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diff --git a/75167-0.txt b/75167-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..53b7034 --- /dev/null +++ b/75167-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7999 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75167 *** + + + + + + BLACKWOOD’S + EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. + NO. DLXIX. MARCH 1863. VOL. XCIII. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + CAXTONIANA.—PART XIV., 267 + NO. XIX.—MOTIVE POWER (_concluded_) + MRS CLIFFORD’S MARRIAGE.—PART I., 284 + AN ENGLISH VILLAGE—IN FRENCH, 301 + LORD MACKENZIE’S ROMAN LAW, 314 + THE PERIPATETIC POLITICIAN—IN FLORENCE, 321 + THE FRANK IN SCOTLAND, 330 + KINGLAKE’S INVASION OF THE CRIMEA, 355 + THE OPENING OF THE SESSION, 384 + + + EDINBURGH: + WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 45 GEORGE STREET. + AND 37 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON. + + _To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._ + + SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM. + + PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH. + + + + + BLACKWOOD’S + EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. + + NO. DLXIX. MARCH 1863. VOL. XCIII + + + + + CAXTONIANA: + A SERIES OF ESSAYS ON LIFE, LITERATURE, AND MANNERS. + + By the Author of ‘The Caxton Family.’ + + + PART XIV. + + + NO. XIX.—MOTIVE POWER (_concluded_). + +The next day the atmosphere was much cooler, refreshed by a heavy shower +that had fallen at dawn; and when, not long after noon, Percival and I, +mounted on ponies bred in the neighbouring forests, were riding through +the narrow lanes towards the house we had agreed to visit, we did not +feel the heat oppressive. It was a long excursion; we rode slowly, and +the distance was about sixteen miles. + +We arrived at last at a little hamlet remote from the highroads. The +cottages, though old-fashioned, were singularly neat and +trim—flower-plots before them, and small gardens for kitchen use behind. +A very ancient church, with its parsonage, backed the broad +village-green; and opposite the green stood one of those small quaint +manor-houses which satisfied the pride of our squires two hundred years +ago. On a wide garden-lawn in front were old yew-trees cut into +fantastic figures of pyramids and obelisks and birds and animals; beyond +the lawn, on a levelled platform immediately before the house, was a +small garden, with a sundial, and a summer-house or pavilion of the date +of William III., when buildings of that kind, for a short time, became +the fashionable appendage to country-houses, frequently decorated inside +with musical trophies, as if built for a music-room; but, I suspect, +more generally devoted to wine and pipes by the host and his male +friends. At the rear of the house stretched an ample range of +farm-buildings in very good repair and order, the whole situated on the +side of a hill, sufficiently high to command an extensive prospect, +bounded at the farthest distance by the sea, yet not so high as to lose +the screen of hills, crested by young plantations of fir and larch; +while their midmost slopes were, in part, still abandoned to +sheep-walks; in part, brought (evidently of late) into cultivation; and +farther down, amid the richer pastures that dipped into the valley, +goodly herds of cattle indolently grazed or drowsily reposed. + +We dismounted at the white garden-gate. A man ran out from the farmyard +and took our ponies; evidently a familiar acquaintance of Tracey’s, for +he said heartily, “that he was glad to see his honour looking so well,” +and volunteered a promise that the ponies should be well rubbed down, +and fed. “Master was at home; we should find him in the orchard swinging +Miss Lucy.” + +So, instead of entering the house, Tracey, who knew all its ways, took +me round to the other side, and we came into one of those venerable +orchards which carry the thought back to the early day when the orchard +was, in truth, the garden. + +A child’s musical laugh guided us through the lines of heavy-laden +apple-trees to the spot where the once famous prizeman—the once +brilliant political thinker—was now content to gratify the instinctive +desire _tentare aërias vias_—in the pastime of an infant. + +He was so absorbed in his occupation that he did not hear or observe us +till we were close at his side. Then, after carefully arresting the +swing, and tenderly taking out the little girl, he shook hands with +Percival; and when the ceremony of mutual introduction was briefly +concluded, extended the same courtesy to myself. + +Gray was a man in the full force of middle life, with a complexion that +seemed to have been originally fair and delicate, but had become bronzed +and hardened by habitual exposure to morning breezes and noonday suns. +He had a clear bright blue eye, and a countenance that only failed of +being handsome by that length and straightness of line between nostril +and upper lip, which is said by physiognomists to be significant of +firmness and decision. The whole expression of his face, though frank +and manly, was, however, rather sweet than harsh; and he had one of +those rare voices which almost in themselves secure success to a public +speaker—distinct and clear, even in its lowest tone, as a silvery bell. + +I think much of a man’s nature is shown by the way in which he shakes +hands. I doubt if any worldly student of Chesterfieldian manners can +ever acquire the art of that everyday salutation, if it be not inborn in +the kindness, loyalty, and warmth of his native disposition. I have +known many a great man who lays himself out to be popular, who can +school his smile to fascinating sweetness, his voice to persuasive +melody, but who chills or steels your heart against him the moment he +shakes hands with you. + +But there is a cordial clasp which shows warmth of impulse, unhesitating +truth, and even power of character—a clasp which recalls the classic +trust in the “faith of the right hand.” + +And the clasp of Hastings Gray’s hand at once propitiated me in his +favour. While he and I exchanged the few words with which acquaintance +commences, Percival had replaced Miss Lucy in the swing, and had taken +the father’s post. Lucy, before disappointed at the cessation of her +amusement, felt now that she was receiving a compliment, which she must +not abuse too far; so she very soon, of her own accord, unselfishly +asked to be let down, and we all walked back towards the house. + +“You will dine with us, I hope,” said Gray. “I know when you come at +this hour, Sir Percival, that you always meditate giving us that +pleasure.” (Turning to me,) “It is now half-past three, we dine at four +o’clock, and that early hour gives you time to rest, and ride back in +the cool of the evening.” + +“My dear Gray,” answered Percival, “I accept your invitation for myself +and my friend. I foresaw you would ask us, and left word at home that we +were not to be waited for. Where is Mrs Gray?” + +“I suspect that she is about some of those household matters which +interest a farmer’s wife. Lucy, run and tell your mamma that these +gentlemen will dine with us.” + +Lucy scampered off. + +“The fact is,” said Tracey, “that we have a problem to submit to you. +You know how frequently I come to you for a hint when something puzzles +me. But we can defer that knotty subject till we adjourn, as usual, to +wine and fruit in your summer-house. Your eldest boy is at home for the +holidays?” + +“Not at home, though it is his holidays. He is now fifteen, and he and a +school friend of his are travelling on foot into Cornwall. Nothing, I +think, fits boys better for life than those hardy excursions in which +they must depend on themselves, shift for themselves, think for +themselves.” + +“I daresay you are right,” said Tracey; “the earlier each of us human +beings forms himself into an individual God’s creature, distinct from +the _servum pecus_, the better chance he has of acquiring originality of +mind and dignity of character. And your other children?” + +“Oh, my two younger boys I teach at home, and one little girl—I play +with.” Here addressing me, Gray asked “If I farmed?” + +“Yes,” said I, “but very much as _les Rois Fainéants_ reigned. My +bailiff is my _Maire du Palais_. I hope, therefore, that our friend Sir +Percival will not wound my feelings as a lover of Nature by accusing me +of wooing her for the sake of her turnips.” + +“Ah!” said Gray, smiling, “Sir Percival, I know, holds to the doctrine +that the only pure love of Nature is the æsthetic; and looks upon the +intimate connection which the husbandman forms with her as a +cold-blooded _mariage de convenance_.” + +“I confess,” answered Percival, “that I agree with the great German +philosopher, that the love of Nature is pure in proportion as the +delight in her companionship is unmixed with any idea of the gain she +can give us. But a pure love may be a very sterile affection; and a +_mariage de convenance_ may be prolific in very fine offspring. I +concede to you, therefore, that the world is bettered by the practical +uses to which Nature has been put by those who wooed her for the sake of +her dower: and I no more commend to the imitation of others my abstract +æsthetic affection for her abstract æsthetic beauty, than I would +commend Petrarch’s poetical passion for Laura to the general adoption of +lovers. I give you, then, gentlemen farmers, full permission to woo +Nature for the sake of her turnips. Our mutton is all the better for +it.” + +“And that is no small consideration,” said Gray. “If I had gazed on my +sheep-walks with the divine æsthetic eye, and without one forethought of +the profit they might bring me, I should not already have converted 200 +out of the 1000 acres I possess into land that would let at 30s. per +acre, where formerly it let at 5s. But, with all submission to the great +German philosopher, I don’t think I love Nature the less because of the +benefits with which she repays the pains I have taken to conciliate her +favour. If, thanks to her, I can give a better education to my boys, and +secure a modest provision for my girl, is it the property of gratitude +to destroy or to increase affection? But you see, sir, there is this +difference between Sir Percival and myself:—He has had no motive in +improving Nature for her positive uses, and therefore he has been +contented with giving her a prettier robe. He loves her as a _grand +seigneur_ loves his mistress. I love her as a man loves the helpmate who +assists his toils. According as in rural life my mind could find not +repose, but occupation—according as that occupation was compatible with +such prudent regard to fortune as a man owes to the children he brings +into the world—my choice of life would be a right or a wrong one. In +short, I find in the cultivation of Nature my business as well as my +pleasure. I have a motive for the business which does not diminish my +taste for the pleasure.” + +Tracey and I exchanged looks. So, then, here was a motive for activity. +But why was the motive towards activity in pursuits requiring so little +of the intellect for which Gray had been characterised, and so little of +the knowledge which his youth had acquired, so much stronger than the +motive towards a career which proffered an incalculably larger scope for +his powers? Here, there was no want of energy—here, there had been no +philosophical disdain of ambition—here, no great wealth leaving no +stimulant to desires—no niggard poverty paralysing the sinews of hope. +The choice of retirement had been made in the full vigour of a life +trained from boyhood to the exercises that discipline the wrestlers for +renown. + +While I was thus musing, Gray led the way towards the farmyard, and on +reaching it said to me,— + +“Since you do farm, if only by deputy, I must show you the sheep with +which I hope to win the first prize at our agricultural show in +September.” + +“So you still care for prizes?” said I: “the love of fame is not dead +within your breast.” + +“Certainly not; ‘Pride attends us still.’ I am very proud of the prizes +I have already won; last year for my wurzel—the year before, for the cow +I bred on my own pastures.” + +We crossed the farmyard, and arrived at the covered sheep-pens. I +thought I had never seen finer sheep than those which Gray showed me +with visible triumph. Then we two conversed with much animation upon the +pros and cons in favour of stall-feeding _versus_ free grazing, while +Tracey amused himself, first in trying to conciliate a great dog, +luckily for him chained up in the adjoining yard, and next, in favouring +the escape of a mouse who had incautiously quitted the barn, and +ventured within reach of a motherly hen, who seemed to regard it as a +monster intent on her chicks. + +Reaching the house, Gray conducted us up a flight of oak +stairs—picturesque in its homely old-fashioned way—with wide +landing-place, adorned by a blue china jar, filled with _pot-pourri_, +and by a tall clock (one of Tompion’s, now rare), in walnut-wood case; +consigning us each to a separate chamber, to refresh ourselves by those +simple ablutions, with which, even in rustic retirements, civilised +Englishmen preface the hospitable rites of Ceres and Bacchus. + +The room in which I found myself was one of those never seen out of +England, and only there in unpretending country-houses which have +escaped the innovating tastes of fashion. A bedstead of the time of +George I., with mahogany fluted columns and panels at the bedhead, +dark and polished, decorated by huge watch-pockets of some +great-grandmother’s embroidery, white spotless curtains, the walls in +panel, also painted white, and covered in part with framed engravings +a century old. A large high screen, separating the washstand from the +rest of the room, made lively by old caricatures and prints, doubtless +the handiwork of female hands long stilled. A sweet, not strong, odour +of dried lavender escaped from a chest of drawers, polished as bright +as the bedstead. The small lattice-paned window opened to the fresh +air; the woodbine framing it all round from without; amongst the +woodbine the low hum of bees. A room for early sleep and cheerful +rising with the eastern sun, which the window faced. + +Tracey came into my room while I was still looking out of the casement, +gazing on the little gardenplot without, bright with stocks and pinks +and heartsease, and said, “Well, you see £600 a-year can suffice to +arrest a clever man’s ambition.” + +“I suspect,” answered I, “that the ambition is not arrested but turned +aside to the object of doubling the £600 a-year. Neither ambition nor +the desire of gain is dead in that farmyard.” + +“We shall cross-question our host after dinner,” answered Tracey; +“meanwhile let me conduct you to the dining-room. A pretty place this, +in its way, is it not?” + +“Very,” said I, with enthusiasm. “Could you not live as happily here as +in your own brilliant villa?” + +“No, not quite, but still happily.” + +“Why not quite?” + +“First, because there is nothing within or without the house which one +could attempt to improve, unless by destroying the whole character of +what is so good in its way; secondly, where could I put my Claudes and +Turners? where my statues? where, oh where, my books? where, in short, +the furniture of Man’s mind?” + +I made no answer, for the dinner-bell rang loud, and we went down at +once into the dining-room—a quaint room, scarcely touched since the date +of William III. A high and heavy dado of dark oak, the rest of the walls +in Dutch stamped leather, still bright and fresh; a high mantelpiece, +also of oak, with a very indifferent picture of still life let into the +upper panel; arched recesses on either side, receptacles for china and +tall drinking-glasses; heavy chairs, with crests inlaid on their +ponderous backs, and faded needlework on their ample seats;—all, +however, speaking of comfort and home, and solid though unassuming +prosperity. Gray had changed his rude morning dress, and introduced me +to his wife with an evident husbandlike pride. Mrs Gray was still very +pretty; in her youth she must have been prettier even than Clara +Thornhill, and though very plainly dressed, still it was the dress of a +gentlewoman. There was intelligence, but soft timid intelligence, in her +dark hazel eyes and broad candid forehead. I soon saw, however, that she +was painfully shy, and not at all willing to take her share in the +expense of conversation. But with Tracey she was more at her ease than +with a stranger, and I thanked him inwardly for coming to my relief, as +I was vainly endeavouring to extract from her lips more than a murmured +monosyllable. + +The dinner, however, passed off very pleasantly. Simple old English +fare—plenty of it—excellent of its kind. Tracey was the chief talker, +and made himself so entertaining, that at last even Mrs Gray’s shyness +wore away, and I discovered that she had a well-informed graceful mind, +constitutionally cheerful, as was evidenced by the blithe music of her +low but happy laugh. + +The dinner over, we adjourned, as Percival had proposed, to the +summer-house. There we found the table spread with fruits and wine, of +which last the port was superb; no better could be dragged from the bins +of a college, or blush on the board of a prelate. Mrs Gray, however, +deserted us, but we now and then caught sight of her in the garden +without, playing gaily with her children—two fine little boys, and Lucy, +who seemed to have her own way with them all, as she ought—the youngest +child, the only girl—justifiably papa’s pet, for she was the one most +like her mother. + +“Gray,” said Tracey, “my friend and I have had some philosophical +disputes, which we cannot decide to our own satisfaction, on the reasons +why some men do so much more in life than other men, without having any +apparent intellectual advantage over those who are contented to be +obscure. We have both hit on a clue to the cause, in what we call motive +power. But what this motive power really is, and why it should fail in +some men and be so strong in others, is matter of perplexity, at least +to me, and I fancy my friend himself is not much more enlightened +therein than I am. So we have both come here to hear what you have to +say—you, who certainly had motive enough for ambitious purposes when you +swept away so many academical prizes—when you rushed into speech and +into print, and cast your bold eye on St Stephen’s. And now, what has +become of that motive power? Is it all put into prizes for root-crops +and sheep?” + +“As to myself,” answered Gray, passing the wine, “I can give very clear +explanations. I am of a gentleman’s family, but the son of a very poor +curate. Luckily for me, we lived close by an excellent grammar-school, +at which I obtained a free admission. From the first day I entered, I +knew that my poor father, bent on making me a scholar, counted on my +exertions not only for my own livelihood, but for a provision for my +mother should she survive him. Here was motive enough to supply motive +power. I succeeded in competition with rivals at school, and success +added to the strength of the motive power. Our county member, on whose +estate I was born, took a kindly interest in me, and gave me leave, when +I quitted school, as head boy, to come daily to his house and share the +studies of his son, who was being prepared for the university by a +private tutor, eminent as a scholar and admirable as a teacher. Thus I +went up to college not only full of hope (in itself a motive power, +though, of itself, an unsafe one), but of a hope so sustained that it +became resolution, by the knowledge that to maintain me at the +university my parents were almost literally starving themselves. This +suffices to explain whatever energy and application I devoted to my +academical career. At last I obtained my fellowship; the income of that +I shared with my parents; but if I died before them the income would die +also—a fresh motive power towards a struggle for fortune in the Great +World. I took up politics, I confess it very frankly, as a profession +rather than a creed; it was the shortest road to fame, and, with +prudence, perhaps to pecuniary competence. If I succeeded in Parliament +I might obtain a living for my father, or some public situation for +myself not dependent on the fluctuations of party. A very high political +ambition was denied me by the penury of circumstance. A man must have +good means of his own who aspires to rank among party chiefs. I knew I +was but a political adventurer, that I could only be so considered; and +had it not been for my private motive power, I should have been ashamed +of my public one. As it was, my scholarly pride was secretly chafed at +the thought that I was carrying into the affairs of state the greed of +trade. Suddenly, most unexpectedly, this estate was bequeathed to me. +You large proprietors will smile when I say that we had always regarded +the Grays of Oakden Hall with venerating pride; they were the head of +our branch of the clan. My father had seen this place in his boyhood; +the remembrance of it dwelt on his mind as the unequivocal witness of +his dignity as a gentleman born. He came from the same stock as the +Grays of Oakden, who had lived on the land for more than three +centuries, entitled to call themselves squires. The relationship was +very distant, still it existed. But a dream that so great a place as +Oakden Hall, with its 1000 acres, should ever pass to his son—no, my +father thought it much more likely that his son might be prime minister! +John Gray of Oakden had never taken the least notice of us, except that, +when I won the Pitt scholarship, he sent me a fine turkey, labelled +‘From John Gray, Esq. of Oakden.’ This present I acknowledged, but John +Gray never answered my letter. Just at that time, however, as appears by +the date, he re-made his will, and placed me as remainder-man in case of +the deaths, without issue, of two nearer relations, both nephews. These +young men died unmarried—the one of rheumatic fever, a few months before +old Gray’s decease; the other, two weeks after it; poor fellow, he was +thrown from his horse and killed on the spot. So, unexpectedly, I came +into this property. Soon afterwards I married. The possession of land is +a great tranquilliser to a restless spirit, and a happy marriage is as +sedative as potent. Poverty is a spur to action. Great wealth, on the +other hand, not unnaturally tends to the desire of display, and in free +countries often to the rivalry for political power. The golden mean is +proverbially the condition most favourable to content, and content is +the antidote to ambition. Mine was the golden mean! Other influences of +pride and affection contributed to keep me still. Of pride; for was I +not really a greater man here, upon my ancestral acres and my few yearly +hundreds, than as a political aspirant, who must commence his career by +being a political dependant? How rich I felt here! how poor I should be +in London! How inevitably, in the daily expenses of a metropolitan life, +and in the costs of elections (should I rise beyond being a mere +nominee), I must become needy and involved! So much for the influence of +pride. Now for the influence of affection; my dear wife had never been +out of these rural shades among which she was born. She is of a nature +singularly timid, sensitive, and retiring. The idea of that society to +which a political career would have led me terrified her. I loved her +the better for desiring no companionship but mine. In fine, my desires +halted at once on these turfs; the Attraction of the Earth, of which I +had a share, prevailed; the motive power stopped here.” + +“You have never regretted your choice?” said Tracey. + +“Certainly not; I congratulate myself on it more and more every year. +For, after all, here I have ample occupation and a creditable career. I +have improved my fortune, instead of wasting it. I have a fixed, +acknowledged, instead of an unsettled, equivocal position. I am an +authority on many rural subjects of interest besides those of husbandry. +I am an active magistrate; and, as I know a little of the law, I am the +habitual arbiter upon all the disputes in the neighbourhood. I employ +here with satisfaction, and not without some dignity, the energies +which, in the great world, would have bought any reputation I might have +gained at the price of habitual pain and frequent mortification.” + +“Then,” said I, “you do not think that a saying of Dr Arnold’s, which I +quoted to Tracey as no less applicable to men than to boys, is +altogether a true one—viz., that the difference between boys, as regards +the power of acquiring distinction, is not so much in talent as in +energy; you retain the energies that once raised you to public +distinction, but you no longer apply them to the same object.” + +“I believe that Dr Arnold, if he be quoted correctly, spoke only half +the truth. One difference between boy and boy or man and man, no doubt, +is energy; but for great achievements or fame there must be also +application—viz., every energy concentred on one definite point, and +disciplined to strain towards it by patient habit. My energy, such as it +is, would not have brought my sheep-walks into profitable cultivation if +the energy had not been accompanied with devoted application to the +business. And it is astonishing how, when the energy is constantly +applied towards one settled aim—astonishing, I say—how invention is +kindled out of it. Thus, in many a quiet solitary morning’s walk round +my farm, some new idea, some hint of improvement or contrivance, occurs +to me; this I ponder and meditate upon till it takes the shape of +experiment. I presume that it is so with poet, artist, orator, or +statesman. His mind is habituated to apply itself to definite subjects +of observation and reflection, and out of this habitual musing thereon, +involuntarily spring the happy originalities of thinking which are +called his ‘inspirations.’” + +“One word more,” said I. “Do you consider, then, that which makes a man +devote himself to fame or ambition is a motive power of which he himself +is conscious?” + +“No; not always. I imagine that most men entering on some career are +originally impelled towards it by a motive which, at the time, they +seldom take the trouble to analyse or even to detect. They would at once +see what that motive was if early in the career it was withdrawn. In a +majority of cases it is the _res angusta_, yet not poverty in itself, +but a poverty disproportioned to the birth, or station, or tastes, or +intellectual culture of the aspirant. Thus, the peasant or operative +rarely feels in his poverty a motive power towards distinction out of +his craft; but the younger son of a gentleman does feel that motive +power. And hence a very large proportion of those who in various ways +have gained fame, have been the cadets of a gentleman’s family, or the +sons of poor clergymen, sometimes of farmers and tradesmen, who have +given them an education beyond the average of their class. Other motive +powers towards fame have been sometimes in ambition, sometimes in love; +sometimes in a great sorrow, from which a strong mind sought to wrest +itself; sometimes even in things that would appear frivolous to a +philosopher. I knew a young man, of no great talents, but of keen vanity +and great resolution and force of character, who, as a child, had been +impressed with envy of the red ribbon which his uncle wore as Knight of +the Bath. From his infancy he determined some day or other to win a red +ribbon for himself. He did so at last, and in trying to do so became +famous. + +“In great commercial communities a distinction is given to successful +trade, so that the motive power of youthful talent nourished in such +societies is mostly concentred on gain, not through avarice, but through +the love of approbation or esteem. Thus, it is noticeable that our great +manufacturing towns, where energy and application abound, have not +contributed their proportionate quota of men distinguished in arts or +sciences (except the mechanical), or polite letters, or the learned +professions. In rural districts, on the contrary, the desire of gain is +not associated with the desire of honour and distinction, and therefore, +in them, the youth early coveting fame strives for it in other channels +than those of gain. But whatever the original motive power, if it has +led to a continuous habit of the mind, and is not withdrawn before that +habit becomes a second nature, the habit will continue after the motive +power has either wholly ceased or become very faint, as the famous +scribbling Spanish cardinal is said, in popular legends, to have +continued to write on after he himself was dead. Thus, a man who has +acquired the obstinate habit of labouring for the public originally from +an enthusiastic estimate of the value of public applause, may, later, +conceive a great contempt for the public, and, in sincere cynicism, +become wholly indifferent to its praise or its censure, and yet, like +Swift, go on as long as the brain can retain faithful impressions and +perform its normal functions, writing for the public he so disdains. +Thus many a statesman, wearied and worn, satisfied of the hollowness of +political ambition, and no longer enjoying its rewards, sighing for +retirement and repose, nevertheless continues to wear his harness. Habit +has tyrannised over all his actions; break the habit, and the thread of +his life snaps with it! + +“Lastly, however, I am by no means sure that there is not in some few +natures an inborn irresistible activity, a constitutional attraction +between the one mind and the human species, which requires no special, +separate motive power from without to set it into those movements +which, perforce, lead to fame. I mean those men to whom we at once +accord the faculty which escapes all satisfactory metaphysical +definition—INGENIUM;—viz., the inborn spirit which we call genius. + +“And in _these_ natures, whatever the motive power that in the first +instance urged them on, if at any stage, however early, that motive +power be withdrawn, some other one will speedily replace it. Through +them Providence mysteriously acts on the whole world, and their genius +while on earth is one of Its most visible ministrants. But genius is the +exceptional phenomenon in human nature; and in examining the ordinary +laws that influence human minds we have no measurement and no scales for +portents.” + +“There is, however,” said Tracey, “one motive power towards careers of +public utility which you have not mentioned, but the thought of which +often haunts me in rebuke of my own inertness,—I mean, quite apart from +any object of vanity or ambition, the sense of our own duty to mankind; +and hence the devotion to public uses of whatever talents have been +given to us—not to hide under a bushel.” + +“I do not think,” answered Gray, “that when a man feels he is doing good +in his own way he need reproach himself that he is not doing good in +some other way to which he is not urged by special duty, and from which +he is repelled by constitutional temperament. I do not, for instance, +see that because you have a very large fortune you are morally obliged +to keep correspondent establishments, and adopt a mode of life hostile +to your tastes; you sufficiently discharge the duties of wealth if the +fair proportion of your income go to objects of well-considered +benevolence and purposes not unproductive to the community. Nor can I +think that I, who possess but a very moderate fortune, am morally called +upon to strive for its increase in the many good speculations which life +in a capital may offer to an eager mind, provided always that I do +nevertheless remember that I have children, to whose future provision +and wellbeing some modest augmentations of my fortune would be +desirable. In improving my land for their benefit, I may say also that I +add, however trivially, to the wealth of the country. Let me hope that +the trite saying is true, that ‘he who makes two blades of corn grow +where one grew before,’ is a benefactor to his race. So with mental +wealth: surely it is permitted to us to invest and expend it within that +sphere most suited to those idiosyncrasies, the adherence to which +constitutes our moral health. I do not, with the philosopher, condemn +the man who, irresistibly impelled towards the pursuit of honours and +power, persuades himself that he is toiling for the public good when he +is but gratifying his personal ambition;—probably he is a better man +thus acting in conformity with his own nature, than he would be if +placed beyond all temptation in Plato’s cave. Nor, on the other hand, +can I think that a man of the highest faculties and the largest +attainments, who has arrived at a sincere disdain of power or honours, +would be a better man if he were tyrannically forced to pursue the +objects from which his temperament recoils, upon the plea that he was +thus promoting the public welfare. No doubt, in every city, town, +street, and lane, there are bustling, officious, restless persons, who +thrust themselves into public concerns, with a loud declaration that +they are animated only by the desire of public good; they mistake their +fidgetiness for philanthropy. Not a bubble company can be started, but +what it is with a programme that its direct object is the public +benefit, and the ten per cent promised to the shareholders is but a +secondary consideration. Who believes in the sincerity of that +announcement? In fine, according both to religion and to philosophy, +virtue is the highest end of man’s endeavour; but virtue is wholly +independent of the popular shout or the lictor’s fasces. Virtue is the +same, whether with or without the laurel crown or the curule chair. +Honours do not sully it, but obscurity does not degrade. He who is +truthful, just, merciful, and kindly, does his duty to his race, and +fulfils his great end in creation, no matter whether the rays of his +life are not visibly beheld beyond the walls of his household, or +whether they strike the ends of the earth; for every human soul is a +world complete and integral, storing its own ultimate uses and destinies +within itself; viewed only for a brief while, in its rising on the gaze +of earth; pressing onward in its orbit amidst the infinite, when, +snatched from our eyes, we say, ‘It has passed away!’ And as every star, +however small it seem to us from the distance at which it shines, +contributes to the health of our atmosphere, so every soul, pure and +bright in itself, however far from our dwelling, however unremarked by +our vision, contributes to the wellbeing of the social system in which +it moves, and, in its privacy, is part and parcel of the public weal.” + +Shading my face with my hand, I remained some moments musing after +Gray’s voice had ceased. Then looking up, I saw so pleased and grateful +a smile upon Percival Tracey’s countenance, that I checked the reply by +which I had intended to submit a view of the subject in discussion +somewhat different from that which Gray had taken from the Portico of +the Stoics. Why should I attempt to mar whatever satisfaction Percival’s +reason or conscience had found in our host’s argument? His tree of life +was too firmly set for the bias of its stem to swerve in any new +direction towards light and air. Let it continue to rejoice in such +light and such air as was vouchsafed to the site on which it had taken +root. Evening, too, now drew in, and we had a long ride before us. A +little while after, we had bid adieu to Oakden Hall, and were once more +threading our way through the green and solitary lanes. + +We conversed but little for the first five or six miles. I was revolving +what I had heard, and considering how each man’s reasoning moulds itself +into excuse or applause for the course of life which he adopts. +Percival’s mind was employed in other thoughts, as became clear when he +thus spoke:— + +“Do you think, my dear friend, that you could spare me a week or two +longer? It would be a charity to me if you could, for I expect, after +to-morrow, to lose my young artist, and, alas! also the Thornhills.” + +“How! The Thornhills? So soon!” + +“I count on receiving to-morrow the formal announcement of Henry’s +promotion and exchange into the regiment he so desires to enter, with +the orders to join it abroad at once. Clara, I know, will not stay here; +she will be with her husband till he sails, and after his departure will +take her abode with his widowed mother. I shall miss them much. But +Thornhill feels that he is wasting his life here; and so—well—I have +acted for the best. With respect to the artist, this morning I received +a letter from my old friend Lord ——. He is going into Italy next week; +he wishes for some views of Italian scenery for a villa he has lately +bought, and will take Bourke with him, on my recommendation, leaving him +ultimately at Rome. Lord ——‘s friendship and countenance will be of +immense advantage to the young painter, and obtain him many orders. I +have to break it to Bourke this evening, and he will, no doubt, quit me +to-morrow to take leave of his family. For myself, as I always feel +somewhat melancholy in remaining on the same spot after friends depart +from it, I propose going to Bellevue, where I have a small yacht. It is +glorious weather for sea excursions. Come with me, my dear friend! The +fresh breezes will do you good; and we shall have leisure for talk on +all the subjects which both of us love to explore and guess at.” + +No proposition could be more alluring to me. My recent intercourse with +Tracey had renewed all the affection and interest with which he had +inspired my youth. My health and spirits had been already sensibly +improved by my brief holiday, and an excursion at sea had been the +special advice of my medical attendant. I hesitated a moment. Nothing +called me back to London except public business, and, in that, I foresaw +but the bare chance of a motion in Parliament which stood on the papers +for the next day; but my letters had assured me that this motion was +generally expected to be withdrawn or postponed. + +So I accepted the invitation gladly, provided nothing unforeseen should +interfere with it. + +Pleased by my cordial assent, Tracey’s talk now flowed forth with genial +animation. He described his villa overhanging the sea, with its covered +walks to the solitary beach—the many objects of interest and landscapes +of picturesque beauty within reach of easy rides, on days in which the +yacht might not tempt us. I listened with the delight of a schoolboy, to +whom some good-natured kinsman paints the luxuries of a home at which he +invites the schoolboy to spend the vacation. + +By little and little our conversation glided back to our young past, and +thence to those dreams, nourished ever by the young;—love and romance, +and home brightened by warmer beams than glow in the smile of sober +friendship. How the talk took this direction I know not; perhaps by +unconscious association, as the moon rose above the forest-hills, with +the love-star by her side. And, thus conversing, Tracey for the first +time alluded to that single passion which had vexed the smooth river of +his life—and which, thanks to Lady Gertrude, was already, though +vaguely, known to me. + +“It was,” said he, “just such a summer night as this, and, though in a +foreign country, amidst scenes of which these woodland hills remind me, +that the world seemed to me to have changed into a Fairyland; and, +looking into my heart, I said to myself, ‘This, then, is—love.’ And a +little while after, on such a night, and under such a moon, and amidst +such hills and groves, the world seemed blighted into a desert—life to +be evermore without hope or object; and, looking again into my heart, I +said, ‘This, then, is love denied!’” + +“Alas!” answered I, “there are few men in whose lives there is not some +secret memoir of an affection thwarted; but rarely indeed does an +affection thwarted leave a permanent influence on the after-destinies of +a man’s life. On that question I meditate an essay, which, if ever +printed, I will send to you.” + +I said this, wishing to draw him on, and expecting him to contradict my +assertion as to the enduring influence of a disappointed love. He mused +a moment or so in silence, and then said, “Well, perhaps so; an unhappy +love may not permanently affect our after-destinies, still it colours +our after-thoughts. It is strange that I should have only seen, +throughout my long and various existence, one woman whom I could have +wooed as my wife—one woman in whose presence I felt as if I were born +for her and she for me.” + +“May I ask you what was her peculiar charm in your eyes; or, if you +permit me to ask, can you explain it?” + +“No doubt,” answered Tracey, “much must be ascribed to the character of +her beauty, which realised the type I had formed to myself from boyhood +of womanly loveliness in form and face, and much also to a mind with +which a man, however cultivated, could hold equal commune. But to me her +predominating attraction was in a simple, unassuming nobleness of +sentiment—a truthful, loyal, devoted, self-sacrificing nature. In her +society I felt myself purified, exalted, as if in the presence of an +angel. But enough of this. I am resigned to my loss, and have long since +hung my votive tablet in the shrine of ‘Time the Consoler.’” + +“Forgive me if I am intrusive; but did she know that you loved her?” + +“I cannot say; probably most women discover if they are loved; but I +rejoice to think that I never told her so.” + +“Would she have rejected you if you had?” + +“Yes, unhesitatingly; her word was plighted to another. And though she +would not, for the man to whom she had betrothed herself, have left her +father alone in poverty and exile, she would never have married any one +else.” + +“You believe, then, that she loved your rival with a heart that could +not change?” + +Tracey did not immediately reply. At last he said, “I believe this—that +when scarcely out of girlhood, she considered herself engaged to be one +man’s wife, or for ever single. And if, in the course of time, and in +length of absence, she could have detected in her heart the growth of a +single thought unfaithful to her troth, she would have plucked it forth +and cast it from her as firmly as if already a wedded wife, with her +husband’s honour in her charge. She was one of those women with whom +man’s trust is for ever safe, and to whom a love at variance with +plighted troth is an impossibility. So, she lives in my thoughts still, +as I saw her last, five-and-twenty years ago, unalterable in her youth +and beauty. And I have been as true to her hallowed remembrance as she +was true to her maiden vows. May I never see her again on earth! Her or +her likeness I may find amidst the stars.” “No,” he added, in a lighter +and cheerier tone—“No; I do not think that my actual destinies, my ways +of life here below, have been affected by her loss. Had I won her, I can +scarcely conceive that I should have become more tempted to ambition or +less enamoured of home. Still, whatever leaves so deep a furrow in a +man’s heart cannot be meant in vain. Where the ploughshare cuts, there +the seed is sown, and there later the corn will spring. In a word, I +believe that everything of moment which befalls us in this life—which +occasions us some great sorrow—for which, in this life, we see not the +uses—has, nevertheless, its definite object, and that that object will +be visible on the other side of the grave. It may seem but a barren +grief in the history of a life—it may prove a fruitful joy in the +history of a soul. For if nothing in this world is accident, surely all +that which affects the only creature upon earth to whom immortality is +announced, must have a distinct and definite purpose, often not +developed till immortality begins.” + +Here we had entered on the wide spaces of the park. The deer and the +kine were asleep on the silvered grass, or under the shade of the quiet +trees. Now, as we cleared a beech-grove, we saw the lights gleaming from +the windows of the house, and the moon, at her full, resting still over +the peaceful housetop! Truly had Percival said, “That there are trains +of thought set in motion by the stars which are dormant in the glare of +the sun”—truly had he said, too, “That without such thoughts man’s +thinking is incomplete.” + +We gained the house, and, entering the library, it was pleasant to see +how instinctively all rose to gather round the master. They had missed +Percival’s bright presence the whole day. + +Some little time afterwards, when, seated next to Lady Gertrude, I was +talking to her of the Grays, I observed Tracey take aside the Painter, +and retire with him into the adjoining colonnade. They were not long +absent. When they returned, Bourke’s face, usually serious, was joyous +and elated. In a few moments, with all his Irish warmth of heart, he +burst forth with the announcement of the new obligations he owed to Sir +Percival Tracey. “I have always said,” exclaimed he, “that, give me an +opening and I will find or make my way. I have the opening now; you +shall see!” We all poured our congratulations upon the young enthusiast, +except Henry Thornhill, and his brow was shaded and his lip quivered. +Clara, watching him, curbed her own friendly words to the artist, and, +drawing to her husband’s side, placed her hand tenderly on his shoulder. +“Pish! do leave me alone,” muttered the ungracious churl. + +“See,” whispered Percival to me, “what a brute that fine young fellow +would become if we insisted on making him happy our own way, and saving +him from the chance of being shot!” + +Therewith rising, he gently led away Clara, to whose soft eyes tears had +rushed; and looking back to Henry, whose head was bended over a volume +of ‘The Wellington Despatches,’ said in his ear, half-fondly, +half-reproachfully, “Poor young fool! how bitterly you will repent every +word, every look of unkindness to her, when—when she is no more at your +side to pardon you!” + +That night it was long before I slept. I pleased myself with what is now +grown to me a rare amusement—viz., the laying out plans for the morrow. +This holiday, with Tracey all to myself; this summer sail on the seas; +this interval of golden idlesse, refined by intercourse with so serene +an intelligence, and on subjects so little broached in the world of +cities, fascinated my imagination; and I revolved a hundred questions it +would be delightful to raise, a hundred problems it would be impossible +to solve. Though my life has been a busy one, I believe that +constitutionally I am one of the most indolent men alive. To lie on the +grass in summer noons under breathless trees, to glide over smooth +waters, and watch the still shadows on tranquil shores, is happiness to +me. I need then no books—then, no companion. But if to that happiness in +the mere luxury of repose, I may add another happiness of