprehend 
a  serious  lowering  of  cultivation^  though  there  may  be  a  lowering' 
of  the  standard.  In  fart,  the  essay  seems  to  us  to  terminate  in 
hopeless  obscurity  and  self-contradiction,  which  is  not  in  the  least 
dispelled  by  the  assumption  at  the  end  that  the  new  members 
will  be  more  statesmanlike  in  the  higher  sense  of  the  word  than 
the  old  ones. 

In  sharp  contradiction  to  the  views  of  Mr  Leslie  Stephen,  we 
have  the  essay  on  the  Experience  of  the  American  Common- 
wealth, by  Mr.  Goldwin  Smith.  Mr,  Stephen  admits  almost  all 
the  evil  that  has  ever  been  said  of  America;  Mr.  Smith  shall 
speak  for  himself:—*  Equality  has  created/  he  says,  'in  America 
a  nation  great  both  in  peace  and  war,  wealthy,  intelligent,  united, 
capable  oi  producing  statesmen  ami  soldiers^  yet  itself  superior 
to  its  ablest  men/  *  A  step,  though  only  a  step,  has  been  made 
towards  the  realisation  of  that  ideal  community,  ordered  and 
bound  together  by  affection  instead  of  force,  the  desire  of  which  is 
in  fact  the  spring  of  human  progress/  We  have  seldom  read  a 
more  condeiniiaiory  panegyric,  one  which  more  pointedly  sug- 
gested defects,  while  it  enumerates  unreal  excellencies.  To 
call  a  distracted  aggregate  of  communities^  trembling  between 
central  despcJtism  and  individual  repulsion,  a  nation,  is  a  bold 
figure  of  speech.  We  do  not  usually  speak  of  a  nation  as  great 
in  peace  which  is  notoriously  a  prey  tti  furious  internal  discord, 
nor  great  in  war  which  is  just  bleeding  from  civil  strife,  the  only 
wurfare  on  a  great  scale  it  has  ever  seen.  We  will  suspend  our 
verdict  as  to  wealth  till  we  see  the  currennv  at  par ;  and  as  to 
intelligence,  till  we  find  America  adopting  enthusiastically  a 
commercial  policy  which  does  not  violate  every  principle  of 
economic  science.  About  *  united,'  the  less  that  is  said  the 
better;  and  as  to  the  superiority  of  the  'nation'  to  its  ablest 
men  we  must  wait  to  see  the  nation  reconstituted  before  we  trust 

B  2  0\MS.^\\^ta. 


260 


Meftmn  Essayi, 


ouimclves  to  compare  it  with  another  nation  or  another  mau* 
We  are  astonished  at  the  autJarity  that  talks  of  a  communttj 
bound  together  by  affection  white  one- half  of  ttie  States  has  its 
sword  at  the  throat  of  tlie  other  half,  and  connects  such  a  state 
of  things^  however  remotely,  with  ttie  ideal  of  human  pn>gT€*iS. 
Starting-  from  this  rose-co loured  view  of  American  politics^  Mr* 
Gold  win  Smith  asks,  *  Does  this  snr  cess  of  equality  hold  out 
any  hope  to  us?'  A  question  which,  so  far  as  we  are  able  to 
see,  he  nowhere  answers,  but  which  we  at  least  should  have  no 
great  difficulty  in  answering^.  The  state  of  thing^s  which  the 
essayist  describes  does  not  exist  in  America  at  all,  and  we  there- 
fore can  Ijave  no  reason  for  believing  that,  if  we  plaee  ourselves 
in  the  same  ]>oiition  as  America,  it  would  he  our  lot.  But  Mr, 
Saiidi,  though  it  is  very  difficult  to  follow  the  logical  sequence 
of  his  essay,  is  careful  to  remind  us  that  we  have  not  the  advan- 
tages of  America,  and  therefore  that  even  if  equality  had  made 
her  all  he  describes,  equality  would  scarcely  do  as  much  for  us* 
We  have  not,  like  America,  boundless  land  5  and  if  'the  growth 
of  harvests  be  a  profjf  of  good  government,*  of  such  good  govern- 
ment as  lets  corn  grow  we  have  our  share  already,  though  we 
admit  the  standard  is  not  a  very  elevated  one*  The  inference 
seems  irresistible,  though  exactly  the  contrary  of  the  one  Mn 
Gold  win  Smith  meant  to  draw,  that  as  America,  with  all  her 
natural  advantages,  has  done  so  badly  politically^  we,  whip 
have  not  these  advantages  if  we  imitate  her  politically,  shall  pro- 
bably do  much  worse.  To  be  sure  even  America  has  disadvan* 
tnges,  America  has  Irish  emigration,  the  Irish  being,  actoidiiit: 
to  Mr,  Smidi,  in  a  stale  of  political  barbarism.  But  then  we  in 
England  have  the  v^h**le  Iiish  nation  on  our  hands  without  the 
wihl  land  to  settle  them  tm.  If,  as  he  says,  the  texture  of  society  in 
Americ4i  is  still  loose,  in  England  it  is  ver}'  close  and  compact, 
giving  little  room  for  the  expansion  either  of  ideas  or  of  passions. 
So  that  as  reijards  the  natural  conditions  in  which  the  two  countrie.s 
are  placed,  they  are  either  even,  or,  where  they  differ,  the  balance  is 
in  favour  of  America*  Is  then  America  better  governed  at  this 
moment  than  England,  and  if  not  why  not?  This  question 
Mr.  Smith  does  not  attempt  to  answer,  but  confines  himself 
during  the  rest  of  his  essay  to  answering,  much  in  the  style  f*f 
Mn  Stephen,  objections  drawn  from  facts-^ which  even  he  cannot 
dispute  singly  J  though  he  virtually  denies  them  in  the  lump— 
which  seem  to  connect  certain  failures  in  American  institutions 
with  democracy.  '  The  want  of  taste  and  refinement  in  politics 
is  not  democratic  but  colonial/  'Democracy  is  not  answerable 
for  special  defects  in  the  machinery  of  the  American  republic* 
Hamilton  erred,  as  we  understand  the  es^ay,  by  providing  checks 

against 


Jteform  £ssaj/.^. 


261 


agtiinst  democracy.  It  ougbt  to  have  it  all  its  own  way  witliout 
preiidenta,  senates,  or  states  to  check  it  '  Democracy  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  payment  of  members.'  Only  they  g^ene- 
rally  go  together.  The  following  sentence  is,  we  have  no  doabtj 
pregnaot  with  a  brilliant  antithesis,  though  we  confess  that  we 
are  unable  to  discover  what  it  is.  'The  American  politician  has 
more  faith  in  intellect  (than  whom  ?),  though  the  works  of 
intellect  may  be  more  abundant  in  Tory  squires/  What  are  the 
works  of  intellect,  and  what  does  this  fearfully  enigmatic  sen- 
tence mean  ?  There  mus^t  be  a  scathing  sarcasm  hidden  under 
these  dark  words  if  we  could  only  find  it  out.  '  Protectionism 
is  the  vice  not  of  democracy,  but  oi  ignorance.'  But  ignorance 
is  itself  the  vice  of  a  democracy.  Nobody  ever  supposed  that 
democracies  imposed  prohibitive  duties  with  a  view  to  injure 
themselves,  the  complaint  is  that  the  democratic  government  of 
America  is  so  deplorably  ignorant,  that  after  a  question  has 
been  thoroughly  sifted  by  reason  and  experiencCj  and  definitely 
settled  in  the  forum  of  pure  intelligence,  it  perseveres  in  a  course 
of  action  demonstrably  injurious  to  itself,  and  that  from  mere 
inability  to  grasp  the  argument,  perhaps  from  utter  ignorance 
that  there  is  anything  to  say  on  the  other  side,  '  Pass  ten  years,* 
says  Mr,  Smith,  oracularly,  '  with  France  we  shall  still  have  the 
Commercial  Treaty,  with  America  Free  Trade.'  It  may  be  so, 
but  the  treaty  was  passetl  in  defiance  of  democracy,  and  America 
was  much  nearer  free  trade  ten  years  ago  than  now.  The 
advocates  of  free  trade  were  those  very  Southerners  over  whose 
fall  Mr,  Smith  is  never  wxary  of  rejoicing ;  the  Western  States 
have  exactly  the  same  interest,  but,  being  democratic,  they  are 
protectionists.  The  slave-holding  oligarchy  could  see  a  truth 
til  at  escapes  the  dull  eye  of  democracy.  No  one  doubts  demo- 
cracy has  the  will  and  power  to  seek  its  true  interests,  die 
misfortune  is  that  when  those  interests  turn  on  considerations  in 
the  least  abstract  or  refined,  democracy  does  not  know  what 
its  interest  is. 

No  organisation  J  says  Mr.  Smith,  so  compact  and  so  hostile 
to  the  employer  as  our  Trades  Unions  exists  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Atlantic.  The  words  must  be  recanted  before  the  ink  is 
dry.  We  admit  that  'such  a  combination  of  class  against  class 
as  diat  with  which  we  are  aflUcted  would  be  an  absurdity,  where 
all  are  alike  in  the  possession  of  political  power,  and  at  liberty 
to  promote  and  defend  their  own  interest  by  constitutional  means.' 
It  is  an  absurdity,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true.  Everybody  is  at 
liberty  to  follow  his  own  taste  in  *  Murder  considered  as  one  of 
the  Fine  Arts,*  but  we  confess  for  ourselves  to  have  been  quite  as 
much  struck   by  the  exploits  of  Pennsylvanian  puddlcrs   as  of 

Sheffield 


262     .  Reform  Essays. 

Sheffield  saw- grinders.  Mr.  Hewitt's  evidence  before  the 
Royal  Commission,  with  its  brief  notice  of  three  trade  murders 
in  one  night,  is  an  appalling  commentary  on  Mr.  Smithes 
triumphant  assertion  of  *'  the  absence  of  socialistic  tyranny '  in 
America.  By  constitutional  means  the  working  classes  of 
America  are  limiting  the  hours  of  adult  labour.  Capital 
and  labour  there  have  two  aspec  ts.  The  one  is  the  same  bitter 
antagonism  which  we  see  here,  the  other  a  sort  of  conspiracy 
against  the  consumer,  by  which  the  labourer  in  consideration  of 
high  wages,  lends  his  vote  to  the  manufacturer  to  recoup  himself 
by  enormous  protective  duties.  There  is  both  the  antagonism 
of  class  to  class,  and  the  combination  of  the  two  productive 
classes  to  extort  money  from  the  rest  of  the  community,  worked 
out  by  the  means  of  Universal  Suffrage. 

Mr.  Smith  notices  the  objection  that  democracy  is  barren  of 
great  men.  Like  all  these  essayists  he  denies  the  fact,  and  then 
admits  its  truth  by  trying  to  account  for  it.  Sl^erman,  Grant, 
Lincoln,  and  Stanton  are  ^eminent'  mm.  Very  well,  then  demo- 
cracy does  produce  great  men.  But  *"  the  fact  is,'  that  it  does  not. 
Individual  eminence,  he  says,  declines  as  intelligence  advances, 
and  therefore  America  having  reached  the  height  of  intelligence 
has  pari  passu  sunk  to  the  dea<]est  level  of  mediocrity.  It  is  not 
democracy,  it  is  intelligence,  that  keeps  the  standard  of  excellence 
so  low.  We  admit  that  Mr.  Stanton  and  his  colleagues  have  done 
great  things  on  a  great  scale,  but  they  lack  the  stamp  of  individual 
greatness.  If  that  is  to  be  found  anywhere  in  America  it  is  under 
the  modest  roof  of  General  Lee,  the  champion  of  a  losing  cause, 
whom  prosperity  never  intoxicated,  nor  adversity  dej>ressed,  and 
who  exceeded  his  democratic  opponents  as  much  in  real  nobility 
and  greatness  of  cliaincter,  as  he  did  in  military  skill  and  daring. 
Inste<id  of  individual  greatness  you  have,  says  Mr.  Smith,  the 
greatness  of  a  nation.  It  used  to  be  the  pride  of  England  that 
she  knew  how  to  raise  the  nation  without  depressing  the  indivi- 
dual. '  Instead  of  a  king  and  subjects  you  have  a  community.' 
We  never  heard  before  that  lilngland  did  not  constitute  a 
community.  Indeed  we  used  to  think  that  it  was  the  most 
united  community  in  the  world  ;  and  agreed  with  Mr.  Gladstone 
when  he  said,  not  two  years  ago,  tliat  any  one  l(K>king  forth 
on  our  country  niij^ht  say,  'Behold  how  good  and  joyful  a 
thing  it  is  for  brethren  to  dwell  together  in  unity.'  *  Instead  of 
loyalty,  there  is  in  America  patriotism  and  attachment  to  the 
common  good.'  It  used  to  be  the  pride  of  England  that  we  knew 
how  to  be  true  to  our  sovereigns,  and  yet  to  love  our  country  and 
each  other.  At  any  rate  our  hands  are  not  dripping  with  our 
bro tilers'  blood,  and  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Smith  and  son^ 

of 


R^fwm  Eisa^s. 


263 


of  his  fellow-labourers  m  tbese  volumes,  tliere  are  very  few 
Eng-UsJimen  who  would  exchang^e  their  own  land  for  any  under 
the  sun.  No  one  will  be  surprised  to  find  a  ^lowing^  panegyric 
of  America  issuinfj  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Gold  win  Smith.  It  i» 
probably  the  easiest  aiid  most  tellinnf  way  of  venting  his  spleen 
against  England,  But  we  are  surprised  that  he  should  not  see 
that  praising  the  United  States  for  the  weakest  and  worst  points 
in  their  history  and  institutions  is  rather  in  tlie  nature  of  satire 
than  panegyric,  and  while  it  does  them  no  good  ean  do  England 
no  harm.  This  es^iiy  scarcely  sustains  the  reputation  of  its  author. 
It  is  written  with  a  determination  that  none  of  the  poli- 
tical evils  of  America  shall  he  traced  to  that  which  to  common 
sense  would  seem  their  natural  fountain,  the  form  of  its  govern-* 
ment ;  while  with  equal  perverseness  the  English  Constitution  iM 
obliquely  made  responsible  for  everything  that  is  not  right  in 
England. 

The  complaint  we  have  hitherto  made  against  these  essayists 
is  the  deferential  and  almost  apoloj^etic  tone  in  which  they  have 
argued  their  case.  They  come  forward  to  propose  the  most 
sweeping  and  fundamentid  changes  in  our  institutions,  and  yet 
one  and  all  immediately  fall  by  some  inevitable  instinct  into  an 
attitude  of  defence.  The  man  who  supports  existing  instltuiioni 
may  be  quite  right  in  spending  his  time  in  making  objectionSp 
It  is  the  logic  of  his  position.  But  no  one  ever  overthrew  an 
adversary  whose  position  he  controverts  by  simply  answeripg 
arguments  against  his  own  position.  We  are  wearied  with  the 
constantly  recurring  formula  of  an  objection  denied,  half  admitted, 
and  half  explained  away.  For  Mr,  Cracruft,  the  author  of  the 
esjBay  on  the  Analysis  of  Parliament,  by  far  the  most  oriofinal, 
ingenious  and  logical  of  the  volume,  it  must  be  saiJ  that  he  looks 
the  case  straight  in  the  face,  that  his  premisses  are  large  enough 
to  cover  his  conclusions,  and  that  while  his  companions  have 
expended  their  allotted  space  in  mere  assertions  and  trying  to 
cover  their  flanks,  he  presses  right  on  to  the  most  startling  para^ 
doxes  with  exemplary  boldness  and  straightforwardness,  Hii 
theory  is  at  first  sight  a  striking  one,  lie  has  condensed  it  into 
three  pages  of  proposititms  (pp.  ISS-iyO),  which  are  certainly 
better  worth  reading  than  anything  else  in  the  volume,  *  Hi« 
main  principle  is  that  democracy  is  impossible  in  England,  un- 
derstanding by  democracy  the  orovernment  of  the  country  by  the 
pcx>n  W  e  can  not  d  o  too  m  uc  h  i  a  tb  e  d  i  rec  t  io  n  o  f  d  e  m  oc  r  a  cy .  All 
the  danger  (indeed  it  is  no  danger,  it  is  a  certainty)  is  that  we 
must  do  too  little.  This  comtVutable  dogma  relieves  ns  from 
many  cares.    We  need  take  no  thought  for  the  morrow.    We  need 

not 


264  Reform  Essays. 

not  forecast  our  fate.      VVc  must  at  the  worst  at  least  remain  as 
we  are.     We  may  be  better,  but  by  any  popular  change  we  cannot 
possibly  be  worse.     ITiere  is  no  fear  of  doing  too  much  good, 
and  all  democracy  is  good,  much  democracy  much  good,  litde 
democracy  little  good,  but  still  good.'     Let  us  turn  to  the  proof 
of  this  pleasing  doctrine.     In  the  first  place,  we  must  reject  all 
experience.     *  De  Tocquevi lie's  theories  may  apply  to  the  coun- 
tries whence  he  got  them.    They  don't  apply  to  £ngland.    There 
is  no  general  tendency  towards  democracy   in  nations  or  indi- 
viduals.    It's  all  natural  causes.     Natural  causes  will  erect  an 
aristocracy,  then  undermine  it  or  establish  it  for  ever.     Natural 
causes  have  done  this  for  England  and  nothing  can  alter  it.    The 
national   character  has  been  formed,  and  such   as   it  is  it  will 
remain  to  the  end  of  time.     The  English  are  fond  of  "  bettering 
themselves."    They  want  to  be  respectable.    They  look  up  to  the 
higher  classes  as  a  sort  of  divine  Olympus.    They  fought  in  (query 
against)  the    Armada,  they  stood  by  us  (query  themselves)  at 
Waterloo,  therefore  they  are  and  always  will  be  aristocratic'    Are 
you  not  convinced  by  this  argument  ?  Take  another.     '  The  Eng- 
lish Parliament  is  a  Parliament  of  employers.     The  employed 
have    one -fourth    of    the    borough    representation   at    present 
They  have  as  good  a  right  to  be  represented  as  the  employers. 
But  they  have  hardly  any  direct  representatives  while  Railways, 
Insurance  Offices,  Commerce,  and  Land  are  fully  represented. 
These  interests  are  swamped  in  the  polling-booth,  but  omnipotent 
in  the  House.     The  employed  are  powerful  in  numbers  at  the 
elections,  but  weak  in  Parliament,     There  is  no  danger,  there- 
fore, that  in  the  House  of  Commons  land  and  capital  should  be 
swamped  by  numbers  and   labour,  but  much  danger  that  they 
should  be  swamped  by  land  and  capital.     A  man's  skin  is  nearer 
than  his  shirt,  and  once  introduced  into  Parliament  he  is  a  more 
faithful  representative  of  his  own  class  and  his  own  interest  than 
of  his  constituents.     The  key  to  the  whole  question  of  Reform  is 
the  difference  between  direct  and  indirect  representation.     We 
assume  that  a  man  represents  his  constituents,  while  in  fact  he 
only  represents  himself  and  his  class.     And  so  it  will  continue 
to  be.     Parliament  is,  as  Mr.  Cracroft  tells  us,  and  tends  more 
and  more  to  become,  a  Parliament  of  land  and  trade,  not  labour; 
of  employers,  not  of  employed  ;   of  officers,    not   soldiers  ;    of 
admirals,  not  sailors ;  of  railway  directors  rather  than  railway — 
travellers.*     We  had  expected  by  analogy  with  the  rest  of  the  sen- 
tence that  the  last  word  would  have  been,  porters.    '  Nor  will  this 
change.     Under  any    Reform    Bill    those    who    wield    political 
power  now  will  continue  to  wield  it.     They  will   still  be  the 

spokesmen 


Ref&rm  E&satjs, 


f65 


spokesmen  of  the  people*  Neither  manbootl  suffrage  nor  female 
suffrage  will  make  any  difference.  As  Eng^land  was  it  is,  and  as 
it  is  it  will  be^  a  thorough  unchangeable  aristocracy/ 

Answers  to  this  theory  are  not  slow  to  suggest  themselves*  What 
are  these  natural  causes  which  create  an  aristocracy,  and  whicbj 
stranger  still,  secure  to  it  permanence  and  durabiUty  in  this '  bound- 
less realm  of  unending  change'  ?  Why  should  aristocracy  he  the 
only  human  institution  which  has  the  faculty  of  lasting  for  ever, 
and  by  what  external  mark  do  we  leam  that  the  English  aristocracy 
has  reached  this  transcendental  state.  We  should  ha%^e  thought 
the  extreme  readiness  and  facility  with  which  it  has  just  surren- 
dered its  most  cherished  traditions,  its  most  deeply-rooted  con- 
clusions, pointed  unmistakably  in  the  contrary  directioOj  and  that 
when  the  corn  was  so  manifestly  overripe  the  sickle  could  not  be 
very  far  off.  On  the  rest  of  his  singular  argument  we  have  to  offer 
the  following  remarks.  Granting  that  the  essayist  is  right  in 
saying  that  under  any  conceivable  extension  of  the  franchise  the 
same  class  of  members  would  be  returned — a  very  large  concession 
indeed^it  does  not  in  the  least  follow  that  they  would  furnish  any 
bulwark  against  democracy.  Democracy  does  not  consist  in  the 
representation  of  the  poor  by  the  poor,  but  in  the  political  pre- 
dominance of  the  poor  over  the  rich*  This  wilt  be  far  more 
effectively  established  by  using  educated  and  trained  men  as  its 
agents  and  orators,  than  by  pleading  its  own  cause  by  the  lips  of 
men  of  its  own  stamp.  Granting  the  men  to  bo  the  same  men, 
Mr.  Cracroft  himself  admits  they  will  not  speak  the  same  lan- 
guage^ They  must  look  at  every thiug  in  a  new  point  of  view 
and  in  a  new  spirit  If  they  do  not  satisfy  their  new  masters^ 
they  must  make  place  for  those  who  will*  The  French  monarchy 
was  just  as  effectually  destroyed  by  Mirabeau,  the  Lamedis^ 
Barnave,  and  Philippe  Egalite,  as  by  their  plebeian  coadjutors- 
No  doubt  these  men  did  not  wholly  escape  that  influence  of  rank 
which  no  member  of  an  aristocratic  caste  ever  wholly  throws  off. 
But  they  levelled  the  social  and  political  condition  of  France 
just  as  completely  as  if  they  had  been  denis^ens  all  their  lives  of 
t h e  Fau bou rg  S t ,  A n toi ne ,  Th ey  m i gh t  s ay  t( » Sa n ter r c or  Ca m ill e 
Desmoulins  in  the  words  of  Marino  Faliero^ — 

*  You  are  a  patriot  plebeian,  Gracchus, 
Bear  with  mo*    Step  hy  etep  and  blow  on  blow 
I  wiU  dlrido  with  you*     Think  not  I  waver.* 

It  is  then  a  mistake  to  assume  that  because  the  permynnel  of  the 
House  of  Commons  may  remain  the  same,  the  change  from 
aristocracy  to  democracy  is  impossible.  But  is  this  assump- 
tion true  ?     Can  the  constituencies  be  entirely  changed  and  no 

change 


L 


266  Reform  EasayM. 

change  take  place,  we  do  not  say  in  the  voles  and  speeches,  but 
in  the  persons  of  their  representatives  ?  For  that  m«8t  impro- 
bable assumption  Mr.  Cracroft  offers  no  shadow  of  proof.  And 
yet  it  involves  his  whole  case.  For  if  the  opinions  of  Parlia- 
ment are  changed,  and  the  persons  who  express  them  are 
changed  also,  nothing  is  left  of  the  old  state  of  things,  and  the 
revolution  is  oomplete.  On  this  point  the  history  of  the  Frendi 
Revolution  is  most  instructive.  It  began  with  the  nobles,  but  as 
it  advanced  the  nobles  were  effectually  proscribed  aad  weeded 
out  The  people  resolved  to  be  served  by  themselves.  la 
America  the  same  feeling  is  manifest.  A  tailor  succeeds  a  rail 
splitter  and  bargeman  as  chief  magistrate,  and  there  is  no  past> 
port  so  sure  to  the  hearts  of  the  electors  as  the  avowal  that  tfe 
candidate  who  seeks  their  suffrages  is  or  has  been,  like  tiiem,  a 
labouring  man.  With  the  true  consistency  of  a  mob,  the  people 
first  insist  on  this  qualification,  and  then  sneer  at  their  rulers 
because  they  possess  it.  Why  should  things  be  otherwise  in 
England?  We  can  find  no  answer  in  this  essay  except  thai 
*  natural  causes  have  made  England  aristocratic,'  that  no  *'  natural 
cause '  has  as  yet  undone  this,  and  that  no  artificial  cause,  like 
the  present  complete  change  in  our  G)nstitution,  ever  will. 

But  the  leading  fallacy  of  Mr.  Cracroft's  -essay  remains  to  be 
noticed.  He  divides  the  ctimmunity  into  employers  and  em- 
ployed. He  proves  to  his  satisfaction  that  what  he  calls  indirect 
is  much  more  powerful  than  direct  representation,  and  he 
assumes  that  in  proportion  as  a  man  represents  his  class,  his 
calling,  his  property,  he  does  not  represent,  nay,  he  is  anta- 
gonistic to,  the  interests  of  the  employed  whom  he  directly 
represents.  This  is  a  false  antithesis.  The  interests  of  the 
employed  are,  ri«jhtly  understood,  almost  always  identical  with 
those  of  the  employer.  Underneath  competition  lies  co-operation. 
We  in  manufactures,  in  commerce,  in  agriculture,  in  all  enter- 
prises in  which  material  profit  is  the  object,  are  really  working 
for  the  benefit  of  all.  The  exact  adjustment  of  shares  in  which 
this  product  of  common  labour  is  to  be  distributed  is  the  subject 
of  wrangling  dispute  and  collision,  but  this  ought  not  to  conceal 
from  us  the  truth  that  society  is,  after  all,  a  great  co-operative 
enterprise  in  which  all  are  interested,  and  that  it  is  by  mutual 
help  and  not  by  mutual  discord  that  the  affairs  of  the  world  are 
conducted.  The  indirect  representation,  therefore,  which  is  ob- 
tained by  different  callings  and  classes,  is  not  so  much  taken 
away  from  the  employed  as  seems  to  l>e  supposed,  not  so  much 
subtracted  from  their  direct  power  at  the  polling  booth,  but  may 
render  to  them  a  service  quite  as  great  as  implicit  obedience  to 
their  own  commands.  We  are  no  admirers  of  democracy,  but  it 

would 


Reform  Essatfs, 

would  be  a  libel  even  on  democracy  to  represent  It,  not  meTely 
as  tbe  government  of  the  lowest  clasSj  but  as  a  governxneiit  in 
which  no  other  elass^  except  the  lowest,  is  in  any  way  repre- 
sented or  receives  the  slightest  consideration.  A  democracy 
which  has  arrived  at  this  point  is  a  many-hraded^  many -handed 
tyranny  of  the  very  worst  description^  and  from  its  violence  is 
Ukely  soon  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  a  single  tjrant,  Tlie 
mistake  seems  to  be  to  imagine  that  a  democracy  which  is 
made  more  equal  and  more  just  to  all  classes  by  emphiying' 
persons  who,  thoogli  enjoying  the  confidence  of  the  poor,  have 
yet  sympadiies,  feelings,  and  interests  which  unite  them  with 
the  classes  above  the  jiOiiT^  would  not  be  a  democracy  at  all.  It 
would  be  a  democracy,  a  government  of  the  poor  with  certain 
alienations,  but  as  time  goes  on  those  alleviations  have  a  tendency 
to  diminish  J  and  at  last  dibappear.  The  false  theorj  of  society 
and  politics  which  assumes  that  it  is  on  the  humiliation  and 
oppression  of  the  classes  above  them,  on  dicir  ostracism  from 
public  life,  on  their  immoderate  taxation^  that  the  safety  of  the 
goveriLment  and  die  prosperity  of  the  poor  rests,  has  a  tendency 
to  grow  as  the  poorer  classes  become  more  habituated  to  the 
exercise  of  power,  more  conscious  of  all  that  that  power  places 
within  dieir  grasp,  more  corrupted  by  demagogues,  and  by  a 
base  and  servile  press,  and  the  result  of  this  tc*ndency  when 
fully  developed,  will  be  to  take  from  the  richer  classes  ail 
indirect,  as  weU  as  all  direct  representation,  and  thus  ultimately 
to  briug  about  the  destruction  of  the  democracy  which  has  so 
abused  its  power  and  entrusted  its  Interests  to  such  unworthy 
agents. 

Will  the  constituencies  be  improved,  asks  Mr.  Cracroft,  by 
the  admission  of  the  working  classes  to  Parliament?  As  it 
is  impossible  to  do  too  much  in  the  direction  of  democracy,  as 
England  can  never  be  sufficiently  liberal,  do  what  we  will^ 
as  indirect  must  ever  overshadow  and  control  direct  representa- 
tion, we  should  of  course  expect  an  affirmative  answer.  But 
%t  this  critical  point  Mr*  Cracroft^s  confidence,  which  to  do  him 
ire  justice,  has  never  failed  him  bt*fore,  seems  to  desert  him. 
The  large  constituencies  will,  he  believes,  be  improved.  Abmt 
the  small  constituencies  he  is  mudi  more  doubtful  It  is, 
he  admits,  a  knotty  question.  But  it  is  the  whole  question. 
We  know  from  him  that  all  we  can  do  will  not  give  us  de- 
moci-acy,  so  that  the  adorers  of  that  form  of  government  have 
oothing  to  hope*  Practical  improvement  is  all  that  is  left  for 
us,  and  ab^iut  that  JMr*  Cracrot't,  in  a  very  large  number  of 
instances,  has  grave  doubts.  All  he  can  say  is,  that  the 
admissioii  of  the  working  classes  to  the  Constitution  is  a  matter 

of 


268  Reform  Essays. 

of  constitutional  right,  not  of  paternal  despotism.  In  other  words, 
the  change  will  do  us  no  good,  but  it  must  be  made  nevertheless. 
With  this  uncomfortable  conclusion  we  take  our  leave  of  Mr. 
Cracroft,  whose  essay  we  commend  to  our  readers  as  a  very  good 
specimen  of  original  thought  and  considerable  reasoning  power 
applied  to  the  proof  of  the  most  astounding  paradoxes. 

The  second  volume  of  these  Essays  is  the  treatment  of  a  part 
of    the    subject    dealt    with    in    the    first.       Each   essay    must 
contain    two    assertions:    the    one,    of  the  exact  nature  of  the 
grievance   to  be   remedied,   the    other,  of  the  peculiar  advan- 
tages which  a  Reform  in  Parliament  will  give  for  its  remedy. 
A    more   ill-conceived    system    of   attack    we   cannot   imagine. 
The   investigation   of  a    single  political    problem    is   in    itself 
quite  sufficient  for  a  single  essay,  and  is  necessarily  deprived 
of  much  of  its  value  by  being  made  with  reference  to  a  foregone 
conclusion,  which  is  sure  to  make  the  investigation  both  super- 
ficial and  one-sided.     But,  besides    this,  it    is    but   blind    and 
imperfect  work  to  write  about  the  probable  effects  of  a  Reform 
in  Parliament,  without  giving  one's-self  time  or  space  to  discuss 
what  that  Reform  is  likely  to  be.     All  that  the  essayists  can 
know  is  that  the  New  Parliament  will  be  different  from  the  old, 
but  writing  before  the  plan  of  the  Government  was  disclosed  to 
others,  or  even  to  themselves,  it  was  impossible  for  them  to  say 
in  what  respect.     There  is  besides  a  very  unpleasant  air  of  dog- 
matism in  a  book,  every  page  of  which  is  full  of  the  assumption 
that  the  opinions  of  the  writer  are  so  just  that  nothing  but  the 
narrowest  prejudice,  or  the  most  sordid  selfishness,  can  prevent 
the  House  of  Commons  from  agreeing  with  the  conclusions  he 
has  seen  fit  to  form.     To  criticisms  on  the  structure  and  past 
doings  of  the  House  we  may  listen  with  patience,  as  holding  the 
opinion  that  even  the  House  of  Commons  is  not  exempt  from 
the  infirmity  which  makes  every  one  a  bad  judge  in  his  own  case, 
but  to   listen  to  positive  assertions   on    almost   every  disputed 
question   made  by   persons   with   little    practical  experience  of 
public   affairs,  and  that  unbounded  self-confidence  which   such 
inexperience  has  a  tendency  to  produce — for  not  assenting  to 
which  their  elders  and  betters  arc  summarily  convicted  of  igno- 
rance, cowardice,  or  corruption — is  a  very  considerable  trial  to 
our  patience.      This  inherent  defect,  and   the   triteness    of   the 
matter  contained  in  a  number  of  superficial  essays,  whose  very 
plan  precludes  anything  like   thoroughness   or  completeness  of 
treatment,  make  this  volume  less  varied  and  less  interesting  than 
its  predecessor. 

Mr.  Hill,  in  his   essay  on  Ireland,  considers    the  two  main 

grievances 


Meform  Essays. 


269 


grievances  of  Ireland  to  be  the  Church  and  the  improvements  of 
Tenants — subjects,  he  thinks,  peculiarly  unfit  tn  be  dealt  with  bj 
a  Parliament  of  churchmen  and  landowners.  The  agreeable  in- 
ference is  that  our  futnre  Parliament  is  to  be  ruled  bj  dissenters  and 
men  not  attached  to  the  country  bj  the  tie  f>f  landed  property.  We 
are  not  goln^  to  enter  on  the  question  of  the  Irish  Church,  but  it  is 
only  fair  to  Parliament  to  observe  that  one-half  i)f  the  members 
returned  by  Ireland  herself  are  opposed  to  the  abolition  of  the 
Church,  and  that  the  Roman  Catholic  members  themselves  have 
hitherto  shown  little  ardour  in  the  cause,  perhaps  for  the  reason 
sug chested  by  Mr.  Hill  himself,  that  the  existence  of  the  Church 
furnishes  an  argument  for  other  demands  which  they  have  more 
at  heart.  As  to  land,  the  English  members  may  well  be  excused 
when  they  find  that  precisely  the  same  system  in  England 
is  consistent  with,  nay  productive  of,  the  greatest  improvement 
in  agriculture,  and  is  satisfactory  to  lantllord  and  tenant,  which 
is  denounced  in  Ireland  as  the  source  of  all  her  evils.  Did  they 
believe  with  Mr,  HilL  that  England  required  a  compulsory  lawj 
they  would  be  iaezcusable  if  they  refused  to  apply  it  to  Ireland ; 
but  they  do  not,  and  for  that,  of  course,  they  deserve  to  be  reformed 
off  the  face  of  the  earth.  Perhaps  they  think  that  the  relation  of 
landlord  and  tenant  is  one  of  contract  merely,  that  the  tenant 
may  make  what  terms  he  pleases  for  himself,  and  has  no  need  of 
any  one  to  make  them  for  him  ;  that  the  mischief  of  the  case 
arises  from  an  excess  of  demand  over  supply,  that  this  in  its 
turn  ari^s  from  want  of  capital,  which  Irishmen  are  always 
striving,  and  very  successfully,  to  drive  from  their  country  ;  and 
that  the  real  remedy  for  emigration  is  not  to  be  found  in  Acts  of 
Parliament^  but  in  opening  fresh  markets  for  labour  at  home, 
which  England  is  always  ready  to  do  if  Ireland  would  only  let 
her.  The  real  fault  of  Parliament  in  the  matter  of  Irish  land  is 
that  it  has  some  tincture  of  political  economy^  and  the  remedy 
required  on  Mr,  Hi  IPs  principles  would  be  to  make  the  least 
acquaintance  with  Adam  Smith  an  absolute  disqualification  for 
the  House  of  Commons, 

Mr.  Godfrey  Lushing  ton,  who  treats  of  Trades  Unions,  has  a 
still  harder  task  than  Mr,  HilU  It  is  true  that  Parliament  has 
neither  abolished  the  Irish  Church  nor  confiscated  the  property 
of  Irish  landlords.  But  it  has  set  itself  seriously  to  remedy  the 
only  two  grievances  that  Mr,  Lushington  can  bring  forward : 
these  are  the  law  of  master  and  servant^  by  which  a  servant  can 
be  imprisoned  for  a  breach  of  contract,  and  the  common  law 
relating  to  Trades  Unions,  If  the  objects  of  Trades  Unions  are 
restraint  of  trade,  they  may  |xissibly  come  within  the  law  of  con- 
spiracy, certainly  they  will  not  be  entitled,  as  was  decided  in  a 


270 


Jfo/c 


orm . 


recent  case,  to  the  benefit  of  the  summaTT  remedies  given  to  benefit 
societies.  They  are,  in  fact,  in  a  jErreat  measure,  without  the  pde 
of  the  law.  Well,  a  Bill  is  actaaJly  passing  throug-h  Partiamejit 
to  com^rt  the  law  of  master  and  servant,  and  a  commission  is  now 
sitting  and  takings  evidence  to  amend  the  law  of  Trades  Unions^ 
the  main  part  of  whose  grierance  consists,  not  in  any  special  legis- 
lation levelled  at  them,  but  m  the  fact  that  their  object  are  often 
such  as  are  not  recognisetl  bj  the  law  of  England.  Where  is 
the  need  for  reform  here,  what  can  a  new  Parliament  do  more? 
The  workings  men^  says  Mr.  Lushington,  want  a  guarantee  that 
these  things  shall  be  set  right  What  better  guarantee  can  wc 
give  them  than  setting  them  right  ?  He  sajs  they  want  to  be 
hear^L  We  have  been  bearing  them  with  great  edification  and 
some  astonbhmentas  witnesses  before  the  Commission  for  the  last 
two  months.  He  says  we  do  not  know  how  many  outrages  have 
been  committed.  We  never  shall  ;  but  we  know  a  little  more 
than  we  did  of  the  doings  of  Trades  Unions.  We  are  now  in  a 
condition  to  state  that  robbery^  maiming,  and  murder  are  the 
weapons  with  which  Trades  Unions  enlist  their  members,  and 
the  agencies  by  which  tbey  control  them.  We  know,  too,  that 
these  things  have  been  of  constant  occurrence  in  at  least  one 
great  and  populous  town ;  that  they  have  been  carefully  kept 
from  the  knowledge  of  the  puliee  and  the  magistracy  ;  and  that 
they  could  not  have  lasted  so  long,  or  attained  such  impunity^ 
had  they  not  been  supported  by  the  opinion  of  the  persons  for 
whose  supposed  benefit  they  an*  perpetrated.  These  suffering 
angels  hit  rather  hard,  W^hile  they  are  complaining  meekly  of 
possible  liabilities  for  conspiracies,  which  if  they  erist  are  never 
enforced  J  they  give  us  in  exchange  murder,  blinding,  burning, 
blowing  up,  shooting,  beating,  laming^  ham -stringing  cattle  and 
horses,  and  numerous  other  substitutes  for  those  '  legal  means  * 
of  making  every  man  a  slave  to  his  own  trade^  the  absence 
of  which  that  martyred  saint  Mr.  Broadhead  so  pathetically 
laments.  We  do  not  know  all  about  Trades  Unions,  bot  we 
know  enough  to  see  very  plainly  on  which  side  is  the  balance 
of  wrong.  Nor  if  we  do  not  know  all  about  the  doings 
and  rules  of  Trades  Unions,  is  that  wholly  our  fault?  They 
have  been  purposely  kept  back  and  concealed.  Firsts  because 
they  are  it  I e gal >  and  ought  to  continue  illegal  in  any  well- 
governed  country ;  and  next,  because  the  inability  to  sue  and 
be  sued  is  not  altogether  a  grievance.  It  prevents  a  Trades 
Union  from  suing  a  fraudulent  secretary,  but  it  also  prevents 
a  member  from  suing  a  fraudulent  Trades  Union.  For  some 
trade  fault  —  not  joining  in  a  strike  for  instance  —  a  man 
may  lose  the  benefit  of  the  subscriptions  of  years  intended  to 

provide 


MBform  E$says, 

provide  biin  with  relief  in  time  of  sicknesi.  He  cannot  sue 
tinder  tbe  Benefit  Societies'  Acts,  because  the  Union  is  in  restraint 
of  trade.  He  cannot  sue  at  common  law,  because  be  is  a  parlncrj 
and  he  cannot  file  a  Bill  in  Kquity  because  it  is  too  cumbrous 
and  expensive  a  remedy*  la  it  quite  clear  that  tbe  Trades 
Unions^  whose  power  to  coerce  their  members  much  depends  on 
this  state  of  tiangs,  will  be  very  forward  in  putting  an  end  to 
it,  because  they  sometimes  experience  from  tbeir  own  officers 
the  evils  wbich  they  are  able  to  ioflict  on  their  own  mem  berg  F 
The  question  has  two  sides. 

Mr.  Newman*s  essay  on  the  Land  Laws  is  misnamed.  It 
ought  to  have  been  called  an  essay  on  Marriage  Settlements. 
He  docs  indeed  lightly  touch  the  law  of  primogeuiture^  as  it  is 
called^  that  is,  the  law  which^  if  a  man  makes  no  will  aud  has 
made  no  settlement  (two  conditions  which  quite  deprive  it  of 
any  general  eflScacy),  gives  the  whole  of  the  land  to  the  eldest 
son.  This  law,  which  never  operates  in  the  devolutioQ  of  large 
estates,  because  there  is  always  a  settlement  or  a  wiJl,  is  not  in 
our  Judgment  defensible.  If  a  man  makes  no  will,  the  State,  if 
it  undertakes  to  make  one  for  him,  should  make  a  just  one,  and 
it  is  not  just  tn  starve  the  younger  children  for  the  benefit  of  the 
eldest.  At  the  same  time,  this  harsh  simple  rule  is  of  great 
benefit  ID  tracing  titles,  since  it  obviates  the  necessity  of  getting 
in  the  estate  vested  in  the  younger  children^  and  would  probably 
have  to  be  retained  in  the  case  of  trustees  even  if  abolished,  in 
beneficial  ownership.  It  is,  however,  a  very  small  matter.  It  is 
not  a  law  of  primogeniture,  and  tlie  influence  whit.h  it  exercises 
on  the  devolution  of  pn^perty  is  quite  infinitesimah 

Putting  thb  aside,  the  only  other  question  in  the  essay  is  the 
policy  of  marriage  settlements  as  at  present  made.  And  here  we 
cannot  acquit  the  writer  of  great  inaccuracy  or  great  want  of 
camloun  His  essay  is  on  the  Land  Laws,  He  gives  a  history 
of  the  Law  of  Real  Property ;  he  speaks  of  hb  opponents  as 
supporters  of  the  existing  law's  ;  he  talks  of  the  case  against  the 
law,  and  yet  it  turns  out  that  the  present  practice  of  settling 
landed  estates  on  marriage  is  not  the  result  of  any  law  at  all,  but 
rather  of  unrestricted  freedom  of  individual  action  which  is  left 
to  the  owner  of  land.  There  has  been  so  much  uninteational,  and 
we  fear  we  must  say  so  much  intentional,  confusion  on  this  sub- 
ject, that  we  must  very  briefly  trace  its  history.  By  the  statute 
de  Donis  something  like  a  strict  settlement  of  land  was  secured  so 
long  as  the  lineal  male  descendant  of  the  settler  sunuverh  This 
lasted  from  the  reign  of  Edvrard  L  to  that  of  Edward  IV,,  when 
tlie  judges  held  that  this  hitherto  indefeasible  succession  could  be 
defeated  by  the  decree  of  a  court  of  justice,  that  is^  by  a  fictitious 


272 


Eitform  EsmyX 


lawsuit  From  that  time  t&  the  present  day  the  owner  of  an 
estate  may  settle  it  at  his  pleasure  within  a  life  or  lives  in  being- 
ami  tvvent>'-one  years  aCterwards.  This,  exeept  in  the  case  of  accu* 
mulation,  %vhicb  is  not  to  our  present  purpose,  is  the  onlj  cheek 
that  is  put  upon  him.  The  law  is  just  the  same  with  regard  to  per- 
sonalty, except  that  as  there  can  be  no  estate-tail  in  personalty,  as 
the  statute  de  Dorm  only  applies  tfj  land,  the  son  on  comin|r  of  age 
has  a  retnaindcr  in  full  ownership,  instead  of  ownership  limited 
to  the  life  of  the  last  of  his  male  descendants.  The  fault  fouiid 
with  the  present  law  then — and  this  applies  to  stock  just  as  weH  as 
to  land^ — is  that  it  lenrislatestoo  little,  and  leaves  loo  long  a  period 
to  individual  frectlom.  The  practice  of  resettling  the  estate  on 
the  marriag'f!  of  the  eldest  son  is  the  fruit  not  of  the  law,  bat  of 
the  feeling's,  wishes,  and  aspirations  of  the  owners  of  land.  If  land 
is  perpetually  resettled,  that  is,  if  the  power  of  the  owner  for  tJic 
time  being  is  always  fettered  and  rontnd led,  this  arises  not  from  law^ 
but  from  wilL  Mr*  Newman,  when  he  approaches  the  subject^ 
is  obliged  most  reluctantly  to  admit  this.  He  says  the  law  gives 
just  that  amount  of  illusory  freedom  which  will  serve  to  mask, 
but  not  to  countervail,  the  immemorial  bias  of  the  State,  That 
is,  every  owner  can  do  as  he  likes,  and  because  it  is  his  pleasure 
to  surrender  a  portion  of  his  future  interest  for  a  larger  share  of 
present  income,  the  State  is  reproached  for  extraordinary  subtlety 
in  leaving  him  to  do  so,  'The  State,'  he  says,  'blurs  the  hard 
and  severe  outl ines  of  the  law,  with  a  safe  and  skilful  recog-nition 
of  individual  freedom/  We  have  shown  that  there  is  no  law  in 
the  case,  and  consequently  no  outline  to  blur.  If  any  change  is 
desi red ,  i t  m us t  be  effec ted  by  f e tte r i n g^  i nd i v id u a  1  1  i ber ty ,  which 
would  have  a  much  harsher  and  severer  outline  than  the  present 
oligarchiral  practice  of  letting:  every  one  do  as  he  pleases. 
Whether  the  period  during^  which  an  estate  can  be  settled  is  too 
long  is  a  very  arguable  point  It  may  well  be  that  the  twenty- 
one  years  should  be  struck  off^  or  that  estates  for  life  should  not 
he  limited  to  unborn  persons,  but  so  long-  as  estates  for  lives 
in  being  are  permitted,  the  time  during  which  land  can  be 
settled  will  not  be  materially  diminished,  and  even  democracy 
herself  in  Amerira  has  never  ventured  to  proscribe  such  a 
limitation.  While  estates  for  life  are  allowed,  it  is  vain  to  talk 
of  shortening  the  investigation  of  title.  An  Act  of  Parliament 
can  do  many  things,  but  it  cannot  make  that  proof  which  is  not 
proof,  nor  force  a  man  to  spend  his  money  on  land  without  being 
Batisfied  that  he  gets  what  he  pays  for. 

Mr*  Newman's  view  of  a  remedy  is  singular.  He  despairs  of 
the  present  Parliament,  which  seems  lamentably  inclined  to 
allow  men  to  manage  their  affairs  their  own  way.     He  thinks 

a  really 


Reform  Essay  i* 

a  really  national  Parliament — that  is,  a  Parliament  in  which 
property  and  intelligence  are  not  represented,  would  deal  with 
the  game  Jaws,  abolish  the  descent  to  the  eldest  son  in  cases 
of  intestacy,  and  found  county  financial  Boards.  He  ratlier 
hopes  that  these  changes  would  destroy  settlements ;  vvhy^  we 
cannot  imagine*  If  not,  however,  we  might  abolish  limitations 
to  unborn  persons;  though  this,  he  seems  to  think>  and  very 
truly,  would  introduce  some  confusion^  without  any  important 
changej  the  real  key  to  the  formation  of  settlements  being  the 
power  to  create  estates  for  life.  Failing  all  this,  he  suggests 
that  we  should  extinguish  settlements  as  binding  and  irrevocable 
instruments,  except  so  far  as  the  wife  is  concerned.  The  effect 
of  this  would  be  of  course  to  make  the  settler  master  of  the 
property,  notwithstanding  any  instrument  he  may  have  executed, 
and  leave  it  in  his  power  to  alienate  the  whole,  leaving  his  wife 
to  her  jointure,  and  bis  children  to  starve*  He  says  each 
successive  proprietor  should  take  the  land  he  succeeds  to  free 
from  restriction,  and  he  proposes  to  work  out  this  principle  by 
enabling  the  father  to  disinherit  his  eldest  son,  disappoint  his 
younger  children,  or  leave  them  to  be  supported  by  the  mother 
out  of  the  provision  he  has  made  for  her  alone.  He  can  part 
with  his  land  irrevocably  to  a  stranger  for  money,  but  if  the  con- 
sideration be  not  money  but  the  love  and  affection  of  a  parent  to 
his  offspring,  that  is  to  be  declared  void,  and  the  parent  is  to 
be  at  liberty  to  sell  the  estate  over  their  heads,  spend  the  money, 
and  laugh  at  an  obligation  as  solemn  and  binding  on  conscience 
as  can  be  contracted  by  one  human  being  in  favour  of  another. 

The  greater  part  of  Mr.  Charles  Parker's  careful  and  well-con- 
sidered essay  on  Popular  Education  is  directed  to  a  criticism  of 
present  arrangements^  into  which  we  do  not  propose  to  enter. 
We  have  no  concern  here  with  education,  except  so  far  as  it 
touches  on  Reibrm.  Mr,  Parker  says  education  prepares  (ought 
to  prepare?)  the  way  for  the  franchiscj  ivhich  in  prudence- 
Tfiust  be  withheld  wher^  gross  ignorance  prevails*  ^For  political 
jiower  without  knowledge  means  mischief.'  This  very  sensible 
[tnaxim  has  been  forgotten  in  the  extension  of  the  franchise  to 
whole  classes  of  persons,  most  of  whom  were  grown  men  before 
popular  education  assumed  its  present  development,  and  who  are 
much  more  ignorant  than  their  children.  But  this  only  shows 
how  correctly  Mr.  Parker  reasons  when  he  proves  the  close  con- 
nection between  popular  education  and  democratic  change.  He- 
argues  at  great  length  to  prove  that  a  Reform,  such  as  that  pro- 
posed last  }'ear,  would  give  prominence  to  the  education  question 
and  stimulate  vigorous  action  upon  it.  The  people,  he  saySj  are 
directly  interested.     The  working  classes  are  disposed  to  unite. 

Vol  12a— JVb.  B4S-  T  They 


271  Heform  Essays. 

They  are  in  favour  of  the  doctrines  of  protection  and  of  the 
compulsory  shortening  the  hours  of  labour  for  adults  as  well  as 
for  children.  So  they  will  create  leisure  for  themselves.  They 
are  probably  not  averse  to  compulsion  in  the  matter.  Indeed,  it 
may  be  laid  down  as  rule  that  with  them,  as  far  as  their  power 
extends,  conviction  and  compulsion  ^o  tocrether.  They  like  to 
see  public  money  spent  for  their  benefit.  They  would  not  object 
much  to  a  local  rate  for  the  purpose,  a  very  small  portion  of 
which  would  fall  on  themselves.  They  are  not  troubled  with 
religious  scruples.  We  think  Mr.  Parker  fully  makes  out  his 
case  ;  nay,  perhaps  that  it  did  not  require  so  many  arguments  to 
show  that  the  working  man  has  no  objection  that  the  upper  and 
middle  classes  should  pay  for  teaching  his  children.  There  is 
another  argument  of  still  greater  cogency.  Political  power  is 
henceforth  to  reside  in  the  poorest  class  of  householders.  We 
dare  not  leave  it  in  the  hands  of  men  who  cannot  read  and  write. 
The  most  ordinary  principles  of  self  preservation  will  soon  make 
popular  education  the  first  and  highest  of  political  necessities. 
Those  who  have  hitherto  been  lukewarm  on  this  question  cannot 
afford  to  be  lukewarm  now.  All  the  power  and  influence  which 
until  the  full  development  of  our  new  democratic  institutions  still 
remain  to  the  upper  and  middle  classes  must  be  turned  in  this 
direction.  W^e  cannot  afford  to  be  ruled  by  ignorant  barbarians. 
For  OUT  own  sake,  if  not  for  that  of  the  poor,  the  question  must 
be  at  once  confronted.  We  have  little  doubt  of  the  vigour  with 
which  it  will  be  taken  up.  We  wish  we  were  as  sure  of  the 
wisdom  and  the  moderation.  The  critical  nature  of  our  position 
seems  to- exclude  both.  If  we  are  to  have,  as  we  assuredly  shall 
have,  universal  and  compulsory  education,  the  first  effect  of  the 
change  will  be  the  destruction  in  great  measure  of 'our  present 
system.  The  invaluable  superintendence  of  the  gentry  and  the 
clergy,  the  zeal  of  religious  conviction,  the  harmony  with  the 
present  state  of  society,  the  standard  already  reached  and 
which  is  in  daily  course  of  improvement,  must  all  be  sacri- 
ficed in  order  to  place  the  instruction  of  the  poor  in  the  hands  of 
indifferent  and  incompetent  local  bodies,  or  of  a  central  depart- 
ment, which  shall  henceforth  take  charge  of  what  used  to  be 
the  work  of  free  and  spontaneous  growth,  tlie  formation  of 
English  character  and  habits  of  thought.  Mr.  Parker  says, 
Wiiat  the  change  ought  to  be  in  the  present  system  of  education 
is  very  well  understood  both  inside  and  outside  the  House  of 
Commons.  Is  this  so?  On  what  are  educationists  agreed  ? 
Have  they  as  yet  looked  the  question  in  the  face  with  reference 
to  the  new  franchise?  We  suspect  that  Mr.  Bruce  and  his  co- 
adjutors will  be  rather  startled  when  they  find,  as  they  assuredly 

will, 


Refgnn  Essar^s* 


275 


wiH^  that  &  measure  whitb  a  few  months  ago  was  re«:ardecl  as 
estremeJy  liberal,  does  not  in  any  way  satisfy  the  pressing  need 
which  the  progress  of  the  Reform  Bill  has  created.  This  is  just 
the  case  pointed  at  by  Mr,  Lowe  ill  the  passage  cited  by  Mr* 
Parker,  where  what  is  wanted  is  not  so  inueh  more  power  to  urge 
on  change,  as  more  intelligence  to  decide  what  that  change  ought 
to  be.  We  have  created  the  emergency  fur  ourselves.  We  are 
not  prepared  to  meet  it;  and  there  is  great  danger  that  in  fear 
and  haste  we  may  o\*erthrow  what  exists  without  being  able 
adequately  to  replace  it,  and  in  the  desperate  eftbrt  to  meet 
a  pressing  danger  sacrifice  the  standard,  and  it  may  be  the  effi- 
ciency, of  instruction. 

The  last  essay  for  which  we  can  find  space  is  that  of  Mr, 
FretJeric  Harrison  on  Foreign  Policy.  We  rise  from  its  perusat 
with  two  very  strong  feelings,  the  first  of  thank fuhiess  that  our 
piilicv  for  the  last  eleven  years  has  not  been  in  the  hands  of  Mn 
Harrison  and  persons  of  hi^j  way  vf  thinkings  the  next  of  appre- 
hension at  the  prospect  Air  the  future,  should,  as  seems  not  unlikely, 
the  ideas  which  Mr,  Harrison  represents,  ever  come  to  be 
dominant  in  these  kingdoms,  Mr,  Harrison  declares  that  for  a 
genPTation  our  infiuence  on  the  continent  has  been  steadily  nar- 
rowing, in  other  words,  that  we  had  more  weight  in  1834  than 
we  have  now.  He  descril>es  the  Crimean  war  as  *  begun  in  imbe- 
cility and  ended  in  waste,*  a  termination  not  by  any  means  pe- 
culiar to  that  struggle,  but  he  entirely  suppresses  the  fact  that  if 
it  ended  in  waste  it  also  ended  in  victory.  As  reganls  America,  we, 
that  is,  some  mercantile  adventurers,  gave  succour  to  the  South  as 
well  as  to  tlie  North.  We,  that  is,  some  newspapers  and  reviews, 
Tilificd  the  doings  of  the  North,  Cynicism  reigned  in  drawing- 
fooms,  and  (at  that  also  we,  the  nation,  are  responsible.  The 
defence  of  the  more  numerous  and  wealthy  North  against  the 
poorer  and  less  populous  Si)uth  was  an  exploit  with  which 
the  defence  of  Greece  against  Persia,'  and  of  France  against 
Europe,  can  alone  be  compared,  Lincoln  was  '  the  most  beau- 
tiful and  heroic  character  that  recent  times  have  brought  forth,* 
and  under  him  the  Americans  created  the  '  purest  model  of 
governmeot  that  has  jet  been  seen  on  the  earth  i '  and  we  neither 
admired  him  nor  it.  True,  we  refused  to  join  the  Emperor  of 
the  French  In  recognising  the  independence  of  the  South,  and 
vindicated  our  own  iionour  with  some  spirit  when  attacked.  But 
as  these  were  national  acts^  Mr  Harrison  omits  them  as  irrelevant 
to  an  indictment  against  the  natir^n,  which  he  supports  by  Mu" 
sions  to  articles  in  newspapers  and  the  gossip  of  drawing-rooms. 
Let  us  turn  to  Eunjpean  policy.  In  1848  the  people  yearned  to 
support  the  heroic  struggles  of  Italy,  and  the  yet  more  desperate 

T  2  stru.^^W^ 


278 


Beform  Essa^i* 


Itru^gles  of  Hungan',  Mr,  HaKirison  thinks  the  people  were 
rightj  that  is,  that  in  184S  we  ought  to  have  gone  to  war  with 
Austria,  and  in  1841>  with  Russia,  In  1859  *  the  mass  of  our 
people  were  hearlily  Italian/  A  second  war  with  Austria, 
*  The  Polish  war  came,  and  again  a  splendid  opportunity  occurred/ 
A  second  war  with  Russia,  Then  followed  the  Danish  war, 
France  would  not  help  us,  but  we  ought  to  have  waged  a  third 
war  with  Austria,  and  a  first  war  (no  very  light  matter  as  eveats 
hare  shown)  with  Prussia*  in  all  these  cases  the  govern 
classes  who  wanted  to  keep  the  peace  were  wrong,  and  the  peoj 
who  wanted  to  go  to  war  were  right.  Who  can  doubt  thai  the 
time  has  arrived  for  destroying  a  Parliament  and  an  aristocracy 
that  bears  such  fruit?  There  are  six  good  wars — three  with 
Austria,  our  ancient  ally  ;  two  witli  Russia,  out  old  and  fast 
friend  ;  and  one  with  Prussia,  whose  interests  are  absolutely 
ulentical  on  almost  all  subjects  with  our  own — which  *  the  jieople' 
have  missed  the  pleasure  of  waging,  solely  through  the  anti- 
national  obstinacy  of  the  aristocracy  and  the  shortsighted  pusilla* 
nimity  of  Parliament.  Think  of  the  pinnacle  of  glory  on  which 
we  should  bare  stood  at  the  end  of  the  sixth  war,  with  our  debt 
doubled  and  nothing  ta  compensate  us  for  it  except  the  reflectioti 
that  we  had  done  all  this  in  order  to  elevate  France,  the  only 
power  iu  Europe  that  is  really  formidable  to  us,  and  to  depress 
all  those  nations  who  might  be  our  allies  in  the  event  of  such  a 
conflict.  Hungary  and  Italy  have  come  right  without  our  aid, 
Denmark  and  Poland  would  hardly  have  prospered  against  the 
odds  opposed  to  them  even  with  it,  so  that  all  we  should  have 
gained  would  have  been  expressed  by  the  addition  of  many 
millions  annually  to  our  taxation,  and  the  destruction  of  some 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  the  bravest  and  most  robust  of  our 
people.  If  this  does  not  prove  the  necessity  of  Reform,  Mr, 
Harrison  has  no  other  argument  to  ofien 

We  can  easily  believe  that  there  will  be  many  among  our  readers 
who  wUl  think^  that  coosiilering  the  very  flimsy  and  inconclusive 
nature  of  the  arguments  which  we  have  been  analysing  and 
exposing,  we  have  treated  them  with  too  much  respect,  and 
needlessly  abstained  from  characterising  them  in  language 
suitable  to  the  deserts  of  their  authors.  It  is  indeed  a  melan- 
choly spectacle  to  see  that  the  best  education  the  country  has  to 
give,  the  society  and  associations  of  our  places  of  learning,  lead 
to  no  higher  and  l>etter  result  than  a  species  of  Philtsdnistn, 
a  systematic  depreciation  of  culture  aixl  its  effects,  a  marked 
preference  for  what  is  mean  and  vulgar,  and,  we  are  sorry  to  say, 
a  scarcely  disguised  hostility  to  our  institutions,     The  object  in 

most 


Reform  Essmjs, 

most  of  these  essays  is  rather  the  destruction  than  the  nmeliora- 
tion  of  the  Constitution,  Every  little  defect  in  it  is  magnified, 
while  the  state  of  things  that  is  to  replace  the  present  is  spoken  of 
with  a  revolting  recklessness.  It  is  not  to  make  our  Constitution 
work  better,  it  is  towards  a  democracy  with  a  single  imperial 
head  that  their  suggestions  tend — America  is  spoken  of,  but 
France  is  meant.  Yet  conscious  as  we  are  of  the  ^ery  moderate 
amount  of  ability,  literary  or  political,  which  in  tlicse  volumes  U 
devoted  to  tbe  maintenance  of  these  subversive  theories,  we  think 
these  essayists  are  entitled  to  all  the  respect  and  courtesy  with  which 
they  are  here  treated.  They  are  after  all  tlie  advocates  of  the 
winning  cause.  Flimsy  as  is  the  intellectual  texture  they  have  spun, 
it  is  only  the  covering  that  veils  the  gigantic  limbs  of  vvhat  is  daily 
more  and  more  clearly  recognised  as  the  second  and  by  far  the 
greater  English  Revolution^  In  these  days  when  all  men  are 
absorbed  in  the  worship  of  success  denuded  of  all  those  attri- 
butes of  consistency,  probity,  and  honour,  which  make  a  losing 
cause  respectable-,  and  the  absence  of  which  makes  a  winning 
cause  despicable,  we,  like  every  one  else,  must  pay  our  homage 
to  superior  fortune,  and  assume  a  moderation  that  suits  the  posi- 
tion of  tile  advocates  of  a  vanquished  and  ruined  cause.  Argu- 
ment has  nothing  to  do  with  the  decision  of  this  most  important 
matter.  Contrary  to  the  teaching  of  all  history,  more  especially 
contrarv'  to  the  teaching  of  the  history  of  England,  we  have  flung 
aside  all  moderation,  all  foresight,  all  prudence.  Last  year  the 
attempt  was  to  enfranchise  the  class  whose  leading  principles  and 
ideas  are  illustrated  by  tbe  transactions  of  Trades  Unions*  This 
year  we  have  at  least  in  some  degree  avoided  this  risk  by 
swamping  the  skilled  artisan  in  an  element  of  which  we  do  not 
even  know  that  it  has  in  it  any  political  life  at  alL  We  seek  to 
escape  the  evils  of  unbridled  democracy  by  the  evils  of  unbounded 
cx>rniption.  Our  last  hope  is,  that  our  future  rulers  may  choose  to 
sell  us  the  power  we  are  giving  them,  instead  of  exercising  it 
for  their  ruin  and  our  own.  Mr*  Gladstone  is  terrified,  Mr* 
Bright  stands  aghast.  We  call  upon  the  Radicals  to  save  us, 
we  blush  to  say  it,  from  the  Tory  Government,  and  they  are 
lually  taking  up  the  position  of  a  Conservative  oppttsition 
'against  the  measures  of  Lord  Derby  and  Mr.  Disraeli.  When 
such  is  the  state  of  things,  we  owe  some  respect  to  the  writers 
who  alone  have  endeavoured  to  put  into  a  permanent  form  the 
principles  of  the  new^  order  of  tilings,  and  we  take  leave  of  them 
with  the  frank  admission  that  though  we  cannot  accept  them  for 
our  teachers,  they  are  undtmbtedly  our  masters. 


Art* 


Abt.  I. — Tilt  Earhj  Yean  of  Hu  Eoyal  Highness  the  Prince 
Comort  Compiled  under  tJw  Direction  of  Her  Majesty  the 
Queen.  Bjr  Lieut^Gencral  the  Han.  Charles  Grey,  London^ 
1867, 

IT  is  scarcely  possible  to  conceive  a  work  less  likely  to  entice 
any  one  to  the  care&  of  royal  authorship  than  the  *  Catalogue  * 
of  Horace  Walpolej  with  its  scanty  prabc  and  its  abundance  of 
carping:  criticism. 

*  Frederickj  Prince  of  Wales/  he  tells  usj  *  wrote  French  songs 
in  imitation  of  the  Regent,*  and  did  not  miscarry  solely  by 
writing  in  a  language  not  his  own,*  f  Three  letters  of  James 
IL's  which  were  published  at  his  command  by  W,  Fuller, 
gentleman,  led  the  unhappy  agent  into  being  voted  by  the  House 
of  Commons  a  notorious  cheat;  into  his  being  prosecuted  by 
the  Attorney- General,  and  whipped  and  pilloried, 'J:  Cbarles  I. 
wrote  *most  uncouth  and  inharmonious  poetry/  The  merit 
of  James  I/s  compositions  is  expressed  in  the  caustic  asser- 
tion that  'Bishop  Montagu  translated  all  his  Majesty*s  works 
into  Latin,  A  man  of  so  much  patience  was  well  worthy  of 
favour.*  §     Henry  VllI,  himself  comes  off  very  little  better,  with 

tthe  suggestion  as  to  the  great  work  which  earned  for  the  wearer 
of  the  English  crown  the  title  of  Defender  of  the  Faith  (of  which 
Walpole  most  characteristically  says,  *it  seemed  peculiarly 
adapted  to  the  weak  head  of  the  high  church,  Anne  *)  ;  ||  that 
*  a  little  scepticism  on  his  talents  for  such  a  performance,  mean 
as  it  u,  nxight  make  us  question  whether  he  did  not  write  the 
defence  of  the  Sacraments  against  Luther,  as  one  of  his  suc- 
cessors Tf  is  supposed  to  have  written  the  KtKmi/  BaariXi/cjjj  that 
is,   with  the   pen  of  some  Court  prelatCp'**     With  the  same 


•  Philip  Duke  of  Orleans.  f  Page  278.    iti>,  of  17&S* 

t  Ibid,  S  R  260,  275-  l|  P.  2iG-  %  Charles  th«  Fifst 

•■  P»  256*    SadQcSers  nnd  BeUaname  lucribed  the  defence  of  the  Sacramects 

kinit  Luiher  to  Hi  shop  Fkber,  othera  to  Sir  TUoma*  More- 

VoL  123. — No.  246,  u  suggestion 


S80 


Moyal  AutJtarMhip^ 


fiU|irgestioii  of  assisted  aittborsbip  he  sweeps  away  the  claim  of 
Edward  IL  to  the  ccmpositioii  of  the  poem  attributed  to  hiin, 
believing  that  ^  this  melody  of  a  dyin^  monarch  is  about  ai 
authentic  as  that  of  the  old  poetic  warbler  the  swanj* 

The  only  royal  peo  to  which  he  allows  any  real  merit  is      

of  Queen  Elizabeth,  who,  'in  the  days  wheti/  as  Camden  s&j% 
*  King  Edward  was  wont  to  call  her  his  swe^  siiter  Temp€rmw$y 
appli^  much  to  literature/ f 

Such  galling  criticisms  ma?  be  sufficient  to  repress  all  ordi* 
nary  royal  authorship,  but  they  could  not  touch  the  high  motiTes 
or  sacred  feeling  which  have  led  to  the  newest  example  of  such  » 
production.  For,  we  say  it  advisedly,  the  work,  the  title  of  which 
IS  prefixed  to  this  article,  is,  in  truth,  the  produce  of  another  royal 
hand,  and  that,  like  ElijEabelh's,  the  hand  of  a  female  sovereigo. 

It  is  true  that,  in  exact  contradiction  of  what  Walpole  stif^ 
gested  to  have  been  the  course  of  Henry  and  of  Charles  in  giving 
a  royal  sponsorship  to  works  wrought  for  them  by  olhers,  here 
another  name  is  given  to  what  is  essentially  a  royal  work.  For 
the  volume  professes  to  be  *  the  early  years  of  the  Prince  Con* 
iort,  compiled  under  the  direction  of  her  Majesty  the  Queen,  by 
Lieut-General  the  Hon,  C*  Grey,'  and  in  many  places  the  mask 
of  authorship  is  not  ungracefully  assumed  by  the  gallant  Generals 
But  every  reader  of  the  volume  will  feel  that  its  real  interest  is 
derived  from  the  writing  of  another ;  whose  presence  is  never 
more  perceived  than  when  it  seems  most  to  be  withholdem 
General  Grey's  share  in  the  work  is  indeed  very  creditably 
pcrforraed.l  He  has  threaded  well  together  the  pearb  intrusted 
U%  him  \  hut  though  the  threading  is  his,  the  pearls  are  the  gift 
to  us  of  a  higher  hand. 

Tliis  is  essentia]  to  notice,  because  it  is  this  which  givea 
its  real  interest  in  the  work.  No  affected  pedantry,  no  frigid  love 
of  conceits,  no  desire  of  display,  no  longing  to  be  enrolled  la  tho 
catalogue  of  authors,  have  led  to  the  writing  of  this  Tolume.  It 
is  a  genuine  and  unmistakable  offering  of  love.  It  is  the  fruit 
of  that  desire  of  sympathy  which  is  ever  strongest  in  the  ten- 
der est  and  most  human  hearts.  It  is  one  of  those  pleas,  which 
when,  as  here,  they  are  put  forth  simply  and  naturally,  are  abso* 
lately  irresistible.  It  is  the  Sovereign  Casting  herself  in  bar 
speechless  grief  upon  the  sympathy  of  her  people. 

The  volume  which  this  represents  vraa  first  printed  only  for 


•  P.  255.  +  P,  sec, 

(  In  a  H^cofid  c-dition  the  dale  qf  the  dvath  of  the  Priaceii  Qhtif lotte  tboutd  be 
CorrecM.    It  ims  Not.  IS  1 7,  not  18  le. 

private 


B&^al  Autkorskip* 

private  circulation  in  the  familj  and  amongst  the  closest  friends 
of  the  Queen.  But,  once  in  print,  when  it  mi^ht  possibly  be 
pirated,  and  when,  far  more,  the  certain  effect  of  a  wider  circu- 
lation could  be  better  calculated  from  what  had  beeti  the  effect 
of  the  imallefj  then  a  lovlog  xeal  for  the  Prince's  honour,  and  a 
noble  claim  on  a  nations  truth,  overcame  all  difficuldeai  and  gave 
it  to  the  world. 

The  mere  fact  of  such  an  appeal  is  a  declaration  of  what  He 
was  whose  memory  lives  so  fresh  in  the  widow's  heart,  an  appeal 
the  truth  and  eloquence  of  which  can  scarcely  be  ejiceeded  by 
any  articulate  utterance,  But^  if  anything  could  be  added,  it  is 
fiurely  to  be  found  in  these  pages,  through  which  we  must 
hastily  carry  our  readers. 

Besides  the  history  of  the  early  days  and  first  married  year  of 
Prince  Albert's  life,  the  volume  contains  in  the  Appendix  a 
inost  remarkable  paper,  entitled  *  Reminiscences  of  the  Kinoj 
of  the  Beljs^ians/  It  is  full  of  all  that  long-sighted  clearness  of 
vision,  which,  to  an  extent  rarely  equalled,  was  the  faculty  of 
King  Leopold.  It  throws  no  little  light  upon  much  of  our  con- 
temporary history,  and  supplies  some  remarkable  facts  as  to  the 
Secret  course  of  matters  in  the  highest  quarters. 

The  troubled  waters  of  the  liege ncy  and  early  reign  of  George 
IV.,  after  this  lapse  of  years>  show  strangely  when  they  are  con* 
trasted  with  the  calm  and  high  tone  to  which  the  Court  of  Queen 
Victoria  has  made  Great  Britain  accustomed.  We  can  scarcely 
i  believe  that  of  a  time  so  near  our  own,  and  of  our  own  Royal 
Family,  we  can  read  such  an  entry  as  this : — 

*  TLo  Begent  was  not  kind  to  bis  ht-other.  At  every  instant  some* 
thing  or  other  of  an  unpleasant  nature  arose  * — (p,  390). 

'1820. — Prince   Leopold  was   at  Lord   CraTcn's,   when  the  news 
,  arrived  that  a  cold  which  the  Duke '  [of  Kent]  '  got  at  Salisbury,  Tlsiting 
the  Cathedral,  had  becomo  alarming.     Soon  ad^er  the  Princess  arrival 
the  Duke  breathed  his  last, 

*  The  DtK'hcBs,  who  lost  a  most  atniable  and  devoted  hashand,  waa 
in  a  state  of  the  greatest  diB tress.  It  was  fortunate  Prince  Leopold 
had  not  been  out  of  the  country,  as  the  poor  Duke  had  left  his  family 
deprived  of  all  means  of  existence/  * 

It  is  strang-e  to  read  such  extracts,  and  then,  whilst  their  me- 
mory is  fresh  with  us,  to  look  at  the  history  of  the  same  Royal 
Family  for  the  last  twenty-seven  years.  In  one  things  only  wa» 
the  history  of  that  time  and  this  sadly  alike;  though  now  it  Is 
the  wife,  and  then  it  was  the  husband,  upon  whom  the  blow  has 
fallen.     But  sovereigns  have  no  exemption,   God  knows^  from 


I 


'  Appendix  A.    •  Remmiscences  of  King  Leopold/  p.  589. 

u  2  'C&fo 


282  Royal  AtdkonMp^ 

the  sorrows  of  their  subjects.     Changing  the  persons,  the  grieb 
of  1861  may  be  read  in  the  records  of  1817  : — 

*  Nov.— Saw  the  rmn  of  this  happy  home,  and  the  destruction  at 
one  blow  of  avery  hope  and  happincea  of  Prince  Leopold.  Ho  has 
never  recovered  the  feeling  of  happinefla  which  had  blessed  Ms  short 
married  life  —(p.  389). 

Bat  to  return  from  the  Appendix  to  the  text 

Prince  Albert  of  Saxe  Cobnrg  was  bom  at  the  Grand  Duca! 
Castle  of  Kosenau,  on  the  26tb  of  August,  1819,  three  months 
aftt*r  the  birth  of  the  Princess  Victoria,  to  whom  (the  Duchess 
of  Kent  being  sister  of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Coburg)  he  was 
first-cousin. 

There  is  depicted  in  this  volume  an  intertwining  of  the  early 
threads  of  these  two  lives,  which  more  resembles  the  beautiful  fables 
of  the  *  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments^  than  the  hard  realities 
of  modem  life.  Some  of  these  passages  sound  like  the  records  of 
the  sport  of  one  of  the  Genii  (for,  pace  Mn  Lane,  we  cannot  give 
up  for  his  Jim  those  genial  companions  of  our  boyhood,  the 
Genii),  who  carries  the  beautiful  young  princess  off  and  sets  her 
beside  the  young  prince,  whose  after  life  is  restless  and  homeless;^ 
till  he  can  recover  the  bright  vision  which  once  Hashed  so  strangely 
upon  bis  youth.  Mademoiselle  Siebold  is  the  first  link  in  the 
Genii  chain,  officiating  at  both  these  aaspicious  births.  She  is 
called  at  Rosenau^  where  the  murmuring  waters  inspire  rest  and 
sleep,  '  at  three,  and  at  six  the  little  one  gives  his  first  cry  in  this 
world,  and  looks  about  like  a  little  squirrel,  with  a  pair  of  large 
black  eyes'  (p.  10) — ^ though  from  a  Royal  correction  we  know 
that  they  were  really  *  blue  * — and  at  the  very  same  time  *  she 
cannot  sufficiently  describe  what  a  dear  little  love  is  the  May 
Flower  *  (the  Princess  Victoria,  bom  May  24).  Again,  the  good 
grandmother,  who  comes  in  throughout  all  these  pages  as  tlie 
beneficent  fairy  godmother,  in  the  midst  of  wise  words  concern uig 
the  early  training  of  the  young  Prince  and  his  brother,  breaks  off; 
as  if  some  golden  thread  already  linked  them  to  each  other,  into 
counsel  concerning  the  young  Princess,  and  prays  the  anxious 
mother  '  not  yet  to  tease  her  little  puss  with  learning — she  is  so 
young  stilL'  And  again  she  says,  -Bold  Albcrischen  drags 
Leopold  constantly  about  by  tlie  hand.  The  little  fellow  is  the 
pendant  to  the  pretty  cousin,  very  handsome,  but  too  slight  for  a 
boy  ;  lively,  very  funny,  all  good  nature,  and  full  of  mischief 
(p.  19),  Visions  indeed  of  what  the  distant  future  was  to  fulfil 
visited  the  foreboding  thoughts  of  this  lady,  of  whom  we  read  : — 

*  The  Queen  remembers  her  dear  grandmother  perfectly  well.  She 
was  a  most  remarkablo  woman,  witii  a  most  powerM,  energetic,  almost 

masculine 


Eoyal  Authorship. 

maBCulina  mindf  accompanied  with  great  tendemeEfi  of  heart  and  ex- 
treme lovo  for  nature,*  .  ,  ,  '  A  moat  distinguished  pcTfion  the  King 
of  the  Belgians  calls  her  in  his  Remmiecences/  .  .  *  *  Rbo  told  the 
Queen  that  she  had  wished  earnestly  that  he  Bhould  marry  the  Queen/ 
(p.  17.) 

We  must  add  Here,  for  their  intrinsic  beauty,  a  few  words 
morcj  written  in  a  similar  strain  by  the  good  Duchess,  the  year 
before  her  death,  to  her  daughter^  the  again  wicloweti  mother  of 
a  daughter  of  so  great  a  future,  May,  1830 : — 

*  My  blessings  and  good  wishes  for  the  day  which  gave  you  the 
fiweet  blossom  of  May !  May  God  preserve  and  protect  the  yaluabl© 
lifo  of  that  lovely  flower  from  all  the  dangers  which  will  besot  her 
mind  and  heart*  The  rays  of  the  sun  are  scorching  at  the  height 
to  which  she  may  one  day  attain.  It  is  only  by  the  blessing  of  God 
that  all  the  fine  qualities  He  has  put  into  that  yoimg  soul  can  be  kept 
puie  and  untarnished  *™(p.  76), 

And  so  passes  away  from  our  pages  the  figure  of  this  good  and 
remarkable  woman.  There  is  an  exquisite  plaintiveness  in  the 
tone  in  which  the  last  adieu  is  uttered  in  these  pages  by  her 
Royal  granddaughter  :^ — 

*  She  had  already,  at  a  very  early  period,  formed  the  ardent  wish 
that  a  marriage  should  one  day  take  place  between  her  beloved 
grandchild  Albert  and  the  "  flower  of  May,"  as  she  loved  to  call  th« 
little  Princess  Victeria,  How  would  her  kind,  loving  heart  have 
rejoiced,  could  she  have  lived  to  see  the  perfect  conHtunmation  of  he? 
wishes  in  the  happinesSj  too  soon,  al&s  \  to  be  cut  short,  that  followed 
this  auspicious  union,*  * 

The  early  years  of  the  Prince  were  marked  with  many  indica- 
tions of  unusual  truthfulness,  affection,  and  intelligence;  whilst 
his  childlike  ways  and  looks  (a  beautiful  record  of  which  adorns 
the  title-page  of  this  volume)  attracted  to  him  early  notice  and 
favour.  We  read  such  records  as  these:  'Little  Alberischen^ 
with  his  large  blue  eyes  and  dimpled  cheeks,  is  bewitching^ 
forward,  and  quick  as  a  weazel '  (p,  19).  '  He  is  much  smaller 
than  his  brother,  and  lovely  as  a  little  angel,  with  his  fair  curls* 
(p*  21),  As  early  as  when  not  yet  four  he  was  transferred  from 
the  tutelage  of  women  to  that  of  Herr  Florschiitafi,  of  Coburg,  a 
tutor  who  knew  how  to  deal  v^ith  the  precious  charge  committed 
to  him.  *1  entered/  he  says,  'upon  the  discharge  of  my  im- 
portant charge  with  enthusiasm*  Every  grace  had  been  showered 
by  nature  on  this  charming  boy — every  eye  rested  on  him  with 
delight,  and  his  look  won  the  hearts  of  all*  (p.  91).  Herr 
Florschiitz  had,  and  deserved  to  have,  the  sole  direction  of  the 

*  McmoraDdiim  by  Oie  Queen,  p,  84, 

education 


1 


284  Jhyal  AutharMkiiL 

education  of  the  two  young  Princes  until,  fifteen  yean  later,  they 
left  the  University  of  Bonn.  For  his  faithful  and  kindly  services 
the  Prince  ever  entertained  the  warmest  gratitude. 

The  boyish  years  of  the  young  men  were  distingukhed  bj  no 
remarkable  events,  but  of  none  was  it  more  eminently  true  than 
of  Prince  Albert,  that  ^  the  boy  was  father  of  the  man.'  The 
winning  childhood  passed  by  natural  gradation  into  a  youth  not 
less  attractive  after  its  kind.     ^  He  was  always,'  says  his  tntoi^ 

*  singularly  easy  to  instruct'  (p.  28).  *To  do  something  waf  with 
him  a  necessity '  (li.).  ^  He  was  rather  delici^te  than  robust, 
though  already  remarkable  for  bis  powers  of  perseverance  and 
endurance.  The  same  ardent  and  energetic  spirit,  which  mani- 
fested itself  in  his  studies,  was  shown  in  the  sports  of  his  boy- 
hood ;  and  in  these  his  was  the  directing  mind.'  •  •  .  .  *  He  was 
always,'  says  King  Leopold,  *  an  intelligent  child,  and  held  a 
certain  sway  over  his  elder  brother,  who  rather  kindly  submitted 
to  it' (p.  30). 

The  *  submission,'  however,  was  not  always  yielded  withont « 
strugg^  Aiid  (to  maintain  his  pre-eminence)  the  native  vigour  of 
bis  character  had  sometimes  to  show  itself  in  something  more 
than  the  assertion  of  mere  moral  power ;  for  though  he  was  the 
younger,  the  smaller,  and  the  more  delicate  boy,  we  read  sucb 
entries  as  these  from  a  journal  remarkable  for  its  simple  truth- 
fulness of  delineation,  when  he  was  not  yet  six  years  old :  *  April  9. 
I  got  up  well  and  happy ;  afterwards  I  had  a  fight  with  my 
brother.  ...  *  April  10.  I  had  another  fight  with  my  brother ; 
that  was  not  right '  (p.  35). 

This  early  moral  handling  of  his  tendency  to  assert  too  abso- 
lutely bis  own  will    seems  to   have  lasted  through  his  youth« 

•  With  his  brother,'  says  the  good  Florschiitz,  '  the  Prince  showed 
rather  too  strong  a  will  of  his  own ;  and  this  disposition  came 
out  at  times  even  in  later  years.  Surpassing  his  brother  in 
thoughtful  earnestness,  in  calm  reflection,  and  self-command, 
and  evincing  at  the  same  time  more  prudence  in  action,  it  was 
only  natural  that  his  will  should  prevail,  and  when  compliance 
with  it  was  not  voluntarily  yielded,  he  was  sometimes  disposed 
to  have  recourse  to  compulsion.  But,'  he  adds,  ^  the  distinguish- 
ing characteristics  of  the  Prince's^ disposition  were  his  winning 
cheerfulness  and  his  endearing  amiability '  (p.  103).  How  suc- 
cessful he  was  in  enforcing  on  himself  this  difficult  rule  of  self- 
constraint  in  conscious  superiority,  is  abundantly  proved  by  the 
intense  affection  of  the  brothers  to  each  other.  Their  lives  were 
spent  absolutely  together,  until  the  elder  brother  was  twenty,  the 
younger  nineteen  years  of  age.  Then  first  they  were  parted — 
Prince  Ernest  joining  the  &ixon  iarmy  at  Dresden,  and  Prince 

Albert 


Rm/al  Authorship, 


S8S 


Albert  commencing  a  tour  throiigt  Italy*  The  relations  of  their 
lives  may  be  read  in  the  touching  words  of  the  younger  brother. 
*  Ernest,'  he  writes  to  Prince  William  of  Lciwcnstein,  *  is  now 
gtjin^  to  DreBden,  I  shall  shortly  begin  my  Italian  travels*  I 
shall  not  set  out  till  Ernest  also  launches  his  vessel,  so  that  he 
may  not  be  left  behind  alone.  The  separation  will  be  frightfully 
painful  to  nst  Up  to  thia  moment  we  have  never,  as  long  as 
we  can  recollectj  been  a  single  day  away  from  each  other,  I 
cannot  bear  to  think  of  that  moment'  (p.  181).  And,  after  the 
separatiorij  he  writes  ag-ain :  *  Now  I  am  quite  alone.     Ernest  is 

gone  off,  and  I  am  left  behind Now  Ernest  has  slept 

through  his  first  night  at  Dresden*  This  day  will  also  bring  to 
him  the  feeling  that  something  is  wanting/  Soon  after  he  adds, 
what  would  sound  strangely  philosophic  from  the  pen  of  any 
ordinary  young  man  of  nineteen,  but  which,  from  its  depth  of 
tbonght  and  simple  practicalness,  seems  to  us  eminently  cha- 
racteristic of  the  writer :  *  I  must  now  give  up  the  custom  of 
saying  we^  and  use  the  I,  which  sounds  so  egotistie  and  cold.  In 
WB  everything  soanded  much  scjfter,  for  the  we  expresses  the 
harmony  between  different  souls,  the  I  rather  the  resistance  of  the 
individual  against  outward  forces,  though  also  confidence  in  its 
own  strength '  (p,  184)* 

But  we  must  return  to  those  earlier  days  from  which  this  single 
feature  of  character  has  led  us  away,  '  Albert,*  is  the  recollection 
of  Count  Mensdorff,  who  had  been  his  intimate  companion  from 
his  earliest  youth,  'never  was  noisy  or  wild.  He  was  always  very 
fond  of  Natural  History  and  more  serious  studies,  and  many  a 
happy  hour  we  spent  in  the  Ehrenburg  (the  palace  at  Coburg) 
arranging  and  dusting  the  collections  our  cousins  had  themselves 
made  and  kept  there.  From  his  earliest  infancy  he  was  dis^ 
ttnguished  for  perfect  moral  purity  both  in  word  and  deed,  and 
to  this  he  owed  the  sweetness  of  disposition  so  much  admired  by 
every  one'  (p.  57),  From  his  fourth  to  his  nineteenth  year  his 
education  under  Mn  Florschutz  was  conducted  during  the  winter 
months  at  Coburg  or  Goth  a,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  year  for 
the  most  part  at  the  pleasant  country  palaces  of  Kosenau  and 
Reinhardsbrunn,  with  occasional  excursions  in  Germany  or  to 
his  uncle's  capital  at  Brussels,  or,  in  1836,  when  he  was  seventeen 
years  old,  to  England.  It  was  in  the  course  of  this  visit  that 
he  first  met  his  Royal  cousin,  the  Princess  Victoria;  and  there 
are  unquestionable  indications  that  from  this  time  his  thoughts 
turned  often  to  *  the  Flower  of  May,'  for  whom,  as  we  have  seeOi 
the  good  old  Duchess  had  so  long  since  destined  iiim*  Through- 
aut  these  years  the  character  he  was  gradually  and  firmly  forming 
exhibits  everywhere  the  same  features.    A  genuine  love  of  nature, 


266 


Royal  Auth&rsMp. 


a  keen  relish  for  natural  history,  aorevor  iDcrearin*  earnestness  in 
study,  a  growing  acquaintance  with  and  value  for  art,  entire  moral 
purity  and  deep  couseientiousiness,  appear  at  every  tuni-  The 
*  recollections '  of  his  tutor  preserve  some  interestinf  featUfes  of 
his  life: — 

*  In  his  early  youth  Prince  Albert  was  very  shy,  and  he  had  long  to 
fitmgglo  against  this  feeling.  He  disliked  Tisits  from  straugeis' — 
(p.  102).  ^ 

^  He  was  always  fond  of  natural  histoiyi  and  lost  no  opportoimy 
of  collecting  flpecimens  * — (p»  104). 

*  The  Acttve  life  which  he  led  in  the  open  air  f^trengthened  aliko 
the  mind  and  the  bcMly,  His  thirst  for  knowledge  wae  kept  alive  and 
indulged ;  wLlIo  under  the  infiucDce  of  his  bodily  e^tercisea  he  grew 
up  into  an  active  and  healthy  boy  * — (p.  117)* 


Still, 


M 


*  He  was  subject  to  alarming  attacks  'of  croup-  At  such  times  tbft 
characteristic  qualities  uf  his  tiiliid  displayed  themselves  very  remark- 
ably. I  shall  never  forget  the  gentle  goodness,  the  alfeetioEiate  pati- 
ence^ he  ghowcd.  His  heart  seemed  ^en  to  open  to  the  whole  world. 
He  would  form  the  most  noble  projects  for  execution  after  his  recovery, 
and,  though  apparently  not  satisfied  with  himself,  bo  displayed  atemp^ 
and  dispodtion  which  I  may  characterise  as  being  in  thought  and  in 
deed  perfectly  angelic.  I  cannot  recal  these  retxillections  even  now 
without  the  deepest  emotions.' — (p.  100,) 

*  Two  virtues  were  conspicuous  even  in  his  boyhood,  winning  for 
him  the  love  imd  reepect  of  alL  Growing  with  his  growth,  these  virtoed 
gained  strength  with  years :  one  was  his  eager  desire  to  do  good  and 
to  assist  others ;  the  other,  the  grateful  feeling  which  never  allowed 
him  to  forget  all  acts  of  kindness,  however  trifling,  to  ImnBelf '^ — (p» 

TTiese  high  moral  qualities  were  grounded,  Mr.  Florschiitz  tells 
nSj  on  the  only  firm  basis  of  relig^ion.  The  youth  of  Protestant 
Germany  are  not  commonly  admitted  to  the  rite  of  contirmation 
nntil  they  have  reached  their  seventeenth  year ;  but,  in  conse- 
quence of  •  the  singularly  earnest  and  thoughtful  nature'  of  the 
Prince,  it  was  determined  not  to  separate  him  in  that  declaration 
of  his  faith  from  the  brother  whose  close  companionship  he  shared  ; 
on  the  elder,  therefore,  obtaining  the  due  age^  the  younger  was 
suffered  to  accompany  him;  and  *  on  Palm  Sunday,  1835,  ihe 
young  Princes  were  accordingly  confirmed,  Mr,  Florschutx 
speaks  warmly  of  the  earnestness  with  which  Prince  Albert  pre- 
pared himself  for  the  solemn  ceremony,  and  of  the  deep  feelingi 
of  religion  with  which  he  engaged  in  it'  (p.  118). 

!n  April,  1837,  the  scene  of  the  Princess  life  changes,  for  the  next 
year  and  a  half,  to  the  University  of  Boon.      'Here,'  says  Mr. 

Florschiitz, 


Royal  Authorship, 


287 


itz,  who  continued  with  his  Princes  throughout  this  resi- 
le maintaiDed  the  early  prumise  of  his  3*outh  by  the  eager- 
ness with  which  he  applied  himself  to  his  work,  and  by  the  rapid 
progress  which  he  made,  especially  in  the  natural  sciences,  in  poli- 
tical economy,  and  in  philosophy.  Music,  aUoj  of  which  he  was 
passionately  fond,  was  not  neglected ;  and  he  bad  already  shown 
considerable  talent  as  a  composer  *  (p.  143).  The  Prince 
describes  *the  chief  subjects  of  his  studies'  in  a  letter  to  his 
father  in  November,  1837,  as  ^  Roman  law,  State  right,  and  poli- 
tical economy,  and  the  principles  of  finance.  We  also  attend  two 
courses  of  historical  lectures  by  Ldbeli  and  A»  W^  von  Schlegel, 
and  a  philosophical  lecture  (anthropology  and  philosophy)  by 
Fichte,  At  the  same  time  we  shall  not  fail  to  give  attention  to 
the  study  of  modern  languages  *(p*  158). 

The  enlargement  of  mind,  which  was  the  result  of  conscientious 
labour  under  the  quickening  influence  of  men  of  such  various 
intellecttjal  power  as  the  Bonn  professors^  could  be  traced  through- 
out hia  pfter  life.  But  the  picture  of  this  course  at  Bonn  would 
he  very  incomplete,  without  the  lights  thrown  into  it  by  the 
friend  of  his  youth,  Prince  William  of  Low  en  stein.  With  his 
equals  in  age,  indeed,  as  with  his  elders,  there  was  a  continual 
desire  to  learn  all  that  was  to  he  learned.  *  He  liked,  above  all 
things,  to  discuss  questions  of  publit:  law  and  metaphysics,  and 
constandy,  amongst  our  evening  walks,  juridical  principles  and 
philosophical  doctrines  were  thoroughly  discussed.'  But  with 
these  more  serious  tastes  mingled  freely  '  a  lively  sense  of  the 
ridiculous — a  great  talent  for  mimicking,  and  drawing  carica- 
tures, in  which  he  perpetuated  the  scenes  of  his  University  life. 
He  excelled  most  of  his  contemporaries  in  the  use  of  intellectual 
weapons,  in  the  art  of  convincing,  in  strictly  logical  argument ;  so 
he  was  distinguished  also  in  all  kinds  of  bodily  exercise ;  in 
feDcing  and  the  practice  of  the  broadsword  he  was  very  skilfaL 
Attempts  were  made  at  dramatic  improvising.  Prince  Albert 
was  always  the  life  and  sou]  of  them,  and  acted  the  principal 
parts ;  he  entered  with  the  greatest  eagerness  into  every  study, 
whether  belonging  to  science  or  art  He  spared  no  exertion  of 
mind  or  body  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  rather  sought  difficulties,  in 
order  to  overcome  them'  (pp.  169-73). 

There  was  one  other  power  which  his  letters  reveal  as  acting 
on  his  young  life— a  power  hidden,  it  seems,  altogether  from  the 
most  intimate  of  his  contemporaries ;  hardly,  perhaps,  avowed 
fully  to  himself^ — which  may  yet  have  aided  in  the  hijjhest  mea- 
sure that  beaotiful  development  of  character,  to  which  he  was 
by  such  first  steps  gradually  attaining*  For  no  power,  which  is 
of  this  world,  is  so  strong  in  all  its  inSuences  for  good  upon  such 

a  youthful 


388  Eayal  Authorship. 

a  youthful  spirit  as  his,  as  the  power  of  an  early  attachment 
Nothing  more  purifies  the  blood  of  youth,  nothing  spurs  it  on 
more  certainly  to  seek  in  all  things  to  excel,  than  the  presence  of 
such  an  elevating,  inspiriting,  and  refining  influence.  And 
that  this  was  acting  on  the  Prince,  his  letters  very  plainly  sug- 
gest. He  had  not  looked  unmoved,  in  his  visit  to  England,  on  thft 
fair  *  Flower  of  May.'  There  is  just  that  refined  half-expressed 
allusion  to  such  a  passion,  which  would  be  its  natural  expressioii 
from  such  a  man.  He  communicates  to  his  father,  in  June, 
1838,  as  he  is  bidden,  a  letter  from  '  our  cousin,'  and  mentions 

*  a  second  and  still  kinder  letter  from  "  my "  cousin '  ^the  <mr 
to  which  he  was  accustomed  drops  unintentionally  into  tne  my) : 
adding,  *  you  may  easily  imagine  that  both  these  letters  gave  me 
the  greatest  pleasure.'  Under  the  reserve  of  the  following  letter 
of  congratulation  on  the  Queen's  accession,  a  letter  eminently 
characteristic  of  the  writer,  with  its  simple  unflattering  truthful- 
ness and  its  calm  deep  estimate  of  life  by  its  responsibilities  and 
duties — so  rare  in  youth — we  can  trace  the  same  secret  impulsei 
of  affection : — 

<  Ht  dsabsst  Cousik, — I  must  write  you  a  few  lines  to  present  toq 
my  sinoerest  felicitations  on  that  great  change  which  has  taken  pliiiioe 
in  your  life. 

'  Now  you  are  Queen  of  the  mightiest  land  of  Europe ;  in  your  hand 
lies  the  happiness  of  millions.  May  Heaven  assist  you  and  strengthen 
you  with  its  strength  in  that  high  but  difficult  task ! 

*  I  hope  that  your  reign  may  be  long,  happy,  and  glorious,  and  that 
your  efforts  may  be  rewarded  by  the  thankfulness  and  love  of  your 
subjeots. 

'  May  I  pray  you  to  think  likewise  sometimes  of  your  cousins  in 
Bonn,  and  to  continue  to  them  that  kindness  you  fi&voured  them  with 
till  now? '—(p.  U8). 

Just  at  this  time  he  makes  a  tour  in  Switzerland ;  and,  with 
his  passionate  love  of  scenery,  is  '  quite  intoxicated  by  all '  he 

*  has  seen.'  Under  these  electric  currents  the  vision  of  his  life, 
true  to  the  laws  of  every  high  affection,  is  lighted  up  with  fresh 
hues,  and  he  sends  ^to  my  cousin'  a  small  book  containing 
views  of  the  places  he  had  visited  : — 

*  From  one  of  these,  the  top  of  the  Eigi,  he  sent  her  a  dried  *'  Rose 
des  Alpes,"  and  from  the  other,  Voltaire's  house  at  Ferney,  which  he 
visited  from  Geneva,  a  scrap  of  Voltaire*s  handwriting,  which  he 
obtained  from  his  old  servant.  "  The  whole  of  these,"  the  Qucon  adds, 
"  were  placed  in  a  small  album,  with  the  dates  at  which  each  place 
was  visited,  in  the  Prince's  handwriting,  and  this  album  the  Queen 
now  considers  one  of  her  greatest  treasures,  and  never  goes  anywhere 
without  it.    Nothing  had  at  this  time  passed  between  the  Queen  and 

the 


Rm^al  AutiiorAhip. 


Ml 


tUe  Prince ;  but  this  gift  bLows  ttat  tho  latt^  in  the  midst  of  hii 

travels  often  tliought  of  Lis  young  cousin/  "  ♦ 

Doubdess  he  did  ;  and  who  can  estimate,  in  the  pure  and  high 
character  which  was  so  early  maturing;,  what  may  not  have  been 
the  value  of  those  '  often  thoughts  of  his  young  cousin'? 

At  the  close  of  the  summer  term  of  1838,  the  Prince  quitted 
Bonn»  and  J  after  a  short  stay  at  Coburg,  proceeded  to  visit  Italy, 
where  he  remained  till  the  following  May,  With  his  residence 
at  Bonn  had  terminated  the  charge  of  the  now  Councillor  Flor- 
ichiitz,  though  his  affection  to  such  a  pupil  never  varied.  Such 
words  as  he  wrote  after  the  Prince's  death  are  at  once  a  lively 
exhibition  of  his  own  faithful  heart,  and  a  grand  tribute  to  the 
pupil  of  his  love — '  I  stand  daily  before  the  valued  picture  which 
but  a  short  time  before  his  death  he  sent  me,  to  weep  for  my 
beloved  pupil  and  friend  ^  (p,  94). 

It  is  one  of  the  rewards  of  such  a  character  as  we  have  been 
examining,  that  it  does  secure  such  aUcction  from  such  men*  So  it 
was  to  an  eminent  degree  with  the  Prince  ;  and,  though  he  noir 
lost  the  company  of  his  old  friend^  another  was  found  willing  to 
accompany  him  in  his  Italian  tour,  even  more  fitted  from  his  wide 
acquaintance  with  life  for  such  an  office^  and  worthy  in  every 
respect  to  be  the  companion  and  the  friend  of  such  a  Prince, 
Baron  Stock  mar  had  known  him  from  infancy,  and  had  watch  edj 
with  the  delight  which  only  such  fidelity  as  his  could  feelj  the 
gradual  unfolding  of  that  noble  character,  which,  in  his  secret 
though tSj  he  had  for  many  years  hoped  to  see  supporting  in  her 
arduous  duties  the  future  Queen  of  England, 

We  shall  only  follow  the  leading  of  '  the  Queen's  volume,'  if  we 
pause  for  a  moment  upon  the  beautiful  episode  which  embalms 
the  memory  of  Baron  Stock  mar.  A  native  of  Co  burg— he  was 
early  attached  to  the  person  of  Prince  Leojiold  ;  accompanied 
him  to  England,  on  his  marriage;  lived  with  him  at  Claremont, 
and  was  actually  present  at  the  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte. 
To  him  it  was  given  to  prolong  for  the  next  generation,  and  to 
receive  back  from  it,  the  affection  which  bad  first  clung  to  his 
own.  Indeed  he  loved  the  Prince  Albert  as  with  a  father's  love, 
and  watched  him  with  a  closeness  of  observation  which  gave 
himt  from  the  Prince's  boyhood  onward^  an  almost  prophetic 
iosight  into  his  future, 

TbuSj  in  1844,  speaking  to  one  with  whom  he  conversed  most 
familiarly  of  the  value  of  the  Prince's  life  to  this  country,  he 
jaid^  in  words  which  throughout  those  days  of  anxious  watching 
which  preceded  the  Prince's  death  were  ringing  in  the  ears  of 


*  Memoraadum  bj  tbe  Qaeea  (p.  15fi), 


\iVQl 


Eer/at  j§uih§rtMp. 


Mm  who  bad  heard  diem  almost  as  m  knell,  '  If  ever  he  fdls  sick 
of  a  low  fever,  you  will  lose  Mm!'  After  the  mairiage  of 
Prince  Albert,  the  English  Court  was  the  Baron's  chief  resi- 
dence^ until  the  advancing-  m^rmiues  of  age  led  him  reluctantly^ 
and  amidst  the  loving-  regrets  of  all,  to  return  to  spend  at 
Coburg  the  ^aliquid  intervalli'  between  his  Hfe-long  serrice 
and  the  grave.  All  who  knew  revered  him*  We  must  quote 
without  omission  the  golden  words,  which  record  the  feeiingi 
of  his  royal  *  friend  ;  * — 

'Tbc  Qneea,  locking  hack  with  grAtitado  and  affection  to  tbo 
friend  of  their  early  married  life,  can  never  forget  the  aisei&taiioe 
given  by  the  Baron  to  the  yotinj*  couple  in  regulating  their  moTC- 
ments  and  general  mode  of  life,  and  in  directing  the  edaeation  of  thelf 
cbUdren.  Lard  Melbonmo  had  the  greatest  rt*gard  and  a^eetion  fur, 
and  most  unbounded  confidence  in  him*  At  the  ccnnoen cement  of 
tht>  Queen's  reign,  the  Baron  was  of  invalnablo  Resistance  to  Lord 
Melbonma  Lc«rd  Aherddexi  alflo^  speaking  of  him  to  the  Queen,  eaid, 
— **  I  have  knowB  men  m  ebrer,  as  discreet,  as  gcfcod,  and  with  la 
much  judgment ;  hut  I  DOTorlmew  anyone  who  united  all  these  qualities 
as  ho  did.  He  is  a  most  remsrkable  man  "  The  Baron  had  the 
greatt^t  regard  in  return  for  "My  good  Aberdeen,*'  as  he  called 
him/ «  ^H 

Golden  words  from  such  a  pen  1  but  words  altogether  deservM^ 
Baron  Stockmar  was  the  very  pattern  of  fidelity  ;  for  which  in  iu 
perfectness  wbat  various  qualities,  and  those  the  highest  both  of 
heart  and  mind,  are  essential !  There  must  be  the  hearty  affection, 
which  is  as  jealous  of  any  defect  as  a  lover  of  the  honour  of  his 
mistress,  and  yet  which  cannot  take^  and  so  can  Lartlly  give, 
offence;  there  must  be  courage^  to  speak  the  least  welcome  truths, 
and  to  reprove  unsparingly  any  attempt  in  others,  be  they  who  they 
may,  to  flatter  or  deceive ;  there  must  be  calm,  cool,  far-sighted 
judgment  to  advise;  there  must,  above  all,  be  absolute  dis- 
interestedness, the  perfect  freedom  from  one  aim  of  personal 
ambition,  not  only  in  its  ordinary  vulgar  grossness,  but  in  its 
more  refined  acting  of  loving  to  advise,  and  to  feel  the  pos- 
session of  influence-  Rare  indeed,  as  his  wide  experience  of 
men  had  taught  Lord  Aberdeen,  is  such  a  combination*  In  the 
Baron  it  was  so  p^randly  exhibited,  that  no  deficiency  on  any 
side  made  itself  visible  to  the  closest  gaze  of  the  keenest  e^-e. 
Twice  after  his  retirement  to  Coburg  from  the  Court  of  Victoria 
and  Albert  their  long-united  pathways  again  crossed  each  other: 
once  in  1860,  when  the  Queen  and  Prince  visited  Coburg  in 
great  part  to  see  again  their  old  and  long-tried  friend  ;  and  once 


*  Note  by  the  Quceo,  p*  1S8. 


again 


Botjal  Authar&hip. 


S91 


again  in  1862^  when  alas!  the  form  of  *  the  crushed  and  broken- 
hearted widow '  alone  trod  the  lately  rejoicing  path.  When  she 
was  speaking  to  him  of  their  beloved  Prince,  and  showing  him 
the  pictures  and  photographs  of  him  which  covered  the  table, 
the  Baron  exclaimed,  '  My  dear,  jsrood  Prince^  how  happy  I  shall 
be  to  see  him  again!  and  it  will  not  be  long/*  It  was  not 
long.  On  the  9th  of  Julj>  1S63,  the  faithful  friend  closed  hia 
ejes  to  this  earth  and  all  its  cares* 

But  we  must  return  to  the  Prince.  His  tour  took  him  first  to 
Florence,  where  he  rejoiced  in  the  vast  stores  of  ait  which  were 
there  gathered,  as  well  as  in  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding 
scenery.  '  I  am  often/  he  says,  *  quite  intoxicated  with  delight 
when  I  come  out  of  one  of  the  galleries  *  (p.  197),  Here,  on  prin- 
ciple, and  much  against  his  natural  inclination,  he  abandoned 
bimself  to  the  necessary  impertinences  of  ordinary  social  life; — ] 

'  I  have,*  ho  tolls  his  friend  Prinee  LdwcusteiUj  *  lately  thrown 
myself  entirely  into  the  whirl  of  society*  I  have  danced,  dined, 
supped,  and  paid  oompUments  ;  haTo  been  introduced  to  people,  and 
had  peoplo  introduced  to  me ;  have  spoken  French  and  EngLtgh,  ex-* 
baustcd  all  remarks  about  the  wcother ;  have  played  tho  amiahlej  and, 
in  short,  have  made  "  bonne  mine  a  mauvaie  jeu,"  You  know  my 
pa$3ion  for  such  things,  and  must  therefore  admire  my  strength  of 
ehanacter  that  I  have  never  excused  myself^  never  returned  home  tiU 
£ve  m  the  morning,  that  I  Lavo  emptied  the  carnival  cup  to  the 

How  much  he  would  have  preferred  other  pursuits  may  be 
gathered  from  a  remark  of  the  Grand  Duke  Leopold  at  this 
very  time,  who,  seeing  him  kept  from  the  gaieties  of  the  ball- 
room by  an  animated  discussion  with  the  blind  Marquis  Apponi, 
one  of  the  most  eminent  members  of  the  Tuscan  aristocracy, 
said  to  Lady  Augusta  Fox,  *  Voila  un  prince  dont  nous  pouvons 
etre  fiers.  La  belle  danseuse  Fattend,  le  savant  Toccupe'  (pp. 
133,  197)* 

From  Florence  he  went  on  to  RomCj  and  thence  to  Naples, 
returning  homewards  by  Pisa,  Genoa,  Milan,  and  Como.  At 
Kome  he  found  the  only  ceremony  which  did  not  disappoint 
him  '  the  Pope's  blessing  the  people,  assembled  before  the 
Vatican,  from  the  balcony,  amidst  the  ringing  of  bells,  firing  of 
ca n non ^  an d  m ilitary  ni usi c /  *  1 1  was  real  1  y  a  m os t  i m  pos ing  scene, 
though  what  followed  was  tedious,  and  savoured  strongly  of 
idolatry'  (p*  200).  He  had,  too,  the  •honour  of  an  interview 
with  his  Holiness,^  whom  be  found  '  kind  and  civil.'  '  I  remained 
with  him  nearly  half  an  hour.     Shut  up  in  a  small  rooaif  we 


Memoraddum  by  tbe  Qaeen,  p.  191, 


cotVHets^d^ 


89B  Bayal  Authorship. 

conversed^  in  Italian,  on  the  influence  the  Egyptians  had  on 
Greek  art,  and  that  again  on  Roman  art.  The  Pope  asserted 
that  the  Greeks  had  taken  their  models  from  the  Etruscans. 
In  spite  of  his  infallibility,  I  ventured  to  assert  that  they  had 
derived  their  lessons  in  art  from  the  Egyptians '  (p.  200). 

He  himself  reviews,  in  a  letter  to  Prince  L5wenstein,  in  June, 
1839,  when  he  had  returned  to  Coburg,  the  effect  of  this  Italian 
tour  upon  him.  ^It  was,'  he  says,  *of  great  advantage  to  me. 
It  has  made  an  impression  on  me,  not  so  much  by  its  peculiar 
incidents  as  by  its  general  character.  My  sphere  of  observation 
has  been  doubled,  and  my  power  of  forming  a  right  judgment 
will  be  much  increased  by  my  having  seen  for  myself.  On  the 
whole,  my  life  was  very  pleasant.  The  society  of  such  a  man 
as  Baron  Stockmar  was  most  precious  and  valuable  to  me' 
(pp.  206.7). 

The  great  crisis  of  his  life  was  now  approaching.  *  When  he 
Was  a  child  of  three  years  old,  his  nurse  always  told  him  that  he 
should  marry  the  Queen,  and  when  he  first  diought  of  marrying 
at  all,  he  always  thought  of  her.'*  After  the  visit  to  Kensington 
in  1836,  these  floating  images  of  a  possible  future  gathered 
themselves  up,  we  believe,  in  his  mind,  under  the  influence  of 
early  affection,  into  a  more  definite  shape ;  and  though  *  nothing 
had  passed  between  him  and  the  Queen,*  f  the  future  to  which 
his  heart  now  pointed  was  very  difierent  from  the  shadowj  dream*> 
land  of  his  early  life. 

But  now  difficulties  seemed  to  intervene.  King  William  IV., 
with  that  kindly  but  bustling  interference  with  everything  he  could 
touch,  which  was  one  of  his  most  marked  characteristics,  had  set 
himself  against  the  Coburg  alliance,  and  contemplated  one  of  five 
other  marriages  for  the  Princess.  He  had,  therefore,  opposed  the 
Duke  of  Coburg's  visit  to  England  in  1836.  Who  can  say  how  all 
that  has  since  passed  might  have  been  marred  had  that  visit  not 
taken  place  in  spite  of  his  opposition?  This  difficulty  was  now  re- 
moved, and  the  sagacious  mind  of  the  King  of  the  Belgians,  appre- 
hending all  the  advantages  of  such  an  alliance,  used  his  great 
influence  to  promote  it.  In  the  early  part  of  1838  he  obtained 
the  Queen's  sanction  to  his  opening  the  matter  as  one  of  possible 
arrangement  with  the  Prince.  *  He  looks,'  the  King  writes  to 
Baron  Stockmar,   *at  the  question  from  its  most  elevated  and 

honourable  point  of  view I  have  told  him  that  his  great 

youth  would  make  it  necessary  to  postpone  the  marriage  for 
a  few  years *     *  I  am  ready,'  he  said,  '  to  submit  to  this 

"^  *  The  Qaeen's  Journal/  June  23,  1840. 
t  Memorandum  by  the  Queen,  March,  1864. 

delay, 


Jtoyat  Authorship. 

delay,  if  I  have  only  some  certain  a&sumnce  to  go  upOD.  But  if 
after  waiting,  perhaps  for  three  years,  I  should  find  that  the 
Queen  no  longer  desired  the  marriage,  it  would  place  me  in 
a  very  ridiculous  position  •  *  .  /  (p*  218)*  Ttii  was  now  the 
only  remaining  difficulty. 

The  visit  of  1836  had  favourably  Impressed  the  mind  of  the 
young  Princess*  *The  Prince  was  at  that  time  much  shorter 
than  his  brother,  already  very  handsome,  but  very  stout,  which 
he  entirely  grew  out  of  afterwards.  He  was  most  amiable, 
natural,  unaffected,  and  merry,  full  of  interest  in  everything, 
— playing  on  the  piano  with  the  Princess  his  cousin,  drawing,  in 
short,  constantly  occupied.  He  always  paid  the  greatest  atten- 
tion to  all  he  saw  5  and  the  Queen  remembers  well  how  intently 
he  listened  to  the  sermon  preached  in  St,  PauPs.'  *  This  notice  of 
the  former  visit,  the  effect  of  which  on  the  Prince  we  have  already 
traced,  shows  that  the  impression  made  by  it  on  the  other  side  also 
was  real — strong  enough,  probably,  to  make  the  idea  of  an  alliance 
at  some  future  time  not  unacceptable,  but  not  strong  enough  to 
lead  to  the  desire  of  an  immediate  mamage.  On  the  other 
liand,  the  Princess  father  objected  to  any  uncertain  delay,  and 
the  wise  Leopold  acknowledged  the  truth  of  the  objection,  *  If 
Albert  waits  till  he  is  in  his  twenty-first,  twenty -second,  or 
twenty-third  year,  it  will  be  impossible  for  him  to  begin  any 
new  career,  and  his  whole  life  would  be  marred  if  the  Queen 
should  change  her  mind  *  (p.  219}. 

In  October,  1839,  the  two  brothers  came  to  England  on  a  visit 
to  the  Queen ;  Prince  Albert  Intending  to  tell  her  *  that  he  could  not 
now  wait  for  a  decision^  as  he  had  done  at  a  former  period  when 
this  marriage  was  first  talked  about/ f  The  natural  progress 
of  events  soon  made  any  such  declaration  wholly  superfluous* 
King  Leopold  remarks  to  Baron  Stock  mar  on  the  great  improve- 
ment in  Albert;  'He  looks  so  much  more  manly,  and  from  his 
iaurntire  one  might  easily  take  him  to  be  twenty-two  or  twenty- 
three*  (p.  219),  Those  who  remember  him  at  that  time  well 
know  how  well  this  praise  was  merited.  Rarely  have  the  rich 
gifts  of  mind  and  soul  with  which  be  was  endowed  been 
enshrined  in  an  outer  casket  of  more  beseeming  comeliness. 
His  countenance  bespoke  the  rare  union  of  strength,  sweetness, 
and  intelligence,  which  existed  within.  He  was^  too,  as  that 
keen  observer,  the  King  of  the  Belgians,  whites,  *a  very  agree- 
able companion.  His  manners  are  so  gentle  and  harmonious, 
that  one  likes  to  have  him  near  one's  self,  i  have  always  found 
him  io  when  1  had  him  with  me^  and  I  think  his  travels  have 


Memorandam  by  ihe  Qneeui  Maroli,  18@4* 


t  Ibid.  p.  sao^ 

still 


294  Boyd  Auihar$hip. 

still  improved  him.  He  is  full  of  talent  and  fun '  (p.  230).  All 
this,  too,  was  accompanied  by  that  secret  power  over  other  hearts 
which  accompanied  the  unbroken  inward  reign  of  spotlev 
purity  and  stainless  truth.  It  was  most  natural  that  the  affection 
of  such  a  Prince  should  be  speedily  returned ;  and,  whatever 
were  before  the  obstacles  which  produced  a  disinclination  to  an 
immediate  marriage,  five  days  of  familiar  intercourse  sofficed 
to  break  them  down.  Every  heart,  we  think,  must  thrill  under 
the  power  of  these  words,  which  record  the  retrospect  cast  in  later 
years  on  this  inclination  to  delay  :-— 

'  The  Queen  cannot  think  without  indignation  against  herself  of 
her  wish  to  keep  the  Prince  waiting  for  probably  throe  or  four  years, 
at  the  risk  of  raining  all  his  prospects  for  life,  until  she  might  feel 
inclined  to  marry.  .  .  .  The  only  excuse  the  Queen  can  nuJce  for 
herself  is  in  the  fSact  that  the  sudden  change  from  the  secluded  life 
at  Kensington  to  the  independence  of  her  position  as  Queen  Begnsnt 
at  the  age  of  eighteen,  put  all  ideas  of  marriage  out  of  her  mind, 
which  she  now  most  bitterly  ropents. 

*  A  worse  school  for  a  young  girl,  or  one  moro  detrimental  to  aU  natural 
feelings  and  affections,  cannot  well  be  imagined  than  the  position  of  a 
Queen  at  eighteen  without  experience,  and  without  a  huslMnd  to  guide 
and  support  her.  This  the  Queen  can  state  from  painful  experience, 
and  she  thanks  God  that  none  of  her  dear  daughters  aro  ei^K)fled  to 
such  dangers.'  * 

There  was,  however,  not  one  day's  needless  trifling  with  the 
Prince's  feelings.  On  the  15th  of  October  the  Queen  sent  for 
him,  and  made  the  communication  which  (as  he  writes  the  same 
day  to  the  faithful  Stockmar,  sending  him  ^the  most  welcome  news 
possible')  made  it  'one  of  the  happiest  days  in  his  life '  (p.  226). 
The  letter  is  all  that  any  one  would  wish  to  find  it ;  it  proceeds : 
*  Victoria  is  so  good  and  kind  to  me,  that  I  am  often  at  a  loss  to 
believe  that  such  affection  should  be  shown  to  me.  I  know  the 
great  interest  you  take  in  my  happiness,  and  therefore  pour  out 
my  heart  to  you.  .  .  .  More,  or  more  seriously,  I  cannot  write  to 
you,  for  at  this  moment  I  am  too  bewildered. 

'  Das  Auge  sieht  don  Himmcl  offen, 

Es  schwimmt  das  Herz  in  Soligkcit/'j' 
'  Heaven  open  wide  the  glad  oye  sees, 

The  heart  is  bathed  in  perfect  peace.' 

The  entry  in  the  Queen's  journal  of  the  day,  which  we  are 
permitted  to  see,  is  not  a  little  remarkable,  '  How  I  will  strive  to 
make  him  feel  as  little  as  possible  the  great  sacrifice  he  has 

*  Memorandum  by  the  Queen,  p.  221. 

t  Schiller's  *  Lied  yon  der  Glocke,'  alwajs  a  special  favourite  with  the  Prince. 

made ! 


Rmjal  Autkorsktjh 


S9» 


made !  I  told  bim  it  was  a  great  sacrifice  on  his  part,  but  he 
would  not  allow  it,  ,  ...  I  then  tf>]d  liim  to  fetch  Ernest  .  ,  .  . 
He  told  me  how  perfect  Lis  brother  was'  (p,  221), 

All  now  marched  with  steps  of  jay\  The  announcement  was 
received  with  universal  satisfaction  both  at  home  and  abroad. 
*  Nothings'  wrote  the  Kin;^  of  the  Belgians  to  the  Queen,  *  could 
have  ^iven  me  greater  pleasure  than  your  dear  letter,  I  had, 
when  I  learnt  your  decision,  almost  the  feeling  of  old  Simeon, 
**Now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace.'*  Your  choice  haa 
been  for  these  last  years  my  conviction  of  what  might  and  would 
be  best  for  your  happiness,' 

Throughout  the  English  nation  there  was  the  same  full 
approval  of  the  step  the  Queen  was  taking.  On  the  23rd  of 
November  the  intended  marriage  was  announced  by  the 
Queen  with  admirable  self-possession  to  eifi^^hty^ three  members 
of  the  Privy  Councilj  and  the  jvreliminary  arrangements  im- 
inediately  succeeded.  Parliament  was  opened  on  the  Kith  of 
January,  1840,  and  the  Queen  was  never  cheered  more  loudly 
than  as  she  drove  down  to  the  Palace  of  Westminster  to  an- 
nounce  to  the  descendants  of  the  ancient  Barons  of  England, 
and  the  assembled  representatives  of  her  people^  her  intended 
marriage.  In  Parliament  itself,  though  there  was  the  same 
consentient  approval  of  the  marriage,  yet  matters  did  not  pro- 
ceed altogether  smoothly.  On  the  Prince's  Annuity  Bill,  and 
on  the  Naturalisation  Bdl,  the  two  great  parties  of  the  State 
were  brought  into  active  opposition,  In  the  first,  the  sura  pro* 
posed  hy  the  Governmentj  5O,t)0O/.  a  year^  was  opposed  as 
excessive  J  and  an  amendment  of  30,000^,  a  year  was  carried.  In 
the  second,  it  was  proposed  to  enable  the  Queen  to  affix  to  the 
future  Consort  any  precedence  she  chose-  This  was  objected  to, 
on  family  grounds,  hy  certain  members  of  the  Ro^al  family, 
and  as  unconstitutional  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington  ;  and  the 
proposition  was  dropped.  It  would  scarcely  be  worth  while 
reviving  now  the  memory  of  these  long- past  discussions,  wxre 
it  not  to  point  out  the  singular  fairness  with  which  they  are 
recorded  in  the  Prince's  memoir,  and  the  nobleness  of  character 
in  him  which  they  accidentally  eli'^itcd,  *The  mortification 
which  the  refused  vote  was  calculated  to  occasion  to  the  Queen 
might,'  it  js  justly  admitted,  'have  been  avoided  by  proper  com- 
municattons  beforehand  between  Lord  Melbourne  and  the  leaders 
of  the  Opposition/     'If,  on  the  one  side,  the  opposition  to  the 

Ero posed  vote  may  be  traced,  in  part  at  least,  to  disappointed 
ope  of  office,  the  unconciliatory  course  pursued  on  the  other 
may    have    been    influenced    by   the  hope,    not   acknowledged, 
perhaps,  to  themselves,  of  indisposing  the  young  Prince  on  bh 
Vol  123,— iVi>,  246.  x  fitst 


89t>  Royal  Authorship. 

first  arrl%'al  to  their  opponents,  and  of  seeing  the  breach  widened 
which  already  existed  between  them  and  the  Queen '  (p.  277). 

Hie  admission  here  made  is  one  which  marks  the  singalar 
fairness  of  the  mind  which  looks  back  with  so  mild  and  equal  a 
judgment  upon  what  at  the  time  was  a  great  annoyance,  and  wis 
studiously  represented  as  an  intended  insult.  If  such  a  plan 
was  devised,  it  certainly  failed  altogether  with  regard  to  the 
Prince.  The  refusal,  of  course,  pained  him  at  the  time ;  bat 
with  that  impartial  judgment  of  others,  which  his  own  conscious- 
ness of  perfect  fairness  taught  him,  and  with  his  quick  and 
intelligent  perception  of  the  bearing  of  political  questions  in  our 
land,  he  at  once  saw  that  no  disloyalty  to  the  Queen  or  disaffec- 
tion to  himself  had  dictated  the  opposition ;  and  he  never  showed 
in  his  treatment  of  the  Conservative  party  any  grudging  or 
ill  will  for  what  he  doubted  not  was  on  their  part  a  coone 
dictated  by  nothing  else  than  a  conscientious  sense  of  duty. 

No  other  difficulty  of  any  sort  was  interposed ;  and  when  the 
Prince,  after  a  visit  of  leave-taking  to  his  native  land,  which 
drew  forth  the  strongest  expressions  of  the  love  for  him  with 
which  he  bad  inspired  his  own  countrymen,  returned  again  to 
England,  the  marriage  was  at  once  celebrated.  The  Prince 
landed  at  Dover  on  Thursday,  the  6th  of  February,  and  on 
Monday,  the  lOtfa,  he  was  married  at  the  Chapel  Royal,  6t 
James's  Palace. 

Here,  by  the  ordinary  rules  of  romance — and  it  is  a  true  ro- 
mance which  is  pictured  in  the  earlier  portion  of  the  volume — the 
narrative  should  have  closed.  But  it  is,  indeed,  well  that  it 
did  not.  To  do  any  justice  to  the  great  character  portrayed, 
it  was  necessary  to  join  his  manhood  visibly  to  his  youth,  to 
show  in  the  first  years  of  his  new  life  what  was  the  fruit  of 
the  diligent  self-training  which  had  preceded  it,  and  how  com- 
pletely the  developed  manhood  was  the  bright  flower  into  which 
the  conscientious  boyhood  had  all  along  promised  to  burst  forth. 

The  forecasting  mind  of  King  Leopold  had  long  perceived 
the  difficulties  through  which  the  Queen's  husband  must  pass 
before  he  could  occupy  his  true  place  in  the  Court  and  nation. 
*His  position,'  he  wrote,  October,  1839,  to  the  Queen,  *wiii  be 
a  difficult  one ;  but  much,  I  may  say  a//,  will  depend  on  your 
affection  for  him.'  How  completely  he  had  that  support,  and 
how  wisely  he  used  it,  these  pages  show.  Lord  Melbourne  has 
been  often  blamed  for  not  having  taken  more  trouble  in  making 
a  position  for  the  Consort  of  die  Queen.  That  he  did  not 
attempt  to  do  so  is  certain.  But  the  reason  of  his  conduct  was 
not  what  his  characteristic  way  of  meeting  the  reproach  would 
seem  at  first  sight  to  imply«     For,  instead  of  being  the  careless 

man 


Soi/al  Authorship, 


297 


man  lie  liked  to  appear,  he  was,  in  truth,  most  painstaking  and 
laboriouSp  His  unfeigned  attachment  also  to  the  Queen  would 
have  made  him  exert  all  his  power  to  secure  her  this  comfort  if 
he  had  deemed  it  possible.  But  his  answer,  '  What  would  bo 
th£  good  of  making  him  a  position?  if  he  is  a  fool  be  will  lm& 
it,  and  if  he  is  a  wise  man  he  will  make  it  for  himself/  expressed 
in  his  own  phraseology  the  conviction  that  the  position  must 
be  made  by  the  Prince  himself.  No  one  rejoiced  more  at 
witnessing  the  perfect  success  with  which  the  Prince's  high 
qualities  enabled  him  to  make  it.  When  the  Regency  Bill 
passed,  in  August^  1640j  through  both  Houses  of  Parliament 
without  one  voice  of  opposition.  Lord  Melbourne  said  to  th« 
Queen^  *  Three  months  ago  they  would  not  have  done  it  for  him,* 
adding  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  *  it  is  entirely  his  own  character.'* 

And  well  did  he  make  for  himself  the  fitting  position;  and 
yet  not  without  opposition.  Tbe  first  difficulty  was  in  the 
Royal  Household  itself.  This  is  touched  on  in  a  very  few  but 
very  telling  words  in  a  letter  of  May,  1840,  to  Prince  Lowen-* 
stein,  in  which  the  Prince  says^  *  I  am  very  happy  and  contented  j 
but  the  difficulty  in  filling  my  place  with  the  proper  dignity 
is,  that  t  am  only  the  husband,  not  tbe  master  in  the  house/ 
Fortunately,  however,  for  the  country,  and  still  more  fortu- 
nately tor  the  bappiness  of  the  Royal  couple  theraielves,  things 
ilid  not  long  remain  in  this  condition.  Thanks  to  the  firm- 
ness, but  at  the  same  time  gentleness,  with  which  th^  Prince 
insbted  on  filling  his  proper  position  as  bead  of  the  family 
— thanks  also  to  the  clear  judgment  and  right  feeling  of  the 
Queen^  as  well  as  to  her  singularly  honest  and  straightforward 
nature— but  thanks,  more  than  all^  to  the  mutual  love  and 
perfect  confidence  which  bound  the  Queen  and  Prince  to  each 
other,  it  was  impossible  to  keep  up  any  separation  or  differ- 
ence  of  interests  or  duties  between  them.  To  those  who  would 
urge  upon  the  Queen  that^  as  SovercigD,  she  must  be  die  head  of 
tbe  house  and  the  family,  as  well  as  of  tbe  State,  and  ill  at  her 
husband  was,  alter  all,  but  one  of  her  subjects^  Her  Majesty 
would  reply^  that  she  had  solemnly  engaged  at  the  altar  to 
*  obey  ^  as  well  as  to  Move  and  honour ; '  and  this  sacred  obliga^ 
tion  sbe  could  consent  neither  to  limit  nor  refine  away, 

A  calm  unruiHed  temper,  the  greatest  quickness  of  perception^ 
a  strong  will,  and  a  head  of  singular  sagacity,  %vith  the  unbounded 
affection  of  the  Royal  Mistress  of  the  Palace,  soon  scattered  these 
difficulties,  and  enabled  the  Prince  to  effect  what  he  had  set  befora 


*  *  The  Queen's  JournaJ,  p.  383. 

x2 


K\|£V%^i 


298  Royal  Auihars/iip. 

himself  as  one  of  his  special  functions — the  raising  to  the  highest 
level  the  character  of  the  G)urt  He  rested  this  endeavour  on  the 
only  true  foundation.  At  the  first  Easter  after  the  maniage  the 
Queen  and  Prince  received  the  Holy  G)niniunion  together  m 
St  George's  Chapel,  Windsor.     *  The  Prince,'  says  the  Queen's 

*  Memorandum '  (p.  331),  *  had  a  very  strong  feeling  about  the 
solemnity  of  this  act,  and  did  not  like  to  appear  in  company 
either  the  evening  before  or  the  day  on  which  he  took  it,  and 
he  and  the  Queen  almost  always  dined  alone  on  these  occasions.' 
Having  thus  begun  with  consecrating  his  life  by  the  highest 
acts  of  religion,  he  Maid  down'  for  himself,  we  are  told,  *from 
the  first,  strict,  not  to  say  severe,  rules  for  his  own  guidance. 
He  imposed  a  degree  of  restraint  and  self-denial  upon  his  own 
movements  which  could  not  but  have  been  irksome '  (p.  351). 

How  true  such  conduct, — which  forbad  one  painful  jfeeling  ever 
troubling  the  Royal  lady  whom  he  had  married, — was  to  his  own 
feelings  of  manly  affection  for  his  wife  the  nation  may  now  read  in 
the  *  Memorandum '  (p.  365)  by  the  Queen.  *  During  the  time  the 
Queen  was  laid  up  (after  the  birth  of  the  Princess  Royal)  his  care 
and  devotion  were  quite  beyond  expression.'  He  refused  to  go  to 
the  play,  or  anywhere  else,  generally  dining  alone  with  the  Duchess 
of  Kent,  till  the  Queen  was  able  to  join  them,  and  was  always 
at  hand  to  do  anything  in  his  power  for  her  comfort  He  was 
content  to  sit  by  her  in  a  darkened  room,  and  to  read  to  her 
or  write  for  her.  *  No  one  but  himself  ever  lifted  her  from  her 
bed  to  her  sofa  ....  As  years  went  on,  and  he  became  over- 
whelmed with  work,  this  was  often  done  at  much  inconvenience 
to  himself;  but  he  ever  came  with  a  sweet  smile  on  his  face.  In 
short,'  the  Queen  adds,  *  his  care  of  me  was  like  that  of  a  mother, 
nor  could  there  be  a  kinder,  wiser,  or  more  judicious  nurse.' 
How  successful  his  conduct  was,  is  proved  by  the  fact  that 
Scandal  never  dared  in  her  most  malignant  mood  to  associate 
his  name  with  the  lightest  hint  of  any  possible  suspicion.  He 
might,  indeed,  have  been  far  more  popular  during  the  first  years 
of  his  married  life  if  he  had  not  imposed  upon  himself  this  rule — 
not  only  of  avoiding  evil,  but  of  raising  a  tone  of  higher  purity 
in  the  society  in  which  he  moved  by  a  stern  rejection  and  rebuke 
of  every  possible  approach  to  levity  of  conduct 

It  was  less  difficult  for  such  a  man  to  assume  his  true  place 
in  the  political  world.  In  spite  of  the  ridiculous  jealousy  of 
some  feeble  minds,  who  would  even  have  excluded  him  from 

*  driving  with  the  Queen  in  the  state  carriage,  or  sitting  next  to 
her  in  the  House  of  Lords'  (p.  356),  Lord  Melbourne,  and  his 
successors  in  the  Premiership,  were  from  the  first  anxious  '  that  the 

Queen 


Boyal  Authorship. 


299 


Qiieen  should  tell  him  and  show  hita  every  thing  connected  with 
public  affairs/  The  noble  spirit  in  which  he  entered  on  this  delicate 
relation  to  a  responsible  Ministry  prevented  the  rise  of  those  difE-i 
culties  which  would  have  sprung  up  as  thistles  before  a  vain, 
or  selfish,  or  intriguing  man»  From  the  time  of  his  first  con- 
templation of  his  future  duties,  this  breathes  everywhere  in  all  his 
communications.  He  was  resolved,  not  to  be  useful  or  powerful, 
but  to  be  of  such  a  character  that  such  usefulness  should  flow 
natumlly  forth  from  what  he  was  in  his  own  inner  bein^.  *I  have 
laid  to  heart/  he  tells  Baron  Stock  mar  in  November,  1838,  'the 
,  friendly  advice  of  your  good  will  as  to  the  true  foundation  on 
which  my  future  happiness  must  rest,  and  it  agrees  entirely  with 
the  principles  of  action  which  1  had  already  in  my  own  reflec- 
tions framed  for  myself:  an  individuality  {PersdnHchkeit}^  a 
character,  which  shall  win  the  respect,  the  love,  and  the  con- 
fidence of  the  Queen  and  of  the  nation,  must  be  the  ground- 
work of  my  position.  This  individuality  gives  security  for  the 
disposition  which  prompts  the  actions ;  and  even  should  mis- 
takes (^Misiffriffe)  occur,  they  will  be  more  easily  pardoned  on 
account  of  that  personal  character;  while  even  the  most  noble 
and  beautiful  undertakings  fail  in  procuring  support  to  a  man 
who  is  not  capable  of  inspiring  that  confidence/ 

*  If,  therefore,  I  prove  a  *' noble"  Prince  {ein  €dler  Furst)^  in 
the  true  sense  of  the  word,  as  you  call  upon  me  to  be,  wise  and 
prudent  conduct  will  become  easier  to  me,  and  its  results  more 
rich  in  blessings,  I  will  not  let  my  courage  fail.  With  firm 
resolution  and  true  zeal  on  my  part  1  cannot  fail  to  continue 
noble,  manly,  and  princely  In  all  things'  (p,  236)*  Remarkable 
words  surely  for  a  young  man  of  twenty,  in  tlie  contemplation  of 
»uch  a  life  as  lay  before  him  ;  words  which,  in  fact,  reveal  the 
secret  of  the  marvellous  success  which  he  achieved.  For  what 
he  thus  nobly  designed  he  grandly  executeti*  When,  eleven 
years  afterwards,  that  great  man  the  Duke  of  Wellington  pro- 
posed a  scheme  which  was  to  issue  in  the  Prince  Consort 
succeeding  himself  as  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  British 
Army,  the  Prince  could  look  undazzled  on  the  glittering  offer, 
and  subject  ir,  without  one  thought  of  personal  distinction,  to  the 
calm  decision  of  the  most  searching  judgment,  as  if  he  had 
been  dealing  with  a  question  which  affected  another,  because  he 
was  the  inwardly  noble  man  he  aspired  to  be, 

*  Whilst  a  female  sovereign/  he  writes  in  reply  to  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  *  has  a  great  many  disadvantages  in  oompariaon  with 
a  King,  yet,  if  she  is  maiTied,  and  her  husband  miderstands  and 
does  hifl  duty,  her  position  on  the  other  hand  has  many  compen- 
sating advantages,  and,  in  the  long  mn,  will  be  found  to  }m  even 

gtrongeir 


800 


Ib^al  A%dh0nh^* 


atzongBT  UiMi  that  6f  a  male  aoTereiga.  But  this  Toquires  that  t^ 
liiifitwnd  £honliI  cotiroly  ^ink  Us  Qvm  in^indual  edstenoe  in  that  : 
111 8  wife,  that  ho  ehonld  aim  at  no  power  hj  himself  or  far  htfiMsrilf, 
shotilcl  ehnn  aU  oetentatioiii  asHnme  do  separate  respoiudbilitj  befixro 
tho  pubUc;  but  maJEe  his  position  entirol/  a  part  of  heffi,  Ml  op 
ereij  gap  which,  as  a  woman,  ahe  would  tiatnmll^  leaTo  in  the  cicr- 
tim  m  htt  regal  fimctioni,  contintiallj  and  aimouslj  watch  ercrj 
pftrt  of  the  public  busincaSf  in  order  to  be  able  to  adTW  and  Msiiit 
fier  at  anj  moment,  in  anj  of  tbo  multifarioiiB  and  diffionlt  ^neilitmi 
or  duties  bronght  before  her,  aometiniea  intomationa],  enmntinm 
poll  ti  calf  or  social,  or  personal, 

•  As  the  natural  hesad  of  her  familj,  snpoTintendent  of  her  hernia* 
hold)  manager  of  her  prirate  affairs,  sola  conjideniial  adviser  in  political 
and  only  assistant  in  bcr  oommunications  with  the  officom  of  the  gov«ni^ 
moni,  he  is,  b^Bidos  the  hmband  of  the  Queen,  the  tutor  of  tho  U^pX 
ehildreu,  the  pmat«  iccfetary  of  ibd  Boremgn  and  bar  pertaanent 
minister/  * 

And  »o  ho  tlisrarded  the  tempting  idea  of  heiug  flmceA  Ib 
command  of  the  British  Armj* 

It  was  this  magnaaimoui  resolve  *  entirely  to  sink  tb  own 
individual  existence  in  that  of  his  wife' — thus  aimiDg  at  no  power 
by  himself  or  for  himself^  thus  shunning'  all  ostentatioa^ — ^whicli 
by  decrees  allayed  the  suspicions  which  the  English  jeatonsy  of 
foreigners,  the  anomalous  nature  of  his  position,  and  evon  the 
perception  of  Itis  great  powers  of  mind,  had  cxcit^'d,  and  gave 
him,  without  his  seeking  it,  such  an  authority  in  the  re&liii, 
as  a  wise,  good^  and  powerful  monarch  might  have  rejoiced  I0 
posseis. 

The  entire  ami,  if  such  a  word  may  be  used  in  such  a  ooOp 
nection»  the  dutiful  love  of  the  Laily  of  the  Land,  which  every 
year  increased,  was  the  basis  on  which  all  this  inlluence  tiiti* 
jnately  rested.  One  main  interest  of  this  remarkable  volume  is 
the  evcr-rccuTTing  proof  of  the  greatness  of  the  wedded  love — that 
rare  inheritance^  alas  I  of  crowned  heads — which  for  once  inyesled 
with  its  sacred  brightness  the  throne  of  England <  It  is  caay  for 
inferior  minds  and  vulgar  natures  to  tiuestion  the  propriety  of 
auch  a  rcvclntion  of  the  Sovereigns  inner  life.  We  believe 
the  dee|>er  and  truer  view  of  the  effects  it  will  produce  is  that 
which  has  led  the  illustrious  Lady  it  concerns  to  saoctioii 
its  bt?ing  made.  True,  deep,  earnest  lore  is  a  great  and  not  m 
little  thing.  It  elevates  every  clmracter  which  it  does  truly 
possess.  Its  real  greatness  may  easily  be  put  out  of  sight  by  the 
pettinesses  of  a  too  demonstrative  fondness.     Such  feeble  adjuncts 


•  Lt'ttef  to  Duke  of  WvUiogtoii,  April  8tb,  1850. 
and  Addrtttset  of  the  Priaee  Coiuortf'  pp.  76^78. 


Windsor  Ca^Ue,    <Sp«eokas  ] 


Rin/al  Authorship. 


801 


of  tlie  noble  passion  fthould  of  course  be  treated  m  human  weak- 
nesses over  which  the  veil  of  utter  secresy  cannot  be  too  closelj 
drawn.  But  the  sight  of  the  majesty  of  deep  affection  is  always 
ennobling.  And  there  are  many  circumstances  connected  with 
the  preceding  occupants  of  the  British  throne,  as  well  as  with  these 
times  themselves,  which  make  it  wise,  because  profitable  for  the 
nation,  to  let  the  veil  be  somewhat  lifted,  and  the  throne  be  seen 
to  have  been  the  central  point  of  that  true,  pure,  loving^  family 
life  which  has  ever  been  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  Eng^land* 

All  this  is  to  be  seen  in  these  pages  not  so  much  in  direct 
expressions  of  happy  love — though  these  are  not  few — as  in  the  ^ 
delight  with  which  the  Prince's  influence  for  good  on  her  who 
Joved  him  best  is  acknowledged  with  a  simple  absence  of  all 
ie if- consciousness  which  would  be  charming  from  any  pen  in 
any  rank  of  Life,  and  which  i%  more  memorable  still  from  the 
pen  which  traced  such  lines  as  these; — 

*  The  time  spent  at  Claremont  was  always  a  very  happy  one ;  the 
Piinoe  and  Queen,  being  able  to  take  charming  walkfi  in  the  pretty 

gruundfl^  and  neighbourhood I  told  Albert  that  fonnerly  I  waa 

loo  happy  to  go  to  London  and  wTetched  to  leave  it,  and  how  since  the 
bleeged  hour  of  my  marriage,  imd  stdl  more  since  the  summer,  I  dis- 
like and  am  unbftppy  to  leave  the  country,  and  could  be  content  and 
happy  never  to  go  to  town.  This  pleased  hinu  The  solid  pleasures 
of  peaceful,  quiel,  yet  merry  life  in  the  country,  with  my  incstimablo 
bnslmnd  and  friend,  my  all-in-all,  aro  far  more  desirable  than  th© 
ttmnsemente  of  Loudon^  though  we  don't  de&pisa  or  dialike  those 
sometimes/  * 

•  The  Prince  eanetantly  said  on  arriTing  at  Osborne  and  BalmomT, 
ft&d  on  leaving  London, — "  How  sweet  it  smells  I  How  del ic ions 
the  air  is  I  One  begins  to  breathe  again  l  ^  And  how  he  delighted 
in  the  song  of  birds,  and  especially  of  nightingales !  listening  for 
them  in  the  happy,  peaceftd  woods  at  Osborne^  and  whisthug  in  them 
In  their  own  peculiar  long  note,  which  they  in?ariably  answer !  The 
Queen  cannot  hear  this  note  without  fancying  she  hears  him,  and 
without  the  deepest,  saddest  emotion.  At  night  he  would  stand  on 
^e  balcony  at  Osborne  in  May  listening  to  the  nightingales/  f 

How  strong'  tliese  tastes  were,  and  how  they  mingled  them- 
selves with  the  happiness  of  that  family  life  which  was  the 
admiration  of  all  who  really  witnessed  it,  may  be  read  in  yet 
one  more  extract  given  us  from  the  *  Qiieen*s  Journal '  of  Bal- 
moral of  October  13,  1856 ; — *  Every  year  my  heart  becomei 
more  fixed  in  this  dear  paradise,  and  so  much  more  so  now  that 
aii  has  become  my  dearest  Albert's  otcn  creation,  own  work,  own 
building,  own  laying  out,  as  at  Osborne,  that  his  great  tasta 


Kcmorandam  by  the  Qaeoa ;  and  the  Queen's  *  Journal/  pp.  S3 7 
t  Note  by  th*  Queco,  p.  19&. 


338. 


«!E\^ 


S02  Bayal  Authonhip. 

and  the  impress  of  his  dear  hand  have  been  stamped  ereiy- 
where '  (p.  358). 

Yet  with  this  complete  appreciation  of  nature  and  the  countrj, 
the  same  wise  and  wholesome  influence  was  employed  to  prevent 
the  delights  of  retirement  and  family  life  interfering  with  the 
duties  imposed  by  her  position  upon  the  wearer  of  the  crown. 
*  The  Prince,'  we  are  told,  *  though  never  losing  the  smallest 
particle  of  that  intense  enjoyment  of  the  country  which  used  to 
burst  forth  in  such  expressions  as  "  Now  I  am  free :  now  I  can 
breathe ;"  yet  was  always  anxious  that  the  Queen  should  spend 
as  much  of  her  time  as  she  could  in  London '  (p.  339). 

The  same  influence  was  most  usefully  exerted  in  yet  higher 
departments  of  die  duties  of  the  Crown.  The  Queen  has 
allowed  it  to  be  recorded,  that  *up  to  the  period  of  her 
marriage  she  had  indulged  strong  feelings  of  political  partisan- 
ship '  (p.  32).  There  were  not  wanting  events  in  the  early  days 
of  the  marriage  which  might  easily  have  stamped  a  like  political 
bias  on  any  one  of  less  robust  mental  and  moral  habits  than  the 
Prince.  *At  Aix-la-Chapelle,  on  his  journey  to  England  for  the 
marriage,  the  Prince  heard  the  news  of  the  rejection  of  the  pro- 
posed grant  of  50,000/.,  which  made  a  disa^eeable  impression 
on  him'  (p.  300).  The  difficulties  raised  in  Parliament  to  grant- 
ing him  the  desired  precedence  shortly  followed.  It  can  cause 
no  matter  of  surprise  that  ^  the  Queen  was,  as  she  herself  says, 
most  indignant  at  what  had  occurred,  or  that  the  first  impres- 
sion made  on  the  young  Prince's  mind  by  the  proceedings  in 
both  Houses  should  have  been  a  painful  one  *  (p.  289).  But  his 
mind  had  boon  early  made  up  that  to  discharge  his  duties  to  the 
nation  and  the  Queen  he  must  stand  entirely  apart  from  mere 
political  party.  There  is  an  admirable  statement  of  this  prin- 
ciple in  one  of  his  early  letters  to  the  Queen  (Dec.  10,  lb39), 
concerning  the  choice  of  his  future  household  : — *  I  should 
wish,'  he  says,  *  particularly  that  the  selection  should  be  made 
without  regard  to  politics ;  for  if  I  am  really  to  keep  myself  free 
from  all  pjirties,  my  people  must  not  belong  exclusively  to  one 
side.     Above  all,  these  appointments  should  not  be  made  mere 

party  rewards It  is  very  necessary  that  they  should  be 

chosen  from  both  sides '  (p.  266).  To  this  principle  he  faith- 
fully adhoreil.  He  understood  almost  intuitively  the  relations  of 
our  political  parties;  and  he  cast  aside,  as  their  natural  result, 
and  springing  from  no  want  of  loyalty  to  the  Queen  or  regard  to 
himself,  the  early  vexations  which  might  have  eaten  deep  into 
the  heart  of  a  feebler  man.  His  relation  from  the  first  with  the 
leaders  of  both  the  great  parties  in  the  State  was  that  of  amicable 
fidelity ;  and  all  the  leading  men  of  the  nation  soon  trusted  him 

implicitly. 


Eoyal  Authorship, 

\m\A\c\i\y,  The  chief  peril  of  a  female  reign  was  thus  happilj 
averted,  and  the  party  *  feelings  by  which  the  Queen  so  candidly 
admits  that  she  was  herself  biassed  at  the  time  of  her  marriage 
soon  teased  to  show  themselves  under  the  influence  of  his  judicious 
counsels '  (p.  284),  Thus  was  prevented  what  might  else  have 
grown  into  no  slight  danger  to  the  realm.  For,  as  Lord  Bacon 
has  recorded—'  When  princes  that  ought  to  be  common  parents 
make  themselves  as  a  party,  and  lean  to  a  side,  it  is  as  a  boat 
that  is  overthrown  by  uneven  weight  on  the  one  side/* 

Such  was  the  Prince  whom  we  have  had,  and  whom  in  the 
IPS  cm  table  providence  of  God,  except  in  the  good  which  he 
has  clone,  and  the  example  he  has  lett^  we  have  lost.  In  these 
pages  it  has  been  our  endeavour  to  make  his  own  acts,  words, 
and  letters  as  much  as  possible  record  his  character.  And 
after  such  a  record  feiv  sentences  of  more  formal  description 
can,  we  think,  be  needful.  Of  a  noble  and  distinguished  lineage 
amongst  our  German  kinsmen^  he  was  trained  in  all  the  highest 
excellences  of  their  best  education*  In  person  he  was  remark- 
able for  0.  manly  beauty  in  which  the  presence  of  intellect 
made  itself  felt  like  strongly-marked  features  of  scenery  through 
the  more  ordinary  graces  of  a  finished  landscape*  His  intel- 
lectual gifts  were  of  the  highest  order.  With  a  keen  relish 
for  knowledge  of  every  kind,  and  great  exactness  in  acquiring 
and  retaining  it, — of  hi  story ,  of  art,  of  philosophy,  of  science, 
and  of  nature,  he  had  the  master  power  of  casting  all  acquired 
facts  into  such  a  philosophical  order  that  he  was  never 
oppressed  by  the  multitude  of  his  attiininents.  The  higher 
accomplishments  of  a  liberal  education  were  also  his;  ho  was  a 
painter  and  a  musician  of  no  ordinary  merit.  He  possessed  the 
power  of  reasoning  to  an  eminent  degree*  In  argument  on  any 
topic,  no  man  was  readier  in  the  use  of  every  lawful  weapon  of 
fence.  Humour,  illustration,  repartee,  and  the  strong  grasp  of 
vigorous  contradiction,  all  lay  hid  under  that  mild  and  calm 
exterior.  H  is  affections,  too,  though  their  outward  demonstrations 
were  repressed  ou  principle  into  a  settled  sobriety  of  expression, 
were  quick  and  strong*  How  did  he  return  the  almost  worship 
of  the  ^^^A  Duchess  of  Gotha  I  how  did  he  love  his  Queen, 
his  brother,  and  his  friends  !  Here  is  one  instance  of  the  latter 
too  striking  not  to  be  inserted,  and  one  which  illustrates  also  the 
great  fairness  of  his  character.  When  Mr,  G,  E.  Anson  was 
first  appointed  to  be  his  private  secretary,  the  arrangement  was 
reluctantly  acquiesced  in  by  him,  because  he  feared  that  Mr* 
Anson  s   former  connection    with    Lord   Melbourne^  as  private 


•  Lord  Bacoa^s  Works,  voU  ii.  p*  284* 


fi^cvetax^. 


804  Bayal  AvihonMp. 

secretary,  would  give  a  political  colour  to  the  appointment  The 
objection  was,  however,  overruled;  and  the  Prince  soon  found 
that  he  had  a  thoroughly  honest,  fearless,  and  attached  servant  in 
Mr.  Anson.  These  were  qualities  which  his  truthful  and  noble 
nature  thoroughly  appreciated  ;  and  he  soon  gave  to  Mr.  Anson, 
not  only  confidence,  but  an  affection  which  ripened  early,  to  be 
early  broken  in  upon  by  the  sudden  death  of  his  confidential 
servant  *  The  Prince  was  deeply  affected  when  the  news  of  Mn 
Anson's  'sudden  death  arrived|  and  said  to  the  Queen,  He  was 
my  only  intimate  friend.  We  went  through  everything  together 
since  I  came  here.  He  was  almost  like  a  brother  to  me' 
(p.  324). 

But  the  pre-eminent  feature,  after  all,  in  the  character  of  the 
Prince  was  his  noble  estimate  of  duty.  This  was  not  in  him  the 
dull  and  formal  performance,  however  precise,  of  a  set  of  external 
acts ;  it  was  the  outcoming  of  his  life,  and  so,  like  other  true 
comings  forth  of  life,  was  at  once  real,  vigorous,  genial,  and 
perpetual.  This  was  his  aim, — not  merely  to  do  with  any  amount 
of  exactness  external  duties,  but  to  be  such  that  the  external  per- 
formance would  be  the  natural  expression  of  the  inward  man.  *  If  I 
prove,'  they  are  his  own  grand  words, '  a  "  noble  "  prince  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word,  wise  and  prudent  conduct  will  become  easier 
to  me'  (p.  236).  And  all  this  was  founded  on  a  true  principle  of 
religion  which  had  kept  his  youth  spotlessly  pure.  We  believe 
that  the  words  in  which  she  who  knew  him  best  gives  utterance  to 
her  estimate  of  his  goodness  are  no  exaggeration,  when  she  says, 
*  God  knows  vice  itself  would  ever  have  recoiled  from  the  look 
alone  of  one  who  wore  "  the  lily  of  a  blameless  life" '  (p.  166). 
It  is  not  easy  to  over-estimate  the  influence  for  good  on  our  Court 
and  people  of  such  a  life  as  this,  placed  beside  the  throne  of  a 
young  female  sovereign.  The  Queen's  words,  which  we  have 
before  quoted,  express  her  estimate  of  what  the  gain  was  in  the 
highest  quarter.  But  it  did  not  stop  there ;  through  the  Court, 
and  by  a  thousand  channels  through  the  nation,  that  life  daily 
distilled  its  purifying,  elevating  influences.  What  England  might 
now  have  been  if  that  young  Court  had  been  led  astray  by  the 
union  of  such  abilities  as  those  possessed  by  the  Prince  to  such  a 
character  as  Charles  II.'s;  what  it  might  have  been  if  the  Lady  of 
the  land  had  wedded  a  mere  dull,  clownish  lout  like  the  husband  of 
Queen  Anne,  who  amongst  us  can  say  ?  Where  do  we  not  meet 
now  with  the  marks  of  what  he  did,  who  has  been  tiken  from  us  in 
presence,  but  who  is  still  with  us  in  the  virtues  of  the  Court,  in 
the  growth  of  art,  in  the  elevation  of  science,  and  in  many  bene- 
ficent institutions  for  raising  the  character  and  increasing  the 
comforts  of  servants  and  of  poor  children,  and  for  securing  to 

the 


Itoffal  Aniharjfhip, 

the  labourer's  family  a  home  in  which  the  practice 'of  virtue  is 
rendered  possible  becaaso  its  life  can  be  led  with  decency  ? 

*How  this  early  promise  of  distinction  was  fulfilled/  the  Queen 
Bays  in  the  Mcmorandinn  from  which  this  extract  is  taken,  '  how  im- 
nieasai^abiy  all  the  moat  sangnine  espeetations  were  surpassed,  how 
King  Ijeopold's  fondest  hopes  were  realiflcd  ten  thousand  fold,  and 
how  the  fearful  blow  which  took  him  from  ns  put  an  end  to  all  this 
happiness,  and  cut  short  his  brilliant  and  useful  career,  we  all  knowf* 

It  was  cme  consequence  of  the  line  which  he  marked  out  for 
himself^  of  *  sinking  his  own  individual  existence  in  that  of  his 
wife'  (p,  318),  that  all  this  should  at  the  time  be  unperceived, 
Durinor  the  earlier  years,  accordingly,  of  his  married  life  he  was 
eomparatively  speaking  unknown,  English  jealousy  of  foreign 
interferences  in  some  quarters,  resentment  in  others  at  the  high 
tone  of  virtue  which  he  was  felt  to  enforce,  ignorance  of  what 
he  was  in  almost  all,  created  and  kept  alive  respecting  him 
misjudgment,  with  its  consequent  disaffection.  By  little  and  little 
the  truth,  as  it  always  will,  oozed  out.  The  speeches  which  from 
time  to  time  he  delivered  excited  first  attention  and  then  astonish- 
ment. They  were  so  full  of  genius,  and  they  were  so  evidently 
his  own,  whilst  they  announced  such  high  principles  in  such 
clear  language  j  they  so  plainly  met  some  great  practical  need 
in  so  straightforward  a  mannerj  and  they  were  so  quickly  followed 
by  corresponding  acts,  that  his  real  character  and  greatness  began 
to  be  universally  appreciated.  Men  felt  in  his  growing  influ- 
ence, and  saw  in  his  perpetual  labours,  the  truth  of  the  words  of 
the  groat  philosophic  statesman  :  '  Princes  are  like  to  heavenly 
bodies  which  cause  good  or  evil  times;  and  which  have  much 
veneration  but  no  rest/f  And  then,  almost  before  his  stin  had 
risen  to  its  mid-day  height,  it  sunk  suddenly,  and  men  found 
out  what  they  had  possessed  by  the  sad  process  of  losing  it. 

What  he  would  yet  more  and  more,  as  years  passed  on,  havn 
Irecome  to  England  and  to  Europe,  and  so  to  the  whole  civilised 
World,  if  that  large  intellect,  that  calm  unerring  judgment,  and 
that  truthfulness,  purity,  and  justice  of  character  which  already 
had  done  so  much,  had  been  left  to  expand  itself  to  its  full 
proportions  and  assert  in  the  sight  of  all  men  its  real  greatness,  it 

impossible  to  speculate.     But  that  future  was  not  allowed  him  ; 

bad  already  done  his  work  and  he  has  entered  on  his  rest. 

To  such  an  one  we  may  apply  the  words  in  which  the  great 
philosophical  historian  of  Rome  comments  upon  the  death  of 
Julius  Agricola,  with  an  appropriateness  which  no  heathen 
writer   could    reach — ^Si  quis   piorum    Manibus   locus,    si,  ut 


*  The  Qoeea'i  MemonmdoiDi  p.  214, 


t  Bflcoa^i  EflSsyF,  *  Of  Era  pi  re/ 
sapientibus 


806  Tlie  French  Setreatfrom  Moscow. 

sapientibus  placet,  non  cum  corpore  exstinguuntur  magns 
animae,  placide  quiescas ;  nosque,  domum  tuam,  ab  infirmo 
desiderio  ...  ad  contemplationem  virtutum  tuarum  voces,  quas 
neque  lugeri  neque  plangi  fas  est .  .  .  Is  verus  honosy  ea  conjuDc- 
tissimi  cuj usque  pietas.  Id  filiae  quoque  uxorique  pra&ceperim, 
sic  patris,  sic  mariti  memoriam  venerari,  ut  omnia  facta  dictaque 
ejus  secum  revolvant'  * 

Such  was  Prince  Albert  to  the  land  of  his  adoption. 
What  he  was  within  the  closer  precincts  of  family  life  these 
pages  may  make  any  careful  reader  know.  The  subject  is 
still  too  sacred  for  any  more  detailed  handling  than  we  have 
ventured  to  us^.  But  if  there  ever  was  a  call  upon  all  that  is 
good  and  true  in  this  nation  for  a  lifelong  sympathy,  it  is  the 
voice  of  the  Wife,  the  Mother,  and  the  Queen,  as  it  sounds  from 
this  volume.  ^  I  am  very  glad  of  it,'  was  Lord  Melbourne's 
reply  to  the  announcement  of  the  first  engagement,  adding,  with 
his  wonted  shrewdness,  ^in  quite  a  paternal  tone,  you  will  be 
much  more  comfortable,  for  a  woman  cannot  stand  alone  for  any 
time  in  whatever  position  she  may  be.'-f  Let  Her  children,  let 
Her  people  never  forget  that  God's  wise  though  mysterious 
providence  has  so  ordered  Her  life,  that  ^The  Queen  cannot 
forbear  from  adding,  '*  Alas  I  alas  I  the  poor  Queen  now  stands 
in  that  painful  position  " '  (p.  224). 


Art.  II.— 1.  Soiivenirs  Militaires  de  1804  a  1814.  Par  M.  le  Due 
do  Fezcnsac,  General  de  Division.  (Journal  de  la  Campagne 
de  Russie,  1812,  en  douze  chapitres.)     Paris,  1863. 

2.  Memoires.  Par  L.  F.  J.  Bausset,  ancien  Prefet  du  Palais 
Imperial.     2  vols.     Bruxelles,  1827. 

3.  Itiniraire  de  NapoUon  L  de  Smor(/oni  a  Paris.  Extrait  des 
Mdmoires  da  Baron  Paul  de  Bouryoing.     Paris,  1862. 

4.  Lehen  des  Feldmarsclialls  Grafen  York  von  Warteid)urg.  Von 
J.  G.  Droysen.     3  Bande.     Berlin,  1851. 

WHEN  Dr.  Johnson  composed  his  admirable  poem  on  the 
Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  in  imitation  of  the  no  less 
admirable  tenth  satire  of  Juvenal, — and  we  scarcely  know  to  which 
of  the  two  we  should  assign  the  palm, — we  find  him  substituting 
with  great  felicity  modern  examples  instead  of  those  which 
Juvenal  adduced.  For  Sejanus  we  have  Wolsey  ;  for  Hannibal, 
Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  ;  for  Servilia,  Lady  Vane.     But  when  he 

♦  *  C.  Cornelii  Taciti  Jul.  Agricol./  c.  46. 
t  The  Qaeen's  '  Joamal/  Oct.  Uth,  1839. 

came 


The  Frmcfi  B&treatfrom  Moscow.  307 

came  to  the  case  of  Xerxes,  Dn  Johnson  could  remember  no 
adequate  parallel.  Xerxes,  thcreforPj  is  still  the  instance  given 
in  his  poem,  and  it  is  the  only  one  which  he  derives  from 
ancient  times, 

*  With  half  mankiBd  embattled  at  his  eide, 
Great  Xeries  comes  to  eeize  the  certain  prey^ 
And  starves  oxhauetcd  regions  in  his  way, 

•  *  »  * 

The  inBulted  Bea  with  humbler  thought  he  gains, 
A  single  skiff  to  speed  his  flight  remains ; 
The  encumbered  oar  scarce  leaves  the  dreaded  coast, 
Through  purple  billows  and  a  floating  host.* 

But  had  the  lot  of  Johnson  been  east  later  by  some  scores  of 
years,  with  how  luMe  a  passage  might  not  the  retreat  from 
Moscow  have  supplied  him  1  How  striking  the  parallel  between 
the  two  conquerors^  each  at  the  ontset  marching  forward  confi- 
dent of  victory,  and  at  the  head  of  many  hundred  thousand  war- 
riors, and  each  having  at  the  close  to  escape  almost  alone^  the 
one  in  a  single  skiff  over  the  *  insulted  sea,'  the  other  in  a  peasant's 
sledge  across  the  frozen  plains  ! 

The  retreat  from  Moscow  in  1812  is^  indeed,  a  subject  of  ever 
new  and  thrilling  interest  Nowhere,  perhaps,  does  modem 
history  display,  within  a  compass  of  seven  or  eight  weeks,  so 
large  an  amount  of  individual  suffering  and  national  loss. 
Nowhere  does  the  reckless  force  of  the  elements  appear  more 
completely  victorious  over  all  the  genius,  all  the  strength,  all  the 
resources  of  man.  And  often  as  we  have  perused  the  various 
narratives  of  that  terrible  disaster,  we  find  ourselves  ever  and 
anon  recurring  to  it  as  some  fresh  contributions  to  its  story  come 
forth  from  time  to  time.  Two  years  since  we  called  attention, 
though  but  very  briefly,  to  the  corresponding  entries  in  the 
autobiography  of  Sir  Robert  Wilson.  We  now  propose  to  resume 
the  subject,  adverting  more  especially  to  some  memoirs  or 
fragments  of  memoirs  that  we  owe  to  France. 

Tbe  judgment  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  on  this  transaction 
is  expressed  in  a  short  memorandum  which  he  drew  up  in  1842, 
and  which  Lord  Stanhope  has  published  in  his  little  volume 
uf  *  Miscellanies,*  We  will  extract  from  it  the  following 
paragraphs ; — 

*  Napoleon  hail  mado  no  preparation  for  the  milltarj  retreat  which 
he  woidd  have  to  make  if  his  diplomatic  efforts  should  fail,  which  they 
did.     Wo  see  that  he  was  distressed  for  want  of  communications  even  , 

before  he  thought  of  reti-eat;  his  hospitals  were  not  supplied  nor  ■ 

even  taken  caro  of,  and  were  at  last  carried  off;  and  when  he  com- 
menced 


308  TPhe  French  Retreat  from  Moscow. 

menced  to  make  a  real  moyement  of  retreat  ho  was  involTed  in  difficnl- 
ties  without  number.  The  first  basis  of  his  operations  was  lost ;  the 
new  one  not  established;  and  he  was  not  strong  enough  to  force 
his  way  to  the  only  one  which  could  have  been  practicable,  and  by 
the  use  of  which  ho  might  have  saved  his  army — by  the  sacrifice,  how- 
ever, of  all  those  corps  which  were  in  the  northern  line  of  operations ; 
I  mean  the  line  through  Ealouga,  through  the  southern  countries. 
But  instead  of  that,  he  was  forced  to  take  lus  retreat  by  the  line  of  the 
river  Bcrcsina,  which  was  exhausted,  and  upon  which  he  had  made  no 
preparations  whatever.  This  is,  in  few  words,  the  history  of  that 
disaster.' 

But  besides  these  faults  of  Napoleon  which  our  great  captain 
has  here  enumerated,  there  was  certainly  another  and  still  far 
more  considerable  error — we  mean  his  protracted  stay  at  Moscow. 
Flushed  with  the  pride  of  conquest,  he  seems  to  have  regarded 
the  Russian  winter  as  though  it  might  be,  like  the  Russian  army, 
defied  and  overcome.  Surely  the  near  approach 'of  that  terrible 
season  ought  to  have  been  ever  before  his  eyes.  With  that  pros- 
pect he  should  have  placed  no  dependence  on  the  uncertain  hopes 
of  peace,  and  should  have  remained  at  Moscow  no  longer  than 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  rest  and  to  re-form  his  troops. 

Let  us  see  whether  an  examination  of  the  dates  does  not  fully 
bear  out  this  criticism*  On  the  7th  of  September  Napoleon 
gained  the  battle  of  La  Moskowa,  as  the  French  have  termed  it, 
or  of  Borodino,  according  to  its  Russian  name — one  of  the  hardest 
fought  and  bloodiest  conflicts  upon  record  in  ancient  or  in  modem 
times.  On  the  J  5th  he  made  his  entry  into  Moscow,  and  fixed 
his  head-quarters  at  the  Kremlin.  On  the  very  next  day  he  left 
it  ag^in,  driven  forth  by  the  conflagration  which — we  will  here 
avoid  the  controversy  as  to  its  cause — had  burst  fordi  at  once  in 
various  quarters  of  the  city  and  enveloped  the  Kremlin  with  its 
lurid  clouds.  During  three  days,  himself  in  the  neighbouring 
chateau  of  Petrowskoi,  and  with  his  soldiers  at  their  bivouacs 
around  him.  Napoleon  might  mournfully  contemplate  the  dismal 
progress  of  the  flames.  At  length  on  the  19th  he  was  enabled  to 
return  to  the  citadel-palace.  The  conflagration  had  then  almost 
ceased,  but  about  four-fifths  of  the  city  were  destroyed.  The 
remaining  houses,  however,  were  suflicient  to  shelter  the  army, 
and  there  soon  appeared  means  for  its  support  It  is  the  custom 
in  that  country,  owing  to  the  length  and  severity  of  the  winter, 
to  lay  in  stores  of  provisions  for  several  months,  and  thus  the 
cellars  of  the  burnt  houses  were  found  when  laid  open  to  contain 
large  quantities  of  com,  of  salted  meat,  of  wine,  and  of  brandy — 
nay,  oven  of  sugar  and  of  tea.  Thus  the  soldiers  could  at  last 
obtain  some  refreshment,  and  repose  after  all  their  weary  marches 
and  their  murderous  battles. 

On 


The  French  Seireat/rom  Moscmo, 


309 


On  tie  4th  of  October,  and  not  till  theii>  Napoleon  despatched 
one  of  his  aides-de-camp,  M.  de  LauristoHj  with  pacific  overtures 
to  General  Kutusof,  tie  Russian  cijminander-in^cluef.  Now, 
csonsidering  the  advanced  position  of  Napoleon  s  army^  and  the 
close  approach  of  the  Russian  winter,  we  hold  it  as  incontro- 
vertible that  on  this  4th  of  Octoljer  not  a  single  French  soldier 
abuuld  have  remained  at  Moscow.  The  march  back  towards 
Poland  should  have  begun  at  latest  bj  that  day-. 

The  Russian  chielii,  on  thij  ^loint  more  farsighted  aj  knowing 
better  the  extremity  of  cx^ld  that  was  near  at  hand,  considered 
the  gain  of  time  as  their  paramount  ohjett^  On  this  principle 
General  Kutusof  received  M*  de  Lauriston  with  all  courtesy 
and  seeming  frankness.  But  lie  declared  that  he  had  no  powers 
to  sign  an  armislicej  far  less  to  conclude  a  treaty*  It  was  neces- 
sary, he  said,  to  refer  the  French  overtures  to  the  Emperor 
Alexander  at  Petersburg,  and  to  P*?tergburg  they  were  referred 
accordingly.  Some  ten  or  twelve  days  would  be  requisite,  he 
added,  before  an  answer  could  arrive ;  and  on  M*  de  Lauris ton's 
report  Napoleon  determined  to  remain  for  this  further  period  ftt 
MoscoWp 

Napoleon,  indeed,  had  from  the  first,  in  common  phrase,  *  settled 
down/  as  though  resolved  at  all  events  on  a  considerable  stay. 
Tbns,  for  ea^ample,  he  had  given  orders  for  a  series  of  theatrical  re- 
presentations, of  which  we  learn  some  particalars  from  the  amusing 
memoirs  of  M,  de  Baussei  This  was  the  Frejet  du  Palais — a 
sleek  well-fed  gentleman,  as  it  becomes  court  officials  to  be. 
His  proper  post  was  at  the  Tuileries,  but  he  had  been  commis- 
sioned by  Maria  Louisa  to  convey  to  Napoleon  a  full-length 
portrait  of  their  son,  and  he  had  arrived  at  head-quarters  on  the 
very  day  before  the  Borodino  battle.  Napoleon  had  at  once 
displayed  to  his  assembled  chiefs  the  portrait,  as  he  hoped,  of 
their  future  sovereign,  adding  with  much  grace  and  dignity  these 
words ; — *  Messitnirs^  si  monjih  avail  qnmze  ans^  croye*  qiiii  mraU 
id  au  milim  de  tanl  de  braves  aiUremmt  quen  pmdure! 

Subsequently  M.  de  Bausset  had  attended  the  Emperor  to 
Moscow,  and  he  received  from  his  Majesty  the  supreme  dire©* 
tion  of  the  intended  theatrical  representations.  He  found  there 
already  established  a  clever  directricej  Madame  Bursay,  and  a  few 
good  actors  and  actress^.  Rich  dresses  in  abmidance  wer«  iup^ 
plied  from  the  Moscow  stores, 

'Les  comcdienfl  Fran^ais  en  tirerent  des  robes  et  des  habiti  de 
Velonre,  qn'ils  arrangcrent  k  leur  tailie^  et  Ewt  leequels  lis  appli  querent 
de  largos  galons  d'or  qui  ^-fcaient  eu  abon dance  dans  ccs  magaeina. 
Eeellcment  lb  etaieut  v^tns  avee  uno  gratide  magnificence,  mais  leur 
ikImBAm  <^tait  telle  cluo  qne^ues-imoB  de  dob  aetnces  floua  ces  belles 


310  The  French  Retreat  from  Moeeom. 

robes  de  yelonrs  avaient  li  peine  le  linge  n^ceasaiie ;  dn  moins  o'eet  oe 
quo  me  disait  Madame  Bnrsaj.' 

But  from  this  comic  interlude  (as  Madame  Bursay  herself 
might  have  called  it)  we  now  revert  to  more  serious  scenes.  It 
was  found  by  Napoleon,  after  long  and  anxious  suspense,  that 
from  Petersburg  there  came  no  acceptance  of  his  overtures.  The 
conqueror,  disappointed  in  his  hopes  of  peace,  wavered  yet  for 
some  time  in  his  military  plans.  Finally  his  army,  then  still 
100,000  strong,  marched  from  Moscow  on  the  19th  of  October, 
and  Napoleon  set  out  to  rejoin  it  the  next  day.  Even  then, 
however,  he  did  not  relinquish  his  hold  of  the  city.  He  left 
Marshal  Mortier  with  10,000  men  to  garrison  the  Kremlin,  and 
the  secret  instructions  which  the  head  of  his  staff  wrote  to  the 
Intendant  General  (they  bear  date  the  18th  of  October,  and  have 
been  published  by  M.  Thiers)  contain  these  remarkable  words : — 
*  It  being  the  Emperor's  intention  to  return  here,  we  shall  keep 
the  principal  magazines  of  flour,  of  oats,  and  of  brandy.' 

But  Napoleon  did  not  long  persevere  in  this  rash  design.  On 
the  evening  of  the  20th,  only  a  few  hours  after  leaving  Moscow, 
he  sent  orders  to  Marshal  Mortier  of  a  directly  opposite  tenour. 
The  Marshal  was  now  directed  to  blow  up  the  Kremlin  by  means 
of  mines  already  prepared,  to  evacuate  the  city,  and  to  retire 
with  his  troops  and  with  the  column  of  sick  and  wounded  along 
the  Smolensk  road.  On  the  night  of  the  23rd,  accordingly,  the 
Kremlin  was  shattered,  though  not  destroyed,  by  the  desired 
explosion,  and  on  the  next  morning  the  Marshal  began  his 
retrograde  march.  Thus  instead  of  the  4th  it  was  the  24th  of 
October,  at  the  verge  of  the  Russian  winter,  when  the  last  of  the 
French  troops  took  their  departure  from  the  Russian  capital. 

Meanwhile  la  Grande  Arm<ky  under  Napoleon  himself,  was  by 
no  means  marching  straight  to  Smolensk  on  its  way  to  Poland. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  directing  its  course  towards  Kalouga, 
with  a  view  to  the  occupation  of  the  southern  provinces.  Kutusof, 
however,  was  in  its  front.  On  the  24th  one  of  the  French  corps 
d'armee  gained  a  victory  over  a  corresponding  Russian  division 
at  Malo-Jaroslawetz.  But  the  French  had  lost  4000  killed  in 
that  hard-fought  combat,  and  it  was  little  compensation  to  them  to 
boast  or  to  believe  that  the  Russians  had  lost  6000.  The  Russians 
in  the  heart  of  their  own  country  were  daily  receiving  reinforce- 
ments, while  on  the  invaders,  at  that  enormous  distance  even 
from  the  Polish  frontier,  the  loss  of  every  soldier  told. 

This  last  consideration  could  not  fail  to  weigh  heavy  on 
Napoleon,  when  next  day  he  found  the  whole  army  of  Kutusof 
before  him  placed  in  a  strong  position,  and  saw  that  he  could 

only 


77te  French  Retrmtfrmn  MoscofW* 


m 


Dnlj  press  forward  to  Kaloug^a  by  first  giving  battle.  He  mi^bt 
probably  win  that  battle,  but  it  would  b*,  as  at  La  Moskowa,  nXtex 
a  desperati?  resistance  and  with  a  grievous  Joss  of  slain.  Worse 
still,  it  might  leave  him  with  some  800O  or  10,000  wounded 
whom  he  had  no  means  of  transporting,  and  whom  when  he 
moved  onward  he  must  leave  to  perish  where  thoy  fell. 

More  than  ever  perplexed,  Napoleon  in  the  course  of  the  25th 
i?ntere<l  a  barn  in  the  little  village  of  Gorodnia,  and  there  held  a 
council  of  his  chiefs.  All  of  them  concurred  in  thinking  an 
advance  upon  Kalouga  inexpedient,  Davoust  alone  advised  an 
interniediate  course  through  a  not  yet  exhausted  country.  The 
others  were  for  rejoining  the  main  road  from  Moscow  to 
Smolensk,  and  marching'  back  to  Poland  by  the  shortest  route* 

The  reason  of  Napoleon  was  convinced,  but  his  pride  rebeUed- 
Retreat  was  a  new  word  to  him,  ever  since  at  least  he  raised  the 
siege  of  Acre.  Still  undecided,  he  turned  round,  and  with  one  of 
his  familiar  gestures  seized  by  the  ear  one  of  his  bravest  officers, 
General  Mouton  Comte  de  Lobau,  the  same  who  subsequently 
rose  to  political  distinction  in  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe.  M, 
Thtere,  who  had  sat  with  him  in  council  and  who  know  him  well, 
describes  him  as  soldat  nide  etjin^  at/ant  fadresse  de  $e  taire  et  de 
lie  parler  quapropos,  Na]ioleon,  still  with  the  GeneraFs  ear  in 
hand  J  asked  him  what  he  thought  The  other  chiefs,  according 
to  the  custom  at  that  period  of  the  Imperial  sway,  had  given 
their  opinions  with  abundance  of  courtly  phrases  and  deferential 
circumlocution.  But  Lobau,  seeing  the  moment  opportune, 
answered  en  termes  incisifs^  'I  think  that  we  ought  to  leave  at 
once^  and  by  the  shortest  route,  a  country  where  we  have  remained 
too  long  I ' 

This  reply,  and  the  tone  of  it,  produced  a  strong  effect  on 
Napoleon,  Nerertheless,  as  though  enough  of  time  bad  not  been 
lost  already,  he  put  off  his  decision  till  the  morrow.  On  the 
ensuing  day,  therefore,  he  consulted  his  officers  again,  and,  finding 
tliem  as  decided  as  ever  for  the  Smolensk  road,  he  issued  orders 
that  the  troops  should  next  morning,  the  27th,  begin  their  march 
in  that  direction.  Thus  it  was  not  till  that  day,  the  27th  of 
October,  that  at  the  Grande  Armh  a  movement  of  decided 
retreat  commenced. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  we  begin  to  derive  many  particulars 
from  the  Imtik  which  we  have  named  at  the  beginning  of  this 
article,  M*  de  Fes'.ensac,  many  years  subsequently  raised  to  the 
rank  of  Duke,  was,  in  1*512,  a  young  officer  of  great  spirit  and 
skilL  He  was  also  son-in-law  of  Clarke,  Duke  de  Feitre,  at 
that  time  Minister  of  War,  Both  these  circumstances  may 
he  thought  to  have  contributed  in  equal  degrees  to  his  rapid 
Vol.  128, — No.  246,  Y  advancement. 


312  The  French  Hetrecajram  MascetiK 

advancement.  When  the  Colonel  of  his  regiment  (the  4th  of  the 
line)  fell  in  the  Moody  battle  of  La  liloskowa,  Fezensac  wai 
named  to  the  vacant  post.  His  regiment,  as  we  shall  see,  was  in 
the  rear-guard — the  post  of  by  far  the  greatest  danger  and  the 
greatest  suffering — in  the  worst  days  of  the  disastrous  retreat; 
and  the  journal  which  he  has  written  of  that  period  is  no  less 
striking  than  authentic.  It  first  appeared  at  Paris  in  a  separate 
form,  but  is  now  embodied  in  the  author's  *  Souvenirs  Mili- 
taires  ' — the  whole  of  which  we  commend,  as  they  well  deserve, 
to  the  attention  of  our  readers. 

Mojaisk — a  small  town  on  the  direct  road  from  Moscow  to 
Smolensk — was  the  point  to  which  the  Grande  ArmSe  was 
directing  its  course  'from  Malo-Jaroslawetz.  That  point  would 
1>e  reached  in  three  days,  which,  with  the  eight  already  passed 
since  Moscow,  made  eleven.  But  it  might  have  been  reached  in 
four  by  the  straight  line  from  Moscow.  Thus,  then,  an  entire  week 
would  have  been  employed  in  unavailing  marches.  Nor  was  it 
merely  the  loss  of  time — time  trebly  precious  at  that  season. 
The  consumption  of  provisons  had  also  to  be  considered.  When 
the  Grande  Armee  had  left  Moscow,  several  of  its  chiefs,  even 
Nap)leon  himself,  stood  aghast  at  the  Lirge  amount  of  its 
impedimenta  belli.  Cars  and  carriages,  droskis  and  berlines,  and 
every  other  kind  of  vehicle,  bore  along,  besides  the  sick  and 
wounded  and  the  numerous  officers'  servants,  a  train  of  women 
and  young  children — French  residents  or  visitors  at  Moscow  who 
were  escaping  from  the  apprehended  vengeance  of  the  Russians 
— and  among  them  that  company  of  actors  and  actresses  of  which 
we  h.ave  already  given  some  account.  Piled  on  the  cars  were 
seen  the  munitions  of  war  and  the  spoils  of  plunder,  extending 
even  to  articles  of  furniture,  and  together  with  them  huge  bags 
filled  with  divers  kinds  of  food.  There  was  also  an  immense 
train,  wholly  out  of  proportion  to  the  diminished  army,  of  GOO 
pieces  of  artillery.  All  this  had  to  be  drawn  along  by  exhausted 
horses — ^horses  already  more  than  half  worn  out  with  hard 
marches  and  insufliicient  food.  And  to  this  vast  convoy,  as  it 
had  come  from  Moscow,  there  were  now  to  be  added,  as  best 
they  might,  some  two  thousand  wounded,  the  result  of  the  action 
at  Alalo-Jaroslawetz. 

The  country  around  them  was  so  poor,  and  so  thinly-peopled, 
as  to  aflord  little  in  the  way  of  fresh  supplies.  Thus  of  the  pro- 
visions brought  from  Moscow  great  part  had  been  cpnsumed  in 
the  week  already  passed,  and  it  was  calculated  that  scarce  any 
would  remain  by  the  time  the  army  reached  Mojaisk.  More- 
over, no  sooner  had  the  army  commenced  its  retreat  than 
clouds  of  Cossacks  began  to  hover  round  it  with  loud  huzzas. 

They 


Th^  Frmch  Rdrmtfrom  Moicdw, 


'ti% 


Tbej  cut  -off  all  strac^^lers ;  they  intercepted  all  supplies.  By 
these  means  the  French,  of  the  rear-guard  especially,  werp 
reduced  to  a  terrible  strait.  If  they  kept  close  ta  their  ranks, 
they  could  obtain  no  food  for  themselves,  no  forage  for  their 
horses.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  they  wandered  far  to  the  ri^ht  or 
left,  unless  in  large  bands,  each  single  soldier  wa^  sure  to  have 
the  lance  of  a  Cossack  at  his  breast. 

Even  while  the  provisions  brought  from  Moscow  lasted,  inuch 
suffering  prevailed.  They  were  most  unequally  distributed,  says 
M,  de  Fexensac,  like  all  things  which  proceed  from  pillage. 
One  regiment  had  still  some  oxen  for  slaughter,  hut  no  bread  ; 
nnother  regiment  had  (lour,  hut  ^vanted  meat  Even  in  the  same 
regiment  there  were  similar  diversities.  Some  companies  were 
half-starved  and  others  lived  in  abundance*  The  chiefs  enjoined 
an  equal  partition,  but  they  w^ere  no  match  for  individual  selfish- 
ness ;  all  means  w  ere  used  to  blind  their  vigilance  and  elude 
their  commands. 

As  if  to  add  to  the  difficulties  of  this  retreat^  Napoleon,  in  his 
irritation  against  the  Russians,  issued  a  cfuel  order,  which  the 
French  writers  themselves  have  been  forward  to  condemn.  He 
directetl  that  all  tbe  houses  on  the  line  of  march  shouhl  b*^  Inimetl 
do  wn .  M  ar shal  Da vou  s  t,  w  ho  c  om  ra  anded  the  rear-gu  ard  ^  a  nd  w  ho 
on  this  occasion,  as  on  every  otl^pr.  showed  himself  a  consummate 
genera],  carried  out  these  instructions  witl;  pitiless  rigour.  De- 
tachments sent  out  to  the  right  and  left,  as  far  as  the  pi^rsuit  of 
the  e)[iemj  allowed  them,  set  on  fire  the  chateau3(:  and  the 
villages.  The  result  was  mainly  to  drive  the  Russian  peasants 
to  despair,  and  to  aggravate  the  fate  of  the  wounded  and  tjie 
prisoners  who  fell  into  their  hands. 

'  The  sight  of  this  destructiont*  so  writes  M*  de  Fczonsac,  *  -^^b  by 
m  latiana  the  most  paiuM  of  thq^o  which  mot  oi^-  eyes.  There  was 
marching  in  front  of  us  a  coli)mn  of  Eusjiiau  prisoners  guarded  hj 
troops  from  the  Confederation  of  the  Bhine.  Nothing  was  given  out 
to  tueae  poor  men  for  food  except  a  little  horseflesh  ;  and  tho  soldiers 
of  the  guard  dashed  ont  the  brainB  of  those  who  could  roarch  no 
further*  We  fannd  their  corpses  lying  on  our  route,  and  all  with 
shattered  heads.     In  justice  to  the  soldi ers  of  my  regitnent  I  must 

Rocdare  tliat  the  sight  filled  them  with  indignation*     Moreover,  they  saw 
J  whu.t  cruel  repiisals  this  barhairous  system  might  expose  them.' 
Under  these  adverse  circumstances  we  need  not  he  surprised 
>  find  M,  de  Fexensac  assuring  us  that,  even  in  the  first  days, 
this  retreat  hore  many  symptoms  of  a  rout     The  divisions  in 
the  front  pressed  forward  every  morning,  leaving  their  haggage  to 
follow  as  it  could  ;  and  thus  the  rear-guard  had  to  protect  and 
fend  the  whole  of  an  enormous  convoy.    Bridges,  which  broke 

Y  2  i^QTWTX 


814 


The  French  Heirmtfram  Moioew, 


down  under  the  weight,  liaci  to  be  repaired ;  obstacles,  as  __ 
gtithereti  on  a  narrow  road,  had  to  be  cleared  away.  It  had 
been  desig^ned  that  the  cavaliT,  onder  General  Grouchy,  should 
support  this  covering-  body,  but  its  horses  were  so  weak  for  want  of 
forai^e,  and  its  numbers  dwindled  so  fast,  that  it  could  render  no 
active  service,  and  Marshal  Davoust  sent  it  forwanl,  maintaining 
the  rear  with  his  infantry  alone.  He  had  reason  to  remember 
the  retort  which  General  Nan  sou  ty  had  made  to  the  King-  of 
Naples  (Murat),  when,  even  in  the  advance  upon  Moscow, 
Murat  complained  of  some  remissness  in  a  cavalry  charge — 
*Our  horses  have  no  patriotism.  The  soldiers  fight  without 
bread,  but  the  horses  insist  on  oats  I ' 

Nor  was  it  the  cavalry  only.  Since  the  draught-horses  also 
began  to  fail,  it  became  necessary,  hour  by  hcrnr,  to  blow  mp 
tumbrils  of  artillery,  or  to  abandon  carts  piled  w^ith  liaggage 
and  widi  wonnded.  The  soldiers  of  the  rear-guard,  who  were 
themselves  strnck  down,  had  a  grievous  fate  before  them,  since 
in  their  position  a  wounil  was  almost  equivalent  to  death.  It 
was  heartrending  to  hear  these  poor  men,  with  loud  cries, 
entreat  their  comrades  at  least  to  despatch  them  as  they  fell, 
nither  than  leave  them  to  linger  and  perish,  without  aid,  or  until 
rnn  through  by  a  Cossack  lance. 

Napoleon  himself  took  no  heed  of  their  calamities.  Pro- 
foundly mortified  at  the  compelled  retreat,  which  there  was  no 
longer  any  si«3e-march  to  conceal,  he  journeyed  in  front  sur- 
roundetl  by  his  guard,  and  shut  up  in  his  hndau^  with  the  chief 
of  his  Staff,  Marshal  IJerthien  He  gave  no  perstinal  impulse  nor 
direction  to  the  march,  and  contented  himself  with  blaming 
Davoust,  who,  he  said,  was  over -methodical  and  moved  too 
slowly. 

Amidst  these  growing  difficulties  three  tmlsome  marches 
brought  the  Grande  Jtrmee  to  Mojaisk.  Thus  far  the  days  bad 
continued  fine,  though  the  nights  had  begun  to  be  frosty  ;  and 
on  their  way  the  troops  were  rejoined  by  Mortier's  division  from 
Moscow.  Mojaisk  itself  could  yield  them  no  resources.  That 
ill-fated  little  town  had  been  burned,  and  its  inhabitants  had 
fled.  The  troops,  therefore,  bivouacked  in  the  open  air,  skirting, 
as  they  passeci,  the  pkin  of  Borodino,  Several  officers  rode 
over  to  revisit  the  field  of  battle;  they  found  it,  indeetl,  a 
ghastly  scene.  In  that  thinly-peopled  region,  laid  waste  alter- 
nately by  friend  and  foe,  scarce  any  peasants  had  remained  to 
fulfil  the  duty  of  interment,  and  the  slain  of  both  armies  were 
Btitl  lying  where  they  had  fallen,  half-decomposed  by  the  lapse 
of  time,  or  half-devoured  by  the  birds  and  beasts  of  prey.  Not 
loss  dismal  than  the  scene  itself  were  the  redections  which  it 

could 


The  French  Retreat  from  Moscow,  315 

could  not  fail  to  inspire.  Here  then  the  French  army,  by  its 
own  account,  had  lost  thirty  thousand  men  in  killed  and  wounded. 
Here,  then,  they  had  perished — and  all  for  what  result?  Only 
that  their  surviving  comrades,  after  a  few  weeks  at  Moscow, 
should  march  back  as  they  came  ]  Only  for  present  grief  and 
impending  ruin  I 

^  At  Krasnoi,  where  one  corps  d'armh  encamped  the  same 
nig-ht,  the  spectacle  was  still  more  affltctingf.  It  was  a  large 
monastic  establishment,  which  the  French  had  converted  into  a 
hospital  after  their  Borodino  battle.  But  such  was  the  improvi- 
dence of  their  chiefs  as  they  marched  onwards  to  Moscow,  that, 
as  M.  de  Fezensac  assures  us,  they  had  left  the  sick  without 
medicines  J  nay,  even  without  food.  It  was  with  great  difficulty 
that  some  scanty  supplies  were  from  time  to  time  gleaned  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  that  several  convoys  of  convalescents  were 
despatched  to  Smolensk,  But  many  more  had  perished,  and 
many  yet  remained.  *  1  rescued  three  men  belonging  to  my  own 
regiment,'  says  Fezensac,  *  but  I  found  it  very  hard  to  make  my 
way  to  them  in  their  neglected  state,  since  not  only  the  staircases 
and  the  corridors,  but  even  the  centre  of  the  rooms,  were  piled 
up  with  every  kind  of  ordure/ 

Energetic  orders  were  now  issued  by  Napoleon  for  the  trans- 
port of  all  among  those  who  could  hear  removal,  being  about 
fifteen  hundred  in  number.  It  was  directed  that  every  baggage- 
cart,  and  even  every  private  carriage  from  Moscow,  should  take 
up  one  at  least  of  these  disabled  men.  By  such  means  their 
removal  was  in  the  first  instance  secured,  but  the  conveyances 
in  question  were  already  overloaded,  while  the  strength  of  the 
draught-horses  bad  rapidly  declined, 

Smolensk  was  now  looked  to  by  the  troops  as  the  term  of  all 
their  sufferings  and  losses.  There  it  was  thought  they  would 
find  ample  supplies ;  there  they  might  expect  to  take  up  winter^ 
quarters.  But  from  Smolensk  they  were  still  divided  by  eight 
or  nine  laborious  marches,  through  a  country  almost  destitute 
of  resources,  as  having  been  laid  waste  by  themselves  in  their 
advance.  Nor  was  the  Russian  army  at  this  time  inactive. 
Marshal  Kutusof  had  in  the  first  instance  been  deceived  as  to 
the  direction  of  the  French  retreat,  but  he  was  now  hanging 
on  the  flank  of  the  invaders  by  a  side-march  of  his  own  to 
Medoum;  and  he  had,  besides  the  Cossacks,  despatched  a  strong 
division  under  one  of  his  best  officer^  General  Mtloradowltch, 
which  was  well  provided  with  artillery,  and  was  prepared  to 
engage  the  French  rear-guard  day  by  day. 

It  was  under  such  adverse  circumstances  that  the  first  WTp% 
d^armee^  which  still  ibrmed  the  French  rear,  resumed  its  harass^ 


• 


319 


T%9  Ji'fTnck  BHradfrom  Moscom, 


ing  tlutiesp  On  ibf!  31st  of  October  il  ttiarcliec!  half  waj  10 
Ghjiit,  on  the  lit  of  November  to  Ghjiit  itself*  Nejil  momiiig 
it  WFis  again  in  motion  towards  Smolensk.  Afartbal  I>siijttft| 
dcfititutt;  of  cavalrTt  but  cotiGdiog  in  hi$  vetcrma  f<30tp«ililta% 
eotiti  tilled  to  sbow^t  ^  tbejr  did,  a  truly  hei^ie  Arinnesa,  EkA 
dtiy  tbey  bad  to  repel  the  impetuouB  charge  oC  J^Iiloradowitii 
c^acb  evening  to  endure  tbe  privation  of  resi  anil  of  fotid.  Oq 
tbc  1st  there  was  a  more  especial  accumulation  at  tbe  pasttifv 
of  a  small  but  .slimy  river  and  morass,  where  tbe  briJgv  hid 
broken  down^  It  was  necessary  for  the  troops  to  tnatiitaiil  dii 
conflict  while  the  sappers  re-established  tbe  bridge.  All  tbit 
night  Marshal  Davoust,  with  his  generals  and  thm  aoklieff  a( 
Ger&nl's  DlvisioOf  remained  on  foot^  without  eating  or  aleepiagi 
to  protect  the  rear  of  the  rttreatiBg  armyt 

Nr^t  day  there  was  a  mort  fOlerol  engagement,  in  whieh  tbe 
corp^  ftarnnk  of  Prinoa  £llflll8  and  of  Marshal  Nej  also  iMih 
part*     The  French  remftinad  vittoriani,  hut   wit^    il^   Iosa  of 
fifteen  or  eighteen  hundred  of  their  liest  veteram.      And  on  tfe 
evening  of  that  well-fought  day  what  refreshment  vraa   in  stoii 
for  them  after  all  their  toils  and  dangers?     Let  M.  Xhiers  haa 
reply*      *  When  they  entered  the  town  of  Wiasma  thoy  fotiml 
means  of  subsistence*     The  guard  and  the  corps  wliich 
first  had  devoured  everything.     Of  tbe  provision*   brou^h 
Moscow^  there  was  nothing  left     In  a  cold  and  dark  njirht  their 
esthatisted   men   cast  themselves  down   at  the   edf^    of   the  fir     ' 
forests  ;  they  lit  targe  iires,  and  they  roasted  some  horae-^flesh  m 
the  blase.^  J 

M<»reaTer,  there  had  now  begufi  to  be  in  the  midst  of  ibcii^H 
selves — and    it   continued   to   increase    through    tlie    retrrat^^^PV 
mingled  mass  of  dtibanded  men ;  ea%'alry  soldiers  w^Iio  had  los£     1 
their  horses,  infantry  soldiers  who  had  flung  away  their  tnuskets^ 
men  from  almost  every  service  and  almost  every  country,  now 
rendered  desperate  and  callous  by  famine,    T*heir  sole  remaining 
care  was  to  provide  by  any  m^ins  fur  their  ]>ersonai  safety*^  and, 
far  from   continuing  to  protect  the  rear^guard,  they  had  them- 
selves to  be  protected  by  it. 

Thus  beset  and  close  pressed,  the  first  corps,  which  had  72,0<)0 
m«?n  under  arms  when  it  crossed  the  Nlcmcn,  which  had  still 
28,(>fK)  when  it  Irft  Moscow,  had  dwindled  to  15,CKX>.  The 
other  ctjrps  were  also  much  rciluced,  though  not  as  yet  in  the 
same  proportion.  It  was  obvious  that  the  army  was  now  drawing 
along  three  or  four  times  more  cannon  than,  with  its  diminished 
numbers,  it  could  ever  use  in  action;  and  Marshal  I>avotut 
applied  to  the  Emperor  for  permission  to  leave  behind  the  auper- 
fluous  pieces  of  artillery ^  in  proportion  as  the  horses  failed^     Bu& 

this 


rs  htm 

It  {turn    1 
It  their     I 


TkB  French  E&treatf/vfn  MoscotiS. 


317 


be  pride  of  Napoleon  forbade — bj  no  means  tbe  only  instance 
"in  which  his  indomitable  spirit  proved  injurious  to  the  welfarej 
nay,  even  to  the  jireservation  of  his  troops.  Instead  of  canmm, 
therefore,  the  bag'g'affe-carts  with  the  sick  and  wounded  had  to  be 
relinquished  hour  after  hour,  while  the  tumbrils  of  ammunitioa 
more  and  more  fretjuently  had  to  he  blown  into  the  air. 

Napoleon  himself  saw  nothing  at  this  time  of  the  real  difFi- 
culties  of  the  retreat  Remaining  a  daj's  march  in  advance,  io 
the  midst  of  his  guard,  he  was  there  for  the  mtmt  part,  as  Mi 
Thiers  describes  him^  seated  in  his  carriage^  entre  Berthier  mn^ 
§i&mi  €t  Murat  eteini.  Sometimes  he  passeil  whole  hours  without 
utteritig  a  word,  absorbed  in  his  own  painful  thoughts  ;  and 
he  commonljr  replied  to  the  various  representations  of  Marshal 
Davoust  hj  a  general  order  to  march  more  rapidly.  He  per- 
sisted, sajs  M.  Thiers,  in  finding  fanlt  with  the  rear-guard 
instead  of  going  himself  to  direct  its  operations. 

It  was  partly,  then,  as  dissatisfied,  however  unreasonably,  with 
the  conduct  of  the  first  corps,  and  partly  as  taking  into  account 
Its  exhausted  state,  that  the  Emperor  now  determined  to  withdraw 
it  into  the  main  body  of  his  forces,  committing  tlie  defence  of 
the  rear  in  its  place  to  the  third  corps,  umler  Marshal  Ney. 
In  that  corps  the  fourth  regiment  of  the  line,  commanded  by 
Fezensac,  came  td  occupy  the  post  of  the  greatest  danger  and 
flifficuhy  as  the  very  last  of  the  rear-guatd- 

This  was  on  the  4th  of  Noremben 

*  Before  the  break  of  day  next  morning/  eays  FezensnCj '  the  tMrd 
corps  was  cidled  to  arms,  and  prepared  to  inarch*  At  that  time  all 
the  BoldicTB  who  had  dinbaudcd  Itft  their  bivouacs,  and  came  to  join 
uB,  Thoee  among  them  who  were  sick  or  wounded  Imgered  nuar  the 
firesj  imploring  us  not  to  leave  them  in  the  enomy^s  hands.  W©  had 
no  means  of  transport  for  them,  and  we  were  obliged  to  pretend  not 
to  hear  the  wailings  of  those  we  were  unable  to  relieve*  As  for  tho 
boop  of  wretches  who  had  deserted  their  standards,  althmigh  still 
able  to  bear  anus,  I  ordered  them  to  be  repulsed  i\ith  the  butt  ends  of 
bur  nmsfcotft ;  and  I  forewarned  them  that,  in  the  cvciit  of  the  enemj^'e 
attack}  1  would  have  them  fired  upon  if  they  caused  tis  the  BmaliesI 
obstruction/ 

On  that  same  day,  the  Sth,  Napoleon,  with  the  vanguar4 
reached  the  small  town  of  Dorogobuje-  There  he  was  assailed 
by  cares  of  a  differ  cut  kind.  He  received  despatches  from  Paris 
announcing-  the  strange  conspiracy  of  Malet^ — how  an  officer  in 
prison  could  escape  one  night  from  his  place  of  detention^ 
Could  succeed  in  all  the  preliminary  steps  of  revolution,  could 
seize  in  their  betls  both  General  Savary^  the  Minister  of  Police^ 
and  General  Htilin^   the  mmmandaid  of  the  city,   and   could 


318  The  French  Retreat  frcm  Moteow. 

seem  on  the  point  of  raising  the  flag  of  a  new  republic.  '  MaU 
quoiP  exclaimed  Napoleon  several  times  after  he  had  heard  these 
news ;  ^onne  songeait  done  jku  a  monjils^  a  mafemme^  atix  inUitur 
tions  de  F Empire  T  And  after  each  exclamation  he  relapsed 
again,  says  M.  Thiers,  into  his  painful  thoughts,  reflected  and 
declared  in  his  moody  countenance. 

The  receipt  of  the  same  intelligence  a  few  days  later  hj  some 
of  the  Emperor's  suite  is  very  graphically  told  by  M.  de  Baosset 
His  memoirs,  indeed,  display  a  curious  contrast  to  all  others 
of  the  same  place  or  period,  coming  forth  with  flashes  of 
merriment  in  the  midst  of  the  darkest  gloom.  He  informs  us 
that  on  the  morning  of  the  8tb,  still  two  marches  from  Smolensk, 
he  found  that  during  the  night  three  of  his  carriage-horses  had 
been  stolen,  and,  as  he  supposed,  already  eaten  by  the  soldiers. 
He  bought  some  others  to  supply  their  place,  but  this  openitioa 
delayed  him,  and  he  did  not  rejoin  head-quarters  till  the  most 
interesting  moments  of  the  day  were  passed. 

*  Les  officiers  do  la  Maison  Imp^riale  achevaient  de  diner.  Je  m'etais 
assis,  ot  me  disposals  k  reparor  le  temps  perdu,  lorsque  le  Grand  Mar6- 
ehal  (Doroc,  Duo  de  Frioul),  qui  m'ayait  fait  placer  pr^  de  lui,  me 
parla  des  nouvelles  que  TeBtafetto  venait  d'apporter.  Mais  la  politiqae 
ne  m'occupait  guere.  H  etait  question  do  la  conspiration  de  Malet, 
de  rarrestation  du  Ministre  de  la  Police  et  du  Prcfet  de  Police.  Je 
croyais  que  le  Grand  Mar^chal  inventait  ces  nouvelles  pour  donner 
le  change  a  la  faim  qui  me  consumait,  car  j'ctais  encore  a  jeQn  a  sept 
hoiircs  du  soir.  Je  lui  repondis  en  riant  que  le  tonnerre  tomb4t-il  a 
cote  do  moi,  jo  no  perdrais  pas  nn  seul  instant  pour  mo  dedommager  de 
la  diete  quo  j'avais  subio  toute  la  joumde.' 

M.  de  Bausset  owns,  however,  that  when  the  newspapers  from 
Paris  were  brought,  and  he  saw  the  true  state  of  the  case,  the 
mouthful s  began  to  stick  in  his  throat. 

We  may  add  that  M.  de  Bausset,  as  (in  every  sense)  a  promi- 
nent member  of  the  Imperial  household,  appears  to  have  been 
well  cared  for,  even  in  the  worst  days  of  the  retreat.  Scarcely 
ever  did  he  fail  to  find  a  corner  at  some  Imperial  table,  or  a  seat 
at  some  Imperial  tratneau.  By  such  means  he  could  resist  even 
a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  at  this  period  most  inopportunely 
assailed  him.  Thus  he  was  enabled  to  return  to  the  Tuileries 
in  good  case ;  and  when  two  days  afterwards  he  appeared  at  the 
Imperial  levee — 

'L'Empereur  mo  fit  beaucoup  do  qucBtions  sur  la  maniere  dont 
j'avais  quitte  rarmee,  ot  me  dit,  en  souriant  avec  amertume,  que  j  etais 
probablement  lo  soul  qui  n*eilt  pas  maigri  dans  cette  longuo  retraite.' 

Meanwhile,  the   French  corps  darm^Cy  front  and  rear,   were 

eagerly 


The  Frmch  Retreat  from  Moscow. 


319 


eagerij  pressing  forward  to  Smolensk.  They  had,  as  we  have  seen, 
suiTereil  much  from  privations  of  food  and  of  rest,  from  the 
burned-out  peasantry^  and  the  ever-vigilant  Cossacks,  But  the 
worst  of  their  enemies  was  still  to  come.  On  the  4th  of  November 
there  fell  the  first  flakes  of  snow*  On  the  5th  their  quantity 
augmented^  On  the  6th  they  g^rew  to  a  storm,  and  the  fjround 
assumed  for  the  season  its  winter  robe  of  white.  Sir  Robert 
Wilson,  then  at  the  Russian  head-quarters,  describes  as  having 
first  arisen  on  the  6th  'that  raxar-cutting  wind  which  hardened 
the  snow,  and  made  it  sparkle  as  it  fell  like  small  diamonds, 
whilst  the  air,  under  the  effect  of  its  contracting  action,  was 
lilled  with  a  continual  ringing  sound ;  and  the  atmosphere 
seemed  to  be  rarefied  till  it  became  quite  brisk  and  brittle/ 

The  sufle rings  of  the  French  soldiers,  long-tried  and  exhausted 
as  they  were^  now  became  wellnigb  uneudurable, 

?   *  At  a  late  hour  of  the  7th,*  says  K*  de  FezenBac,  '  wo  reached  the 

open  plain  in  front  of  Dorogohujo,  It  was  by  far  the  coldest  night 
that  wo  ha<l  felt  as  yet ;  tho  snow  waa  ftilling  thickly,  and  the  violence 
of  tho  wind  was  Kiich  that  no  light  cotdd  be  kindled  :  besides  that,  tho 
heather  amidst  which  wo  lay  would  have  afforded  U6  hut  scanty  materials 
for  bivouac  fires/ 

In  this  march,  as  in  every  other  during  this  part  of  the  retreat, 
Marshal  Ney  had  set  his  troops  the  most  gallant  eatample ; 
always  among  the  hindmost,  here  the  post  of  danger ;  often  with 
a  soldier's  musket  in  his  band  ;  and  not  only,  like  Marshal 
Davoust,  unshaken  in  firmness,  but  unlike  him,  ever  cheerful, 
light-hearted,  and  serene.  Next  morning,  with  the  aid  of  another 
wrjm  (farmic^  he  endeavoured  to  heild  Dorogohuje  for  the  day 
with  the  rear-guard,  so  as  to  allow  tlie  corps  in  advance  some 
time  to  save  their  artillery  and  baggage.  But  he  found  himself 
sharply  assailed  by  the  infantry  of  MiloradowitcL  The  enemy 
took  the  bridge  across  the  Dnieper,  and  forced  another  post  of 
Ney  in  front  of  the  church.  The  French^  after  their  night 
without  food  or  fire,  had  to  maintain  the  conflict  knee-deep  in 
the  snow.  By  a  bold  charge  they  recovered  the  lost  posts,  but 
CQuId  not  maintain  them,  and  found  it  necessary  to  continue  their 
retreat  before  it  was  cut  off*  by  the  Russians, 

With  all  this,  the  long-enduring  soldiers  of  Napoleon,  for 
the  most  part,  did  not  fail  in  firmness,  did  not  fail  in  patience, 
did  not  fail  in  attachment  to  their  chief.  Sir  Robert  Wilson  says 
of  the  French,  whom  he  saw  as  captives,  that  they  could  not  be 
mduced  by  any  temptations,  by  any  threats,  by  any  privations, 
to  cast  reproach  on  their  Emperor  as  the  cause  of  their  misfor- 
tunes and  sufferings.     It  was  *  the  chance  of  war/  '  unavoidable 

difficulties,* 


82Q  The  French  Retreat  from  Mosoom. 

difficulties/  and  *  destiny,'  but  *  not  the  fault  of  Napoleon.'  *Thc 
famished/  adds  Sir  Robert,  ^  dying  of  hunger,  refused  food 
rather  than  utter  an  injurious  word  against  their  chief  to  indulge 
and  humour  vindictive  inquirers/ 

But  how  terrible  the  fate  of  these  brave  captives,  as  Sir  Robert 
Wilson  proceeds  to  relate  it  I 

*  All  prisoners  were  immediatelj  and  intariAblj  stripped  stark  naked 
and  marched  in  colnmns  in  that  state,  or  tortied  adrift  to  be  the  sport 
and  the  victims  of  the  peasantry,  who  would  tiot  always  let  ihem,  aM 
they  sought  to  do,  point  and  hold  the  mnzsles  of  the  guns  against  their 
own  heads  or  hearts  to  terminate  their  sufferings  in  the  most  certain 
and  expeditious  manner ;  for  the  peasantry  thought  that  this  mitigatioi) 
of  torture  would  be  an  offenoe  against  the  avenging  Gk>d  of  Bnssiay  and 
deprive  them  of  His  further  ptotection.' 

Sir  Robert  Wilson  pf5cieeds  td  give  Sdttie  t>arttculat  instAllcdf^ 
more  life-like  and  appalling  perhaps  than  can  be  any  geilefal 
description,  however  clear  and  precise.  One  day,  as  he  Iras 
riding  forward  with  Genenll  Miloradowitch  and  his  staff  on  the 
high  road,  about  a  mile  from  Wiasma,  they  found  a  crowd  of 
peasant-women  with  sticks  in  their  hahds,  hopping  round  a  felled 
pine-tree,  on  each  side  of  which  lay  about  sixty  naked  prisoners 
prostrate,  but  with  their  heads  on  the  tree,  which  these  furies 
were  striking  in  accompaniment  to  a  national  air  or  song,  yelled 
by  them  in  concert,  while  several  hundred  armed  peasants  were 
quietly  looking  on  as  guardians  of  the  direful  orgies.  When  the 
cavalcade  approached,  the  sufferers  uttered  piercing  shrieks,  and 
kept  incessantly  crying,  '  La  mort^  la  mort^  la  mort  I  * 

Another  afternoon,  whon  Sir  Robert  was  on  the  march  with 
General  Beningsen,  they  fell  in  with  a  column  of  700  naked 
prisoners  under  a  Cossack  escort.  This  column,  according  to 
the  certificate  given  on  starting,  had  consisted  of  1250  men,  and 
the  commandant  stated  that  he  had  twice  renewed  it,  as  the 
original  party  dropped  off,  from  the  prisoners  he  collected  en 
route,  and  that  he  was  then  about  completing  his  number  again. 

The  meeting  with  this  last  miserable  convoy  was  marked  by 
one  strange  act  of  cold-blooded  ferocity  which  Sir  Robert  has 
related.  He  tells  it  of  a  Russian  officer  '  of  high  titular  rank/ 
without  mentioning  the  name,  but  from  a  note  preserved  among 
his  papers  we  learn  that  it  was  no  other  than  the  heir  presump- 
tive to  the  Crown,  the  Grand  Duke  Constantino.  Sir  Robert 
says  that  in  this  group  of  naked  prisoners  was  a  young  man  who 
kept  a  little  aloof  from  the  main  band,  and  who  attracted  notice 
by  his  superior  appearance.  The  Grand  Duke,  after  entering 
into  some  conversation  with  him  about  his  country,  rank,  and 

capture, 


The  Frmich  Bdrmtfrmi  MmcQW. 

capture,  asked  liim  if  he  did  not^  under  preseot  circumstances^ 
wish  for  death  ?  '  Yes/  said  the  unhappy  man,  *  I  da,  if  1  cannot 
be  rescued «  for  1  know  1  must  in  a  lew  hours  perish  by  hunger 
or  by  the  Cossack  lance^  as  1  hare  seen  so  many  hundreds  of  my 
eomradei  do  Ix-fure  me-  There  are  tlioae  in  France  who  will 
lament  my  fate ;  and  for  their  sake  1  should  wish  to  retuni. 
But  if  that  be  imposaiblej  the  sooner  this  ignominy  and  auffcringr 
are  over  the  better/  To  this  the  Grand  Duke  calmly  answered 
that  from  tbe  bottom  of  his  heart  he  pitied  the  other's  fate,  but 
that  aid  for  his  preservation  was  impossible;  if,  bow  evert  be 
really  wished  to  die  at  once  and  w^ould  lie  down  on  his  back, 
he,  the  Grand  Duke,  to  give  proof  of  the  interest  he  took  in 
him,  would  himself  inflict  tbe  death*blow  on  bis  throat  I 

Geneml  Bcnin^sen  was  then  at  some  little  distance  in  front^ 
but  Sir  Robert  Wilson,  who  had  stopped  to  bear  the  conversa- 
tion, ventured  to  remonstrate  with  bis  Imperial  Hig^hness  an  the 
rery  peculiar  proof  of  interest  which  he  offered  to  give,  urging 
tbf!  absolute  necessity  of  saving  the  unfortuhate  French  offieerj 
after  having  excited  hopes  by  engaging  in  a  discourse  with  him. 
Sir  Robert  found,  however,  that  die  Grand  Duke  had  no  inclina- 
tion to  relinquish  his  first  idea;  upon  which  he  eagerly  spurred 
forward  to  overtake  and  bring  back  General  Bemngsen,  But, 
happening  to  turn  round  before  he  could  reach  the  General,  he 
saw  bis  Imperial  Highness,  who  had  dismounted,  strike  with  his 
sabre  a  blow  at  the  French  officer  tliat  nearly  severed  the  head 
from  the  body*  Nor,  adds  Sir  Robert,  could  the  Grand  Duke 
ever  afterwards  be  made  to  understand  that  he  bad  done  a  rei^rc- 
hensible  thing.  He  defended  it  by  the  motive  and  by  the  relief 
which  he  had  aflbrded  to  the  sufferer,  there  being  no  means  to 
&avo  him^  and,  if  there  had  been^  no  man  daring  to  employ  them. 

Such  was  an  early  and  no  doubt  sufficient  token  of  that  in -bom 
ferocity  of  temper  which  many  years  afterwards  Constantine 
more  clearly  brought  to  light  as  Governor  of  Poland,  and  which 
rendered  necessary  even  to  bis  own  pcrce[)tion'  bis  resignation 
of  his  hereditary  rights  as  eventual  successor  to  tbe  throne. 

Far  different,  nay,  directly  opposite,  were  tlie  sentiments  of 
Alexander*  When  he  received  accounts  from  General  Wilson 
and  others  of  the  frequent  atrocities  and  various  modes  of  torture 
practised  by  the  peasantry,  the  Emperor  at  once  by  an  express 
courier  transmitted  an  order  forbidding  all  such  acts  under  the 
severest  threats  of  hts  displeasure  and  punishment-  At  tbe  same 
time  he  directed  that  a  ducat  in  gold  should  lie  paid  for  every 
prisoner  delivered  up  by  peasant  or  soldier  to  any  civil  authority 
for  safe  custody*  Tbe  decree  was  most  humane  and  well  worthy 
Alexander's  just  renown  ;  yet  m  too  many  cases  it  remained  only 

a  dead 


The  French  Bdreatfrom  Matecw. 

a  dead  letter.  The  conductors,  as  Sir  Robert  informs  us,  were 
frequently  offered  a  higher  price  to  surrender  their  charge  as 
victims  to  private  vengeance.  Nor  could  the  rage  of  the  pea- 
santry be  at  once  restrained.  How,  indeed,  expect  mercy  from 
men  whose  wives  and  children  were  at  diat  time  wandering 
helpless  on  the  snow,  their  houses  burned  down  perhaps  by  these 
very  soldiers  in  consequence  of  Napoleon's  command?  Then  it 
was  that  the  utter  impolicy  of  that  command  to  set  on  fire  all 
the  villages  in  the  line  of  retreat,  its  impolicy  as  well  as  its 
signal  cruelty,  grew  manifest  to  alL 

In  this  tremendous  retreat  more  compassion  was  occasionally 
shown  by  dogs  than  by  men : — 

<  Innnmerablo  dogs/  thus  writes  Sir  Bobert  Wilson,  *  oronched  on 
the  bodies  of  their  former  masters,  looking  in  their  flEtces,  and  howling 
their  hunger  and  loss.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  were  tearing  the  still 
living  flesh  from  the  feet,  hands,  and  limbs  of  still  living  wretches 
who  could  not  defend  themselves,  and  whose  torment  was  still  greater 
as  in  many  cases  their  consciousness  and  senses  remained  unimpaired.' 

One  particular  instance  is  added.  At  the  commencement  of 
the  retreat,  at  a  village  near  Selino,  a  detachment  of  fifty  French 
had  been  surprised.  The  peasants  resolved  to  bury  them  alive 
in  a  pit;  a  drummer-boy  bravely  led  the  devoted  party  and 
sprang  into  the  grave.  A  dog  belonging  to  one  of  the  victims 
could  not  be  secured.  Every  day  this  dog  went  to  the  neigh- 
bouring camp  and  came  back  with  a  bit  of  food  in  his  mouth  to 
sit  and  moan  over  the  newly-turned  earth.  It  was  a  fortnight 
before  he  could  be  killed  by  the  peasants,  who  were  afraid  of 
discovery.  *  They  showed  me  the  spot,'  adds  Wilson,  *  and 
related  the  occurrence  with  exultation,  as  though  they  had  per- 
formed a  meritorious  deed.' 

Ghastly,  most  ghastly,  must  have  been  the  line  of  the  French 
retreat,  as  the  notes  of  Sir  Robert  describe  it : — 

'  From  that  time  the  road  was  strewed  with  guns,  tumbrils,  equipages, 
men,  and  horses ;  for  no  foraging  parties  could  quit  the  high-road  in 
search  of  provisions ;  and  consequently  the  debility  hourly  increased. 
Thousands  of  horses  soon  lay  groaning  on  the  route,  with  great  pieces 
of  flesh  cut  off  their  necks  and  most  fleshy  parts  by  the  passing  sol- 
diery for  food ;  whilst  thousands  of  naked  wretches  were  wandering 
like  spectres  who  seemed  to  have  no  sight  or  sense,  and  who  only  kept 
reeling  on  till  frost,  famine,  or  the  Cossack  lance  put  an  end  to  their 
power  of  motion.  In  that  wretched  state  no  nourishment  could  have 
saved  them.  There  were  continual  instances,  even  amongst  the  Bus* 
sians,  of  their  lying  down,  dozing,  and  dying  within  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  after  a  little  bread  had  been  supplied.' 

Wc  should  observe  that  it  was  not  only  from  want  of  forage  or 

from 


The  French  Retreat  from  Mmcow. 


323 


froro  fatigae  that  snch  numbers  of  French  horses  fell.  There  was 
also  another  cause  pointeil  out  with  exultation  by  their  enemy. 
Thus,  on  the  morning  of  the  Sth,  on  coming:  to  the  first  bivouac 
which  the  French  had  left,  some  Cossacks  in  attendance  on  Sir 
Robert  Wilson,  seeing  a  gun  and  se%*eral  tumbrils  at  the  bottom 
of  a  ravine  with  the  horses  lying  on  the  ground,  dismounted,  and, 
taking  up  the  feet  of  several,  hallooed,  and  ran  to  kiss  Sir  Ro- 
ben*s  knees  and  horse,  making  all  the  while  fantastic  gestures 
like  crasey  men.  When  their  ecstasy  had  a  little  subsided,  they 
pointed  to  the  horses*  shoes,  and  said,  'God  has  made  Napoleon 
forget  that  there  is  a  winter  in  our  country.  In  spite  of  Kutusof 
the  enemy's  bones  shall  remain  in  Russia/ 

It  was  soon  ascertained  that  the  needful  precaution  of  roughing 
bad  been  neglected  with  all  the  horses  of  the  Imperial  army, 
except  only  those  of  the  Polish  corps  and  also  the  Emperors 
own,  which  Coulaincourt  {Duke  de  Vicence),  under  whom 
was  that  departmentj  had,  with  due  foresight,  always  kept  rough- 
shod according  to  the  Russian  usage. 

Such  is  the  positive  statement  of  Sir  Robert  Wilson,  who  Avas 
upon  the  spot  at  the  time.  But  it  is  only  just  to  observe  that 
there  are  some  remarks  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  which  point 
to  an  exactly  opposite  conclusion  i — 

*  *  Then  wc  are  told  that  the  loss  was  occaHionod  becauBG  the  French 
horses  were  not  rough -shod.  .  ^  ,  But  the  excuse  is  not  founded  in 
:&ct.  Those  who  have  followed  a  French  army  well  know  that  their 
horses  are  always  rough-shod.  It  is  the  common  modo  of  shoeing 
iLorses  in  France ;  and  in  this  reepoct  a  French  army  ought  to,  and 
would  have,  suffered  less  inooovenieiice  than  any  army  that  ever  wm 
ifcssemhled/ 

As  though  these  manifold  causes  of  distress  did  not  suffice, 
the  French  soldiers  at  this  period  also  suffered  severely  from  the 
want  of  warm  clothes-  When  they  had  inarched  forwartl  in 
the  months  of  July  and  August  the  weather  w^as  extremely  hot* 
They  were  glad  to  leave  stored  up  in  Poland  their  heavy  capotes 
and  their  woollen  trowsers.  They  expected  that  the  care  of 
their  chiefs  would  provide  them  with  winter  necessaries  before 
the  winter  came.  In  that  expectation  they  found  themselves 
deceived.  No  stores  of  comfortable  clothing  met  them  on  their 
homeward  march.  They  had  found,  indeed,  fur-dresses  among 
the  spoils  of  the  burning  capital,  hut  had  for  the  most  part  sold 
thetn  to  their  officers.  Either  therefore  they  had  to  wrap  them* 
selves  in  any  garments,  sometimes  even  female  garments,  which 
they  happened  to  have  brought  from  Moscow,  or  else  to  endure  as 
best  they  might  the  growing  severity  of  the  cold*  On  the  9th  of 
No%'ember  Reaumur's  thermometer  fell  in  that  region  to   12^ 

below 


6H  The  JVvne*  Jlf0ireaifr&m  Mlosoaw. 

below  zero,  equivalent  to  5°  of  Fahrenheit,  and  on  the  12th  to 
J.7^  or  according  to  Fahrenheit  6^,  below  zero.  *Many  men,' 
adds  Sir  Robert  Wilson,  ^  were  frozen  to  death,  and  ^reat  nomben 
had  their  limbs,  noses,  and  cheeks  frozen.' 

With  two  such  facts  before  us — the  neglect  to  rough-shoe  the 
Jiorses  except  those  for  the  Emperor's  use,  and  the  omission  of 
effective  measures  for  the  despatch  in  due  time  of  the  winter 
clothing — we  must  own  ourselves  unable  to  concur  in  the  pane* 
gyrics  on  the  Emperor's  far-sighted  policy,  his  close  attention  to 
details,  and  his  provident  care  for  his  army,  which  are  poured 
forth  by  his  indiscriminate  admirers  oven  as  to  this  campaign. 
That  Napoleon  possessed  these  qualities  in  a  most  eminent  de- 
gree, we  should  be  among  the  last  persons  to  deny.  But  we  must 
be  allowed  to  think  that  he  by  no  means  evinced  these  qualities 
in  the  orders  for  his  Moscow  retreat  It  would  seem  as  if  a  long 
period  of  splendid  successes  and  of  uncontrolled  authority  had  a 
tendency  to  perplex  and  unsettle  even  the  highest  faculties  of 
mind.  How  else  explain  that  Napoleon  showed  so  little  pre- 
science of  the  coming  Russian  winter,  as  though  by  iffnarinff  its 
approach  that  approach  would  be  really  delayed  ? 

We  may  observe  that  the  French  eye-witnesses  describe  the 
horrors  of  this  retreat  in  quite  as  vivid  terms  as  either  the  Russians 
pr  the  English.  Thus  speaks  M.  de  Fezen^c  of  the  period  be- 
tween Dorogobuje  and  Smolensk : — 

*  Since  we  were  at  the  reargumd,  all  the  men  who  left  the  road  in 
quest  of  food  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  whose  pursuit  grow 
day  by  day  more  active.  The  severity  of  the  cold  came  to  augment 
our  difficulties  and  sufferings.  Many  soldiers,  exhausted  wi(h  fatigue, 
flung  away  their  muskots  to  walk  singly.  They  halted  wherever  fliey 
found  a  piece  of  wood  for  burning,  by  which  they  could  cook  a  morsel 
of  horse-flesh  or  a  handful  of  flour,  if,  indeed,  none  of  their  comrades 
came  and  snatched  from  thcni  these  their  sole  rcmai^ing  resources. 
For  our  soldiers,  dying  of  hunger,  took  by  force  from  all  the  dis- 
banded men  whatever  provisions  they  bore,  and  the  latter  might  deem 
themselves  fortunate  if  they  wore  not  also  despoiled  of  their  clothes. 
Thus,  after  having  laid  waste  this  entire  region,  wo  were  now  reduced 
to  destroy  each  other ;  and  this  extreme  course  had  become  a  necessity 
of  war.  It  was  requisite  at  all  hazards  to  preserve  those  Boldiers  who 
had  continued  true  to  their  standard,  and  who  alone  at  the  rearguard 
sustained  the  enemy's  assaults.  As  for  those  disbanded  men  who  no 
longer  belonged  to  any  regiment,  and  could  no  longer  render  any 
pervico,  they  had  no  claim  at  all  on  our  pity.  Under  these  circum- 
ptanccs  the  road  along  which  we  joumcye4  bore  the  likeness  of  a  ^eld 
of  battle.  Soldiers  who  had  resisted  cold  and  fatigue  succumbed  to 
the  torments  of  hunger ;  others  who  had  kept  a  few  provisions  fqund 
themselves  too  much  enfeebled  to  follow  the  march,  and  remained  in 
tlio  enemy's  power.     Some  had  their  limbs  frozen,  and  expired  where 

they 


THe  French  Hf treat  from  Moscow. 


8M 


ihoy  had  dropped  down  on  the  bbow  ;  otliera  fell  asleep  in  TiUiiges 
and  perished  in  the  fiamce  which  their  own  eompanions  had  kindled. 
I  saw  at  Dorogobuje  a  aoklier  of  my  regimeut  upon  whom  destitution 
bad  proiluoarl  tho  same  ejects  m  drunkenness  ;  ho  was  eloeo  to  us 
without  knowing  TIB  again;  he  askiid  us  where  was  his  regimeiit;  h« 
meptioned  hj  name  otLer  BohUer^^^  and  spoke  to  them  as  though  tq 
Btnwigers ;  his  gait  was  tottering,  and  his  looks  were  wild.  Ho  dis- 
uppeared  at  tho  beginning  of  the  action j  and  I  never  saw  him  fligain, 
Several  cajUimercg  and  soldier  a'  wives  belonging  to  tho  regimen  t-a 
which  preceded  us  in  tho  line  of  march  wore  in  onr  midst.  Boveral  of 
these  poor  women  had  a  young  child  to  carry ;  and  notwithstanding 
the  egotiam  then  so  prev^ent  among  ns,  every  one  was  eager  in  ren-i 
dcring  tljora  his  aid.  Our  ilnnn-major  bore  for  a  long  time  an  infant 
m  bis  arms,  I  also  during  several  days  gave  places  to  a  woman  and 
hm  baby  in  a  small  cart  that  I  still  had ;  but  what  could  such  feeblo 
f&uceour  avail  against  so  many  sufterings,  or  could  w^  alleyip.te  th^ 
calamities  which  wo  woro  gondomi^ed  to  sh^iro  ?  * 

Instances  like  thege  of  tenderness  and  kindly  feeling  appear, 
we  think^  doubly  touching,  doubly  admirable,  in  the  midst  of 
such  wide-spread  antl  terrible  woe.  In  a  later  passage  of  his 
journal,  Fez  en  sac  commemorates  the  fate  of  an  officer  of  his 
regiment  %vho  had  married  in  France  before  the  commencement 
of  this  fatal  campaign.  Worn  out  willi  fatigue,  he  was  found 
dead  one  morning  by  the  side  of  a  bivouac-fire,  still  holding  the 
miniature  of  his  wife  close-pressed  upon  bis  heart 

Such,  then,  was  the  march  to  Stnolensk*  Of  that  city,  as  it 
appeared  in  1778  and  continued  till  1812,  a  full  description  may 
be  found  in  Coxc*s  Travels.  He  says  that,  though  by  no  means 
the  most  magnificent,  it  was  by  far  the  most  singular  town  he 
had  ever  seen.  But  to  the  French,  in  November  1812,  the  name 
Ijore  a  fanciful  charm  as  Eldorado  in  old  times  to  the  Spaniards, 
SiDolensk  I  Smolensk  !  was  now  the  general  cry.     Smolensk  was 

supply  all  their  wants ;  Smolensk  was  to  be  the  term  of  their 
retreat*  Every  eye  was  eagerly  strained  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  its  antique  towers,  crowning  its  two  irregular  hills, 
and  emerging  from  the  vast  plains  of  w  intry  snow. 

But  alas  for  these  too  sanguine  hopes  I  From  the  difficulties 
which  had  I  wen  found  of  transport  ^  and  the  want  of  precise 
orders  as  to  the  line  of  homeward  march,  the  magazines  of  this 
city  were  by  no  means  such  as  had  l>een  expected  and  announced. 
They  would  alTortl  resources  for  a  halt  of  d^ys,  but  not  for  a 
sojourn  of  months. 

Napoleon,  at  the  head  of  the  foremost  €Orp.%  reached  Smolensk 
on  the  9th  of  November.  He  gave  orders  that  ample  distribu- 
tions should  he  made  to  bis  Guards,  and  that  the  gates  shoiild  be 
shut  against  the  other  divisions  of  his  army  as  they  came.     But 

it 


i^ 


it  was  found  impossiUte  to  maintain  tlmt  eiclusioa.  The  late 
comers — some  of  whom  had  so  recently  fought  and  bled  and 
endured  every  extremity  of  hardship  for  the  protection  of  their 
vanguaTxl — would  not  bear  to  be  shut  out*  They  burst  through 
the  gates,  and,  finding  no  progress  made  in  the  distribatjons  of 
food  that  were  promised  them,  they  next  broke  open  the  maga- 
zines, '  On  pilk  let  ma^asins!*  was  the  cry  that  now  arose  in 
the  French  ranks.  Every  soldier  rushed  to  the  scene  to  fectu^ 
his  own  part  in  the  plunder.  It  was  some  time  ere  order  eoold 
be  restored,  and  the  remnant  of  provisions  be  saved  for  the  corps 
of  Davoust  and  Frinre  Eugene,  The  rear  under  Ney  was  even 
less  fortunate.  Having  had  on  the  11th  another  fierce  conflict 
to  sustain  against  the  Russians,  it  did  not  appear  before  Smolensk 
till  the  14th.  By  that  time  everything  had  been  wasted  or  tJe- 
T0iired«  *  When  I  went  into  the  city/  says  Fezensae,  *I  could 
find  nothing  at  all  for  my  regiment  or  myself.  We  had  to  resign 
ourselves  to  our  dismal  prospect  of  continuing  our  march  with* 
out  any  distribution  of  ffKnl/ 

At  Smolensk,  however,  Napoleon  roused  himself  from  the 
lethargy  which,  as  M*  Thiers  admits,  seems  to  have  benumbed 
him  during  the  first  days  of  the  retreat  He  made  strenuous 
efforts  to  re-organise  his  army,  but  found  the  main  causes  of  its 
dissolution  beyond  his  control.  The  division  of  Prince  Eugen€% 
marching  a  little  to  the  northward,  had  lost  nearly  all  its  artillery 
at  the  encumbered  and  disastrous  passage  of  a  small  river^ 
the  Vop,  Altogether  380  pieces  of  cannon  had  been  taken  or 
left  behind.  The  fighting  men  in  rank  and  file  were  now  le^s 
than  one-half  of  what  they  had  been  when  the  army  left  Moscow. 
On  tlie  other  hand,  some  reinforcements  appeared  at  Smolensk, 
both  of  horse  and  foot,  belonging  to  the  division  of  General 
Baraguay  d*Hilliers,  and  these  Napoleon  distributed  among  the 
uevern}  corps  so  as  in  some  degree  to  recruit  their  far-diminished 
numbers. 

Beisides  the  argument  to  be  derived  from  the  failing  magazines, 
there  were  i»ther  strong  reasons  against  a  continued  sojourn  at 
Smolensk.  Napoleon  had  received  unfavourable  accounts  from 
both  his  flanks.  On  his  right,  as  it  became  in  bis  homeward 
movement,  the  Russian  General  Wittgenstein  had  repulsed  St» 
Cyr»  had  retaken  Polotsk,  and  was  marching  south.  On  the  left 
the  Russians  had  succeeded  in  concluding  a  peace  with  Turkey, 
«o  that  Admiral  Tchitchakof,  who  commanded  their  army  in 
that  quarter  J  had  become  free  of  his  movements,  and  was  march- 
ing north*  It  was  not  difficult  to  conjecture  whither  tliese  two 
chiefs  were  separately  tend ing.  About  half-way  between  Smolensk 
and  Wiba  rolls  a  wide  river^  the  Eeresina^so  rapid  in  its  stream 


J%6  French  Betreatfrom  Moscow, 


327 


as  not  to  be  readily  congealed  by  the  first  frosts*  The  bridge 
across  that  river,  in  the  line  of  the  French  retreat,  lay  at  the  little 
town  of  Borboivr,  If,  then,  either  Wittgenstein  or  Tchitchakof 
could  reach  this  position  and  seize  it  before  Na|K)leon-— still 
more  if  both  could  be  combined — the  French  -  retreat  would  be 
intercepted,  and  the  French  army,  including  its  Emperor,  might 
be  compelled  to  lay  down  its  arms. 

Conscious  that  there  was  no  time  to  lose  in  continuing  the 
retreat.  Napoleon  set  out  from  Smolensk  on  the  14th  at  the 
head  of  his  Guards.  But  seeing  how  much  the  other  divisions 
which  had  arrived  after  him  stood  in  need  of  rest,  he  gave  orders 
that  they  should  depart  successively  on  the  15th  and  it}th,  while 
Ney,  who  commanded  the  last,  and  had  to  complete  the  evacua- 
tion of  the  city,  should  remain  till  tlie  morning  of  the  17th.  By 
this  system  three  dajs'  march  would  intervene  between  the  front 
of  the  army  and  its  rear*  It  was  a  wise  course  so  far  as  the 
refreshment  of  the  troops  was  concerned,  but  not  judicious  inas- 
much as  it  overlooked  the  fact  that,  by  the  recent  enormous 
losses  of  the  French  army,  the  Russians  had  come  to  exceed  it 
in  numbers.  It  was  not  hard  to  foresee  that  Kutusof,  if  he 
found  his  enemies  thus  disseminated,  would  endeavour  to  cut  off 
their  divisions  in  detail. 

This  is  precisely  what  in  fact  occurred.  Tlie  Russian  army, 
moving  forward  while  the  French  was  taking  rest,  had  advanced 
to  Krasnoi,  two  marches  beyond  Smolensk,  and  occupied  a  strong 
position  on  the  side  of  a  steep  ravine  through  which  the  French 
would  have  to  pass.  When  Napoleon  appeared  at  that  defile,  on 
tJie  afternoon  of  the  15th,  the  Russians  had  not  yet  completed 
their  preparations,  and  allowed  the  French  to  go  through.  But 
when,  on  the  16th,  there  came  up  the  division  of  Prince  Eugene, 
it  was  confronted  by  an  iron  wall  of  soldiers  and  by  ranges  of 
cannon  ready  to  play.  Eugene  charged  these  obstacles  with  his 
nsual  gallantryj  but  without  success  ;  and  he  saw  in  a  short  time 
the  ground  strewed  with  two  thousand  of  his  men  ;  dead  or 
wounded,  it  was  much  the  same,  since  none  of  the  latter  could 
be  moved.  He  found  it  requisite  at  night  to  attempt  a  side- 
march  to  the  right,  avoiding  the  ra\'jne  by  the  plain  along  the 
Dnieper,  and  thus  (his  men  treading  softly  on  the  snow)  he  was 
enabled,  after  heavy  loss,  to  rejoin  the  Emperor  at  Krasnoi. 

The  difficulties  of  this  day  appear  to  have  convinced  Napoleon 
of  the  error  he  had  committed  in  the  dissemination  of  his  army- 
Early  on  the  17th  he  marched  back  from  Krasnoi  to  the  ravine, 
and  drew  out  the  Guards  in  battle-order  ready  to  support  the 
division  of  Davoust.  By  such  aid  Davoust,  though  sharply 
beset,   was  enabled  to  effect   his  junction.     But   both  he,  and 

Vol  123.— iVV  240.  is  Prince 


dS8  ThB  French  Retreat  fnm  Moicaw. 

Prince  Eugene  the  daj  before,  lost  In   that   perilous  pass  the 
greater  part  of  their  remaining  artillery  and  baggage. 

There  was  no  further  time  to  lose.  On  the  14th  the  Reaumur 
thermometer  had  fallen  to  20  degrees  below  zero,  that  is  to  13 
below  zero  of  Fahrenheit  Since  then,  howerer,  there  had  been 
some  remission  of  the  cold,  and  even  some  conrmencement  of 
a  thaw.  It  was  doubtful  whether  the  ice  upon  the  Dnieper 
would  be  firm  enough  to  bear  the  weight  of  cannon  and  baggage, 
or  eren  of  horses  and  mea  It  became  therefore  of  primary 
importance  to  secure  the  bridge  across  that  river  at  the  little 
town  of  Orcha,  and  in  the  due  line  of  the  retreat  Orcha  was 
two  marches  from  Krasnoi,  and  the  Russians,  of  whom  a  large 
body  was  already  in  movement  towards  that  post,  would  un- 
doubtedly seize  and  hold  it  unless  they  were  anticipated  by  the 
French. 

In  this  exigency.  Napoleon  set  forth  in  all  haste  at  the  head  of 
his  Guards,  and  he  did  succeed  in  reaching  Orcha  in  sufficient 
time.  He  left  to  Marshal  Davoust  two  orders  ;  the  one  to  keep 
close  to  Mortier,  who  commanded  the  hindmost  division  of  the 
Guards ;  the  other  to  support  and  sustain  the  advance  of  Marshal 
Ney.  These  orders  were  in  fact  contradictory,  and  Napoleon 
must  have  felt  that  they  were  so,  but  he  was  unwilling  to  take 
upon  himself  in  explicit  terms  the  terrible  responsibility  of 
leaving  to  their  fate  Marshal  Ney  and  the  whole  rearguard. 
Davoust,  in  this  choice  of  difficulties,  deemed  it — and  he  probably 
was  right — the  superior  duty  to  rejoin  the  main  body,  and  he 
accordingly  marched  onward  to  Orcha.  Worse  still,  he  was 
prevented,  by  the  want  of  safe  communication,  from  sending 
any  notice  to  Ney  of  his  intended  departure. 

Ney  therefore  remained  entirely  ignorant  of  the  extreme  peril 
to  which  he  was  exposed.  He  marched  forward  on  the  morning 
of  the  17th,  having  first,  according  to  his  orders,  blown  up  the 
defences  of  Smolensk  and  set  the  buildings  on  fire — orders  that 
certainly  had  not  in  any  measure  consulted  the  welfare  of  the 
numerous  French,  sick  and  wounded,  who  in  this  very  town  were 
left  in  the  enemy's  hands.  Next  day  he  came  up  with  the 
Russian  army  at  the  defile  in  front  of  Krasnoi.  He  made  a  most 
gallant  charge,  and  trusted  to  force  his  way,  but  his  division  was 
only  of  six  thousand  men  with  six  pieces  of  cannon,  while  the 
Russians  had  wellnigh  fifty  thousand  men  with  large  well- 
appointed  batteries.  Notwithstanding  the  intrepidity  of  his 
veterans,  the  result  could  not  be  doubtful.  He  was  repulsed  with 
heavy  loss ;  and  in  the  evening  he  received  a  flag  of  truce  from 
General  Miloradowitch,  offering  him  a  capitulation  on  most 
honourable  terms.    He  now  learnt  that  the  other  French  divisions 

were 


TliB  French  Retreat  from  Moscow,  359 

were  already  at  or  near  Orcliaj  and  tliat  he  was  sepumted  from 
them  bj  the  Russian  army  intervening,  by  the  river  Dnieper, 
and  bj  more  tlian  fifteen  leag^ues  of  distance*  How  many 
commanders  in  his  place  would  have  utter Ij  despaired  1 

But  the  constancy  of  Nej  was  unshaken*  He  vouchsafed  no 
answer  at  all  tu  the  ttajsf  of  trace  ;  only  lie  retained  the  ofiicer  lest 
Miloradowitch  shouhl  gadier  any  news  of  his  design.  Towards 
sunset  he  set  his  troops  in  movement  through  the  open  fields 
to  his  riflrht.  In  these  critical  moments^  says  Fezensac,  his 
coimtenance  showed  neither  irresolution  nor  uneasiness  ;  all  eyes 
were  turned  to  hinij  but  no  one  for  a  long  time  presumed  to  put 
Elm  any  question,  At  length,  seeing  near  him  one  of  his  officers 
4 — perhaps  Fexensnc  himaell' — the  following  dialogue  passed,  which 
Fezensac  relates : — 

^Le  Hart'chal  lui  dit  a  demi-voix:  "iVbii*  ne  sommm  pas  him** 
"  QtiaUe^  muafmre  ?  *'  repontlit  Tofficier. — '^Pa^er  h  Dniepm^''' — ''  0^ 
mih  t'hemmf — '' Nou»  h  irouverom.'* — '*  Et  t*t1  n'eM  pas  4jeUV — 
^^  It  le  ^era** — "A  la  honne  Jteute  I  **  *iit  rofficier.  C©  singulier  diar 
logriie,  q^ue  je  rapporte  textueUement,  ri^v^la  le  projet  du  Mart  thai  do 
gagntT  Orcbft  p4U  la  rive  gaucho  du  flcuv©,  et  aesez  rapidcmeut  pour 
y  trouver  encore  Fartaee  qui  ^lieait  boh  mouvemcnt  par  In  rive 
gauche/ 

To  carry  out  this  daring  design,  the  first  object — marching  lo 
ihe  dark  and  across  fields — was  to  find  the  river.  Marshal  Ney, 
with  the  ready  instinct  of  a  good  commander,  that  knows  how  to 
derive  aid  even  from  the  most  trifling  circumstauceSj  seeing  some 
ice  before  him,  ordered  it  to  be  broken,  and  observed  the 
direction  of  the  water  that  ran  beneath,  rightly  concluding  that 
the  streamlet  must  be  one  of  the  Dnieper  confluents.  Guided 
by  this  indication  he  reached  the  river's  bank,  and  found  there 
a  small  village.  Happily  for  Lis  object  the  river  was  found  to 
be  frozen — -sufficiently  at  least  to  bear  men^  and  even  with  great 
precaution  some  horses^  though  not  artillery  or  baggage^  It  was 
also  judged  impossible  to  convey  any  further  the  wounded  made 
in  the  action  of  that  morning^  who  were  accordingly  left  behind 
in  spite  of  their  entreaties  and  cries.  In  that  manner,  towards 
midnight,  the  Dnieper  was  successfully  passed,  and  the  triii>ps 
wilhout  further  respite  resumed  their  march*  Before  daylight 
they  came  to  another  village,  where  they  found  a  party  of 
Cossacks  fast  asleep ;  these  were  taken  prisoners  or  put  to  the 
sword. 

Weary  as  were  the  soldiers,  their  safety — and  they  knew  it — 
was  entirely  dependent  on  their  pushing  on*  They  met  some 
parties  of  Cossacks,  who  however  retired  before  them.  At 
mid-day  they  came  to  two  more  villages^  upon  a  height,  where 

£2  ^^^^ 


330  The  French  Retreat  from  Moscow. 

they  were  happy  in  finding  some  provisions.  But  in  the  after- 
noon it  was  no  longer  an  outpost  or  two  of  the  enemy  with  which 
they  had  to  deal ;  Platof  and  all  his  Cossacks  were  upon  them. 
Exhausted  as  they  were  by  fatigue,  and  inferior  in  numbers,  it 
became  necessary  for  them  to  quit  the  track,  so  as  to  avoid  the 
risk  of  a  cavalry  charge,  and  to  move  along  the  pine-woods  that 
bordered  the  Dnieper  on  that  side.  Darkness  came,  and  still 
they  struggled  on  beneath  the  trees,  often  separated  from  each 
other,  and  under  circumstances  when  a  wound  might  be  deemed 
equivalent  to  death.  M.  de  Fezensac  has  described  the  scene  as 
only  an  eye-witness  could  : — 

'  Lcs  Cosaques  nous  criaient  do  nons  rendro,  ot  tiraient  a  bont-por' 
tant  an  milieu  de  nous  ;  ceux  qui  ^taient  frapp^s  rostaient  abandonn^ak 
Un  sorgont  eut  la  jambo  fracasseo  d*un  coup  de  carabine.  II  tomba  ^ 
c6t^  do  moi,  on  disant  froidement  ^  sos  camarades :  Voilh  un  homme 
perdu  ;  prenez  mon  sac  ;  vous  en  projiierez.  On  prit  son  sac,  et  nous 
I'abandonnames  en  silence.  Deux  officiers  blesses  ourent  le  m^e 
sort  ....  Tel  qui  avait  6i^  un  h^'ros  sur  le  champ  de  bataiUe  parais- 
sait  alors  inquict  et  trouble.' 

Still  more  evil  was  their  plight  when  the  pine-woods  ended, 
and  they  had  to  stagger  onwards  through  the  open  country, 
painfully  climbing  several  steep  ravines,  and  exposed  not  only 
to  the  enemy's  horsemen,  but  to  his  field  artillery.  For  the 
greater  part  of  the  next  day,  Marshal  Ney  took  position  on  a  height 
and  stood  on  the  defensive.  It  was  not  till  the  return  of  darkness 
that  he  resumed  his  toilsome  march.  Meanwhile  he  had  sent 
forward  a  Polish  officer  to  make  his  way  if  possible  to  Orcha, 
and  announce  to  the  French  chiefs  his  approach. 

During  this  time,  at  the  French  head-quarters,  Napoleon, 
having  secured  his  passage  of  the  Dnieper,  looked  back  with 
extreme  anxiety  to  his  gallant  and  forsaken  rearguard.  He  took 
up  his  own  quarters  some  leagues  onward  on  the  Borisow  road, 
but  instructed  Prince  Eugene  and  Davoust  to  remain  one  or  two 
days  longer  at  Orcha,  ready,  if  there  were  still  any  possibility  of 
aid,  to  succour  Ney.  Under  these  circumstances  the  two  chiefs 
welcomed  with  most  heartfelt  delight  the  news  which  the  Polish 
officer  brought  them.  Prince  Eugene  at  once  led  forth  a  part  of 
his  division  to  receive  and  welcome  le  brave  des  braves.  Thus 
when,  at  one  league  from  Orcha,  the  first  men  of  Ney's  feeble 
column  saw  close  before  them  a  body  of  troops,  they  found  with 
inexpressible  joy  their  cry  of  Qui  vive?  answered  in  French. 
Another  moment  and  Ney  and  Eugene  were  locked  in  each 
other's  arms.  One  must  have  passed,  says  De  Fezensac,  as  we 
had,  three  days  between  life  and  death,  to  judge  in  full  measure 
of  the  ecstacy  which  this  meeting  gave  us. 

Nor 


Nor  was  Napoleon  tint  self  less  elated.  M*  tie  Bausset  was 
tHea  in  attendance  upon  bim  at  the  country  bouse  of  Baraiioui, 
some  leagues  beyond  Orcba,  and  be  bears  witness  to  the  pangs  of 
suspense  which  the  Emperor  endured.  At  length  the  good  news 
of  Ney's  safety  came.  They  were  brought  by  General  Gourgaud 
— the  same  who  subsequently  shared  the  captivity  of  St  Helena, 
Napoleon,  who  was  then  sitting  at  breakfast^  showed  the  most 
lively  satisfaction,  ^  J' at  plus  de  quatre  cent  mil  Ho  as  dans  ies  caves 
des  Tuiieries ;  je  Ies  aurais  dfjnncs  avec  reconnaissance  pour  la 
ran<;on  de  won  f  dele  compa^fnon  d^armes.*  Such  were  the  words  he 
spoke ;  or  as  M.de  Bausset  puts  it  more  in  a  Lord  Chamberlain's 
style,  *  Tels  mnt  ks  mots  que  feniendis  sortir  de  la  houche  de 
rEmpereur* 

The  rriumph  of  Ney^  however,  was  dearly  bought.  Of  the  six 
thousand  men  with  whom  he  had  marched  out  of  Smolensk  he 
brought  less  tlian  one  thousand  to  Ore  ha.  But  he  had  maintained 
the  glory  of  his  eagles ;  he  bad  spared  a  French  Marshal  and 
a  French  corps  darmee  the  dishonour  of  capitulation. 

The  losses  sustained  by  the  divers  French  corps  at  Krasnoi,  and 
in  the  two  marches  beyond  it,  are  computed  by  the  French 
writers  at  ten  or  twelve  thousand  men,  in  killeds  wounded,  and 
prisoners.  Of  the  whole  Grande  Arm6e  there  remained  at  Orcba 
DO  more  than  24,000  men  in  rank  and  Hnej  and  about  an  equal 
number  of  disbanded  soldiers  partly  without  arms.  The  cavalry 
was  almost  extinct;  In  this  extremity,  Napoleon  formed  the 
greater  number  of  the  officers  who  still  retained  a  horse  into 
a  body-guard,  which  he  called  VE^cadnm  Sacre.  Here  the 
Captains  took  the  part  of  privates  and  the  Colonels  of  subalterns, 
while  the  Generals  served  as  regimental  chiefs. 

Thus  far  diminished ^  and  still  diminishing,  the  mass  pursued' 
its  dismal  movement  to  the  Beresina,  There  was  now  a  thaw, 
and  the  soldiers,  with  worn-out  shoes,  and  with  the  trees  dripping 
down  upon  them,  toiled  painfully  along  through  the  mire.  Every 
day  was  marked  with  some  new  incident,  evincing,  more  than 
could  any  general  description,  the  extremities  that  tliey  endured. 
At  Liady,  f*jr  instance^ — but  this  was  even  before  Orcha— some 
tliree  hundred  men  of  the  First  Corps^  clustering  together,  had 
lain  down  in  a  barn  for  their  night's  rest.  But  the  barn  caught 
fire,  and  these  poor  men  had  become  so  linked  and  entangled  one 
with  the  other  that  none  could  escape.  Only  one  was  found 
half  dead,  but  still  breathing,  and  lie  in  mercy  was  despatched 
with  two  musket-balls* 

Another  day  upon  the  march  the  troops  observed  some  combs 
|,      of*  tonev  near  the  summit  of  a  lofty  tree.     There  were  no  side-^ 
I  branches 


333 


T7i4  Frmnch  Rdr&dfmm  Mtmotm* 


bmncbes,  ami  to  climb  totmod  a  perilcias  ventoie;  nfivertlieiMi 
frcjiiio  »ali]IeiSy  think iog  tlic^j  might  &«  well  cli«  of  m  Ikll  st  of 
fatomi*,  macb  tliii  altcmpt  ami  nNlcbod  tbe  pUce,  Then  tlu^ 
tlirow  dawn  tlia  r[>£nUif  bj  manMrl%  oa  «'hich  thair  mioradM 
below  mvenouily  piunccd^  ^  liku  io  maoy  famiabed  boiajnls^*  mjk 
Feaeuwif  ^  wbtJ  waa  prc«*iit  at  tliU  paitifu)  aceao. 

Tb**  Empenir  was  noir  )cK>kiiig  forward  to  a  junctiaa  ap  tilt 
Bcrrsina  witU  two  of  hU  corps  ftarmce — ibose  of  Msu-^Ual  OisiliiMl 
and  Mttrsbjil  Victor^ — eommg  from  the  Hank  army  im  bis  Qortk 
The  two  MarihaU  had  sustained  some  heavy  loaaes,  but  puiU 
still  bring  biiHt  tugctherf  at  k-ost  25,(X)0  excelleni  aatdi^n,  Oit 
the  other  baod,  be  could  no  longer  Indulge  the  boue  of  lentriag 
without  obstac  le  the  passajrc  of  the  river*  The  Hussiaus  makr 
Tt-hitrhakof  bad  reacht^d  Bori&ow,  rauted  the  PolUb  gmrriaoe, 
and  burnt  the  IWe&ina  bridge.  It  won  hi  berciquisita  to  ajvn  the 
river  at  ai>me  other  point  b)'  a  new  britlge  as  mptdlj  as  pa«dUAt 
and  unperceived  by  the  Huisiana.  And  here  tho  impruvifleoi^ 
of  the  nrranffemeat«  for  this  retreat  became  onr^  tnore  apparept 
There  was  with  the  army  an  excellent  veteran  oHlcer  of  ep^uieaii, 
General  Ebli^*  There  were  under  his  coimnuntl  S4^>fii0  aeanea  oi 
experienced  |x>ntt>niers.  There  was  a  double  ptintoon  train  {tut J 
in  number)  which  was  left  at  Orcba  in  the  advances  to  Moicovr, 
and  which  was  found  still  at  Ore  ha  on  the  return,  CjieocrfU  Ebtd 
earnestly  pressed  Napoleon  to  take  forward  at  Irast  fifteen  ij 
these  pontoon^  sty  as  to  secure  within  two  or  three  hours  th<? 
structlon  of  a  bridge,  shouhi  any  be  found  needfuh  But  tbit  i 
pride  of  the  Emperor  forbade,  tie  preferred  that  th^  bmk 
oraught- horses  ready  at  Orcha  for  tliis  service  should  lie  employed 
in  dragi^Lnjor  onward  some  more  pieces  of  artillery.  All  that  cottU 
be  obtained  by  (leneral  Eble  was  authority  to  transport  mataril 
far  the  far  less  ex[>edilious  pmd  de  clwvalets*  It  was  almost  \ 
reptitlously  that  he  added  six  tumbrils^  containing  the  nooessiiy 
tools  and  implements* 

Yet|  as  it  proved,  it  was  solely  on  these  cfieuahts — on  tlicse  tools 
and  implements — that  the  safety  of  the  whole  depended,  Tbeft 
is  no  exaggeration  in  saying  that  but  for  tiiem  every  mjin  of  tiic 
Grand  Armie  must  have  laid  down  his  arms*  For  cm  the  24tb 
tho  weather  changed  and  the  frost  returned,  though  not  in  its  full 
severity  ;  consequently  during  the  next  few  days  the  Berrstna 
proved  to  be  in  the  state  of  all  others  most  unfavourablo  for  a 
passage — not  bound  fast  by  frosty  and  on  the  other  hand  not  free 
from  floating  ice*     When  with  great  diflictilty  and  soni€ 

fortune  a  ford  was  discovered  at  ^ludianko,  several  Ic^s^ea  ' 

the  north  of  Borisow,  it  appeared  that  only  men  on  Iioraaback 

cxudd 


The  French  Retreat  from  Moscow, 


8S3 


could  puss,  and  that  with  extreme  risk,  since  the  huge  blocks 
whirled  along  by  the  current  would  often  strike  down  and  over^ 
whelm  both  horse  and  man. 

Studianka  was  seized  by  a  French  detachment,  while  the 
Russians  were  amused  by  a  i'eint  of  Napoleon  at  Borisow,  Some 
cavalry  soldiers,  each  taking  another  man  behind  him,  rode  boldly 
through  the  ford  and  secured  the  opposite  bank.  Then  on  the 
25th  General  Eble  commenced  the  construction  of  a  double 
bridge — the  one  for  the  artillery  and  ba^^a^e,  the  other  for  the 
horse  or  men  on  foot.  The  brave  pontoniers,  faithful  to  the  voice 
of  their  aibnirable  chief^  plunged  into  the  icy  stream  and  con- 
tinued at  their  work  through  the  night.  It  was  not  merely  the 
icy  stream  and  the  winter  season — it  was  not  merely  the  toil  by 
night  and  day — but  these  much-enduring  men  had  no  nourishing 
food,  no  fermented  drinks,  to  sustain  them — not  one  ounce  of 
bread,  not  one  spoonful  of  brandy.  There  was  only  some  hot 
broth  made  of  horseflesh,  and  without  salt,  which  wai  served  out 
to  them  from  time  to  time. 

By  unremitting  exertions  on  the  part  of  theBc  devoted  soldiers  the 
bridges  were  completed  in  the  course  of  the  2Gth,  and  the  passage 
began.  Meanwhile  the  Russians,  at  length  apprised  of  Napoleon'a 
real  design,  made  some  furious  onsets  on  his  rear,  which,  how- 
ever, was  well  supported  by  the  newly-arrived  corps  of  Oudinot 
and  Victor.  These  two  Marshals  here  sustainetl  a  heavy  loss  of 
men,  which^  tlie  diminished  army  could  ill  spare.  Nor  could 
the  passage  be  effected  without  further  hindrance  and  delay. 
Several  of  the  chevalets  sank  beneath  the  weight  and  were  sub- 
merged. It  became  necessary  again  and  again  to  send  back  into 
the  water  the  heroic  pontoniers,  quivering  as  they  were  with  cold, 
and  faint  with  unsatisfied  hunger.  The  icicles  which  gathered 
round  their  shoulders  as  they  worked  and  which  tore  their  Hesh 
causetl  them  cruel  pain,  and  many  were  struck  and  maimed  by 
the  floating  blocks ;  but  still  the  survivors  persevered. 

General  Eblc,  in  spite  of  his  advanced  years,  had  by  no  meant 
spared  himself,  but  plunged  like  his  men  into  the  fatal  stream. 
He  paid  tlie  penalty  of  his  noble  conduct  a  few  weeks  afterwardi| 
dying  in  the  military  hospital  at  Konigsberg  of  a  fievre  de  ctmffi^ 
lation — a  dreadful  malady,  not  confined  to  those  who  had  suffered 
from  frost  or  cold,  but  contagious  as  the  plague,  and  in  whicb^ 
after  grievous  suffering,  the  limbs  seem  to  lose  their  vital  jxjwer 
and  to  rot  away.  Many  of  his  jKmtoniers  underwent  the  like  or 
even  an  earlier  doom.  Of  about  one  hundred  who  had  wrought 
in  these  waters  at  bis  call,  it  is  stated  by  M,  Thiers  that  ulti- 
mately no  more  than  twelve  survived. 

Such  of  our  readers  as  are  conversant  with  the  lighter  literature 

of 


334  The  French  Betnatfnm  Moscow. 

of  modem  France,  will  no  doubt  remember  the  great  skill  with 
which  M.  de  Balzac,  in  his  *  Medecin  de  Campagne,'  has  por- 
trayed GandnUy  whom  he  describes  as  the  last  of  these  Beresina 
pontoniers.  How  true  to  nature  the  complaint  of  the  untaught 
man  against  those  who  have  obtained  promotion  over  his  head, 
les  intrigant  qui  savent  lire  et  ccrire!  and  how  graphic  his  account 
of  the  clerks  at  the  War  Office,  *  ces  gens  qui  passent  leur  vie  a  se 
chauffer  dans  les  bureaux  !  Us  mant  demands  mes  papiers  I  ^^  Mes 
papiers  ?"  leur  ai-Je  dit^  mais  cest  le  mngt-neuvihne  bulletin.^ 

We  return  to  the  Beresina.  Although  two  days,  the  27th  and 
28th,  were  devoted  to  the  passage,  it  was  but  imperfectly  e£fected ; 
for,  besides  the  occasional  breaking  down  of  the  bridges  and  the 
necessity  for  fresh  repairs,  the  access  to  them  was  constantly  im- 
peded by  the  tangled  mass  of  carts  and  carriages.  Many  of  these 
were  upset — many  others  crushed  together,  or  pushed  forward  into 
the  river.  It  was  a  scene  of  indescribable  confusion,  evincing 
that  fierce  selfishness  which  long  sufiering  produces.  There  was 
the  explosion  of  tumbrils  carelessly  ignited — there  was  the  stamp 
of  horses  rushing  wildly  through  the  crowd — there  was  the  wall 
of  women  and  children — there  was  the  crash  of  the  artillery 
pressed  onward  by  the  cannoniers  over  the  living  and  the  dead. 
On  that  last  day,  moreover,  the  French  troops  had  to  sustain,  not 
on  one  bank  only  of  the  river  but  on  both,  the  repeated  and  des- 
perate onsets  of  the  Russians. 

The  French  positions  however  were,  as  usual,  most  gallantly 
maintained.  Only  one  division,  that  of  General  Partouneaux, 
missing  its  route  and  surrounded  by  twenty  times  its  numbers, 
was  compelled  to  lay  down  its  arms.  But  Marshal  Victor,  who 
had  held  the  effective  rearguard  covering  the  bridges,  was  enabled 
to  cross  the  Beresina  unmolested  after  nightfall.  Then,  the  whole 
army  having  passed,  it  became  of  urgent  importance  to  destroy 
the  bridges  on  the  morning  of  the  29th,  so  as  to  prevent,  or  at  all 
events  delay,  the  Russian  pursuit.  There  then  still  remained  upon 
the  eastern  side  a  confused  multitude,  comprising  the  weakest  and 
most  helpless  of  the  camp-followers,  and  numbering  it  was  thought 
between  6000  and  8000.  Napoleon  had  sent  directions  to  fire 
the  trains  at  seven  in  the  morning;  but  the  kind-hearted  Eble, 
anxious  to  save  some  more  from  that  multitude  beyond,  who 
with  eager  efforts  were  now  feebly  struggling  across  the  encum- 
bered bridges,  delayed  the  order  on  his  own  responsibilitv  until 
nearly  nine :  then,  seeing  the  enemy  advancing  and  ready  to  pass, 
he — turning  aside  his  head  not  to  view  the  grievous  scene — gave 
the  fatal  word.  Instantly  the  two  bridges  blew  up,  with  all  the 
poor  wretches  upon  them.  Then,  even  amidst  the  roar  of  the 
explosion,  there  arose   from   the  opposite   shore   the  wild  and 

despairing 


Tlie  French  Rttreatfrom  Mu$&>w. 


dSfi 


«lespairing  sbriek  of  the  people  left  behind.  Wounded  men  and 
helpless  women,  and  hall-miconseious  little  children,  were  seen 
with  bitter  tears  to  stretch  forth  their  arms  in  last  farewell  towards 
their  countrymen,  compelled  bj  a  dire  necessity  to  leave  them  to 
their  doom»  Many  flung  themselves  madly  upon  the  fragments 
of  the  flaming-  bridges^ — others  as  madly  dasheil  into  the  river. 
As  to  the  main  mass  their  fate  was  scion  decided.  The  hovering 
Cossacks,  seeing  them  forsaken,  dartetl  down  at  full  gallop  upon 
them.  They  speared  as  though  in  playful  mood  the  first  of  tlie 
crowd  they  came  upon,  and  the  rest  they  drove  before  them  at 
their  lance  s  point,  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  How  many  may  have 
lived  through  the  miseries  of  that  captivity  is  known  to  God 
alone  ;  hut  it  is  helieved  that  scarce  any  of  the  number  ever  again 
beheld  their  native  land. 

Meanwhile  the  French  army,  or  rather  the  sad  remains  of  it, 
pursued  its  dreary  route  to  Wilnaj  still  fifty-four  leagues  distant* 
It  was,  as  usual,  harassed  and  beset  by  swarms  of  Cossacks,  but 
was  faintly  pursued  on  the  part  of  the  Russian  Generals,  who 
must  have  felt  reluctant  to  suller  further  losses  of  their  men  while 
the  elements  were  warring  on  their  side.  The  frost  had  become 
mare  rigorous  than  ever,  the  thermometer  of  Reaumur  having 
fallen  on  some  occasions  so  low  as  thirty  degrees  below  zero, 
equivalent  to  thirty-five  below  zero  of  Fahrenheit,  Such  ex- 
tremity of  cold  can  be  ill  endured  by  men  from  a  milder  clime, 
even  when  provided  with  warm  beds  and  nourishing  food.  What 
agony,  ihen^  must  it  have  inflicted  on  that  famishing  crowd j  com- 
pelled in  many  cases  to  make  their  pillows  of  mounds  of  snow  I 

Sir  Robert  Wilson,  who  was  present  in  the  Russian  camp,  ha« 
well  described  the  scene,  'The  sky,*  he  says,  'was  generally 
clear,  and  there  was  a  subtle,  keen,  razor-cutting,  creeping  wind, 
that  penetrated  skin,  muscle,  and  bone  to  the  very  marrow,  ren- 
dering the  surface  as  white  and  the  %vhole  limb  affected  as  fragile 
as  alabaster.  Sometimes  there  was  tk  foudroyaiit  seizure  that  be- 
numbed at  once  the  whole  frame,'  It  is  no  wonder j  then,  that 
Sir  Robert  should  proceed  to  state  of  the  French  troops,  *  A 
general  recklessness  confounded  all  ranks,  command  ceased j  and 
it  became  a  sauve  f/ui  petit  at  a  funeral  pace/ 

Not  at  all  more  favourable  is  the  account  of  the  French  them- 
selves, M*  de  Fe^ensac  declares  that  this  period  was  the  most 
disastrous  of  the  whole  retreat : — 

*Lct  any  one/  be  eaySj  'conceive  the  Bight  of  plains  as  far  aa  tho 
oyo  could  extend,  all  covered  with  snow — long  forests  of  pine-trees — 
villages  half  hiirned  down  and  deserted— and  in  the  midst  of  these 
dit^jual  BceuoB  an  immense  column  of  suffering  wretches,  nearly  all 
without  anas,  marching  pell-mell,  and  falling  again  and  again  upon 


k. 


836  Tim  French  Eetrmtfrcm  Moscow. 

tbo  ioe  by  the  aide  of  their  dead  horses  and  dead  oomrades.  Their 
faces  bore  the  impress  of  extreme  dqjection,  nay,  despair ;  their  eyes 
were  quenohed,  their  features  decomposed  and  quite  black  with  grime 
and  smoke.  .  Strip  of  sheepskin  or  pieces  of  cloth  served  them  instead 
of  shoes;  their  heads  were  swathed  round  with  tatters;  and  their 
shoulders  covered  with  horse-cloths,  women's  petticoats,  or  half- 
scorched  hides.  All  such  means  of  warmth  had  their  value,  for,  when- 
ever any  man  fell  from  &tigue,  his  comrades,  at  once,  and  witiioot 
waiting  for  his  death,  despoiled  him  of  his  rags  for  themaelveB  to  wear. 
Each  nightly  bivouac  came  to  resemble  a  battle-field  the  next  morning 
and  one  was  wont  to  find  dead  at  one's  side  the  men  next  to  whom  one 
bad  lain  down  the  evening  before.' 

Even  the  Imperial  cortege  had  a  share  in  these  terrible  sufieriogi. 
M.  de  Fezensac,  who  came  up  with  it  on  the  3rd  of  December, 
between  Ilia  and  Molodetschno,  declares  that  no  one  who  remem- 
bered its  splendour  at  the  beginning  of  the  campaign  would  have 
known  it  again.  The  Guard  was  marching  with  disordered  ranks 
and  with  sorrowing  and  reproachful  faces.  The  Emperor  was 
shut  up  in  a  carriage  with  the  Prince  de  Neufchatel  (JBerthier), 
Behind  him  followed  a  small  number  of  equipages,  of  led  horses, 
and  of  mules — the  scanty  remnant  from  such  great  disasters. 
The  aides-de-camp  of  Napoleon,  as  well  as  those  of  Berthier. 
walked  on  foot,  holding  by  the  bridle  their  horses,  which  cooid 
scarcely  keep  upright  Sometimes,  to  obtain  a  little  rest,  they 
sat  behind  the  Emperor's  carriage.  In  the  midst  of  this  sad  pro- 
cession, feebly  tottered  a  crowd  of  disabled  men  pell-mell  from 
all  the  regiments,  while  the  gloomy  forest  of  pines  dirough  which 
it  was  wending  appeared  like  a  black  frame  around  the  dismal 
picture. 

Even  here  the  pfaiety  of  M.  de  Bausset  does  not  quite  forsake 
him.  He  states  that  tbc  civilians  in  the  Emperor's  train  were 
exposed  to  the  enemy's  attack  about  this  time,  when  having  once 
by  accident  outstripped  their  ordinary  escort  they  found  them* 
selves  surrounded  by  Cossacks.  But  they  called  for  aid  to  the 
bnave  Bel  Hard,  Colonel-General  des  Dragons ,  who,  though 
wounded,  sprang  from  his  carriage,  and,  p^athcrin^  some  soldiers 
round  him,  put  'the  birds  of  prey'  to  flight  The  costume  of 
the  General,  as  he  had  assumed  it  for  warmth,  is  here  described. 
He  wore  over  his  uniform  a  lady's  spencer  of  pink  satin,  well 
lined  inside  with  fur.  Before  their  flight  the  Cossacks  had, 
h()W<;ver,  some  time  for  plunder  ;  they  bore  away  Ics  papiers  de  la 
CJianccUerie^  and  also  les  p7'ovisions  de  houc/ie  secured  for  that 
day  to  the  auditors :  (Tetaitfaire  la  plus  graiide  perte  possible  dans 
la  position  oh  nous  ctions.  This  terrible  loss  of  his  expected  meal 
appears  to  have  roused  the  Lord  Chamberlain  to  a  most  unusual 

trenzy. 


Tfm  Fremh  Retreaifmm  Moicow.  8t7 

frenzy.  *  Cest  la  seulefm  dam  nta  vie  qmje  me  sok  senti  misi^ 
tie  Vmime  d'atieindre  un  ennemi!^ 

A  more  amiable  feature  in  M.  cle  Bausset^s  character  was  his 
constant  kindness  to  the  unfortunate  actors  and  actresses  who  bad 
been  under  bis  direction  at  Moscow^  Many  of  tbem  dropped  off 
during  the  retreat^  and  M*  de  Bausset  never  heard  of  them  again* 
Madame  Bursaj,  the  directrice^  evinced  a  lofty  courage.  She 
was  intent  on  saving  two  things— first,  a  young  lady  and  friend 
of  her  troop,  Madame  Andre;  and  secondly,  a  manuscript  poem 
of  her  own  '  De  la  Medioarite^^  from  which  she  expected  future 
fame.  M.  de  Bausset  relates  how  beyond  Krasnoi  the  wheels  of 
the  carriage  that  conveyed  them  were  dashed  to  pieces  by  the 
enemy's  cannon-balls^  upon  which  Madame  Bursay  made  her 
way  on  foot  to  the  head-quarters  at  Liady,  supjiorting  in  her  armi 
and  almost  carrying  her  companion,  who  bad  swooned  and  was 
half  dead  with  fean  They  arrived  before  the  bivouac  fire  at  one 
in  the  morning,  Madame  Bursay  still  firmly  clutching  ber  poem 
'  De  la  Mediocrite/  quelie  tenait  rotde  duna  sa  mam  comtne  un 
Marshal  d" Empire  aurait  tenu  son  bdlon  de  commandement  The 
inflnence  of  De  Bausset  obtained  for  these  ladies  two  remaining 
places  in  ^  fourgou  imperial ^  and  they  sticceeded^  amidst  many 
other  dangers,  in  passing  the  Beresina  and  in  reaching  France* 
But  the  health  q(  ^ladamc  Andre  hail  failed  from  so  much  hard- 
ship, and  she  died  withm  two  months  of  ber  return* 

Other  escapes  there  were,  as  Fezensac  reports  them,  truly 
marvellous  amidst  such  scenes,  and  evincing  in  many  cases  the 
utmost  sympathy  and  kindness  from  the  poor  perishing  soldiers. 
One  man,  a  drummer  in  the  7th,  led  his  sick  wife^  a  canii/dere 
of  the  same  regiment,  in  a  small  horse-car  from  Moscow  to 
Smolensk.  Tliere  the  horse  died,  and  the  man  yoked  himself 
to  the  car  in  the  horse's  place.  Incredible  as  the  effort  seems,  b© 
drew  on  his  wife  all  the  way  to  Wilna,  and,  her  sickness  having 
then  increased  so  as  to  prevent  any  farther  removal,  he  chose, 
rather  than  proceed  alone,  to  become  a  joint  prisoner  with  her. 
Another  poor  woman,  a  caHtimere  of  the  33rdf  bad  set  out  from 
Moscow  with  her  little  daughter  only  six  months  old.  Tbi« 
child,  wrapped  In  a  fur  cloak  taken  at  Moscow,  she  bore  safely 
through  all  that  famished  march^  feeding  her  only  with  a  paste 
made  of  liorse's  hlood.  Twice  she  was  lost  by  her  mother,  and 
twice  was  she  recovered — the  first  time  lying  in  a  field,  and  the 
second  time  in  a  bumed^own  village  with  a  mattress  for  her 
cfmcb-  At  the  Be  res  in  a  ber  motlier,  finding  both  bridges  at  tho 
time  obstructed,  passed  the  river  on  horseback  with  the  water 
up  to  her  neck,  grasping  with  one  band  the  bridle,  and  with  the 
other  hold  ing  the  child  upon  her  head.     Thus  by  a  succession  of 


I 


8db  The  French  Retreat  ficm  Mceeom. 

manrels — it  might  almost  be  said  of  miracles — tbe  little  g:irl 
completed  the  entire  retreat  without  anj  accident,  and  did  not 
even  catch  cold. 

Cases  of  such  tender  care  amidst  such  terrible  suflerings — 
cases  which  do  honour  to  the  French  character,  and  even,  it  may 
be  said,  to  human  nature  itself — ^may,  however,  be  contrasted  with 
others,  unavoidable  we  fear  when  human  nature  is  so  sorely 
tried,  and  when  sufferings  like  these  produce  on  the  contrary  a 
cruel  selfishness.  Once  a  General  Officer,  worn  out  with  fatigue, 
had  fallen  down  on  the  road,  and  a  soldier  passing  by  b^fan  to 
pull  off  his  boots.  The  General  faintly  gasped  forth  the  request 
to  wait  at  least  till  he  was  dead  before  he  was  despoiled.  ^  Man 
Giniral^  answered  the  soldier,  *  1  would  with  all  my  heart,  but 
if  I  do  not  take  your  boots,  the  next  comer  will,  and  therefore 
they  may  as  well  be  mine.'     And  so  he  continued  to  pull  I 

Another  day  an  officer  of  the  Engineers  was  also  lying  pros- 
trate and  exhausted.  Seeing  some  soldiers  pass,  he  called  out  to 
them  for  aid  and  told  them  who  he  was.  *  And  are  you  really 
an  officer  of  the  Engineers  ? '  said  the  soldiers  stopping.  ^  1  am, 
indeed,  my  friends,'  answered  the  officer,  hopeful  of  their  succour 
from  their  words.  *Well,  then,  go  on  with  your  plans!*  rejoined 
one  of  the  soldiers  in  mockery,  and  they  all  marched  on. 

Amidst  such  scenes  and  sights  of  woe  the  retreat  proceeded. 
The  Emperor  reached  Molodetschno  on  the  3rd  of  December. 
There  he  dictated  and  despatched  that  famous  bulletin — the  29th 
in  number  since  the  commencement  of  the  campaign — which 
lifted  at  least  in  some  degree  the  veil  from  the  horrors  of  the 
retreat,  and  which,  as  published  in  the  '  Moniteur'  of  the  17th  of 
December,  diffused  deep  gloom  in  almost  every  family  of  France, 
since  there  was  scarcely  one  perhaps  unconnected  in  kindred  or 
in  friendship  with  some  soldier,  now  most  probably  perished, 
of  the  Grande  Arm4e.  But  besides  this  general  grief,  another 
and  as  strong  a  feeling  was  excited  by  the  following  words  with 
which  the  bulletin  concludes  :  '  La  santede  Sa  Majeste  n  a  jamais 
et6  meilletire.*  This  phrase  was  introduced,  as  we  believe,  with- 
out any  ill-feeling  and  in  defiance  as  it  were  to  the  strokes  of 
adverse  fortune  ;  but  it  was  commonly  taken  as  evincing  the 
insensibility  of  the  writer  to  the  sufferings  which  he  beheld  on 
every  side  around  him,  and  which  he  in  fact  had  caused. 

This  touch  of  the  national  feeling  has  not  been  left  umioticed 
by  those  Siamese  twins  of  authorship,  or  rather,  according  to 
Colman's  line — 

'  Like  two  single  gentlemen  rolled  into  one,* — 

Erckmann  and  Chatrian.     In  their  justly  popular  ^  Conscrtt'  they 

describe 


Tim  French  Eeireai/rom  3fom)m. 


339 


describe  the  talk  as  it  may  have  passed  amongf  the  peasants  in  the 
market-place  at  Phalsburg,  when  the  29th  bulletin  was  read  :— 

*  LcB  eris  et  les  gcmlsseniona  ee  firont  entendre,  .  -  ,  •  11  est  vrai 
qno  Tafficho  ajoutait :  La  mnie  de  Sa  Majcste  n*a  jamais  Hi  meiUmtre ; 
et  c*Qtftit  imo  grande  consolation,  Malhoarensomcnt  cela  no  pQUVuit 
pas  rendro  la  Tie  aux  trois  cent  miUe  hommes  entcrr^s  dans  la  noigo/ 

Another  phrase  in  this  bulletin  was  understood  in  a  similar 
sense.  It  says  that  in  this  retreat  the  men  wbnm  Nature  had 
end*} wed  with  superior  powers  still  preserved  their  gaiety. 
Gaiety  amidst  such  scenes  1  M.  de  Narbonne,  who  had  attended 
the  Emperor  from  Moicow  to  Smorgoni,  and  held  the  rank  of  his 
senior  aide-de-carapj  was  thought  to  be  foremost  among  the  very 
few  for  whom  this  singular  compliment  was  designed.  When 
some  weeks  afterwards  M.  de  Narbonne  returned  to  Paris,  one  of 
his  young  friends  (M*  Villemaio)  addressed  to  him  a  question  on 
the  subject.  *  Were  I  to  live  thirty  years  longer/  so  writes  M. 
Villemain  in  1S54,  ^I  should  never  forget  his  keen  look  of  dis- 
pleasure as  he  answered,  Ah^  fSmpm'eur  pent  lout  dire ;  mats 
gaUie  est  Men  furl  !  And  he  turnctl  aside,  shedding  some  tears 
at  the  horrors  he  remembered  but  too  well/ 

From  Molmletschnoj  where  this  far-famed  bulletin  was  wTitten, 
the  Emperor  proceeded  on  the  second  day  to  Smorgoni,  a  small 
town  still  three  marches  from  Wilna.  Arriving  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  5  th  of  December,  he  immediately  summoned  a  council  of 
warj  w^hich  comprised  Murat,  Eugene^  and  the  Marshals,  To 
these  he  imparted  the  design,  upon  which  his  mind  had  brooded 
for  some  days  past,  to  quit  the  army  and  to  proceed  with  the 
ntmost  secresy  and  also  with  the  utmost  despatch  to  Paris.  His 
return  to  his  capital  almost  simultaneously  with  the  news  of  his 
disaster  would  strike  a  salutary  awe  into  his  ill-wishers  both  at 
home  and  abroad,  and  above  all  would  maintain  the— perhaps 
already  wavering^ — alliance  of  the  German  Princes.  At  Paris 
also  he  could  direct  tlie  new  levies  which  would  be  requisite 
with  the  greatest  promptitude  and  vigour,  and  might  return  in 
three  months  at  the  head  of  300,000  men. 

These  were  ccrtainlyjas  M,  Thiers  admits^  very  powerful  reasons ; 
and  yetj  as  the  same  historian  proceeds  to  nrge^  there  were  also 
considerations  of  much  weight  to  adduce  on  the  opposite  side. 
It  is  true  that  the  Grande  Annie ^^  term  that  now,  alas  I  had 
become  almost  an  irony — had  dwindleil,  even  including  the 
Guard,  to  12,000  soldiers  able  to  b^^ar  arms^  and  to  a  mass  of 
tome  40,000  straggling  and  disbanded  men.  But  if  Napoleon  had 
determined  to  hold  fast  by  this  ruin  and  to  make  a  stand  at  VVilna, 
he  would  there  have  received  some  considerable  reinforcements 
already  on  their  march,  and  near  at  hand  to  join   him.     He 

might 


340  TTie  French  Retreat  from  Moicaw. 

might  have  strengthened  himself  with  his  two  wings,  the  corps 
of  Macdonald  from  the  north,  and  of  Regnier  from  the  south ; 
and  he  might  further  have  called  to  his  aid  from  the  same 
quarters  the  Prussians,  under  York,  and  the  Austrians^  mider 
Schwarzenberg ;  both  of  whom  would  certainly  at  that  period 
have  obeyed  his  call.  Thus,  as  M.  Thiers  proceeds  to  show  in 
some  detail,  he  might  have  mustered  a  force  fully  equal  to  any 
the  Russians  could  at  the  juncture  in  question  have  brought  against 
him.  There  was  also  the  proud  feeling  of  adhering,  as  the  com- 
mander, to  an  army  which,  under  his  command,  had  sufiered  the 
direst  extremities  of  woe. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  only  two  familiars  whose  advice  was 
sought  by  Napoleon  before  the  Council  at  Smorgoni — namely, 
the  Duke  de  fiassano  and  Count  Daru,  the  former  being  con- 
sulted by  letter,  and  the  second  by  word  of  mouth — both  strongly 
urged  the  Emperor  to  remain.  They  alleged  that  the  ruin  of 
the  army  would  become  complete  and  irretrievable  in  the  event 
of  his  departure ;  that,  on  the  other  hand,  the  conspiracy  of 
Malet  had  left  no  traces  in  France,  and  that  the  Emperor's 
orders  for  the  new  armaments  which  he  needed  would  be  obeyed 
as  implicitly  from  Wilna  as  from  the  Tuileries. 

These  arguments,  however,  did  not  move  the  Emperor  fronl 
his  settled  design.  Of  the  chiefs  assembled  at  Smorgoni, 
Napoleon  asked  no  counsel;  he  merely  apprised  them  of  his 
will.  He  had  resolved  to  name  as  Vicegerent  in  his  absence 
Murat,  King  of  Naples,  the  highest  among  them  in  rank,  though 
certainly  not  in  knowledge  and  ability.  Having  announced  to 
them  his  intentions,  and  explained  his  motives,  he  exhorted  them 
to  unity  and  concord  ;  then  embracing  them  one  by  one,  he  bade 
them  farewell,  and  set  out  on  his  journey  the  same  evening. 

The  suite  selected  by  the  Emperor  on  this  occasion  consisted 
only  of  Caulaincourt  (with  whom  he  sat  alone  in  the  first 
carriage),  Duroc,  Lobau,  and  Lefeb\Te  Desmouettes,  the  Mama- 
luke  Roustan,  a  valct  de  chambrCy  two  valets  de  piedy  and  one 
piqiicur.  Beside  these,  there  was  also  a  young  Polish  officer, 
Count  Wonsowicz,  who  would  be  (tf  special  service  as  inter- 
preter during  the  first  part  of  the  journey.  And  here  we  would 
direct  attention  to  a  small  booklet,  ^  Itinerairc  de  Napoleon  de 
Smorgoni  a  Paris^  which  was  published  at  Paris  in  1862,  but 
which,  as  we  imagine,  has  scarcely,  if  at  all,  reached  England. 
It  is  edited  by  a  veteran  French  diplomatist,  Baron  Paul  de 
Bourgoing,  but  in  fact  consists  of  the  notes  which  M.  de  Bour- 
going  received  from  Wonsowicz.  This  interesting  little  volume 
supplies  us  with  some  facts  not  hitherto  known. 