a higher +nature, it is in converse with some one friend, upon subjects remote +from the practical work-day world,—subjects akin less to our active +thoughts than to our dreamlike reveries,—subjects conjectural, +speculative, fantastic, embracing not positive opinions—for opinions are +things combative and disputatious—but rather those queries and guesses +which start up from the farthest border-land of our reason, and lose +themselves in air as we attempt to chase and seize them. + +And perhaps this sort of talk, which leads to no conclusions clear +enough for the uses of wisdom, is the more alluring to me, because it is +very seldom to be indulged. I carefully separate from the business of +life all which belong to the visionary realm of speculative conjecture. +From the world of action I hold it imperatively safe to banish the ideas +which exhibit the cloud-land of metaphysical doubts and mystical +beliefs. In the actual world let me see by the same broad sun that gives +light to all men; it is only in the world of reverie that I amuse myself +with the sport of the dark lantern, letting its ray shoot before me into +the gloom, and caring not if, in its illusive light, the thorn-tree in +my path take the aspect of a ghost. I shall notice the thorn-tree all +the better, distinguish more clearly its shape, when I pass by it the +next day under the sun, for the impression it made on my fancy seen +first by the gleam of the dark lantern. Now, Tracey is one of the very +few highly-educated men it has been my lot to know, with whom one can +safely mount in rudderless balloons, drifting wind-tossed after those +ideas which are the phantoms of Reverie, and wander, ghost-like, out of +castles in the air. And my mind found a playfellow in his, where, in +other men’s minds, as richly cultured, it found only companions or +competitors in task-work. + +Towards dawn, I fell asleep, and dreamt that I was a child once more, +gathering bluebells and chasing dragonflies amidst murmuring +water-reeds. The next day I came down late; all had done breakfast. The +Painter was already gone; the Librarian had retired into his den. Henry +Thornhill was walking by himself to and fro, in front of the window, +with folded arms and downcast brow. Percival was seated apart, writing +letters. Clara was at work, stealing every now and then a mournful +glance towards Henry. Lady Gertrude, punctiliously keeping her place by +the tea-urn, filled my cup, and pointed to a heap of letters formidably +ranged before my plate. I glanced anxiously and rapidly over these +unwelcomed epistles. Thank heaven, nothing to take me back to London! My +political correspondent informed me, by a hasty line, that the dreaded +motion which stood first on the parliamentary paper for that day would +in all probability be postponed, agreeably to the request of the +Government. The mover of it had not, however, given a positive answer; +no doubt he would do so in the course of the night (last night); and +there was little doubt that, as a professed supporter of the Government, +he would yield to the request that had been made to him. + +So, after I had finished my abstemious breakfast, I took Percival aside +and told him that I considered myself free to prolong my stay, and asked +him, in a whisper, if he had yet received the official letter he +expected, announcing young Thornhill’s exchange and promotion. + +“Yes,” said he, “and I only waited for you to announce its contents to +poor Henry; for I wish you to tell me whether you think the news will +make him as happy as yesterday he thought it would.” + +Tracey and I then went out, and joined Henry in his walk. The young man +turned round on us an impatient countenance. + +“So we have lost Bourke,” said Tracey. “I hope he will return to England +with the reputation he goes forth to seek.” + +“Ay,” said Henry, “Bourke is a lucky dog to have found, in one who is +not related to him, so warm and so true a friend.” + +“Every dog, lucky or unlucky, has his day,” said Percival, gravely. + +“Every dog except a house-dog,” returned Henry. “A house-dog is thought +only fit for a chain and a kennel.” + +“Ah, happy if his happiness he knew!” replied Tracey. “But I own that +liberty compensates for the loss of a warm litter and a good dinner. +Away from the kennel and off with the chain! Read this letter, and +accept my congratulations—_Major_ Thornhill!” + +The young man started; the colour rushed to his cheeks; he glanced +hastily over the letter held out to him; dropped it; caught his +kinsman’s hand, and pressing it to his heart, exclaimed, “Oh, sir, +thanks, thanks! So then, all the while I was accusing you of obstructing +my career you were quietly promoting it! How can you forgive me my +petulance, my ingratitude?” + +“Tut,” said Percival, kindly, “the best-tempered man is sometimes cross +in his cups; and nothing, perhaps, more irritates a young brain than to +get drunk on the love of glory.” + +At the word glory the soldier’s crest rose, his eye flashed fire, his +whole aspect changed, it became lofty and noble. Suddenly his eye caught +sight of Clara, who had stepped out of the window, and stood gazing on +him. His head drooped, tears rushed to his eyes, and with a quivering, +broken voice, he muttered, “Poor Clara—my wife, my darling! Oh, Sir +Percival, truly you said how bitterly I should repent every unkind word +and look. Ah, they will haunt me!” + +“Put aside regrets now. Go and break the news to your wife: support, +comfort her; you alone can. I have not dared to tell her.” + +Henry sighed and went, no longer joyous, but with slow step and paling +cheek, to the place where Clara stood. We saw him bend over the hand she +held out to him, kiss it humbly, and then passing his arm round her +waist, he drew her away into the farther recesses of the garden, and +both disappeared from our eyes. + +“No,” said I, “he is not happy; like us all, he finds that things +coveted have no longer the same charm when they are things possessed. +Clara is avenged already. But you have done wisely. Let him succeed or +let him fail, you have removed from Clara her only rival. If you had +debarred him from honour you would have estranged him from love. Now you +have bound him to Clara for life. She has ceased to be an obstacle to +his dreams, and henceforth she herself will be the dream which his +waking life will sigh to regain.” + +“Heaven grant he may come back, with both his legs and both his arms; +and, perhaps, with a bit of ribbon, or five shillings’ worth of silver +on his breast,” said Percival, trying hard to be lively. “Of all my +kinsmen, I think I like him the best. He is rough as the east wind, but +honest as the day. Heigho! they will both leave us in an hour or two. +Clara’s voice is so sweet; I wonder when she will sing again! What a +blank the place will seem without those two young faces! As soon as they +are gone, we two will be off. Aunt Gertrude does not like Bellevue, and +will pay a visit for a few days to a cousin of hers on the other side of +the county. I must send on before to let the housekeeper at Bellevue +prepare for our coming. Meanwhile, pardon me if I leave you—perhaps you +have letters to write; if so, despatch them.” + +I was in no humour for writing letters, but when Percival left me I +strolled from the house into the garden, and, reclining there on a bench +opposite one of the fountains, enjoyed the calm beauty of the summer +morning. Time slipped by. Every now and then I caught sight of Henry and +Clara among the lilacs in one of the distant walks, his arm still round +her waist, her head leaning on his shoulder. At length they went into +the house, doubtless to prepare for their departure. + +I thought of the wild folly with which youth casts away the substance of +happiness to seize at the shadow which breaks on the wave that mirrors +it; wiser and happier surely the tranquil choice of Gray, though with +gifts and faculties far beyond those of the young man who mistook the +desire of fame for the power to win it. And then my thoughts settling +back on myself, I became conscious of a certain melancholy. How poor and +niggard compared with my early hopes had been my ultimate results! How +questioned, grudged, and litigated, my right of title to every inch of +ground that my thought had discovered or my toils had cultivated! What +motive power in me had, from boyhood to the verge of age, urged me on +“to scorn delight and love laborious days?” Whatever the motive power +once had been, I could no longer trace it. If vanity—of which, +doubtless, in youth I had my human share—I had long since grown rather +too callous than too sensitive to that love of approbation in which +vanity consists. I was stung by no penury of fortune, influenced by no +feverish thirst for a name that should outlive my grave, fooled by no +hope of the rewards which goad on ambition. I had reached the age when +Hope weighs her anchor and steers forth so far that her amplest sail +seems but a silvery speck on the last line of the horizon. Certainly I +flattered myself that my purposes linked my toils to some slight service +to mankind; that in graver efforts I was asserting opinions in the value +of which to human interests I sincerely believed, and in lighter aims +venting thoughts and releasing fancies which might add to the culture of +the world—not, indeed, fruitful harvests, but at least some lowly +flowers. But though such intent might be within my mind, could I tell +how far I unconsciously exaggerated its earnestness—still less could I +tell how far the intent was dignified by success? “Have I done aught for +which mankind would be the worse were it swept into nothingness +to-morrow?”—is a question which many a grand and fertile genius may, in +its true humility, address mournfully to itself. It is but a negative +praise, though it has been recorded as a high one, to leave + + “No line which, dying, we would wish to blot.” + +If that be all, as well leave no line at all. He has written in vain who +does not bequeath lines that, if blotted, would be a loss to that +treasure-house of mind which is the everlasting possession of the world. +Who, yet living, can even presume to guess if he shall do this? Not till +at least a century after his brain and his hand are dust can even +critics begin to form a rational conjecture of an author’s or a +statesman’s uses to his kind. Was it, then, as Gray had implied, merely +the force of habit which kept me in movement? if so, was it a habit +worth all the sacrifice it cost? Thus meditating, I forgot that if all +men reasoned thus and acted according to such reasoning, the earth would +have no intermediate human dwellers between the hewers and diggers, and +the idlers, born to consume the fruits which they do not plant. +Farewell, then, to all the embellishments and splendours by which +civilised man breathes his mind and his soul into nature. For it is not +only the genius of rarest intellects which adorns and aggrandises social +states, but the aspirations and the efforts of thousands and millions, +all towards the advance and uplifting and beautifying of the integral, +universal state, by the energies native to each. Where would be the +world fit for Traceys and Grays to dwell in, if all men philosophised +like the Traceys and the Grays? Where all the gracious arts, all the +generous rivalries of mind, that deck and animate the bright calm of +peace? Where all the devotion, heroism, self-sacrifice in a common +cause, that exalt humanity even amidst the rage and deformities of war, +if, throughout well-ordered, close-welded states, there ran not +electrically, from breast to breast, that love of honour which is a part +of man’s sense of beauty, or that instinct towards utility which, even +more than the genius too exceptional to be classed amongst the normal +regulations of social law, creates the marvels of mortal progress? Not, +however, I say, did I then address to myself these healthful and manly +questions. I felt only that I repined, and looked with mournful and +wearied eyes along an agitated, painful, laborious past. Rousing myself +with an effort from these embittered contemplations, the charm of the +external nature insensibly refreshed and gladdened me. I inhaled the +balm of an air sweet with flowers, felt the joy of the summer sun, from +which all life around seemed drawing visible happiness, and said to +myself gaily, “At least to-day is mine—this blissful sunlit day— + + ‘Nimium breves + Flores amænæ ferre jube rosæ, + Dum res et ætas et sororum, + Fila trium patiuntur atra!’” + +So murmuring, I rose as from a dream, and saw before me a strange +figure—a figure, uncouth, sinister, ominous as the evil genius that +startled Brutus on the eve of Philippi. I knew by an unmistakable +instinct that that figure _was_ an evil genius. + +“Do you want me? Who and what are you?” I asked, falteringly. + +“Please your honour, I come express from the N—— Station. A telegram.” + +I opened the scrap of paper extended to me, and read these words,— + +“O—— positively brings on his motion. Announced it last night too late +for post. Division certain—probably before dinner. Every vote wanted. +Come directly.” + +Said the Express with a cruel glee, as I dropped the paper, “Sir, the +station-master also received a telegram to send over a fly. I have +brought one; only just in time to catch the half-past twelve o’clock; no +other train till six. You had best be quick, sir.” + +No help for it. I hurried back to the house, bade my servant follow by +the next train with my portmanteau—no moments left to wait for packing; +found Tracey in his quiet study—put the telegram into his hands. “You +see my excuse—adieu.” + +“Does this motion, then, interest you so much? Do you mean to speak on +it?” + +“No, but it must not be carried. Every vote against it is of +consequence. Besides, I have promised to vote, and cannot stay away with +honour.” + +“Honour! That settles it. I must go to Bellevue alone; or shall I take +Caleb and make him teach me Hebrew? But surely you will join me +to-morrow, or the next day?” + +“Yes, if I can. But heavens!” (glancing at the clock)—“not half an hour +to reach the station—six miles off. Kindest regards to Lady +Gertrude—poor Clara—Henry—and all. Heaven bless you!” + +I am in the fly—I am off. I gain the station just in time for the +train—arrive at the House of Commons in more than time as to a vote, for +the debate not only lasted all that night, but was adjourned till the +next week, and lasted the greater part of that, when it was withdrawn, +and—no vote at all! + +But I could not then return to Tracey. Every man accustomed to business +in London knows how, once there, hour after hour, arises a something +that will not allow him to depart. When at length freed, I knew Tracey +would no longer need my companionship—his Swedish philosopher was then +with him. They were deep in scientific mysteries, on which, as I could +throw no light, I should be but a profane intruder. Besides, I was then +summoned to my own country place, and had there to receive my own +guests, long pre-engaged. So passed the rest of the summer; in the +autumn I went abroad, and have never visited the Castle of Indolence +since those golden days. In truth I resisted a frequent and a haunting +desire to do so. I felt that a second and a longer sojourn in that +serene but relaxing atmosphere might unnerve me for the work which I had +imposed on myself, and sought to persuade my tempted conscience was an +inexorable duty. Experience had taught me that in the sight of that +intellectual repose, so calm and so dreamily happy, my mind became +unsettled, and nourished seeds that might ripen to discontent of the lot +I had chosen for myself. So then, _sicut meus est mos_, I seize a +consolation for the loss of enjoyments that I may not act anew by living +them over again, in fancy and remembrance: I give to my record the title +of “Motive Power,” though it contains much episodical to that thesis, +and though it rather sports around the subject so indicated than +subjects it to strict analysis. But I here take for myself the excuse I +have elsewhere made for Montaigne, in his loose observance of the +connection between the matter and the titles of his essays. + +I must leave it to the reader to blame or acquit me for having admitted +so many lengthy descriptions, so many digressive turns and shifts of +thought and sentiment, through which, as through a labyrinth, he winds +his way, with steps often checked and often retrogressive, still, sooner +or later, creeping on to the heart of the maze. There I leave him to +find the way out. Labyrinths have no interest if we give the clue to +them. + + + + + MRS CLIFFORD’S MARRIAGE. + + + PART I. + + + CHAPTER I.—THE LADIES’ OPINION. + +“You don’t mean to say she’s going to be married—not Mary? I don’t +believe a word of it. She was too fond of her poor husband who put such +trust in her. No, no, child—don’t tell such nonsense to me.” + +So said old Miss Harwood when the dreadful intelligence was first +communicated to her. The two old sisters, who were both charitable old +souls, and liked to think the best of everybody, were equally distressed +about this piece of village scandal. “I don’t say anything about her +poor husband—he was a fool to trust so much to a woman of her age,” said +Miss Amelia; “but in my opinion Mary Clifford has sense to know when +she’s well off.” The very idea made the sisters angry: a woman with five +thousand a-year, with five fine children, with the handsomest house and +most perfect little establishment within twenty miles of Summerhayes; a +widow, with nobody to cross or contradict her, with her own way and will +to her heart’s content—young enough to be still admired and paid +attention to, and old enough to indulge in those female pleasures +without any harm coming of it; to think of a woman in such exceptionally +blessed circumstances stooping her head under the yoke, and yielding a +second time to the subjection of marriage, was more than either of the +Miss Harwoods could believe. + +“But I believe it’s quite true—indeed, I _know_ it’s quite true,” said +the curate’s little wife. “Mr Spencer heard it first from the Miss +Summerhayes, who did not know what to think—their own brother, you know; +and yet they couldn’t forget that poor dear Mr Clifford was their +cousin; and then they are neither of them married themselves, poor +dears, which makes them harder upon her.” + +“We have never been married,” said Miss Amelia; “I don’t see what +difference that makes. It is amusing to see the airs you little +creatures give yourselves on the strength of being married. I suppose +_you_ think it’s all right—it’s a compliment to her first husband, eh? +and shows she was happy with him?—that’s what the men say when they take +a second wife; that’s how you would do I suppose, if——” + +“Oh, Miss Amelia, don’t be so cruel,” cried the little wife. “I should +die. Do you think I could ever endure to live without Julius? I don’t +understand what people’s hearts are made of that can do such things: but +then,” added the little woman, wiping her bright eyes, “Mr Clifford was +not like my husband. He was very good, I daresay, and all that—but he +wasn’t ——. Well, I don’t think he was a taking man. He used to sit such +a long time after dinner. He used to——it’s very wicked to be unkind to +the dead—but he wasn’t the sort of man a woman could break her heart +for, you know.” + +“I should like to know who is,” said Miss Amelia. “He left her +everything, without making provision for one of the children. He gave +her the entire power, like a fool, at her age. He did not deserve +anything better; but it appears to me that Mary Clifford has the sense +to know when she’s well off.” + +“Well, well!” said old Miss Harwood, “I couldn’t have believed it, but +now as you go on discussing, I daresay it’ll turn out true. When a thing +comes so far as to be discussed, it’s going to happen. I’ve always found +it so. Well, well! love has gone out of fashion nowadays. When I was a +girl things were different. We did not talk about it half so much, nor +read novels. But we had the right feelings. I daresay she will just be +as affectionate to Tom Summerhayes as she was to her poor dear husband. +Oh, my dear, it’s very sad—I think it’s very sad—five fine children, and +she can’t be content with that. It’ll turn out badly, dear, and that +you’ll see.” + +“He’ll swindle her out of all her money,” said Miss Amelia. + +“Oh, don’t say such dreadful things,” cried the curate’s little wife, +getting up hastily. “I am sure I hope they’ll be happy—that is, as happy +as they _can_ be,” she added, with a touch of candid disapproval. “I +must run away to baby now; the poor dear children!—I must say I am sorry +for them—to have another man brought in in their poor papa’s place; but +oh, I must run away, else I shall be saying cruel things too.” + +The two Miss Harwoods discussed this interesting subject largely after +Mrs Spencer had gone. The Summerhayes people had been, on the whole, +wonderfully merciful to Mrs Clifford during her five years’ solitary +reign at Fontanel. She had been an affectionate wife—she was a good +mother—she had worn the weeds of her widowhood seriously, and had not +plunged into any indiscreet gaieties when she took them off; while, at +the same time, she had emerged sufficiently from her seclusion to +restore Fontanel to its old position as one of the pleasantest houses in +the county. What could woman do more? Tom Summerhayes was her husband’s +cousin; he had been brought up to the law, and naturally understood +affairs in general better than she did. Everybody knew that he was an +idle fellow. After old Mr Summerhayes died, everybody quite expected +that Tom would settle down in the old manor, and live an agreeable +useless life, instead of toiling himself to death in hopes of one day +being Lord Chancellor—a very unlikely chance at the best; and events +came about exactly as everybody had predicted. At the same time, the +entire neighbourhood allowed that Tom had exerted himself quite beyond +all precedent on behalf of his cousin’s widow. Poor Mary Clifford had a +great deal too much on her hands, he was always saying. It was a selfish +sort of kindness to crush down a poor little woman under all that weight +of wealth and responsibility; and so, at last, here was what had come of +it. The Miss Harwoods sat and talked it all over that cold day in the +drawing-room of Woodbine Cottage, which had one window looking to the +village-green, and another, a large, round, bright bow-window, opening +to the garden. The fire was more agreeable than the garden that day. +Miss Harwood sat knitting in her easy-chair, while Miss Amelia occupied +herself in ticketing all that miscellaneous basket of articles destined +for the bazaar of ladies’ work to be held in Summerhayes in February; +but work advanced slowly under the influence of such an inducement to +talk. The old ladies, as may be supposed, came to a sudden pause and +looked confused and guilty when the door opened and the Miss Summerhayes +were announced. Perhaps the new visitors might even have heard something +of the conversation which was going on with so much animation. Certainly +it came to a most abrupt conclusion, and the Miss Harwoods looked +consciously into each other’s faces when the ladies of the manor-house +came to the door. + +These ladies were no longer young, but they were far from having reached +the venerable certainty of old-maidenhood which possessed the atmosphere +of Woodbine Cottage. They were still in the fidgety unsettled stage of +unweddedness—women who had fallen out of their occupation, and were +subject to little tempers and vapours, not from real ill-humour or +sourness, but simply by reason of the vacancy and unsatisfaction of +their lives. The Miss Summerhayes often enough did not know what to do +with themselves; and being unphilosophical, as women naturally are, they +set down this restless condition of mind, not to the account of human +nature generally, and of female impatience in particular, but to their +own single and unwedded condition—a matter which still seemed capable of +remedy; so that the fact must be admitted, that Miss Laura and Miss +Lydia were sometimes a little flighty and uncertain in their temper; +sometimes a little harsh in their judgments; and, in short, in most +matters, betrayed a certain unsettledness and impatience in their minds, +as people generally do, in every condition of existence, when they are +discontented with their lot. The chances are that nothing would have +pleased them better than to have plunged into an immediate discussion of +all the circumstances of this strange piece of news with which +Summerhayes was ringing; but the position was complicated by the fact +that they were accompanied by little Louisa Clifford, who was old enough +to understand all that was said, and quick enough to guess at any +allusion which might be made to her mother, however skilfully veiled; so +that, on the whole, the situation was as difficult a one for the four +ladies, burning to speak but yet incapable of utterance, as can well be +conceived. + +“Oh, how far on _you_ are,” cried Miss Laura; “I have not got in half +the work that has been promised to me; but you always are first with +everything—first in gardening, first in working, first in——” + +“All the news, I am sure,” said Miss Lydia; “we, of course, never hear +anything till it has happened. Provoking! Loo, shouldn’t you like to go +to Miss Harwood’s maid, and ask her to show you the chickens? She has a +perfect genius for poultry, though she is such a little thing; and Miss +Amelia has such loves of dorkings. We shan’t be leaving for half an +hour; now go, there’s a dear!” + +“Thank you, cousin Lydia, I’d rather look at the things for the bazaar,” +returned Loo, lifting a pair of acute suspicious eyes; a pale-faced +little creature, sharp-witted and vigilant, instinctively conscious why +her amusement was thus carefully provided for—Loo did not choose to go. + +“Such a nuisance!” said Miss Laura; “I say we are just far enough off at +the manor to be out of reach of everything except the bores and the +troubles. You always think of us when you have stupid visitors, but you +keep all that’s exciting to yourselves. Loo, darling! the Miss Harwoods’ +violets are always out earlier than any one else’s. I have such a +passion for violets! Do run out, dear, and see if you can find one for +me yonder under the hedge.” + +“I will ask mamma to send you some to-morrow, cousin Laura,” said the +determined little Loo. + +“Did you ever hear anything like it?” said Miss Lydia, in a half +whisper. “Loo!” + +“Loo will carry this basket up-stairs for me to my room,” said Miss +Harwood, “and ask Harriet to show you the things in my cupboard, dear. +All the prettiest things are there, and such a very grand cushion that I +mean to make your mamma buy. Tell Harriet to show you everything; +there’s a darling! That is a very bright little girl, my dears,” said +the old lady, when Loo withdrew, reluctant but dutiful. “I hope nothing +will ever be done to crush her spirit. I suppose you must have both come +to tell us it’s not true.” + +“Oh, you mean about my brother and Mary Clifford,” cried out both +sisters in a breath. “Oh, Miss Harwood, did you ever hear of such a +thing! Did you ever know anything so dreadful! Tom, that might have +married anybody!” cried Miss Lydia; “and Mary Clifford, that was so +inconsolable, and pretended to have broken her heart!” cried the younger +sister. They were both in a flutter of eagerness, neither permitting the +other to speak. + +“Oh dear, dear, it does come so hard upon us,” said Miss Laura, “we that +have always had such a prejudice against second marriages; and a +cousin’s widow—it’s almost like a brother; and if poor Harry could rise +from his grave, what would he say!” concluded Miss Lydia, who took up +the strain without any intervals of punctuation. “I begin to think it’s +all true the gentlemen say about women’s inconstancy; that is, your +common style of women,” ran on the elder without any pause; “and poor +dear Tom, who might have married any one,” cried the younger, out of +breath. + +“Then I perceive,” said Miss Amelia Harwood, “it’s true? Well, I don’t +see much harm, for my part, if they have everything properly settled +first. Poor Harry was all very well, I daresay, but he was a great fool +not to provide for his children. Your brother said so at the time; but I +did think, for my part, that Mary Clifford had the sense to know when +she was well off.” + +“Oh, she shows that,” cried Lydia Summerhayes, with a little toss of her +head; “widows are so designing; they know the ways of men, and how to +manage them, very differently from any of us—if _we_ could stoop to such +a thing, which of course, we wouldn’t. Oh yes, Mary Clifford knows +_very_ well what she’s about. I am sure I have told Tom he was her +honorary secretary for many a day. I thought she was just making use of +him to serve her own purpose; I never thought how far her wiles went. If +it had been her lawyer, or the curate, or any humble person; but Tom! He +might have done so much better,” said Laura, chiming in at some +imperceptible point, so that it was impossible to tell where one voice +ended and the other began. + +“Well, I must say I am disappointed in Mary Clifford,” said Miss +Harwood, “she was always such an affectionate creature. That’s why it +is, I daresay. These affectionate people can’t do without an object; but +her five children——” + +“Ah! yes, her five children,” exclaimed the Miss Summerhayes; “only +imagine dear Tom making such a marriage! Why, Charley Clifford has been +at Eton ever so long; he is fifteen. And dear Tom is quite a young man, +and might have married anybody,” said the last of the two, taking up the +chorus: “it is too dreadful to think of it—such a cutting blow to us.” + +“I can’t see how it is so very bad for you,” said Miss Amelia Harwood; +“of course they will live at Fontanel, and you will still keep the +manor-house. I think it’s rather a good thing for you for my part. Hush! +there’s the child again—clever little thing—she knows quite well what +we’ve been talking of. My dear, I hope Harriet showed you all the +things—and isn’t that a pretty cushion? Tell your mamma I mean to make +her buy it, as she is the richest lady I know.” + +“Are you going, my dears?” said the elder old lady. “I am sorry you have +so little time to stay—I hope you will find things arrange themselves +comfortably, and that everybody will be happy. Don’t get excited—it’s +astonishing how everything settles down. You want to speak to me, Loo,” +said Miss Harwood, starting a little when she had just reseated herself +in her easy-chair after dismissing her visitors. “Certainly, dear; I +suppose you have set your little heart on one of the pretty pincushions +up-stairs.” + +“No, indeed, nothing of the sort—I hope I know better than to care for +such trumpery,” said Loo, with an angry glow on her little pale face. “I +stopped behind to say, that whatever mamma pleases to do, we mean to +stand by her,” cried poor Mary Clifford’s only champion. “I’m not sure +whether I shall like it or not for myself—but we have made up our minds +to stand by mamma, and so we will, as long as we live; and she shall do +what she likes!” cried the little heroine. Two big tears were in those +brown eyes, which looked twice as bright and as big through those great +dew-drops which Loo would not for the world have allowed to fall. She +opened her eyelids wider and wider to re-absorb the untimely tears, and +looked full, with childish defiance, in Miss Harwood’s face. + +“Loo, you are a dear!” said prompt Miss Amelia, kissing the child; “you +shall have the prettiest pincushion in all my basket.” The little girl +vanished suddenly after this speech, half in indignation at the promise, +half because the tears would not be disposed of otherwise, and it was +necessary to rush outside to conceal their dropping. “Ah! Amelia,” said +kind old Miss Harwood, “I’m sorry for poor Mary in my heart—but I’d +rather have that child’s love than Tom Summerhayes.” + +“_Poor_ Mary! for my part, I have no patience with her,” said the +practical Miss Amelia; “a woman come to her time of life ought to have +the sense to know when she’s well off.” + +Such was the character of the comments made upon Mrs Clifford’s marriage +when it was first talked of, in Woodbine Cottage, and generally among +all the female portion of society as it existed in Summerhayes. + + + CHAPTER II.—WHAT THE GENTLEMEN SAID. + +The Rector of Summerhayes was the Miss Harwoods’ brother, much younger +however, unmarried, and rather a fine man in his way. He had a little +dinner, as it happened, the same evening. His table only held six, Mr +Harwood said. The rectory was an old-fashioned house, and the +dining-room would have quite admitted a table which could dine +twenty—but such were not the Rector’s inclinations. There are enough men +in the neighbourhood of Summerhayes to make it very possible to vary +your parties pleasantly when you have a table that only holds six, +whereas with a large number you can only have the same people over and +over again; and Mr Harwood did not like to be bored. He had a friend +with him from town, as he always had on such occasions. He had his +curate, and young Chesterfield from Dalton, and Major Aldborough, and Dr +Gossett; rather a village party—as he explained to Mr Temple, the +stranger—but not bad company. The dinner was a very good one, like all +the Rector’s little dinners, and was consumed with that judicious +reticence in the way of talk, and wise suspension of wit, which is only +practicable in a party composed of men. By means of this sensible +quietness, the dinner was done full justice to, and the company expanded +into full force over their wine. Then the conversation became animated. +The Rector, it is true, indulged in ten minutes’ parish talk with the +Doctor, while Mr Temple and Major Aldborough opened the first parallel +of a political duel, and young Chesterfield discoursed on the last Meet +to poor Mr Spencer, who, reduced into curate-hood and economy, still +felt his mouth water over such forbidden pleasures. Then Mr Harwood +himself introduced the subject which at that time reigned paramount over +all other subjects at Summerhayes. + +“So Tom Summerhayes is going to marry little Mrs Clifford,” said the +Rector; “hadn’t you heard of it? Yes, these grapes are from Fontanel. +She has a capital gardener, and her conservatories are the finest in the +county. A very pleasant little house altogether, though there are some +particulars about her table which one feels to be feeble. Her dinners +are always a little defective since poor Clifford’s death—too mild, you +know—too sweet—want the severer taste of a man.” + +“Mrs Clifford—a pretty little woman with brown eyes?” said Mr Temple. +“I’ve met her somewhere. So she gives dinners, does she? When I saw her +she was in the recluse line. I suppose that didn’t last.” + +“It lasted quite long enough,” said Dr Gossett; “nothing could be more +proper, or more ladylike, or more satisfactory in every way. If I had a +wife and were unluckily to die, I should wish her just to wear her weeds +and so forth like Mrs Clifford—a charming woman; what should we do +without her in the parish? but as for Tom Summerhayes——” + +“He’s an ass,” growled the Major. “What’s he got to do burdening himself +with other people’s children. Why, there’s five of ’em, sir! They’ll +hate him like poison—they’ll think he’s in no end of conspiracies to +shut them out of their fortune. By Jove! if he knew as much about other +people’s children as I do. I’ve had two families consigned to me from +India—as if I were a reformatory, or a schoolmaster, by Jove! _She’s_ +all very well, as women go; but I wouldn’t marry that family—no, not for +_twenty_-five thousand a-year.” + +“I confess I think it’s a pity,” said Mr Spencer, playing with the +Fontanel grapes. The Curate perhaps was thinking in his heart that such +delicate little souvenirs might have gone quite as appropriately to his +own little _ménage_ as to the Rector’s, who lacked for nothing. “It’s +like going into life at second hand, you know. I shouldn’t like it, for +my part. The children are a drawback, to be sure; but that’s not the +greatest, to my mind; they are nice enough children.” + +“Delightful children!” cried the Doctor, “little bricks! plucky little +things! I don’t care for babies, though they’re partly my business. A +family ready made would just suit me.” + +“Well, it ain’t much in my line to say what a fellow ought or oughtn’t +to do,” said young Chesterfield. “I’m not a marrying man myself. I don’t +pretend to understand that sort of thing, you know. But Summerhayes +ain’t a spoon, as everybody will allow. He knows what he’s doing. Last +time I was at Fontanel, I couldn’t make out for the life of me what Mrs +Clifford wanted with that new set of stables. She said they were +preparing against Charley’s growing up. I thought somehow Summerhayes +must have a hand in it, and it’s plain enough now.” + +“Well, he has done a great deal for her,” said the Rector; “he’s been a +sort of unpaid steward at Fontanel. I daresay she didn’t know how to +reward him otherwise. I believe that’s the handiest way of making it up +to a man in a lady’s fancy. It’s a dangerous kind of business to go on +long; but I don’t know that there’s anything to find fault with. She’s +pretty and he’s not young;—well, not exactly a young fellow, I mean,” +said the Rector, with a half apology. “I daresay they’ll do very well +together. If poor Clifford had only made a sensible will—but for that +nobody would have had any right to talk.” + +“And what was poor Clifford’s will?” asked the stranger, with a polite +yawn; “men don’t generally study their wife’s convenience in a second +marriage, in that document; has the defunct been harder upon this lively +lady than most husbands, or what’s wrong about his will?” + +“Deuced fool, sir,” cried the Major; “left her every farthing he had in +the world, without settling a penny on those deuced children, or binding +her up anyhow; left her at thirty or so, I suppose, with every penny he +had in her hands. Never heard of such an ass. Of course that’s what +Summerhayes means, but I can tell him it won’t be a bed of roses. +They’ll hate him like poison, these brats will—they’ll make parties +against him—they’ll serve him so that he’ll be sick of his life. I know +the whole business. He’s well enough off now, with his old father’s +savings, and the manor-house, and nothing to do; but he’ll be a wretched +man, mark my words, if he marries Fontanel with five children in it. +It’s the maddest thing he ever did in his life.” + +“The poor lady doesn’t seem to count for much,” said Mr Temple. “She’s a +pretty nobody, I suppose.” + +Upon which vehement disclaimers rose from all the _convives_. “No, she +was a charming woman,” Gossett said. “A dear, kind-hearted, good little +soul,” said the Rector. “Very well as women go,” the Major admitted; +while the two young men added warmer, but equally vague commendations. +“Yet none of you imagine she is being married for herself,” said the +solitary individual who did not belong to Summerhayes, with a little +laugh at the perturbation he had caused. But nobody saw the fun of it: +they went on with the discussion, ignoring Mr Temple. + +“When a woman is in Mrs Clifford’s position,” said the Doctor, “it is +nonsense to talk of her _being_ married. She is active, she is no longer +passive in such a business. She’s richer, she’s _gooder_, she’s +handsomer, she’s better off every way than Tom Summerhayes. How she ever +came to fancy him is the wonder to me.” + +“Deuced nonsense,” said the Major; “why didn’t he marry off his sisters +and set up snug for himself? He’s old enough to know better, that fellow +is. There’s young Chesterfield there, he’s at the time of life to make a +fool of himself; but Summerhayes must be, let me see——” + +“Don’t let us go into chronology,” said the Rector. “Poor little Mary, I +hope she’ll be happy all the same. I married her to poor Clifford, and I +daresay I’ll have this little business to do as well. I wish she had a +brother, or an uncle, or some one to take that piece of duty off my +hands. I think I will have one of my attacks, and go off to Malvern, and +leave it, Spencer, to you.” + +“I wish she had an uncle or a brother for more than that,” said the +Doctor; “it ought to be seen to—the settlement and all that should be +looked well into. I hope she’ll have her wits about her. Not that I mean +to ascribe any mean motives to Tom Summerhayes; but still when there’s +five children to be considered——” + +“They’ll kill him, sir,” said the Major, with energy. “He’ll not enjoy +her money for long, mark my words; they’ll kill him in a year. I have +only got this to say, sir,” continued the warrior, turning round upon Mr +Temple, who had ventured a remark not bearing on the present subject to +the Curate, “if this income-tax is going to be kept up without any +compensation, I’ll emigrate—it’s the only thing that remains for honest +Englishmen. After a life spent in the service of my country, I’ll be +driven to a colony, sir, in my old age. It’s more than the country can +bear, and what’s better, it’s more than the country _will_ bear. We’ll +have a revolution, by Jove! that’s what will come of all this taxing and +paying; it’s not to be borne, sir, in a land that calls itself free.” + +Whereupon politics came into possession of the elders of the party, and +young Chesterfield resumed that tantalising account of the Meet which +made the poor Curate sigh. + +Poor Mrs Clifford! she had but scant sympathy in those innumerable +discussions, male and female, of which she was at present the subject, +all in and about Summerhayes. + + + CHAPTER III.