In   commencing    this   journey.    Count   Wonsowicz   and    the 

piqueur 


TTie  Freneh  Metreaffrom  Moscmv, 

piqueiir  went  first,  ai  explorers,  in  a  tratneau^  at  a  little 
distance  the  Emperor  and  his  Temaining  suite  followecl  in  three 
carriages.  Up  to  the  first  stage,  the  Httle  town  of  Oszmiana^ 
they  were  escortetl  by  thirty  Chasseurs  h  chemi  de  la  Garde,  U 
was  known  from  the  outset  that  the  expedition  would  be  dan- 
gerous, from  the  swarms  of  Cossacks  and  detachments  of  the 
enemy's  troops  who  mi|*ht  be  in  advance.  But  the  peril  proved 
to  be  much  j^reater  than  had  been  foreseen.  When  the  rapid 
trainean  dashed  into  OsKmiaoa  at  past  midnight,  Wonsowicz  was 
surprised  to  see  the  small  French  garrison,  comprising  three 
squadrons  of  Polish  lancers,  drawn  up  in  battle  order  on  the 
public  square ;  there  was,  they  said,  a  Russian  force  in  front  of 
them,  and  almost  in  sight ;  they  had  been  attacked  the  day 
before,  and  expected  to  be  attacked  again.  The  General  in 
commantl  declared  that  there  would  be  the  greatest  rashness  in 
proceeding. 

In  about  an  hour's  time  Napoleon  in  his  turn  drove  tip,  and 
was  found  to  be  fast  asleep  in  his  carriage ;  he  was  awakened  by 
Wonsowic?:  and  told  the  unwelcome  news*  He  then  got  down 
and  eagerly  unfolded  his  map  of  Lithuania*  All  the  chiefs  in 
attendance  pressed  him  to  pause  in  the  face  of  such  imminent 
hazards,  and  wait  at  least  till  daybreak.  But  Napoleon,  with 
truer  wisdom,  saw  tbat  promptitude  alone  could  save  him.  Even 
a  short  delay  might  reveal  the  secret  of  his  journey  and  quicken 
his  enemy ^s  pursuit.  He  found,  moreover,  that  his  small  party 
need  not  proreed  without  some  protection.  He  might  take  with 
him  as  an  escort  to  the  next  relay,  or  so  long  as  their  horses' 
strength  endured,  the  three  squadrons  of  Polish  lancers,  amount- 
ing to  266  men*  Therefore,  after  a  few  minutes'  reflection,  he 
beckoned  Count  Wonsowicz  to  bis  side,  and  spoke  to  him  aft 
follows  : — 

*  "  Les  LancicTs  Polonaifl  fiont-ilfl  pr^ts  ?  ** 

* "  Oui,  Biro ;  ils  ^^taient  tons  Ih  avrmt  notre  arriv^e.** 
^  "  Qa'Us  m  on  tent  ^  ehevat,  II  faui  disposer  reseorle  antonr  des 
Toiiares,  Nous  allons  piirttr  pu^-le*champ ;  la  nuit  est  siiMsurament 
obeeuri^  pour  quo  Ics  Rusnes  ne  nous  voient  pas,  D'ailleurB  il  faut  ton- 
jours  compter  siir  sa  fortun©  •  sur  1©  bonheur :  sane  cela  on  n'arrive 
jamais  ^  rien."  * 

As  a  farther  measure  called  for  l>y  this  terrible  crisis,  Napoleon 
ordered  Count  Wonsowicx  and  General  Lcfcbvre  to  mount  the 
box  of  his  own  carriage  ;  and  confiding  to  them  a  pair  of  pistols 
which  he  drew  forth  ready  loaded,  he  addres^c^d  to  them  these 
words,^ — 

*  Dans  le  cm  d*uB  danger  c^rtai%  tmz  mm  plutOI  que  do  mo  kissed 
prendre/ 


342  The  French  Retreat  from  Moeeow. 

Deeply  moved,  Count  Wonsowicz,  having  first  asked  the 
Emperor's  permission,  translated  these  words  aloud  to  the  Polish 
lancers.  He  was  answered  by  a  cry  of  enthusiasm.  These 
gallant  men  declared  that  they  would  let  themselves  be  cut  to 
pieces  sooner  than  allow  the  Emperor  to  be  taken,  or  even  ap- 
proached. 

In  this  guise,  at  two  in  the  morning,  the  journey  was  resumed. 
Scarce  were  they  out  of  Oszmiana  when  there  shone  forth,  and 
above  all  to  the  left  of  the  road,  the  watchfires  of  the  Russian 
troops.  The  call  of  their  sentinels  was  also  distinctly  heard.  But 
the  night  was  most  intensely  cold,  the  thermometer  at  twenty-eight 
degrees  of  R^umur  below  zero,  and,  as  Napoleon  had  foreseen, 
the  Cossacks,  couched  close  to  their  blazing  logs,  were  reluctant 
to  leave  them  in  quest  of  an  uncertain  prey.  Moreover,  though 
their  watchfires  were  seen  from  afar,  they  might  themselves  not 
distinctly  see  the  long  dark  line  of  the  carriages  and  horsemen 
which  without  light  was  wending  along.  In  this  manner  the 
convoy,  bearing  Qrsar  and  his  fortunes,  passed  without  being 
assailed. 

But  that  night  of  almost  Siberian  cold  proved  fatal  to  many 
of  the  Polish  lancers.  In  attempting  to  keep  pace  with  the 
carriages,  their  horses  would  slip  and  come  down  on  the  icy 
ground,  frequently  with  broken  limbs  or  severe  wounds  to  the 
riders.  Too  many  of  these  gallant  men  are  thought  to  have 
evinced  their  devotion  to  their  chief  by  the  forfeit  of  their  lives. 
When  in  the  morning  the  convoy  reached  the  relay  of  Rownopol, 
it  was  found  that  of  2G6  lancers  who  had  started  from  Oszmiana, 
no  more  than  thirty-six  remained.  At  Rownopol,  their  place  as 
escort  was  supplied  by  some  fifty  cavalry  of  the  Neapolitan 
Royal  Guard.  These  also  suffered  severely  from  the  frost ;  their 
commander,  the  Duke  de  Rocca  Romana,  losing  some  fingers  of 
both  hands. 

On  arriving  at  Wilna,  Napoleon  did  not  enter  the  city,  but 
remained  for  concealment  in  a  small  house  of  the  suburb.  He 
was  thus  enabled  to  confer  for  some  hours  with  his  trusted 
Minister,  the  Duke  de  Bassano,  before  he  resumed  his  journey. 
At  Wilna  his  danger  from  the  Russians  had  much  diminished ; 
at  Kowno  and  beyond  the  Niemen  it  altogether  ceased.  By  day 
and  night,  over  snow  and  ice,  the  journey  was  still  pursued. 
There  was  only  now  and  then  a  halt  for  meals.  Such  was  the 
speed,  and  so  frequent  on  the  other  hand  the  break-down  of 
the  rickety  vehicles,  that  Napoleon  left  behind  the  greater  part  of 
his  suite,  which  did  not  rejoin  him  till  at  Paris.  Thus  he  dashed 
into  Warsaw  ons  afternoon  with  only  a  single  carriage.  Great  was 
tlie  amazement  of  the  Abbi  de  Pradt,  the  French  Ambassador  in 

the 


TttG  French  Metreatfivm  Moscow. 

Uie  PolisL  capital,  at  suddenly  seeing  Caul  a  in  court  appear  before 
liim  and  summon  him  to  the  presence  of  his  sovereign  at  V Hotel 
€C An^hterre*  There  he  found  Napoleon  just  arrived,  pacing  up 
and  down  a  narrow  room,  while  a  servant-girl  an  her  knees 
before  the  fire  was  trying-  in  vain  to  blow  up  a  flame  from  the 
damp  and  half-green  woixL  In  a  btx»k  published  but  two  or 
three  years  later,  M,  de  Pradt  has  given,  perhaps  with  some  ex- 
aggeration, a  full  account  of  this  remarkable  interview.  Accord- 
ing to  him,  Napoleon  at  each  interval  of  the  conversation 
repeated  over  and  again  the  following  phrase,  since  become  so 
familiar  to  France :  *  Da  sublune  an  ridicule  il  ny  a  (jiiun  pas  I' 
At  Dresden  also  there  was  a  like  scene^  when  at  three  in  the 
morning  Count  Wonsowicz  roused  the  good  old  King  from  his 
slumbers  and  invited  him  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Emperor  in  the 
Firiia  Strasse.  The  whole  of  tha£  little  Court^  as  Count  Won* 
sowicz  assures  us,  was  not  a  little  flurried  at  this  strange  event. 

"^  Le  Koi  Be  levant  au  milieu  de  la  nuit  a  la  requeto  d'uu  incomiii, 
ai*m^  et  vetu  d'un  costume  singulier ;  le  Koi  difiparaissant  en  chaiso  de 
lonage  eans  dire  k  aucime  des  persomiea  de  sa  Cour  ou  il  allait;  cen 
etaii  assez  pour  donner  lieu  a  touB  les  commentaires,  aux  plus  vivBd 
inquietudes.  La  Heine  de  Baxe,  bgcut  du  Hoi  Maximilien  de  Baviere, 
princeaee  d^ja  ayancee  en  age,  f ut  effra j^o  au  point  d'avoir  imo  atta^^ue 
de  nerfe.' 

Much  to  the  same  effect  was  the   surprise  in  the  first  town 

within  the  French  territoryj  namely,  Majence.  Count  Wonsowicz 
was  again  despatched  with  a  like  message  to  Marshal  Kellermani 
Duke  de  Valmy ;    and  we  will   leave  him  to  relate  in  bis  own 

words  the  curious  conversation  that  ensued  : — 

'  LorsquG  Tofficier  Polonaia  arriva  chez  le  Mar^cLal,  il  trouva  sea 
ftppartomeute  splendidement  ^ Claires ;  toute  la  Boci<!4e  de  Mayence  y 
^it  rossembl^e  pour  un  grand  bal.  Le  Harechal  Kellerman  fut  ap- 
pel^  ;  maiB  il  re9ut  troa  durement  celui  qui  se  disait  envoy ^  par  TEm- 
pereur.     II  le  prit  d'ahord  pour  un  porteur  de  faussea  nouvelles. 

'  "  Je  ne  voub  connaia  pau,"  lui  dit-il ;  "  et  jo  vais  voub  fairo  fusilier 
comme  mi  impoBteur.^ 

'  **  Vous  en  aurcz  toujours  le  temps,  Monfiieur  le  Marechal,'*  r^pondit 
sans  B*emouvoir  rofficier  Pelo»ai6  j  "  mais  avant  d'en  venir  la,  veuillez 
Tous  assurer  de  la  v^rit^  de  ce  que  je  voub  aononce." 

*  "  Comment/*  rcprit  le  Mar6chalj  **  comment  est-il  possible  que 
rEmpereur  soit  a  Majence,  et  quo  j©  n^sd  pas  etc  prevonE  de  son 
arriv*5e  ?  " 

'  "  Veuille^  aller  le  lui  demander,  Monsieur  le  Marechal ;  moi  je  ne 
mna  charge  que  de  vous  ann oncer  son  passage." 

*  Le  costume  trcB  en  desordre  de  Tenvoyl  Imperial  avait  an  premier 
abord  iBdispoHc  le  Gouvemeur,  U  n'y  voyait  qu'un  deguisement  pour 
le  tromper.     11  le  rondit'onfin,  et  partit  pour  allertrouver  rEmpereur, 

Vol  123.— No.  246.  2  a  tout 


344  Tke  French  Betreaifrom  Moscow. 

tout  en  iaisant  gmrder  a  Tue  le  Comte  Wonsowicz,  ne  lni  pennetUnt 
do  commnniqaer  avee  penonne,  et  remmenant  ayec  Im,  flanqn^  de 
dcax  gendarmes.  Mais  oet  incident  et  oette  m^priae  fnrent  de  oomte 
dnr^. 

'  L^Emperenr,  royant  airiTer  le  Dnc  de  Yalmj,  lni  dit,  aprea  qnelqnef 
phrases  tres  affectoenaea : 

'  "^  Mon  armeo  est  perdue  en  grando  partie ;  mais  soyez  tranqnilk^ 
d*ici  a  qnelqnes  mois  j'anrai  sons  mes  or&'es  hnit  cent  miUe  baSonnBttes, 
et  jo  prouTcrai  ^  mes  ennemis  quo  les  elements  seuls  pouvaieiit  nom 
▼aincre.  J'ai  en  tort,  je  rayoue,  d*expoeer  mes  panvres  soldats  a  im 
dimat  parcil.  Mais  qui  ne  fait  pas  de  fantes  en  ce  monde  ?  Qnand 
on  les  reconnait  il  fant  tacher  do  les  roparer." ' 

In  proceeding  onwards,  even  through  his  own  dominioni,  the 
Emperor  maintained  the  same  incognito.  On  the  18th,  when  he 
expected  to  reach  Paris,  he  stopped  to  dine  at  Chateau  Thienj; 
and  there  also  iljit  une  ffrande  toildte  afin  de  $e  presenter  ctmveML' 
blement  a  F Imperatrice.  But  his  mischances  were  not  yet  at  an 
end.  Some  miles  further  his  carriage  broke  down,  and  Napoleon 
had  to  enter  une  de  ces  dis(/racieuses  raitures  de  voyage  a  deux 
immenses  roues  et  a  brancard^  fpion  nommait  alors  une  chaise  it 
poste.  At  Meaux  it  was  found  that  the  sum  assigned  for  the 
travelling  expenses  had  come  to  an  end.  The  Emperor,  the  Duke 
de  Vicence,  the  Count  Wonsowicz,  and  the  Mameluke  Roostan, 
who  since  Warsaw  had  formed  the  entire  party,  gave  what 
money  they  had  about  them,  but  the  total  amounted  to  less  than 
eighty  francs.  The  Duke  de  Vicence  could  only  apply  to  the  post- 
master for  an  advance,  which  fortunately  was  not  refused  him. 

At  half-past  eleven  the  same  night  the  rustic  vehicle — cet 
affreux  I'quijmge^  as  Count  Wonsowicz  terms  it — appeared  at  the 
Grille  du  Carrousel,  Naturally  enough  it  was  denied  admit- 
tance. But  Count  Wonsowicz,  dismounting,  led  the  officer  on 
guard  close  to  the  carriage- window. 

*  L  officier  de  gardo  rcconnut  son  Souvorain,  et  s'inclina  avec  une 
profondo  emotion.  La  grille  8*ouvrit  alors.  On  peut  so  fignrer  quelle 
sensation  produisit  dans  le  palais  dcs  Tuilcrics  cetto  arriv^e  inesp^ree. 
L*Empcroar,  uno  fois  cutre  dans  lo  chateau,  defeudit  oxpressement 
qu'on  fit  aucun  bruit  qui  p{it  eveiUer  rimperatrico ;  il  so  rendit  sur-le- 
champ  a  son  appartemcnt.' 

In  this  guise  then  did  he,  so  lately  the  conqueror  and  arbiter 
of  Europe,  re-enter  his  palace,  and  resume  the  government  of 
his  empire.  The  account  of  his  disasters,  as  comprised  in  the 
21)th  bulletin,  had  been  published  by  the  *  Moniteur '  only  the 
day  before. 

If  we  ask  the  effects  produced  by  the  departure  of  Napoleon 
on  the  melancholy  remnant  of  his  troops,  which  continued  its 

retreat 


The  French  Retreat  from  Moscow. 


345 


retreat  from  Smorgoni  to  Wilnaj  we  shall  find  them  described  by 
M.  de  Fezensac  in  few  but  expressive  words  : — 

*  Dans  La  situatioa  de  rarmt^e  ce  depart  etait  pour  elle  une  nouvellG 
calamite-  L  opinion  i\m  Ton  avait  du  g^nie  de  l^Emper^ur  donnait  do 
la  confianco;  fii  crainte  qu^il  iuspirait  retenait  dans  lo  devohv  Aproa 
son  depart  chacun  M  a  ea  t^te ;  et  les  ordres  qao  donna  le  Boi  do 
Naples  no  servirent  q^'a  compromettre  son  autorite/ 

Murat,  indeed,  could  not  direct  j  and  under  such  a  chief  the 
Marshals  would  not  obey.  The  large  and  rich  city  of  Wilna^ 
the  ancient  capital  of  Lithuania,  had  been  looked  to  by  the 
suffering  soldiers  as  the  probable  term  of  their  calamities.  They 
counted  every  step^  says  M.  de  Fezensac^  that  brought  them 
nearer  to  this  long^eaired  haven  of  rest,  But,  alas»  how  empty 
the  hope^  how  evanescent  the  dream  I  How  sharply  were  they 
roused  from  their  illusion,  the  last  to  which  they  clung',  when 
they  appeared  before  Wilna,  in  part  on  the  Sthj  and  in  part  on 
the  9th  of  December !  Expected  though  they  were,  no  due 
measures  had  been  taken  for  their  reception  and  relief.  Rushing^ 
up  pell-mell  as  they  came  to  the  narrow  gateway,  there  was  soon 
an  amount  of  obstruction  and  confusion  comparable  to  that  on 
the  Beresina  bridges.  Yet  while  the  muhitudes  were  thus 
pressing  on  each  other  with  cries  and  yells,  with  bruises  and 
with  blows  J  while,  in  fact,  great  numbers  had  to  remain  the 
whole  night  without  the  city — -there  were  all  the  while,  to  the 
right  and  left^  ojTen  gaps  through  the  walls^  which  no  one  had 
been  stationed  to  point  out  1 

Within  the  city  it  was  much  the  same.  There  were  ample 
magazines,  both  of  provisions  and  of  clothing,  but  no  order  had 
been  made  for  their  right  use.  The  perishing  soldiers  would 
not  be  denied,  and  thus,  for  lack  of  distribution,  there  wa« 
plunder.  Moreover  it  was  found  that  the  city  could  not  be 
main  tain  ed»  Several  divisions  of  the  hostile  army  were  close  at 
hand»  and  the  sound  of  their  artillery  boomed  nearer  and  nearer. 
Under  theie  circumstances  Murat  made  a  precipitate  retreat,  at 
four  in  the  morning,  with  the  remains  of  the  Old  Guard,  In 
his  hurry  he  appears  to  have  given  no  directions  for  the  guidance 
of  the  rest  Marshal  Mortier  heard  of  his  departure  only  bj 
chance^  and  then  followed  with  the  Young  Guard,  or  what  wa« 
left  of  it.  Marshal  Ney,  with  a  handful  of  heroic  men^  again 
forming  the  rear,  undertook  to  maintain  the  city  a  few  hour* 
more^  Immediately  on  his  departure  the  Russian  troops  poured 
in.  Of  the  French,  several  Generals,  a  great  number  of  oflicers, 
and  more  than  twenty  thousand  soldiers,  nearly  all  sick  or 
wounded,  remained  at  Wilna,  utterly  exhausted  and  unable  to 

2  A  2  move 


346  The  French  Retreat  from  Moscow. 

move  farther.  They  became,  therefore,  prisoners  in  the  enemy's 
hands. 

The  ruin  of  the  army,  however,  was  completed  a  few  miles 
from  Wilna,  at  a  steep  hill  forming  the  left  bank  of  the  Wilna 
valley.  That  hill  had  become  one  slippery  sheet  of  ice.  The 
horses — for  there  were  still  some  horses  midevoured — were 
urged  to  drag  up  the  remaining  cannon  or  carriages,  but  they 
were  urged  in  vain.  Not  one  piece  of  artillery,  and  scarce  any 
of  the  lighter  vehicles,  could  be  saved.  Here,  then,  were  relin- 
quished the  last  resources  of  the  army,  its  military  chests,  carried 
from  Wilna,  and  containing  ten  millions  of  francs  in  gold  and 
silver  coin.  The  soldiers  passing  by  were  permitted  to  take 
what  they  could,  and  it  was  a  strange  spectacle,  writes  De 
Fezensac,  to  see  men  heavily  laden  with  gold,  and  yet  half-dead 
with  hunger.  Here,  too,  were  left  *  the  trophies  of  Moscow ' 
as  they  were  termed,  which  had  been  conveyed  safely  thus  far 
amidst  so  many  dangers  and  disasters — above  all,  the  great  cross 
of  Ivan,  taken  down  from  the  highest  spire  of  Moscow,  and 
designed  in  memorial  of  the  conquest,  for  the  ornament  of  the 
Invalides  at  Paris. 

At  Kowno,  as  at  Wilna,  no  stand  could  be  made.  The 
French  army,  now  reduced  to  .scattered  bands,  fled,  band  by 
band,  across  the  Niemen.  There  were  now  only  hundreds  of 
armed  and  effective  men  upon  the  same  ground  where  there  had 
been  hundreds  of  thousands  the  summer  before.  At  Konigsberg 
they  found  a  short  respite,  but  no  permanent  halting-place  until 
on  the  line  of  the  Vistula — behind  the  ramparts  of  Dantzick  and 
Elbing. 

The  aspect  of  Wilna  and  Kowno,  just  before  they  were 
thronged  with  the  mass  of  the  retreating  French,  is  well  por- 
trayed in  a  book  which  has  had  but  little  circulation  in  Ger- 
many, and  none  at  all,  we  believe,  in  England.  We  allude  to 
M.  Droysen's  biography  of  General  York,  published  at  Berlin  in 
1851.  York,  as  is  well  known,  was,  at  the  close  of  1812, 
commander  of  the  Prussian  force  in  Couriand,  which  acted  as 
an  auxiliary  to  France,  and  had  Marshal  Macdonald  as  imme- 
diate chief.  Perplexed  at  the  ominous  rumours  which  began  to 
prevail  as  to  the  fate  of  the  Grande  Armie,,  York  secretly 
despatched  one  of  his  young  officers,  Baron  Canitz,  on  an 
exploring  mission  to  Wilna.  The  memoir  of  the  Baron,  as 
drawn  up  on  his  return,  now  lies  before  us  in  jts  native  German, 
being  given  by  M.  Droysen  in  the  appendix  to  his  first  volume ; 
and  we  are  here  tempted  to  translate,  and  sometimes  abridge, 
several  of  its  graphic  details : — 

'  On  the  afternoon  of  the  4ih  of  December  I  reached  Kowno.     Till 

then 


The  French  Retreat  from  Moscon 


U1 


tboti  I  had  mot  ecrireo  anj  one  upon  my  routo,  and  mtm  no  tmeos  of 
the  war.  But  at  Kowno  the  ruins  of  demolished  housea,  the  reraainB 
of  bivouac  fireSs  and  tho  dead  horses  on  tho  roadside,  epoke  but  too 
plainly  of  an  annj'e  Une  of  march,  Tho  town  was  full  of  scattered 
soldierSj  many  aick  or  wounded,  dcriTcd  from  every  possible  corps, 
and  decked  \vith  all  varieties  of  tmiform,  Tho  first  of  whom  I  asked 
my  wjiy  to  tho  post-station  waa  a  half-frossen  Portuguese,  who  eould 
speak  of  nothing  but  the  cold*  I  found  it  almost  impossible  to  obtain 
poat-horses»  hut  lighted,  by  good  fortune,  on  a  French  courier  charged 
with  despatches,  who  oflfered  to  take  me  with  bim  on  my  paying  one 
half  bis  expenses.  I  gladly  accepted  hid  proposal,  and  we  were  alf  in 
half  an  hour, 

'  Tho  places  we  passed  through  were  half  demolished,  and  the  in^ 
bahltants  bad  fled,  so  that  besides  the  Prencb  soldiery  thoro  was  no 
creature  to  he  seen.  A  few  miles  from  Kowno  we  overtook  a  body  of 
Bomo  hundred  cavalry— Cuirassiers  and  Lancers — proceeding  as  a 
reinforcement  to  tho  Grande  Armui.  The  horses  not  being  rough-shod 
wore  constantly  slipping  and  falling  on  the  icy  gi'omid*  So  the  m€D. 
had  for  the  moat  part  to  proceed  on  foot,  leading  their  steeds  by  tbd 
bridle,  and  cxpresBing  their  dislike  of  this  mode  of  march  by  a  myriad 
of  execrations.  My  courier  called  out  without  ceasing,  "  A  ^auehe^  fm* 
camarades  ;  cej^t  un  courier  de  rEmperettr  qui  doit  pasntr ;"  and  in  this 
manner  we  went  through  the  devoted  band,  which,  as  I  compute  it, 
must  have  arrived  at  Wilna  jujst  in  time  to  share  in  the  general 
destruction, 

*  Wilna,  like  most  cities  in  Poland,  is  a  strange  assemhlage  of 
splendid  palaces  and  miserable  huts  mingled  with  each  other.  Ita 
gtreets  bore  a  most;  variegated  aspect,  as  comprising  samples  and  spe-* 
cimens  of  all  the  different  corps  which  had  formed  la  Grande  Armee. 
Still  there  was  a  certain  order  preserved ;  tho  Guards  of  the  King  of 
Naples,  who  stood  sontinels  at  the  principal  doors,  were  not  only  trim 
but  splendid  in  attire ;  and  there  were  only  tho  ghastly  figures  of  the 
revennnl^  dea  hopiiauv,  m  they  were  termed,  to  remind  ns  of  the  coming 
catastrophe.  French  ballets  and  comedies  had  been  acted  in  tho 
evGDiog ;  and  Preneh  shops  were  open  in  every  direction^  several  for 
Jewelry  or  other  aritcies  da  luxe^  and  all  with  huge  French  signs. 

'  From  General  Knesemark  I  learnt  the  latest  news.  He  told  me 
that  according  to  his  reports  the  French  cavalry  and  artillery  were 
utterly  destroyed — that  there  was  littkj  bope  of  a  stand  being  made  at 
or  near  Wilna— that  the  Emperor  was  on  the  point  of  taking  bis  de- 
parture, and  committing  the  command  to  the  King  of  Naples.  It  was 
to  be  tho  General*fi  last  day  at  Kowno.  He  bad  been  summoned  by  tho 
Bnka  de  Bassano,  in  common  with  his  brethren  of  the  corps  diplofna" 
tiquej  to  proceed  at  oe«j  to  Warsaw,  bo  that  he  would  not  be  able  to 
judge  with  his  own  eyes  of  the  retreating  army. 

'  In  company  with  a  friend.  Major  Sehenk,  whom  I  found  at  Wilna^ 
I  repaired  to  a  restaarntetir^  at  the  sign  of  the  Aigic  Imperial — a  visit 
of  which  I  stood  greatly  in  need,  since  meals  do  not  abound  in  a  Polish 
journey.     Never,  perhaps,  did  any  cook  deserve  more  thoroughly  this 

namd 


jA^i**:  'A  ^*s0iyurzr^v^.     H''V'  7**y*'7'  ixi.  cic  X  Btt  dobbc-  n  vlio  wn 


Iff  t-.:..  -u:  *i.  .  fcf'.-r  iL-:  j.ot  n.v.c.iei  c-jmLrs  of  a  pood 

^  V .:!  L  trz.  iSr.T  ikiiL  fc  eibfitzfiL  sdcs. !  Of  diOK 


T:..?  vu'  :_  i:  V  >J..  ''•:i  iLt  =iTTJtr  :€  u»t  f;l  lit  afi^hadcB  in 
Vj»:  '.:;.  V  t«  r...-.!y  .L.r-j4--  i  .  ll  I  4^11  wii.  c-:»zj1  iztL  &  cuSTertsee 
Lfc.:  -= :  '.'•.:  •'-•'-•  :  -:  '  :i  .i  Tj  _.-*ii  i^«-  klrLikST  gooe.  We 
n'.;.:  t^  *j-.ti-.:  ro-.i":'.  ..r  :  ':  r-L^iJdk?:.  &:  iL-  r-xn.  of  La  Cowm^e 
Jny^-.J*.  }£'..  :>..  vifci.  ;i-.'ii^:r  -:.  S-.Trj*!  .c5>..r»  Tepr^&atrOitd  lo 
L-:;-  tiit  •^«.:'-  wt*?  -.  »*.n  f  :cj-.r. fci.i  iL*:  Lt  Liki  >:i;s  ttij.  -Oi 
a  '.-».*  z.,-^ ?>.".**  rr-*  '■.■•'k^.Cjf/-^  '"•  r  J-/'.--."  fci;?«"i:^i  ire;  -^  m'm  d^mU 
yj4.  .iMu  y^  jyjfltrit  <:^'.a<  ■•  -.i  li  p  *.  r^'  ■<  (•  /  «".  N^I'Iei-iOl  mAT  ppfhapfl 
LAr<:  uk»^:.  <.XA/.;lr  iL'.  skiL*:  vi^^  vL'.:;  be  sscpped  iuo  Lis  cttxiage  At 
Hv^*yrjji.L  u.i  btt>i':  iLfc  KLl^  cf  NajIub  le^i  iis  mmr  inso  vinfer 

*  All  tLroTifEl:  tL'r  duT  I  nw  rer^wntt  from  the  azbt  jKm  in.  Fonns 
1^/  tSkULt,  hfj  uut^ily.  iikX  cTcit  :Le  direst  drtAin  cc^iJd  scAToelT  image 
tL'rxij,  krr></i  il  biriiOfel  a&  sz.broken  liiie,  soxae  on  dedge^  sad  sooie 
Ob  f'y>t.  Out  of  zxau:ir  Lax«dreds  Lkrdlr  one  carried  a  znoikiet  or  a 
w'jhp'^zi  of  aiiT  k:;;d.  ILilt  f*.-Il  d .wi:  exhausted  in  the  rtieeU^  and 
lay  L«:lpl^AK,  « hil<:  the  T*M  ]ja6fied  th'.-m  hecdlesalr  br.  To  see  ■ 
djrJL;^  afu.r  v>  xruiZij  other  hc'Mks  of  woe,  socmed  to  prodooe  no 
iiiipr'l-^ioii  t}«au  t'>  lee  a  uum  dmuk  in  a  Polish  fair. 

■J  -Asi**  aM*fir«yl  thit  t}-',-  Ouir-i  was  cijiettcd  on  the  mcirrow — pe- 
thi'jA  Vt  a  2/<<:r<;  han  Iful.  hiA  inarchiLg  in  Tiiwr  disarraT ;  and  I  shotild 
liAVf;  wih}i':'i  to  ju']:/c  With  L'iT  0^71  tvcs  tho  actTi&l  State  of  that  pic-od 
lAfid  whi<jh  1  h^d  lA-hcM  Lis:  .Ioj;'.'.  in  all  its  splcndonr.  pAcsing 
throij^fli  zfjy  ji'AX'.vt:  land.  ]>:.t  th'-  of:-,  r  at  tl*.-  p<:«t-&tation  t«.»ld  me 
tliat  hi:  «-jtuhl  givo  lu';  no  hozs'.a  i:  I  liL^Lred;  and  go  I  set  oat  on  uiv 
rctiirii  tiiiit  vr.-ry  nigLt.' 

In  ronrliirlirj^r  the  sliprht  skr-tch  ()f  these  terrible  disasters  it 
m-ows  rKitunil  to  inquire  tLr*  total  loss  whit  h  the  French  sustained. 
M.  'I'ljieiK  roni|)i]tes  that,  of  the  soldiers  who  had  crossed  the 
Ni'-nir'n,  aUiUt  l<f(>,(^()()  Uf  amr*  jirisoners  <'l"  war,  and  about 
.'/00,000  wen!  eitli^r  slain  in  action  or  died  of  their  wounds,  or 
jir-iJHhr'fl  from  fainiii';  and  rohl.  Vast  <is  arc  tliese  numbers,  they 
a|i|M'ar  to  be  fuiiy  borne  out  by  sjK'cific  details.  Thus  M.  de 
I'Vz«*risar  pivs  us  the  particulars  of  his  own  regiment.  It  had 
2iriO  inrrfi  when  it  passed  the  Khine,  it  rereive^l  a  reinforcement 
of  400  mr*n  at  Moscow,  one  more  to  the  same  amount  at 
SinoifMisk,  and  another  of  only  50  men  at  Wilna,  making  3000 
in  all.     'Now  of  these  3000  men/  adds  De  Fezensac,   'onlv 

200 


Tks  French  Betrmt  from  Moscow.  849 

200  returned  with  me  to  the  Vistula^  and  about  100  Kubsequeotly 
came  back  from  captivity,  so  that  our  loss  was  2700  out  of  30 00^ 
that  is  nine -tenths,'  And  even  of  these  5^00  wSjo  remained 
in  arms  upon  the  Vistula^  how  many  may  have  belonged  to  the 
detachments  that  joined  at  Smolensk  or  at  Wilna,  and  that  never 
taw  Moscow ! 

The  causes  of  this  great  catastrophe  are  by  no  means  difficult  to 
trace.  Of  coarse  the  rigour  of  the  season  forms  the  first.  But 
4he  closer  we  inquire,  the  more  fully  shall  we  find  confirmed  the 
opmtun  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  which  we  quoted  at  the  com- 
mencement of  this  article,  that  the  arrangements  of  Napoleon 
were  short-sighted  and  defective.  That  opinion  will  be  found 
developed  with  more  details,  and  fortified  by  numerous  instances, 
in  another  essay  or  rather  series  of  remarks  by  the  Duke — some 
notes  which  he  drew  up  in  1826  on  M.  de  St»gur's  recently  pub- 
lished history  of  the  Russian  campaign.  Those  notes  have 
hitherto  remained  in  M8.,  but  they  will  appear  in  the  forth* 
coming  volume  of  the  *  Wellington  Papers/  and  meanwhile  we 
have  been  enabled  by  the  favour  of  the  present  Duke  to  peruse 
them  in  the  proofs. 

The  Duke  here  observes  : — 

*  This  chapter  (the  second)  affords  another  proof  of  NapolGon*a  ex- 
truordiiiory  c^haractor.  He  Imd  taken  tliu  utmost  pains  to  ascertain 
the  difficulty  imd  danger  of  the  enterprise  which  ho  was  about  to 
nndertake ;  these  diliieidtiefi  and  dangers  are  rcpregented  to  him  from 
all  quartern  and  in  all  forms.  He  is  sensible  of  them,  yet  he  Is  deter- 
mined to  persevere.  He  wants  a  military  success^  and  he  must  seek 
for  it  I  he  is  blind  to  every  difficulty^  or  rather  ivill  not  see  any  ;  and 
wiU  take  no  measures  to  ensure  his  success  (excepting  to  collect  a 
iBjTgB  French  army),  and  most  particularly  none  wMeh  can  check  for 
a  moment  the  gratification  of  hm  hatred  of  Beruadotte. 

*  It  is  certainly  true  that  thi«  young  empire  had  all  the  disorders  of 
old  age-  Hero  are  officers  making  fftlse  reports,  and  a  Minister  con- 
cealmg  the  tmth,  lest  the  truth  should  displease  the  Emperor  I  ^ 

On  the  whole  then,  in  discussing  the  events  of  1812,  we  may 
presume  to  say  that  Napoleon  had  made  no  preparations  for  a 
military  retreat  In  his  other  campaigns,  both  before  and  after, 
that  extraordinary  man  evinced  a  g:enius  for  the  organisation  of 
an  army^  little  inferior  to  his  genius  in  the  field.  It  was  far 
otherwise  in  the  Moscow  episode.  There  the  Emperor  appears 
to  have  confided  in  his  star — to  have  supposed  that  his  former 
course  of  uninterrupted  triumphs  must  be  uninterrupted  still, 
even  though  he  should  neglect  the  provident  care  by  which, 
among  other  qualities,  these  triumphs  were  achieved* 

We  would  observe,  however,  as  a  Ikct  that  may  explain — and 

not 


350  The  French  Retreat  from  Motcow. 

not  only  explain  but  in  a  great  measure  excuse — Yom  deficiency 
of  arrangements  at  this  time,  that  all  through  the  advance  from 
Witepsk  to  Moscow,  and  probably  at  Moscow  also,  Napcdeon 
appears  to  have  been  in  a  state  of  feverish  excitement  and  great 
mental  disquietude.  Of  this  curious  fact  there  has  recently 
appeared  some  remarkable  testimony.  Duroc,  who  during  so 
long  a  period  was  admitted  to  his  daily  intercourse  and  familiar 
conversation,  and  who  beyond  all  other  men  deserved  the  title  of 
his  personal  friend,  dotted  down  at  the  time,  in  great  secresy. 
and  only  for  himself,  some  notes  upon  the  subject  Forty  years 
later  these  notes,  having  come  into  the  hands  of  M.  Villemain,  were 
published  by  him  in  the  first  part  of  his  ^  Souvenirs  Contemporaim^ 
We  shall  conclude  this  essay  by  transcribing  them,  thinking  that 
they  form  perhaps  a  key  to  no  small  part  of  what  ensued : — 

'  4  Aoi^t,  deux  heures  da  matin.  A  pris  le  bain :  grande  agitation, 
n  fant  marcher,  reporer  vito  le  temps  perda ;  nous  ne  ponvona  pas 
bivonaqner  ^tomellement  dans  cette  bicoqno  da  palaia  dn  Duo  de 
Wittemberg. 

'  5  AoOt,  ano  hearo  da  matin.  Dict^e  sar  les  moovemens  dea  corps. 
....  Quo  servirait  de  prendre  Higa  ?  II  faat  ane  immense  victoire, 
one  bataille  dovant  Moecoa,  ane  prise  de  Moscoo,  qui  6toime  le 
monde. 

'  L*Emperear  a  dormi  deax  heares ;  il  m'a  montr6  le  jour  d^jii  dair 
k  l*horizon.  *'  Nous  avons  encore/'  m'a-t-il  dit,  ^  du  be«a  tempa  poor 
pres  de  trois  mois ;  il  m*en  a  falla  moins  poor  Aasterlitz  et  Tilsit.'' 

'  7  Aodt.  L'Emperoar  a  6te  physiqaement  tr^  sooffrant ;  il  a  pris 
do  ropium  prepare  ^lar  Mothivicr.  Duroc,  il  faut  marcher  oa  moarir. 
Un  Emperear  meart  dcbout ;  et  alors  il  ne  meurt  point.  Yous  avez 
pear  des  PrassienB  cntro  Moscou  et  la  France ;  soavenez-voas  d'lena, 
et  croyez  encore  plus  a  Icur  crainte  qu'a  lear  baine ;  mais  poar  cela  il 
faut  marcher;  il  faut  agir.  L'Empcreur  a  souffert  encore.  H  faut 
finir  oette  fievre  du  douto.' 

We  may  sum  up  the  whole  perhaps  with  a  forcible  exclama- 
tion of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  as  we  find  it  in  his  Segur  notes : 
— ^It  is  that  which  strikes  one  as  most  extraordinary  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  transaction  of  our  times — how  much  of  the  fate  of  the 
world  depends  upon  the  temper  and  passions  of  one  man ! ' 


Art. 


^    351    ) 


A  RT.  Ill, — 1,  First  Report  of  the  Commissioners  appointed  to  higuire 
into  the  Organization  and  Ruhs  cf  TVadei  Uuiom  mid  other 
Associations:  togetker  xmth  MimUea  of  Evidence,    Londoa,  1867* 

2*  Strikes  and  Loch-OutSj  or  tlte  Law  of  Comhination.  By  a 
Barrister.     Londan,  1867. 

3,  Report  of  the  various  proceedin//s  taken  hj  ike  London  TVorfw* 
Cotineii  and  the  Conference  of  Amalgamated  Trades^  in  reference 
to  the  Royal  Commission  on  Trades  Unions^  and  other  mhjecis 
in  connection  the  re  with,     London,  1867, 

THE  question  of  Trades'  Unions,  since  the  Reform  Bill  has 
bet^n  carried,  and  perhaps  on  that  very  account,  is  the  most 
momentous  to  which  any  writer  can  address  himself.  There  is, 
indeed  J  a  prevalent  opinion  that,  %vhile  the  Bill  of  Mr.  Gladstone 
would  have  enfranchised  exactly  those  very  persons  who  con- 
stitute  the  members  of  Trades*  Unions,  the  Bill  of  Mr.  Disraeli 
has  gone  so  much  lower  in  the  scale  of  property  and  intelligence, 
that  the  aristocracy  of  labour  will  be  entirely  swamped,  and  the 
power  of  Trades'  Unions,  like  all  other  existing  powers,  will 
dwindle  into  insignificance  in  presence  of  the  new  democratic 
element.  Those  who  reason  in  this  way  forget  that  Trades' 
Unions,  vast  as  is  their  extension,  and  enormous  as  is  their 
power,  are  yet  comparatively  in  their  infancy,  that  they  are 
spreading  every  day  wider  and  wider  over  the  area  occupied  by 
iKilled  labour,  and  that  they  are  rapidly  taking  possession  of  the 
mind  of  the  unskilled  assistants  of  the  higher  class  of  operatives. 
It  would  be  wonderful  were  it  not  so.  These  men  are  the 
heaviest  sufferers  by  industrial  wars,  in  the  waging  of  which 
thej  are  allowetl  no  voice  and  no  opinion.  If  the  bricklayers 
strike,  they  throw  not  only  themselves  but  their  labourers  out  of 
employment.  It  is  very  natural  that  these  labourers  should  wish 
to  have  a  voice  in  what  may  be  called  the  politics  of  labour,  and 
the  only  way  to  obtain  that  voice  is  to  make  for  themselves  an 
organisation  similar  to  that  of  those  Trades'  Unions,  which  now 
dispose  of  the  welfare  of  hundreds  of  poor  families  without 
a  thought  of  the  injury  they  inflict  upon  persons  who  are  just  as 
much  placed  under  their  protection  as  any  class  that  is  dependent 
on  another-  Indeed,  a  Trades'  Union  is  in  this  respect  similar 
to  a  great  military  power.  It  not  only  possesses  great  offensive 
force  itself,  but  is  the  cause  of  the  creation  of  great  offensive  force 
by  others.  Every  trade  can  collaterally  exercise  so  much  influ- 
ence on  other  kindred  trades,  and  directly  so  much  influence  on 
the  employers  of  labour,  that  it  drives  all  those  with  whom  it 
comes  in  contact  to  imitation.      The   more  the   Union  spirit 

spreads, 


352  Traiei  Unimu. 

fpreads,  the  more  is  it  likely  to  spread.  It  is  a  macliiiie  ex* 
cellentlj  oaalified  for  political  action,  and  we  caniiDt  doabt  that 
the  new  Reform  Bill  will  give  an   additional  impulse  to  this 

ries  of  association.    It  is  therefore  quite  safe  to  coucliide  tK^t 
present  Reform  Bill,  wide  as  it  is,  will  not  orerthrow,  naj, 
will  probablj  give  new  force  to,  the  political  action  of  Trades' 
Unions.     It  may  be  said  that,  pending  ue  researches  of  the  Royal 
Commission,  it  would  be  well  to  abstain  from  discussion  ;  bat'  in 
the  first  place,  the  Commission,  by   publishing  their  evidence 
periodically,  have  put  it  in  the  power  of  the  public  to  form 
a  judgment,  without  waiting  for  their  own.     In  the  next  place, 
the  subject  is   one   upon  which  there   is  not  so  much  dispute 
about  facts  as  about  principles.     The  evidence  taken  in  London 
has  given  a  pretty  clear  insight  into  the  nature  and  tendencies 
of  these  bodies.      The  evidence  taken   at    Sheffield  and  Man- 
chester has     shown    the    extreme    development  of  principles, 
which  at  the   first   sight  appear  harmless,  or  at   worst  specn* 
latively  wrong ;  and  though  the  subsequent  labours  of  the  Com- 
mission may  amplify  and  expand  these  details,  they  can  hardly 
alter  the  landmarks  of  thought  which  they  have  laid  down  for  us. 
We  believe  that  a  great  service  can  be  rendered  to  the  cause  of 
truth  and  justice   by  reinvestigating  this  subject  with  the  addi- 
tional  light  that  has  been  thrown  upon  it  by  recent  inquiries, 
and  seeking,  if  possible,  to  deduce  some  practical  conclusion  as 
to  a  state  of  things  in  which  nobody  seems  able  to  suggest  an 
alteration,  and  yet  which  nobody  considers  ought  to  be  left  as  it  is. 
The  Sawgrinders*  Union  of  Sheffield  justify  the  conduct  of 
Mr.  Broadhead,  and  their  own  indisposition  to  part  with  him,  on 
the  ground  that  he  was  betrayed  into  the  indiscretion  of  retaining 
and  employing  hired  assassins  by  the  defective  state  of  the  law, 
which  obliged  the  Trades'  Union  to  punish  with  death  persons  who 
seceded  from  it  or  refused  to  join  it,  because  legislation  had 
failed  to  arm  them  with  sufficient  power  for  that  purpose.     The 
Trades'  Unions  throughout  the  country  consider  themselves  much 
aggrieved  because  they  are  deprived,  by  their  rules  in  restraint 
of  trade,  of  the  summary  jurisdiction  for  enforcing  claims  against 
fraudulent  trustees  and  treasurers  given  by  the  Friendly  Societies' 
Acts,  and  claim  an  alteration  of  the   law ;  and  the  operative 
tailors,   at  the    recent   trial    for   picketing,    at  the  Old  Bailey, 
through  their  counsel,  inveighed  bitterly  against  the  existing  law 
of  conspiracy  as  intolerably  harsh  and  oppressive.     Alterations 
of  the  law  are  claimed  on  all  sides,  and  before  we  can  determine 
what  those  alterations  should  be,  we  must  ascertain  what  is  the 
constitution  of,  and  what  are  the  practices   allowed,  tolerated, 
or   approved   in   Trades'    Unions;    what  is   their  effect  in  an 

economical 


economical  point  of  viewj  and  wkether  the  ends  that  they  seek 
and  the  means  that  they  employ  are  consistent  with  theprlncipJes 
of  good  govcirnment,  and  a  due  respect  for  the  rights  and 
liberties  of  Individ iials.  It  will  then  remain  to  be  ascertained  what 
the  law  is  at  the  present  moment^  and  in  what  respects  it  ought 
to  be  modified  so  as  to  do  justice  to  all  parties  concerned, 

Perhaps  the  fairest  way  to  arrive  at  the  notion  of  a  Trades' 
Union  is  to  take  the  description  given  of  the  Amalgamated 
Society  of  Carpenteris  and  Joiners  by  Mr.  Applegartbj  their 
secretary.  The  society  consists  of  an  executive  council  and 
branches.  The  executive  is  elected  by  the  branches  in  London ; 
each  branch  consists  of  seven  or  more  members  in  qny  town 
where  they  think  proper  to  establish  themsehes,  The  Amal- 
gamated Society  of  Carpenters  has  one  hundred  and  ninety 
branches.  Its  income  for  1865  was  10,487/*  j  its  expenditure, 
6733/.  TTie  object  of  the  society  is  mutual  support  of  its 
members  in  case  of  sickness,  accident,  superannuation^  burial , 
emigration,  loss  of  tools,  being  out  of  work,  and  extreme  dis- 
tress^ A  candidate  for  membership  must  be  in  good  health,  of 
good  character,  a  good  workman,  have  worked  five  years  at  the 
trade,  and  be  under  fortj-five  years  of  age.  He  is  entitled  to 
fifteen  shillings  a  week,  if  he  leaves  his  employment  on  terms 
satisfactory  to  the  bmnch  or  executive  council.  The  executive 
council  never  originates  sir  ikes,  but  gives  its  opinion  as  to  the 
propriety  of  strikes,  and,  if  it  approves  of  them,  affords  assistance 
when  needed.  It  receives  reports  every  month  of  the  rate  of 
wages  and  state  of  trade  all  over  the  country,  and  is  guided  by 
the  general  state  of  the  whole  society  in  giving  or  withholding 
its  assent  to  a  strike.  The  secretary  disclaims  on  behalf  of  the 
society  any  persecution  or  annoyance  to  non-Union  men,  or  any 
compulsion  as  to  the  number  of  apprentices  employed.  This 
may  probably  be  considered,  at  least  as  described  by  its  secretary, 
one  of  the  most  reasonable  and  moderate  of  these  societies. 
But  it  will  not  allow  any  workman  to  take  work  offered  by 
a  customer  of  any  employer  after  his  day^s  work.  *  Having  an 
efficient  organisation,  they  think  it  right  to  use  it  for  their 
a<lvantage/  When  a  man  has  done  his  day's  work  he  has  done 
sufficient*  They  believe  the  man  to  be  thoroughly  selfish  who 
does  more,  *  If  every  man  is  to  be  left  to  do  as  he  likes,  the 
sooner  the  society  is  dissolved  the  better/  *  They  do  not  know  the 
effect  of  tljc  society  upon  the  employers.  In  this  sel  fish  world 
the  employers  look  out  for  their  own  interests  as  well  as  we  *lo 
for  tmrs/  One  third  of  their  income  is  spent  in  supporting 
strikes.  When  a  man  disobeys  the  roles,  he  ceases  to  be  a 
member  of  the  society.     The  subscription  is  one  fihilling  a  week, 

but 


354  Trades  Unions. 

but  an  extraordinary  levy  may  be  made,  and,  as  we  understand, 
must  be  paid.  At  any  rate,  this  is  undoubtedly  the  case  in  other 
societies,  and,  if  it  is  not  paid,  the  defaulter  ceases  to  be  a  member, 
that  is,  loses  altogether  the  whole  benefit  of  his  subscriptions. 
We  believe  this  to  be  one  of  the  most  moderate^  best  r^^lated, 
and  best  conducted  of  existing  Trades*  Unions.  At  any  rate, 
it  presents  a  most  favourable  contrast  to  the  painters',  the  brick- 
layers*, and  masons'  Unions,  as  we  shall  presently  see.  It  is  for 
this  reason  we  have  selected  it  as  a  case  by  which  to  test  the 
soundness  or  unsoundness  of  the  Union  principle  in  an  economical 
point  of  view.  If  this  Union  cannot  stand  the  application  of 
ordinary  economical  principles,  we  are  convinced  there  is  no 
other  that  will..  It  is  fairer  and  more  just  to  test  the  effects  and 
tendencies  of  such  combinations  by  sudi  a  case  than  to  introduce 
topics  which  can  only  serve  to  prejudice  the  judgment.  We  shall 
see  hereafter  how  far  the  Amalgamated  Society  of  Carpenters  is 
from  being  an  average  type  of  the  rules  under  which  Trades' 
Unions  are  conducted,  or  of  the  spirit  in  which  they  are  worked. 
Is  such  a  combination  as  this  economically  beneficial  to  its 
members?  Does  it  yield  them  an  equivalent  for  the  sacrifices 
which  it  demands  from  them,  and  for  the  absence  of  personal 
liberty  upon  which  it  is  founded,  and  without  which  it  is  ad- 
mitted that  it  had  better  not  exist  ?  We  will  try  it  by  the  very 
test  that  its  own  members  and  advocates  would  propose :  are  the 
members  of  a  Trades*  Union  better  off  than  if  no  such  institution 
existed  ?  Does  this  organisation  really  offer  to  the  working  man 
any  equivalent  for  what  it  demands  of  him  ?  Let  us  first  see  what 
the  sacrifices  are.  In  the  first  place  there  is  the  shilling  a  week, 
no  inconsiderable  sum  to  pay,  and  for  which  he  ought,  it  should 
seem,  to  be  entitled  to  some  certain  benefit  The  association,  it 
will  be  observed,  has  two  objects,  it  is  both  an  ordinary  chari- 
table or  benefit  club,  and  it  is  also  a  trade  society.  It  is 
reckoned  a  g^eat  advantage  that  these  two  concerns  can  be 
managed  by  the  same  executive,  and  there  is  no  doubt  a  saving 
in  the  consolidation.  But  it  is  very  dearly  bought  A  man  who 
has  for  years  been  a  subscriber,  with  a  view  to  relief  in  old  age 
or  sickness,  may,  by  failing  to  pay  a  single  instalment,  lose  all 
that  he  has  previously  subscribed.  So  harsh  a  rule  would  hardly 
be  suffered  to  exist  in  an  association  in  which  a  provident  care 
for  old  age  or  sickness  was  the  principal  object  to  be  attained. 
But  non-payment  is  not  the  only  cause  of  forfeiture.  The  crime 
of  taking  piece-work  or  working  overtime,  or  disobedience,  as  we 
understand  it,  to  any  rule  the  Union  or  the  Branch  may  choose 
to  make,  will  equally  deprive  him  of  the  fruits  of  his  savings  and 
sacrifices.     He  binds  himself  to  obey  not  only  fixed  rules,  but 

whatever 


Tradei  UnionM.  355 

whaterer  the  majority  may  choose  to  declare  to  be  rules,  under  the 
penalty,  in  case  he  is  unwilling  or  unable  to  obey  the  majority,  of 
farfeiting  the  economies  of  a  life.  He  sells  himself  into  slavery,  not 
to  law,  but  to  human  will,  and  uudertakes  beioreband  to  submit  to 
and  ratify  whatever  a  majority  may  decide;  and,  be  It  observed, 
a  majority  of  a  great  part  of  which  he  can  ktmw  nothing,  A 
levy  may  he  made  for  a  strike  of  which  he  does  not  approve,  for 
a  strike  made  by  one  trade,  not  for  any  grievance  of  its  own,  but 
to  help  anotUer  trade  which  may  feci  itself  aggrieved.  He  is 
responsible  to  an  unlimited  extent  for  whatever  may  be  decided 
on  in  his  behalC  The  Trades*  Union  is  not  like  an  ordinary 
joint-stock  company,  whose  power  is  limited  to  the  object  for 
^vhith  it  is  founded,  and  in  which  any  act  of  the  majority  beyond 
the  scope  of  the  undertaking  is  ukra  vires  and  void*  The 
majority  in  the  Trades'  Union  can  assist  a  strike  for  any  object  it 
thinks  proper ;  there  is  no  limitation  to  its  power,  no  legal  means  of 
controlling  its  abuse  of  power.  The  advocates  of  Trades*  Unions 
complain  in  unmeasured  language  that  they  are  unable  to  pro- 
secute tbeir  fraudulent  officers,  because,  their  rules  being  in 
restraint  of  trade,  they  are  not  treated  as  Beuefit  or  Friendly 
Societies.  But  this  question  has  another  side.  If  a  Trades' 
Union  ever  so  grievously  oppress  one  of  its  members,  he  is  with- 
out remedy  for  exactly  the  same  reason.  He  cannot  use  the 
summary  jurisdiction  given  by  the  statute  for  and  against  Friendly 
Societies  to  obtain  his  demand  from  them,  and  his  only  remedy 
is  a  bill  in  equity,  which  is  of  course  utterly  out  of  the  question. 

One-third  of  the  expenditure  of  this  orderly  and  well -managed 
association  is  devoted  to  payment  for  strikes,  that  is,  4^.  out  of 
every  shilling  is  deducted  from  beneticial  and  provident  pur- 
poses.  The  ejtpenscs  of  management  vary  from  20  to  40  per 
cent,,  and  there  is  moreover  the  risk  of  a  special  lev}*  The 
prosiKJct  does  not  seem ,  encouraging,  and  we  turn  with  some 
curiosity  to  the  other  side  of  the  question,  and  ask,  Wliat  are 
tlie  advantages  which  can  counter  balance  such  deductions,  and 
so  great  a  loss  of  personal  freedom  ? 

The  advantage  which  the  working  man  is  taught  to  believe  that 
he  gains  in  exchange  for  all  these  sacrifices  of  money,  of  liberty, 
and  independence,  is  that  by  the  agency  of  this  costly  iuacbi»ery 
he  w^ill  secure  to  himself  an  income  larger  than  the  income  he 
would  otiierwise  have  obtained,  by  a  sum  sufficient  to  cover  all 
these  expenses,  and  to  leave  him  a  handsome  surplus.  He  makes 
these  sacrifices  for  power ^  power  to  control  the  action  of  his 
master  and  his  fellow  workmen,  and  by  such  control  to  extort  for 
himself  a  larger  share  in  the  division  of  the  gross  proceeds  of 
manufacture  than  would  be  awarded  to  him  without  such  organ- 
isation.     He    avowetlly   wholly   disregards   the   interest   of  his 


356  .  TVades*  Unions. 

master.  It  is  a  selfish  world,  and  master  and  man  must  each 
look  out  for  themselves.  The  notion  of  community  of  interests 
between  master  and  workman,  of  their  being  in  fact  involved  in 
the  same  adventure,  never  enters  into  hb  mind.  His  object  is  to 
get  as  much  out  of  the  fund  as  possible.  Everything  he  so  gets 
he  counts  as  gain,  everything  he  fails  to  get  he  reckons  as  loss. 
It  is  one  of  the  advantages  of  narrow  and  short-sighted  views 
that  they  simplify  matters  extremely.  The  workman  never  trou- 
bles himself  to  think  whence  this  fund  comes,  or  what  are  the 
conditions  necessary  to  its  continuance.  He  regards  it,  as  mathe- 
maticians say,  as  a  given  quantity,  and  concerns  himself  solely 
with  its  division  between  him  and  his  master.  He  looks  at  him- 
self and  the  other  members  of  his  Union  in  the  same  way.  They 
also  are  a  given  and  constant  quantity.  He  never  considers 
whether  they  may  not  be  diminished  in  number  by  a  fall,  or 
increased  in  number  by  a  rise  in  wages.  In  most  societies, 
though  not  in  the  one  of  which  we  are  speaking,  an  effort  is 
made  to  limit  numbers  by  forbidding  apprenticeship.  In  like 
manner  the  workman  never  troubles  himself  to  think  about  the 
capital  of  employers,  or  reflects  for  a  moment  as  to  the  causes 
which  may  increase  or  diminish  it,  or  may  reduce  the  number* 
who  wish  to  employ  him.  He  regards  their  number  as  fixed, 
and  their  capital  as  infinite. 

In  perfect  consistency  with  these  views,  he  regards  the  rate  of 
wages  obtained  as  a  matter  of  organisation  and  agitation.  As  the 
amount  of  the  spoil  of  the  master  depends  upon  the  united  efforts 
of  all,  he  logically  infers  that  it  should  be  divided  equally  among 
all.  He  does  his  best  to  fix  a  minimum  of  wages,  and  to  fix  it  so 
high  that  it  becomes  practically  the  maximum.  It  seems  just  to 
him  that,  as  wages  are  more  in  the  nature  of  the  spoils  of  a  civil 
war  than  of  remuneration  adapted  to  skill  and  industry,  the  better 
workman  should  be  paid  less  than  he  descries,  in  order  that  the 
inferior  workman  may  be  paid  more.  In  this  spirit  it  is  that 
piece-work  and  overtime  are  proscribed.  The  pretence  put  for- 
ward that  it  is  done  in  justice  to  the  employer,  and  that  by  the 
very  persons  who  tell  us  that  in  this  selfish  world  employer  and 
workmen  must  each  take  care  of  themselves,  is  too  manifestly 
hollow  and  insincere  to  deserve  attention.  The  real  cause  of  the 
objection  to  piece-work  and  overtime  is  the  one  we  have 
mentioned,  the  view  that  wages  being  determined  in  their 
amount  by  importunity  and  combination,  they  form  a  fund  for 
the  general  benefit  of  all,  and  that  the  fund  gained  by  the  con- 
tributions and  exertions  of  all  ought  not  to  be  encroached  upon 
by  the  superior  strength  and  dexterity  of  a  few. 

To  any  one  accustomed  to  even  the  most  elementary  principles 
of  political  economy,  to  state  these  views  is  to  refute  them.    We 

have 


Ttuiei  Unimi* 


have  toucbed  the  fallacy  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  this  whole 
«jstem.     It  is,  if  we  may  borrow  the  term  from  mechanics,  the 
taking  a  statical  instead   of  a  dynamical   view  of  the  subject. 
Nothing  is  more  fixed  and  unchangeable  than  the  ultimate  con- 
ditioDs  which  regulate  the  relations  of  capital  to  labour.     They 
rest  upon  laws  of  nature,  unless  we  are  to  exclude  the  bumaii 
mind  from  the  domain  of  that  nature  which  is  only  known  to 
us  by  its  means.     But  while  these  conditions  are  firm  and  stable, 
the  actual  state  of  the  relations  of  labour  and  capital  is  above 
all  things  mobile  and  transient.     To  isolate  one  part  from  the 
rest,  and  to  assume  its  permanence^  is  the  certain  way  to  the 
most  fatal  error.     The  first  step  towards  knowledge  is  to  under- 
stand the  action  and  reaction  that  is  perpetually  going  on  be- 
tween  employer  and   employed.     The  question   for   those  who 
wish   to  raise   the  wages  of  labour   is,   not  how  to  divide  the 
existing  wages- fund  in  a  manner  more  favourable  to  the  working 
man,  but  how  to  increase  competition  for  his  lalxjur  among  em-* 
ployers.     In  this  single  proposition  is  contained  the  emphatic 
condemnation  of  the  policy  of  Trades'  Unions,  and  the  justifica- 
tion of  the  policy  of  lahsez  /aire.     Is  then  this  proposition  true  ? 
No,  says  common  sense,  which  is  in  this  case  pretty  much  the 
simie  as  common  ignorance — the  only  true  gain  is  what  we  can 
fisaci  from  our  masters*     A  rise  in  wages  is  a  clear  and  intel- 
Ufible  advantage  which  any  one  can  understand,  all  the  rest  it 
mere  abstractions  and  sophisms^     This  might  be  so,  if  two  things 
could  be  established ;  first,  that  the  advance  of  wages  obtained 
by  pressure   on   the    master   by  means   of  organised   strikes  is 
attended  by  no  concomitant   evil  to   the  workman  ;  and  next, 
that  the  advantages  sought  are  sure  to  be  retained  when  once 
acquired*    Unhappily  neither  of  these  propositions  can  be  main- 
tained.     The  manner  in  which  the  Trades'  Unions  obtain  a  rise 
in  wages  puts  into  operation  a  set  of  causes  which  have  a  direct 
tendency  to  lower  them.     The   price  of  labour  must   depend, 
like  the  price  of  everything  else,   on  the  demand  for  it     The 
demand  for  labour  depends  on   the   rate   of   profit.     If  profits 
are  high,  fresh  capital  flows  into  the  trade,  either  by  the  establish* 
ment  of  new  Brms,  or  by  the  increase,  by  loan  or  otherwise,  of 
the  capital  of  old  ones.     The  real  cause,  therefore,  of  a  high 
rate  of  wages  is  a  high  rate   of  profit.     Conversely — if  profits 
are  low,   capital  is  withdrawn  from   the  trade  and  seeks  inveit- 
ment  elsewhere  ;  the  demand  for  labour  slackens,  and  wages  fall. 
Now  the  policy  of  Trades'  Unions  may  be  fairly  described,  as  it 
is  by  their  advocates,  as  a  selfish  policy.     It  looks  only  to  the 
increase  of  wages,  and  ostentatiously  disregards  the  state  of  pro- 
fits, of  which  indeed  a  Trades'  Union  has  no  means  of  accurately 
informing  itself.     It  is  perpetually  tormented  by  the  apprehen- 


358  Trades   Unions. 

sion  that  the  employer  is  making  a  large  fortune  oat  of  the 
business  from  which  his  workmen  draw  but  a  moderate  share ; 
forgetting  that  those  large  profits  are  sure,  if  thej  exist,  to  attract 
competitors,  and  thus  indirectly  to  benefit  the  working  man, 
while,  if  they  do  not,  no  one  has  so  strong  an  interest  as  the 
working  man  himself  in  not  forcing  profits  down  to  a  point  which 
will  drive  capital  out  of  the  trade,  and  so  diminish  the  demand 
for  labour.  Now  the  whole  ^orts  of  the  Trades'  Unions  are 
uniformly  directed  towards  reducing  the  demand  for  that  very 
labour,  the  value  of  which  it  is  their  avowed  object  to  enhance. 
They  strike  for  an  advance.  If  the  strike  be  resisted,  they  waste 
a  large  portion  of  their  own  money,  and  of  that  of  the  society  to 
which  mey  must  look  in  sickness  and  old  age.  Every  week 
that  the  strike  lasts,  they  and  their  supporters  become  poorer  and 
poorer,  and  therefore  more  urgently  demanding  employment,  the 
excess  of  the  demand  for  which  over  the  supply  is  one  of  the 
causes  of  a  lowering  of  wages.  If  they  reduce,  as  they  must  do  in 
case  of  success,  the  profits  of  their  employers,  they  so  far  dimi- 
nish the  inducement  to  enter  the  trade,  and,  therefore,  the  demand 
for  their  labour.  If  the  strike  actually  take  place,  they  waste  the 
interest  on  fixed  capital  which  lies  idle,  they  throw  the  whole  ma- 
chinery of  production  out  of  gear,  and  most  likely  drive  the  whole 
or  a  portion  of  the  trade  to  otiier  spots,  or  perhaps  to  foreign  coun- 
tries. They  think  they  are  gaining  a  victory  over  their  employers : 
in  reality  their  triumph  is  over  themselves.  They  are  involved  in 
this  dilemma,  from  which  there  is  no  possibility  of  extrication 
— if  the  profits  are  large  their  efforts  are  superfluous.  All  their 
sacrifices,  all  their  agitation  are  thrown  away.  There  are  causes 
already  at  work  which  will  secure  a  rise  of  wages  exactly  com- 
mensurate to  the  rise  of  profits.  If  profits  are  low,  and  will  not 
bear  the  extra  weigl^t — and  yet,  from  being  entangled  by  a  contract 
without  a  strike-clause,  or  from  some  other  reason,  the  employer 
is  compelled  to  yield — their  success  only  leads  to  failure,  capital 
is  driven  out  of  the  trade,  and  a  fall  of  wages  inevitably  follows.' 
This  success  is  in  the  one  case  only  nominal  and  apparent, 
not  real ;  it  is  merely  the  attempt  to  give  additional  effect  to 
causes  that  arc  of  themselves  all-efficient ;  in  the  other  case  success 
is  the  most  disastrous  failure,  and  goes  directly  to  injur»  those 
who  obtain  it.  Of  the  first  kind  of  success  an  instance  is  aflbrded 
by  what  has  happened  in  England  during  the  last  few  years 
From  different  causes,  which  it  is  unnecessary  here  to  enumerate, 
the  demand  for  the  commodities  produced  by  English  labour 
has  enormously  extended  both  in  the  home  and  foreign  market 
Profits  have  been  high,  and  of  course  wages  have  risen,  from  the 
competition  of  new  capital  thus  brought  into  trade  and  manu- 
facture. ^There  are  causes  enough  to  account  for  the  rise  of  wages, 

even 


Tradei  Uniom. 


35d 


^ven  if  not  a  single  Trades*  Union  had  ever  existed.     What  the 
Trades'  Unions  have  done  is,   to  extract  large  sums  from    the 
working  classes  to  maintain  an  expensive  macbinery,  to  create 
infinite  mischief  and  ill  feeling,  in  pretending  to  do  that  which 
other  causes  were  doing  for  them  without  their  aid.    The  Unions 
were  the  fly  on  the  wheel^  and   they  have  come  to  believe  that 
their   might  caused  its  revolution.     Of  the  second  case  Ireland 
furnishes  a  perfect  illustration.     With  the  national  aptitude  for 
combination,  the  Irish  workmen   formed  societies  against  their 
masters.     Success  crowned  their  efforts,  and  the  result  was  the 
utter  destruction  of  Irish  manufactures,  and  their  transfer  to  other 
lands,  where,  then  at  any  rate,  the  workmen  were  not  so  skilled 
in    the   art  of  combination.      Failure   is   of  course   disastrous, 
success  is  either  futile  or  mischievous.     We  do  not  find  fault 
with  the  policy  of  Trades'  Unions   for  being   selfish  j  what  we 
object  to  is  that,  meaning  tfj  be  selfish,  it  is  actually  suicidaL 
We  do  not  plead  on  behalf  of  the  employers,  we  ask  the  men 
to  have  a  little  pity  on  themselves^     Selfishness  is  not  only  a 
moral  obliquity,  it  is  also  a  very  serious  cause  of  error  intellec- 
tually.    In  their  greediness  to  grasp  at  a  larger  portion  of  the 
trofits  than  the  laws  of  supply  and   demand  allow,  the  Trades' 
Fnionists  are  sapping  the  foundation  on  which  their  edifice  rest*, 
and  counteracting  to  the  utmost  of  their  power  the  indispensable 
conditions  of  their  prosperity*     We  hear  much  of  co-operation. 
The  relation  between  master  and  workman,  in  order  to  be  mutu- 
ally beneficial,  must  be  one  of  co-o|>eration.     Each  must  respect 
the  other's  interest;  the  moment  they  lose  sight  of  the  interest  of 
their  neighbour,  they  also  lose  sight  of  their  own»     The  interest 
of  the  employer  must  be  considered,   if  for  no  other  and  better 
reason  than  because  upon  his  interest  depend  the  interests  of 
the  Tvorkman.     He  cannot  be  forced  to  continue  in  a  trade  that 
is  made  unprofitable  or  irksome  to  him,  and  the  workman  ought 
to  view  his  retirement  as  a  misfortune,  because  it  diminishes  the 
competition  of  the  employers,  which  alone  sustains  the  rate  of 
his  wages* 

It  must  be  observed  also  that  the  period  of  a  strike  is  in  the 
present  day  extremely  dangerous  to  any  trade,  and  to  those  whom 
it  supports.  Competition  is  so  keen,  informationjso  rapidly  and 
evenly  diffused,  that,  the  moment  a  stoppage  of  business  takes 
place  in  one  place^  there  are  persons  elsewhere  ever  ready  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  opportunity.  The  wants  of  mankind  will  not 
wait  the  convenience  of  persons  eng-agetl  in  trade  quarrels^  and, 
while  the  men  are  struggling  for  a  little  more,  the  whole  revenue 
in  dispute  not  unfrequentlv  vanishes,  to  return  no  more,  or  only 
after  a  long  period  and  in  diminished  amount 

Vol  123.— JVa.  246,  2  n  Trades' 


860  Tradei  Umau. 

Trad^'  Unioni,  one  and  all,  seem   utterly  lecklew   of  the 
degree   in   which   thej   increase    the    expenses   of   ]m>dacti<ML 
It  IS  a  selfish  world,   and  thej  do  not   care   in  what   denee 
they  enhance  the   cost  of  living   to   their   fellow^tiMnaTTiid. 
strange  to  say,  to  themselves.      Every  obstacle  thrown   in^ 
way  of  free  action  increases  the  expense  of  production.     Everv 
rule   imposed  by  the  Union  on  the  employer  is  a  sort  of  tu 
levietl  by  them  for  their  own  assumed  benefit   upon  the  rest 
of  the  community.     They  strive,  let  them  disguise  it  by  what- 
ever name  they  will,  to  prevent  competition  among  each  other 
When  they  prohibit  overtime  and  piece-work  ;  when  they  forbid 
the  admission  of  more  than  a  certain  number  of  apprentices* 
when  they  object  to  work  with  non-Union  men ;  when  they  forbid' 
a  particular  workman  to  do  a  particular  kind  of  work ;  when  thev 
institute  a  fine  for  men  who  chase,  that  is  who  compete  in  speed 
and  excellence  successfully  with  their  fellows ;  when  they  req^ie 
a  workman  to  labour  in  a  manner  less  efficient  than  it  is  u  his 
power  to  do;   they  are  striving  to   lower  the   standard  of  in- 
dustry and  the  efficiency  of  production,  and  are  needlessly  and 
artificially  raising  the  price  of  commodities  upon  the  whole  com- 
munity.    If  these  things  really  were  for  the  advantage  of  the 
employer,  there  would  be  no  occasion  to  urge  them  upon  him  by 
strikes  and  threats.     We  do  not  expect  to  be  listened  to  when  we 
speak  on  behalf  of  the  employer  or  the  public.     We  put  the 
matter,  as  before,  on  the  interest  of  the  working  man  himself.    Is 
it  the  interest  of  those  who  labour  at  any  particular  trade  to  make 
the  thing  on  which  their  labour  is  employed,  and  from  the  sale 
of  which  their  wages  are  to  be  paid,  artificially  dear?     If  so  let 
us  return  at  once  to  Protection,     Let  us  adopt,   as  there  is  no 
little   danger  of  our   adopting,  the    practice   and    doctrines   of 
America,  where  the  working  man  stipulates  for  high  wages,  and 
gives  his  employer  indemnity  in  the  shape  of  a  vote  for  pro- 
tective or  prohibitive  duties,  to  indemnify  him  for  his  additional 
payment  to  his  operatives ;  where,  in  fact.  Capital  and  Labour 
have  entered  into  a  sort  of  conspiracy  against  the  rest  of  the  com- 
munity.    Or  let  us  go  back  to  the  doctrine  of  fifty  years  ago,  and 
proclaim  that  those  much  injured  men,  the  Luddites,  were,  after 
all,  in  the  right,  and  that  it  is  expedient  to  destroy  all  machinery 
which  may  interfere  with  the  employment  of  labour  and  cheapen 
its  products.     But,  if  even  the  memljers  of  Trades'  Unions  have 
come  to  see  that  the  interests  of  the  working  man  have  been 
immensely  promoted  by  the  two  things  that  have  most  cheapened 
prmluction,  if  the  introduction  of  machinery  and  the  abolition  of 
Protection  have  been  also  most  beneficial  to  the  working  classes, 
how  can  they  fail  to  see  that  the  rules  for  artificially  raising  the 

price 


Tradii  Urtimt. 


361 


^r. 


price  of  tEe  tbinpfs  they  make  are  really  levelled  at  tbemselves, 

and  will  do  them  more  injury  than  even  the  rest  of  the  com- 
munity, without  counting  what  they  may  suffer  in  the  character 
of  consumers  ?     Of  the   injustice   of  such  rules  we  shall  have 
fiomethli)^  to  say  hereafter;  we  are  now  only  treating  of  their 
economical  aspect  and  their  in flaence  on  the  interest  of  those  who 
impose  them.     For  the  purpose  of  this  consideration  workmen 
may  be  divided  into  two  classes — those  who  are^  and  those  who 
are  not,  exposed  to  foreig'n  competition.     A  mong  the  first  are 
builders,  masons,  plasterers,  bricklayers,  and,  in  some  measure, 
carpenters.     With  the  honourable  exception   of  the   last,  these 
es   have  made  themselves  remarkable    for  the  number  and 
atiousness    of  their   interferences   with   the   liberty   of  their 
employers,  of  their  fellow- work  men,  and  even  of  them  selves.     It 
cannot  be  doubted  that  by  increasing  the  cost  of  building  they 
have  greatly  discouraged  it,  that  they  have  raised  the  amount  of 
rent  to  all  classes,  including  themselves,  that  in  the  same  way  the 
colliers  have  raised  the  price  of  fuel,  and  have  thus  limitetl  con- 
numption  and  the  development  of  the  very  branches  of  industry 
on  which  they  rely  for  support.     The  workmen  whose  labour  is 
exposed  to  the  competition  of  foreign  countries,  have  done  tlie 
same  thing  in  a  less  degree ;  but  if  the  course  now  entered  upon 
be  persevered  in,  they  will  infallibly  hand  over  the  manufacture 
of  many  articles   to  foreign  rivals,   to  the  great  injury  of  the 
country,  but  to  the  absolute  ruin  of  themselves.     Their  error  is 
similar  to  that  of  the  Protectionists,  who,  in  order  to  exclude  the 
foreign  competitor,  limited  the  home  market  bv  prices  artificially 
enhanced,  and,  in  their  anxiety  to  exclude  competitors  in  the 
production   of  cornj  destroyed  the  competition  for  labour  that 
would    have  otherwise  existed,   and  raised  the  price  of  every- 
thixig  consumed  J  while  they  lowered  the  rate  of  wages.     It  is 
now  as  clearly   established  as  any  abstract  principle  can  pos- 
sibly be,  that  the  true  way  to  prosperity  lies,  not  in  excluding 
the    competition   of    producers,    but    in    stimulating   by   every 
means  in  our  power  the  competition  of  consumers*     All  attempts 
to   regulate   producticm   or   interchange    have   always   gone   on 
the  contrary  supj>osition.      The  fallacy  which  limits  the  amount 
of  importation   has  long  outlived  the  fallacy  which  limits  the 
amount  of  productions  and  it  is  not  a  little  disheartening,  after 
having  emancipated  trade  with  such  bnlliant  results,  that  we 
should  be  called  upon  once  more  ta  take  up  the  question  of  the 
emancipation  of  labouFp     In  these  Trades'  Unions  we  are  con- 
fronted again  by  the  spirit  of  the  Guilds  of  the  Middle  Ages^ 
that  narrow  and  exclusive  spirit  which  refused  admission  to  a 
trade,  except  after  a  long  and   painful  novitiate,  which  made 

2  B  2  labour 


362  Tradei  UnionM. 

labour  a  privilege  instead  of  a  right,  and  sought  by  every  kind  of 
oppression  to  monopolise  the  exercise  of  the  handicraft  trades  fiir 
the  benefit  of  inhabitants  of  particular  localities.  Before  tlie 
French  Revolution,  before  the  work  of  Adam  Smith  appeared, 
Turgot,  to  his  immortal  honour,  set  himself  to  deal  with  this 
giant  evil.  As  these  privileges  were  in  France  given  by  the 
State,  it  was  in  the  power  of  the  State  to  withdraw  them.  In 
England  the  Trades'  Unions,  the  modem  form  of  the  Guild,  have 
grown  up  without  the  aid,  and  indeed  under  the  ban,  of  die 
law.  The  doctrines  of  Free  Trade,  or  we  ought  rather  to  say 
free  labour,  have  penetrated  the  minds  of  statesmen,  but  they  are 
now  rudely  assailed  and  trampled  under  foot  by  the  labouring 
class ;  that  is,  by  the  very  class  most  deeply  interested  in  their 
assertion  and  propagation. 

We  have  shown  that  the  real  interest  of  the  workman  lies  in 
encouraging  to  the  utmost  the  competition  of  eooployert.  Let 
the  advocates  of  Trades'  Unions  consider  what  emct  all  these 
things  must  have  on  the  minds  of  capitalists,  and  how  much  they 
must  limit  competition  among  them.  The  profits  of  a  trade^  it 
is  often  remarked,  are  in  an  inverse  ratio  to  its  attractiveness  in 
other  respects.  Those  who  look  for  high  wages,  which  can  only 
be  secured  by  high  profits,  have  the  greatest  possible  interest  in 
making  trade  as  agreeable  as  possible  to  their  employers,  not  for 
the  sake  of  those  employers,  but  for  their  own.  Let  us  see  the 
sort'  of  life  that  Trades'  Unions  provide  for  the  manufacturer. 
In  case  a  strike  is  thought  advisable,  there  is  a  machinery  always 
ready  to  support  it.  Orders  may  come  from  a  distance  for  his 
men  to  make  a  demand  upon  him  which  they  have  no  wish  to 
make,  and  they  have  no  choice  but  to  obey.  He  may  have  taken 
the  utmost  pains  to  be  on  the  best  terms  with  them,  but  that  will 
avail  him  nothing.  Or  if  his  men  do  not  strike,  they  may  be 
pursuing  the  ordinary  policy  of  taking  the  masters  in  detail,  and 
supporting  strikes  by  the  wages  earned  by  the  men  not  on  strike ; 
a  policy  which  really  leaves  the  masters  no  choice — unless  they 
are  content,  like  the  companions  of  Ulysses  in  the  cave  of  the 
Cyclops,  to  be  swallowed  up  one  by  one — but  to  cut  off  the  funds 
by  which  the  strike  is  maintained  by  a  general  lock-out  It 
must  be  remembered,  too,  that  while  the  advocates  of  Trades' 
Unions  always  justify  strikes,  on  the  ground  that  a  workman  has 
a  right  to  fix  tlie  value  he  sets  on  his  own  labour,  and  therefore 
to  refuse  work  unless  that  price  be  given  him,  this  question  of 
wages  is  not  the  only,  nor  perhaps  in  many  trades  the  most  fre- 
qu(»nt,  cause  of  strikes.  A  strike  has  become  the  means  of  con- 
trolling and  terrorising  the  master,  not  only  as  to  wages,  but  as 
to  anything  else  that  the  men  may  choose  to  impose  on  him.     If 

he 


Trader"  VmOns. 


363 


be  employs  non-Union  men,  a  strike,  even  tliougb  ibey  be  bis 
own  sons.  If  more  than  the  number  of  apprentices  permitted  by 
the  rules  of  ibe  Union  or  its  branches  are  bounit,  a  strike.  If 
a  bricklayer  does  the  work  of  a  plasterer,  or  vice  versa,  if  a 
carpenter  does  the  work  of  a  bricklayer,  if  a  foreman  does  tbe 
work  of  a  painter,  if  a  hodman  carries  more  than  eight  bricks^  if 
sawn  stone  or  stone  chiselled  or  ground  smfXJth  by  machinery  is 
used,  in  all  these  cases  the  remedy  is  a  strike,  unless  the  em- 
ployer will  submit  to  the  degradation  of  buying  off  the  penalty 
by  paying  a  fine  imposed  upon  him  by  his  own  workmen*  It  is 
the  business  of  employers  of  labour  to  obtain  contracts.  These 
occasions  are  eagerly  watched  for.  Once  Involved  in  a  contract 
without  a  strike  clause  in  it,  the  unhappy  employer  is  at  the 
mercy  of  his  men.  Their  demands  must  be  obeyed  at  whatever 
sacrifice,  and  he  is  often  compelled  to  surrender  all,  or  more 
than  all,  the  profits  of  the  undertaking,  to  obtain  its  completion, 
for  which  he  is  hound  in  heavy  penalties.  Much  more  might  be 
said  on  this  subject,  but  we  have  said  enough  to  show  what 
manner  of  life  the  man  must  lead  whose  very  existence  depends 
on  the  occurrence  or  non- occurrence  of  such  circumstances  as  we 
have  mentioned.  Racked  by  unremitting  anxiety,  feeling  himself 
opposed  to  a  ]>erpetually  recurring  danger,  against  whicli  no  pru- 
dence can  guard,  no  conciliation  can  secure  him,  watched  con- 
tinually by  a  sleepless  and  unscrupulous  enemy,  feeling  every 
day  the  control  over  his  own  business  gradually  passing  from  him 
into  the  hands  of  his  tormentorsj  degraded  in  his  own  eyes  and 
those  of  his  workmen  by  the  necessity  of  perpetually  submitting 
to  the  most  irritating  interference  and  dictation,  how  often  must 
such  a  man  curse  the  day  when  he  placed  himself  thus  in  the 
power  of  others,  and  long  for  any  escape,  however  disastrous, 
irom  a  position  so  anomalous  and  so  cruel  I  We  are  not  arguing 
on  behalf  of  the  emph^yen  We  are  only  pointing  out  what  his 
state  of  mind  must  be  under  the  perpetual  interference  and 
dictation  of  Trades'  Unions,  and  putting  it  to  their  advocates 
whether  such  a  state  of  mind  is  not  the  thing  of  all  others  most 
Ginfavourable  to  that  comjietition  of  employers,  upon  which, 
as  we  have  so  often  insisted,  the  rate  of  wages  must  mainly 
depend. 

We  think,  then,  that  we  are  justified  in  inferring,  from  the 
above  examination  of  the  economical  effects  of  Trades*  Unions, 
that  the  subscriptions  and  sacrifices  which  they  demand  from  the 
working  classes  are  worse  than  thrown  away,  tbat  all  this  labour, 
and  trouble,  and  expense,  is  employed  either  in  doing,  or  rather 
pretending  to  do,  that  which  the  laws  of  demand  and  supply  are 
already  doing,  or  in  ruining  that  very  fund  out  of  which  the 

support 


364  T^rade^'  Uniam. 

support  of  the  contributors  must  come.  We  do  not  denoonce 
these  Unions  as  wrong  or  selfish,  but  as  an  enormous  blunder,  a 
gigantic  miscalculation,  based  on  fallacies  the  most  obvioiis  and 
mistakes  the  most  easily  detected.  We  admit  that,  in  order  to 
give  to  the  workman  Uiat  freedom  which  is,  by  law  ftt  leasts 
every  man's  right,  he  must  fix  the  rate  of  his  own  wagei.  What 
one  maj  do  more  may  do,  and  we  have  nothing,  tfierefore,  to 
say  against  the  legality  of  strikes.  What  we  say  is,  that  a 
strike  must  be  judged  of  by  the  particular  circunutanoes  nnder 
which  it  is  made,  but  that  to  provide  funds  and  machinety  for 
strikes  that  may  be  made  hereafter,  and  to  organise  the  whole 
world  of  labour  into  Societies  for  this  purpose,  is  a  great  econo- 
mical mistake.  The  property  these  institutions  attack  is  in  a 
great  measure  the  property  of  their  own  members.  Pftrt  of  it  ii 
in  fixed  capital,  which  is  just  as  necessary  for  the  buiineii 
of  the  Workman  as  for  the  business  of  the  master ;  part  will  b^ 
paid  in  wages,  part  will  provide  raw  material,  and  the  rest  ii 
the  inducement  to  the  master  to  keep  up  that  fixed  capital, 
to  provide  that  raw  material,  and  to  pay  those  wages.  Trt 
organise  a  machine  for  periodical  attacks  on  that  capitid  ii  like 
bombarding  an  enemy's  warehouse  when  full  of  English  manu- 
factures, with  this  difference,  that  the  master  i»  not  an  enemy  bat 
an  indispensable  co* operator,  whose  money  alone  makei  the 
labour  of  the  workman  possible. 

But  clear  as  the  case  against  Trades'  Unions  is  on  economical 
principles,  we  admit  at  once  that  the  mere  fact  that  these  Socie- 
ties, so  far  as  they  go  beyond  the  functions  of  Benefit  and 
Friendly  Societies,  must  be  exceedingly  detrimental  to  the 
interests  of  their  members,  is  no  ground  for  a  legal  prohibition. 
In  this  free  country  every  man  has  a  right  to  spend  his  monejr 
his  own  way,  even  in  his  own  ruin ;  and  the  evils,  that  would 
attend  on  any  attempt  to  save  him  from  the  effects  of  his  own 
folly,  would  be  infinitely  greater  than  any  good  that  could 
possibly  result  from  inter  fere  nc^e.  We  have  hitherto  argued  the 
question  entirely  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  working  man, 
as  if  there  were  no  one  else  in  the  world  worth  a  thought,  and 
have  found  that,  even  on  this  narrow  basis,  the  utility  of  Trades* 
Unions  cannot  be  supported. 

We  now  propose  to  take  a  wider  view  of  the  case,  and  to 
consider  the  position  and  relations  of  these  Societies  to  the 
existing  law,  and  to  those  principles  which  lie  at  the  root  of  all 
laws  and  all  legislation.  We  have  examined  Trades'  Unions 
as  machines  for  accomplishing  a  certain  economical  end,  and 
found  that  their  results  must  necessarily  be  the  exact  contrary  of 
their  intentions.     How  will  they  answer  the  question  we  now 

propose, 


TVoffef  *  Uniom, 


365 


propose,  tWt  Is,  How  far  is  the  esistenee  of  such  bodies  recon- 
cilable with  any  clear  and  fair  idea  of  public  policy?  We 
must  look  at  Trades'  Unions  nt^t  only  in  their  ptincipleg  but  in 
their  acts,  not  only  in  their  acts  but  in  their  tendencies,  in  order 
to  jud^e  with  what  eyes  the  Legislature  ought  to  regard  this  new 
and  startling  intrusion  into  our  industrial  system. 

We  may  remark,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  fact  that  these 
Institutions  are  founded  in  direct  defiance  of  economical  prin- 
ciples is  one  that  ought  to  weigh  gravely  against  them  on  the 
ground  of  justice,  fairness,  and  expediency.  Political  economy 
is  not  exactly  the  law  of  the  land,  but  it  is  the  ground  of  that 
law.  It  is  assumed  as  its  basts  and  foundation.  In  order  to 
bring  our  finance  into  accordance  with  the  teaching  of  this  new 
science,  every  class  of  Englishman^ has  been  called  on  during  the 
last  20  years  to  submit  to  heavy  sacrifices.  We  have  burdened 
ourselves  with  an  Income  Tax,  agriculturists  and  manufacturers 
have  surrendered  a  qualified  monopoly  of  production,  and  have 
been  content,  without  the  least  reserve,  to  meet  the  competition 
of  the  whole  world.  And  now  there  is  growing  up  in  the 
midst  of  us  a  monopoly  of  labour  far  move  oppressive  and  inde- 
fensible than  the  monopoly  of  trade  which  we  have  abolished. 
It  is  a  very  grave  question,  even  supposing  that  the  violated 
principles  of  political  economy  do  not  assert  themselves,  whether 
we  can  tolerate  for  long,  and  on  a  great  scale,  this  monstrous 
exception,  or  rather  contradiction,  to  the  rest  of  our  system. 
Either,  it  would  seem,  we  must  modify  the  freedom  of  trade,  to 
suit  the  fettered  and  weakened  state  of  prcnluctiim,  or  we  must 
restore  production  to  more  liberty,  to  make  it  fit  intu  a  system 
founded  on  Free  Trade,  You  cannot  be  all  lamez  faire  on  one 
aide,  and  all  regulation  and  interference  on  the  other.  We  have 
our  choice.  We  must  cither  force  the  working  classes  to 
advance,  or  must  retrograde  ourselves*  The  present  splendid 
position  of  the  country  has  been  gained  by  removing  every 
hindrance  to  the  most  rapid  accumulation  of  capital.  We  have 
removed  all  obstacles  and  all  taxes,  which  stood  in  the  way  of 
this  accnmulatioUi  Are  we  to  jx^rmit  irresponsible  bodies^ 
actuated  avowedly  by  the  most  sort!  id  motives  of  short-sighted 
and  suicidal  self-interest,  to  undo  this  good  and  great  work,  and 
draw  us  back  again  into  that  dreary  mtirass  from  which  we  have 
so  lately,  and  with  so  much  difficulty  and  so  many  sacrifice^ 
extricated  ourselves  ? 

There  is  something  very  oblique  and  indirect  in  the  manner 
in  which  these  Societies  have  for  the  most  part  been  biought 
into  existence.  They  come  before  the  world  as  Friendly  and 
Benefit  Societies,  offering  to  the  working  man  a  suitable  provi- 
sion 


866  Trades   Unians. 

sion  for  bis  old  age  and  sickness,  for  the  burial  of  bis  wife  or 
children,  for  the  loss  of  bis  tools  and  other  unavoidable  acci- 
dents.    A    careless   or    cursory   perusal   of   their   rules    would 
probably  not  reveal  anything  else  to  a  casual  reader.     No  one 
.can  doubt  that,  as  is  proved  by  the  evidence  taken  before  the 
Commission,  large  numbers  of  persons  are  induced  to  join  these 
Societies  by  the  hope  of  laying  up  a  provision  for  their  future 
wants.     The  experience  of  Insurance  Offices  shows  bow  liable 
the  calculations  of  Societies  which  undertake  to  give  a  future 
benefit  in  exchange  for  annual    payments  are  to   error.     The 
Legislature  has  guarded  against  diis  in  the  case  of  the  Benefit 
and  Provident  Societies  of  the  poor  by  a  series  of  careful  and 
well-considered  enactments.     These  acts  give  to  Provident  and 
Benefit  Societies,    whose   rules   are   certified   by   a  competent 
officer,  remission  from  Income  Tax,  and  certain  summary  means 
of  recovering  debts,  together  with  many  other  minor  privileges. 
The  officer,  Mr.  Tidd  Pratt,  to  whom  tbe  working  of  mis  Act  is 
confided,  will  not  certify  the  rules  of  a  Society  unless  the  rules 
afford  a  reasonable  prospect,  according  to  the  best  knowledge 
which  we  possess,  of  providing  a  fund  adequate  to  discbarge 
the  obligations  incurred.     If  he  refuse  to  certify  the  rules,  no 
prudent  person  should  invest  his  money  in  the  Society.     But  in 
the  case  of  a  Society  embracing  within  itself  the  two  objects 
of  a  Provident  Club  and  a  Trades'  Union,  the  rules,  however 
good  they  may  be,  cannot  be  certified,  because  the  powers  of  the 
Act  extend  to  Provident  Clubs  alone.     The  absence  of  a  certifi- 
cate, therefore,   conveys  no  censure  on  the  rules  of  a  Trades' 
Union,  considered  in  ^the  light  of  a  Benefit  Club,  for  it  would 
obviously  be  unfair  to  discredit  the  association  for  the  want  of  a 
certificate  which,  for  other  reasons,  it  could  not  possibly  obtain. 
And  yet  never  was  the  safeguard  of  a  certificate  of  the  suffi- 
ciency of  the  rules  more  needed  than  in  the  case  of  these  very 
Trades'  Unions.     We  will  take,  as  an  instance,  the  rules  of  the 
Amalgamated  Society  of  Carpenters  and  Joiners,  and  the  criti- 
cism upon  them  of  Mr.  Mault,  a  highly  intelligent  and  compe- 
tent witness.     This  Society  has  8261  members.     Its  operations 
are  on  a  very  large  scale.     The  benefits   it  holds  out  are,  lost 
tools  replaced ;  donation  when  out  of  employment,  10s.  a  week 
for  12  weeks ;  when  out  on  strike,  15^.  a  week  ;  when  sick,  12*. 
a  week  for  2()  weeks,  and  cifterwards  Gs. ;  accident  benefit,  100/. ; 
emigration,  67.  ;  superannuation  for  life,  over  25  years  a  member 
Ss.  per  week,  over  18  years  75.  per  week,  over  12  years  5s,  per 
week  ;  funeral  benefit,  12/.     To  find  funds  for  these  purposes 
there  is  an  entrance  fee,  varying  according  to  age  from  7*.  6d. 
to  255.,  and   a  contribution,  from   all  members  not  receiving 

relief, 


Trades    Unimis^ 


mr 


relief,  of  Ij.  per  week!  We  regret  to  say  tbat^  ia  the  circular 
from  which  the  above  fig-tires  are  taken,  It  is  stated  that  the  rules 
are  deponied  with  Mr.  Tidd  Pralty  thus  gimng  the  Society  the  full 
protection  of  the  law.  From  this  any  one  would  suppose  that 
these  rules  had  been  certified  as  suflicient  bj  Mn  Tidd  Pratt, 
the  truth  being  that  he  is  obliged  to  receive  whatever  rules  are 
sent  to  him,  but  that  he  has  not  certified  them,  which  alone 
wotild  give  the  protection  of  the  law,  and  that  it  is  quite 
impossible  he  should  do  so» 

One  need  not  be  an  actuary  to  see  how  manifestly  xnsufEcient  a 
consideration  the  payments  required  of  the  members  are  for  the 
payments  promised  by  the  Society.  Persons  under  40  are  ad* 
mitted,  and,  though  there  is  a  difference  in  the  entrance-fee,  there 
is  none  in  the  weekly  payment  between  2b  and  40.  It  seems,  on  the 
authority  of  the  Registrar-General,  that  a  man  of  20,  paying  a  shil- 
Hog  a  week  for  30  years,  can  purchase  an  annuity  for  the  rest  of 
his  life  of  11/,  per  annum,  or  nearly  4^*  3^/,  a  week.  In  a  Friendly 
Society,  the  expenses  of  management  would  reduce  this  sum  to 
9/,y  or  a  little  more  than  3j.  a  week.  When  it  is  considered  that 
a  person  may  begin  his  payments  at  40  instead  of  20,  or  at  any 
intermediate  age — and,  when  we  think  that  one-third  of  the  in- 
come goes  in  strikes,  besides  all  the  collateral  benefits  that  are 
promised,  we  see  quite  clearly  how  utterly  impossible  it  is  that 
this  Society  should  keep  faith  with  its  mernbers,  when  the  timu 
of  trial  arrives,  when  the  present  members  grow  old  and  begia 
to  draw  heavily  on  the  sick,  the  superannuatiouj  and  the  burial 
funds.  The  Society  is  at  present  receiving ;  it  has  no  member 
on  superannuation ;  but  it  is  transparently  evident  that  a  time 
will  come,  when  it  will  be  unable  to  meet  the  demands  uj)on  it, 
and  when  its  members  will  find  too  late  that  they  have  thrown 
away  the  savings  ot  a  life  in  the  pursuit  of  two  chimeras — the 
artificial  raising  of  their  wages  by  means  of  combination,  and 
the  provision  for  sickness  and  old  age  by  payments  ludicrously 
inadequate  to  secure  the  benefits  promised. 

Not  only  are  the  promises  given  by  Trades'  Unions  utterly 
deceptive,  the  tenure  of  the  good  things  they  promise  is  in  the 
highest  degree  precarious,  A  man  may  have  subscribed  for  30 
years,  and  lose  all  the  benefit  of  hb  subscriptions  bj  an  offence,  not 
against  the  rules  of  the  Benefit  Society,  but  of  the  Trades'  Union, 
If  he  commits  any  one  of  a  great  number  of  offences,  he  ceases  to 
be  a  member  of  the  Union.  By  striving  to  make  a  provision  for 
old  age,  he  has  not  only  been  seduced  into  making  payments  for 
whicb^  in  the  nature  of  things,  he  can  receive  no  adequate  equi- 
valent, but  he  has  made  himself  a  slave. 

'  When  men,'  says  Mr.  Mault,  *  have  found  themselves  involved 

in 


868  T}rad€$*  Unions. 

in  a  strike,  perhaps  against  mjself,  their  own  feeling  to  me  has 
been  one  of  friendliness  and  respect ;  and,  as  far  as  the  qnesdao 
at  issue  was  concerned,  they  would  take  my  side,  rather  than  that 
of  the  Union.  But  they  have  said,  *  We  have  paid  into  tlus 
Union  for  so  many  years ;  if  we  go  against  the  Union  we  shall  be 
struck  off  the  books,  and  have  no  superannuation,  no  sick  benefit; 
in  fact,  we  shall  lose  the  savings  of  years,  the  only  savings  we 
have  made.'  The  fact  is,  these  Societies  are  trying  to  perform 
the  feat  which  may  be  done  with  two  boards,  of  making  two 
things  stand  together,  neither  of  which  could  stand  bv  itself.  If 
the  Benefit  Society  were  separated  from  the  Trades'  Union,  bdtk 
must  break  down  from  an  overpowering  conviction  of  their 
common  worthlessness.  The  Benefit  Society,  sepamted  from  an? 
question  of  wages,  would  be  tried  by  the  ordinary  principles  of  cat* 
culation,  and,  if  it  could  not  obtain  the  certificate  of  the  ptesidliig 
official,  would  fall  into  merited  contempt  The  Trades'  Umon, 
apart  from  the  Benefit  Society,  would  fail  to  attract  memben  in 
the  first  instance,  and  would  lose  all  control  over  them  in  the 
second.  Without  the  power  of  confiscating  the  promi^d  bene» 
fits,  the  power  of  the  majority  over  the  minority  would  be  gone. 
It  is  only  by  the  union  of  these  two  things — ^the  promise  of  benefits 
impossible  to  realise,  and  the  fear  of  losing  the  result  of  years  of 
economy  and  self-denial — that  the  thing  can  be  worked.  Put 
either  part  on  its  true  footing,  and  separate  it  from  the  aid  it 
derives  from  the  other,  and  the  whole  organisation  must  inevit* 
ably  collapse :  the  Benefit  Club,  from  want  of  confidence  in  its 
calculations,  the  Trades'  Union  from  want  of  power  to  enforce 
unanimity  among  its  members.  Only  imagine  what  would  be 
though t/)f  any  one  in  the  upper  or  middle  classes  of  society,  who 
should  purchase  an  annuity  without  taking  the  trouble  to  ascer- 
tain what  its  real  price  ought  to  be,  or  insure  against  an  event 
without  knowing  the  value  of  the  risk  ;  and  who  then,  after  having 
made  this  blind  bargain,  should  agree  that  his  annuity  should 
be  withheld  or  his  policy  forfeited,  in  case  he  did  not  conform 
himself  to  such  rules  as  the  granter  of  the  annuity  or  the  insurer 
of  the  risk  had  laid  down,  or  might  lay  down,  for  his  guidance 
in  some  of  the  most  difficult,  and,  to  him,  the  most  momentous 
affairs  of  life — in  the  management  of  his  business,  in  the  selection 
of  his  agents  or  servants,  in  the  remuneration  they  were  to  receive, 
for  instance — and  you  have  some  measure  of  the  preposterous  and 
incredible  folly  which  thousands  of  the  working  classes,  of  the 
future  rulers  and  governors  of  this  country,  are  every  day  commit- 
ting, and  that  in  the  fullest  confidence  that  they  are  promoting 
to  the  utmost  of  their  power  their  prosperity,  their  well-being, 
and  their  independence.     These  things  border  very  closely  on 

fraud ; 


^ 


fmud ;  whether  the  cause  be  deliberate  intention  to  deceive,  or  a 
criminal  recklessness  and  negligence  in  dealing  with  the  interests 
of  others^  matters  Httle.  Enough  for  our  present  purpose^  that 
they  are  of  such  a  nature  as  to  give  the  Legislature  good  cause  to 
look  with  dislike  and  displeasure  upon  institntions  which  are 
connected  with  such  vast  abuses,  such  cruel  deceptions,  and  such 
arbitrary  confiscations* 

We  have  shown  how  admirably  the  wants  and  interests  of 
mankind  provide  for  the  division  of  the  surplus,  which  remains 
after  defrayinp^  the  cost  of  productionj  into  profits  and  wages; 
how  a  self-acting  machinery,  by  the  temptation  of  high  profits, 
tends  to  raise  wages  when  trade  ia  good,  and  to  lower  diem  when 
It  is  bad ;  how  vain  it  is  to  interfere  with  these  laws,  and  how 
unfailing  are  the  causes  which  make  all  such  attempts  either 
superfluous  or  mischievous.  But  this  is  the  task  which  Trades* 
Unions  undertake*  They  are  not  content  to  leave  the  matter  to 
adjust  itself  by  the  individuaHnterests  of  workman  and  em  ploy  er. 
They  have  persuaded  themselves  that  a  man  who  has  an  enor- 
mous capital,  which  must  stand  idle  if  he  cannot  find  labour,  and 
which  cannot  be  removed,  is  in  a  matter  of  bargain  independent 
of  the  labourer;  while  the  labourer,  who  can  carry  his  labour 
where  he  will,  and  has  tlie  means,  if  he  chooses,  of  providing 
amply  for  the  loss  arising  from  change  of  employment,  is  abso- 
lutely at  bis  mercy  j  and  so  they  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  this  is  a  matter  for  collective,  not  for  individualp  action. 
This,  of  course,  demands  on  all  sides  a  heavy  surrender  of  liberty, 
The  master  is  to  deal  no  longer  on  the  footing  of  what  each  indi* 
vidual  is  worth,  but  he  is  to  hire  the  men  in  gangs  ;  and  the 
question  he  has  to  settle  is  no  longer  How  much  is  this  individual 
workman  worth  to  me  ?  but  What  is  it  worth  my  while  to  give,  to 
pre%-ent  the  stoppage  of  my  works  by  the  simultaneous  withdrawal 
Irom  my  employment  of  all  my  workmen?  It  is  evident  that 
wc  have  got  here  into  an  element  of  which  political  economy 
knows  nothing.  It  Is  conceded  that  it  is  the  right  of  each  work^ 
man  to  fix  his  own  remuneration,  and  that,  as  they  may  indi- 
vidually settle  the  rate  at  which  they  are  willing  to  sell  their 
services,  any  number  of  workmen  may  withdraw  their  services 
on  such  terms  as  they  think  proper;  but  when  they  do  so,  tliej 
are  introducing  a  new  element,  that  of  force.  They  are  acting 
in  ostentatious  disregard  of  the  interests  or  feelings  of  others. 
They  are  like  a  landlord  or  a  creditor,  who  uses  the  power  he 
has  over  his  tenant  or  his  debtor  for  purposes  foreign  from  the 
business  of  the  lease  or  the  debt.  There  are  few  people  so 
humbly  placed  that  they  cannot,  w  ithout  violation  of  the  law  of 
the  land,  though  assuredly  not  without  violation  of  a  higher  law, 

exercise 


370  Trodei  Unum$. 

exercise  a  similar  influence  oo  some  one  else.     The  nodon  of  a 
strike  involves  the  idea  of  the  sahstitotioo  of  force  for  msoo,  of 
men^s  fears  for  their  interests.     It  is  a  measure  of  coeicioiiy  and 
subject  to  all  the  drawbacks  incident  to  coercion.     One  of  these 
is,  that  the  employment  of  force  creates  the  desire  in  the  penon 
attacked  to  meet  force  with  other  force.     If  the  question  of  wageS| 
for  instance,  is  made  a  collective  question  bj  the  men,  it  can  also 
be  made  so  b v  the  masteriL     The  natural  answer  to  a  strike  is  a 
lock-out     If  the  men  seek  to  take  the  masters  in  detail,  the 
masters  naturally  require  the  men  to  bear  as  a  whole  what  thej 
inflict,  and   not  to   make   one   master  the   means  of  ooeicing 
another.      If  strikes  have  been  the  means  of  snddeoly  Fusing 
wages,  they  have  also^  by  engendering  lock-outs,  been  Uie  means 
of  preventing  a  rise  that  would   otherwise    have  taken  place. 
They  have  in  them  this  further  evil,  that,  being  a  mere  weapon 
of  oiTenoe,  they  may  be  used  to  support  the  most  unreaaonaUe  as 
well  as  the  most  reasonable  demand  ;  they  are  a  sword  that  may 
be  drawn  in  the  worst  cause  as  well  as  the  best     The  poise nion 
of  this  power  has  a  direct  tendency  to  stimulate  its  use  cm  slight 
and  unworthy  occasions.     It  may  be  questioned  whether  it  be 
excellent  to  have  a  giant's  strength,  if  the  possession  cftf  that 
strength  makes  it  certain  that  the  strong  man  shall  use  it  like  a 
giant     Hence  arises,  from  the  consciousness  of  this  power,  a  de- 
gree of  wanton  and  fruitless  tyranny  and  annoyance,  which  wcndd 
be  hardly  credible  but  for  the  authentic  and  public  maiaier  in 
which  it  has  been  proved     But  besides  the  wanton  and  gra- 
tuitous cruelty  and  dictation  exercised  by  Trades'  Unions  on  all 
that  come  within  their  reach,  there  arc  certain  kinds  of  coercicHi, 
which,  however  much  we  may  reprobate  them,  cannot  be  fairly 
called  wanton  and  grratuitous.  .  The   whole  force  of  a  Trades' 
Union  rests  in  the  power  of  striking,  and  whatever  is  necressary 
to  that  power  must  be  obtained  at  whatever  cost     Now  a  strike 
being  a  continuous  act,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should  not  only  be 
declared,  but  maintained,  that  is,  that  the  majority  should  have 
a  permanent  power  over  the  minority,  so  as  to  force  them  to  carry 
out  to    its   full    extent  the    policy  which    they  deprecate.      A 
machinery  for  that  purpose  is  provided,  as  shown  above,  by  the 
arbitrary  confiscation  of  the  benefits  which  the  member  is  entitled 
to  in  return  for  his  weekly  subscription.     Then,  the  demand  for 
wages  being  a  collective  one,  it  follows  necessarily  from  the  very 
nature  of  the  transaction  that  it  must  be  for  an  average — tliat  is,  that 
the  inferior  workman  should  be  paid  too  much,  and  the  superior 
too  little — and  to  this  the  superior  workman  is  forced  to  agree  by 
the  same  motives  as  are  found  effectual  in  coercing  the  dissen- 
tient minority.     But  a  still  greater  diflFxulty  remains.    A  strike  is 

powerful 


Trades'  Unions. 


871 


powerful  in  proportion  to  the  embarrassmenl  which  it  causes  the 
employer,  and  that  embarrassment  is  pretty  fairly  measured  by 
numbers.  lf>  then,  the  non-Union  men  are  very  numerous,  they 
place  a  very  serious  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  coercion  by  the 
Union  men,  and  the  Unions  are  most  powerful  and  most  tyran- 
nical where  their  numbers  bear  the  largest  proportion  to  the 
whole  of  the  trade.  Hence  arises  the  necessity  of  making  war 
by  all  means  on  non-Union  men,  of  forcing  them  into  the  Unions 
by  every  species  of  tyranny  and  annoyance.  They  are  not  merely 
the  obstacles  to  complete  success  in  strikes^  If  any  benefit  be 
derived  from  the  strike,  they  all  seem  to  share  it  without  having 
borne  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day.  The  fierce  spirit  of  dicta- 
tion, fostered  in  Unionists  by  the  habit  of  coercing  their  employers 
and  the  minority  of  their  own  body  by  violent  measures,  chafes 
against  this  obstacle.  It  must  be  removed^  and  everything  that 
spite  and  malevolence  can  suggest  is  used  to  remove  it  The  ma- 
jority have  become  habituated  to  trample  on  the  feelings,  convic- 
tions, and  liberties  of  others,  and  tliey  will  not  allow  this  obstacle 
to  stop  them  in  their  careen  It  thus  appears  that  from  the  very 
nature  of  a  Trades^  Union  are  evolverl  those  fierce  and  lawless 
passions  to  whose  extreme  development  we  have  as  yet  mnde  no 
allusion.  These  Unions  rest  upon  force  and  coercion,  upon  a 
contempt  and  disregard  of  the  liberties,  the  rights,  and  feelings 
of  others*  WTien  men's  minds  once  become  habituated  to  such 
ideas,  they  are  on  the  rapid  slope  which  leads  them  down  from 
what  they  may  perhaps  have  once  considered  as  a  fair  and 
reasonable  vindication  of  their  own  rights  to  the  lowest  abyss  of 
crime  and  Infamy.  We  want  to  show  what  has  now,  we  think, 
been  sufficiently  insisted  on — that  the  outrages  which  have 
startled  and  amazed  the  country  are  not  fortuitous  results  of  acci- 
dental depravity,  but  the  logical  effects  of  the  passions  and  con- 
victions which  Trade  Unions  necessarily  excite,  to  which  they 
appeal  for  their  support,  and  which  they  undertake  to  gratify. 

We  beg  the  attention  of  the  reader  to  the  following  instances, 
selected  from  the  evidence  taken  before  the  Commission,  beg- 
ging bim  to  consider  the  motives  which  must  have  prompted 
each  act,  and  then  whether  it  is  likely  that  men  embarked  in 
such  a  career  would  stop  short  of  whatever  violence  might  be 
required  to  carry  their  points^  A  father  must  not  employ  his 
own  children  to  work  for  him,  without  making  them  members 
of  the  Union,  *  We,  the  operative  plasterers  of  Bradford,  do 
hereby  give  you  notice  that  all  your  sons  that  are  working  ai 
plasterers,  which  are  aljove  21  years  of  age,  are  requested  to 
join  the  Society;  and,  failing  to  do  so,  all  our  men  will  cease 
work  on  Monday  morning,  and  not  return  again  unless  you  pay 


372  Trades  Vmmu. 

all  expenses  of  the  strike.'      The  strike   actually  took  place. 
(*  Evidence/  Q.  2971.) 

The  following  letter  was  sent  to  Mr.  Dixon,  master  plast^er, 
of  Bradford :  *  We  wish  to  inform  jou  that  you  have  not  com* 
plied  with  our  reauest,  therefore  we  wish  yon  to  do  so  to-nighti 
or  all  our  men  will  cease  work  on  Monday  morning.  PS.  PleMe 
send  an  answer  by  six  o'clock.'  The  request  was  for  21i. 
entrance  for  Mr.  Dixon's  two  brothers,  who  were  working  at  the 
trade  without  belonging  to  the  Union.  Mr.  Dixon,  being  onder 
heavy  contracts,  sent  back  word  that  he  would  comply.  He 
received  an  answer  that  he  must  pay  down  the  money  at  once,  or 
the  threat  of  a  strike  would  be  carried  out  He  paid  the  money. 
How  far  is  this  offence  from  extorting  money  by  threats,  and  by 
how  wide  an  interval  is  it  separated  from  actual  violence  ? — 2979, 
A  master  was  requested  by  the  Union  to  discharge  two  appren- 
tices rather  than  two  society  men.  He  discharged  the  two 
men,  and  his  work  was  picketed  in  consequence.  Here  we 
gain  a  step  further.  The  Union  takes  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
master  the  choice  as  to  which  of  his  workmen  he  shall  discharge. 
—2957.  A  bookkeeper  repainted  the  letters  on  a  rod  by  which 
the  work  of  Messrs.  Wortaington  and  Challinor,  painterSi  WM 
measured.  They  receive  tlus  note:  ^Sirs, — It  having  been 
brought  before  the  meeting  on  Monday  night  that  your  book- 
keeper has  been  doing  some  writing  and  painting,  yon  aie 
requested  not  to  let  him,  he  not  being  a  painter.  The  Committee, 
Blackpool  Operative  House  Painters'  Association.' — 3988.  From 
the  same  committee :  *  Mr.  Foster.  Sir, — You  have  three  men  in 
your  employ  that  do  not  belong  to  any  society.  I  am  requested 
to  inform  you  that  if  they  do  not  become  members  of  a  society 
before  the  11th  of  March  next  your  shop  will  be  called  a  Black 
Shop,  and  no  society  man  will  have  to  work  in  it.' — 2991. 
During  a  bricklayers'  strike,  a  Mr.  Robinson,  of  Darlington, 
a  master,  set  to  work  to  lay  his  own  bricks.  The  labourers  said 
they  must  leave  off  work,  as  they  were  ordered  by  the  Lodge 
not  to  carry  any  material  to  an  employer  so  long  as  the  strike 
continued.  So  Mr.  Robinson  had  to  give  up  doing  his  own  work. 
— 21)97.  Mr.  Mault  had  seventy  bricklayers  drawn  off  his  works 
at  five  minutes'  notice  because  he  would  not  discharge  a  non- 
society  man  of  the  name  of  Marsden.  Marsden  worked  for  a 
quarter  of  a  day,  and  then  said  he  had  received  an  intimation 
whicli  made  it  advisable  for  him  to  leave.  If  he  had  not  left, 
how  far  are  we  off  outrages  like  those  of  Sheffield  ? — 3000.  As 
might  be  expected,  this  utter  disregard  of  the  rights  and  feelings 
of  others  lead,  also,  to  bads  faith  in  the  execution  of  agreements. 
Wc  have  seen  in  the  recent  instance  of  the  Operative  Tailors  a 

trial 


Trade/  Uniom^ 


873 


trial  put  off  on  the  application  of  the  defend  aiitSj  on  the  under* 
tiiking  to  remoye  the  pickets  placed  over  the  masters'  shops, 
and,  when  the  object  had  been  gfained^tbe  agreement  deliberately 
broken.  The  Operative  Brickmakers  of  Birmingham  agreed 
with  the  masters  to  submit  differences  to  arbitration ,  with  power 
|o  appoint  an  umpire.  The  rule  was  recently  acted  upon,  and 
the  men  by  a  resolution  pledged  themselves  to  abide  by  the 
decision.  The  umpire  decided  against  the  men,  and  they,  instead 
of  submitting,  immediately  struck. — 3047,  At  Stoke-upon-Trent 
much  the  same  thing  happened,  except  that  the  men  accused  the 
masters^  without  the  slightest  foundation  for  the  charge,  of  inter- 
polating' the  arbitration  rule  into  the  code  to  which  they  agreed, 
and  forg-lng  the  signature  of  their  secretary* — A  strike  followed, 
— 3061,  Here  is  a  rule  of  the  Bradford  Lod^e  of  the  Labourers' 
Union ;  *  You  are  strictly  cautioned  not  to  overstep  good  rules  by 
doioj^  double  the  work  you  are  required  _  by  the  society,  and 
causing  others  to  do  the  same,  in  order  to  get  a  smile  from  the 
master.  Such  foolhardy  and  deceitful  actions  leave  a  great 
portion  of  good  members  out  of  employment  all  the  year  round* 
Certain  individuals  have  been  guilty,  who  will  he  expelled  if 
they  do  not  refrain/  We  have  many  lamentations  a$  to  the 
superiority  of  foreign  workmen.  Can  it  well  be  otherwise,  when 
wages  are  paid  by  the  average,  not  by  the  worth  of  the  indi* 
ndual,  and  any  attempt  to  attract  notice  and  wip  distinction  is 
met  by  expulsion,  that  is,  by  the  confiscation  of  the  savings  of  a 
life?— 3120,  This  is  a  rule  of  the  Leeds  Bricklayers*  Labourers' 
Lodge,  Remark  the  espionage:  *  Any  brother  of  the  Union  pro- 
fessing to  carry  more  than  the  common  number,  which  is  eight 
bricks,  shall  be  lined  Is*  Any  member  knowing  of  the  same  shall 
fee  fined  the  same  unless  he  gives  the  ei^rliest  infprmation  to  th« 
committee  of  management.' 

The  masons  forbid  the  use  of  machinery  for  dressing  stone, 
and  consequently  two  valuable  patents  for  obtaining  &  smooth 
surface,  one  by  grinding,  and  one  by  sawlnir,  remain  almost 
useless. — ^3209<  The  Manchester  and  ShefiReld  brickmakers 
refuse  to  use  machine-made  bricks.  It  was  intimated  to  Mr. 
Carr,  a  mason  and  bricklayer  of  Sheffield,  that  it  was  dangerous 
to  use  machine-made  bricks.  He  paid  no  attention,  and  his 
work  was  injured  by  being  squirted  over  with  gas-tar, — 3219. 
Masons  have  a  rule  against  the  introduction  of  wrought  stone, 
even  from  neighbouring  quarries.  This  causes  a  great  loss,  for 
the  stone  is  softer  and  easier  wrought  when  first  quarried.  Mr. 
James  Lord,  of  Hey  wood,  allowed  his  masons,  as  work  wa» 
fcarce,  to  work  stone  in  the  winter.  These  very  men  struck 
work  in  the  spring  against  the  using  of  this  very  stone  in  different 

buildings^ 


374  Trades'  Unions. 

buildings,  and  thus  inflicted  great  loss  on  their  employer. — 3S16. 
The  carpenters  of  Blackbam  gave  notice  to  the  buildeiB  on  the 
16th  of  last  November  that  they  would  not  fix  any  machine* 
made  work  or  mouldings  that  were  worked  outside  Bl&ekbnni, 
on  any  job  inside  Blackburn,  as  they  considered  that  there  were 
plenty  of  machinists  in  Blackburn  who  could  do  the  work  just 
as  well  as  people  elsewhere. — 8217.  The  Plasterers*  Society 
wrote  to  Mr.  Peacock,  of  Scarborough :  *The  operative  plasterers 
are  bound  not  to  work  with  any  bricklayers,  or  ta  cover  any 
work  of  any  description  that  has  been  previously  commenced  by 
any  person  or  persons  but  plasterers.  If  you  wish  to  finish  your 
job  with  plasterers,  you  must  stop  the  bricklayers  from  plastering.' 
— 3279.  Some  bricklayers  passed  by  the  works  of  Mr.  Day,  of 
Bolton,  and  found  a  carpenter  enlarging  the  holes  left  for  the 
posts  in  the  brickwork.  Mr.  Day  was  fined  2/.,  which  he  paid, 
— 3280.  The  aperture  for  a  door  had  to  be  altered.  The 
carpenter,  who  was  waiting  till  it  was  done  to  put  in  the  frame^ 
pulled  out  some  loose  bricks.  The  master,  Mr.  Colbeck,  was 
fined  2/.,  which  he  paid.  Are  we  not  rapidly  tending  to  the 
institution  of  caste  as  found  in  India  ? — 3280.  A  building  at 
Powicke  was  being  erected  by  bricklayers,  some  of  whom  lived  on 
the  spot,  and  some  at  Worcester,  four  miles  off.  The  Worcester 
men  asked  for  walking  time,  that  is,  that  the  walk  should  be 
counted  in  the  day's  work.  This  was  granted.  The  same 
allowance  was  asked  for  the  men  on  the  spot  who  had  no  walk, 
and  when  this  was  refused  a  strike  took  place. — 3263.  The 
masons  object  to  gaslight,  and  the  brickmakers  insist  that  all 
bricks  shall  be  of  the  same  size.  If  a  town  master  goes  out  to  do 
work,  half  the  men  must  belong  to  the  town,  and,  if  the  number 
be  uneven,  so  must  the  odd  man.  Of  the  charitable  feelings  the 
Unions  promote,  take  the  following  instance:  Two  men  had 
refused  to  join  in  a  strike  at  Glasgow.  One  was  allowed  to 
make  his  peace  with  the  Union  by  a  payment  of  30«.  From  the 
other  they  would  take  no  fine.  The  expression  was,  *  We  shall 
wring  the  bowels  out  of  him.'  He  was  at  last  readmitted  on  a 
payment  of  3/.  His  offence  was  that  he  had  spoken  against  the 
strike.  He  owed  his  pardon  to  his  employer,  who  refused  to 
desert  him.— 3516.  A  Glasgow  firm  were  erecting  a  building. 
The  contractor  for  the  plastering  failed  before  his  work  was 
done,  being  in  debt  to  his  workmen  for  a  week's  wages.  The 
Union  would  not  allow  the  work  to  go  on  till  the  owner  of  the 
house,  who  owed  the  men  nothing,  not  only  paid  the  men  for 
the  work  done,  but  for  a  week  during  which  they  had  done 
no  work.  Thus  is  the  machinery  of  Unions  employed  to  make 
one  pay  another's  debt — 3595. 

It 


JVarf^^'  Unions. 


375 


It  is  dear  that  if  the  Trades'  Unions,  in  exercising'  these  irre- 
sponsible powers,  do  guide  themselves  by  the  ordinary  principles 
of  justice  and  fair  play,  if  they  hear  statements  from  both  sides, 
for  instance,  consider  the  case  as  it  affects  not  only  themselves,  but 
others,  and  eschew  all  secret  and  underhand  proceedings,  they  will 
offer  a  striking  contrast  to  all  other  depositaries  of  such  powers^ 
We  have  seen  what  their  powers  are.  Let  us  sec  how  they  exer- 
cise them.  The  Unioa  forms  a  court,  hut  a  court  which  acts  only 
on  €x  parte  information,  and  without  local  knowledge.  Thus  the 
masons  of  Carlisle  and  Exeter,  for  instance,  decide  on  the  wages 
that  shall  be  demanded  by  the  masons  of  Wolverhampton, 
guiding  themselves  not  by  the  circumstances  of  the  tra<le,  but  by 
the  necessities  of  the  employers.  The  object  is  to  find  a  place 
where  labour  is  in  demand^  to  withdraw  the  labour  by  a  strike, 
and  lo  counteract  the  tendency  of  other  labourers  to  flow  thither 
by  picketing,  thus  at  once  cutting  off  a  source  of  employment, 
and  depriving  the  whole  trade  of  the  benefit  which  the  tendency 
of  labour  to  go  where  it  is  most  wanted  must  otherwise  produce* 
Mn  Russell,  of  Bolton ,  was  fined  5/»,  which  he  paid,  by  the 
operative  bricklayers  of  Bolton,  for  setting  a  mason  to  widen  a 
window  which  he  could  not  get  finished  because  the  bricklayers 
were  drinking,  and  would  not  work.  Of  course  he  had  no 
opportunity  of  being  heanl  before  the  tribunal  which  imposed 
the  fine,  consisting,  as  in  all  probability  it  did,  of  the  delinquents 
the  msel  ves, — 3971, 

Mr.  Stone,  of  Newton-in-the-Willows,  was  fined  15s.  because 
his  foreman  remonstrated  with  his  men  for  talking  and  smoking 
when  they  should  have  been  at  work;  and  the  foreman's  son 
was  fined  5s,  for  taking  part  with  his  fathen^ — '3973,  Mr,  Walter 
Scott  is  the  largest  builder  in  Newcastle^  In  the  fortnighdy 
return  of  a  Trades*  Union  there  appears  an  application  from  the 
Masons^  Lodge  of  Newcastle,  requesting  that  it  be  put  to  the  vote 
whether  Mr,  Scott*s  country  jobs  should  not  be  stopped  by  the 
withdrawal  of  masonsj  and  the  firm,  if  necessarj,  ^shelvetl  for 
eighteen  months/  This  application  is  supported  by  assertions^ 
utterly  untrue,  that  Mr,  Scott  had  busied  himself  in  opposing 
the  nine  hour  movement.  The  return  is  a  secret  document,  and, 
while  deliberations  were  being  held  concerning  him  which  might 
have  involved  his  ruin,  Mr.  Scott  was  entirely  unaware  of  them, 
and  only  learnt  them  from  the  accident  that  this  secret  return  fell 
into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Mault,  who  published  it  in  his  newspaper, 
and  thus  for  the  first  time  apprised  Mr,  Scott  of  his  danger, 
A  trial  is  going  on,  and  the  first  the  accused  bears  of  it  is  by  the 
newspaper.  We  must  go  back,  not  to  the  Guilds*  but  to  the  secret 
tribunals  of  the  middle  ages    to    find  a  parallel  to  such  pro- 

Vol,  123,— JVb.  246.  2  c  ceedings. 


376  Tradei  Umons. 

ceedings.— 4039.  The  machinery  of  strikes  is  used,  as  we  hafe 
seen,  to  make  one  man  pay  another's  debt ;  here  is  an  instaaoe 
where  it  was  used  to  punish  a  successful  competitor.  Mr.  Mordj, 
of  Nottingham,  made  an  estimate  for  plastering  a  row  of  houses, 
which  was  accepted.  The  trades  had  in  contemplation  a  co- 
operative society,  and  competed  for  the  work.  When  they  found 
that  they  were  not  successful,  they  sent  to  the  builder  to  say  that 
they  would  not  allow  the  work  to  be  done  by  contract,  and 
so  the  contract  was  taken  away  from  Mr.  Murdy.  Not  content 
with  this,  they  sent  a  circular  to  every  master  builder  in 
Nottingham  to  this  effect :  *•  It  has  been  resolved  by  the  central 
committee  of  the  building  trades,  that  you  do  not  accept  any 
tender  from  Messrs.  Hill  and  Murdy  from  this  date  until  we 
come  to  more  amicable  terms  than  we  are  at  present  with  them.' 
—4058. 

Let  any  <Hie  read  these  instances,  abridged  from  many  more 
which  were  laid  before  the  Royal  Commission,  and  ask  himself 
whether  there  is  any  principle  of  personal  liberty,  of  fair  play 
between  man  and  man,  of  justice  or  of  honesty,  which  mese 
bodies  in  their  self-constituted  omnipotence  do  not  infringe? 
Supposing  we  knew  nothing  of  Trades'  Unions  except  what  is 
now  told  us,  could  we  believe  that  their  excesses  were  limited 
even  to  such  cases  as  these  ?  What  reflecting  man  would  doubt 
for  a  moment  that  the  means  of  compulsion  would  grow  in  vio- 
lence and  atrocity  just  in  proportion  to  the  resistance  encoun- 
tered ?  People  accustomed  to  gain  their  own  way,  and  to  gain  it 
by  such  means,  are  not  likely  to  suffer  themselves  to  be  defeated 
while  anything  was  left  untried  which  could  strike  terror  into 
their  intended  victims.  People  who  deliberately  set  themselves 
to  starve  a  fellow- workman  because  he  will  not  strike,  or  to  ruin 
an  employer  because  he  prefers  to  manage  his  business  himself, 
instead  of  carrying  it  on  under  the  dictation  of  the  Union,  are 
not  likely  to  stop  there  if  that  does  not  succeed.  From  such 
conduct  to  actual  violence  the  step  is  short  and  certain.  We 
feel  sure  that  this,  though  true,  is  not  the  whole  truth;  that 
where  there  is  so  much  there  must  be  more.  Of  the  Sheffield 
outrages  it  is  unnecessary  here  to  speak.  They  have  been  read 
and  shuddered  at  in  every  comer  of  the  kingdom.  Robbery, 
fire-raising,  and  murder,  glozed  over  by  the  most  odious  hypo- 
crisy, have  been  the  weapons  with  which  more  than  one  Trades* 
Union  in  Sheffield  has  fought  its  battles.  But  even  this  is  not 
the  worst  of  it.  To  understand  how  fearful  an  instrument  a 
Trades*  Union  is  for  destroying  all  feeling  of  right  and  wrong  in 
large  bodies  of  men,  we  have  only  to  consider  the  treatment  of 
the  loathsome  miscreants  Broadhead  and  Crookes.     In  October 

last 


Tradet^  Unions, 


877 


Iftst  year  Broadhead  wrote  a  letter  wLich  must  have  ^tisfied  any 
one  who  read  it  attentively  that  he  had  a  hand  in  the  Hereford 
Street  outrage,  for  in  it  he  speaks  of  the  victim  as  almost  as  bad 
as  the  perpetmton  The  press  commented  severely  on  this  state- 
ment. Broadhead  offered  his  resignation  as  Secretary  of  the 
Saw  Grinders'  Union.  The  subject  was  considered  for  six  houra 
with  closed  doors.  They  passed  a  vote  of  confidence  in  him, 
and  requested  him  to  retain  his  office.  Then  came  the  dis- 
closures of  this  year*  It  appeared  that  Broadhead  retained  in  his 
service  hired  murderers,  and  that  to  pay  them  he  embezzled  the 
funds  of  the  Society^  and  falsified  the  accounts^  The  Saw 
Grinders' Union  refuse  to  expel  Broadhead  on  two  grounds:  one, 
that  he  had  risked  bis  life  on  their  behalf^  the  other,  that  the  law 
afforded  no  remedy  for  the  offences  which  he  took  upon  bimself 
to  punish  with  death*  The  non^Union  saw  grinders,  who  were 
clear  of  his  former  crimes,  reauested  him  to  assist  them  in  form- 
ing an  Union  of  their  own*  His  public  house  is  frequented  by 
numerous  admirers  of  murder,  *  considered  as  one  of  the  fine  arts,' 
and  he  is  much  astonished  that  the  magistrates  have  refusetl  to 
renew  his  license,  being  apparently  of  opinion  that  the  certificate 
of  indemnity  cancels  the  guilt  and  the  infamy,  as  well  as  the 
penal  consequences,  of  crime. 

The  support  that  opinion  in  Sheffield  gives  to  crime  is  even 
more  hideous  than  the  crime  itself;  just  as  it  has  been  always 
felt  in  Ireland  that  there  is  one  thing  worse  than  Irish  agrarian 
outrage,  and  that  is  the  shelter  and  sympathy  which  it  receives 
from  the  peasantry^  The  one  proves  individual  wickedness,  the 
other  the  depravity  of  a  whole  com  muni  tj* 

Perhaps  from  the  weariness  and  disgust  which  the  subject 
naturally  inspires,  the  revelations  of  the  doings  of  the  brick- 
makers  at  Manchester  have  attracted  leas  attention  than  the 
exploits  of  the  saw-grinders  of  Sheffield,  This  \s  unfatn  They 
are  even  more  remarkable ;  and  if  they  do  not  obtain  as  mncb 
notice,  it  should  not  be  'Carent  quia  vate  sacro/  The  prin- 
ciples  of  the  brickmakers  are  absolutist ;  their  means  of  enforcing 
obedience  are  gently  graduated  from  pecuniary  fines  up  to  murtlen 
When  the  lesser  penalty  is  imposed,  the  heavier  always  lurks  in 
the  background.  Their  policy  is  not  enlightened.  They  will 
have  no  employment  of  non-Union  men — either  with  Union  men 
or  alone  ;  no  machine-made  bricks ;  no  transference  of  bricks 
from  one  district  to  another  ;  no  payment  for  labour  except  what 
they  please*  A  master  brickmaker,  not  a  member  of  the  Union, 
is  forced  to  pay  them  IL  a  year,  in  order  to  Ije  allowed  to  work  at 
bis  own  trade.  They  have  an  alliance  with  the  bricklayers,  so 
that  no  bricks  can  be  laid  of  which  they  disapprove.     They  fine 

2  c  2  a  master 


376 


whoi 
of  i\ 


tha 

the 

so 

wi* 

N 


^^^^^  :,*  pays  the  fine,  and 

*^,'*"'  .  have  not  dcstrovecl 

..[  a  master  who   has 

i.inal  to  sen<l  them  to 

.   •  :!e  thev    visit  with   the 

^P^'  ivo,   like  the   Kclucation 

make    regular    rounds    to 
A    master  dismisses    some 
in-  naphtha,  and  much   pro- 
drives  up  busin(»ss  in  conse- 
Another  jrives  up  business 
^'  Another,  '  iuTause  it  is  better 

^•■■t:s  elfeetualK  driven  away,  and 
*'  0  suj>erior  to  that  of  the*  work- 

:  nisand  into  the  clay  to  lame  the 

A  damajjed  article  is  boujjht  for 

^  ^  •    re  important  than  the  eye.     l^low- 

,     ^-  as  well  imderstood  at  ^lanchester 
•.:e  wounded  in  the  head  with  sluirs, 
1    iHitrijrht.     Horses   are  hamstrun<r: 
,     suppose  a  favourite  animal,  is  tied 
'.r.  and  burnt  to  death,  the  execution 
>^  i:ul  h\avinjr  its  reconl  in  the  fact  that 
^  ^^l\  affony  pulled  down  the  hay-rack  to 
i\c»rea<l  of  stabs  with  knives,  of  pistols 
^    ,>ii   cannot     swim    thrown    into    (lcr]> 
.vAMntr ;  and   one*   jicrson   nearly  killed 
.uiolher.      Such    are   the   revelations  of 
;:   no   contradiction  when  we  claim  for 
■  with  the  disclosures  of  Sheni<'ld. 
.^-  airainst  tlu*  Trades*  Unions.      We  have 
,\i  is  to  i)e  allei^^ed  airainst  th(Mn,  and  the* 
r   is   utteily    futile.      We  say   tliat    they 
lU-inner  tUr  inter(\sts  of  the  vitv  workinc: 
::ieant    to    aid,    that    they   threaten    some 
.^«s  widi  extinction,  and  serl(»usly  limit  thi» 
.-,:  they  arc*  carried   ou   l)y  means   fatal   t«) 
•v  country  resj^ects,  that  they  are  ruinous  to 
.      ;^  of  industry  and  merit,  that  th(»y  <*an  onlv 
,..  steniatic  breach   of  the  law,  and  that  they 
.\,  jjnnuit  of  crime,  from  a  men*  conspiracv 
.  .»   w  robbery,  arson,  nnitilation,  and    munler. 
::u'V  are  all  alike.      A  vast  interval  s(»parates 
*        ,    ^^  the  Amaliramated  Carp(MU(»rs  and  Joiners 
H-sof  l-a^cashire  or  the  .Saw  (Jrinders  of  Shef- 
^'^^■''"  field. 


^Ti'ades  Unions, 


079 


field-  But  they  all  cootala  within  them  the  germs  and  elements 
of  crime,  they  are  all  founded  on  the  right  of  the  majority  to  coerce 
the  minority,  on  the  absolute  subjugation  of  the  one  to  the  many, 
and  the  employment  of  such  means  as  may  be  necessary  in  order 
to  give  effect  to  these  false  and  dangerous  principles^  Is  such  a 
state  of  things  as  we  have  described  to  be  tolerated  in  this 
country?  Is  everything  which  has  hitherto  been  the  pride  of 
Englishmen  to  be  sacrificed  to  the  vain  attempt  to  overthroir  by 
brute  force  the  most  clearly  established  principles?  Are  we 
tamely  to  stand  by  and  see  these  bodies  ruin  our  trade  and  manu- 
factures, and  tolerate  a  'progressive  demoralisation  of  classes 
destined  henceforth  to  have  a  potential  voice  in  the  government 
of  this  country,  to  which  no  limit  can  be  assigned  short  of  the 
worst  and  blackest  of  crimes  ?     If  not,  what  is  the  remedy  ? 

The  remedy  depends  of  course  upon  the  state  of  the  law.  If  the 
law  be  adequate  to  punish  such  injuries  and  enormities,  we  should 
presume  thatj  as  these  things  nevertheless  happen,  the  Trades* 
Unions  arc  too  strong  for  the  law,  and  should  feel  disposed  to 
abandon  the  attempt  in  despair.  But  if  the  law  be  found  defective, 
there  is  yet  hope  in  its  amendment.  At  first  sight  the  case  seems 
almost  hopeless.  There  is  hardly  a  single  act  of  oppression 
which  we  have  enumerated  which  is  not  indictable  under  the 
law  as  it  stands,  and  that  law  not  a  statute  made  by  the  rich 
to  oppress  the  poor,  but  the  common  law  of  conspiracy^  origi- 
nating in  the  wish  to  protect  the  weak  against  the  strong*  It  is 
quite  clear  that  the  common  law  will  not  allow  conspiracies  in 
restraint  of  trade,  and  that  almost  every  act  which  has  been 
given  in  evidence  would  support  an  indictment  for  this  offence. 
The  charge  of  Baron  Bramwell,  In  the  recent  case  of  the  Tailors' 
Strike,  places  this  point  beyond  a  doubt  The  statute  of  the  6th 
George  IV,,  c,  129,  places  acts  of  violence  or  molestation,  or 
ihreatjj  for  the  purposes  of  coercion  in  matters  of  work  or  wages, 
when  proceeding  from  individuals,  on  the  same  footing  as  if 
they  were  proved  to  be  the  result  of  combination^  giving  besides 
a  summary  jurisiliction  to  magistrates  instead  of  to  a  jury.  Wb 
are  not  aware  that  a  failure  of  justice  has  ever  resulted  from 
the  insufficiency  of  the  law.  But  this  avails  but  little.  The 
difficulty  is  not  in  the  law  but  in  the  evidence.  The  same  inti- 
midation which  enslaves  the  individual  closes  the  mouth  of  the 
witness,  and  fines  are  openly  imposed  by  the  Unions  on  any 
one  who  may  give  evidence  against  their  interest.  The  position 
of  a  prosecutor  or  a  witness  in  these  cases  only  too  closely  re-* 
sembles  the  position  of  such  persons  in  Ireland.  They  dare  not 
speak,  unless  means  are  afforded  them  of  removal  from  the  ven» 
geance  of  the  powerful  class  they  offend     Mr.  Mault  received 


380  Trad^i  Unions. 

ofTers  of  evidence,  but  only  on  condition  that  he  would  proride 
the  meang  of  emigration  for  those  who  gave  it     Since  thoe 
sheets  were  written,  we  have  seen  it  propcMed  by  meire  than  one 
member  of  Parliament  to  leave  Trades'  Unions  alone^  placing 
them  within  the  protection  of  the  Friendly  Societies  Act,  and  lo 
strengthen  the  law  against  outrages.     This  would  be  to  gire  the 
pound  of  flesh,  and  forbid  the  efiusion  of  blood.     The  Union  is 
more  dreaded  than  the   law ;  just  as  maiming,   burnings  audi 
murdering  are  more  fearful  than  hard  labour  or  imprisonment 
If  Trades'  Unions  are  allowed  to  retain  their  present  form  and 
organization,  they  can  stifle  proof  and  secure  impunity  to  crime. 
The  real  question,  then,  is  not  of  a  new  law  of  pains  and  penal- 
ties, but  of  a  careful  consideration  of  the  organisation  of  theK 
societies.     It  is  here,  if  anywhere,  that  a  remedy  must  be  aooght 
The  law  cannot  be  strengthened  so  as  to  put  down  oatrageS|  so 
long  as  we  leave  to  their  perpetrators  a  power  stronger  and  more 
terrible  than  the  law.     We  must  ascend  to  causes,  and  not  fix  our 
attention  exclusively  on  effects,  if  we  would  encounter  this  evil 
effectually.    Now  we  have  already  shown  that  a  Trades'  Union  is 
composed  of  two  distinct  and  separate  parts :  a  Friendly  or  Provi- 
dent Society,  and  a  Society  for  the  purpose  of  raising  wages  and 
regulating  trade.     We  have  shown,  Aoreover,  that  it  is  only  by 
the  union  of  these  two  that  the  Trades'  Union  in  its  full  force  and 
efficiency  can  exist.     Let  us  consider  the  last  first'    The  case  of 
Hilton  V.  Eckersley,  decided  by  the  Queen's  Bench,  and  affirmed 
in  the  Exchequer  Chamber,  laid  down  that  a  bond  entered  into 
by  certain  employers  of  labour,  by  which  they  bound  themselves 
to   submit,  as  to  wages,   hours   of  work,  engagement  of  work- 
people, cScc,  each  to  the  will  of  the  majority,  was  void,  as  being 
in  restraint  of  trade.      Substitute  the  word  association  for  the 
word  bond,  and  the  whole  reasoning  and  force  of  the  decision 
applies  to  a  Trades'  Union,  the  vcrv  essence  of  which  is  that  the 
individual  shall  submit  himself  in  all  things  relating  to  his  trade 
to  the  will  of  the  majority.     The  4tli  section  of  the  6th  Geo. 
IV.,  c.  129,  relieves  '  workmen  wlio  meet  together  for  the  sole 
purpose  of  consulting  upon  and  determining  the  rate  of  wages,' 
and  '  persons  who  enter  into  any  agreement,  verbal  or  written, 
among  themselves  for  the  purpose  of  fixing  the  rate  of  wages  or 
prices,'   from   punishment ;    and  the   5th  section  has  the  same 
protection,  mutatis  mutandis^  for  masters.     The  case  of  Hilton 
r.    Eckersley    shows    that    this    protection    does   not   apply    to 
prospective  agreements  between  masters   to  be  bound  by   the 
will  of  the  majority ;    and  therefore  the  4th  section  does  not 
protect  similar  engagements  between  workmen.     Being  illegal 
at  common  law,  and  not  within  the  protection  of  the  statute, 

such 


such  societies  ate  therefore  illegal,  Mn  Justice  Cramplon,  an 
excellent  lawyer,  thought  that  the  parties  to  the  bond  were  in- 
dictable; but  on  this  question^  as  not  being  involved  in  tho 
merits  of  the  case  of  Hilton  v,  Eckerslej^  the  Court  of  Exchequer 
Chamber  gave  no  opinion.  As  to  a  Trades'  Union  considered  as 
a  Friendly  or  Benefit  Society,  we  have  already  forestalled  an 
account  of  its  le^l  position.  It  is  excluded  from  the  benefits 
of  the  Friendly  Societies  Acts,  It  is  not  allowed  a  remission  of 
income-tax.  It  cannot  avail  itself  of  the  summary  jurisdiction 
given  to  magistrates  as  between  Friendly  Societies,  their  officers, 
and  members.  Its  rules  may  be  excellent,  but  the  members 
cannot  have  the  security  given  b}"  the  certificate  of  the  Registrar 
of  Friendly  Societies,  Its  rules  must  be  lodged  with  him  j  but 
that  only  gives  an  opportunity,  of  which  we  have  given  one 
instance,  and  could  give  more,  of  fraud  and  misrepresentation  on 
the  part  of  the  Union,  by  treating  the  lodgment  with  as  equiva- 
lent to  the  certificate  of  the  Registrar.  Yet  no  mark  is  set  upon 
them.  They  ate  left  to  the  common  law.  What  would  be 
the  result  of  a  bill  in  equity  filed  by  or  against  them  ? — whether 
the  illegal  element  which  they  contain,  as  shown  above,  would 
vitiate  the  whole  society*  or  whether  it  would  be  considered  as 
separable^  we  do  not  pretend  to  say.  If  the  Union  cannot  sue  sum- 
marily a  defaulting  treasurer,  neither  can  a  member,  arbitrarily 
and  iinjustly  deprived  of  the  benefit  of  his  subscriptions,  summarily 
mue  the  Union  for  redress.  It  is  this  license  of  plundering  their 
subscribers  at  will  which  gives  the  Unions  that  power  of  coercion 
over  their  own  members  on  which  their  whole  efficiency  depends. 
The  legal  status  of  Trades'  Unions  is  not  tolerable*  They  are 
not  prohibited,  but  looked  coldly  on  and  disapproved,  by  the  law. 
They  are  not  illegal,  but  are  denied  access  to  all  legal  tribunals, 
except  perhaps  the  Court  of  Chancery,  which  is  obviously  quite 
out  of  their  reach.  They  are  somewhat  in  the  same  position  as 
unregistered  Joint  Stock  Companies  before  1856,  allowed  to  exist, 
but  encumbered  with  difficulties  which  the  law  can  remove  but 
will  not. 