—WHAT THE CHILDREN HAD TO SAY. + +Meanwhile little Loo, with another pair of big tears in her brown eyes, +had been driven home in the wintry twilight over the frosty road, which +rang to every stamp of her ponies’ heels in a way which would have +excited the little thing into positive enjoyment of the exhilarating +sounds and sensations of rapid motion, had things been as usual. As it +was, she sat wrapped up in a fur cloak, with her little veil over her +face, watching the great trees glide past in the darkening, and turning +her wistful looks now and then to the young winterly moon, which had +strayed like a lost child into the midst of a whole covey of clouds, +still crimsoned with reflections from the sunset. Loo’s little heart +ached so, and she was so steadfastly determined not to admit that it was +aching, that she was almost glad to feel how chill her little feet were +getting, and how benumbed the hand which was outside of the fur cloak. +She kept her little stiff fingers exposed to the frosty breeze all the +same, and was rather glad of that sensation of misery which gave her a +little excuse to herself for feeling unhappy. As the tinges of crimson +stole out of the clouds, and the sky grew so wistfully, coldly clear +around the moon, Fontanel came in sight, with lights in all its windows, +twinkling through the trees in the long avenue, now one gleam, now +another, as the little carriage drove on. There first of all was the +great nursery window blazing with firelight, where Loo meant to hold a +little committee as soon as she got in, and where she could so well +picture “all of them” in all their different occupations, populating all +the corners of the familiar room. A little further on it was the window +of mamma’s room, which lightened brightly out behind the bare branches +of the great chestnut tree. What would the house be without mamma? the +little girl asked herself, and the great blobs of hot dew in her eyes +fell upon her cold fingers. “Aren’t you well, Miss Loo?” asked the old +groom who drove her, and Loo made him a very sharp answer in the +irritation of her troubled little heart. She ran into the light and +comfort of the house with a perverse, childish misery which she did not +understand. She would not let old William take her cloak from her, but +threw it down, and stumbled over it, and stamped her little foot, and +could have cried. Poor little Loo! she was sick at heart, and did not +know what it meant. Instead of going to her mother, as she usually did, +she hastened up to the nursery where “all of them” were in a highly +riotous condition at the moment, and where the darkness of her little +face was unnoted by all but nurse, who took off her boots and warmed her +feet, and did away with the only physical reason Loo dared to pretend to +as an excuse for looking wretched. It was not very easy to look wretched +in that room. By the side of the fire where a great log blazed was +Harry, aged ten, with a great book clasped in his arms, and his cheeks +and hair equally scorched and crimsoned with near vicinity to the flame. +Little Mary, and Alf, the baby, were playing at the other end of the +room. Alf was six, though he was the baby; but Mrs Clifford was the kind +of woman to love a pet, and the little fellow’s indignant manhood was +still smothered in long curls and lace tuckers. He avenged himself by +exercising the most odious tyranny over his next little sister, who was +Baby’s slave. All this little company Loo looked round upon with +mysterious looks. She herself was twelve, little and pale, with nothing +particular about her but her eyes, and her temper, which had already +made itself, unfortunately, felt through the house. She sat maturing her +plans till she heard the clock strike, and saw that it would shortly be +time to go to her mother in her dressing-room, as the Fontanel children +always did before dinner. She immediately bestirred herself to her task. + +“Nurse,” said Loo, “will you take these things down to mamma’s +dressing-room, please, and tell her we will all come presently; and if +you wish to go down-stairs, you may. I will take care of the children, +and take them down to mamma.” + +“Thank you, Miss Loo; but there’s nobody to be at dinner but Mr +Summerhayes and Mademoiselle, and you’re all to go down,” said Nurse; +“you’re too little to have the charge of Master Alf, and you’ve all got +to be dressed, dears, for dessert.” + +“Then you can come up when I ring. I want the children by themselves,” +said little Loo, with her imperious air. “You can go away.” + +“You’re a deal too forward for such a little thing. I’ll speak to your +ma, Miss, I will,” said the offended nurse. “At least I would if it was +any good; but as long as Missis encourages her like this;—oh children +dear, there’s changed times coming! You won’t have the upper hand +always; it’s a comfort to a poor servant anyhow, whatever it may be to +other folks. I’m going, Miss Loo; and you’ll come up directly the very +minute you leave your ma to be dressed.” + +Loo watched her to the door, and, skipping off her chair, closed it +behind the dethroned guardian of the nursery. “Now, children, come here, +I want to speak to you all,” said the little princess. “Mary, don’t be +as great a baby as Alf; you are eight—you are almost a woman. Alf, come +here and stand by me like a gentleman. Harry——” + +But Harry was not so easily roused. He had been lectured so long about +scorching his face that he was now proof to all appeals. He had to be +hunted up out of his corner, and the book skilfully tilted up and thrown +out of his arms, which operation surprised Loo into a momentary laugh, +of which she was much ashamed. “Harry!” she cried, with redoubled +severity, “it is no nonsense I am going to talk of—it is something very +serious. Oh, children!” exclaimed the elder sister, as Alf jumped upon +Harry’s back, and the two had a harmless scuffle in continuation of that +assault which had roused Harry. “Oh, children!” cried Loo, who had +laughed in spite of herself, now bursting into quick tears of impatience +and vexation. “You play and play and think of nothing else—and you won’t +let me talk to you of what’s going to happen to mamma.” + +“What is it?” cried Harry, opening a pair of great bright eyes, and +coming hastily to his sister’s side. Alf asked “What is it?” too, and +placed himself on the other hand. As for Mary, she was frightened and +stood a little apart, ready to rush off to her mother, or to ring for +Nurse, or to do anything else that the exigency might demand. + +“Do you remember what mamma said to us when we were in the dining-room +on Sunday after dinner, when Tom—I mean when Mr Summerhayes was +there—when he kissed us all?” said Loo, with a little red spot suddenly +glowing out upon one indignant little cheek. + +“She said he was going to be a father to us,” said Harry, rather +stolidly. + +“And we didn’t know what it meant,” said little Mary, breaking in +eagerly, “but Nurse told me afterwards. It means that mamma is going to +be married to cousin Tom. Oh, won’t it be queer? Shall we have to call +him papa, Loo? I shall never recollect, I am sure.” + +Loo gazed with eyes growing larger and larger in the face of her +insensible sister. Then seeing Mary’s arm on the top of the great +nursery fender, Loo, we are sorry to say, was so far betrayed by her +resentment as to thrust little Mary violently away with a sob of +passion. They all looked at her with wondering eyes. + +“Oh, you stupid, stupid children!” cried the poor little heroine, “don’t +you know mamma, though she is so pretty, is not a young lady like other +people that are going to be married; don’t you know people talk about +it, and laugh at her, and say she is foolish? I have heard them do it!” +cried Loo. “I heard them in Summerhayes to-day talking and scolding +about our mamma. She knows best what to do—better than all of them. She +will never be unkind to us, or stop loving us. Oh, only think if she +knew that people said such things—it would kill her! I heard them, and I +thought I should have died. And now, children,” said Loo, solemnly, +“what we’ve got to do is to go down to mamma, not jumping or making a +noise like great babies, but quiet and serious; and to tell her that she +is to do what she thinks best, and never mind what people say; and that +we—we,” sobbed the little girl, vainly trying to preserve her composure, +as she brought out word after word with a gush of tears—“we’ll stand by +her and trust in her, and never believe anything. That is what we must +go and say.” + +After she had finished her speech Loo fell into a little passion of +crying, in which she partly lost the slight murmurs and remonstrances of +her calmer and wondering audience; but passion as usual carried the day. +When Mrs Clifford’s bell rang the children went down-stairs, looking +rather scared, in a kind of procession, Loo coming last with Alf, who +had to be held tightly by the hand lest he should break out into +gambols, and destroy all the solemnity of the proceeding. Mrs Clifford +was sitting by the fire when they went in, in an attitude of thought. +The candles were not lighted, and it was very easy to suppose that mamma +herself looked sad, and was quite in a state of mind to be thus +addressed. Harry and Mary, rather ashamed of themselves, were already +carrying on a quiet scuffle at the door when Loo came up to them. “You +go first, Harry”—“No, you,” they were saying to each other. “Oh, you +stupid, stupid children, you have no feeling!” cried Loo, bitterly, as +she swept past them. Mrs Clifford looked up with a smile, and held out +her hand, which she expected to be grasped immediately by a crowd of +little fingers, but the mother’s looks were dreamy to-night, and some +one else was before her children in her thoughts. She was startled when +she felt Loo’s little cold hand put into hers, and woke up and pushed +her chair back from the fire to look at the little things who stood +huddled together before her. “What is the matter?” said Mrs Clifford. + +“Oh, mamma, mamma,” cried Loo; her poor little voice grew shrill, +notwithstanding all her efforts. She had to make a pause, and to +preserve her dignity had to let Alf go, who immediately went off to ride +on the arm of the sofa, and compromise the seriousness of the scene. +“Oh, mamma, dear,” said Loo, feeling that no time was to be lost, “we +have come to say that we will never believe anything; that we know you +love us, and will always love us—and—and—we believe in _you_; oh, mamma, +we believe in you, and we will always stand by you, if everybody in the +world were on the other side.” + +Here Loo fell, choking with tears and passion, on her mother’s +footstool, and laid her poor little head, which ached with cold and +crying, on Mrs Clifford’s lap. The mother’s eyes had woke up out of all +their dreaming. Perhaps it was as well the candles were not lighted. +That cheek which the widow screened with her hand was as crimson and as +hot as Harry’s had been reading over the fire. She was glad Loo’s keen +eyes were hidden upon her lap; she blushed, poor tender woman as she +was, before her children. The little woman-daughter was dreadful to her +mother at the moment—a little female judge, endued with all the +awfulness of nature, shaming the new love in her mature heart. + +“What does this all mean, children?” said Mrs Clifford, trying to be a +little angry, to conceal the shock she had received. + +“Oh, please mamma, it’s Loo,” cried Mary, frightened. “She made us come; +it was one of her passions.” + +“No, it was not one of her passions,” said Harry, who was Loo’s +champion; “it was to tell mamma we would always stand by her; and so I +will,” cried the boy on his own account, kindling up, “if there were any +robbers or anything—for I’m the eldest son when Charley’s at school.” + +Loo heard this where she lay, with her head on her mother’s lap; she was +incapable of speech or motion almost, but she could not but groan with +impatience over the stupidity of the children; and Alf was riding loudly +on the arm of the sofa, shouting to his imaginary horse. Loo gathered +herself up with a blush upon her cheeks; it did not enter into her head +to imagine that her mother blushed much more hotly and violently when +the little face unfolded itself slowly out of her lap. + +“Hush! Loo, don’t say any more,” said Mrs Clifford; then with a little +effort the mother put her arm round the child and drew her close. “I +understand what you mean—but you must not say any more,” she said; then +she stooped down her hot cheek upon that wet one of poor Loo’s. “We +shall all be very happy, I hope,” said Mrs Clifford in the dark, in her +little daughter’s ear. “I am doing it—for—for all your sakes, dear. He +will stand by you and me, and all of us, Loo. I hope we shall be—very +happy—happier even than we are now,” said Mrs Clifford, with a faint +little tremble in her voice and quiver at her heart. When she had kissed +Loo, and the child had gone away to compose herself, poor Mary, the +mother, sat for a long time looking into the fire with a terrible +misgiving upon her—“happier even than we are now.” Ah! just then she had +been so happy—all well in the prosperous, plentiful house; not an ache +or a trouble that she knew of among all her children; not a single look +of love dimmed to her yet by her resolution; and the new love, sweet as +any girl’s dream, restoring to her firmament all the transitory +delicious lights of youth. Somehow that prospect darkened under a +strange cloud of alarm and shame when the mother felt her cheeks flush +at the look of her woman-child. “I am doing it for—all their sakes,” she +tried to say to herself; but her innocence grew like guilt as she felt +in her heart that this pretence was not true. + + + CHAPTER IV.—HER OWN THOUGHTS. + +Mrs Clifford had not much time to think that night, and the impression +went off her when she was in her lover’s company—which was very nearly +always; for, long before this had been thought of, Tom Summerhayes had +been the soul of everything at Fontanel. She had come so gradually to +consult him about everything—to take his counsel upon small and great +that happened—that it seemed only natural now that he should belong to +her; but after Loo’s little scene a variety of annoyances came upon +Mary—indications of the world’s opinion—evidences that it did not seem +so natural to other people as to herself. Even Charley’s schoolboy +letter was rather dreadful to his mother. The boy bestowed his +approbation upon her match, and was to stand by her, too, in Loo’s very +vein; and the mother felt more humbled by thus obtaining the consent of +her children than she would have been by the sacrifice of all she had in +the world. Still it never came into her head to give up her +marriage—never, perhaps, till a day or two before, when things were much +too far advanced for any drawing back, and when she sat alone by her +fire, with her desk open before her, late at night when all the +household were asleep. In her desk were various little matters which had +been treasures to Mary Clifford. She took them out with trembling +hands—a withered flower, given to her, oh, so long ago, when she was +little more than a child, and preserved with girlish romance; a little +ring made of hair, which she had worn in her days of betrothal; a little +faded drawing, made by herself at the same period, of her early lover; +and last and most important of all, some letters—not many, but very +tender—the love-letters of her youth. How she had cried over them many a +sad day after her Harry died; how she had gradually forgotten them again +and left them in their safe concealment; how of late she had rather +avoided the place where they were, and shrank from touching the little +desk that contained them; and now, at last, upon the eve of her second +wedding, here they were all spread out before her, to be disposed of +somehow. Mary’s treasures! she had heard them called so—had called them +so herself. What were they now? + +Poor, little, soft, tender-hearted woman! There was no passion in her. +She was in love with all her heart, but it was affectionately, not +passionately, or else she never could have opened that desk. She took +out the flower, and cried, and looked at it; then, with a hasty impulse, +put it softly on the fire, and watched it blaze into sudden ashes, and +cried again, and felt guilty to her heart. “I was such a child,” she +said to herself in her tears, and took a kind of melancholy comfort from +thinking how young she had been when she was first a bride. Then she +looked at her own drawing, which was not the least like him, and thought +with a compunction of her Harry. Poor Harry! All this bright house, all +these dear children, were his as well as hers; but he was put away in +the family vault, poor fellow, and nothing was henceforward to belong to +him in this living world—not even the name he had given her, not her +thoughts, not any of her heart. She cried over that too like the rest. +She put up the ring in a little parcel for Loo—she laid aside the +portrait for little Harry. She tried to indemnify him by making over all +those little mementoes, which it troubled her to look at, to his +children. Then she took up the bundle of yellow letters and timidly +opened one of them, and read a few sentences. There she read of the +young love that was never to die, never to know change. Poor Mary put +them away again with a sob almost of terror, and hastily locked up the +desk, and resolved to put it away somewhere out of sight. She could not +examine any further into those “treasures” which had become ghosts. She +drew her chair to the fire, and shivered in her thoughts. She was a +simple-minded woman, not wise, but moved by every wind of feeling. It +came to her mind just then to recollect how, in her first widowhood, she +had taken comfort from the thought that Harry was near and saw her tears +for him, and knew how faithful her poor heart was. Now that thought was +too much for Mary’s strength. She gave a cry of helpless terror when it +occurred to her. Alas, for that immortality of union which comforts the +heart of grief! What if Harry met her at the very gates of heaven when +she got there, and claimed her, she who was going to be another man’s +bride? Sitting alone in the night, with all the household asleep, and +such thoughts for companions, it was not wonderful if a panic seized +upon Mrs Clifford’s heart. Poor Harry, who had loved her so well, +appeared like a pursuing spectre to the soft little woman. If it was +true that she belonged to him for ever and ever, how could she dare to +love Tom Summerhayes? and if she did not belong to him for ever and +ever—he who had loved her to the end, and had never done anything to +forfeit her affection—what was the hereafter, the heaven where love, it +appeared, could not be immortal? These fancies wrung poor Mary’s heart. +She did not know any answer to make to them. The question put by the +Sadducees nohow answered her case. She who blushed before her children, +how could she ever look Harry in the face? She felt herself an infidel, +trembling and crying over that everlastingness which had once given her +such consolation. That Harry could ever cease to love her, nature +contradicted as impossible. He was in heaven, far off, unseen, fixed in +solemn unchangeableness in all the elevation of love and grief he died +in, never to alter; and she?—— Step by step unconsciously that elevation +of grief and love had died away from her in the changing human days, and +now here she sat weeping, trembling, thinking with awe of Harry, +wondering how he would claim her hereafter, how she could dare name his +name when she was another man’s wife. Poor little trembling soul! She +stole away to bed when she could bear it no longer, and sought refuge in +sleep with the tears still in her eyes, some grand and desperate +resolution of making a sacrifice of herself being in her mind, as was +natural. She had troubled dreams, and woke up quite unrefreshed in the +morning, which was very unlucky that day of all others, because the +lawyers were coming, and all her business affairs were to be settled +before her marriage. However, Mrs Clifford could not remember at her +first waking what it was which had thrown such a cloud upon her; and +when her thoughts of the previous night did return to her mind, they +were neither so intolerable nor so urgent as they had been. In the +daylight, somehow, those gates of heaven, at which Harry might be +standing to claim her, looked a very far way off to the bride of Tom +Summerhayes—there was no such immediate certainty of Harry’s existence +anyhow, or of the kind of interest he might take in her proceedings; and +the philosophy of the question did not recur to her mind with those +puzzling and hopeless speculations. She was a great deal more content to +accept the present and to postpone the future—to let hereafter take care +of itself—than she had been at night. She put away the desk with Harry’s +letters in a dark vacant upper shelf of a bookcase in her own +dressing-room; there, where she could not even see it, it would no +longer witness against her. It was a sunny morning, and the children +came in all fresh and rosy to say their prayers, and there was a note +from Mr Summerhayes on the breakfast-table, naming the hour at which the +law people were to arrive. Mrs Clifford had recovered her colour and her +spirits before they came; she was a little agitated, and looked very +pretty in the commotion of her heart. Hers was a position very peculiar +and interesting, as Mr Gateshead himself, the old family solicitor, +suggested, as he read over the deed she was to sign. He was perfectly +pleased with the arrangements altogether, and said that Mr Summerhayes +had behaved most honourably and in the most gentlemanly way. It was very +clear that _his_ motives were not mercenary. The deed Mrs Clifford had +to sign was one by which Fontanel and all its dependencies was settled +upon her eldest son, she retaining the life-interest in it which her +husband had meant her to have. Mr Summerhayes, who had been brought up +for the bar, had himself advised Mr Gateshead in the drawing up of this +important document. The new bridegroom was anxiously solicitous that the +children should be portioned and the property distributed exactly as the +family agent, who knew poor Clifford’s mind, would have advised him to +settle it; and the deed was irrevocable and framed in the most careful +manner, so that no ingenuity of the law could make it assailable +hereafter. It was so rigid in all its provisions that poor Mary wavered +a little over it. She thought it scarcely fair that _he_ should be shut +out entirely from every interest in all this wealth, which, at the +present moment, belonged absolutely to herself. It was Mr Summerhayes +himself who put, with a certain gentle force, the pen into her hands, +and pointed exactly to the spot where she was to sign. “I have _you_, +Mary,” he said in her ear, as he leant over her to keep the parchment +steady; and Mary Clifford signed away all her power and secured her +children’s rights, with “a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye,” +feeling to her heart the delicious flattery. What she possessed was +nothing to him—he had _her_, and a kingdom could not make him happier. +So said the tone of his whisper, the glance of his eye, and the echo of +her heart. This living Love which stood by her side, securing so +carefully that Harry Clifford’s wealth should go to Harry Clifford’s +heirs, and seeking only herself for its own, completely swallowed up +poor Clifford’s ghost, if that forlorn spirit might by chance be +cognisant of what was passing. Mary remembered no more her qualms and +misgivings; and the prospect before her—now that the very children had +got used to it, had ceased either to oppose or to stand by her, and had +fallen into natural excitement about the approaching festivities, the +guests who were to be at Fontanel, the new dresses, the great event +about to happen—looked as bright as the glowing day. + + + CHAPTER V.—THE MARRIAGE. + +Fontanel received a considerable party of guests for the marriage. Miss +Laura and Miss Lydia, who were to be at the head of affairs while the +new Mrs Summerhayes was absent on her wedding tour, arrived two days +before, that they might get into the ways of the place, and know what +was required of them, which was not very much, for Mary was but a +languid housekeeper. Then there were two aunts, an uncle, and some +cousins of Mrs Clifford, none of whom in the least approved of the +match, though decorum and curiosity and kindness prompted them to +countenance poor Mary in her foolishness, notwithstanding their general +surprise, like Miss Harwood, that she had not the sense to know when she +was well off. Then there was Charley from Eton, who had grown so much +lately, that his mother blushed more than ever when he kissed her and +said something kind about her marriage. These were not pleasant days for +poor Mrs Clifford. She knew in her heart that nobody particularly +approved of her, not even Tom’s sisters—that people were saying it was +just what was to be expected, and that a woman left at her age with so +much property in her hands was sure to make a fool of herself. She knew +that the ladies when they got together had little conversations over +her—that one wondered why she could not make herself happy with these +dear children, and another with this fine place—and that a third mused +what poor Mr Clifford would have said could he have known. Poor Mary was +very thankful when the day dawned on her wedding-morning—she was glad, +as brides seldom are, of the arrival of the fated moment which was to +place things beyond the reach of censure or criticism, and relieve her +from her purgatory. The Rector of Summerhayes had not been called on to +do that piece of duty. The bridegroom luckily had a friend whose +privilege it was; and still more luckily there was a little old disused +church within the grounds of Fontanel in which the ceremony was to be +performed, without the necessity of encountering the gaze and remarks of +the village. It was not intended to be a pretty wedding or to put on +those colours of joy which become the espousals of youth. Mingled and +complicated, as are the thoughts of middle age, were the feelings of the +two who stood side by side before the bare rural altar. The bridegroom +was slight and tall in figure, with a careless languid air, through +which occasionally a little gleam of excitement sparkled. If you watched +him closely you could see that his mind was no way absorbed in the +ceremonial of his marriage. The quick sudden glance here and there under +his eyelids, of those cold but clear grey eyes, turned inquiringly to +everything within his range. He read in the looks of the clergyman, even +while he pronounced the nuptial blessing, what his opinion was of the +entire transaction. He penetrated the mask of propriety in which the +bride’s relations concealed their feelings—he investigated with +oft-repeated momentary glances the face of Charley, who stood in his +Etonian certainty of manhood, premature but not precocious, near his +mother’s side. Mr Summerhayes even scanned, when all was over, the +downcast countenance of Loo, who stood behind, watching with stout +endurance, and resolute not to cry during the entire ceremony. What was +the meaning which lay in those quick furtive darts of the bridegroom’s +eye it was impossible to say; his closest friend could not have +elucidated this strange secret by-play, of which nobody in the company +was conscious, except, perhaps, one child; but one thing it proved at +any rate, that his heart at this special moment was not engrossed, to +the exclusion of everything else, by his bride. + +Mary was much less mistress of herself. She cried quietly under her veil +as she stood and listened to the familiar words. She repeated those that +fell to her with a little shiver. In her heart she could not but feel +what a terrible act she was completing as she vowed her love and +obedience over again, and separated her future from her past. But Mary, +with her downcast eyes, was insensible to everybody’s opinion at that +moment. Had she been standing in a wilderness she could not have felt +more isolated. She was conscious only of her new husband by her side—of +an indistinct figure before her—of God above and around, a kind of awful +shadow looking on. Mr Summerhayes was aware of her tears, and they moved +him so that his colour heightened involuntarily, and he pressed her hand +with a warning pressure when it came to that part of the ceremony. But +Mary herself was not aware that she was crying till she felt this touch +of remonstrance, which startled her back into consciousness. Such was +this marriage, at which, as at other marriages, people looked on with +various shades of sympathy and criticism, and which, with all its +concealed terrors and outward rejoicing, was the free act of hearts +uncoerced and acting only at their own pleasure—a free act, suggested by +no third party, unless, perhaps, it might happen to be a certain grim +inflexible Fate who, if the reins are but yielded to her for a moment, +pursues her victim through a throng of inevitable consequences. But +perhaps, when a woman is being married like Mary Clifford, it is a kind +of comfort to her to feel as if she could not help herself, rather than +to know that she is entering all these new dangers voluntarily, and in +obedience to nobody’s will but her own. + +“Well, I am sure, I wish them every comfort in life,” said Miss Harwood, +as she stood leaning on her brother’s arm at the hall door of Fontanel, +watching the carriage drive off which contained the happy pair. “She +can’t feel much like a bride, poor thing, leaving all these children +behind her. I am sure I wish her every happiness. I hope she’ll never +live to repent it,” said Miss Harwood, with a sigh. + +“Don’t be spiteful,” said the Rector. “This is not a time for such +ill-omened wishes. It’s a very suitable match, and I wish them joy.” + +“Oh, Mr Harwood,” said Miss Laura, taking up her position at the +Rector’s other side, thus effecting a natural separation from Mary’s +relations, who were comparing sentiments a little apart from the +Summerhayes party—“a suitable match! when dear Tom is well known to +represent the oldest family in the county, and might have married +anybody—not to say a word against dear Mary, who is our sister now, and +such a sweet creature. But oh, Mr Harwood,” cried Miss Lydia, who had +interposed, as usual, “to talk of a suitable match!” + +“There are no suitable matches nowadays. I don’t believe in ’em, by +Jove!” said Major Aldborough, who, with eyes slightly reddened by +champagne, was watching the carriage just then disappearing down the +avenue. + +“But there might be, Major,” said Miss Lydia, so softly that her sister +could not take up the meek remark. + +The Major only answered “By Jove!” under his breath. He was startled by +the close vicinity—the gentle look—the mild suggestion. He moved a +little away in a momentary panic. There was never any telling, as he +said to himself, what these women might mean. + +“It is so strange to be left in charge of the house,” said Miss Laura, +“it gives one such a funny feeling. I don’t know how in the world we +shall do with all the responsibility; but dear Mary insisted upon it, +you know—though I am sure Mrs Tansey would have been much more suitable +for the head of the table than one of us, who are so inexperienced,” +cried Miss Lydia; “but dear Mary thought it best for the children’s +sake. I hope, dear Mrs Tansey, you don’t mind being our guest,” +proceeded the sisterly duet; “dear Mary thought it of such importance +that the children should get used to us—though they know us perfectly +well, still things are all so different; though otherwise, of course, +she would so much have preferred you.” + +“Oh, pray, don’t think it necessary to apologise for my niece to me, +Miss Summerhayes,” said the offended aunt. “Mary has consulted her own +inclinations, and so long as she is happy, that is all _we_ can +_possibly_ want of her. I think she is _quite_ right to make friends, if +she can, in her new family. She knows she can always calculate upon _us_ +if she ever wants any service,” added the bride’s relation, with a +slight heightening of colour and the ghost of a curtsy. The Miss +Summerhayes were not unequal to the emergency. + +“We all know how much poor dear Mary is liked among her own friends,” +cried Miss Lydia. “Your dear girls were so fond of her last year when +they spent such a long time at Fontanel; and dear Mary has such a taste +in presents,” said Miss Laura, coming in so eagerly that she began out +of breath. “We have gone shopping with her often when she was buying her +little souvenirs. I hope you don’t think it will make any difference now +she is married again. She is _so_ affectionate; but as for wanting +services from anybody, that is very unlikely,” resumed the elder sister, +“now she has dear Tom. Dear Tom is so very devoted,” said Miss Laura, +breaking in headlong. “You would think she was only eighteen to see all +the attention he pays her. It is quite sweet to see them, like two +turtle-doves.” + +Such being the conversation that succeeded immediately upon the +departure of the bridal pair, it is not to be supposed that the +dinner-table was spread with a very joyful feast, or that the evening +was spent in much happiness. Mary’s relations, who had up to this time +felt themselves much at ease at Fontanel, kept greatly by themselves +during the remainder of the wedding-day. Their occasional minglings with +the Summerhayes party called forth bursts of smart dialogue, more +exciting than amiable, and the opposing sides contended much for the +notice of Loo and the other children, when they came down-stairs in +their new dresses after dinner. It made little Loo’s heart sick to feel +herself enfolded in the embraces of Miss Lydia and Laura on one side, +and then to be talked to and admonished by Aunt Tansey on the other, who +hoped she would be a good girl, and a great comfort to her poor mother. +The children could not tell what to make of the aspect of affairs. Mamma +gone, who was the sun and centre of the domestic world, and already a +new rule and vague possibilities of change in the startled house. +Down-stairs among the servants, though the means of merry-making were +plentiful, this threatening cloud was even more apparent. A new master, +known to like “his own way,” was an alarming shadow impending over the +little community hitherto mildly and liberally governed by the mistress, +whom her servants could scarcely forgive for the step she had taken. +“With five lovely children and every blessin’ as this world could +afford,” as the housekeeper said, shaking her troubled head. The new +husband by no means ranked among the blessings of Providence to the +mistress of Fontanel in anybody’s judgment, and nowhere was Mary’s rash +act resented more warmly than in the servants’ hall. + +“But, Loo,” said Etonian Charley, next morning, when Aunt Tansey and all +her belongings had left Fontanel, and everything had fallen under the +restless sway of the Miss Summerhayes, “I’m not going to put up with all +this. You said we were to stand up for mamma; you mean we are only to +pretend to stand up for mamma, you little humbug. Now that’s not my +meaning,” said the heir of Fontanel. “I’m not going to make-believe that +I think she’s done right, when I don’t. I am going to swallow cousin Tom +right out,” cried the boy, not without a little flush on his face. “It’s +a little awkward, to be sure, to know what to call him—but look here, +Loo—I mean to stand by my mother without any humbug. I mean to think +she’s done the very best for us all, and for herself too; and if she +don’t think the same when she comes back, I’ll try to make her; and if +you look black, as you’re looking, you are not the little brick I took +you for, and I won’t have anything more to do with you, Loo.” + +“Oh, Charley, I am not half so good as you are,” cried the admiring +little sister, looking up to him with tearful eyes. Charley’s resolution +acted like a charm upon the house in general; and so, with a gradually +improving temper, though much pressed and fretted by Miss Laura and Miss +Lydia, the nursery and the servants’ hall, and all the dependencies of +Fontanel, waited for the advent of the new master and the return of Mrs +Summerhayes. + + + + + AN ENGLISH VILLAGE—IN FRENCH.[1] + + +The old pictures of village life in England will hardly suit for these +modern times. The pleasant little social circle which either existed, or +more often was imagined to exist, as in Miss Austen’s charming fictions, +in the large well-to-do country village, is to be found there no longer. +No one condescends in these days to live in the country, unless he can +either do so, or affect to do so, more or less _en grand seigneur_. A +change has passed over ‘Our Village,’ even since Mary Russell Mitford so +admirably sketched it. The half-pay naval lieutenant or army captain (if +any such survive) has retired into the back street of a cheap +watering-place, not to the improvement either of his position or his +happiness. The village surgeon is no longer an oracle; railways have +brought “the first advice” (at any rate, in the county town) within the +reach of almost all his patients; and he has either disappeared +altogether, or, if he still exists as the “Union Doctor,” badly paid and +little respected, he is seldom now a gentleman. Village lawyers—happily +or unhappily—are become things unknown: and as for any gentleman’s +family of independent but moderate means condescending to that kind of +rural seclusion, it is unheard of. If there is any educated resident in +any country village not fixed there by some local interest or +occupation, he is apt to have something suspicious about his character +or antecedents—to be a refugee from his lawful creditors, or his lawful +wife, or something of that sort. + +So that English village life now resolves itself mainly into that of the +parson; for the squire, even if he be resident, scarcely forms part of +the same social circle. And as to the rest, between the university +graduate, of more or less refinement and education, and the opulent +farmer such as he is at present, there lies a gulf which no fancy can +exaggerate, and which the best intentions on both sides fail to bridge +over. Where village spires stand thick together, where the majority of +the rectors or vicars are men of the same way of thinking, and where it +is the fashion of the country to be social, there is a good deal of +pleasant intercourse, no doubt, between the parsons’ families, and as +much “society,” in the real if not in the conventional sense, as is +needful to keep the higher elements of humanity from stagnating; but +where parishes spread far and wide over a poor or thinly-populated +district, or, worse still, where religious sectarianism reckons its +clergy into “High” and “Low,” and the Rector of A. shakes his head and +lifts his eyebrows when any allusion is made to the Vicar of B.—there, +the man whose lot has been cast in a country parsonage had need have +abundant resources within himself, and be supremely indifferent to the +stir of human interests without. He will, in many cases, have almost as +far to ride in search of a congenial neighbour as though he were in the +bush of Australia; he will find something like the solitude of the old +monastery, without the chance of its peace and quietness. + +Not that such a life is dull or uninteresting, by any means, unless in +the unfortunate case of the man finding no interest in his duties. One +of this world’s many compensations is, that the busy man, be he what +else he may, is never dull, and seldom discontented. So it is, almost +always, in the country parsonage; without claiming any high standard of +zeal or self-devotion for its occupants, there is probably at least as +much quiet enjoyment, and as little idle melancholy or fretful +discontent, to be found among them, as among any other class of educated +men. + +Still, it is a life which it would be very difficult for a foreigner to +appreciate or understand. The relation of the English country rector to +his villagers is totally unlike that of the Lutheran or Roman Catholic +priest. Not claiming—or at least not being in a position to +maintain—anything like the amount of spiritual authority which is +exercised by the pastor under both these other systems, he wields, in +point of fact, an amount of influence superior to either. He cannot +command the servile and terrified obedience in externals which is often +paid by the Irish and Italian peasant to his spiritual guide; but he +holds a moral power over his parishioners—even over those who +professedly decline his ministrations—of the extent of which neither he +nor they are always conscious, but to the reality of which the enemies +of the Established Church in England are beginning to awake. + +The reading world has perhaps been rather over-supplied, of late years, +with novelettes in which the village parson, with some of the very white +or very black sheep of his flock, have been made to walk and talk more +or less naturally for their amusement and edification; but the sight of +a little French book on the subject struck us as something new. It is +very desirable that our good friends across the Channel should know +something about our ways of going on at home; and that not only in the +public life of large towns, or on the highways of travel and commerce, +but in our country villages and rural districts. But French attempts at +English domestic sketches have not, on the whole, been successful. It +is, indeed, most difficult for a foreign visitor to draw pictures of +society in any country which would pass muster under the critical +examination of a native. We took up this ‘Vie de Village en Angleterre’ +with some notion of being amused by so familiar a subject treated by a +Frenchman; but we soon found we were in very safe hands. The writer +knows us well, and describes us admirably, very much as we are; the +foreign element is just strong enough to be occasionally amusing, but +never in any way ridiculous; and we should be as much surprised at the +correctness of the writer’s observation as charmed with the candour and +good taste of the little volume, if we had not heard it credibly +whispered that, although written for French readers (and in undeniable +French), it may be claimed as the production of an English pen. + +Whatever may be the secret of the authorship, the little book will repay +the reader of either nation. It is written in the person of a political +refugee, who, armed with one or two good introductions, comes to pass a +period of exile in England. While previously travelling in Switzerland, +he has made acquaintance with a Mr Norris, an energetic country parson +of the modern “muscular” type. He it is who persuades the wanderer to +study in detail, by personal observation, that “inner life” of England +which, he has already learnt to believe, and rightly, forms and shapes, +more than anything else, her national and political character. Hitherto, +as he confesses to his new acquaintance, the coldness and reserve of +such English as he has met with have rather frightened him; yet he has +always admired in them that _solidarité_—which we will not attempt to +translate. The hostility between the labouring classes in France and +those above them has always appeared to him the great knot of political +difficulties in that country—a source of more danger to real liberty and +security than any other national evil. + +He determines, therefore, to see and study this domestic character of +England for himself—“not in her political institutions, which we +Frenchmen have been too much accused of wishing to copy, but in that +social life which may very possibly explain the secret of her strength +and her liberty.”—(P. 22.) + +It was not his first visit to London; and, arriving in the month of +March, he finds the climate as bad, and the great city as dingy and +dirty, as ever. He does not appear to have noticed our painful efforts +to consume our own smoke, or our ambitious designs in modern street +architecture. On the other hand, he mercifully ignores—if he saw it—our +Great Exhibition. The crowded gin-palaces, and the state of the +Haymarket by night, disgust him, as well they might; and he escapes from +the murky Babylon, as soon as he has taken a few lessons to improve his +colloquial English, to pay the promised visit to his friend Mr Norris at +his parsonage at Kingsford; stopping on his way to deliver a letter of +introduction to an English countess, an old friend of his family, who +has a seat close to Lynmere, a sort of pet village, where the ornamented +cottages form a portion of the park scenery. + +In his walk from the station, he makes the acquaintance of a “Madame +Jones,” whose cottage, with its wooden paling and scarlet geraniums, +abutting on the pleasant common, has its door invitingly open. He pauses +to admire the little English picture as he passes by. Good Mrs Jones +observes him, and begs him to walk in; partly, we must hope (and we +trust all foreign readers will believe), out of genuine English +hospitality—though we doubt if all village dames in Surrey would take +kindly to a Frenchman on the tramp—partly, it must be confessed, with +the British female’s natural eye to business. “Perhaps Monsieur was +looking out for a ‘_petit logement_?’” For Mrs Jones has two rooms to +let; and even a foreigner’s money, paid punctually, is not to be +despised. Monsieur was looking out for nothing of the kind, but he takes +the rooms forthwith; and indeed any modest-minded gentleman, French or +English, who wanted country board and lodging on a breezy common in +Surrey, could not have done better. Here is what our traveller gets for +twenty-two shillings a-week; we only hope it will stop the mouths of all +foreigners who rail at the dearness of English living, when they read +here the terms on which a _petit logement_ may be found in a pleasant +situation in the home counties—two rooms, “fresh and clean,” comfortably +furnished (with a picture of the Queen and a pot of musk into the +bargain), and board as follows:— + + + “For breakfast she gave me tea with good milk, excellent + bread-and-butter, accompanied either by a rasher of broiled bacon or + fresh eggs. For dinner there were often ‘_ragouts avec force oignons_’ + (Irish stew?), boiled mutton, or sometimes a beef-steak ‘_très-dur_,’ + potatoes and boiled cabbage, with a glass of good beer and a bit of + cheese. No dessert, but occasionally a pudding. On Sundays, roast-beef + and plum-pudding were apparently the rule without exception, for they + never failed to appear. The tea in the evening was much the same as + the breakfast. If I had wished for supper, I might have had cold meat, + bread, a lettuce, and a glass of beer.” + + +If Mrs Jones be not as entirely fictitious as Mrs Harris, and would +enclose us a few cards, we think we could undertake that her lodgings +(with a countess and a pet village, too, close by) should not be +untenanted for a week in summertime. We feel sure, however, that the +good lady is _not_ a creature of mere imagination: when we read the +description of her, we recall her as an old acquaintance, though we +cannot remember her address:— + + + “As for this good woman’s personal appearance, she had nothing + attractive about her except her scrupulous cleanliness. Her age + belonged to that mysterious epoch comprised between forty and sixty. + She had an intelligent countenance; but what was most marked about her + was a slightly military air, and a black silk bonnet which, planted on + the top of her head, tilted forward over her face, and usually + concealed half of it. The two strings were carefully pinned back over + the brim, and the ends fluttered on each side the bonnet, like the + plume of a _chasseur de Vincennes_. That bonnet, she never left it off + for a moment; and my indiscreet imagination went so far as to + speculate what could possibly become of it at night.... Though I had + begged her to consider herself absolute mistress in all domestic + matters—and though, moreover, I should have found considerable + difficulty in ordering my own dinner—she never failed to come in every + morning at breakfast-time ‘for orders,’ as she called it. It was a + little ruse of hers to secure a moment for the active exercise of her + somewhat gossiping tongue. I was enabled to endure the torrent of + words of which good Mrs Jones disburdened herself on such occasions + the more philosophically, inasmuch as she was nowise exacting in the + matter of an answer, and now and then gave me some interesting bits of + information.” + + +The contrast which follows is drawn from a shrewd observation of +national characteristics on both sides of the Channel:— + + + “This respectable dame possessed in a high degree the good qualities + and the defects of her class of Englishwomen. In France, the manners + of women of her order are full of expansion and sympathy; and a small + farmer’s wife, however ignorant she may be, will always find means to + interest you in her affairs, and to enter into yours. In England, on + the contrary, with all her gossiping upon trifling subjects, she will + maintain the strictest reserve, so far as you are concerned, upon + matters of any importance. She serves you much better than a + Frenchwoman would, because she looks upon you in the light of a + master—a guest whose rank and character she makes the most of, because + that rank and character raise her in her own estimation; but it is + only in some very exceptional case that she will talk to you about + anything which touches her personally, or that she will venture to + confess that she is thinking about your concerns—that would be, in her + eyes, a breach of proper respect. + + “This is the peculiar feature in the relations between the different + classes of society in England. Society there is profoundly + aristocratic; there is no tradesman, be he ever so professed a + Radical, who does not become a greater man in his own eyes by + receiving the most commonplace act of courtesy from a lord; no servant + who does not feel an additional satisfaction in waiting on a master + whose manners have a touch of haughtiness, because such manners strike + him as a mark of superiority. It is just as Rousseau says: ‘Clara + consoles herself for being thought less of than Julia, from the + consideration that, without Julia, she would be thought even less of + than she is.’ The singular feature is, that this kind of humility, + which would seem revolting to us in France, is met with in England + amongst precisely those persons who are remarkable for their moral + qualities and for their self-respect. It is because in them this + deference becomes a sort of courtesy, a social tact, of which only a + gentleman can understand all the niceties—which, besides, implies in + their case nothing like servility—the respect paid to superiors in + rank is kept within the limits of the respect due to themselves. This + peculiarity in English manners struck me the more forcibly, because it + offers such a remarkable contrast to what goes on among ourselves.” + + +There follows, at some length, a truthful and well-written exposition of +the healthful influence exercised upon a nation by an aristocracy like +that of England—which we must not stop to quote. ‘_Revenons_‘—as the +author writes, asking pardon for so long a digression—‘_Revenons à +Madame Jones_.’ + +That excellent landlady is careful not only of the diet and other +creature-comforts of her new lodger, but of his moral and religious +wellbeing also. A week of wet weather—which the foreign visitor finds +sufficiently _triste_—is succeeded by a lovely Sunday morning. The +Frenchman sallies out after breakfast for a morning walk, with his book +under his arm—we are sorry to say it was a ‘Tacitus’—with the intention, +we are left to suppose, of worshipping nature on the common. But Mrs +Jones, though totally innocent as to her lodger’s heretical intentions, +takes care to lead him in the way that he should go. + + + “‘Church is at eleven,’ Mrs Jones called out to me, not doubting for + an instant that I should go there. I went out; she followed me close, + locked all the doors, and, stopping for a moment at the cottage next + door to call for a neighbour, continued her way. I was taking another + path, but was very soon arrested by the hurried approach of Mrs Jones, + who, fancying I had mistaken my way, came after me to show me the road + to church. Such perseverance on her part made it evident that I should + risk the loss of her good opinion if I did not profit by her + instructions; so I walked down the hill with her by a road which wound + between broad verges of green turf overshadowed by lofty trees.” + + +Thus fairly captured and led to church in triumph, his behaviour there +was on the whole very decorous. The impression likely to be made on the +mind of an intelligent and well-disposed foreigner by the simple and yet +impressive service in a well-ordered village church is very nicely +described. It is true that Mrs Jones’s prisoner, according to his own +account, mingles with the very proper reflections natural to such a +place “those inspired by the volume of Tacitus which he held open before +him for decency’s sake” (and which, we fear, must have imposed itself +upon the good lady as a French prayer-book); a little touch which, +whether written by a Frenchman or not, and whether meant for truth or +satire, is very French indeed. He finds time also to notice the features +of the building itself, and its arrangements. The “tribune” in the +gallery where the Countess performs her devotions, and the high +enclosure with drawn curtains—“a sort of _petit salon_”—which protects +the family of Mr Mason, the squire, from the more vulgar worshippers, do +not strike the visitor, we rejoice to say, as happy illustrations of the +aristocratic feeling in Englishmen; and it is evidently with a quiet +satisfaction that he learns subsequently that “_puséisme_” is trying to +do away with such distinctions. + +An invitation to dinner from the Countess gives him at once the _entrée_ +to the best society in Lynmere and its neighbourhood. He finds his first +English dinner-party a very dull affair; but he was surely peculiarly +unfortunate in his company, if we are to take his account of the +after-dinner conversation amongst the gentlemen: “At the end of a short +time, two of the guests were asleep, and I would willingly have followed +their example.” The remarks which follow, however, touch with more truth +upon one of the defects in our social intercourse:— + + + “These dinners of ceremony (and there are scarcely any other kind of + entertainments in the country amongst the higher classes) take place + between neighbours, usually about twice in the year: scarcely any one + except the clergyman enjoys the privilege of being received with less + of etiquette. It follows that it is very possible to pass one’s life + for ten years in the same spot, without having any really intimate + association with any one of one’s neighbours. There are very few + English people who do not regret it. Yet such is the despotism of + custom, that it is rare to find any family which dreams of freeing + itself from the trammels of this etiquette.” + + +Here and there, of late, the links of this social despotism, under which +we have groaned so long, show symptoms of giving way. The advance of +fashion has done good service in one respect, that the modern service _à +la Russe_, adopted in all good houses, has struck a decisive blow at the +old English heavy dinner; and just as the fashion has long died out of +pressing one’s guests to eat more than they wish, so the fashion is +coming in of not thinking it necessary to put upon the table three times +more than can by any possibility be eaten. When small dinners become +“the thing” even amongst the great people, there is hope that their +lesser imitators will follow the example. And whenever the mistresses of +small families will learn that good and careful cookery is quite as +cheap as bad, and much more wholesome, and will condescend to go back +not only to their great-grandmothers’ hoops, but to their household +receipt-books, they may venture to invite their personal friends without +compunction to a pleasant family-dinner, to the great furtherance of +real sociability, and get rid for ever of those annual or biennial +festivals which are a burden to the weary souls of guests and +entertainers. + +The foreign visitor becomes, in a very short time, established on a +footing of intimacy with the family of Mr Mason, a magistrate and landed +proprietor residing in the parish, in whose household Mrs Jones has +formerly lived as nurse. The introduction through the Countess on the +one part, and on the other the warm eulogies of good Mrs Jones (who is +never tired of sounding the praises of her old master and the young +ladies whom she has brought up), may serve in some degree to explain the +somewhat rapid adoption of “Monsieur” as a family friend into the +thrice-guarded circle of an English household. On his part, indeed, we +soon discover quite a sufficient attraction. There is a pale pensive +sentimental “Miss Mary,” quite the sort of young lady, we should say, to +take the fancy of a romantic Frenchman in exile; but as she does not +happen to take ours especially, we confess to have found no particular +interest in this new version of ‘Love in a Village,’ and shall leave our +younger readers to enjoy the romance of the little book for themselves, +without forestalling, even by a single hint, its course or its +conclusion. So far as relates to Monsieur himself, we repeat, we can +quite understand how readily he responded to the warm adoption of his +new English friends. + + + “Mr Mason consulted me about his son’s studies, Mrs Mason confided to + me her anxieties as the mother of a family; and Mary—whose ardent and + poetic soul felt the need of an intellectual sympathy which failed her + in her own family—threw into her conversation with me an openness and + vivacity which surprised her relatives.” + + +Nothing of the sort surprises us. What we were rather surprised at was, +that Mr Mason _père_, a grave county dignitary and practical man of +business, should have taken to his bosom, in this ardent and gushing +fashion, the most agreeable, most intellectual, and most amiable +foreigner that ever lived. At first we thought it a mistake—a patent +defect and improbability in an otherwise sensible and natural book. The +author’s casual attempt to account for it by the fact that Mr Mason was +fond of billiards and of backgammon, and found in his new acquaintance +an idle man generally ready to play a game, does not in the least +harmonise with the usual character and habits of country gentlemen past +sixty, or of Mr Mason in particular. But when we read that this +excellent individual, like so many others of his class, has gone largely +into turnips—and that his French visitor, wishing to know all about +English country life, and knowing that such a life is nothing without +turnips, determined, amongst his other travelling studies, to study an +English model farm, and, when his host proposed a visit to that beloved +establishment, accepted the invitation with “_empressement_,” and +listened for hours to bucolic talk with “_un grand interest_,”—then we +no longer wonder for an instant at the eternal friendship which the +English member of the “Royal Agricultural” suddenly and silently vowed +to his guest. Long and painful experience of visits paid to these +excellent people in the country—reminiscences of the inevitable walk +over ploughed fields—the plunging into long dark galleries where +unfortunate beasts were immured for life to be turned into beef, a +process which should be mercifully hidden from the eyes of every good +Christian—the yawns unsuccessfully stifled—the remarks answered at +random—the senseless questions desperately volunteered out of politeness +on the visitor’s part, betraying the depth of his incapacity and +ignorance;—these must rise before many a reader’s mind as well as our +own, and make them feel what a treasure the scientific agriculturist had +found in the inquiring Frenchman, who walked and talked and listened, +not only without a complaint or a yawn, but positively because he liked +it. Enterprising foreigners have been said to have tried to make their +way into English country society, before now, through the introduction +of the hunting-field, not always with success; perhaps they may be +inclined to take a hint from this little book, and, in quiet family +cases, try the turnips. + +The visits to Mr Mason’s farm-cottages give the traveller the +opportunity of drawing a contrast between the habits and aspirations of +agricultural labourers in the two countries:— + + + “That passion for becoming proprietors, so widely spread in our own + country districts, is unknown, and probably will long continue so, + amongst the agricultural classes in England. The example of Ireland + [it might have been added, of Wales], where the land has been very + much subdivided, and where the population which maintains itself on it + has become excessive, has strengthened the opinion amongst large + landed proprietors in England as to the evil effects of small + holdings. I think I scarcely exaggerate when I say that certainly, in + the southern counties of England, a peasant possessing an acre of land + would be a rarity. Probably it is to this impossibility of becoming + small proprietors that we must attribute the taste which the labouring + classes in England show for ornamenting their houses. If a working man + has saved any money, he will employ it in buying a set of furniture, + and making his cottage look gay; whereas, in France, he would have + laid it aside in the hope of acquiring a bit of land; so that nothing + can be more different than the wretched cabins of our own rural + districts and the cottage of an English labourer, with its many little + appliances of comfort and even luxury. In general the English peasant + lives much less sparingly, and spends upon his meal twice as much as + the French: it is true that the climate requires a more substantial + style of diet.” + + +These observations would have been more strictly true if they had been +made a few years ago. Within that time the passion for property has +sprung up not only amongst those who call themselves “operatives” +(journeymen weavers, shoemakers, &c.), but even, to a certain extent, +amongst farm-labourers. Recent alterations in the laws of partnership +have encouraged what are called “co-operative societies,” who not only +open “stores” for the sale of all the necessaries of life, on the +joint-stock principle of division of profits, but build cottages which, +by certain arrangements, may become the property of the tenant. A whole +village has just been built in Yorkshire, on this principle of the +tenants becoming eventually the landlords. Not only this, but the same +desire for independence—an excellent feeling in itself—is leading the +same class to purchase cottage property whenever it comes into the +market. If this ambition to become a purchaser were confined to a desire +upon every man’s part to feel himself absolute master of the home he +lived in, then, whatever large proprietors or able political economists +might have to say, it would be an object which would deserve the very +highest respect. But, unfortunately, the feeling is not altogether that +of desiring to live in peace under one’s own vine and fig-tree: it is +the wish to have a tenement to let out to others. It is comparatively +seldom that a small piece of land, suited to the sum at such a +purchaser’s command, is thrown into the market. Cottages, on the other +hand, are continually advertised for sale; the working-man, eager to +secure his bit of real property, gives for them a sum far beyond their +value—a sum which the capitalist or large proprietor will not give; and +in order to make his purchase pay, he either proceeds at once to divide +a comfortable dwelling into two, or raises the rent upon his more needy +tenant. The evil consequences are twofold; the neighbouring landowner, +who ought to have the cottages for his own labourers, who would keep +them in good repair, and let them at moderate rents, has been driven out +of the market; and either a lower class of tenant, continually changing +and being “sold up,” is introduced; or the honest labourer is compelled +to pay to this new landlord of his own class a rent out of all +proportion to the accommodation supplied him. + +It is to be hoped that this growing evil (for evil it is) may be met by +the increased liberality of landed proprietors in building good and +sufficient cottages for the labourers on their own estates. In the case +of the humbler artisans, in towns especially, one does not see the +remedy except in the questionable shape of legislative restrictions. + +But we have almost forgotten our foreign exile’s travelling +acquaintance, Mr Norris, the hearty and genial English clergyman at +whose invitation he first set himself to study English life. Before +finally taking up his quarters at Lynmere, he has paid the promised +visit to his friend in his parsonage at Kingsford; “a pretty Gothic +_chateau_,” furnished with the taste of a gentleman and a scholar; a +residence whose somewhat luxurious belongings, its ample library, and +the well-chosen prints which grace its walls, when contrasted in the +writer’s mind with the humble abode of the French village _curé_, give +rise to reflections “not wholly to the disadvantage of the latter.” We, +on the other hand, must warn any foreign reader who may draw the +contrast for himself, that Kingsford Parsonage is a very exceptional +case indeed. Mr Norris is discovered, somewhat to his French visitor’s +surprise, clad in “a strange costume of white flannel,” not altogether +sacerdotal; “_Je suis habillé en cricketer_,” is the parson’s +explanation. The fact is, he has just been playing cricket with his +pupils, half-a-dozen young men in preparation for the Universities. The +simple and orderly habits of the household, the breakfast at eight, the +dinner at one, the kindly intercourse between the tutor and his pupils, +and the prosperity of a well-ordered village under an energetic pastor, +are well described, and will give our French neighbours a very fair idea +of such a life. A little, a very little “_triste_,” our visitor finds +it, this English rural life, with its rich green meadows and grey sky, +and slowly-winding river, half hidden by its banks. One needs, he +considers, in order to find happiness in such scenes, a hearty love for +simple nature, and a heart “warmed with the sentiment of duty +fulfilled;” in short, he is of Dr Johnson’s opinion, though he puts it +into much more complimentary language—that “those who are fond of the +country are fit to live in the country.” + +But if we cannot allow our French friends to imagine that all English +country clergymen have their lot cast in the pleasant places of +Kingsford and Lynmere, still less, we fear, must they consider them (or +their wives) such wonderful economists as, like Mr Norris, to maintain +all the quiet elegancies of a gentleman’s establishment in a handsome +Gothic chateau (and to travel in Switzerland besides), upon an +ecclesiastical income scarcely exceeding, after all necessary +deductions, two hundred pounds a-year. True, Mr Norris takes pupils and +writes for reviews—highly respectable vocations, and profitable enough +in some hands, but scarcely open to the majority of his brethren, and +not safe to be depended upon, as a supplementary income, by young +clergymen on small preferments who may feel no vocation for celibacy. Mr +Norris, indeed, is peculiarly favoured in many respects as regards money +matters; for he has been fortunate enough to have enjoyed an exhibition +at Oxford in days when the word “exhibition” (as we are informed in a +note) meant “a gratuitous admission to the University.” Here we are +certainly stepping out of the ground of real English life, where the +writer has so pleasantly guided us, into a highly imaginative state of +things. It would have been a noble boast, indeed, for us to have made to +foreigners, if it could have been made truly, that Oxford, out of her +splendid endowments, offered, even occasionally, “gratuitous admissions” +to poor and deserving scholars. It was what the best of her founders and +benefactors intended and desired—what they thought they had secured for +ever by the most stringent and solemn enactments; but what, unhappily, +the calm wisdom of the University itself has been as far from carrying +out as the busy sweeping of a Reform Commission. + +The foreign visitor is naturally very much impressed by an English +cricket-match. The puzzled admiration which possesses him on the +occasion of his “assisting” at a “_fête du cricket_” is very amusingly +expressed. Throughout all his honest admiration of the English +character, there peeps out a confession that this one peculiar habit of +the animal is what he has failed to account for or comprehend. He tries +to philosophise on the thing; and, like other philosophical inquirers +when they get hold of facts which puzzle them, he feels bound to present +his readers with a theory of cause and effect which is evidently as +unsatisfactory to himself as to them. He falls back for an explanation +on that tendency to “solidarity” in the English temperament which he has +admired before. + + + “The explanation of the great popularity of the game of cricket is + that, being always a challenge between two rival bodies, it produces + emulation and excites that spirit of party which, say what we will, is + one of the essential stimulants of public life, since in order to + identify one’s self with one’s party one must make a sacrifice to a + certain extent of one’s individuality. The game of cricket requires + eleven persons on each side, and each of the players feels that he is + consolidated (_solidaire_) with his comrades, in defeat as well as in + victory.... That which makes the charm of the game is, above all, the + _solidarity_ which exists between the players.” + + +This is a very pretty theory, but scarcely the true one. In the +public-school matches, no doubt, and in some matches between +neighbouring villages, the _esprit de corps_ goes for much; but, as a +rule, we fear the cricketer is a much more selfish animal. His ambition +is above all things to make a good score, and to appear in ‘Bell’s Life’ +with a double figure to his name. Just as the hunting man, so that he +himself can get “a good place,” cares exceedingly little for the general +result of the day’s sport; so the batsman at Lord’s, so long as he makes +a good innings, or the bowler so long as he “takes wickets” enough to +make a respectable figure on the score, thinks extremely little, we are +sorry to say, of “solidarity.” Whether the match is won or lost is of as +little comparative importance as whether the fox is killed or gets away. +We notice the difference, because it is a great pity it should be so. +The Frenchman’s principle is by far the finer one; and the gradual +increase of this intense self-interest in the cricket-field is going far +to nullify the other good effects of the game as a national amusement. +One reason why the matches between the public schools are watched with +such interest by all spectators is, that the boys do really feel and +show that identification of one’s self with one’s party which the author +so much respects; the Harrow captain is really much more anxious that +Harrow should beat Eton, than that he himself should get a higher score +than Jones or Thompson of his own eleven; and the enthusiastic chairing +of the hero of the day is not, as he knows, a personal ovation to the +player, as to a mere exhibition of personal skill, but to his having +maintained the honour of the school. + +Our national ardour for this game seems always incomprehensible to a +Frenchman. There is a little trashy, conceited book now before us, in +which a French writer, professing to enlighten his countrymen upon +English life, dismisses this mysterious amusement in a definition, the +point and elegance of which it would be a pity to spoil by +translation—“_un exercice consistant à se fatiguer et à donner d’autant +plus de plaisir qu’il avait fait répandre d’autant plus de sueur_.”[2] +He is careful, at the same time, to suggest that even cricket is +probably borrowed from his own nation—the “_jeu de paume_” of the days +of the Grand Monarque. But the inability of so shrewd and intelligent an +observer, as the foreign spectator with whom we have to do at present, +to comprehend the real points of the game, is an additional testimony to +its entirely English character. The Etonian’s mamma, who, as he relates +with a sort of quiet wonder, sat for five hours on two days successively +on a bench under a hot sun, to watch the match between her son’s eleven +and Harrow, would have given a much better account of the game. The +admiring visitor does not pretend, as he observes, to go into the +details of a game which has thirty-eight rules; but he endeavours to +give his French readers some general idea of the thing, which may +suffice for unprofessional lookers-on. It is unnecessary to say that the +idea is very general indeed. The “consecrated” ground on which the +“_barrières_” are erected, and where the “_courses_” take place, are a +thoroughly French version of the affair. The “ten fieldsmen +precipitating themselves in pursuit of the ball when struck” would be +ludicrous enough to a cricketer’s imagination, if the thought of the +probable consequences were not too horrible. Even such headlong zeal on +the part of two fieldsmen only, with their eye on the same ball, has +resulted, before now, in a collision entailing the loss of half-a-dozen +front teeth and other disfigurements. It was unnecessary to exaggerate +the perils of a game which, as our author observes, has its dangers; and +if the fieldsmen at Lynmere conducted themselves after this headlong +fashion when he was watching them, we can quite understand his surprise +that, when the day concludes with the inevitable English dinner, men who +had spent the whole day “in running, striking, and receiving blows from +the ball to the bruising of their limbs” (and precipitating themselves +against each other) should still show themselves disposed to drink +toasts and make speeches for the rest of the evening. The conversation +which he has with the parish schoolmaster, an enthusiastic cricketer, is +good in its way:— + + + “‘I hope you have enjoyed the day?’ said he to me. ‘You have had an + opportunity of seeing what cricket is. It’s a noble game, is it not?’ + + “‘Yes,’ said I, ‘it is a fine exercise; and I think highly of those + amusements which bring all classes together under the influence of a + common feeling.’ + + “‘It is not only that,’ replied the excellent man: ‘but nothing + moralises men like cricket.’ + + “‘How?’ said I, rather astonished to hear him take such high ground. + + “‘Look here,’ he replied; ‘a good cricketer is bound to be sober and + not frequent the public-house, to accustom himself to obey, to + exercise restraint upon himself; besides, he is obliged to have a + great deal of patience, a great deal of activity; and to receive those + blows of the ball without shrinking, requires, I assure you, some + degree of courage.’” + + +We suspect that these remarks belong of right at least as much to the +French philosopher as to the English national schoolmaster; but they +bring forward in an amusing way the tendency of one-ideaed +philanthropists, which the author elsewhere notices, to attribute to +their own favourite hobby the only possible moral regeneration of +society: + + + “Every Englishman who is enthusiastic in any particular cause never + fails to see in that the greatness and the glory of his country; and + in this he is quite serious. In this way I have heard the game of + cricket held up to admiration as one of the noblest institutions of + England, an institution which insures to the country not only an + athletic, but an orderly and moral population. I have seen the time + when the same honour was ascribed to horse-racing; but since this + sport has crossed the Channel, and it has been found by experience + that it does not always preserve a country from revolutions and _coups + d’état_, it has lost something of its prestige in England.” + + +There is always some moral panacea in the course of advertisement, like +a quack medicine, to cure all diseases: mechanics’ institutes, cheap +literature, itinerant lecturers, monster music-classes, have all had +their turn; and just at present the ‘Saturday Review’ seems to consider +that the salvation of England depends upon the revival of +prize-fighting. + +We cannot follow the writer into all the details of village institutions +and village politics, which are sketched with excellent taste and great +correctness. It will be quite worth while for the foreigner who wants to +get a fair notion of what goes on here in the country—or indeed for the +English reader who likes to see what he knows already put into a +pleasant form, all the more amusing because the familiar terms look odd +in French—to go with our French friend to the annual dinner of “_Le Club +des Odd-Fellows_,” with its accompaniment “_de speechs, de hurrahs, et +de toasts_”—without which, he observes, no English festival can take +place; to accompany him in his “_Visite au Workhouse_,” subscribe with +him to the “_Club de Charbon_,” or, better still, sit with him in the +village Sunday-school, even if we cannot take the special interest which +he did (for his own private reasons) in “_le classe de Miss Mary_.” Very +pleasant is the picture—not overdrawn, though certainly taken in its +most sunshiny aspect—of the charitable intercourse in a well-ordered +country village between rich and poor. One form, indeed, there is of +modern educational philanthropy which the writer notices, of the success +of which we confess to have our doubts. The good ladies of Lynmere set +up an “_Ecole managère_”—a school of domestic management, we suppose we +may call it—where the village girls were to learn cooking and other good +works. Now a school of cookery, admirable as it is in theory—the amount +of ignorance on that subject throughout every county in England being +blacker than ever was figured in educational maps—presents considerable +difficulties in actual working. To learn to cook, it is necessary to +have food upon which to practise. Final success, in that art as in +others, can only be the result of a series of experimental failures. And +here was the grand stumbling-block which presented itself, in the case +of a cooking-school set up with the very best intentions, under +distinguished patronage, in a country village within our own knowledge. +Some half-dozen girls, who had left school and were candidates for +domestic service, were caught and committed to the care and instruction +of an experienced matron; not without some murmuring on the part of +village mothers, who considered such apprenticeship a waste of time,—all +girls, in their opinion, being born cooks. From this culinary college +the neighbouring families were to be in course of time supplied with +graduates. Great were the expectations formed by the managers, and by +the credulous portion of the public. There were to be no more tough +beef-steaks, no more grumbling masters and scolding mistresses, no more +indigestion. But this admirable undertaking split upon a rock which its +originators had not foreseen. It had been proposed that the village +families should in turn send dishes to be operated upon by the pupils; +but the English village mind is not given to experiments, culinary or +other, and preferred boiling its mutton one day and eating it cold the +next. Then the bachelor curate, who had a semi-official connection with +the new establishment, reading prayers there as “chaplain and visitor,” +who was presumed to have a healthy appetite, and was known to have +complained of the eternal mutton-chops provided by his landlady, was +requested to undergo a series of little dinners cooked for him gratis. +The bashful Oxonian found it impossible to resist the lady patronesses’ +invitation, and consented—for the good of the institution. But it ended +in the loss to the parish of a very excellent working parson. For a few +weeks, the experimental ragouts and curries sent in to his lodgings had +at least the advantage of being a change: but as the presiding matron +gradually struck out a bolder line, and fed him with the more ambitious +efforts of her scholars, it became too much even for clerical patience, +and he resigned his cure. Out of delicacy to the ladies’ committee, he +gave out that it was “the Dissenters;” but all his intimate friends knew +that it was the cooking-school. + +The Rector of Lynmere is a Mr Leslie—a clergyman of the refined and +intellectual type, intended, probably, as an artistic contrast to Mr +Norris in his cricket flannels. He is, we are expressly told, “an +aristocrat”—indeed, a nephew of the Countess aforesaid. He is reserved, +nervous, and diffident, although earnest and single-hearted. The vulgar +insolence of the Baptists at the vestry-meetings is gall and wormwood to +him; and he suffers scarcely less under the fussy interference of a +Madam Woodlands, one of the parish notables, of Low-Church views and +energetic benevolence, who patronises the church and the rector, and +holds him virtually responsible for all the petty offences and +indecorums which disturb the propriety of the village. This lady is very +slightly sketched, but the outline can be filled up from many a parish +clergyman’s mental notebook. We do not wonder that Mr Leslie, with his +shrinking sensibilities, had as great a horror of her as of Mr Say, the +Nonconformist agitator, who led the attack at the church-rate meetings. +Only we would remark, that if the author thinks that the unfitness of +the Rector of Lynmere to contend with a body of political Dissenters, or +his want of tact in dealing with so very excellent and troublesome a +parishioner as Mrs Woodlands, is at all explained by his being “an +aristocrat,” he is encouraging them in a very common and very +unfortunate mistake. It is true that it is not pleasant for a man of +cultivated mind and refined tastes, be he priest or layman, to be +brought into contact with opponents whose nature and feelings, and the +manner in which they express those feelings, are rude and vulgar; but if +he possess, in addition to his refinement and cultivation, good sound +sense, a moderate amount of tact, and, above all, good temper, he will +find, in the fact of his being “a gentleman,” an immense weight of +advantage over his antagonists. We remember to have seen protests, in +the writings of a modern school of English Churchmen, against what they +are pleased to term “the gentleman heresy;” representing it as dangerous +to the best interests of both priests and people, that the former should +attempt to combine with their sacred office the manners, the habits, and +the social position of the gentleman. Without entering here into the +serious question whether a special clerical caste, as it were, standing +between the lower ranks and the higher of the laity, distinct from both, +and having its separate habits and position, is a desirable institution +to recommend; without discussing the other equally important question, +whether the aristocracy of a Christian nation have not also _their_ +religious needs, and whether these also have not a right to be +consulted, and whether they will bear to be handed over to a priesthood +which, if not plebeian itself, is to have at least no common interests +or feelings with the higher classes—a question, this latter, to which +history will give us a pretty decided answer;—it is quite enough to say +that the working-classes themselves would be the foremost to demand—if +the case were put before them fairly—that the ministers of religion +should be “gentlemen” in every sense of the word. They will listen, no +doubt, with gaping mouths and open ears, to a flow of rhodomontade +declamation from an uneducated preacher: an inspired tinker will fill a +chapel or a village-green, while the quiet rector goes through the +service to a half-empty church. But inspired tinkers are rare in any +age; and it is not excitement or declamation which go to form the really +religious life of England. This—which we must not be supposed to confine +within the limits of any Church establishment—depends for its support on +sources that lie deeper and quieter than these. In trouble, in sickness, +in temptation, these things miserably fail. And the dealing of “a +gentleman” with these cases—a gentleman in manners, in thoughts, in +feeling, in respect for the feelings of others—is as distinct in kind +and in effect, as the firm but delicate handling of the educated surgeon +(who goes to the bottom of the matter nevertheless) differs from the +well-meant but bungling axe-and-cautery system of our forefathers. The +poor understand this well. They know a gentleman, and respect him; and +they will excuse in their parish minister the absence of some other very +desirable qualities sooner than this. The structure of English society +must change—its gentry must forfeit their character as a body, as they +never have done yet—before this feeling can change. When you officer +your regiments from any other class than their natural superiors, then +you may begin to officer your national Church with a plebeian clergy. + +There is another point connected with the legitimate influence of the +higher classes on which the writer speaks, we fear, either from a theory +of what ought to be, or from some very exceptional cases:— + + + “The offices of magistrate, of poor-law guardian, or even of + churchwarden, are so many modes of honourable employment offered to + those who feel in themselves some capacity for business and some wish + to be useful. It will be understood that a considerable number of + gentlemen of independent income, retired tradesmen, and officers not + employed on service, having thus before them the prospect of a useful + and active life, gather round an English village, instead of remaining + buried in the great towns, as too often is the case in our own + country.” + + +We fear the foreign reader will be mistaken if he understands anything +of the sort. The county magistracy offers, without doubt, a position +both honourable and useful; but it is seldom open to the classes +mentioned. We do not say that the offices of parish guardian and +churchwarden are highly attractive objects of ambition; but we do think +that in good hands they might become very different from what they are; +immense benefit would result in every way to many country parishes, if +men of the class whom the writer represents as filling them would more +often be induced to do so, instead of avoiding them as troublesome and +ungrateful offices, and leaving them to be claimed by the demagogues and +busybodies of the district. It may not be pleasant for a gentleman to +put himself in competition for an office of this kind; but it may be his +duty to do so. The reproach which the writer addresses to the higher +classes in France is only too applicable to those in England also:— + + + “If all those whose education, whose intelligence, whose habits of + more elevated life, give them that authority which constitutes a true + aristocracy, would but make use of their high position to exercise an + influence for good upon public matters—if only the honest and sensible + party in our country would shake off its apathy and fulfil all the + duties of citizens—our institutions would have a life and power which + at present are too often wanting.” + + +True words for the conservative spirit both in the English Church and in +the English nation to lay to heart; for, so long as education and +refinement are too nice to stain themselves with the public dust of the +arena, they have no right to complain if candidates, less able but less +scrupulous, parade themselves as victors. + +If our neighbours over the water read (as we hope many of them will) +these little sketches of an English village, drawn in their own +language, if not by one of themselves, yet by one who is evidently no +stranger to their national sympathies, and who writes manifestly with +the kindest feelings towards both, it is well, perhaps, that they should +bear in mind that it is a picture purposely taken under a sunny aspect. +Rural England is not all Arcadia. All English landladies, even in the +country, are not Mrs Joneses, nor are all English families as hospitable +as the Masons. There are villages where there is no “Miss Mary” to teach +the children or to talk sentiment. There are less fascinating +“strangers’ guides” which could take him into the public-houses and the +dancing-rooms as well as to rural fêtes and lectures, and show him what +goes on there. But while we are far from claiming to be judged by our +bright side only, we are glad that foreigners should see our bright side +sometimes. It has not been too often painted in French colours; and we +trust they will give the present artist’s work a fair hanging in their +National Gallery. + + + + + LORD MACKENZIE’S ROMAN LAW.[3] + + +It has sometimes been suspected that, in the noble delineation of the +Roman character ascribed to Anchises in the sixth book of the ‘Æneid,’ +Virgil was induced, by unworthy motives, to depreciate unduly the +oratory of his countrymen as compared with that of the Greeks; and +undoubtedly the inferiority of Cicero to Demosthenes, as a mere forensic +pleader, is not so clear or decided as to demand imperatively from a +Latin poet the admission there unreservedly made by the blunt and almost +prosaic expression, “Orabunt causas melius.” Possibly, however, it was +the poet’s true object, by yielding the most liberal concessions on +other points, to enforce the more strongly his emphatic assertion, not +merely of the superiority of the Romans in the arts of ordinary +government, but of their exclusive or peculiar possession of the powers +and faculties fitted for attaining and preserving a mighty empire. It is +certain that he has justly and vividly described the great +characteristic of that people, and the chief source and secret of their +influence in the history of the world, when he makes the patriarch +exclaim,— + + “Tu regere imperio populos, Romane, memento; + Hæ tibi erunt artes.” + +In aid of the high moral and intellectual qualities which led to their +success as the conquerors and rulers of the world, it is most material +to notice the structure and genius of the language in which the Roman +people expressed and embodied their political, legislative, and judicial +determinations. Every national language is more or less the reflex of +the national mind; and in no instance is this correspondence more +conspicuous than in the case we are now considering. + +The Latin language is inferior to the Greek in subtlety and refinement +of expression, and is therefore far less adapted for metaphysical +speculation or poetical grace—for analysing the nicer diversities of +thought, or distinguishing the minuter shades of passion; but in the +enunciation of ethical truths and of judicial maxims, it possesses a +clearness, force, and majesty, to which no other form of speech can +approach. The great foundations of law are good morals and good sense, +and these, however simple and plain in their elements, are not mean or +common things. On the contrary, they are susceptible of the greatest +dignity of expression when embodied in words; and the language in which +their principles shall be clothed may be of the utmost importance in +rendering them both more portable in the memory and more impressive on +the heart. The Roman jurists of the later period of the Republic were +not careless students of the Greek philosophy; but they used it in their +juridical writings with a wise discretion, and in special reference to +the object of law, which is to lay down the broad rules of human conduct +and personal rights in a form easily understood, and capable of being +easily followed and faithfully observed by the mass of mankind. + +The unequalled talent of the Roman people for political organisation is +evinced by the manner in which the imperial authority was maintained, +after the personal character of the nominal sovereigns had degenerated +to the very lowest point of profligacy and imbecility. Our Teutonic +ancestors had the wisdom to appreciate and adopt much of the machinery +which they thus found in operation; and the municipal governments, as +well as the judicial constitutions of Europe, are at this day influenced +by the models which were thus left. The Popedom itself, on whose +probable endurance for the future it would be hazardous to speculate, +but whose marvellous ascendancy in time past is beyond dispute, was +little else than an adaptation of the imperial organisation to +ecclesiastical objects. But the influence of the Roman law on other +nations was pre-eminently seen in the wide adoption of its general +scheme, as well as of its special rules and maxims. Even the law of +England—of all European systems perhaps the least indebted to the civil +law—is deeply imbued with the Roman spirit in some of the most important +departments of jurisprudence; and where the authority of the Roman law +cannot claim a submissive allegiance, it is yet listened to as the best +manifestation of the _Recta Ratio_ that can anywhere be found. The vast +experience of human transactions, and the endless complexities of social +relations, which the Roman empire presented, afforded the best materials +for maturing a science which was cultivated for noble objects by minds +of the highest order, and embodied in propositions of unrivalled power +and precision. + +Independently of its influence on individual municipal systems, the +Roman law deserves to be carefully studied, as affording the easiest +transition, and the best introduction, from classical and philosophical +pursuits to the technical rules and scientific principles of general +jurisprudence. From Aristotle’s Ethics, or from Cicero De Officiis, the +passage is plain and the ascent gentle to the Institutes of Gaius and +Justinian; and these, again, are the best preparation for the perusal of +Blackstone or Erskine. It ought, indeed, to be considered as a great +privilege of the law-student that his path lies for so great a portion +of its early way through a region which has been rendered so pleasing +and attractive by the labours of the eminent men whom we have now named, +and who combine so much charm of style and correctness of taste with so +much practical wisdom and useful philosophy. + +Hitherto, we think, there has been a great, or rather an utter, want in +this country of any good Institute of the civil law, that could safely +and efficiently guide the student in his early labours, or assist him in +his more advanced progress. The elegant and admirable summary given by +Gibbon in his History, cannot, without much comment and expansion, be +made a book of instruction; but we feel assured that this want which we +have noticed is supplied by the work now before us. Lord Mackenzie’s +book, though bearing the popular and modest title of ‘Studies in Roman +Law,’ is truly an Institute, or didactic Exposition, of that system, +where its elements and leading principles are laid down and illustrated +as fully as a student could require, while a reference is made at every +step to texts and authorities, which will enable him to extend and +confirm his views by a full examination of original sources. The +enunciation of the legal principles is everywhere given with great +brevity, but with remarkable clearness and precision, and in a manner +equally pleasing and unpretending. The comparison which is at the same +time presented between the Roman system and the laws of France, England, +and Scotland, add greatly to the attraction as well as to the usefulness +of the work. + +At the risk of appearing to resemble the man in Hierocles who carried a +brick about with him as a sample of his house, we shall here offer a few +extracts in illustration of the character of the work and its style of +execution, premising that the passages we have selected have reference +to topics more of a popular than of a scientific kind. + +The interest attaching at present to questions of international law, and +to the rights of belligerents, will recommend the passages on those +subjects which here follow:— + + + “If all the states of Europe were to concur in framing a general code + of international law, which should be binding on them all, and form + themselves into a confederacy to enforce it, this might be regarded as + a positive law of nations for Europe. But nothing of this sort has + ever been attempted. The nearest approach to such international + legislation is the general regulations introduced into treaties by the + great Powers of Europe, which are binding on the contracting parties, + but not on the states that decline to accede to them. + + “To settle disputes between nations on the principles of justice, + rather than leave them to the blind arbitrament of war, is the primary + object of the European law of nations. When war has broken out, it + regulates the rights and duties of belligerents, and the conduct of + neutrals. + + “As the weak side of the law of nations is the want of a supreme + executive power to enforce it, small states are exposed to great + disadvantages in disputes with their more powerful neighbours. But the + modern political system of Europe for the preservation of the balance + of power forms a strong barrier against unjust aggression. When the + power of one great state can be balanced, or kept in check, by that of + another, the independence of smaller states is in some degree secured + against both; for neither of the great Powers will allow its rival to + add to its strength by the conquest of the smaller states.... + + “By the declaration of 16th April 1856, the Congress of Paris, held + after the Crimean war, adopted four principles of international law. + 1. Privateering is and remains abolished. 