At  present  a  Friendly  Society  may  be  founded  on  pccu* 
niary  principles  so  manifestly  unsound,  as  to  make  its  ruin 
and  the  spoliation  of  its  contributors  aljsolutely  certain  in  a 
l^iven  number  of  years,  and  yet  the  Government  allows  it 
to  go  on,  and  contents  itself  with  merely  withholding  its  coun* 
tenance  from  it.  This  surely  onght  not  to  be.  If  these  so- 
cieties are  fit  for  the  application  of  the  ordinary  principles 
of  free  trade,  the  Govermnent  ought  not  to  interfere  at  all ; 
if  the  working  classes  require  protection,  as  they  obviously 
da,  the  Government  ought  absolutely  to   prohibit  that  which 

they 


388  Traiiu  Unions. 

they  do   not  absolutely   approve.      A  Friendly   or   Provident 
Society  which  cannot  obtain  registration  for  its  rules  should  be 
absolutely  prohibited,  and  the  attempt  to  establish  or  carry  on 
such  a  society  should  be  treated  as  a  fraud,  and  punished  as  a 
criminal  act     By  this  simple  means  an  effectual  bar  would  be 
interposed  to  that  conjunction  out  of  which,  as  has  already  been 
abundantly  shown,  the  power  of  Trades'  Unions  mainly  arises — 
the  union  of  a  fraudulent  Provident   Society    with   a   societj 
formed  for  the  purpose  of  restraining  trade.     A  mere  Trades* 
Union,    stripped    of   the  mask   of   providence    and    foresight, 
behind    which  it   conceals   its   more  repulsive  features,    might 
possibly  be  dealt  with  by  the  common  law  against  conspiracy, 
if  it  existed   at   all,  it   would    be   obliged  to    show    its   true 
colours,  and  thus  to  furnish  evidence  against  itself.     It  would 
no  longer  have  the  specious  pretext  to  bring  forward,  that  it 
invited  working  men  to  make  provision  for  old  age  or  illness, 
and  it  would  lose  the  weapon  which  it  wields  so  efficiently,  the 
power  of  confiscating  the  contributions   of  its  subscribers  by 
expelling  them  for  disobedience  of  its  orders.     Thus  a  benefit 
society  would  become  what  it  professes  to  be,  a  mere  aid  to 
prudence  and  economy,  and  a  Trades*  Union  would  also  be  what 
It  professes,  a  mere  instrument  for  coercing  masters  and  men, 
but  forced  to  rely  for  support,  even  if  allowed  to  exist  at  all, 
entirely   on   its  own  merits,    and*  therefore   we  need   not  say 
stripped  of  its  strength,  and  resting  on  a  thoroughly  unsound 
and  treacherous  foundation. 

The  alterations  in  the  law  which  we  would  suggest,  therefore, 
are  these.  Forbid  absolutely,  under  pain  of  indictment — or, 
bettor  still,  summary  punishment  l)efore  two  justices — the  esta- 
blishment of  any  Friendly  or  Provident  Society  without  the 
certificate  of  its  rules  from  the  rep:istrar  of  such  societies. 
Give  a  reasonable  time  to  all  existing  Benefit  or  Provident 
Societies  to  come  in  and  register,  and  after  that  time  has  expired 
declare  all  such  societies  illegal  and  their  members  liable  to 
punishment.  Give  to  some  suitable  tribunal  a  power  of  arbi- 
trating between  the  society  and  its  members,  whenever  it  is 
impossible  for  them  to  comply  with  the  requirements  of  the 
Registrar  of  Friendly  Societies.  Declare,  in  affirmance  of  what 
we  believe  to  be  the  common  law,  that  all  societies  formed  in 
restraint  of  trade  (other  than  those  combinations  protected  by  the 
4th  and  5th  sections  of  the  (jth  Geo.  IV.,  c.  129)  are  illegal,  and 
give  to  justices  a  summary  jurisdiction  against  their  members. 

The  law  will  then  be  adequate  to  the  mischief.  If  it  can 
be  enforced,  society  will  have  freed  itself  from  a  great  peril ; 
dangers  to  our  manufactures  and  commerce,  the  amount  of  which 

no 


Sir  Henry  BulwerV  HiMtorical  Ommclerst 


383 


no  man  can  measure)  will  have  been  arrested,  and  a  de  moral  - 
ization  which  threatens  to  lower  the  character  of  the  English 
operative  to  the  level  of  the  Thug  of  India  will  have  been  stayed  | 
if  not,  we  must  be  prepared  to  see  our  prosperity  wither  and 
perish  under  the  ruinous  influence  of  persons  as  ignorant  of  their 
own  true  interests  as  they  arc  careless  of  the  feelings  and  reckless 
of  the  interests  of  others. 


Art  IV* — Historical  Characters, 
Lytton  Bulwer,  G,C.B. 


By  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  Henry 

2  vols.     8vo.     1867. 


BACON,  as  we  are  aptly  reminded  by  the  author  of  the  work 
before  us,  claims  as  the  attribute  of  men  of  science  and 
letters  that  when  they  do  give  themselves  up  to  public  affairs 

*  they  carry  thereunto  a  spirit  more  lofty  and  comprehensive 
than  that  which  animates  the  mere  politician/  They  also  brin^ 
back  thereirom  a  spirit  more  practical,  with  an  experience  more 
varit'd  and  enlargetl,  than  commonly  appertain  to  the  mere  man 
of  letters — a  spirit  and  an  experience  of  inestimable  worth  when 
they  treat  of  public  affairs.  Clarendon,  Sully,  and  de  Retx  are 
obvious  examples.  Gibbon,  speaking  of  his  service  with  the 
Hampshire  militia,  B^ys^  *The  discipline  and  evolutions  of  a 
modem  battalion  gave  me  a  clearer  notion  of  the  phalanx  and 
the  legion ;  and  the  captain  of  the  Hampshire  grenadiers  (the 
reader  may  smile)  has  not  been  useless  to  the  historian  of  the 
Roman  empire/      And  in  another  place  of  the  autobiography  : 

*  Tbe  eight  sessions  that  I  sat  in  Parliament  were  a  school  of 
civil  prudence,  the  first  and  most  essential  virtue  of  an  historian/ 
Montaigne  lays  down  that  no  one  should  write  history  who  has 
not  served  the  state  in  some  civil  or  military  capacity.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  it  is  certainly  a  recommendation  of  no  mean 
order  to  an  author  who  undertakes  a  series  of  biographical 
studies  on  orators  and  statesmen,  that  he  has  himself  sat  in 
senates  and  been  practically  conversant  with  important  transact 
tions  of  diplomacy. 

Sir  Henry  Bulwer  has  this  recommendation.  He  was  during 
many  years  a  member  of  the  House  of  Commons,  and  two  or 
three  of  his  later  speeches,  especially  one* on  Spanish  affairs,  in 
1S36|  gave  high  promise  of  his  parliamentary  career  had  lie 
persevered  in  it  He  vacated  his  seat  for  Marjlebone  on  bein^ 
appointed  Secretary  of  Embassy  at  Constantinople  in  1837; 
having  already  served  a  respectable  apprenticeship  to  diplomacy 
in  Berlin,  Vienna,  the  Low  Countries,  and  Brussels.  He  was 
transferred  to  Paris  in  1839,  and^  the  ambassador  being  absent, 


884  Sir  Henry  Bolwer'i  Historical  ChameUrt. 

was  acting  minuter  in  1840,  when  the  Egyptian  complicationi 
were  in  their  most  entangled  state.  He  was  also  acting  miwistfT 
at  critical  periods  in  1841  and  1842.  In  1843  Lord  Aberdeen, 
who  had  been  favourably  impressed  by  his  despatches  and  report^ 
appointed  him  British  minister  in  Spain ;  and  he  was  there  when 
the  notorious  Spanish  marriages  were  brought  about  by  French 
intrigue,  which  might  have  been  counteracted  had  his  adrice 
been  followed  and  his  information  acted  on.  We  afcerwardi 
find  him  in  the  United  States,  concluding  the  '  Bulwer  and 
Clayton  Treaty  ;'  then  minister  at  Florence ;  then,  after  a  short 
retirement,  on  a  special  mission  to  the  Principalities;  and,  to 
crown  all,  ambassador  at  Constantinople  from  1858  to  1865, 
where  he  carried  out  with  signal  ability  the  Palmerstonian  policy 
of  preserving  the  Turkish  empire  unimpaired.^  In  the  coarse  of 
a  debate  (April  6th,  1863)  in  the  House  of  Commons  on  the 
relative  fitness  of  our  diplomatic  agents  and  representatives.  Lord 
Palmerston  instanced  the  Earl  of  Clarendon  and  Sir  H.  Bnlwer 
as  two  who  had  attained  distinction  and  success  without  having 
been  regularly  educated  for  diplomacy. 

During  two-thirds  of  his  life,  therefore.  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  htf 
been  going  through  the  best  sort  of  training  for  the  class  of  com- 
position which  he  has  judiciously  chosen,  and  the  work  before 
us  is  especially  distinguished  by  the  qualities  which  we  should 
have  anticipated  from  his  career:  sagacity,  penetration,  broad 
and  liberal  views  of  men  and  measures,  keen  analysis  of  motive, 
and  perfect  familiarity  with  the  manner  in  which  the  springs  of 
human  action  are  brought  into  play  by  those  who  control  or 
modify  the  current  of  events  at  momentous  epochs.  He  has 
been  in  personal  communication  witli  many  actors  in  the  scenes 
he  describes ;  his  memory  is  richly  stored  with  materials  for 
illustration ;  he  has  appropriate  imagrs  at  command ;  and  his 
stvle — clear,  copious,  and  free — is  essentially  a  good  style, 
although  the  sentences  are  sometimes  wanting  in  compact- 
ness, and  a  word  or  phrase  may  occasionally  betray  a  foreign 
orijrin.  Scrope  Davies,  Lord  Bvron's  friend,  who  had  resided 
twenty  years  at  Paris  without  loarninp^  French,  was  wont  to 
allege  as  his  reason  an  unwillingness  to  spoil  his  English,  of 
which  he  was  justifiably  proud; 'and  an  Englishman  who  has 
lived  long  abroad,  and  been  in  the  constant  habit  of  speaking 
and  writinj::  a  foreign  language,  will  find  considerable  difficulty 
in  preserving  the  idiomatic  purity  of  his  own. 

Sir  H.  Bulwer's  selection  and  classification  of  subjects  are  of  a 
nature  to  provoke  critical  comment  at  starting.  His  historical 
characters  are  —  Talleyrand,  the  Politic  Man ;  Mackintosh, 
the  Man  of  Promise;  Cobbett,  the  Contentious  Man;  Canning, 

the 


p 


Talhyrand.  385 


the  Brilliant  Man;  Peel,  the  Practical  Man*  They  contrast 
sufficiently  to  p!ace  their  several  qualities  in  broad  relief  and 
produce  the  fuU  attraction  of  variety.  But  is  each  a  fair  speci- 
men of  his  classj  and  is  each  class  correctly  indicated  or  defined  ? 
To  be^in  with  TaUeyrand,  was  be  the  best  type  of  the  *  politic ' 
man,  and  what  is  the  precise  meaning  of  the  term  ?  Unfortu- 
tiately  it  has  three  or  four  meanings  or  senses,  and  would  be 
insufficiently  rendered  by  politique.  It  is  used  in  the  most 
favourable  sense  by  Shakespeare  in  the  passage  i — 

*  Thia  land  was  famously  emiched 
With  politic  gravo  couuseL    Then  the  Kisg 
Him!  virtuous  uuoles/ 

There  was  nothing  virtuous  about  Talleymnd,  and  the  epithet 
*  politic'  would  fit  him  better  as  applied  by  Pope: — 

*  Ko  lees  alike  the  politic  and  wisoj 
All  fily  slow  thinga  with  circuiti8i>ectivc  eye«, 
Men  in  their  loose  unguardtid  hours  they  take,' 

After  giving  Richelieu  and  William  MI,  as  types  of  the  race 
in  which  superior  intelligence,  energy,  and  judgment  are  equally 
united — Charles  XII.  of  Sweden  and  the  first  Napoleon  of  that 
in  which  the  judgment  is  comparatively  weak — Sir  H.  Bnlwer 
proceeds ; 

*  Thii^y,  there  are  men  la  whcm  the  judgment  is  stronger  thoii 
either  the  energy «  which  li^i  r&thor  oceasiotial  than  constant,  or  the 
intelligenoe  which,  though  E^uhtle  and  oemprehetigive,  is  not  of  the 
loftiest  order.  Shrewd  and  wai'y,  thacic  men  mther  take  advantage  of 
circuniBt-atLcee  thiiu  make  them*  To  turn  an  obstaele,  to  foresee  &n 
©veiit^  U}  scjize  an  opportunity,  is  their  peculiar  talent*  They  are 
witJiout  pasgiQnSi  but  their  iniorest  assumes  the  character  of  a  paesion* 
Tho  success  they  attain  in  life  is,  for  tho  moBt  put)  procured  by  cflbrts 
no  {^rcatcT  thau  tho«6  of  other  candidates  ^r  public  honours  and 
n-nown,  who  with  an  ap]>earanee  of  cfiiial  tident  vainly  strive  to  be 
nnccessful ;  hut  all  their  exertiuus  are  made  at  the  moat  EttiDg  moment^ 
and  in  tlie  happiest  manner* 

^A  nice  taet  is  tbe  essential  and  predonunant  quality  of  tbefio 
'*  paliiic  '*  per  Wins.  Thay  think  rarely  of  what  is  right  in  the  abstraot : 
they  da  usually  what  is  beat  at  the  moment.  They  never  [day  the 
gEtdftteit  part  amougst  their  contomporarioi :  they  almost  always  play 
6  gMt  one ;  and,  without  arriTiug  at  those  eirtraoFdinory  position  k  to 
which  a  more  adventurous  race  agpircB^  generally  retain  eondderahlij 
importance,  even  during  the  mo^t  ehn.ngcful  cireumstauoes,  and  miM 
oommonly  preserve  in  rotiremeut  or  disgrace  much  of  the  Bonrnderation 
they  acquired  in  power/ 

So  far  so  good,  correctly  conceived  and  felicitously  exprefSf»ch 

But 


Ji 


386  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  «  Historical  Characters. 

But  the  English  example  which  follows  most  be  pronounced  pu^ 
tially  or  imperfectly  applicable : 

'  Daring  tho  intriguing  and  agitated  years  which  preceded  the  Ul 
of  the  Stuarts  there  was  seen  in  England  a  remarkable  statesman  ol 
tho  character  I  have  just  been  describing  ;  and  a  comparison  mi^  not 
inappn>priatcly  bo  dra^-n  between  tho  plausible  and  trimming  HaUfia 
and  tho  adroit  and  accomplished  personage  whose  name  ia  insoiibed 
on  these  pagos. 

'  But  although  these  two  renowned  advocates  of  expediency  had 
many  qualities  in  common — the  amenity,  the  wit,  the  knowledge,  the 
acutencBS,  which  distinguished  the  one  equally  distingniahing  the  oiher 
— ^noyerthdess,  the  Englishman,  although  a  more  dexterous  debater  in 
public  assemblies,  had  not  in  action  the  calm  courage,  nor  in  council 
tho  prompt  decision,  for  which  the  Frenchman  was  remarkable ;  neiflitf 
is  his  name  stamped  on  tho  Rnnala  of  his  country  in  such  indeliWo 
characters,  nor  connected  with  such  great  and  marvellous  events.* 

We  suspect  that  Sir  H.  Bulwer  has  been  caught  by  the 
epithet  *  trimmer ;'  for  Halifax  was  not  a  politic  man,  and  had 
nothing  in  common  with  Talleyrand  beyond  knowledge,  intelli- 
gence, fine  manners,  and  wit.  He  never  took  advantage  of  circum- 
stances. He  never  turned  an  obstacle  or  seized  an  oppartnnity ; 
and  if  he  foresaw  an  event,  he  made  no  attempt  to  profit  by  it 
When  Henry  Sidney  sounded  him  on  the  eve  of  the  Revolor 
tion  of  1688,  he  declined  having  anything  to  do  with  the  afiair, 
and  retired  to  his  country  house.  His  mind  was  '  sicklied  o*er 
with  the  pale  cast  of  thought:'  it  was  pre-eminently  one  in 
which  *  enterprises  of  great  pith  and  moment  lose  the  name  of 
action.'  Lord  Macaulay,  who  has  painted  his  portrait  with  the 
nicest  discrimination,  says  that  he  was  less  successful  in  politics 
than  many  who  enjoyed  smaller  advantages,  because  the  intel- 
lectual peculiarities  which  make  his  writings  valuable  frequently 
impeded  him  in  the  contests  of  active  life.  *  For  he  always  saw 
passing  events,  not  in  the  point  of  view  in  which  they  commonly 
appear  to  one  who  bears  a  part  in  them,  but  in  the  point  of  view 
in  which,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  they  appear  to  the  philosophic 
historian.  All  the  prejudices,  all  the  exaggerations  of  both  the 
great  parties  in  the  State,  moved  his  scorn.' 

Halifax  trimmed  on  principle,  from  settled  repugnance  to 
extremes  or  from  fastidiousness,  not  from  interested  motives,  and 
his  ambition  was  the  opposite  of  self-seeking:  its  objects  were 
glory  and  admiration,  instead  of  wealth  and  personal  aggrandize- 
ment, which  were  the  lifelong  aim  of  Talleyrand.  At  the  same 
time  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  Englishman  was  inferior  to 
tho  Frenchman  in  the  qualities  bv  which  great  objects  are 
achieved  ;  and  we  agree  with  Sir  H.  Bulwer  that  the  popular  esti- 
mate 


Talleyrand. 

mate  of  Talleyrand  is  erroneous  and  unfair.  The  absence  of 
high  principle  or  elevated  motive  does  not  implj  tergiversation 
or  dishonesty.  A  man  wboj  changing  with  the  times,  combines 
what  is  best  for  his  country  with  what  is  best  for  himself,  if  not 
quite  a  patriot,  cannot  be  called  a  renegmde  \  and  if  he  does  not 
abandon  a  cause  till  it  is  utterly  hopeless,  till  he  can  confessedly 
do  no  good  by  adhering  to  it,  he  is  not  justly  open  to  the  re* 
proach  of  treachery  or  insincerity.  When  we  come  to  investi- 
gate the  charges  brought  against  Tall ey mud,  they  will  almost 
always  be  found  to  resolve  themselves  into  changes  forced  upon 
him  by  the  weakness  or  violence  of  the  party  which  he  left ;  his 
grand  offence  being  that  he  did  not  share  the  fate  he  was  unable 
to  avert. 

M<  Po2zo  di  Borgo,  speaJcing  of  him  to  Sir  H.  Bulwer,  said, 
*Cet  horn  me  s*est  fait  grand  en  se  rangeant  to  uj  ours  par  mi 
fot  p^its  e£  en  aidant  ceux  qui  avaient  le  plus  be  so  in  de  lui/ 
This,  althougb  meant  to  depreciate,  is  really  tantamount  to  allow- 
ing him  an  extraordinary  amount  of  prescience  and  self-reliance  ; 
for,  it  being  assumed  that  he  joined  *  the  little '  from  calculation, 
he  must  either  have  foreseen  that  they  were  aliout  to  become 
great,  or  have  felt  that  he  was  able  to  make  them  so*  That  he 
joined  those  with  whom  he  was  likely  to  exercise  most  influence 
ifi  true^  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  birth,  rank,  and  pro- 
fession, gave  him  at  once  a  position  in  the  tiers-eiat  which 
would  not  have  been  so  readily  conceded  to  him  by  the  clergy  or 
the  noblesie.  But  if  he  turned  against  his  order  or  his  cloth,  let 
it  not  be  forgotten  that  he  had  been  excluded  from  his  birth- 
right, and  that  he  entered  the  priesthood  against  his  wilh 

His  family  claim  descent  from  the  sovereign  counts  of  Pdri- 
gord,  and  the  name  of  Talleyrand  (from  taiUer  les  ranfis)  was  gained 
by  the  prowess  of  an  ancestor.  He  was  bom  in  1754,  and  was 
immediately  put  out  to  nurse  in  the  country,  where,  either  by 
chance  or  neglect,  he  met  with  a  fall  which  occasioned  lameness. 
So  says  Sir  H,  Bulwer^  adopting  the  current  version.  But  to 
quote  the  very  words  of  our  informant,  an  eminently  distinguished 
diplomatist,  *His  Vienna  colleague,  Baron  VVessenberg,  told  me 
years  ago  that  the  state  of  his  calves  was  owing  to  the  careless^ 
ness  of  his  nurse,  who  laid  him  down  in  a  field  whilst  she  flirted 
with  her  sweetheart,  and  on  coming  back  to  her  charge  found 
some  pigs  dining  on  the  infant's  legs*  I  am  sure  that  Wessen- 
Ijeiig  told  me  this  as  an  establishe*!  fact,  and  I  am  all  but  sure 
that  his  authority  was  Talleyrand  himself/ 

The  resulting  lameness  was  pronounced  incumble,  and  in  a 
eonseil  de  famille  it  was  decided  that  the  younger  brother,  the 
Count  d*Arcbambaud,  afterwards  Due  de  Perigord^  should  be 

deemed 


388  Sir  Henry  Bulw8r*«  Hislmeal  Charadan. 

deemed  the  elder,  and  brought  up  a  aoldier,  whilst  the  crippled 
elder  should  be  deemed  the  younger,  and  devoted  to  the  Church. 
This  arrangement  was  carried  out  when  he  was  between  thirteen 
and  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  thenceforward  his  entire  character 
underwent  a  corresponding  transformation.  *  The  lively,  idle,  and 
reckless  boy  became  taciturn,  studious,  and  calculating.  The 
youth,  who  might  easily  and  carelessly  have  accepted  a  pros- 
perous fate,  was  ushered  into  the  world  with  a  determination 
to  wrestle  with  an  adverse  one.'  It  was  this  determination, 
or  the  stirrings  of  nascent  ambition,  that  compensated  fw 
the  want  of  parental  care;  for,  transferred  directly  fiom  the 
nursery  to  the  school,  and  entering  the  College  d'Harcourt  mote 
ignorant  than  any  boy  of  his  years,  he  gained  the  first  prises 
and  became  one  of  its  most  distinguished  pupils.  At  the 
Seminaire  de  St.-Sulpice,  to  which  he  was  removed  in  1770, 
his  talent  for  disputation  was  remarked,  and  some  of  his 
compositions  were  much  admired.  At  the  Sorbonne,  where  he 
completed  his  studies,  continues  the  biographer,  he  was  oftm 
pointed  out  as  a  remarkably  clever,  silent,  and  profligate  young 
man ;  who  made  no  secret  diat  he  disliked  the  profession  chosen 
for  him,  but  was  certain  to  arrive  at  its  highest  honours.  As 
that  profession  then  imposed  little  or  no  self-denial  or  restraint, 
and  its  highest  grades  were  invitingly  thrown  open  to  the  high- 
bom  and  well-connected,  it  was  probably  in  a  worldly  point  of 
view  the  best  that  could  be  chosen  for  one  like  him,  who  had  no 
scruples  of  conscience  to  check  his  rise. 

He  entered  the  Gallican  Church  in  1773,  and  we  are  re- 
quested to  picture  to  ourselves  a  M.  de  Perigord  about  twenty, 
very  smart  in  his  clerical  attire,  and  with  a  countenance  which, 
without  being  handsome,  was  singularly  attractive  from  the 
triple  expression  of  softness,  impudence,  and  wit  He  made  no 
attempt  to  win  his  way  by  piety  or  learning,  by  preaching 
unctuous  sermons,  or  publishing  theological  treatises.  The 
noble  road  to  preferment  lay  in  another  direction — through  the 
minister's  waiting-room,  the  king's  closet,  or  the  boudoir  of 
the  favourite ;  and  it  was  there  he  went  to  look  for  it  A  gay 
party  was  assembled  at  Madame  Dubarry's,  and  the  gallants  of 
the  Court  were  emulously  boasting  of  their  success  widi  the  fair. 
Talleyrand  hung  down  his  head  and  said  nothing.  '  And  what 
makes  you  so  sad  and  silent?*  askeil  the  hostess.  ^Alas! 
Mad.ame,  I  was  making  a  most  melancholy  reflection.  It  is 
that  Paris  is  a  city  where  it  is  easier  to  gain  women  than  abbeys.* 
This  reply  was  voted  charming,  and  was  repeated  to  the  King, 
wlio  rewarded  it  with  the  benefice  at  which  it  was  aimed. 

The  next  five  years  are  left  blank  by  his  biographers,  but  the 

Abbe 


Tulleyrand^ 


SSI 


Abbe  de  PeVig-ord  must  have  employed  them  to  good  effect  in 
improving  his  talents,  his  reputation,  and  his  inBuence ;  for  in 
17^0  we  find  him,  as  Agent-General  of  the  French  clergy,  dirert- 
iDg  the  administration  of  their  revenues^  and  taking  the  lead  in  the 
management  of  their  affairs.  A  carious  incident  of  this  period  it 
stated  on  the  high  authority  of  M,  Mignet;  that  the  Abbe  and 
Agent-General  fitted  out  a  privateer,  in  partnership  with  M, 
Choi^ul  Gouffier,  to  serve  against  the  English,  the  cannon  being 
supplied  by  the  Government  In  1785,  having  to  give  an  account 
of  bis  administration,  he  did  so  in  a  manner  to  show  hit  mastery  of 
finance ;  and  this  dry  and  repulsive  subject,  as  it  would  have 
been  deemed  at  almost  any  other  period,  happened  to  l>e  the  one 
on  which  public  attention  was  fixed.  The  deficit  in  the  French 
exchequerj  and  the  means  of  replenishing  it,  were  the  absorbing 
topics  of  the  hour^  and  a  man  who  really  understood  them  was 
eagerly  listened  to  and  sought  after  in  all  classes.  He  speedily 
attracted  the  notice  of  M.  de  Calonne,  the  chief  of  the  Govern- 
ment, who,  himself  a  man  of  pleas  are,  was  not  likely  to  withhold 
his  patronage  on  the  ground  of  immorality.  The  Abb^  de  Peri- 
gord,  however,  bad  so  recklessly  exceeded  even  the  large  license 
allowed  by  the  habits  of  his  contemporaries,  that,  when  the 
bishopric  of  Autun  fell  vacant  in  1788,  Louis  XVL  demurred 
to  the  proposed  bestowal  of  it  on  the  churchman  who  had  con-i 
tributed  more  than  any  layman,  except  Richelieu  or  Lauzun,  to 
the  scandalous  chronicles  of  Paris  and  Versailles.  The  King 
held  out  for  four  months^  and  hi^  reluctance  was  with  difficulty 
overcome  at  last  by  the  A  bbe's  father^  who  was  visited  by  hia 
royal  master  on  his  death- bed ^  and  prayed  his  Majesty,  as  the 
last  request  of  an  old  and  faithful  servant,  to  grant  the  bishopric 
to  his  son*  The  Abbe  de  Perigord  was  consecrated  Bishop  of 
Autun  on  the  17th  of  January,  1789,  four  months  before  the 
assembling  of  the  States^GeneraL 

Some  of  the  best  parts  of  the  work  before  us  are  those  in 
which  the  author  sketches  or  recapitulates  the  circumstances  and 
conditions  under  which  his  personages  are  brought  most  pro- 
minently upon  the  scene*  VVe  know  few  things  better  in  this 
line  than  his  delineation  of  the  manners,  feelings,  and  opinions 
of  the  French  metropolis  during  the  ten  years  preceding  the 
revolution ;  for  which  he  apologises,  although  it  needed  no 
apology,  on  the  ground  that  his  hero  was  their  child,  ^  To  the 
latest  hour  of  his  existence  he  fondly  cherished  their  memory : 
to  them  he  owed  many  of  those  graces  which  his  friends  still 
delight  to  recall :  to  them  most  of  those  faults  which  his  enemiet 
have  so  frequently  portrayed**  This  was  the  period  to  which 
Burke  alluded  in  his  memorable  maxim  (of  questionable  sound- 
ness) 


390  Sir  Henry  Bulwer'i  Hisi&rieal  CharaeUn. 

ness)  that  rice  loses  half  its  evil  bj  losing  all  its  grossness.  The 
reign  of  Louis  Seize  was  a  marked  improvement  on  that  of  his 
pr^lecessor.  Power  and  patronage  were  no  longer  distribated 
by  a  profligate  mistress,  and  the  Pare  aux  Cerfs  was  broken  up. 
The  worst  that  can  truly  be  said  of  the  Queen's  mode  of  nmnfing 
herself  at  Le  Petit  Trianon  is  that  it  transgressed  the  traditional 
decorum  of  the  Court,  and  gave  occasion  for  what  are  now  all 
but  demonstrated  to  have  been  unfounded  suspicions  of  gallantry. 
The  refinement  of  manners  was  perfect ;  the  tone  of  good  com- 
pany fascinating  in  the  extreme.  But  all  below  the  gay  smiling 
surface  was  troubled,  wavering,  anxious,  and  unfixed ;  a  mixture 
of  doubt  and  confidence,  credulity  and  scepticism,  a  wild 
craving  for  novelty,  contending  with  superstitious  reverence  for 
the  past — 

*  When  wisdom's  lights  in  femes  fantastic  shone, 

And  taste  had  principles  and  virtue  none ; 

When  schools  disdained  the  morals  understood. 

And  sceptics  boasted  of  some  better  good.' 

We  agree  with  Sir  H.  Bulwer  that,  if  Talleyrand  was  largely 
tainted  with  the  immorality  of  his  times,  the  great  test  of  his 
understanding  was  that  he  totally  escaped  all  their  wilder  delu- 
sions. On  being  named  to  represent  his  diocese  in  the  States- 
General,  he  drew  up  an  address  to  his  constituents,  in  which  he 
separates  all  the  reforms  which  were  practicable  and  expedient, 
from  all  the  schemes  which  were  visionary  and  dangerous. 

One  of  his  biographers  says  that  he  dressed  like  a  coxcomb, 
thought  like  a  deist,  and  preached  like  a  saint ;  but  we  are  not 
aware  that  any  specimen  of  his  preaching  has  been  preserved ; 
for  we  must  not  confound  with  sermons  the  discourses  he 
delivered  for  political  purposes,  on  ceremonial  occasions,  in  his 
episcopal  capacity.  In  the  States-General  he  took  the  earliest 
and  happiest  opportunity  of  merging  the  prelate  in  the  citizen. 
In  fact,  he  was  nearly  as  active  and  efficient  as  Mirabeau  and 
Sieyes  in  bringing  about  the  ascendancy  of  the  popular  element 
in  the  States,  and  converting  them  into  a  national  assembly 
with  unlimited  powers.  The  share  he  had  in  their  measures 
during  the  first  months  of  their  supremacy  —  and  perhaps 
never  before  or  since  did  a  body  of  legislators  get  through 
so  much  work  in  so  short  a  time — marked  him  as  the  fittest 
person  to  justify  them ;  and  in  February,  1790,  a  manifesto 
to  the  French  nation,  composed  by  him,  was  published  and 
circulated  through  France.  It  was  the  subject  of  general  praise, 
and  committed  him  irretrievably  to  the  course  which  he'  must 
have  seen  by  this  time  was  not  exactly  what  he  had  wished  or 
intended  to  pursue.     He  would  naturally  have  preferred  a  state 

of 


of  things  in  which  he  migfht  have  looked  for  high  office  or  lucm* 
tive  preferment;  and  at  one  time  he  acted,  or  was  disposed  to 
actj  with  MfHuiier  and  Lallv-Tollendalj  although  he  did  not, 
like  them,  withdraw  from  the  sf  ene  when  tlie  cfiuse  of  con- 
stitutional government  was  evidently  hopeless.  It  is  curious 
that  the  greatest  shock  to  his  popularity  with  the  party  of  pro- 
gress, as  well  as  his  crowning  offence  with  the  party  of  ortler, 
was  his  supporting  a  proposal  (January  31,  1790)  to  confer  the 
rights  of  citizenship  upon  a  Jew. 

When  the  civil  constitution  of  the  clergy  was  decreed,  he  at 
once  took  the  required  oath,  which  al!  his  episcopal  brethren 
(with  two  exceptions)  declined j  and  he  ultimately  consented  to 
consecrate  the  new  bishops  elected  to  supply  the  place  of  those 
whom  the  Assembly  had  deprived  of  their  dioc^es.  The 
archbishopric  of  Paris  having  been  vacated,  it  was  supposed 
that  he  had  an  eye  to  it ;  and  whilst  a  portion  of  the  press 
advocated  his  claim,  another  and  a  larger  portion  set  to  work  to 
recapitulate  his  manifold  disquat ideations  for  even  the  prefer- 
ment which  he  was  permitted  to  retain.  Sir  H.  Bulwer  says 
that  Talleyrand  was^  up  to  the  last  hour  of  his  Ijfe^  almost 
indifferent  to  praise,  but  exquisitely  sensitive  to  censure ;  and  he 
gave  a  proof  of  his  sensitiveness  by  addressing  a  letter  to  the 
editors  of  a  newspaper,  in  which,  after  declaring  his  intention  to 
refuse  the  archbishopric  if  placed  at  his  disposal,  and  professing 
entire  disinterestedness,  he  says  ; 

*  Owing,  I  presume,  to  the  falsa  alarm  caused  by  mj  Boppofled  pne- 
tensionB  to  the  see  of  Paris,  stories  have  been  circulated  of  my  having 
lately  won  in  gambling-lionses  the  ^uju  of  si^ty  or  seventy  thousand 
&auo&  Kow  that  all  fear  of  seeing  me  elevated  to  the  dignity  in 
queetion  is  at  an  end,  I  ^hall  doubtl^a  he  believed  in  what  I  am  about 
to  say.  The  truth  is,  that  ia  the  course  of  two  mouths  I  gaimcd  tb© 
sum  of  about  thirty  thoueaud  fiTwics,  not  at  gambling-houses,  but  in 
private  society,  or  at  tho  chess  club,  which  hajs  alwaja  been.  r^onUNl, 
from  the  nature  of  its  iustitutiou,  as  a  private  houie.' 

Thirty  thousand  francs  (1200Z,)  in  two  months  is  pretty  well 
for  a  bishop.  This  letter  is  dated  September  9th,  1791,  but  on 
die  26th  of  the  preceding  April,  the  day  after  the  consecration  of 
the  newly-elected  Bishop  of  Finisterre,  had  arrived  a  Papal  brief 
thus  announced  in  the  '  Moniteur  ^ : 

'  Lcs  bref  da  Papo  eat  arrive  jeudi  domior.      Do  Talleynmd-Peri 
gord,  ftadea  eveque  d'Autiin,  y  est  soapendu  de  tontea  IbiiotiaDS  et 
cscofamiml^  apre^  qnaFaut*^  jonra  s*il  ne  revient  pas  a  r^pisoQiioe/ 

TallevTHod,  we  are  told,  had  too  much  tact  to  think  of  con* 
VoL  1U.—Nq.  246.  2  d  tinoijig 


392  Sir  Henry  Bulwer «  Hidarical  Charaders.    , 

tinuing  his  clerical  office  under  the  interdiction  of  the  head  of 
his  Church,  and  he  was  still  less  disposed  to  a1)andon  his  political 
career.  He,  therefore,  at  once  flung  up  his  profession,  and 
adopted  the  plain  designation  of  At  de  Talleyrand.  If  this 
were  so,  we  are  at  a  loss  to  understand  how,  four  mondis  after- 
wards, he  could  take  credit  for  refusing  the  archbishopric. 

He^co-operated  with  Mirabeau  in  the  endeavour  to  save  the 
monarchy :  had  a  confidential  interview  with  him  the  day  before 
his  death  ;  received  from  his  hcinds  the  manuscript  of  an  elabo- 
rate discourse  on  the  law  of  inheritance ;  and  being  already  a 
member  of  the  department  of  Paris,  was  immediately  nominated 
to  succeed  him  in  the  directorship  of  that  department.  Taking 
good  care  not  to  break  with  the  republicans,  Talleyrand  laboured 
assiduously  to  obtain  a  monarchical  constitution  of  some  sort 
When  Louis  Seize  was  voted  impracticable,  the  Due  d'Orleans 
(Egalitd)  was  seriously  thought  of  to  play  the  part  which  was 
played  tldrty-eight  years  afterwards  by  his  son.  He  was  to  have 
been  the  citizen-king  or  chief-magistrate,  and  Talleyrand  never 
would  admit  the  truth  of  the  charges  brought  against  this  ptlf-o/fer 
of  a  selection,  saying,  '  Le  Due  cC  Orleans  est  la  vase  dans  laquelU 
on  ajete  toutes  les  ordures  de  la  Revolution.^ 

At  the  beginning  of  1792,  Paris  was  growing  dangerous,  and 
Talleyrand  felt  that  the  wisest  thing  was  to  repair  to  England, 
•  where  he  was  sufficiently  near  not  to  be  forgotten,  and  suffi- 
ciently distant  not  to  be  compromised.'  The  revolting  excesses 
of  the  Revolution  were  yet  to  come,  find,  although  his  name 
was  in  bad  odour  with  a  large  cl.ass  of  English  society,  he  was 
well-received  on  the  whole,  and  is  said  to  have  become  par- 
ticularly intimate  at  Lansdowne  House.  The  third  Marquis, 
honourably  known  by  his  association  with  intellectual  eminence 
and  his  munificent  patronage  of  art,  told  Sir  H.  Bulwer  that  he 
remembered  the  ex-bishop  dining  there  frequently  and  being 
particularly  silent  and  particularly  pale.  His  style  of  wit  and 
manner  of  conversation,  about  this  period,  are  described  and 
illustrated  by  Duinont,  and  the  description  would  serve  equally 
well  for  him  at  any  subse([uent  period : 

*  His  manner  was  cold,  he  spoko  little,  liLs  countenance,  which  in 
early  youth  lia<l  been  distinguislic^d  for  its  graco  and  delicacy,  had 
becoino  somewhat  puffed  and  ronnde<l,  and  to  a  cci'tain  degree  effemi- 
nate, being  in  singular  contrast  with  a  deep  and  serious  voice,  which 
no  one  exjKJcted  to  accompany  such  a  i)hysi(>gnomy.  Rather  avoiding 
than  making  advances,  neither  indiscreet,  nor  gay,  nor  familiar,  but 
sententious,  formal,  and  scrutinizing, — the  English  hardly  knew  what 
to  make  of  a  Frenchman  who  so  little  represented  the  national 
character.* 

The 


Talleyrand, 


393 


The  accompanying  specimens  of  his  wit  lia\^  been  frequently 
reprinted,  and  are  well  known. 

Seeing  no  immediate  cause  for  Apprehension,  Talleyraifi 
returned  to  Parisj  and  on  the  strength  of  the  information  which 
he  brought,  was  attached  to  the  mission  of  M,  de  Chaavclin  in 
the  capacity  of  counsellor.  He  arrived  in  London  in  his  suite. 
The  mission  failed.  Indeed  ne]^otiation  was  out  of  the  question 
in  the  jiendin^  crisis  of  royalty  in  France*  It  went  down 
with  a  crash  on  the  lOth  August,  just  previously  to  which  Talley- 
rand had  returned  to  Parisj  but  was  off  to  London  again  as  soon 
as  the  provisional  government  was  formed,  having  obtainetl  a 
passport  from  Dantonby  a  timely  smile  at  a  pleasantry*  Such  was 
his  explanation  of  a.  suspicious  fact,  which  was  afterwards  used 
to  throw  doubt  upon  his  veracity ;  for  on  arriving  in  Kngland  he 
wrote  to  Lord  Grenville  to  state  that  he  had  absolutely  no  kind 
of  mission,  and  came  this  time  merely  for  safety  and  repose. 
On  the  supposition  that  he  was  more  closely  connected  with 
the  extreme  party  than  he  chose  to  avow,  he  received  an  order 
(January  28th,  1794),  under  the  Alien  Act^  to  quit  England  j 
and  J  after  a  vain  appeal  to  the  Foreign  Secretary ,  he  sailed  for 
the  United  States j  carrying  letters  of  introduction  from  several 
members  of  the  Whig  Opposition,  including  one  from  Lord 
Latisdowne  to  Washington,  who  replies  that^  though  considera- 
tions of  a  political  nature  were  a  check  ujx>n  himself,  *1  hear 
tbat  the  general  reception  he  has  met  with  is  such  as  to  console 
liim^  as  far  as  the  state  of  our  society  will  permit,  for  what  he 
has  abandoned  in  Europe,^ 

It  did  not  console  him  long,  and  ^  getting  tired  of  Am  erica ,  he 
invested  his  remaining  funds  in  the  purchase  of  a  ship,  in  which 
he  was  about  to  sail  for  tlie  East  Indies  with  M*  de  Beaumet^j 
an  exile  and  ex-member  of  the  National  Assembly,  when  infor- 
mation reached  him  which  induced  him  to  alter  his  purjiose. 
M,  dp  Beaumetz  set  sail,  and  neither  he  nor  the  ship  was  ever 
heard  of  more. 

During  Talleyrand's  absence  from  France  ati  entire  cycle 
of  political  experiments  had  been  cornplettnl,  and  the  lowest 
abysses  of  atrocity  and  absurtlity  had  bet*n  reached.  Religion 
had  been  represented  by  the  goddess  of  Reason,  justice  by  the 
revolutionary  tribunal,  foreign  and  domestic  policy  hy  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safety,  A  demand  of  a  hundred  thousand 
'heads  had  been  received  with  scclamationt  and  the  issue 
^0f  millianls  of  assign  a  ts  had  been  deemed  a  masterpiece  of 
finance!  The  reaction  was  rapid  and  widespread.  It  embraced 
habits,  manners,  and'  dress,  as  well  as  doctrines  of  govern- 
tnent     The  refined  and  educated  classes  resumed  their  pro|ier 

2  D  2  ^^tt«^% 


394  Sir  Henry  Bulwcr'^  Historical  Characters, 

places:  the  jeunesse  doree  of  the  salon  replaced  the  unwashed 
and  uncombed  patriots  of  the  club ;  and  the  prescriptive 
influence  of  women  in  Parisian  politics  was  re-established  under 
the  auspices  of  Madame  Tallien  and  Madame  de  Stael.  If  ever 
there  was  a  man  fitted  for  playing  a  part  on  such  a  stage  it  was 
Talleyrand.  This  was  the  general  feeling ;  and  prompted  (it  is 
•aid)  by  Madame  de  Stael,  Ch^nier  moved  and  carried  a  motion 
for  his  recall.  During  his  absence  he  had  been  elected  a 
member  of  the  Institute,  to  which  soon  after  his  return  he  read 
two  memoirs,  one  on  the  commercial  relations  between  Eng- 
land and  the  United  States,  and  one  on  Colonies.  Three  weeks 
after  this  display,  he  .accepted  the  office  of  Minister  for  Foreign 
Affairs  under  circumstances  thus  narrated  by  himself :  '  I  had 
gone  to  dine  at  a  friend's  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  with  Madame 
de  Stael,  Barras,  and  a  small  party  which  frequently  met  A 
young  friend  of  Barras,  who  was  with  us,  went  out  to  bathe  before 
dinner,  and  was  drowned.  The  director,  tenderly  attached  to 
him,  was  in  the  greatest  affliction.  I  consoled  him  (I  was  used 
to  that  sort  of  thing  in  early  life),  and  accompanied  him  in  his 
carriage  back  to  Paris.  The  ministry  of  foreign  affairs  imme- 
diately after  this  became  vacant ;  Barras  knew  I  wanted  it,  and 
through  his  interest  I  procured  it* 

He  got  it  because  the  Barras  party  wanted  him,  and  he 
speedily  justified  their  choice.  It  was  by  his  advice  that  they 
disposed  of  their  opponents  by  a  cotip  d'etat^  but  he  was  unable 
to  boar  up  against  the  suspicions  entertained  of  him  personally 
by  the  genuine  republicans ;  and,  simultaneously  attacked  as  a 
noble  and  an  emigre^  he  resigned.  No  mention  is  made  in  this 
work  of  an  incident  which  must  have  occurred  during  Talley- 
rand's brief  tenure  of  office  under  the  Directory,  if  it  occurred  at 
all.     It  is  thus  introduced  in  the  *  Antijacobin' : — 

*  Whoro  at  tho  blood-stained  board  export  ho  plies, 
The  lamo  artificer  of  fraud  and  lies  : 
He  with  tho  mitred  head  and  cloven  heel, 
Doom'd  the  coarse  edge  of  llcwbeH'B  jests  to  feel, 
To  stand  tho  playful  buffet,  and  to  hear 
Tho  frequent  inkstand  whizzing  past  his  ear ; 
While  all  tho  five  Directors  laugh  to  see 
Tho  limping  priest  so  deft  at  his  new  ministry.' 

The  story  ran  that  Rewbell  flung  an  inkstand  at  Talleyrand's 
head,  exclaiming,  *  Vil  6migre^  tu  nas  pas  le  sens  phis  droit  que  le 
pied,'  With  his  faculty  of  turning  everything  to  account,  he 
may  have  utilised  this  insult  in  his  reply  to  the  squinting  man, 
who  asked  him  how  matters  were  going  on  at  an  embarrassing 
time, '  a  traversy  Monsieur— ^omme  vous  voyez^ 

After 


After  largely  contributin|r  to  tlie  overtbn»w  of  die  Directory, 
Talleyrand  helped  to  concentrate  authority  in  the  bands  of  the 
First  Consul,  under  the  full  conviction  that  such  a  tourie  was 
good  for  the  country  as  well  as  for  himself.  Pursuing  to  its 
consequences  his  striking  remark  that  the  Revolution  had  dis- 
boned  (desosse)  Franee^  he  argued,  'what  principles  cannot  do,  a 
man  must.  When  society  cannot  create  a  g^ovemment,  a  govern- 
ment must  create  society,'  He  had  moreover  a  malicious  pleasure 
in  counteracting  the  pet  project  of  Sieyes,  who  wajited  to  turn 
the  First  Consul  into  a  nonentity  or  (lo  use  the  Najwleonic 
term)  cockon  a  Fenqrais.  On  some  one  saying  that^  after  all, 
Sieves  had  '  un  esprit  bien  profond*  he  replied,  *  Profond  !  Hem  ! 
Vous  voule^  dire  creux,^ 

For  the  same  reasons  he  approved  and  supported  the 
Consulship  for  Life,  the  establishment  of  the  Legion  of  Honour, 
and  the  Concordat,  He  took  advantage  of  the  renewal  of 
friendly  relations  with  the  Pope  to  procure  a  brief,  which  we 
give  as  a  curiosity  in  Sir  H*  Bulwer's  translation: 

*  To  imt  rery  dear  atw,  Charlm  Mmmee  TtiUeifrand^ 

*  We  woro  touched  witli  joy  at  learning  yoiur  ardent  Jeairo  to  be 
reconciled  with  us  and  the  Catholio  Chui-eh ;  loosening  then  on  your 
account  the  bowels  of  our  fatherly  oluuity,  we  disoharge  jon  by  the 
plenitude  of  our  power  from  the  effect  of  all  exaommunicationa.  We 
impose  on  you,  as  tho  eousequeiLce  of  your  reconciliation  with  us  and 
the  Church,  the  distribution  of  alms,  moro  tiapccially  for  the  poor  of 
the  church  of  Autmi,  which  you  formerly  governed :  we  grant  you, 
moreover,  the  liberty  to  wear  the  secular  coetumo,  and  to  adinimster 
all  civil  affairs,  whether  in  tho  of&ce  you  now  fill,  or  in  otherg  to  which 
your  goTremment  may  call  you.' 

'This  brief,'  it  is  slated,  *in  making  M.  de  Talleyrand  a  layman, 
authorised  him  to  take  a  wife,  and  he  married  an  American 
lady — Mrs,  Grant — ^with  whom  it  was  supposed  he  had  been 
previously  intimate,  and  who  was  as  remarkable  fur  beings  a 
beauty,  as  for  not  being  a  wit:  the  often-told  story  of  her  asking 
Sir  Georgfe  Robinson  after  his  man  Friday,  is  a  fact  pretty  well 
authenticated.  But  M.  de  Talleyrand  vindicated  his  choice, 
saying,  '  A  clever  wife  often  compromises  her  husband;  a  stupid 
one  only  compromises  herself* 

Dating  from  this  period,  his  public  life  is  well  know% 
und  we  shall  touch  only  on  the  strongly  marked  passages. 
Sir  H.  liidwer  has  laboured  successfully  to  acquit  him  of  any 
culpable  complicity  in  fbe  execution  of  the  Due  d'Enghien;  id 
reference  to  whltjh  he  uttered  one  of  those  cynical  sentences 
which  have  grown  into  axioms;  *  CtMpire  quun  crime^  cW  tme 


396  Sir  Henry  Bulwer'^  Hidorical  Characters. 

faute.^  It  is,  moreover,  clear  that  he  never  hesitated  to  check  the 
imprudence  or  violence  of  Napoleon,  and  eventually  incurred 
suspicion  and  dislike  because  he  persevered  in  pointing  out  the 
inevitable  consequences  of  the  inordinate  ambition  of  his  im- 
perial master.  On  Savary's  remarking,  after  the  battle  of  Fried- 
land,  ^  If  peace  is  not  signed  in  a  fortnight,  Napoleon  will 
cross  the  Niemen' — *  £t  a  quoi  bon  passer  le  Niemenf^  replied 
Talleyrand. 

As  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs  he  was  dragged  along  in  the 
train  of  the  conqueror ;  and  partly  from  fatigue,  partly  from  disgust 
at  seeing  the  inefficiency  of  his  counsels  to  avert  a  catastrophe,  he 
a^ut  this  time  (1807)  solicited  and  obtained  permission  to 
retire.  Already  Prince  of  Benevcnto,  and  immensely  rich,  he 
was  still  highly  gratified  at  being  made  Vice-Grand  Elector,  and 
thereby  raised  to  the  rank  of  one  of  the  great  dignitaries  of  the 
empire.  But,  though  frequently  consulted,  his  position  within  a 
year  after  his  retirement  was  becoming  critical.  Napoleon  began 
to  hate  him.  His  imperturbability  was  even  more  irritating 
than  his  witticisms,  which  were  sure  to  be  repeated ;  and  he  fell 
into  unequivocal  disgrace.  Fouche  was  dismissed  next;  and 
thus  the  two  men  who  had  done  most  in  their  several  ways  to 
build  up  the  empire,  and  could  do  most  to  undermine  it,  were 
simultaneously  compelled  to  regard  its  anticipated  downfall  with 
Indifference  or  complacency. 

In  1813,  when  the  Russian  campaign  had  fully  justified  their 
remonstrances,  the  Emperor  made  Talleyrand  an  offer  of  bis 
former  office,  the  ministry  of  foreign  affairs,  conditioned  on  his 
laying  down  the  rank  and  emoluments  of  Vice-Grand  Elector ; 
which  he  refused  to  do,  saying",  *  If  the  Emperor  trusts  me,  he 
should  not  degrade  mo ;  and  if  he  does  not  trust  me,  he  should 
not  employ  me/  The  Emperor,  who  wished  to  make  him  de- 
pendent on  his  office,  was  extremely  irritated  ;  and  although  he 
refrained  from  acts,  he  was  not  s])aring  of  angry  words  and 
menaces : 

*  A  variety  of  scenes  was  tho  consequence.  Savary  relates  one  which 
hapi)ene<l  in  his  proficiico  and  that  of  tlio  arclwihaucollor.  I  have  also 
read  of  one  in  which  XaiHileoii,  having  said  that  if  he  thought  his  own 
death  likely  ho  would  take  care  that  the  vice-gi-aiul  elt<!tor  should  not 
survive  him,  was  answered  hy  M.  do  Talleyrand  rejoining  quietly  and 
resiKJctfuIly  that  ho  did  not  rc(iuiro  that  reasim  for  desiring  that  his 
Maj(^8ty's  life  might  bo  long  preservtHl.  M.  Mole  recounted  to  mo 
another,  in  the  followiug  terms : — "  At  the  end  of  the  council  of  state 
which  took  place  just  before  tho  Emperor  startc<l  for  tho  campaign  of 
1814,  he  hurst  out  into  some  violent  exclamations  of  his  heing  sur- 
rounded hy  treachery  and  traitors ;  and  then  turning  to  M.  do  Talley- 
rand, ahusod  him  for  ten  minutes  in  tho  most  violent  and  outrageous 

manner. 


TalhyraTid, 


397 


loatiBer.  Talloyrand  was  standing  bj  tlio  firo  all  this  tima,  guarding 
liituself  from  the  heat  of  tlio  flamo  bj  bis  bat ;  bo  never  moTed  a  limb 
or  a  featiiro ;  any  one  wbo  bad  seen  bim  would  bave  Bupposed  tlmt  bo 
wa«  tbe  last  num  in  tbe  room  to  whom  the  Emperor  coiild  be  spottkiug ; 
and  fiijiillj,  when  Napoloon,  slamming  tbo  door  violently,  departed, 
TiiUeyraBid  quietly  took  tbo  arm  of  M.  MolUonj  and  limpod  T^dtb  ap^ 
parent  tmcousdouHUese  down-stairs ."  * 

M*  Tbiers  places  this  scenoj  or  one  strongly  resembliag  it, 
in  1809,  aud  makes  Napoleon  accose  Talleyrand  of  the  murtler 
of  the  Dae  D'En^hien ;  but  we  agree  with  Sir  H.  Bulwer  that 
IVL  Mole's  version  is  the  more  probable;  for  there  was  no 
ground  for  accusing  Talleyrand  of  treachery  in  1809,  In  1814 
be  had  doubtless  begun  to  provide  against  the  pending  downfall 
of  tbe  imjJerial  dynasty : 

*  When  tbe  conferences  took  place  at  Chatillou,  be  told  those  whom 
tbe  Emperor  most  trusted  thafc  bo  would  be  lost  if  bo  did  not  take 
peace  oo  any  terms ;  when,  bowevur,  ttnvarda  the  end  of  these  con- 
ferences, peace  seemed  im|ioBBible  with  Napoleon,  he  permitted  tbo 
Due  d'AJberg  to  send  M.  de  Vitrolles  to  the  allied  cainpj  with  tbe  iu- 
formatiou  that  if  tbe  allies  did  not  make  war  against  FraucOj  btit 
simply  with  its  present  ruler,  they  wrrnld  find  fiiendA  in  Parifl  ready 
to  help  them.  M,  de  Vitrollea  earried  a  slip  of  paper  trom  tbe  Diiko 
in  bis  boot  as  bb  credentials,  and  was  allowed  to  name  M»  do  Talley- 
rand ;  but  had  nothing  &oiu  that  personage  bmiBelf  wbiob  could  com- 
promise him  irrevocably  with  this  misHion/ 

Mi  de  Vitrolles  positively  refused  to  carry  anything  that  could 
compromise  bim,  even  the  smallest  slip  of  paper ;  and  his  cre- 
dentials consisted  of  a  password  intelligible  only  to  the  Due 
d'Alberg  and  Comte  de  Stadion,  Tbe  story  is  told  as  follows  by 
M,  Louis  Blanc  in  the  Introduction  to  his  'History  of  Ten 
Years  * : — 

*Tbe  Due  d'Alberg  bad  been  intimately  ftcqnainted  at  Muuieh  with 
the  Oomle  de  Stadion,  representative  of  Austria  at  tbe  Con^csa  Now, 
at  Munich,  tbeee  two  personagos  bad  formed  tender  roktious  with  twa 
girK  whose  names  tbo  Due  d'Alberg  remembored.  He  wrote  tbeso 
IUUU08  etn  a  card,  which  served  for  letters  of  credence  to  tbe  ad^un- 
timiuB  ambiPFador*  Tbe  Baron  de  VitroDes  started  without  having 
Sf^u  M,  de  Talleyrand,  without  having  received  any  mission  from  Mmj 
without  having  been  able  to  obtain  his  avowal.  He  disguised  bimaetf} 
took  at  Anxerro  tbe  name  of  Saints Vineeut,  and  got  recognised  by  tha 
Conito  de  Btadion  by  means  of  two  names,  reoolleetions  of  schooldays 
and  love.  Such  iB  tbe  maon^  in  which  it  pleases  God  to  dispose  of 
the  daatiiiiee  of  nations." 

As  tbe  stcjry  was  related  to  us  by  Bucbon  (editor  of  the 
*Cbroniques'),  wbo  bad  it  from  the  Due  d'Alberg,  tbe  password 

alluded 


398  Sir  Henry  Bulwer'«  Hutorical  Characters. 

alluded  to  a  very  curious,  and  not  very  delicate,  af&ir  of  gal- 
lantry of  Comte  de  Stadion  with  a  great  lady.  The  communica- 
tion determined  the  march  of  the  Allies  (who  were  hesitating)  on 
Paris,  and  thus  may  be  correctly  described  as  disposing  of  the 
destinies  of  nations. 

Just  when  most  desirous  to  remain  in  Paris,  Talleyrand  was 
ordered  by  Napoleon  to  join  the  regency  at  Blois ;  and  openly 
to  disobey  would  be  to  incur  both  risk  and  censure ;  for  the  game 
was  still  on  foot,  and  desertion  would  sound  bad  in  any  case : — 

'  The  expedient  he  adopted  was  a  singular  and  characteristic  one. 
His  state  carriage  was  ordered  and  packed  for  the  joomoy  :  he  set  out 
in  it  Mfith  great  pomp  and  ceremony,  and  found,  according  to  an  ar- 
rangement with  Madame  de  K^'^musat,  her  husband,  at  the  head  of  a 
body  of  the  National  Guard,  at  the  barrier,  who  stopped  him,  declared 
ho  should  remain  in  the  capital,  and  conducted  him  back  to  his  hotel, 
in  the  Rue  St.  Florentin,  in  which  he  had  soon  the  honour  of  reoeiying 
the  Emperor  Alexander.' 

His  conduct  at  this  conjuncture  was  prudent  and  patriotic 
As  he  justly  remarked  Mt  does  not  suit  every  one  to  be  crushed 
under  die  ruins  of  the  edifice  that  is  to  be  overthrown.'  It  did 
not  suit  him  ;  and  after  the  treatment  he  had  received,  and  the 
systematic  neglect  of  his  counsels,  we  are  aware  of  no  principle 
of  honour  or  loyalty  that  bound  him  to  Napoleon. 

It  was  fortunate  for  the  Bourbons,  indeed  for  all  parties,  that 
he  had  the  ear  of  the  Emperor  Alexander,  to  whom,  hesitating 
between  various  plans  of  succession,  he  said :  *  Sire,  you  may 
depend  upon  it  there  are  but  two  things  possible,  Bonaparte  or 
Louis  XVI II.  I  say  Bonaparte ;  but  here  the  choice  will  not 
depend  wholly  on  your  Majesty,  for  you  are  not  alone.  If  we  are 
to  have  a  soldier,  however,  let  it  be  Napoleon ;  he  is  the  first  in 
the  world.  I  repeat  it  sire  :  Bonaparte  or  Louis  XVIII. ;  each 
represents  a  party,  any  other  merely  an  intrigue.' 

Alexander  declared  subsequently  :  *  When  I  arrived  in  Paris, 
I  had  no  plan.  1  referred  everything  to  Talleyrand  ;  he  had  the 
family  of  Napoleon  in  one  hand,  and  that  of  the  Bourbons  in 
the  other ;  1  took  what  he  gave  me.' 

All  Talleyrand  had  done  for  the  restored  dynasty  failed  to 
conciliate  their  favour :  the  vmigri'  feeling  against  the  ex-bishop 
was  too  strong ;  and  Louis  XV^III.  was  jealous  of  him  on 
account  of  his  intellectual  distinction,  his  grand  manner,  and 
his  wit.  At  their  first  meeting,  at  Compiegne,  the  King,  becoming 
complimentary  against  the  grain,  asked  him  how  he  had  con- 
trived to  overthrow  first,  the  Directory,  and  finally,  Bonaparte : 
*  Moil  DieUy  Sire,  je  iiai  ricii  J  ait  pour  cela  ;  cest  quelque  chose 

d'inexjAicahlf* 


TaUmjraiid, 

dinerplicahle  que  fat  en  moi  et  qui  parte  malheur  aux  ^ouvemc- 
mefit^  qui  me  jtSgligetit^ 

His  coniluct  during  the  Hundred  Days  ag^gravat^d  the  rojal 
dislike,  but,  after  Waterbio,  he  was  indispensaJble  at  the  head  of 
affairs  till  they  settled  down,  and  he  saved  PVance  from  moie 
than  one  humiliation  bj  his  adroitness  or  influence  with  the 
Allies*  On  hearing  that  Blucher  was  pre]mrlng  to  blow  up  the 
Bridge  of  Jena,  he  desired  Comte  Beugnot  to  go  to  the  Marshal, 
and  represent  the  King's  distress  in  the  strongest  language,  *  I>o 
you  wish  me  to  say  that  the  King^  is  about  to  have  Li m self  car- 
ried bodily  on  the  bridge,  to  be  blown  up  along  with  it,  if  the 
Mai-shal  persists  ? '  '  NtJt  precisely  ;  people  do  not  believe  us 
IjEiade  for  such  an  act  of  heroism  ;  but  something  good  and  strong, 
yott  understand,  something  very  strong/  When  Beugnot  reached 
the  Prussian  head-quarters^  Blucher  was  at  his  favourite  place 
of  resort,  a  gambling-house  (No,  113,  in  the  Palais  Royal): 
the  chief  of  his  statT  showed  considerable  reluctance  in  sending 
for  him,  and  be  arrived  very  much  out  of  temper  at  the  unsea- 
sonable interruption.  After  a  sharp  colloquy,  he  consented  to 
withdraw  the  order  for  the  destruction  of  the  bridge  provided 
the  name  were  changed.  When  all  was  satisfactorily  arranged, 
Beugnot  hurried  tack  to  TaUeyraod,  who  said: — ^Since  things 
have  gone  off  in  this  manner,  something  might  be  made  out  of 
your  idea  of  this  morning — that  the  King  threatened  to  have 
himself  placed  on  the  bridge  to  be  blown  up  along  with  it ; 
there  is  in  it  matter  for  a  good  newspaper  article^  See  to  it/ 
*Idid  see  to  it/ continued  Beugnot,  'the  article  appeared  the 
next  day  but  one;  Louis  XVlll*  must  have  been  startled  at  such 
a  burst  on  his  part,  but  eventually  he  accepted  the  reputation 
of  it  with  a  good  grace.  1  have  heard  him  complimented  on 
this  admirable  trait  of  courage,  and  he  responded  with  perfect  self- 
possession.* 

This  account  is  tiken  from  the  '  Memoircs  du  Comte  Beugnot/ 
published  by  bis  grandson  in  1 866 ;  and  we  are  indebted  to  the 
same  valuable  work  for  the  true  history  of  the  mot  put  into 
the  mouth  of  the  Comte  d'Artois  in  1814  and  given  by  Lord 
Brougham  to  Talleyrand  : — ^  Rien  n'y  est  changt^  si  ce  n  est 
qu'il  s*y  trouve  un  Fran^ais  de  plus/ 

Talleyrand  remained  Premier  only  a  few  months.  Finding 
the  post  mi  tenable  J  he  resigned  on  the  alleged  ground  that  he 
could  not  sign  the  projected  treaty  with  the  Allies,  and  received  a 
pension  of  one  hundred  thousand  francs,  with  the  place  of  Grand- 
Chamberlain,  *the  functions  of  which,  the  ex-minifcter,  who 
might  be  seen  coolly  antl  impassively  standing  behind  the 
Kings  chair  on  all  state  oecasiont,  nottvithstanding   the  cold 

looks 


400  Sir  Henry  Bolwer  «  Hidorical  Characten. 

looks  of  tlie  sovereign  and  the  sagacious  sneers  of  his  coortien^ 
always  scrupulously  fulfilled.' 

During  the  next  fifteen  years  he  took  no  ostensible  part  in 

fublic  affairs,  with  two  exceptions.  He  attended  the  House  of 
^eers  to  protest  against  the  Spanish  war  of  1823,  and  he  reap* 
peared  on  the  same  arena  to  defend  the  liberty  of  the  press.  The 
revolution  of  July  brought  him  forward  again. .  Qn  the  third  day 
(July  29),  he  called  his  private  Secretary : 

'  '*  Go  for  me  to  Neuilly ;  get  by  some  means  or  other  to  Madame 
Adelaide  [the  sister  of  Louis  Philippe]  ;  give  her  this  piece  of  paper, 
and  whon  she  has  read  it,  either  see  it  burnt,  or  bring  it  back  to  me." 
The  piece  of  paper  contained  merely  those  words :  **  Madame  pent 
avoir  toute  oonfiaoico  dans  lo  portour,  qui  est  mon  secretaire."  ^  When 
Madame  has  read  this,  you  ^dll  tell  her  that  there  is  not  a  moment  to 
lose.  Tho  Due  d'0rl6ans  must  bo  hero  to-morrow ;  ho  must  take  no 
other  title  than  that  of  lioutcnant-general  of  tho  kingdom,  which  has 
been  accorded  to  him — *  le  reste  viemlra.*  " 

All  was  done  as  he  advised,  and  all  fell  out  as  he  anticipated. 
His  well-timed  hints  were  rewarded  by  the  embassy  to  London, 
where,  we  are  assured,  be  not  only  sustained  his  past  reputa- 
tion, but  added  very  considerably  to  it.  We  are  not  quite 
so  sure  of  this;  and  although  Lord  Palmerston  (as  Sir  H. 
Bulwer  states)  may  have  praised  his  manner  in  diplomatic 
conferences  for  its  absence  of  pretension.  Lord  Palmerston 
formed  by  no  means  a  high  estimate  of  him,  so  far  as  per- 
sonal observation  in  official  intercourse  went  On  one  occa- 
sion, when  the  settlement  of  the  new  kingdom  of  Belgium  was 
under  discussion,  lie  pressed  a  point  which  was  conceded  to 
him,  and  the  conference  broke  up.  Two  or  three  hours  after- 
wards he  returned  to  the  Foreijjn  Ollice  to  entreat  that  the 
])oint  might  be  reversed,  tis  he  had  mistaken  the  instructions  of 
his  Government,  which,  it  afterwards  turned  out,  he  had.  His 
ni<?ce,  the  Duchesse  de  Dino,  had  pointed  out  their  true  tenour, 
and  he  ultimately  gained  great  credit  bv  her  sagacity. 

When  Napoleon  asked  him  how  he  managed  to  gain  his 
immense  wealth,  he  replied  with  more  wit  than  truth,  *  I  bought 
stock  the  day  before  the  18th  Brumaire,  and  sold  it  the  day 
afterwards.'  He  received  large  sums  in  the  shape  of  presents 
during  his  tenure  of  the  portfolio  of  foreign  affairs  under  Napoleon, 
when  a  word  in  season  might  dispose  of  a  province  or  a  prin- 
cipality ;  and  he  made  an  adroit  use  of  his  many  opix)rtunities  for 
advantageous  speculations  throughout  his  whole  life.  Generally, 
when  he  called  in  Downing  Street,  Montrond,  or  some  other 
confidential  agent,  accompanied  him,  and  remained  in  the 
carriage  whilst  he  had  his  audience.     If  anything  was  told  him 

that 


Talleyrand. 


4SA 


that  could  be  turned  to  account,  be  would  write  a  word  or  two 
with  a  pencil,  to  be  delivered  to  the  friend  belong  who  imme- 
diately hurried  off  to  the  citj.  One  of  these  scraps  was  found  to 
contain  a  single  word,  '  mndez* 

During^  Tallej^Tand*a  last  embassy,  complaint  was  made  to  the 
Foreign  Secretary  (Lord  Palmerstun)  that  between  thtrtv  and 
forty  hog-sheatls  of  claret,  far  more  than  the  French  embassy 
could  consume,  were  annually  imported  for  their  use  duty  free. 
Lord  Palmerston  mentioned  the  matter  Xjo  Talleyrand,  who,  after 
time  taken  for  inquiry,  explained  that  the  admitted  abuse  of  the 
privilege  had  been  traced  to  Us  nwih^e  (fiiQteL  There  were  cir- 
cumstanccs  justifying  a  suspicion  that  the  maitre  d'hoid  and  the 
embassador  went  shares. 

He  was  the  most  imperturbable  and  impassive  of  human  beings. 
It  was  said  that,  if  he  received  a  coup  de  pied  par  defritre,  no 
sign  of  the  occurrence  would  be  discernible  in  his  face.  Once 
at  a  London  dinner,  to  which  he  went  reluctantly  to  please 
Lady  Holland,  the  sauceboat  full  of  lobster  sauce  was  upset 
on  the  centre  of  his  head,  exactly  where  the  long  carefully- 
combed  white  locks  were  partech  He  never  moved  a  muscle 
whilst  a  servant  scooped  up  the  lobster  sauce  with  a  spt)on, 
and  then  wiped  his  head  with  a  napkin;  only,  as  he  lelt  the 
house,  he  dryly  remarked,  '  H  ny  a  rimi  si  bourgeoU  (jue  ceite 

Subsequently  to  the  Restoration,  an  officer  who  had  been 
injured  or  affronted  by  him,  encountered  him  on  some  ceremonial 
occasion,  and  gave  him  s*>  violent  a  slap  In  the  face  {saufflet)  that 
he  staggered  and  felh  Rising  with  dithculty,  and  half  stumied 
by  tlie  blow,  he  exclaimed,  'Quel  terrible  coup  de  poing  !'  It  will 
be  rememliered  that  a  sotiffiei  is  a  dishonouring  insult^  a  wup  de 
poing  a  mere  act  of  brutality. 

On  fie  pTtte  quaujs  riches^  and  the  number  of  good  things 
attributed  to  Talleyrand  which  he  did  not  say,  ought  not  to 
ilediict  from  his  well-earned  reputation  as  a  wit,  which  of  late 
years  it  has  been  the  fashion  to  depreciate.  M,  Edouard  Four- 
nier  (in  his  'L'Esprit  dans  THistoire')  has  done  his  best  to 
damage  it  by  pubUshiuu  that,  on  a  letter  of  Talleyrand,  dated 
Ltmdon,  Sept,  1 7th,  1831,  there  is  a  curious  note  in  the  hand- 
writing 4jf  his  brother,  to  the  effect  that  the  only  breviary  used 
by  the  ex-bishop  was  *  Limprovisateur  Franqais/  a  collection  of 
anecdotes  and  jests,  in  twentynme  volumes.  Sir  H.  Bulwer  has 
collected  a  i^w  of  his  bons  wioIjt,  which  have  all  the  marks  of 
authenticity  and  originality  : — 

*  M.  de  Chateaabriaud  was  no  favourite  with  M.  de  Talleyrand.  Ho 
eoni^emned  him  as  an  affected  wiiter,  and  an  iioposaible  politician. 

When 


402  Sir  Henry  Bulwer'*  Historical  Characters. 

Wlien  tho  *'  Martyrs  "  first  appeared,  and  was  run  after  by  the  puUio 
^ith  an  appetite  that  the  booksellers  could  not  satisfy,  M.  de  Fontanes, 
after  speaking  of  it  with  an  exaggerated  eologiam,  finished  his  explana- 
tion of  tho  narrative  by  saying  that  Eudore  and  Gymodoc^  were 
thrown  into  the  circus  and  dovoured  "  par  les  betes."  "  Gomme  Tou* 
vrage,"  said  M.  de  Talleyrand. 

'  Some  person  saying  that  Fouch^  had  a  great  contempt  for  man- 
kind, ^  G'est  yrai,'*  said  M.  de  Talleyrand,  '*  cet  homme  B*est  beaucoup 
t'tudie." 

'  A  lady,  using  the  privilege  of  her  sex,  was  speaking  with  violence 
of  the  defection  of  tho  Due  do  Baguse.  *'  Mon  Dicu,  madamo,  tout 
cola  no  prouve  qu'uno  chose.  G'est  que  sa  montre  avan9ait  et  tout  le 
monde  etait  a  Thcure." 

*  A  strong  supporter  of  tho  Ghambcr  of  Peers,  when  there  was  much 
question  as  to  its  merits,  said,  ^*  At  least  you  there  find  consciences.* 
**  Ah,  oui,"  said  M.  do  TaUcyrand,  ^^  beaucoup,  beaucoup  de  consciences. 
Somonville,  par  excmple,  en  a  au  moins  deux." 

<  Louis  XVUI.,  sp^ddug  of  M.  do  Blacas  before  M.  do  Talleynnd 
hod  expressed  any  opinion  concerning  him,  said,  '*  Ge  pauvre  Blacas,  il 
aimo  la  France,  il  m'aime,  mais  on  dit  qu'il  est  sufiKsant."  **  Ah,  oui, 
Sire,  sufiKsant  et  insuf&sant"  ' 

Some  more  of  the  best  bons-mots  attributed  to  him  will  be 
found  in  Lord  Brougham's  *  Historical  Sketches.'  The  histoiy 
of  one  of  them  is  curious.  *Ahj  je  sens  les  tourmens  tenferl 
said  a  person  whose  life  had  been  somewhat  of  the  loosest 
^ DejaV  was  the  inquiry  sugrgested  to  Talleyrand,  This  is 
Lord  Brougham's  version.  M.  Louis  Blanc  relates,  on  eccle- 
siastical authority,  that  the  King  of  the  French,  standing  by  the 
deathbed  of  Talleyrand,  asked  him  if  he  suffered  :  that  he  replied, 
'  Owi,  comme  UN  danme ;^  that  the  King  uttered  in  a  low  tone 
*  Dija  ? '  and  that  the  dying  man,  having:  overheard  the  sarcasm, 
revenged  himself  by  'secret  and  formidable  indications'  to  a 
bystander.  This  very  inot  had  long  before  been  converted  into 
an  epigram  by  Lebrun,  and  is  assigned  to  Bouvard,  the  physician 
of  De  Retz,  by  M.  de  Levis.  It  is  still  a  disputed  point 
whether  Talleyrand  said  of  Montrond,  or  Montrond  of  Talley- 
rand :   '  Qui  ne  Vaimeroit  pas  ?     II  est  .si  vicieiix,' 

We  regret  that  we  cannot  find  room  for  the  concluding 
summary  of  his  career  and  character.  The  pith  of  the  apologetic 
})ortion  is  contained  in  a  paragraph  : — 

*  To  one  dihtinguished  iKjrson,  M.  Montalivet,  who  related  to  me  the 
fact,  ho  oiicu  Kjiid :  "  You  have  a  picjudico  ugainftt  me,  because  your 
fjitlior  was  an  Imperialist,  and  you  tliiiik  I  deserted  the  Emperor.  I 
liavi^  iivYcr  ki'pt  fealty  to  any  one  longer  than  ho  has  himself  been 
obedient  to  common  staise.  But  if  you  judge  all  my  actions  by  this 
rule,  you  will  find  that  I  Imve  been  eminently  consistent ;  and  where 


k  tihc^  BO  dogmded  a  trnman  being,  r>r  bo  bad  a  elti:^<m,  ^  lie  gubmit 
Ms  lilt  oil  igenca,  or  sacrifioo  his  country,  to  any  tudmdaal,  howovor 
boni,  or  howovor  cndowod  ?  "  ' 

What  another  French  friend  has  packed  up  In  two  lines 
mig^ht  bo  dilutod  into  p^iges  for  those  who  prefer  expand<^d  ht 
concentrated  thought:  *  Apres  tout^  Monsieur  do  Talleyrand 
etait  un  homme  fort  almable,  mais  sans  coeur ;  et  un  bien  grand 
citoyen,  mais  sans  vertu.' 

Amonarst  these  *  Historical  Characters/  Talleymnd,  if  not  the 
central  J  is  the  colossal,  figure  of  the  group  i  he  occupies  nearly 
the  whole  of  a  volume,  and  we  learn  a  good  deal  concerning  him 
which  will  be  new  to  most  English  readers  and  to  many  French* 
Sir  II,  Bulwer's  other  representative  men  being  comparatively 
well  known,  he  has  judiciously  restricted  his  narrative  to  a  rapid 
recapitulation  of  the  leading  events  of  their  lives:  and  the  interest 
is  sustained  by  the  boldness,  fulness,  and  vividness  with  which 
his  theories  of  their  respective  characters  are  struck  out 

These  theories  must  be  accepted  with  caution ;  for  the  found a'^ 
tiom  are  not  uniformly  sound ,  and  in  one  instance,  we  think,  a 
felie  measure  has  been  taken,  an  erroneous  criterion  has  been 
applied.  Let  us  see  how  far  the  foregone  conclusion,  implied  in 
calling  Mackintosh  '  The  Man  of  Promise,*  can  be  justified^  To 
our  mind,  the  opening  paragraphs  are  nearly  decisive  on  the 
point : 

*  I  still  remember,  um  on©  of  the  mcmorablo  instances  which  hap- 
pened to  mo  ill  early  years,  being  invited  iA>  dinner  to  meet  Sir  Jamea 
Mackintosh,  and  the  sort  of  respectful  adinixatiou  ivith  which  the  name 
was  oiiDDUnced.  I  still  also  remember  my  anxiety  to  learn  what  had 
rendered  thid  well-known  person  no  diKtingmshed,  and  the  unsatisfac- 
tory replies  which  my  questions  met  with.  Ho  was  a  writcTj  but  many 
had  written  better  ;  ho  watj  a  si^eaker,  but  many  had  spoken  better :  ho 
WIS  n  philosopher,  hut  many  had  done  far  more  fi>r  philosophj ;  and 
j^  though  it  was  difficult  to  fix  on  any  one  thing  in  which  he  was 
first-rato,  it  waa  gouemlly  mauitiunod  that  he  was  a  firat-rato  man** 

We  pause  here.  Mackintosh  (bom  in  1765)  must  have  been 
past  sixty  when  this  meeting  occurred  i  his  name  is  still  an- 
nounced with  respectful  admiration,  anil  he  is  still  generally 
admitted  to  be  a  first-rate  man.  Is  he  the  only — or  anything 
like  the  only — fimt-rate  man,  of  whom  it  might  be  said  that  he 
was  a  writer,  but  many  had  written  better  ;  that  he  was  a  speaker, 
but  many  had  spoken  better ;  that  he  was  a  philosopher,  but 
many  had  done  iar  more  for  philosophy  ?  The  author  pro- 
ceeds : — 

*  There  i%  indeed,  a  class  amongst  mankind,  a  body  mimcj^nfi  in  aU 
literary  societies,  who  arc  hir  I^  valued  for  any  precise  thing  they 


404  Sir  Henrv  Bulwer*^  Historical  Characters. 

Imvo  done  than  ace* •r-linii  to  a  vacne  nf»rii -n  of  what  they  are  capable 
•  f  doinp.  Mft'kint'  >h  may  Ik-  taken  as  a  type-  of  this  cIass  :  not  that 
hr  jKiss*-^!  hi>  lift  i:i  tli-  l»tiriittl  inactivity  which  we  find  common 
iuii  ii;.M  ihv  lii'. iiib» To  •  f  tiiir  tiwii  uiiivirsitit-Sw  ih'*c  lc*nied foreignenr 
tht.'  s  iiiK  <>f  :i  i-ir«  K;  to  wliich  stniugirs  rartly  pcuetimtc,  in  the  small 
CiLnniiii  ftinl  Itali.iii  oiti.  •*. 

'Tilt-  nil  niUr  <f  a  gr.-at  aD«l  stirrinj;  Community,  adc^ting.  ficm 
cli'»i<*c,  an  a«-tivf  oari.-!  r  a-;  a  liiwyir.  an  antli  r.  a  member  of  Parlia- 
im.iit.  h«-  was  «li<ti]:Lnii>lit -l ;  1»tii  Ik  did  notLing  in  law,  in  letters,  or 
iH.litic>.  tqual  t  >  t]iv  *x]H'Ctati"n'«  if  th'iSi-  who  lived  in  his  society, 
aii'l  wiTo  act]Tiaiiit.-<l  wi:h  hi<  niii:'l  anil  liis  a4.-(]nirementjs. 

•  If  I  wcr-  t*>  Mini  up  in  a  f-w  wr*^!!!  tliv  characteristics  of  tlie 
jxrsims  whi»  thus  pr<.m:*««'  mi^rr  tlian  thoy  ever  perform,  I  should  say 
tliat  thi  ir  inti-lli^i-nce  is  8'.4><Ti<>r  to  their  talent,  and  their  energy 
rathtrr  accidental  than  ci»utinnuus/ 

When  some  one  w«is  expressing  satisfaction  at  his  own  per- 
formance in  Dr.  Johnson's  company,  the  sajre  remarked,  *That, 
Sir,  proves  not  that  vour  execution  is  g'lKxl,  but  that  yoor  con- 
rpj>tion  is  petty.'  The  reverse  was  the  case  with  MackintosL 
The  superiority  of  his  intelliofence  to  his  talent  proves  not  that 
the  talent  was  moclerato,  but  that  the  intelli^nce  was  immense. 
That  he  did  nothing  in  law,  letters,  or  politics  equal  to  the 
expectations  of  those  who  lived  in  his  society,  simply  indicates 
the  height  to  which  those  expectations  had  been  raised,  and  at 
which  they  were  steadily  maintained  despite  of  his  alleged 
failures.  Sir  H.  Rulwer,  with  all  his  discrimination  and  saga- 
city, has  here  confounded  two  distinct  classes  or  tvpes.  There 
are  men  of  promise  who,  by  the  display  of  cleverness  at  school 
or  <ol!effe,  raise  hopes  that  they  will  achieve  preat  thin^rs  in 
after  life,  actually  fancy  that  they  shall,  and  never  rise  above 
mediocrity.  But  wli'j  talks  of  tliein  as  first-rate  men,  or  an- 
nounces their  names  with  respec  tful  adniiralitm,  when  they  arc 
jvist  sixty?  Tliere  is  breadth  and  deptli  in  Hazlitt's  axiom: 
'  We  judjre  men,  not  by  what  they  do.  but  by  what  they  are,' 
And  we  arrive?  at  what  thev  are  inte!lr(  tr.iliy  by  their  conver- 
sfition,  conduct,  beariiiir,  tinu*,  manner — by  th-.ir  unpiemetlitated 
writin:rs  and  speeches,  hv  tlie  thousand  siirns  and  tokens  through 
wliich  mind  ran  be  rer<i;.'"nisrd  or  made  knmvn,  not  s*)lely  or 
mainly  hy  their  set  works  or  mast<T|)i«'(es.  lb>w  would  Johnson 
stand  with  posterity  without  I?<Hwell  ?  On  wliat  do  we  base 
our  a(hnirati(m  ol"  Sydney  Smith?  Or  how  diil  Voltaire  become 
the  master-mind  of  continental  luirope.  duiinjr  the  l>etter  part  of 
a  centurv,  fxcept  hv  his  universality?  If  L«)rd  Mara u lay  Lad 
<lied  at  fortv-finrht,  before  the  publication  ol"  his  Historv,  he 
would  have  l)een  ojien  to  the  same  imputation  as  Mackintosh; 
and  it  may  be  doubted  whether  his  history  has  added,  or  could 

add, 


Mackintosh, 


405 


add,  to  the  brilliancj  of  a  reputation  whicli  Had  already  reached 
its  acme. 

When  tbe  '  New  Bath  Guide"  was  at  the  height  of  its  popularity. 
Bishop  Warburton  said  to  Anstey,  'Young  man,  you  have  made 
a  good  hit,  never  put  pen  to  paper  again/  Mackintosh,  this 
m^re  man  of  promise,  attained  three  or  four  times  over  the 
position  at  which  the  veteran  roan  of  letters  thought  it  advisable 
to  stop.  Speaking  of  the  '  Vindiciae  Gallicae,'  published  in  1791, 
Sir  H,  Bulwer  says  :— 

*  This  celebrated  pamphlet  [an  octavo  of  850  pagt^ft],  whether  we  con- 
sider the  circumstauees  under  wbich  it  appeared,  tho  oppoEent  which 
it  combated,  or  the  ability  of  the  compoeititm  itself,  merited  aU  the 
attention  it  received,  and  was  the  more  fiucecej^fid  becanse  it  gave  just 
th©  saawer  to  Burke  which  Burke  himself  would  have  given  to  his  own 

»  *  »  « 

*Many  who,  taken  by  surprise,  had  Burrondered  to  the  mAgisterial 
eloqucDoe  of  the  master,  were  rescued  by  the  elegant  pleading  of  the 
seholar.  Every  wheroj  then,  might  be  heard  the  leudest  applause,  and 
an  applaUBo  well  merited.  On  the  greatest  questioii  of  the  times,  the 
first  man  of  the  times  had  heen  aniwered  hy  a  young  gentleman  aged 
twenty-Btx,  and  who,  hitherto  nnknown,  was  appreciated  by  his  first 
success/ 

Like  Lord  Byron  after  the  appearance  of  *  Childe  Harold/ 
Mackintosh  awoke  and  found  himself  famous.  He  was  praised  by 
Fox  in  Parliamentj  and  warmlv  welcomed  into  the  chosen  circle 
of  the  Whigs,  His  review  of  tte  *  Regicide  Peace '  added  to  hi* 
fame  and  procured  him  an  imitation  to  BeacotisfiehJ,  where  (he 
was  wont  to  say)  Burke  overturned  in  half  an  hour  the  previous 
reflections  of  his  whole  life.  The  change  was  more  owing  to  the 
logic  of  events  than  to  Burke's.  He  told  some  Frenchmen  who 
were  complimenting  him  on  the  '  Vindicia?  Gallic^;/  at  Paris, 
in  1803,  ^  Messieurs^  vous  rnavez  si  hi  en  refutiV 

His  next  hit  was  the  delivery  of  a  course  of  lectures  on  public 
Iiw,  preceded  by  a  *  Discourse  on  the  Law  of  Nature  and  Nations,* 
of  which  Campbell  sajs^  that  '  if  Mackintosh  had  published 
nothing  else,  he  would  have  left  a  perfect  monument  of  fits  intel- 
lectual strength  and  symmetry/  Sir  H.  Bulwer  says  ;  '  Learned, 
eloc|tient,  it  excited  nearly  as  much  enthusiasm  as  the  *  Vindlciie 
Gallic^/  and  deserved,  upon  the  whole,  a  higher  order  of 
admiration/     As  to  the  course  itself: — 

'  Suffice  it  here  to  say,  that  amidst  the  sighs  of  his  old  friends,  the 
applmises  of  his  new,  and  tlie  sneering  muimurs  and  seoruful  remarki 
of  the  stupid  imd  Uic  envious  of  all  partiosj  liis  eloquence  (for  he  wag 
eloquent  m  a  professor)  produced  geueraUy  the  most  flattering  effects. 
Statesmen^  lawyers,  men  of  letters,  idlers,  crowded  with  e^ual  admira- 


4'>>  Sir  HeniT  Bolwer  #  Hidcrieai 

wi*  r-.  ll-x :  i-tl  fnjm  the  pbil'>?i>ph'.T,  tiir  pA-t,  ih*  wriscr  of  rieaHMc  aad 

Thi?  trial  of  Peltier  tnok  place  in  \^')o.  azid  oo  coUectiao  of 
Brit:sh  eloquence  would  be  complete  widl>^lit  Mackintosa's  speech 
for  the  deiience.  It  wru  traoslated  into  French  br  Madame  de 
Sta'.-I :  it  was  read  with  adziindon  in  most  continentad  laneraces; 
and  Lord  Erskine  writes :  '  I  perfect!  t  approre  of  the  Twdict ;  bat 
the  manner  in  which  von  opposed  it  I  shall  always  consider  as  one 
of  the  most  splendid  monomentsof  ^nics,  leamin^r.  azid  eloqaenceJ 
His  fee  was  five  iriineas.  His  fees  for  the  vear  in  which  this  speedi 
was  delivered  (the  seventh  since  his  call  to  the  hart  anKnmted  to 
12f^i7. ;  bat  he  bad  no  taste  for  the  roatine  of  his  profeasicxi,  and 
— le:  Sir  H.  Bulwer  state  the  case  in  his  own  pointed  Lanen&fre — 
*tbrv^  months  had  not  elapsed  when«  wirh  the  jdandits  of  the 
public  and  the  praise  of  Erskine  still  rinzin?  in  his  ear.  he  ac^ 
cepted  the  Recordenhip  of  Bombav  from  Mr.  Audin|Eloo,  and 
retired  with  satisfaction  to  the  well-paid  and  knighted  indolenoe 
of  Imlia,  His  objects  in  doing  so  nere,  he  said,  of  two  kinds — 
to  make  a  fortune,  and  to  write  a  work.  The  whole  man  is  befiore 
us  when  we  discover  how  far  either  of  these  objects  was  attained 
bv  him.     He  did  not  make  a  fortune ;  he  did  not  write  a  work.' 

His  acceptance  of  the  Recordership  gave  great  offimce  to  his 
friends.  Mr.  Perry,  meeting  him  on  his  way  from  Downii^ 
Street,  inquired  whether  he  felt  no  compunction  at  receiving 
honoTjrs  and  emoluments  for  opinions  which  had  sent  some 
r»l"  tiieir  common  frirnHs  into  exile  for  life.  T'.ie  same  occasion 
pnidurrHl  Dr.  Parr's  c^-lobrated  sarcasm,  on  Mackintiish's  asking 
hiiw  (^uiffloy  <'an  Irish  priest  execuipfl  for  treasi^n)  could  have 
hof-n  wors*»?  *  III  tell  you,  Jemmv :  Qui?!ey  was  an  Irishman 
— hf  mijrLt  Live  b^c-n  a  Scotchman  ;  he  was  a  priest — ^he  might 
hav^-  lx-**n  a  lawyer ;  he  was  a  traitor — be  mi  jht  have  been  aa 
apostate.' 

It  •J«mmy'  was  sniltA'  of  any  sacrihce  of  principle  in 
accojitinz  a  judicial  appointm^^nt  from  jx?rsons  wii  whom 
j.f-  ili'l  not  aLTc*  in  politics,  ho  made  amp-e  compensation 
on  hiN  rot'jm  from  India,  wh^n  h<*  rol'::se<l  the  I^esidencv  of  the 
lifarrl  f»l*  Control,  offered  Lim,  with  a  seat  in  Parliament,  bv  Mr. 
PfTceval.  Flntf^rinjr  the  House  of  Commons  a  staunch  \Mii2'.  he 
madf*  s^^ime  remarkable  spoo(hes:  be  was  hy  common  ct^nsent  the 
reformer  of  the  criminal  law  on  whom  Romilly's  mant'.e  fell :  and 
h*^'  wrote  s^»mf»  fift^»cn  or  twenty  articiCs  of  acknowletl^ed  merit 
for  t';f*  •  Kdinbureh  Review.'  His  most  sustained  efTorts,  how- 
ever, wer*?  made  in  the  closing  years  of  his  life,  during  which  he 
produced  the  volumes  of  '  English  History '  and  the  •  Life  of  Sir 

Thomas 


Mackintosh, 


407 


Thomas  More '  which  appeared  in  ^  Larclner's  CycIopiPtlia  f  the 
*  Dissertation  on  Ethical  Philosophj '  (edited  by  VVhewell);  and 
the  commencement  of  the  *  History  of  the  Revolution  of  1688*' 
Whilst  contending  rightly  that  none  of  these  are  great  works.  Sir 
H.  Bulwer  admits  tliat  ihey  one  and  all  give  indications  of  the 
highest  order  of  capacity. 

Sir  H,  Bulwer  supports  his  theory  by  an  anecdote,  *  What 
have  yon  done/  he  (Mackintosh)  relates  that  a  French  lady 
once  said  to  him,  *  diat  people  sbould  think  you  so  suiic- 
rior  ? '  '  I  waa  obliged/  he  adds,  *  as  usual  to  refer  to  my  pro- 
jects/ If  Madame  dc  Stael,  who  thought  him  the  first  m^n 
m  England,  had  been  at  his  elbow,  she  would  have  given  «  very 
different  answer  tu  her  countrywoman.  Credit  for  intellectual 
superiority  am  no  more  be  obtained  and  maintained  by  projects, 
than  credit  for  wealth  can  be  acquired  by  announcing  an  intention 
to  build  a  mansion  like  Dorchester  House,  and  fill  it  with  the 
choicest  pro*luctions  of  art^  Inquiry  would  be  instantly  directed 
to  the  means ;  and,  as  regards  Mackintosh,  the  most  satisfactory 
references  would  have  been  forthcoming.  Unlike  Addison*  who 
said  that  he  could  draw  for  a  thousand  pounds  though  he  had  nf>t  a 
guinea  in  his  pocket,  the  man  of  promise  had  always  bilh  pockets 
full  as  well  as  a  large  balance  at  his  bankers.  *  Till  subdued  by  age 
and  illness,  his  conversation  was  more  brilliant  and  instructive  than 
that  of  any  human  being  1  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  be 
acquainted  with/  Such  is  the  deliberate  opinion  of  Sydney 
Smith,  who  spoke  his  mind  more  fi-eely  and  conscientiously  tlian 
any  human  being  we  ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  acquainted 
with. 

Mackintosh  lacked  creative  genius,  and  he  was  constitutionally 
subject  to  fits  of  lassitude.  This  is  why  he  produced  no  great 
work.  He  was  essentially  a  speculative  man ;  he  wanted  self- 
assertion,  and  from  his  extreme  placability  could  be  set  aside 
and  passed  over  with  impunity.  This  is  why  he  was  so  often 
reduced  to  say,  with  Gibbon,  'My  vote  was  counted  in  the  hour 
of  batde,  but  I  was  overlooked  in  the  division  of  the  spoil/ 
Here,  again,  let  Sydney  Smith  speak  : 

*  If  he  had  been  arrogant  and  grasping  \  if  ho  had  been  faithless 
and  false  ;  if  he  had  been  always  eager  to  stranglo  in  font  genius  in  its 
cradle,  alway**  ready  to  betray  and  blacken  those  with  whom  be  eat  at 
meat,  he  would  have  passed  many  men,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  long 
Jifo»  have  passed  him ;  but,  without  Belling  hia  soul  for  pottage,  if  be 
only  had  had  a  Utile  more  prudence  for  the  promotion  of  his  interestfi, 
and  more  of  angry  passions  for  the  ptmishment  of  those  detractors, 
who  envied  his  &me,  and  presumed  upon  his  sweetncsfl :  if  he  Lad  been 
more  aware  of  his  powerfc(,  and  of  that  spaeo  which  nataro  intended 
him  to  occupy  :  he  m  otild  have  acted  a  great  part  in  life,  and  remaiiied 

Vol,  123.— No.  246,  2  E  a  dmraeter 


408  Sir  Henry  Balwer*«  Hisimcal  C/uaraders. 

a  charftoter  in  history.    Afl  it  if,  he  has  left  in  many  of  the  bail  i 
of  England,  and  of  tho  Continent,  tho  deepest  admiration  of  his  talonti^ 
Jiis  wisdom,  bis  knowledge,  and  his  benovolenoe.' 

We  have  subjected  Sir  H.  Bulwer's  theory  or  conception  of 
Mackintosh  to  so  close  an  analysis,  because  it  is  calculated  to 
promote  two  ]K)pular  tendencies  which  we  think  mischieroos : 
the  tendency  to  depreciate  men  for  not  being  something  widely 
different  from  what  they  are,  or  for  not  possessing  incompatihk 
qualities ;  and  the  tendency  to  deify  success.  The  attainment  of 
a  coveted  object,  whether  place,  wealth,  or  position,  is  enoo^ ; 
and  he  who  wins  the  race  by  mere  jockeyship  is  praised  and 
courted,  to  the  utter  neglect  of  him  who  has  been  distanced  by 
being  overweighted  with  honour,  generosity,  principle,  and 
truth:— 

'  One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  ontweigha 

Of  8ta])id  starers,  and  of  loud  huzzas ; 

And  more  true  joy  Marcollns  exil'd  feels, 

Than  Cesar  ^-ith  a  senate  at  his  heels.* 

*  Cobbett  *  will  probably  be  voted  the  most  entertaining  of  die 
English  subjects.  It  is  fresher  and  stranger,  and  it  is  handled 
with  more  than  ordinary  vigour  and  vivacity.  Nowhere  is  Sir 
H.  Bulwer's  language  so  attractive  by  its  freedom  and  its  flow, 
as  in  tracing  a  career  which,  at  almost  every  turn,  taste^  feeliof 
and  judgment  comjpel  him  to  censure  or  condemn.  His 
contentious  man  is  m  no  sense  a  typical  or  representative  man. 
Cobbett  stands  alone.  None  but  himself  can  be  his  parallel.  He 
is  a  species,  a  genus,  in  himself.  Nature  never  made  another  like 
him,  and  we  do  not  want  another  ;  for  there  never  was  one  to 
whom  the  vernacular  term  blackguard  was  more  freouently  or 
more  appropriately  applied.  When  the  Speaker  asked  him  to 
a  parliamentary  dinner,  he  refused,  saying  that  'he  was  not 
accustomed  to  the  society  of  jjentlcmen.'  He  might  have  gone 
farther;  he  was  not  accustomed  to,  he  would  not  have  been 
tolerated  in,  any  respectable  society  out  of  his  own  family.  His 
vanity  was  inordinate,  his  temper  uncontrolled ;  his  violence  at 
the  semblance  of  a  contradiction,  or  the  suspicion  of  a  slight, 
became  ferocity  ;  and  he  vented  his  rage  in  scurrilous  abuse 
amounting  to  downright  ruflianism.     Here  is  a  specimen  : — 

*  There's  a  fine  Congress  man  f(jr  you  !     If  any  d d  raacallj 

rotten  borough  in  the  universe  ever  made  such  a  choice  as  this  (a  Ur. 
Blair  MucClonachan),  you'll  be  bound  to  cut  my  throat,  and  sufier  the 
udna  culottes  sovereigns  of  Philadelphia — the  hob-snob  snigger^nee-ers 
of  (iormftiiHtown — to  kick  me  about  in  my  blood  till  my  ooipso  is  tf 
ugly  and  disgusting  as  their  living  carcases  ore.* 

This  was  published   in  America.     But  some   of  his  choicest 

flowers 


Cohhett. 


409 


(lowers  of  rhetoTic  irere  reserved  for  his  native  soil,  and  he  wai 
no  respecter  of  places  or  persons.  He  thus  apostrophised 
RfaUhus  I  *  I  call  you  by  the  only  name  which  expresses  the 
ftJl  Infamy  of  your  character  when  I  Ma,)\ Parson*  Irritated  by  a 
call  to  order  in  the  House  of  Commoni,  he  turned  rounds  and 
addressed  to  the  member  from  whom  the  call  proceeded  tho 
most  revolting^  phrase  in  the  rorabulary  of  s!an«r»  Nor  is  it 
any  mi t ligation  to  say  that  some  of  hia  epithets  tirkled  the  vulgar 
humour  and  stuck;  as  when  he  denounced  'The  Blootly  Old 
^'f7ies/  or  called  the  Quakers  (whom  he  had  elsewhere  eulo^ 
gised^  '  nnbaptized,  buttonless  blackguards/  His  supreme 
delignt  was  to  run  counter  to  a  popular  feeling,  as  in  his  *  Good 
Queen  Mary '  and  *  Bloody  (ioeen  Bess/ 

It  would  be  well  if  his  transgressions  against  propriety  had  been 
confined  to  language^  But  he  deliberately  set  at  nought  honesty, 
gratitude,  principle,  honour,  consistency,  and  truth.  He  would 
take  up  any  cause  that  suited  or  party  that  courted  bira,  and 
syitematically  blacken  any  cause  or  party  that  did  not  He 
would  borrow  money,  exalt  the  lender  (Sir  F*  Burdett,  for 
example)  to  the  skies,  never  dream  of  repaying  it,  and  libel  him 
the  moment  he  refused  to  lend  more.  The  American  Republic 
was;  by  turns,  the  only   land  worth   living  in,  and    the    land 

*  where  judges  become  felons,  and  felons  judges/  He  held  up 
Tom  Paine  to  general  ^'execration  as  '  an  infamous  and  atrocious 
miscreant/  and  then  tried  to  make  capital  of  his  bones.  Yet  this 
Ishmael  of  the  political  world,  this  Thersites  of  journalism,  was 
an  excellent  husband,  an  exemplary  father,  a  genuine  patriot  at 
heart :  he  bad  fancy  and  feeling,  with  a  keen  sense  of  moral  and 
natural  beauty  ;  he  bad  indomitable  energy  and  strong  good 
sense  5  he  was  largely  endowed  with  civil  courage ;  and  taking 
into  account  bis  inimitable  style,  he  cannot  be  pronounced 
dehcient  in  a  certain  quality  of  taste.  His  defence  of  monastic 
iiistitutious  is   worthy  of  the  learned  and   eloquent  author  of 

*  Monks  of  the  West': 

*  Go  into  any  coimty,  and  survey,  oven  at  this  day,  the  mins  of  its 
perhaps  twenty  abbeys  and  priories,  and  then  mk  yonzself,  *^  What 
haTe  wo  in  exchange  for  these  ?  "  Go  to  the  sits  of  some  one©  opulent 
convent.  Look  at  the  cloister,  now  become,  in  the  hands  of  somo 
*iick-rent*jp,  the  reeq)taclo  for  dung,  fodder,  and  &got-wood.  So©  the 
hall,  whcru  for  ages  the  widow,  tho  orjihan,  the  agad,  and  i^o  etrangtir 
found  a  table  rcaily  eproad.  Soo  a  bit  of  its  walle  now  helping  to 
make  a  cattle-shed,  the  rest  having  been  hauled  away  to  build  a  work- 
honae.  Bocogmso  on  tho  side  of  a  bam  a  part  of  tho  oace  magnificent 
chapel ;  and,  if  chained  to  tho  Bpjt  by  your  melant^holy  nuiBingii,  you 
he  odmoniBhed  of  the  approach  of  night  by  the  voioo  of  the  iscrtjoch- 
owl  iasning  from  those  arches  which  onco,  at  tho  same  hour,  t^eeonndtd 

2  B  2  ^^ 


410  Sir  Henry  Bnlwer*«  Buiorieal  Charaetmr$. 

with  the  vespers  of  the  monk,  and  which  have  for  seven  hundred  yeani 
been  assailed  by  storms  and  tempests  in  vain ;  if  thns  admonished  of 
the  necessity  of  seeking  food,  shelter,  and  a  bed,  lift  up  your  eyee  and 
look  at  the  whitewashed  and  dry-rotten  shed  on  the  hill  called  the 
^  Gentleman's  House,"  and  apprised  of  the  ^  board  wages  "  and  ^  spring 
cnns,"  which  are  the  signs  of  his  hospitality,  tnm  your  head,  jog  away 
nom  the  scene  of  former  comfort  and  grandeur;  with  old-Englirih 
welcoming  in  your  mind,  reach  the  nearest  inn,  and  there,  in  a  room 
half-warmed  and  half-lighted,  with  the  reception  precisely  proportioned 
to  the  presumed  length  of  your  purse,  sit  down  and  listen  to  an  account 
of  the  hypocritical  pretences,  the  base  motives,  the  tyrannical  and 
bloody  means  under  which,  from  which,  and  by  which  the  ruin  you 
have  been  witnessing  was  effected,  and  the  hospitality  you  have  lost 
was  for  ever  banished  from  the  land.' 

His  sketches  of  rural  scenery  are  often  graceful,  always  fresh 
and  true.  But  his  strength  lay  in  coarse  withering  invective 
or  abuse ;  and  in  this  line  he  is,  fortunately,  unapproachable. 
If  the  *  drab-coloured  men  of  Pennsylvania  *  were  unlucky  in 
provoking  the  comic  indignaticm  of  Sidney  Smith,  they  were 
not  less  so  in  encountering  ihe  scurrility  of  Cobbett : 

*  It  is  &ir,  also,  to  observe  that  this  State  (Pennsylvania)  labours 
under  disadvantages  in  one  respect  that  no  other  State  does.  Here  is 
precisely  that  climate  which  suits  the  vagabonds  of  Europe ;  here  Hnsj 
bask  in  summer,  and  lie  curled  up  in  winter,  without  fear  of  scorching 
in  one  season,  or  freezing  in  the  other.  Accordingly,  hither  they 
come  in  shoals,  just  roll  themselves  ashore,  and  begin  to  swear  and 
poll  away  as  if  they  had  been  bred  to  the  business  from  their  infuicy. 
She  has,  too,  unhappily  acquired  a  reputation  for  the  mildness,  or 
rather  the  feebleness,  of  her  laws.  There's  no  gallows  in  Pennsyl- 
vania. These  glad  tidings  have  rung  through  all  the  democratic  club- 
rooms,  all  the  dark  assemblies  of  traitors,  all  the  dungeons  and  cells  of 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.  Hence  it  is  that  wo  are  overwhelmed 
with  the  refuse,  the  sweeping,  of  these  kingdoms,  the  oflGoJ  of  the  jail 
and  the  gibbet.  Hence  it  is  that  wo  see  so  many  faces  that  never 
looked  comely  but  in  the  pillory,  limbs  that  are  awkward  out  of  chains, 
and  necks  that  seem  made  to  be  stretched.' 

Nor  was  it  pleasant  for  an  embryo  President  of  the  great 
Bepublic  to  be  handed  down  to  posterity  in  this  fashion,  in  a 
Summary  of  the  Proceedings  of  Congress  : — 

*  Never  was  a  more  ludicrous  fiarce  acted  to  a  bursting  audience* 
Madifion  is  a  little  bow-legged  man,  at  once  stiff  and  slender.  His 
countenance  has  that  sour  aspect,  that  conceited  screw,  which  pride 
would  willingly  mould  into  an  expression  of  disdain,  if  it  did  not  find 
the  fcatiircfi  too  skinny  and  too  scanty  for  its  piirjx)Be.  His  tliin, 
sleek  air,  and  the  niceness  of  his  garments,  are  indicative  of  that 
economical  cleanliness  which  expostulates  with  tho  shoeboy  and  the 
washerwoman,  which  flies  from  tho  danger  of  a  gutter,  and  which 

boasts 


Cajming, 


411 


boasts  of  wearing  a  fiMrt  for  three  days  wltlioTit  rmnpling  tli©  frill. 
In  short,  he  has,  tako  him  altogether,  precisely  the  prim^  mean,  prig- 
like look  of  a  corporal  mechanic,  and  were  he  mhered  into  jour 
parlour,  you  would  wonder  why  ho  came  without  his  measure  and  Ha 
shears .  Sueh  (and  with  a  soul  which  would  disgrace  any  other  tene- 
ment than  that  which  contains  it)  is  the  mortal  who  stood  upon  his 
logs,  confidently  predicting  th^  overthrow  of  the  British  monarchy, 
and  anticipating  the  pleasure  of  feeding  its  illustrious  nobles  witJi  hia 
oats.* 

Sir  Henry  Bulwer  gives  instances  to  prove  that  Cobbett*s  virU' 
lence  could  be  conveyed  in  a  more  delicate  way  when  he  thought 
proper : — 

*  Since  then  citizen  Barney  is  become  a  French  commodore  of  two 
frigatei%  and  will  rise  probably  to  the  rank  of  admiral^  if  contrary 
winds  do  not  blow  him  m  the  way  of  an  enemy," 

'He  was  a  sly-looking  fellow,  with  a  hiwd  slatenxiloiired  €Oim* 
tonanee*  He  set  out  by  blushing,  and  I  may  leave  any  one  to  guess  at 
the  efforts  that  must  be  made  to  get  a  blush  through  a  skin  like  his/ 

*  Having  thus  settled  the  jjoint  of  controversy,  give  me  leave  to  ask 
you,  my  sweet  sleepy-eyed  air  1  * 

The  worst  of  Cobbett — and  it  is  as  bad  as  bad  can  be  in  its 

way — was  what  be  forced  before  the  public,  after  one  of  bis 
astounding  gyrations  or  apostasiesj  in  the  shape  of  an  unblushing 
act  of  treachery  or  a  barefaced  untrnth.  The  best  of  him  was 
his  domestic  life,  his  management  of  his  family,  and  liis  forti* 
tnde  under  severe  trial.  The  pictures  which  Sir  H.  Bulwer  has 
drawn  or  laid  before  us  of  his  early  struggles,  bis  mode  of 
acquiring  knowledge,  his  marriage^  and  (above  all)  his  daily  life 
during  bis  two  years^  imprisonment  in  Newgate,  will  conciliate 
sympathy^  ahbough  they  cannot  be  accepted  as  a  set-off  to  the 
ingrained  perversity  of  the  entire  public  portion  of  his  life, 

'Canning,  the  Brilliant  Man,'  is  good  throughout,  both  in 
conception  and  execution  :  his  solid  as  well  as  his  brilliant 
qualities  are  artistically  placed  in  broad  relief;  and  peculiar 
sources  of  information  have  enabled  the  author  to  clear  up 
passages  in  the  life  of  this  distinguished  statesman  which  have 
hitherto  been  obscured  or  misunderstood.  Restricted  space  com- 
pels us  to  confine  ourselves  to  these,  and  to  two  or  three  others 
on  which  we  ourselves  can  throw  light. 

What  was  the  precise  train  of  motives  which  actuated  Mr* 
Canning  when,  on  his  entrance  into  public  life  (1793),  he  left 
his  original  party,  the  Whigs,  and  took  service  with  Mn  Pitt? 
The  pending  events  in  France  had  brought  discredit  on  liberal 
opinions  ;  but  be  was  also  influenced  by  circumstances  of  a 
mere  personal  nature ; 


/ 


41S  Sir  Henry  Balwer  <  Hidtmcal  Characters. 

*  The  first  incident,  I  was  once  told  bj  Mr.  John  Allen,  that  dis- 
inclined Mr.  Canning,  who  had  probably  already  some  misgivings,  to 
attaching  himself  irrevocably  to  the  Whig  camp,  was  the  following 
one :  Lord  Liverpool,  then  Mr.  Jenkinson,  had  jnst  made  his  appear- 
ance in  the  House  of  Commons.  His  fijrst  speech  was  highly  sno- 
oessfoL  ^  There  is  a  young  friend  of  mine,"  said  Mr.  Sheridan, 
^  whom  I  soon  hope  to  see  on  this  side  of  the  House  answering  the 
honourable  ffentleman  who  has  just  distinguished  himself:  a  eon- 
temporary  whom  ho  knows  to  possess  talents  not  inferior  to  his  own, 
but  whose  principles,  I  trust,  are  very  difforcnt  from  his. 

<  This  allusion,  however  kindly  meant,  was  disagreeable,  said  Mr. 
Allen,  to  the  youthful  aspirant  to  public  honours.  It  pledged  him,  as 
he  thought,  prematurely  ;  it  brought  him  forward  under  the  aospioea 
of  a  man,  who,  however  distinguished  as  an  individual,  was  not  in  a 
position  to  be  a  patron.    Other  reflections,  it  is  added,  followed«* 

These  other  reflections  strongly  resemble  those  which  were 
forced  upon  Qnentin  Durward  by  his  uncle,  Le  Balafr^  when 
expatiating  on  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  distinction  under  a 
chief  like  Charles  the  Bold,  who  fought  at  the  head  of  a  bcniy  of 
gallant  knights  and  nobles : 

'  The  party  then  in  opposition  possessed,  with  the  exception  of  Mr. 
Pitt,  Lora  Liverpool,  and  Mr.  Dundas,  almost  every  man  distinguished 
in  public  life :  a  host  of  formidable  competitors  in  the  road  to  nonoor 
and  preferment,  supposing  preferment  and  honour  to  be  attainable  by 
talent.  But  this  was  not  aU.  The  Whig  party,  then,  as  always,  was 
esscntiaUy  an  exclusive  party ;  its  regards  were  concentrated  on  a 
clique,  to  whom  all  without  it  were  tools  and  instruments.  On  the 
other  side,  the  prime  minister  stood  alone.  Ho  had  every  ofEioe  to 
bestow,  and  few  candidates  of  any  merit  for  official  employments. 

•  ••••• 

*  These  were  not  explanations  that  Mr.  Canning  could  make  pre- 
cisely to  the  Wliig  leaderH,  but  ho  had  an  aflection  for  Mr.  Sheridan, 
who  bad  always  l)een  kind  to  him,  and  by  whom  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
thought  luigrateful.  Ho  sought,  then,  an  interview  with  that  good- 
natured  and  gifted  person.  Lonl  Holland,  Mr.  Canning's  contem- 
porary, was  j)reseut  at  it,  and  told  mo  that  nothing  could  be  more 
re8i)eetful,  affectionate,  and  unrcserveil,  than  tho  niamier  in  which  the 
ambitious  young  j)olitieian  gave  his  reasons  for  tho  ehango  ho  was 
prei)ared  to  make,  or  bad  made ;  nothing  more  warm-hearted,  unpre- 
judieed,  and  frank,  than  the  veteran  orator*s  reception  of  his  retiring 
proteges  confession :  nor,  indeed,  could  Mr.  Sheridan  help  feeling  tho 
application,  when  he  was  himself  cited  as  an  example  of  the  haughti- 
ncjss  witli  which  "  the  gi-eat  Wliig  Houses  "  looked  down  on  the  lofty 
aspirations  of  mere  genius.  The  conversation  thus  alluded  to  took 
place  a  littlo  before  Mr.  Pitt's  proposals  were  made,  but  probably 
when  they  were  expected.  Mr.  Canning,  liis  views  fairly  stated  to 
tho  only  person  to  whom  he  felt  bound  to  give  them,  and  his  seat  in 

Parliament 


Canning. 


413 


Parliament  ftociu'ed,  placed  himself  in  front  of  his  old  frienda,  and 
Colonel  Fitz  Patrick  revenged  them  bj  the  ftdlowing  couplet ; — 
*  The  turning  of  coata  so  common  i«  gro^vn, 
That  no  one  would  think  to  attack  it ; 
But  no  case  until  now  was  no  flagrantly  known 
Of  a  schoolboy  turning  Me  jackot* 

George  IV,  was  excessively  annoyed  by  Mr.  Canning''s  taking 
die  Queen's  side,  although  be  held  aloof  from  her  party,  and 
never  publicly  advocated  her  cause.  His  Majesty^  also,  wai 
strongly  prejudiced  aigrainst  him  by  regard  for  Lord  London* 
derry,  whoie  f|uarrcl  he  had  privately  espoused.  The  ease  with 
which  the  royal  objections  or  prejudices  were  overcome,  and  the 
rapidity  with  which  the  new  Foreign  Secretary  rose  into  market! 
favour,  have  consequently  remained  a  puzzle  to  the  uninitiated. 
The  solution  is  now  given  on  unimpeachable  authority.  The 
Duke  of  Wellington,  at  the  urgent  desire  of  Lord  Liverpool. 
undertook  to  lay  before  the  King  the  reasons  they  deemed 
imperative  for  the  appointment  of  Nlr.  Canning  in  succession  to 
Lord  Londonderry  ; 

*  Two  or  three  phraeee  of  the  conyersation  that  took  place  on  this 
oeeaaion  have  lieen  rejjeatcd  to  me  bj  one  likely  to  have  heard  them 
from  both  parti ca  concerned, 

*  "  Good  GimI  !  Arthar,  you  don't  mean  to  propofio  that  fellow  to  me 
aa  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs ;  it  is  imjioe^iblo,  I  said,  on  my 
honour  as  a  gentleman j  he  should  never  bo  ono  of  my  ministtira  again* 
Yon  hear,  Arthur,  on  my  honour  as  &  gentleman,  I  am  sure  yon  will 
Agree  with  me,  I  can't  do  what  I  said  on  my  honour  as  a  gentlcmiau 
I  would  not  do," 

'  "  Pardon  me,  mr,  I  don't  agrt3e  with  yott  at  all ;  your  Majesty  in 
not  a  gentleman," 

*  The  King  started. 

"'  Your  Majeety,  I  Bay,"  continued  the  imperturbable  soldier,  "is 
not  a  gontleman,  but  the  sovereign  of  England,  with  duties  to  your 
people  far  above  any  to  yourself;  and  these  duticiS  render  it  impera- 
tive that  you  should  at  this  time  employ  the  abilitiefei  of  Mr,  Canning,'* 

'  "  Well,"  di^awing  a  long  breath,  *'  if  I  muat,  I  must,"  was  finally 
the  King's  reply/ 

Within  a  few  weeks  of  the  appointment,  the  King  being 
asked  how  he  liked  his  Foreign  Secretary,  replied,  *  Like  him  I 
the  word  is  too  weak — I  love  him/  How  waa  this  con  version 
brought  about  ? — 

*  In  tlio  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  word,  ho  woM  not  a  coui'tier^  nor 
m  man  of  the  world.  Living,  as  1  have  already  state4,  surrounded  by 
a  email  clique  of  admire r»^  and  little  with  mtcioty  at  hurge^  he  eonflnod 
hill  powers  of  pleasing,  which  wcr>f  remarkable,  to  his  own  set  Ho 
hid  detersniaed,  however,  on  gaining  George  IV/s  good  wUi,  or  at  all 


414  Sir  Henry  Biilwer*«  Hutarical  Charaden. 

evonts  on  vanqaiBhiiig  his  dialiko,  and  he  saw  at  onoe  that  this  was  to 
be  done  rather  indirectly  than  directly,  and  that  it  oonld  best  be  done 
by  gaining  the  favour  of  those  ladies  of  the  oonrt  whom  the  King  saw 
most  frequently,  and  spoke  to  most  unreservedly.  These  were  Lady 
Conyngham  and  Madame  de  Lieven.  For  Lady  Oonyngham,  Qeargd 
TV,  had  a  romantic,  almost  boyish  attachment ;  Madame  de  laeven  he 
liked  and  appreciated  as  the  lady  who  had  the  greatest  knack  of 
seizing  and  understanding  his  wishes  and  making  his  court  agreeable. 
She  was  a  musician,  and  he  was  fond  of  music ;  she  had  correspondentB 
at  every  court  in  Europe ;  knew  all  the  small  gossip  as  w^  as  the 
most  important  affiurs  that  agitated  Paris,  St  Petersburg,  and  Vienna, 
and  he  was  fond  of  foreign  gossip  and  foreign  affidrs.  Her  opinion, 
moreover,  as  to  the  manners  or  capacity  of  any  one  in  the  world  of 
fftshion  was  law,  and  George  IV.  piqued  himself  especially  oa  being 
the  man  of  £Eishion. 

Mr.  Canning  resolved,  then,  on  pleasing  this  remarkable  lady,  and 
completely  succeeded.  She  became,  as  abe  afterwards  often  Btated, 
subjugated  by  the  influence  of  his  natural  manner  and  brilliant  talents ; 
and  the  favour  of  Madame  de  Lieven  wont  the  further  in  this  instan^M^ 
with  the  King,  since  he  had  previously  a  sort  of  prejudice  against 
Canning,  looking  upon  him  and  speaking  of  him  as  a  clever  UieraFf 
politician,  but  not  ^  a  gentleman."  This  prejudice  once  removed,  a 
man  of  wit,  genius  and  information,  had  no  inconsiderable  hold  on  a 
prince  whose  youth  had  been  passed  in  the  most  brilliant  society  of  his 
time,  and  who  was  still  alive  to  the  memory  of  the  sparkling  wit  of 
Sheridan  and  the  easy  eloquence  of  Fox.  Lady  Conyngham's  alliance 
was  still  more  important  than  that  of  Madame  de  Lieven,  and  one  of 
Mr.  Canning's  first  acts  was  to  uamo  Lord  Francis  Conyngham  (since 
the  Marquis)  Undcr-secrctary  of  State.  This,  indeed,  not  only  pleased 
his  mother,  and  pleased  the  King  for  that  reason,  but  it  satisfied  his 
Majesty  in  a  delicate  way  as  to  the  desire  of  his  minister  to  have  every 
act  of  his  administration  brought  under  the  cognisance  of  his  royid 
master. 

The  Princesse  de  Lieven  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
members  of  the  female  Directory,  commonly  calle<l  Patronesses 
of  Al mack's,  that  ruled  the  fashionable  world  of  London  for 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ;  she  was  the  last  of  the  great 
ladies  who  largely  influenced  European  politics ;  and  her  power 
over  an  eminent  French  statesman,  an  eminent  man  of  letters  to 
boot,  amounted  to  a  fascination  and  a  spell.  If  we  mistake  not, 
she  is  the  authority  for  the  curious  anecdote  that  comes  next : 

'  Lady  Conyngham  had  been  supposed  in  early  life  to  have  greatly 
admired  Lord  Ponsonby,  then  the  finest  gentleman  of  his  time,  and 
distinguiBhod  in  the  memoirs  of  Harriot  Wibon  as  the  only  man  who 
ever  looked  well  in  a  cotton  night-cap.  Lord  Ponsonby,  who  had 
lonj^  been  absent  from  England,  returned  from  the  Ionian  Islands, 
wliore  lie  lield  a  small  office,  just  about  the  jKjriod  that  the  recognition 
of  the  South  American  colonies  was  being  agitated,  not  a  little  desirous 

to 


Canning* 


415 


to  gat  a  better  place  llian  the  obo  1i6  bad  quitt^  and  met  Ladj 
CJonyngliam  at  Lady  Jerse/s.  The  stoiy  of  tlio  clay  waa,  that  Lady 
Conyngham  fainted  on  raoeting  the  object  of  her  early  admiration. 
This  Btory  niched  the  enamoured  monarch,  who  took  to  his  bed, 
declared  himself  ill,  and  would  soe  no  one.*  All  business  was  stopped. 
After  waiting  some  time,  Mr.  Canning  at  last  obtained  an  interview, 
George  IV,  received  him  lying  on  a  couch  in  a  darkened  room,  the 
light  being  barely  sufficient  to  read  a  paper. 

'  "  What's  the  matter  ?     I  am  very  ill,  Mr.  Canning." 

*  "  I  shall  not  occupy  your  MajoHty  for  more  than  five  minutes*  It 
Is  very  dcairable,  as  your  Majesty  knows,  to  send  envoys,  withont 
delay,  to  the  States  of  South  America,  that  are  about  to  be  recogniaod/' 

'  The  King  groaned,  and  moved  impatiently. 

*  *'  I  have  been  thinking,  sir,  it  would  be  most  desirable  to  select  a 
man  of  rank  for  one  of  these  pests  (another  groan).  And  I  thought 
of  proposing  Lord  Ponsenby  to  your  Majesty  for  Buenos  Ayres." 

*  **  PonBcmby  !"  said  the  King,  rising  a  little  from  his  reclining  posi- 
tion} *'  a  capital  appointment  I  a  clever  fellow,  though  an  idle  one, 
Mr.  Canning*  May  I  ask  you  to  undraw  that  curtain  a  little  ?  A 
very  good  appointment;  is  there  anything  else,  Canning,  that  you 
wish  me  to  attend  to  ?  '' 

'  From  that  moment,  sajns  the  private  and  not  nnanthendc  chroniclo 
from  which  this  anecdote  is  taken,  Mr.  Canning*8  favour  rose  mora 
and  more  rapidly,  and  arrived  at  a  degree  which  justified  a  lady 
diplomatist,  from  whom  we  have  the  story,  and  who  on  entering  the 
room  one  day  found  one  of  Lady  ChMiricarde's  children  on  the  King's 
knee,  turning  round  to  the  minister  and  §aying  : 

*  *'  Jo  vous  faie  mes  compliment^  Monsieur  Canning,  quel  beau 
portrait  de  fkmillo  I  '*  * 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Canning^s  famous  speech  on  the  afTairs  of 
Portugal  on  the  12tb  December,  1826,  Sir  H>  Bulwcr  says  : — 

*  My  general  impression,  indeed,  was  that  this  speech  mnat 
thronghout  have  prod  weed  as  great  an  effiect  in  delivery  as  it  does, 
even  now,  in  reading ;  but  I  was  talking  the  other  day  with  a  friend 
who,  then  being  a  Weytminstcr  boy,  was  present  at  the  debate  \  and 
he  told  me  I  waB  mistaken,  and  that  with  the  exception  of  one  or  tWD 
pafis^ngeg  such  ive  tho6*i  I  have  cited,  there  was  a  want  of  that  elafltloity 
and  Bow  which  distinguished  Mr.  Canning's  happier  efforts, 

*  It  is  probablu  that  not  having  had  time,  amidst  the  business  which 
the  step  he  was  taking  had  creat^  to  prepare  himself  sufficiently,  he 
hiid  the  air  of  being  over-prepared,  and,  aecordiui^  to  m^  friend,  only 
rose  in  hig  reply  to  his  full  height  as  an  orator,  exciting  his  audience 
by  that  famous  allusion  to  the  position  which  Englund  then  held 
between  conflicting  principles,  like  jEoIus  between  conflicting  winds.' 

•  Thli  was  his  usual  rcKource  when  his  love  alTairs  went  wrong.  He  took  (0 
bis  b^  aod  pretended  to  be  dying  from  a  s*?lf-iijliic!tetl  woiiiid  iu  the  arn»,  wbca 
Mrs*  Fitiberb^rt  refused  la  ^^erificc  her  hoDour  to  his  deairiis. 

Doea 


416  Sir  Hcnrr  Balvcr  j  Huk/rieal  Ckaraden. 

]>>?•  diU  sp««ch  ttill  prodccv  a  frmt  effipct  in  mding  ?  Hat 
Sir  H.  Bolver  rvcrstiT  tried  tie  experiment?  As  to  the  eflect 
in  deliTenr,  his  t'rieiKi's  izipression  w^s  ri^ht^  except  diat  lie  has 
placefi  in  die  rpp!j  the  m-jest  recurkab!e  pasaace  of  the  opening 
speech.  B*^:  wbj  appeal  to  tl>:^ie  mho  were  Westminster  bojs 
in  l^i'"?  We  ourselTe* — oz^uil  J'^rfnid — were  present  during 
tie  -xLjIe  of  ihe  Jeha:e.  Elxcept  diirinff  the  last  ten  minute^ 
tLe  spe^^h,  considering  the  cTiais«  tell  dat.  It  smelt  nnklj  of  the 
oil.  The  speaker  often  hesitated  tt>  recall  a  piepaied  aentence 
or  expression,  insaead  ot  tmstinj:  to  the  warmth  of  imprarisatioa 
f*jr  the  words ;  and  eren  the  «)u>iiis  flight  had  more  of  the 
rhev^ricai  than  die  oratorical  ring.  The  ensuing  dismaaioa  was 
ume.  until  a  laogh  was  excited  bj  Mr.  Home,  who,  in  refipienoe 
to  the  alarm  expresaed  at  letdng  slip  the  does  of  war«  exclaimed, 
*'  Let  slip  the  dogs  of  war !  \Vkj^  the  Right  Hooooxable  gentleman 
has  tdd  US  that  ther  are  alreadj  on  thor  maich  to  PortamondL* 
The  d«>frs  of  war  were  the  Goanls. 

The  Hooae  was  tKinniny  tut  when,  in  leplj  to  Mr.  A.  Baring 
(Lord  Ashbmtonv,  Mr.  Canning  uttered  his  splendid  lional»  dsi 
first  half  of  which  is  omined  in  the  reports:  *I  looked  to  America 
to  conect  tiie  inequalities  of  Europe :  I  called  a  New  World 
into  existence  to  redress  the  balance  of  the  OkL*     We  sut  bo8il» 
because  it  was  generallj  so  resarded,  and  was  so  trented  W  Eul 
Grer.  when,  in  his  set  attack  of  Maj  10.  1^27,  he  accnsed 
31  r.  C*acnin?  of  m*x:opH.^!irin2'  creilit  which,  if  doe  at  all,  was 
e!-:-\l!j  tije   ^?  die  Premier  cnder  whom  he  was  serriug,  and 
L-4  ri.l leases.     Tie  acvu^ad.xi  was  cniast.     A!'>ne  he  did  it 
H-4  rpsiir2a::-^n  mis  tlrve  '.iaTs  ia  thr  hisils  oi  Lord  Lirerpool 
It^ZT^  the  reiT.'.irec  o  ncurTVT.ce  in  his  p^'iv  J  cnuld  be  obtained. 
No  %:':a(k  mie  upo  'nim  :n  o-^Mequen^e  ot  Lis  accepting  the 
PTv=.:cr*hip  nnk't-i  like  E^rl  Gre^R**.     He  was  a^?:  onlv  reason* 
ab!v  arjrr  wiu:   r.:s  a«.i:'iji: :  Le  wis  :::r:rtaj<>cib!v  aagrr  widi 
L:s  :  .mrT  cK'.ia^-es  in  :r:e  Hvxiso  ot  L-rds  :  r  no:  giving  the 
f. :: laz   fir  Liz  i •.;  ^ n  cr^  O.o  :  r. *rac: :  w  ii»: h  u.t  j  cv^u  1  d  not  hare 
•:  --   w::l   .:   tie   consea:    ^:    :!:•.'    *->re7t:,iT:.     He  Lid    snioos 
i*L  >^l*j  ••:    t^lnj  ca'-ex;  :.:  i nco  i^^  :ie  Ur jvr  Hocse :  and  he 
*5.i  '---J  prevented   ::».^ai   niixir.^  Oie  .  x^  meviiskteri  reton  on 
:ir  'i*:  iliT  ,.:"  tl-e  ^tsii.^n  bv  uie  il'.a^-^i*  o:  tie  Sf^-^er.  who, 
Li-vi-j  i::r:  Lis  :*n:o   bv  a  iil!,  was  ;:::ir".e  ro   keep  the  chair. 
Hi'-K  iz--^.   i>\:.'i  .r-^    :    ;  tiiis  scp^r-sse^i  ar^r.  embittered 
"-"  :  *   jL-r^n    »^r.**/   ri  wr-^r.   mv    7-%  :\r    t^   LO'cnt   f»?T   his 
'"'i..    -,  r  i-  ■  Si,  --'    -    m  1  >.  k,'  '«:.::•.    :z  Ti:'!  vi::i:r.:   breaking 
-:.  .-  -  :  ~  1.-.  i  1-  s-^  ;rv  po5^>:s*:  ".     :"  :1. :  ■-\r':r.^  o:;ev:  cl'  his 
in. ..  - .  -  -._r  .  -jj.  !::>.  mi  retires;  iv'  ClLi»  iiik  :o  die. 

Dt 


The  Talmud. 


41^' 


Db  Carthagim  tacere  meUus  est  quam  parum  dicere.  Better  be 
silent  about  the  late  Sir  Robert  Peel  than  cursorily  discuss  a 
career  and  cbaracter,  the  effects  of  which  on  our  political  future^ 
especially  on  the  diaaolution  and  re- formation  of  partiei,  were 
never  more  marked  and  momentous  than  at  this  hour.  Moreover, 
his  literary  executors  announce  that  they  have  valuable  assets 
unnd ministered  in  band  j  and  bis  name  has  been  so  recently  & 
battle-cry,  that  we  should  despair  of  bringing  the  existing  gene- 
ration into  a  state  of  mind  regarding  him  fitted  to  anticipate  the 
impartial  verdict  of  posterity* 


Aet.  v.— 1,   Talmud  Babyhmcum,    Venice,  1520-23.     Folio, 

12  Vols, 
2.  Talmud  Hierosolymitanum,     Venice  [1523],     Folio,     1  Vol* 

XITHAT  is  the  Talmud? 

What  is  the  nature  of  that  strange  production  of  which  the 
name^  imperceptibly  almost,  is  beginning  to  take  its  place  among 
the  household  words  of  Europe  ?  Turn  where  we  may  in  the 
realms  of  modern  learning,  we  seem  to  be  haunted  by  it  Wo 
meet  with  it  in  theology,  in  science,  even  in  general  literature,  in 
their  highways  and  in  their  byways.  Tbere  is  not  a  bandbook  to 
all  or  any  of  the  many  departments  of  biblical  lore,  sacred  geo- 
graphy, Idstory,  chronology,  numismatics,  and  the  rest,  but  its 
rages  contain  references  to  the  Talmud.  The  advocates  of  all  re^ 
ligiiius  opinions  appeal  to  its  dicta*  Nay,  not  only  the  scientific 
jn%*esti gators  of  Judaism  and  Christianity,  but  those  of  Moham* 
medanlsm  and  Zoroastrianism,  turn  to  it  in  their  dissections  of 
dogma  and  legend  and  ceremony.  If,  again,  we  take  up  any  recent 
volume  of  archffiological  or  philological  transactions,  whether  wo 
light  on  a  dissertation  on  a  Phcenicimn  altar,  or  a  cuneiform  tablet, 
Baby  Ionian  wefgbts,  or  Sassanian  coins,  we  are  certain  to  And 
thit  mysterious  word.  Nor  is  it  merely  tlie  restorers  of  the 
lott  idioms  of  Canaan  and  Assyria,  of  Himyar  anfl  Zoroastrian 
Persia,  that  appeal  to  the  Talmud  for  assistance;  but  the  modern 
ichooli  of  Greek  and  Latin  philology  are  beginning  to  avail 
themselves  of  the  classical  and  postclassical  materials  that  lie 
scattered  through  it.  Jurisprudence,  in  its  turn,  bas  been  roused 
to  the  fact  that,  apart  from  the  l>earing  of  tbe  Talmud  on  the 
study  of  the  Pandects  and  the  Institutes,  there  are  also  some  of 
those  very  laws  of  the  '  Me<les  and  Persians ' — hitherto  but  a 
vague  sound — hidden  away  in  its  labyrinths.  And  so  too  with 
ncdicine,  astronomy,  mathematics^  and  the  rest     The  history 


418  Th$  Talmud. 

of  these  sciences,  during  that  period  over  which  the  composition 
of  the  Talmud  ranges — and  it  ranges  over  about  a  thousand  years 
-^can  no  longer  be  written  without  some  reference  to  the  items 
preserved,  as  in  a  vast  buried  city,  in  this  cyclopean  work.  Yet, 
apart  from  the  facts  that  belong  emphatically  to  these  respective 
branches,  it  contains  other  facts,  of  larger  moment  still:  hcta 
bearing  upon  human  culture  in  its  widest  sense.  Day  by  day 
there  are  excavated  from  these  mounds  pictures  of  many  countries 
and  many  periods.  Pictures  of  Hellas  and  Byzantium,  Egypt 
and  Rome,  Persia  and  Palestine ;  of  the  temple  and  the  forum, 
war  and  peace,  joy  and  mourning ;  pictures  teeming  with  life^ 
glowing  with  colour. 

These  are,  indeed,  signs  of  the  times.  A  mighty  change  has 
come  over  us.  We,  children  of  this  latter  age,  are,  above  all 
things,  utilitarian.  We  do  not  read  the  Koran,  the  Zend  Avesta, 
the  Vedas,  with  the  sole  view  of  refuting  them.  We  look  upon 
all  literature,  religious,  legal,  and  otherwise,  whensoever  and 
wheresoever  produced,  as  part  and  parcel  of  humanity.  We^  in  a 
manner,  feel  a  kind  of  responsibility  for  it.  We  seek  to  niider- 
stand  the  phase  of  culture  which  begot  these  items  of  our  inherit- 
ance, the  spirit  that  moves  upon  their  face.  And  while  we  bury 
that  which  is  dead  in  them,  we  rejoice  in  that  which  lives  in 
them.  We  enrich  our  stores  of  knowledge  from  theirs^  we  are 
stirred  by  their  poetry,  we  are  moved  to  high  and  holy  thoughts 
when  they  touch  the  divine  chord  in  our  hearts. 

In  the  same  human  spirit  we  now  speak  of  the  Talmud. 
There  is  even  danger  at  hand  that  this  chivalresque  feeling — 
one  of  the  most  touching  characteristics  of  our  times — which  is 
evermore  prompting  us  to  offer  holocausts  to  the  Manes  of  those 
whom  former  generations  are  thought  to  have  wronged,  may 
lead  to  its  being  extolled  somewhat  beyond  its  merit  As  these 
ever  new  testimonies  to  its  value  crowd  upon  us,  we  might  be 
led  into  exaggerating  its  importance  for  the  history  of  mankind. 
Yet  an  old  adage  of  its  own  says :  '  Above  all  things,  study. 
Whether  for  the  sake  of  learning  or  for  any  other  reason, 
study.  For,  whatever  the  motives  that  impel  you  at  first,  you 
will  very  soon  love  study  for  its  own  sake.'  And  thus  even  ex- 
aggerated expectations  of  the  treasure-trove  in  the  Talmud  will 
have  their  value,  if  they  lead  to  the  study  of  the  work  itself. 

For,  let  us  say  it  at  once,  these  tokens  of  its  existence,  that 
appear  in  many  a  new  publication,  are,  for  the  most  part,  but 
will-o'-the-wisps.  At  first  sight  one  would  fancy  that  there 
never  was  a  book  more  popular,  or  that  formed  more  exclusively 
the  mental  centre  of  modern  scholars,  Orientalists,  theologians, 
or  jurists.     What  is  the  real  truth  ?     Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem, 

there 


T%€  Taimn 


there  never  was  a  book  at  once  more  univerially  ne^flected  and 
more  universally  talked  of*  Well  may  we  forgive  Heine,  when 
we  read  the  g:lowing  description  of  the  Talmud  contained  io  hia 
*  Romancero/  for  never  having  even  seen  the  subject  of  hij 
panegyrics*  Like  his  countryman  Schiller,  who,  pining  vainly 
for  one  glimpse  of  the  Alps,  produced  the  most  glowing  and 
faithful  picture  of  them,  so  he,  with  the  pt>et's  unerring  instinct 
gathered  truth  from  hearsay  and  description.  But  how  many 
of  these  ubiquitous  learned  quotations  really  flow  from  the 
fountain-head  ?  Too  often  and  too  palpably  it  is  merely — to  use 
Samson's  agricultural  simile — those  ancient  and  we  11 -worked 
heifers,  the  *  Tela  ignea  Satanae/  the  '  Abgezogener  Schlangen- 
balg/  and  all  their  venomous  kindred,  which  are  once  more 
being  dragged  to  the  plough  by  some  of  the  learned.  We  say 
the  learnetl :  for  as  to  the  people  at  large,  often  as  they  hear  the 
word  now,  we  firmly  believe  that  numbers  of  them  still  bo]d»  with 
that  erudite  Capucin  friar^  Henricus  Seynensis,  that  the  Talmud 
is  not  a  baok^  but  a  man,  *Ut  narrat  Kabbinus  Talmud' — *  As 
says  Kabbi  Talmud  ' — cries  he,  and  triumphantly  clinches  his 
argument ! 