2. The neutral flag covers + the enemy’s merchandise, with the exception of contraband of war. 3. + Neutral merchandise, with the exception of contraband of war, is not + liable to seizure under an enemy’s flag. 4. Blockades, in order to be + binding, must be effective; that is to say, must be maintained by a + force really sufficient to prevent approach to an enemy’s coast. This + declaration was signed by the plenipotentiaries of the seven Powers + who attended the Congress, and it was accepted by nearly all the + states of the world. But the United States of America, Spain, and + Mexico, refused their assent, because they objected to the abolition + of privateering. So far as these Powers are concerned, therefore, + privateering—that is, the employment of private cruisers commissioned + by the state—still remains a perfectly legitimate mode of warfare. + Britain and the other Powers who acceded to the declaration, are bound + to discontinue the practice in hostilities with each other. But if we + should have the misfortune to go to war with the United States, we + should not be bound to abstain from privateering, unless the United + States should enter into a similar and corresponding engagement with + us.... + + “The freedom of commerce, to which neutral states are entitled, does + not extend to contraband of war; but, according to the principles laid + down in the declaration of Paris of April 1856, it may now be said + that ‘a ship at sea is part of the soil of the country to which it + belongs,’ with the single exception implied in the right of a + belligerent to search for contraband. What constitutes contraband is + not precisely settled; the limits are not absolutely the same for all + Powers, and variations occur in particular treaties; but, speaking + generally, belligerents have a right to treat as contraband, and to + capture, all munitions of war and other articles directly auxiliary to + warlike purposes. The neutral carrier engages in a contraband trade + when he conveys official despatches from a person in the service of + the enemy to the enemy’s possessions; but it has been decided that it + is not illegal for a neutral vessel to carry despatches from the enemy + to his Ambassador or his Consul in a neutral country. The penalty of + carrying contraband is confiscation of the illegal cargo, and + sometimes condemnation of the ship itself. + + “The affair of the Trent, West Indian mail, gave rise to an important + question of maritime law deeply affecting the rights of neutrals. In + November 1861, Captain Wilkes, of the American war-steamer San + Jacinto, after firing a roundshot and a shell, boarded the English + mail-packet Trent, in Old Bahama Channel, on its passage from Havannah + to Southampton, and carried off by force Messrs Mason and Slidell, two + Commissioners from the Confederate States, who were taken on board as + passengers bound for England. The Commissioners were conveyed to + America, and committed to prison; but, after a formal requisition by + Britain, declaring the capture to be illegal, they were surrendered by + the Federal Government. + + “The seizure of the Commissioners was attempted to be justified by + American writers on two grounds: 1st, That the Commissioners were + contraband of war, and that in carrying them the Trent was liable to + condemnation for having committed a breach of neutrality; 2d, That, at + all events, Captain Wilkes was entitled to seize the Commissioners + either as enemies or rebels. Both these propositions are plainly + untenable.... + + “In an able despatch by the French. Government to the Cabinet of + Washington, M. Thouvenel declared that the seizure of the + Commissioners in a neutral ship, trading from a neutral port to a + neutral port, was not only contrary to the law of nations, but a + direct contravention of the principles which the United States had up + to that time invariably avowed and acted upon. Russia, Austria, and + Prussia officially intimated their concurrence in that opinion. + + “To argue the matter on the legal points in opposition to the + disinterested and well-reasoned despatch of the French Minister was a + hopeless task. In an elaborate state-paper, Mr Seward, the American + Secretary of State, professed to rest the surrender of the + Commissioners upon a mere technicality—that there had been no formal + condemnation of the Trent by a prize-court; but, apart from this point + of form, the seizure was indefensible on the merits as a flagrant + violation of the law of nations; and if the principle was not so + frankly acknowledged by Mr Seward as it ought to have been, some + allowance must be made for a statesman who was trammelled by the + report of his colleague, Mr Welles, the Secretary of the Navy, + approving of Captain Wilkes’s conduct, and still more by the necessity + of adopting a policy directly contrary to the whole current of popular + opinion in the Northern States.” + + +The law of marriage and of divorce is very fully treated by Lord +Mackenzie, and the peculiarities of the different European systems are +well pointed out. The subject, however, is too extensive and important +to admit of being incidentally noticed; and we shall confine our +extracts here to a single passage describing a Roman form of +cohabitation less honourable than matrimony, and such as we trust is +never likely, to be legalised among ourselves:— + + + “Under Augustus, concubinage—the permanent cohabitation of an + unmarried man with an unmarried woman—was authorised by law. The man + who had a lawful wife could not take a concubine; neither was any man + permitted to take as a concubine the wife of another man, or to have + more than one concubine at the same time. A breach of these + regulations was always condemned, and fell under the head of + _stuprum_. In later times the concubine was called _amica_. Between + persons of unequal rank concubinage was not uncommon; and sometimes it + was resorted to by widowers who had already lawful children and did + not wish to contract another legal marriage, as in the cases of + Vespasian, Antoninus Pius, and M. Aurelius. + + “As regards the father, the children born in concubinage were not + under his power, and were not entitled to succeed as children by a + legal marriage; but they had an acknowledged father, and could demand + support from him, besides exercising other rights. As regards the + mother, their rights of succession were as extensive as those of her + lawful children. + + “Under the Christian emperors concubinage was not favoured; but it + subsisted as a legal institution in the time of Justinian. At last Leo + the Philosopher, Emperor of the East, in a.d. 887, abrogated the laws + which permitted concubinage, as being contrary to religion and public + decency. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘should you prefer a muddy pool, when you can + drink at a purer fountain?’ The existence of this custom, however, was + long prolonged in the West among the Franks, Lombards, and Germans; + and it is notorious that the clergy for some time gave themselves up + to it without restraint.” + + +The practice of adoption prevailing in ancient Rome is well known, but +an account of it as it is retained in the French law may be thought +curious:— + + + “In France the usage of adoption was lost after the first race of + kings: it disappeared, not only in the customary provinces, but also + in the provinces governed by the written law. Re-established in 1792, + adoption is now sanctioned by the Civil Code. Adoption, however, is + only permitted to persons of either sex above the age of fifty, having + neither children nor other lawful descendants, and being at least + fifteen years older than the individual adopted. No married person can + adopt without the consent of the other spouse. The privilege can only + be exercised in favour of one who has been an object of the adopter’s + care for at least six years during minority, or of one who has saved + the life of the adopter in battle, from fire, or from drowning. In the + latter case the only restriction respecting the age of the parties is, + that the adopter shall be older than the adopted, and shall have + attained his majority. In no case can adoption take place before the + majority of the person proposed to be adopted. + + “The form of adoption consists of a declaration of consent by the + parties before a justice of the peace for the place where the adopter + resides, after which the transaction requires to be approved of by the + tribunal of first instance. After adoption, the adopted person retains + all his rights as a member of his natural family. He acquires no right + of succession to the property of any relation of the adopter; but in + regard to the property of the adopter himself, he has precisely the + same rights as a child born in marriage, even although there should be + other children born in marriage after his adoption. The adopted takes + the name of the adopter in addition to his own. No marriage can take + place between the adopter and the adopted, or his descendants, and in + certain other cases specified. + + “The practice of adoption, which is better suited to some states of + society than to others, still prevails among Eastern nations. It has + never been recognised as a legal institution in England or Scotland.” + + +In ancient Rome, as at one time in Modern Athens, there was a practice +of throwing or emptying things out of window not without danger or +damage to the passer-by. This was the law on that point:— + + + “If anything was thrown from the windows of a house near a public + thoroughfare, so as to injure any one by its fall, the inhabitant or + occupier was, by the Roman law, bound to repair the damage, though it + might be done without his knowledge by his family or servants, or even + by a stranger. This affords an illustration of liability arising + _quasi ex delicto_. + + “In like manner, when damage was done to any person by a slave or an + animal, the owner might in certain circumstances be liable for the + loss, though the mischief was done without his knowledge and against + his will; but in such a case, if no fault was directly imputable to + the owner, he was entitled to free himself from all responsibility by + abandoning the offending slave or animal to the person injured, which + was called _noxæ dare_. Though these noxal actions are not classed by + Justinian under the title of obligations _quasi ex delicto_, yet, in + principle, they evidently fall within that category. + + “All animals _feræ naturæ_, such as lions, tigers, bears, and the + like, must be kept in a secure place to prevent them from doing + mischief; but the same vigilance is not required in the case of + animals _mansuetæ naturæ_, the presumption being, that no harm will + arise in leaving them at large, unless they are known to be vicious or + dangerous. So, where a foxhound destroyed eighteen sheep belonging to + a farmer, it was decided by the House of Lords in an appeal from + Scotland, that the owner of the dog was not liable for the loss, there + being no evidence necessarily showing either knowledge of the vicious + propensities of the dog or want of due care in keeping him; and it was + observed that, both according to the English and the Scotch law, ‘the + _culpa_ or negligence of the owner is the foundation on which the + right of action against him rests.’” + + +The subject of succession is treated by Lord Mackenzie in a very ample +and satisfactory discussion. In particular, the chapter on ‘Intestate +Succession in France, England, and Scotland’ will be found highly useful +to the international jurist. Lord Mackenzie has not failed to observe +here the striking peculiarity of the Scotch law, by which, with some +qualifications very recently introduced, intestate succession, whether +in real or personal estate, goes entirely to the agnates or paternal +relations, and not at all to cognates or those on the mother’s side. +This was the law of the Twelve Tables, but it was wholly altered in +process of time, and, under Justinian’s enactments, paternal and +maternal relations were equally favoured. In retaining the old +distinction, the law of Scotland seems now to stand alone. The +peculiarity may perhaps be explained by the strong feelings of family +connection or clanship which so long prevailed in Scotland, and which +bound together the descendants of the same paternal ancestor by so many +common interests. But it is certainly singular that it should have +continued to the present day with such slender modifications; and it is +no small anomaly that, while a man may succeed to any of his maternal +relations, none of his maternal relations can in general succeed to him, +even in property which he may have inherited from the mother’s side. + +The portion of the work devoted to actions and procedure introduces a +clear light into a subject extremely technical, and often made very +obscure by the mode in which it is treated. We have only room for a +short extract as to the _remedium miserabile_ of Cessio Bonorum:— + + + “The _cessio bonorum_ has been adopted in France as well as in + Scotland. By the ancient law of France, every debtor who sought the + benefit of _cessio_ was obliged by the sentence to wear in public a + green bonnet (_bonnet vert_) furnished by his creditors, under the + penalty of being imprisoned if he was found without it. According to + Pothier, this was intended as a warning to all citizens to conduct + their affairs with prudence, so as to avoid the risk of exposing + themselves to such ignominy; but he explains that in his time, though + the condition was inserted in the sentence, it was seldom acted on in + practice, except at Bordeaux, where it is said to have been rigidly + enforced. + + “Formerly, a custom somewhat similar prevailed in Scotland. Every + debtor who obtained the benefit of _cessio_ was appointed to wear ‘the + dyvour’s habit,’ which was a coat or upper garment, half yellow and + half brown, with a cap of the same colours. In modern times this usage + was discontinued. ‘According to the state of public feeling, it would + be held a disgrace to the administration of justice. It would shock + the innocent; it would render the guilty miserably profligate.’ For a + considerable time it had become the practice in the judgment to + dispense with the dyvour’s habit, and by the statute of Will. IV. it + is utterly abolished.” + + +The work concludes with a very agreeable chapter on the Roman bar, from +which we shall borrow a couple of passages. A certain portion of time +was generally allowed to advocates for their speeches, but which varied +before different judges and at different periods. + + + “A clepsydra was used in the tribunals for measuring time by water, + similar in principle to the modern sand-glass. When the judge + consented to prolong the period assigned for discussion, he was said + to give water—_dare aquam_. ‘As for myself,’ says Pliny, ‘whenever I + sit upon the bench (which is much oftener than I appear at the bar), I + always give the advocates as much water as they require; for I look + upon it as the height of presumption to pretend to guess before a + cause is heard what time it will require, and to set limits to an + affair before one is acquainted with its extent, especially as the + first and most sacred duty of a judge is patience, which, indeed, is + itself a very considerable part of justice. But the advocate will say + many things that are useless. Granted. Yet is it not better to hear + too much than not to hear enough? Besides, how can you know that the + things are useless till you have heard them?’ + + “Marcus Aurelius, we are told, was in the habit of giving a large + measure of water to the advocates, and even permitting them to speak + as long as they pleased. + + “By a constitution of Valentinian and Valens, A.D. 368, advocates were + authorised to speak as long as they wished, upon condition that they + should not abuse this liberty in order to swell the amount of their + fees.” + + +The history of Roman practice, and, in particular, of the Cincian Law on +the subject of advocates’ fees, is ably condensed; and the law of France +and Scotland on the subject is thus stated:— + + + “In France, ancient laws and decisions, as well as the opinions of the + doctors, allowed an action to advocates to recover their fees; but + according to the later jurisprudence of the Parliament of Paris, and + the actual discipline of the bar now in force, no advocate was or is + permitted to institute such an action. In like manner barristers in + England are held to exercise a profession of an honorary character, + ‘and cannot, therefore, maintain an action for remuneration for what + they have done, unless the employer has expressly agreed to pay them.’ + Upon this point the authorities in the law of Scotland are not very + precise. Lord Bankton says, ‘Though action be competent for such + gratification, advocates who regard their character abhor such + judicial claims, and keep in their mind the notable saying of Ulpian + upon the like occasion, _Quœdam enim tametsi honeste accipiantur, + inhoneste tamen petuntur_.’ But it is maintained by others, whose + opinion is entitled to great weight, that no action lies for such + fees—the presumption, in the absence of an express paction, being, + that the advocate has ‘either been satisfied, or agreed to serve + _gratis_.’” + + +What the law of England is on this most important question will probably +be definitively settled in a _cause célèbre_ now depending. We do not +conceal our earnest hope that the principles laid down in the recent +judgment of Chief-Justice Erle will never be departed from. + +We close this notice by strongly recommending Lord Mackenzie’s book to +the notice both of the student and the practising jurist, to each of +whom we think it indispensable. + + + + + THE PERIPATETIC POLITICIAN—IN FLORENCE. + + +There is a mysterious power in this nineteenth century before which we +all bow down and worship. Emperors have grown powerful by its support, +and kings that know not how to please it become the laughing-stock of +Europe. The highest are not beyond its reach, the lowest are not beneath +its notice. The Secretary of State spreads lengthy despatches as +peace-offerings at its shrine, and the parish beadle is careful not to +put his hat on awry lest he fall beneath its censure. The idol has +innumerable votaries; but its high priests, the exponents of its law, +are the great authors and statesmen of the day. And they have a hard +taskmaster to serve: they must do the pleasure of their lord before he +has signified his wishes—they must anticipate his thoughts and be +beforehand with his commands; obsequiousness and obedience alone will +not suffice them; they may sacrifice every friend and every principle +for his sake, and nevertheless disgrace and proscription await them, +unless they can know their master’s mind before it is known to himself. + +Public Opinion is the unknown master to whom all submit; listening +anxiously but vainly for his commands, not knowing how or where to study +his humour. There are Houses of Parliament, newspapers, clubs, +mechanic’s institutes, pot-houses, prayer meetings—but which of all +these speak public opinion? A weekly gathering of articles from daily +papers is not public opinion. Opinion after dinner is not public. It is +evidently necessary to apply some means specially adapted to the place +and the time in order to discover the mood of public opinion. In +Syracuse, Dionysius constructed an ear for the purpose; unfortunately +this invention has been lost. + +In London, it is popularly said that the only means to ascertain public +opinion is to take a seat in the omnibus for the day and drive +continually up and down. + +In Florence, public opinion walks,—it cannot afford to drive. The people +must be studied on foot. The reader will therefore have already +understood that the title of this paper was chosen from necessity and +not for the sake of the alliteration; that in order to catch a glimpse +of Italian affairs as seen through Tuscan spectacles—in order to enter +for the moment into the jealousies, the grievances, and the vanities of +the provincial town of Florence—there is no resource but that of +treating the question peripatetically—that is, of walking the streets. + +This course is the more natural because in Florence the streets +are—thanks to the high price of manure—remarkably clean. Accordingly the +people live in the street; there they are to be met at an early hour +lounging along talking or smoking, wrapped in cloaks that take an extra +twist with every degree of cold. The street is their assembly-room; it +is frequented by men of all sorts, as will be at once seen by a moment’s +scrutiny of the stream of people creeping slowly along over the +pavement. + +There is the commercial dandy who affects a felt hat with mandarin +button on the crown, a knobby stick, and a would-be English +shooting-jacket. Behind him is the sober professional man, in a French +great-coat which has wandered from Paris, making room for newer +fashions. There, too, is the priest of portly figure and wasted +garments, which show at once his devotion to the inner man, and his +neglect of the outer world, walking along with a blessing on his lips +and a green cotton umbrella under his arm. By his side is the peasant +come to town for the day, cart-whip in hand, and a long coarse cloak +trailing from his shoulders, embroidered behind with flowers in green +silk. Every stitch will show character in one way or another. Italians +wear green flowers where Spaniards would have crosses in black braid. + +And who is there among all this crowd who would trouble his thoughts +about Victor Emmanuel and his Ministers? Look at yonder corner-wall +where there is a sheet of paper prominently pasted on a black board: one +solitary passenger gives it a passing glance: that is the telegram just +received, announcing the formation of the new Ministry. But farther on +there are collected a little company of people, whose animated and +intent looks show something really interesting to be going on: it is +that two or three young men are practising in chorus a snatch out of the +last street-ballad. Farther on the respective merits of different +ballet-dancers are under discussion, and some of the company are +pronouncing the stage-manager unfit for his post. In the whole crowd +there is not one word, nor even a passing thought, bestowed on the +Government which is going on at Turin. So universal is the carelessness +with regard to the current affairs of the day, that, as a general rule, +if a man be heard to speak about politics, or in any way show himself +conversant with public affairs, it may at once be concluded, more +especially if he speak in a disagreeable voice, that that man is a +Piedmontese.[4] + +In vain do loud-voiced criers hawk prints representing the murder of the +Gignoli family by the Austrians in 1859; they offer them at half-price, +at quarter-price, but find no purchasers. Even the photograph of the +bullet extracted from Garibaldi’s foot has ceased to draw people to the +shop-window. + +Leaving the street for the moment, and turning the corner of the great +Piazza, we find under the colonnade, opposite the picture gallery, an +anxious crowd of people, eager and pushing. That is the entrance to the +‘Monte di Pieta,’ or municipal pawnbroking establishment (for private +pawnbroking is illicit in Florence). There is a long table before the +door, and on it are spread silver watches, coral bracelets, and other +trinkets. Articles that have lain unredeemed are being sold at auction. +The sale is well attended, but purchasers will not compete. There is +much examination and very little bidding. This same scene has occurred +regularly at stated intervals for the last several centuries. + +In the time of the Medicis, public policy and private benevolence became +copartners in founding a self-supporting pawnbroking shop on a large +scale, to be kept under the supervision of Government. To a people who, +whenever they begin to be pinched in circumstances, try to economise but +never attempt to work, and exert themselves rather to save than to make +money, it is no small object to have a public pawnbroking establishment +where money is allowed at a fixed scale. If a Florentine have a bracelet +too much, and bread too little, he has but to give the bracelet in pawn +to the Government. In the same way, if he be troubled with a child too +many, he proceeds to the infant asylum, rings the bell, and in the +cradle which forthwith opens, he deposits the child for the Government +to feed. Under the Governments which have prevailed in Tuscany for the +last three hundred years, this is precisely the kind of political +institution which the Florentines have learnt to value and appreciate. + +The proper supervision of the pawnbroking shop, the maintenance of the +foundling asylums and the hospitals (with which Florence is, in +proportion, better provided than London), the grant made to the +opera—these and other such questions are the matters of government in +which a Florentine takes interest. To politics, in an Englishman’s sense +of the word, they pay little or no attention. In the election of +representatives to the Chambers at Turin the people appear to take +little or no part. For instance: M. Peruzzi, the present Minister for +the Interior, is one of the representatives of Florence. On accepting +office he was of course obliged to appeal to his constituents. The seat +was contested. On the day appointed for the election I had occasion to +ask my way to the place where it was being held: several respectable +citizens did not know that any election was to take place whatever. At +last one man, better informed than the rest, had heard something about +an election that week, but did not know where the elections were held. +The election proved invalid for want of the legal complement of +voters—namely, one-half the whole number. This is the general result of +elections in Tuscany on the first trial. The second election is valid, +provided only the same number of voters are present as attended the +first. This is fortunate, otherwise it might occur that there would be a +lack of representatives from Tuscany in the Parliament at Turin. + +The fact is, and it needs repetition, the Florentines do not care about +politics. They have accepted the revolution that was made for them, and +on the whole are well contented with the change; at least we ought in +justice to ascribe their general listlessness in political affairs to +contentment and not to indifference. + +To inquire, however, more exactly into the thoughts of those amongst the +Florentines who do think about politics, it will be as well to obtain at +once rest and information by sitting down for a few moments in the +tobacconist’s shop, which may be called the centre of the political +world. To begin with, the tobacconist is always himself by profession a +finished politician, and he, moreover, enjoys the confidence of several +distinguished friends, who keep him accurately informed of every word +that passes in the Cabinets of Europe. The general burden of his +conversation, which is a fair type of the talk at shops and second-rate +cafés, is as follows:—The Pope-king is the father of all mischief; and +how should it be otherwise? are not priests and kings always the +promoters of every evil? and this man is a combination of both. Then +follows a complaint against the Emperor Napoleon and his creatures, the +Ministers at Turin, who, like true Piedmontese, are in secret jealous of +the greatness of Italy, and treacherously keep in pay reactionary +employés in lieu of filling the offices, as they should, with +enterprising liberals. This sentiment meets with loud and general +applause, and the company, waxing warm on this topic, forthwith launch +into various prophecies as to the immediate future. French wars, Polish +revolutions, Austrian bankruptcies, are all considered, and it is +weighed what each might do for Italy. What the Italians themselves might +do is a less frequent theme. + +The Government, however, is blamed for its neglect of Garibaldi, which +is only of a piece with its conduct in leaving the active and patriotic +liberals of the country without employment while they are pensioning the +reactionists—an opinion which usually serves as alpha and omega in the +discussions of the Florentine liberals on the conduct of the Government. + +Having exhausted this topic, our friend the politico-tobacconist resumes +his seat, taking his scaldino (an earthenware vessel shaped like a +basket, and filled with hot ashes) on his lap for the comfort of his +fingers, and proceeds to draw the attention of visitors to various piles +of newspapers, the sale of which is part of his trade. And as Florence +produces, for a country town, a very respectable number of papers (some +dozen daily papers, not to count two tri-weekly papers and other +periodicals), which, moreover, have something of a national, or rather +of a provincial character, it will be worth while to look over them +before leaving the tobacconist’s shop. It is not every paper that will +be found: for instance, the three retrograde papers will not be +forthcoming. These have so extremely small a circulation that it is very +difficult to hunt them up. It is only by favour, for instance, that a +copy of the ‘Contemporaneo’ can be got, for, there being no public +demand, there is no sale; a limited number of copies only are +distributed among subscribers. + +The newspapers to be found on the counter are all liberal, but of +various shades of “colour,” as the Italians name party opinions. + +The ‘Gazzetta del Popolo,’ which is strictly constitutional, has still +the largest circulation of any (it prints about 3000 copies daily), +though not half what it had. Its decline has been owing partly to +general competition, partly to its having embraced the defence of the +late Ratazzi Ministry, which unpopular course is said to have cost it in +a few months nearly one-fourth of its circulation; partly, perhaps, to +its sustaining the Piedmontese, who have not of late been growing in the +favour of the Tuscans. + +The other papers are all more “advanced,” that is, more opposed to +Government. Among these the ‘Censor’ ranks first. This is a thoroughly +Tuscan paper, and full of quaint, provincial expressions. In party +politics it is red—a colour which evidently finds most favour in the +eyes of the poorer citizens; for recently it lost no less than a fourth +of its circulation by raising its price from three to five cents, that +is, from about a farthing and a half to a halfpenny. In its columns, +though not there only, may be seen a catalogue of indictments against +the Piedmontese. The Tuscans voted annexation to Italy, it is said—not +to Piedmont. With Rome unity, without it none. Does the unity of Italy +mean the domination of Turin? Are we to accept from the most barbarous +portion of Italy laws which are sent down to us written in a jargon +which cannot even be called Italian? Tuscany is being fleeced by men so +greedy of every little gain, that they supply all the royal offices with +paper made only in Piedmont, in order that Piedmontese paper-mills may +reap the benefit. + +It speaks well for the Piedmontese that, with so much desire to find +fault with them, these are the most serious charges brought forward. + +In the Ratazzi Ministry the papers lost the most fruitful theme of +declamation. The caricatures against this Minister were endless, +representing him in every stage of official existence, from the time +when he climbs the high ministerial bench by the aid of a little finger +stretched out from Paris, to the moment when he is shown hiding his head +under the folds of the Emperor’s train. + +What is said against the Italian Government, however, is not said in +praise of the Grand-duke’s rule. On the contrary, the Opposition +papers—those at least that have any circulation—all lean rather towards +the “party of action,” or the extreme Liberals. The most prominent paper +of this description in Florence is the ‘New Europe,’ which is +republican, and makes no mystery of its principles. + +Indeed, the press is so outspoken, and is allowed such latitude, that it +is difficult to understand for what purpose the Government maintains a +censorship. Nevertheless, such is the case. It is not a very effective +one. Every paper is bound to be laid before the Reggio procurator +twenty-four hours before it is published; but that official is so little +able to peruse them all within the specified time, that it has +frequently happened that a paper has been sequestrated when it was a day +old, and had been already read and forgotten. The right of +sequestration, however, has been used pretty freely. The ‘Censor’ was +sequestrated more than sixty times in the course of last year, and the +‘New Europe’ has been treated even more severely: on one occasion it was +sequestrated for three days running. + +It is, however, high time to turn from the ideal to the material world; +that is, to leave the tobacconist and his newspapers, and dive into the +recesses of some very dirty and narrow little lanes where the market is +being held, in order to see whether the prices given and the business +done prove any decline in the prosperity of Florence since the days of +the Grand-duke. + +Passing by the mountains of vegetables piled up ornamentally against the +huge stones of the Strozzi Palace, the reader must pick his way +carefully amidst the accumulated masses of cabbage-stalks, children, and +other dirt beneath, avoiding at the same time the carcasses that hang +out from the butchers’ stalls on either side, from poles projecting far +into the passage, and stooping every now and then to avoid the festoons +of sausages which hang down from above, garland-fashion, just low enough +to come in contact with the nose of an average-sized mortal. If by +strictly observing the above precautions he can make his way despite all +these obstacles, he will on turning the next corner arrive safely in +front of an old woman and a boy presiding over sundry emblems of +purgatory in the shape of huge frying-pans fixed over charcoal fires. +The boy is ladling a mass of tiny dainties out of a seething black +liquid, which have an appearance as of whitebait being fished out of the +Thames. It is, however, only an appearance; for these are nothing more +than small cakes of chestnut-flour, by name “sommomoli,” fried in oil, +from which they emerge copper-coloured, sweet, nourishing, and +tasteless, costing half a centesimo, or the twentieth part of a penny, +a-piece. The old woman is in person superintending a still larger +frying-pan, in which are frizzling square cut cakes, resembling +Yorkshire pudding, sometimes interspersed with small slices of meat. +These, by name “ignochchi,” consist of nothing less than Indian corn +savoured with hogs-lard. A penny (ten centesimi) will purchase ten of +them—a larger quantity than most English, or any Italian stomach would +find it convenient to dispose of at one sitting. A step farther on +slices will be offered to the passer-by off a huge flat cake the colour +of gingerbread, also made of chestnut-flour, and so satisfying that it +would puzzle even an Eton lollypop-eater to consume a penny’s worth. +There are yet other delicacies, one especially tempting, a kind of +black-pudding or rather black wafer. It consists of a spoonful of hog’s +blood fried in oil, and then turned out of the pan on to a plate, +seasoned with scraped cheese, and devoured hot, at a halfpenny a-piece. + +With street goodies at these rates, whatever rise there may have been in +prices, it is impossible to believe that they are of a nature to press +to any extent upon the people at large. But take the staples of the +market; look into the baker’s shop; weigh the loaves sold over the +counter, and the price of the best wheaten bread will prove to be +fifteen centesimi (a penny halfpenny a-pound)—not to mention the sacks +of maize-flour, of rice, and of millet on the threshold. + +Nevertheless the Florentine market shows a general rise in prices, +probably attributable in part to the increased facility for sending the +products of Tuscany, this garden of Italy, into the adjacent provinces, +in part, although indirectly, to increased taxation, by which is meant +not merely Government taxation, but the municipal rates, which have +considerably increased in Florence; for the corporation of the town, in +common with many other municipalities and commonalties, are availing +themselves of their greater freedom of action under the new Government +to carry out numberless improvements, which it was difficult to execute +before on account of the lengthy representations which were required to +be laid before the Grand-ducal Government. + +The increase of taxation consequently is very considerable. The “tassa +prediale,” or property-tax, for instance, has been increasing in +Florence since 1859 at the rate of about one per cent every year, and in +some commonalties it is even higher. There are men in Florence who are +now paying in taxes (local rates and all included) exactly four times +what they paid in the Grand-duke’s day. It is true that this increase is +not so oppressive as it would appear, because the taxation of Tuscany +used to be extremely light, being under fourteen shillings per head +compared with the population. Still the cheerfulness with which this +increase has been borne is a hopeful sign of the general willingness of +the people to support the Italian Government. No impatience even has +been shown at the rapidly augmenting taxes, and this single fact +deserves to be set against a multitude of complaints on smaller matters. + +Taxation, however, probably enters for very little in the rise of market +prices. The reason of this increase is to be sought in local causes. For +instance, there have been several successive bad seasons for olives. +This year the yield is better, and the price is falling. Wine is still +very high, owing to the grape disease. Meat is nearly double what it was +some years since, owing, it is said, chiefly to a drought last summer. + +The rise in prices, however, has been counterbalanced, so far as the +working population are concerned, by a rise in wages, which has been on +the average from a Tuscan lire to a Sardinian franc, or about 20 per +cent. + +On the whole, comparing the rise in prices with that in wages, the real +pay of the labourer would seem to have slightly improved. So far, +therefore, as the people’s stomachs are concerned, the comparison is not +unfavourable to the new Government. To persons residing at Florence on +fixed incomes, however, the increase in both instances is unfavourable, +and they not unnaturally regard that which is inconvenient to themselves +as ruinous to the country. + +The loss of the custom of the Court and its train, upon which so much +stress has been laid, so far from having affected Tuscany, has not even +really affected Florence. The amount taken on account of the “octroi” at +the gates of Florence shows the consumption to be on the increase. + +We may therefore leave the market with the conviction that there is no +material pressure at work to cause discontent. Some tradesmen really +have suffered from the absence of the Court, as the jewellers and +milliners for instance; but trade generally has not felt the difference. + +Continuing, however, our walk in search of public opinion, we come, in a +street not far distant, to a real cause of complaint; and in Tuscany, +where there is a cause, there will be no want of complaint. There are a +couple of soldiers standing sentry before a large door, and all around +knots of countrymen talking together in anxious expectation, or not +talking, but silently taking leave. + +The conscription is a grievance. It is the only act of the new +Government which is generally felt to be a hardship, and sometimes +murmured against as an injustice. Rather more than one in every five of +the youths who this year attain the age of twenty-one are being drawn +for the army. This is the proportion of those taken from their homes and +sent to the depots of different regiments, for all are liable to +military service under one category or another. Being inscribed and left +at home, however, is no great hardship: it is the separation from home +which is dreaded, and therefore the numbers of the first category in the +conscription which have alone to be considered. This heavy conscription +is something new to the Tuscans. In the palmy days of Grand-ducal +Government, before 1848, exemption from military service could be +obtained for something less than £4 English; after the Austrian +occupation, the conscription having grown severer, the cost of exemption +was about doubled; but now it amounts to a sum which none but the +wealthy can possibly pay. + +The young conscripts, however, become rapidly imbued with the +professional pride of their older comrades; and it often happens that +lads, who have parted from their home in tears, astonish their quiet +parents a few weeks after with letters full of enthusiasm for the +Italian army. Enthusiasm on any subject is a rare virtue in Tuscany; and +if a military life for six years could infuse into the rising generation +some energy and some habits of discipline, the army would prove a more +important means of education than all the new schools which are to be +introduced. + +But how is it that throughout this perambulation of the town of Florence +we have not come across a single sign of that touching affection for the +late Grand-duke which has been so vividly and so often described in +England? + +The truth is, that although there is a good deal of discontent with the +present Government, there is no regret for the last. + +Of all the weak sentiments which exist in Tuscan breasts, loyalty +towards the late Grand-duke is certainly the very weakest. + +In order, however, that the reader may catch a glimpse of the “Codini” +(or “party of the tail,” as the following of the late Grand-duke are +called) before they are all numbered among the antiquities of Italy, it +will be advisable to take one turn on the banks of the Arno in the +“Cascine,” the fashionable walk, or “the world,” of the Florentines. + +It is sunset, and the evening chill is making itself felt—in fact, to +lay aside all romance about the Italian climate, it is very cold. The +upper five hundred come out at dew-fall, when everybody else goes in, +apparently for no better reason than because everybody else does go in. +There are Russians driving in handsome droschkes, and Americans in +livery-stable barouches of an unwieldy magnificence. But our business is +not with these; the native gentility of Florence is just arriving—ladies +in closely-shut broughams, and young gentlemen, some in open carriages, +half dog-carts half phaetons; others, less fortunate, in open fiacres. + +They drive down to the end of the Cascine, where old beggar women attend +upon them with “scaldine” to warm their fingers over. There men and +women alight and promenade at a foot’s pace, despite the cold, after +which they all drive home again. + +And what can they have been about all day before they came to the +Cascine? The masters and mistresses have been sitting in their +respective rooms, drawing such warmth as they might from a stove most +economically furnished with wood; the servants have been sitting in the +antechamber, holding their four extremities over the hot ashes in the +“brasero,” a metal vessel something like an English stewpan on a large +scale; for the Italian palaces are cold: the architect may have done +well, but the mason and the carpenter have been negligent. The walls are +joined at any angle except a right one; the windows do not close; the +floors are diversified by sundry undulations, so that a space is left +beneath the door, through which light zephyrs play over the ill-carpeted +floor. Perhaps the lady of the house has been sitting in state to +receive her friends; for every Florentine lady is solemnly announced as +“at home” to all her friends one day in the week, so as to keep them out +of the house all the other six. + +This is the married life in the palace. The life of the young men, the +bachelor life of Florence, is not a bit more active. In a word, the life +of a Florentine in easy circumstances is a prolonged lounge. It is not +that they loiter away their time for a few weeks, or for a few +months—for “a season,” in short—that is done all the world over; but the +Florentines do nothing but loiter. The most active portion of their +lives is that now before us,—the life during the carnival. The carnival +over, the rest of the year is spent in recruiting finances and health +for the next winter. + +Lest the reader should treat this description as exaggerated or unduly +severe, it will be best to let the Florentines themselves describe their +own manner of living, and give, word for word, the rules laid down in a +Florentine paper[5] for any young gentleman who wishes to live in +holiness, peace, and happiness (_sic_). + +“On waking in the morning, take a cup of coffee in bed; and if you have +a servant to pour it out, mind that she be a young and pretty one. + +“Then light a cigar (but not of native tobacco; it is too bad), or, +better still, take a whiff of a pipe. + +“Clear your ideas by smoking, and, little by little, have yourself +dressed by the person who undressed you the night before. + +“After writing a meaningless letter, or reading a chapter out of a +novel, go out, weather permitting. + +“Should you meet a priest, a hunchback, or a white horse, return +straightway, or a misfortune may befall you. + +“After a short turn, get back to breakfast, and, this over, bid the +driver put to and whip up for the Cascine. + +“There go from one carriage to the other, and talk scandal to each lady +against all the rest: this to kill time till dinner. + +“Eat enough, and drink more; and should some wretch come to trouble your +digestion by begging his bread, tell him a man should work. + +“At night, go to the theatre, the club, or into society. At the theatre, +should there be a new piece, hiss it; this will give you the reputation +of a connoisseur; should there be an opera, try to learn an air that you +may sing at the next party; should there be a ballet, endeavour to play +Mæcenas to some dancer, according to the custom of the century. + +“One day over, begin the next in the same way, and so on to the end.” + +This, in sober earnest, is the life of a Florentine noble; except that, +if rich enough, he spends all his superfluous energy and wealth in +occasional visits to Paris. If unusually clever, he will become a good +singer, or a judge of art—not of pictures and statues, probably, but of +antique pots and pans. Otherwise he has no pursuit whatever, and his +sole occupation is to persuade himself that he is an Adonis, and his +friends that he is as fortunate as Endymion. + +Such is the stuff which the Codini nobles are made of, and so let them +drive home in peace. These are not the manner of men to make counter +revolutions. Brought up as boys by a priest, within the four walls of a +palace, they have never had an opportunity of gaining any experience of +life beyond that afforded by the café, the theatre, and the Court, and +they feel alarmed and annoyed to find growing up around them a state of +things in which men will have to rank according as they can make +themselves honoured by the people, and not according to the smile they +may catch at Court. To this must be added, with some, a genuine personal +feeling towards the late Grand-duke, but these are very few; they are +limited for the most part to the courtiers, or “the antechamber” of the +Court that has passed away, and even with them it is no more than a +feeling of patronising friendship—nothing resembling the loyalty of an +Englishman towards his sovereign. But most of the regret expressed for +the late Grand-duke is nothing more than ill-disguised disappointment at +being no longer able to cut a figure at Court and rub shoulders with +royalty; and this is a form of politics not altogether unknown among our +good countrymen at Florence. + +It is cruel of reactionary writers and orators in other countries to +draw down ridicule on the harmless and peaceful gentlemen who form the +small band of Codini at Florence, by endeavouring to magnify them into a +counter-revolutionary party. + +The Codini at Florence would wish for the Austrians: they have a faint +and lingering hope of a Parisian Court at Florence, under Prince +Napoleon; but they do not even pretend that they would move a finger in +any cause. + +There are men in Tuscany, and even gentlemen, who will work and form +themselves, let us hope, on the stamp of Baron Ricasoli; but these are +not to be found among the clique of the Codini at Florence. + +The intelligence and energy of the country is for Italy, and nearly all +the great names of Florence—the names of republican celebrity, to their +honour be it said—are to be found in the ranks of the national party. It +is true their name is at present all that they can give to forward the +cause. + +Let us hope, however, that the ideas of ambition, and the wider field +for competition which the new system offers, may awake in the children +now growing up in Florence an energy which has been unknown to their +fathers for many and many a generation. Then, perhaps, a walk in the +streets of Florence thirty years hence will no longer show us electors +who will not step a hundred yards out of the way in order to attend an +election. The Florentines may, at their own pleasure, by taking a part +in their own government and the government of Italy, virtually terminate +that Piedmontese tutelage against which they fret, and without which +they are not yet fit to carry out a constitutional system. + + + FLORENCE, _Feb. 2, 1863_. + + + + + THE FRANK IN SCOTLAND.[6] + + +For the benefit of the reader who may not have time and inclination to +work his way through two thick volumes of research—for the benefit also +of him who might be inclined to that adventurous task, but desires +beforehand to have some notion of the tenor and character of the work +before he invests in it his time and patience—we gave, in our November +Number, a sketch of what we thought the prominent features of the doings +of our countrymen in France, during the long period when Scotland was +alienated from England. We now propose to take up the other side of the +reciprocity. The two sketches will necessarily be distinct in character, +as the material facts to which they refer were distinct. France was, as +we have seen, the centre round which what remained of the civilisation +of the old world lingered; and, along with much wretchedness among the +common people, she was of all the states of Europe that which contained +the largest abundance of the raw material of wealth, and consequently of +the elements by which men of enterprise could raise themselves to +affluence and station. Scotland was on the outskirts of those lands in +which the new civilisation of the northern nations was slowly and coldly +ripening to a still distant maturity. These two countries, so unlike, +were knit into a close alliance, by a common danger inducing them to +adopt a common policy. But, being fundamentally unlike, their close +intercourse naturally tended, by close contact and comparison, to bring +out the specialties of their dissimilarity. + +And in nothing is this dissimilarity more conspicuous than when we look +at the method and the object of the Scots’ sojourn in France, and +compare them with those which characterised the few Frenchmen who came +to us. The ruling feature in the former side of the reciprocity is, the +profuseness with which our countrymen domesticated themselves in the +land of their ancient allies, and infused new blood into theirs. There +was little to attract the Frenchman to pitch his tent with us. As soon +almost would he have thought of seeking his fortunes in Lapland or +Iceland. Here, therefore, we have less to do with the fortunes of +individual adventurers than with the national policy of the French +towards Scotland, and those who casually came among us for the purpose +of giving it effect. Our country had in fact been in a great measure +cleared of French names before our intercourse with France began, and +they never reappeared, except casually and in connection with some +special political movement. The Norman French who had migrated from +England over the border having, as we have seen, rendered themselves +offensive by helping their own Norman King to enslave Scotland, were +driven away in considerable numbers at the conclusion of the war of +independence; and afterwards the French, though they kept up the policy +of a close alliance with us, and gave a hearty reception to our own +adventurers, found nothing to tempt them to reciprocate hospitalities. +Hence the present sketch is not likely to afford any such genial history +of national hospitality and successful adventure as the paper devoted to +the conduct of our countrymen in France. + +The policy of our alliance against England as the common enemy had +become a thing of pretty old standing; many a Scot had sought his +fortune in France; and names familiar to us now on shop-signs and in +street-directories had been found among the dead at Poictiers, before we +have authentic account of any Frenchmen having ventured across the sea +to visit the sterile territory of their allies. Froissart makes a story +out of the failure of the first attempt to send a French ambassador +here. The person selected for the duty was the Lord of Bournazel or +Bournaseau, whose genealogy is disentangled by M. Michel in a learned +note. He was accredited by Charles V. in the year 1379, and was +commanded to keep such state as might become the representative of his +august master. Bournazel set off to embark at Sluys, and then had to +wait fifteen days for a favourable wind. The ambassador thought there +was no better way of beguiling the time than a recitation among the Plat +Dutch of the splendours which he was bound in the way of public duty to +exhibit in the sphere of his mission. Accordingly, “during this time he +lived magnificently; and gold and silver plate were in such profusion in +his apartments as if he had been a prince. He had also music to announce +his dinner, and caused to be carried before him a sword in a scabbard +richly blazoned with his arms in gold and silver. His servants paid well +for everything. Many of the townspeople were much astonished at the +great state this knight lived in at home, which he also maintained when +he went abroad.” This premature display of his diplomatic glories +brought him into a difficulty highly characteristic of one of the +political specialties of France at that period. It was the time when the +nobles of the blood-royal were arrogating to themselves alone certain +prerogatives and ceremonials distinguishing them from the rest of the +territorial aristocracy, however high these might be. The Duke of +Bretagne and the Count of Flanders, who were near at hand, took umbrage +at the grand doings of Bournazel, and sent for him through the bailiff +of Sluys. That officer, after the manner of executive functionaries who +find themselves sufficiently backed, made his mission as offensive as +possible, and, tapping Bournazel on the shoulder, intimated that he was +wanted. The great men had intended only to rebuke him for playing a part +above his commission, but the indiscretion of their messenger gave +Bournazel a hold which he kept and used sagaciously. When he found the +princes who had sent for him lounging at a window looking into the +gardens, he fell on his knees and acknowledged himself the prisoner of +the Count of Flanders. To take prisoner an ambassador, and the +ambassador of a crowned king, the feudal lord of the captor, was one of +the heaviest of offences, both against the law of nations and the spirit +of chivalry. The Earl was not the less enraged that he felt himself +caught; and after retorting with, “How, rascal, do you dare to call +yourself my prisoner when I have only sent to speak with you?” he +composed himself to the delivery of the rebuke he had been preparing in +this fashion: “It is by such talkers and jesters of the Parliament of +Paris and of the king’s chamber as you, that the kingdom is governed; +and you manage the king as you please, to do good or evil according to +your wills: there is not a prince of the blood, however great he may be, +if he incur your hatred, who will be listened to; but such fellows shall +yet be hanged until the gibbets be full of them.” Bournazel carried this +pleasant announcement and the whole transaction to the throne, and the +king took his part, saying to those around, “He has kept his ground +well: I would not for twenty thousand francs it had not so happened.” +The embassy to Scotland was thus for the time frustrated. It was said +that there were English cruisers at hand to intercept the ambassador, +and that he himself had no great heart for a sojourn in the wild unknown +northern land. Possibly the fifteen days’ lording it at Sluys may have +broken in rather inconveniently on his outfit; but the most likely cause +of the defeat of the first French embassy to our shores was, the +necessity felt by Bournazel to right himself at once at court, and turn +the flank of his formidable enemies; and Froissart says, the Earl of +Flanders lay under the royal displeasure for having, in his vain +vaunting, defeated so important a project as the mission to the Scots. + +A few years afterwards our country received a visit, less august, it is +true, than the intended embassy, but far more interesting. In 1384, +negotiations were exchanged near the town of Boulogne for a permanent +peace between England and France. The French demanded concessions of +territory which could not be yielded, and a permanent peace, founded on +a final settlement of pending claims, was impossible. A truce even was +at that time, however, a very important conclusion to conflict; it +sometimes lasted for years, being in reality a peace under protest that +each party reserved certain claims to be kept in view when war should +again break out. Such a truce was adjusted between England on the one +side and France on the other—conditional on the accession of her allies +Spain and Scotland. France kept faith magnanimously, in ever refusing to +negotiate a separate peace or truce for herself; but, as the way is with +the more powerful of two partners, she was apt to take for granted that +Scotland would go with her, and that the affair was virtually finished +by her own accession to terms. + +It happened that in this instance the Duke of Burgundy took in hand to +deal with Scotland. He had, however, just at that moment, a rather +important piece of business, deeply interesting to himself, on hand. By +the death of the Earl of Flanders he succeeded to that fair domain—an +event which vastly influenced the subsequent fate of Europe. So busy was +he in adjusting the affairs of his succession, that it was said he +entirely overlooked the small matter of the notification of the truce to +Scotland. Meanwhile, there was a body of men-at-arms in the French +service at Sluys thrown out of employment by the truce with England, +and, like other workmen in a like position, desirous of a job. They knew +that the truce had not yet penetrated to Scotland, and thought a journey +thither, long and dangerous as it was, might be a promising speculation. +There were about thirty of them, and Froissart gives a head-roll of +those whose names he remembered, beginning with Sir Geoffry de Charny, +Sir John de Plaissy, Sir Hugh de Boulon, and so on. They dared not +attempt, in face of the English warships, to land at a southern harbour, +but reached the small seaport called by Froissart Monstres, and not +unaptly supposed by certain sage commentators to be Montrose, since they +rode on to Dundee and thence to Perth. They were received with a deal of +rough hospitality, and much commended for the knightly spirit that +induced them to cross the wide ocean to try their lances against the +common enemy of England. Two of them were selected to pass onto +Edinburgh, and explain their purpose at the court of Holyrood. Here they +met two of their countrymen on a mission which boded no good to their +enterprise. These were ambassadors from France, come at last to notify +the truce. It was at once accepted by the peaceable King Robert, but the +Scots lords around him were grieved in heart at the prospect that these +fine fellows should come so far and return without having any sport of +that highly flavoured kind which the border wars afforded. The truce +they held had been adjusted not by Scotland but by France; and here, as +if to contradict its sanction, were Frenchmen themselves offering to +treat it as naught. There was, however, a far stronger reason for +overlooking it. Just before it was completed, but when it was known to +be inevitable, the Earls of Northumberland and Nottingham suddenly and +secretly drew together two thousand men-at-arms and six thousand bowmen, +with which they broke into Scotland, and swept the country as far as +Edinburgh with more than the usual ferocity of a border raid; for they +made it to the Scots as if the devil had come among them, having great +wrath, for he knew that his time was short. It was said, even, that the +French ambassadors sent to Scotland to announce the truce had been +detained in London to allow time for this raid coming off effectively. +“To say the truth,” says Froissart, mildly censorious, “the lords of +England who had been at the conference at Bolinghen, had not acted very +honourably when they had consented to order their men to march to +Scotland and burn the country, knowing that a truce would speedily be +concluded: and the best excuse they could make was, that it was the +French and not they who were to signify such truce to the Scots.” +Smarting from this inroad, the Scots lords, and especially the Douglases +and others on the border, were in no humour to coincide with their +peaceful King. They desired to talk the matter over with the +representatives of the adventurers in some quiet place; and, for reasons +which were doubtless sufficient to themselves, they selected for this +purpose the church of St Giles in Edinburgh. The conference was highly +satisfactory to the adventurers, who spurred back to Perth to impart the +secret intelligence that though the king had accepted the truce, the +lords were no party to it, but would immediately prepare an expedition +to avenge Nottingham and Northumberland’s raid. This was joyful +intelligence, though in its character rather surprising to followers of +the French court. A force was rapidly collected, and in a very few days +the adventurers were called to join it in the Douglases’ lands. + +So far Froissart. This affair is not, at least to our knowledge, +mentioned in detail by any of our own annalists writing before the +publication of his Chronicles. Everything, however, is there set forth +so minutely, and with so distinct and accurate a reference to actual +conditions in all the details, that few things in history can be less +open to doubt. Here, however, we come to a statement inviting question, +when he says that the force collected so suddenly by the Scots lords +contained fifteen thousand mounted men; nor can we be quite reconciled +to the statement though their steeds were the small mountain horses +called hackneys. The force, however, was sufficient for its work. It +found the English border trusting to the truce, and as little prepared +for invasion as Nottingham and Northumberland had found Scotland. The +first object was the land of the Percies, which the Scots, in the +laconic language of the chronicler, “pillaged and burnt.” And so they +went onwards; and where peasants had been peacefully tilling the land or +tending their cattle amid the comforts of rude industry, there the +desolating host passed, the crops were trampled down—their owners left +dead in the ashes of their smoking huts—and a few widows and children, +fleeing for safety and food, was all of animal life left upon the scene. +The part, indeed, taken in it by his countrymen was exactly after +Froissart’s own heart, since they were not carrying out any of the +political movements of the day, nor were they even actuated by an +ambition of conquest, but were led by the sheer fun of the thing and the +knightly spirit of adventure to partake in this wild raid. To the Scots +it was a substantial affair, for they came back heavy-handed, with +droves and flocks driven before them—possibly some of them recovered +their own. + +The king had nothing to say in his vindication touching this little +affair, save that it had occurred without his permission, or even +knowledge. The Scots lords were not the only persons who broke that +truce. It included the Duke of Burgundy and his enemies, the Low Country +towns; yet his feudatory, the Lord Destournay, taking advantage of the +defenceless condition of Oudenarde during peace, took it by a clever +stratagem. The Duke of Burgundy, when appealed to, advised Destournay to +abandon his capture; but Destournay was wilful: he had conquered the +city, and the city was his—so there was no help for it, since the +communities were not strong enough to enforce their rights, and Burgundy +would only demand them on paper. What occasioned the raid of the Scots +and French to be passed over was, however, that the Duke of Lancaster, +John of Gaunt, who had the chief authority over the English councils, as +well as the command over the available force, was taken up with his own +schemes on the crown of Castile, and not inclined to find work for the +military force of the country elsewhere. The truce, therefore, was +cordially ratified; bygones were counted bygones; and the French +adventurers bade a kindly farewell to their brethren-in-arms, and +crossed the seas homewards. + +Driven from their course, and landing at the Brille, they narrowly +escaped hanging at the hands of the boorish cultivators of the swamp; +and after adventures which would make good raw materials for several +novels, they reached Paris. + +There they explained to their own court how they found that the great +enemy of France had, at the opposite extremity of his dominions, a nest +of fighting fiends, who wanted only their help in munitions of war to +enable them to rush on the vital parts of his dominions with all the +fell ferocity of men falling on their bitterest feudal enemy. Thus could +France, having under consideration the cost and peril of gallying an +invading army across the Straits, by money and management, do far more +damage to the enemy than any French invading expedition was likely to +accomplish. + +In an hour which did not prove propitious to France, a resolution was +adopted to invade England at both ends. Even before the truce was at an +end, the forges of Henault and Picardy were hard at work making +battle-axes; and all along the coast, from Harfleur to Sluys, there was +busy baking of biscuits and purveyance of provender. Early in spring an +expedition of a thousand men-at-arms, with their followers, put to sea +under John of Vienne, the Admiral of France, and arrived at Leith, +making a voyage which must have been signally prosperous, if we may +judge by the insignificance of the chief casualty on record concerning +it. In those days, as in the present, it appears that adventurous young +gentlemen on shipboard were apt to attempt feats for which their land +training did not adapt them—in nautical phrase, “to swing on all top +ropes.” A hopeful youth chose to perform such a feat in his armour, and +with the most natural of all results. “The knight was young and active, +and, to show his agility, he mounted aloft by the ropes of his ship, +completely armed; but his feet slipping he fell into the sea, and the +weight of his armour, which sank him instantly, deprived him of any +assistance, for the ship was soon at a distance from the place where he +had fallen.” + +The expedition soon found itself to be a mistake. In fact, to send +fighting men to Scotland was just to supply the country with that +commodity in which it superabounded. The great problem was how to find +food for the stalwart sons of the soil, and arms to put in their hands +when fighting was necessary. A percentage of the cost and labour of the +expedition, spent in sending money or munitions of war, would have done +better service. The scene before the adventurers was in lamentable +contrast to all that custom had made familiar to them. There were none +of the comfortable chateaux, the abundant markets, the carpets, down +beds, and rich hangings which gladdened their expeditions to the Low +Countries, whether they went as friends or foes. Nor was the same place +for _them_ in Scotland, which the Scots so readily found in France, +where a docile submissive peasantry only wanted vigorous and adventurous +masters. “The lords and their men,” says Froissart, “lodged themselves +as well as they could in Edinburgh, and those who could not lodge there +were quartered in the different villages thereabout. Edinburgh, +notwithstanding that it is the residence of the king, and is the Paris +of Scotland, is not such a town as Tournay and Valenciennes, for there +are not in the whole town four thousand houses. Several of the French +lords were therefore obliged to take up their lodgings in the +neighbouring villages, and at Dunfermline, Kelso, Dunbar, Dalkeith, and +in other towns.” When they had exhausted the provender brought with +them, these children of luxury had to endure the miseries of sordid +living, and even the pinch of hunger. They tried to console themselves +with the reflection that they had, at all events, an opportunity of +experiencing a phase of life which their parents had endeavoured +theoretically to impress upon them, in precepts to be thankful to the +Deity for the good things which they enjoyed, but which might not always +be theirs in a transitory world. They had been warned by the first +little band of adventurers that Scotland was not rich; yet the intense +poverty of the country whence so many daring adventurers had gone over +to ruffle it with the flower of European chivalry, astonished and +appalled them. Of the extreme and special nature of the poverty of +Scotland, the great war against the English invaders was the cause. It +has been estimated, indeed, by those devoted to such questions, that +Scotland did not recover fully from the ruin caused by that conflict +until the Union made her secure against her ambitious neighbour. It was +the crisis referred to in that pathetic ditty, the earliest specimen of +our lyrical poetry, when + + “Away was sonse of ale and bread, + Of wine and wax, of gaming and glee; + Our gold was changed into lead; + Cryst borne into virginity. + Succour poor Scotland and remede, + That stad is in perplexity.” + +It is not sufficiently known how much wealth and prosperity existed in +Scotland before King Edward trod its soil. Berwick, the chief commercial +port, had commerce with half the world, and bade fair to rival Ghent, +Rotterdam, and the other great mercantile cities of the Low Country. +Antiquarians have lately pointed to a sad and significant testimony to +the change of times. Of the ecclesiastical remains of Scotland, the +finest are either in the Norman, or the early English which preceded the +Edwards. These are the buildings of a noted and munificent people; they +rival the corresponding establishments in England, and are in the same +style as the work of nations having common interests and +sympathies—indeed the same architects seem to have worked in both +countries. At the time when the Gothic architecture of England merged +into the type called the Second Pointed, there ceased to be +corresponding specimens in Scotland. A long period, indeed, elapses +which has handed down to us no vestiges of church architecture in +Scotland, or only a few too trifling to possess any distinctive +character. When works of Gothic art begin again to arise with the +reviving wealth of the people, they are no longer of the English type, +but follow that flamboyant style which had been adopted by the +ecclesiastical builders of the country with which Scotland had most +concern—her steady patron and protector, France.[7] + +The poverty of the Scots proceeded from a cause of which they need not +have been ashamed; yet, with the reserve and pride ever peculiar to +them, they hated that it should be seen by their allies, and when these +showed any indications of contempt or derision, the natives were stung +to madness. Froissart renders very picturesquely the common talk about +the strangers, thus:—“What devil has brought them here? or, who has sent +for them? Cannot we carry on our wars with England without their +assistance? We shall never do any good as long as they are with us. Let +them be told to go back again, for we are sufficient in Scotland to +fight our own battles, and need not their aid. We neither understand +their language nor they ours, so that we cannot converse together. They +will very soon cut up and destroy all we have in this country, and will +do more harm if we allow them to remain among us than the English could +in battle. If the English do burn our houses, what great matter is it to +us? We can rebuild them at little cost, for we require only three days +to do so, so that we but have five or six poles, with boughs to cover +them.” + +The French knights, accustomed to abject submission among their own +peasantry, were loth to comprehend the fierce independence of the Scots +common people, and were ever irritating them into bloody reprisals. A +short sentence of Froissart’s conveys a world of meaning on this +specialty: “Besides, whenever their servants went out to forage, they +were indeed permitted to load their horses with as much as they could +pack up and carry, but they were waylaid on their return, and +villanously beaten, robbed, and sometimes slain, insomuch that no varlet +dare go out foraging for fear of death. In one month the French lost +upwards of a hundred varlets; for when three or four went out foraging, +not one returned, in such a hideous manner were they treated.” As we +have seen, a not unusual incident of purveying in France was, that the +husbandman was hung up by the heels and roasted before his own fire +until he disgorged his property. The Scots peasantry had a decided +prejudice against such a process, and, being accustomed to defend +themselves from all oppression, resisted even that of their allies, to +the extreme astonishment and wrath of those magnificent gentlemen. There +is a sweet unconsciousness in Froissart’s indignant denunciation of the +robbing of the purveyors, which meant the pillaged peasantry recovering +their own goods. But the chronicler was of a thorough knightly nature, +and deemed the peasantry of a country good for nothing but to be used +up. Hence, in his wrath, he says: “In Scotland you will never find a man +of worth; they are like savages, who wish not to be acquainted with any +one, and are too envious of the good fortune of others, and suspicious +of losing anything themselves, for their country is very poor. When the +English make inroads thither, as they have very frequently done, they +order their provisions, if they wish to live, to follow close at their +backs; for nothing is to be had in that country without great +difficulty. There is neither iron to shoe horses, nor leather to make +harness, saddles, or bridles; all these things come ready made from +Flanders by sea; and should these fail, there is none to be had in the +country.” What a magnificent contrast to such a picture is the present +relative condition of Scotland and the Low Countries! and yet these have +not suffered any awful reverse of fortune—they have merely abided in +stagnant respectability. + +It must be remembered, in estimating the chronicler’s pungent remarks +upon our poor ancestors, that he was not only a worshipper of rank and +wealth, but thoroughly English in his partialities, magnifying the feats +in arms of the great enemies of his own country. The records of the +Scots Parliament of 1395 curiously confirm the inference from his +narrative, that the French were oppressive purveyors, and otherwise +unobservant of the people’s rights. An indenture, as it is termed—the +terms of a sort of compact with the strangers—appears among the records, +conspicuous among their other Latin and vernacular contents as being set +forth in French, in courtesy, of course, to the strangers. It expressly +lays down that no goods of any kind shall be taken by force, under pain +of death, and none shall be received without being duly paid for—the +dealers having free access to come and go. There are regulations, too, +for suppressing broils by competent authority, and especially for +settling questions between persons of unequal degrees; a remedy for the +French practice, which left the settlement entirely with the superior. +This document is one of many showing that, in Scotland, there were +arrangements for protecting the personal freedom of the humbler classes, +and their rights of property, the fulness of which is little known, +because the like did not exist in other countries, and those who have +written philosophical treatises on the feudal system, or on the progress +of Europe from barbarism to civilisation, have generally lumped all the +countries of Europe together. The sense of personal freedom seems to +have been rather stronger in Scotland than in England; it was such as +evidently to astound the French knights. At the end of the affair, +Froissart expresses this surprise in his usual simple and expressive +way. After a second or third complaint of the unreasonable condition +that his countrymen should pay for the victuals they consumed, he goes +on, “The Scots said the French had done them more mischief than the +English;” and when asked in what manner, they replied, “By riding +through the corn, oats, and barley on their march, which they trod under +foot, not condescending to follow the roads, for which damage they would +have a recompense before they left Scotland, and they should neither +find vessel nor mariner who would dare to put to sea without their +permission.” + +Of the military events in the short war following the arrival of the +French, an outline will be found in the ordinary histories; but it was +attended by some conditions which curiously bring out the specialties of +the two nations so oddly allied. One propitiatory gift the strangers had +brought with them, which was far more highly appreciated than their own +presence; this was a thousand stand of accoutrements for men-at-arms. +They were of the highest excellence, being selected out of the store +kept in the Castle of Beauté for the use of the Parisians. When these +were distributed among the Scots knights, who were but poorly equipped, +the chronicler, as if he had been speaking of the prizes at a +Christmas-tree, tells how those who were successful and got them were +greatly delighted. The Scots did their part in their own way: they +brought together thirty thousand men, a force that drained the country +of its available manhood. But England had at that time nothing to divert +her arms elsewhere, and the policy adopted was to send northwards a +force sufficient to crush Scotland for ever. It consisted of seven +thousand mounted men-at-arms, and sixty thousand bow and bill men—a +force from three to four times as large as the armies that gained the +memorable English victories in France. Of these, Agincourt was still to +come off, but Crecy and Poictiers were over, along with many other +affairs that might have taught the French a lesson. The Scots, too, had +suffered two great defeats—Neville’s Cross and Halidon Hill—since their +great national triumph. The impression made on each country by their +experiences brought out their distinct national characteristics. The +French knights were all ardour and impatience; they clamoured to be at +the enemy without ascertaining the amount or character of his force. The +wretched internal wars of their own country had taught them to look on +the battle-field as the arena of reason in personal conflict, rather +than the great tribunal in which the fate of nations was to be decided, +and communities come forth freed or enslaved. + +To the Scots, on the other hand, the affair was one of national life or +death, and they would run no risks for distinction’s sake. Picturesque +accounts have often been repeated of a scene where Douglas, or some +other Scots leader, brought the Admiral to an elevated spot whence he +could see and estimate the mighty host of England; but the most +picturesque of all the accounts is the original by Froissart, of which +the others are parodies. The point in national tactics brought out by +this incident is the singular recklessness with which the French must +have been accustomed to do battle. In total ignorance of the force he +was to oppose, and not seeking to know aught concerning it, the +Frenchman’s voice was still for war. When made to see with his own eyes +what he had to encounter, he was as reluctant as his companions to risk +the issue of a battle, but not so fertile in expedients for carrying on +the war effectively without one. The policy adopted was to clear the +country before the English army as it advanced, and carry everything +portable and valuable within the recesses of the mountain-ranges, +whither the inhabitants not fit for military service went with their +effects. A desert being thus opened for the progress of the invaders, +they were left to wander in it unmolested while the Scots army went in +the opposite direction, and crossed the Border southwards. Thus the +English army found Scotland empty—the Scots army found England full. The +one wore itself out in a fruitless march, part of it straggling, it was +said, as far as Aberdeen, and returned thinned and starving, while the +other was only embarrassed by the burden of its plunder. Much +destruction there was, doubtless, on both sides, but it fell heaviest +where there was most to destroy, and gratified at last in some measure +the French, who “said among themselves they had burned in the bishoprics +of Durham and Carlisle more than the value of all the towns in the +kingdom of Scotland.” But havoc does not make wealth, and whether or not +the Scots knew better from experience how to profit by such +opportunities, the French, when they returned northward, were starving. +Their object now was to get out of the country as fast as they could. +Froissart, with a touch of dry humour, explains that their allies had no +objection to speed the exit of the poorer knights, but resolved to hold +the richer and more respectable in a sort of pawn for the damage which +the expedition had inflicted on the common people. The Admiral asked his +good friends the Lords Douglas and Moray to put a stop to these demands; +but these good knights were unable to accommodate their brethren in this +little matter, and the Admiral was obliged to give effectual pledges +from his Government for the payment of the creditors. There is something +in all this that seems utterly unchivalrous and even ungenerous; but it +had been well for France had Froissart been able to tell a like story of +her peasantry. It merely shows us that our countrymen of that day were +of those who “knew their rights, and, knowing, dared maintain them;” and +was but a demonstration on a humbler, and, if you will, more sordid +shape, of the same spirit that had swept away the Anglo-Norman invaders. +The very first act which their chronicler records concerning his +knightly friends, after he has exhausted his wrath against the hard and +mercenary Scot, is thoroughly suggestive. Some of the knights tried +other fields of adventure, “but the greater number returned to France, +and were so poor they knew not how to remount themselves, especially +those from Burgundy, Champagne, Bar, and Lorraine, _who seized the +labouring horses wherever they found them in the fields_,” so impatient +were they to regain their freedom of action. + +So ended this affair, with the aspect of evil auspices for the alliance. +The adventurers returned “cursing Scotland, and the hour they had set +foot there. They said they had never suffered so much in any expedition, +and wished the King of France would make a truce with the English for +two or three years, and then march to Scotland and utterly destroy it; +for never had they seen such wicked people, nor such ignorant hypocrites +and traitors.” But the impulsive denunciation of the disappointed +adventurers was signally obliterated in the history of the next +half-century. Ere many more years had passed over them, that day of +awful trial was coming when France had to lean on the strong arm of her +early ally; and, in fact, some of the denouncers lived to see +adventurers from the sordid land of their contempt and hatred commanding +the armies of France, and owning her broad lordships. It was, in fact, +just after the return of Vienne’s expedition, that the remarkable +absorption of Scotsmen into the aristocracy of France, referred to in +our preceding paper, began to set in. + +This episode of the French expedition to Scotland, small though its +place is in the annals of Europe, yet merits the consideration of the +thoughtful historian, in affording a significant example of the real +causes of the misery and degradation of France at that time, and the +wonderful victories of the English kings. Chivalry, courage, the love of +enterprise, high spirit in all forms, abounded to superfluity among the +knightly orders, but received no solid support from below. The mounted +steel-clad knights of the period, in the highest physical condition, +afraid of nothing on the earth or beyond it, and burning for triumph and +fame, could perform miraculous feats of strength and daring; but all +passed off in wasted effort and vain rivalry, when there was wanting the +bold peasantry, who, with their buff jerkins, and their bills and bows, +or short Scottish spears, were the real force by which realms were held +or gained. + +The next affair in which M. Michel notes his countrymen as present among +us, was a very peculiar and exceptional one, with features only too like +those which were such a scandal to the social condition of France. It +was that great battle or tournament on the North Inch of Perth, where +opposite Highland factions, called the clan Quhele and clan Chattan, +were pitted against each other, thirty to thirty—an affair, the darker +colours of which are lighted up by the eccentric movements of the Gow +Chrom, or bandy-legged smith of Perth, who took the place of a defaulter +in one of the ranks, to prevent the spectacle of the day from being +spoilt. That such a contest should have been organised to take place in +the presence of the king and court, under solemnities and regulations +like some important ordeal, has driven historical speculators to +discover what deep policy for the pacification or subjugation of the +Highlands lay behind it. The feature that gives it a place in M. +Michel’s book, is the briefest possible notification by one of the +chroniclers, that a large number of Frenchmen and other strangers were +present at the spectacle. This draws us back from the mysterious arcana +of political intrigue to find a mere showy pageant, got up to enliven +the hours of idle mirth—an act, in short, of royal hospitality—a show +cunningly adapted to the tastes of the age, yet having withal the +freshness of originality, being a renaissance kind of combination of the +gladiatorial conflict of the Roman circus with the tournament of +chivalry. The Highlanders were, in fact, the human raw material which a +king of Scots could in that day employ, so far as their nature suited, +for the use or the amusement of his guests. Them, and them only among +his subjects, could he use as the Empire used the Transalpine +barbarian—“butchered to make a Roman holiday.” The treatment of the Celt +is the blot in that period of our history. Never in later times has the +Red Indian or Australian native been more the hunted wild beast to the +emigrant settler, than the Highlander was to his neighbour the +Lowlander. True, he was not easily got at, and, when reached, he was +found to have tusks. They were a people never permitted to be at rest +from external assault; yet such was their nature that, instead of being +pressed by a common cause into compact union, they were divided into +communities that hated each other almost more bitterly than the common +enemy. This internal animosity has suggested that the king wanted two +factions to exterminate each other as it were symbolically, and accept +the result of a combat between two bodies of chosen champions, as if +there had been an actual stricken field, with all the able-bodied men on +both sides engaged in it. It was quite safe to calculate that when the +representatives of the two contending factions were set face to face on +the green sward, they would fly at each other’s throats, and afford in +an abundant manner to the audience whatever delectation might arise from +an intensely bloody struggle. But, on the other hand, to expect the +Highlanders to be fools enough to accept this sort of symbolical +extinction of their quarrel was too preposterous a deduction for any +practical statesman. They had no notion of leaving important issues to +the event of single combat, or any of the other preposterous rules of +chivalry, but slew their enemies where they could, and preferred doing +so secretly, and without risk to themselves, when that was practicable. + +As we read on the history of the two countries, France and Scotland, we +shall find the national friendship which had arisen in their common +adversity gradually and almost insensibly changing its character. The +strong current of migration from Scotland which had set in during the +latter period of the hundred years’ war stopped almost abruptly. +Scotsmen were still hired as soldiers—sometimes got other +appointments—and, generally speaking, were received with hospitality; +but in Louis XI.’s reign, the time had passed when they were accepted in +the mass as a valuable contribution to the aristocracy of France, and +forthwith invested with titles and domains. The families that had thus +settled down remembered the traditions of their origin, but had no +concern with Scotland, and were thoroughly French, nationally and +socially. France, too, was aggregating into a compact nationality, to +which her sons could attach themselves with some thrill of patriotic +pride. She made a great stride onward both in nationality and prosperity +during the reign of that hard, greedy, penurious, crafty, superstitious +hypocrite, Louis XI. By a sort of slow corroding process he ate out, bit +by bit, the powers and tyrannies that lay between his own and the +people. Blood, even the nearest, was to him nowise thicker than water, +so he did not, like his predecessors, let royal relations pick up what +territorial feudatories dropped; he took all to himself, and, taking it +to himself, it became that French empire which was to be inherited by +Francis I., Louis XIV., and even the Napoleons; for he seems to have had +the principal hand in jointing and fitting in the subordinate machinery +of that centralisation which proved compact enough in its details to be +put together again after the smash of the Revolution, and which has +proved itself as yet the only system under which France can flourish. + +Scotland was, at the same time, rising under a faint sunshine of +prosperity—a sort of reflection of that enjoyed by France. The +connection of the poor with the rich country was becoming ever more +close, but at the same time it was acquiring an unwholesome character. +The two could not fuse into each other as England and Scotland did; and, +for all the pride of the Scots, and their strong hold over France, as +the advanced-guard mounted upon England, the connection could not but +lapse into a sort of clientage—the great nation being the patron, the +small nation the dependant. Whether for good or evil, France infused +into Scotland her own institutions, which, being those of the Roman +Empire, as practised throughout the Christian nations of the Continent, +made Scotsmen free of those elements of social communion, that _amitas +gentium_, from which England excluded herself in sulky pride. This is +visible, or rather audible, at the present day, in the Greek and Latin +of the Scotsmen of the old school, who can make themselves understood +all over the world; while the English pronunciation, differing from that +of the nations which have preserved the chief deposits of the classic +languages in their own, must as assuredly differ from the way in which +these were originally spoken. The Englishman disdained the universal +Justinian jurisprudence, and would be a law unto himself, which he +called, with an affectation of humility, “The Common Law.” It is full, +no doubt, of patches taken out of the ‘Corpus Juris,’ but, far from +their source being acknowledged, the civilians are never spoken of by +the common lawyers but to be railed at and denounced; and when great +draughts on the Roman system were found absolutely necessary to keep the +machine of justice in motion, these were entirely elbowed out of the way +by common law, and had to form themselves into a separate machinery of +their own, called Equity. Scotland, on the other hand, received +implicitly from her leader in civilisation the great body of the civil +law, as collected and arranged by the most laborious of all labouring +editors, Denis Godefroi. We brought over also an exact facsimile of the +French system of public prosecution for crime, from the great state +officer at the head of the system to the Procureurs du Roi. It is still +in full practice and eminently useful; but it is an arrangement that, to +be entirely beneficial, needs to be surrounded by constitutional +safeguards; and though there has been much pressure of late to establish +it in England, one cannot be surprised that it was looked askance at +while the great struggles for fixing the constitution were in progress. + +The practice of the long-forgotten States-General of France was an +object of rather anxious inquiry at the reassembling of that body in +1789, after they had been some four centuries and a half in a state of +adjournment or dissolution. The investigations thus occasioned brought +out many peculiarities which were in practical observance in Scotland +down to the Union. All the world has read of that awful crisis arising +out of the question whether the Estates should vote collectively or +separately. Had the question remained within the bounds of reason and +regulation, instead of being virtually at the issue of the sword, much +instructive precedent would have been obtained for its settlement by an +examination of the proceedings of that Parliament of Scotland which +adjusted the Union—an exciting matter also, yet, to the credit of our +country, discussed with perfect order, and obedience to rules of +practice which, derived from the custom of the old States-General of +France, were rendered pliant and adaptable by such a long series of +practical adaptations as the country of their nativity was not permitted +to witness. + +There was a very distinct adaptation of another French institution of +later origin, when the Court of Session was established in 1533. Before +that, the king’s justices administered the law somewhat as in England, +but there was an appeal to Parliament; and as that body did its judicial +work by committees, these became virtually the supreme courts of the +realm. If the reader wants to have assurance that there is something +really sound in this information, by receiving it in the current coin of +its appropriate technicalities, let him commit to memory that the chief +standing committee was named that of the _Domini auditorii ad querelas_. +When he uses that term, nobody will question the accuracy of what he +says. The Court of Session, established to supersede this kind of +tribunal, was exactly a French parliament—a body exercising appellate +judicial functions, along with a few others of a legislative +character—few in this country, but in France sufficiently extensive to +render the assembling of the proper Parliament of the land and the +States-General unnecessary for all regal purposes. + +In other institutions—the universities, for instance—we find not merely +the influence of French example, but an absolute importation of the +whole French structure and discipline. The University of King’s College +in Aberdeen was constructed on the model of the great University of +Paris. Its founder, Bishop Elphinston, had taught there for many years; +so had its first principal, Hector Boece, the most garrulous and +credulous of historians. The transition from the Paris to the Aberdeen +of that day, must have been a descent not to be estimated by the present +relative condition of the two places; and one cannot be surprised to +find Hector saying that he was seduced northwards by gifts and promises. +It is probable that we would find fewer actual living remnants of the +old institution in Paris itself than in the northern imitation. There +may be yet found the offices of regent and censor, for the qualities of +which one must search in the mighty folios of _Bullæus_. There survives +the division into nations—the type of the unlimited hospitality of the +university as a place where people of all nations assembled to drink at +the fountain of knowledge. There also the youth who flashes forth, for +the first time, in his scarlet plumage, is called a _bejeant_, not +conscious, perhaps, that the term was used to the first-session students +of the French universities hundreds of years ago, and that it is derived +by the learned from _bec jaune_, or yellow nib. If the reader is of a +sentimentally domestic turn, he may find in the term the conception of +an _alma mater_, shielding the innocent brood from surrounding dangers; +and if he be knowing and sarcastic, he may suppose it to refer to a +rawness and amenability to be trotted out, expressed in the present day +by the synonymous _freshman_ and _greenhorn_. + +There is a still more distinct stamp of a French type, in the +architecture of our country, so entirely separate from the English +style, in the flamboyant Gothic of the churches, and the rocket-topped +turrets of the castles; but on this specialty we shall not here enlarge, +having, in some measure, examined it several years ago.