And  of  tliose  who  know  that  it  is  not  a  Rabbi,  how  many 
are  there  to  whom  it  conveys  any  but  the  vaguest  of  notions  ? 
Who  wrote  it?  What  is  its  bulk?  Its  date?  Its  contents? 
Us  b  i  r  tb  place  ?  Aeon  te  m  pu  rary  I  a  tely  cal  led  i  t  *  a  sph  inx  ^  to  w  ards 
which  all  men's  eyes  are  directed  at  this  hour,  some  with  eager 
curiosity,  some  with  vague  anatiety/  But  why  not  force  open 
its  lips  ?  How  much  longer  are  we  to  live  by  quotations  alone^ 
quotations  a  thousand  times  used,  a  thousand  times  abused  ? 

Where,  however,  are  we  to  look  even  for  primary  instruction  ? 
Where  learn  the  story  of  the  book,  its  place  in  literature,  its 
meaning  and  purport,  and,  above  all,  its  relation  to  ourselves? 

If  we  turn  to  the  time-honoured  '  Authorities,*  we  shall  mostly 
find  that,  in  their  eagerness  to  serve  some  cause,  they  have  torn 
a  few  pieces  off  that  gigantic  living  body  ;  and  they  have  pre* 
sented  to  us  these  ghastly  anatomical  preparations,  twisted  and 
mutilated  out  of  all  shape  and  semblance,  saying,  Behold,  this 
is  the  book  I  Or  they  have  done  worse.  They  have  not  garbled 
their  samples,  but  have  given  them  exactly  as  they  found  them ; 
and  then  stood  aside,  pointing  at  them  wilii  jeering  countenance. 
For  their  samples  were  ludicrous  and  grotesque  beyond  expres- 
sion* But  these  wise  and  pious  investigators  unfortunately  mis- 
took the  gurgoyles,  those  grinning  stone  caricatures  that  mount 
their  thousand  years*  guard  over  our  cathedrals,  for  the  gleaming 
statues  of  the  Saints  within ;  and,  holding  them  up  to  mockery 
I       and  derision,  they  cried,  These  be  thy  gods^  O  Israel  I 

L ^ 


480  TV  ThlmmL 

Let  m  not  be  misanderstoocL  When  we  complain  of  Ae  lack 
of  guides  to  the  Talmud,  we  do  not  wish  to  be  ungratefnl  to 
those  g^reat  and  earnest  scholars  whose  names  are  familiar  to  ererj 
student,  and  whose  labours  have  been  ever  present  to  onr  mind. 
For,  though  in  the  whole  realm  of  learning  there  is  scarcelja 
single  branch  of  study  to  be  compared  for  its  difficulty  to  the 
Talmud,  jet,  if  a  man  had  time,  and  patience,  and  knowledge, 
there  is  absolutely  no  reason  why  he  should  not,  up  and  down 
ancient  and  modem  libraries,  gather  most  excellent  hints  iiom 
essays  and  treatises,  monographs  and  sketches,  in  books  and 
periodicals  without  number,  by  dint  of  which,  aided  bj  the 
study  of  the  work  itself^  he  might  arrive  at  some  conclosion 
as  to  its  essence  and  tendencies,  its  origin  and  its  deyelop- 
ment  Yet,  so  far  as  we  know,  that  work,  every  step  of  which, 
it  must  be  confessed,  is  beset  with  fatal  pitfalls,  has  not  yet 
been  done  for  the  world  at  large.  It  is  for  a  very  good  reason 
that  we  have  placed  nothing  but  the'  name  of  &e  Talmud 
itself  at  the  head  of  our  paper.  We  haye  sought  far  and  near 
for  some  one  special  book  on  the  subject,  which  we  might  make 
the  theme  of  our  observations — a  book  which  should  not  merely 
be  a  garbled  translation  of  a  certain  twelfUi  century  'Intro- 
duction,' interspersed  with  vituperations  and  supplemented  with 
blunders,  but  which  from  the  platform  of  modem  culture  should 
pronounce  impartially  upon  a  production  which,  if  for  no  other 
reason,  claims  respect  through  its  age, — a  book  that  would  lead 
us  through  the  stupendous  labyrinths  of  fact,  and  thought,  and 
fancy,  of  which  the  Talmud  consists,  that  would  rejoice  even  in 
hieroglyphical  fairy-lore,  in  abstruse  propositions  and  syllogisms, 
that  could  forgive  wild  outbursts  of  passion,  and  not  judge 
harshly  and  hastily  of  things,  the  real  meaning  of  which  may 
have  had  to  be  hidden  under  the  fooKs  cap  and  bells. 

We  have  not  found  such  a  book,  nor  anything  approaching  to 
it.  But  closely  connected  with  that  circumstance  is  this  other, 
that  we  were  fain  to  quote  the  first  editions  of  this  Talmud, 
though  scores  have  been  printed  since,  and  about  a  dozen  are 
in  the  press  at  this  vert'  moment.  Even  this  first  edition  was 
printed  in  hot  haste,  and  without  due  care  :  and  every  succeeding 
one,  with  one  or  two  insijrnificant  exceptions,  presents  a  sadder 
spectacle.  In  the  Basle  edition  of  1578 — the  third  in  point  of 
time,  which  has  remained  the  standard  edition  almost  ever  since 
— that  amazing  creature,  the  Censor,  stepped  in.  In  his  .inxiety 
to  protect  the  *  Faitli '  from  all  and  every  danger — for  the 
Talmud  was  supposed  to  hide  bitter  things  against  Christianity 
under  the  most  innocent-looking  words  and  phrases — this  official 
did  very  wonderful  things.     When  he,  for  example,  found  some 

ancient 


The  Talimd, 


431 


aacientHomaQ  in  the  book  swearing  by  the  Capitol  or  bj  Jupiter 
*of  Rome/  his  mind  instantly  misgave  hira.  Surely  this  Roman 
mast  be  a  Christian,  the  Cupitol  the  V^atican,  Jupiter  the  Pope. 
And  forthwith  he  struck  out  Rome  and  substituted  any  other 

Place  be  could  think  of,  A  favourite  spot  seems  to  have  been 
-ersia,  sometimes  it  was  Aram  or  Babeh  So  that  this  worthy 
Roman  may  be  found  unto  this  day  swearing  by  the  Capitol  of 
Persia  or  by  the  Jupiter  of  Aram  and  BabeK  But  whenever 
the  word  '  Gentile '  occurred,  the  Censor  was  seized  with  the 
moat  frantic  terrors,  A  *  Gentile*  could  not  possibly  be  aught 
but  a  Christian  ;  whether  he  lived  in  India  or  in  Athens,  in 
Rome  or  in  Canaan ;  whether  he  was  a  good  Gentile^aad  tlicre 
are  many  such  in  the  Talmud — or  a  wicked  one.  Instantly  he 
christened  him ;  and  christened  Kim,  as  fancy  moved  him^  an 
*  Egyptian/  an  *  Aramjean,'  an  *  Amalekite/  an  VArab/  a  '  Negro  ;* 
sometimes  a  whole  *  people/  We  are  speaking  strictly  to  the 
letter.     All  this  is  extant  in  our  very  last  editions. 

Once  or  twice  attempts  were  made  to  clear  the  text  from 
its  foulest  blemishes.  There  was  even,  about  two  years  ago^  a 
beginning  made  of  a  ^  critical '  edition^  such  as  not  merely  Greek 
and  Roman,  Sanscrit  and  Persian  classics,  but  the  veriest  trash 
written  in  those  languages  would  have  had  ever  so  long  ago. 
And  there  is— M*  Kenan's  unfortunate  remark  to  the  contrary 
notwithslaodiug  * — no  lack  of  Talmudical  MSS.,  however  frag- 
mentary they  be  for  the  mosi  part.  There  are  innumerable  varia- 
tions^ additions,  and  corrections  to  be  gleaned  from  the  Cotlices  at 
the  Bodleian  and  the  Vatican,  in  the  Libraries  of  Odessa,  Munich, 
and  Florencej  Hamburg  and  Heidelberg,  Paris  and  Parma.  But 
an  evil  eye  seems  to  be  upon  this  book.  This  corrected  edition 
remains  a  torso,  like  the  two  first  volumes  of  translations  of  the 
Talmud,  commenced  at  difTerent  periods,  the  second  volumes  of 
which  never  saw  the  light,  It  therefore  seemed  advisable  to 
refer  to  the  Editio  PrincepSj  as  the  one  that  is  at  least  free  from 
the  blemiahesj  censorial  or  typographical,  of  later  ages. 

Well  does  the  Talmud  supplement  the  Horatian  ^  Ha  bent  sua 
fata  li belli/  by  the  words  *even  the  sacred  scrolls  in  the  Taber- 
nacle/ We  really  do  not  wonder  that  the  good  Capucin  of  whom 
we  tpoke  mistook  it  for  a  mam  Ever  since  it  existed — almost 
before  it  existed  in  a  palpable  shape — it  has  been  treated  much 
like  a  human  being.  It  has  been  proscribed,  and  imprisoned, 
and  burnti  a  hundred  times  over.  From  Justinian,  who,  as 
early  m  553  a,d,j  honoured  it  by  a  special  interdictory  Novel]a,t 

*  *  On  m\i  <pll  tie  refite  aueun  mimascrlt  dn  Talmud  pour  coQtr6Ier  Iss  dditloai 

t  Novella  14G,  n«pl  %fiptiiitv  (addreBfed  to  the  Pnefectus  PrBctorio  Afeobiudijs), 

down 


422  Ths  Talmud. 

down  to  Clement  VIII.  and  later — a  space  of  orer  a  thousand 
years — both  the  secular  and  the  spiritual  powers,  kings  and 
emperors,  popes  and  anti-popes,  vied  with  each  other  in  hurling 
anathemas  and  bulls  and  edicts  of  wholesale  confiscation  and 
conflagration  against  this  luckless  book.  Thus,  within  a 
period  of  less  than  fifty  years — and  these  forming  the  latter 
half  of  the  sixteenth  century — it  was  publicly  burnt  no  less  than 
six  different  times,  and  that  not  in  single  copies,  but  wholesale, 
by  the  waggon-load.  Julius  III.  issued  his  proclamation  against 
what  he  grotesquely  calls  the  'Gemaroth  Thalmud'  in  1553 
and  1555,  Paul  IV.  in  1559,  Pius  V.  in  1566,  Clement  VIII.  in 
1592  and  1599.  The  fear  of  it  was  great  indeed.  Even  Pius  IV., 
in  giving  permission  for  a  new  edition,  stipulated  expressly  that 
it  should  appear  without  the  name  Talmud.  'Si  tamen  pro- 
dicrit  sine  nomine  Thalmud  tolerari  deberet'  It  almost  seems 
to  have  been  a  kind  of  Shibboleth,  by  which  every  new  poten- 
tate had  to  prove  the  rigour  of  his  faith.  And  very  rigorous  it 
must  have  been,  to  judge  by  the  language  which  even  the  highest 
dignitaries  of  the  Church  did  not  disdain  to  use  at  times.  Thus 
Honorius  IV.  writes  to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  in  1286 
anent  that  Mamnable  book'  {liber  damnalnlis)^  admonishing 
him  gravely  and  desiring  him  Vehemently'  to  see  that  it  be 
not  read  by  anybody,  since  *all  other  evils  flow  out  of  it' — 
Verily  these  documents  are  sad  reading,  only  relieved  occasion- 
ally by  some  wild  blunder  that  lights  up  as  with  one  flash  the 
abyss  of  ignorance  regarding  this  object  of  wrath. 

We  remember  but  one  sensible  exception  in  this  Babel  of 
manifestoes.  Clement  V.,  in  1307,  before  condemning  the  book, 
wished  to  know  something  of  it,  and  there  was  no  one  to  tell 
him.  Whereupon  he  proposed — but  in  language  so  obscure 
that  it  left  the  door  open  for  many  interpretations — that  three 
chairs  be  founded,  for  Hebrew,  Chaldee,  and  Arabic,  as  the 
three  tongues  nearest  to  the  idiom  of  the  Talmud.  The  spots 
chosen  by  him  were  the  Universities  of  Paris,  Salamanca, 
Bologna,  and  Oxford.  In  time,  he  hoped,  one  of  these  Univer- 
sities might  be  able  to  produce  a  translation  of  this  mysterious 
book.  Need  we  say  that  this  consummation  never  came  to 
pass  ?  The  more  expeditious  process  of  destruction  was  resorted 
to  again  and  again  and  again,  not  merely  in  the  single  cities  of 
Italy  and  France,  but  throughout  the  entire  Holy  Roman 
Empire. 

At  length  a  change  took  place  in  Germany.  One  Pfeflerkom, 
a  miserable  creature  enough,  began,  in  the  time  of  the  Emperor 
Maximilian,  to  agitate  for  a  new  decree  for  the  extermination  of 
the  Talmud.    The  Emperor  lay  with  his  hosts  before  Pavia,  when 

the 


Tf^  Talmud. 


4S» 


the  evil-toEgued  messenger  arrived  in  the  camp,  furnished  with 
gocKlly   letters   by   Kunigunde,   the    Emp<?ror*s   beautiful   sister. 
Maximilian,    wearied    and    unsuspecting,    renewed    that    time- 
honoured  decree  for  a  confiscatiooj  to  be  duly  followed  by  a  con- 
flagration, readily  enough.     The  confiscation  was  conscientiously 
carried  out,  for  PfefTerkorn  knew  well  enough  where  his  former 
co-religionists  kept  their  books.     But  a  conf!  a  juration  of  a  very 
different  kind  ensued-     Step  by  step,  hour  by  hour,  the  German 
Kefortnation  was  drawing  nearer*     Reuchlin,  the  most  eminent 
Hellenist  and  Hebraist  of  his  time,  had  been  nominated  to  sit  oa 
the  Committee  which  wa#  to  lend  its  learned  authority  to  the  Em- 
peror s  decree-    But  he  did  not  relish  this  trisk*    '  He  dtd  not  like 
th«  look  of  Pfefferkorn,'  he  says*    Besides  which,  he  was  a  learned 
and   an  honest  man,  and,  having"  been  the  restorer  of  classical 
Greek  in  Germany,  he  did  not  care  to  participate  in  the  whole- 
sale murder  of  a    book  'written   by  Christ's  nearest  relations** 
Perhaps  he  saw  the  cunningly-laid  trap.     He  had   long  been  a 
tbom  in  the  flesh  of  many  of  his  contemporaries,     His  Hebrew 
labours  had  been  looked  upon  with  bitter  jealousy,  if  not  fear* 
Nothing  less  was  contemplated  in   those  days — the  theological 
Faculty  of  Mayence  demandetl  it  openly— than  a  total  *  Revision 
and  Correction'  of  the  Hebrew  Bible,  *  inasmuch  as  it  differed 
from  the  Vulgate.'     Reuchlin,  on  his  part,  never  lost  an  oppor* 
tunity   of  proclaiming   the    high    importance   of   the    *  Hebrew 
Truth,'  as  he  emphatically  called  it.     His  enemies  thought  that 
one  of  two  things  would  follow.     By  officially  pronouncing  upon 
the  Talmud,  he  was  sure  either  to  commit  himself  dangerously 
— and  then  a  speedy  end  would  be  made  of  him — or  to  set  at 
naught,   to  a  certain   extent,    his    own  previous  judgments   in 
iavour   of  these   studies.      He   declined   the   proposal,    saying, 
honestly  enough^  tliat  he  knew  nothing  of  the  book,  and  that 
he  was  not  aware  of  the  existence  of  many  who  knew  anything 
of  iL     Least  of  all   did  its  detractors  know  it.     But,  he  con- 
tinued, even  if  it  should  contain  attacks  on  Christianity,  would 
it  not   be    preferable  to   reply  to   them  ?      *  Burning  is    but  a 
mffianly  argument  {Bacchanteri-Arfpimenty     Whereupon  a  wild 
outcry  was  raised  against  him  as   a  Jew,  a  Ju<laizer,  a  bribed 
renegade,  and  so  on,     Reuchlin,  nothing  daunted,  set  to  work 
upon  the  book  in  his  patient  hard-working  manner.     Next  he 
wrote  a  brilliant  defence  of  it     When  the  Emperor  asked  his 
opinion,   he  repeated   Clement's   proposal   to  found   talmndical 
chairs.     At  each  German  university  there  should  be  two  pro- 
fessors,  specially  appointed  for  the  sole    purpose   of   enabling 
students  to  become  acquainted  with   this  Ixijik.     '  As  to  bum* 
ing  it,*  he  continues,  in  the  famous  Memorial  addressed  to  the 


Vol,  123,— iVi?,  246. 


2f 


Em^tot, 


iS4  2%i  JhhmuL 

Emperor,  *  if  tome  fool  came  and  said,  Most  migl&Qr  Emperor! 
your  Majesty  should  really  suppress  and  bum  the  books  of 
alchymy  (a  fine  ar^mentum  ad  hominem)  because  they  contaiii 
blasphemous,  wicked,  and  absurd  things  against  our  faith,  what 
should  his  Imperial  Majesty  reply  to  such  a  buf&lo  or  an  but 
this:  Thou  art  a  ninny,  rather  to  be  laughed  at  than  followed? 
Now  because  his  feeble  head  cannot  enter  into  the  depths  of 
a  science,  and  cannot  conceiye  it,  and  does  understand  things 
otherwise  than  they  really  are,  would  you  deem  it  fit  to  ixm 
such  books?' 

Fiercer  and  fiercer  waxed  the  howl,  a(^  Reuchlin,  the  peaceful 
student,  from  a  witness  became  a  delinquent  What  he  sufiered 
for  and  through  the  Talmud  cannot  be  told  here.  Far  and  wide, 
all  oyer  Europe,  the  contest  raged.  A  whole  literature  of 
pamphlets,  flying  sheets,  caricatures,  sprang  up.  Uniyeisity 
after  uniyersity  was  appealed  to  against  him.  No  leas  than 
forty-seyen  sittings  were  held  by  the  theological  Facuky  of 
Paris,  which  ended  by  their  formal  amdemnation  of  Reqchlin. 
But  he  was  not  left  to  fight  alone.  Around  him  rallied,  one  by  one^ 
Duke  Ulrich  of  Wurtemberg,  the  Elector  Frederick  of  Suooy, 
Ulrich  Ton  Hutten,  Franz  yon  Sickingen — he  who  finally  made 
the  Colognians  pay  their  costs  in  the  Reuchlin  trial  ^-Eias- 
mus  of  Rotterdam,  and  that  whole  brilliant   phalanx    of   die 

*  Knights  of  the  Holy  Ghost,'  the  « Hosts  of  Pkllas  Athene,*  the 

*  Taimuiphiliy  as  the  documents  of  the  period  variously  style 
them  :  they  whom  we  call  the  Humanists. 

And  their  Palladium  and  their  War-cry  was— oh  1  wondrous 
ways  of  History — the  Talmud  !  To  stand  up  for  Reuchlin  meant, 
to  them,  to  stand  up  for  '  the  Law ;'  to  fight  for  the  Talmud  wis 
^^  ./V^^  for  the  Church  t  *  \on  te/  writes  Egidio  de  Viterbo  to 
Reuchlin,  'sed  Le^em :  non  Thalmud^  scd  Eccksiam!^ 

The  rest  of  the  story  is  written  in  the  '  Epistoke  Obscu« 
rorum  Virorum,'  and  in  the  early  pages  of  the  German  Reforma- 
tion. The  Talmud  was  not  burnt  this  time.  On  the  contrar}', 
its  first  complete  edition  was  printed.  And  in  that  same  year  of 
Grace  1520  a.d.,  when  this  first  eilition  went  through  the  press  at 
Venice,  Martin  Luther  burnt  the  Pope's  bull  at  Wittenberg. 

What  is  the  Talmud  ? 

Again  the  question  rises  before  us  in  its  whole  formidable 
shape ;  a  question  which  no  one  has  yet  answered  satisfactorily. 
And  we  labour  in  this  place  under  more  than  one  disadyantagt^ 
For,  quite  apart  from  the  difficulties  of  explaining  a  work  so 
utterly  Eastern,  antique,  and  thoroughly  sui  generis^  to  our  modem 
Western  readers,  in  the  space  of  a  few  pages,  we  labour  under 

the 


The  Talmud. 


4S5 


the  further  disability  of  not  being  able  to  refer  to  the  work  itself. 
Would  it  not  indeed  be  mere  affectation  to  presuppose  more  than 
the  vag^uest  acquaintance  with  its  language  or  even  its  uRme  In 
01  any  of  our  readers?  And  while  we  would  fain  enlarge  upon 
such  points  as  a  coniparison  between  the  law  laid  down  in  it  with 
ours,  iir  with  the  contemporary  Greek,  Roman,  antl  Persian  Laws, 
or  tlaose  of  Islam,  or  even  with  its  own  fundamental  Code,  the 
Mosaic :  while  we  would  trace  a  number  of  its  ethical,  ceremonial, 
and  doctrinal  points  in  Zoroastrianism,  in  Christianity,  in  Mo- 
hammedanism ;  a  vast  deal  of  its  metaphysics  and  philosophy  in 
PlatOj  Aristotle,  the  Pythag^oreans,  the  NeoplatonistSj  and  the 
Gnostics — not  to  mention  Spinoza  and  tlie  SchelUngs  of  our  own 
day  ;  much  of  its  medicine  in  Hippocrates  and  Galen,  and  the 
Paracelsuses  of  but  a  few  centuries  ago — we  shall  scarcely  be  able 
to  do  more  than  to  I  ay  a  few  disjecta  membra  of  these  tbiogs 
before  our  readers.  We  cannot  even  aketcb,  in  all  its  bearings, 
that  sing'ular  mental  movement  which  caused  the  best  spirits 
of  an  entire  nation  to  concentrate,  in  spite  of  op|x>sitlon,  all 
their  energies  for  a  thousand  years  upon  the  writing,  and  for 
another  thousand  years  upon  the  commenting,  of  this  one  book. 
Omitting  all  detail,  which  it  has  cost  much  to  gather,  and 
more  to  suppress^  we  shall  merely  tell  of  its  develoiiment,  of 
the  schools  in  which  it  grew,  of  the  tribunals  which  judged 
by  it,  of  some  of  the  men  that  set  their  seal  on  it  We  shall 
also  introduce  a  summary  of  its  law%  speak  of  its  metaphysics, 
of  its  moral  philosophy,  and  quote  many  of  its  proverbs  and 
saws — the  truest  of  all  gauj^fes  of  a  time. 

We  shall,  perhaps,  be  obliged  occasionally  to  appeal  to  some 
of  die  extraneous  topics  just  mentioneth  The  Talmud,  like  every 
other  phenomenon,  in  order  to  become  comprehensible,  should 
be  considered  only  in  connection  with  thing^s  of  a  similar  kind: 
a  fact  almost  entirely  overlooked  to  this  day.  Being  emphati- 
callj  a  Corpus  Juris,  an  encyclopiEdia  of  Jaw,  civil  and  penal^ 
ecclesiastical  and  international,  human  and  divine,  it  may  best 
be  judged  by  analogy  and  comparison  with  other  legal  codet| 
more  especially  with  the  Justinian  Code  and  its  Commentaries. 
What  the  uninitiated  have  taken  for  exceptional  *  Rabbinical ' 
liubtleties^  or^  in  matters  relating  to  the  sexes,  for  gross  offences 
f  against  modern  taste,  will  then  cause  the  Talmud  to  stand  out  rather 
favourably  than  otherwise.  The  Pandects  and  the  Institutes,  the 
Novella^  and  the  Responsa  Prudent  in  m  should  thus  be  constantly 
I  consulted  and  compared.  No  less  should  our  English  law,  as  laid 
down  in  Black  stone,  wherein  we  may  see  how  the  most  varied 
views  of  right  and  wrong  have  bet^n  finally  blendetl  and  har- 
monised with  the  spirit  of  our  times.     But  the  Talmud  is  more 

2  F  2  ibftsv 


426  The  Talmud. 

than  a  Book  of  Laws.  It  is  a  microcosm,  embracing,  eren  as 
does  the  Bible,  heaven  and  earth.  It  is  as  if  all  the  prose  and 
the  poetrj,  the  science,  the  faith  and  speculation  of  the  Old 
World  were,  though  only  in  faint  reflectimis,  bound  up  in  it 
in  nuce.  Comprising  the  time  from  the  rise  to  the  fidl  of 
antiquity,  and  a  good  deal  of  its  after-glow,  the  history  and 
cnilturc  of  antiquity  have  to  be  considered  in  their  various 
stages.  But,  above  all,  it  is  necessary  to  transport  oorsdvesi 
following  Goethe's  advice,  to  its  birthplace — Palestine  and 
Babylon — the  gorgeous  East  itself,  where  all  things  glow  in 
brighter  colours,  and  grow  into  more  fantastic  shapes :— - 

'  Willst  den  Dichter  du  verstehen, 
Hnssi  in  Dichter's  Lande  gehen.' 

The  origin  of  the  Talmud  is  coeval  with  the  return  from 
the  Babylonish  captivity.  One  of  the  most  mjrsterious  and 
momentous  periods  in  the  history  of  humanity  is  that  brief 
space  of  the  Exile.  What  were  the  influences  brought  to  bear 
upon  the  captives  during  that  time,  we  know  not  But  this 
we  know,  that  from  a  reckless,  lawless,  godless  populace,  they 
returned  transformed  into  a  band  of  Puritans.  The  religion  <^ 
S^rdusht,  though  it  has  left  its  traces  in  Judaism,  fails  to 
account  for  that  change.  Nor  does  the  Exile  itself  account  fiir 
it  Many  and  intense  as  are  the  reminiscences  of  its  bitterness, 
and  of  yearning  for  home,  that  have  survived  in  prayer  and  in 
song,  yet  we  know  that  when  the  hour  of  liberty  struck  the  forced 
colonists  were  loth  to  return  to  the  land  of  their  fathers.  Yet 
the  change  is  there,  palpable,  unmistakable — a  change  which  we 
may  regard  as  almost  miraculous.  Scarcely  aware  before  of 
the  existence  of  their  glorious  national  literature,  the  people 
now  began  to  press  round  these  brands  plucked  from  the  fire 
— the  scanty  records  of  their  faith  and  history — with  a  fierce 
and  passionate  love,  a  love  stronger  even  than  that  of  wife  and 
child.  These  same  documents,  as  they  were  g^dually  formed 
into  a  canon,  became  the  immutable  centre  of  their  lives,  their 
actions,  their  thoughts,  their  very  dreams.  From  that  time 
forth,  with  scarcely  any  intermission,  the  keenest  as  well  as 
the  most  poetical  minds  of  the  nation  remained  fixed  upon  them. 
*  Turn  it  and  turn  it  again,'  says  the  Talmud,  with  regard  to  the 
Bible,  *  for  everything  is  in  it'  *  Search  the  Scriptures,'  is  the 
distinct  utterance  of  the  New  Testament. 

'^The  natural  consequence  ensued.  Gradually,  imperceptibly 
almost,  from  a  mere  expounding  and  investigation  for  purposes 
of  edification  or  instruction  on  some  special  point,  this  activity 
begot  a  science,  a  science  that  assumed  the  very  widest  dimen- 
sions. 


tions.  Its  tecbnical  name  is  already  contained  in  tlie  Book  of 
Chronicles.  It  is  *Midrasb'  (from  darash^  to  study,  expound) — ■ 
a  term  which  the  Authorised  Version  reoders  by  '  Story,*  • 

There  is  scarcely  a  more  fruitful  source  of  misconceptions  upon 
this  subject  than  the  liquid  nature,  so  to  speak,  of  its  technical 
terms.  They  mean  anything  and  everything-,  at  once  most 
general  and  most  special.  Nearly  all  of  them  signify  in  the  first 
instance  simply  *  study/  Next  they  arc  used  for  some  one  very 
Special  branch  of  this  study*  Then  they  indicate,  at  times  a 
peculiar  method,  at  others  the  wnrks  which  have  grown  out  of 
these  either  g^eneral  or  special  mental  labours.  Thus  Midrash,  from 
the  abstract  '  expounding,' came  to  be  applied,  first  to  tlie  'expo* 
sition '  itself — e%'en  as  our  terms  '  work,^  'investigation,'  ^enquiry/ 
imply  both  process  and  product ;  and  finally,  as  a  special  branch 
of  exposition— the  legendary — was  more  popular  than  the  rest,  to 
this  one  branch  only  and  to  the  books  that  chiefly  represented  it 

For  there  had  sprung  up  almost  innumerable  modes  of  *  search- 
ing the  Scriptures/  In  the  quaintly  ingenious  manner  of  the 
times,  four  of  the  chief  methods  were  found  in  the  Persian  word 
Paradise,  spelt  in  vowel  less  Semitic  fashion,  PRDS.  Each  one  of 
these  mysterious  letters  was  taken,  mnemonically,  as  the  initial  of 
some  technical  word  that  indicated  one  of  these  four  methods. 
The  one  called  P  {^peshut]  aimed  at  the  simple  understanding  of 
words  and  things^  in  accordance  with  the  primary  exegetical 
law  of  the  Talmud,  '  that  no  verse  of  the  Scripture  ever  prac- 
tically travelled  beyond  its  literal  meaning/ — though  it  might  be 
explained,  homiletically  and  otherwise,  in  innumerable  new  ways. 
The  second,  R  [r^me^],  means  Hint,  i.e.  the  discovery  of  the 
indications  contained  in  certain  seemingly  superfluous  letters 
and  signs  in  Scripture,  These  were  taken  to  refer  to  laws  not 
distint tly  mentioned,  but  either  existing  traditionally  or  newly 
promulgated.  This  method,  when  more  generally  applied,  begot 
a  kind  of  rmmoria  technka^  a  stenography  akin  to  the  '  Nota- 
rikon  *  of  the  Romans.  Points  and  notes  were  added  to  the 
margins  of  scriptural  MSS*,  and  the  foundation  of  the  Massomh, 
or  diplomatic  preservation  of  the  text,  was  thus  laid^  The  third, 
D  [darmO]^  was  homiletic  application  of  that  which  bad  been  to 
that  which  was  and  would  be,  of  prophetical  and  historical  dicta 
to  the  actual  condition  of  things.  It  was  a  jieculiar  kind  of 
sermon,  with  all  the  aids  of  dialectics  and  poetry,  of  parable, 
gnome,  proverb,  legend,  and  the  rest,  exactly  as  we  find  it  in 
the  New  Testament  The  fourthj  S,  stood  for  «M,  secret,  mystery. 
This  was  the  Secret  Science,  into  which  but  few  were  initiated. 

•  See  2  Chron,  xiii.  22,  xxiv.  27, 

It 


428  ne  Talnwd. 

It  was  theosophy,  metaphysics,  angelology,  a  host  of  wild  and 
glowing  visions  of  things  beyond  earth.  Faint  echoes  of  this 
science  survive  in  Neoplatonism,  in  Gnosticism,  in  the  Kab- 
balah, in  *  Hermes  Trismegistus.'  But  few  were  initiated  into 
these  things  of  *The  Creation'  and  of  'The  Chariot,'  as  it 
was  also  called,  in  allusion  to  Ezekiel's  vision.  Yet  here  again 
the  power  of  the  vague  and  mjrsterious  was  so  strong,  that  the 
word  Paradise  g^dually  indicated  diis  last  branch,  the  secret 
science,  only.  Later,  in  Gnosticism,  it  came  to  mean  the 
*  Spiritual  Christ* 

There  is  a  weird  story  in  the  Talmud,  which  has  given  rise  to 
the  wildest  explanations,  but  which  will  become  intelligible  by 
the  foregoing  lines.  '  Four  men/  it  says,  '  entered  Paradise. 
One  beheld  and  died.  One  beheld  and  lost  his  senses.  One 
destroyed  the  young  plants.  One  only  entered  in  peace  and  came 
out  in  peace.* — The  names  of  all  four  are  given.  They  are  all 
exalted  masters  of  the  law.  The  last  but  one,  he  who  destroyed 
the  young  plants,  is  Eiisha  ben  Abuyah,  the  Faust  of  the  Talmud, 
who,  while  sitting  in  the  academy,  at  the  feet  of  his  teachers,  to 
study  the  law,  kept  the  ^  profane  books  '—of  *  Homeros,'  to  wit, 
hidden  in  his  garment,  and  from  whose  mouth  *  Greek  songs' 
never  ceased  to  flow.  How  he,  notwithstanding  his  early  scepti- 
cism, rapidly  rises  to  eminence  in  that  same  law,  finally  falls 
away  and  becomes  a  traitor  and  an  outcast,  and  his  very  name 
a  thing  of  unutterable  horror — ^how,  one  day  (it  was  the  great 
day  of  atonement)  he  passes  the  ruins  of  the  temple,  and  hears 
a  voice  within  *  murmuring  like  a  dove ' — *  all  men  shall  be 
forgiven  this  day  save  Eiisha  ben  Abuyah,  who,  knowing  me,  has 
betrayed  me ' — how,  after  his  death,  the  flames  will  not  cease 
to  hover  over  his  grave,  until  his  one  faithful  disciple,  the  *  Light 
of  the  Law,'  MiKr,  throws  himself  over  it,  swearing  a  holy  oath 
that  he  will  not  partake  of  the  joys  of  the  world  to  come  with- 
out his  beloved  master,  and  that  he  will  not  move  from  that  spot 
until  his  master^s  soul  shall  have  found  grace  and  salvation 
before  the  Throne  of  Mercy — all  this  and  a  number  of  other 
incidents  form  one  of  the  most  stirring  poetical  pictures  of  the 
whole  Talmud.  The  last  of  the  four  is  Akiba,  the  most  exalted, 
most  romantic,  and  most  heroic  character  perhaps  in  that  vast 
gallery  of  the  learnrd  of  his  time;  he  who,  in  the  last  revolt 
under  Trajan  and  Hadrian,  expiated  his  patriotic  rashness  at 
the  hands  of  the  Roman  executioners,  and — the  legend  adds — 
whoso  soul  fled  just  when,  in  his  last  ajjony,  his  mouth  cried  out 
tlio  LiNt  word  of  the  confession  of  God's  unity  : — *  Hear,  O  Israel, 
the  Lord  our  God  is  One,* 

The  Talmud  is  the  storehouse  of  ^Midrash,'  in  its  widest 

sense, 


seme,  and  in  all  its  branches.  What  we  said  of  the  fluctuation 
of  terms  applies  emphatically  also  to  this  word  Talmud,  It 
means,  in  the  first  instanre,  nothing  but  '  study,'  '  learning/ 
from  lamad,  to  learn  ;  next,  indicntlag  a  special  method  of  *  learn- 
ing^ '  or  rather  arguing^  it  finally  became  the  name  of  the  great 
Corpus  Juris  of  Judaism, 

When  we  speak  of  the  Talmud  as  a  legal  code^  we  trust  we 
shall  not  be  understood  too  literally.  It  resembles  about  as  much 
what  we  generally  understand  by  that  name  as  a  primeval  forest 
resembles  a  Dutch  garden. 

Nothing  indeed  can  equal  the  state  of  utter  amazement  into 
which  the  inudem  investigator  finds  himself  plunged  at  the  first 
sight  of  these  luxuriant  talmudical  wildernesses.  Schooled  in 
the  harmonising,  methodising  systems  of  the  West^ — systems  that 
condense,  and  arrange,  and  classify,  and  give  everything  its  fitting 
place  and  its  fitting  piisition  in  that  place — ^he  feels  almost  stupe- 
fied here.  The  language,  the  stjle,  the  method,  the  very  sequence 
of  things  (a  sequence  that  often  appears  as  logical  as  our  dreams), 
the  amazingly  varied  nature  of  these  things — everything  seems 
tangled,  confused,  chaotic.  It  is  only  after  a  time  that  the 
student  learas  to  distinguish  between  two  mighty  currents  in 
tlie  book — currents  that  at  times  flow  parallel,  at  times  seem  to 
work  upon  each  other,  and  to  impede  each  other's  action  :  the 
one  emanating  from  the  brain,  the  other  from  the  heart^ — the  one 
Prose,  the  other  Poetry, — the  one  carrying  with  it  all  those  mental 
faculties  that  manifest  themselves  in  arguing^  investigating,  com-* 
piring,  developingj  bringing  a  thousand  points  to  bear  ujxm  one 
and  one  upon  a  thousand  ^  ^e  other  springing  from  the  realms 
of  fancy,  of  imagination,  feeling,  humour,  and  above  all  from 
that  precious  combination  of  still,  almost  sad,  pensiveness  with 
quick  catholic  sympathies,  which  in  German  is  called  GemWu 
These  two  currents  the  Mid  rash,  in  its  various  aspects,  had  caused 
to  set  in  the  direction  of  the  Bible,  and  they  soon  found  in  it 
two  vast  fields  for  the  display  of  all  their  power  and  energy. 
The  logical  faculties  turned  to  the  legal  portions  in  Exodus, 
Leviticus,  Deuteronomy — developing,  seeking,  and  solving  a 
thousand  real  or  apparent  difficulties  and  contradictions  with 
what,  as  tradition^  had  been  living  in  the  hearts  and  mouths  of  the 
people  from  time  immemorial.  The  other  —  the  imaginative 
faculties — took  possession  of  the  prophetical,  ethical,  historical, 
and,  quaintly  enough,  sometimes  even  of  the  legal  p>rtions  of  the 
Bible,  and  transformed  the  whole  into  a  vast  series  of  themes 
almost  musical  in  their  wonderful  and  capricious  variations.  The 
first- named  is  called  'Halachah'  {Rule^  Norm)  a  term  applied 
both  to  the  process  of  evolving  legal  enactments  and  the  enact- 

mentJi 


L 


430  Tim  TahmuL 

ments  themselves.  The  other,  'Haggadah'  {Legend^  Saga)  not 
so  much  in  our  modern  sense  of  the  word,  though  a  great  part 
of  its  contents  comes  under  that  head,  but  because  it  was  only 
a  ^saying/  a  thing  without  authority,  a  play  of  fancy,  an 
allegory,  a  parable,  a  tale,  that  pointed  a  moral  and  illus- 
trated a  question,  that  smoothed  the  billows  of  fierce  debate, 
roused  the  slumbering  attention,  and  was  generally — ^to  use  its 
own  phrase — a  *  comfort  and  a  blessing.' 

The  Talmud,  which  is  composed  of  these  two  elements,  the  legal 
and  the  legendary,  is  divided  into  MiSHNAH  and  GekaRA:  two 
terms  again  of  uncertain,  shifting  meaning.  Originally  indicating, 
like  the  technical  words  mentioned  alreeuly,  '  study,'  they  both 
became  terms  for  special  studies,  and  indicated  special  works. 
The  Mishnah,  from  shanah  {tana\  to  learn,  to  repeat,  has  been 
of  old  translated  Bevripwai^,  second  law.  But  this  derivation, 
correct  as  it  seems  literally,  is  incorrect  in  the  first  instance. 
It  simply  means  *  Learning,'  like  Gemara,  which,  besides,  indi- 
cates *  complement '  to  the  Mishnah — itself  a  complement  to  the 
Mosaic  code,  but  in  such  a  manner  diat,  in  developing  and 
enlarging,  it  supersedes  it  The  Mishnah,  on  its  own  part  again, 
forms  a  kind  of  text  to  which  the  Gemara  is  not  so  mudi  a 
Bcholion  as  a  critical  expansion.  The  Pentateuch  remains  in  all 
cases  the  background  and  latent  source  of  the  Mishnah.  Bat  it  is 
the  business  of  the  Gemara  to  examine  into  the  legitimacy  and 
correctness  of  this  Mishnic  development  in  single  instances.  The 
Pentateuch  remained  under  all  circumstances  the  immutable^ 
divinely  given  constitution,  ilie  tcritten  law :  in  contradistinction 
to  it,  the  Mishnah,  together  with  the  Gemara,  was  called 
the  oral,  or  'Unwritten'  law,  not  unlike  the  unwritten  Greek 
^VrjrpaLy  the  Roman  '  Lex  Non  Scripta,'  the  Sunnah,  or  our  own 
Common  Law. 

There  are  few  chapters  in  the  whole  History  of  Jurisprudence 
more  obscure  than  the  origin,  development,  and  completion 
of  this  'Oral  Law.'  There  must  have  existed,  from  the 
very  beginning  of  the  Mosaic  law,  a  number  of  corollary  laws, 
which  explained  in  detail  most  of  the  rules  broadly  laid  down 
in  it.  Apart  from  these,  it  was  but  natural  that  the  enact- 
ments of  that  primitive  Council  of  the  Desert,  the  Elders,  and 
their  successors  in  each  period,  together  with  the  verdicts  issued 
by  the  later  'judges  within  the  gates,'  to  whom  the  Pentateuch 
distinctly  refers,  should  have  become  precedents,  and  been  handed 
down  as  such.  Apocryphal  writings — notably  the  fourth  book  of 
Ezra — not  to  mention  Pliilo  and  the  Church  Fathers,  speak 
of  fabulous  numbers  of  books  tliat  had  been  given  to  Moses 
together  with  the  Pentateuch  :  thus  indicating  the  common  belief 

in 


The  Talmud. 


431 


in  the  divine  origin  r>f  the  supplementary  laws  ibat  had  eristed 
among  the  people  from  time  imnfiemorial,  Jewish  tradition 
traces  the  bulk  of  the  oral  injunctions^  through  a  chain  of 
distinctly-named  authorities,  to  'Sinai*  itself.  It  mentions 
in  detail  how  Moses  tommunicated  those  minutiae  of  his  legis- 
lation,  In  which  he  had  been  instructed  during  the  mysterious 
forty  days  and  nights  on  the  Mount,  to  the  cliosen  guides  of 
the  people,  in  such  a  manner  that  they  should  for  ever  remain 
engraven  on  the  tablets  of  their  hearts, 

A  long  space  intervenes  between  the  Mosaic  period  and 
that  of  the  Mishnah.  The  ever  growing  wants  of  the  ever 
disturbed  commonwealth  necessitated  new  law^s  and  regulations 
at  every  turn-  A  difficulty,  however,  arose,  unknown  to  other 
legislations.  In  despotic  states  a  decree  is  issued^  promulgating 
the  new  law.  In  c*mstitutional  states  a  Bill  is  brought  in. 
The  supreme  authority,  if  it  finds  it  meet  and  right  to  make 
this  uiiw  lawj  makes  it.  The  case  was  different  in  the  Jewish 
eomm  on  wealth  of  the  post-exilian  times*  Among  the  things 
that  were  irredeemably  h>st  with  tlie  first  temple  were  the  '  Urim 
and  Thummim  '  of  the  high- priest — the  oracle*  With  Malachi 
the  last  prophet  had  died.  Both  for  the  promulgation  of  a  new 
law  and  the  abrogation  of  an  old  one,  a  higher  sanction  was 
requisite  than  a  mere  majority  of  the  legislative  council.  The 
new  act  must  be  proved,  directly  or  indirectly,  from  the  *  Word  of 
God  ' — proved  to  have  been  promulgated  by  the  Supreme  King — 
hidden  and  bound  up,  as  it  were,  in  its  very  letters  from  the  he- 
ginning.  This  was  not  easy  in  all  cases;  especially  when  a 
certain  number  of  hermeneutical  rules,  not  unlike  those  usecl 
in  the  Roman  schools  (inferences,  conclusions  from  the  minor 
to  the  major  and  vAce  versd^  analogies  of  ideas  or  objects,  general 
and  special  statements,  Slc,)^  had  come  to  be  laid  down. 

Apart  from  the  new  laws  requisite  at  sudden  emergencies, 
there  were  many  of  those  old  traditional  onesj  for  which  the  point 
d'appui  had  to  be  found,  when,  as  established  legal  matters, 
they  came  before  the  critical  e}e  of  the  schools.  And  these 
schools  themselves,  in  their  ever  restless  activity,  evohcd  new 
laws,  according  to  their  logical  rules,  even  when  they  were  not 
practically  wanted  nor  likely  ever  to  come  into  practical  use— 
simply  as  a  matter  of  science.  Hence  there  is  a  double  action 
perceptible  in  this  legal  development.  Either  the  scriptural 
verse  forms  the  tcrnunus  a  quo^  or  the  terminus  ad  qmm.  It  is 
either  the  starting  point  lor  a  discussion  which  ends  in  the 
production  of  some  new  enactment ;  or  some  new  enactment,  or 
one  never  before  investigated,  is  traced  hack  to  the  divine  source 
by  an  outward  '  hint,*  however  insignificant. 

This 


43S  TheThlnML 

This  prooeM  of  evolving  new  precepts  from  old  ones  bj 
'signs,' — a  word  curioaslj  enough  used  also  by  Blackstooe  in 
his  ^  development '  of  the  law — may  in  some  instances  have  been 
applied  with  too  much  freedom.  Yet,  while  the  Talmudical 
Code  practically  differs  from  the  Mosaic  as  much  as  oar  Digest 
will  some  day  differ  from  the  laws  of  the  time  of  Canute,  and  as 
the  Justinian  Code  differs  from  the  Twelve  Tables,  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  these  fundamental  laws  have  in  all  cases  been  con- 
sulted, carefully  and  impartially  as  to  their  spirit,  their  letter 
being  often  but  the  vessel  or  outer  symbol.  The  often  nncom- 
promising  severity  of  the  Pentateuch,  especially  in  the  provinoe 
of  the  penal  law,  had  certainly  become  much  softened  down  nnder 
the  milder  influences  of  the  culture  of  later  days.  Several  of  its 
injunctions,  which  had  become  impracticable,  were  circnm* 
scribed,  or  almost  constitutionally  abrogated,  by  the  introdnction 
of  exceptional  formalities.  Some  of  its  branches  also  had  de> 
veloped  in  a  direction  other  than  what  at  first  sight  seems  to 
have  been  anticipated.  But  the  power  vested  in  tibe  * jndge  of 
those  days '  was  in  general  most  sparingly  and  cooscientioasly 
applied. 

This  whole  process  of  the  development  of  the  *Law'  wu 
in  the  hands  of  the  ^Scribes,'  who,  according  to  the  New 
Testament,  *  sit  in  the  seat  of  Moses.'  We  shall  speak  presently 
of  the  *  Pharisees '  with  whom  the  word  is  often  coupled.  Here^ 
meantime,  we  must  once  more  distinguish  between  the  different 
meanings  of  the  word  '  Scribe '  at  difFercnt  periods.  For  there 
are  three  stages  in  the  oral  compilation  of  the  Talmudical  Code, 
each  of  which  is  named  after  a  special  class  of  doctors. 

The  task  of  the  first  class  of  these  masters — the  *  Scribes'  by 
way  of  eminence,  whose  time  ranges  from  the  return  from 
Babylon  down  to  the  Greco-Syrian  persecutions  (220  B.C.) — was 
above  all  to  preserve  the  sacred  Text,  as  it  had  surviveid  after 
many  mishaps.  They  *  enumerated*  not  merely  the  precepts, 
but  the  words,  the  letters,  the  signs  of  the  Scripture,  thereby 
gUcirding  it  from  all  future  interpolations  and  corruptions.  They 
had  further  to  explain  tlicse  precepts,  in  accordance  with  the 
collateral  tradition  of  which  they  were  the  guardians.  They  had 
to  instruct  the  people,  to  preach  in  the  synagogues,  to  teach  in 
the  schools.  Tliey  further,  on  their  own  authority,  erected  cer- 
tain '  Fences,'  ?'.  e.  such  new  injunctions  as  they  deemed  necessary 
merely  for  the  better  keeping?  of  the  old  precepts.  The  whole  work 
of  these  men,  (*  Men  of  the  Great  Synasrotjue,')  is  well  summed 
up  in  their  adage  :  '  Have  a  care  in  le^ral  decisions,  send  forth 
many  disciples,  and  make  a  fence  around  the  law.'  More  pregnant 
still  is  the  motto  of  their  last  representative — the  only  one  whose 

name, 


The  Talmud. 


488 


name^  besides  those  of  Ezra  and  Nehemiah,  the  supposed  foundera 
of  this  body,  has  survived — Simon  the  Just :  *  On  three  things 
»femds  the  world:  on  law,  on  worship,  and  on  charity/ 

After  the  *  Scribes ' — xar  i^oy?ju — come  the  *  Learnei^'  or 
*  Repeaters/ also  called  Banaim,  ^  Master-builders  ' — from  220  B.C. 
to  220  A.D,  In  this  period  falls  the  Maccabean  Revolution,  the 
birth  of  Christ,  tlie  destruction  of  the  temple  by  Titus,  the 
fevolt  of  Bar-Cochba  under  Hadrian,  the  final  destruction  of 
Jerusalem,  and  the  total  expatriation  of  the  Jews,  During  this 
time  Palestine  was  ruled  successively  by  Persians,  Egyptians, 
Syrians,  and  Romans.  But  the  legal  labours  that  belong  to  thii 
period  were  never  seriously  interrupted.  However  dread  the 
events,  the  schools  continued  their  studies.  The  masters  were 
martyred  time  after  time,  the  academies  were  razed  to  the 
ground,  the  practical  and  the  theoretical  occupation  with  the  law 
was  proscribed  on  pain  of  death— yet  in  no  instance  is  the  chain 
0f  the  living  traditiDn  broken.  With  their  last  breath  the  dying 
masters  appointed  and  ordained  their  successors  ;  for  one  academy 
that  was  retluccd  to  a  heap  of  ashes  in  Palestine,  three  sprang  up 
in  Babylonia,  and  the  Law  flowed  on,  and  was  perpetuated  in 
the  face  of  a  thousand  deaths. 

The  chief  bearers  and  representatives  of  these  divine  legal 
studies  were  the  President  (called  Nasi,  Prince),  and  the  Vice- 
President  (Al>Beth-Din  =  Father  of  the  House  of  Judgment) 
of  the  highest  legal  assembly,  the  Synedrinn,  aramaised  into 
Sanhedrim  There  were  three  Sanhedrins ;  one  *  Great  San- 
hedrin,*  two  'lesser'  ones.  Whenever  the  New  Testament 
mentions  the  *  Priests,  the  Elders,  and  the  Scribes*  together,  it 
meant  the  Great  Sanhedrin.  This  ctjnstituted  the  highest  eccle- 
siastical and  civil  tribunal.  It  consisted  of  seventy -one  members, 
chosen  from  the  tbremr>3t  priests,  the  heads  of  tribes  and  families, 
and  from  the  '  Leametl,'  i.  e.  the  '  Scribes '  or  Lawyers.  It  was 
no  easy  task  to  be  elected  a  member  of  this  Supreme  Council, 
The  candidate  had  to  be  a  superior  man,  both  mentally  and 
bodily.  He  was  not  to  be  either  too  young-  or  too  old.  Above 
all,  he  was  to  be  an  adept  both  in  the  *  Law  *  and  in  Science* 

When  people  rearl  of  '  law,'  *  masters  *  or  *  doctors  of  the  law,' 
they  do  not,  it  seems  to  ns,  always  fully  realise  what  that  word 
Maw'  means  in  Old  or  rather  New  Testament  language.  It 
should  be  remembered  that,  as  we  have  already  indicated,  it  stands 
for  all  and  every  knowledge,  since  all  and  every  knowledge  was 
reijiiisiie  for  the  understanding  of  it.  The  M*Jsaic  code  has 
injunctions  about  the  sabbatical  journey ;  the  distance  had  to  be 
measured  and  calculated,  and  mathematics  were  called  into  play* 
Seed%  plants,  and  animals  had  to  be  studied  in  connection  with 

the 


431  Tlie  Talmud. 

the  many  precepts  regarding  them,  and  natural  history  had  to 
be  appealed  to.    Then  there  were  the  purely  hygienic  paragr&phi| 
which  necessitated  for  their  precision  a  knowledge  of  all  tha 
medical  science  of  the  time.     The  'seasons'  and  the  feast-days 
were  regulated  by  the  phases  of  the  moon ;  and  astronomy — ^if 
only  in  its  elements — hsul  to  be  studied.     And — as  the  common- 
wealth successively  came  in  contact,  however  much  against  its  will 
at  first,  with  Greece  and  Rome, — their  history,  gec^^phy,  and 
language  came  to  be  added  as  a  matter  of  instruction  to  tbcMe  of 
Persia  and   Babylon.     It  was  only  a  handful  of  well-meaning 
but  narrow-minded  men,  like  the  Essenes,  who  would  not,  for 
their  own  part,  listen  to  the  repeal  of  certain  temporary  '  Decrees 
of  Danger.'      When  Hellenic  scepticism  in  its  most  sednctive 
form  had,  during  the  Syrian  troubles,  begun  to  seek  its  Tictims 
even   in  the  midst  of  the   *  Sacred  Vineyard,'  and  threatened 
to  undermine  all  patriotism  and  all  independence,  a  cnne  wu 
pronounced  upon  Hellenism :  much  as  German  patriots,  at  die 
beginning  of  this  century,  loathed  the  very  sound  of  the  French 
language ;  or  as,  not  so  very  long  ago,  all  things  *  foreign '  were 
regarded  with  a  certain  suspicion  in  England.     But,  the  danger 
over,  the  Greek  language  and  culture  were  restored  to  their 
previous  high  position  in  both  the  school   and  the  house,  as 
indeed  the  union  of  Hebrew  and  Greek,  *the  Talith  and  the 
Pallium,'  'Shem  and  Japheth,  who  had  been  blessed  together 
by  Noah,  and    who  would  always  be  blessed    in   union,'  was 
strongly  insisted  upon.    We  shall  return  to  the  polyglott  character 
of  those  days,  the  common  language  of  which  was  an  odd  mixture 
of  Greek,    Aramaic,  Latin,  Syriac,  Hebrew  ;  but  the  member 
of  the   Sanhedrin    had   to    be   a   good   linguist      He   was   not 
to  be  dependent  on    the  possibly  tinged  version    of  an    inter- 
preter.    But  not  only  was  science,  in  its  widest  sense,  required 
in  him,   but  even  an  acquaintance  with  its  fantastic   shadows, 
such  as  astrology,  magic,  and  the  rest,  in  order  that  he,  as  both 
lawgiver  and  judge,  should  be  able  to  enter  also  into  the  popular 
feeling   about  these  wide-spread   *  Arts.'     Proselytes,    eunuchs, 
freed  men,  were  rigidly  excluded  from  the  Assembly.     So  were 
those  who  could  not  prove  themselves  the  legitimate  offspring 
of  priests,  Levitcs,  or  Israelites.     And  so,  further,  were  gamblers, 
betting-men,  money-lenders,  and  dealers  in  illegal  produce.     To 
the  provision  about  the  age,   viz.,   that  the  senator  should  be 
neitluT  too  far  advanced  in  age   'lest  his  judgment  might  be 
enfeebled,'  nor  too  young  'lest  it  might  be  immature  and  hastv;' 
and  to  the  pr<H)fs  required  of  his  vast  theoretical  and  practical 
knowledge — for  he  was  only  by  slow  degrees  promoted  from  an 
obscure  judgeship  in  his  native  hamlet  to  the  senatorial  dignity 

— ^theie 


Tha  Talmud. 


435 


— there  came  to  be  added  also  that  wonderfully  fine  rule,  that 
he  must  be  a  married  man  and  have  children  of  his  own*  Deep 
miseries  of  families  would  be  laid  bare  before  him,  and  he 
should  bring-  with  him  a  heart  full  of  sympathy* 

Of  the  practical  administration  of  justice  by  the  Sanhedrin 
we  have  yet  to  speak  when  we  come  to  the  Corpus  Juris  itself. 
It  now  behoves  us  to  pause  a  moment  at  those  'schools  and 
academies '  of  which  we  have  repeatedly  made  mentiouj  and  of 
which  the  Sanhedrin  formed,  as  it  were,  the  crown  and  the 
highest  consummation. 

Eighty  years  before  Christy  schools  flourished  throughout  the 
length  and  the  breadth  of  the  land  ; — education  had  been  made 
compulsory.  While  there  is  not  a  single  term  for  'school* 
to  be  found  before  the  Captivity,  there  w^ere  by  that  time  about  a 
dozen  in  common  usage.*  Here  are  a  few  of  the  innumerable 
popular  sayings  of  the  period,  betokening  the  paramount  im- 
jiortance  which  public  instruction  had  assumed  in  the  life  of 
the  nation :  '  Jerusalem  was  destroyed  because  the  instructioil 
of  the  young  was  neglected »'  *  The  world  is  only  saved  by  the 
breath  of  the  school- children/  '  Even  for  the  rebuilding  of  the 
Temple  the  schools  must  not  be  interrupted,*  *  Study  is  mor^ 
meritorious  than  sacrifice.*  '  A  scholar  is  greater  than  a  prophet/ 
*  You  should  revere  the  teacher  even  more  than  your  father*  The 
latter  only  brought  you  into  this  world,  the  former  indicates  the 
way  into  the  next.  But  blessed  Is  the  son  who  has  learnt  from 
his  father  :  he  shall  revere  him  both  ws  his  father  and  his  master  ; 
and  blessed  is  the  father  who  has  instructed  his  son.' 

The  '  High  Colleges'  or  *Kallahs't  ^"'j  ^^^^  during  some 
months  in  the  yean  Three  weeks  before  the  term  the  Dean  pre- 
pared the  students  for  the  lectures  to  be  delivered  by  the  Rectori 
and  ao  arduous  became  the  task,  as  the  number  of  the  disciples 
increased,  that  in  time  no  less  than  seven  Deans  had  to  be 
appointed^  Yet  the  mode  of  teaching  was  not  that  of  our 
modem  universities.  The  professors  did  not  deliver  lectures, 
which  the  disciples,  like  the  Student  in  *  Faust,*  could  *  comfort- 

*  Some  of  these  terms  are  Greek,   like  ixifur,  Ixm6i  :  mjn&,   belonf^tDg  to 
the  pellucid  idiQm  of  ititj  people^  the  Aramaic,  pgetlcally  iodicRted  it  limufl  the 
ipecml  lU'nuigemect  of  the  small  and   big  scbolurt,  e.fj.  *Arnaj/  *  Vioejard* 
(•where  they  sat  in  rows  as  stands  the  blooramg  Tine  ') :  irhile  olberi  are  of  to 
uncertain  a  derivation,  that  they  may  belong  to  either  language.     The  technical 
term  for  the  highest  schoolp  for  iostaoce*  has  long  formed  a  cmx  for  t*tymo]»gkti. 
It  is  KaUah.      Vhh  nsaj  bi  either  the  Hebrew  word  for  *  BridtV  a  vvdl-k"'^^ 
allegorical  eiprt'ssmo  for  seii?ncep  * nssiduotjsly  to  be  courted,  not  Ifg^hll- 
woa,  and  enfiiJy  estranged  |'  or  it  may  be  the  slightly  mutilated  Gre«l 
or  it  may  literally   be  our  own  word  UmvertUtff  from  K^  ail»  tuuTt) 
all-embraf^iag  itiatitutiou  of  all  braaeh«i  of  leaniing. 

t  See  preceding  nota« 


436  The  Jlalnmd. 

ably  take  home  in  black  and  white.'  Here  all  was  life,  more- 
menty  debate  ^  question  was  met  bv  counter-qaestiop,  answers  wen 
given  wrapped  up  in  allegories  or  parables,  the  inqoirer  was  led 
to  deduce  the  questionable  point  for  himself  bv  analog — the 
nearest  approach  to  the  Socratic  method.  The  New  Testa- 
ment furnishes  many  specimens  of  this  conlempoiair  method  of 
instruction. 

The  highest  rank  in  the  estimation  of  the  people  was  not 
reser^'ed  for  the  '  Priests,*  about  whose  real  position  some  eztim- 
ordinary  notions  seem  still  afloat — nor  for  the  *  Nobles* — ^bat  fiv 
these  Masters  of  the  Law,  the  'Wise/  the  'Disciples  of  the 
Wise.'  There  is  something  almost  German  in  the  profioond 
reverence  uniformly  shown  to  these  representatives  of  science 
and  learning,  however  poor  and  insignificant  in  person  and  lanL 
Many  of  the  most  eminent  *  Doctors '  were  bat  homble  tiades- 
men.  They  were  tentmaken,  sandalmakers,  weaven,  carpenleii» 
tanners,  bakers,  cooks.  A  newly-elected  President  was  fonod 
by  his  predecessor,  who  had  been  ignominiously  deposed  for  his 
overbearing  manner,  all  grimy  in  the  midst  of  his  chaioosl 
mounds.  Of  all  things  the  most  hated  were  idleness  and 
asceticism;  piety  and  learning  themselves  only  received  their 
proper  estimation  when  joined  to  healthy  bodily  work.  *  It  is 
well  to  add  a  trade  to  your  studies ;  you  will  then  be  free  from 
sin.' — 'The  tradesman  at  his  work  need  not  rise  before  die 
greatest  Doctor.' — ^'Greater  is  he  who  derives  his  livelihood 
from  work  than  he  who  fears  God ' — are  some  of  the  most 
common  dicta  of  the  period. 

The  exalt(.*d  place  thus  given  to  Work,  as  on  the  one  hand 
it  prevented  «in  abject  worship  of   Learning,  so  on  the  other 
it  kept  all  ascetic  eccentricities   from  the  bixly  of  the  people. 
And  there  was  always  some  dan<^r  of  them  at  hand.     When 
the  temple  lay  in  ashes,  men  would  no  longer  eat  meat  or  drink 
wine.     A  Sage  romunstrate<l  with  them,  but  they  replied,  weep 
ing :  ^  Once  the  flesh  of  sacrifices  was  burnt  upon  the  Altar  of 
God.     The  altar  is  thrown  dowa     Once  libations  of  wine  were 
poured  out.     Tliey  are  no  more.'     *  But  you  eat  bread ;  there 
were  bread-oflerinjjs.'     *  You  are  right.  Master,  we  shall  eat  fruit 
only.'     '  But  the  first  fruits  were  offered  up.'     '  We  shall  refrain 
from  thorn.'     ^  But  you  drink  water,  and  there  were  libations  of 
water.'     And    they  knew  not  what  to    reply.     Then  he  com- 
forted them   by  the  assurance  that  He  who  had  destroved  Jeru- 
s<'ilfm  had  promised  to  rebuild  it,  and  that  proper  mourning  was 
ri^rht  ami  me<'t,  but  that  it  must  not  l^e  of  a  nature  to  weaken  the 
bodv  for  work. 

Another  most  striking  story  is  that  of  the  Sage  who^  walkiniT 

in 


Th&  Thtmnd, 


481 


ia  a  market-place  crowded  with  people,  suddenly  encountered 
the  prophet  Elijah,  and  asked  him  who^  out  of  that  vast  niulti- 
tude^  would  be  saved.  Whereupon  the  Prophet  first  pointed  out 
a  weird^looking  creature,  a  turnkey^  '  because  he  was  merciful  to 
bis  prisoners ;'  and  next  two  comnion-lortkinjs^  tradesmen,  who 
came  walking  through  the  crowd,  pleasantly  chatting.  Ttio 
Sage  instantly  rushed  towards  them,  and  asked  them  what  were 
their  saving  works.  But  they,  much  puzzled,  replied:  *  We 
are  but  poor  workmen  who  live  by  our  trade.  All  that  can  be 
laid  for  us  is  that  we  are  always  of  good  cheer,  and  are  good* 
natured,  WTien  we  meet  anybody  who  seems  sad  we  join  him, 
and  we  talk  to  hLm,  and  cheer  him,  so  long  that  he  must  forget 
his  griefc  And  if  we  know  of  two  people  who  have  quarrelled, 
we  talk  to  them  and  persuade  them^  until  wo  have  made  them 
friends  again.     This  is  our  whole  life,'  ,  .  . 

Before  leaving  this  period  of  Mishnic  development,  we  have 
jet  to  speak  of  one  or  two  things.  This  period  is  the  one 
in  which  Christianity  arose;  and  it  may  be  as  well  to  touch 
here  upon  the  relation  between  Christianity  and  the  Talmud 
— a  subject  much  discussed  of  late.  Were  not  die  whole  of 
our  general  views  on  the  tlifference  between  Judaism  and 
Christianity  greatly  confused,  people  would  certainly  not  be 
go  very  much  surprised  at  the  striking  parallels  of  tlogma  and 
parable,  of  allegory  and  proverb,  cshi bitted  by  the  Gospel  and 
the  talmudical  writings.  The  New  Testament,  written,  as 
Ligbtfoot  has  it,  'among  Jews,  by  Jews,  for  Jews,'  cannot  but 
speak  the  language  of  the  time,  both  as  to  form  and,  brt^dly 
speaking,  as  to  contents.  There  are  many  more  vital  points  of 
contact  belweea  the  New  Testament  and  the  Talmud  than 
divines  yet  seem  fully  to  realise  ;  for  such  terms  as  *  Redemption/ 
*  Baptism,'  'Grace,*  'Faith,*  ^Salvation,'  'Regeneration/  'Son 
of  Man/  *  Son  of  God/  '  Kingdom  of  Heaven/  were  not,  as  we  are 
apt  to  think,  invented  by  Christianity,  but  were  household  worda 
of  talmudical  Judaism,  to  which  Christianity  gave  a  higher  and 
purer  meaning.  No  less  loud  and  bitter  in  the  Talmud  are  the 
protests  against  *  Up-serving,*  against  'making  the  law  a  burden 
to  the  people,'  against '  laws  that  hang  on  hairs,*  against  *  Priests 
and  Phaxisees,'  The  fundamental  mysteries  of  the  new  Faith 
are  matters  totally  apart ;  but  the  Ethics  in  both  are,  in  their 
broad  outlinesj  identical.  That  grand  dictum^  *  Do  unto  otheraf 
as  thou  woukPst  be  done  by/  against  which  Kant  declared 
himself  energetically  from  a  philosophical  point  of  view,  ia 
quoted  by  Hillel,  the  President  at  whose  death  Jesus  was  ten 
years  of  age,  not  as  anything  new,  but  as  an  old  and  well-known 
dictum  '  that  comprbed  the  whole  Law,'     The  most  monstrous 

mistake 


438  Th$  Talmud. 

mistake  has  ever  been  our  mixing  up,  in  the  first  instance, 
single  individuals,  or  classes,  with  a  whole  people,  and  next  our 
confounding  the  Judaism  of  the  time  of  Christ  with  that  of  the 
time  of  the  Wilderness,  of  the  Judges,  or  even  of  Abraham, 
Isaac,  and  Jacob.  The  Judaism  of  the  time  of  Christ  (to  which 
that  of  our  days,  owing  principally  to  the  Talmud,  stands  very 
near),  and  that  of  [the  Pentateuch,  are  as  like  each  other  as  our 
England  is  like  that  of  William  Rufus,  or  the  Greece  of  Plato 
that  of  the  Argonauts.  It  is  the  glory  of  Christianity  to  have 
carried  those  golden  germs,  hidden  in  the  schools  and  among 
the  ^silent  community'  of  the  learned,  into  the  market  of 
Humanity.  It  has  communicated  that  '  Kingdom  of  Heaven,'  of 
which  the  Talmud  is  full  from  the  first  page  to  the  last,  to  the 
herd,  even  to  the  lepers.  The  fruits  that  have  sprung  from  this 
through  the  wide  world  we  need  not  here  consider.  But  the  mis- 
conception, as  if  to  a  God  of  Vengeance  had  suddenly  succeeded  a 
God  of  Love,  cannot  be  too  often  protested  against  *Thoa 
shalt  love  thy  neighbour  as  thyself  is  a  precept  of  the  Old 
Testament,  as  our  Saviour  himself  taught  his  disciplesL  The 
*  Law,'  as  we  have  seen  and  shall  further  see,  was  developed  to 
a  marvellously  and,  perhaps,  oppressively  minute  pitch;  but 
only  as  a  regulator  of  outward  actions.  The  *  faith  of  the 
heart' — the  dogma  prominently  dwelt  upon  by  Paul — was  a 
thing  that  stood  much  higher  with  the  Pharisees  than  this 
outward  law.  It  was  a  thing,  they  said,  not  to  be  commanded 
by  any  ordinance  ;  yet  was  greater  than  all.  '  Everything,'  is  one 
of  their  adages,  ^  is  in  the  hands  of  Heaven,  save  the  fear  of 
Heaven.' 

*Six  hundred  and  thirteen  injunctions/  says  the  Tahnud,  ^ynM 
Mosos  inHtructod  to  givo  to  tho  people.  David  reduced  them  all  to 
cloven,  in  tbo  iiftcenth  Psalm  :  Lord,  who  shall  abide  in  Thy  tabdr- 
naclo,  who  shall  dwoU  on  Thy  holy  hill?  He  that  walketh  up- 
rightly/ &c. 

'Tho  Prophet  Isaiah  reduced  them  to  six(xzxiii.  15): — He  that 
walketh  righteously/  &c. 

*  Tho  Pro2)het  Mieah  reduced  them  to  throo  (vi.  8)  : — ^What  doth  the 
Lord  require  of  thee  but  to  do  justly,  and  to  love  mercy,  and  to 
walk  humbly  with  thy  God  ? 

*  Isaiah  once  more  reduced  them  to  two  (Ivi.  1)  : — Keep  ye  judg- 
ment and  do  justice. 

*  Amos  (y.  \)  reduced  them  all  to  one : — Seek  ye  me  and  ye  shsll 
live.* 

'  But  lest  it  might  bo  supposed  from  this  that  God  could  be  found 
in  tho  fuliilment  of  his  wholo  law  only,  Habokkuk  said  (ii.  4) : — *  The 
just  sliall  livo  by  his  Faith.' 

Regarding  these  *  Pharisees '  or  *  Separatists '  themselves,  no 

greater 


The  Talmud, 


439 


g^reater  or  more  antiquated  mistake  exists  than  that  of  their 
being  a  mere  *  sect '  hated  by  Christ  and  the  Apostles*  Thej 
Irefe  not  a  sect^— any  more  than  Roman  Catholics  form  a  '  sect  * 
la  Rome,  or  Protestants  a  '  sect '  in  Engl  and,  <*-and  they  were  not 
bated  so  indiscriminately  by  Christ  and  the  Apostles  as  would 
at  first  sight  appear  from  some  sweeping  passages  in  the  New 
Testamentp  For  the  *  Pharisees/  as  such,  were  at  that  time — » 
Josephus  notwithstanding- — simply  the  people,  in  contradis- 
tinction to  the  '  leaven  of  Herod »'  Those  '  upper  classes '  of  free- 
thinking;  Sadducees  whoj  in  oppjsition  to  the  Pharisees,  insisted 
on  the  paramount  imiK>rtance  of  sacrifices  and  tithes,  of  which 
they  were  the  receivers,  but  denied  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul, 
are  barely  mentioned  in  the  New  Testament.  The  wholesale 
denunciations  of  '  Scribes  and  Pharisees  *  have  been  greatly 
misunderstood.  There  can  be  absolotely  no  question  on  this 
point,  that  there  were  among  the  genuine  Pharisees  the  most 
patriotic,  the  most  noble  minded,  the  most  advanced  leader* 
of  the  Party  of  Progress.  The  development  of  the  Law  itself 
was  nothing  in  their  hands  but  a  means  to  keep  the  Spirit  as 
opposed  to  the  Word — the  outward  framc^^ — in  full  life  and 
flame,  and  to  vindicate  for  each  time  its  own  right  to  interpret 
the  temporal  ordinances  according  to  its  own  necessities  and 
acquirements.  But  that  there  were  very  many  black  sheep  in 
their  flock — many  who  traded  on  the  high  reputation  of  the 
whole  body — is  matter  of  reiterated  denunciation  in  the  whole 
contem|Jorary  literature.  The  Talmud  inveighs  even  more 
bitterly  and  caustically  than  the  New  Testament  against  what  it 
calls  the  *  Plague  of  Pharisaism,"  'the  dyed  ones/  *  who  do  evil 
deeds  like  Zimri,  and  require  a  goodly  reward  like  Phinebas*' 
*tbey  who  preach  beaudfuUy,  but  do  not  act  beautifully/ 
Parodying'  their  exaggerated  logical  arrangements,  their  scru- 
pulous divisions  and  subdivisions,  the  Talmud  distinguishes 
ieven  classes  of  Pharisees,  one  of  whom  only  is  worthy  of  that 
satne.  These  are — 1,  those  who  do  the  will  of  God  from 
earthly  motives;  2,  they  who  make  small  steps,  or  say,  juBt 
wait  a  while  for  me;  I  have  just  one  more  good  work  to 
perform;  3,  they  who  knock  their  heads  against  walls  in 
avoiding  the  sight  of  a  woman;  4,  saints  in  office;  5,  they 
who  implore  you  to  mention  some  more  duties  which  they  might 
perfonn ;  G,  they  who  are  pious  because  they  ye*ir  God.  The 
real  and  only  Pharisee  is  he  *  who  does  the  will  of  bis  father 
which  is  in  Heaven  because  he  loves  Him.'  Among  those  chielly 
•Pharisaic'  masters  of  the  Mishnic  period,  whose  names  and 
fragments  of  wbose  lives  have  come  down  to  us,  are  some  of  the 
most  illustrious  men^  men  at  whose  feet  the  first  Christians  sat^ 
Vol.  12X— No.  246.  2  Q  whose 


440  The  Talmud. 

whose  sajingrs — ^household  words  in  the  mouths  of  the  people— 
prove  them  to  have  been  endowed  with  no  commoa  wisdom, 
piety,  kindness,  and  hi^rh  and  noble  courage:  a  coormge  and 
a  piety  they  had  often  enough  occasion  to  seal  with  their  lives. 

From  this  hasty  outline  of  the  mental  atmosphere  of  the 
time  when  the  Mishnah  was  gradually  built  up,  we  now  tarn  lo 
this  Code  itself.  The  bulk  of  ordinances,  injunctions,  prohibit 
tions,  precepts,  —  the  old  and  new,  traditional,  derived,  or 
enacted  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, — had,  after  about  eigb 
hundred  years,  risen  to  gigantic  proportions,  proportions  no 
longer  to  be  mastered  in  tlieir  scattered,  and  be  it  remembered, 
chiefly  unwritten,  form.  Thrice,  at  different  periods,  the  work 
of  reducing  them  to  system  and  order  was  undertaken  by  thies 
eminent  masters  ;  tlie  third  alone  succeeded.  First  by  Hillel  L, 
under  whose  presidency  Christ  was  bom.  This  Hillel,  also 
called  the  second  Ezra,  was  bom  in  Babylon.  Thirst  for 
knowledge  drove  him  to  Jerusalem.  He  was  so  poor,  the 
legend  tells  us,  that  once,  when  he  had  not  money  enough  to 
fee  the  porter  of  the  academy,  he  climbed  up  the  window-sill 
one  bitter  winter's  night.  As  he  lay  there  listenii^,  the  cold 
gradually  made  him  insensible,  and  the  snow  covered  him  up. 
The  darkness  of  the  room  first  called  the  attention  of  those  inside 
to  the  motionless  form  without  He  was  restored  to  life.  Be  it 
observed,  by  the  way,  that  this  was  on  a  Sabbath,  as,  according 
to  the  Talmud,  danger  always  supersedes  the  Sabbath.  Eves 
for  the  sake  of  the  tiniest  bal^e  it  must  be  broken  without  the 
slifrhtest  hesitation,  'for  the  babe  will,'  it  is  added,  *keep  many 
a  Sabbath  yet  for  that  one  that  was  broken  for  it' 

And  here  we  cannot  refrain  from  entering  an  emphatic  protest 
against  the  vulgar  notion  of  the  *  Jewish  Sabbath  '  being  a  thing 
of  grim  austerity.  It  was  precisely  the  contrary,  a  *day  of  jov  and 
delight,'  a  *  feast  day,'  honoured  by  fine  garments,  by  the  best 
cheer,  by  wine,  lights,  spice,  and  other  joys  of  pre-eminently  bodily 
import :  and  the  highest  expression  of  the  feeling  of  self-reliance 
ami  independence  is  contained  in  the  adage,  '  Rather  live  on 
your  Sabbath  as  you  would  on  a  week  day,  than  be  dependent 
on  others.'     But  this  only  by  the  way. 

About  30  B.C.  Hillel  became  President  Of  his  meekness,  bis 
piety,  his  benevolence,  the  Talmud  ical  records  are  full.  A 
few  of  his  sa\ings  will  ch.aracterise  him  better  than  any  sketch  of 
ours  could  do.  'Be  a  disciple  oi  Aaron,  a  friend  of  peace,  a 
promoter  of  peace,  a  friend  of  all  men,  and  draw  them  near  unto 
the  law.'     '  Do  not  believe  in  thyself  till  the  day  of  thy  death.* 

*  Do  not  judge  thy  neighbour  until  thou  hast  stood  in  his  place.' 

*  Whosoever  does  not  increase  in  knowledge  decreases.'     *  n  ho- 

soever 


The  Talmud, 


441 


er  trie«  to  make  gain  by  the  crown  of  learning  perishes/ 
lediately  after  the  lecture  be  used  to  hurry  home.  Once 
i  by  bis  disciples  what  caused  him  to  hasten  away,  he  replied 
lad  to  look  after  bis  ^uest.  When  they  pressed  him  for  the 
2  of  his  guest,  he  said  that  he  only  meant  bis  soul,  which 
here  to-day  and  there  to-morrow.  One  clay  a  heathen  went 
hammai,  the  head  of  the  rival  academy,  and  asked  him 
kinglj  to  convert  him  to  the  law  while  he  stood  on  one 
The  irate  master  turned  bim  from  his  door.  He  then 
t  to  Hillel,  who  received  him  kindly  and  gave  bim  that  reply 
nee  io  widely  propaj^ated — '  Do  nt>t  unto  another  what  thou 
Id  est  not  have  another  do  unto  thee.  This  is  the  whole 
,  the  rest  is  mere  commentary/  Very  characteristic  is  also 
answer  to  one  of  those  'wits*  who  used  to  plague  him 
I  their  silly  nuesticms,  *How  many  laws  are  there?'  he 
d   Hllleh     'Iwo/    Hillel    replied,    'one    written   and    one 

*  Whereupon  the  other,  'I  believe  in  the  first,  but  I  do  not 
why  1   should   believe  in  the  second/     *  Sit  down/  Hillel 

And  he  wrote  down  the  Hebrew  alphabet,  '  What  letter 
is  ? '  be  then  asked,  pointing  to  the  first  *  This  is  an  Aleph/ 
fod,  the  next  ?  '  '  Beth/  *  Good  again.  But  how  do  you  know 
this  is  an  Aleph  and  this  a  Beth  ?  '  *  Thus/  the  other  repUed, 
have  learnt  from  our  ancestors/    *  Well/  Hillel  said, '  ASi  you 

*  accepted  this  in  good  faith,  accept  also  die  other/  To  his 
d  the  necessity  of  arranging  and  simplifying  that  monstrous 
I  of  oral  traditions  seems  to  have  presented  itself  first  with 
ts  force.  There  were  no  less  than  some  six  hundred  vaguely 
:ing  sections  of  it  in  existence  by  that  time.  He  tried  to 
ice  them  to  six.  But  he  died,  and  the  work  commenced 
him  was  left  untouched  for  another  century,  Akiija,  the 
r  shepherd  who  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the  richest 

proudest  man  in  a)l  Jerusalem^  and,  through  bis  love^ 
1  a  clown  became  one  of  the  most  eminent  doctors  of  his 
sration,  nay  *  a  second  Moses/  came  next.  But  he  too  was 
iccessfuk  Flis  legal  labours  were  cut  short  by  the  Roman 
mtioncr.     Yet  the  day  of  bis  martyrdom  is  said  t*^  have  been 

day  of  the  birth  of  bim  who,  at  last,  did  carry  out  the 
k,— Jehuda,  the  Saint,  also  called  *  Rabbi  *  by  way  of 
oence.  About  200  A,D,  the  redaction  of  the  whole  un- 
:ten  law  into  a  code,  though  still  unwritten,  was  completed 
r  the  immense  efTortSj  not  of  one  school,  but  of  all,  not 
lUgb  one,  but  many  methods  of  collection,  comparison,  and 
Jensation, 

V^hen  the  Code  was  drawn  up,  it  was  already  obsolete 
inany   of    its   parts.     More   than   a  generation    before   th© 

2  a  2  De%V;EM^\«fQ. 


442  The  Talmud. 

Destruction  of  the  Temple,  Rome  had  taken  the  penal  jnrit* 
diction  from  the  Sanhedrin.  The  innumerable  injunctioos  re- 
garding the  temple-service,  the  sacrifices,  and  the  rest,  had  faat 
an  ideal  value.  The  agrarian  laws  for  the  most  part  applied 
only  to  Palestine,  and  but  an  insignificant  fraction  of  the  people 
had  remained  faithful  to  the  desecrated  land.  Nevertheleu 
the  whole  Code  was  eagerly  received  as  their  text-book  by  the 
many  academics  both  in  Palestine  and  in  Babylonia,  not  merely 
as  a  reconi  of  past  enactments,  but  as  laws  that  at  some  time  or 
other,  with  the  restoration  of  the  commonwealth,  would  come  into 
full  practice  as  of  yore. 

The  Mishnah  is  divided  into  six  sections.  These  are  sub* 
divideil  again  into  11,  12,  7,  i)  (or  10)  11,  and  12  chapten 
respectively,  which  arc  further  broken  up  into  524  paragraphs. 
We  shall  briefly  describe  their  contents : — 

'  Section  I.,  SeMs :  of  Agrarian  Laws,  commencing  with  a  chapter 
on  Prayers.  In  this  section  the  various  tithes  and  donations  due  to 
tho  PriostK,  tho  Levitcs,  and  the  poor,  from  the  products  of  the  landi^ 
and  further  tho  Sabbatical  year,  and  tho  prohibited  mixtnres  in  planta^ 
aninudtj,  and  garments,  are  treated  of. 

*  Section  II.,  Fetutts :  of  Sabbaths,  Feast  and  Fast  days,  the  wosk 
proliibitcd,  tho  ceremonies  ordainod,  tho  sacrifices  to  be  oflfored,  on 
them.  S2)ocial  chapters  are  devoted  to  tho  Feast  of  the  Exodvs  fron 
^gypt)  to  tho  Now  Yearns  Day,  to  tho  Day  of  Atonement  (one  of  Ae 
must  impressive  portions  of  tho  whole  book),  to  the  Feast  of  Tahe^ 
noclcft,  and  to  that  of  Haman. 

*  Section  III.,  Wumen :  of  betrothal,  marriage,  divorce,  &c. :  aln 

of  VOWH. 

*  Section  IV.,  Damngrs :  including  a  great  port  of  tho  civil  and  cri- 
minal law.  It  trc^ats  of  tho  law  of  trover,  of  buying  and  selling,  tod 
tho  ordinary  monetary  transactions.  Further,  of  the  greatest  crime 
known  to  the  law,  viz.,  idolatry.  Next  of  witnesses,  of  oaths,  of  legil 
puniKlimonts,  and  of  tho  Sanhedrin  itself.  This  section  concludes  with 
tho  80-called  *'  Sentences  of  the  Fathers,"  containing  some  of  the 
BublimcRt  ethical  dicta  known  in  tho  history  of  religious  philosophy. 

*  Section  v..  Sacred  TJiiikjs  :  of  Rocrifices,  tho  first-bom,  &c. ;  tl« 
of  tho  measure  inciits  of  tho  Temple  (Middoth). 

*S€^ction  VI.,  Purifications:  of  tho  various  levitical  and  other 
hygienic  laws,  of  impure  things  and  jK^rsons,  their  purification,  &&' 

TluTO  is,  it  cannot  be  denied,  more  symmetry  and  method  in 
tlic  Mishnah  tli«in  in  tho  Pandects;  although  we  have  not  foand 
that  minute  lojjical  sequence  in  its  arrangement  which  Mai- 
nionidos  and  others  have  discovered.  In  fact,  we  do  not  believe 
that  we  have  it  in  its  original  shape.  But,  as  far  as  the  single 
treatises  are  concerned,  the  Mishnah  is  for  the  most  part  free  from 
the  bh»niishcs  of  tlie  Roman  l^mle.     There  are,  unquestionablf, 

fewer 


T!m  Tdrmd, 


443 


fewer  contradictory  laws,  fewer  repetitions,  fewer  ititerpolatioiis, 
than  in  the  Digests,  whieh,  notwithstanding  Tribonian's  efforts, 
abound  with  so-called  *  Geminationes/  *  Leg-es  fugitivjTj^  *  erra- 
tiiir/  and  so  forth ;  and,  as  regards  a  certain  outspokenness  in 
bodily  things  J  it  has  at  last  i3een  acknowledged  by  all  competent 
authorities  that  its  tanguag'c  is  infinitely  purer  than  that,  for 
instance,  of  the  medieval  casuists. 

The  regulations  contained  in  these  six  treatises  are  of  very 
diffe re nt  k i n d 5,  Th ey  are  apparen tly  i m  portan t  and  u ni  m portant^ 
intended  to  be  permanent  or  temporary.  They  arc  either  clear 
expansions  of  Scriptural  precepts,  or  independent  traditions, 
linked  to  Scripture  only  hermeneutically*  They  are  *  decisions,' 
*  fences,*  *  injunctions/  *  ordinances,*  or  simply  *  Mosaic  Halachah 
from  Sinai'— much  as  the  Roman  laws  consist  of  *  Senatuscon- 
sulta,'  \Plebiscita,*  *  Ed i eta,'  *  Responsa  Prudentium,'  and  the  rest- 
Save  in  points  of  dispute,  the  Mishnah  docs  not  say  when  and 
how  a  special  law  was  made.  Only  exceptionally  do  we  read  the 
introductory  Ibrmula  *  N,  N,  has  borne  witness,'  *  I  have  heard 
from  N,  N»j'  &c,  ;  for  nothing  was  admitted  into  the  Code  but 
that  which  was  well  authenticated  first*  There  is  no  difference 
made  between  great  laws  and  little  laws — between  ancient  and  new 
Halachah,  Every  precept  traditionally  received  or  passed  by  the 
majority  becomes,  in  a  manner,  a  religious,  divinely  sanctiimed 
one,  although  it  was  always  open  to  the  subsequent  authorities  to 
reconsider  and  to  abrogate ;  as,  indeed,  one  of  the  chief  reasons 
Against  the  writing  down  <jf  the  Code,  even  after  its  redaction, 
"*  I  just  this,  that  it  should  never  become  fixed  and  immutable, 
That  the  Mishnah  was  appealed  to  for  all  practical  purposes,  in 
preference  to  the  '  Mosaic  *  law,  seems  clear  and  natural,  Du  we 
generally  appeal  in  our  law-courts  to  the  Magna  Charta  ? 

This  uniform  reverence  for  all  the  manifold  contents  of  the 
Mi$hnah  is  best  expressed  in  the  redactor's  own  words — the 
motto  to  the  whole  collection — *  Be  equally  conscientious  in  small 
as  in  great  precepts,  for  ye  know  not  their  individual  rewards* 
Compute  the  earthly  loss  sustained  by  the  fulfilment  of  a  law 
by  the  heavenly  reward  derived  through  it ;  and  the  gain  derived 
from  a  transgression  by  the  punishment  that  is  to  follow  it.  Also 
contemjilate  tliree  things,  and  ye  shall  not  fall  into  sin :  Know 
what  is  ai>ove  ye — an  eye  that  seeth,  an  ear  that  heareth,  and  all 
your  works  are  written  in  a  bmjk/ 

The  tone  and  tenor  of  the  Mishnah  is,  except  in  the  one  S|>e€ia] 
division  devoted  to  Ethics,  empljaiieally  practical.     It  doe^ 
concern  itself  with  Metaphysics,  but  aims  at  being  men 
code.     Yet  it  never  misses  an  opportunity  of  incu' 
higher  ethical  principles  which  lie  beyond  the  sty 


444  TIa  Talmud. 

law.  It  looks  more  to  the  '  Intention'  in  the  fulfilment  of  s  pre* 
copt  than  to  the  fulfilment  itself.  He  who  claims  certain  admi- 
ta<j;:es  bv  the  letter  of  the  law,  though  the  spirit  of  hnmsnitj 
should  UTfi^c  him  not  to  insist  u]>on  them,  is  not  ^  beloved  bv  Gol 
and  man.*  On  the  other  hand,  he  who  makes  good  bj  hu  on 
free  will  demands  which  the  law  could  not  have  enforced ;  he,  IB 
fact,  who  does  not  stop  short  at  the  ^  Gate  of  Justice,'  bat  pio- 
cee<ls  within  the  *  line  of  mercy,'  in  him  the  ^  spirit  of  the  wise' 
has  pleasure.  Certain  duties  bring  fruits  (interest)  in  this 
world  ;  but  the  real  reward,  the  ^  capital,"  is  paid  back  in  Ae 
world  to  come :  such  as  reverence  for  father  and  mother,  charitj, 
early  application  to  study,  hospitality,  doing  the  last  honour  to 
the  dead,  pn)moting  peace  between  man  and  his  neighboot 
The  Mishnah  knows  nothing  of  *  Hell.'  For  all  and  any  tnui- 
gressions  there  were  only  the  fixed  legal  punishment!,  or  i 
mysterious  sudden  S'Isitation  of  God '^^the  scriptural  'rootiiif 
out'  Death  atones  for  all  sins.  Minor  transgressions  are  re- 
deemed by  re]>entance,  charity,  sacrifice,  and  the  daj  of  atone- 
ment Sins  committed  against  man  are  only  forgiven  when  the 
injured  man  has  had  full  amends  made  and  declares  himself 
reconciled.  The  highest  virtue  lies  in  the  study  of  the  law.  It 
is  not  only  the  badge  of  high  culture  (as  was  of  old  the  casein 
England),  but  there  is  a  special  merit  bound  up  in  it  that  will 
assist  man  both  in  this  and  in  the  world  to  come.  Even  t 
l)astard  who  is  learned  in  it  is  more  honoured  than  a  high-prieit 
who  is  not. 

To  discuss  those  laws,  their  spirit,  and  their  details,  in  this 
place,  we  cannot  undertake.  I]ut  this  much  we  may  say,  that  it 
has  always  been  the  unanimous  opini(Mi  of  both  friends  and  foei 
that  tluMr  general  character  is  humane  In  the  extreme:  in  spite 
of  certain  harsh  and  exceptional  laws,  issued  in  times  of  danger 
and  misery,  of  n'Voluti(»n  and  reaction  ;  laws,  moreover,  which 
for  the  most  part  never  wvn^  and  never  could  bt*  carrieil  into 
praclire.  There  is  an  almost  nio<lern  liberality  of  view  rejjarding 
the  fulfilment  of  the  Law'  itself,  expressed  by  such  frequent 
a(lasr<'s  as  *'J'he  Scri])ture  says:  "he  shall  live  by  them" — tliat 
means,  he  shall  nt)t  tiitj  throufili  thnn.  They  shall  not  Ik?  made 
])itfall.s  or  burdens  to  him,  that  shall  make  him  hate  life.'  'Ho 
who  carries  out  these  precepts  to  tlie  full  Is  declared  to  be  nothinij 
li'bs  than  a  "Saint."*  *  The  law  has  Ix^en  given  to  men,  and 
not  to  anjjels.' 

Respecting  the  practical  administration  of  justice,  a  sharp 
distinction  is  drawn  hy  the  MIshnah  In'tween  the  civil  and 
criminal  law.  In  both  the  most  careful  investigation  and  scru- 
tiny   is   recjuired;    but  while    in    the    former   three  judges  arc 

competent. 


Tlw  Talmud, 


445 


competent,  a  tribunal  of  no  less  tHan  twenty-three  is  required 
for  the  latter.  The  first  duty  of  the  civil  judges  is  alwayi — 
however  clear  the  case — to  ur^e  an  agreement.  *  When/  says 
the  Talmud,  'da  justice  and  goodwiU  meet?  When  the 
contendinii;  parties  are  made  to  agree  peaceably.*  There  were 
both  special  lacal  magistrates  and  casual  *  justices  of  peace/ 
chosen  ad  hoc  by  the  parties.  Payment  received  for  a  decision 
unnuls  the  decision.  Loss  of  time  only  was  allowed  to  be 
made  good  in  case  of  tradesmen-judges.  The  plaintiff,  if 
proved  to  have  asked  more  than  his  due^  with  a  view  of  thus 
obtaining  his  due  more  readily,  was  nonsuited.  Three  partners 
in  an  action  must  not  divide  themselves  into  one  plaintiff  and 
two  witnesses.  The  Judge  must  see  that  both  parties  are  pretty 
equally  dressed,  u  e*  not  one  in  fine  garments,  the  others  in  rags ; 
and  he  is  further  particularly  cautioned  not  to  be  biassed  in 
favour  of  the  poor  uffaimt  the  rich*  The  Judge  must  not  hear 
anything  of  the  case,  save  in  the  presence  of  both  parties.  Many 
and  striking  are  also  the  admonitions  regarding  the  Judge, 
*He  who  unjustly  hands  over  one  mans  goods  to  another,  he 
fhall  pay  God  for  it  with  his  own  soul,'  *  In  the  hour  when  the 
Judge  sits  in  judgment  over  his  fellow-men,  he  shall  feel,  as  it 
were,  a  sword  pointed  at  his  own  heart/  '  Woe  unto  the  Judge 
who,  convinced  in  his  mind  of  the  unrighteousness  of  a  cause,  tries 
to  throw  the  blame  on  the  witneBses.  From  him  God  will  ask  an 
account'  '  When  the  parties  stand  before  you,  Iot>k  upon  both 
as  guilty;  hut  when  they  are  dismissed,  let  them  both  be  inno- 
cent in  thine  eyes,  for  the  decree  has  gone  forth.' 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  find  a  more  humane,  almost  refined, 
penal  legislation,  from  the  days  of  the  old  world  to  our  own. 
While  in  civil  cases — whenever  larger  tribunals  (juries)  had  to 
be  called  in — a  majority  of  one  is  sufficient  for  eidier  acquittal 
or  condemnation  j  in  criminal  cases  a  majority  of  one  acquit% 
but  a  majority  of  two  is  requisite  for  condemnation.  All  men 
are  accepted  in  the  former  as  witnesses — always  except  gamblers 
{tcvfida  —  dice-players),  bciting*men  (*  pigeon-flyers ')^  usurer% 
dealers  in  illegal  fseventh  year's)  produce,  and  slaves,  who  were 
disqualified  from  *  judging  and  bearing  witness  * — either  for  the 
plaintiff  or  the  defendant;  but  it  is  only  for  the  defence  that 
everybody,  indiscriminately,  is  heard  in  criminal  cases*  The 
cross-examination  of  the  witnesses  was  exceedingly  stiict.  The 
formula  (containing  at  once  a  whole  breviary  for  the  Judge 
himself),  with  which  the  witnesses  were  admonished  in  criminal 
cases  was  of  so  awful  and  striking  a  nature,  that  'swearing  a 
man's  life  away '  became  an  almost  unheard-of  occurrence  : — 


446  The  Taimud. 

'  How  18  ono,'  says  tho  Mishnah,  *  to  awe  the  witnesses  who  aro 
called  to  testify  in  matters  of  life  and  death  ?  When  they  are  hronght 
into  Conrt,  they  are  charged  thus :  Perchance  you  would  speak  from 
conjecture  or  rumour,  as  a  witness  from  another  witness — haying  heard 
it  from  '*  some  trustworthy  man  "—or  perchance  you  are  not  aware  thit 
we  shall  proceed  to  search  and  to  try  you  with  dose  questionB  and 
searching  scrutiny.  Enow  ye  that  not  like  trials  about  money  are 
trials  oyer  life  and  death.  In  trials  of  money  a  man  may  redeem  luB 
guilt  by  money,  and  he  may  be  forgiyen.  In  trials  of  life,  the  Uood 
of  him  who  has  been  £ftlsely  condemned  will  hang  oyer  the  fiJse  wit- 
ness, and  also  that  of  the  seed  of  his  seed,  even  unto  tho  end  of  the 
world ;  for  thus  we  find  that  when  Cain  killed  his  brother,  it  is  said, 
^  Tho  yoice  of  thy  brother's  blood  is  crying  to  me  from  the  groand." 
Tho  word  blood  stands  there  in  the  plural  number,  to  indicate  to  yoa 
that  the  blood  of  him,  together  with  that  of  his  seed,  has  been  shed, 
Adam  was  created  alone,  to  show  you  that  he  who  destroys  one  sin^ 
life  in  Israel  will  be  called  to  account  for  it,  as  if  he  had  destroyed  a 
whole  world.  .  .  .  But,  on  the  other  hand,  ye  mi^t  say  to  youzselyes, 
What  haye  we  to  do  with  all  this  misery  here  ?  Itemember,  then,  tbat 
Holy  Writ  has  said  ^Ley.  y.  1),  ^  If  a  witness  hath  seen  or  known,  if  he 
do  not  utter,  he  shall  bear  his  iniquity."  But  perchance  yo  might  say, 
Why  shall  we  be  guilty  of  this  man's  blood  ?  Bememb^,  then,  what 
is  said  in  Proyerbs  (xi.  10),  ^  In  the  destruction  of  tho  wicked  there 
IS  joy."' 

The  '  Lex  Talionis '  is  unknown  to  the  Talmud.  Paying '  mea- 
sure for  measure/  it  says,  is  in  God's  hand  only.  Bodily  injuries 
inflicted  are  to  be  redeemed  by  money ;  and  here  again  the 
Pharisees  had  carried  the  day  against  the  Sadducees,  who  in- 
sisted ujM)n  the  literal  interpretation  of  tbat  verse.  The  extreme 
punishments,  '  flagellation  and  *•  death,'  as  ordained  in  the 
^losaic  Code,  were  inflicted  in  a  humane  manner  unknown, 
as  we  have  sai<l,  not  only  to  the  contemporary  courts  of  anti- 
quity, but  even  to  those  of  Europe  up  to  within  the  last  genera- 
tion. Thirty-nine  was  the  utmost  number  of  strokes  to  be 
inflicted:  but — the  'loving  one's  neighbour  like  oneself  being 
constantly  urge<l  by  the  Penal  Code  itself,  even  with  regard  to 
criminals — if  the  life  of  the  culprit  was  in  the  least  degree  en- 
dangered, this  number  was  at  once  reduced.  However  numerous 
the  delinquent's  transgressions,  but  one  punishment  could  be 
decreed  for  them  all.  Not  even  a  fme  and  flagellation  could 
be  pronounced  on  the  same  occasion. 

The  care  taken  of  human  life  was  extreme  indeed.  The  judges 
of  capital  ofTences  had  to  fast  all  day,  nor  was  the  sentence  exe- 
cuted on  the  day  of  the  verdict,  but  it  was  once  more  subjected  to 
scrutiny  by  the  Sanhedrin  the  next  day.  Even  to  the  last  some 
favourable  circumstance  that  might  turn  the  scale  in  the  prisoner's 

favour 


tbf 


Ttw  Talmud, 

favour  was  looked  for.  The  place  of  executioa  was  at  some  distance 
from  the  Court,  in  order  that  time  might  be  js^iven  to  a  witness 
or  the  accused  himself  for  nam  in  j^;^  any  fresh  fact  in  his  favour. 
A  mac  was  stationed  at  the  entrance  to  the  Court,  ivith  a  ^^^  In 
his  hand,  and  at  some  distance  another  man,  on  horseback,  was 
stationed  J  in  order  to  stop  the  execution  instantly  if  any  favour- 
able circumstance  should  still  come  to  lig:ht.  The  culprit  himself 
was  allawed  to  stop  four  or  five  times,  and  to  be  brought  back 
before  the  judges,  if  he  had  still  something-  to  urge  in  his  defence. 
Before  him  marched  a  herald,  crying,  'The  man  N,  N., 
son  of  N,  N,,  is  being  led  to  execution  for  having  committed 
such  and  such  a  crime  ;  such  and  such  are  the  witnesses  against 
him ;  whosoever  knows  aught  to  his  favour,  let  him  come  and 
proclaim  it*  Ten  yards  from  the  p!ace  of  execution  they  snid  to 
him,  *  Confess  thy  sins  j  every  one  who  confesses  has  part  in  the 
world  to  c<jme  \  for  thus  it  is  written  of  Achan,  to  whom 
Joshua  said,  My  son,  give  now  glory  to  the  God  of  Israel/ 
If  he  'could  not'  offer  any  formal  confession,  he  need  only  say 
*  May  Ttxy  death  be  a  redemption  for  all  my  sins/  To  the  last 
the  culprit  was  supported  by  marks  of  profound  and  awful  sym- 

.thy.  The  ladies  of  Jerusalem  formed  a  society  wliich  provided 
'n  beverage  of  mixed  myrrh  and  vinegar,  that^  like  an  opiate j 
beuumbed  the  man  when  he  was  being  carried  to  execution. 

There  were  four  kinds  of  capit^il  punishment, — stoning,  burn- 
ing, slaying  with  the  swfjrd,  and  strangling.  Crucifixion  is  utterly 
unknown  to  the  Jewish  law*  *  The  hoiise  of  stoning '  was  two 
stories  high,  *  stoning'  in  the  Mishnah  being  merely  a  term  for 
breaking  the  culprit's  neek.  It  was  the  part  of  the  chief  witness 
to  precipitate  the  criminal  with  his  own  hand.  If  he  fell  on 
his  breast  he  was  turned  on  his  back;  if  the  fall  had  not  killed 
him  on  the  sptit,  the  second  witness  had  to  cast  a  stone  on 
his  heart ;  if  he  still  survived,  then  and  then  only  the  whole 
people  hastened  his  death  by  casting  stones  upon  him.  The 
mtnles  of  strangling  and  burning  were  almost  identical  ;  in  both 
cases  the  culprit  was  immersed  to  his  waist  in  soft  mud,  and 
two  men  by  tightening  a  cord  wrapped  m  a  Jto/t  cloth  round 
'is  Beck,  caused  instantaneous  suflbcation.  In  the  *  burning'  a 
lighted  wick  was  thro^vn  down  his  throat  when  he  opened  his 
mouth  at  his  last  breath.  The  corpse  was  buried  in  a  special 
place  appropriated  to  criminals.  After  a  time,  however,  thr 
bones  were  gathered  together  and  transferred  to  the  burial  pi 
of  the  culprit's  kin.  The  relations  then  visited  the  judges  af 
witnesses,  'as  much  as  to  say,  we  bear  no  malice  ngJ 
for  a  righteous  judgment  have  ye  judged/     The  ord 

onies  of  outer  moumiog  were  not  observed  in  su 


448  The  Talmud. 

lamentation  was  not  prohibited  during  the  first  period  of  grief — 
*  for  sorrow  is  from  the  heart.'  There  was  no  confiscation  of  the 
culprit's  goods. 

Practically,  capital  punishment  was  abrogated  even  before  the 
Romans  had  taken  it  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Sanhedrin.  Here 
again  the  humanising  influences  of  the  *  Traditions'  had  been 
at  work,  commuting  the  severe  Mosaic  Code.  The  examination 
of  witnesses  had  been  made  so  rigorous  that  a  sentence  of  capital 
punishment  became  almost  impossible.  When  the  guilt  had«  not- 
withstanding all  these  difficulties,  been  absolutely  brought  home^ 
some  formal  flaw  was  sure  to  be  found,  and  the  sentence  was 
commuted  to  imprisonment  for  life.  The  doctors  of  a  later 
period,  notably  Akiba,  who,  in  the  midst  of  his  revolutionaiy 
dreams  of  a  new  Independence,  kept  his  eye  steadily  on  a  reform 
of  the  whole  jurisdiction,  did  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  openly  for 
the  abolition  of  capital  punishment  A  Court  which  had  pro- 
nounced one  sentence  of  death  in  seven,  or  even  seventy  yean^ 
received  the  name  of  *  Court  of  Murderers.' 

So  far  the  Mishnah,  that  brief  abstract  of  about  eight  hundred 
years'  legal  production.  Jehudah,  the  *•  Redactor/  had  excluded 
all  but  the  best  authenticated  traditions,  as  well  as  all  discussion 
and  exegesis,  unless  where  particularly  necessary.  The  vast  mass 
of  these  materials  was  now  also  collected,  as  a  sort  of  apocryphal 
oral  code.  We  have,  dating  from  a  few  generations  after  the 
redaction  of  the  official  Mishnah,'a  so-called  external  Mishnah 
(Boraita)  ;  further  the  discussions  and  additions  belonging  by 
rights  to  the  Mishnah,  calle<l  Tosofta  (Supplement) ;  and,  finally, 
tlie  exegesis  and  methodology  of  the  Halacha  (Sifri,  Sifra, 
Mechilti),  much  of  which  was  afterwards  embodied  in  the 
Talmud. 

The  Mishnah,  being  formed  into  a  code,  Ijecame  in  its  turn 
what  the  Scripture  had  been,  a  basis  of  development  and  dis- 
cussion. It  had  to  hvt  linked  to  the  Bible,  it  became  impregnated 
with  and  obscured  by  s|>eculations,  new  traditions  sprang  up,  new 
methods  were  invented,  cjisuistry  assumed  its  sway — as  it  did  in 
the  l(»gal  schools  that  flourished  at  that  periocl  at  Rome,  at 
Alexandria,  at  Berytus, — and  the  Gemara  ensued.  A  double 
Geinara:  one,  the  expression  of  the  schools  in  P.ilestine,  called  that 
of  Jerusalem,  re<lacte<l  at  Tiberias  (not  at  Jerusalem)  about  390 
A.D.,  and  written  in  what  may  he  called  *  Kast  Aramiran ;'  the  other, 
redacteil  at  Syra  in  Babylonia,  edited  by  R.  Ashe  (3<)5-427 
A.D.).  The  final  close  of  this  codex,  however,  the  collecting  and 
sifting  of  which  t(M>k  just  sixty  years,  is  due  to  the  sch(K)l  of  the 
'  Salioraim  '  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  century  A.D.  The  Babylonian 
Gemara  is  the  expression  of  the  academies  of  Syra,  Nehardea, 

Pum-Veditha, 


Tl^  Talmud.  449 

Pum-VeditLa,  Mahusa,  and  other  places,  during  six  or  leven 
generations  of  continuous  development.  This  ^Babyloniaii* 
Talijiud  is  couched  in 'Western  Arain<eau/ 

Neither  of  the  two  codes  was  written  down  at  first,  aad  neither 
has  survived  in  its  completeness.  Whether  there  ever  was 
a  double  Gemara  to  all  the  six  or  even  the  first  five  divisions 
uf  the  Mishnah  (the  sixth  having  early  fallen  into  disuse)^  is  at 
least  very  doubtruh  Much  however  that  existed  has  been  ]o«t. 
The  Babylonian  Tal-mud  is  about  four  tinaes  as  large  as  that  of 
Jemsalem,  Its  thirty-six  treatises  now  cover,  in  our  editions, 
printed  with  the  most  prominent  commentaries  (Rashi  and 
Tosafoth),  exactly  2947  folio  leaves  in  twelve  folio  volumes, 
the  pagination  of  which  is  kept  uniform  in  almost  all  editions;. 
If^  however,  the  extraneous  portions  are  subtracted,  it  is  only 
about  ten  or  eleven  times  as  large  as  the  Mishnah,  which  was 
redacted  just  as  many  generations  before  the  Talmud, 

How  the  Talmud  itself  became  by  degrees  what  the  Misbnab  had 
been  to  the  Gemara^  and  what  the  Scripture  had  been  to  the  early 
Scribes,  viz*  a  Text ;  how  the  *  Saboraim  ■  and  *  Gaonim,*  those 
Epigoni  of  the  *  Scribes,'  made  it  the  centre  of  their  activity  for 
centuries ;  what  endless  commentaries,  dissertations,  expositionSj 
Fes[>otises,  novella?,  abstracts,  &:c,,  grew  out  of  it,  we  cannot  here 
tell.  Only  this  much  we  will  add,  that  the  Talmud,  as  such, 
was  never  formally  accepted  by  the  nation,  by  either  General  or 
Special  Council,  Its  legal  decisions,  as  derived  from  the  highest 
authorities,  certainly  formed  the  basis  of  the  religious  law,  the 
norm  of  all  future  decisiuns;  as  undoubtedly  the  Talmud  is  the 
niost  trustworthy  canon  of  Jewish  tradition.  But  its  popularity 
is  much  more  due  to  an  extraneous  cause.  During  the  persecu- 
tions against  the  Jews  in  the  Persian  empire,  under  Jesdegerd  IL, 
Firux,  and  Kobad,  the  schools  were  closed  for  about  eighty  years* 
The  living  development  of  the  law  being  stopped,  the  book 
obtained  a  supreme  authority,  such  as  had  probably  never  been 
dreamt  of  by  its  authors.  Need  we  add  that  what  authority 
was  silently  vested  in  it  belonged  exclusively  to  its  legal  por- 
tions ?  The  other,  the  *  haggadistic '  or  legendary  portion,  was 
*  poetry/  a  thing  beloved  by  women  and  children  and  by  those 
still  and  pensive  minds  which  delight  in  flowers  and  in  the  song 
of  wild  birds.  The  *  Authorities'  themselves  often  enough  set 
their  faces  against  it,  repudiated  it  and  explained  it  away.  But 
the  people  clung  to  it,  and  in  course  of  time  gave  to  it  and  it 
alone  the  encyclopeedic  name  of  '  Midrash,' 

W^e  have  now  to  say  a  few  words  resj>ecting  the  language  in 
which  these  documents  are  couched,  as  furnishing  an  additional 
key  to  the  mode  of  life  and  thoughts  of  the  period 

The 


450  The  Talmud. 

The  lang^uage  of  the  Mishnali  is  as  pure  a  Hebrew  as  can  be 
expected  in  those  days.     The  people  themselves  spoke,  as  we 
mentioned  above,  a  corrupt  Chaldee  or  Aramaic,  mixed  with 
Greek  and  Latin.     Many  prayers  of  the  period,  the  Targ^ms,  the 
Gemaras,  are  conceived  in  that  idiom.     Even  the  Mishnah  itself 
could  not  exclude  these  all-pervading  foreign  elements.     Many 
legal  terms,  many  names  of  products,  of  heathen  feasts,  of  house- 
hold furniture,  of  meat  and  drink,  of  fruits  and  garments,  are 
boiTOwcd  from  the  classical  languages.    Here  is  a  curious  addition 
to  the  curious  history  of  words  I     The  bread  which  the  Semites 
had  cast  upon  the  waters,  in  the  archaic  Phcrnician  times,  came 
back  to  them  after  many  days.     If  they  had  given  to  the  cuAj 
Greeks  the  names  for   weights  and  measures,*  for  spice  and 
aromas,t  every  one  of  which  is  Hebrew :  if  they  had  imported 
the  ^  sapphire,  jasper,  emerald,'  the  fine  materials  for  garments,} 
and  the  garments  themselves — as  indeed  the  well-known  yirmp 
is  but  the  Hebrew  name  for  Joseph's  coat  in  the  Bible — if  the 
musical  instruments, §  the  plants,  vessels,  writing  materials,  and 
last,  not  least,  the   ^alphabet'   itself,  came  from  the  Semites: 
the  Greek  and  Latin  idioms  repaid  them  in  the  Talmudical 
period  with    full    interest,   to    the   great  distress   of  the    later 
scholiasts  and  lexicographers.     The  Aramaic  itself  was,  as  we 
said,  the  language  of  the  common  people.      It  was,  in  itself, 
a  most  pellucid  and  picturesque  idiom,  lending  itself  admirably 
not  only  to  the  epigrammatic  terseness  of  the  Gemara,  but  alK> 
to  those  profoundly  poetical  conceptions  of  the  daily  pheno- 
mena, which  had  penetrated  even  into  the  cry  of  the  watchmen, 
the  password  of  tlie  temple-guards,  and  the  routine-formula  of 
the  Icvitical  functionary.     Unfortunately,  it  was  too  poetical  at 
times.    Matters  of  a  purely  metaphysical  nature,  which  afterwards 
grew  into  dogmas  through  its  vague  phraseology,  assumed  very 
monstrous  shapes  indeed.     But  it  bad  become  in  the  hands  of  the 
j)eople  a  mongrel  idiom ;  and,  though  gifted  with  a  fme  feeling 
for  the  distinguishing  characters  of  each  of  the  languages  then 
in  common  use  ('Aramaic  lends  itself  best  to  elegies,  Greek  to 
hymns,  Hebrew  to  prayer,  Roman  to  martial  compositions,'  as  a 
common  saying  lias  it),  they  yet  mixed  them  all  up,  somewhat 
in  the  manner  of  the  Pcnnsylvanians  of  to-day.     After  all,  it  was 
but  the  faithful  reflex  of  those  who  made  this  idiom  an  enduring 
language.     These  '  Masters  of  the  Law '  formed  the  most  mixed 
a«H<  inbly  in  the  world.     There  were  not  only  natives  of  all  the 

t  M'V^«i  KiyydfiufioVf  Kaffloj  vdpios,  fidXaafiov,  i.\6rjy  KpoKOt,  &C. 
X  fivffrroSf  KapiraaoSf  crivZcov, 
§  vi^Ka,  Kiyupa,  ffajxfivKrif  &c. 

parts 


parts  of  tte  world-wide  Roman  empire  among  them,  but  also 
denizens  of  Arabia  and  India;  a  fact  which  accounts  for  many 
phenomena  in  the  Talmud,  But  there  is  hardly  anything  of 
domestic  or  public  purport,  which  was  not  called  either  by  its 
Greek  or  Latin  name,  or  by  both,  and  generally  in  so  ques- 
tionable a  shape,  and  in  such  obsolete  forms,  that  both  classical 
and  Semitic  scholars  have  often  need  to  gt>  through  a  whole 
course  of  archaeology  and  antiquities  befare  unravelling  it* 
Save  only  one  province,  that  of  agriculture.  This  alone, 
together  with  some  other  trades^  had  retained  the  old  homely 
'Semitic  words:  thereby  indicating,  not,  as  ignorance  might  be 
led  to  conclude,  that  tlie  nation  was  averse  to  it,  but  exactly  the 
contrary ;  that  from  the  early  days  of  Joshua  they  had  never 
ceased  to  cherish  the  thought  of  sitting  under  their  own  vine 
and  fig-tree.  We  refer  for  this  point  to  the  idyllic  picture  given 
in  the  Mishnah  of  the  procession  that  went  up  to  Jerusalem 
with  the  first-fruits^  accompanied  by  the  sound  of  the  flute,  the 
sacrificial  bull  with  gilt  horns  and  an  olive-garland  round  bii 
head  proudly  marching  in  front. 

The  Taimud  does,  indeed,  offer  us  a  perfect  picture  of  the  costno- 
poll  tan  ism  and  luxury  of  those  final  days  of  Rome,  such  as  but 
lew  classical  or  postclassical  writings  contain.  We  find  nieolion 
made  of  Spanish  fish,  of  Cretan  apples,  Bithynian  cheese, 
Egyptian  lentils  and  beans,  Greek  and  Egyptian  pumpkin?, 
Italian  wine,  Median  beer,  Egyptian  Zyphus :  garments  were 
imported  from  Pelusium  and  India,  shirts  from  Cilicia,  and 
veils  from  Arabia,  T«  the  Arabic,  Persian,  and  Indian  materials 
contained,  in  addition  to  these^  in  the  Gemara,  a  bare  allusion 
may  suffice*  So  much  we  venture  to  predict^  that  when  once 
archaeological  and  linguistic  science  shall  turn  to  this  field,  they 
will  not  leave  it  again  soon- 

We  had  long  pondered  over  the  best  way  of  illustrating  to  our 
readers  the  extraordinary  manner  in  which  the  *  Haggadah,'  tliat 
second  current  of  the  Talmud,  of  which  we  spoke  in  the  intro- 
duction, suddenly  interrupts  the  course  of  the '  Halacha,' — when  we 


•  Grttk  or  Latm,  or  bot!i,  were  tbe  terms  cooimoDlj-  employed  hj  ibeni 
r^Hie  table  {rpawi^a^  tabula,  rpurifc^i^r,  rptwovj\  the  chak,   the  betieb,  toe  en-* 
(ftaUsf^Uhim,  accubitum),  tht?  room  in  irhich  they  liv^d  and  slept  ^H&l^' 
^i^fj^w),  the  cup  (cyathug,  pbiala  potoria)  oni  ol"  which  tbey  drank- 1 
drinkiDg  Itself  (cBUOgaruiu,  coUyra,  wofio^^h^  yXtuHotr  acre** 
Of  their  dresi  w&  have  the  arok'tj^  sag  am ,  dalmatica,  br 
h&ad  thty  wore  a  pik'us,  and  they  gird«d  themselT* 
Jfl  snutlalnim,  soka,  sokti«i  taUrisu  impilia*  indicate  t 
■mdomed  themH^lvcs  with  the  catelb,  eoch'^^^-   -|  -      -■  r 
and  hmcelets,  %ud  in  gene  nil  whatever  up 
fkic  mppareL   Atnoiig  tliu  nrma  which  the  ui   i        .         x  - 
sp^ar,  the  fAmxatpti  (a  word  fotiDd  in  Genesis),  the  pn|iQ. 


452  The  Talmud. 

bethought  ourselves  of  the  device  of  an  old  master.  It  was  a  hot 
Eastern  afternoon,  and  while  he  was  expounding  aome  intricate 
subtlety  of  the  law,  his  hearers  quietly  fell  away  in  drowsy  slum- 
bers. All  of  a  sudden  he  burst  out :  *  There  was  once  a  woman 
in  Kgypt  who  broutrht  forth  at  one  birth  six  hundred  thousand 
men.*  And  our  readers  may  fancy  how  his  audience  started 
up  at  this  remarkable  tale  o(  the  prolific  Egyptian  woman.  Her 
name,  the  master  calmly  pn>ce(Hled,  was  Jochebed,  and  she  was 
the  mother  of  Moses,  who  was  worth  as  much  as  all  those  six 
hundred  thousand  arme<l  men  ti>*rether  who  went  up  from  Egj"pt 
Tho  Profess4>r  then,  after  a  brief  lenrendary  digression,  proceeded 
with  his  legal  intricacies,  and  his  hearers  slept  no  more  that 
al'temiMin.  An  Eastern  mind  seems  peculiarly  constituted.  Its 
passionate  love  for  things  wise  and  witty,  for  stories  and  tales,  for 
parables  and  apologues,  does  not  leave  it  even  in  its  most  severe 
studies.  T\\cy  are  constantly  needed,  it  would  appear,  to  keep  the 
current  of  its  thoughts  in  motion ;  they  are  the  playthings  of  the 
grown-up  children  of  the  Orient.  The  Haggadah  too,  has  an 
exegesis,  a  system,  a  mrtluxl  of  its  own.  They  arc  peculiar, 
fantastic  things.  We  would  rather  not  follow  too  closely  its 
learnetl  divisions  into  homilctical,  ethical,  historical,  general  and 
si)e(*ial  Haggadah. 

The  Haggadah  in  general  transforms  Scripture,  as  we  said, 
into  a  thousand  themes  for  its  variations.  Everything  being 
Ixiund  up  in  the  Dible — the  beginning  and  the  end — there  must 
br  an  answer  in  it  to  all  questions.  Find  the  key,  and  all  the 
riddles  in  it  are  solved.  Tlie  |H*rsons  of  the  Bible — the  kings 
and  the  patriarrhs,  tlie  hemes  and  the  prophets,  the  women  and 
the  tliildren,  what  they  did  and  siifTered,  thoir  happiness  and 
their  doom,  their  words  and  their  lives — lK>came,  apart  from 
their  presupj>osed  historical  reality,  a  symbol  and  an  allegon*. 
And  what  the  narnitive  had  omitted,  the  Haggadah  supplied  in 
many  variations.  It  filled  up  these  gaps  '"^s  a  prophet  Iwiking  into 
the  past  might  do;  it  explained  the  motives;  it  enlarged  the 
story ;  it  found  romieetions  between  the  remotest  countries,  ages, 
and  people,  often  with  a  startling  realism  ;  it  drew  sublime 
morals  from  th(»  most  comimmplaee  facts.  \  et  it  did  all  this 
by  (|iii(k  and  sudden  motions,  to  us  most  foreign;  and  hence 
the  lre(jii(»nt  misunderstan<ling  of  its  strange  and  wayward  moods. 

Passing  strange,  indeed,  are  the  ways  of  this  Prophetess  of 
the  Mxile,  who  appears  wherever  and  whenever  she  listeth,  and 
disappears  as  suddenly.  Well  can  we  understand  the  distress 
of  mind  in  a  medie\al  divine,  or  even  in  a  modem  .sv/?w;//, 
wlio,  bent  upon  following  the  most  subtle  windings  of  some 
scientific  debate  in  the  Talmudical  pages — geometrical,  botanical, 

financial. 


77i«  Taimud. 


45S 


financial,  or  otherrise^ — as  it  revolves  round  tie  Sabbatb  journey, 

the  raising'  of  seeds,  the  computation  of  tithes  and  taxes — feel«^  as 
it  were,  the  ground  suddenly  give  way.  The  loud  voices  grow 
thin,  the  doors  and  walls  of  the  school-room  vanish  hefore  his 
eyes,  and  in  their  place  uprises  Rome  the  Great,  the  Urbs  et 
Orbis,  and  her  ml U ion-voiced  life.  Or  the  blooming  vineyards 
around  that  other  City  of  Hills,  Jerusalem  the  Golden  herself, 
are  seen,  and  white-clad  virgins  move  dreamily  among  them. 
Snatches  of  their  songs  arc  heard,  the  rhythm  of  their  choric 
dances  rises  and  falls:  it  is  the  most  dread  Day  of  Atonement 
itself,  which,  in  most  poetical  contrast,  was  chosen  by  the  '  Roses 
of  Sharon '  as  a  day  of  rejoicing  to  walk  among  those  waving 
lily-fiekls  and  vine-clad  slopes,  Or  the  clarion  of  rebellion  ringt 
high  and  shrill  through  the  complicated  debate,  and  Belshazzar, 
^e  story  of  %vhose  ghastly  Imnquet  is  told  with  all  the  additions 
©f  maddening  horror,  is  doing  service  for  Nero  the  bloody ;  or 
Nebuchadnezzar,  the  Babylonian  tyrant,  and  all  his  hosts»  are 
cursed  with  a  yelling  curse — a  propos  of  some  utterly  inap- 
propriate legal  point;  while  to  the  initiated  he  stands  for  Titus 
the — at  last  exploded — 'Delight  of  Humanity/  The  symbols 
and  hieroglyphs  of  the  Haggadah,  when  fully  explained  some 
day,  will  indeed  form  a  very  curious  contribution  to  the  un- 
written history  of  man.  Often — far  too  often  for  the  interests  of 
study  and  the  glory  of  the  human  race — ^does  the  steady  tramp  of 
the  Roman  cohortj  the  pass- word  of  the  revolution,  the  shriek 
and  clangour  of  the  bloody  field,  interrupt  these  debates,  and  the 
arguing  masters  and  disciples  don  their  arms,  and,  with  the  cry 
*  Jerusalem  and  Liberty,'  rush  to  the  fray. 

Those  who  look  with  an  eye  of  disfavour  upon  all  these 
extraneous  matters  as  represented  by  the  Hagpidah  in  the 
Talmud — ^the  fairy  tales  and  the  jests,  the  stories  and  the  parables, 
and  all  that  strange  agglomeration  of  foreign  things  crystallised 
around  the  legal  kernel — should  remember,  above  all,  one  fact.  As 
this  tangled  ni&ss  lies  before  us,  it  represents  at  best  a  series  of 
photographic  slides,  half  broken,  mutilated,  and  faded  :  though 
what  remains  of  them  is  start!  ingly  faithful  to  the  original.  At 
the  disciple  hatl  retained,  in  his  memory  or  his  quick  notes,  the 
tenor  of  the  single  debates,  interspersed  with  the  thousand  allu- 
fiions,  reminiscences,  aper^uSy  facts,  quotations,  and  the  rest,  so  he 
perpetuated  it — sometimes  well^  sometimes  ill.  If  well,  we  have  a 
feeling  as  if,  after  a  long  spell  of  musings  or  ponderings,  we  werp 
trying  to  retrace  the  course  of  our  ideas — and  the  most  ineon-* 
gruous  things  spring  up  and  disappear,  apparently  without  rhyme 
or  reason.  Ami  yet  there  is  a  deep  significance  anil  connection 
in  them.     Creeping  or  flying,  melodious  or  grating,  they  carry 

us 


454  Tl^  Talmud. 

us  oo ;  and  there  is  just  this  difierence  in  the  talmndical  waoder- 
ingt,  that  thev  nerer  lose  themselres.  Soddenlr,  when  lent 
expected,  the  original  qaestion  is  repeated,  together  widi  the 
answer,  distilled  as  it  were  out  of  these  thousand  foreign  things 
of  which  we  did  not  always  see  the  drifL  If  ill  reported,  the 
page  becomes  like  a  broken  dream,  a  half-transparent  palimp- 
sest. Would  it  perhaps  hare  been  better  if  a  wise  discretion  had 
guided  the  hands  of  the  firat  redactors?  We  think  not.  The 
most  childish  of  trifles,  found  in  an  Assyrian  mound,  is  of  Taloe 
to  him  who  understands  such  things,  and  who  from  them  maj 
deduce  a  number  of  surprisingly  important  results. 

We  shall  devote  the  brief  space  that  remains,  to  this  Haggadah. 
And  for  a  general  picture  of  it  we  shall  refer  to  Bnnjan,  whu^ 
speakin?  of  his  own  book,  which — mutatis  mutamdis — is  Terr 
Ha^gadistic,  unknowingly  describes  the  Haggadah  as  accnntely 
as  can  be : — 

' .  .  •  .  Would*st  thou  divert  thyself  from  melancholy? 
Wonld*st  thou  be  pleasant,  yet  be  far  from  ibllj? 
Wonld*6t  thou  rejkd  riddles  and  their  explanation  ? 
Or  else  be  drowned  in  thy  contemplation  ? 
Dost  thou  love  picking  meat  ?  Or  woold'st  thou  see 
A  man  i*  the  clouds,  and  hear  him  speak  to  thee? 
Would*8t  thou  be  in  a  dream,  and  yet  not  sleep  ? 
Or,  would'st  thou  in  a  moment  laugh  and  weep  ? 
Would*8t  lose  thyself^  and  catch  no  harm  ? 
And  find  thyself  again  without  a  charm  ? 
Woold'st  read  thygielf,  and  read  thon  know*st  not  what  ? 
And  yet  know  whether  thon  art  blest  or  not 
By  reading  the  same  lines '/     O  then  come  hither, 
And  lay  this  book,  thy  head  and  heart  together.  .  .  .  .' 

We  would  not  reproach  those  who,  often  with  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world,  have  brou<rht  almost  the  entire  Haggadistic  pro- 
vince into  disrepute.  We  really  do  not  wonder  that  the  so-called 
*  rabbinical  stories,'  that  have  Irom  time  to  time  been  brought 
before  the  Eiiirlish  public,  have  not  met  with  the  most  flattering 
reception.  The  Talmud,  which  has  a  drastic  word  for  every  occa- 
sion, says,  '  They  dived  into  an  ocean,  and  brought  up  a  potsherd.' 
First  of  all,  these  stories  form  only  a  small  item  in  the  vast  mass 
of  allegories,  parables,  and  the  like,  that  make  up  the  HagfgadaL 
And  they  were  partly  ill-chosen,  partly  badly  rendered,  and 
partly  did  not  even  belong  to  the  Talmud,  but  to  seme  recent 
Jewish  story-book.  Herder — to  name  the  most  eminent  judge  of 
the  *  Poetry  of  Peoples,' — has  extolled  what  he  saw  of  the  genuine 
sj)ocimens,  in  transcendental  terms.  And,  in  truth,  not  onlv  is  the 
entire  world  of  pious  biblical  legend  which  Islam  has  said  and  sung 

in 


Tim  Talmud 


455 


in  its  many  tcnigueSj  to  the  tleli|Ef]it  of  ttc  wise  and  simple  for  twelve 
centuries,  now  to  be  found  citbcr  in  embryo  or  fully  developed 
in  the  Hag-i^ndabj  but  niucli  that  is  familiar  amonjpr  ourselves  in 
the  circles  of  medieval  sagas,  in  Dante,  in  Bocarcro^  in  Cervantes, 
in  Milton,  in  Bun  van,  has  consciously  or  unconsciously  flowed 
out  of  this  wondrous  realm,  the  Ha^gaclalK  That  much  of  It  is 
overstrained,  even  aeeortling  to  Miistern  notions,  wc  do  not  deny*. 
But  there  are  feeble  passag-es  even  in  Homer  and  Sbakspeare, 
and  there  are  always  |>eople  with  a  happy  instinct  for  picking 
out  the  weakest  portions  of  a  work  ;  while  even  the  best  pages  of 
Shakspeare  and  Homer  are  apt  ti>  be  spoiled  by  awkward  mani- 
pulation. At  the  same  time  wc  are  far  from  advisinj^'  a  whole- 
sale I  rausi  a  tio  n  o  f  these  H  ag^g  ad  i  s  t  i  c  p  rod  u  c t i  on  s.  N  olh  i  n  g  cou  1  d 
be  more  tedious  than  a  continuous  course  of  such  reading, 
thou|»'h  choice  bits  from  them  would  satisfy  even  the  mf»st 
fastidious  critic.  And  such  bits,  scattered  through  the  Talmud, 
,|we  delightfully  refresl^ng. 

•     It  is;,  unfortunately^  not  in  our  power  to  indicate  any  specimens 
of  its  strikingly  keen  interpretations,  of  its  gorgeous  dreams,  its 

'  Beautiful  old  stories, 
Tales  of  angok,  fairy  legend^ 
Stilly  histories  of  martyrs, 
Festal  songs  and  words  of  wiedom ; 
Hyperboles^  most  quaint  it  may  he, 
Yet  replete  with  strength,  aiid  fire, 
And  faith— how  they  gleam. 
And  glow,  and  glitter !  .  .  / 

as  Heine  has  it. 

It  seems  of  more  moment  to  aill  attention  to  an  entirely  new 
branch  of  investigation,  namely,  talmudical  metaphysics  and 
ethics,  such  as  may  be  gleaned  from  the  Haggadalij  of  which 
we  shall  now  take  a  brief  glance. 

Beginning  with  the  Creation,  wc  find  the  gradual  development 
of  the  Cosmos  fully  recognised  by  the  Talmud,  It  assumes 
destruction  after  destruction,  stage  after  stage.  And  in  iheir 
quaintly  ingenious  manner  the  Masters  refer  to  the  verse  in 
Genesis,  '  And  God  saw  all  that  he  had  made,  and  behold  it 
was  very  good,^  and  to  that  other  in  Eccles,  iii.  11,  *  Go<l  created 
everything  in  its  proper  season  f  and  argue  *  He  created  worlds 
upon  w^orlds,  and  destroyed  them  one  after  the  other,  until  He 
created  this  world.  He  then  said,  '  This  pleases  me,  the  ot!:cra 
did  not  J* — ^*in  its  proper  season' — Vit  was  not  meet  to  en  ate 
this  world  until  now.' 

The  Talmud  assumes  some  OFiginal  substance,  itself  created 
by  God,  out  of  which  the  Universe  was  shaped.     There  j    m 

Voh  123. — iVfif,  246.  2  H  perceptible 


i&6  TheTabmuL 

perceptible  leaning  to  the  early  Greek  schools.  *  One  or  three 
thin^  were  before  this  world  :  Water,  Fire,  and  Wind :  Water 
begat  the  Darkness,  Fire  begat  Light,  and  Wind  begat  the 
Spirit  of  Wisdom.'  The  How  of  the  Creation  was  not  even  matter 
of  speculation.  The  co-operation  of  angels,  whose  existence  was 
warranted  by  Scripture,  and  a  whole  hierarchy  of  whom  had 
been  built  up  under  Persian  influences,  was  distinctly  denied 
In  a  discussion  about  the  day  of  their  creation  it  is  agreed,  on 
all  hands,  that  there  were  no  angels  at  first,  Mest  men  might 
say  ''Michael  spanned  out  the  firmament  on  the  south,  and 
Gabriel  to  the  north.'' '  There  is  a  distinct  foreshadowing  of 
the  gnostic  Demiurgos — that  antique  link  between  the  DiTine 
Spirit  and  the  World  of  Matter — to  be  found  in  the  Talmud. 
What  with  Plato  were  the  Ideas,  with  Philo  the  Logos,  with 
tlie  Kabbalists  the  *  World  of  Auiluth,'  what  the  Gnostics  called 
more  emphatically  the  wisdom  (ao^ia)  or  power  (£iW^)> 
and  Plotinus  the  V0O9,  that  the  Talmudical  Authors  call  Meta* 
tron.*  The  angels — whose  names,  according  to  the  Talmud 
itself,  the  Jews  brought  back  from  Babylon — play^  after  the 
exile,  a  very  different  part  from  those  before  the  exile.  They 
are,  in  fact,  more  or  less  Persian :  as  are  also  for  the  most  part 
all  incantations,  the  magical  cures,  the  sidereal  influences,  and 
the  rest  of  the  'heathen'  elements  contained  in  the  Talmud. 
Even  the  number  of  the  Angelic  Princes  is  seven,  like  that  of 
the  Amesha-QicufaSj  and  their  Hebrew  names  and  their  func- 
tions c()rresj)()iul,  as  nearly  as  can  be,  to  those  of  their  Persian 
prototypes,  who,  on  their  own  jvirt,  have  only  at  this  moment 
been  discovered  to  l)e  merely  allegorical  names  for  God*s  su- 
preme qualities.  Much  as  the  Talmudical  authorities  inveigh 
against  those  'heathen  ways,*  sympathetic  cures,  the  exorcism! 
of  demons,  the  charms,  and  the  rest,  the  working  of  miracles, 
vc^ry  niu(h  in  vogue  in  those  days,  yet  they  themselves  were 
drawn  into  large  concessions  to  angels  and  demons.  Besides  the 
seven  Angel  Princes,  there  arc  hosts  of  ministering  angels — the 
Persian  Yazatas  —  whose  functions,  besides  that  of  being  mes- 
sengers, are  twofold  ;  to  praise  God  and  to  be  guardians  of  man. 
In  tlieir  first  Ctipacity  they  are  daily  created  by  God's  breath  out 
of  a  stream  of  fire  that  rolls  its  waves  under  the  divine  throne. 
As  guaniian  angels  (Persian  Frat'as/ns)  two  of  them  accompanj 
every  man,  and  for  every  new  good  deed  man  acquires  a  new 
guartlian  angel,  who  always  watches  over  his  steps.  When  the 
righteous  (lies,  three  hosts  of  angels  meet  him.  One  says  (in  the 
avoids  of  Sc*rii)tiire)  'lie  shall  go  in  peace,'  the  second  takes  up 

*  This  name  is  most  probably  nothiDg  bat  Mithnu 

the 


Th  Talmud. 


ttT 


the  strain  aod  saji,  *  Who  has  walked  in  rightfiousness/  and  the 
third  conckides^  '  Let  him  come  in  peace  and  rest  upon  his  bed/ 
If  ihe  wicked  leaves  the  world,  three  hosts  of  wicked  angels  come 
to  meet  him. 

With  regard  to  the  providential  guidance  of  the  Universe,  this 
was  in  God's  hand  alone.  As  He  is  the  sole  Creator  and  Legislator, 
mo  also  is  He  the  w^le  arbiter  of  destinies.  'Every  nation,'  the 
Talmud  saya,  'has  its  special  guardian  angel,  its  horoscopesj  its 
ruling  planets  and  stars.  But  there  is  no  planet  for  Israel  Israel 
ahall  look  but  to  Him.  There  is  no  mediator  between  thi^se 
who  are  called  His  children,  and  their  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven,*  The  Jerusalem  Talmud — written  under  the  direct  in- 
fluence of  Roman  manners  and  customs,  has  the  following  parable  i 
*  A  man  has  a  patron*  If  some  evil  happens  to  him,  he  doe*  not 
enter  suddenly  into  the  presence  of  this  patron,  but  he  goes  and 
stands  at  the  door  of  his  house.  He  does  not  ask  for  the  patron ^ 
but  for  his  favourite  slave,  or  his  stm,  who  then  goe*  and  tells 
the  master  inside:  The  man  N.  N.  is  standing  at  the  gate  of 
the  halls  shall  be  come  in  or  not? — Not  so  the  HolVj  praised 
be  He.  If  misfortune  comes  upon  a  man,  let  him  not  cry  to 
Michael  and  not  to  G.ibriel,  but  unto  Me  let  him  cry,  and  I  will 
answer  him  right  speedily — as  it  is  said,  Every  utm  who  shall 
call  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  shall  be  saved/ 

The  end  and  aim  of  Creation  is  man,  who,  therefor©,  was 
created  last,  *  when  everything  was  ready  for  his  reception/ 
When  he  has  reached  the  perfection  of  virtue  *he  is  higher  than 
the  angels  themselves/ 

Miracles  are  cotjsidered  by  the  Talmud — much  as  Leihnitas 
regards  all  the  movements  of  every  limb  of  our  body — as  only 
possible  through  a  sort  of '  prcstabilitated  harmony,*  t*  e,,  the  course 
of  creation  was  not  disturbed  by  them,  but  they  were  all  pri- 
mevally  '  ciistini^,*  ^  pre-ordained/  They  were  *  created*  at  the 
end  of  all  other  things,  in  the  gloaming  of  the  sixth  day.  Among 
them,  however,  was — and  this  will  interest  our  palaeographers 
—also  the  art  of  writing :  an  invention  considered  l>oyond  all 
mrts :  nothing  short  of  a  miracle.  Creation,  together  with  these 
i4>called  exceptions,  once  established,  nothing  could  be  altered 
in  it*  The  Laws  of  Nature  went  on  by  their  own  immutable 
force,  however  much  evil  might  spring  therefrom.  *  These  wicked 
ones  not  only  vulgarize  my  coin,*  says  the  Haggadah  with  reference 
to  the  propagation  of  the  evil-doers  and  their  kin,  bearing  the 
human  face  divine,  *but  they  actually  make  me  impress  base 
coin  with  mj  own  stamp/ 

God's  real  name  is  ineffable;  but  there  are  many  designations 
indicative  of  his  qualities^  such  as  the  Merciful  (Hachman,  a  name 

2  h2  ^ 


/ 


458  The  Tahmd. 

of  frequent  occurrence  both  in  the  Koran  and  in  the  Talmud), 
the  Holy  One,  the  Place,  the  Heavens,  the  Word,  Our  Father 
which  ii  in  Heaven,  the  Almighty,  the  Shcchinah,  or  Sacred 
Presence. 

The  doctrine  of  the  soul  bears  more  the  impress  of  the  Pla- 
tonic than  of  the  Aristotelian  school.  It  is  held  to  be  pre-existing. 
All  souls  that  are  ever  to  be  united  to  bodies  have  been  created 
once  for  all,  and  are  hidden  away  from  the  first  moment  of  crea- 
tion. They,  being  creatures  of  the  highest  realms,  are  cognisant 
of  all  things,  but,  at  the  hour  of  their  birth  in  a  human  body,  an 
angel  touches  the  mouth  of  the  child,  which  causes  it  to  forget  all 
that  has  been.  Very  striking  is  the  comparison  between  the  soul 
and  God,  a  comparison   which  has  an  almost  pantheistic  looL 

*  As  God  fills  the  whole  universe,'  says  the  Haggadah,  *  so  the 
soul  fills  the  whole  body ;  as  God  sees  and  is  not  seen,  so  tbe 
soul  sees  and  is  not  seen  ;  as  God  nourishes  the  whole  umverse^ 
so  the  soul  nourishes  the  whole  body ;  as  God  is  pure,  so  die 
soul  is  pure.'  This  purity  is  specially  dwelt  upon  in  contn- 
distinction   to  the  theory  of  hereditary  sin,  which    is  denied. 

*  There  is  no  death  without  individual  sin,  no  pain  without  indi- 
vidual transgpression.  That  same  spirit  that  dictated  in  die 
Pentateuch :  ^'  And  parents  shall  not  die  for  their  children,  nor 
the  children  for  their  parents,"  has  ordained  that  no  one  should  be 
punished  for  another  s  transgressions.'  In  the  judgment  on  sin 
the  animus  is  taken  into  consideraticm.  The  desire  to  commit 
the  vice  is  hehl  to  be  more  wicked  than  the  vice  itself. 