[8] It was not +likely that all these, with many other practices, should be imported +into the nation, however gradually, without the people having a +consciousness that they were foreign. They were not established without +the aid of men, showing, by their air and ways, that they and their +practices were alike alien. He, however, who gave the first flagrant +offence, in that way, to the national feeling, was a descendant of one +of the emigrant Scots of the fifteenth century, and by blood and rank +closely allied to the Scottish throne, although every inch a Frenchman. + +To watch in history the action and counteraction of opposing forces +which have developed some grand result, yet by a slight and not +improbable impulse the other way might have borne towards an opposite +conclusion equally momentous, is an interesting task, with something in +it of the excitement of the chase. In pursuing the traces which bring +Scotland back to her English kindred, and saved her from a permanent +annexation to France, the arrival of John Duke of Albany in Scotland, in +1515, is a critical turning-point. Already had the seed of the union +with England been planted when James IV. got for a wife the daughter of +Henry VII. Under the portrait of this sagacious king, Bacon wrote the +mysterious motto—_Cor regis inscrutabile_. It would serve pleasantly to +lighten up and relieve a hard and selfish reputation, if one could +figure him, in the depths of his own heart, assuring himself of having +entered in the books of fate a stroke of policy that at some date, +however distant, was destined to appease the long bloody contest of two +rival nations, and unite them into a compact and mighty empire. The +prospects of such a consummation were at first anything but encouraging. +The old love broke in counteracting the prudential policy; and, indeed, +never did besotted lover abandon himself to wilder folly than James IV., +when, at the bidding of Anne of France as the lady of his chivalrous +worship, he resolved to be her true knight, and take three steps into +English ground. When a chivalrous freak, backed by a few political +irritations scarce less important, strewed the moor of Flodden with the +flower of the land, it was time for Scotland to think over the +rationality of this distant alliance, which deepened and perpetuated her +feud with her close neighbour of kindred blood. Well for him, the good, +easy, frank, chivalrous monarch, that he was buried in the ruin he had +made, and saw not the misery of a desolated nation. Of the totally alien +object for which all the mischief had been done, there was immediate +evidence in various shapes. One curious little item of it is brought out +by certain researches of M. Michel, which have also a significant +bearing on the conflict between the secular and the papal power in the +disposal of benefices. The Pope, Julius II., was anxious to gain over to +his interest Mathew Lang, bishop of Gorz, and secretary to the Emperor +Maximilian, who was called to Rome and blessed by the vision of a +cardinal’s hat, and the papal influence in the first high promotion that +might open. The archbishopric of Bourges became vacant. The chapter +elected one of our old friends of the Scots emigrant families, Guillaume +de Monypeny, brother of the Lord of Concressault; but the King, Louis +XII., at first stood out for Brillac, bishop of Orleans, resisted by the +chapter. The bishop of Gorz then came forward with a force sufficient to +sweep away both candidates. He was favoured of the Pope: his own master, +Maximilian, desired for his secretary this foreign benefice, which would +cost himself nothing; and Louis found somehow that the bishop was as +much his own humble servant as the Emperor’s. No effect of causes +sufficient seemed in this world more assured than that Mathew Lang, +bishop of Gorz, should also be archbishop of Bourges; but the fortune of +war rendered it before his collation less important to have the bishop +of Gorz in the archiepiscopate than another person. The King laid his +hand again on the chapter, and required them to postulate one whose name +and condition must have seemed somewhat strange to them—Andrew Forman, +bishop of Moray, in the north of Scotland. There are reasons for all +things. Forman was ambassador from Scotland to France, and thus had +opportunities of private communication with James IV. and Louis XII. +This latter, in a letter to the Chapter of Bourges, explains his signal +obligations to Forman for having seconded the allurements of the Queen, +and instigated the King of Scots to make war against England, explaining +how _icelui, Roy d’Escosse s’est ouvertement declaré vouloir tenir +nostre party et faire la guerre actuellement contre le Roy +d’Angleterre_. Lest the chapter should doubt the accuracy of this +statement of the services performed to France by Forman, the King sent +them _le double des lectres que le dict Roy d’Escosse nous a escriptes +et aussi de la defiance q’il a fait au dict Roy d’Angleterre_. The King +pleaded hard with the chapter to postulate Forman, representing that +they could not find a better means of securing his own countenance and +protection. The Scotsman backed this royal appeal by a persuasive +letter, which he signed Andrè, _Arcevesque de Bourges et Evesque de +Morray_. Influence was brought to bear on the Pope himself, and he +declared his leaning in favour of Forman. The members of the chapter, +who had been knocked about past endurance in the affair of the +archbishopric from first to last, threatened resistance and martyrdom; +but the pressure of the powers combined against them brought them to +reason, and Forman entered Bourges in archiepiscopal triumph. But the +ups and downs of the affair were as yet by no means at an end. That +great pontiff, who never forgot that the head of the Church was a +temporal prince, Leo X., had just ascended the throne, and found that it +would be convenient to have this archbishopric of Bourges for his +nephew, Cardinal Abo. By good luck the see of St Andrews, the primacy of +Scotland, was then vacant, and was given as an equivalent for the French +dignity. Such a promotion was a symbolically appropriate reward for the +services of Forman; his predecessor fell at Flodden, and thus, in his +services to the King of France, he had made a vacancy for himself. He +had for some time in his pocket, afraid to show it, the Pope’s bull +appointing him Archbishop of St Andrews and Primate of Scotland. This +was a direct act of interference contrary to law and custom, since the +function of the Pope was only to collate or confirm, as ecclesiastical +superior, the choice made by the local authorities. These had their +favourite for the appointment, Prior Hepburn, who showed his earnestness +in his own cause by taking and holding the Castle of St Andrews. A +contest of mingled ecclesiastical and civil elements, too complex to be +disentangled, followed; but in the end Forman triumphed, having on his +side the efforts of the King of France and his servant Albany, with the +Pope’s sense of justice. The rewards of this highly endowed divine were +the measure alike of his services to France and of his injuries to +Scotland. He held, by the way, _in commendam_, a benefice in England; +and as he had a good deal of diplomatic business with Henry VIII., it +may not uncharitably be supposed that he sought to feather his hat with +English as well as French plumage. It was in the midst of these affairs, +which were bringing out the dangerous and disastrous elements in the +French alliance, that Albany arrived. + +Albany’s father, the younger brother of James III., had lived long in +France, got great lordships there, and thoroughly assimilated himself to +the Continental system. He married Anne de la Tour, daughter of the +Count of Auvergne and Boulogne, of a half princely family, which became +afterwards conspicuous by producing Marshal Turenne, and at a later +period the eccentric grenadier, Latour d’Auvergne, who, in homage to +republican principles, would not leave the subaltern ranks in Napoleon’s +army, and became more conspicuous by remaining there than many who +escaped from that level to acquire wealth and power. The sister of Anne +de la Tour married Lorenzo de Medici, Duke of Urbino. From this +connection Albany was the uncle of Catherine de Medici, the renowned +Queen of France, and, in fact, was the nearest relative, who, as folks +used to say in this country, “gave her away” to Henry II. On this +occasion he got a cardinal’s hat for Philip de la Chambre, his mother’s +son by a second marriage. He lived thoroughly in the midst of the +Continental royalties of the day, and had the sort of repute among them +that may be acquired by a man of great influence and connection, whose +capacity has never been tried by any piece of critical business—a repute +that comes to persons in a certain position by a sort of process of +gravitation. Brave he seems to have been, like all his race, and he +sometimes held even important commands. He accompanied his friend, +Francis I., in his unfortunate raid into Italy in 1525, and was +fortunately and honourably clear of that bad business, the battle of +Pavia, by being then in command of a detachment sent against Naples. + +There are men who, when they shift their place and function, can +assimilate themselves to the changed conditions around them—who can find +themselves surrounded by unwonted customs and ways, and yet accept the +condition that the men who follow these are pursuing the normal +condition of their being, and must be left to do so in peace, otherwise +harm will come of it; and in this faculty consists the instinct which +enables men to govern races alien to their own. Albany did not possess +it. He appears to have been ignorant of the language of Scotland, and to +have thought or rather felt that, wherever he was, all should be the +same as in the midst of Italian and French courtiers; and if it were not +so, something was wrong, and should be put right. It was then the +commencement of a very luxurious age in France—an age of rich and showy +costumes, of curls, perfumes, cosmetics, and pet spaniels—and Albany was +the leader of fashion in all such things. It is needless to say how +powerfully all this contrasted with rough Scotland—what a shocking set +of barbarians he found himself thrown among—how contemptible to the +rugged Scots nobles was the effeminate Oriental luxury of the little +court he imported from Paris, shifted northwards as some wealthy +luxurious sportsman takes a detachment from his stable, kennel, and +servants’ hall, to a bothy in the Highlands. + +He arrived, however, in a sort of sunshine. At that calamitous moment +the nearest relation of the infant king, a practised statesman, was +heartily welcome. He brought a small rather brilliant fleet with him, +which was dignified by his high office as Admiral of France; he brought +also some money and valuable trifles, which were not inacceptable. Wood, +in his ‘Peerage,’ tells us that “The peers and chiefs crowded to his +presence: his exotic elegance of manners, his condescension, affability, +and courtesy of demeanour, won all hearts.” If so, these were not long +retained. He came, indeed, just before some tangible object was wanted +against which to direct the first sulky feelings of the country towards +France; and he served the purpose exactly, for his own handiwork was the +cause of that feeling. In a new treaty between France and England, in +which he bore a great if not the chief part, Scotland was for the first +time treated as a needy and troublesome hanger-on of France. Instead of +the old courtesy, which made Scotland, nominally at least, an +independent party to the treaty, it was made directly by France, but +Scotland was comprehended in it, with a warning that if there were any +of the old raids across the Border, giving trouble as they had so often +done, the Scots should forfeit their part in the treaty. This patronage +during good behaviour roused the old pride, and was one of many symptoms +that Albany had come to them less as the representative of their own +independent line of kings, than as the administrator of a distant +province of the French empire. The humiliation was all the more bitter +from the deep resentments that burned in the people’s hearts after the +defeat of Flodden, and it was with difficulty that the Estates brought +themselves to say that, though Scotland believed herself able +single-handed to avenge her losses, yet, out of respect for the old +friendship of France, the country would consent to peace with England. + +Setting to work after the manner of one possessed of the same supreme +authority as the King of France, Albany began his government with an air +of rigour, insomuch that the common historians speak of him as having +resolved to suppress the turbulent spirit of the age, and assert the +supremacy of law and order. He thus incurred the reputation of a +grasping tyrant. The infant brother of the king died suddenly; his +mother said Albany had poisoned the child, and people shuddered for his +brother, now standing alone between the Regent and the throne, and +talked ominously of the manner in which Richard III. of England was +popularly believed to have achieved the crown by murdering his nephews. +It is from this period that we may date the rise of a really English +party in Scotland—a party who feared the designs of the French, and who +thought that, after having for two hundred years maintained her +independence, Scotland might with fair honour be combined with the +country nearest to her and likest in blood, should the succession to +both fall to one prince, and that it would be judicious to adjust the +royal alliances in such a manner as to bring that to pass. Such thoughts +were in the mean time somewhat counteracted by the lightheaded doings of +her who was the nation’s present tie to England—the Queen-Dowager—whose +grotesque and flagrant love-affairs are an amusing episode, especially +to those who love the flavour of ancient scandal; while all gracious +thoughts that turned themselves towards England were met in the teeth by +the insults and injuries which her savage brother, Henry VIII., +continued to pile upon the country. + +Up to this point it does not happen to us to have noted instances of +offices of emolument in Scotland given to Frenchmen, and the fuss made +about one instance of the kind leads to the supposition that they must +have been rare. Dunbar the poet, who was in priest’s orders, was +exceedingly clamorous in prose and in verse—in the serious and in the +comic vein—for preferment. Perhaps he was the kind of person whom it is +as difficult to prefer in the Church as it was to make either Swift or +Sydney Smith a bishop. His indignation was greatly roused by the +appointment of a foreigner whom he deemed beset by his own special +failings, but in far greater intensity, to the abbacy of Tungland; and +he committed his griefs to a satirical poem, called ‘The fenyet Freir of +Tungland.’ The object of this poem has been set down by historians as an +Italian, but M. Michel indicates him as a countryman of his own, by the +name of Jean Damien. He is called a charlatan, quack, and mountebank, +and might, perhaps, with equal accuracy, be called a devotee of natural +science, who speculated ingeniously and experimented boldly. He was in +search of the philosopher’s stone, and believed himself to be so close +on its discovery that he ventured to embark the money of King James IV., +and such other persons as participated in his own faith, in the +adventure to realise the discovery, and saturate all the partners in +riches indefinite. This was a speculation of a kind in which many men of +that age indulged; and they were men not differing from others except in +their scientific attainments, adventurous propensities, and sanguine +temperaments. The class still exists among us, though dealing rather in +iron than gold; as if we had in the history of speculation, from the +alchemists down to Capel Court, something that has been prophesied in +that beautiful mythological sequence liked so much at all schools, +beginning— + + “Aurea prima sata est ætas, quæ vindice nullo + Sponte sua sine lege fidem rectumque colebat.” + +It might be a fair question whether the stranger’s science is so +obsolete as the style of literature in which he is attacked, since +Dunbar’s satirical poem, among other minor indications of a character +unsuited to the higher offices in the Christian ministry, insinuates +that the adventurer committed several murders; and although, the charge +is made in a sort of rough jocularity, the force of it does not by any +means rest on its absurdity and incredibility. He was accused of a mad +project for extracting gold from the Wanlockhead Hills, in +Dumfriesshire, which cannot be utterly scorned in the present day, since +gold has actually been extracted from them, though, the process has not +returned twenty shillings to the pound. This curious creature completed +his absurdities by the construction of a pair of wings, with which he +was to take a delightful aerial excursion to his native country. He +proved his sincerity by starting in full feather from Stirling Castle. +In such affairs it is, as Madame du Deffaud said about that walk taken +by St Denis round Paris with his own head for a burden, _le premier pas +qui coute_. The poor adventurer tumbled at once, and was picked up with +a broken thigh-bone. Such is the only Frenchman who became conspicuous +before Albany’s time as holding rank and office in Scotland. + +Albany had not long rubbed on with the Scots Estates when he found that +he really must go to Paris, and as there seems to have been no business +concerning Scotland that he could transact there, an uncontrollable +yearning to be once more in his own gay world is the only motive we can +find for his trip. The Estates of Scotland were in a surly humour, and +not much inclined to allow him his holidays. They appointed a council of +regency to act for him. He, however, as if he knew nothing about the +constitutional arrangements in Scotland, appointed a sort of +representative, who cannot have known more about the condition and +constitution of Scotland than his constituent, though he had been one of +the illustrious guests present at the marriage of James IV. He was +called by Pitscottie ‘Monsieur Tilliebattie,’ but his full name was +Antoine d’Arces de la Bastie, and he had been nicknamed or +distinguished, as the case might be, as the Chevalier Blanc, or White +Knight, like the celebrated Joannes Corvinus, the Knight of Wallachia, +whose son became king of Hungary. M. Michel calls him the “_chivalresque +et brillant La Bastie, chez qui le guerrier et l’homme d’état etaient +encore supérieurs au champion des tournois_.” He was a sort of fanatic +for the old principle of chivalry, then beginning to disappear before +the breath of free inquiry, and the active useful pursuits it was +inspiring. M. Michel quotes from a contemporary writer, who describes +him as perambulating Spain, Portugal, England, and France, and +proclaiming himself ready to meet all comers of sufficient rank, not +merely to break a lance in chivalrous courtesy, but _à combattre à +l’outrance_—an affair which even at that time was too important to be +entered on as a frolic, or to pass an idle hour, but really required +some serious justification. No one, it is said, accepted the challenge +but the cousin of James IV. of Scotland, who is said to have been +conquered, but not killed, as from the nature of the challenge he should +have been; but this story seems to be a mistake by the contemporary, and +M. Michel merely quotes it without committing himself. + +Such was the person left by the regent as his representative, though +apparently with no specific office or powers acknowledged by the +constitution of Scotland. Research might perhaps afford new light to +clear up the affair, but at present the only acknowledgment of his +existence, bearing anything like an official character, are entries in +the Scots treasurer’s accounts referred to by M. Michel, one of them +authorising a payment of fifteen shillings to a messenger to the warden +of the middle march, “with my lord governor’s letters delivered by +Monsr. Labawte;” another payment to his servant for summoning certain +barons and gentlemen to repair to Edinburgh; and a payment of twenty +shillings, for a service of more import, is thus entered:—“Item, +deliverit be Monsieur Lawbawtez to Johne Langlandis, letters of our +sovereign lords to summon and warn all the thieves and broken men out of +Tweeddale and Eskdale in their own country—quhilk letters were +proclaimed at market-cross of Roxburgh, Selkirk, and Jedwood.” + +This proclamation seems to have been the deadly insult which sealed his +fate. The borders had hardly yet lost their character of an independent +district, which might have merged into something like a German +margravate. There had been always some family holding a preponderating +and almost regal power there. At this time it was the Homes or Humes, a +rough set, with their hands deeply dipped in blood, who little dreamed +that their name would be known all over Europe by the fame of a fat +philosopher sitting writing in a peaceful library with a goosequill, and +totally innocent of the death of a fellow-being. It was one of Albany’s +rigorous measures to get the leaders of this clan “untopped,” to use one +of Queen Elizabeth’s amiable pleasantries. This was a thing to be +avenged; and since La Bastie was taking on himself the responsibilities +of Albany, it was thought as well that he should not evade this portion +of them. To lure him within their reach, a sort of mock fight was got up +by the borderers in the shape of the siege of one of their peel towers. +Away went La Bastie in all his bravery, dreaming, simple soul, as if he +were in Picardy or Tourain, that the mere name of royalty would at once +secure peace and submission. His eye, practised in scenes of danger, at +once saw murder in the gaze of those he had ventured among, and he set +spurs to his good horse, hoping to reach his headquarters in the strong +castle of Dunbar. The poor fellow, however, ignorant of the country, and +entirely unaided, was overtaken in a bog. It is said that he tried +cajoling, threats, and appeals to honour and chivalrous feeling. As well +speak to a herd of hungry wolves as to those grim ministers of +vengeance! The Laird of Wedderburn, a Home, enjoyed the distinction of +riding with the Frenchman’s head, tied by its perfumed tresses at his +saddle-bow, into the town of Dunse, where the trophy was nailed to the +market-cross. As old Pitscottie has it, “his enemies came upon him, and +slew and murdered him very unhonestly, and cutted off his head, and +carried it with them; and it was said that he had long hair platt over +his neck, whilk David Home of Wedderburn twust to his saddle-bow, and +keeped it.” + +This affair brought Scotland into difficulties both with England and +France. Henry VIII. professed himself displeased that a French +adventurer should have been set up as ruler in his nephew’s kingdom, and +Francis I., who had just mounted the throne of France, demanded +vengeance on the murderers of his distinguished subject, with whose +chivalrous spirit he had a congenial sympathy. There is an exceedingly +curious and suggestive correspondence between France and Scotland at the +commencement of M. Teulet’s papers, which has been aptly compared to the +papers that have been returned to Parliament by our Indian Government on +the negotiations with some wily Affghan or Scinde chief, in which +reparation is demanded for outrages on a British subject. There is much +fussy desire to comply with the demands of the great power, but ever a +difficulty, real or pretended, in getting anything done; and probably it +often is in the East, as it then was in Scotland, that the difficulty in +punishing a set of powerful culprits has a better foundation in their +power of self-defence than the government is inclined to acknowledge. +Evil days, however, for a time clouded the rising sun of France. The +battle of Pavia seemed to set her prostrate for the time; and when +Scotland, having then many inducements the other way, was reminded of +the old alliance, she answered the appeal with her old zeal. + +This article does not aspire to the dignity of history. It has dealt +chiefly with the under current, as it were, of the events connected with +the doings of the French in Scotland—the secondary incidents, which show +how the two nations got on together in their familiar intercourse. Their +intercourse, however, now developes itself in large historical features, +to which it is thought fitting to offer, in conclusion, a general +reference, merely hinting at their connection with the preceding +details. Ostensibly, and as matter of state policy, the old alliance was +so strong that it seemed as if Scotland were drifting under the lee of +France to be a mere colony or dependency of that grand empire—though +there were influences at work which, in reality, utterly defeated this +expected consummation. There was a brilliant wedding when James V. went +to bring home Madeleine of France; and was so honoured that, according +to the documents given by M. Teulet, the officers charged with the +traditions of state precedents grumbled about this prince of a northern +island, who knew no civilised language, receiving honours which had +heretofore been deemed sacred to the royal blood of France. The national +policy that held by this marriage would have had but a frail tenure, for +poor Madeleine soon drooped and died. She had said, as a girl, that she +wanted to be a queen, be the realm she ruled what it might; and so she +had a brief experience—this word seems preferable to enjoyment—of the +throne of cold uncomfortable Scotland. There was speedily another +wedding, bearing in the direction of the French alliance, for that was +still uppermost with the governing powers, whatever it might be with the +English and Protestant party daily acquiring strength among the district +leaders, nobles or lairds. It may have seemed to these, that when the +queen was no longer a daughter of France, but a young lady, the child of +one feudatory and the widow of another, with no better claim to share +the throne than her beautiful face, there was no further danger from +France. But the young queen was a Guise—one of that wonderful race who +seemed advancing onwards, not only to the supreme command of France, but +to something still greater, for they have been known in their boasting +to speak of their house being directly descended from Charlemagne. When +the daughter was Queen of France, and the mother ruled Scotland, the +time for the final annexation seemed close at hand; but, in reality, the +climax had been reached, and the French interest was near to its +downfall. While the queen-mother was taking possession of the feudal +strongholds, and placing all the high offices of state in the hands of +Frenchmen—D’Oysells, de Rubays, Villemores, and the like—in France the +proper method of governing Scotland was considered in council as a +matter of French policy; and the question was discussed whether Scotland +should have the honour of belonging to the crown of France, or should be +a provision for a younger son of the house of Valois. + +Those busy politicians, called the Lords of the Congregation, knew these +things, and were stimulated to exertion accordingly. Hence came it to +pass that the Reformation was so sudden an event in Scotland. On the +morning of the 1st of August 1560 the people of Scotland awakened under +the spiritual dominion of the Pope—ere evening his hierarchy was +abolished, and to own it was criminal. The work of that day was not a +deliberative act of legislation, but the announcement of the triumph of +a party. After a long deadly contest the English party had gained a +complete and final victory. It almost enhanced the triumph over French +principles that the Acts of this Parliament never received the royal +assent. Legislation without the intervention of the crown, was flat +rebellion in the eyes of France, and not very reconcilable even with +English decorum. It was owing to this specialty that, when Queen Mary +engaged to support the religion established by law in Scotland, she was +suspected, and not without reason, of stowing away, among the secrets of +her heart, the consideration likely to be some day available, that +Protestantism, not having the sanction of the crown, was not the +religion established by law. If we were to enter with any fulness on +this great passage in history, and to view it through the rich new light +poured upon it by the documents collected by M. Teulet, we would require +more room than the quite sufficient space which this article occupies. +We have opportunity only for this brief reference to them, as the +winding-up and conclusion of that interesting episode in history—the old +alliance between France and Scotland. + +Before parting, let us say a word on the personal character and other +merits of the volumes which have led us on this occasion to look into +the connection of our ancestors with the French, and have furnished us +with the greater portion of the material for our two articles. To see +two men of learning, research, and various special abilities, devoting +what must be no inconsiderable portion of a life’s labour to the +connection of our country with the great French empire, is interesting +and pleasant, to say the least of it. We are a nation disposed to court +the light; we are never afraid of the effect that revelations of our +antecedents may have; we are sure of coming well out in all inquiries +into our history and connections; and the present elucidation has not +stripped a leaf from the national laurels—indeed, we take it to have +only removed some of the dust that covered them, and revealed their real +freshness and brightness. To the labourers in such a task we should feel +that we owe a debt of kindly gratitude, and this should not the less +impress us that the work has been done by citizens of that great old +European central power which befriended the poor children of our soil in +the days of their poverty and danger. New interests and attachments, +more suitable to the position of Scotland on the map of Europe, and to +the origin of her people, afterwards arose. When centuries of cruel +wrong and alienation and wrath had passed away, she became reconciled to +that great relation which, let us suppose, in the usual misunderstanding +which creates the quarrels in the romances, had treated her as an alien +enemy. But while the reconciliation has been long consolidated, and has +proved as natural a national adjustment as the restoration of an exiled +child is a natural family adjustment, there is still a pleasing +sentiment in recalling the friends found in the wide world when kindred +were unkind; and the hospitable doors opened to our wandering +countrymen, among those who stood at the head of European civilisation +in the middle ages, must ever remain a memorable record of the +generosity of the patrons, and of the merits of those who so well +requited their generosity by faithful and powerful services. To the +volumes which contain the record of this attachment something more is +due than the mere recognition of their literary merits—they deserve at +the hands of our countrymen an affectionate recognition as national +memorials. The quantity of curious and interesting matter contained in +them, but for the special zeal of the two men who have thus come +forward, might have remained still buried under archæological +rubbish—might have remained so for ever, even until oblivion overtook +them. It is surely right to hope that the zeal and labour embarked by +the adventurers will not be thrown away; and that our countrymen will +take to the volumes, both of M. Michel and of M. Teulet, as works which +it is becoming for them to possess and read as patriotic Scotsmen. If +readers have found any interest in the casual glimpses of their contents +supplied by the present sketch, they may be assured of finding much more +matter of the same kind should they undertake an investigation of the +volumes themselves. + +Setting before one on the library table the two volumes of M. Michel, +and the five of M. Teulet, is a good deal like receiving one guest in +full court costume, prepared to meet distinguished company, while +another comes to you in his lounging home vestment of serge, with +slippers and smoking-cap, as if he had just stepped across the way from +the scene of his laborious researches. In the collections in this +country of some men who have given themselves to works illustrated by +fine engravings, the Book of the Ceremonial of the Coronation of Louis +XV. is conspicuous, not only by its finely engraved plates, but by the +instruction they afford as representations of the costume and ways of +the great hierarchy of state officers which clustered round the throne +of the Bourbons before the great smash came. Among the most conspicuous +of these are the Scots Guards, then no longer our countrymen, though the +title was retained. The outfit must have appeared signally beautiful and +chivalrous amid the ponderous state habiliments which the eighteenth +century saw accumulate and fall to pieces. It is evidently a traditional +type of the court or company dress of the man-at-arms of the fifteenth +century—a sufficient amount of steel to betoken the warrior, richly +damasked or inlaid with precious metals—a superfluity of lace and +embroidered cloth of silk or velvet. Altogether, a more superbly and +chivalrously accoutred person than your Scottish Guard it is difficult +to idealise; and in the original engraving there is about him, both in +countenance and attitude, the air of one devoted in enthusiasm and +solemn sense of responsibility, to the duty wherewith he is intrusted. +With a good eye to the appropriate, M. Michel—it is his own suggestion, +we take it, not the binder’s—has transferred this striking figure to the +outside of this book, where it glitters in gold on the true-blue +background, which also relieves the lion, the thistle, and the +_fleur-de-lys_. A glimpse we have just had at a quarto and illustrated +copy of the book in the hands of a fortunate collector, wherein is a +full engraved copy of the plate of the Scots Guard, along with many +other appropriate artistical decorations; but in this shape the book is +not put, so far as we are aware, at the disposal of the public; and any +account of it is, in a manner, a digression into something like private +affairs. Reverting to the common published impression of M. Michel’s +book, let it suffice to say that it is well filled with blazons of the +armorial achievements of our countrymen, assuredly valuable to workers +in heraldry and genealogy, and interesting to those descendants of the +stay-at-home portions of the several families which established +themselves so comfortably and handsomely in the territory of our ancient +ally. + +Looking apart from matters of national interest to the literary nature +of M. Michel’s volumes, we find in them specialties which we know will +be deemed signally meritorious; but of the merits to be found in them we +have some difficulty in speaking, since they are literary virtues of a +kind rather out of the way of our appreciation—beyond it, if the reader +prefers that way of expressing what is meant. There is throughout these +two volumes the testimony to an extent of dreary reading and searching +which would stimulate compassion, were it not that he who would be the +victim, were that the proper feeling in which he should be approached, +evidently exults and glories, and is really happy, in the conditions +which those who know no better would set down as his hardships. There +are some who, when they run the eye over arrêts and other formal +documents, over pedigrees, local chronicles telling trifles, +title-deeds, and such-like documents, carry with them a general +impression of the political or social lesson taught by them, and discard +from recollection all the details from which any such impression has +been derived. M. Michel is of another kind; he has that sort of fondness +for his work which induces him to show you it in all stages, from the +rude block to the finished piece of art, so far as it is finished. You +are entered in all the secrets of his workshop—you participate in all +his disappointments and difficulties as well as his successes. The +research which has had no available result is still reported, in order +that you may see how useless it has been. We repeat that we have not +much sympathy with this kind of literature, yet would not desire to +speak profanely of it, since we know that some consider it the only +perfect method of writing books on subjects connected with history or +archæology. The “citation of authorities,” in fact, is deemed, in this +department of intellectual labour, something equivalent to records of +experiments in natural science, and to demonstrations in geometrical +science. Our own sympathy being with the exhibition rather of results +than of the means of reaching them, we have not, unfortunately, that +high respect for footnotes filled with accurate transcripts of +book-titles, which is due to the high authorities by whom the practice +has been long sanctioned. We can afford it, however, the sort of distant +unsympathising admiration which people bestow on accomplishments for +which they have no turn or sympathy—as for those of the juggler, the +acrobat, and the accountant. M. Michel’s way of citing the books he +refers to is indeed, to all appearance, a miracle of perfection in this +kind of work. Sometimes he is at the trouble of denoting where the +passage stands in more than one, or even in every, edition of the work. +He gives chapter or section as well as page and volume. In old books +counted not by the page but the leaf, he will tell you which side he +desires you to look at, right or left; and where, as is the way in some +densely printed old folios, in addition to the arrangement of the pages +by numeration, divisions on each page are separated by the letters A B +C, he tells you which of these letters stands sentry on the paragraph he +refers to. There is, at all events, a very meritorious kind of literary +honesty in all this, and however disinclined to follow it, no one has a +right to object to it. + +And, after all, a man who has gone through so much hard forbidding +reading as M. Michel has, is surely entitled to let us know something +about the dreary wastes and rugged wildernesses through which he has +sojourned—all for the purpose of laying before his readers these two gay +attractive-looking volumes. Towards his foreign reading, we in the +general instance lift the hat of respect, acknowledging its high merits, +on the principle of the _omne ignotum pro magnifico_. Upon the diligent +manner in which he has, in our own less luxuriant field of inquiry among +Scots authorities, turned over every stone to see what is under it, we +can speak with more distinct assurance. Take one instance. The young +Earl of Haddington, the son of that crafty old statesman called Tam o’ +the Cowgate, who scraped together a fortune in public office under James +VI., was studying in France, when he met and fell in love with the +beautiful Mademoiselle De Chatillon, grand-daughter of the Admiral +Coligny. When only nineteen years old he went back to France, married +her, and brought her home. He died within a year, however, and the +countess, a rich beautiful widow, returned to her friends. She was, of +course, beset by admirers, and in reference to these, M. Michel has +turned up a curious passage in ‘Les Histoirettes de Fallemant des +Réaux,’ which, if true, shows the persevering zeal with which our queen, +Henrietta Maria, seized every opportunity to promote the cause of her +religion. The countess, being Huguenot, and of a very Huguenot family, +the queen was eager that she should be married to a Roman Catholic, and +selected the son of her friend Lady Arundel. The dominion over her +affections was, however, held by “un jeune Ecossois nommé Esbron, neveu +du Colonel Esbron.” The name is French for the chevalier Hepburn, one of +the most renowned soldiers in the French service in the early part of +the seventeenth century. The mamma Chatillon was dead against either +connection. She got a fright by hearing that her daughter had been +carried off to the Fenêbres, or the services of Easter-week which +inaugurate Good-Friday; she consequently gave her a maternal box on the +ear, carried her off, and, to keep her out of harm’s way, forthwith +married her to the Count de la Suze, _tout borgne, tout ivrogne et tout +indetté qu’il étoit_. M. Michel’s purpose is not with this desirable +husband, nor with his wife after she ceases to be connected with +Scotland, but with the young Hepburn who comes casually across the +scene. Following in his track entirely, the next quarter where, after +appearing in the ‘Histoirettes,’ he turns up, is Durie’s ‘Decisions of +the Court of Session.’ This is by no means one of the books which every +well-informed man is presumed to know. So toughly is it stuffed with the +technicalities and involutions of old Scots law, and so confused and +involved is every sentence of it by the natural haziness of its author, +that probably no living English writer would dare to meddle with it. No +Scotsman would, unless he be lawyer—nor, indeed, would any lawyer, +unless of a very old school—welcome the appearance of the grim folio. In +citing from it the decision of Hepburn _contra_ Hepburn, 14th March +1639, even the courageous M. Michel subjoins: “Si j’ai bien compris le +text de cet arrêt conçu dans un langue particulière.” This peculiar +arrêt begins as follows:—“The brethren and sisters of umquhile Colonel +Sir John Hepburn having submitted all questions and rights which they +might pretend to the goods, gear, and means of the said umquhile Sir +John, to the laird Wauchton and some other friends, wherein the +submitters were bound and did refer to the said friends to determine +what proportion of the said goods should be given to George Hepburn, the +son of the eldest brother to the said Sir John, which George was then in +France at the time of the making of the said submission and bond, and +did not subscribe the same, nor none taking the burden for him; upon the +which submission, the said friends had given their decreet arbitral. The +living brethren and sisters of the said Sir John being confirmed +executors to him, pursues one Beaton, factor in Paris, for payment of +20,000 pounds addebted by him to the said umquhile Sir John, who, +suspending upon double poinding,” &c. + +Perhaps we have said enough to exemplify the dauntless nature of M. +Michel’s researches. It is impossible to withhold admiration from such +achievements, and we know that, in some quarters, such are deemed the +highest to which the human intellect can aspire. But we confess that, to +our taste, the results of M. Teulet’s labours are more acceptable. True, +he does not profess to give the world an original book. He comes forward +as the transcriber and editor of certain documents; but in the gathering +of these documents from different quarters, through all the difficulties +of various languages and alphabets, in their arrangement so as to bring +out momentous historical truths in their due series, and in the helps he +has afforded to those who consult his volumes, he has shown a skill and +scholarship which deserve to be ranked with the higher attainments of +science. We had formerly an opportunity of paying our small tribute to +M. Teulet’s merits when we referred to his supplemental volume to +Labanoff’s Correspondence of Queen Mary.