The  fear  of  God,  or  a  virtuous  life,  the  whole  aim  and  end 
of  a  man's  existence,  is  entirely  in  man's  hand.  *  Everything: 
is  in  God's  hand  save  the  fear  of  God.'  But  'one  hour  of 
repentance  is  better  than  the  whole  world  to  come.'  The  fullest 
liberty  is  granted  in  this  respect  to  every  human  being,  though 
the  help  of  God  is  necessary  for  carrying  it  out 

The  dogma  of  the  Resurrection  and  of  Immortality,  vaguely 
indicated  in  the  various  parts  of  the  Old  Testament,  has  been 
fixed  by  the  Talmud,  and  traced  to  several  biblical  passages. 
Vari<»us  are  the  similes  by  which  the  relaticm  of  this  world  to  the 
world  to  come  is  indicated.  This  world  is  like  unto  a  *Prosdora' 
to  tlie  next :  '  Prepare  thyself  in  the  hall,  that  thou  mayest 
!"•  ailmitted  into  the  palace:'  or  *  Tliis  world  is  like  a  roadside 
Inn  (lioKj)itium),  but  the  world  to  come  is  like  the  real  home.' 
J  Ik-  1  ij^litcous  are  represented  as  perfecting  themselves  and 
♦I'  v«'li»|)iiijr  all  tboir  hijrhest  faculties  even  in  the  next  world  ;  'for 
»l»'  nj:lihi)ns  there  is  no  rest,  neither  in  this  world  nor  in  the 
'"  • »,  \nv  tl»(  y  jro^  cay  the  Scriptures,  from  host  to  host,  from 
nhr/nn^  ^«>  fcVmiug;— tUey  will  see  God  in  Zion.'     How  all  its 

deeds 


Tfw  Talmud, 


459 


deeds  and  the  hour  whea  they  were  committed  arc  unfolded  to 
the  sig^ht  of  the  departed  soul,  the  teiTors  of  the  grave,  the  rollino^ 
bnck  to  Jerusalem  on  the  day  of  the  great  trumpet,  we  need  not 
here  tell  m  detail*  These  half- metaphysical  balf-mystieal  spe- 
culations are  throughout  in  the  manner  of  the  more  poetical  early 
Church  fathers  of  old  and  of  Bunyan  in  our  times*  Only  the 
glow  of  imag-ination  and  the  conciseness  of  language  in  which 
they  are  mostly  told  m  the  Talmud  contrast  favourably  with  the 
yerboseness  of  later  times.  The  Resurrection  is  to  take  place 
by  the  mystic  power  of  the  *  Dew  of  Life  *  in  Jerusalem — on 
Mount  OHvet,  add  the  Targums. 

There  is  no  everlasting  damnation  according  to  the  Talmud. 
There  is  only  a  temporary  punishment  even  for  the  worst 
sianers.  '  Generations  upon  generations '  shall  last  the  damna- 
tion of  idolaters,  apostates,  and  traitors.  But  there  is  a  space 
of  *  only  two  fingers*  breadth  between  Hell  and  Heaven  ;'  the 
sinner  has  but  to  repent  sincerely  and  the  gates  to  everlasting 
bliss  will  spring  open.  No  human  being  is  excluded  from  the 
world  to  come.  Every  man,  of  whatever  creed  or  nation,  pro- 
vided he  be  of  the  righteous,  shall  be  admitted  into  it  The 
punishment  of  the  wicked  is  not  specified,  as  indeed  all  the 
descriptions  of  the  nejtt  world  are  left  vague,  yet,  with  regard  to 
Paradise,  the  idea  of  something  inconceivably  glorious  is  con- 
yejed  at  every  step.  The  passage,  '  Eye  has  not  seen  nor  has 
ear  heard/  is  applied  to  its  unspeakable  bliss,  *  In  the  next 
world  there  will  be  no  eating,  no  drinking,  no  love  and  no 
labour,  no  envy,  no  hatred^  no  contest  The  Righteous  will  sit 
with  crowns  on  their  heads,  glorying  in  the  Splendour  of  God's 
Majesty.' 

The  essence  of  prophecy  gives  rise  to  some  speculation.  One 
decisive  talmudical  dictum  is,  that  God  does  not  cause  his  spirit 
to  rest  upon  any  one  but  a  strong,  wise,  rich,  and  humble  man. 
Strong  and  rich  are  in  the  Mishnah  explained  in  this  wise: 
'  Who  is  strong  ?  He  who  subdues  his  passion.  Who  is  rich  ? 
He  who  is  satisfied  with  his  lot.^  There  are  degrees  among 
prophets.  Moses  saw  everything  clearly ;  the  other  prophets  as 
in  dark  mirrors,  *  Ezekiel  and  Isaiah  say  the  same  things,  but 
Ezeklel  like  a  town- bred  man,  isaiah  like  a  villager/  The 
prophet^s  word  is  to  be  obeyed  in  all  things,  save  when  he  com- 
tnands  the  worship  of  idolatry^  The  notion  of  either  Elijah  or 
Moses  havinpr  in  reality  ascended  'to  Heaven*  is  utterly  repu- 
diated, as  well  as  that  of  the  Deity  (Sbechinah)  having  descended 
from  Heaven  'more  than  ten  hands*  breadth,' 

The  *phihjsophy  of  religion'  will  be  best  comprehended  by 
some   of  those  *  small  coins/  the    popular   and   pithy  sayings, 

gnomes^ 


460  Th$Talmiid. 

garnet,  proverbsy  and  the  rest,  which,  eren  better  than  street 
soD^,  characterifle  a  time.  With  these  we  shall  canclude.  We 
have  thought  it  preferable  to  give  them  at  random  as  we  foand 
them,  instead  of  building  up  from  them  a  system  of  ^Ethics* 
or  ^Duties  of  the  Heart.'  We  have  naturally  preferred  the 
better  and  more  characteristic  ones  that  came  in  oar  way.  We 
may  add—a  remark  perhaps  not  quite  superfluous — diat  the 
following  specimens,  as  well  as  the  quotations  which  we  hare 
given  in  the  course  of  this  article,  have  been  all  translated  by  n% 
as  literally  as  possible,  from  the  Talmud  itself, 

*  Be  thou  tho  cnrscd,  not  ho  who  curses.  Be  of  them  thsi 
are  persecuted,  not  of  them  that  pcrRccutc.  Look  at  Scriptore: 
there  is  not  a  single  bird  more  persecuted  than  tho  dove ;  yet  God 
has  chosen  her  to  be  offered  np  on  his  altar.  Tho  bull  is  hunted  by 
tho  lion,  the  shoep  by  the  wolf,  iho  gnat  by  the  tiger.  And  God  ssid, 
**•  Bring  mo  a  sacritico,  not  from  them  that  persecute,  but  from  them 
that  are  persecuted.** — Wo  read  (£z.  xviL  11.)  that  whilei  in  the 
contest  with  Amalok,  Moses  lifted  up  his  arms,  Israel  prevailed.  Did 
Moses's  hands  make  war  or  break  \m  ?  But  this  is  to  tell  you  thst 
as  long  as  Israel  are  looking  upwards  and  humbling  their  hearts 
beforo  their  Father  which  is  in  Heaven,  they  prevail ;  if  not,  they  &IL 
In  tho  same  way  you  find  (Nnm.  xxi.  9),  "  And  Moses  made  a  aerpeat 
of  brass,  and  put  it  upon  a  pole :  and  it  came  to  pass,  that  if  a  serpent 
had  bitten  any  man,  whon  he  beheld  tho  serpent  of  brass,  he  lived.* 
Dost  think  that  a  serpent  killoth  or  givcth  life?  But  as  long  is 
Israel  aro  looking  upwards  to  their  Father  which  is  in  Heaven  they  wiQ 
live  ;  if  not,  they  will  die. — "  Has  Crud  pleasure  in  tho  moat  and  Uood 
of  Rocrificres  V  "  asks  tho  prophet.  No;  Ho  has  not  so  much  ordained  as 
penuittcd  them.  It  is  for  yourselves,  ho  says,  not  for  me  that  yoa 
oiFor.  Like  a  king,  ^vlio  sees  his  sou  caroiisiug  daily  with  all  manner 
of  (jvil  companions :  Ytui  shidl  hcucoforth  oat  and  drink  entirely  at  your 
will  at  my  own  tttl>l(^  he  says.  Tlioy  offered  sacrifices  to  demons  and 
devils, fur  they  loved  Siuritiein*:,  and  eouLl  not  do  without  it.  And  tho 
Lord  wild,  "  Bring  your  oftVrinjrs  to  Me ;  you  shall  then  at  least  offer  to 
tlie  irnv  God."—  Seriptun;  <inlains  that  th(s  Hebrew  slave  who  "loves* 
his  bondage,  sliall  have  his  ear  piercinl  against  tho  door-post  Wliy? 
because  it  is  tliat  ear  wliieh  heard  on  Sinai.  **They  are  My  servants,  they 
shall  not  l>o  stdd  as  ])ondsnien :"  -  Tliey  arc  Mt/  servants,  not  servant's 
servants.  And  this  man  voluntarily  throws  away  his  j>recious  freedom — 
'*  Pierce  liis  ear  I''-  - '  I  le  who  Kjierifiees  a  wlicde  offering,  shall  be  rewarded 
for  a  whcdo  offering ;  ho  who  offers  a  burnt-offering,  shall  have  the 
reward  of  a  burnt-offering;  but  he  who  offers  humility  unto  God  and 
man,  shall  bo  rewanb'd  with  a  reward  as  if  ho  had  offered  all  the 
saeriliees  in  the  world.' — The  child  loves  its  mother  more  than  its 
futlii  r.  Tt  feai-s  its  father  more  than  its  mother.  See  how  the  Scrip- 
ture makes  the?  fatlier  i>ii(edo  tho  mother  iu  the  injunction,  '* Thou 
Hhiilt  love  thy  fatlier  and  thy  mother  ;'*  and  the  mother,  when  it  says, 
"Honour  thy  mother  and  tliy  father." — Bless  God  for  the  good  as 

wcU 


The  Talmud. 


m 


well  as  the  eviL  Whm  you  tear  of  &  death  Bay,  *' Blessed  is  the 
rightaoijB  Judge  J' — Even  when  the  gates  of  prayer  are  shut  in  hosven, 
those  of  tears  are  open.^Prayor  is  X&raal*B  only  weapon,  a  weapon 
inherited  from  its  fathers,  a  weapon  tried  in  a  thousand  battles,^ — When 
the  righteouii  dles^  it  is  the  i^arth  that  loses.  The  lost  jewel  will 
always  be  a  jewel,  but  the  possessor  who  has  lost  it — well  may  he 
weep*— Life  is  a  passing  sh^ow,  eaya  the  Scripture*  Is  it  the  sha- 
dow of  a  tower,  of  a  kee "?  A  shadow  that  preyails  for  a  while  f  No, 
it  is  the  shadow  of  a  bird  in  his  flight^ away  Aios  the  bird  and 
Ihere  is  neither  bird  nor  shadow^ — ^Bapent  one  day  b^oro  thy  death- 
There  was  a  king  who  bade  all  his  serTanta  to  a  great  repast,  but  did 
not  indicate  the  hour :  somo  wont  home  and  put  on  their  best  gamienta 
and  st(3f>d  at  the  door  of  the  palace ;  others  said,  Thc^  la  ampla 
timo,  the  king  will  let  ns  know  beforehand*  But  the  king  eumiuoned 
Ihem  of  a  Budden ;  and  those  that  came  in  their  bOMt  garments  were 
well  reeeivedj  hut  the  foolish  ones,  who  came  in  their  sloTonlinesi^ 
were  tamed  away  in  disgrace.  Eepent  to-day,  lest  to-morrow  ye  might 
be  summoned, — The  aim  and  end  of  all  wisdom  are  repentance  and 
good  works,— Even  the  moat  righteous  shall  not  attam  to  so  high  a 
plaeo  in  Heaven  as  the  truly  repentant— The  reward  of  good  worke  is 
like  dates  ;  sweet  and  ripening  late, — ^The  dying  benediction  of  a  eago 
to  his  disciples  was :  I  pray  for  yon  that  the  fear  of  Heaven  may  be 
as  strong  upon  you  as  tho  fear  of  man.  You  avoid  sin  before  the  face 
of  the  latter  :  avoid  it  before  the  face  of  the  All^seeing. — **  If  your 
God  bates  idolatry,  why  does  he  not  destroy  it  ? "  a  heathen  asked. 
And  they  aJiswered  him :  Behold,  they  worship  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
ffton ;  wotild  you  have  him  destroy  this  beautiful  world  for  the  saka 
of  the  foolish? — If  your  God  is  a  ** friend  of  the  poor,"  a^ed 
another,  why  does  be  not  support  them  ?  Their  ease,  a  sage  answered, 
ii  left  in  onr  hands,  that  w^e  may  thereby  acquire  merits  and  for^ve- 
ness  of  sin.  But  what  a  merit  it  is !  the  other  replied ;  snppofte  I  am 
angry  with  one  of  my  slaves,  and  forbid  him  food  and  diink,  and 
some  ime  f oee  and  giv^  it  him  furtively,  shall  I  he  much  pleased  ? 
Kot  so,  tho  other  replied,  Suppose  yon  are  wroth  with  your  only  son 
and  imprison  him  without  food,  and  some  good  man  has  pity  on  tho 
ohildj  and  saves  him  from  the  pangs  of  hunger,  would  yon  be  so  ygtj 
angry  with  tho  man  ?  And  we,  if  we  are  called  Borvants  of  God^  are  also 
called  his  children* — He  who  has  more  learning  than  good  works  is 
like  a  tree  with  many  branches  but  few  roots,  which  the  first  wind 
throws  on  its  face ;  whilst  ho  w^hoso  works  are  greater  than  his  know- 
ledge is  liko  a  tree  with  many  roots  and  fewer  branch es,  but  which 
all  the  winds  of  heaven  cannot  uproot. 

*Love  your  wife  like  yourstilf,  honour  her  more  than  yonrself. 
Whosoever  lives  unmarried^  lives  without  joy,  without  comfort,  with- 
ont  blessing.  Descend  a  step  in  choosing  a  wife.  If  thy  wife  is 
small,  bend  down  to  her  and  whisper  into  her  car.  He  who  forsakea 
the  love  of  his  youth,  God*s  altar  weeps  for  him*  He  who  eeoa  Ms 
wife  die  before  him  has,  as  it  wore,  been  pr^rsent  at  the  dadruatloil  cf 
the  eanctuary  itself— around  him  the  world  grows  dark.    It  iB  womaa 

alone 


462  The  Talmud. 

olono  through  whom  Grod's  blessings  oro  Yoncbsftfed  to  a  house.  She 
teaches  the  children,  speeds  the  husband  to  the  place  of  worship  and 
instruction,  welcomes  him  when  ho  returns,  keeps  the  house  godly  and 
pure,  and  God*s  blessings  rest  upon  all  these  things.  He  who 
marries  for  money,  his  children  shall  bo  a  curse  to  him.  The 
house  that  does  not  open  to  the  poor  shall  open  to  the  physiciaiL 
The  birds  in  the  air  even  despise  the  miser.  He  who  giyes  charity 
in  secret  is  greater  than  Moses  himselfl  Honour  the  sons  of 
the  |>oor,  it  is  they  who  bring  science  into  splendour.  Let  the 
honour  of  thy  neighbour  bo  to  thee  like  thine  own.  Bather  be  thrown 
into  a  fiery  furnace  than  bring  any  one  to  public  shame.  Hospitality 
is  the  most  important  |)art  of  Divine  worship.  There  are  three  crowns : 
of  the  law,  the  priesthood,  the  kingship ;  but  the  crown  of  a  good 
name  is  greater  than  theiu  all.  Iron  breaks  the  stone,  fire  melts 
iron,  water  extinguishes  fire,  the  clouds  drink  up  the  water,  a  storm 
drives  away  the  clouds,  man  withstands  the  storm,  fear  nnmnna  man, 
wine  dispels  fear,  sleep  drives  away  wine,  and  death  sweeps  all 
away  —  even  sleep.  But  Solomon  the  Wise  says:  Charity  saves 
from  Death. — How  can  you  escape  sin?  Think  of  three  things: 
whence  thou  comest,  whither  thou  goost,  and  to  whom  thou  wilt  have 
to  account  for  all  thy  deeds :  even  to  the  King  of  Kings,  the  All 
Holy,  praised  be  He.  Four  shall  not  enter  Paradise:  the  sooffsr, 
tho  liar,  the  hypocrite,  and  the  slanderer.  To  slander  is  to  murder. 
The  cock  and  the  owl  both  await  the  daylight.  The  light,  says 
the  cock,  brings  delight  to  me,  but  what  are  you  waiting  for? 
When  the  thief  has  no  opportunity  for  stealing,  he  considers  bim»>]f 
an  honest  man.  K  thy  friends  agree  in  calling  thee  an  ass,  go  and 
get  a  halter  around  thee.  Thy  fnend  has  a  friend,  and  thy  friend*8 
fr^nd  bus  a  friend:  be  discreet.  The  dog  sticks  to  you  on  account 
oi  .  .le  crumbs  iu  your  i)oc'kct.  Ho  in  whose  family  there  has  been  one 
his  -od  should  not  siiy  to  his  neighbour,  Tray  hang  this  little  fish  up 
foi  me.  The  camel  wanted  to  have  horns,  and  they  took  away  his 
(ill  •.  The  soldiers  light,  and  the  kings  are  the  heroes.  The  thief 
inv.)kos  God  while  he  breaks  into  the  house.  The  woman  of  sixty 
will  nm  after  music  like  one  of  six.  After  the  thief  runs  tho  theft; 
aft.  r  the  beggar,  poverty.  While  thy  foot  is  shod,  smash  the  thoni. 
When  tho  ox  is  down,  many  aie  the  butchers.  Descend  a  step  in 
clioosing  a  wife,  mount  a  step  iu  choosing  a  friend.  If  there  is  any- 
thing bad  about  you,  siiy  it  yourself.  Luck  makes  rich,  luck  makes 
wise.  Beat  tho  goils,  and  the  priests  ^\^ll  tremble.  Were  it  not  for 
tho  existence  of  i)assioiis,  no  one  would  build  a  house,  marry  a  wife, 
boj.  ;t  children,  or  do  any  work.  Hie  sun  will  go  do^vn  all  by  himself, 
wil.iout  your  assistance.  The  world  could  not  well  get  on  \*ithout 
perfumers  and  without  tanners  :  but  woe  unto  the  tanner,  well  to  ihQ 
j)(;rfunuT  !  Fools  are  no  proof,  No  man  is  to  be  mode  responsible 
for  words  which  he  utters  in  his  grief.  One  eats,  another  says  grace, 
lie  who  is  ashamed  will  not  easily  commit  sin.  There  is  a  great 
dilVen  nee  between  him  who  is  ashamed  before  his  own  self  and  him 
who  is  only  ashamed  before  others.     It  is  a  good  sign  in  man  to  bo 

capable 


ThB  Talmud. 


463 


capable  of  being  asliaineiL     Ono  contrition  in  man's  lioarfc  !a  better 
thiiu  many  MagellationB*     If  our  ancestors  woro  liko  &iigclft,  wc  are 
Irke  men  ;  if  oiir  ancestors  wero  liko  mon,  we  are  liko  asses*     Bo  not 
live  Eear  a  pions  fool.     If  you  wish  to  liang  yonri^elf,  cheoe©  a  big 
troo»     Jlather  eat  anions  and  sit  in  tho  sLadow,  and  do  not  eat  goese 
and  poultry  if  it  makes  thj  heart  uneasy  witMn  tbeo*     A  small  stator 
(coin J  in  a  largo  jar  makes  a  big  noiae     A  myrtlcj  ovon  in  a  desert, 
moi&iiis  a  myrtle.     When  tho  pitcher  falls  upon  tho  stone,  woe  unto 
tbepitober  ;  when  tho  stone  falls  upou  the  pitcher,  woo  unto  the  pitcher ; 
wbatevor  befaUa,  woo  unto  tho  pitcher.      Even  if  the  bull  have  hia 
head  deep  In  his  trough,  hasten  upon  the  roof,  atid  drag  tho  loddor 
after   you.      Get  your  living  by  skinning  carcases  in  the  street,  if 
you  cannet  otherwise,  and  do  not  sajj  I  am  a  priest,  I  am  a  great 
man ;  this  work  wonld  not  befit  my  dignity,— Youth  is  a  garland  of 
TOSQs^  ago  is  a  crown  of  thorns.     Use  a  noble  vasa  even  for  one  day 
— ^let  it  break  to-morrow.    The   last   thief  is  hanged  first.    Teach 
thy  tongue  to  say,  I  do  not  know.     The  heart  of  our  first  ancestors 
was  as  large  as  the  largest  gate  of  the  Temple,  that  of  the  later  ones 
liko  that  of  tho  next  large  onej  ours  is  like  tho  eye  of  a  needle. 
Drink  not,  and  you  will  not  sin.     Not  what  yon  say  about  yourself, 
but  what  others  say.     Not  the  jdace  henoura  tho  man,  but  the  man 
the  place.      The   cat  and   tho  rat  make  peace  o?er  a  carcase.     A 
dog  away  from  his  native  kcnuel  dares  not  to  hark  for  seven  years. 
He  who  walks  daily  over  bis  estates  finds  a  little  coin  ea^h  time. 
.  He  who  humiliatoa  himself  will  bo  lifted  up ;  he  who  raises  himself  up 
I  will  bo  humiliated.     Whosoever  runs  after  greatness,  greatness  rima 
I iiway  from  him ;  bo  who  runs  £rom  greatness,  greatness  follows  him, 
"lie  who  curbs  his  wrath,  his  sins  will  ho  forgiven.    Whosoever  does 
n«:»t  persecute  them  that  perseetite  him,  wboaecver  taken  an  offt;nce  in 
fijlonec,  ho  ivbo  docs  good  because  of  love,  be  who  is  cheerful  under 
his  suflTerings— they  ai*e  tho  friends  of  God,  and  of  them  the  Scriptm'o 
,  iaya^  And  they  shall  shine  forth  as  does  the  sun  at  noonday.    Pride  is 
yvim  idolatry*     Commit  a  sin  twice,  and  you  will  think  it  perfectly 
Allowable.    When  the  ond  of  a  man  is  come,  everybody  lords  it  over 
him.     While  om-  love  was  strong,  we  lay  on  the  edge  of  a  sword ;  now 
it  is  no  longer  strong,  a  sixty-yard* wide  bed  is  ttxj  narrow  for  ns, 
A  Galilean  said :  When  the  shepherd  is  angiy  with  his  flock,  he  ap- 
^|>oints  to  it  a  blind  bell-wether.     The  day  is  short  and  tho  work  is 
l^eat ;  but  tho  labourci*s  are  idle,  though  the  rewaid  be  great,  and  tho 
i  master  of  the  work  presses.    It  is  not  incumbent  upon  thee  ta  eompleto 
lihe  work :  but  thou  must  not  therefore  cease  from  it.     If  thon  hast 
[worked  mnch^  great  shall  be  thy  reward:  for  the  master  who  em- 
ployed thee  is  faithful  in  his  payment.     But  know   that   tliO  tmo 
reward  is  not  of  this  world.'  .  ,  .  . 


Solemnly,  as  n  warning  and  as  a  comfort^  this  adage  strikes 
on  our  ear; — *And  it  is  not  incumbent  upon  thee  lo  com- 
pi  etc  the  work*'  When  the  Masters  of  the  Law  cnt4^red  and  left 
the  academy  they  usetl  to  offer  up  a  short  but  fervent  pravcfj 

ia 


464  Science  iji  SdkooU. 

in  which  we  would  &in  join  at  this  moment— a  pimyer  of  thuiki 
that  thej  had  been  able  to  carry  out  their  task  thus  far ;  and  a 
prayer  further  ^  that  no  evil  might  arise  at  their  hands,  that  they 
might  not  have  fallen  into  error,  that  they  might  not  declare  pure 
that  which  was  impure,  impure  that  which  was  pure,  and  that 
their  words  might  be  pleasing  and  acceptable  to  God  and  to  their 
fellow-men,' 


Art.  VI. — 1.  Report  from  the  Select  Committee  of  the  House  of 
Lords  on  the  Public  Schools  Billy  togetlier  with  the  Proceediiys 
of  the  Committee^  Minutes  of  Evidence^  and  Appendix,     1865. 

2.  Report  of  the  Committee  appointed  by  the  Council  of  the  British 
Association  for  the  advancement  of  Scicfux  to  consider  the  best 
means  for  promoting  Scientific  Education  in  Sclux>ls.     1867. 

3.  Lessons  in  Elementary  Physiology.  By  Prof.  T,  H.  Huxley. 
London,  1866. 

4.  Lessons  in  Elementary  Botany.  By  Prof.  Oliver,  London, 
1866. 

5.  Lessons  in  Elementary  Chemistry.  By  Prof.  Roscoe.  London, 
1866. 

6.  A  Lecture  delivered  at  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain 
By  Rev.  F.  W.  Farrar,  M.A.,'F.R.&     London,  1866, 

THE  theories  of  education  most  popular  at  the  present  day 
show  very  clearly  how  dangerous  it  is  to  make  use  of 
similes  and  metaphors.  Few  men  are  so  careful  of  their  meaning 
as  to  allow  themselves  the  use  of  those  similes  only  which  are 
perfect  Most  speakers  and  writers,  so  long  as  their  illustration 
brings  out  dearly  and  forcibly  the  point  they  wish  to  make,  are 
careless  of  its  other  features ;  and  most  hearers  and  readers  take 
delight  in  passing  over  the  real  bearing  of  a  simile,  and  in 
selecting  for  admiration  just  those  accessory  parts  which  were 
never  intended  to  be  noticed.  No  one  can  refuse  to  admit  that 
the  process  of  education  may  very  fairly  be  likened  to  the  sharp 
ening  of  a  cutting  instrument,  or  that  the  bodily  tmining  of  an 
athlete  presents  a  very  gotxl  image  of  the  mental  training  of  a 
scholar.  But  neither  the  one  simile  nor  the  other  will  bear  any 
straining  ;  and  both  have  of  course  been  strained  a  good  deal. 
Knives  are  for  the  most  part  l)lunted,  not  sharpened,  by  use,  and 
to  put  an  edge  to  a  piece  of  steel  requires  the  application  of  a 
jjrindstone  or  a  hone,  things  reserved  for  that  speci.il  purpose. 
The  athlete  never  dreams  of  bringing  his  body  to  due  perfection 
by  un<lergoinp:  steady  and  fruitful  labour;  his  training  would  be 
thought  a  mockery  if  he  did  not  walk  miles  out  of  town  in  order 

to 


Science  tn  Sehooh. 


469 


to  walk  miles  baek 


dailY  witli  clum- 


again^  or  if  he  did  not 
miai  and  cushions.  And,  through  the  constant  employment  of 
the  illustrations  of  training  and  sharpeningTr  it  has  become  almost 
an  article  of  the  scholastic  creed  j  that  any  kind  of  learning 
which  can  be  *hown  to  be  wholly  fruitless  in  actual  life,  entirely 
clear  from  practical  restills,  is  most  probably  of  the  bighest  value 
for  educational  purposes^  and  that  whatCTer  knowledge  is  mani- 
f^tly  of  immediate  proBt  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  mankind  is 
necessarily  useless  for  the  school.  To  judge  from  the  language 
of  many  schoolmasters  of  the  present  day,  the  accidental  features 
of  training  have  got  such  complete  possession  of  their  minds, 
that  they  seem  to  think  that  the  value  of  classical  studies  lies 
precisely  in  their  being  what  the  hnaj  world  calls  useless,  or  at 
least  to  take  it  for  granted  that  no  strength  of  mind  can  possibly 
be  obtained  through  and  by  moans  of  the  knowledge  generally 
called  usefuL 

This  tendency  manifests  itself  very  clearly  whenever  the  in* 
troduction  of  physical  and  natural  science  into  schools  comes 
to  be  discussed.  Science  has  unhappily  in  former  days  been 
stigmatised  as  *  useful  knowledge/  and  hence  the  great  reluctance 
to  make  it  a  part  of  general  education,  though  its  vast  and 
rapidly  increasing  importance,  and  the  urgency  with  which  its 
educational  claims  are  at  times  put  forward,  render  it  a  source  of 
great  embarrassment  to  scholastic  authorities*  No  one  can  study 
the  various  reports  and  lectures  on  Science  in  Schools  without 
failing  to  be  struck  with  the  peculiar  attitude  of  principals  and 
teachers  towards  science.  They  admire  it  excessively,  they  are 
very  anxious  to  introduce  it  into  their  schools^  they  look  forward 
to  the  time  when  it  will  have  become  an  important  element  in 
national  instruction  ;  but  at  present  they  wish  to  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it  Their  respect  for  it  is  mingletl  with  fear,  and  though 
they  are  almost  persuaded  to  adopt  it  they  beg  to  be  allowed  to 
put  it  off  to  a  more  convenient  season*  Running  through  all  they 
say  is  the  feeling,  more  or  less  concealed,  and  yet  tolerably  evi- 
dent^ that  science  is  useful  knowledge^  and  therefore  knowledge 
useless  for  training  purposes.  They  admire  its  material  power^ 
and  see  that  sooner  or  later  it  must  lie  taught  in  schools  by  reaioii 
i>f  its  becoming  every  day  more  and  more  closely  woven  into  our 
national  life  ;  but,  even  in  the  minds  most  favourably  disposed 
towards  it,  the  study  of  science  ranks  hardly  higher  than,  and 
is  manifestly  regarded  in  the  same  light  as,  the  study  of  modern 
languages*  Many  speak  of  it  as  if  they  were  willing  to  sacrifice 
tlicir  own  convictions  to  public  demands,  and  to  introduce  h 
into  tlieir  curriculum  as  a  subsidiary  study^  but  as  if  they  thought 
that  to  substitute  it  for  other  kinds  of  leamiiig,  and  to  lean  on 

it 


466  Science  in  Schoob. 

it  as  on  a  chief  means  of  general  culture,  would  be  to  throw  awaj 
all  hopes  of  bringing  up  stout  masculine  minds,  and  of  training 
the  young  English  intellect  to  habits  of  sound  and  vigorous 
thought 

It  is  undoubtedly  a  great  sign  of  width  of  mind  and  tolerant 
judgment  in  such  men  that,  regarding  science  in  this  light,  thej 
should  be  able  to  speak  of  it  with  so  great  a  respect  and  modeia- 
tion«  Certainly  the  scientific  men,  who  now  press  on  them  so 
urgently  the  necessity  of  teaching  science,  would  little  care  to  do 
so  if  they  for  a  moment  thought  that  the  value  of  scientific 
education  was  limited  by  its  practical  and  immediate  applica- 
tions. Of  all  the  reasons  for  teaching  boys  chemistry  and  physics, 
the  very  least  appears  to  them  to  lie  in  the  fact,  that  a  knowledge 
of  chemical  and  physical  laws  comes  into  use  in  the  everyday 
life  of  every  man.  Not  that  they  despise,  much  less  aflect  to 
despise,  useful  information,  but  they  prize  much  more  highly  the 
other  virtues  of  scientific  learning.  They  are  willing  to  admit 
that  the  usefulness  of  useful  knowledge  has  been  in  many 
quarters  vastly  exaggerated,  and  in  many  cases  perhaps  its  so- 
called  usefulness  has  in  the  end  proved  sheer  uselessness,  or  even 
been  productive  of  mischief.  They  can  see  as  clearly  as  any  one 
else  that  to  attempt  to  teach  physical  science  in  schools  on  a 
large  scale  in  the  same  spirit  in  which  it  is  now  taught  on  a  snudl 
scale,  as  mere  useful  information  or  as  a  pleasant  alternative  to 
French  and  German,  would  have  the  ruinous  eflect  of  changing 
school  life  into  a  period  for  the  gathering  up  into  cerebral  baskets 
of  the  fragments  of  other  people's  knowledge,  and  of  corrupting 
the  process  of  training  into  one  of  simple  cramming.  But  they 
themselves  have  not  learned  science  in  this  way,  and  this  is  not 
the  way  in  which  they  wish  to  teach  it. 

There  are  of  course,  in  every  school,  boys  about  to  pass  onward 
into  various  occupjitions  more  or  less  intimately  connected  with 
physics  or  with  chemistry,  to  whom  instruction  in  these  branches 
of  science  during  their  school  days  would  be  of  very  great  value. 
The  number  of  these  boys  is  rapidly  increasing,  and  the  duty  of 
providing  for  them  some  form  of  scientific  education  l>ecomes 
every  day  more  and  more  pressing.  But  to  teach  science  with  this 
view  and  to  this  end  would  be  simply  to  change  general  training 
into  professional  ^apprenticeship  ;  and  to  make  science  for  this 
reason  an  integral  part  of  ordinary  school  education,  would  be 
clearly  unjust  to  all  those  who  have  no  such  professional  appli- 
cations to  look  forward  to.  Still  more  deplorable,  we  venture  to 
think,  would  be  any  attempt  to  change  our  present  system  of 
general  schools,  where  all  that  is  needful  for  the  ordinary  citizen 
is  supposed  to  be  taught,  into  a  system  of  separate  academies 

widi 


Science  in  Schools* 


467 


witli  distinctive  cliaracters,  among  which  each  lad  mig^ht  find 
one  specially  atlaptecl  to  equip  him  for  the  particular  lino  of  life 
which  had  been  chosen  for  him  to  follow.  And  yet  such  would 
be  the  practical  efTect  oi  the  useful-knowledge  argument  pushed 
to  its  logical  cimclusion.  In  a  short  time  we  should  have  schools 
for  doctors,  schools  for  lawyers,  schooU  for  engineers,  and  schools 
for  gentlemen,  where  cither  the  narrowness  of  professional  feeling 
and  thinking  would  be  fearfully  intensified  by  early  training,  or 
the  worship  of  unprofitable  culture  and  contempt  for  useful 
knowledge  would  rise  to  a  pitcli  compared  with  which  the  old 
classical  disdain  of  science  would  appear  as  weak  and  reprehen- 
sible toleration.  I/j  however,  all  that  clearly  belongs  to  the  idea 
of  apprenticeship  be  taken  away  from  useful  knowledge,  the 
residue  of  useful  information  which  is  left  is  either  so  useful 
that  everybody  learns  it  without  special  teaching,  or  so  little 
useful  that  there  is  no  satisfactory  excuse  for  teaching  it  at  alL 
On  the  very  general  grounds,  that  no  one  can  be  taught  too 
much  and  that  all  knowledge  may  be  put  to  some  use  or  other, 
a  lad  might  be  instructed  in  the  manufacture  of  watches  and 
hydraulic  presses^  might  be  initiated  into  the  mystery  of  pre- 
paring oat)'gen,  and  might  become  learned  in  gastric  juice  and 
connective  tissue ;  hut  could  any  one  be  said  to  be  (in  a  prac- 
tical way)  the  better  for  erudition  of  this  kind?  or  what  real 
satisfaction  could  it  give  to  a  parent?  It  may  be  very  interesting 
to  possess  an  intimate  knowledge  of  bal  an  cogwheel  s  and  escape- 
ments, but  hundreds  of  punctual  men  have  had  neither  time 
nor  chance  to  learn  anything  of  the  kind,  and,  thanks  to  the 
watchmaker,  are  never  made  to  feel  their  ignorance.  Oxygen- 
combustions  and  hydrogen-explosions  have  charms  of  their  own, 
and  every  one  must  feel  a  sort  of  satisfaction  when  dim  ideas 
about  the  mechanism  of  his  own  body  are  replaced  by  clear 
and  consistent  conceptions ;  but  of  what  practical  use  can  the 
learning  of  a  little  chemistry  or  of  a  little  rough  anatomy  be  to 
a  busy  urgent  man  ?  As  far  as  mere  usefulness  is  concerneih  time 
^pent  in  these  matters  had  far  better  be  spent  in  acquiring  a  know- 
ledge of  those  legal  questions  with  which  every  one  is  sure  at 
some  time  or  other  to  have  to  do,  or  in  making  a  practical 
acquaintance  with  the  value  of  goods  and  the  mutual  relations 
of  landlord  and  tenant  Men  in  general  conduct  their  indivi- 
dual physical  lives  according  to  certain  empirical  views,  into  the 
reasons  of  which  they  have  not  time  fully  to  inquire — views  which 
are  for  the  most  part  the  relhctions  of  the  philoso]?hical  Ideas 
which  have  just  been  given  up  by  the  pliilosophers  of  the  day, 
and  for  discussing  which  fairly  and  successfully  something  more 
than  a  mere  smattering  of  useful  knowledge  is  needed.     Does 

any 


468  8eim¥»  in  Bekooli. 

any  one  reallj  believe  that  sach  a  handfal  of  naeftil  phyaioio- 
giral  knowledge  as  can  be  put  into  a  lad's  head  at  acnool  will 
cause  or  even  enable  him  to  walk  in  after  life  with  more  than 
average  circumspection?  or  that  a  little  physics  and  a  litde 
chemistry  sown  in  youth  is  sure  to  bring  forth  fruit  afterwards 
in  the  form  of  irreproachable  ventilation  aiKi  enlightened  domestic 
economy  ? 

I^Thc  want  of  useful  knowledge  and  general  scientific  informa- 
tion, if  felt  at  «ill,  is  felt  when  a  man  has  to  act  for  others  besides 
himself;  when  he  comes  forward  as  a  citizen,  and  takes  his  put 
in  the  administration  of  local  or  general  public  business.  On 
such  occasions  a  certain  amount  of  scientific  knowledge^  of 
physics,  of  chemistry,  or  of  biolog}',  is  often  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance. But  men  in  positions  of  this  kind  want  something 
more  than  mere  school-boy  learning,  something  weightier  than 
scr.ips  of  intcTosting  information ;  they  need,  not  useful,  but  real 
knowknlge.  To  expect  that  any  one,  by  an  education  of  the 
useful-knowledge  sort,  however  prolonged,  could  be  properly 
equipped  for  all  such  contingencies,  is  simply  absurd.  On  the 
otner  hand,  nothing  can  be  easier  for  a  well  trained  mind  than  to 
get  up  on  each  occasion  the  special  information  necessary  for 
properly  judging  the  particular  case.  An  able  lawyer,  argoing 
a  point  of  science  before  a  court  of  law,  will  at  times  display  sn 
amount  of  scientific  erudition,  of  very  recent  development, 
astonishinj?  botli  to  the  court  and  to  himself.  Every  intelligent 
citizen  may,  in  a  feebler  way,  so  far  imitate  the  advocate.  But 
in  his  public  duties  the  citizen  must,  if  he  is  to  be  reckoned  a 
useful  man,  possess  a  something  of  which  the  advocate  has  no 
need.  There  are  few  lawyers,  however  great  their  ability,  who 
can  thus  argue  tlie  legal  asjwcts  of  points  of  science  before 
actual  scientific  men,  without  the  latter  becoming  aware  that  the 
speaker,  however  accurate  in  his  details,  in  his  descriptions,  and 
in  his  nomenclature,  however  correct  in  his  legal  reasonings, 
does  not  really  understand  the  matters  on  which  he  discourses  so 
fluently  ;  that,  thoujjh  ho  talks  science,  he  does  not  think  in 
science.  It  is  a  niarkwl  feature  of  scientific  knowledge,  that 
any  one  at  all  accustomed  to  the  use  of  special  phrases  and 
t(»chnical  terms  can,  with  the  greatest  ease,  make  himself  master 
of  a  vast  amount  of  superficial  information.  In  nothing  is 
mere  cram  mi ng  more  readily  accomplished ;  and  hence  the 
great  danp^er  of  teaching  science  in  the  form  of  useful  know- 
ledjre.  15ut  to  make  oneself  master  either  of  physics  or  chemistrv ; 
to  firrive  at  such  an  acquaintance  with  their  results  and  methods 
of  in(|uiry  as  to  Ijo  able  to  form  sound  independent  judgments 
on  disputed  points ;  to  have  brought  the  mind  into  harmony  with 

die 


Science  in  Sch&oh. 


489 


the  ways  of  thinking  by  which  those  sciences  have  been  so 
successfully  cuhivate<l ;  to  fit  oneself,  in  fact,  for  original  inresti- 
gation,  is  a  task  of  the  greatest  diflRcultv,  only  to  be  accom- 
plished bj  dint  of  long  training  and  practice.  This  scientific 
Btat^  of  mind  and  intellectual  temjier,  as  distinguished  from  the 
mere  posscision  of  scientific  inrorniationj  is  precisely  that  of 
which  the  advocate  has  little  or  no  need>  but  which  is  all  in  all 
to  the  man  engaged  in  public  duties,  and  called  upon  to  share 
in  public  decisions.  It  is  a  quality  which  will  Ije  looked  for  in 
vain  in  our  public  men,  high  and  low,  so  long  as  science  is 
taught  in  our  schools  as  if  it  wcro  nothing  more  than  a  collec- 
tion of  striking  facts  and  interestinfif  revelations. 

There  is  one  function  of  useful  knowledge  which  demands 
the  very  slightest  notice  onlj.  Science,  or  rather  what  is 
called  science,  U  taught  in  many  schools^  especially  in  girls' 
gchools,  as  useful  knowledge,  for  purposes  avowedly  useless. 
Culture  is  understood  by  many  to  mean  the  equipment  of  the 
mind  with  topics  and  phrases  of  conversation ;  and  in  soch 
things  science  is  exceedingly  fruitful.  With  very  mwlerate  ex- 
ertions, a  boy  or  girl  might  speedily  learn  to  talk  a  little  botany, 
or  a  little  marine  zoology;  to  have  something  to  say  on  the 
process  of  extracting  the  new  dyes,  or  on  the  means  of  determining 
the  position  of  electric  faults  ;  might  even  be  qualified  to  pass 
little  criticisms  on  Dr.  TyndalFs  last  lecture,  and  to  throw  little 
stones  at  Darwin  and  Huxley,  If  such  were  the  only,  or  even 
the  chief  fruit  of  scientific  teaching,  if  science  is  to  be  looked 
on  as  useful  knowledge,  and  useful  knowledge  to  be  sacrificed  in 
this  way  at  the  shrine  of  Dagon,  scientific  men  would  gladly 
leave  all  teaching  in  the  hands  of  the  old  authorities,  and  con- 
tinue to  live,  as  they  have  been  wont  to  do*  in  and  for  them« 
selves. 

In  whatever  light  we  consider  the  matter,  in  whatever  way  we 
turn  it  over,  the  conclusion  is  forced  upon  us,  that  useful  know- 
ledge becomes  useful  only  when  the  mind  knows  how  to  use  it 
aright*  At  the  best,  it  is  a  mere  weapon^  a  mere  tool,  and  the 
finer  its  edge,  the  sooner  it  is  blunted  when  handled  by  clumsy 
hands.  To  load  a  l>oy  at  school  with  all  kinds  of  heterogeneous 
information  can  only  %vork  mischief,  unless  his  mind  at  the  same 
time  be  wisely  moulded,  and  his  intellectual  powers  carefully 
trained.  On  the  other  hand^  however  dry,  obsolete,  and  in  a 
practical  sense,  useless,  the  matters  on  which  he  has  been 
engaged  during  his  school  life,  provided  that  he  leaves  the  school 
with  a  stout  and  active  mind,  all  may  be  expected  to  go  well, 
for  he  will  very  speedily  supply  himself  both  with  materials 
and  with  tools. 


470  Science  in  Schools. 

\Vc  should  not  have  ventured  to  indulge  in  Teflcctions  so 
obvious  .and  commonplace,  were  it  not  for  the  purpose  of  clearing 
the  ground  for  tlie  consideration  of  a  question  which  seems 
liitherto  to  have  obtained  too  little  attention.  Insist  upon  and 
cxa^rtrerate  to  the  utmost  the  intellectual  barrenness  of  mere  useful 
information,  magnify  to  the  skies  the  moulding  and  training 
virtues  of  classical  studies,  and  of  the  old  school  routine,  there 
still  remains  the  fact,  that  physical  and  natural  science  is  fast 
gathering  round  both  our  public  and  private  lives  in  such  a  way, 
that  it  is  (>ven  now  almost  impossible  to  move  the  right  band  or 
the  left  without  touching  it,  and  that  almost  ever}*  one  has  during 
his  lifetime  to  acquire  some  scientific  knowledge  by  some  means 
or  other.  Noting  this,  and  seeing  how  long  is  art,  and  how 
short  is  life,  one  is  driven  to  ask  with  increasing  urgency  the 
<luestion.  Is  it  after  all  true  that  educational  virtues  abide  only  in 
knowledge  which  is  otherwise  useless?  Is  it  not  possible  that 
the  youthful  sciences  may  be  found  able  to  impart  to  growing 
minds  a  portion  of  their  own  strength,  and  to  engraft  in  boys 
the  intellectual  qualities  which  will  ensure  in  after  life  a  success 
comparable  to  their  own  ?  May  not  useful  knowledge  be  made 
doubly  useful,  and  scholars  be  trained  to  wisdom  by  practice 
in  the  wise  use  of  those  very  tools  which  they  will  in  many 
cases  be  called  upon  as  grown  up  men  to  handle? 

Tlic  objects  which  a  schoolmaster  has  in  view  when  he  takes 
a  scholar  in  hand  may  be  briefly  described  as  the  stirring  up  the 
mind  to  activity,  the  strengthening  of  the  memory,  and  the 
cultivation  of  the  reasoning  powers.  And  since,  where  one 
person  falls  short  of  truth  through  the  use  of  a  faulty  syllogism, 
nine  go  wrong  through  their  reasoning  on  false  premisses,  it 
becomes  of  supreme  importance  to  put  boys  in  the  way  of 
making  sure  the  grounds  of  their  conclusions,  by  developing 
within  them  the  faculty  of  vigilant  observation,  in  order  that 
they  may  see  whatever  is  to  be  seen,  and  hear  what  is  to  be 
heard  ;  by  cultivating  staunch  habits  of  accuracy,  by  nurturing 
the  power  of  judging  between  conflicting  evidence,  and,  lastly, 
by  encouraging  in  every  possible  way  width  and  catholicity  of 
mind  and  toleration  of  other  people's  errors.  All  this  is  or  ought 
to  be  (lone,  not  so  much  by  precept  and  example,  as  by  trial  and 
piactic  (» ;  the  scholar's  intellectual  powers  widening  and  growing 
.vtrong  by  exercise,  and  sound  mental  habits  becoming  gradually 
and  almost  uncnnseiously  a  part  of  himself.  The  theory  «f 
school  training  we  take  in  a  wide  sense  to  be,  that  a  boy  ought 
in  the  j)roeess  of  learning  his  lessons  to  acquire,  at  no  material 
risk,  just  those  general  qualities  and  faculties  which  will  go  far 
to  ensure  his  doing  well  m  after  life,  but  which  he  would  acquire 

in 


Science  in  Schoois. 


in 


in  the  world  at  large  only  at  a  cost  of  time^  money,  and  perliaps 
success. 

The  general  qualities  whict  promise  success  in  any  walk 
of  life,  and  which  may  be  grafted  on  any  young  mind,  or  at 
least  largely  developed  in  most,  are  precisely  those  which  are 
not  only  the  essential  requisites  of  success  in  scientific  research, 
but  are  also  peculiarly  nurtured  and  strengthened  by  scientific 
work.  Very  striking  is  the  analogy  between  the  difficulties 
a  man  meets  with  in  actual  life  and  those  which  beset  a  physicist 
in  his  attempts  to  solve  a  physical  problem^  and  between  the 
intellectual  resources  necessary  in  either  case  to  overcome 
obstacles*  WTiat  the  novelists  call  the  problem  of  life  cannot, 
with  any  great  amount  of  truth,  be  compared  to  a  mathematical 
theorem  J  deduced  by  a  long  train  of  reasoning  from  fundamental 
axioms  and  tlefinilions ;  still  less  can  it  be  likened  to  the  con- 
struing of  a  Greek  play,  or  the  composition  of  Latin  verse;  but 
it  may  be  fairly  spoken  of  as  a  long  series  of  experiments,  through 
wiiich  the  investigator  gropes  bis  way  with  broken  light  and 
faltering  stepsj  now  losing  the  thread,  now  catching  it  up  again, 
and  arriving  at  a  happy  issue  only  by  dint  [of  perseverance, 
of  wakeful  attentiveness  of  minil,  of  conscientiousness,  exacti- 
tude, and  cautious  judgment.  The  man  who  begins  an  ori- 
ginal investigation  in  experimental  science  before  his  mind 
has  been  brought  into  thorough  subjection  by  suitable  training, 
finds  himself  continually  led  astray  by  many  potent  temptations, 
and  brought  back  again  as  often  by  the  bitter  teachings  of 
failure.  One  of  bis  early  sins  is  a  want  of  wakefulness^  a  habit 
of  stupid  staring,  of  looking  %vithout  seeing,  of  pretending  to 
notice  and  yet  not  observing.  Nature  beckons  and  waves  her 
hand  for  bim  to  follow,  but  be  is  sleepy,  and  regards  her  not; 
and  she  sweeps  by  bim  out  of  sight.  Or  he  is  lazily  careless, 
and  wilfully  inaccurate  ;  thinks  that  brown  will  do  as  well  as 
black,  and  that  six  and  three  are  nearly  ten.  Soon  after  he  finds 
writ  large,  in  scrawling  letters  over  all  his  laboured  work,  that 
brown  is  brown,  and  six  and  three  make  nine.  But  these  are 
gross  faults,  of  which  a  man  must  get  rid  with  all  haste  if  be  is 
to  hope  ever  to  achieve  any  worthy  result.  And  yet,  having  put 
these  aside,  having  become  thoroughly  wakeful,  and  painfully 
careful,  be  finds  many  snares  still  lying  hid  for  him.  Pcrh 
his  longest  struggle  is  with  the  tendency  which  ever  prr 
him  to  see  that  which  he  wishes  to  see.  It  appear** 
for  instance,  extremely  probable  that  a  certain 
periments  would  end  in  the  establishment  o" 
a  result,  wbicb,  if  established,  would  throw  c 
on  this  or  that  obscure  subjects     With  this  b 

Vol,  123,— iVa.  246.  2  i 


wmi 


473  Science  in  Sckooh. 

work.      In    such  cases    as    these,  nature  is  very  pliaUe;  sbe 
bends  entirely  to  the  wish  of  the  inquirer.     Everything  comes 
out   exactly  as  he  desired.      Fact  is   linked  on  to  fact,   until 
the  research  is  complete,  and  the  whole  is  arranged  in  perfect 
order.     After  a   while,   if   the  student   be   sober    aod   patient 
enougrh  to  wait,  little  clonds  of  suspicion  arise,  and  die  experi- 
ments are  repeated.    This  time,  however,  the  results  are  dificrait 
Suspicions  swell  into  absolute  distrust,  and  the  whole  mattn*  hai 
to  be  gone  into  again.     The  fear  of  having  blundered  qaichens 
the  eye  to  see  things  unseen  before,  the  linked  facts  break  np  in 
confusion,  and  the  whole  research  has  to  be  confessed  a  failore. 
Or  perhaps  the  excited  <-iuthor  will  not  wait,  and,  carrying  lus 
work  hot  from  the  laboratory  to  the  press,  sees,  soon  after,  with 
shame,  his  whole  structure  laid  low  by  a  jfew  sturdy  strokes  finm 
a  truer  hand.     In  a  still  worse  plight  is  the  man  wno,  netded  br 
a  refutation  of  his  views,  repeats  his  experiments  with  a  still 
stronger  desire  to  find  them  true,  and,  of  course  finding  diem 
true,    adds   one  more   to    the    wretched    controvenies    of   his 
time.     Sooner  or  later,  however,  all  work  of  this   kind  nMets 
with  its  Nemesis ;  having  no  root  in  truth,  it  withers  np^  and 
is  swept  away.      Yet,   in    spite   of  the    warning    of  prerions 
examples,    danger  of  this    kind  is  ever   present   to   every  one 
who    follows   scientific   pursuits,    and    the   temptation   can  be 
overcome  by  no  means  save  by  a  steadfast  watchfulness,  cmied 
on  until  the  forced  attitude  of  mind  becomes  a  natural  habit, 
until  the  practised  observer  is  no  more  likely  to  be  led  awaj 
from   truth   l>y  a  desire  of  fulfilling  his  own  wishes  than  bv 
a  love  of  opposing  those  of  others,  until  the  question  ever  before 
his  mind  becomes,  not  What  ought  it  to  be  ?  not  What  can  I  make 
it  to  be  ?  but  simply  and  plainly  What  is  it  ?    Such  a  man  is  thus 
made  to  feel,  as  he  can  b<?  matie  to  feel  by  no  other  means,  that 
there  is  something  sacred  in  even  the  jots  and  tittles  of  natural 
laws ;  he  learns  to  put  away  from  himself  all  personal  pride, 
and   steps  across  the  threshold   of  nature  with  bare  head  and 
bare  feet;  and  the  love  of  truth  becomes  with  him  a  passion. 
He  is  taught,  as  he  can  be  taught  by  no  other  means,  that  troth 
not  only  is,  but  can  easily  be  reached  by  a  mind  active  and 
upright ;  he  passes  beyond  the  common  honesty  of  the  worid  ;  and 
reaches  forward  towards  diat  perfect  sincerity,  which  is  the  fruit 
of  long-continued  watchfulness,  self-denial,  humility,  patience, 
and  care. 

The  want  of  perfect  sincerity  in  an  inquirer  is  apt  to  diow  itself 
hj  a  tendency  to  disregard  little  adverse  circumstances  because 
they  are  little,  and  to  slur  over  everything  which  does  not  quite 
accord  with  the  general  tenour  of  his  results  as  *  matters  rf  no 

prsctical 


Smnm  in  Schools.  4?3 

practical  moment'  or  *near  enough  to  the  tmtli/  Tlie  evil  o£ 
giving  way  to  this  form  of  carelessness  many  a  scieDtitic  mao 
has  learnt  by  a  costly  ejtperience.  The  tale  m  a  very  old  one, 
A  man  begins  a  line  of  invest igation,  and^  while  all  thlngft  seem 
to  prosper,  there  turn  up  here  and  there  little  odd  bits  of  fact 
w  hicli  contradict,  or  at  least  do  not  confrrm,  the  results  he  has 
already  arrived  at.  He  passes  them  by  as  mere  curious  irregu- 
larities. By  and  by^  as  the  inquiry  is  pushed  on,  and  he  geta 
more  and  more  anxious  for  the  final  result,  these  odd  bits  keep 
turning  up  again  and  again.  They  become  manifestly  larger  and 
larger  every  time  they  api^ear,  and  swell  at  last  mto  such  im- 
portance that  they  throw  Into  confusion  the  whole  of  the  research- 
Or  per  haps  J  instead  of  warning  hiin  from  time  to  time  during  the 
process  of  the  inquiry^  they  hide  themselves  for  long  periods,  and, 
appearing  suddenly,  it  may  be  at  the  very  end  of  his  labour, 
confound  him  with  their  rapidly-developed  greatness.  In  either 
€»se  the  inquirer  must  count  his  labour  as  lost ;  he  must  retrace 
his  steps,  search  backward  for  the  neglected  bits,  and,  haply 
having  found  thern^  must  gird  himself  to  go  through  his  work 
all  over  again.  These  little  things  are  the  touchstones  of  the 
thoroughly  sincere  mind,  and  watchful  attention  to  them  is 
the  key  to  success.  Tbe  man  who  slurs  them  over  will  never 
arrive  at  truth,  will  either  labour  in  vain,  or,  still  more  often^ 
breed  confusion.  The  men  whose  minds  refuse  to  slight  such 
things,  are  the  men  of  whose  names  the  world  afterwards  becomes 
proud;  for  not  once  or  twice,  but  almost  every  year,  tbe  little 
projecting  points,  which  the  hasty  insincere  man  shuffled  over  as 
slight  irregularities  in  his  path,  have  been  carefully  dug  round 
by  a  wiser  and  more  truthful  man,  and  shown  to  be  the  mere 
tips  of  hidden  rocks  ht  to  become  the  corner-stones  of  future 
buildings. 

Wc  might  Indeed  gather  together  all  the  qualities  necessary 
for  success  in  scientiiic  inquiry  under  the  two  heads  of  wakeful 
attentiveness  of  the  senses  and  what  we  have  ventured  to  call 
scrupulous  sincerity  of  mind.  Without  these  no  man  can  hope 
to  pluck  the  fruit  of  discovery,  and  the  measure  in  which  any  one 
possesses  them  wUl  be  the  measure  4^  his  intellectual  success.  They 
are  qualities  which  do  not  belong  to  the  mind  by  nature  ;  they 
need  to  be  planted,  or  at  least  tiJled,  They  are  moreover  not 
mere  opinions,  to  which  a  man  may  be  converted  in  m  dm\ 
It  is  not  enough  for  a  man  to  appreciate  wakefulness  and 
sincerity;  he  must  learn  by  experience  how  to  keep  Mm 
L^wake  and  how  to  purge  bimself  from  insincerity,  both  of  wi 
^ftre  hard  and  painful  tasks,  to  be  mastered  only  by  daiJy  care 
daily  trials.     The  scientific  man  mismi  work   and  &iJ,  iksc 

2t2 


474 


Science  in  Schook* 


mmX  work,  tmtil  a  wakeful  Mncerity  becomes  to  him  as  die  reiy 
air  be  breathes. 

The  very  same  qualities^  of  course,  go  fstr  Ui  cosiire  mooctam  in 
lifc%  and  the  %cry  same  lessons  are  taught  by  experieooe  of  die 
warkL  It  IS  the  distinctive  mark  of  science,  however,  and 
tilt*  chief  token  of  its  educatioiml  ir-alue,  that  its  teachings  aie 
si^ifi,  decisive^  and  sore.  Tbe  puni&hjnents  of  the  world  ait 
proverbially  uncertain,  halting,  and  slow.  A  man  sows  the  wind 
in  hts  youth,  but  he  does  not  reap  the  whirlwind  till  he  is  old. 
He  eaiti  his  lies  on  the  waters^  but  it  is  not  till  after  xnanr  flays 
that  they  come  back  to  him.  He  may  march  from  efror  to  enur 
without  meetings  a  single  rebuke;  he  may  even  live  a  liie  <if 
mistakes,  and  dit*  without  discovering  one.  But  no  one  cam  fo 
wrong  in  the  pursuit  of  scientific  truth  without  his  sins  vefy 
i|>eedily  finding  him  out.  He  is  careless  and  inattentive  one 
day,  and  confusion  creeps  over  him  on  the  morrow.  He  hsstcBf 
til  publish  an  unfinished  research,  and  sees  it  crumble  to  pieces 
he(i»re  twelve  months  arc  over.  Again  and  again  he  sees  men 
biiilding  reputations  on  the  discovery  of  matters  which  he  h»l 
caught  sight  of  and  yet  neglected  years  ago,  E^'ery  day  almost^ 
ill  some  form  or  other,  he  is  rebuked  for  his  shortcomings,  and 
made  to  pay  penance  for  careless  faults.  The  punishment  may 
be  light,  but  it  is  quick,  and  seldom  misses  its  mark.  And  it  is 
just  this  frequent  repetition  of  little  chiding  blows  that  maizes 
the  pursuit  of  science  so  valuable  as  an  intellectual  trainiog. 
Characters  cannot  be  beaten  into  shape  by  a  few  heavy  blows; 
it  is  by  slight  taps  and  almost  imperceptible  touches,  reputed 
day  by  day  and  week  by  week,  that  tbe  impulsiye,  careless,  ^ 
boy  is  moulded  into  the  sober,  watchful,  sincere,  and  sue 
man* 

We  have  dwelt  thus  somewhat  at  length  on  the  qnalides  and 
temper  which  are  engendered  by  an  ardent  pursuit  of  ^eii* 
mental  science^  and  which  arc  absolutely  necessary  for  anjuiiD^ 
more  than  mere  ephemeral  scientific  success,  because  we  have  a 
very  strong  feeling  that  this  view  of  science  not  only  fumlsbes 
tbe  soundest,  we  might  almost  say  the  only  safe  reasons^  for  making 
science  an  important  part  ot  general  education,  but  that  it  aba 
discloses  means  of  intellectual,  and,  what  is  more  importiat 
stilly  of  moral  culture,  to  which  the  schoolmasters  of  the  pieiiiit 
day  seem  to  be  all  but  entire  strangers. 

Of  the  perfect  sincerity  which  we  have  attempted  to 
describe,  many  even  of  our  best  scientific  men^  being  men,  Wl 
lamentably  short ;  while  a  still  larger  number,  whose  scientific 
worth  is  as  evident  as  their  success,  when  they  pass  from  their 
own  studio  to  share  in  the  labours  and  disputes  of  the  world,  not 

havi^ 


cc 


having  as  yet  cleared  themselves  of  the  idea  that  the  way  of 
science  is  one  and  the  way  of  the  world  another,  try  to  think  and 
speak  as  if  they  had  never  known  science,  and  thus  rob  them- 
selves and  their  fellows  of  the  fruits  of  their  traiuing.  On  the 
other  hand  J  the  ranks  of  science  are  rich  in  men  who,  drawn  by 
fancy  towards  some  particular  science,  entered  upon  the  study 
of  it  as  raw  youths^  with  no  training  save  of  the  kind  that  was 
almost  worse  than  none  at  all,  and  yet  have  been  brought,  solely 
by  the  influence  of  their  daily  work,  simply  in  consequence  of 
their  constant  intercourse  with  Nature,  into  the  possession  of  a 
width  and  justness  of  mind  of  which  tbey  gave  no  promise  in 
their  earlier  days.  If  any  one  desires  some  outward  token  of  the 
transforming  virtues  of  the  study  of  science,  let  him  note  the 
mental  changes  that  may  be  witnessed  every  year  in  our  medical 
schools  and  hospitals.  Let  him  fully  appreciate  the  roughness 
and  rawness  of  the  material  on  which  science  has  there  to  work, 
the  lads  who  flock  up  every  October,  uncultivated,  unQiught, 
untrained.  Let  him  recognise  the  difficulties  under  which 
science  labours  there,  catching  fitfully  the  attention  of  the  student 
as  he  flies  from  one  professional  duty  to  another.  And  then  let 
him  remember  not  only  how  many  eminent  men  of  science  have 
risen  from  the  ranks  of  medicine,  and  how  much  abstract  scientific 
work  is  annually  produced  by  the  medical  profession,  but  also 
how  much  patient  inquiry,  eager  wakeful  observation,  and  sound 
judgment,  is  daily  put  into  exercise  for  the  purpose  of  healing 
bodily  ills.  To  one  accustomed  to  the  slow  and  feeble  influence 
of  ordinary  school  education,  the  change  thus  effected,  in  the 
midst  of  the  most  serious  obstacle^  must  appear  as  scarcely  less 
than  marvellous. 

The  full  benefits  of  scientific  training  can  be  reaped  by  those 
only  who  have  had  the  opportunity  of  spending  some  time  in 
actual  original  research.  Such  a  mode  of  instruction  cannot  of 
course  be  looked  for  in  schools.  It  is  quite  possible,  however, 
in  fact  quite  practicable,  to  carry  on  the  teaching  of  science^ 
'ther  in  schools  or  colleges,  or  elsewhere,  in  such  a  way  as  lo 
'make  a  beginning  of  those  same  habits  of  thought  and  intellectual 
qualities  which  would  be  more  thorouglJy  brought  out  by  ia- 
dejjendent  research.  In  physical  and  experimental  science,  studied 
for  the  sake  of  training,  more  than  in  any  other  branch  of  learn- 
ing, the  mtxle  of  teaching  is  all  in  alh  As  mere  useful  know- 
ledge, science  may  be  taught  in  any  way ;  whether  by  book  or 
by  experiments,  by  *  MangualFs  Questions  *  or  *  Lardner*s  Hand- 
books/ matters  very  little^  So  long  as  the  facts  are  correct,  and 
the  pupil  is  able  to  receive  them,  the  end  is  gained.  But  such 
a  kind  of  teaching  can  never  take  a  high  position  in  schools,  and 

will 


476  Science  in  Sehoob. 

will  alwajs  remain  barren.  Equally  bad,  or  perhaps  even  wone^ 
is  the  system,  emplojed  we  fear  in  not  a  few  places,  where 
certain  portions  of  a  text-book  are  read  by  a  clasi^  perhaps  <x»m- 
mented  upon,  construed,  one  might  say,  by  the  teaidier,  its  main 
propositions  not  unfrequently  committed  to  memoiTy  and  the 
proficiency  of  the  pupils  determined  by  shutting  mem  up  in 
a  room  and  making  them  write  answers  to  a  set  of  formal  prmied 
questions.  From  teaching  such  as  this  the  fruiti  of  scieiitifie 
training  will  be  looked  for  in  vain.  In  order  to  form  the  scientifie 
mind,  in  order  to  bring  out  scientific  habits  of  thovght,  die 
teaching  must  be  of  quite  a  different  kind. 

The  great  secret  of  successful  scientific  teaching  we  take  to  be,, 
that  the  teacher  should  by  all  possible  means  endeavour  to  faring 
his  boys  to  face  the  problems  of  nature  as  if  they  had  never  been 
solved  before.  He  snould  in  fact  recognize  and  utilise  the  actaal 
condition  of  the  pupil's  mind.  The  youth  of  the  indiTidnsl 
repeats  in  outline  the  youth  of  the  race.  To  the  boy's  nund  tiie 
whole  world  is  dim  and  unexplored  ;  he  knows  nothing  of  ktws 
or  their  discovery,  nothing  oi  problems  or  their  solution.  The 
object  of  the  teacher  should  be  to  seize  upon  this  state  €)t  mind, 
to  make  the  boy  tread,  so  to  speak,  in  the  footsteps  of  his  anceston^ 
leading  him  however  in  a  straight  line  where  tney  wandered  bcm 
side  to  side,  bringing  him  on  from  problem  to  problem,  and 
encouraging  him  to  solve  each,  as  it  were,  anew,  in  the  same  way 
that  it  was  solved  of  old.  For  this  purpose  the  study  of  experi- 
mental phyrics  and  mechanics  seems  to  bo  eminently  fitted.  In 
its  present  stage  this  branch  of  learning  possesses,  in  a  very 
striking  degree,  most  of  the  virtues,  mingled  with  as  few  as 
possible  of  the  faults,  of  science  ;  it  might  bo  called  in  fact  the 
motlel  science.  Rich  in  accumulated  truths,  it  has  countless 
fiolds  yet  unexplorotl.  Loss  rigid  and  less  exclusive  than 
mathematics,  it  is  at  the  same  time  free  from  the  uncertainties, 
the  scholastic  controversies  and  obstructive  theories,  that  still 
belong  to  chemistr}'  and  biology.  It  calls  into  activity  all  the 
senses,  exercises  the  reason,  and  continually  mtUces  imperious 
demands  on  the  watchfulness  and  sincerity  of  the  learner.  The 
experiments  on  which  its  truths  are  based  are  cleanly,  its  opera- 
tions may  be  conducted  without  any  *  mess,'  and  its  subject- 
matter  embraces  nothing  that  cannot  be  dwelt  ,'upon  before  both 
boys  and  girls.  The  teacher  should  be  provided  with  what 
is  technically  called  a  Laboratory,  a  terrible  word,  meaning, 
however,  nothing  more  than  a  room  fitted  up  with  apparatus, 
which,  in  most  cases,  need  be  of  ver^'  simple  nature  only.  The 
toaching  of  the  junior  classes,  comprising  boys  up  to  twelve  or 
fourteen  years  of  age,  should  Ix?  of  the  most  elementary  character, 

hardly 


Scwnce  in  Sckoob* 


47T 


hardly  an3^hii]g  more  than  what  k  familiarly  known  under  the 
name  of  '  object  lessons.*  The  pupil  would  thus  be  matle  familiar 
with  the  appearance  and  general  working  of  the  instruments 
which  he  will  afterwards  have  to  use  for  definite  purposes,  and 
^raduaUy  leam  the  mejining^  and  become  accustom ed  to  the  use 
of  technical  terms.  He  would  become  acquainted  with  the  must 
striking  properties  of  solids  and  liquids,  of  the  mechanical 
powerj^  of  the  air-pump,  the  tuning  fork^  the  lens,  and  the  pile ;  and 
he  would  he  taught  to  handle  the  thermometer,  the  measure,  and 
the  balance.  In  a  word,  his  curiosity  should  be  excited  without 
being  gratified,  and  his  faculty  of  wonder  stimulated  by  novelties, 
and  at  the  same  time  chastened  by  early  lessons  in  eiactitade. 
Though  the  hoys  might  be  gathered  as  usual  into  classes,  the 
instruction  given  ought  to  be  in  great  measure  individual ;  and  if 
any  scbno! master  thinks  that  a  class  of  this  kind  could  never  be 
kept  in  order^  such  a  one  knows  very  little  about  boys  in  a  state 
of  nature.  The  danger  which  the  teacher  would  have  chiefly  to 
guard  against  would  be  that  of  allowing  his  pupils  to  advance 
too  rapitlly  to  higher  studies.  He  would  be  frequently  tempted 
by  the  pointed  questions  of  intelligent  lads  (and  we  need  hardly  say 
dbat  any  check  to  questions^  or  stint  of  answers^  would  simply  be 
ruinous  to  the  whole  scheme  of  teaching)  to  push  them  on  to 
the  actual  solution  of  problems  before  their  minds  were  thoroughly 
ripe  for  such  an  effort,  and  thus  he  would  run  the  risk  of  quenching 
their  ardour  by  exposing  them  too  early  to  discouragement  and 
difficulty.  As  soon,  however,  as  he  felt  justified,  he  would  begin 
gradually  to  lead  them  on  to  verify  for  themselves  such  physical 
laws  as  are  most  easily  cstabUjshed ;  and  he  would  consider  it  of 
supreme  Importance  that  each  boy  should  do  everything  for  him- 
self, down  to  the  very  arrangement  and  putting  together,  nay,  in 
some  cases,  even  the  construction,  of  the  apparatus*  By  this  means 
the  scholar  would  gain  a  hundredfold  the  good  that  be  would  get  by 
being  merely  a  wondering  spectator  of  the  grander  perfonuances 
of  his  master.  He  might,  for  instance,  in  this  way  determine  the 
properties  of  levers^  the  general  laws  of  the  radiation  and  con- 
duct ion  of  heat,  of  the  pressure  of  the  atmosphere,  of  die  reflection 
and  Infraction  of  light,  of  the  conduction  of  sounds  and  the  chief 
phenomena  of  electricity  and  magnetism.  He  should  be  led  to 
attack  each  problem  as  if  he  were  about  Ut  make  a  discovery, 
and  be  assisted  to  make  written  notes  and  reports  of  his  observa* 
tions,aiid  to  make  them  as  carefully  and  rigorously  as  if  they  were 
about  to  receive  the  honour  of  publication  in  the  *  Philosophical 
Transactions/  It  would  not  be  nece^ary  for  each  boy  to  pay  equal 
attention  to  all  branches  of  the  science;  on  the  contniry,  physic* 
being  not,  like  madiematics,  a  walled-in  court  IntQ  which  there 


I 


476 


&ieiici9  tit  Schools. 


is  no  entrance  save  by  one  or  .two  narrow  gates,  but  a  bfoad  apcsi 
field  accessible  from  almost  every  point  of  tUe  compas^  it  wc»it]d 
be  possible  for  tlie  teaclier  to  avail  himself  judiciously  of  ibe 
likes  and  dislikes  of  each  individual  pupiL  P&ssing^  on  from 
problem  to  problem,  from  obser^^ation  to  observation,  from  ex- 
periment to  experimetit,  each  step  calling  for  increased  xral, 
increased  attention^  increased  accuracy^  and  increased  power  cif 
reasonings  the  older  student  might,  if  he  showed  the  requisite 
ability,   finish  his  ex|>crimental  training^  bj  dipping  into  more 

rculaiive  studies,  and  examining  at  some  lengthy  and  with  catt, 
general  doctrines  of  Force, 
Although  the  science  of  experimental  physics  is  undoubtedly 
in  many  ways  better  adapted  for  educational  purposes  than  any 
other^  and  should  always  form  the  main  part  of  all  sclent ilic 
ftudies,  it  would  nevertheless  be  unwise  whoUj  to  exclude  other 
branches  of  science*  Chemistry  might  be  taught  in  the  sune 
way  and  with  very  similar  results,  especially  if  care  were  taken  lo 
avoid  all  tliose  oxygen  displays  and  hydrogen  explosions,  with 
which,  in  many  ignorant  minds,  the  idea  of  chemistry  is  inse* 
parably  connected,  llie  pupil  should  be  made  conversant  with 
the  balance,  the  test-tube,  and  the  funnel,  rather  than  with  pneu- 
matic tioughs  and  bladders  of  gas,  and  be  brought  to  think  much 
more  of  the  enormous  consequences  following  upon  an  error  in 
the  second  decimal  place  than  of  the  variety  of  colours  which 
ma^y  be  produced  by  proper  reagents  in  a  solution  of  a  ^t  of 
iron.  The  study  of  botany  seems,  at  first  sight,  too  pleasant  and 
agreeable  a  pastime  ever  to  be  converted  into  a  rigorous  study. 
Yet,  jn  able  bands,  it  becomes  a  most  jKiwerful  means  of  train- 
ing the  mind  to  habits  of  accurate  observation,  and  is  an  almost 
indispensable  introduction  to  wider  biological  studies-  It  pos- 
sesses, moreover,  this  very  great  advantage,  that  it  needs  no 
apparatus  and  can  be  taught  at  any  time  and  in  any  place.  E?«fi 
when  Uowers  are  wholly  wanting,  a  handful  of  leaves  will  a&)rd 
material  for  a  dozen  lessons.  The  more  complex  and  less  de- 
veloped sciences  of  comparative  anatomy  and  physiology  would 
naturally  be  reserved  as  special  studies  for  a  later  period  of  life; 
and  if  a  little  animal  physiology  were  introduced^  it  would  need 
to  be  taught  with  special  care,  and  intrusted  to  teachers  only 
whose  judgment  could  be  fully  relied  upon.  And  this  pre- 
caution would  l>e  necessary,  not  so  much  on  account  of  the 
subject-matter,  as  because  the  science  of  physiology,  though  of 
immense  value  as  a  means  of  mental  training  and  of  intellectual 
culture,  is  at  present  in  so  transitional  a  condition,  and  so  cum* 
bered  with  vain  theories  and  false  conceptions,  that  bv  many 
hands  it  would  be  wielded  more  for  harm  than  for  good,    ^esides^ 

there 


&im€e  in  Sckook, 


479 


there  are  almost  insuperable  obstacles  to  teaching  It  in  a  thorough Ijr 
practical  manner.  It  is  true  that  by  taking  Professor  Huxfey's 
*  Elementary  Lessons  *  as  a  text-book^  both  pupil  and  teacher 
might  be  kept  from  going  far  astray,  for  that  master  in  biology 
has  set  before  his  scientific  brethren  a  notable  example  how,  by 
using  the  very  best  of  sieves  and  sifting  with  diligence,  it  is  pos- 
sible to  rcscae  a  handful  of  grain  from  bushels  of  chaff;  still  the 
study  of  physiology  in  schools  should  be  put  forward  with  cau- 
tion, and  made  to  occupy  an  entirely  subsidiary  position.  The 
^^at  value  of  both  it  and  botany  would  consist  in  their  correcting 
■  and  enlarging  the  views  and  habits  that  might  perhaps  arise  from 
too  close  an  attention  to  physics  and  chemistry  alone* 

A  scheme  of  instruction  of  this  kind  may  seem  to  many 
persons  to  have  been  taken  from  the  New  Atlantis,  or  to  be 
suited  for  that  pleasant  country- house  imagined  by  John  Milton, 
where  happy  boys  were  taught  to  plough  and  to  shoot,  as  well  as  to 
read  and  write^  rather  than  for  the  ordinary  routine  of  our  present 
schools.  But  the  difficulties  that  threaten  its  introduction  vanish 
away  when  they  are  examined  in  detail.  The  question  of  ex- 
pense, for  instance,  is  answered  at  once.  Any  class-room  might 
serve  as  a  laboratory,  and  even  the  initial  cost  of  apparatus  would 
not  be  very  great,  while  the  annual  outlay  for  wear  and  tear 
would,  after  a  few  years'  practice,  become  very  slight.  Very 
erroneous  ideas  on  this  matter  have  been  spread  abroad  through 
the  unfortunate  habits  of  incompetent  teachers,  who  demand  of 
authorities  large,  costly,  and  complicated  pieces  of  apparatus — 
often  spending  pounds  on  a  single  showy  machine^  constructed 
solely  to  demonstrate  some  trifling  point — and  then  break  them  in 
attempting  to  astound  dieir  pupils  w:ith  grand  experiments.  It 
must  be  remembered,  too,  that  as  soon  as  there  is  a  large  demand 
for  simple  and  cheap  philosophical  apparatus,  prices  will  fall, 
and  the  present  golden  days  of  instrument-makers  wiO  pass  away 
for  ever ;  and  if  every  large  school  had,  what  it  ought  to  have, 
a  workshop,  a  very  great  deal  of  what  was  wanted  could  be  ma« 
nufactured  at  home.  The  question  of  the  distribution  of  teaching 
power  is  equallj  easy  of  solution*  Only  those  who  have  tried  it 
can  imagine  how  easy  is  the  practical  experimental  fashion  of 
teaching.  Certainly  an  active  master  could  easily  superintend 
the  studies  of  at  least  a  dozen  boys  at  the  same  time.  The 
essence  of  the  system  we  have  attempted  to  describe  is,  that 
each  boy  does  everything  for  himself,  and  that  the  master  does 
nothing  but  assist,  guide,  and  correct.  Nature,  in  fact,  becomes 
the  schoolmaster,  and  the  teacher  has  no  higher  function  than 
that  of  an  humble  usher.  The  natural  system  of  teaching,  like 
other  natural  systems,  brings  with  it  a  saving  of  power;  and, 

were 


480  Scisnee  in  JSckools. 

were  it  adopted,  Binch  of  the  eneigy  that  is  now  tpeat  in  goading^ 
bojs  into  learning  might  be  otherwise  employed.  At  least  there 
would  be  no  lack  of  good  teachers  when  science,  had  once  been 
placed  in  an  honourable  position  in  schools.  It  is  one  of  the 
chief  features  of  experimental  science,  that  she  is  rich  in  men 
of  moderate  talent,  who  are  sound  without  being  brilliant  and 
true  without  being  profound.  Her  advance,  indeed,  is  in  Isffge 
measure  brought  about  by  the  united  labours  of  men  of  ^is 
stamp,  who,  baring  been  thoroughly  trained  and  brought  into 
obedience  through  their  own  original  studies  and  inquiries,  would 
readily  furnish  from  their  ranks  a  band  of  energetic  and  admir- 
able teachers. 

Physical  science,  taught  earnestly  and  vigorously  in  some  such 
way  as  this,  would,  we  repeat,  sow  the  seeds  of  that  vigilance  and 
sincerity  of  mind  which  are  more  especially  the  fruits  of  actual 
original  research.  There  are  boys  of  certain  types  on  whom  it 
would  have  a  particularly  powerful  and  salutary  efiEect  In  every 
school  are  to  be  found  many  lads  who,  for  want  of  proper  tcainr 
ing,  pass  their  days  in  dull  heaviness  of  mind.  They  axe  often 
well-behaved  boys,  regular  in  eating  and  drinking,  in  playing 
and  learning,  but  never  diligent  They  do  their  lessons,  but 
never  study ;  they  appear  only  half-awake  ;  they  have  eyeS|  and 
yet  they  see  not  ^  ou  show  them  a  landscape,  and  they  seem  to> 
remember  it  only  as  a  green  blotch  of  trees  and  fields.  An  engine 
at  work,  a  fine  building,  an  incident  in  the  street,  everydiing  in 
fact  leaves  on  their  brain  a  dim  and  misty  picture.  Tliey 
seem  to  walk  in  a  world  of  which  the  image  is  out  of  focus,  and 
where  every thinja:  is  blurred  and  indistinct.  These  boys  the 
master  pronounces  dull ;  they  are  his  despair,  and,  though  some  of 
them  suddenly  wake  up  in  after  life,  the  majority  remain  dull  to 
the  end.  They  are  not,  however,  ho]>eless — ou^ht  not  to  be  thought 
of  as  without  the  pale  of  training.  It  is  through  the  bluntness  of 
their  senses  that  they  fail,  and  it  is  by  working  upon  their  senses 
that  they  can  be  put  right.  Tliey  will  not,  however,  be  found  to 
profit  by  stranpre  sights  and  startling  sounds,  by  being  woke  up 
in  order  to  fall  asleep  ap:ain.  What  they  need  is  a  kind  of  train- 
ing wliich  consists  in  continually  shaking  them  by  the  shoulder, 
and  saying,  '  Look,  look  ! '  They  must  be  repeatedly  roused,  until 
they  have  learnt  to  keep  awake.  They  must  have  lessons,  which 
they  cannot  only  half  do,  which  they  cannot  slur  sleepily  over, 
which  they  must  set  about  with  wide  eyes  and  open  ears,  or  not 
do  at  all.  In  fact,  they  want  just  such  lessons  as  physical  science 
only  can  furnish.  A  lar<rer,  more  dangerous,  and  less  hopeful 
class  is  formed  bv  l>oys,  before  whose  eyes  there  is  a  very  dis- 
tinct and  yet  an  unreal  world.     Their  senses  are  active  enough, 

hut 


Sdettee  in  ScAooh. 


I 


but  the  impressions  which  reacli  their  braiii  from  withont  ran 
riot,  being  governed  by  no  judgment  If  thej  attempt  to  describe 
a  fcene,  an  incident,  or  a  person,  ttej  p&int  a  picture  in  which- 
thej  disguise  the  reality,  almost  past  recognition,  with  features  of 
their  own  imaginings  and  this  not  so  much  because  they  are 
careless,  as  because  they  have  no  dominant  sense  of  truth.  To 
smch  as  these  (at  least  in  their  youth)  the  world  appears  not  in 
the  form  of  a  solid  rock  of  stem  rigidity  and  samen^s^  but  as  a 
waving  image  in  which  lights  and  shadows  come  and  go  as  their 
fancy  wills ;  though  ever  ready  to  sacrifice  sober  truth  for  the 
sake  of  what  they  call  poetry,  their  Eckle  and  spoilt  minds  ave 
Insensible  to  the  grandeur  of  Nature,  and  they  cannot  hear  the 
solemn  music  of  the  universe  for  the  noise  of  the  tinkling  of  their 
own  cymhals-  These  are  they  who,  in  after  life,  often  without 
intending  it,  commit  grievous  wrongs,  breeding  and  fostering 
errors  on  all  sides,  and  leaving  a  trail  of  uncertainty  and  illusion 
wherever  they  go.  It  is  just  simply  and  plainly  die  salvation  of 
such  boys  to  have  brought  them  in  early  life  into  close  and  per- 
sonal contact  with  Nature.  Daily  trials  in  the  laboratory  would 
teach  them,  as  nothing  else  could,  that  behind  the  seeming 
fickleness  of  the  phenomena  of  the  world  there  lies  hidden  an 
unchangeableness  of  law  which  can  be  neither  ignored  nor  with- 
stood, an  objective  reality  before  which,  in  the  end,  all  subjective 
fancies  must  bow.  They  would  learn  first  to  recognise,  then  to  re- 
ipect,  and  finally  to  love>  the  quietude,  the  patience,  the  unerring 
straightforwardness  and  paintul  exactitude  of  Nature's  ways  ; 
they  would  find  out  that  she  is  to  be  overcome  only  by  obedience 
and  ruled  only  by  following  in  her  steps.  Little  by  little  their 
minds  would  be  brought  to  feel,  not  only  that  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  trudi,  and  dmt  it  is  within  the  grasp  of  man,  but  also 
that  by  it  alone  the  value  of  things  can  be  measured.  Another 
large  class  of  persons  are  habitually  inaccurate  and  untruthful 
tbrotigh  mere  carelessness  and  indolence^  llioy  have  no  inten- 
tion of  saying  what  is  not  true,  but  are  too  readily  contentetl  with 
something  *  near  the  truth,'  They  say  that  such  and  such  an 
event  took  place,  when  they  reaUy  menu  that  they  think  it  did. 
They  are  tijo  lazy  to  take  the  trouble  to  look,  and  afterwards  too 
lazy  to  make  an  effort  to  recollect  what  they  have  seen  ;  and, 
after  a  while,  they  grow  into  a  state  of  mind  in  which  facts  and 
opinions  are  lamentably  miied  together ♦  Out  of  this  class  come 
those  honest  witnesses  who  flatly  contradict  each  other  on  matters 
of  fact  which  need  no  special  intelligence  either  to  ob«erve  or  to^ 
report  upon.  Nor  is  this  a  fault  by  any  means  confined  entirely 
to  the  uneducated  classes.  The  whole  world  suffers  injury  dally 
by  reason  of  people  of  all  ranks,  quite  free  from  malice  prepense, 
*  whoj 


482  Science  in  Schools. 

who,  in  the  first  place,  will  not  see,  and,  in  the  second  place, 
have  no  lively  sense  of  truthfulness.  And  they  are  hardly  to 
blame,  for  they  have  for  the  most  part  never  been  trained  to  see. 
Neither  classics  nor  mathematics  have  the  power  of  ti»a#^bing  the 
student  the  difficult  art  of  accurate  observation :  such  a  power 
belongs  to  the  physical  and  natural  sciences  only.  It  is,  in  Curt, 
their  unquestionable  prerogative,  by  virtue  of  which  they  claim 
to  have  a  share  in  the  moulding  of  the  minds  of  the  young. 

No  solid  gain,  however,  can  with  reason  be  looked  for  while 
the  teaching  of  science  continues  to  occupy  in  oar  sc^iools  its 
present  ignominious  position.  So  long  as  science  is  allowed  to 
rank  hardly  higher  than  fencing  or  dancing,  and  a  little  lower 
than  French  or  German,  it  is  simply  absurd  to  imagine  that  it 
can  ever  have  any  real  effect  on  the  leamer*s  mind.  As  mere 
useful  knowledge,  it  might  very  justly  be  prevented  from  encroadi- 
ing  on  the  time  allotted  to  more  rigorous  duties,  and  as  a  sort  of 
pleasant  make-believe  study  it  might  seem  peculiarly  adapted  to  be 
taught  on  half-holidays  and  at  other  odd  times ;  but  if  it  is  worth 
teaching  at  all,  it  is  worth  teaching  with  seriousness  and  energy, 
and  if  any  real  good  is  to  be  expected  from  the  study  of  it,  it  must 
be  publicly  recognised  as  having  equal  honour  with  the  older 
branches  of  learning.  Sudden  and  extensive  changes  wcnk  per- 
haps even  more  evil  in  schools,  especially  in  public  schools,  tnan 
in  any  other  institutions ;  and  it  would  be  neither  desirable  nor 
practicable  at  once  to  elevate  the  teaching  of  science  to  its  rightful 
|x>sition :  but  it  ought  to  be  borne  in  mind  that  it  claims  to  have 
allotted  to  it,  sooner  or  later — and  the  sooner  the  better — no  less 
than  the  same  time,  the  same  honour,  the  same  emoluments,  and 
the  same  amount  of  teaching  power,  that  are  now  bestowed  on 
classics  and  on  mathematics.  The  benefits  which  a  boy  derives 
from  any  particular  study  are  largely  affected  by  the  esteem  in 
which  he  sees  it  to  be  held  in  his  school :  if  science  is  not  allowed 
to  share  in  the  prestige  which  belongs  to  classics — if  the  best 
boys  in  the  science  classes  are  not  reckoned  with  their  classical 
and  mathematical  peers  as  the  (life  of  the  school — 'the  teaching 
of  science  will  be  robbed  of  half  its  power.  If  it  continues  to  be 
thought  unnecessary  to  have  distinct  science  masters — if  the  clas- 
sical or  mathematical  master  is  allowed  to 'take'  the  sciences 
classes  in  addition  to  his  own,  or  if  the  science  masters  do  not 
take  e(]ual  rank  with  the  highest  of  the  teachers — it  cannot  be 
expecte<l  that  boys,  with  the  social  feelings  of  schools  so  strong  as 
they  are,  will  throw  themselves  with  zeal  into  what  appears  to  them 
to  be  only  a  second-rate  study.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fear  which 
has  Ijoen  expresseil  in  S4^me  quarters,  that  these  dangerous  rivals, 
the  sciences,  would  prove  too  strong  for  the  older  studies  if  they 

were 


Scienee  in  SchooU. 


48a 


were  placed  on  the  same  footing  with  them,  anrl  that  the  li^ht  of 
classical  learning  would  be  quenched  by  a  flood  of  uttlitarian 
knowledge,  though  complimentary  to  the  strength  of  science^  is 
hardly  just  either  to  the  tendencies  of  scientific  studies  or  to  the 
intrinsic  worth  of  classical  learning.  Very  much  nearer  the  truth 
would  it  be  to  say  that  the  teaching  of  both  classics  and  mathe- 
matics would  receive  help  and  support  by  the  introduction  of 
physical  science.  Of  the  educational  value  of  mathematical 
tratniog  this  it  not  the  place  to  speak ;  but  it  is  a  matter  of 
everyday  experience  that  the  mathematics  lack  one  thing.  Ad- 
mirably rigid  and  exact^peculiarly  potent  in  accustoming  the 
mind  to  clear  conceptions  and  accurate  reasoning — they  lose  half 
their  hold  on  most  boys,  just  because  they  are  so  absolutely  rigid 
and  exact,  that  a  great  gap  seems  fixed  between  their  operations 
and  the  flexible  uncertain  occupations  of  ordinary  life-  That  gap 
is  filled  up  by  the  experimental  sciences ;  for  they,  while  exact 
enough  under  one  aspect,  have  another  side  which,  by  its  un- 
certainties and  its  tentative  methods  of  inquiry,  establishes  a 
common  ground  between  themselves  and  human  liie; 

A  pernicious  doctrine,  gaining  iar  too  much  credence,  teaches 
that  there  is  a  sort  of  antagonism  between  mathematical  and  clas- 
sical st^idies,  and  that  the  boys  who  do  well  in  the  one  cannot  be 
expected  to  succeed  in  the  other,  A  natural  corollary  to  this 
proposition  is  supplied  by  saying  that  experimental  science  is  the 
natural  enemy  of  both.  Of  course  a  lK>y  who  shows  a  marked 
fondness  for  any  particular  kind  of  learning  is  likely  to  excel  in 
it,  and  it  is  only  right  that  he  should  be  encouraged  to  do  so ;  but 
it  needs  very  little  experience  of  schools  to  become  convinced 
thatj  as  a  general  rule,  the  best  boya  are  best  in  all  the  studies  of 
the  school,  unless  their  minds  have  been  purposely  turned  by  the 
master  in  one  particular  direction.  Natural  science  having 
hitherto  been  deemed  by  schoolmasters  a  study  fit  i'or  outcasts 
only,  it  cannot  be  wondered  at  that  boys  who  felt  a  fondness  for 
science  should  have  founds  or  imagined  that  they  found,  no  aptitude 
in  themselves  for  other  studies.  If,  however,  all  three  branches 
of  learning  were  placed  on  the  same  footing,  the  study  of  science 
would  be  at  least  a  help  rather  than  an  obstacle  to  the  others.  The 
student  of  experimental  physics  would  at  once  feel  the  necessity 
of  a  slight,  and  the  immense  advantage  of  a  considerable,  amount 
of  mathematical  training ;  while  it  would  become  the  master's 
urgent  duty,  antl  at  the  same  time  his  easy  task,  to  see  that  the 
boys  were  not  so  engrossed  in  the  study  of  natural  phenomena  as 
to  lose  all  thought  and  care  of  purely  human  matters.  Even  the 
present  feeble  bcgiimings  of  science-teaching  have  already  shown 
that  it  is  quite  a  false  fear  to  suppose  that  the  planting  of  one 

kind 


484  Sciemce  in  SehooU. 

kind  of  knowledge  is  injurious  to  others.  Of  at  least  one  of  oar 
great  public  schools  where  science  has  been  intiodnced,  it  is 
reported  that  ^the  masters  have  nb  wish  to  retom  to  the  old 
rigimey  and  '  that  the  school  is  all  the  better  for  die  innoratio^ 
and  claaucal  studies  are  none  the  worse.'  Men  wedded  to  oU 
ways  could  hardly  as  yet  be  expected  to  say  more. 

In  thus  considering  the  teaching  of  science  almost  aoldy  in 
reference  to  the  training  of  the  mind^  it  must  not  be  foigottaa 
that  its  subject-matter  is,  after  all,  useful  knowledge.  And  use- 
less as  useful  knowledge  may  justly  be  thought  for  ordinary  sdiool 
purposes,  and  useless  as  it  often  proves  in  actual  life  thnmgh  want 
of  intelligent  power  to  use  it,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the 
value  of  it  in  untrained,  unaccustomed  hands,  it  no  mesme  of 
what  it  may  become  when  wielded  by  persons  whose  minds  have 
been  formed  and  devek^ped  by  practice  in  the  use  of  it.  Even 
at  the  present  day,  urgent  scientific  practical  questions  meet  us  on 
every  hand,  and  science  in  its  prc^ess  is  £Mt  wrapping  itKlf  so 
closely  round  our  individual  lives,  and  intertwining  itself  lo 
thoroughly  into  our  national  existence,  that  it  seems  almost  im- 
possible to  exaggerate  the  importance  of  giving  our  coltivated 
and  educated  classes  such  a  general  training  as  shall  enaUe  them 
to  form  sound  judgments  on  matters  belonging  to  experimeBtsl 
and  natural  science.  Still  more  urgent  even  it  the  dnty  of  pro- 
viding for  the  classes  which  are  not  called  cultivated.  Cor  our 
industrial  masses,  that  scientific  training,  and  store  of  scientific 
and  technical  knowledge,  which  are  daily  becoming  move  and 
more  the  very  means  of  life  to  so  many  of  them.  And  here 
science  seems  to  offer  the  solution  of  a  difficulty  already  felt  and 
likely  before  long  to  assume  very  dangerous  proportions.  The 
trouble  and  vexation  which  the  masters  of  our  great  public  schools 
have  met  with  in  attempting  to  carry  on,  by  the  side  of  a  high 
and  classical  school,  a  low  and  ignominious  school,  wheie  useful 
knowledge  only  is  taught,  has  been  felt  in  other  places  than  in 
those  villages  which  have  had  the  good  or  bad  fortune  to  have 
received  the  ^ift  of  a  public  school.  Almost  in  every  town  and 
district  may  be  found  the  same  difficulty  between  the  classical 
school  and  what  is  technically  called  ^  commercial '  education. 
Perhaps  at  the  present  day  the  tendency  is  for  the  middle  and 
lower  classes  to  Hock  to  the  middle  class  and  commercial  schools, 
leaving  the  high  schools  and  grammar  schools  to  fill  their  empty 
benches  with  '  gentlefolk's '  sons.  It  would  be  a  great  and  serioss 
evil,  it  would  be  even  a  national  disaster,  if  in  the  future  the 
jouth  of  England  were  to  be  brought  up  under  different  systems 
of  education,  their  minds  moulded  in  different  ways,  according  as 
they  belonged  to  one  stratum  of  society  or  another.     It  would  be 

bad 


Seimce  in  Schools, 


^K  was 


^ 


bad  both  for  the  intellectual  and  for  the  material  interests  of  the 
country — bad  for  art  and  science,  and  bad  for  culture — if  learning, 
instead  of  being  one,  as  of  old,  were  cut  into  different  patterns  for 
different  pockets,  and  if  boys,  according  as  their  fathers  were 
gentlemen,  b-adesmcnj  or  artisans,  were  told  off  to  high  schools, 
to  middle  schools,  or  to  low  schools,  where  eB^h.  was  taught  to 
despise  what  the  other  was  taught  to  admire.  Happily  it  is 
simply  impossible  that  such  a  state  of  things  should  ever  come 
to  pass*  Intellectual  power  never  fails  to  make  itself  felt  through 
any  thickness  of  social  difference,  and  the  influence  of  culture 
Hows  in  circles  that  widen  without  limit.  Whatever  the  son  of 
the  peer  be  taught^  sooner  or  later  there  will  come  a  cry  for  the  son 
of  the  poor  man  to  Icam  it  too.  Even  already,  those  who  found 
most  fault  with  the  high  schools  are  beginning  to  proclaim  the 
commercial  schools  a  failure.  Our  middle  classes,  in  truth,  hardly 
know  what  they  want  They  have  discarded  Greek,  because  it 
was  of  no  use  in  bnsiness  ;  they  have  tried  the  commercial  school ^ 
■nd  they  find  it  wanting ;  their  boys  learn  to  write  good  hands 
"  to  do  enormous  sums,  but  they  come  home  lacking  a  some- 
[g  the  possession  of  which  makes  the  high-school  boys  their 
indbpu table  masters.  With  all  their  getting  of  useful  knowledge, 
they  have  failed  to  get  mental  training,  which  is  greater  than  pen- 
manship and  arithmetic.  And  many  wise  fathers,  anxious  to 
briii^  up  *  business'  sons,  prefer,  in  spite  of  the  Greek,  to  send 
their  boys  to  the  htgh  school,  rather  than  to  the  private  academy, 
where  useful  knowledge  is  rendered  useless  in  the  teaching.  To 
all  such  as  these  the  establishment  of  high  schools  of  science 
would  be  welcome  as  water  in  the  desert  Equally  welcome  and 
far  more  profitable  would  be  the  generous  introduction  of  science 
into  aJl  our  schools,  high  and  low.  Under  the  system  we  have 
endeavoured  to  ad\^ocate,  Greek  would  lose  all  its  terrors,  and 
«seful  knowledge  would  fall  back  again  to  its  proper  place. 
There  need,  then,  be  no  more  than  one  kind  of  school  and  one 
method  of  teaching  for  all  kinds  and  conditions  of  men«  A  bay's 
career  wonld  no  longer  be  settled  for  lite  by  the  stamp  of  ike 
school  into  which  his  father  had  put  him,  but,  learning  becoming 
again,  as  of  old,  one  and  indivisible,  school  lile  would  be  once 
jDore  to  the  clever  boys  the  gate  of  success.  Teaching  erery- 
bere  would  be  of  the  same  quality,  though  measured  out  in  varied 
ty  and  degree,  accorciing  to  the  IcamerV  station  in  life, 
artisan  might  find  an  Initial  and  yet  sound  education,  that 
would  enable  him  to  gain  a  double  good  from  subsequent  technical 
training;  the  tradesman  might  see  his  son  led  into  the  same 
paths  of  learning  as  his  superiors  in  social  position,  and  at  the 
same  time  drilled  to  habits  of  thought  and  temper  mysterioudy 

and 


486  Science  in  Schools, 

and  yet  admirably  fitted  for  a  business  life ;  while  the  rich  and 
cultivated  would  not  only  find  their  power  multiplied  a  hundred- 
fold, but  would  see  opening  up  paths  of  culture  as  jet  for  the 
most  part  undreamt  of  by  them. 

Upon  this  last  point  we  haye  no  space  to  dwell,  but  the  specu- 
lative aspects  of  science  at  the  present  day  render  it  imponiUe 
to  look  upon  that  as  true  culture  which  ignores  science  altogether. 
Yet  so  much  is  this  the  case,  so  little  sympathy  do  the  foremost  of 
our  scientific  men  meet  with  among  their  intellectual  fellows^  diat 
there  is  a  considerable  danger  of  their  views  and  opinions  becoming 
intensified  and  narrowed  into  the  doctrines  of  a  sect.  Such  an 
event,  calamitous  both  to  science  and  to  general  culture,  is  possible 
only  because  in  our  present  system  of  education  a  wall  of  parti- 
tion has  been  set  up  between  science  and  literature.  Were  this 
removed,  our  men  of  science  on  the  one  hand,  being  less  isolated, 
would  be  less  dogmatic  and  less  aggressive,  and  culture  on  the 
other  would  gain  a  wider  and,  we  venture  to  think,  a  sounder 
meaning.  That  mind  cannot  truly  be  said  to  be  full  of  light, 
whose  walls  are  opaque  to  the  rays  that  stream  from  eTery  point 
of  Nature,  and  nothing  but  wholesome  truth  will  preserve  die 
savour  of  sweetness.  Without  some  solid  basis  such  as  science 
only  can  give,  there  is  great  danger  of  so-called  culture  degene^ 
rating,  through  fear  of  the  rudeness  of  material  prosperity,  into  a 
mere  worship  of  unreal  fancies.  The  commercial  and  industrial 
crifts,  which  science  showers  down  so  abundantly,  are  but  the 
baits  with  which  she  leads  men  on  to  the  broad  and  deep  truths 
which  it  is  her  chief  duty  to  teach  ;  and,  while  literary  culture 
thinks  to  overcome  low  utilitarian  ideas  by  despising  and  opposing 
them,  scientific  culture  aims  at  developing  and  extending  them, 
until  they  become  transformed  into  something  high  and  noble. 

We  have  hitherto  treated  the  question  before  us  almost 
exclusively  from  an  educational  point  of  view  ;  but  there  are 
various  considerations,  bearing  more  or  less  closely  on  the  subject, 
which  we  feel  it  impossible  to  pass  over  in  silence.  The 
opinions  which  have  been  published  by  Dr.  Lyon  Playfair,  and 
have  received  the  support  of  many  eminent  scientific  men, 
attributing  the  manifest  shortcomings  of  England  at  the  Paris 
Exhibition  to  a  want  of  general  scientific  education  and 
technical  scientific  training,  seem  to  have  created  some  alarm 
in  the  public  mind.  And  yet  Dr.  Playfair  has  lifted  a  small 
comer  only  of  the  veil.  There  is  nothing  which  we  English- 
men reject  with  more  anger  than  the  suggestion  that  we 
are  being  outstripped  in  anything  by  other  nations.  That 
whatever  we  think  it  worth  our  while  to  do,  we  can  do  better 
than   any    one   else,    is  the   first  article  of  the   British    creed. 

Perhaps 


Science  in  Sc/woh. 


487 


Perhaps  we  can.  If  so>  tlien  in  spite  of  tlie  enthusiastic  praises 
of  science  which  find  their  way  into  almost  every  form  of 
English  literature,  in  spite  of  the  En|^Ush  names  which, 
(rom  Harvey  and  Newton  down  to  Herschel  and  Huxley, 
stand  out  bright  and  bold  in  ttic  history  of  science,  it  must 
be  confessed  that  the  English  nation  cares  little  for  scientific 
pursuits.  Otherwise  she  would  not  in  such  things  occupy  the 
position  among  nations  which  she  now  does.  It  is  proverbially 
It  hard  task  to  decide  an  intertiat tonal  question  of  merit.  On  the 
one  hand,  patriotism  tends  to  bias  the  j  udgment ;  on  the  other,  it 
is  human  to  magnify  things  which  arc  far  off,  and  the  worth  of 
what  a  foreigner  says  is  very  apt  to  be  measured  by  the  difficulty 
experienced  in  getting  to  know  what  he  means.  Making  every 
allowance^  however,  for  these  things,  the  fact  is  undeniable  that, 
judged  by  the  value  of  her  yearly  contributions  to  the  advance- 
ment of  science,  England^  at  least  as  far  as  the  natural  and 
experimental  sciences  are  concerned,  seems  in  danger  of  sinking 
to  the  condition  of  what  in  political  language  would  be  called  a 
ihird  or  fourth  rate  power.  Our  greatest  men  are  perhaps  still 
greater  than  those  of  any  other  nation ;  but  the  amount  of  quiet, 
solid;  scientific  work  done  in  England  is  painfully  less  than  that 
done  in  Germany,  less  even  than  that  done  in  France ;  while  no 
nation,  not  even  the  French,  can  equal  us  in  the  quantity  of  idle 
and  vain  speculations  that  are  yearly  put  forward  in  the  name  of 
science.  Nor  is  the  cause  far  to  seek.  The  minds  that  would 
in  Germany  become  fruitful  scientific  workers  fail  in  England 
for  the  want,  in  the  first  place,  of  scientific  training,  and  in  the 
second  place  of  bread- winning  scientific  careers.  It  might  be 
imagined  that  any  one  about  to  pursue  scientific  studies  in  the 
hope  of  making  sound  and  real  discoveries  would  subject 
himself  to  a  preparatory  course  of  thorough  scientific  training ; 
but  such  a  practice  is  in  England  extremely  rare.  Men  are 
often  led  by  chance  and  circumstance  to  come  forward  as 
chemists,  or  physicists^  or  naturalists,  on  the  bare  strength  of  a 
good  acquaintance  with  their  special  subjects,  men  who  have 
had  neitlier  general  nor  particular  scientific  training,  and  who 
possess  no  sound  knowledge  of  real  science.  Many  chemists 
start  upon  their  scientific  careers  unfamiliar  with  physics,  and 
not  a  few  biologists  play  fast  and  loose  with  chemistry  and 
physics  altogether  ;  while  the  secretaries  of  the  learned  societies 
groati  under  the  burden  of  memoirs  presented  by  gentlemen  who 
would  fain  fly  in  science  before  tliey  have  learned  to  creep.  Of 
course  the  best  men  make  up  their  deficiencies  as  they  go  along, 
but  they  accumpHsh  the  feat  at  a  costly  sacrifice  of  time  and 
VoK  123.— iVi>.  246.  2  E  labour. 


488  Science  in  Schools. 

labour.  It  is  by  reason  of  this,  perbaps,  tbat  our  foremost 
are  so  exceedingly  good,  since  all  the  weaker  minds  suocuiab 
in  the  struggle  for  scientific  existence ;  and  wefe  it  a  narinml 
object  to  produce  by  natural  selection  tawnu  of  the  finest  qiMlitr 
only,  all  others  being  got  rid  of,  it  might  seem  worth  whik  Id 
perpetuate  the  present  hindrances  to  die  adoption  of  aciendfic 
careers.  But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  progress  of  science 
depends  at  least  as  much  on  the  steady,  quiet  work  of  Dm 
of  ability,  who  possess  no  splendour,  as  on  the  rarer  labours  of 
men  of  genius,  whose  names  are  in  all  men's  moatha*  Prac- 
tically, those  who  cannot  find  scientific  training  at  honse  sedL  k 
abroad,  and  it  is  a  very  suggestive  iact,  that  by  fiur  the  greater 
part  of  the  experimental  scientific  work  <rf  the  picjua  day 
IS  done  by  men  belonging  to  no  English  University,  and  pos* 
sessing  none  but  a  German  degree.  The  prospect  of  wpeitAj 
starvation  probably  deters  more  persons  from  pursuing  a  scientific 
career  than  does  the  consciousness  of  tl^  lack  of  snitsH^ 
training.  The  time  is  gone  by  when  all  the  work  diat  was 
needed  could  be  done  in  leisure  moments,  and  in  the  intennsis  of 
business.  The  science  of  to-day  demands  all  the  time  and  all 
the  energy  of  the  strongest  men.  Very  few  are  the  posts  which 
a  man  can  occupy,  and  the  duties  of  which  he  can  hononiably 
and  satisfactorily  fulfil,  while  he  is  at  the  same  time  engaged  in 
arduous  scientific  pursuits.  Very  few  indeed,  and  venr  fsr 
between  at  the  present  day,  arc  the  posts  open  to  scientific  men 
at  all ;  and  very  meagre  and  insecure  are  for  the  most  pan 
tlir  omoluincnts  which  belong  to  them.  Only  the  chief  men  can 
liope  to  sit  in  the  higher  places,  and  only  they  accept  the  lower 
ones  who  arc  content  to  live  with  no  ]K)sition,  and  with  little 
pay.  Many  of  the  ]>ositions  in  which  scientific  men  take  refuge 
involve  the  j>erformance  of  all  manner  of  heterogeneous  func- 
tions, and  their  occupant  is  reu^ardod  as  a  public  man  whose 
time  may  Ix*  frittered  away  by  any  trifler  and  idler  that  chooses 
to  knock  at  his  door.  Such  a  state  of  things  not  only  linuts  the 
numlx»r  of  scientific  men  ;  it  does  worse,  it  corrupts  the  character 
of  sci(?ntific  labour.  Men  make  a  snap  at  science  as  thev  are 
hurrvinj:  on  to  other  emplo\ments,  and  a  great  deal  of  the 
s(  irntific  work  of  the  present  day  is  a  kind  of  unleavened 
stuir  <l<me  with  the  loins  girded  for  other  duties,  and  done  in 
liast(». 

And  if  it  Ix?  asked,  what  is  the  remedy  for  all  this,  the 
answer  is  plain  «ind  simple.  One  mode  of  life  only  is  consistent 
with  earnest  and  continued  scientific  research,  a  life  nominally 
drvnted  ti>  teaching.     Wise  nations  have  alwavs  refused  to  judge 

by 


Scimice  in  Schools. 


489- 


by  strict  laws  of  political  ecoDomy  the  price  of  knowledg^o  and 
inquirj,  the  market  value  of  which  caa  be  known  only  in  the  far 
future,  Leaminor  has  always  been  nurtured  by  gifts  and  omolu- 
ments  not  strictly  her  due.  Let  science  be  reckoned  as  lemmings, 
and  share  in  learn Lug^s  rewards »  Classics  and  mathematics  ha^ 
in  times  past  waxed  fat  on  the  nation's  good  things.  Let  them  ooa- 
tinue  to  thrive^  but  let  them  make  some  room  for  modem  scientific 
culture.  Let  the  monojjoly  of  the  old  studies  be  broken  up,  and 
half  their  fellowshijis  lei  experimental  science  take.  But  we  are 
going  too  far  in  speaking  of  emoluments  and  fat  things,  Stvienee 
needs  no  more  encouragement  than  the  guarantee  of  a  decent 
llvelihcKHl  and  of  an  honourable  position.  The  intrinsic  attrac- 
tions of  the  pursuit  of  science  are  so  great^  that  men  ask  for 
nothing  more  than  that  it  should  be  made  possible  for  them  to 
devote  themselves  to  it ;  and  opulence  would  be  a  deadly  bane 
to  a  study  in  which  it  is  so  easy  to  publish  unsound  researches 
and  to  bring  forward  unreal  results,  so  difBcuIt  even  for  the  best 
men  to  recognise  at  first  sight  the  worthlessness  of  worthless 
work,  so  impossible  for  ordijiary  men  to  recognise  immedimtdy 
the  value  of  profound  research. 

In  order  to  gain  for  science  the  standing  through  want  of 
which  she  now  languishes,  and  for  the  nation  the  prosperity  diat 
hangs  on  scientific  eminence,  there  is  no  need  to  tKrow  into  con- 
fusion the  time-honoured  arrangements  of  our  ancient  Universities, 
It  may  be  left  for  them  to  decide  whedier  they  will  follow  science 
Of  no;  that  they  should  ever  lead  it  can  hardly  be  expected. 
Although  it  is  true  that  our  Universities  determine  the  charmcter 
of  the  leaching  in  our  public  schools^  it  is  still  more  true  that 
the  teaching  in  ;  our  schools  determines  the  character  of  our 
Univeraties^  and  the  hopes  and  wishes  of  scientific  men  may 
without  exaggeration  be  said  to  rest  on  the  establishment  of 
the  teaching  of  science  as  a  main  part  of  the  duties  of  all  our 
schools,  high,  middle,  and  low.  But  we  repeat,  and  it  cannot 
be  repeated  tcm  often,  science  must  he  made  a  fumlamental 
aud  compulsory  study,  not  a  supplemental  and  permissive  one  i 
it  must  bo  looked  upon  as  real  substantial  stuff  wherewith  to 
cloche  n  boy's  mind,  not  as  flimsy  material  for  ornamental  fringci. 
So  long  BM  physics  and  chemistry  play  hide  and  seek  with  dancing 
and  gymnastics,  so  long  as  science  is  offered  to  boys  on  half- 
boUdays  as  an  obstacle  to  cricket  and  foot-ball,  so  long  will  the 
teaching  of  science  remain  barren,  and  the  teacher  of  science 
penniless.  Science,  to  reap  the  advantages  that  are  its  due^  must 
iniik  at  least  as  equal  with  classics  and  mathematics, and  the  teachar 
of  science  must  hare  equal  honour  with  the  highest  masters^  and 

2  K  2  not 


I 


t 


490  Science  in  Schoolt. 

not  sliile  in  tLrougb  the  school-gate  as  an  interloper,  like  dtt 
teacher  of  German,  or  come  down  at  odd  times  by  ezpRBtnin 
like  the  professor  of  fencing.  Every  school,  where  sdawe  wis 
taught  after  the  fashion  we  have  attempted  to  oatline»^n"U 
very  speedily  become  a  little  centre  of  scientific  efint  nd 
scientific  influence.  Not  only  would  the  boys  receive  a  sondi 
wholesome,  mental  training,  and  be  armed  with  usefol  knovMp 
for  the  struggles  that  await  them  in  after  life,  but  each  viS- 
trained  teacher  would  be  able,  unhampered  by  the  engnMsmat 
of  business,  or  by  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  professional  lifi%  to 
add  his  share  to  the  rapidly-increasing  store  of  scientific  tnoA, 
And  we  have  faith  in  the  robust  character  of  the  Englid  mmd, 
that  in  those  happier  days,  we  trust  not  far  distant,  English 
scientific  work  would  be  ampler,  as  well  as  weightier,  thmdnt 
of  any  other  nation,  and  that  we  should  regain  our  old  plaa  is 
the  foremost  men  in  the  intellectual  progress  of  the  age,  whik^ 
our  industries  no  longer  dnxjping  for  lack  of  proper  knowkdp, 
but  clear  heads  guiding  strong  arms,  we  should  continue  still  to 
build  on  a  broad  basis  of  national  intelligence  a  high  tower  of 
national  wealth  and  national  might. 


Art.  Vll. — 1.  Christus  An^lurologie  z  Studien  iiber  Jesus  Cbidv 
und  sein  ica/tres  Ebeubild.  Von  Dr.  Legis  GlQckselig.  Pisg, 
1863. 

2.  Die  Sof/e  rom  Urspruntj  dcr  Christusbildcr.  Von  \V.  Grimm, 
l^rlln,  \M'\. 

3.  Hcchvrvtus  snr  la  Pcrsonnc  dc  J vsks- Christ,  Par  G.  PeignoL 
Dijon,  iy21». 

4.  Itcchcrchcs  rdifiantcs  ct  ruricnscs  snr  la  Pcrsonnc  de  N.  S. 
JiSttS'Christ,    *PjirrAI)lH'  Pascal.     Paris,  1840. 

5.  Hist  aire  de  la  Face  dc  N.  S.  Jesus-Christy  cxposvc  dans  Tt-glise 
de.  Montrcnil'leS'Daincs  dc  Laon.     Jjaon,  1723. 

6.  Dc  imatfinihus  von  mann  factis,    J,  Gretscri.     1734. 

7.  •/.  licishii  cj'crcitadujics  hishfricw  dc  imat/inibus  Jesu  Christi. 
Jrnir,  1084. 

8.  T.  Ilcapf/.  Kxamination  into  the  Antiijuity  of  the  Likeness  of 
our  Blessed  Lord,  in  the  *  Art  Journal,'  New  Series,  vol.  viL 
1801. 

9.  C romances  ct  Lvfjcndes  dc  TAntiquiti.  Par  Alfred  Maun'. 
Paris,  18(53. 

0\    die    Sth    Deccml>er,    1854,   when    the   eternal    city  was 
crowded  with  bishops,  assembled  to  promulgate  the  dogma 
of  the  Immaculate  Conception,  Pius  the  Ninth,  at  the  expressed 

and 


Portrait!  of  Cftritt. 


491 


and  urgent  desire  of  the  prelates,  allowed  the  sacred  relics  of  tie 
passion  of  CTirist  to  be  exhibited  in  the  Chapel  of  the  Blessed 
Sacmment  at  St,  Peter's. 

In  the  midst,  over  the  altar,  between  burning  tapers,  loomed 
the  veil  of  St.  Veronica^  impressetl  with  the  sacred  lineaments  of 
the  Saviour,  On  one  side  of  it  stood  the  spear  of  Longinus^  on 
the  other  a  fragment  of  the  true  cross.  None  but  bishops  were 
permitted  to  enter  the  chapel,  all  others  looked  through  a  gratings 
and  to  them,  from  the  depth  of  the  chapel,  the  portrait  was 
wholly  indisting^uishable*  One  inferior  ecclesiastic  alone^  by 
especial  favour,  was  suffered  to  enter,  accompanying  a  prelate. 
This  was  M,  Barbier  de  Montault,  Canon  of  the  Basilica  of 
Anagni  ;  and  he  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  scrutinize 
closely  the  miraculous  portrait  He  has  fortunately  communi- 
cated to  the  public  the  result  of  this  examination.  We  shall  give 
it  ixi  liis  own  words,  which  are  full  of  interest: — 

*  The  Holy  Face  is  enclosed  in  a  irajnc  of  sOver,  partiallj  gilt,  and 
equate,  of  a  sovero  character,  and  little  adorned.  The  simplicity  of 
the  bordering  gives  proniinenca  to  tho  interior  of  the  picture,  which  is 
protected  by  a  thin  plate  of  crystal.  tJuforttmately,  by  one  of  those 
customs  BO  common  in  Italy,  a  sheet  of  metal  covers  the  field,  and  only 
leaves  apparent  the  figure  indicating  its  outline.  By  thia  outline  one 
is  led  to  conjecture  flowing  hair  reaching  to  the  fihoutders,  and  a  short 
b(»rd,  bifurcated,  and  email.  The  other  features  are  so  vaguely  indi- 
cated, or  so  completely  cSkced,  that  it  requires  the  livelieet  imagination 
in  the  world  to  perceive  traces  of  eyes  or  nose.  In  short,  one  doea  not 
Boe  the  material  of  the  substance,  bceatiBG  of  the  useless  intervention 
of  a  metal  plate,  and  the  place  of  Use  impreesion  eihibits  only  a  blackish 
surface,  not  giving  any  evidence  of  human  features, 

'  In  the  sacristy  of  St  Peter's  are  sold  to  strangers  fac-similes  of  the 
sacred  £ace.  They  are  printed  on  linen  from  a  plate  which  seems  to 
me  to  he  a  hmidred  and  more  years  old,  and  are  sealed  with  the  seal 
md  bear  the  signature  of  a  canon,  which  seal  and  signature  to  me 
appear  to  signify  only  that  the  copy  has  touched  the  original,  and  that 
it  has,  in  congequenee,  become  an  object  of  piety,  and  do  not  testify 
that  the  copy  resembles  at  all  tho  original.  This,  then,  is  a  pious 
9miv€nir  which  one  carries  away  with  one,  but  is  not  an  object  of  the 
Idast  iconographic  value*'  * 

The  legend  of  the  origin  of  this  portrait  is  best  given  in  the 
quaint  words  of  a  French  Jesuit  of  the  eighteenth  century : — 

*  BeholiI  the  noblest  act  over  done  in  favour  of  the  suffering  Jesus ! 
The  devout  Veronica  was  in  her  house,  when  she  heard  the  tumult 


4i93  Partrmts  of  Christ. 

and  tbe  ekmonr  of  an  infimto  miiltitiida  aoid  tlie  soldian,  u  tkey  cob- 
(hnted  tho  Saviour  to  lus  death.  9ie  riflea  in  baate,  tkrvsta  bar  liaad 
out  of  the  door,  looks  through  the  crowd,  and  permyea  bar  Badacanry 
A  skam  fram  bis  oeonteaance  enkindlea  witbm  bar  the  li^t  of  fiutb, 
acod  ahe  peioeiyaa  that  Ho  ia  tiie  Son  of  Grod.  At  tbe  aighti  tnna- 
portod  beyond  heraelf^  abo  aaiies  her  veil,  darts  into  ^e  street^  among 
the  afficera  of  justice  and  the  soldiers,  without  regarding  the  ftbaae  m 
the  blows  they  rain  upon  her.  Arrived  in  the  preaenoe  of  the  SaiTioar, 
whoso  &C0  was  all  oovezed  with  blood  and  sweat,  she  adaras  it,  not- 
withstanding all  the  opposition  made  her ;  and,  with  her  Tail  in  three 
folds,  sho  wipes  and  deanses  the  dirine  countenance  bonded  wiA  tiie 

ains  of  this  world*    Go  forward,  brave  (me  I In  itvA  tluNi 

meriteat  an  inmiortalily  of  ^ory  in  time  and  in  eternity ;  and,  indaed, 
the  Sftvioor  accords  tbee  the  costHost  gift  He  ever  made  to  iif  Jam  in 
ibis  world ;  for  He  gvpe  tbee  His  portrait  impressed  om  the  thrafdlda 
of  thy  Teil.  Spread  thou  then  this  veil,  O  woman,  before  the  iomr 
quarters  of  the  univerae,  display  to  all  mon  the  piteooB  and  hideens 
features  of  a  suffering  Qod.'* 

How  this  veil  made  its  i^-aj  to  Rome  we  shall  lekte  preMntly. 
But  when  it  cmme  it  was  in  a  box,  preserred  in  the  Ckmrch  of 
St  Mary  of  the  Martyrs,  more  commonly  known  aa  tbe  Pantbeoii. 
Thence  it  was  removed  to  St  Peter  s,  where  Urban  VIIL 
placed  it  in  one  of  tbe  upper  chapels  over  the  four  grest  piers 
sostaining  the  cupola  of  Michacl-Angelo.  Tbe  cn^ody  of  it 
was  intrusted  to  the  canons  of  St  Peter,  who  alone  are  permitted 
to  enter  tbe  sanctuary.  Ten  times  in  tbe  year  is  it  exhibited  to 
the  Pope,  the  cardinals,  and  the  faithful,  kneeling  on  the  pave- 
ment of  the  nave.  It  is  prcsorvod  l^ehind  a  maible  representation 
of  St.  Voronic.i,  with  an  inscription  before  it,  in  tbe  shape  of  a 
cross,  relating:  the  virtues  of  the  relic,  and  its  translation  by 
Pope  Urban.  The  festival  of  Veronica  with  special  office  found 
its  way  into  the  Ambrosian  missal  printed  in  1555  or  1560,  but 
it  was  expunged  by  the  judicious  Carlo  Borromeo,  who  put 
little  confidence  in  the  fables  related  of  her. 

In  order  to  discover  the  origin  of  the  Veronica  m^-th  we  shall  be 
obIip:ed  to  jj^o  back  to  the  well-known  fable  of  the  message  of 
Abijarus,  Prince  of  Edessa,  to  Christ.  Ab<rar  Uchamo,  or  the 
Black,  was  contemporary  with  Augustus  and  Tiberius.  He 
was  the  fourteenth  king  of  Edessa,  and  one  of  the  Arsacidap. 
The  name  Ab^rar  {Armenian  Awgha'ir),  signifying  Exalted  or 
\li<rhty,  was  a  title  of  the  princes  of  Edessa ;  the  last,  Abgar  Bar 
Muanu,  a  Christian,  reigned  a.d.  200-216.  Julius  African  us,  a 
writer  of  the  third  century,  whose  history  has  come  down  to  us 


A.  rarvilliers.  *  La  Devotion  lies  rmlostiues.'     Limoges,  1734,  p.  S9L 

onlv 


Portraits  of  Christ. 


4»S 


cm] J  in  fngmenU,  nl lades  to  the  tradition  of  Abgartis  having 
sent  a  message  to  Chriit,*  Eusebius  (ob.  340)  tells  the  story  as 
follows  :t — 

^  AhgamSy  wbo  reignad  otbt  ih&  nationfi  heyood  the  Eupl|rat6&  with 
great  gloty,  &d<1  who  had  been  wasted  away  with  a  disaaso,  bolh 
dreadful  aad  incurable  by  human  moanSj  when  ha  heard  the  name  of 
Jesus  &eqneiitly  mentional^  and  his  miracl^g  nnanimonaly  atteeied  by 
aUj  sent  a  suppliant  meBsage  to  Him  by  a  Ictter-c airier »  onti-eating  a 
daHTQEsiioe  fraon  hia  diEeaee.  But,  tbongh  He  did  not  yield  to  his 
call  at  that  tim%  He  ne^erthelcafi  eondoscendcd  Id  write  bim  a  privato 
letter,  and  to  sand  one  of  his  diaciplos  to  lical  hifi  diooider;  at  the 
same  time  promising  salvation  to  lum  and  all  bis  relakiTQi.  After  the 
Besorrection,  however,  and  his  return  to  tba  hoavens,  Thomas^  one  of 
the  twelve  apostles,  by  a  divino  impulse,  sent  TbaddsDus,  who  was  ona 
of  the  seTeiil^  disciples,  to  "Edoesa,  m  a  hearald  and  evangelist  of  the 
doctrines  of  Chriei  Aiid  by  his  agency  all  the  promises  of  eur 
Savioiir  wesre  fulfilled*  Of  this,  also,  we  have  the  evidence,  in  a  writt^ii 
answer,  taken  from  the  public  records  of  the  city  of  Edessa,  then  trader 
the  government  of  the  king.  For  in  the  public  registers  there,  which 
dmbnce  the  ancient  history  and  the  transactions  of  Abgame,  these 
GtremnstiiLces  respectiiig  Mm  ato  found  still  preserved  rlown  to  the 
iday.' 


And  then  he  gives  the  letters  ;  but  he  makes  no  allusion  to  any 
portrait  sent  to  Abganis,  The  letter  of  Christ  waa  dismissed  as 
apocryphal  by  the  Council  of  Rome  in  404,  and  in  that  light  it 
lis  been  regarded  ever  since.  Ephraem  Syrus  (ob.  378)  allude 
to  the  story  of  the  embassy  when  he  praises  Edessa ;  Evagrius 
(ok  593)  is  the  first  to  mention  the  picture.  In  the  year  540 
Edessa  was  besieged  by  Chosroes.  After  Clio&roes  had  made 
many  assaults  on  the  city»  and  had  raised  a  mound  to  oyertop  the 
walls,  composed  of  wood  and  turf^  and— 

*  the  bedeged  saw  the  monnd  approaching  the  walls  Hko  a  moving 
moimtaan^  and  the  enemy  in  expectation  of  steppmg  islo  tiie  town  al 
daybreak,  they  devised  to  nm  a  mine  imder  the  Bioitad^  whioh  the 
Xj^tius  term  aggcMm^  and  by  that  meajis  apply  ^^^  so  that  the  com- 
bnstien  of  the  timber  might  cause  the  downjkll  of  the  mound.  Tho 
mine  was  completed  i  but  they  failed  in  attempting  to  fire  the  wood, 
bdcause  the  j&re,  having  no  exit  whence  it  could  obtain  a  supply  of  air, 
Wfts  imable  to  take  hold  of  it«  In  this  state  of  utter  perplexity,  thej 
bring  the  divinely' wrought  image,  which  the  hands  of  men  did  not 
form,  but  Christ  oar  God  sent  to  Abgams  on  his  dealing  to  see  Him. 
Accordingly,  having  introduced  this  holy  iioage  into  the  mine,  and 


*  Fmgmnits  in '  GeorgU  Sfa^U  Cbroaisgr/    Ed.  lac  Qoar.    Piris,  lli^l 
t  *  Hilt.  EceWiast.;  lib.  i.  c*  13. 

washed 


41-14  Pjrirsiu  if  Cine. 

Lfe^  d-LC^E:  BO.  Uifr  resds  ▼■£  acaonmjiHwiwfl  ^ams.  ml  t 
22::prjBK:1^  :  fur  l2i£  IzlIiet  izzsitdittbh'  OBCS  &e  ^ 
is  a&  iitftBd  mdnwd  tr>  cfziisc.  fyiiiiimiiinMBC  iri& : 
tiifr  £rfr  ffjR*d  izt  a21  di?«2keis.  ....  Ol  &  'ais£ 
v«r»  KA=.  iscizig  £ra8n  vut  cartl.  uid  uia  ait  FfiBHBBii 


ICvazrins  refers  to  t2ie  ccKripdca  cc  :3ie  sksr  "bf  Psv 
b:::  tLiit  writer  makes  no  vaca^-jn  cc  zs»  trrn 
wiiicL  Era^oft  called  €mh'  ^^Trci^^rvz. 

Sl  ifim  of  DamaftCDS  emar^a  od  litf  2rj2.    Ix  ids  saeaeed 

tLe  IcrjDocla^c  pexwcctioo   TjfO  k.  azid  a»  ^V*niiiwfsp»  of  a  finadj- 

t^x^fruUrd  imaee  vai  vxt  c/iariiiciar  as  Kzxmac  3B  icvggr  of 

2inae«»  Dcn  Ui  be  referred  to.     Coo»qiMnilj.  s  ix2s  vuA.  affioit 

tLe    iolamoas    Lm    the    Isaorian.  we  bavY   a£  meosmnc   ^  At 

A>j?arus  portrait   replacing  the    letxieT.     Tue  Kjoac   «C 

deftiric;?  Vj  see  aad  Lear  Christ,  sends  Hiir  a 

Him  u>  Titit  his  little  rate.     Azid  s}kc«iiid  He  asc  faeafaie  to 

come,  cjr  refuse,  then  die  Kinz  requires  his  im  miiii    id  ofacua 

a  p/rtrait  of  the  Messiah  for  the  gradficadcai  ca  Jus  cszioaitf. 

But    He  who  knows    and   can  do    all  thin£v    |K7Tcsviar  tie 

desire  of  the  ambassadors,  takes  a  piece  of  lines.  iMads  h  to  his 

£ac«.  and  imprints  on  iu   bv  that  acu  the  trae    issaev   of  Us 

sacred  c-oontenance.^     Another  work  of  the  sa2iie  astbor  leDi 

th'-  •-&!«-  somewhat  differrritlv.     Abrarss  d.vs  a:<  aesii   messeu- 

^'-ri  V.  CLrist  to  irjv'v-   Hini  Im   E'ies&a,  b-t  a  pairricT  wr.-?  is  to 

tak«:    :.:§   yjTtrii':.      TL"   artist    valr.lv   anemrts  T^   cxec=3P  his 

masv^:  &  romman'j,  f »:  tl'-  d^izziinr  brirltn^s  >!    i>i:r  Saviocr'f 

r '/•jnvna.Tce  c^infuKs  Lis  s^rnsf-s.     Tben  tl*   L-»ri,  o>=ipasBOii- 

atin::  L:m  ajyi  Lis  masv.-r.  "jt  of  v-nJer  i  ^ve,  presses  }::l3  naode 

to  Li*  f-ice.  and  lo!  on  i:  is  fxed  tl^-  trse  representativB  of  the 

c:ivii4f-  r  .'rjnt«*nance.     TLis  He  s^-nds  :  •  tie  Kinr,  w':»  is  at  once 

c  on  V f  n '-*] .  X     Tl is  f-i k  ''in .  Lp^».  1  i  c  t.'»r  of  : he  C i  zjx  h  of  Comtan- 

tlnoplf.  a»ser.<rd,  ly-f<^f-  tLe  C-onr  i:  f*:   \:c?pa,  tha:  he  had  seen 

in  t:-e  f  itv  of  Ed'.-ssa,  where  it  was  h:'noured  and  worshipped  by 

xhf  i:j habitants,  as  an  ima^p  n«.:  ma-^Ie  bv  monal  hands.  § 

lar  richer  details  are  ^^tbtained  fr.»ni  a  tract  bv  the  Emperor 
C  on  Stan !  i  ne  Porph  yro  g-en  ^-ta  •  »b.  V* '  .•  ,  i  n  w  b  ose  ne  iim  this  sacred 
reli^    was    translate*!    ti»  Bvzantiurr^,  alonr  with    the   letters  of 

•  ET»^:at,  •  H.it.  Erc.riii*-:.,'  V.\.  :t.  :   ;-. 

:  J  Ul.  DasiiK.,  ■  D-  F:-e  Or.h:.;  XI.'  :i^  it.  :    l" 
j  .Svi-xi  NiccL..  Ac:  : 

Abgams 


PoTtraiis  of  ChrisL 


495 


Abfarus  and  Christ  (944),  The  festival  of  its  reception  is 
celebrated  in  the  GrBcco- Sclavonic  ^Calendar  on  the  IGth 
August.  The  Emperor  gives  us  the  following  account  of  the 
picture : — 

AbgaruSj  King  of  Edessa,  lay  grievouslj  sick.  His  servant, 
Ananias,  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  sickness,  entertained  him  with 
accounts  of  the  miracles  of  our  Lord^  of  which  he  had  heard  during 
a  recent  journey  to  Palestine,  The  King  caught  at  the  hopes 
thus  afforded  him  of  recovering  from  his  disease,  and  he  sent 
Ananias  with  a  letter  to  Christ,  enjoining  on  his  messenger  that 
he  must  either  bring  hack  with  him  the  Saviour  or  his  portrait 
Ananias  was  a  painter*  He  arrived  in  the  presence  of  our  Lord 
whilst  He  was  engaged  in  preaching  to  a  vast  multitude  in  the 
open  ain  As  he  was  unable  to  push  hts  way  through  the  com- 
pact throng j  he  ascended  a  rock,  sat  down,  fixed  his  eyes  on 
Jesus,  and  began  his  sketch.  Our  Lord,  who  knew  in  spirit 
what  was  being  done,  sent  Tlioraas  to  bring  Ananias  to  Him. 
Then  He  wrote  the  answer  to  Abgarus  which  has  been  preserved 
by  Eusebius,  and  gave  it  to  the  servant.  But,  perceiving  that 
the  man  was  only  half  satisfied,  and  that  he  was  troubled  at  not 
being  able  exactly  to  accomplish  his  master's  requirements, 
Christ  washed  his  face  in  water,  and,  whilst  drying  it  on  a 
towel,  left  the  impress  of  his  features  thereon.  Then  He 
banded  the  linen  to  Ananias  and  bade  him  give  it  to  the  King, 
whose  curiosity  it  'would  satisfy,  as  well  as  cure  him  of  his 
disease. 

But,  according  to  another  version  given  by  CoostantLne,  the 
story  offers  a  closer  resemblance  to  that  of  Veronica. 

As  Christ  was  on  his  way  to  Calvary,  bearing  his  cross,  the 
blood  and  sweat  streaming  from  bis  brow  obscured  his  eyes. 
Then  taking  from  one  of  his  disciples  a  piece  of  linen,  He 
wiped  his  face,  and  left  thereon  his  sacred  portrait.  St.  Thomas 
preserved  die  towel,  with  the  features  of  the  suffering  Christ  upon 
it,  till  after  the  Ascension,  when  be  gave  the  miraculous  picture 
{ttjv  if^Gipoypatpov  i/cfiop^wmv)  to  Thaddseos,  who  bore  it  to 
Edessa.  There  he  lodged  with  a  Jew  named  Tobias.  He  began 
to  work  miracles  in  the  name  of  Christ.  Abgarus,  hearing  of 
his  works^  sent  for  him.  As  Thaddipus  entered  the  chamber  of 
the  sick  King,  he  elevated  above  his  head  the  sacred  eikon,  and 
at  the  same  time  such  a  blaze  of  light  shot  from  bis  face,  that 
Abgarus  could  not  endure  the  splendour,  and,  forgetful  of  his 
sickness,  leaped  out  of  bed.  Then  he  took  the  linen,  covered 
his  head  and  limbs  with  it,  and  was  forthwith  made  whole. 

Nicephorus  Callisjus  (ob,  1341)  relates  the  circumstances  much 


496  Portraits  ef  CkaritL 

as  does  die  Emperor  CcmttiiitinePorpliyrogeiieta.  Kiii|^  Afaguut, 
denroos  to  tee  Cliiiity  tends  an  accompHshed  artist  to  take  His 
portrait  The  painter  stands  on  an  cBiinenoev  and  begins  Us 
picture ;  then  finds  all  his  attempts  in  vain,  for  a  divine  fi^ 
streams  from  the  sacred  ooontenance  and  dazsles  hinu  Tae 
Laid,  thereon,  takes  a  piece  of  linen,  with  a  presmre  of  kia  bot 
-fixes  his  true  portrait  iqMHi  it,  and  sends  it  to  Ahgams.* 

How  it  was  that  this  venerable  picture  passed  into  the  kinds 
of  the  Emperor  of  Constantinople  we  learn  finom  the  Amine  his- 
torian El  Matzin.  He  says  that  in  die  year  331  of  the  Hegin, 
that  is  A.D.  953 — he  is  consequently  wrong  as  to  the  date---die 
Romans  {i.e,  Greeks)  besieged  the  city  of  Edessa,  than  in  the 
hands  of  the  Saracens,  snd  demanded  die  surrender  of  tbe  koly 
picture  and  the  accompanying  letters  of  Abgarus  and  the  Savkmr 
in  exchange  for  the  captives  they  had  made.  The  treasoved  retics 
were  handed  over  to  the  Chistiaiis  and  were  brought  to  Bysantinm, 
where  they  were  placed  in  a  befitting  shrine  in  the  Church  of  the 
Eternal  Wisdom,  t  VVhat  became  of  the  picture  when  Con- 
stantinople fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Mussulmans  we  do  not 
know.  But  it  is  certain  that  about  this  time,  or  at  least  shortly 
after  it,  either  the  picture  itielf  or  copies  of  it  were  to  be  fonnd 
in  Italy. 

The  Venetians  claimed  to  have  brought  it  to  Rome,  and  to 
have  presented  it  to  tbe  Church  of  St  Sylvester,  and  many  old 
copies  of  this  exist  with  the  inscription  attached  : — 

*  Iniago  salvatoris  nostri  Jcsu  Cbristi  ad  imitationcm  ejus 
(jnam  misit  Abgaro,  qxue  Komo)  bubctur  in  moiiastcrio  Sanoti 
JSilvestri.' 

Johannes  Iloratius  Scoglius,  the  Ecclesiastical  historian 
(fl.  1640),  asserts  that  this  portrait  in  St  Sylvester's  is  the  original 
Abgarus  picture,  translatetl  from  Constantinople  to  Rome  ;  but  no 
trustworthy  and  contemporary  historians  are  found  to  give  authority 
to  this  claim.  What  the  portrait  is  like  it  is  difficult  now  to  ascer- 
tain. '  1  do  not  know  why  Rome  should  persist  in  being  a  city  of 
mystery/  writes  Canon  de  Montault ;  '  there  arc  relics  in  it  such 
as  these,  which  art  and  piety  may  demand  to  be  made  acquainted 
with,  but  which,  unfortunately,  one  may  either  not  see,  or  only 
see  indistinctly.  They  ought  to  l^e  brought  to  the  light  of  day, 
and  not  withheld  from  fear  of  scoffing  incredulity  and  sceptical 
ijjnorance.  If  these  relics  be  really  genuine,  truth  will  be  elicited, 
like  a  spark  at  the  stroke  of  science.     With  all  my  heart  I  desire 

♦  Niceph..  •  Eccl.  Hist./  lib.  il  c.  7. 

t  Ehnaciui  'Hist.  Serac.'     Lngd.  Bat,  1C25,  p.  267. 

a  discussion 


P&rtraiisof  Christ, 


4m 


a  discussion  of  them,  firnij  consecutive,  cotiscienti ous.  Piety  may 
believe  without  aeeingj  but  Reason  must  see  to  believe,** 

The  Genoesej  on  the  other  hand^  lay  claim  to  the  possesmoo  of 
tie  sacred  portrait,  and  say  that  it  was  brought  by  Leonard  de 
Montalto  in  1B84  to  their  city,  and  bj  him  presented  to  the 
ATmenian  Church  of  St,  Barthohjinew,  where  it  is  still  preserved, 
and  exhibited  once  a  year,  Mr,  He^py  gives  a  woodcut  eagravitig 
<}{  it,  but,  as  this  is  taken  from  a  copy  sold  in  Genoa,  we  caimot 
be  certain  that  it  truly  represents  the  original. 

From  the  above  history  of  the  AJjgarus  partrait,  it  will  be  mn 
that  it  is  entirely  of  Oriental  origin.  The  story  of  the  letter  and 
cure  comesj  as  Eusebius  tells  ns,  from  a  Syrian  source,  '  taken 
from  the  public  records  of  the  city  of  Edessa,'  Till  the  fourth 
century  we  have  no  mention  of  the  portrait  In  the  tenth  tlie 
myth  has  fully  blown  in  the  East,  and  has  approached  the  fable 
of  Veronica, 

The  story  of  the  Abgarus  portrait  belongs  to  die  Eastern 
Church,  aoti  is  the  more  ancient ;  that  of  Veronica's  veil  belongs 
to  the  Western  Church,  and  owes  its  orij^in,  may  be,  to  the  dedre 
felt  by  the  Latins  not  to  be  behind  the  Greeks  in  a  matter  so  im- 
portant as  the  poBsession  of  a  miraculottsly-painted  likeness  of 
the  Saviour* 

When  the  Westerns  came  in  contact  with  tlic  Byzantine  empire, 
in  the  times  of  the  CrusadeSj  the  sacretl  portrait  preserved  in 
Sl  Sophia  was  certain  to  have  attracted  their  attention,  and  roused 
the  relic-mania  which  possessed  the  Medijevals ;  and,  in  their 
jealousy  of  the  rival  Church,  they  furged  the  story  of  St,  Veronica* 
so  as  to  1)c  able  to  represent  themselves  as  equally  favoured  with 
the  Greeks.  With  them  the  wish  to  have  a  trae  portrait  of  the 
Saviour  was  father  to  the  belief  that  they  possessed  one*  We  do 
not  believe  that  the  legend  of  the  blessed  woman  and  her  napkin 
was  deliberately  invented.  Far  from  it.  All  the  materials  for 
the  composition  of  ihe  fable  were  ready  at  hand,  and  demanded 
only  the  touch  of  Faith  to  make  the  story  leap  into  existence. 

Ma  bill  on  propounded,  as  a  solution  to  the  fable,  the  theory 
that  each  early  [wrtrait  of  Christ  was  called,  in  barbarous  jargon, 
a  mixture  of  Latin  and  Greek,  vera  kon^  true  image ;  and  that 
later,  a  fable  was  invented  to  account  for  the  introduction  of  these 
representations  into  Europe,  and  the  name  given  to  the  image  was 
transferred  to  the  person  who  was  supposed  to  have  brought  it  to 
the  West,     ITiis  explanation  has  been  generally  adopted, 

*  3>y  the  name  of  Tcf oiu<m,^  mj%  Bai]lei,f  *  nothing  more  was 


•  *  hnmAm  Arftln?ologique*/  %'sluL  p.  sf36* 

t  Baillet,  *  Les  Vies  to  Saints/  torn,  lat,  p,  32* 


si^oifiad 


498  Portraits  of  Christ. 

ragnifiod  than  the  irne  imago — ^rera  icon — of  the  SeTiouTy  painted  on 
a  handkerchief  or  piece  of  linen  called  the  Holy  Sodarimn,  becanae 
ordinarily  only  the  head  of  the  Savionr  from  before  was  lepreaeiited 
on  it,  that  is,  Uie  fftce  and  hair.  Nothing  further  was  meant  at  Borne, 
where  was  to  be  seen,  dating  from  the  tweUth  century,  in  the  dimdL 
of  St  Peter,  one  of  these  Veronicas,  before  which  lamps  were  kft 
burning  day  and  night  It  was  always  termed  a  Yera-ioon,  iq»  to  the 
end  of  the  sixteenth  century ;  and  a  trade  was  carried  on  by  the  oJe 
of  holy  images  made  in  representation  of  the  holy  Sudarxnm,  in  tiie 
square  of  Septimius  before  the  church  of  the  Vatican,  the  sellers  being 
ordinarily  termed  Tenders  of  Veronicas.'  • 

But  although  this  explanation  is  simple  and  Intelligible^  it 
does  not  account  for  all  the  particulars  of  the  iable.  M.  Mauxy 
has  suggested  another,  and  we  are  disposed  to  follow  his  lead. 
The  Gnostics  gave  the  name  of  Prounikos  or  Prounike  to  the 
Supreme  Wisdom,  of  whom  they  regarded  the  woman  in  the 
Gospel,  who  had  an  issue  of  blood  for  twelve  years,  as  the 
symbol.  We  learn  the  origin  of  this  curious  name  from  St 
Epiphanius.  He  tells  us  that  some  heretics  honoured  a  certain 
Prounice,  in  order  that  they  might  satisfy  their  passions,  con- 
cealing under  a  lying  allegory  whatever  was  unseemly  in  their 
acts.  And  he  adds,  ^This  word  Prounice  is  only  an  inven- 
tion of  pleasure  and  voluptuousness.  For  the  epithet  Tlpov- 
viK€vofJL€vov  implics  always  an  idea  of  debauch,  and  denotes 
libertinage.' t  But  the  name  appears  not  to  have  been  well 
understood.  In  the  Gospel  of  Nicodemus,  which  belongs  to 
the  fifth  century,  we  find  the  woman  with  the  issue  bearing 
a  name  which  has  so  close  a  resemblance  to  that  applied  to 
her  by  the  Gnostics,  that  we  can  hardly  doubt  its  being  taken 
from  them.  In  that  Apocryphal  Gospel  she  is  called  Bero- 
nice,  or  Bernice.  The  author  probably  knew  of  her  being 
called  Prounice,  but  assimilated  that  unfamiliar  name  to  one  with 
which  he  was  better  acquainted  ;  and  Joannes  Malala,  \  a  writer 
of  the  sixth  century,  gives  her  the  same  appellation.  As  soon  as 
her  name  was  fixed,  her  pedigree  was  constructed.  She  was 
identified  with  Berenice,  daughter  of  Salome,  sister  of  Herod. 
Then,  because  it  happened  that  a  martyr  of  the  name  of  Beronlcos 
had  suffered  at  Antioch,  she  was  brought  to  that  city  to  witness 
to  her  faith  by  a  cruel  death. 

Eusebius§  relates  that  the  woman   healed    by   touching   the 

•  See  epitaph  in  Martinelli,  p.  208  :  *  Cornelia,  filia  Cornelii  de  Briel,  Theuto- 
nica,  uxor  Joannis  de  Dumen,  in  liomana  curia  Veronicarom  Pictoris,  hie  sita  esl- 
Vix.  an.  26  ob.  28  Jan.  1526.' 

t  Epiphan.  'adv.  Ha?res.'  ♦  'Chronogr.,'  p.  305. 

§  •  Hist.  Eccl./  lib.  vii.  c.  18. 

fringe 


■Fortraiis  of  Christ. 


499 


fringe  of  Christ'ft  robe  was  not  ungrateful  for  her  cure,  but 
erected  an  image  in  bronze  of  the  Saviour,  witb  herself  kneeling 
at  his  feet,  her  hands  extended.  At  the  foot  of  this  statue  grew 
a  strange  plant  which,  when  it  reached  the  fringe  of  the  pallium, 
acquired  miraculous  virtues^  and  was  capable  of  healing  all 
kinds  of  diseases.  Eusebius  adds  that  he  saw  the  figure  still 
erect,  Photius  *  has  preserved  a  passage  of  Asterius,  Bishop  of 
Amasca,  who  lived  at  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century,  and 
who  sajs  that  this  evidence  of  the  gratitude  of  the  woman 
remained  for  many  years  uninjured,  but  that  Ma^timin,  enraged 
at  the  devotion  rendered  by  the  faithful  to  this  statue,  ordered  it 
to  be  removed.  However,  it  was  not  broken^  Under  Constan* 
tine  it  was  replaced  within  the  enclosure  of  a  church,  but  Julian 
the  Apostate  had  it  beaten  to  pieces,  and  his  own  statue  erected 
on  its  pcdestah  From  the  anecdote  given  by  Eusebius,  it  is 
evident  that  the  woman  with  the  issue  v^as  connected  popularly 
with  a  representation  of  Christ.  And  this  woman  was  supposed 
to  be  called  Beronice. 

A  certain  Methodius  forged  the  story  of  a  Jewish  lady,  named 
Veronica,  having  come  to  Rome  to  cure  the  Emperor  Tiberius 
of  leprosy.  Marianus  Scotus  (ob,  1086)  copied  it,  and  Jacques 
Phillippe  de  Bergamo,  who  continued  his  chronicle^  enriched  it 
with  additional  details.  The  legend  is  certainly  not  very 
ancient,  or  it  would  have  been  alluded  to  in  the  ancient 
Breviary  of  St,  Peter  of  the  Vatican,  in  which,  however,  St, 
Veronica  is  not  so  much  as  mentioned.  ITie  story  in 
Marianas  Scotus,  as  added  to  by  copyists,  is  as  follows: 
— The  Em]>eror  Tiberius  was  aiHicted  with  leprosy.  Hear- 
ing of  the  miracles  of  our  Lortl^  he  sent  for  Him  to  Jeru- 
salem. But  Christ  was  already  crucified  and  had  risen  and 
ascended  into  Heaven,  The  messengers  of  Tiberius,  however, 
ascertained  that  a  certain  Veronica  possessed  a  portrait  of 
Christ,  impressed  by  the  Saviour  himself  on  a  linen  hand* 
kerchief,  and  preserved  by  her  with  reverence,  Veronica  was 
persuaded  by  them  to  come  to  Rome,  and  the  sight  of  the 
sacred  image  restored  the  Emperor  to  health,  Pilate  was  then 
sentenced  by  him  to  death  for  having  unjustly  crucified  our 
Lord,! 

We  have  evidence  here  of  the  Eastern  myth  of  the  Abgarus 
portrait  penetrating  and  colouring  the  Western  fable. 

In    a  Latin   poem  of  the  twelfth  century,  both  Titus  and 


500  Portraits  of  Christ. 

Vespasian  are  sick  and  desire  the  sight  of  Christ  Bat  an  unnamed 
woman  addresses  the  imperial  messengers  with  these  wcMrda.  *  In 
vain  ye  seek  the  heavenly  physician.  Pilate  has  crucified  Him, 
but  three  days  after  He  rose  again,  and  He  has  ascended  inti> 
Heaven.  He  has  left  power  to  his  disciples  to  heal  the  sicL  I 
loved  Him  firom  my  heart,  and  I  besought  Him  to  give  me  a 
remembrancer  of  Himself,  for  He  often  announced  to  his  own 
that  He  would  die  oo  the  cross,  and  would  return  to  the  right- 
hand  of  his  Father.  Then  He  took  my  handkerchief  and  prened 
it  to  his  face.  And  I  saw  with  astonishm^t  his  portrait  stamped 
thereon,  his  black  beard,  his  gleaming  eyes.  *  I  hold  you  worthy 
of  this  keepsake/  said  He ;  *  preserve  it  with  reverence,  for  it  wiU 
heal  all  diseases.'  And  by  means  of  this  miraculous  linen  the 
two  Csesars  were  cured.* 

According  to  Jacques  de  Voragine  (ob.  1298)  the  messenger 
sent  by  Tiberius  to  Jerusalem  was  called  Volusianus.  Veronica 
employs  an  artist  to  take  the  likeness  of  Christ,  but  our  Lord,  out 
of  compassion  for  her,  takes  a  towel  and  fixes  his  portrait  on  it 
This  version  is  unmistakably  identical  with  the  Eastern  fkble  of 
Abgarus  as  related  by  St  John  of  Damascus  or  Constantioe 
Porphyrogeneta. 

As  fully  'developed  in  the  middle  ages,  the  myth  ran  as 
follows : — The  Emperor  Vespasian  was  ill  of  cancer,  and  hia  life 
was  despaired  of  by  his  physicians.  Hearing  of  the  miracles  of 
Christ,  he  sent  a  messenger  to  Juda?a  with  orders  that  He  should 
be  brought  to  Rome.  But  Christ  was  then  in  heaven.  At  that 
time  there  lived  in  GalilcHi  a  lady  named  Veronica,  who  suffered 
j2;revi()usly  from  an  issue  of  bl(K)d  ;  this  woman  was  healed  of 
her  disease  by  Christ,  and  in  jjratitude  she  wiped  his  face,  as  He 
went  to  Calvary,  with  a  veil,  and  his  jK)rtrait  was  thereon 
impressed.  Other  versions  of  the  story  relate  that  Mary  wiped 
the  face  of  Christ  whilst  on  the  cross,  and  gave  the  figured 
napkin  to  the  weepinf^  Veronica  who  stood  by.  With  this 
miraculous  portrait  the  holy  woman  sought  Rome ;  there  she 
fell  in  with  St  Clement,  who  accompanied  her  to  the  Emperors 
palace.  The  rest  shall  be  told  by  the  (juaint  old  French  '  Life 
of  Jesus  Christ,'  printed  and  reprintccl  in  the  fifteenth  and 
sixteenth  centuries : —         • 

*  And  on  tlio  morrow,  at  the  hour  of  tiorce,  all  his  barony  were 
assembled,  and  the  Emi)eror  gammoned  Guy;  then,  following  him, 
camo  Veronica,  who  bare  the  veil  (touaillv )  in  her  right  hand,  and  she 
gave  it  to  St.  Clement.     And  when  they  came  before  the  Emperor, 

*  *  Anzeiger  fiir  Kuude  des  Mittclalters,'  1835,  p.  425. 

Veronica 


Poriraiti  of  Chriit. 

YeromoL  saluted  Lim  and  said,  "  Siro,  will  it  please  yon  to  Ii^ixkeii  to 
£bi3  preudhomme,  who  is  one  of  the  diBciploe  of  our  Lord  Jmm  Cluifit, 
and  after  the  sermon,  at  God's  will,  yoii  shall  bo  healed*" 

'  Then  the  Emperor  eonmiandod  all  his  people  to  listen  attentiYeljj 
and  Saint  Clement  mounted  a  pulpit,  and  began  to  preach  &om  tho 
Incarnation  of  Jesus  Christy  of  his  NatiTity,  his  Passion,  his  Reeur- 
roction,  and  after  that  he  put  himself  with  Voromca  in  prajer  to 
Jesus  Christ  that  Ho  would  perfonn  a  miracle.  And  when  thoy  had 
£imhod  their  prayer,  they  displayed  before  the  Emporor  the  veil  on 
idddi  was  the  face  of  Josus  Christ ;  then  they  bade  him  adore  it,  and 
as  Boon  as  he  had  worshipped,  he  was  made  whole,  as  thon^  he  had 
never  been  ill,  and  he  went  lightly  qm  any  man  of  hia  Dompany. 
Tbei^eat  he,  and  all  the  people  who  beheld,  had  great  joy,  and  garo 
thanks  to  our  SaTiour  and  Bedeemer  Jesus  Chmt,  as  Saint  Clement 
had  instmeted  them.' 

We  can  account  for  the  in  trot!  net  Ion  of  St,  Clement  into  this 
fable  by  another  confusion  of  personages.  In  the  'Recognition* 
of  St.  Peter,'  an  apocryphal  work,  there  appears  a  woman  called 
Bernice,  daughter  of  Justa  the  Canaanite,  who  receives  into 
her  bouse  Clement,  Nicetas,  and  Aquila,  who  come  from 
Caesarea,  and  to  them  she  relates  the  miracles  wrought  by 
Simon  Magus,  Berenice  or  Bernice  is  the  same  name  a* 
Veronicaj  the  Greek  B  being  converted  into  the  Latin  V  j  as, 
In  the  Cyrillic  alphabet  of  Russia  to  this  day,  the  character 
B  has  the  sound  of  V, 

Let  us  now  state,  In  tabular  form,  the  steps  by  which  the  fable 
was  developed  i- — 

L  ProuDicos,  or  Proanicc,  by  the  Gnostics,  was  the  name  of 
the  woman  with  an  hemorrhage. 

2»  This  woman,  according  to  Eusebius,  made  an  image  of 
Christ  which  possessed  healing  properties, 

3,  In  the  sixth  century  tlie  woman  w  ith  the  flux  was  popularly 
called  Bernice,  an  adaptation  of  the  name  Prounice, 

4*  A  Bernice  is  said  to  have  entertained  St.  Clement  at 
Tyre. 

5,  In  the  eleventh  century  the  Westerns  became  act^nainted 
with  the  sacred  portrait  at  Byxantium,  through  the  visits  of  tho 
Crusaders  and  the  wtI tings  of  St.  John  of  Damascus. 

G<  Constantine  Porph}Togencta  tells  two  stories  of  the  Ahganis 
portrait;  one  the  gennine  Eastern  myih^  the  other  resembling  the 
Western  fable  then  in  process  of  formation, 

7,  The  name  of  the  woman  Bernice  had  at  this  period  been 
Lattniied  into  Venmica* 

8,  The  Westerns  in  the  twelfth  century  adapted  the  story  of 
the  Abf  anis  picture  to  Veronica,  led  to  this  by  a  false  etymology 

of 


502  PortraiU  of  Christ. 

of  her  name.  In  the  place  of  Abgarus  thej  pat  Vespauao, 
Ananias  was  replaced  by  Veronica,  and  St  Clement  stood  (en 
St  lliaddseus. 

We  have  little  doubt  that  there  were  portraits  of  Christy 
popularly  called  vcrapicons,  before  the  fable  had  developed ;  bat 
that  they  were  not  attributed  to  the  woman  with  the  bloody  isane 
till  the  Eastern  legend  of  the  healing  of  Abgarus  by  the  free- 
impressed  towel  had  become  current  Then,  at  once,  misled  by 
the  name,  and  by  a  floating  reminiscence  of  the  story  of  Eosebios 
touching  her  and  the  miraculous  image,  the  myth  about  her 
crystallized  at  once. 

The  veil,  in  after  fables,  was  in  many  folds,  to  account  for  the 
number  of  veronicas  existing  in  Christendom.  One,  as  we  have 
seen,  was  at  Rome,  another  at  Jacn  in  Andalusia,  a  third  at 
Montreuil-les-Dames  at  Laon,  another  again  at  Cologne,  and  a 
fifth  at  Milan,  besides  the  two  Abgarus  true  icons  at  St  Syl- 
vester's, Rome,  and  St  Bartholomew's,  Genoa. 

Such  then  is  the  history  of  this  pretty,  but  utterly  mythical 
story.  It  is  certainly  to  be  regretted  that  the  Roman  Church, 
knowing,  as  she  well  docs,  how  fabulous  the  legend  of  St 
Veronica  is,  should  yet  countenance  the  admission  of  that  story 
into  the  series  of  stations  which  adorn  the  churches  and  fonn 
part  of  the  devotions  of  her  laity.  A  more  beautiful  and 
touching  office  than  that  of  the  Via  Dolorosa  can  hardly  be  coq- 
ceived,  but  it  is  disfigured  by  the  Veronica  myth,  which  is  at 
once  shocking  to  the  reverence  and  revolting  to  the  reason  of 
Eiifjlish  churchmen. 

We  shall  next  briefly  notice  such  other  jwrtraits  of  Christ  as 
claim  to  be  authentic,  whether  in  colour  or  in  writing.  Of  the 
former,  that  said  to  have  been  painted  by  St.  Luke  is  the  most  inte- 
resting. The  Greek  monk  Alichael,  in  his  Life  of  his  master, 
'riieodorus  Studitcs  (ob.  82G),  relates  that  St,  Luke  painted  a  beau- 
tiful likeness  of  our  Saviour.  This  assertion  was  readily  adopted 
by  later  writers.  Among  others,  Simon  Metaphrastes  (fl.  936) 
ri-])cats  it,  and  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  (ob.  1274)  refers  to  the  picture 
as  ('xistinp:  in  the  chapel  of  the  Sancta  Scala  in  the  Lateran. 
Ciregory  IX.,  in  1234,  had  the  following  Inscription  placed  above 
this  portrait : — 

^  Hoc  in  soccllo  salvatoris  noBtri  cfiigics,  a  B.  Luca  depicta, 
Veuerationc  tarn  debita  quam  devote  custoditur.' 

An  ancient  German  poem,  of  1175,  confuses  this  story  with 
tliat  of  Veronica ;  and  relates  that  at  the  request  of  this  ladv 
St.  Luke  undertook  to  paint  Christ,  but  after  three  unsuccessful 
attempts  gave  up  in  despair.     Then  Christ  washed  his  face,  and 

wiping 


Poriraits  of  ChrisL 


503 


wiping  it  in  a  towe!  left  tliereoE  the  impression  of  his  features, 
Veronita  jierformed  great  wonders  with  the  picture,  and  cured 
the  Emperor  Vespasian  of  a  mortal  dbcase.  It  will  be  seen  that 
this  is  a  mere  adaptatioo  of  tlie  story  ffiven  by  Constiintine** 

Jacques  de  Voraginc  says  notlun^,  in  liis  "^Legenda  Aurea/ 
of  the  portrait  by  St.  Luke^  but  the  Evangelist  Luke  was  believed 
in  bis  time  to  have  been  a  painter,  and  in  1340  we  find  a  con- 
fraternity of  artists  under  his  invocation,  in  Italy  and  in  Ger- 
many. 

NicephoruSj  son  of  Callistus,  in  his  Ecclesiastical  History ^t 
roundly  asserts  as  a  fact  that  St*  Luke  ttiok  the  portraits  of  our 
Lord,  the  Virg-in  Mary,  and  the  Apostles,  and  he  describes  the 
features  of  the  Saviour  from  tliis  picture  which  he  had  seen ;  and 
William  Kufus  was  want  to  swear  *per  sanctum  vultum  de 
Luca/  X  This  portrait  is  in  the  possession  of  the  Benedictines 
of  Vallombrosa,  It  is  a  painting  of  very  considerable  antiquity^ 
in  tempo ra  on  a  panel  of  cypress  wood.  The  features  are  strongly 
emphasized,  the  face  long,  the  eyes  large  and  bright,  with  eyelids 
drooping,  and  arched  brows. 

Another  sacred  picture  Is  that  given  by  St  Peter  to  the 
Senator  Pudcns,  which  is  exhibited,  on  Easter  day,  in  the  Monas- 
tery of  St.  Pra%ides.  The  story  goes  that  it  was  sketched  by 
St  Peter  for  the  daughters  of  Pudens,  one  evening  at  supper, 
on  the  napkin  of  P  rax  ides.  This  picture  dates  back  to  a  period 
before  Constantine*  It  was  encased  in  silver  by  Innocent  I IL ; 
the  keepers  of  this  relic  suffer  none  to  approach  sufficiently  near 
to  distinguish  its  characteristics. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  when  Christ  was  laid  in  tlie  tomb 
his  lK>dy  was  wrapped  in  fme  linen,  and  a  linen  napkin  was  on 
his  face.  Tliesc  relics  are  said  to  be  preserved  at  Besan(;on  and 
Turin*  The  Turin  linen  shows  the  blood-stained  outline  of  the 
Saviour's  body  ;  that  at  Besanpon  is  marked  with  the  ointments. 
The  features  are  impressed  on  the  napkin,  and  are  of  the  Byiean- 
tine  tyj>e,  Chilllet  wrote  a  curious  and  scarce  work  on  these 
relics,  in  the  17th  century,§  His  description  is  this,  *CEi*sarie» 
prolistior,  non  admodum  densa,  leniter  ad  crispos  decHnans  et 
juxta  marem  Nazaraeorum  in  vertice  diseriminala;  barba  me- 
diocriter  promissa  et  in  medio  bifurcata ;  frons  plana  et  serena ; 
nasus  leni  et  modico  tract u  diffuaus ;  recta  brachia  et  crura — 
omnia  demum  qua?  speciosum  forma  pro?  filiis  hominum  deceant.* 


•  W.  Griium,  ■  Die  Sage  v.  DrEpmug  der  Christasbilder.* 
t  Niceph.,  *  HisL  EccJes./  lib.  lu  c,  43* 

%  Eadmer,  in  '  Aet  Sanct.*  Apn  21.     Bwt  WilUamof  MalmabiH7-j(UbaY.e.  L) 
Bays  !xe  swore  by  ihc  sacwl  cmcifiji  of  Luc«i, 

%  J.  J.  Chiffiams,  '  Uc  Llulieis  sepulchraltbas  Cbmti.'     AnU  1634. 

Vol,  ltd.— No.  246.  2  L  Nicodemui, 


504  Portraits  of  Christ. 

Nicodemus,  accortling  to  a  medieval  leg^end,  was  a  sculptor, 
and  he  carved  a  crucifix  for  Gamaliel,  which,  after  the  destruo 
tioii  of  Jerusalem,  was  lost  But  another  crucifix  by  the  same 
sculptor  is  exhibited  in  the  Cathedral  of  Lucca. 

Another  portrait  is  the  Nazanpum,  which  is  certainly  of  con- 
siderable antiquity,  and  is  probably  the  earliest  extBuit  copy  of 
the  famous  Edossa  picture.  It  is  found  in  the  Latin  convent  at 
Nazareth  on  the  ^lensa  Christi.  This  picture  is  engraved  in 
Abraham  Norow's  travels  in  Palestine.* 

The  Genoese  portrait,  which  claims  to  be  original,  but  which 
is  pn>bably  only  a  very  early  copy,  represents  the  Saviour  with 
trifurcated  beard,  and  round  full  face  of  Byzantine  t^'pe.  A  very 
beautiful,  but  late,  Abgarus  portrait  is  in  the  late  Prince  Consort's 
collection,  now  in  tlic  National  Gallery. 

Such  are  the  principal  representations  of  the  Saviour  which 
lay  claim  to  authenticity.  Although  we  cannot  allow  this  claim, 
we  are  ready  to  concede  their  remote  antiquity.  All  are  of 
Eastern  origin  and  of  B^'zantine  type. 

But  these  are  not  the  only  early  delineations  of  Christ's 
features  which  have  come  down  to  us.  The  others  are  in 
sculpture  on  sarcophagi,  in  enamel  on  glass,  in  fresco  in  the 
catacombs,  or  in  mosaic. 

The  sarcophagi  of  Christian  origin  are  of  white  marble,  richly 
decorated  with  bas-reliefs,  and,  except  in  the  subjects  represented, 
not  materially  differing  from  those  of  pagans.  One  of  the  earliest 
of  these  sarcophagi  is  that  of  Junius  Bassus,  who  died  in  359. 
On  it  Christ  is  represented  four  times,  youthful,  almost  childish, 
with  flowing  hair  and  beardless  chin;  the  face  is  of  the  usual 
classic  tyjM».  I'Vom  the  intermixture  of  pagan  with  Christian 
syml><>lisni  on  these  tombs,  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  sculptors 
wer(*  not  Christians,  but  that  tliey  executed  figures  and  groups 
according  to  order,  without  understanding  the  signification  of 
the  subjects  they  executed.  If  such  be  the  case,  it  will  account 
for  the  fact  that  the  Christ-tvpe  of  the  sarcophagi  in  no  way 
differs  from  the  received  classic  models.  A  similar  tyjx?  appears 
in  some  of  the  ornamented  glass  vessels  discovered  in  the  cata- 
combs. A  beautiful  goblet  imbedded  in  the  mortar  of  the  tomb 
of  Eutjchia,  '  happiest  of  women,'  bears  on  it  an  enamelled 
representation  of  our  Lord  raising  Lazarus,  youthful,  with  curled 
hair,  and  beardless.  But  on  another  Irom  the  same  tomb,  Christ 
is  bearing  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  life,  bearded,  with  hair  flowing 
and  parted,  and  with  a  long  straight  nose.  (*  Art  Journal,'  vol. 
iii.  p.  34.) 

*  *  Puteccstvie  po  satoe  semlic/    Petenborg,  1844,  vol.  ii.  p.  90. 

Few 


Portraits  of  Christ. 


505 


Few  of  the  paintings  in  the  catacombs  date  from  the  second 
centuij*  They  represent  Christ  under  types  and  syinlx>lsj  and 
not  historically.  Thus  He  appears  repeatedly  as  a  good  Shepherd, 
or  as  a  Lamb  surrounded  by  sheep ;  sometimes  as  Jonah  ciist 
ashore  by  the  whale,  or  as  Noah  in  his  ark,  or  as  Orpheus 
charming  the  savage  beasts  by  his  mag^ic  lyre*  !n  none  of  these 
paintings  can  we  expect  to  find  a  typical  character  of  feature, 
such  as  appears  in  historical  portraits.  However,  there  are 
some  representations  of  Christ  in  these  cemeteries  which  are  not 
symbolic,  and  in  them  the  traditional  features  appear^ 

In  the  catacomb  of  St.  Calixtus,  on  the  ceiling  of  the  fourth 
chamber,  is  a  large  medalUon  surrounded  with  a  symmetrical 
ornament  of  doves  and  arabesques.  This  medallion  contains 
a  bust  in  which  it  is  hard  not  to  recognise  the  Saviour*  The 
figure  is  partially  nude,  but  over  the  left  shoulder  is  cast  some 
drapery.  The  face  is  ovalj  w^ith  a  lofty  smooth  brow,  arched 
eyebrows,  a  straight  nose,  and  a  grave  and  mild  expression.  The 
hair  is  jmrted  and  flows  in  curls  to  the  shoulders ;  the  beard  is 
scanty,  short,  and  bifurcated  ;  and  the  appearance  is  that  of  a  man 
of  from  thirty  to  forty  years  of  age.* 

In  the  catacomb  of  SS.  Nereus  and  Achilles  there  is  also 
a  fulWength  figure  of  Christ  of  the  conventional  type,  with, 
parted  hair,  beard  and  moustache.  (*Art  Journal/  vol.  vii. 
p.  66.)  In  that  of  St,  Agnes  there  is  a  very  singular  defaced 
nude  figure  of  our  Lord  as  the  *  Resurrection  and  the  Life/  the 
brow  lofty,  the  face  not  oval  but  long,  the  underlip  coat^e^ 
moustache,  small  pointed  beard,  eyes  obliterated. 

In  the  cemetery  of  Pra;te3ttati  there  is  a  later  fresco  of  Christ 
teaching  as  a  philosopher,  with  the  nimbus  and  A  and  H,  the 
fiice  of  the  conventional  type,  but  without  divided  beard.  A  goo*l 
copy  of  this  painting  is  to  l>e  seen  in  the  museum  of  the  Lateran, 
Amther  beautiful  head  of  Christy  of  small  size,  taken  from  the 
catacombs,  is  now  in  the  Vatican.  Christ  is  represented  between 
Judas  and  St.  John  at  the  Last  Supper,  with  his  mouth  open 
addressing  them.  This  is  attributed  by  Mr.  Heapy  to  the 
second  century^  but  it  hs  certainly  later.  It  i^  to  be  regretted 
that  the  articles  on  the  portraits  of  Christ,  contributed  by  Mr, 
Heapy  to  the  'Art  Journal,'  arc  so  deficient  in  critical  accuracy 
as  to  be  of  little  value.  The  beaudful  head  of  Christ  from  the 
cemetery  of  St.  Pougiano,  with  cruciform  jewelled  nimbu^ 
must  be  attributed  to  the  seventh  century  ;  it  agrees  in  every 
particular  with  the  famous  description  of  the  Saviour  by  Lentulus, 


•  See  EAigWs  *  Handbook  gf  Ptintmg :  Iialiaa  Schools,'  edited  b j  Sir  0.  L* 

EasUake,  p.  16. 

2l2  to 


506  Portraits  of  Chri^. 

to  be  quoted  hereai'ter.  Scarcely  earlier  is  that  life-sized  bast,  also 
with  nimbus  gemmed,  on  the  tomb  of  St  Cecilia,  which  Mr. 
Heapy  supposes  to  be  a  production  of  the  fourth  century.  The 
face  is  ])ear-sbaped,  the  moustaches  small ;  there  is  no  beard, 
but  the  neck  is  fringed. 

Next  to  the  fresco  portraits  of  Christ  come  the  mosaic  repre- 
sentations in  the  ancient  basilicas  and  churches  of  Italy.  The 
earliest  of  these  arc:  S.  Maria  Maggiore  in  Rome  (425-430); 
the  basilica  of  St  John  in  Ravenna  (430-410) ;  the  arch  of 
S.  Paolo  at  Rome  (440)  ;  the  fragments  in  the  baptisteries  of  the 
Lateran  (462),  and  St  Apollinare  at  Ravenna  (before  526); 
S8.  Cosmo  and  Damian  in  Rome  (526-530) ;  S.  Maria  Maggiore 
in  Ravenna  (after  526)  ;  St  Vital  is  in  Ravenna  (534-547);  and 
St  Sophia  in  Constantinople  (558-563).  In  the  mosaics  of  these 
churches  the  face  of  the  Lord  closely  resembles  the  Byzantine 
type. 

The  arch  of  S.  PaoIo-fuori-Ie-Muri  at  Rome,  rescued  firom 
the  flames  in  1823,  represents  the  four-and-twenty  elden 
offering  thoir  crowns.  In  the  dome  of  the  apse  is  the  Savioor  in 
glory,  witli  the  founders  of  the  church  in  adoration  on  either 
side.  Christ  is  in  a  double  nimbus  of  15  feet  in  diameter,  made 
up  of  rays.  His  right  hand  is  elevated  in  benediction,  his  left 
holds  the  sceptre.  He  is  not,  as  in  St  Calixtus,  half  nailed,  bot 
clothed  to  the  neck.  The  face  is  calm  and  grave,  the  hair  very 
long,  the  eyes  larg^  and  lustrous.  More  beautiful  as  a  work  of 
art  is  tho  marvellous  head  in  SS.  Cosmo  and  Damian  in  the 
Roman  forum,  which  may  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  of  medieval  figures,  for  the  majesty,  the  solemnity  of 
the  countenance,  and  the  dignity  of  the  carriage. 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  literary  sketches  of  the  portrait  of  our 
Lord  which  have  descended  to  us. 

St  Jerome  (ob.  420)  says  that  in  the  face  and  eyes  of  Christ 
there  was  something  heavenly,  so  that  from  their  glory  and 
majesty  tlie  hidden  Godhead  flashed  forth.  Origen  (ob.  253) 
held  the  curious  opinion  that  Christ  had  no  fixed  appearance, 
but  that  He  was  manifested  to  each  according  to  his  idea  of  human 
beauty.  Photius  (ob.  892)  remarks  on  the  difference  in  the  repre- 
sentations of  Christ  made  by  Romans,  Indians,  Greeks,  and  Ethi- 
opians; each  nation  thinking  the  Redeemer  to  have  borne  its 
typical  features.  Theophanes,  who  lived  at  the  same  time  as 
Pliotius,  says  that  some  historians  describe  Christ  as  having  bad 
curled  and  scanty  hair.  St  John  of  Damascus  (ob.  circ.  760)  in 
his  letter  to  the  Emperor  Theophilus  enters  into  fuller  particulars. 
He  says  Christ  was  tall  and  stately,  had  brows  uniting  over  the 
nose,  beautiful  cyes^  a  large  nose  {iirippivosi)^  curled  hair,  and  a 

black 


Portraits  of  ClmsL 


607 


black  beartl  His  hair  was  a  gold-brown,  like  wheat  (^iro^poi/?), 
resembling  that  of  his  mother,  and  his  head  was  bowed  somewhat 
forward*  A  passag-e  of  the  same  date,  but  not  hy  St  John 
of  Damascusj  though  attributed  to  him,  describes  Christ  in  verj 
similar  terms. 

The  next,  and  more  precise  account^  is  that  in  the  apocryphal 
letter  of  Lentulus,  who  is  supposed  to  have  lived  at  the  time  of 
Christ  and  to  have  been  about  the  person  of  Pilate,  to  the  Roman 
senate,  and  which  was  said  to  have  been  extracted  from  the 
Roman  annals  by  a  certain  EutropiuSj  but  its  monkish  paternity 
clearly  stamps  it  as  a  forgery  of  the  middle  ages.  This  first 
appears  in  the  writings  of  St.  Ansel m  of  Canterbury  (ob,  1107): 
'He  is  a  man  of  tall  stature,  comely,  having  a  venerable  counte- 
nance, which  those  beholding  must  love  or  fear.  His  hair  is 
waving  and  curled,  rolling  to  his  shoulders,  having  a  partinj>-  in 
the  middle  of  the  head  after  the  manner  of  the  Nazarcnes,  a 
brow  smtKith  and  serene,  a  face  without  wrinkle  or  blemish  of 
any  kind,  rendered  beautiful  by  a  moderate  colour.  There  is 
no  fault  to  be  found  with  the  nose  and  mouth ;  he  has  a  full  and 
red  beard  the  colour  of  his  locks,  not  long,  hut  bifurcated,  and 
eyes  bright  and  changeable,'  A  nother  version  of  this  letter  adds 
that  his  hair  was  the  colour  of  the  hazel-nut,  the  eyes  greyish  blue 
and  full  of  light 

*  His  hands  and  arms  are  beautiful.  He  is  terrible  in  re- 
prehension, hut  mild  and  full  of  love  in  instruction  ;  cheerful, 
but  with  steadfast  earnestness.  No  one  ever  saw  Him  laugh, 
but  often  has  He  been  seen  to  weep.  Precise  and  modest 
in  his  speech,  He  is  in  all  perfect,  and  the  fairest  of  the  sons  of 
men/ 

The  monk  Epipbamus^  in  1190,  gi%^es  a  very  similar  descrip- 
tion of  the  ap]jearance  of  Christ ;  but  the  most  precise  and 
complete  account  is  that  of  Nicephorus  Callistus  Xanthopulus, 
who  lived  in  Constantinople  between  the  years  1325-1 35(^  and 
compiled  an  ecclesiastical  history  in  twenty-three  books,  of  which 
the  last  fi%e  are  lo&t.  His  description  is  most  probably  taken 
from  the  ancient  Abgarus  picture  in  St  Sophia,  helped  out  by 
notices  in  earlier  historians.  He  tells  us  that  from  ancient  descrip- 
tions we  may  learn  what  the  figure  of  Christ  was :  * 

'He  was  beautiful  in  body,  his  height  seven  complete  spans, 
his  hair  was  yellowish,  not  thick,  and  at  the  ends  somewhat 
curled.  His  eyebrows  were  black,  only  a  little  arched,  and 
without  break  {Kal  ov  irdvv  i7riica(Lirw)i  his  eyes  were  ha^el^ 
of  that  description  called  bright-eyed  {^apcfwol)^  not  dim,  in  na 


♦  Nieeph.,  *  Ecc1ei>  Wax,;  lib,  I,  e*  40. 


way 


508  Partraitt  of  ChruL 

way  misfonnedy  not  wandering.  His  nofe  was  prominfnti  hit 
beanl  reddish,  not  profuse,  but  the  hair  of  his  head  was  abun- 
dant, for  never  had  razor  or  hand  of  man  ihora  it.  His  ned[ 
was  somewhat  bent,  so  that  He  did  not  walk  perfectly  upright ; 
the  colour  of  his  face  was  a  yellow-brown,  like  ripe  wb^t ;  his 
face  was  not  round,  nor  pointed,  but,  like  his  mother's,  a  little 
drooping  and  slightly  blushing.  His  very  countenance  indi* 
cated  a  man  of  intelligence,  with  manners  grrave,  calm,  and 
removed  from  anger.  In  all  things  was  He  like  his  most  pure 
mother.* 

As  both  Nicephorus  and  the  pseudo  Damascene  allude  to  the 
resemblance  borne  by  Christ  to  the  Virgin  Mary«  it  will  be 
interesting  to  sec  her  }K)rtrait  sketched  by  the  same  Nicephonis.* 
*  Mary  was  in  everything  modest  and  earnest ;  she  spake  little, 
and  dion  only  about  necessaries ;  she  was  very  courteous,  and 
rendered  to  all  honour  and  respect  She  was  of  middle  stature, 
though  some  assert  her  to  have  been  somewhat  taller.  She 
spake  to  all  with  an  engaging  frankness,  without  laoghing, 
without  embarrassment,  and  especially  without  rancour.  She 
had  a  pale  tint,  light  hair,  piercing  eyes  with  yellowish  olive- 
coloured  pupils.  Her  brows  were  arched  and  modestly  (I) 
black,  her  nose  moderately  long,  her  lips  fresh,  and  full  oi 
amiability  when  speaking  ;  her  face  not  round  or  pointed,  but 
longish  ;  hands  and  lingers  fairly  long.  Finally,  she  was 
without  pride,  simple,  and  without  guile;  she  had  no  insi- 
pidity alxnit  her,  but  was  unassuming.  In  her  dress  she  was 
fond  of  the  natural  colour,  which  is  still  visible  in  her 
sa(To<l  head-gear, — in  short  there  was  in  all  her  ways  divine 
grace.' 

Cedrenus  describes  her  as  of  moderate  height,  with  yellowish 
brown  hair  and  hazel  eyes,  long  fingers,  and  dress  of  no  vivid 
colour;  whilst  Xaverius  inclines  to  her  having  bluish  eyes  and 
golden  hair;  both  ag^ee  with  Nicephorus  that  her  lingers  were 
lonjr. 

The  work  of  Dr.  Gliickselig,  which  heads  the  list  prefixed  to 
this  article,  is  the  result  of  many  years  spent  in  examining  and 
collatinif  all  the  ancient  portraits  .ind  descriptions  of  the  Saviour. 
I3y  sc^lection  of  all  the  Ix^st  p)ints  in  these  representations,  and 
harmonizing  their  leading  characteristics,  he  has,  as  he  believes, 
arrive<l  at  an  authentic  likeness  of  our  blessed  Lord,  a  small  chro- 
molithograj)h  of  which  is  the  frontispiece  to  his  work;  whilst  a 
larger  one  has  Wen  published  by  him  for  churches  and  oratories. 
A  more  unsatisfactory  result  can   hardly  be  conceived  ;  the  face 


Niceph.,  *  Eccles.  Hist.,'  lib.  iL  c  23. 

is 


Portraits  of  Christ. 


509 


IS  nice  and  pretty ,  but  absolutely  soulless*  The  labour  of  the 
learned  Doctor  has  been  one  of  love,  but  he  has  worked  under 
the  disadvantag^e  of  Papal  patronage,  which  required  him  to 
trust  ti^o  implicitly  to  the  authenticity  of  the  relics  of  St 
Veronica  and  Abgarus>  These  two  portraits,  he  endeavours  to 
prove,  are  the  typical  Christ  suffering  and  Christ  glorified  of  art, 
the  Christ  who  ^  hath  no  form  nor  comeliness ;  and  when  we 
shall  see  Him,  there  is  no  beauty  that  we  should  desire  Him  ' 
(Is.  liLL  2),  and  the  Christ  *  fairer  than  the  sons  of  men*  (Ps, 
xlv.  2). 

*  Quale  e  eolui,  che  for^e  di  Croatia 
VieuQ  h  veder  la  Veronica  nostro, 
Ch€  per  r  autica  fama  non  si  sazia/ 

J}ante^  Par,  c  ixxi. 

Alas  I  that  when  we  do  look  at  this  vera  icon^  the  antiquity 
of  which  is  indisputable,  we  should  see,  as  Canon  Montault  tells 
us,  but  a  bhmk. 

We  believe,  however,  on  other  evidence  than  that  of  so-called 
authentic  portraits,  that  the  generally  accepted  type  of  countenance 
attributed  to  the  Son  of  Man  rests  on  no  arbitrary  selection.  It 
is  evident  that  both  in  East  and  West,  at  a  very  early  ajje,  and 
without  collusion,  delineators  of  the  sacred  pers*>n  of  Christ  were 
guided  by  some  particular  traditional  type,  materially  dilU^ring- 
from  the  classic  Ideal  of  perfection.  In  the  rudest  of  ancient 
portraits  the  Divinity  shines  tbroug;h  the  Manhood,  whereas  the 
noblest  representations  of  Greek  or  Homan  deities  fail  to  render, 
by  just  proportions  and  perfection  of  grace,  the  idea  of  the 
Divine.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  the  early  decorator  of 
St  Calixtus,  and  the  painter  ot  the  sacred  picture  of  Ktlessa, 
could  have  represented  our  blessed  Lord  with  features  and 
cbamcteri sties  so  essentially  similar,  unless  following  a  traditional 
guide,  Antl  when  we  consider  the  intensity  of  interest  which 
from  the  earliest  age  of  the  Church  attached  to  every  particular 
eonut^cted  with  Christ,  it  is  pos^iible  that  one  to  imjiortant 
as  His  personal  appearance  should  have  become  matter  of 
loving  tradition  to  l>e  reverently  transmitted  to  those  who  *  oot 
having  seen  yet  have  believed/ 


Abt. 


(    510    ) 


Art.  VIII.— 1.   Travels  to  discover  the  Source  of  the  Nile.    By 
James  Bruce,  of  Kinnaird,  Esq.    London,  1790. 

2.  A  Voyage  to  Abyssinia,   By  Heniy  Salt,  Esq.  London,  1814. 

3.  Life  in  Abyssinia  :  being  Notes  collected  during  TJtree  Years 
J  Residence  and  Travels  in  that  Country,  By  Mansfield  Parkyns. 

London,  1853. 

4.  Voyage  en  Abyssinie,  Par  Messrs.  Ferret  et  Galinier.  Para; 
1847. 

5.  Beisen  in  Ost-Afrika.  Von  J.  L.  Krapf,  Th.  Dr.  Krondul, 
1858. 

6.  The  Highlands  of  Ethiopia.  By  Major  W.  CcMnwallii 
Harris.     London,  1844. 

7.  The  British  Captives  in  Abyssinia.  By  Charles  Beke, 
Ph.  Dr.     London,  1867. 

8.  Further  Correspondence  respecting  the  British  Cmtives  in 
Abyssinia,  (Presented  to  the  House  of  Commons  oy  Order 
of  Her    Majesty,    in    pursuance    of    their    Address,    dated 

'      July  8,  1867.)  ' 

9.  Routes  in  Abyssinia.  (Compiled  at  the  Topomiphical  and 
Statistical  Department  of  the  War  Office.  By  Lieut-Colonel 
A.  C.  Cooke,  C.B.,  R.E.     1867.) 

10.  Map  of  Upper  Nubia  and  Abyssinia,  By  Keith  Johnston, 
F.R.S.E.     1867. 

11.  Map  of  Abyssinia.     By  James  Wyld.     1867, 

NOT  many  months  ago  Abyssinia  was  to  the  generality 
of  Englislimen  *  terra  incognita.'  None,  save  a  few  geo- 
graphers, tlie  readers  of  Bruce's  travels,  some  missionaries  and  the 
relatives  of  the  unhapj>v  prisoners  at  Magdala,  knew,  or  cared 
to  know,  mu(  li  about  that  part  of  the  world.  Shall  we  say : 
Wouhl  tliat  this  indiffiiTenre  had  been  permitted  to  continue, 
and  tliat  England  bad  not  been  forced  by  circumstances  to  drag 
that  unknown  country  from  its  obscurity  at  a  vast  sacrifice  of 
money,  and,  it  may  be,  at  some  cost  of  life  ?  Or  shall  we  rather 
accept  these  circumstances  as  designed  by  Providence  for  the 
purj)ose  of  extending:  to  that  people  the  blessings  of  civilisation, 
of  restoring  to  Ethiopia  its  pristine  commercial  importance, 
and,  finally,  of  converting  the  natives  from  nominal  to  real 
Cliristlanity  ? 

Wo  are  not  prepared  to  answer  this  question,  which  time  alone 
can  determine. 

It  is  not  re(|uisite  to  enter  at  any  length  on  the  causes  which 
have  made  an  armed  expedition  necessary.  For  many  years  we 
have  liad  a  Consul  at  Massowah,  who  acted  as  the  medium  for  all 

official 


official  communications  between  our  Government  and  that  fif 
Abyssinia,  At  one  time  tke  officer  who  held  this  post  was  high 
in  t]ie  favour  of  the  present  mien  But  he  subsequently  incurred 
the  displeasure  of  the  despot,  who  put  him  in  cliaios,  and  with 
him  a  number  of  Europeans  who,  as  missionaries*  mechanics,  or 
traders,  had  visited  the  country.  After  various  attempts  to  ob- 
tain the  release  of  our  Consul  by  other  means,  the  Foreig;ii 
Office  sent  a  special  envoy,  as  bearer  of  a  letter  from  Her  Majesty 
to  the  Emperor,  Mn  Rassam  had  been  employed,  for  many 
years,  in  various  political  offices  in  Turkish  Arabia  and  at  Aden, 
where  he  was  assistant  to  the  Resident,  His  knowledgfe  of 
Oriental  languages  and  habits,  and  his  conciliatory  disposition, 
were  valuable  qualiH cations  for  such  a  duty  as  that  reouired  of 
him  as  the  hearer  of  a  demand  lor  the  release  of  Consul  Cameron, 
The  letters  and  messages  with  which  he  was  charged  dealt  with 
the  imprisonment  uf  our  Consul  as  an  unfortunate  misunder- 
standing, which  it  was  hoped  might  be  explained,  and  possibly 
atoned  for  by  his  release  at  Mn  Rassam*s  intercession,  Mr. 
Kassam  was  further  provided  with  suitable  presents,  and  accom- 
panied by  a  suite,  among  whom  were  Lieutenant  Frideaux,  a 
British  officer  who  had  been  for  some  time  attached  as  an  assistant 
at  tlie  Aden  residency,  and  Dr,  Blanc,  the  surgeon  of  the  residency. 
After  landing  at  Massowah,  and  sending  on  letters  announcing 
the  arrival  of  the  mission  and  its  object,  they  were  kept  for 
many  months  waiting  an  answer  from  the  Emperor,  who  seems 
to  have  been  long  uncertain  how  he  should  receive  them.  At 
length  Mr*  Rassam  got  permission  to  proceed.  On  his  first 
arrival  at  the  royal  camp  he  was  graciously  received,  and  by  hi» 
prudent  and  conciliatory  demeanour  he  appears  soon  to  have 
become  a  great  favourite  with  the  Emperor,  who,  after  many 
delays  and  disappointments,  such  as  are  usual  at  such  courts^ 
at  length  made  over  Consul  Cameron  and  other  prisoners  tn 
Mr,  Rassam,  with  the  warmest  expressions  of  respect  for  our  sove- 
reign, and  of  personal  regard  for  her  Majesty's  envoy,  Mr, 
Rassam  had  apparendy  achieved  the  object  of  his  mission,  and 
had  every  reason  to  believe  himself  on  his  way  back  with  the 
released  prisoners  in  his  charge,  when  a  change  came  over  the 
Emiierors  views.  He  wanted  more  presents  and  a  fresh  batch 
of  European  artisans,  and  his  friend  Rassam  must  stay  with 
him  till  tbey  arrived  in  Abyssinia.  It  was  from  the  first  evident 
that  the  Emjieror's  request  was  equivalent  to  a  command  from  a 
despot  who  knew  no  law  but  his  own  will^  and  who  would  brook 
uo  refusal,  Mr*  Rassam  transmitted  the  demand  to  the  English 
Foreign  Office,  and  it  was  so  far  complied  with  that  presents  and 

a  number 


512  The  Abyssinian  Expedition. 

a  number  of  English  artificers  were  sent  oat  But  before  they 
reached  Massowah  another  change  had  come  over  the  Emperor, 
and  his  conduct  had  been  such  that  Colonel  Merewether  very 
properly  detained  the  artisans,  and  declined  to  phax  any  more 
Englishmen  in  the  power  of  a  despot  who,  from  whatever  cause, 
clearly  did  not  consider  himself  amenable  to  any  known  code 
which  regulates  diplomatic  intercourse  between  civilized  nations. 

It  appears  that  long  after  it  became  clear  that  Mr.  Rassam 
and  all  his  party  were  to  all  intents  and  purposes  state  prisoners, 
the  Emperor  continued  to  treat  Mr.  Ra^m  with  a  mockery  of 
personal  kindness,  his  fetters  were  not  of  the  same  kind  as  those 
put  on  the  other  captives,  and  the  Emperor  continued  to  speak 
of  and  even  to  write  to  him  as  his  beloved  personal  friend,  whom 
he  was  compelled  to  treat  with  a  semblance  of  severity,  bat 
for  whom  he  felt  undiminished  personal  regard.  The  letters 
from  the  captives  are  naturally  very  guarded  in  their  expressions, 
but  enough  is  stated  to  show  that  whatever  may  have  been  his 
intentions  towards  Rassam  personally,  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
Empen>r  were  but  cruel,  and  that  for  many  months  the  officers 
entrusted  with  the  delivery  of  a  message  from  the  Queen  of 
England  have  not  known  what  it  was  to  feel  secure  that  their 
lives  might  not  at  any  moment  be  sacrificed  to  some  blind  freak 
of  the  Emperor. 

The  last  possible  ground  for  attributing  the  Emperor's 
behaviour,  in  part  at  least,  to  misunderstanding  or  ignorance,  has 
been  removed  by  his  reception  of  Mr.  Flad,  a  German  mis- 
sionary, who  liad  long  Innm  a  fellow-prisoner  of  Consul  Cameron, 
and  was  allowtnl  to  visit  Enp^land  as  bearer  of  letters  from 
Mr.  Rassam,  leaving  his  wife  and  family  behind  him  in  Abys- 
sinia as  hostages  for  his  return.  He  went  back  according  to  his 
])r()niise,  and  there  seems  no  rcx)m  to  doubt  that  he  faithfully 
discharged  iiis  mission,  and  in  the  clearest  terms  stated  to  the 
EmjxTor  the  consequences  of  liis  continued  refusal  to  release  the 
English  captives  ;  but  his  statements  appear  to  have  produceil  no 
visible  effect  whatever  on  the  Emperor's  bearing  towards  his 
captives. 

We  have  briefly  recapitulated  these  circumstances,  well  known 
as  they  must  be  to  a  majority  of  our  readers,  because,  on  the  eve 
of  operations  sucli  as  are  alx)ut  to  be  undertaken  in  Abyssinia,  it 
is  well  we  should  bear  in  mind  that,  whatever  the  merits  or 
demerits  of  this  or  that  agent,  or  the  wisdom  of  this  or  that 
particular  step,  the  British  Government  has  omitted  nothing 
which  could  be  reasonably  expected  to  conduce  Uy  a  peaceful 
solution    of  the    difliculty.     Envoys  and   intercessors  of  every 

imaginable 


» 


The  Abyssinian  Expeditim*  513 

ima|^inable  kind  have  been  employed,  with  a  patience  which  on  the 
part  of  any  other  but  a  very  powerfui  nation  ini^ht  well  have  been 
attributed  to  a  wrong  motive  \  and  we  doubt  whether  any  reason- 
able man,  who  is  by  h^bit  or  experience  at  all  qualified  to  jud|^e 
of  such  matters,  could  now  suggest  any  other  course,  with  any 
prospect  of  success,  but  either  to  place  the  matter  in  the  hands 
of  a  soldier  empowered  to  back  his  demands  by  force,  or  to 
h^ave  the  consul,  and  the  gentlemen  who  went  at  the  biddin^^  of 
the  British  Government  tn  negfotiate  for  liis  freedom,  to  perish,  if 
not  by  the  sword  of  the  Emperor's  executioners,  certainly  by  the 
rigours  of  the  imprisonment  for  which,  in  the  cAse  of  Mr, 
Kassam  and  his  suite.,  no  shadow  of  an  excuse  has  ever  been 
llleged. 

We  doubt  if  there  was  ever  a  case  in  which  a  powerful  nation 
has  resorted  to  force  against  such  a  foe  with  such  genuine  reluc- 
tance, and  with  such  an  entire  absence  of  all  meaner  or  ulterior 
objects  of  political  or  commercial  advantage,  or  even  of  military 
glory.  Circumstances  have  hitherto  kept  the  case  of  the  captives 
very  much  out  of  the  range  of  sensational  writing,  and  we  question 
whether  there  is  a  pnlitirian  of  high  standing  in  any  party,  or  a 
commercial  man  of  any  weight  in  the  city,  who  would  not 
comider  a  week's  expenses  of  the  expedition  a  heavy  price  to 
pay  for  the  most  absolute  political  and  commercial  control  over 
the  Ethiopian  Emperor  and  his  whole  realm* 

Our  soldiers  and  sailors  will  always  be  ready  for  any  service 
©f  danger,  and  wouhl  volunteer  to  rescue  the  captives,  as  they 
did  to  find  traces  of  Sir  John  Franklin;  but  there  is  little 
prospect  of  any  military  glory  to  be  obtained  in  fighting  against 
such  an  enemy,  and  the  present  operations  are  undertaken 
neither  lighdy  nor  from  any  hope  of  selfish  aggrandisement,  but 
from  a  settled  conviction  that  we  must  not  leave  our  countrymen 
to  perish  in  prison,  and  that  we  have  exhausted  every  other 
Visible  means  of  efTecting  their  release* 

Public  opinion  has  thus  become  powerfully  interested  in  the 
question  of  Abyssinia  ■  and  information  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
country,  its  supplies^  its  climate,  and  the  dangers  and  di faculties 
it  presents  to  the  march  of  an  invading  force,  is  eagerly  sought 
for.  And  not  without  cause:  for  the  progress  of  the  expedition 
which  is  alK)utto  be  sent  to  that  country  will  bo  narrowly  watchetl 
by  more  nations  than  our  own,  and  by  its  conduct  and  result  will 
the  military  prowess  of  England  be,  to  some  extent,  measured. 

The  object  of  the  present  article  is,  therefore,  to  lay  before  our 
readers  some  account  of  the  topography  of  Abyssiuia,  whicl^ 
however  slight,  cannot  fail  to  be  of  interest  at  the  present  mo- 
ment ;  and  which  may,  perhaps,  have  the  effect  of  correcting  in 

some 


514  T/te  Abyssinian  Expedition. 

tome  degree  the  rather  vague  notions  which  prevail  with  respect 
to  that  country. 

Abyssinia,  although  comparatively  unknown  to  the  British 
public,  has  frequently  been  visited  by  Europeans  Tfrom  the 
days  of  the  celebrated  traveller  Bruce  to  the  present  tune)  who 
have  published  accounts  of  their  experiences  in  that  land.  At 
the  head  of  this  article  is  given  a  list  of  the  most  important  of 
these  works,  from  a  perusal  of  which  a  very  correct  notion  may 
be  formed  of  the  general  character  of  the  country.  Among  these 
books  we  would  particularly  mention  that  by  the  two  French 
Staff  Captains  Ferret  and  Galinier.  These  officers  visited  Abys- 
sinia in  the  year  1840,  by  direction  of  the  Minister  for  War, 
Marshal  Soult  They  remained  there  twenty  months,  exploring 
the  province  of  Tigre,  and  the  result  of  their  labours  has  been 
a  very  interesting  account  of  the  general  character,  the  produce, 
the  geological  structure,  the  zoology,  and  the  botany  of  the 
country. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  present  expedition  may  be  the  means 
of  adding  considerably  to  our  knowledge  of  that  part  of  the  world, 
in  all  the  above  branches  of  science ;  for  it  can  hardly  be  doubted 
that  the  military  force  will  be  accompanied  by  some  scientific 
men,  the  result  of  whose  investigations  may  perhaps  be  the  chief 
advantage  which  may  accrue  from  the  undertaking. 

Meantime  we  shall  endeavour  to  convey  to  our  readers  the 
impression  left  upon  our  mind  by  the  perusal  of  the  works  above 
quoted  ;  for  it  is  time  that  the  somewhat  loose  information  which 
has  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  the  public  prints  should  be 
tested  by  the  more  accurate  knowledge  to  be  derived  from  those 
works. 

For  the  newspaper  accounts  are,  in  truth,  various  and  dis- 
cordant. What  one  writer  recommends  to-day  is  sure  to  be 
contra<licted  by  another  writer  to-morrow.  Take  the  item  of 
*  carriage '  alone,  and  observe  how  they  differ  I  One  recommends 
(and  with  much  reason  we  think)  mules,  asses  and  bullocks  as  the 
best  transport ;  another  advocates  camels.  Some  put  their  faith 
in  Maltese  carts ;  some  in  Russian  ladder-waggons,  while  one 
writer  considers  elephants  to  be  the  correct  thing  I  All  this 
variety  of  opinion  is  the  result  of  inaccurate  information  as  to 
the  nature  of  the  district  which  will  probably  become  the  theatre 
of  military  operations,  and  which,  as  we  shall  presently  show, 
consists  of  two  distinct  and  very  different  kinds  of  country  ;  thus 
rendering  the  transport,  which  is  most  suitable  for  one  portion, 
quite  unfit  for  the  other. 

Again,  the  advice  volunteered  by  these  writers  is  no  less 
diverse  1     The  fact  of  a  man  having  travelled  in  some  part  of 

Africa, 


Africa,  however  remote  from,  or  unlike^  Abyssinlaj  seems  to 
qualify  him,  in  his  own  opinion,  to  become  *  military  adviser*  to 
the  Government ;  and  because  he  may  have,  in  the  course  of 
his  travels,  met  with  jungles  and  deserts,  he  assumes  that  the 
expeditionary  force  must  necessarily  meet  with  similar  obstruc- 
tions, and  be  eacposed  to  ail  their  dangers  and  discomforts*  In 
like  manner,  because  our  troops  died  of  fever  during  the  war  in 
Asbantee,  which  is  stmie  two  thousand  and  odd  miles  distant  from 
Abyssinia,  is  on  the  deadly  western  coast  of  Africa,  and  probably 
has  no  more  similarity  to  Abyssinia  than  what  Fluellcn  found 
between  Macedon  and  Monmouth,  one  gloomy  prophet  predicts 
a  similar  fate  for  the  present  expedition.  Another  assumes  that 
the  road  taken  by  Major  Harris  from  Taj ou rah  to  Shoa  must 
be  the  one  by  which  the  army  is  to  penetrate  to  Magdala ;  and 
because  by  that  particular  route,  and  by  some  others  in  the  same 
quarter^  there  are  some  hundreds  of  miles  of  howling  wilderness 
to  traverse,  many  of  the  newspaper  writers  have  jumped  to  the 
conclusion  that,  before  our  troops  can  enter  the  high  land  of 
Abyssinia,  all  the  dangers  of  these  miles  of  deadly  burning 
desert  must  be  faced  I 

Nor  do  the  *  stig^esters '  coafine  themselves  to  the  news- 
pa  j>ers*  We  find  by  tlie  Abyssinian  Blue  Book  that  the  Minister 
ibr  Foreign  Affairs  has  been  tolerably  besieged  by  them  I  Most 
of  them,  however^  seem  to  have  received  but  slight  encourage- 

I  mQM  from  Lord  Stanley,  and  why  he  has  even  taken  the  trouble 
to  publish  their  propositions  we  are  somewhat  at  a  loss  to 
understand » 

r  But,  perhaps,  we  are  too  hard  upon  these  gentlemen !  their 
motives  are  doubtless  better  than  dieir  advice  I  and  with  tht» 
charitable  thought  we  will  leave  them,  and  proceed  to  the 
consideration  of  the  geography  and  of  the  natural  features  of 
Abyssinia,  more  particularly  with  respect  to  their  bearing  and 
effect  upon  the  military  operations  about  to  be  undertaken  in 
that  country- 

I      The  geographical   limits  of  the  *  Abyssinia*  of  the  present 

'  day  are  no  longer  those  of  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Ediiopia, 
which  was  bounded  on  the  east  and  south-east  by  the  Ked  Sea 
and  the  Gulf  of  Aden,  The  whole  of  that  seaboard  is  now 
claimed  by  Turkey ;  while  the  low  desert  country  lying  between 
the  seaboard  and  the  high-land  o(  Abyssinia  is  occupied  by 
lawless  and  independent  tribes,  'Abyssinia  proper'  is  now 
limited  to  the  high-land  between  the  9th  and  16th  degrees  of 
nortli  latitude,  and  the  36th  and  40th  degrees  of  east  longitude. 

The  theatre  of  our  military  operations  wiDj  however,  include  a 
portion  of  the  eastern  desert  and  of  the  seaboard,  and  may  be 

defined 


I 


neu      ^j 


V 


516  The  Ahyuinian  Expedition. 

definccl  as  liounded  on  the  north  and  north-west  bj  Nubii,  qd 
the  cast  and  S4iuth-<^st  bv  the  Red  Sea  and  the  Gulf  of  Aden, 
and  on  the  south  and  west  by  Southern  and  Central  Africa.  In 
common  |Kirlance,  als4),  this  tract  of  country  maj  be  considered 
(though  not  (|uite  correctly)  as  ^Abyssinia.'  The  length  of  this 
district,  fnim  M.issowah  in  the  north,  to  the  upper  part  of  the 
river  Ilawash  in  the  south,  is,  as  measured  in  a  direct  line  on  the 
map,  aljout  500  miles.  Its  breadth,  from  Metemma  in  the  wot 
tA>  the  Ked  Sea.  as  measured  on  the  map,  is  also  about  500  milei 

^  Abyssinia  proper  *  is  divided  into  six  chief  provinces;  Tigre 
in  the  nortli,  Samen  and  Lasta  in  the  centre,  Ambara,  Godjam 
and  Shoa  in  tbc  south.  It  is  intersected  by  numerous  rivers  and 
streams,  the  latter  being,  for  the  most  part,  mountain  torrents. 
The  principal  rivers  arc  the  Mareb  *  and  the  Tacazze  (one  of 
the  chief  tributaries  of  the  Nile),  in  Tigre ;  the  Abai  (a  tribu- 
tary of  the  Blue  Nile),  in  GtHljam  ;  and  the  Hawash,  in  Shon 
This  latt<T  river  flows  towards  die  Gulf  of  Aden,  but  loses  itself 
in  a  lake  in  that  neighbourhcxxl,  and  does  not  reach  the  sea.  All 
these  rivers  run  in  deep  valleys.  In  the  rainy  season  they  are 
full  and  swollen,  in  the  dry  season  they  are  fordable  at  all 
points,  and  often  contain  little  or  no  water. 

Abyssinia  may  l>e  described  as  a  vast  high  and  mountainons 
table-land,  about  500  miles  long,  with  a  mean  breadth  of  pep* 
haps  liOO  miles,  risinj)^  up  from  the  plains  of  East  Africa.  It  is 
bounded  on  the  east  by  a  desert  which  reaches  to  the  shores  of 
the  Ked  S«'a,  and  on  the  north,  north-west,  and  west,  by  the 
plains  of  Xuliia  and  of  Central  Africa.  The  eastern  desert, 
which  se|>arat(?s  Abyssinia  from  the  sea,  varies  very  considerably 
in  width.  While  at  Massowah  (the  principal  port  on  that  coast, 
clost;  to  the  north-east  corner  of  Abyssinia),  it  is  only  a  few 
mill's  broa<l,  at  Amphilla  (a  seaport  100  miles  further  south)  it 
is  100  miles  broa<l,  at  Tajonra  (in  the  Gulf  of  Aden)  200  miles, 
and  farther  south  even  300  niih^s  wide. 

The  eastern  vihr^  of  the  great  j>lateau  or  hi<2:h-land  of  Abvs- 
sinia  rises  abruptly  from  this  cl('s<?rt  to  a  height  of  between  8000 
and  1)000  feet  alK)ve  th(j  sea  level,  and  runs  due  south  in  a  direct 
lin(»  fnim  near  Massowah  in  the  nortli,  to  the  vicinity  of  the 
upjXT  Ilawash  in  the  south,  a  distance  of  r>00  miles.  To  |>ene- 
trate  Central  Abyssinia  from  any  ]>oint  bi'tween  Massowah  and 
the  Gulf  of  Aden,  therefore,  this  mountain  barrier  must  be 
ascen<led. 


*  Sir  Samuel  Baker,  in  his  now  and  intetvstin;;  bouk,  *The  Nile  Tributaries  of 
Abpsiiiia.'  tells  us  the  curious  fact  that  this  river  loses  itself  iu  the  8and  in  the 
vicinity  of  Kahsala,  and  never  reappears — thus  correcting  the  popular  idea  that  it 
joined  the  Atbara  or  the  Nile. 

The 


The  Abyssinian  ExpediHofu 


517 


Tbe  western  e<l^e  of  this  plateau  is  neither  so  regular  in  its 
direction,  nof  so  liig^h,  as  the  eastern  eclg^e.  Sir  Samuel  Baker, 
who,  in  his  exploration  of  the  Abyssinian  tributaries  of  the  Nile, 
travelled  along  the  flat  country  \y%n^  at  the  base  of  this  western 
edge,  estimates  it  at  about  6000  feet  above  the  sea  leveL  It 
teems  also  to  fall  iato  the  plains  of  Africa  in  a  somewhat  less 
abrupt  manner  than  the  eastern  edge,  though  always,  like  the 
latter,  opposing  a  formidable  mountain  barrier  to  any  one  wishing 
to  penetrate  Abyssinia  from  tbe  west  It  is  this  peculiar  forma- 
tiou  which  has  enabled  Abyssinia  to  maintain  for  so  many  years 
its  independence  against  the  Arabs  and   the  Turks,  wh**  have 

ich  in  their  turn  endeavoured  to  conquer  it*    It  is  probably  also 

\e  knowledge  of  its  peculiar  natural  strength,  which  has  induced 
Theodore  to  defy  the  |)ower  of  the  English. 

The  plateau  of  Abyssinia  would  thus  appear  to  have  a  general 
fall  or  slope  from  the  east  to  the  west,  which  is,  moreover^ 
evident  IVom  the  fact  that  all  the  rivers  (with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  the  Ha  wash,  which  is,  moreover,  beyontl  and  outside  of 
the  high-land)  flow  towards  the  west  But  though  it  may, 
perhaps  not  incorrectly,  be  described  as  a  tabledand,  Abyssinia 
presents  to  the  traveller  all  the  features  and  difficukies  of  a  highly 
mountainous  country  ;  for  it  is  intersected  by  ranges  of  mountains, 
some  of  which  rise  to  the  height  of  14,000  or  even  15,000  feet, 
and  on  whose  tops  both  snow  and  ice  are  to  be  found.  It  is 
further  cut  up  by  rivers  whose  beds  run  in  extraordinarily  deep 
valleys,  so  deep  as  to  be  3000  feet  below  the  general  level  of 
the  plateau. 

The  following  description  by  a  traveller  gives  a  vivid  idea 
of  the  depth  of  the  ^lalleys  scoopd  out  by  the  rivers  of 
Abyssinia  i — 

*  Oar  caruvan  reached  the  edge  of  a  tolemhly  high  mountain,  and 
ftnddcnly  we  mw  at  our  feet  a  wiudingi  paltry,  greeniab-h>okiiig 
rivulet,  whioh  partly  hid  itself  under  the  foliage  of  the  treea,  as  if 
ashamed  of  flowing  through  sueh  a  di*eary  country.  This  thread  of 
water  did  not  afc  lii*fit  sight  seem  worthy  of  uur  notioe.  However,  after 
having  descended  the  rapid  glopo  whieh  leads  to  the  bottom  of  tha 
vallej,  we  stop  in  astouifiluuent ;  the  poltiy  rivulet  hail  bceomy  ft  laigt 
river,  and  we  foimd  our^elvcM  on  the  hank  of  the  Tacazze  1 '  * 

The  surface  of  the  country  is  thus  broken  up  into  a  luceessioil 
of  mountains  and  valleys,  opposing  to  tbe  progress  of  the  traveller 
steep  ascents  and  descents,  which  he  must  surmount^  sometimes 


•  Mestn.  Ferret  et  Ga]iDi«r. 


by 


518  Tlie  Abystiman  Expedition. 

by  narrow  rocky  ))asses  very  difficult  in  themselves,  and  which, 
ii'  occupied  by  an  enemy,  would  be  veiy  dangerous;  at  other 
times  by  narrow  footpaths  overhanging  frightful  precipices. 

A  single  day*s  journey,  indeed,  may  carry  a  traveller  over 
plains  luxuriant  with  vegetation  and  com  and  flowers,  where  his 
pn>gres$  is  rapid  and  easy  ;  it  may  take  him  through  narrow  and 
intricate  valleys ;  down  one  steep  bank  of  a  river  and  up  another 
by  difficult  paths ;  and  may  even  oblige  him  to  escalade  a  moon- 
tiiin's  side,  which  he  can  only  accomplish  by  scrambling  and 
climbing  up  the  face  of  rugged  rocks  I 

For  such  a  country  there  is  no  single  description  of  carriage, 
except  pack  animals,  which  can  always  be  relied  on.  Men  as 
porters  are  of  course  always  useful,  and  no  Indian  force  will  ever 
move  without  them,  as  bearers  of  litters  for  the  sick  and 
wounded,  or  as  water-carriers ;  and  whenever  an  Indian  officer 
has  anything  to  be  carried  which  will  not  bear  rough  jolting — be 
it  a  loaded  rocket,  a  delicate  theodolite,  or  a  medicine  chest — ^he 
puts  it  in  a  basket  on  a  ]K)rter's  head,  or  slings  it  from  a  bamboo 
on  the  shoulders  of  one  or  a  dozen  men,  who  will  convey  such 
loads  uninjured  over  roads  where  an  European  can  scarcely  find 
foothold.  But  porters  must  be  fed,  and  the  food  for  them  must,  in 
such  countries  as  Abyssinia,  be  carried  with  the  force,  and  hence 
their  use  is  much  restricted.  Mules,  asses,  oxen,  and  ponies, 
come  first,  as  useful  carriage,  in  the  form  of  pack  cattle,  in  every 
mountainous  country  ;  but  at  some  seasons,  and  in  some  localities 
below  tlie  table-land,  tlie  tsetse  fly  is  destructive  to  all  cattle  but 
mules  and  assos.*  Every  exertion  is,  we  arc  assured,  being 
made  to  secure  an  ample  supply  of  mules  from  Southern  and 
Kastcrn  luirojK'  and  the  Levant,  as  well  as  in  Africa  and  from 
India  and  China.  Camels  will  be  useful  between  the  sea  coast 
and  the  foot  of  the  mounUiins,  and  are  to  be  got  in  all  districts 
bordering  the  Red  Sea.  There  are  also  parts  near  the  coast 
where  carts  may  be  valuable  auxiliaries,  and  they  will,  we  are 
assured,  be  supplied  in  frame,  and  put  together  should  it  be 
found  possible  to  use  them.  The  trans]>orts  at  the  command 
of  the  Indian  Government  will  render  it  easy  to  land  on  the 
shores  of  the  Red  Sea  any  description  of  Indian  carriage  that 
may  be  wanted.  It  should,  however,  be  remembered  that,  as 
pack  animals  must  be  the  carriage  used  eventually  in  the  moun- 
tiins,  all  loads  should  be  made  up  in  jxickages  suitable  for  such 
transport. 

*  The  bite  of  tljis  fly  is  death  to  the  horse,  ox,  and  dog.  Bat  we  learn  from 
Dr.  Livinpstone  and  other  travellers  thatmuU«  and  asses  enjoy  the  same  immanity 
from  the  tsctae  as  man  and  game. 

Throughout 


The  Ahyssinian  Expedition, 


519 


Throtigliout  the  whole  of  Abyssinia  there  is  not  a  siEfle 
carriage  or  cart  of  aoj  description,  nor  is  there  anything  at  all 
approaching  to  what  wc  should  call  a  road.  The  communi- 
cations are  mere  tracks  made  by  caravans  and  travellers.  Here 
is  a  description  by  Messrs.  Ferret  and  Gaiinier  of  the  portion 
of  the  high-road  from  Dixan  to  Adoua  ; — 

*TbQ  road  we  are  following  is  one  of  the  most  foequented  of  Abyfl- 
mnia ;  it  m  the  route  by  which  the  caravans  go  to  and  return  from  the 
sea.  But  do  not  mistake  us :  this  road  has  no  resemblance  to  one  of 
our  high  roads,  those  commercial  roads  which  traverse  our  owu  France ; 
it  la  a  mere  jmth,  nothing  but  a  patbi  The  feet  of  travellers  have  slowly 
traced  it,  and  it  wanders  at  hap-ha^ard  over  the  face  of  the  hills,  or 
through  the  middle  of  the  plain  ;  here  oixd  there  it  skirts  some  thorny 
trees — look  out  then,  or  you  may  chance  to  tear  your  clothes  and  your 
The  country  is  very  hilly,  and  seeuua  to  be  well  cultivated*' 


A  previous  part  of  the  same  road  (from  Arkiko  to  Dixan) 
heing  the  ascent  of  the  Taranta  Mountain,  is  thus  described  by 
Bruce  i — 

'  At  half-post  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  wo  began  to  ascend  tho 
mountain,  through  a  most  rocky  uneven  road,  if  it  can  dcsscrvo  the 
name,  not  only  &om  its  incredible  steepness,  but  from  the  large  holes 
and  gullies  made  by  the  torrents,  and  the  huge,  monstrous  fragments 
of  recks,  which,  loosened  by  the  water,  had  been  tumbled  down  into 
our  way.  It  was  with  great  diflculty  we  could  creep  upj  each  man 
carrying  his  knapsack  and  arms/ 

Mr»  Salt  gives  the  following  account  of  the  same  ascent ; — 

'  At  ten  minutes  before  six  in  the  morning  wo  commenced  onr  journey 
up  the  mountain  of  Taranta.  The  first  part  of  the  road  forms,  for 
about  a  mile,  a  gradual  asceut,  which  m  much  encumbered  with  looee 
stones  and  fragments  of  rock.  We  passed  over  this  at  a  brisk  rate,  in 
a  west  by  south  direction,  when  we  arrived  at  a  steep  and  rugged  part 
of  the  mountain,  thickly  covered  with  tho  kolquall,*  which  at  this  eeaaou 
bore  a  beautiful  appearance,  owing  to  tho  crimson  colour  of  its  saed% 
which  were  closely  set  on  the  ends  of  every  brancL  This  continued  for 
about  two  miles,  when  we  refibched  a  very  precipiti>Ufl  ascent,  whieh 
shortly  afterwards  conducted  us  to  a  etatiou  called  Mijdivetla,  wheiQ 
tmvellerB  often  stay  during  the  night,  ou  account  of  the  convenieenea 
attached  to  a  spring  of  water  in  the  neighbourhood,     *     ♦     •     • 

'  From  Mijdivella  the  road  takes  a  sonth*wo«t  direction^  and  becomc«i 
in  parts  so  extremely  steep,  that  though  Mr.  Pearce  and  others  of  our 
party  continued  to  ride,  yet  the  rest  found  themselves  ©omtietl' 
dismount.     One  false  step  of  the  mule  might  have  precit 
rider  into  the  depths  below.    To  walk,  however,  or  rathe 

*  A  species  of  Euphorbia,  the  ]ui££  of  wMch  is  said  lo  be  vc 
V   Vol  12B,— No.  246.  2  m 


5M  Th$Jl9mimmEaf9iitim 

leqund  no  triiiiiff  elfarl  frr  people  80  long  10^^ 
of  this  nfttme,  and  we  oomeqnenil j  ftlt  onnel^ee  cUiged  ereiy  far 
minntes  to  rett    Mwrntinw,  our  attendania,  who  were  himiinrteil  f 
their  yorfh  to  roch  cotpeditioMi  pa  muA  merrily  on  with  their  I 


The  descent  again  to  Dixan  seems  to  be  eqoallj  steep. 

Mr.  Mansfield  Parkyns  likewise  describes  Ae  difficolties  of 
Abyssinian  traTelling ;  bat  perhaps  the  most  girahic  acoonnt  ii 
die  following^  extracted  from  Messrs.  Ferret  and  GsUnier.  Tbj 
are  describing  part  of  the  same  road  from  Manowab  ts 
Dixan: — 

*  Early  on  the  ISKh  we  zeoomnienoed  oar  jonney,  luKViBg  qjoM 
zecoferedfiKMntheflitigiiesof  theprerionsday.  High  moontama  rosi 
«p  in  front  of  nS|  appearing  to  bar  our  frirther  progress.    We  i 


anxiously  begiiining  to  seek  along  their  soaiped  and  roeky  aides  for 

■ome  trace  of  a  path,  when,  between  Moont  Adodsh  and  Movnt  (Higal^ 
we  peroeiiped  a  narrow  defile,  offering  to  ns  a  mtb  and  eaqr  Pf^xV* 
All  ri^t  now  I  oor  hearta  are  gladdSied.  It  was  the  valley  of  Hadliiy 
whioh,  1^  an  almost  imperceptible  ascent,  leads  to  the  friot  of  fln 
Tarenta^  the  last  step  before  reaching  die  platean  of  Abyasinia. 

'  As  the  crow  ffiea,  this  Taller  is  only  twelve  kagoea  kmL  Bit 
nmnberleas  windings  snd  the  frsgmentB  odT  frJlen  rodk%  rsMBt  Ai 
passage  through  it  long^  snd  sometimes  difflwilt.  It  lay  miMsllMtlst 
ihe  most  direct  and  the  most  pictoresqne  road  which  leada  fma  Ai 
Bed  Sea  into  NOTthem  Abyssinia.  UnfinrtonatdT.  it  is  not  pneHeshls 
at  all  seasons  of  the  year.  In  sommer,  water  is  seldom  pfoeanhls; 
daring  ihe  rainy  season,  on  the  contrary,  it  is  the  bed  of  a  ngiitf 
torrent,  which  fills  with  CYcry  storm,  and  then  the  valley  is  inondSel 
But  at  tho  beginniog  or  at  tho  end  of  the  rains,  at  the  season,  in  short, 
at  which  we  traycrsod  it,  what  an  admirable  contrast  to  the  coontiy 
which  we  were  leaving  behind  us  I  No  longer  those  monotonoas  Isnd- 
scapes,  those  low  and  sterile  deserts,  which  had  wearied  oor  ms  ever 
since  we  left  I^ypt.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  the  valley,  pre- 
senting to  oar  astonished  eyes  a  wildness  of  natare  frill  of  vunetjr. 
The  mountains  around  as  have  a  formidable  aspect ;  they  rise  np  per* 
pendicularly,  and  some  of  the  rocks  of  which  they  are  composed, 
undermined  by  time,  threaten  to  tumble  down  and  crash  ns  in  their 
fftll.  But  the  bottom  of  tho  valley  forms  quite  another  landscape ;  one 
would  8ay  a  smiling  garden  I  Near  us  flows  a  limpid  stream ;  ihe  air 
is  scented  with  the  perfume  of  plants  and  flowers  which  we  tread  onder 
our  feet,  and  a  luxuriant  vegetation  shades  our  route  with  ovorhao|pag 
evergreens.  This  first  part  of  the  valley  of  Haddas  is  calledBhf 
maino ;  it  is  a  delicious  valley,  which  we  traversed  without  fiitigos^ 
and  almost  without  knowing  it,  so  much  wore  our  thoughts  engrosMd 
by  the  charms  of  such  scenery.  Partridges  of  an  extraordinazy  sise^ 
deer,  and  hares,  who  wore  not  frightened  by  oor  afmroaoh,  whs 
cropsing  before  our  very  steps.  Without  any  pity  for  thoae  graoefU 
creatures,  so  gentle  and  so  confiding,  we  diot  them  almost  at  the 


TUb  Abymnian  ExpedUicn. 


521 


juiizzle  of  our  gims,  and  wo  beheld,  we  mtist  eonfoas,  with  barbarous 
joy,  oui'  table ^  which  had  been  for  so  long  so  frugal,  suddenly  become 
ahundant  and  epltjndid^  Tho  noise  oven  of  our  gmm  rejoicc^d  us ;  we 
threw  it  as  a  ohallenge  to  the  tliousMid  echoes  of  the  "valley,  and  wo 
amused  ourselves  by  tenifying  tho  troops  of  moakoya  who  iled  away 
chattering  with  despair. 

*  After  leaving  Hammamo,  tho  landscape  ehangca  :  the  rfvulot  dia^ 
appears^  and  we  suddenly  enter  a  frightfully  sterile  tract ;  tho  rtiad  ia 
blocked  with  stones ;  all  is  gloomy  and  sUent ;  in  spite  of  ourselves,  our 
gaiety  gives  way  to  sadnoHS,  our  happinees  is  succt^eded  by  wearinesfl. 
But  on  rounding  the  valley  a  new  oasis  appears,  and  we  are  again  in  a 
delicious  country.  And  thus  one  passes  through  this  sorahre  valley, 
passing  at  one  time  through  a  chartniug  district,  at  another  thrt>ugh 
wild,  arid,  rocky,  and  desolate  places.  *  *  *  *  The  next  day,  the 
14tli,  we  reach  the,  foot  of  tho  Taranta*  There,  encamped  under  a 
^raet  sycamoro,  we  immediately  made  our  barometrical  ubservations. 
We  were  then  at  1425  metres  above  tho  Bed  Sea,  Tho  thermometer 
marked  at  noon  26°  80'  Centigrade,  about  1'^  lower  than  at  Arkiko. 

*  According  to  our  agreement  with  the  Nayb  w©  sent  hack  the 
Gamels  j  these  animals,  so  useful,  so  precious  in  the  sandy  plains,  are 
not  Ktii table  to  a  mountainous  country.  It  was  by  the  help  of  tho 
Sbohos  (natives  of  tho  country)  tbat  we  were  now  to  transport  our 
baggage  to  Dixan,  •  *  *  y^^  w^tb  three  hours  going  up  the  Tarenta 
Muuntain.  An  atrocious  path,  blocked  up  sometimes  by  stones  wbi oh 
rolled  from  beneath  our  feet,  sometimes  by  enormous  rocks  which  we 
were  obliged  to  scramble  over  with  hands  and  feet,  brought  us  to 
the  top.  There  we  halted,  overcome  with  fatigue,  at  a  place  caUcd 
Ouady  Saasseh.  What  a  magnificent  eight  lajr  then  before  our  eyes  \ 
Towards  the  seA,  wo  overlooked  all  ibe  ranges  of  hills  that  wo  had 
previously  crossed.  They  were  jumhled  together  below  u^j  and 
appeared  so  small  that  we  compared  them  to  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
Tov^-ards  Abyeainia,  our  eyes  wandered  far  on  to  the  mountains  of 
Tigr^,  whose  light  and  graceful  tops  mingled  with  the  blue  sky/ 

All  travelling  in  Abyssinia  is  not,  however,  so  rugged.  Here 
15  a  different  scene,  as  described  by  the  same  authors,  on  the  road 
from  Adoua  to  Antalo  : — 

*  Tho  route  we  were  following  was  traced  acrois  fields  of  beoDA,  of 
ie§\  of  iJfmrah^  of  "  haricots,"  and  variaus  ether  crops.  In  many  plaoea 
the  plain  appeai-ed  like  an  inomense  basket  of  flowers :  jessamint!  per- 
fumed the  air ;  succulent  plants,  lavished  along  the  path,  rejoic^Ml  the 
eye  by  their  heautiful  purple  and  golden  fruit  i  on  the  hills  groves  of 
mimosa,  of  colquals,  of  date-trees,  offered  to  U6  a  wonderral  r"^'*  - 
more  wonderful  still  ^hen  one  thinks  of  an  EnftTpeon  w^» 

Boon  this  magnificent  and  variegated  landscape  " ' 

country,  intersected  by  ravines  and  broken  by  1 1 
formed  of  ba^lt  and  ether  veloanic  rocks,  gave  evulet 
of  Bubterrftuean  firea* 

2m  2 


51S  7%$  Jbymmm  ExptiUim. 

Hie  aboTe  eztimctt  will  give  our  leaden  «  genenl  idea  of  Ae 
nature  of  the  country,  and  of  the  difficoltf  of  emjiag  om 
military  operations  in  it ;  but,  as  Napoleon  sajS|  that  whmm 
two  men  can  stand  abreast  an  army  may  pass,  we  need  not  he 
frightened  at  these  difficulties,  which  may,  moreoYer^  be  csn- 
siderably  diminished  by  the  labours  of  a  strow  body  of  pion«tT% 
which,  It  is  to  be  presumed,  will  accompany  ue  fixree. 

The  climate  of  Abyssinia,  or  rather  df  tM  dirtrict  whidi  any 
be  embraced  by  our  military  operations,  is  as  Tariowis  as  ill 
topographical  configuration.  While  the  whole  of  the  low  dessrt 
country  lying  between  the  highland  and  the  sea  is  described  as 
being  hot  aikL  unhealthy  beyond  all  imagination,  and  genemDy 
as  being  destitute  of  food  and  water,  the  climate  of  &  high- 
land, on  the  contrary,  is  said  to  be  equable,  temperate,  nl 
healthy.  In  January  it  is  compared  by  one  traTeller  to  an  Eqg- 
lish  spring,  and  the  niffhts  are  called  'intensely  coldi^  fai^ 
indeed^  what  doubt  can  Siere  be  as  to  the  fineness  of  a  ciimate 
in  which  Mr.  Mansfield  Parkyns  lived  for  nearly  kmt  yesis 
with  no  other  head-dress  than  an  occasional  pat  of  bntter! 

To  this  general  character  for  salubrity  there  aie^  however. 


tain  CKceptions.  In  October,  for  instance,  immediatdy  after  ths 
rains,  which  last  from  the  middle  of  June  to  the  end  ot  September, 
the  valleys  and  the  low  beds  of  the  rivers  are  very  nnheatdiy  anl 
productive  of  malaria  and  fever.  They  should  therefore  on  no 
account  be  used  as  sleeping  places,  or  even  as  halting  pIaoe% 
until  November  or  December.  The  rainy  season  itself  does  not 
seem  to  be  unhealthy,  but  it  may  be  a  question  whether  militaiy 
operations  could  be  carried  on  during  that  season. 

There  are  occasionally  other  evils,  in  the  shape  of  fever, 
diarrhcra,  and  ophthalmia,  and  some  annoyance  may  be  caused 
by  tapeworm,*  and  the  tsetse  fly  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken.  It  seems,  however,  that  this  fly  is  only  to  be  met  in  ibc 
low  country,  and  it  does  not  appear  to  be  known  in  the  high- 
land. Many  of  these  inconveniences  are  incidental  to  all 
tropical  climates,  and  will  not  much  tiSdct  the  bulk  of  the  field 
force,  which  will  be  chiefly  composed  of  native  Indian  troops; 
and  the  evils  will  no  doubt,  on  actual  experience,  be  found 
much  less  formidable  than  they  are  represented  to  be. 

Abyssinia  is  by  nature  a  very  productive  country,  abounding 
in  cattle,  game,  and  wild  animals,  and  producing  coffee,  wax, 
butter,  barley,  corn,  fruits,  and  every  kind  of  vegetable,  and  other 

*  This  discttse  it  uniTenal  among  the  Abyisini&ns,  mod  may  be  attributed  to 
their  coarse  diet.  The  remedy  if  a  conooction  of  the  lesTes^of  a  certain  tieeb 
called  •Kouuo;  " 

supplies; 


The  Abyssinian  E^qn^ditiofu 

supplies;  but  owin^  to  the  cHsturbed  state  in  which  it  has  been 
for  some  years,  and  to  the  constant  intestine  wars,  which  have  pre- 
vailed to  such  an  extant  as  often  to  change  a  fruitful  district  into 
a  barren  waste,  it  is  not  possible  to  say  what  amount  of  cattle, 
forage,  and  supplies  may  be  now  forthcoming*  Wood  and  water 
seem  to  be  plentiful  everywhere,  except  in  the  desert,  although 
from  the  fact  that  pocket  filters  have  been  provided  for  the 
troops  (a  novel  item,  by  the  way,  in  a  s«ddier's  kit,  and  one  not 
likely  to  remain  in  it  after  the  first  day's  march  I),  it  would  seem 
that  the  water  is  not  always  of  the  best  quality. 

The  general  language  of  Abyssinia  is  the  *  Amharic/  •  It  will 

{>robably  not  be  easy  to  find  interpreters  who  speak  both  that 
anguage  and  Engliab  |  but  it  may  not  be  difficult  to  procure  In 
Egypt  or  elsewhere  men  who  speak  Amharic  and  Arabic,  and 
others  who  speak  Arabic  and  English  or  Hindostanee  ;  and  thus 
in  a  roundabout  way  the  means  of  communicating  with  the 
natives  may  be  established.  But  we  must  be  sparing  of  *tttg- 
gestions '  after  our  hard  treatment  of  *  suggesters/ 

The  monies  current  in  Abyssinia  are  tibe  Venetian  sequin  and 
the  Austrian  dollar,  but  doubtless  the  English  soven^ign  and  the 
Indian  rupee  will  be  received  after  a  time  with  equal  alacrity* 

The  object  of  this  paper  being  solely  to  consider  the  subject 
of  Abyssinia  with  reference  to  the  military  operations  about  to 
be  undertaken,  we  shall  say  nothing  about  the  geology  or  other 
scientific  characteristics  of  the  province,  Ibr  which  we  must  refer 
the  reader  to  the  work  of  MM.  Ferret  and  Galinier;  and,  with 
the  foregoing  slight  general  sketch  of  the  country  which  is  to 
be  the  theatre  of  military  operations,  we  will  prr>ceed  to  the  con- 
sideration of  the  peculiar  circumstances  and  nature  uf  the  service 
on  which  our  troops  are  about  to  proceed. 

When  one  country  decides  upon  making  war  upon  another 
country^  It  is  generally  in  possession  of,  or^  if  not,  it  has  the 
means  of  obtaining,  information  upcin,  the  following  points;— 

L  The  military  forces  of  the  enemy, 

2.  The  situation  of  his  capital,  or  of  some  other  important 
place,  the  possession  of  which  may  have  a  decisive  influence  on 
the  campaign* 

3.  The  nature  of  the  country  to  be  operated  in,  and  iti 
supplies. 

When  these  three  points  have  been  ascertained,  the  Govern- 
ment is  able  to  lay  down  a  plan  of  campaign,  having  for  its 
object  either  the  occupatt4jn  of  the  enemy's  capital,  or  of  **v 
other  important  point  (such  as  Sebastopol  in  the  Crim 

•  \u  Hgre,  ln^werer,  th^y  ipeak  i  dialctt  called  *Ti^ 


mmm 


584  I%0  Ab^fdm  Ejqp$diiimu 

Its  prepuratioiu  can  then  be  made  widi  eertaintTt  Ae  atieiigdi 
and  composition  of  the  inTading  army  can  be  deteminedt  die 
base  and  line  of  operadons  can  be  fixed,  and  all  odmr  matta% 
■nch  as  transport  snd  supplier  can  be  prorided  for. 

But  in  die  present  case  we  bare  no  accmate  knowledge  of  dis 
first  two  points,  and  not  orer  mnch  of  the  third ;  and  in  dui 
want  of  knowledge  and  consequent  uncertainty  lies  die  diief 
difiicalty  of  preparing  for  the  campaign. 

The  Emperor  Theodore  was,  indeed,  at  one  time  said  to  haresB 
army  of  sixty  thousand  men ;  but  how  that  army  was  composed, 
how  armed,  now  organised  and  drilled,  we  haTe  no  informadoDy 
except  diat  it  consisted  chiefly  of  horsemen,  but  was  in  other 
respects  a  mere  rabble ;  we  do  not  even  know  whedier  at  doe 
present  moment  he  has  any  army  at  all  I  By  the  lateit 
accounts  he  is  said  to  be  surrounded  by  rebds,  tfid  it  is  not 
absolutely  imjpossible  that  he  may  be  rirtually  as  mndi  s 
prisoner  in  his  camp  of  Debra  Tabor  as  die  English  captitcs 
are  at  Magdala.  Some  artillery  he  would  seem  still  to  have,  bot 
whether  field  or  mountain  guns  we  do  not  know.  Even  sap- 
posing  him  to  have  an  army  of  some  sort,  we  know  little  or 
nothing  of  die  courage  and  strength  of  the  sddiers  componig 
it  From  Mr.  Stem's  estimate  of  die  bravery  of  his  guaid% 
who,  he  thinks^  would  easily  be*  overcome  by  a  donen  Engliih- 
mcn  armed  with  revolvers,  and  from  die  experience  of  odier 
travellers,  die  Abyssinians  do  not  seem  to  be  veiy  fbrmidaUe 
warriors.  Dr.  Krapf  considers  that  two  thousand  or  diree  dum- 
sand  English  troops  would  easily  overthrow  Theodore's  armj, 
which,  he  says,  *  may  best  be  compared  to  an  immense  band  of 
tinkers.'  It  is  not  easy,  therefore,  to  determine  the  amount  of  force 
which  is  requisite  for  the  undertaking ;  and  the  strength  of  the 
field  force,  which  is  said  to  be  fixed  at  ten  thousand  or  twelve 
thousand  men,  has  doubtless  been  calculated  on  other  considera- 
tions (such  as  the  necessity  of  establishing  posts  along  the  lines 
of  communication)  than  that  of  the  mere  strength  of  the  enemy. 

Whether  that  amount  is  absolutely  necessary,  or  whether,  as 
some  think,  the  job  would  be  better  and  more  quickly  doue 
by  a  handful  of  picked  men  under  Colonel  Merewether,  or 
any  other  of  those  Indian  officers  who  have  been  accustomed  to 
organise  'raids'  a^^ainst  the  native  tribes  on  the  borders  of 
Scinde  and  the  Punjab,  is  a  question  which  it  is  needless  now 
to  discuss.  Sir  Robert  Napier  will  have  at  his  disposal  die 
moans  of  attempting^  the  task  in  whichever  fashion  he  thinks 
gives  most  promise  of  a  successful  result.  On  two  very  critical 
occasions  in  Central  India,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  PeUm  in 
China,  he  has  shown  that,  where  opportunity  for  a  dazing  i 


TliB  Ahyssinian  E;tp€diH(m. 


525 


offers,  he  is  not  the  man  to  lose  it,  from  any  wish  to  make 
assurance  doubly  sure,  or  from  any  blind  adherence  to  the  formal 
rules  of  war,  where  nothing  is  to  be  risked ;  and  he  will  have  at 
his  command  the  officers  and  the  troops  who  will,  if  any  men 
can,  ensure  success  to  a  dash  at  an  enemy.  But  should  such  an 
attempt  seem  to  him  to  involve  risks  greater  dian  the  chance 
of  success  will  justify,  he  will  have  the  means  of  proceeding  in 
some  regular  fashion  with  a  force  which,  in  the  opinion  of  all 
best  qualified  to  judj^e^  wilJ,  if  rightly  handled,  make  success 
as  much  a  certainty  as  is  possible  in  warfare.  Whichever  alter- 
native he  may  adopt,  we  have  every  reason,  not  only  to  feel 
confidence  in  the  judgment  of  a  daring  yet  cautious  and  expe- 
rienced soldier,  but  to  feel  assured  that  he  will  not  be  driven  to 
adopt  against  his  better  judgment  either  the  dashing  or  the 
cautious  line  of  action,  by  any  delect  in  the  means  which  the 
Government  here  or  in  India  will  place  at  his  dls|>i)sal. 

Our  knowledge  of  the  second  |X>intj  though  more  certain,  it 
not  more  satisfactory.  King  Theodore  has  at  this  moment  actually 
no  capital,  for  Gondar,  which  was  the  capital,  was  burned  by  him 
in  the  autumn  of  last  year  I  Moreover,  what  was  that  capital,  or 
what  is  any  Abyssinian  town  ?  a  mere  collection  of  wretched 
reed  and  mud  cabins,  the  possession  of  which  could  not  have  any 
inflQcnce  whatever  on  the  campaign!  The  difficulty  therefore 
is'to  know  where  to  strike. 

The  object  of  the  expedition  being  the  recovery  of  the  prisoners, 
it  may  be  said  that  Magdala  is  naturally  the  point  to  be  aimed  at; 
and  so  it  would  be,  if  it  were  certain  that  the  prisoners  would  re- 
main at  Magdala.  But  what  is  to  prevent  their  being  taken  to 
some  remote  part  of  Abyssinia^  the  moment  our  troops  land  on 
the  coast  ? 

Debra  Tabor,  again,  may  be  looked  upon  as  the  '  objective '  (as 
military  writers  express  it)  of  the  campaign,  for  the  Emperor  is 
said  to  be  there  at  present;  and,  as  it  appears  to  be  a  sort  of  natural 
fitrcinghold,  he  may  be  inclined  to  remain  there.  Still,  all  is 
vague  and  uncertain,  and  therefore  the  safest  plan  might  per- 
haps be  to  march  upon  some  point  in  the  direction  of  those  places 
(Magdala  and  Debra  Tabor),  Sokota  for  instance,  and  then  move 
against  one  or  the  other,  or  both,  according  to  circumstances. 
This  will  J  however,  be  a  point  for  the  General  in  command  to 
determine;  and  it  would  he  presumptuous  in  us  t«  express  any 
decidetl  opinion  upon  it  at  present. 

On  the  third  pi>int — the  nature  of  th^  coup*'**' — *•  \n*  Bomewhat 
better  informed,  and  we  leara  fhim  t% 

now  before  us,  that  whatever  road 
ts  march  must  V 


526  The  Abt/ssinian  Expedition. 

so  much  x>n  account  of  any  serious  opposition  which  maj  be 
expected  on  the  part  of  the  enemy,  as  from  the  nature  of  the 
country  itself,  the  want  of  supplies,  (with  the  exception  of  wood 
and  water,  which  seem  to  be  plentiful,  and  in  some  places  of 
forage,)  and  the  consequent  necessity  of  carrying  all  the  require- 
ments of  a  large  force  through  a  country  inaccessible  to  wheeled 
transport 

Assuming,  then,  that  the  march  of  the  field  force  will  be 
directed  cidier  towards  Debra  Tabor  or  Magdala,  or,  as  is  more 
probable,  upon  Sokota,  let  us  now  examine  the  sevoral  roads  by 
which  these  points  may  be  reached  from  the  Red  Sea. 

The  great  lines  of  communication  (we  have  seen  that  they 
cannot  properly  be  called  roads)  by  which  the  commerce  of 
Abyssima  is  brought  down  to  the  Red  Sea  appear  to  be  three  in 
number. 

1.  Northern  or  Nubian  lines,  via  Kassala  to  Souakin  on  the 
Red  Sea,  of  different  parts  of  which  accounts  are  given  by  Mr. 
Hamilton,  1854,  route  marked  16  on  Keith  Johnston's  map: 
by  Munzinger,  1861-2,  marked  19  ;  by  Mansfield  Parkyns,  1845, 
and  Baker,  1861-2,  marked  10;  by  Bruce,  1771-2,  marked  17; 
by  Krapf,  1855,  marked  18. 

2.  North-eastern  lines  to  Massowah,  Annesley  Bay,  and  Am- 
philla  Bay.  These  routes  and  passes  are  described  by  Bruce, 
17f)8-73,  route  marked  I.  on  Keith  Johnston's  map  ;  Salt  and 
Pcarce,  1809-10,  marked  2  and  3  ;  Ferret  and  Galinier,  1839-43, 
marked  4  and  5  ;  Mansfield  Parky ns,  1843-50,  marked  9  and 
10 ;  Miiiizinger,  18(37,  marked  (I.  All  these  lead  to  Massowah. 
Hie  routes  to  Amphilla  Bay  are  described  by  Don  Alonzo  Mendez, 
1GG5,  route  marked  14  on  Keith  Johnston's  map;  Coffin,  IblO, 
marked  15. 

3.  Eastern  lines  to  Tajourah,  from  Sboa,  by  Harris,  1841-2, 
marked  11  on  Keith  Johnston's  map;  by  d'Hericourt,  1842, 
marked  12;  Isenberg  and  Krapf,  1839,  marked  13.  Krapf 
also  describes  a  route  nearly  due  west  from  Tajourah  to  Aussa 
and  Lake  Haik  along  the  valley  of  the  river  Hawash,  which 
belongs  to  this  series. 

Let  us  see  how  far  these  several  lines  may  be  available  for  the 
purpose  of  invading  Abyssinia. 

It  h«is  been  proposed  that  the  troops  should  be  landed  at 
Souakin,  and  then  march  by  Kassala  and  Metemma  to  Gondar; 
the  supposed  advantages  of  this  route  being  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  march  would  be  in  the  territory  of  an  ally,  Egypt,  where 
camels  could  be  procured  in  any  numbers,  together  with  ample 
supplies.  The  objections  to  this  route  appear  to  be — first,  that 
when  Kassala  is  reached,  after  a  man  h  of  ^50  miles,  through  a 

desert 


Tim  Abi/ssinian  Ezpediiim. 


527 


desert  where  everjthingr^  even  watery  is  most  scarce,  thfe  invading 
force  would  still  be  quite  as  far  (torn  tbe  'objective'  (Debra  Tabor 
or  Mag^dala)  as  it  would  be  had  it  landed  at  once  at  Mass o wall  I 
The  march  of  250  miles  through  the  Egyptian  territory  would  be 
simply  a  waste  of  time  and  strength*  The  next  objection  to  this 
route  is  that  at  Metemma  the  camels  would  have  to  be  changed  for 
mules  and  asses,  as  thej  are  quite  un suited  to  the  mountainous 
country  between  Metemma  and  Gondar,  But  how  could  mules  and 
asses  l>e  procured  at  that  spot  ?  A  third  objection  is^  that  this 
line  of  operations  would  involve  us  in  military  combinations  with 
the  Egyptians;  any  attempt  at  such  combination  is  earnestly 
deprecated  by  the  persons  best  acquainted  with  the  natives  of 
Abyssinia,  who  seem  to  entertain  such  a  hatred  of  the  Egyptians 
that  the  least  appearance  of  a  military  movement  on  their  part 
Would,  it  is  said,  be  certain  to  cause  a  general  rising  of  the  tribes 
of  Abyssinia.  On  all  these  grounds  the  Souakin*Kassala  route 
may  therefore  be  discarded,  as  well  as  all  co-operation  on  the  part 
of  Egypt. 

The  next  road  by  which  Debra  Tabor  and  Magdala  may  be 
reached  is  the  caravan  route  from  Massowah  by  Bogos,  Kassala, 
Metemma,  and  Gondar,  This  road  is  even  more  objectionable 
in  a  military  point  of  view  than  the  former,  inasmuch  as,  while 
the  distance  from  the  point  of  departure  to  Kassala  is  much  the 
same  by  both  routes,  that  from  Massowah  is  more  difficult,  leads 
through  the  enemy's  country  instead  of  that  of  an  ally^  and  in- 
volves a  long  llank  march  tending  away  from,  rather  than  towards^ 
Debra  Tabor,  and  exposing  the  whole  line  of  communication 
with  the  base  at  Massi>wah  to  the  attack  of  the  enemy.  It  is, 
moreover,  a  very  circuitous  route,  does  not  possess  a  sbgle 
advantage  that  we  are  aware  of,  and  may  be  unhesitatingly 
rejected. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  consideration  of  the  north-eastern 
lines,  we  may  as  well  dispose  of  the  eastern  line  from  Tajourah 
to  Shoa, 

There  are  two  ways  of  reaching  Magdala  from  Tajourah*  The 
first  is  that  proposed  by  Dr.  Krapf,  in  a  letter  to  Lord  Stanley, 
dated  1st  October,  1866.  It  leads  from  Tajourah  across  the 
desert  to  the  lake  where  the  river  Hawash  terminates,  thence 
follows  the  banks  of  that  river  to  its  junction  with  the  Berkona 
stream,  by  which  Lake  Haik  is  reached,  and  tlience  penetrates 
into  the  high-land  of  Abyssinia,  widuii  two  days'  march  of 
Magdala. 

The  second  road  is  that  taken  b^^  » 

It  is  very  circuitous,  and  seems 


528  Tlie  Abymnian  Expedition. 

troops.      Here   b  the  Major's  description  of  the  first  porticm 
of  it  :— 

'  Hero  terminates  the  dreary  passage  of  the  dire  Tehama,  an  iroii- 
bonnd  waste,  which,  at  this  inaaspieions  season  of  the  year,  opposes 
difficulties  almost  overwhelming  in  the  path  of  the  traveller.  Siting 
aside  the  total  absence  of  water  and  forage  throughout  a  burning  tract 
of  iifky  miles — its  manifold  intricate  mountain-passes,  barely  wide 
enough  to  admit  the  transit  of  a  loaded  camel,  the  bitter  animosity  of 
the  wild,  blood-thirsty  tribes  by  which  they  are  infested,  and  the 
uniform  badness  of  the  road,  if  road  it  may  be  termed,  everywhere 
beset  with  the  jagged  blocks  of  lava,  and  intersected  by  perilous 
acclivities  and  descents — it  is  no  exaggeration  to  state  that  Uie  stifling 
sirocco,  which  sweeps  across  the  unwholesome  salt  flat  during  the 
hotter  mouths  of  the  year,  could  not  &il  within  eight  and  forty  hours 
to  destroy  the  hardiest  European  adventurer.' 

A  mere  glance  at  the  section  of  that  line  of  country  at  the 
foot  of  Mr.  Wyld*s  map  is  sufficient  to  condemn  this  route :  and 
with  respect  to  the  one  proposed  by  Dr.  Krapf,  as  well  as  a 
third,  which  Dr.  Beke  points  out,  from  Raheita  (just  within  the 
Straits  of  Bab  el  Mandeb)  direct  upon  Magdala,  it  would  not 
seem  to  be  prudent,  without  further  information  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  desert  country  through  which  these  routes  lead,  particularly 
with  reference  to  water,  wood,  and  forage,  to  hazard  any  body  of 
troops,  however  small,  in  this  direction.  The  eastern  line  of 
communication  does  not,  therefore,  appear  to  be  more  suitable 
for  our  purpose  than  the  northern  line,  and  may  probably  be 
rejectfHl. 

Tliore  remains  only  the  north-eastern  line  to  he  considered. 

By  this  line  there  are  three  routes  leading  from  Massowah  to 
the  centre  of  Abvssinia.  To  which  may  be  added  a  fourth, 
leadintr  from  Amphilla  Bay  to  Sokota. 

The  first  of  these  routes,  startin«r  from  Massowah,  passes  by 
Kiap^uor,  Adoua,  Axum,  to  Goiular.  It  crosses  the  river  March 
t\vic(»,  the  TacJizze  once,  and  is  described  as  l)eiiig  full  of  the 
usual  ditliculties  attending  on  Abyssinian  travelling.  It  is  not 
so  direct  either  as  the  other  north-e.istcrn  roads,  and  has  no 
j)articular  advantaufos  to  recommend  it.* 

The  second  of  the  north-(\istern  roads,  leading  from  the  same 
port  to  Debra  Tabor  by  lialai,  Adoua,  Tembyr,  and  Hadessa  in 


*  Since   tlie  above  was  in  type,  we  have  read   the  letter  of  •  Phik>>Bliti^ 
iiicus,*  wlio  dcscrilKTS  a  route  from  Massowah  by  Kiacore  (Kiagoor),  Ados 
Zahuy,  direct  ])y  Et>enat,  to  Debra  Tabor.     He  speaks  from  panoaal  «m 
uikI   recoiuuieiids    this   route   as  the   best   and  most  practicsMs- 
indeed,  to  be  so  many  ways  of  reaching  Magdala  from  the  0 
that  the  real  difficulty  is  likely  to  be  '  Tembarras  da  cbQUu' 


Beleisen,  has  been  described  by  Mr,  Dufton  in  a  letter  to  the 
'Times';  and  although  this  g'entlenittn  considers  it  impracticable 
for  troops,  it  might  be  worthj  of  ejcaminationj  if  Debra  Tabor 
was  the  desired  point  to  be  reached,  as  it  seems  to  be  well 
supplied  with  wood,  water,  and  fomg-e ;  but  as  Sokota  is 
(according  to  our  notion)  the  first  goal  to  be  aimed  at,  we  may 
proceed  to  the  consideration  of  the  third  north-eastern  route,  that 
leadiiig  from  Arkiko,  or  Anneslej  Bay,  by  Halai,  Adi-gerat, 
and  Antalo^  to  Sokota,  from  which  jx)int  the  further  advance  of 
the  troops  would  be  governed  by  circumstances.  This  route 
would  appear  to  be  the  most  direct  and  practicable  of  any  of 
those  hitherto  noticed. 

The  advantage  of  this  road  is,  that  from  A  tine  si  ey  Bay  to 
Halai  (on  the  edofe  of  the  plateau,  8500  feet  above  the  sea)  is  a 
shorter  distance  than  that  from  any  part  of  the  Red  Sea  to  any 
part  of  the  high-land.  The  difficulties  of  the  desert,  therefore 
(whatever  they  may  be),  are  by  this  route  reduced  to  the 
minimum, 

Dr,  Beke  was  only  twenty-one  hours  in  descending  fn>m  Halai 
to  Arkiko,  From  Halai  to  Annesley  Bay  would  therefore  not 
occupy  more  than  sixteen  hours,  say  three  marches,  one  of  which 
would  be  over  the  desert,  the  other  two  up  the  mountain. 

From  Halai  to  Sokota  this  route  must  evidently  be  the  least 
difficult  of  any  in  Abyssinia,  as  it  keeps  along  the  eastern  ci]gc 
of  the  plateau,  thus  avoiding  the  deep  valleys  of  the  rivers 
Mareb  and  Tacazze,  This  line  of  country  is  said  to  be  healthy 
and  fertile,  and  water  abundant 

Annesley  Bay  will  probably  be  found  preferable  to  Mas*iOwah, 
also,  as  a  landing  place  tor  tnx>p3»  In  the  first  place,  Massowah 
itself  is  an  island;  this  alotie  is  sufiicient  to  condemn  it  as  a 
landing  place,  because  it  would  involve  an  extra  embarkation  and 
disemljarkatlon  of  men  and  animals.  Besidt^s,  the  following 
descriptions  of  it  will  show  that  it  is  quite  unfit  for  a  camp, 
Mr,  Parkyns  thus  describes  it: — - 

'  In  a  oouversation  about  tho  comparative  heat  of  di£fer^@nt  plftoe@t  nn 
officer  of  the  Indian  Navy  remarked  that  ho  helieved  Pondicherry  to 
ha  tho  hottest  place  in  India,  hut  HtiU,  that  it  was  nothing  lo  Aden, 
while  Q^in  Adc^u  was  a  trifle  to  Mussawa,  Ho  compared  the  eHmald 
cif  tho  first  to  a  hot  bath  ;  that  of  tho  second  to  a  furnace ;  while  tho 

tljiril,  he  naid,  could  be  equalled  in  tcmporature  bj  nothing  but , 

a  place  which  he  had  never  visited,  and  which  it  is  to  be  hopid  neither 

Ka  vi/iv  Miw  f4  us  will,     Towards  the  latter  end  of  the  month  of  May 

♦K-ftmometcr  rim  to  about  120"^  Fahrenheit  in  the 

rust  it  ranges  much  higher.     Such  a  cli- 

dthjy— especially  so  during  the  aummeer 

moiLthsE, 


530 


3nie  Ahyuinian  ExpeStion* 


monihfli  wlien  a  number  of  ciMigGroat  i 


I  preTail,  Boeh  i 


tiie  mmX  tmv^rA  of  th*^  tro^Gftl  oatrntnes.     Tlie  ] 

There  una  i*istm-ti»  for  collactiag  the  mm*wat«r  (no  spriiig  exSglaiig), 
t»iil  mogi  of  ih&m  Bare  bticin  Allowed  to  fall  into  disuBe,  A&id  Ike  is&^ 
UfttatA  of  the  mkDd  are  obliged  to  trnst  to  Arkiko^  a  yOIms  <m  tho 
fii^inlftnil,  distant  some  three  o?  four  milGs,  for  their  wsp^tf^  Thk 
inter4  moioimry  is  rather  hraddah.  The  extreme  lie«t  df  tiie  plaoo 
imom  not  anpeir  exIraordiiiAiy  to  an j  one  aoqnaanted  witb  its  poid- 
ttoSL  Kmiomh  is  open  on  one  side  to  the  aea^  while  the  oilier  ta 
abul  ia  hj  aa  aiai^theatre  of  distant  hUls,  snfficieDllj  near,  howirv^, 
ta  pfemnt  its  receiTing  a  breath  of  air  from  that  direetioin,  \sni^  cm  iJit 
^(cmttwtj^  to  collect,  aa  it  werop  the  mys  of  the  mm  into  Une  nairoii 
dip  of  knd  the j  endose,* 

The  French  officers  tbiis  describe  Massowah  % — 
^  This  inland  is  onl}r  1000  mttrea  long  from  east  to  wost^  aod  ooIt 
100  brciad  from  j^uth  to  north.  It  is  entirely  formed  of  ft  OOEil  \mk 
thrown  np  at  Bome  tune  to  the  snrfaee  of  the  wmter  hj  the  eflbet  ^ 
the  geoerml  tiphenYing  which  may  be  obeer^c^  along  thtj  whole  6horo|^ 
tbo  Anhiui  Otilf«  Ite  higbeet  point  is  hsrdlj  mopo  than  four  \ 
above  tiia  let^  of  the  sea.  On  it  there  Is  not  a  nnglt?  fipriiig,  not  a  lieo, 
nei  0ve&  a  hlsda  of  gtsss ;  everrwhere  hare  rock  and  etoi^  To  obtain 
drinkiug-irate,  edstcms  aix)  hoUoned  oat,  m  wMeh  Is  oollocttjd  thai 
preciouB  ram  which,  thongh  mre,  falls  from  time  to  time  from  October  to 
March  ;  a  Hcanty  supply,  sinee  it  is  baruly  eufficient  for  the  wants  of 
the  govonior  and  \n&  frienda  The  water  which  ih^  pc»pnlace  T  " 
la  obtained  from  the  brackish  spriiigB  of  tiie  continent,  Jroin 
and  Mookoullcn.  Half  uf  Ibe  lilatid  bakn^i  to  tiie  dcad^  the  i 
half  to  the  living.  In  the  eftitem  pofticn  i»  the  tanhsi  m 
westoru.  the  town.     The  eiltanis  Sfe  among  the  tocihe. 

'  In  November  the  theEBKnseter  at  9  in  the  momiitg,  in  die  ahadn, 
stood  at  31''  (Contigrado),  at  noon  at  34^  at  3  r.M,  at  33^  and  at  9  in 
the  ©Toning  at  30*~^rcspcctiTelj  878^  1*3  2^.  91  4^,  and  8C^  of  Fahf/ 

A  hot  and  dreary  place  in  all  conscience  I  let  ub  hope  that  oni 
troops  may  nut  become  better  acc|iiaintcd  wilb  it 

The  last  route  to  be  noticed  It  that  fmm  AmpbUla  Bajt 
by  Antalo,  tt>  Sokota^  mentionetl  by  Colonel  Mere  wether  as 
worthy  *if  attention.  This  road  wris  travelled  over  by  Mr. 
Coffio  as  far  as  Chilicut  (close  to  Antalo)  in  January,  I810» 
It  apparently  cuts  into  the  Ualai-Sokota  road  at  Adi-genit,  and 
the  pass  by  which  it  ascends  the  high-land  over  Mount  Sm^ 
(as  Mr,  Coffin  calls  it)  does  not  appear  to  be  ao  •■"  '  jir 
passage  over  Mount  Taranta^  which  we  have  alivai :  

Mr.  Coffin  was  nine  days  from  A?  ^ri  C**^*-—^*    1%^ 

fine  portion  of  the  route  for  about  It 

*  Anttla  (whiek  ii  eloce  to  Chilieut)  is  li 
whole  dliiasiee  f^m  AmpUitli  to  SolioTm  iim|  ; 


I 


Tk§  Aby$$inian  Exjiedtiion. 


S31 


in  which  there  is  a  salt  plain^  which  it  took  the  party  five  houn 
to  cross  over,  and  which  supplies  all  Abyssinia  with  salt. 
Mr.  Coffin  does  not  mention  meeting  with  any  difficulty  on  the 
score  nf  water  in  crossing  the  desert;  but  he  does  not  give 
sufficient  details  of  his  journey  to  enable  us  to  arrive  at  any  con- 
clusion as  to  the  practicability  of  this  route  for  an  army. 

Instead  of  ascending  the  jdateau  by  the  direct  road  from 
Amphilla  to  Adoua,  Colonel  Mere  wether  thinks  it  might  be 
better  to  keep  in  the  low  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains  till 
lake  Ashangi  is  reached,  and  dien  enter  Abyssinia  by  way  of 
Lasta,  so  as  to  have  the  smallest  possible  quantity  of  hill  country 
to  march  over  ;  but,  from  all  we  have  been  able  to  gather,  it 
would  appear  that  the  first  ascent  t**  the  lofty  plateau  is  the  chief 
difficulty  ;  and  that,  once  the  high- land  is  gained,  the  march 
would  probably  offer  fewer  difficulties  than  that  over  a  desert, 
the  exact  nature  and  resources  of  which  are  not  at  present  known 
to  us.  It  would  therefore  seem  to  be  the  better  plan  to  surmount 
the  ascent  of  the  mountain  as  soon  after  landing  m  iJossiblcj  and 
get  away  from  the  desert.  This  difficulty  (the  ascent  to  the 
plateau)  cannot  be  avoided  by  any  route  whatever :  and,  before 
adopting  any  particular  line  of  operations,  the  Government  or 
the  General  in  command  will  no  doubt  be  in  possession  of 
further  information  respecting  all  the  various  lines  by  which 
Abyssinia  may  be  i>enetrated. 

But,  so  far  as  our  present  information  enables  us  to  judge,  it 
would  appear  that  of  all  the  several  roads  leading  from  tlie  Red  Sea 
to  A  by  ss  in  la,  which  we  have  passed  under  review,  three  only  are 
available,  and  moreover  that  the  choice  will  probably  be  reduced 
to  two,  namely,  that  from  Arkiko  or  Annesley  Bay  by  Halai, 
Adi^gerat,  and  Antalo  to  Sokota,  aod  that  from  Amphilla  Bay  to 
Sokota. 

Whichever  way  is  chosen  there  will  no  doubt  be  difficulties  to 
contend  with,  particularly  while  threading  the  mountain  passes, 
but  the  officers  who  are  al)out  to  be  engaged  know  what  moun- 
tain and  desert  warfare  is,  and  are  not  likely  to  be  daunted  by 
either* 

How  the  advance  will  be  conducted,  whether  by  one  route  or 

by  several ; — what  depots  it  will  be  necessary  to  establish  at  the 

i.mling-place,  or  on  the  top  of  the  plateau  (at  Halai  for  instance), 

at  other  poinU  along  the  routes  ; — whether  the  captives  will 

fescued  by  »1h'   *1«iw  nej    dar  movements  of  war   'selon  leg 

under  Mere  wether  or  Malcolm^ 

lat  measures  will  be  taken  in 

*  is  captives  into  Go<ljam 

it  will  be  possible  to 

make 


532  The  Abyuinican  Expedition. 

make  overtures  to  any  of  the  tribes  in  rebellion,  either  to  release 
the  captives,  or  to  hem  in  the  Emperor,  and  deliver  him  into 
our  hands ; — whether  at  the  close  of  the  operations  we  shall  leave 
the  country  for  ever  or  whether  we  may  not  rather  seize  the 
opportunity  of  civilising:  it : — these  are  all  matters  of  vast  interest, 
but  upon  which  it  would  be  idle  to  speculate  at  present,  and 
which  must  be  left  to  the  judgment  of  the  officer  in  command 
and  of  the  Government 

Our  object  has  not  been  to  advise,  but  merely  to  endeavour 
to  supply  such  information  as  can  be  collected  from  the  various 
documents  at  our  disposal,  and  thereby  to  correct  in  some  mea- 
sure the  loose  and  desponding:  accounts  which  have  appeared  in 
the  public  prints,  as  well  as  to  place  before  our  readers  the  means 
of  forming  their  own  judgment  upon  the  whole  subject,  and  to 
enable  them  to  take  a  correct  instead  of  an  exaggerated  view 
of  the  difficulties  of  the  campaign  about  to  be  undertaken  in 
Africa,  and  of  the  climate  in  which  these  operations  are  to  be 
conducted. 

The  conclusion  at  which  we  ourselves  have  arrived  it,  that 
the  unhealthy  part  of  the  operation  will  be  confined  to  the  sesr- 
boanl  and  the  desert ;  and  that  the  great  difficulty  of  the  march 
will  be  the  ascent  to  the  table-land.  On  reaching  the  high-land 
all  danger  from  climate  will  cease,  and  the  difficulties  of  the 
march  will  probably  be  much  diminished. 

Moreover,  formidable  as  the  difficulties  may  be,  it  is  only  (bit 
to  contrast  tliem  with  those  which  have  been  successfully  met  by 
expeditions  fitted  out  from  India  and  Eng^Lind,  during  the  present 
generation.  In  the  several  expeditions  to  China,  all  the  diffi- 
culties attending  a  long  sea  voyage  and  distance  from  depots  and 
arsenals  were  greater  than  they  will  be  in  the  present  case.  To 
these  were  added,  in  the  Persian  war,  a  want  of  supplies  on  tlie 
seaboard  to  be  attacked,  and  a  disciplined  enemy  on  landing:  in 
both  wliicli  respects  the  Persian  expedition  was  at  least  as  formid- 
able an  undertaking  as  the  present.  The  want  of  steam  in  those 
days  more  than  made  up  for  the  comparative  proximity  of  the 
j)()int  of  diseinlmrkation.  Those  who  can  remember  the  Affghan 
expedition  will,  however,  have  the  best  means  of  estimating  the 
real  difliculties  of  an  invasi(m  of  Abyssinia.  A  warlike  popula- 
tion held  l>oth  the  mountains  and  plains,  and  the  mountains  were 
in  themselves  as  defensible,  though  perhaps  not  so  difficult  of 
ascent.  Sir  Charles  Napier's  campaign  of  1845  in  the  moun- 
tains bordering  on  Scinde  is  a  good  example  of  how  the  difficulties, 
both  of  desert  and  of  mountain  warfare,  may  be  overcome.  The 
French,  too,  have  frequently  vanquished  similar  difficulties  in 
Algeria.    But,  without  dwelling  further  upon  this  point,  we  will 

conclude 


The  Comervatwe  Surrmider. 


MS 


conclude  by  expressing  our  perfect  confidence  in  the  aueccss  of 
the  expedition  under  the  leadership  of  Sir  Robert  Napier^  the 
able,  active,  and  gallant  commrinder  who  has  been  selected  for 
the  conduct  of  the  war^  and  whom  we  hope  soon  to  congratulate 
OQ  adding  new  lustre  to  the  name  he  bears* 


Aht.  IX, — 1,  Speech  of  the  Riff  hi  Hon.  B.  Disraeli  on  the  MbtitM 
for  the  Second  Beading  of  Mr.  Bainei  Biiij  1865<     London, 

1865. 
2-  Speech  of  the  Riftht  Hon.  B.  Disraeli  on  the  Third  Reading  of  tfm 

Repres€7ttation  of  the  Peoj>le  i??7/,  1867.     Lfmdon,  1867. 
3,  Speech   if  the  Ear!  of  Derhf  on  the  Second  Reading  of  the 

Representation  of  the  People  Biilt  in  the  Home  ofLords^  18$7, 

London,  1867, 

'T^TOW  that  the  heat  of  the  conflict  is  over>  there  h  very  little 
J3I  dispute  as  to  the  nature  of  the  revolution  that  the  year 
1867  has  seen  accomplished*  Fantastic  computations  intended 
to  soothe  Conservative  apprehensions  were  in  vogue  in  the  early 
part  of  the  session  ;  but  they  have  served  their  purpose^  and  are 
forgotten  now.  No  one  at  present  doubts  that  as  far  as  figures 
go,  the  transfer  of  power  has  been  complete.  What  the  result  of 
that  transfer  may  be,  must  of  course  be  a  question  of  conjecture. 
Many  are  sanguine  that  a  great  and  salutary  change  in  our 
legislation  is  at  hand:  many  more  affect  a  hopefulness  which 
they  are  far  from  feeling.  Few  care  by  injudicious  frankness  to 
incur  the  wrath  of  the  new  masters,  whose  rule  is  inevitable 
now.  It  is,  indeed,  scarcely  worth  while  to  guess  at  results 
which  experience  must  soon  reveal  to  us.  The  question  of  our 
destiny  is  one  of  extreme  simplicity,  and  comparatively  few 
years  of  trial  will  enable  us  to  judge  how  it  will  be  answered. 
A  clear  majority  of  votes  in  a  clear  majority  of  constituencies 
has  Ijcen  made  over  to  those  who  have  no  other  property  but  the 
labour  of  their  hands.  The  omnipotence  of  Parliament  is  theirs, 
wholly  and  without  reserve.  Subject  to  them  is  a  minority 
possessed  in  various  degrees  of  a  vast  aggregate  of  accumulated 
wealth.  If  he  were  to  set  all  considerations  of  conscience 
aside,  each  member  of  the  poor  but  absolute  majority  would 
naturally  desire  sa  to  use  this  new  power  as  to  make  »ome 
portion  of  this  wealth  his  own*  We  have  legislated  on  the 
assumption  that  he  will  not  do  so.  That  assumption  can  only 
be  justified  on  one  of  two  hypotheses*  Either  the  conscienre  of 
the  working  men  will  be  so  strong  as  to  outweigh  the  suggesttoni 
of  interest  and  the  pressure  of  poverty,  or  they  will  not  be  clever 

enough 


534  The  Gmtervative  Surrender. 

enough  to  pull  together  for  the  purpose  of  gratifying  their 
wishes.  The  measure  of  this  session  has  been  recommended  by 
nothing  but  vague  declamation ;  it  is  not  easy  to  discover  to 
which  of  these  two  securities  it  is  that  our  le^slators  look  to 
be  the  bulwark  of  property  in  this  country.  Both  sides  were 
singularly  silent  upon  the  principles  of  the  vast  change  that  was 
being  made.  The  general  tendency  among  those  who  were  re- 
sponsible for  the  measure  appeared  to  be,  in  public  to  rely  upon 
tne  virtues  of  the  working  class,  in  private  to  draw  what  conso- 
lation they  could  from  a  belief  in  its  unbounded  pliability. 

We  do  not  intend  to  speculate  upon  the  answer  which  events 
will  give  to  this  interesting  question.  No  past  experience  can 
help  us  to  discuss  it  The  experiment,  stupendous  as  are  the 
interests  it  puts  in  hazard,  is  yet  absolutely  new.  Great  cities 
have  before  this  been  placed,  for  a  brief  and  troubled  period, 
under  the  absolute  control  of  the  poorest  classes  of  their  popula- 
tion. Large  empires  have  been  governed,  and  are  govenied 
still,  with  considerable  success,  by  a  democracy  of  petty  rural 
cultivators.  But  the  idea  of  placing  a  great  empire  under  the 
absolute  control  of  the  poorest  classes  in  the  towns  has  never 
until  the  present  year  been  entertained  by  any  nation.  We  have 
nothing,  therefore,  but  a  jiriori  considerations  to  guide  us  in 
a  forecast  of  our  future  fate.  What  we  know  of  the  fallibility  of 
human  nature,  of  the  proneness  of  mankind  to  shape  their 
conduct  by  their  desires,  and  to  devise  afterwards  the  code  of 
morality  necessary  to  defend  it,  is  not  reassuring.  We  still 
think,  as  we  have  always  thought,  that  to  give  the  power  of 
taxation  to  those  from  whom  no  taxes  are  exacted,  the  supreme 
disposal  of  property  to  those  who  have  no  property  of  their  own, 
the  p:uidance  of  this  intricate  machine  of  government  to  the  least 
instructed  class  in  the  community,  is  to  adopt  in  the  manage- 
ment of  tlie  empire  principles  which  would  not  be  entertained  for 
a  moment  in  any  otlicr  department  of  human  affairs.  But  it  is 
futile  to  argue  d  priori  now.  The  decision  of  this  issue  has 
Ix^en  remitted  to  the  test  of  experience.  For  us  its  teaching 
will  he  valueless ;  for  we  have  taken  a  step  that  can  never 
he  recalled.  But  before  another  generation  has  passed  awav, 
other  nations  will  have  learned  by  our  success  or  our  disasters 
how  far  the  rule  of  the  p<H)rer  urban  multitudes  is  favourable  to 
the  fr(»edom  of  property,  or  to  the  maintenance  of  wise  and  stable 
gov(Tnment. 

Had  this  revolution  been  accomplished  in  fair  fight  we  should 
have  been  content  to  lay  aside  the  controversy  at  this  point. 
It  is  the  duty  of  every  Englishman,  and  of  every  English  party, 
to  accept  a  political    defeat   cordially,  and  to   lend   their  best 

endeavours 


The  Conservative  Surrender, 


535 


endeavours  to  secure  the  success^  or  to  neutralise  tbe  evil»  of  the 
principles  to  wbicli  they  have  been  forced  to  succumb.  England 
has  commLtted  many  mistakes  as  a  nation  in  the  course  of  her 
history ;  but  tbeir  mischief  has  often  been  more  than  corrected 
by  the  beartiness  with  whicli  after  each  great  struggle  victors 
and  vanquished  have  forgotten  their  former  battles,  and  have 
combined  togetber  to  lead  the  new  policy  to  its  best  results* 
We  have  no  wish  to  be  unfaitbful  to  so  wholesome  a  tradition. 
As  far,  therefore,  as  our  Liberal  adversaries  are  concerned, 
we  shall  dismiss  the  long  controversy  with  the  expression  of  an 
earnest  hope  that  their  sanguine  confidence  may  prove  in  the 
result  to  have  been  wiser  than  our  fears. 

But  there  are  other  questions  of  public  interest  which  do  not 
belong  to  the  Reform  controversy,  but  to  which  a  melancholy 

f>rominence  has  been  given  by  the  passing  of  this  Reform  Bill, 
t  has  been  attended  by  political  phenomena  of  no  ordinary 
kind.  It  has  been  the  result  of  manceuvres^  singularly  skilful  and 
successful*  but  in  their  character  wholly  new  to  the  history  of  our 
party  conflicts.  Whatever  may  be  the  issue  of  the  momentous 
constitutional  experiment  we  have  been  trying^  the  nation  will 
not  pnss  by  as  matter  of  no  account  the  tactics  by  which  the 
change  has  been  brought  about.  The  strange  morality  which 
has  guided  public  men,  the  unexpected  results  to  which  parlia^ 
mentary  discipline  and  faith  in  party  leaders  have  conducted 
us,  will  awake  in  the  minds  of  thinking  men  a  deeper  solici- 
tude than  even  the  adoption  of  a  hazardous  form  of  government. 
The  tone  of  public  opinion,  and  the  character  of  institutions 
undoubtedly  react  upon  each  other ;  but  not  with  equal  power_ 
If  it  be  not  absolutely  true  of  g-ovemments  that  'that  which 
is  best  administered  is  best,'  still  the  form  of  the  machine  is 
indeed  of  slender  importance  compared  to  the  manner  of  men 
by  whom  it  is  worked.  The  patriotism  and  honour  of  statesmen 
may  force  the  worst  institutions  to  yield  a  harv^est  of  prosperity  ; 
but  no  political  mechanism  will  restore  the  tone  of  a  public 
opinion  that  has  been  debased.  The  marvellous  termination  of 
this  Reform  controversy  will  eiert  a  powerlul  influence  upon  the 
future  spirit  of  public  men  j  but  whether  that  influence  is  for 
good  or  evil  will  depend  very  much  on  the  judgment  winch  the 
nation  ultimately  forms  of  the  conduct  of  those  who  have  brought 
it  about  It  is  a  critical  case.  The  decision  pronounced  in  it 
will  rule  our  political  moralists  for  many  a  year  to  come.  If  the 
practice  that  has  lieen  recently  pursued  shall  be  sustained,  it  is 
diflicult  to  believe  that  our  system  of  parliamentary  govern* 
ment  can  long  survive.  The  interests  involved  are  so  important 
that  it  is  worth  while  to  examine  carefully  what  the  precedents 
Vol  U3.~No,  240.  2  N  are 


53«)  Th0  Caiuerrative  Surrender. 

Are  which  the  conduct  of  the  leader  of  the  prejcDt  Goreniineiit 
has  rttablished,  and  what  their  bearing  upon  the  fntore  working 
of  our  institutions  is  likelv  to  be.  That  the  Reform  Bill  ku 
been  carried  by  one  of  the  most  rapid  and  sudden  changes  of 
front  ever  executed  by  a  Government  is  undoubtecilj  tnie.  Bat 
if  only  a  chanire  of  opinion  were  in  question,  the  charges  thit 
have  been  made  airainst  them  would  be  destitute  of  any  great 
importance.  Such  chnnpes  are,  so  far  as  they  go,  a  slur  on  the 
reputation  of  politicians.  In  re^rd  to  questions  that  have  been 
much  diicusse<),  and  the  elements  of  which  have  not  iraterially 
ahrred,  they  imply  eitlier  prejudices  pertinaciously  cherished,  or 
professions  tlioi]<:htlessIy  made.  It  is  fair  to  infer  that  those 
who  have  chan?e<]  lightly  once  may  do  so  again.  But  a  meie 
chnnire  of  opinion  cannot  be  reproached  with  dishonour  or 
breach  of  faith.  If  the  Conser^'atives  had  come  into  power  at 
they  did  in  I'^.VJ,  through  the  mere  weakness  of  their  opponenti, 
or  as  in  1h5H  by  an  accidental  victory  on  a  passing  issne,  they 
would  have  been  free  to  deal  with  the  question  of  Reform  on- 
fettercfl  by  their  own  previous  action.  Even  then  a  sudden  coo- 
version,  made  in  view  of  a  hostile  majority,  and  under  the  threst 
of  losinsr  ofTice,  would  have  exposed  their  motives  to  suspicion. 
Ill  is  species  of  '  obloquy '  Lord  Derby  experienced  in  1852 
upon  the  subject  of  Pnitection,  and  again  in  1859  oo  the  subject 
of  the  county  franchise :  and  by  the  readiness  with  which  he  has 
execute<l  a  still  more  startling  change  this  year,  he  appean 
nr>t  to  have  disrelished  the  sensation.  But  the  charge  recorded 
a«r^in>t  him  hv  rcrc'iit  events  is  tar  erraver  th.in  that  of  anv  cliansfe 
of  opinion  liowfvor  rapid.  It  is  that  he  obtaine<l  the  votes  which 
plarod  him  in  otVue  on  tlie  faith  of  opinions  which,  to  keep  office, 
ho  immediatelv  repudiated.  It  is  that — according  to  his  oi*ti 
rercnt  avowals — iio  hacl  made  up  his  mind  to  desert  these 
opinions  even  at  the  vf»ry  moment  when  he  was  being  raised  to 
power  as  th<'ir  champion. 

Of  tin*  real  facts  of  the  case  no  one  outside  the  innermost 
ministerial  <ir(le  afTects  to  have  any  doubt.  That  up  to  the 
l>esrinninir  of  this  year  the  C'<mservative  leaders  were  stoutlr 
opposed  to  any  very  larije  reduction  of  the  franchise,  and  espe- 
cially to  liousohold  suilrajro ;  that  Mr.  Gladstone  last  year  was 
deff'at<*<l  at  their  instance  by  a  majority  largely  composed  of 
men  <»f  these  opinions  ;  and  that  this  year,  with  the  help  of  the 
Radicals,  tliev  have  passed  a  hill  of  hous<*hold  suffrage,  tire  factf 
whic  h  can  only  Ik»  contested  by  d<Miials  of  the  hardiest  kind. 
CouragcM)us  eflorts  in  this  direction  have,  indeeil,  not  lx*en 
wanting.  In  tlie  early  part  of  the  session,  and  even  after  tW 
compound    householder    had    been    slain,    Mr.    Disraeli    bold.y 

denietl 


7%e  Comervaiim  Surrmdm". 


m 


denied  that  he  wai  introducing  a  household  suflrage  bill.     The 
facts  were    unff>rtanately  too  plain  for  him.      As   Mr,   Forster 
immediately  pcnnted  out,  the  new  franchise  is  simply  the  old 
occupation  franchise  with  the  10/.  limitation  struck  out ;  and  of 
late  even  Mr,  Disraeli  has  accepted  the  phrase  as  the  proper 
description  of  his  measure.     On  the  third  reading  of  tlie  bill,  he 
tried  to  extricate  himself  in  exactly  the  opposite  direction.     He 
declared  that  not  only  had  the  Conservative  leaders  not  opposed 
household  suffrage  in  the  previous  year,  but  that  they  had  come  to 
a  decision  in  favour  of  it,  even  so  far  back  as  1859,     No  one 
else  has  been  sufficiently  master  of  his  countenance  to  repeat  this 
wonderful   defence  ;  but  eflbrts  have  occasionally  been   made  to 
ar^ue  that  the  opposition  to  Mr,  Gladstone's  bill  of  lost  year  was 
not  caused  by  its  going-  too  far,  but  by  its  not  g^oing  far  enoug^h ; 
that  tlie  Conservatives  never  objected  to  the  class  of  workmen, 
but  only  to  the  class  of  skilled  workmen  ;  and  that  they  would 
at  any  time  hare  patiently  submitted  to  the  enfranchisement  of 
the  artisans,  if  they  had  been  allowed  to  enfranchise  the  residuum 
at  the  same  time.     It  is  nee<lless  to  say  that  this  theory  is  of 
very  modem  date*     It  did  not  exist  even  in  the  spring  of  the 
present  year*     At  that  period  it  was  the  fashion  to  believe  jji 
the  compound  householder,  and,  on  the  strength  of  his  exclusion^ 
to  represent  the  ministerial  bill  as  a  very  moderate  measure.     It 
was  not  till  that  troublesome  stalking-horse  had  been  removed 
that  it  was  found  necessary  to  discover  tlie  antiquity  of  a  Con- 
servative belief  in  household  suflrage.     But  the  discovery  is  too 
new  and    too   opportune    to   have  had    much  weight  with  the 
public.    It  could  only  challenge  a  moment's  attention  from  those 
who    had  either  never    watched,  or   had  wholly   forgotten,  the 
events  of  1866.     Roman  Catholics  tell  us  that  recent  develop- 
ments of  their  faith,  which  to  an  ordinary  reader  of  ecclesiastical 
history  seem   very  novel    indeed,    were  in  reality  held   by  the 
ancient  Fathers ;  and  tliat  the  entire  absence  of  any  mentitm  of 
such  things  from  their  writings,  and,  indeed,  the  occurrence  of 
many  observations  of  a  totally  diflTerent  complexion,  were  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  Fathers  held  these  beliefs  implicitly  and  un- 
consciously-    Conservative  belief  in  household  suffrage,  previous 
to  last  Easter^  must  have  been  very  similar  in  character  to  the 
Patristic   belief  in  the  Immaculate  Conception.     It  is  not  very 
dithcult,  either  in  the  one  case  or   in  the  other,  to  show  how 
wholly  unconscious  this  Ijclief  must  have  been.     The  speeches 
of  Lonl  Derby,  of  Mr,  Disraeli,  of  Lord  Stanley,  of  Sir  StalTord 
North  cote,  of  Mr.  Hardy,  of  Sir  Hugh  Ciirasj  even  during  the 
last  two  years,  will  furnish,  to  any  one  who  cares  to  refer  to 
them^  abundant  materials  for  a  catena  of  Conservative  autho- 

2  a  2  riiies 


538  77i«  Conservative  Surrender. 

rities  against  a  large  reduction  of  the  franchise.  They  have 
been  quoted  again  and  again  in  the  course  of  the  last  few  months 
both  in  Parliament  and  in  the  Press,  and  it  is  not  necessary  to 
repeat  them  here.  Any  one  who  cares  to  refer  to  *  Hansard '  will 
find  that  the  danger  of  lowering  the  franchise  even  to  6/.  or  ILy 
because  it  would  give  to  the  working  classes  a  preponderating 
power,  was  one  on  which  the  Conser>'ative  speakers  constandj 
dwelt ;  and  that  no  hint  ever  escaped  them,  that  a  still  larger 
reduction,  and  the  bestowal  of  a  still  more  preponderating  power, 
would  have  in  any  degree  diminished  their  objections.  The 
most  pointed  statement  of  the  Conservative  view  that  can  be 
found  was  given  by  Mr.  Disraeli  in  his  speech  on  Mr.  Baines' 
bill  for  introducing  a  i)L  franchise,  in  ^Iay,  1865.  As  it  was 
delivered  just  before  the  general  election  which  was  then  im- 
pending, it  was  accepted  generally  as  a  manifesto  of  the  opinions 
of  the  leaders  of  the  party. 

But,  in  truth,  the  case  would  not  be  materially  altered,  even 
if  these  stnmg  expressions  of  opinion  did  not  stand  on  record. 
Even  if  Mr.  Disraeli  had  carefully  abstained  from  uttering  a 
wonl  against  the  reduction  of  the  borough  franchise,  the  delusion 
encouraged  would  not  have  been  less  real,  though  it  would  have 
been  less  flagrant  There  was  no  doubt  at  all  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  resistance  offered  by  the  Conservative  leaders  in  1866  to 
Mr.  Gladstone's  bill ;  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  nature  of  the 
support  they  received  in  doing  so.  The  division  which  carried 
them  to  jM)wer  was  won  by  the  votes  of  haIf-«i-dozen  men. 
NumWrs  o(  those  who  voted  with  them  on  that  occasion  would 
Imvo  supported  any  leader  and  have  acceptcnl  almost  anv  bill 
rather  than  have  promoted  a  measure  of  household  suffrage.  The 
Conservative  Iraders  knew  this  j>erfortly  well.  They  were  not 
ignorant  of  the  motives  which  inspired  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  the  elo<|uonre  of  Mr.  Lowe  was  received,  or  of  the  senti- 
ments which  animated  the  majority  of  the  speeches  delivercil 
fnmi  their  own  side  of  the  House.  Both  in  public  and  in  private 
thoy  were  stimulating  those  feelings  to  the  utmost  of  their  power. 
Not  a  single  hint  escajxul  from  any  of  them  which  could  damp 
the  iirdour  of  their  anti-dem<KTatic  supporters  and  <illies.  Kv 
every  me«ins  at  their  command  they  not  only  allowed  but  en- 
couraged and  sanctioned  the  Ix^lief  that  they  were  resisting  as 
excessive  the  admission  of  the  lower  classes  to  the  franchise, 
proj>osed  in  Mr.  Gladstone's  hill.  Their  supporters  were  fully 
hcHKhvinkcMl.  They  voted  in  blind  reliance  on  the  assurances 
they  had  received.  In  order  to  defeat  a  proposal  which  thev 
feared  might  ultimately  result  in  houscliold  suffi-age,  they  ousted 
Mr.  Gladstone  from  power;  and  when  they  greeted  that  victory 

with 


The  Conservaiive  Surrender*  539 

with  tumultous  applause,  no  presentiment  crossed  a  single  mind 
of  the  utter  ruin  of  their  hojies  and  their  cause  which  by  that 
very  victory  tliey  had  accomplished. 

And  yet  at  this  very  time,  by  their  own  avowal,  the  Con- 
servative leaders  had  made  up  their  minds  to  propose  an  enfran* 
chisemont  of  the  poorer  classes  far  exceeding  anything  contained 
in  any  biM  that  had  yet  been  presented  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, and  falling  in  no  degree  short  of  the  utmost  that  Mr- 
Bright  or  Mr,  Forster  had  ever  demanded  in  their  speeches, 
Mr,  Disraeli  has  told  us  that  household  sufTrage  had  been  the 
secret  aspiration  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Conservative  party  ever 
since  1859,  and  Lord  Derby  has  never  said  a  word  to  repudiate 
the  indiscreet  confession  of  his  lieutenant.  On  the  contrary, 
he  boldly  stated  in  the  House  of  Lords  that  when  he  accepted 
office,  after  Lord  Dunkelliu's  motion,  he  did  so  with  the  full 
intention  of  outbidding  the  Liberals  on  the  sul>ject  of  Reform. 

But,  though  they  had  thus  made  up  their  nundsj  they  kept 
that  determhialion  to  themselves.  They  knew  that  large  numbers 
of  those  on  whose  aid  they  counted  were  acting  on  an  entirely 
opposite  belief.  They  knew  that  if  they  had  breathed  a  hint 
irom  which  their  real  intentions  could  have  been  gathered,  tlicir 
expected  victory  would  have  been  turned  into  a  shattering  defeat ; 
and  therefore  they  kept  their  counsel,  and  encouraged  the  profit- 
al>le  delusion  which  was  conveying  them  to  power*  They  kept 
it,  apparently,  even  from  their  coltcagues  in  opposition,  or  thosR 
colleague^s  would  hardly  have  plunged  so  deeply  into  pledges 
which  they  have  since  been  forced  to  shake  off.  They  certainly 
kept  it,  after  the  critical  division,  from  their  colleagues  in  office^ 
as  we  know  from  the  disclosures  of  the  three  seceding  Secretaries 
of  State, — not  only  during  the  remainder  of  the  Session  of  1866, 
but  during  the  whole  of  the  ensuing  recess  and  for  many  days 
after  Parliament  had  met  in  the  beginning  of  the  present  year- 
Indeed,  it  was  not  till  the  earlier  struggles  of  the  session  were 
over  and  majorities  had  been  obtainecl  by  apparent  restrictions 
upon  the  compound  householder^  that  the  project  of  Tory  demo- 
ci^acy,  which  had  been  so  long  and  so  sedulously  €K>ncealed,  wa» 
at  last  given  to  the  world. 

What  defence  is  it  possible  to  offer  for  tactics  of  this  kind  ? 
The  world  politely  speaks  of  the  *  reticence'  of  last  yean  To 
encourage  ytmr  friends  to  believe  that  your  intentions  are  eiactlj 
the  opposite  of  what  they  really  are — to  watch  them  acting  for 
you  in  that  belief  and  thereby  ruining  the  cause  they  cherish 
most,  and  yet  to  sustain  them  in  their  crn>r — is  not  *  reticence ' 
a  flimsy  euphemism  for  such  proceedings?  Lord  Derby  told  his 
audience  at  the  Mansion  House  that  he  was  indifferent  to  obloquy 

upon 


540  77W  Consertative  Surrender. 

upon  thit  subject ;  and  others  of  his  Ministry  have  used  iiinilar 
lantruage.      It  was  hardlj  necossary  to  tell  us  so.     If  he  vas 

indifTeront  to  the  moral  chi-iracter  of  the  coarse  he  was  takinjET, 
he  would  hanlly  trouble  himself  about  the  language  in  which  he 
would  be  described  bv  others.  But  that  audience  were  familiar 
with  reticence  of  this  kind  ;  and  some  of  them  occasionally  suffer 
from  its  effects.  We  have  heard  much  lately  of  a  case  in  which 
some  merchants  practi8e<l  upon  the  general  public  retieence  of 
this  peculiar  nature.  They  invited  the  public  to  become  share- 
holders in  a  concern,  which  they  represented  as  likely  to  be 
lucrative,  though  they  knew  it  to  be  insolvent;  they  did  not 
Mt/  it  was  solvent,  only  they  were  reticent  on  the  subject,  and 
allowed  their  silence  to  lead  others  into  risk  and  ruin.  But 
there  was  this  difference  betw€%n  them  and  the  politicians  who 
tubsequently  imitated  them — that  while  the  politicians  gained 
she  object  of  many  years'  ambition  by  the  delusion  into  which 
they  had  lun*d  their  allies,  the  merchants  lost  all  they  had. 
Lord  Cranworth,  delivering  judgment  in  the  House  of  Lords, 
reprobated  the  reticence  of  the  ruined  merchants  in  language 
stronger  than  we  care  to  reprint ;  in  what  terms  will  the  calm 
juflgment  of  ]X)sterity  estimate  the  manoeuvres  of  the  successful 
politicians?  If  they  wish  to  seek  for  an  historical  parallel,  they 
will  have  to  go  far  l)ack  in  our  annals.  They  will  find  none 
during  the  pericxi  for  which  parliamentary  government  has 
existed!.  Neither  the  recklessness  of  Charles  Fox,  nor  the  venality 
of  Henry  Fox,  nor  the  tynicism  of  Waljiole  will  furnish  them 
witli  a  <as<»  in  p)iiit.  Tliev  will  have  to  tro  bark  to  the  time 
when  tlio  last  Kcvohition  was  preparintr — to  the  clays  when  Sun- 
dcrlnnd  <lirert(»<l  tiie  louncils  and  aiicpteil  the  favours  of  James, 
wliilr  he  was  nejrotiatinjr  the  invasion  of  William. 

I^ut  it  is  sai<l  on  their  In^half  that  the  oft'enre  was  condoned 
because  the  partv  pu>hc<l  them  on.  The  assertion  has  nndoubte«lly 
bcM'n  rre(|uently  made.  It  was  a<lvan('e(l  with  especial  emphasis 
by  Mr.  l)isra<*li  in  his  speech  on  the  third  reading,  in  which  he 
represented  tlie  country  srentlenien  In'hind  liini  as  a  band  of  buoyant 
and  untanieable  RelornHMS  wlio  wen»  perpetually  dragginir  old- 
fashioned  Cons^TNatiNcs  like  himself  somewhat  faster  than  tliev 
cared  to  go.  The  desrri])tion  was  humorous:  but  it  w«is  purely 
an  elFort  of  imii^i nation.  There  was  no  general  expressi<»n  of 
opinion  on  the  part  of  the  Conservative  p€irty  in  favour  of  the 
bill.  Nothing  w.is  nu)re  remarkable  than  their  general  silence 
in  the  debates.  Xo  division,  indeed,  was  t.-iken  against  the  bill, 
because,  the  Lilx»ral  party  having  decided  to  support  it,  the 
Ministers  would  have  obtaineil  with  their  aid  an  overwhelming 
majority.     The  only  critical  division  that  was  taken  was  upon 

a  Liberal 


The  ContertxOive  Surrender. 


541 


a  Liberal  amendment  jjivolving  as  tlie  immediate  and  primary 
issue  tbe  question  of  the  personal  payment  of  rates.  It  was 
taken  during  tbe  period  when  the  restrictions  upon  the  corraptiund 
householder  were  believed  in  Conservative  circles  to  be  a  genuine 
security*  How  little  the  division  of  the  12th  of  April  can  be  taken 
as  evidence  of  Conservative  approval  of  the  bill  is  evident  from 
the  fact  that  such  men  as  General  Peel  and  Sir  R,  Knightley  and 
others  who  have  denounced  both  the  bill  and  the  Ministers  in 
the  strongest  terms,  may  be  found  in  the  Ministerial  majority  on 
that  occasion.  The  position  of  the  unofficial  members  of  the 
party  w^as  undoubtedly  very  much  changed  by  the  Ministerial 
surrender.  From  the  moment  that  a  household  stjfirage  was 
promised  from  the  Conservative  Treasury  Bench  it  became 
certain  that  a  Reform  Bill  and  a  strong  Reform  Bill  would  be 
passed.  The  hopes  of  deriving  any  advantage  from  further 
resistance  were  consequently  much  weakened  ;  while  the  danger 
of  quarrelling  with  the  new  constituency,  whose  advent  to  power 
wa«  assured,  grew  into  alarming  proportions.  Many  thought 
tbe  position  hopeless,  and  submitlt?d  in  silence  to  a  disaster 
which  seemed  inevitable.  But  tbeir  perplexity,  created  by  the 
Government  itself,  in  no  way  absolves  it  No  one  will  pretend 
that  the  Conservatives,  if  consulted  on  the  first  day  of  the  Session, 
would  have  advocated  household  suffrage.  An  attempt  wat 
made  by  the  agents  of  the  Government  to  obtain  some  such 
expression  of  opinion  from  a  meeting  at  the  Carlton  ;  but  It 
signally  failed.  No  resolution  could  be  carried ;  and  the  meet- 
ing broke  up  in  confusion.  Still  less  would  the  Conservative 
party,  or  any  considerable  fraction  of  it,  have  followed  Mr, 
Disraeli  in  June  last  year,  if  they  had  guessed,  what  he  has 
since  informed  them^  that  he  and  bis  nominal  chief  had  already 
resolved  upon  household  suffrage  as  their  policy.  And  ^at, 
after  all,  is  the  real  question,  w^hen  we  are  inquiring  how  far 
their  studied  an<l  successful  reticence  at  that  time  did  or  did  not 
Bin  against  tbe  laws  of  honour* 

But  personal  questions  are  among  the  least  of  those  which  are 
forced  upon  us  by  the  events  of  the  last  few  years.  The  states- 
men whose  conduct  we  have  been  discussing,  take  them  at  their 
worst,  are  but  the  effects  of  a  cause*  One  or  two  of  them  have 
shown  a  freedom  from  scruple  surpassing  all  former  example, 
others  have  shown  a  feebleness  of  conviction  which  it  is  difficult 
t*>  understantL  But  their  un scrupulousness  and  tbeir  facility 
alike  have  only  borne  testimony  to  the  working  of  some  strong 
external  cause,  by  which  the  one  has  been  attracted  and  the  other 
has  been  coercccl*     It  is  true,  as  the  Duke  of  Argyll  observed, 

that 


542  The  Conservative  Surrender. 

that  Lord  Derby,  in  his  determination  not  to  become  a  stop 
^ap,  has  bc^come  a  weathercock :  but  the  nimblest  weathercock 
does  not  turn  upon  its  pivot  unless  there  is  a  breeze  to  turn  it 
No  one  can  now  aflfect  to  doubt  that  there  is  a  democratic  power 
which,  either  relatively  or  absolutely,  is  a  most  potent  factor  among 
the  political  forces  of  our  time.  No  one  can  be  blind  to  the 
ease  with  which  it  has  swept  down  all  the  bulwarks,  political  or 
social,  which  were  trusted  to  obstruct  its  prog^ss.  A  few  bold 
specK^hes  upon  platforms,  a  day*s  holiday-making  among  the 
populations  of  a  few  large  towns,  has  sufficed  to  bring  every 
opposing  power  to  its  feet  The  party  whose  proclaimed 
mission  it  was  to  restrain  it,  the  class  whose  power  it  aims  to 
strike  down,  and  whose  resistance  in  other  days  was  manful 
and  tenacious,  have  been  the  foremost  to  bring  in  their  sub- 
mission, and  eager  to  sue  for  its  favour  by  the  most  mireserved 
concessions.  Whatever  the  cause  of  this  pitiable  humiliation, 
whether  the  democratic  force  is  in  itself  really  stronger,  or 
whether  its  pn^sent  power  merely  proves  that  the  classes  which 
should  have  restrained  it  have  lost  heart  and  nerve,  the  triumph 
of  the  present  year,  won  so  easily  after  so  many  brave  announce- 
ments of  resistance,  must  equally  suggest  disquieting  forebodings 
of  the  future  that  lies  before  us.  They  are  a  presage  of  assaults, 
probably  of  victories,  compared  to  which  that  which  has  been 
achieved  this  year  will  be  looked  u}K)n  by  posterity  as  trivial. 
A  transfer  of  power  which  last  year  was  generally  denounced  as 
rovolutionar}',  has  this  year  been  passed — .is  far  as  the  principle 
went — hurrirdly  and  with  little  dcb.ite.  Such  a  sadden  chaii^ 
iiuiiiot  be  attributed  to  calm  conviction.  The  inference  must  be 
eith(»r  tliat  the  system  of  parliam(»ntarv  party  as  a  machinery  for 
rej)res(»ntinj::  opinions  widely  prevalent,  has  failed  to  act,  or  that  the 
classes  in  this  country,  whose  interest  is  opposed  to  democracy, 
have  no  heart  to  iij^ht.  In  either  case  we  may  be  certain  that 
tliese  facts,  newly  ascertained  by  the  world,  will  go  a  good  deal 
further  in  their  efTect  than  the  Act  which  has  just  been  placed 
upon  the  Statute  Book. 

When  the  troops  run  away  at  the  first  charge,  it  is  of  course 
(lifTicult  to  decide  wh(»ther  they  have  lost  because  they  could  not 
win,  or  because  they  dared  not  try  to  win.  But,  for  practical 
purposes,  the  world  generally  assumes  that  when  an  army  does 
not  discover  its  hopeless  inferiority  of  strength  until  the  jx>wdcr 
begins  to  burn,  its  ncTves  are  more  to  blame  for  the  result  than 
its  numbers.  A  school,  however,  has  arisen  in  recent  days 
which  formally  denies  that  the  bloodless  conflicts  of  tlie  political 
world  liavc  any  analogy,  either  in  th(»  feelins^s  of  honour  that 
should   animate  them,  or  the  rules  by   which  they    should    be 

judged, 


The  ConservcUive  Surrender. 


543 


jutlg^ed,  with  the  conflicts  of  the  field.  According  to  their 
teac'Iiingj  nothings  oiin^ht  ever  to  be  fought  out»  It  is  leg-itimate 
to  show  a  bold  front,  and  use  brave  lang-uage,  and  protlaiin 
strongs  opimons  in  precise  words  :  but  it  is  equally  legitimate^ 
ur  rather  it  is  a  sacred  duty,  the  moment  that  a  determined 
resistance  shows  itself,  practically  to  give  those  words  the  lie. 
It  is  hot-headed  J  it  is  dangerous^  it  is  Quixotic,  to  terminate  a 
Ministry,  or  imperil  a  jmrty's  prospects,  or  risk  a  single  jolt 
in  the  progress  of  the  administrative  machine,  in  order  to  uphold 
deep  convictions  and  to  be  true  to  a  cherished  cause.  The 
desperate  resistance  which  our  fathers  made  to  the  last  Reform 
Bill  is  blamed,  not  so  much  because  their  views  were  mistaken, 
as  because  it  was  madness  to  defend  those  views  against  so 
formidable  au  assaults  It  is  saidj — and  men  seem  to  think  that 
condemnation  can  go  no  further  than  such  a  censure — that  they 
brought  us  within  twenty-four  hours  of  revolution.  Their 
successors  boast  that  their  prudence  will  never  go  so  near  to  the 
heels  of  danger.  No  one  will  suspect  them  of  it  But  is  it  in 
truth  si>  great  an  evil,  when  the  dearest  interests  and  the  most 
sincere  convictions  are  at  stake,  to  go  within  twenty-four 
hours  of  revolution  ?  Did  the  great  classes  w  hose  battle  had 
been  so  fierce^  respect  each  other  less  when  it  was  once  lost  and 
won  ?  Did  Sir  Robert  Peel,  who  fought  it  to  the  end,  lose  by 
his  tenacity  in  the  estimation  of  his  countrymen  ?  Did  the 
cause  he  represented  suffer  through  his  temerity?  He  was 
indeed  beaten  down  in  1832,  vainly  struggling  for  a  hopeless 
cause*  But  before  six  years  had  passed  he  was  at  the  head  of 
half  the  House  of  Commons ;  and  before  ten  years  had  gone  by 
he  led  the  most  powerful  Ministry  our  centuiy  has  seen. 

We  live  in  other  days.     It  may  be  doubtful  how  far  the  more 
modern  plan  of  yielding   every  political    citadel    on    the   first 
summons,  in  order  to  avert  the  possibility  of  disturbance,  really 
springs  frtim  the  peace-loving  sentiments  on  which  it  is  some- 
times justified.     There  can  be  little  doubt  that  it  tends  to  screen 
timidity  or  foster  self-seeking  in  politicians  according  to  their 
temperament ;  and  that  they  are  beginning  to  look  i>n  principles 
which  may  be  upheld  with  so  little  danger,  and  abundonr'd  with 
so  little  shame,  as  men?  counters  in  the  game  whitrJi  lli«« 
playing.    But  there  can  be  no  question  tJiat  this  view  of  pi 
duty  is  widely  held  among  the  classes  who  have  always  i 
this  country,  and  who  until  the  next  election  will  co 
govern  it*      They  value  our  institutions,   they  diiliki 
change,  they  object  to  a  large  transfer  of  power.     But  « 
well  established  that  whatever  tbese  objections  may  b©, 
«uch  as  a  very  moderate  display  of  physical  force  is  q 


•'aM^^lg^ 


544  ThB  Comervative  Surrender. 

cient  to  remove.  This  spirit  is  so  diflerent  from  that  which  the 
^vemin^  classes  of  this  coantry  have  shown  during  the  long 
period  of  its  history,  that  it  is  not  easy  to  estimate  the  full  con- 
sequences of  the  change.  But  it  must  inevitably  afiect  largely 
not  only  the  working  of  the  ordinary  machinery  of  parliamcntaiy 
government,  but  the  existence  of  our  institutions  themselves. 

We  have  been  for  so  many  generations  accustomed  to  govern- 
ment by  party  majorities  that  we  have  teamed  to  look  upon  it 
as  the  most  natural  contrivance  in  the  world.  We  admire  it : 
and  our  admiration  is  justified  hitherto  by  its  practical  snccess. 
But  any  one  who  attempts  to  analyse  it  theoretically  will  not 
be  surprised  that  foreigners,  who  can  only  see  it  on  that  side, 
should  be  unable  to  share  our  enthusiasm.  As  it  now  exists,  it 
differs  utterly  from  any  other  system  existing  in  the  world  ;  and 
even  from  its  own  self  as  it  first  sprang  into  existence  shortly 
after  the  Revolution.  Its  original  object  was  to  organise  the 
opinion  of  the  House  of  Commons,  in  order  to  enable  that  opinion 
to  work  sm(M>thIy  with  the  enfeebled  but  still  considerable 
power  of  the  Crown.  It  still  serves  that  end  in  a  limited  degree. 
rhe  greater  part  of  the  power  still  practically  retained  by  the 
Cn)wn  depends  upon  the  influence  it  can  exercise  on  individual 
statesmen,  and  through  them  on  the  dominant  party  of  the  day. 
But  the  centre  of  power  has  shifted :  and  politicians  have  long 
looked  for  their  advancement  not  to  the  Crown  but  to  the  con- 
stituencies.  From  the  outbreak  of  the  French  Revolution 
Ministries  have  depended  more  and  more  for  their  existence 
upon  the  policy  th(^y  pursued  and  the  h^gislation  they  recom- 
mended. Simultan(H)usly  the  mutual  relations  of  statesmen  form- 
ing a  Ministry  have  b(»come  more  strictly  defined  ;  and  a  curious 
theory  oi*  constitutional  resj>onsihility  on  their  part  has  been 
evolved,  at  which  the  world  would  have  laughed  very  much  if 
Swil't  hail  put  it  into  his  '  Laputa,'  but  which  is  enforcwl  with 
perfect  *j:ravity,  and  no  little  acrimony,  by  }K>liticians  against 
each  other.  TIk^  theory  is  that  every  a<  t  of  any  member  of  the 
Government  is  the  act  of  the  Government  as  a  whole  ;  and  that 
as  a  whole  thcv  ar(»  jointly  and  severally  responsible  for  it.  Of 
course,  if  responsibility  meant  anvthin^  serious — if  members  of 
the  (fovernment  were  held  mutually  responsible  in  their  fortunes, 
like  partners  in  trade — the  theory  would  not  live  for  a  session. 
It  i^j^nores  the  fact  that  each  member  of  the  Government  is  fully 
occupied  and  has  no  time  to  look  into  the  conduct  of  his  col- 
leagues ;  and  that  moreover  each  member  of  the  Government, 
except  ujK)n  the  largest  (puvstions,  acts  in  perfect  independence  of 
his  colleagues.  Still  more  it  ignores  the  fact  that  fifteen  men 
wholly  of  one  mind  are  not  to  be  found  upon  earth  in  these  evil 

days, 


Tim  Cmservatim  Surrender* 


5i& 


days,  and  that  for  the  conduct  of  public  business  it  is  as  neceft- 
sary  to  acknowIetl|^e  the  sway  of  a  majority  in  Cabinets  as  in 
Leg'islatares,  On  the  one  hand,  it  woukl  be  intolerable  that 
Lord  StanleVj  while  engaged  in  reconciling  France  and  Prussia, 
should  be  held,  in  any  practical  sense,  to  be  responsible  for  the 
answers  the  Duke  of  "Marlborough  might  be  giving  to  a  country 
clergyman  ;  on  the  other  hand,  no  reasonable  man  could  lie  ex- 
pected to  believe  that  two  men  like  Lord  Palmerston  and  Mn 
Gladstone  were  cordially  agreed  upon  e%ery  decision  to  which 
the  Cabinet  had  arrived.  No  well-informed  person  actually 
believes  in  these  assumptions.  It  is  well  known  that  the  mural 
responsibility  of  a  Minister  for  acts  of  administration  ends  with 
the  department  he  actually  conductjs  \  and  that  his  silent  adhesion 
to  a  proposal  made  by  his  colleagues  in  Parliament  need  mean 
no  more  tlian  that  he  does  not  consider  his  objection  sufficiently 
important  to  justify  hira  in  breaking  up  a  Government.  But  for 
every  parliamentary  purpose,  the  responsibility  is  insisted  on  as 
if  it  represented  an  actual  fact.  Not  only  at  that  time,  but  at  any 
future  time^  the  Minister  is  held  to  be  estopped  from  cnticising 
the  action  of  his  colleagues,  however  much  he  may  have  dis- 
approved of  it  at  tlie  time :  nor  can  he  in  debate  repudiate  any 
censure  that  may  be  passed  upon  him  as  one  of  the  authors  of  tlie 
obnoxious  measure.  If  he  be  a  man  who  values  the  ejcpresied 
opinion  of  others,  this  responsibility  for  the  acts  of  otliers  in 
which  he  took  no  part^  and  which  he  heartily  condemns,  may  be 
ft  heavy  burden  upon  him  :  for  he  is  absolutely  preclud**d  from 
publicly  revealing  his  freed  obi  from  any  real  share  in  the  error 
committed.  It  is  strange  that  in  a  day  when  so  little  mercy  ii 
shown  to  Actions  or  anomalies  of  any  kind,  however  venerable 
their  origin,  this  one  of  modem  creation  should  have  shown  so 
much  vitality  ;  but  in  proportion  as  all  others  are  crumbling 
away^  the  House  of  Commons  clings  to  it  with  a  more  and  more 
tenat'ioiis  aflection, 

l^o  men  without  distinct  opinions,  and  mainly  careful  about 
the  material  advantages  and  social  promotion  conferred  by  oflice, 
such  an  arrangement  must  be  eminently  satisfactor}*  It  is  a 
kind  of  insurance  against  individual  blunders.  Like  the  ro|>e  in 
Alpine  climbingj  it  forces  the  colleagues  who  have  not  slipped  to 
pick  up  the  one  who  has:  and  as  it  is  unlikely  that  the  sliji  of 
any  one  should  pull  the  whole  body  down,  or  that  many  of  them 
should  slip  at  the  same  moment,  it  practically  prevents  the 
Government  being  injured  by  administrative  mishaps,  unJctl 
they  are  of  the  most  momentous  kind.  But  the  arrangement  bat 
for  numben  of  years  been  cheerfully  accepted,  not  only  by  the 
limpets  of  place^  but  by  high-minded  and   independent  mrn. 

The 


546  l%e  Conservative  Surrender. 

The  explanation  of  their  submission  is  to  be  found  in  the  objects 
for  which  party  exists.  The  consideration  that  has  reconciled 
them  to  accepting  so  largely  the  responsibility  for  other  men*s 
acts  and  thoughts,  has  been  that  the  g^at  cause,  in  the  support 
of  which  their  party  was  banded  together,  could  not  be  success- 
fully defended  without  such  sacrifices.  But  for  such  a  motive 
the  compliances  of  office  and  the  unquestioning  obedience  exacted 
by  party  discipline  would  be  alike  without  justification*  It  is 
the  great  end  on  which  all  are  in  common  bent,  which  con- 
tributes all  that  is  noble  or  even  innocent  to  party  warfare.  TTic 
tactics  of  parliamentary  parties  are  often  hardly  to  be  distin- 
guished from  faction :  the  agencies  by  which  they  operate  upon 
the  wavering  or  the  wayward  are  far  from  exalted :  the  tempta- 
tion to  purchase  allies  by  concessions  of  principle  is  enormous. 
The  one  ennobling  element,  the  palliation,  if  not  the  atonement, 
for  all  shortcomings,  is  that  all  the  members  of  a  party  are 
enlisted  in  common  to  serve  one  great  unselfish  cause,  and  that 
it  is  in  that  scr\'ice  that  their  zeal,  even  when  least  scrupulous,  is 
working.  Take  this  great  end  away,  and  parties  become  nothing 
but  joint-stock  companies  for  the  attainment  and  preservation  of 
place. 

it  is  clear  that  the  system  of  party  will  become  beneficial  or 
noxious  according  as  it  approximates  to  one  or  the  other  standard. 
As  an  instrument  for  giving  expression  to  great  principles,  and 
insuring  for  them  a  full  hearing,  it  has  been  of  singular  value. 
Moralists,  reasoning  on  abstract  grounds,  may  demur  to  a  plan 
which  to  so  large  an  extent  utilises  the  meaner  principles  of 
human  nature  for  good  ends.  But  no  one  who  looks  at  the  course 
of  English  history  for  the  last  fifty  years  can  doubt  that  a  system 
which  makes  it  the  interest  of  politicians  to  mass  themselves  in  one 
or  other  of  the  two  great  camps  into  which  human  thought  is 
divided,  and,  so  opposed,  to  compete  with  each  other  for  the 
nation's  good  will,  has  been  marvellously  efficient  in  securing 
cautious  and  regulated  progress.  But  its  whole  utility  depends 
upon  tlie  elements  which  distinguish  it  from  a  mere  tout  of 
place-hunters.  The  vigilance  of  interested  opposition  is  ill  pur- 
chased by  the  necessity  of  entrusting  the  destinies  of  the  empire 
to  men  who  rule  in  the  spirit  of  adventurers.  To  which  of 
the  two  standards  does  the  conduct  of  the  present  Government 
approach  ? 

Up  to  this  time  party  leaders  have  observed  with  substantial 
fidelity  the  conditions  under  which  alone  parliamentary  parties 
can  be  prevented  from  becoming  instruments  of  organised  cor- 
ruption. Hitherto  they  have  always  borne  a  banner;  they  have 
been  the  votaries  of  a  special  principle.     If  their  principle  has 

been 


Tfw  Conservative  Surrender, 


been  in  favour  with  the  nation,  tkey  Lave  held  office:  if  the 

fashion  of  the  time  has  been  against  them,  they  have  remained 
in  opposition.  Some  leaders  have  occasionally  strained  the 
ru!e»  We  have  often  expressed  the  opinion  that  Sir  Robert  Peel, 
when  he  had  become  convinced  that  Free  Trade  was  a  necessity, 
acted  wrongly  in  himself  undertakings  its  introduction j  instead  of 
leaving  the  task  to  those  ivho  were  less  pletlged  against  it  But 
he  protected  himself  from  all  imputation  of  selfish  motives  by 
taking  the  earliest  opportunity  of  resigning.  Lord  Palmerston, 
again,  was  far  too  fond  of  combining  a  Conservative  inaction 
with  a  great  warmth  of  Liberal  ]irofessions.  But  it  has  been 
reserved  for  Lord  Derby  and  Mr,  Disraeli  to  break  formally  with 
the  traditions  of  the  past,  and  openly  to  accept  the  more  ignoble 
view  of  party  obligation.  In  this  matter  we  have  no  mere  infer- 
ences to  deal  with.  Lord  Derby,  with  perfect  candour  and  with 
characteristic  clearness  of  language,  has  recently  described  bis 
own  motives,  and  his  own  mode  of  proceeding  :— 

^  My  Lords,  I  have  npon  fonnar  occasionB,  unfortunately,  occupied 
the  position  of  a  Minister  on  sufferance.  I  have  upon  two  previoiia 
occasions  attempted  to  cany  on  the  Government  with  a  minority  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  upon  both  occasions  I  have  failed.  It 
was,  therefore,  a  very  hardj  and,  I  will  say,  a  very  sincere  triumph  of 
duty  and  public  over  private  confiiderations,  when  I  felt  myself  for  a 
thii'd  time  cjilloti  upon,  under  peculiar  circumstances^  to  tako  the 
important  and  responsible  duty  of  First  IHinister  of  the  Crawn,  I  did 
not  do  so  without  feeling  ftdly  the  responsibility  of  the  duties  which 
devolved  upon  me,  and  the  whole  burden  wLich  I  had  to  undertake.  I 
did  not  intend  for  a  third  time  to  he  made  a  mi^re  stop-gap  tintil  it 
ahonld  suit  the  convenience  of  the  Liberal  party  to  forget  their  dissen- 
Bions,  and  bring  fonvai^d  a  measure  which  should  oust  us  frym  office 
and  replace  them  there ;  and  I  (Mermined  that  I  usmid  take  mteh  a 
courue  as  wotdd  convert,  if  posg^^  an  existing  majorittf  into  a  practiced 
ininer%/ — XiObd  Dekbt'8  8p6e^  cm  Second  Meading  afMeform  Bill, 

Not  a  word  about  the  cause  of  which  he  was  the  champion,  or 
the  principles  which  his  party  existed  to  defend.  Not  a  word 
about  his  pledges  and  professions,  or  the  tactics  by  which  hii 
lieutenants  had  ousted  Mr,  Gladstone  fmm  office.  When  sum- 
moned to  power  his  ambition  was  not  to  struggle  for  the  Con- 
servative principles  which  be  bad  up  to  that  moment  advocated, 
or  fall  in  the  attempt  He  did  not  welcome  the  opportunity  of 
showing  the  sincerity  of  his  Opposition  professions  by  his 
practice  when  in  office*  The  simple  stantlard  he  proposed  to 
himself  to  reach  was  to  bring  ftrrward  such  a  measure  as  wonld 
save  himself  from  being  *  ousted  from  office,'  and  would  convert 
tlie  majority  of  his  opponents  into  a  minority  ;  and,  as  be  subse- 
quently 


548  I%e  Cmuervative  Swrrembt. 

qucntlj  informed  the  Home  of  Lords,  he  was  well  aware  that 
that  measure  was  *  a  leap  in  the  dark.' 

Lord  Derby  does  not  pay  the  homage  of  hypocrisy  to  the 
virtues  he  is  renouncing,  and  the  very  frankness  of  his  avowal 
shows  that  he  knew  that  his  doctrines  were  shared  by  his  col- 
leagues, and  by  a  considerable  portion  of  his  supporters.  It  ii 
quite  clear  that  if  they  find  any  general  acceptance,  they  must 
transform  the  whole  nature  of  parliamentary  government.  The 
great  common  end,  the  cnnobhng  cause  is  gone.  If  it  is  still 
professed,  it  no  longer  exists  in  the  first  place.  To  pleaae  major- 
ities, to  prevent  his  opponents  from  uniting,  to  avert  ousting 
divisions,  is  avowed  to  be  the  leader's  highest  aim,  his  first 
thought  on  taking  office.  It  may  of  course  be  that  these  great 
objects  are  compatible  with  adhesion  to  the  principles  professed 
in  opposition.  But  in  the  case  of  a  leader  taking  office  with  an 
avowed  minority,  the  probabilities  are  strongly  the  other  way. 
If  the  two  come  in  conflict,  which  master  will  he  serve  ?  Will 
he  adhere  to  the  principles,  and  disregard  the  ^  ousting '  majority, 
or  will  he  bend  to  the  majority  and  renounce  the  principles? 
The  events  of  this  session  furnish  a  melancholy  proof  that  Lord 
Derby  had  fully  counted  the  cost,  and  had  made  up  his  mind, 
whatever  the  price  might  be,  not  to  be  ousted  a  third  time. 

If  he  had  avowed  this  plan  at  the  close  of  the  session  of  1866, 
instead  of  last  July,  we  should  have  confidently  predicted  that  it 
must  break  down  for  want  of  instruments.  We  should  have  said 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  sufficient  number  of  com- 
petent statesmen  inclined  for  such  a  service.  But  after  the 
present  yearns  experience  we  must  not  count  too  confidently  on 
this  security.  VVe  must  face  it  as  one  of  the  probabilities  of 
the  future,  that  one  at  least  of  our  p^reat  parties  will  work,  at  all 
events  for  some  time,  upon  Lord  Derby's  principle.  They  may 
for  convenience  sake  retain  old  names,  but  they  will  carry  no 
banner,  and  will  be  attached  to  no  special  cause.  The  necessity 
will  still  \ye  on  them  of  conciliating  the  majority,  and  ofavoidino^ 
the  supreme  calamity  of  being  ousted  by  their  opponents.  Having 
abandoned  so  much  for  this  object,  they  will  not  shrink  from 
the  further  sacrifices  it  may  require.  If  the  House  of  Commons 
should  turn  out  for  the  time  to  be  Gmservative  they  will  be  very 
brave  defenders  of  our  ancient  institutions.  If,  as  is  more  pro- 
bable, the  House  of  Gimmons  calls  for  somewhat  drastic  legis- 
lation upon  Ireland  or  upon  the  Established  Church,  they  will  see 
the  necessity  of  *removin<i^  all  cause  for  agitation,'  and  'settling 
the  (juestion  upon  a  permanent  principle;*  and  will  concede 
all  that  the  most  extreme  of  their  opponents  is  demanding. 
As  the  wind  blows,  so  will  they  point     Any  minister  who  takes 

it 


The  C&mervaHm  Surrmder, 

it  as  hiB  firat  principle  that  lie  will  not  be  *  ouEted,'  i«nounces 
all  pretension  to  independence*  He  becomes  the  ilave  of  the 
majority  of  the  House  of  Commons.  He  is  a  leader  in  no  other 
sense  but  that  In  which  the  first  horse  in  a  team  U  calleti  a 
leader:  he  is  the  first  to  be  driven*  He  will  probably  be  paid 
in  the  coin  which  he  has  selected  for  his  guerdon.  The  House 
of  Commons,  like  all  popular  bodies,  is  avaricious  of  power; 
and  Sit  long  as  he  does  its  bidding  without  shrinking,  his  mino* 
Tity  will  bL'  converted  into  a  majority,  and  he  will  not  be  ousted 
by  the  re^united  Liberals, 

This  will  of  course,  except  in  the  name*  be  no  longer  party 
government  Whether  it  can  be  worked  for  any  length  of  time 
by  statesmen  of  the  existing  stamp  remains  to  be  seen*  It  is 
jKJSsiblej  we  hope  it  is  not  probable,  that  the  classes  who  have 
hitherto  furnished  the  mass  of  our  statesmen,  will  accept  this 
new  definition  of  the  word*  They  may  look  upon  it  as  an 
honourable  function  to  act  as  the  mere  index  of  popular  ]>rcs- 
sure,  as  a  piece  of  mechanism  for  recording  in  the  form  of  statutes 
the  ideaa  and  convictions  which  others  impose  upon  them.  They 
may  not  shrink  from  com  bluing  with  such  an  oflice  the  external 
demeanour  of  indejiendence,  the  profession  of  real  opinions,  and 
a  pretension  to  individual  consistency.  This  may  be  the  course 
of  events;  for  the  feeble  and  halting  policy  which  the  classes 
who  now  govern  have  pursued  f4>r  some  years  past^  may  well 
suggest  a  doubt  whether  the  indifference  to  principle  which  has 
infected  our  statesmen  so  remarkably,  haa  not  eaten  deep  into 
the  stratum  of  society  from  which  they  ct>me.  We  cherish  the 
hope,  however,  that  they  will  choose  a  course  which  better  be- 
comes the  character  they  have  inherited.  If  the  social  battle  is 
for  the  future  to  be  fought  by  mercenary  troops,  it  is  probable 
that  the  more  independent  classes  will  retire  to  a  great  extent 
from  the  service  ;  and  that  a  very  different  description  of  men 
from  those  who  have  hitherto  been  prominent  will  come  to  the 
front  In  the  lower  ranks  of  the  party  organisation  a  similar 
change  must  follow.  The  army  of  professional  electioneerers 
will  not  diminish.  The  example  of  America  assures  us  that 
these  industrious  labourers  grow  both  in  numbers  and  in  power 
in  proportion  as  parties  become  more  mobile  in  their  principles, 
and  mf>re  interested  in  their  aims.  But  these  have  hitherto  not 
formed  the  main  strength  of  English  parties.  The  enormous  pat- 
ronage, which  in  America  constitutes  the  chief  apparatus  of  their 
handicraft,  is  almost  wholly  wanting  here.  Parties  have  mainly 
been  worked  by  volunteers  ;  and  it  is  obvious  that  volunteers  will 
receive  a  severe  discouragement  under  the  new  principles.  They 
cannot  be  expected  to  feel  as  lively  an  interest  as  Lord  Derby 

does 


550  The  Conservative  Surrender. 

does  in  the  question  whether  he  is  *  ousted '  or  not  The  intrigues 
of  politicians,  the  succession  of  office-holders,  the  vicissitudes  of 
individual  careers,  have  had  for  them  but  little  interest  beyond 
what  by-standers  may  feel  in  a  game  which  they  are  watching. 
They,  and  their  fathers  before  them,  have  loved  their  party  and 
worked  for   it,  not   for  the  fame  or  power  it   might  bring  to 

E articular  men,  but  for  the  cause  which  it  has  represented.  They 
avc  valued  it  for  its  pledges,  guaranteed  to  diem  by  its  past 
performance — for  the  institutions  it  has  upheld,  or  the  legisla- 
tion  it  has  promised.  In  the  long  run,  when  the  effect  of  long 
habit  has  worn  off,  their  attachment  to  it  must  depend  on  its 
fidelity  to  some  principles  which  command  their  allegiance,  if 
it  should  become,  as  it  now  seems  in  danger  of  becoming,  merely 
a  banner  round  which  adventurers,  greedy  for  political  loot,  can 
rally,  it  will  no  longer  be  served  by  the  invaluable  because  un- 
selfish zeal  of  those  who  have  no  loot  to  gain. 

These  changes  in  the  character  of  the  men  by  whom  the 
party  system  is  worked,  evil  in  themselves,  will  be  specially  mis- 
chievous in  their  tendency  to  suspend  the  mediating  influence 
which  party  government  has  hitherto  exercised  in  the  working 
of  the  constitution.  The  House  of  Commons  was  certainly  never 
made,  by  those  who 'devised  it,  to  do  the  work  of  an  executive. 
Its  size,  its  instability,  its  swift  obedience  to  every  changing 
breath  of  opinion  that  sweeps  over  the  popular  mind,  its  lack 
of  any  special  provision  to  secure  within  its  body  the  presence 
of  trained  administrative  talent,  all  unfit  it  for  such  a  function. 
It  has  b(»en  the  great  danjjfer  of  our  constitution,  visible  so  far 
back  as  a  (*(»ntury  ago  to  the  keen  eye  of  Montesquieu,  that  the 
course  of  events  was  tending  to  place  the  House  of  Commons 
in  this  position.  Generation  bv  generation  it  has  been  growing 
in  strength,  while  all  around  it  has  been  losing  ground.  By 
dint  olten  of  straining  its  prerogatives  far  beyond  their  first  inten- 
tion, but  still  persistently  and  successfully,  it  has  acquired  a  com- 
plete control  over  every  portion  of  the  executive.  In  every 
matter  within  the  competence  of  the  Crown,  the  *  humble' 
addresses  of  the  House  of  Commons  have  all  but  the  force  of 
law.  And  it  is  no  slij^^ht  aggravation  of  the  danger  of  this  usurped 
prerogative  that  these  addresses  are  not,  like  bills,  subjecteti  to 
repeated  reconsideration,  but  are  introduced,  discussed,  and 
finally  passed  in  a  single  sitting.  Up  to  this  time,  however,  no 
serious  mischief  has  ensued,  l>ecause  one  important  check  has 
remained.  The  one  thing  that  has  hitherto  controlled  the  capri- 
cious omnip)tence  of  the  House,  has  been  the  organisation  of 
parliamentary  parties,  and  the  independence  of  party  chiefs.  It 
has  been  well  understood  that  a  parliamentary  leader  would  not 

endure 


Tim  Conservaihe  Surrend&TM 


551 


endure  to  be  overruled  on  any  important  point  of  policy;  and 
that  he  could  not  concede  this  claim  without  a  loss  of  personal 
honour.  The  House,  therefore,  has  always  been  compelhMl  to 
act  with  caution,  under  pain  of  bringing  the  whole  machine  of 
Government  to  an  immediate  dead-lock.  The  majority  has  been 
forced  into  fidelity  to  its  leaders^  under  penalty  of  losing  its  own 
political  supremacy. 

But,  upon  Lord  Derby's  new  principles,  this  check  is  at  an 
end.  Tbc  independence  of  the  Minister,  his  refusal  to  accept 
a  iM>licy  from  others,  is  essential  to  its  existence.  As  long  as 
his  cbief  object  is  to  uphold  his  avowed  principles,  the  House 
of  Commons  must  choose  between  an  acceptance  of  his  policy 
or  a  change  of  ministry.  But  when  the  MinisttVs  chief  object 
is  that  he  shall  not  be  *  ousted,*  and  his  measures  are  fiamed 
mainly  to  secure  a  majority,  the  House  of  Commons  ceases  to 
be  under  any  check  at  all.  Ministerial  rcsig'nations  in  conse- 
quence  of  parliamentary  defeats  will  have  become  an  antiquated 
snj>erstition.  The  Minister  will  be  there  simply  to  do  its  bidding^. 
He  will  no  more  think  of  resigning:  because  that  bidding  is  not 
agreeable  to  him  than  if  he  were  the  Sergeant-at-Arms  or  the 
door-keeper.  The  lajst  check  to  the  executive  supremacy  of  the 
House  of  Commons  will  l>e  removed.  Such  a  result  w^ould  be 
formidable  enough  with  a  House  of  Commons  practised  in  iti 
duties,  and  chosen  from  classes  who  are  used  to  the  responsibili- 
ties of  power.  It  is  no  trivial  addition  to  the  dangers  of  our 
{iresent  situation  that  it  is  to  a  Parliament  thus  disorganised  and 
eaderless  that  the  representatives  of  the  vast  masses  of  new 
electors  are  tii  be  introduced. 

How  badly  such  a  system  works  may  be  learned  from  the 
experience  of  the  session  which  has  just  expired*  The  Ministry 
have  acted  conscientiously  up  to  Lord  Derby's  teaching*  They 
have  laid  it  down  as  a  vital  principle,  from  which  they  would 
suffer  no  departure,  that  they  should  not  be  ejected  from  oflfice. 
But  on  every  other  point  they  have  been  Willi  ngj  and  something 
more  than  willing,  to  defer  to  the  Flouse  of  Commons,  What- 
ever the  majority  of  the  House  desired  to  do,  they  were  willing  to 
accept.  The  consequences  of  this  abdication  of  leadership  we  have 
seen,  and  its  effects  the  nation  will  feel  for  a  long  time.  It  showed 
itself  in  many  minor  matters  ;  such  as  the  strange  vacillation  of  the 
Government  upon  the  question  of  Hyde  Park,  and  upon  the  punish- 
ment of  the  Fenian  convicts.  But  the  Reform  Bill  was  the  capital 
instance.  A  session  in  which  all  parties  l>cgan  with  the  intention 
of  passing  a  moderate  Reform  Bill,  has  ended  in  the  adoption 
of  Fiousehold  suffrage.  So  unforeseen  were  all  die  changes  it 
underwent,  so  entirely  independent  did  its  progress  become  of 
Vol  121— itfa.  246.  2  o  the 


55S  J%$  Comervaiive  Surrender. 

the  politicians  who  impelled  it,  that  the  form  in  which  it 
emerged  from  Committee  was  diametrically  opposed  to  the 
descriptions  given  of  it,  and  the  pledges  contracted  in  regard  to 
it  bj  at  least  three  of  the  Cabinet  Ministers  who  defended  it  in 
its  earliest  stages.  A  measure  of  mild  change,  strictly  gfuarded, 
was  put  in  at  one  end  of  the  hopper^  and  after  a  due  lapse  of 
time,  a  revolution  came  out  at  the  other  end.  The  agency  of  no 
one  man  or  set  of  men  was  apparently  responsible  for  this  result. 
The  action  of  a  popular  assembly  emancipated  from  its  leaden^ 
is  not  the  result  of  any  distinct  volition.  It  represents  no  plan 
or  idea.  It  moves  along,  by  inscrutable  laws  of  its  own,  now 
obeying  an  impulse  from  without,  now  expressing  the  resultant 
of  the  conflicting  forces  within  it,  in  consequences  which  surprise 
and  perplex  all  the  disputants  alike.  Its  movements  are  as  irn* 
pulsive  and  irresponsible  as  those  of  a  crowd.  To  call  it  ruh 
or  reckless,  would  be  to  attribute  to  it  an  informing  spirit  and 
a  capacity  of  perception  which  it  does  not  possess.  jBut  because 
careful  and  moderate  legislation  is  often,  of  necessity,  compli- 
cated, and  must  always  depend  on  a  multitude  of  detailed  and 
balanced  considerations,  the  legislation  of  a  lead^Iess  assembly 
will  generally  be  violent  '  Extreme  measures  are  simple,  easily 
stated  and  understood.  Their  lack  of  restrictions  and  reservations 
saves  time  and  spares  thought ;  and,  therefore,  they  offer  an  over* 
whelming  recommendation  to  a  body  of  men  with  whom  leisure 
and  mental  power  are  equally  limited.  For  making  startling 
changes  in  a  fearless  manner,  there  is  nothing  to  compare  with 
an  assembly  which  follows  and  trusts  no  leader.  But  history 
must  be  rewritten  if  we  are  to  believe  that  such  a  body  can 
conduct  for  any  length  of  time  the  ordinary  government  of  an 
ext(»nsive  empire. 

We  do  not  think  so  meanly  of  our  countrymen  as  to  believe 
that  a  House  of  Commons,  working  on  the  system  that  has  pre- 
vailed this  year,  would  long  enjoy  their  confidence  or  be  per- 
mitted to  exercise  supreme  power  on  their  behalf.  If  the  new 
doctrines  are  to  prevail,  and  Ministries  are  to  be  formed  on  the 
mere  principle  of  not  being*  '  ousted,'  we  do  not  doubt  that  far 
more  extensive  changes  are  at  hand.  The  House  of  Commons 
will  decline  in  authority,  and  supreme  political  power  will  find 
some  new  depositary.  But  we  dwell  on  the  matter  rather  for 
tlie  purpose  of  calling  the  attention  of  the  classes  in  this  country 
who  dread  violent  change  to  the  position  in  which  the  recent 
course  of  events  has  placed  them.  Most  of  them  have  been 
accustomed  to  take  politics  very  easily.  They  have!  pursued 
their  business  and  made  their  money,  and  enjoyed  their  success 
without  much  solicitude  as  to  the  future  of  the  system  under 

'which 


Tim  Conservative  Surrender.  ftW 

which  they  have  ptxjspered.  They  know  that  ii<i  serious  change 
has  happenetl  in  their  time,  or  thetr  father's  timOj  or  tor  many 
generations  belore  that;  and  they  have  an  abiding^  faith  that, 
whatever  Parliament  may  resolve,  business  will  go  on  much  as  it 
did  beforej  and  that  those  institutions  of  the  country  which  are  ma- 
terial to  their  own  comfort  and  enjoyment,  will  thrive  on  a«  tliey 
hare  hitherto  thrive n»  But  the  results  of  these  twti  last  years 
concern  tbem  more  nearly  than  they  think*  It  is  not  merely 
that  our  institutions  ha%'e  changed — that  tlieir  development  has 
made  progress  in  a  direction  which  we  think  the  wrong  one*  U 
is  not  Jnerely  that  the  power  of  a  class  once  great  has  beea 
shaken ;  it  is  not  merely  that  the  poorest  have  been  made  su- 
preme, Tbe  issues  of  this  conflict  are  far  more  momentous.  The 
very  conditions  under  which  our  institutions  exist  have  been 
changed  ;  the  equilibrium  of  forces  by  which  they  have  been 
sustained  is  shaken.  The  defences  on  which  we  have  been  'wont 
to  rely  have  proved  utterly  rotten.  They  have  broken  down 
absolutely  before  they  were  even  subjected  to  serious  pressure. 
The  breakwaters  that  were  to  protect  us  from  the  fury  of  popular 
passion  have  crumbled  away  in  fine  weather^  What  seemed  to 
be  strong  and  durable  has  proved  worse  than  worthless*  Those 
who  have  trusted  to  the  faith  of  public  men^  or  the  patriotism  of 
parliamentary  parties,  or  the  courage  of  aristocratic  classes, 
inuiit  now  find  other  resting-places  on  which  to  repose  their  con- 
:fidence*  The  supports  on  which  they  have  hitherto  relied  will 
pieiTe  the  hand  that  leans  on  them* 

If  the  Conservative  surrender  of  1867  be  considered,  not  in 
its  results  but  in  the  state  of  things  that  it  reveals,  it  is  a  pheno- 
menon of  tremendous  import.  The  evils  of  the  measure  itself, 
dangerous  as  we  think  it,  are  not  necessarily  irremediable.  If 
the  probability  arises  that  the  newly-admitteil  classes  will  com- 
bine to  abuse  their  [xjwer,  the  classes  who  are  threatened  may 
combine  on  their  side  in  self-defence ;  and,  if  their  mettle  were 
equal  to  that  of  their  assailants,  the  conflict  would  be  iar  from 
desperate.  The  hopelesin^%  if  hopelessness  there  be,  lies  in  the 
spirit  and  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  Conservative  classes  which 
the  vicissitudes  of  this  conflict  have  disclosed.  To  appreciate 
tile  full  significance  of  this  great  surrender  we  must  not  hxik  to 
the  mere  clauses  of  the  Act  which  it  lias  produced,  or  even 
content  ourselves  with  scrutinizing  the  conduct  of  individual 
statesmetL  To  understand  what  a  headlong  rout  it  has  been,  we 
Imust  take  into  view  the  earlier  as  well  as  the  later  movements  of 
the  struggle,  the  manifestoes  that  were  put  forth,  the  claims  that 
were  made,  the  positions  that  were  occupied  during  the  years 

2o2  which 


554  The  Conservative  Surrender. 

which  preceded  and  led  up  to  this  last  fatal  campaign     Let  anj 
one  who  wishes  to  form  a  just  conception  of  the  feelings  of  the 
middle  and  upper  classes  upon  the  subject  of  Reform  daring  the 
last  few  years,  devote  himself  to  the  ungrateful  but  instructive 
task  of  reading  not  only  the  past  parliamentary  debates,  but  the 
speeches  to  constituents  and  the  articles  in  periodical  publica- 
tions on  the  subject     There  were  many  differences  of  opinion 
as  to  whether  it  would  be  wise  or  not  to  reduce  the  borough 
franchise  in  some  degree,  and  there  were  many  discussions  as  to 
the  degree  of  reduction  that  was  desirable.     But  there  was  an 
overwhelming  preponderance  of  opinion  that  no  enfranchisement 
ought  to  be  admitted  which  should  enable  the  working  classes 
to  take  the  whole  political  power  of  the  country  into  their  hands. 
Household  suffrage  was  the  cry  of  a  few  isolated  Radicals.     In 
1863,  at  a  Reform  meeting  held  at  Leeds,  Mr.  Forster  was  asked 
how  many  men  in  the  House  of  Commons  would  vote  for  a  pro- 
posal of  household  suffrage.     His  reply  was  that  there  were  not 
fifteen.     Even  as  late  as  last  year,  when  Sir  Roundell  Palmer 
volunteered   a    profession   of  household    suffrage,    there  was  a 
general  outcry  at  the  eccentricity  of  his  declaration,  and  no  one 
pledged    himself  more    strongly  in   oppositi<m   to   it  than  the 
present  Secretary  of  State  for  India.     And  the  opinions  which 
are    thus    publicly  recorded  were  only  a  faint  echo    of   those 
which  might  be  heard  in  every  private  circle. 

Less  than  twelve  months  passed  and  all  was  changed.  When 
household  suffrage,  after  much  preliminary  mana?u\Ting,  was  at 
last  openly  proposed  by  the  Minister,  it  was  received  with  much 
murmuring  indeed  in  private,  but  externally  with  almost  universal 
acquiescence.  Only  a  few  scattered  men  here  and  there  in  Parlia- 
ment ventured  to  oppose  it.  The  Ministers  who  were  most 
deeply  and  most  recently  pledjjeil  au:ainst  it  swallowed  their 
pledges  in  silence.  The  Pi»ers  accept(»d  obsequiously  what  they 
were  known  to  detest.  The  country  gentlemen,  scared,  hustled, 
perplexed,  'supposed  it  was  inevitable,'  and  made  no  effort  to 
move.  The  middle  classes  sent  up  but  one  cry,  and  that  was  to 
'settle  the  ([uestion.'  They  said  that  the  agitation  of  it  had 
a  tendency  to  disturb  trade,  and  to  prolonjj  the  monetary  crisis. 
Few  jMHiple  approved,  but  all,  or  nearly  all,  bowed  their  heads 
in  humble  submission. 

It  was  certainly  a  startling  change,  and  one  that  naturally 
perplexed  those  who  had  adopted  their  opinions  after  calm  con- 
sideration, and  did  not  see  what  had  happened  to  refute  them. 
Suddenly  the  whole  of  the  forces  of  resistance  that  had  rallied  so 
numerously,  and  had  fought  with  so  much  apparent  resolution 

last 


last  year,  disappeared  like  Rabshakeh's  army,  in  a  single  night. 
As  Mr.  Disraeli  remarked  in  one  of  his  speeches  against  Sir 
Robert  Peel — 

'  Wlmt  a  compliment  to  a  Minifitor,  not  only  io  Toto  for  him,  but  to 
vote  for  him  against  yonr  opinioiiB,  and  id  favour  of  opinions  which  ho 
always  drilled  you  to  distniet.  That  was  a  scene,  I  belie vo,  imprc- 
cedented  in  the  Houso  of  Commons.  Indeed,  I  recollect  nothing 
equal  to  it,  unless  it  be  the  conversion  of  the  Saxons  by  Charlemagne, 
which  is  the  only  historical  incident  which  hmrn  iiny  parallel  to  that 
illustrious  occasion.  Eanged  on  the  banks  of  the  Khine,  the  Saxons 
determined  to  roaiBt  any  further  movement  on  the  part  of  tho  great 
Cajsar ;  but  whon  the  Emperor  appoartd,  instead  of  conquering,  ho 
converted  them.  How  were  they  converted  ?  In  battalions,  tho  old 
chronicler  informs  us  :  they  were  converted  in  battalions,  and  baptized 
in  platoons/ 

But  what  w^as  the  canse  of  this  strange  phenomenon?  Why 
did  the  household  suffrage  that  was  so  hateful^  so  dangerous  in 
18Ht>j  become  in  1867  the  fitting  and  proper  settlement  of  the 
question?  It  can  scarcely  have  been  a  change  of  conviction. 
Fiducated  men  are  not  really  *t!onverted  in  battalions,'  either  in 
politics  or  religion.  The  question  had  been  thoroughly  discussed  ; 
and  everything  that  was  possible  to  be  said  on  either  side  was 
w^ell  known  to  all  who  had  paid  any  attention  to  the  controversy. 
Nor  can  we  afford  much  more  credence  to  the  motive  on  which 
Lord  Derby,  and  many  humbler  apologists  of  the  Ministry,  are 
constantly  dwelling,  Mhat  it  w^as  necessary  to  settle  a  question 
which  was  standing  in  the  way  of  all  useful  legislation/  We 
doubt  if  any  previous  orator  has  attained  to  the  courage  of 
offering  such  a  reason  for  consenting  to  the  depi>sition  of  one 
class,  and  the  enthronement  of  another.  Those  who  seem  so 
anxitms  to  promote  useful  legislation,  had  ample  opportunity  of 
showing  their  aieal  in  1800^  and  again  in  1866,  But  it  did  not 
occur  to  them  to  accept  a  revolution  in  order  to  facilitate  the 
progress  of  public  business,  until  it  became  necessary  to  avoid 
being  'ousted  by  the  re-united  Liberals.' 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that,  as  far  as  those  who  had  no  official 
reasons  for  passing  a  Reform  Bill  were  concernedj  the  one 
dominant  feeling  of  the  present  year  has  been  a  feverish  anxiety  to 
*  settle  the  question.*  Mr.  Henley,  with  cynical  candour,  betrayed 
the  ignoble  secret,  when  he  acknowledged  that  a  fear  lest  *  thej>ol 
shoultl  boil  over,*  was  the  motive  that  animated  his  friends.  The 
meetings  in  the  manufacturing  tow^ns,  and  the  riots  in  Hyde  Park, 
had  had  their  effect  The  comfortable  classes  had  no  stomach  for 
a  real  struggle.  Their  hearts  misgave  them,  indeed,  about  Reform  : 
they  saw  in  it  ugly  visions  of  the  future— labour  giving  law  ti> 

capital, 


556  J%e  CammvaHve  Surrender. 

capital.  Trades'  Union  roles  supreme,  democratic  Pkrliaments 
contriving  a  graduated  income  tax,  the  poor  voting  supplies  and 
the  rich  finding  ways  and  means.  In  past  years  they  have  not 
concealed  their  apprehensions.  But  they  did  not  hold  such 
opinions  as  owners.  They  only  occupied  them  as  tenant»-at- 
will,  ready  to  seek  others  as  soon  as  the  physical  force  of  the 
multitude  should  give  them  notice  to  quit  They  had  no  heart 
to  fight  for  the  rights  they  had  inherited  or  won.  They  had 
beguiletl  themselves  with  the  belief  that  it  was  possible  to  hold 
their  rights  without  a  struggle;  and  under  that  impression  they 
hatl  talked  bravely  for  a  time.  But  when  they  discovered  their 
mistake,  they  took  their  overthrow  meekly  and  gave  up  at  onca 
All  they  entreated  was  that  the  agitation  should  be  got  rid  of, 
ami  the  question  settled  without  delay.  And  Ministerial  speakers 
boast  of  it  as  their  great  achievement  that  they  have  satisfied 
this  one  longing.  *  They  have  settled  the  question  in  a  manner 
so  libi*ral  as  to  leave  no  rcMim  for  further  agitation.' 

Now  we  do  not  deny  that  in  this  precipitate  capitulation  the 
comfortable  classes  may  possibly  have  judged  rightly — so  far  as 
this  one  i]uestion  is  concerned.  We  quite  agree  with  Lord 
Derby  in  his  estimate  of  his  own  measure.  It  is  a  leap  com- 
pletely in  the  dark ;  and,  it  follows,  that  it  would  be  as  con- 
jectural to  pre<lict  destruction  as  to  promise  safety.  It  may  be 
a  IkhI  of  roses  upon  which  we  are  now  swiftly  descending ;  but  even 
if  tliat  be  the  issue,  the  surrender  will  scarcely  be  less  disastrous. 
ir  th<»  upper  and  middle  classes  had  made  up  their  minds  to 
this  tender  trust  in  the  people  with  which  they  have  become 
suddenly  inspired,  seven  years  ago,  or  even  one  year  ago,  no 
harm  would  have  been  done  beyond  that  which  might  result 
from  the  particular  measun*  they  were  passing.  It  would  have 
b(»en  a  concession — possibly  a  foolish  one;  but  it  would  have 
displaycnl  no  weakness,  and  would  not  nec(»ssarily  have  provoked 
further  attacks.  liut  they  have  just  fought  long  enough  to 
betray  the  weaknc^ss  of  the  garrison  and  the  jxiverty  of  the 
defences.  The  dullest  of  their  antaironists  jXTfectly  understands 
that  tliey  have  not  yielded  to  argument  or  to  sentiment ;  that 
the  apostles  of  Ueforni  who  have  the  real  credit  of  their  con- 
version are  the  inohs  who  Ix'at  down  the  palings  of  Hyde  Park, 
or  >\ent  out  niar(  hin?  with  hands  and  banners  in  the  towns  of 
the  North.  Any  one  who  r(»a<ls  their  organs  in  the  press  will 
be  satisfied  that  there  is  no  mistake*  among  diem  upon  this 
j>oint ;  and  indeed,  they  would  hardly  deserve  credit  for  the  ordi- 
nary sap^acity  of  I'^nu^lishmen  if  there  was. 

Now,  tliis  appears  to  us  the   most   dang^erous  lesson  which  it  I 
is  j>ossil)l«?  to  t<»arh   to  tin?  possessors  of  physical   force.     The  I 

present ' 


present  holders  of  power  appear,  after  the  fashion  of  decaying 
and  feeble  rulert^  to  imagine  that  it  is  possible  to  buy  off  those 
who  threaten  their  security  with  donatives.  They  seem  to  fancy 
that  the  appetite  for  political  power  is  like  the  natural  appetites, 
which  lose  their  edge  when  they  are  gratified.  They  will  find 
that  the  meal  they  have  afforded  is  but  a  mouthful,  and  that  the 

•  appetite  will  regain  its  vigour  after  a  very  brief  repose.  Invaders 
have  never  yet  been  repelled  by  the  discovery  that  their  antago- 
nists were  running  away*  The  innovating  classes  for  years  have 
imagined  that  a  great  Conservative  force  stood  opposeil  to  them, 
and  that  they  could  only  win  the  victories  they  coveted  at  the 
eust  of  risks  they  did  not  care  to  run.  They  have  now  dis- 
covered that  this  force  is  a  pure  delusion.  The  guns  are  painted 
wood ;  the  soldiers,  like  a  Haytian  army,  think  they  have  done 
their  duty  gallantly  if  they  abstain   from  running  away   until 

(the  few  first  shots  have  been  fired.  Will  this  discovery  induce 
them  to  suspend  their  operations  and  abstain  from  further 
demands  ? 

There  can  be  no  finality  in  politics.  Whatever  the  actual 
state  of  things  in  any  state  may  be,  the  spirit  of  innovation 
always  must  exist  The  world  would  grow  very  stagnant  if  it 
disappeared.  The  appetite  for  change  can  never  be  glutted. 
If  the  old  leaders  of  the  movement  are  made  Conservatives  by 
their  own  conquests,  others,  unsatisfied,  will  step  forward  to 
supply  their  place.  What  fulfils  the  ideal  of  the  agitator  of  to* 
day  is  only  ^a  step  in  the  right  direction,^  in  the  eyes  of  the 
aspirant  who  is  preparing  to  be  his  successor.  When  Mr. 
Bright  is  preaching  moderation  and  caution,  Mr,  Beales  will 
be  just  girding  himself  for  the  battle;  and  doubtless  Mr,  Beales 
already  numbers  among  his  lieutenants  paliticians  who  look 
upon  him  as  absurdly  behind  his  age.  The  Girondin  always 
has  a  Jacobin  behind  hiin  ready  to  trip  him  up;  and  further 
back  still  stands  a  Hebertist  anxious  to  perform  the  same  service 
to  the  Jacobin,  The  long  periods  of  political  repose  which 
com  muni  ties  enjoy  from  time  to  time,  is  due,  not  to  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  rerum  nmarum  cupidi^  but  to  the  establish- 
ment of  an  equilibrium  between  the  Conservative  and  the 
innovating  force.  Of  course  the  impulse  of  each  force  differs 
widely  in  each  successive  generation,  accrording  to  the  teaching 
of  ei  ents.  The  pressure  of  abuses  which  have  been  bred  by 
stagnation,  or  the  memory  of  the  disorders  which  have  been 
caused  by  change,  will  alternately  depress  one  or  the  other 
extremity  of  tlie  balance.  But  it  is  idle  for  the  Canpervative 
daises  to  think  that  the  innovating  force  can  be  held  under 
salutary  control  without  labour  or  risk  on  their  part.     The  two 


I 


558  The  ConserwUive  Surrender. 

forces  are  complementary  to  each  other ;  the  paralysis  of  either 
makes  the  other  ruinously  strong.  The  idea  that  we  can  retain 
the  blessings  we  possess  by  any  other  guarantee  than  our  own 
ability  to  defend  them — that  trustfulness  or  philanthropy  can 
be  our  security — is  a  delusion  which  in  some  minds  may  be 
Utopian  and  amiable,  but  in  most  is  a  mere  screen  for  selfish 
love  of  ease.  In  our  history,  at  all  events,  it  is  quite  new.  It  was 
not  so  that  our  fathers  won  the  liberty  they  have  handed  down 
to  us.  It  will  not  be  so  that  we  shall  hand  down  to  our  children 
that  scrupulous  respect  of  individual  rights  without  which 
political  liberty  simply  means  the  tyranny  of  the  many. 

The  g^eat  danger  of  the  Conser\'ative  classes  at  the  present 
crisis  is,  that  they  shall  cultivate  too  highly  the  virtues  of  quiet- 
ness and  confidence.  It  is  an  opinion  generally  entertained  that 
the  nation  is  on  the  whole  '  Conser>'ative  ; '  not  in  the  party  sense 
of  the  wonl,  for  that  meaning  has  disappeared,  but  in  the  sense 
of  a  general  preference  of  our  institutions  to  those  of  any  other 
nation.  We  believe  this  general  impression  to  be  true :  but  it  is 
a  most  misleading  truth.  It  does  not  follow  because  the  mass  of 
the  nation  is  Conservative,  that  therefore  our  institutions  are 
secure.  Political  forces  must  be  estimated  by  their  intensity,  as 
well  as  by  their  quantity.  The  feeble  preferences  of  even  a  large 
and  powerful  majority  are  no  protection  against  the  hearty  and 
vigorous  hatred  of  a  few.  Our  institutions  at  present  are  likely 
to  fare  much  as  the  Bishops  did  at  the  outset  of  the  great 
Rebellion :  those  that  hate  them,  hate  them  worse  than  the  devil ; 
those  that  love  tliom,  do  not  love  them  hotter  than  their  dinner. 
It  is  quite  natural  that  men  should  not  disquiet  themselves  about 
the  safety  of  blessings  which  they  have  enjoyed  for  a  long  time 
without  interruption,  and  which  have  successfully  withstood  so 
many  assaults.  That  to-morrow  will  be  as  yesterday  is  the 
ordinarv  reasoning  of  mankind ;  and  they  will  hardly  admit  the 
possibility  of  a  now  danger,  until  it  is  impressed  upon  them  by 
some  sharp  experience.  It  is  no  matter  of  surprise,  therefore, 
that  durinj]^  the  last  few  years  the  fooling  of  security  should  have 
g^own  in  proportion  to  the  jjoneral  contentment  of  the  nation.  The 
belief  plained  ground  that  the  educated  classes  wore  becominij 
more  and  more  averse  to  organic  change ;  and  simultan(K)usly 
there  grew  up  a  disinclination  for  efforts  in  support  of  what  seemed 
unassailod.  Other  causes,  no  doubt,  have  contributed  to  the 
apathy  which  has  prevailed.  In  the  keen  struggle  for  material 
prosperity  loss  value  lias  been  set  on  the  more  distant  advantages 
promiscnl  by  the  triumph  of  this  or  that  set  of  political  ideas. 
For  the  Inst  twenty  years,  apfain,  politics  have  been  less  attractive 
to  men  of  independent  minds  than  they  used  to  be.     A  different 

spirit 


I 


Th&  Conservative  Surrender. 

ipirit  lias  crept  into  parliamentary  warfare.  Politicians  have 
traded  more  and  more  upon  the  profession  of  sentiments  they  did 
not  really  cherish,  and  which  were  distasteful  to  the  class  to 
which  they  belonged ;  and  they  have  seemed  ea^fer  to  avail 
themselves  of  excuses  for  delaying-  from  time  to  time  to  give 
effect  to  their  professions.  The  calculatinn  of  the  value  of  \'ci i«?s ' 
has  assumed  a  prominence  in  party  arithmetic  which  it  did  not 
possess  before.  Changes  of  opinion  among  public  men  became 
more  and  more  frequent,  especially  of  those  who  leant  towards 
tlie  Conservative  sidcj  or  actually  belong-ed  to  it ;  and  these  conver- 
sions, instead  of  bringing  damage  to  the  |iersonal  interests  of  those 
who  were  converted,  were  timed  so  as  to  be  judicious  and  oppor- 
tune. All  these  things  tended  to  repel  the  better  class  of  Conserva- 
tive thinkers  from  the  active  field  of  politics,  and  to  react  with  a 
mischievous  effect  upon  the  composition  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, The  Conservative  party  became  famous  for  its  organ- 
isation and  prompt  discipline :  and  yet  that  discipline  did  not 
seem  to  be  the  result  of  any  unusual  admiration  of  its  leaders. 
Its  ranks  were  being  gradually  recruite<l  from  a  class  eminently 
fit  to  exhibit  the  virtues  of  parliamentary  discipline ;  men  who 
sought  a  scat  for  other  than  political  motives,  and  were  more 
solicitous  for  the  social  rank  or  commercial  influence  it  conferred 
than  for  the  success  of  the  cause  in  whose  interest  it  had  been 
avowedly  obtained.  Elaborate  and  successful  electioneering 
became  one  of  the  attributes  of  the  party ;  and  that  is  a  sjiecies 
of  excellence  which,  while  it  leads  to  brilliant  results  for  the 
tnoment,  is  of  evil  omen  for  the  moral  vitality  of  the  party  which 
lias  attained  to  it.  Destitute  of  the  living  earnestness  which  can 
only  be  developed  in  average  politicians  by  contagion  from  the 
classes  who  support  them  out  of  doors,  and  led  by  a  chief  whfjse 
Consenative  connections  were  an  accident  of  his  career,  when 
they  arrived  at  the  year  1867^  having  just  tasted  the  first  fruits 
of  office  after  a  long  antl  dreary  fast,  they  were  not  in  a  condition 
to  withsUnd  any  severe  temptation.  The  urgent  question  which 
lovers  of  the  constitution  have  to  ask  themselves  i»^  whether, 
unless  the  balance  of  fears  which  acts  upon  their  leatters  is 
materially  altered,  they  are  likely  to  be  proof  against  a  second 
temptation  of  the  same  kind. 

Whatever  the  result  may  be^  there  seems  to  be  little  doubt 
that  their  virtue  will  be  tried,  Mr,  Forster,  in  a  recent  speech 
at  Bradf<jrd,  gave  to  his  constituents  a  sketch  of  the  result  which, 
according  to  the  hopes  of  his  party,  a  Reformed  Parliament  will 
enable  them  to  attain.  He  did  not  enter  much  into  detail, 
but  he  indicated  as  the  first  objects  of  attack  the  laws  which 
regulate  the  ownership  of  land  in  Ireland  and  in  thi«  country, 

the 


560  The  GnmrvaHv$  Surrender. 

the  endowments  of  the  Establiihed  Church,  and  the  |>resent 
system  of  education.  This  declaration  is  in  conformity  with  all 
his  previously  expressed  opinions,  and  was  to  be  expected.  But 
the  remarkable  portion  of  the  speech  is  that  in  which  he  explains 
the  plan  of  operations  he  intends  to  adopt  for  this  purpose.  It  is 
creditable  to  his  sagacity,  but  a  melancholy  illustration  of  the 
character  which  the  Conservative  party  has  earned,  that  he  thinks 
that  the  objects  he  seeks  will  be  best  secured  by  not  disturbing 
the  present  Ministry.     The  following  are  his  words : — 

*  By  what  moans  aro  wo  to  attain  these  things  ?  Do  I  look  forward 
to  an  inunodiato  change  in  the  Government  for  the  purpose  ?  I  do 
not :  and  I  do  not  wish  for  it  until  Mr.  Disraeli  has  exhausted  the 
Eadicalism  of  his  Conservative  followers.  (Laughter  and  applause.) 
During  the  lant  days  of  tho  late  Session  I  had  some  fear  that  we  were 
getting  to  the  bott(>m  of  this  store  of  Badicalism ;  but  I  daresay  that 
during  tho  recess  it  ^vill  bo  again  added  to :  and  I  have  great  hopes 
that  Mr.  Disraeli  will  bo  able  to  persuade  his  followers  to  settle  as  we 
eonld  ^vish  one  or  two  of  thoso  questions.  So  long  as  he  is  able  to  do 
so,  by  all  meann  let  him  remam  in  power ;  for  it  is  far  easier  that 
good  reforms  should  be  passed  by  Conservatives  than  by  us  '^Be- 
f^rmcrs,"  if  they  aro  willing  to  do  it,  for  then  we  have  not  to  contend 
witli  their  opposition.'— 5pew*  at  Bradford^  Sepi.  18,  1867. 

A  stranger  unused  to  the  ways  of  English  politicians  might 
have  imagined  that  these  words  were  bitterly  sarcastic,  and  that 
they  would  be  resented  as  unjust  by  the  friends  of  the  Govern- 
ment But  any  one  who  formed  such  an  opinion  would  entirely 
misjudge  the  spirit  in  which  the  CJovemment  and  its  friends 
l(M)k  upon  overtures  from  the  more  advanced  Liberals.  A  week 
afterwards  the  *Gh)he,'  a  pajx?r  which  during  the  session  has 
acted  with  great  ability  as  an  exponent  of  Mr.  Disraeli's 
views,  commented  upon  Mr.  Forster's  speech  in  the  following 
strain  : — 

*  ]\[r.  Forstcr  knows  that  every  right-minded  Minister,  when  called 
upon  to  legislate,  must  think  of  himuf  thhvjs  in  a<hiiiion  to  the  prejudices  of 
hitf  }Hirttf.  .  .  .  Hi^  thinks  that  the  Conservatives  can  and  will  give  good 
government ;  and  his  pitriotisiu  is  strong  enough  to  welcome  it  hy 

whonisiH'Vor  bestowtnl The  fact  is  too  plain  to  bo  contt^sted ; 

the  fooling  is  now  rooted  tliat  tho  Conservatives  can  and  will  give 
sucli  an  atlnnnistn\tion  of  public  affairs  which  the  country  feels  that  it 
needs.  Mr.  Forster  is  welcome  to  call  it  a  vein  of  Eadicalism  in  the 
Ministry  :  he  only  expn'sses  thereby  a  truth  now  generally  recognised 
that  in  the  region  of  pure  politics  mast  Englishmen  are  now  alike. 
Etlucati(^n,  Trades'  Unions,  Army  Reform,  the  Dwellings  of  the  Poor, 
Ireland,  Foreign  Affairs,  are  as  opi^n  to  Conservativt^s  as  to  Liberals, 
are  eneuml)ere»l  with  no  greater  pre-existing  prejudii»es  on  one  side 
than  on  another.     A  coalition  of  Cons<:'rvatives  and  Radicals  for  the 

mere 


The  Conservative  Surrend^, 


561 


mere  purpoees  of  office  would  be  as  bootleiiB  as  it  is  impoflgibk ;  a  cob- 
oniTenoe  of  all  imrties  in  dealing  with  the  many,  and  m  mahy  cafiee 
diMealtf  problems  of  our  nocisl  state  is  feamble,  aiid  centains  the  beit 
piromiso  for  the  future/ — Ghhe^  Se^^^  24, 

That  the  conduct  of  the  Radicals  in  adopting  this  policy  is 
wise,  and  from  their  own  point  of  view  patriotic,  we  have  no 
wish  to  dispute*  It  is  but  just  to  admit  that  much  of  their 
success  is  owin^  to  the  simplicity  of  purpose  with  which  thej 
have  pursued  the  objects  they  hatl  at  heart.  '  The  Lamp  of 
Sacrifice*  has  not  been  exting^uished  among  them.  While  Tories 
and  Whig's  have  been  quarclling  for  place,  they  have  only  studied 
to  bend  to  their  purposes  the  ambition  of  each  in  turn.  The 
result  has  been  what  might  have  been  expected.  The  Tones 
and  Whigs  have  enjoyed  the  offices;  the  Radicals  have  secured 
the  victcjry  of  their  principles.  It  is  but  natural  that  Mn 
Forster  should  be  anxious  to  continue  the  practice  of  a  policy 
which  has  the  merit  of  being  at  once  so  honourable  and  so 
fruitful  in  results*  But  the  astonishing  part  of  the  article  we 
have  quoteil,  is  the  view  that  all  Englishmen  are  of  the  same 
political  creed  as  regards  the  problems  of  the  future  j  that  it  is 
not  only  not  impossible,  but  probable  and  very  desirable,  that 
the  Radicals  and  the  Omservatives  should  act  together;  and 
that  in  regard  to  such  questions  as  Ireland,  and  to  those  Irish 
questifms  to  which  Mr,  Forster  referred  —  the  Established 
Church,  and  the  tenure  of  land — the  Conservatives  ^re  as  im- 
embarrassed  by  previous  opinions  as  the  other  side.  If  these  be 
the  views  encouraged  in  high  quarters,  we  may  well  ask  what 
the  Conservative  party  is  doing,  and  where  it  is  going?  or  rather 
what  the  Conservative  party  is  ?  Has  it  any  opinions  of  its  own  ? 
Does  it  kbour  and  spend  to  carry  any  particular  principles  into 
practical  effe*  t?  Or  will  it  have  attained  the  snmmum  honmntyf 
j>olitical  desire  when  it  sees  Lord  Derby  and  Mr,  Disraeli^  per- 
manently in  power,  carrying  out  Mn  Foster's  policy? 

No  one  who  is  not  gifted  with  second  sight  could  attempt  to  pre- 
dict the  course  which  the  ministerial  leader  will  take  uptm  the  many 
thorny  questions  which  will  be  the  next  subjects  of  agitation — 
especially  those  which  concern  the  Church  and  the  ownership  of 
land-  Least  of  all  would  those  eminent  persons  venture  upon 
such  a  prophecy  themselves.  Men  who  take  a  leap  in  the  dark 
naturally  refrain  from  determining  the  nature  of  their  future 
movements  until  they  know  the  kind  oi  bottom  upon  which  they 
are  descending.  As  the  leap  itself  was  taken  purely  in  obedi- 
ence to  external  influences^  the  movements  which  result  from  it 
are  not  likely  to  be  independent     But  it  is  a  poor  prospect  for 

the 


562  The  Conservative  Surrender. 

the  Consenutivc  classes,  the  classes  whose  interests  and  whose 
afTections  are  bound  up  with  our  existing  institutions,  if  their 
future  course  is  to  depend  upon  the  estimate  which  an  election- 
eering expert  may  make  of  the  prospects  of  the  political  share- 
market  of  the  day.  They  at  least  ought  to  be  guided  by  larger 
principles,  and  be  animated  by  nobler  aims  than  that  of  preventing 
a  particular  minister  Ijeing  ousted,  or  two  sections  of  political 
antagonists  from  re-uniting.  If  they  think  that  there  is  anything 
in  our  institutions  worth  a  struggle  or  a  sacrifice,  they  have  a  long 
conflict  before  them.  The  line  which  the  assault  will  take  is 
tolerably  obvious,  though  of  course  it  is  impossible  to  speculate 
on  the  extent  to  which  it  will  be  successful,  until  we  know  the 
amount  of  support  it  will  receive  from  the  new  constituencies. 
But  tlie  speeches  of  the  leading  radicals  of  the  present  time 
sufficiently  indicate  the  points  which  will  be  the  first  object  of 
attack  ;  and  we  may  gather  from  the  writings  of  the  new  Oxford 
school  of  doctrinaires,  the  enterprises  which,  if  the  present 
K^idicals  succeed,  will  probably  be  taken  up  by  their  more 
extreme  successors. 

We  believe  that  Mr.  Disraeli  and  Mr.  Forster  are  right  in 
saying,  that  for  the  present  no  harm  is  intended  either  to  the 
House  of  Peers  or  to  tlie  Crown.  The  attempt  would  be  a  very 
difficult  and  a  very  profitless  one.  The  House  of  Peers  resists  so 
little,  and  the  Crown  has  so  completely  ceased  to  resist  at  all, 
that  not  only  is  their  existence  a  practical  grievance  to  nobody, 
but  their  destruction  would  not  be  felt  as  the  removal  of  a 
serious  obstacle,  even  by  the  most  extreme  Reformer.  We  do 
not,  of  c  ourse,  mean  that  any  substantial  j^ower  over  the  political 
ni()V(»ments  of  the  nation  is  likely  to  be  left  to  them  ;  but  their 
formal  position  will  probably  be  loft  untouched,  and  they  may 
even  retain  some  influence  over  patronage,  and  other  matters 
of  minor  moment.  The  English,  whatever  their  opinions,  are 
always  a  pra(  tical  people,  and  they  do  not  waste  their  labour  on 
thc'orotical  crus«ides.  There  are  plenty  of  undertakings  else- 
where* that  lie  nearcT  to  the  hearts  of  the  democratic  party.  The 
Church  will  doubtless  have  the  first  claim  upon  their  attention. 
She  is  threatened  by  two  different  sets  of  antagonists,  who  con- 
trive for  the  present  to  work  together,  but  who  are  really 
pursuing  objects  that  are  quite  incompatible.  There  is  a  bixly 
powerful  in  numbers,  but  not  in  influence,  who  desire  that  she 
may  cease  to  be  an  Kstahlishnient.  Thry  desire  to  withdraw 
from  her  all  State  n^rognition,  and  strip  her  of  her  endowments; 
but  having  reduced  lier  to  the  temporal  condition  of  the  Roman 
Catholics,   or  the  Wesleyans,    they  do  not  propose   to  interfere 

witli 


with  her  fartber*  The  support  of  all  the  Dissenters,  that  is  to 
say,  all  the  popular  support  the  movement  com  man  lis,  will  he 
given  to  this  section  of  it»  The  other  section  is  n*Jt  numerous  or 
popular,  but  it  exercises  far  more  influence  than  its  mere 
numbers  would  command.  It  does  not  wish  to  disestablish  the 
Church,  but  only  to  transform  it.  It  desires  that  the  present 
endowments  shall  continue  to  be  applied  to  the  teachings  of 
something'  that  shall  be  called  religion.  But  the  religion  is  to  be 
*  unsectarian/  i.  e.  it  is  to  be  purged  of  every  article  of  belief  to 
which  any  considerable  number  of  persons  are  likely  to  object 
The  power  of  this  party  resides  in  the  fact  that  it  possesses 
an  enormous  hold  over  the  class  by  whom  public  opinion  is 
manufactureil, — the  journalists,  the  literary  men,  the  professors, 
the  advanced  thinkers  of  the  day.  How  will  their  prospects  he 
affected  by  the  newly  enfranchised  voters?  There  are  a  good 
many  excellent  Churchmen  who  believCj  probably  fmm  their 
own  parochial  experience,  that  the  poor  are  singnlarlv  amenable 
to  religious  influencCj  and  that  for  the  purposes  of  orthodox 
religion,  the  change  from  the  ten -pounder  to  the  rated  house- 
holder is  a  change  for  the  better.  On  the  other  side,  there  is  an 
equally  deep-rootetl  confidence  that  the  new  additions  mav  be 
claimed  in  a  body  as  recruits  to  the  flag  of  religious  Liberalism. 
In  moving  from  the  j>etty  tradesman  to  the  working  man,  it  is 
believed  that  we  hare  moved  from  an  atmosphere  of  dissent  to 
an  atmosphere  of  pure  scepticism.  Time  will  show  whicli  of 
these  anticipations  is  the  true  one.  In  the  mean  ttme^  accident 
seems  for  the  moment  to  favour  the  voluntary  rather  than  the 
free-thinking  wing  of  tlie  attacking  force.  The  first  operations 
are  to  be  against  tibe  Church  of  Ireland,  undoubtedly  a  tempting, 
and  up  to  certain  lengths,  not  a  formidable  enterprise.  If 
successful  to  the  full  extent  of  the  contemplated  effort,  it  will 
undoubtedly  open  a  dangerous  breach  in  the  defences  of  the 
Established  Church  both  of  Enpfland  and  of  Scotland  The 
Voluntaries  are  wise  in  their  selection  of  the  first  battle-field,  for 
if  they  succeed ,  the  rest  of  their  campaign  will  no  kmger  be  as 
hopeless  as  it  now  seems.  For  the  time  the  English  Church 
will  probably  be  left  to  fight,  in  the  main,  not  for  her  endow- 
ments but  for  her  creed.  There  can  be  little  iloubt,  however, 
that  whatever  principles  are  laid  down  in  the  treatment  of 
Church  property  in  Ireland  will  in  due  time  be  pitilessly  ap- 
plied to  the  Church  of  England.  The  question  of  the  land  will 
probably  follow  the  same  course,  Irish  discontent  will  be  the 
vantage-ground  from  which  a  principle  mny  be  set  np  that 
can  after  wan  Is  be  used  to  operate  against  the  English  land- 
owners.    There  is  no  grievance  in  England  that  could  be  worked 

agmintt 


5G4  The  Comervative  Surrender. 

against  landod  property  with  any  probability  of  saccess.  But 
unsound  principles  conceded  in  a  panic  to  one  island  are  not 
likely  for  any  length  of  time  to  be  excluded  from  the  other. 

We  do  not  mean  to  assert  that  either  the  Irish  Church  or  the 
conditions  of  tenure  in    Ireland  are  in  so  perfect  a  state  that 
nothing  can  be  done  to  improve  them ;  nor  even  in  the  assertion 
of  just  rights  should  we  n?commend  Conservatives,  in  their  present 
deplorable  condition,  to  be  rigid  and  exacting.     The  tinie  is  not 
yet  come  to  enter  upon  these  questions  in  detail ;  for  it  is  not 
likely  that  any  far-reaching  schemes  of  change  will   be  enter^ 
tained  until  the  new  Parliament  is  chosen.     It  only  concerns  us 
now  to  draw,  for  our  future  guidance  in  reference  to  these  two 
questions  and  to  all  others  that  may  be  raised,  the  Ic^sson  which 
is  to  lx>  found  in  the  events  of  the  last  two  years.     If  the  classes 
who  are  interested  in  these  questions  mean  to  renew  the  tactics 
which  have   been  practised  too  often  of  late  times,  they  have 
nothing  but  renewed  disaster  to  expect     If  they  intend  at  the 
outlet  to  draw  up  their  forces  at  the  extreme  edge  of  the  position 
they  occupy,  and  to  make  a  show  of  defending  every  inch  of  it, 
and  then,  the  moment  the  battle  becomes  threatening,  to  abandon 
every  post  that  has  been  attacked,  the  only  result  that  can  follow 
from  their  campaigning  is  utterly  to  dishearten  their  own  troops 
and    to  inspire   the  forces  of  innovation    with    the   most   dis- 
dainful courage  and  the  wildest  hopes.     If  they  think  to  save 
anything  from  the  perils  that  surround  them,  they  must  make  up 
their  minds  as  to  what  is  worth  strugglinj^:  for,  and  then  not  he 
afmid  to  strugjrle  for  it.     Let  them  maturely  decide,  before  the 
c^onflict  Ix^gins,  what  is  of  essential  and  what  is  of  secondary 
importance.     Let  them  do  their  utmost  to  meet  fair  grievances 
half-way  ;  .ind  to  yield,  while  it  can  be  done  gracefully,  all  that 
can  be  yielded  without  prejudice  to  «iny  vital  principle.      Con- 
cessions made  before  the  commencement  of  a  contest  are  no  sign 
of  wccikness,  and  do  not,  if  made  with  judgment,  compromise 
the  defence  of  important  points.     But,  if  they  are  wise,  they  will 
endure  no  receding,  while  any  further  struggle  is  still  possihle, 
from   the  positions  which  they  decide  to  hold.      It  is   not   safe 
to    trust  in  these   matters  too    much  to  the  courage  of   others. 
Unless  Opinion  forms  itself  as  defmitely  on  the  Conservative  as 
on  tlie   Kadieal  side,  and  exacts  as  resolutely   from   those   who 
profess  to  represent  it  a  stanch  allegiance  to  its  conclusions,  the 
scenes  of  the   past  session  will   assuredly  be  renewed   in  future 
years.     It  is  dangerous  to  rely  too   much  on  the  virtue  or  the 
discernment    of   politicians,    however   able   or   however    highly 
placed,     lliey  live  in  an  atmosphere  of  illusion,  and  can  seldom 
be  persuaded  that  any  political  principle  is  worth  the  sacrifice  of 

their 


The  Conservative  Surrender.  565 

their  own  careers.  If  momentous  changes  are  at  hand,  it  will  be 
no  comfort  to  those  to  whom  our  present  institutions  are  dear 
that  such  changes  have  received  their  first  impulse  from  men 
who  will  be  the  foremost  and  greatest  sufferers.  It  is  the  com- 
mon formula  of  revolutions  that  weakness  begins  what  violence 
concludes.  The  time  is  one  in  which  the  classes  who  value  the 
priceless  blessings  they  have  hitherto  enjoyed  under  English 
institutions  must  bestir  themselves,  if  they  would  see  those 
blessings  continued.  To  their  own  vigilance  and  their  own 
exertions  they  must  trust  for  their  security,  and  to  nothing  else. 
The  juncture  is  singularly  critical.  The  leap  in  the  dark  of  the 
present  year  has  thrown  upo;i  them  no  common  burden  of  re- 
sponsibility. If  they  are  negligent  or  timid,  or  allow  themselves 
to  be  made  the  sport  of  the  ambition  of  politicians,  complete 
subjection  to  the  poorest  class  in  the  community  may  well  be 
among  the  lightest  of  the  evils  which  will  reward  their  apathy. 


Index. 


A Bc ABUSES  (King)  message  to  CliriBt» 
493— miracle  wruuglit  by  the  image 
itnt  b>  Christ  to  bim»  th. 

AbyBSiJjm,  Mr.  HiifSiin's  tui<£!!ion,  511 
— geograptiical,  liiiiUii,  515— descrip- 
liOD  df  tht'  cDQiury,  fjlG  —  plateau 
or  high  lund,  ih. — tmtural  striftigth 
ijf  Abyss  iiiiii.  517  —  narror  rocky 
yftSies,  518— pack  atiimuk  tlie  only 
carriage    la   be    relied  od,   i^i.— ihe 

,  tsetse  rty  destructive  to  all  oat  tie  ex- 
ctr|i:  muks  luid  ass^fi,  Qt, — ud  roads 
or  carrioges  in  Abyssinia,  ^l^ — Mr* 
Parky  us 's  dtiscriptmu  of  the  diifi- 
cultJe#  of  travtliing  there,  520  — 
beauties  of  the  coautry,  521 -climate, 
5211— tapeworm  a  tiiiiversaj  diecasei 
ifr* — productiTt^nes^r  ib. — ^the  lunguage 
Amhkric,  52^— nature  of  the  miiitary 
senrices  Inquired,  (6. —forces  of  the 
enemy,  524^Goodarbiirfled  by  King 
Theodora,  52S-^iiiies  of  ixunmunica- 
lioQ  with  tht:  lied  Sen,  526 — objections 
to  the  Dorthtfro  Ikiea  and  to  tha  eo- 
operMioQ  of  Egypt,  527 — objeetlOlU 
to  the  eastern  Unes,  ih — route  pro- 
posed by  Dr.  Kratf,  ib. — tbr«u  rout^ 
by  the  iiorth-caat<^fu  line  considered^ 
5328— the  choice  of  road*  will  pro- 
btbly  be  reduct'd  tg  two,  531, 

AddmgcoQ,  ttoue  eireltfS  of,  53. 

Agricitltural  gang^,  exterit  of  The  or- 
^nisatioa,  t  ?4*»liockiDg  su^e  rings 
of  young  eblldreii  in  BgriculturiiJ 
kbour,  (h.— *optfn  '  viUoges  of  thu 
midluud  countk-s,  177— revulatiou  in 
the  rural  eqouomy  of  extensive  d\s- 
trictSf  *^. ^depopulation  of  parishes 
in  the  eastern  districts,  ib.— cateh- 
worit  labourers,  ntf^rcvqlting  scene 
at  the  assembly  of  tbe  gangs,  ih,^ 
the  whip  reiorttfd  to  by  gauj^-uiusterst 
^*— age*  of  ibe children,  eighty st'Fen, 
and  ev4?ufiix,  IT& — ontragi^s  by  brutal 
gang-uiastti  &,  16,— '  gibbeting/  ik — 
ag^  of  boys  and  girls  in  a  gang  of 
*e  verity -I  WO1      180  ^  5Ui3'criug«      of 

Vol.  123.— iVo  246. 


children  in  pulling  tnrnip«^  f&»— pra<s 
tice  of  drngging  infants,  18 1— s tone- 
picking,  ib, — case  of  three  young 
pirls,  i7>.— intermixture  of  the  sexes, 
1 8i — rate  of  i  Uegvii  macy ,  ib.  — shame- 
l**s»  wickedncsfti  ik — elfectb  of  the 
tystem  on  the  home  of  the  labourers, 
lti3 — girls  unfitted  for  domestic  ser- 
vice, tb, — Toluntary  idleness  of  thu 
parotits  whik'  the  children  are  toil- 
ingj  IS-l^the  half-time  system,  ib.^ 
private  gangs  oi^anised  by  fiknaers, 
iS5^^field-work  degrading  to  the  fe- 
male char&cter,  187 — removing  the 
population  by  demolition  of  bouses 
io  ti22  parishes,  /k — jncieas-ing  town 
population  and  dwindling  ruraU  IB^ 
— moral  corraptioupnralk'led  owly  in 
the  interior  of  Afi-ica,  ih,  —  remedy 
necessary  to  prevetJt  the  uiler  debaie- 
meiu  of  the  female  peftsantry,  190 
— necessity  for  cottage  acoommoda- 
tiou,  ih. 
Albert's  (the  Prince  Consort)  *  Early 
Year^/  by  General  Gr^y,  179— the 
work  the  produce  of  a  royal  Lund, 
S80 — truth  fulness,  affectiout  and  in* 
teliigence  in  childhood,  2Sli — attach- 
meut  to  his  brother  Prince  Ernest, 
2Sb — first  meeting  with  the  Princess 
Victoria  in  183*J,  t6,— eiigcr  study  at 
the  Utiiversiiy  of  Bonn,  :i&7— travels 
la  Italy  and  iuterview  with  the  Pope, 
29 i— opposition  to  the  rnnc«*s  An- 
uuity  Hill,  Ui>5— the  marnttge,  29 1^^ — 
the  Prince's  determiuatiot*  to  TM*i 
tbe  charncter  of  the  Court  to  the 
bighest  leveU  ^98 — William  IV/t 
ofiposiiion  to  th«  marriige  of  tbe 
Prinoe  and  Princes*,  21^^— personal 
care  of  ihe  Queen  in  illness,  296 — 
discards  the  temptation  of  succeed- 
ing the  Duke  of  WeUiogtoo  as  Com- 
roander-in-ChietV  3W  —  Ibndiiiiss  of 
cotintry  lii>,  Sia—rrsolutioQ  to  keep 
himsell  free  from  party,  302 — intel- 
leetnal  gifts,  a 'J3^p re-eminent  fea- 
ture of  his  character  a  noble  estimate 
of  duty,  304 — marks  left  by  him  in 

2  v 


568 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  123. 


the  growth  of  mrt,  science,  and  bene- 
ficent inttitiitions,  ib, — his  ff|>eeches 
fbll  of  genius  and  evidently  his  own, 
305 — parity  and  justice  of  his  cha- 
racter, (b. 

Alfieri  and  the  Coantess  of  Albany,  70. 

Alpine  climbing,  119 — increase  of  Al- 
pine literature,  120 — the  guide-books, 
•6. — Murray's  •  Ilandlwok  for  Swit- 
zerland and  Savoy,'  t6. — Alpine  inns 
enumerated,  16.  —  routes  recom- 
mended, 123 — estimate  of  risk  com- 
pared with  other  pastimes,  132 — 
driving  of  unsurpassed  skill  on  the 
great  roads,  ih. — restorative  powers 
of  Alpine  travel,  135— causes  of  acci- 
dents, ib. — catastrophe  on  the  Mat- 
terhom  from  a  fatal  mistake,  137 — 
scientific  benefits  from  exploration, 
125— Alpine  Clubs,  ih.—the  English 
Club's  contributions  to  Alpine  geo- 
graphy, 1 2C— Austrian  Club,  127 — 
Swiss  and  Italian  clubs,  13S — rapid 
increase  of  Alpine  accidents,  129 — 
enumeration  of  accideDts,i&. — twenty- 
two  travellers  and  eleven  guides  have 
perished  in  the  last  eight  years,  130 
— f&tal  accidents  on  Mont  lilanc,  137 
—conditions  of  safety,  138— charge 
against  the  Chamounix  men  an  as. 
sumption,  {ft. — accident  below  the 
Col  du  Geant,  Ul — method  of  lessen- 
ing the  possibility  of  disaster,  ih. — 
foreign  strictures  ou  English  impru- 
dence, 143. 

Anson  (Mr.  G,  E.)  private  Secretary  to 
Prince  AHn^rt,  303. 

Aristocracy's  (English'^  surrender  of  its 
most  cherished  traditions,  20."). 

Aryan  languages,  3»». 

Azeglio  (Massimo  d')  reminiscences  of, 
C7 — rules  of  conduct  for  his  iMiyhotul, 
70 — his  studies  as  an  artist,  77 — pic- 
ture of  the  death  of  Montmorency,  83 
— wounded  at  Novara,  84 — precedes 
Cavour  as  minister  to  Victor  Km-  ; 
manuel,  /7>. — governor  of  Milan,  S5 — 
opinion  of  (larihaUii,  ih. — prreat  suc- 
cess as  a  novelist,  87  -  his  Nicolo  de' 
Lapi,  88  —  engaged  as  a  political  ', 
emissary,  ih. — his  influence  on  Italian 
destinies,  93.  | 

B. 

Ball's  Alpine  Guide  includes  geologv   , 
of  the  Alps,  121.  *     ' 

artram's  (Kev.  E.)  'Promotion  by 
Merit  essential  to  the  Progress  of  the 
Church,'  237. 

Beke's  *  Captives  in  Abyssinia,'  510. 


Blight's  *  Week  at  the  Land's  End,'  62. 
,  Borlase's  *  Antiquities  of  Cornwall/  35. 
I  Brace's  '  Races  of  the  World,'  44. 
,  Broadhead,  Secretary  of  the  Sheffield 
I       Sawgrinders'  Union,  377. 

Brodrick  on  Reform,  246. 

Bryce't '  Holy  Roman  Empire,'  113. 

Bulwer's  ^Sir  H.  L.)  *  Historical  Cha- 
racters,' 383— his  diplomatic  serviets, 
384 — qualities  of  his  style,  ib. 

I  C. 

,  'Calvary*  (Mount'),  a  Cornish  poem, 
!       MSS.  and  editions  of  it,  47. 

Canning,  'the  brilliant  man,'  411  — 
overcomes  the  dislike  of  George  IV'., 
:  413— anecdote  of  his  removing  a  rival 
of  the  King  from  Lady  Conyngham, 
'  41 5— his  famous  speech  on  tlie  afiiiirs 
of  Portugal,  tZ».— his  boast  of '  collmg 
a  new  world  into  existence  to  re- 
dress the  balance  of  the  old,'  416. 

Carpenters  and  Joiners  (Amalgamated 
Society  of;,  its  rules  and  operations, 
367. 

Celtic  language,  its  two  classes,  Cymric 
and  Gaelic,  36 — Celtic  an  Aryan  or 
Indo-European  language,  ib, 

Charles  Albert,  Kiogof  Sardinia,  89- 
characteristic  interview  with  D* Aze- 
glio, 91. 

Children's  Employment  Commission, 
1 73.     {See  Agriculmral  Gangs.) 

Christ's  portraits,  legend  of  the  origin 
of  the  portrait  on  the  veil  of  Ve 
ronica,  491  — letter  of  Christ  to  Al- 
garus,  493 — various  accounts  of  the 
portrait  of  Christ  sent  to  Abganis, 
41*4 — the  picture  transferretl  toKome 
to  the  church  of  !^t.  Sylvester,  497— 
myth  of  the  cure  of  Vespasian  and 
Titus  \y  the  miraculous  portrait,  5i>«> 

—  steps  by  which  the  fable  of  Prounice 
was  developed,  .'ioi  —  other  portraits  of 
Christ  claiming  to  be  authentic,  r»02 

—  portrait  painted  by  St.  Luke,  1'^.— 
description  of  the  person  of  .Christ 
drawn  from  his  portraits,  503 — remote' 
antiquity  of  the  portraits,  5t)4 —  de- 
lineations of  Christ's  features  on  sar- 
cophagi, .'>05  — paintings  in  the  cata- 
combs dating  from  the  second  century. 
ih. — fresco  portraits,  60.*>  —  mosaic 
representations  of  Christ.  5UC — litc- 
rarj'  sketches  of  the  portrait  of  our 
Lord  by  St.  Jerome  and  others,  ih  — 
Kiceplionis's  description  the  most 
complete,  ih. — Christ's  resemblai.ct 
to  the  Virgin  Mary,  499 — her  pt>r- 
trait  sketched  by  Nicephonis,  ih. 


Cliurcli,  its  in6uence  on  iDti^rnal  utid 
fXterDal  policy  m  earlier  and  lattr 
tiniefi,  17U, 

Ciiarcb  and  curates,  221 — probaUe  fint 
&tf&ck  OD  the  Irish  establishment,  222 
— bflgb  of  attacks  on  the  Clinrch 
twotV^ld :  one  false,  and  tbe  other  true, 
223 — the  great  body  of  the  clergy 
shamefully  underpaid,  *224  —  emolu- 
ments of  the  dergy  compared  with 
those  of  other  professions,  226— io- 
crtmfie  of  national  wealth  tends  to 
lower  the  sociat  position  of  the  clergy, 
T21 — influence  of  the  clergy  on  the 
ttnie  of  sociL'ty,  tb. — ^ French  clergy 
drawn  from  the  lower  orderi^,  *J28 — 
LigLer  stiindard  of  per^i>Qal  life  and 
official  labour  now  amoug  the  elergy, 
U29  —  insufficient  immier  of  the 
clergy  in  protioitlon  to  the  popula- 
tion, i'h,  —  A  ci  d  i  t  J  oiml  Cu  ni  tes  &i- 
ciety,  2*11-— Clinrch  Pastoral  Aid  So- 
ciety, lb.  —  Curate*'  Augmentation 
Pitndi  23i^five  tliovisund  curatvs  iu 
icti^e  employment,  «fi*^*  Position 
and  Prospects  of  Stitiendiary  Curates,* 
t&,— compariiou  of  curates*  slipends 
with  ihtf  wages  of  nrtihaiis,  232 — 
remute  prohahilily  of  preferment,  233 
^-Dou-eleemosyuary  character  of  tbe 
Cumtcfl'  AugmeuiatioQ  Fund,  23^^- 
lalling  off  in  the  uumber  of  ^^ndi* 
dates  from  Oxford  and  Caui bridge, 
a37 — statistics  of  deficiency  of  clergy, 
2^y  —  neet'S&ity  of  iiialuiainiug  the 
fiiandard  of  oue  clergyman  for  evt-ry 
two  thousand  <>f  the  popuktion.  it.— 
deficiency  of  aceomniodatiou  for  the 
people  iu  alt  the  places  of  wor^hm  in 
IxuitioD  Iflkeu  together,  240 — ftfty* 
two  per  cent,  of  ihe  population  of 
I^ndon  shut  out  for  waai  of  room,  tb. 
^progress  of  a  vast  lawlesiness,  243 
— MAi  and  activity  of  the  present 
ginemtton  of  cler^y^,  I'fc, 

Oobbttt,  'the  contentious  man/  40a» 
his  ndltuism,  t&.^flowers  of  rhetoric, 
409 — ^good  qualities,  ft. — eloquent 
defence  of  monastic  instittjttons*  tb. — 
specimeus  of  his  scurrility,  410, 

Come rr alive  sttrrender  (tbe)»  a  eoiB- 
plt'te  trtinsfer  of  power,  533 — a  ma- 
jority of  votes  JO  a  majority  of  con* 
«titiieiid«s  made  over  to  lite  workiiig 
clasieSt  ib. — project  of  Tory  demo- 
cracy sedulously  concealed,  539 — 
Tetteeuce  a  flimsy  euptiemisra  for 
ihe  concenlmenl,  ik — parallel  with 
Sunaerluud  accepting  the  favours  of 
James  whilo  negotiating  the  inTa- 
iion  of  William,  540— tlie  transfer  of 


power  passed  hurriedly,  542 — Lord 
Derby's  candour  in  describing  his 
motives,  547— his  first  principle  that 
he  will  not  be  ousted,  549 —  the 
poorest  made  supreme,  553— depo- 
sition of  one  elftss  and  enthronement 
of  another,  555 — a  leap  in  the  dark, 
f»56— the  mobs  of  Hyde  Park  and  the 
North  the  apostles  of  Reform,  it. — 
no  finaHty  in  politics,  557— the  great 
danger  oY  the  Conser^^atiTe  classes 
quk^tucfiS  and  confidence,  558 — pro- 
bable  first  objects  of  at  tack,  5  ti  2. 

Constantine's  (Grand  Uuke)  cold* 
Idcxjded  ferocity,  sm  —  his  fierce 
temper  rendered' necessary  his  reuun^ 
ciation  of  the  succession  to  the  throne, 
321. 

Cornwall,  air  of  antiquity  about  it,  35 
— Cornish  language  lives  in  Ihe  names 
of  towns,  rivers,  mountains,  and  fami* 
lies,  37™impiirt  of  the  prefixes,  Tre, 
Kt>s,  Pol,  Lftu,  Cftcrjaud  Pen,  i"5.— ex- 
tinction of  the  Cornish  langaagCH,  39 
—Doily  Penireath  the  last  pcr&on 
who  frpoke  Comish,  tt.--her  advanced 
Bge  mythical,  40— Cornish  proverbs, 
45— liuary  miracle  or  rairacle-play, 
40  -suppressicm  of  tbe  Guirrimearsa 
cause  of  the  decay  of  Cornish,  it, — 
ctitalogueof  Cornibh  literary  remains 
ft. — Cornish  words  from  the  I^trn  of 
the  Church,  i5.— from  tijaxon,  50 — 
vords  common  to  all  the  Aryan 
languages,  5 1  cromlechs,  *t,*-stonc 
f rtiKids,  *>^— pillars^  holed  stones,  and 
stoni*  elTcles,  55  —  Cornish  caitlci* 
5«— hce-hiife  hnts,  it.— destructitm 
of  the  M  incumber.  Go — Logan  siottes, 
It.^modem  Vandalism,  til— ^Ciilal- 
lack  Honnd,  63— the  Mca-au-iol  a 
dial  tomarklhe  autumnal  ec^iiinox,  64, 

Courtii  of  Law  (new),  93— the  palatial 
idea  condemned,  |>7^— the  Strand  fron- 
tage should  be  a  range  of  noble  houses 
with  shops,  SS-^the  interior  must  be 
an  a|Egregation  of  courts,  not  a  build- 
ing cut  up  into  roomsj  100^— erroneous 
caTottktioa  of  space,  103 — distioci 
quadrangles  recommended,  tt. — ex- 
tension of  the  site  delioed  (with  map), 
lo^-^properties  which  ought  to  cha- 
racterise ihe  building,  105  ^  true 
chamcter  end  spirit  uf  Gothic  arcM- 
lecture,  IOC — cxtruTugant  Tersionsof 
the  pulaljiil  idea  by  the  eleven  com- 
pet  1 1  ors,  1 0  0  -^c  ri  li  c  ism  of  the  d  esi  gns 
^Mr.  Scott's  and  Mr,  Burges*s,  110 
— tho«e  of  Messra.  Brandon,  Water- 
lionse,  Seddon,  &c.,  1 1 1  ^Mr.  Street's, 
it,— most  modern  plans  over- designed, 

2  P  2 


* 


570 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  123. 


114  —  an  architect  for    each    court 

eKsential  for  iodividuality  and  Tarietj, 

116. 
Craycroft  on  the    analysis  of  Parlia- 

lutiut,  263— his  leading  fallacy,  266. 
Cramer  and  Wickham  on  the  passage  of 

Hannibal  over  the  Alpt,  207. 
Cn>mlechs  undoubted  remnants  of  Celtic 

times,  51— meaning  of  the  ^rord,  ifc. 
Crucifixion  unknown  to  the  Jewish  law, 

447. 
Cuerdale,  its  famous  treasure-trove,  158. 
Cymric  languages,  36. 

D. 

Derby  i^i.ord \  charges  against,  536. 
Dicey  on  the  Dalance  of  Classes,  254. 
Dogs,  their  affection  and  ferocity  in  the 

retreat  from  Moscow.  322. 
Druids.  Cesar's  account  of  them,  37. 
Dumas's  (Alexandre,   fils)  '  I.«es  Pre- 

mi^rts  Uepn^ntations,'  19. 

E. 

Education  (popular)  a  political  necessity 

for  self-preservation,  274. 
Ellis  (Robert,  B.D.)  on  Hannibal's  pas- 
sage of  the  Alps,  196— his  mistaken 

allegations,  218. 
Emperor's  (of  the  French'i  unbroken 

run  of  ill-luck  since  Solferino,  32. 
Executions  under   Jewish   law.  447 — 

ft>ur  kinds  of   capital    punishment, 

ih. 
Exhibition  (French  ,  its  unsatisfactor}' 

rfsnlts,  33. 


Fozvijsac's  ',Duc  »le .  S mvoiiir's  Mili- 
taires,  tioc. 

Figaro  (Ix-  Mariago  de",  its  succl'ss  ao- 
countt'd  for,  Ui. 

Fitzherbert  (Mrs. ^  and  (iiorge  IV.,  41  r>. 

Franco,  causes  of  the  failure  of  repre- 
sentative government  in,  t',S. 

Freeman's  History  of  the  Norman  Con- 
quest, 14.'). 

French  f'ommereial  Treaty  with  K::g- 
land.  oi'. 

G. 

Gaelic  languages.  'M\. 

Gemara   (the ,   a   complement   of   the 

Mishnah,    430— a    double    Gemara, 

that  of  Jerusalem  and  that  redacted 

at  Syra  in  RUiylonia,  448. 
George  IV.'s  dislike  of  Canning,  413  — 

anec.lote  of  his  attachment  to  I^idv 

Cony ngbam,  414. 


Gladstone's  (Mr.)  dictum  on  men*s 
moral  title  to  the  sufirage,  248. 

Gluckselig  (Dr.)  many  years  in  collating 
ancient  portraits  of  the  Saviour,  hOS, 

Greeks  '^modern J  not  Slavonians,  43. 

Grey's  '.General  the  Hon.  C)  'Early 
Years  of  the  Prince  Consort,'  279— 
the  work  of  a  royal  hand,  28i>.  <{»« 
Albert. 

H. 

Half-time  system,  184. 

Halifax,  character  of,  386. 

Harris's  Highlands  of  .Ethiopia,  51U. 

Harrison's  Essay  on  Reform,  250. 

Heap^  on  the  portraits  of  Christ,  505. 

Haimibal's  Passage  of  the  Alps,  F^ly- 
bius^s  namitive  entitled  to  implicit 
coutideuce.  192— Niebuhr.  Mommsen, 
and  Arnold's  opinion  that  the  passage 
was  by  the  Little  St.  Bernard,  193- 
approached  by  the  Montdu  Chat,  195 
— remark  in  'Livy  fixing  the  pass  as 
the  Little  St.  Bernard.  i6.— the  In- 
subres  and  Boii  aid  Hannibal,  196— he 
reaches  the  Island,  a  district  bounded 
by  the  rivers  Rhone  and  Is^rt*,  197— 
passage  of  the  Rhone,  19&— route 
traced  by  Mr.  Long,  200^mareh 
through  the  country  of  the  Allobroges, 
201— first  ascent  of  the  Alps  near  the 
exit  of  the  Rhone  from  the  mountains. 
203 — disputed  site  of  the  combat  with 
the  Allobroges,  205— -time  and  dis- 
tance in  passing  the  Alps,  206— 
examination  of  the  opinions  of  Dean 
Cramer  and  Mr.  Wickham,  207— 
of  Mr.  Ellis,  2(»8— of  Mr.  Long.  209 
—Mr.  Whitaker's  route,  210-^ues- 
tiou  oa  the  summits  of  the  rival  routes, 
213  — enormous  losses  suffered  by 
HannilKil  in  his  downward  journey, 
-I-*— •!  nest  ion  of  the  descent  among 
the  Insuhres,  217. 

Hill's  F^say  on  Ireland  and  its  two 
main  grievances,  *Jb8. 

Ilillard's  'Six  Mouths  in  Italv,'  SO. 
Hinton's  *  Church  1  Wert  v. 'Whose  i-* 

it  ?  •  22.^ 
History  f  English  ,  the  Norman  Conquest 
not  the  beginning  of  the  national  his- 
tory, 14(> — chief  English  institutions 
traced  from  the  Saxon  period.  147— 
P^uglish  historical  continuity,  148 — 
ancient  British  coins  a  century  before 
Caesar,  i7/. —great  Danish  quinqui- 
lateral,  15l) — mixture  of  Saxons  and 
BritiNh,  151— assumption  by  the  Kings 
of  England  of  the  titles  of  Basileus, 
CiTsar.  and  Irapcrator,  152— insurrec- 
tion oflJoadicea,  133 — military  roads 


INDEX  TO  VOL,  123. 


571 


■ 

i 


of  BritaiD,  1 35 — nomnu  origi  ti  of  En  g- 
lisli  self-go%^*^mment,  156— ThierryU 
pktui'e  of  the  NormEa  perifld  com- 
piirptl  with  Mr,  Freeman  s  and  Sir  F. 
PalgmTfe\  157— connectioa  of  Saxon 
EDgland  with  Rome,  159— with  the 
ContriieDt,  I't.— foreign  roy^l  Altiaaces 
of  Edward,  son  of  Aifred,  1*>H-- po- 
litical finnsequences  of  the  marriage 
of  Eth tired  and  Emma,  ib. — phwoil 
chaDges  iu  England,  161 — aiialogie« 
betwet^n  the  dtsTedth  itnd  nineteenth 
centuries,  166 — lbt»  Wltan  of  Sixon 
England,  167 — accumulation  of  land 
hy  individual  proprietors  before  the 
Conrtuett,  168  —  the  monarclucal 
power^  tb. — post  ti 00  of  the  Church, 
169— indications  of  wealth  in  the 
<flevenih  century,  171— luxury  ami 
excess  of  the  SaxouR,  17 SI. 

Houghton  (Lord)  on  the  law  of  prinio- 
geniture»  254. 

Hugo  ( VtciorJ  oti  the  true,  the  beatillfnl, 
ajod  the  jratid,  4. 

Hutton'a  Essay  on  the  PolidcAl  Cha^ 
fsctfrof  the  Working  Classes^  251. 

iliuil€j'«  lessons  in  elementary  phy- 
tiology,  479 — the  autlior  a  muEiter  of 
hiology,  ih, 

J, 

[j««ish  Sahbath^  inilgar  notlois  of  Its 
Wmm  a  thing  of  grim  noflierity,  Nu. 
JoorDaliim  in  Paris,  25. 
Jubilee  in  Eome,  m  e^ecti^,  82. 


Kitts  Cotty  Ho«iae,  53. 

U 

Ijangua^  Ihe  tme  tost  of  nntiouality, 
41— the  only  safe  cxponeut  of  national 
character^  45 — chain  of  tradition  in 
thought  and  sentitneut  of  generation! 
of  the  same  race,  4G^uf  thoughts 
manacled  And  fettered  bj  language,  tb. 

Law,  meaning  of  the  word  in  the  Old 
or  New  T*fS  lament,  433. 

Law's  *  Alps  of  Hannihal/  196— lumin- 
oua  and  exhaustive,  2  ia» 

Leiceiter  (Earl  of)  oti  deficiency  af  cot- 
tages, lea. 

Ixopold  (KiDf),  remiDticeKicAi  of,  SSL 

Lieren  (Friii^eit  de),  414. 

Mncolnihire,  ilt  chief  physical  charsc* 
teristies,  175« 

Xjouis  XVL,  court  of,  390, 

XxyitisXyilL  and  Talleyrand, anecdote 
of,  39S  —  anecdote  respecting  his 
'  heroism/  399, 


Logan  stones,  destruction  of,  60 — Logan 

rook  at  Trereen  Dinafi.  it. 
London,  45,W>0  souls  annually  ndded  to 

its  population,  240. 
Longs  {ih  L/\  march  ofHannihal  from 

the  Khone  to  the  Alps,  200, 
Luflhingtou  on  Trade*'  Unions,  '2m. 

M. 

^lackintosh  (Sir  Janicbj,  Sir  H.  Ilulwer's 
*  Man  of  Promise,*  403 — ^his  character 
misconceived  by  Sir  H,  Bulwer,  4tH 
— his  ViDdiciEe  Gallicap,  405^is^ 
coar§e  on  the  law  of  nature  and  na- 
tions, i7;. -defence  of  Peltier,  406^ — 
Recorder  of  Bombay,  iL — contribu- 
tions to  the  '  Edioburgh  Itiivlew/ 
tlK — English  btiitory,&c,,i'i» — Sydney 
Smith's  character  of  him,  407* 

Mancheiiter  brickmokers,  their  mode  of 
eoforcing  obedience,  377^  trade** 
atrocities  at  Msnche^ler,  373, 

Mann's  B«pori  on  the  lieliglous  Con- 
dition of  the  Population,  238, 

Massowah  described,  530, 

Melboarnc's  (Lord)  characteristic  say* 
ing  respeetiiifl:  Priace  Albert,  297, 

M6tj-an*tot  (a  holed  itonf).  its  conjec- 
tured astponomicjil  use,  64— Its  date 
|)ossibly  determinable  by  the  preces- 
sion of  the  equinoctial  ptiiiils,  G5, 

Miiicamber  Ca  p?>i5LMl  stone),  prophecy 
1  eliding  to  it^  de&i  rue  lion,  60. 

Mtshuah  {the),  derivation  of  the  word4 
430— a  complement  to  ihe  Blosaic 
code,  ifo.— its  six  sections,  4*2— its 
language,  4m.    {See  Talmud.) 

Moscow  (French  retreat  from),  faults 
of  Napoleon  leading  to  the  disasters 
of  the  retreat,  '$0S  —  battle  of  Borodino* 
f% — pacific  overtures  to  Kuluiof,  309 
^-French  theatrical  repre^^entaiioti* 
\u  Moscow,  ifc,— vast  imiHuitmenta  at 
the  beginning  of  the  re  treaty  312 — 
cruel  order  of  Napoleon,  3 13— cruelty 
to  Kussian  priiouerF,  jTi^.^arriTal  of 
the  irrat%de  Armci^  at  Mojaisk,  iL — 
heroii^m  of  Marshal  Davonsl*  316^ 
inactivity  of  Napoleon  during  the 
retreat,  317 — gallantry  of  Marshal 
Ney,  319— terrible  fate  of  Fnmoh 
captives,  320— cruelty  of  p«Kiiat 
women  to  the  prtsooeii,  lo.- hn- 
mane  decree  of  the  Emperor  Aleis- 
ander,  32l—roti§hing  of  the  French 
horses  neglected^  according  to  Sir  U, 
Wilson,  323— contradicted  by  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  il, — arrival  and 
disappointment  of  tlie  armj'  at  Bmo* 
Icnsk,  325— movements  of  Uuiitani 


I 


572 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  123. 


towards  the   Demiiia,  326  — daring  ! 
desicn  of 'Ney,  329 — his  passage  of 
the  Uuieper,  i6. — arriTal  and  wvlcome  ' 
of  the  rear-guard  at  Orcha,  330-  joy   . 
of  Napoleon  at  the  safety  of  U  brare 
</«'«    tmres    331  —  construction    of 
bridges  over  the  Reresina,  333 — gal- 
laut  conduct  of  General  Eble  and  his 
pontoniers.  ih. — blowing  up  of  the 
bridges  afier  the  anuy  had  nearly 
crtiMed,  334 — the  thermometer  35-^ 
below  zt>ro«  335 — niar%'elk)us  escapes, 
3'C — instances  of  selfishnesv,   339 — 
the    twenty-ninth    bulletin     diffuses 
^l(K>m   in   almost    every    family    in 
Krance.   iTj.— reasons  for  Napoleon's   : 
detenni nation  to  leave  the  army  and 
return  to  Puris,  339— Thiers's  reasons 
why  he  ought  to  have  n>mained,  i7>. —  > 
the*  (irtmdf  Aruu'e  reduced  to  12,(HX)   * 
soldiers  able  to  bi*ar  arms,  th. — the 
Km|>eror'8  journey  described,  341  — 
danger    of   capture,    i7;. — his    order 
'/fie:   moi  jtlutot   que  de  m^  laiiter 
jtn  Hflre,'  ib.  — 3»>  left  out  of  his  escort 
tjf -JUii  Polish  lancer?,  342— his  arrival 
at  Paris,  344— ruin  of  the  army  com- 
pleted  near    Wilna,    346— abandon- 
ment of  artiller}',  military  chests,  and  , 
'  the  trophies  of  Moscow,'  ib.— de-  ' 
scription  of  Wilna  during  the  retreat, 
.'U 7— error  of  Napoleon  in  making  no 
preparations  for  a  military  retreat, 
3  49. 
Murray's   •Handbook  for  Switzerland 
and  S.ivoy,'  120 — Knapsack  (luides, 
IJI. 

N. 

Newman's  l*l<say  on  the  Land  Laws, 
254 — ought  to  have  been  calle<i  an 
essay  on  Marriage  Settlements,  271. 

Neys  (M:«rshab  gallantry,  3n». 

Norfolk,  physical  features  of  its  low 
country,  170. 

r. 

Pagct's  I'Mr,')  plan  of  h:ilf-timo  in  em- 
ploying ])oys  on  liis  farm,  IH.'S. 

Palgriive's  'Mr  F.;  grcnt  work  on  Eng- 
lalid  and  Normandy.  14.^ — his  archaic 
and  grotesque  spelling,  ih. 

I'arker  on  Popular  Ktliioation,  27 :\ 

Parkyns's  Life  in  Abyssinia,  529. 

Pharisees  or  Separatists.  4:J'». 

IVntreath  !^ Dolly),  the  last  who  spoke 
Ornish,  40. 

Pilair,  legend  of  his  being  condemned 
to  death  by  Tiberius  for  unjustly 
crucifying  our  Lord,  499. 

Pius  VIL,  Papal  rfffime  on  bis  return,  73.  ; 


Polybius's  namtiTe  of  Hannibal^s  pas- 
sage of  the  Alps,  192— eologiam  on, 
220.    {See  Hannibal.) 

Portraiu  of  Christ,  49 1 .    (Sw  Christ) 

Primogeniture,  law  of,  254. 

Prounice,  the  woman  who  had  an  issue 
of  blood  for  twelve  years,  498 — im- 
port of  the  word,  ib, 

Paris,  the  head,  heart,  and  brain  of  the 
French  people,  1  —  Victor  Hugo's 
deification  of  Paris,  i6. — expulsion  of 
the  lower  class  beyond  the  walls, 
5  — episode  of  rErprojiri^,  6  — 
sixty  millions  sterling  expended  on 
Paris  in  fifteen  years,  7 — new  Paris  a 
sort  of  intrenched  camp  in  a  lately 
conquered  country,  ib. — portentous 
rise  of  house-rent  and  of  prices 
generally,  9—100,000  workmen  can- 
not be  perpetually  employed,  1*6. — 
mixed  motives  leading  to  the  trans- 
formation of  Paris,  10— extravagance 
of  ladies*  dresses.  1 1 — cost  of  a  lady's 
eight-day  visit  to  Compi^gne,  12 — 
fabulous  sums  lavished  on  the  Phrynes 
and  Aspasias  of  the  day,  13 — the 
ealoM,  14 — celebrated  literary  wiZons, 
15— confusion  of  social  ranks,  orders, 
and  degrees,  18— the  monde  tkud  demi- 
moiule,  i': — fon'ign  element  in  Paris 
life,  19— the  «i/V-r/ian/uN/ a  speciality 
of  New  Paris,  22— rich  foreigners  a 
cause  of  the  degradation  of  art,  23— 
estimate  of  French  art,  25— effect  of 
journalism  in  causing  revolutions,  »!>. 
— the  literary  class  has  sulVered  most 
fr»im  the  lo^s  of  liU-rty,  27 — slaNish 
ailulation  of  the  author  of  the  *  His- 
tv)ire  de  Jule^  ^e^ar/  i'). — elTeOt  on 
the  Freneh  language  of  the  prevalent 
corruption  and  subserviency,  29 — 
indf|>endeuce  of  French  hieralure 
preserved,  29 — ccmiparison  betMeeu 
New  and  Old  Paris,  «''-. 

Q. 

Qninquilateral  (great  Danish),  Stam- 
foril.  Ix'icester,  Derby,  Nottingham, 
and  Lincoln,  150. 

R. 

llaee,  cranial  measurements  not  a  safe 
indication  of,  44. 

Keforni,  surrender  by  the  English 
aristocracy  of  its  most  cherished 
traditions,  265  —  tlimsy  and  incon- 
clusive arguments  of  the  authors  of 
•  Kssays  on  Reform,'  276 — retrospect 
of  arguments  lor  Reform,  245— Mr. 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  123, 


L 


I 


Glaiktoui^'g  djctuoi  on  mnnLi  right  to 
the  mffrage,  S48— the  raetapbjsical 
Bgmeat  of  *  natural  right '  denoun- 
ced by  B<;tithELM  md  Burkts  249^ — the 
*  flesh  anil  blood '  argument,  *  fathers 
of  families'  argtimeat,  and  others 
making  the  suffrage  a  privilege^  fal- 
lacious, 250. 

Beilly's  discovery  of  figtueuts  of  Alpine 
gt?ography,  12(5* 

BestauraiiU  (Freucb),  decline  of  gu«i- 
tronomj  in,  3L 

Reroluljon  (great  French^,  rapid  rvac- 
tioa  afrer  its  atrocities  393, 

Roman  nobility  in  ISJI,  79. 

Eome^  the  Jerusalem  of  Christianity^ 
159* 

Royal  authors,  279, 

a. 

Sanhedrim  (the\  434. 

Science  in  schools,  rLdnctaoce  of  t«ichers 
to  admit,  4(jS —  objcctiou  agaitiat 
changing  gcoenil  traming  into  pro- 
fessional apprentieeship*  466 — hetero- 
geneous infLirmation  useless  unless  the 
intellectual  powers  are  traiuwl  4(iy— 
iBtelleetual  barrenness  of  mere  nseful 
infortnalion,  4 TO — ^theory  of  school 
training,  i'&*  —  how  the  pursuit  of 
science  i$  valuable  aB  an  iziull^'itiial 
tnuning,  474 — impor(:aneeoftbeIno^ie 
of  teachmg  physieal  and  experimenral 
Ktenoe,  475  — experimental  physics 
and  mt^hanlcs  eminently  fitted  for 
edueation&l  purposes.  4T€^hem  is  try 
lUad  botany ,  4  7S— moral  effeetsaf  train- 
ing  in  pjiysical  ficience,  4go^igno- 
mmions  position  of  science  in  schoob, 
4  82^  v%  peri  m  ental  and  natnral  science 
should  tie  placed  on  the  tame  Iboting 
as  mntbematics  and  cl assies,  iB^ — 
necessity  for  high  schools  of  science, 
485  — English  shortcomings  at  the 
Paris  Exhihition  attributed  to  want 
of  general  scientlBe  edocalinn,  48*| — 
Intrinsic  attractions  of  the  pursait  of 
science,  489, 

ScriUt^s,  meanings  of  the  word  at  dlfn.-r* 
ent  periods,  4^!2 — ^three  classes  of,  iK 

Sheffield  outfagiei,  .1 7 r^— support  given 
to  crime  by  opinion  In,  377. 

their  cbssi ideation  an  utisafe 
itm  of  race,  45* 
%  (Gold win)  Essaj  on  th*  Ex- 
peri*»nec?  of  the  American  Common- 
wealth, 2!^^ — ^his  ro5se-tolour<?d  vii'w 
of  American  politico,  SdO, 

Sti-phen  9  (I.<«sl]e)  Escay  on  Popular 
Qonitilii«iiel^  tftS. 


Stockmar's  (Baron)  nUaehmcni  to  the 
Queen  and  Prince  Contort,  389. 

St^ne  tripods,  Celtic,  52. 

Stooohenge  a  Ute  specimen  of  Cdtie 
architecture,  52  — mode  of  moving 
the  stone«  to  tbeir  position,  ik 


Talleyrand,  Sir  H.  Bulwer's  *  pot  I  tie 
Man,'  384— compared  with  Hals  fax, 
396 — PoEro  di  Horgo's  character  nf^ 
387— derivation  of  the  name  Talley- 
rand, ih, — exeltided  from  Ms  birth- 
right, th. — becomes  Abbe'de  PMgord, 
3S9  —  contributes  to  the  scatidahns 
chronicles  of  Paris  and  Versailles,  ib, 
— Bishop  of  Antiin,  ik — repre»(?nt* 
his  dioctsse  in  the  Suites-General,  ^9o 
— ^aidsMirmbeau  and  3iey«^ in  bringing 
about  the  aseendaney  of  the  popular 
clement,  390 — off^fods  botli  the  parly 
of  progress  and  that  of  ordt-r  by 
his  iopport  of  conferring  eiU^en- 
Rhip  on  a  Jew,  391 —  excommu- 
nicated by  the  Pope,  (h.  —  relin- 
qnifthes  the  clerical  character,  39:* — ■■ 
co-operates  with  MirtiLiean  to  save  the 
monarchy,  t&.— repot rs  to  England, 
»?».— his  portrait  in  1793,  «6.— ordered 
to  quit  England  under  the  A  lieu  Act, 
343 — ^saili  for  North  America,  ik^ 
elected  member  of  the  Instil  ute,  594 
^^  appointed  Minister  for  Foreign 
Affairs  by  Barras,  ife. — reply  to  a 
iqttiuting  man,  i&.-^helps  to  concen- 
trate authority  in  the  Mrst  Oinsnl, 
395— Papal  boll  remoTing  bis  ex- 
commnnication  and  permitting  him 
to  wear  the  secnlar  costume^  tfr.  — 
marries  an  American  lady,  (b. — hi4 
celebrated  remark  on  thff  execution 
of  the  Due  d'Engbien,  f?^  —  Prinee 
of  Beneveoto,  39{>— imperturhabilsfy 
under  Napoleon's  abuse,  :i^t7— nego* 
tiates  with  the  Allies  against  Napo- 
leon,  ib. — anecdote  of  the  mwk-  of 
conTcyiug  his  messngi^  to  the  Count 
de  Stadion,  39S— the  eommunicaiion 
determines  the  mareh  of  the  Allies 
OQ  Paris,  lb, — expedient  to  eifadc  an 
order  of  Napoleon,  *^.— adrice  t^j  the 
Emperor  AleXfmder,  *ft,— anecdote  of 
his  reception  by  Louis  XVI H,,  ih. — 
mesaflge  to  I^qih  Philippe  on  the  third 
day  of  the  RL-volotion  of  July,  400^— 
emhassy  to  London,  ib.  *-  how  he 
gained  bts  immt'iifie  wealth*  ffr. — the 
most  imperturbable  and  ImpasatFc  of 
human  beings,  40J— illustratiirc  ance- 
dj&te,  ib.—m  kw  of  hii  bum  m/ottf  ih. 


ri:4 


INDEX  TO  VOL.  121. 


Taliniiil  'jlu- ,  417 — iiuivt^nallv  neg- 
U'CUtl  and  uuiviT»ully  talked  of,  419 
— burnings  of  the  book,  422  -  -  fint 
complete  edition,  424  —  au  eucyclo- 
pa'dia'ot'  law.  425— its  origin  coeval 
with  I  lie  return  from  the  liahy- 
lonish  cu^Kivity,  42 r; — derivation  of 
the  word  from  itintul  to  learn,  429 — 
the<  great  Corpus  Juris  of  Judaism, 
|7«.— itsi  two  eur rents,  prose  and  poetry, 
4J9— li-gal  and  legendary  elements, 
4.'lo--  dividi-d  into  Mishu'uh  and  (Je- 
mara,  *K — it  is  the  oral  or  unwritten 
Uw,  distinguished  from  the  I'enta- 
teuch  or  written  law,  4o«i  —  thnre 
stages  in  the  compilation  of  the  Tal- 
luuilioal  eode,  •l.'(2 — relation  betwevn 
Christianity  and  the  Talmud,  4:i7 — 
dili'erenee  hetwcen  tlie  Judaism  of 
the  1  Villa  tench  and  that  of  tiie  time 
of  ^lri^t,  4:{S  — tiie  lex  tdliouis  un-  ; 
kuoHu  tit  the  Talmud,  440  —  the 
Ikib}  Ionian  Talmud,  44il— the  Hag- 
gadali,  tlie  second  eurreut  of  tlie  Tal- 
mud. 4J2--TalniUiiieal  tnetaph}sics  ! 
andi-lil.c^, 4.'ij — how  miruclesarecou*  ■ 
sidertni  in  it,  4J7 — its  doctrine  of  the 
soul  more  IMatonic  thau  Aristoteliuu, 
45b— rejects  everlasting  damnatiou, 
i.  45y— collection  of  proverbs  from  the 

Talmud,  4oU. 
Taylor's  ^Capt.  Meadows;  description 
of  K  eltie  aiiii  Druidicul  monuments  in 
the  Dfkkau,  .');'>. 
Terra-colla  architecture  of  North  Italy, 

a  lua^iiihceiit  \oiunie,  11^. 
Thiei>  >  erroueoUN  aicounl  of  the  battle 

<»f  WaterltK),  2\i. 
Tibiriii>  cured  ot  leprosy  by  Veronica's 

saci'id  ima^e,  AM  J. 
Trade.V  L  mt)ii>,  terriide  revelations  of 
tlie  ConiniisMou  on,  li'Jil  -iheir  out- 
rages,j/o  \a.storgauisutionandeiit>r- 
nitiUN  power,  o.")l  — the  Sawgriudei.s' 
L'liioii  jiisiiliea  as»a>>Miiaiiiui,  .'i.'>2  ■ 
the  uiiidiiist  workman's  sacrilice  of 
]nui>e\,  liberty,  ana  iiiiU-pendeuce,  .l^a 
•  pujiiiiMlioii  i)i  pieci  work  and  onci- 
tinie,  .J.ni  laliac}  (»I  ihi- h}Mein,  ,')."i7 
-  \\>  suicidal  seliishiiess,  .j.'ii* — lines 
fur  'ehasiii^,'  .ttii — woikinen  uivided 
into  two  i-la»es,  'iul-  conirolliiig  and 
terronsij.j;  uiasiers,  :U\2  -founded  in 
tleliain-e  of  ecouoniical  principles, .'»»,.') 
iiiaile<iua«.y  ol  Uiv  payments  to  se- 
cure tlie  liiiielits  prumiseil,  ;j»17  — 
worliiies>ne>»  ol  lioin  bene  lit  society 
and  trade  union  prove- 1  by  their  sepa- 


ratton.  368  —  their  preposterous  and 
incredible  folly,  ib, — efiectsof  strikes 
and  lock-outs  combined,  .'170— neces- 
sity .of  making  war  on  uon-uuion 
men,  371 — fierce  and  lawless  (»assions 
evolved  from  the  .nature  of  a  trade 
union,  ib. — outrages  not  fortuitous 
results,  but  the  logicsA  cfi'ects  of 
trades'  unions,  /''. — instances  of  the 
coercion  of  masters,  372— disobedi- 
ence of  a  member  punished  by  cod- 
lisi*ation  of  the  savings  of  a  life,  373 
— opposition  to  machinery,  //«.— ex- 
tortion from  employers,  374 — parallel 
to  the  secret  tribunal  of  the  middle 
ages  375 — the  ^heflield  outrages  and 
the  miscreants  Droadheail  ami 
Cr(.N>kes,  376 — altsolutist  principles 
of  the  brickmakers  of  Maiichestor, 
377-  their  penalties  graduated  from 
fines  to  murder,  ih. — masters  giving 
up  business  from  threats,  378 — ueeviles 
by  thousands  put  into  the  brick- 
makers'  clay,  <{«.— atrocities  at  Man- 
chester, ih, — clurge  of  liaron  IJram- 
well  in  the  case  of  the  tailors*  strike, 
379 — case  of  Hilton  r.  Ecker&ley,  -iJ*'! 
— alterations  in  the  law  suggested.  3$2 
— deinoralis:ition  reducing  the  Eng- 
lish operative  to  the  level  of  the  Thug, 
383. 
Tsetse  fly's  bite  death  to  the  liorse,  ox, 
and  dog,  518. 


Ven)iiica  St..,  legend  of  li.r  veil  with 
the  liueaments  of  the  Sa\  iour.  4^1- 
her  name  derive<l  from  iini  in. a,  the 
true  image.     (^.Sc-tr  C'iirist.. 

Voltaire  originator  of  the  selieiiie  of 
improvement  in  progress  in  Taris.  ■'>!. 

W. 

Wellington's  oj)ini<iii  of  tiie  retreat  fnmi 
Moscow.  ;;ji,. 

WeUii  wonls  liorn»wed  iVt^iu  Latin  dur- 
ing the  sta}  of  tlie  Uo:iiai.>  in  Hritaiii. 

:»o. 

West  India  islands,  tone  f:i\ento  s<».iety 
by  the  Uishops  bent  oui  to.  •j-J7. 

Wesluiinslcr,  palace  cf,  a  mere  me- 
chanical  feat,  Uj. 

William  IV.'s  opposition  to  the  mar- 
riage of  Trince  Albert  with  the  Trin- 
cess  \'icloria,  2yj. 

Witaii,  the  i^axon  Parliament,  l«i7. 

Women,  literary  iutiuence  of,  ir>. 


END   OF   THE    IIUNDUED    AND   TWENTV-THIKD   VOLLME. 


fRtNlIli  V.Y    WU.M.VV  < 


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