[9] Among not the least valued +of the contents of our book-shelves, are six octavo volumes containing +the correspondence of La Mothe Fénélon, and the other French ambassadors +to England and Scotland during the latter years of Queen Elizabeth’s +reign, for which the world is indebted to M. Teulet’s researches. The +immediate merit of the book, the title of which is referred to at the +beginning of this article, is, that it is now at the command of the +public. It is indeed a reprint, with some additions, of the papers—at +least all that are worth having—which were previously an exclusive +luxury of the Bannatyne Club, having been printed in three quarto +volumes, as a gift to their brethren, by certain liberal members of the +Club. These papers go into the special affairs of this country as +connected with France and Spain from the beginning of our disputes with +our old ally down to the accession of James VI. In the hands of the +first historian who has the fortune to make ample use of them, these +documents will disperse the secluded and parochial atmosphere that hangs +about the history of Scotland, and show how the fate of Europe in +general turned upon the pivot of the destinies of our country. It is +here that, along with many minor secrets, we have revealed to us the +narrow escape made by the cause of Protestantism, when the project on +the cards was the union of the widowed Queen Mary to the heir of Spain, +and the political combinations still centring round the interests and +the fate of the Queen of Scots, which led to the more signal and +renowned escape realised in the defeat of the Armada. + + + + + KINGLAKE’S INVASION OF THE CRIMEA.[10] + + +Seven years ago, when the war with Russia was about to end—was, in fact, +already virtually ended—and when the war-fever of the English had been +abated by copious blood-letting, and by the absence of further stimulant +to hostility since Sebastopol had ceased to resist, people were already +talking about the future history of the strife. It seemed to be agreed +that the public, which had so eagerly swallowed all the information it +could get, and snapped at all the opinions which floated so thickly on +the stream of current history, was for the present glutted with the +subject, and that to offer it any more Crimean information, however +cunningly dressed, would be like fishing with a May-fly for a July +trout. On the other hand, the subject seemed to be essentially one of +contemporary importance. It had not the elements which gave lasting +interest to the Peninsular war. It had developed no great reputations in +which the nation could for the future undoubtingly confide. It had left +us victorious over no great conqueror. Its memorials were not such as we +should choose to dwell on; for though the nation was very proud of the +early triumphs of the Alma and Inkermann, still the later course of the +struggle had been, though successful in its end, yet disastrous and +gloomy in its progress, and had left, partly through the more brilliant +share which our allies took in the final action, but principally through +the forebodings of our own press, a sense of comparative failure. Mr +Kinglake comes upon the stage at a fortunate time. The weariness of the +subject, once felt, has disappeared, while the strong contemporary +interest in the actors remains. That interest is national in the sense +of being fixed, not on a few great objects, but on a great number of +inferior objects connected with the war. It is not so much patriotic as +domestic. The graves of Cathcart’s Hill, the trenches filled with dead, +the burial-grounds of Scutari, have a strong though softened hold on +innumerable hearts. Everywhere in England—in remote parishes, in small +communities, in humble households—remembrance of the great features of +the struggle is kept alive by the presence of those who survived it. A +strong conviction that French manœuvring was not entirely directed +against the enemy, and that a fair scrutiny would leave us more reason +for self-satisfaction than at first appeared, has long been afloat. And +a succession of great conflicts in which we have been strongly +interested has schooled us in military doctrines, and has rendered us +better able to appreciate the operations of armies than we were either +at the beginning or the end of the Crimean war. + +If the time for the history is happily chosen, so is the historian. Few +men who have written so little have so established their reputation as +Mr Kinglake. His ‘Eothen,’ immensely popular at first, has settled into +an English classic. It is full of interest, full of remarkably vivid +descriptions, full of original writing; and though the style does not +reject effects which a very pure taste would condemn, yet it possesses +the eminent merits of vigour, condensation, and richness. In the fulness +of the fame thus earned, Mr Kinglake accompanied the army to the Crimea. +The scenes of the war consequently possessed for him a reality which no +reading, no imagination, no second-hand description can impart. He had +seen the Euxine covered with the vast flotilla of the Allies. He had set +foot on the hostile coast at the same time as the combined armies. He +had accompanied them in their compact advance, when their columns seemed +but spots and patches in the vast circle of sea and plain. His own eyes +had beheld the battle of the Alma, and the signs of death and suffering +that remained next day to mark the phases of the struggle. And when +afterwards he came to record the incidents of the war, though no +individual observation could embrace all the details, there was always +present with him the invaluable power which personal knowledge confers, +to define, to affirm, or to reject. And as it was soon understood that +he intended to write the history of the war, he, in his double capacity +of approved author and actual spectator, became almost, as a matter of +course, the depositary of a vast amount of information connected with +the subject, oral and documentary, private and official. He had a large +acquaintance with the political as well as the military actors in the +drama. Few men, then, could have had so free access as he to the +materials of which the history must be wrought. + +Moreover, he had shown in his former work that he possessed another +qualification for his task. History cannot be written at a heat. Patient +inquiry, long meditation, the fortitude necessary for the abandonment of +convenient conclusions too hastily come to, are all indispensable to +success. But with this pursuit of the necessary details, unity of +effect, as numberless failures have shown, is almost incompatible. Now, +Mr Kinglake had given remarkable proof that he could bestow a +microscopic attention on particulars without sacrifice of breadth. It is +generally believed that he spent nine years in bringing the single +volume of ‘Eothen’ up to the standard of his own fastidious taste. The +sarcastic advice of Pope to an aspiring author—“Keep your piece nine +years”—had been literally accepted, but with a result very different +from that which the adviser anticipated. Instead of becoming +dissatisfied with a work looked at after a long interval and with +changed feelings, Mr Kinglake proved that he could not only “strike the +second heat”—the process which Ben Jonson says is so necessary for the +forging of ideas into happy forms of expression—but that he could bring +his thoughts again and again to the intellectual smithy to be recast and +shaped without finding the fire extinct. Here, then, was evidence of a +quality most valuable to one who must long and patiently grope amid +masses of evidence and details, sometimes conflicting, often worthless, +and yet retain freshly the power of throwing the selected results into a +form clear, harmonious, and striking. + +We have thus broadly stated some of Mr Kinglake’s eminent qualifications +for his task, and a detailed notice of his work will necessarily include +others. And it is easy to believe that he might have selected a variety +of subjects, his execution of which would have insured unqualified +praise. But for the present task, as might have been seen before he +commenced it, his fitness was marred by one circumstance. His political +course had proved that his animosity towards the French Emperor amounted +to a passion, or, as those who did not care to pick their words might +say, a mania. It might be guessed beforehand, therefore, that the +Emperor would scarcely meet with fair play at his hands. And considering +the share taken by that personage in the events which Mr Kinglake had +undertaken to record, to misrepresent his policy or his doings would be +to distort the history. Any one who entertained such a misgiving must +have found it strengthened when, on glancing over the table of contents, +he perceived that nearly a quarter of the first volume, amidst what +purports to be a record of the “transactions that brought on the war,” +is occupied with an account of the _coup d’état_ which substituted an +empire for a republic in France. On reading the volume his suspicions +would inevitably be converted into certainty. More than that, indeed, +for he would find that his anticipations were far exceeded by a satire +so studied, so polished, so remorseless, and withal so diabolically +entertaining, that we know not where in modern literature to seek such +another philippic. Had Mr Kinglake contrived in this chapter to have +completely relieved his feelings and have been contented with flaying +the Emperor and thus have done with him, leaving him to get through the +rest of the book as naturally and comfortably as he could be expected to +do without his skin, we might consider it as an episode which we should +have been at liberty to set apart from the main purpose of the work. But +like King Charles I., whom David Copperfield’s friend, Mr Dick, never +could keep out of his memorial, this diabolical caricature of despotism +haunts the narrative at every turn. The canvass is spread, the palette +is laid, the artist is at his easel full of his subject—all the great +personages of the time are to figure there, and great incidents are to +form the background. The spectator is at first charmed with the progress +of the design; but presently, amidst the nobly-drawn portraits, there is +a sketch of a monarch with cloven feet appearing beneath his robes, and +a tail curling under his throne; and whereas the rest of the picture is +in true perspective, all that relates to this figure has a separate +horizon and point of sight. The result is as if Gilray in his bitterest +mood had got into Sir Joshua’s studio and persuaded him to let their +fancies mingle in one incongruous work. + +We have thus stated our one point of difference with the author of these +fascinating volumes. With this exception we have little to do but to +praise—and indeed, as a piece of writing, we have nothing to do but to +praise the work from beginning to end. How materials in many respects so +unpromising could be made so interesting, is marvellous. Many a reader +who remembers what a tangled skein of politics it was that led to the +war—many a soldier who has a confused recollection of a jumble of Holy +Places, and the Four Powers, and Vienna Conferences, and who would be +glad to know what it was he was fighting about, now that it is all +over—will take up these volumes as a duty, and will be surprised to find +that the narrative approached in so resolute a frame of mind, is more +easy to read and more difficult to lay down than the most popular of the +popular novels. + +The dispute about the Holy Places, though not in itself in any +appreciable degree the cause of the war, was the introduction to the +events that led to hostilities. There is something almost ludicrous, +something more befitting the times of Philip Augustus and of Cœur de +Lion than those of Louis Napoleon and Lord Palmerston, in the idea of +great European potentates appearing as the backers of two denominations +of monks, who were quarrelling about the key of a church-door in +Palestine. Nevertheless, the Czar, as the chief of a people whose +passions were strongly aroused by the dispute, had a real and legitimate +interest in the matter. To suppose that the President of the French +Republic, or any section of the people over whom he presided, really +cared whether the Greek or the Latin Church had the custody of this +important key, would be absurd. But the President it was who opened the +question by advocating the claims of the Latins. His object in doing so +is by no means clear. Mr Kinglake accounts for it by saying, “The French +President, in cold blood, and under no new motive for action, took up +the forgotten cause of the Latin Church of Jerusalem, and began to apply +it as a wedge for sundering the peace of the world.” Now, that Louis +Napoleon was desirous of disturbing the peace of the world, is Mr +Kinglake’s argument throughout. It is to his book what the wrath of +Achilles is to the ‘Iliad;’ and he tells us that the reason for this +truculent desire was to prop up the French Empire. But that reason, +though it may plausibly explain the acts of the French Emperor, does not +account in the least for the acts of the French President. We presume Mr +Kinglake hardly wishes us to infer that Louis Napoleon sowed the seeds +of war during his Presidency, as provision for the possible necessities +of a possible Empire. Yet the historian’s theory would seem to demand +the inference. + +The poor Sultan, meanwhile, who might well exclaim ‘A plague o’ both +your Churches!’ was the unwilling arbiter of this dispute between his +Christian subjects, and was urged by the great champion on each side to +decide in favour of his protégé. Who might have the key, or whether +there was any key at all, or any sanctuary at all, or any Greek or Latin +Church, was to this hapless potentate a matter of profound indifference. +The French envoy put on the strongest pressure, and the Sultan inclined +to the side of the Latins; the Russian minister thereupon squeezed from +him a concession to their adversaries; and between the two he managed, +as might be expected, to disgust both sects, and to anger the Czar +without satisfying the Emperor. The displeasure of Nicholas was extreme, +and he prepared to support his further arguments by marching a large +army towards the Turkish frontier. And the first use of this force was +to give momentum to the mission of Prince Mentschikoff, who was sent to +Constantinople as the organ of his Imperial master’s displeasure. The +selection of the envoy showed that the Czar wished to take the most +direct and violent course to the fulfilment of his aim; for the Prince’s +diplomacy was of that simple kind—the only kind he seemed capable of +employing—which regards threats as the best means of persuasion. + +These strong measures were the first indications that war was possibly +impending. And as they appeared to spring from the religious fervour of +the Czar, which had been roused to this pitch by the gratuitous +intermeddling of Napoleon in the question of the Holy Places, it would +at first seem as if it were indeed the French ruler who had first blown +the coal which presently caused such a conflagration. But in the +interval between the decision of the Sultan about the churches, and the +appearance of Mentschikoff at Constantinople, Nicholas had held with Sir +Hamilton Seymour the remarkable conversations which explain the real +designs cloaked by the religious question. In these interviews he +uttered his famous parable of “the sick man,” representing that the +Turkish Empire was dying, and might fall to pieces any day, and +proposing that the event should be provided for by an immediate +arrangement for dividing the fragments. Provided he had the concurrence +of England, the Czar would not, he said, care what any other Powers +might do or say in the matter. + +Here then was a foregone conclusion plainly revealed. The religious ire +of the Czar, the movement of his troops, the mission of Mentschikoff, +were all to be instruments for hastening the dissolution of the sick +man, and appropriating his domains. It was no new idea; for Nicholas was +but following the traditionary policy of his house. And if it could be +believed that his expectations of the speedy collapse of the Turkish +Empire were real, it would be unjust to blame him for wishing to profit +by the event. We are too apt to judge of the policy of other Governments +by the interests of England, and to condemn as unprincipled what is +opposed to our advantage. Nevertheless, to a ruler of Russia, no object +can appear more legitimate than the possession of that free outlet to +the world, which alone is wanting to remove the spell that paralyses her +gigantic energies. Looking from the shores of the Euxine, she is but +mocked by the vision of naval glories and of commercial prosperity; but +let her extend her limits to the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles, and no +dreams of greatness can be too splendid for her to realise. But there is +no proof that the Czar’s anticipations respecting Turkey were grounded +on anything more solid than his strong desire to render them true. In +fact, the forecast of the Czar is much the same as that of Mohammed +Damoor, as described in ‘Eothen:’ who, having prophesied that the Jews +of Damascus would be despoiled on a particular day, took steps to verify +his prediction by first exciting and then heading the mob of plunderers. + +The reply of England to his overtures satisfied him that he could not +hope for her complicity in his design upon Turkey. Had it been +otherwise, the sick man would, no doubt, have been so cared for that, +sick or well, there would soon have been an end of him. But the Czar +perceived he must for the present forego his desire for the vineyard of +Naboth. Yet there were several reasons why he should still draw what +profit he could from the present opportunity. He had a pretext—an +indifferent one it is true, but still it was more convenient to use it +than to look for another. He had been at the trouble of military +preparations, and was naturally desirous that they should not be barren +of result. And, in the matter of Montenegro, Turkey had just succumbed +to him so readily on a threat of war, that it seemed very unlikely he +should ever find her in a better frame of mind for his purpose. +Therefore, though the sick man was reprieved, yet he was not to go +scot-free; and Mentschikoff was charged, while ostensibly urging the +Sultan to reconsider the question of the Holy Places, to keep in reserve +a demand of much deeper significance. + +Scornful in demeanour and imperious in language, Mentschikoff entered +Constantinople more like the bearer of a gage of defiance than a +messenger of peace. His deportment startled the Divan out of its +habitual calm; and the British Chargé d’Affaires, at the instance of the +Turkish Ministers, requested our Admiral at Malta to move his squadron +into the Levant. This demand was not complied with; but the French fleet +was ordered to Salamis. And this movement is condemned by Mr Kinglake as +most impolitic; for it happened, he says, at a time when “the anger of +the Emperor Nicholas had grown cool,” and it “gave deep umbrage to +Russia.” From which he means us to infer that Louis Napoleon, following +his deep design of fanning the flame of discord when it should seem to +languish, was so timing the advance of his fleet as to neutralise the +pacific influences which had begun to have their sway. + +Now what are the circumstances of the case? The French Emperor knew +nothing of the conversation with Sir Hamilton Seymour, which did not +transpire till long afterwards. Neither he nor the British Government +were aware of the Czar’s real demands. Ostensibly the matter of +controversy was still the original question between him and the Czar +concerning the Holy Places. And while one of the disputants, France, had +urged her views in the ordinary way by the mouth of her ambassador, her +opponent was preparing to coerce the arbiter by a menacing mission +backed by an army and a fleet. The army already touched the frontier, +the fleet was prepared to sail for the Bosphorus. Will anybody except Mr +Kinglake blame the French Emperor for sending his fleet to Salamis? or +say that he was bound, before taking such a step, to consider whether it +might not give deep umbrage to Russia? + +Mentschikoff then proceeded to urge his demands. These were, that, in +addition to the concessions required respecting the Holy Places, the +Sultan should, by treaty with the Czar, engage to confirm the Christian +subjects of the Porte in certain privileges and immunities. Though the +Sultan was very willing to confirm them in these privileges, he was by +no means willing to bind himself by treaty with the Czar to do so; for +by so doing he would give the Czar a right, as a party to the treaty, to +see that it was fulfilled; and hence those who were to benefit by the +privileges would naturally regard most, not him who granted them, but +him who could compel their observance. In fact, it was virtually +conferring on the Czar the protectorate of the Sultan’s Christian +subjects. + +It was while the Turkish Ministers were in the deepest embarrassment +between the consequences of listening to such a proposition on the one +hand, and the fear of offending the Czar by refusing to entertain it on +the other, that Lord Stratford appeared on the scene. The coming of the +British Ambassador, and the diplomatic duel that ensued between him and +Mentschikoff, where predominant influence in the Sultan’s counsels was +to be the prize of the victor, forms one of the most brilliant passages +in this brilliant book. The mere presence of the Ambassador of England +restores the Sultan and his Ministers to complete self-possession. When +Mentschikoff blusters, they refresh themselves by a view of Lord +Stratford’s commanding aspect; when the Russian menaces war, they are +comforted by a hint from the Englishman respecting the English squadron. +Of such dramatic excellence is this portion of the story, that the +enthralled reader forgets to inquire how it was that in a dispute +between France and Russia respecting the subjects of Turkey, the +Ambassador of England should be the foremost champion. But we see him +throughout as the power that moves the Mussulman puppets, and from whose +calm opposition the menaces of Mentschikoff recoil harmless; and we see +in distant St Petersburg the great Czar himself lashed to fury at +feeling himself foiled by one whom he has long, we are told, considered +as a personal foe. We cannot but feel proud in these circumstances of +the position of our representative, though it would be difficult to say, +perhaps, what advantage besides this feeling of pride we, as a nation, +derived from it. But it is clear that, while the Czar was dreaming, as +of something possible to be realised by a great display of power, of a +protectorate over the Christian subjects of the Porte, here was a +British protectorate of the most absolute character already established +over the Porte and its subjects, Christian and Mussulman; and we might +almost infer that nothing further was requisite on Lord Stratford’s part +but to humour Mohammedan prejudices by submitting to a few insignificant +religious rites, in order to qualify him for at once taking his place as +Chief of the Ottoman Empire, and the true Commander of the Faithful. + +In the diplomatic encounter, Mentschikoff had no more chance than the +fiend in a moral tale of _diablerie_, who urges weak man to sign his +soul away after the good angel has come to the rescue. Baffled at all +points, he departs with all the diplomatic train, muttering vengeance. +And here ends the first act of the drama, when the pretexts of the Czar +have vanished, and he shows his true design. The next begins with the +crossing of the Pruth by the Russian forces, in order to secure the +material guarantee of the Danubian provinces. But the menacing position +of Russia was not the only change in the situation. England, who in the +earlier dispute had no more interest than the other Western Powers in +opposing Russia, had in the progress of the controversy made herself so +prominent that she was, in the judgment of Lord Clarendon, bound to +defend the provinces of the Sultan against an unprovoked attack by +Russia. That she had laid herself under this obligation was entirely +owing to the lofty part which Lord Stratford had played in the drama. On +the other hand, had Lord Stratford not been so ready and conspicuous in +his championship, the Divan, feeling itself unsupported, might have +yielded to the demands of Russia. + +For a great part of the narrative, then, the principal positions have +been occupied by England, Russia, and Turkey; and the interest imparted +to scenes which, from an ordinary hand, would have been eminently +tedious, is wonderful. But at this juncture, King Charles I., who has +long been impending, can no longer be kept out of the memorial. The +iniquitous machinations of the French Emperor are brought into the +foreground. The occasion for enlarging on them is that which we shall +presently state. But first we must say that it is from no wish to dilate +on what we think the blemish of the book that we expatiate on this +theme. It is because it is mixed up with all the main parts of a work +which we are bound to treat as an authentic history. But it happens +that, for a reason to be noted hereafter, we can, without injury to the +texture, separate this portion from the rest; and we therefore propose +to follow this thread of the narrative to its end, and so, having done +with it, to be at liberty, for the rest of these volumes, to approve no +less warmly than we admire. + +Austria naturally felt considerable interest in the movements of a +formidable neighbour, whose troops were now winding round her frontier, +who, by overrunning Turkey, would enclose some of her provinces, and +who, at the next step in advance, would control the Lower Danube. She +therefore, in conjunction with Prussia, made common cause with the +Western Powers, so far as to offer a strong remonstrance against the +occupation of the Danubian provinces, and to join in their efforts to +preserve peace. Mr Kinglake contends that this kind of pacific pressure +would have secured its object, and that if it had not, Austria would +have joined France and England in having recourse to sterner measures. +But he says that, without waiting for the result of this joint coercion, +England was persuaded to join France in a separate course of action, +which, without necessity, involved us in a war desired only by the +French Emperor. “In order to see how it came to be possible,” says the +historian, “that the vast interests of Europe should be set aside in +favour of mere personal objects, it will presently be necessary to +contract the field of vision, and, going back to the winter of 1851, to +glance at the operations of a small knot of middle-aged men who were +pushing their fortunes in Paris.” + +And here is interpolated—for as an interpolation we regard it—that +curious episode which has for its subject the _coup d’état_ and the +establishment of the second French Empire. Standing apart from the +purpose of the book, its isolation gives it peculiar distinctness. But +its inherent character is such that it needs no art or accident to bring +it into strongest relief. It is a singularly clever and singularly +acrimonious attack upon the foremost statesman and most powerful +potentate of these times. And it makes demands on our credulity which +are too heavy for anything short of absolute proof to maintain. For we +are asked to believe that a set of men with no more character or +consideration than Falstaff and his associates, were able to call on the +French nation to stand and deliver, and that the nation thereupon +submitted to be knocked down, to have its throat cut, and to be +plundered by these minions of the moon. Now, does anybody think that +diadems, such as that of France, are to be stolen from a shelf by any +cutpurse who wants to put them in his pocket? Or does anybody think that +a mere cutpurse, having succeeded in the theft, could so have worn his +stolen diadem as to enhance its splendour and renown? That which made +the Empire possible, and that which maintains it now, was the conviction +that the choice of the nation lay between it and Red Republicanism. And +to establish, in any degree, his case, Mr Kinglake should have proved +that no such conviction existed. But if it be true that France found in +the Empire a refuge from anarchy, then reasonable men will not be ready +to scrutinise, in too severe a spirit, the means taken to consolidate +the throne. Granted that the army, the instrument employed by the +President, disgraced itself by an indiscriminate and unprovoked +slaughter—that the opposition of political adversaries was silenced in a +very arbitrary fashion—that a foreign war would probably be necessary +for the security of the new dynasty,—yet will it be said that a result +which has tranquillised France, which has developed her resources and +exalted her reputation, leaves in the establishment of the Empire +nothing except what the world must regret and condemn? And looking at +the portrait which Mr Kinglake has drawn, with so bold and incisive a +touch, of this potentate of wooden face, base soul, and feeble resolve, +who turns green in moments of danger—who, with the aid of swindlers and +bravoes, has yoked France to his chariot, and drives it in a career of +blood with the great Powers of Europe bound to its wheels—we ask, not +only is it brilliant as a work of art, but is it like the original? We +do not profess to believe that the Empire is the perfection of +government. We do not maintain that Louis Napoleon is a model of virtue +and disinterested policy. But if his place in Europe were suddenly +vacant, will Mr Kinglake tell us how it would be better filled, or what +precious things might not be thrown into the gulf before it could be +closed? And if no answer can be given to the question, we may well doubt +the expediency of contributing to bring so important a personage and so +powerful an ally into contempt. + +“After the 2d December in the year 1851,” says Mr Kinglake, in +concluding the portion of his work relating to the _coup d’état_, “the +foreign policy of France was used for a prop to prop the throne which +Morny and his friends had built up.... Therefore, although I have dwelt +awhile upon a singular passage in the domestic history of France, I have +not digressed.” Now, even if he could prove the necessities of the +French Empire to have been the main motive of the part England took in +the war, we should still dispute this. No doubt it is the business of +the historian of an important series of events to trace them to their +sources, and the more clearly he can show the connection hidden from +ordinary minds, the more sagacious and ingenious he will appear. But if +there were no limit to this, the history of any event might spread to an +extent altogether boundless; and therefore, to justify digression, it is +necessary for the historian to show that the incidents which led to the +result had a necessary and not an accidental influence in procuring it. +For instance, in the case of a popular uprising against a despotism or a +superstition, it would be expected that the historian should trace all +the successive steps by which the national feelings were roused from +suffering to resistance, because those steps led inevitably and +naturally to that particular result, and not to any other. In such a +case history is performing her proper function of explaining, for the +guidance of posterity, the obscure process by which certain conditions +produce certain effects. But where a war has been caused by the caprice +and unreasoning anger of a potentate, it is beside the purpose to trace +up to his very cradle the effect of early mismanagement or neglect in +rendering him passionate or capricious, for no political lesson can be +taught where results cannot be calculated. In such a case it will be +sufficient to state the fact, that the war originated in the irascible +temper and unaccountable impulse of one who had the power to give his +anger such tremendous vent. It would be absurd to pause in the history, +and to introduce his biography, merely to prove that it is a bad thing +when great power is lodged in the hands of a person who is the slave of +violent caprice. And in the present instance, if it had been stated in +two sentences that the conditions under which the French Empire had +started into existence were such as to render a foreign war, or a +commanding position in Europe, necessary to its stability, the statement +would have fully satisfied the requirements of history, and would have +received general assent. + +However, having considered it necessary to prove this proposition by a +separate history of the transition which France underwent from a +republic to an empire, Mr Kinglake undertakes to show how we were +dragged into war by this necessitous Emperor. He asserts many times that +the operations of the French and English fleets caused the war. + + + “The English Government,” he says, “consented to engage in naval + movements which affected—nay governed—the war.” And again, “The French + Emperor had no sooner engaged the English Government in a separate + understanding, than he began to insist upon the necessity of using the + naval power of France and England in the way which he proposed—a way + bitterly offensive to Russia. Having at length succeeded in forcing + this measure upon England, he after a while pressed upon her another + movement of the fleets still more hostile than the first, and again he + succeeded in bringing the English Government to yield to him. Again, + and still once again, he did the like, always in the end bringing + England to adopt his hostile measures; and he never desisted from this + course of action, until at last it had effected a virtual rupture + between the Czar and the Western Powers.” + + +And in this way throughout these transactions the Emperor plays a part +much the same as that which Satan took in the scenes in Paradise; and at +every turn we see him moving deviously, quite serpentine in craft and +baseness, or squatting toad-like at the ear of the slumbering British +Government, till now, at the Ithuriel touch of history, he starts up in +his true form of malignant demon. + +The various items of the present charge against him are collected by Mr +Kinglake in a compendious form:— + + + “Not yet as part of this narrative, but by way of anticipation, and in + order to gather into one page the grounds of the statement just made, + the following instances are given of the way in which the English + Government was, from time to time, driven to join with the French + Emperor in making a quarrelsome use of the two fleets:—On the 13th of + July 1853, the French Emperor, through his Minister of Foreign + Affairs, declared to the English Government that if the occupation of + the Principalities continued, the French fleet could not longer remain + at Besica Bay. On the 19th of August he declared it to be absolutely + necessary that the combined fleets should enter the Dardanelles, and + he pressed the English Government to adopt a resolution to this + effect. On the 21st of September he insisted that the English + Government, at the same moment as the French, should immediately order + up the combined squadrons to Constantinople. On the 15th of December + he pressed the English Government to agree that the Allied fleets + should enter the Euxine, take possession of it, and interdict the + passage of every Russian vessel. It will be seen that, with more or + less reluctance and after more or less delay, these demands were + always acceded to by England: and the course thus taken by the + maritime Powers was fatal to the pending negotiations; for, besides + that in the way already shown the Czar’s wholesome fears were + converted into bursts of rage, the Turks at the same time were + deriving a dangerous encouragement from the sight of the French and + English war-flags; and the result was, that the negotiators, with all + their skill and all their patience, were never able to frame a Note in + the exact words which would allay the anger of Nicholas, without + encountering a steadfast resistance on the part of the Sultan.” + + +We have only, then, to take in their turn the items thus enumerated to +ascertain the justice of the charge. The first of the naval movements +was the advance of the fleets to Besica Bay. This made the Czar very +angry. But it was in itself a perfectly lawful operation, and quite +consistent with friendliness and desire for peace. It by no means +balanced the aggressive advance of the Czar into the Principalities and +the orders to the Sebastopol fleet. Moreover, however irritating to +Nicholas, he condoned it, for we find him long afterwards accepting the +Vienna Note framed by the four Powers, the acceptance of which by Turkey +would have settled the dispute. That it was not accepted by Turkey was +due entirely to Lord Stratford and the Turkish Ministers. “The French +Emperor,” says Mr Kinglake, “did nothing whatever to thwart the +restoration of tranquillity.” It is evident, then, that the movements of +the fleets thus far had produced no effect which was not completely +neutralised, and that the Emperor’s desire for war did not prevent him +from contributing to the general effort for peace. + +The next movement of the fleets was into the Dardanelles. The Sultan was +engaged by treaty to forbid the entrance of the fleets of any Power so +long as he should be at peace. What, then, were the reasons for entering +the Straits? Were they purely provocative? Now, we find that the demand +for war on the part of the Turkish people had at this time become so +urgent, that the Ambassadors to the Porte regarded it as almost +irresistible. The French Ambassador viewed it, Mr Kinglake says, “with +_sincere_ alarm.” He wrote a despatch to his Government, imparting to it +what we must admit to have been also “sincere alarm,” for there is no +evidence or insinuation of the contrary; and that alarm being shared by +our Government, the fleets were ordered to enter the Dardanelles that +they might be ready, if wanted, to support the Turkish Government +against the belligerent wishes of its own subjects. + +But another important circumstance had occurred before the entry of the +fleets. In invading the Principalities, the Czar had announced that this +was not meant as an act of war. And the Sultan’s hold on these provinces +was of such an anomalous kind that his advisers held him to be at +liberty to construe the invasion as an act of war, or not, at his own +pleasure. He had now given notice to the Czar that unless the Russian +troops should quit the Principalities in fifteen days he would declare +war. Fourteen of the fifteen days had elapsed when the fleets entered. +Except for observing the strict letter of the treaty, it was not of the +least importance whether they entered a day sooner or later. Yet Mr +Kinglake tells us the Czar was very indignant at the violation of the +treaty, and he laments that another day was not suffered to elapse +before the movement. Now, considering all the circumstances—that the +fleets had already been for a long time at the disposal of the +Ambassadors, who might summon them to Constantinople whenever they +judged necessary, and that the Czar knew it—that war steamers had +already been called up to the Bosphorus by both the Ambassadors, French +and English, and the treaty thus broken as completely as by the passage +of a hundred fleets—that the Czar had himself, by the invasion of the +Principalities, deprived himself of the right to complain of the +violation of the treaty—that fifteen days’ notice of a declaration of +war had been given, and that the full term must have expired before the +fleets could arrive at Constantinople—considering all this, the +provocation is reduced to such an infinitesimal quantity, that it is +barely worth a passing mention. There is no evidence whatever that the +prospects of peace were in any way affected by the advance of the +fleets. Yet a hasty reader of Mr Kinglake’s narrative might easily +imagine that it produced the direst consequences. “When the tidings of +this hostile measure,” he says, “reached St Petersburg, they put an end +for the time to all prospect of peace.” And again— + + + “The Czar received tidings of the hostile decision of the maritime + Powers in a spirit which, this time at least, was almost justified by + the provocation given. In retaliation for what he would naturally look + upon as a bitter affront, and even as a breach of treaty, he + determined, it would seem, to have vengeance at sea whilst vengeance + at sea was still possible; and it was under the spur of the anger thus + kindled that orders for active operations were given to the fleet at + Sebastopol. The vengeance he meditated he could only wreak upon the + body of the Turks, for the great offenders of the West were beyond the + bounds of his power.” + + +Would not the reader imagine from this that the attack of Sinope had +been proved by full evidence to be the immediate result of the +exasperation of the Czar at the advance of the combined fleets? But Mr +Kinglake acquaints us in a note with the real grounds on which he makes +this confident assertion:— + + + “This conclusion is drawn from dates. The hostile resolution of the + Western Powers was known to the Czar a little before the 14th of + October, and about the middle of the following month the Black Sea + fleet was at sea. If allowance be made for distance and preparation, + it will be seen that the sequence of one event upon the other is close + enough to warrant the statement contained in the text. In the absence, + however, of any knowledge to the contrary, it is fair to suppose that + the Czar remembered his promise, and did not sanction any actual + attack upon the enemy unless his commanders should be previously + apprised that the Turks had commenced active warfare.” + + +We read this note with surprise. It proves that Mr Kinglake can, when in +hot pursuit of the foe, step to a conclusion over grounds where few can +follow. The fleets entered the Dardanelles on the 22d October. The +attack of Sinope took place on the 30th November. The Turks and Russians +had been at war for six weeks; and though the Russian Minister had +announced in a circular some time before, that the Czar, in hopes still +of a peaceful solution, would remain on the defensive as long as his +dignity and interests would allow, yet, as Mr Kinglake himself says, +“After the issue of the circular, the Government of St Petersburg had +received intelligence not only that active warfare was going on in the +valley of the Lower Danube, but that the Turks had seized the Russian +fort of St Nicholas on the eastern coast of the Euxine, and were +attacking Russia upon her Armenian frontier;” and he fully absolves the +Czar from any breach of faith in this matter. Yet he would gravely have +us believe that the attack of the ships of one Power upon those of +another with which it is at open war requires explanation, and that the +most natural explanation possible is to be found in attributing it to a +slow retaliation for an imaginary injury inflicted by two other Powers. +It is as if we should be told that, in the early rounds of a celebrated +pugilistic encounter, Mr Sayers had hit Mr Heenan very hard in the eye, +not because they were fighting, but because one of the bystanders had +previously trodden on the champion’s coat. + +As the reader will probably decline to follow Mr Kinglake over his +slender bridge of inference, we must look beyond Sinope for the naval +movement instigated by the French Emperor and turning the scale in +favour of war; and, as only one remains to be accounted for, we have not +far to look. The next orders sent to the fleets were intended to obviate +another disaster and disgrace such as that of Sinope. They provided that +Russian ships met with in the Euxine should be requested, and, if +necessary, constrained, to return to Sebastopol. This, Mr Kinglake terms +“a harsh and insulting course of action.” He says the English Cabinet +during their deliberations “were made acquainted with the will of the +French Emperor; ... the pressure of the French Emperor was the cogent +motive which governed the result; ... the result was that now, for the +second time, France dictated to England the use that she should make of +her fleet, and by this time, perhaps, submission had become more easy +than it was at first.” But Lord Clarendon has been quoted by Mr Kinglake +as saying, months before, that it had become the duty of England to +defend Turkey. According to Mr Kinglake, when independent Powers are +acting together, to propose is to dictate, and to acquiesce is to +submit. To make a suggestion is imperious, and to adopt it is +ignominious. But what kind of an alliance would this be? or how would +concert be possible under such circumstances? The proposal of the French +Emperor was so offered as to show that he was thoroughly convinced of +its expediency. If he was so convinced, he was right so to offer it. And +why did the English Ministry adopt it? Because the English people more +than kept pace with the wishes of the Emperor. “A huge obstacle,” says +the historian, “to the maintenance of peace in Europe was raised up by +the temper of the English people; ... the English desired war.” It is +strange doctrine then, that an English Ministry which, by assenting to +the proposition of an ally, expresses the temper of the English people, +thereby submits to foreign dictation. + +But the strangest part of the French part of the story is behind. We +have seen how Mr Kinglake traces from the first the devious wiles of the +French Emperor—how it was his craft that first made the question of the +Holy Places important—how his “subtle and dangerous counsels” hurried +England into war, and all because war was necessary to the stability of +his throne. The complicated texture of his intrigue is followed and +traced with immense patience and ingenuity; and yet, when the work is +complete, and his imperial victim stands fully detected and exposed as +the incendiary of Europe, the detective suddenly destroys his own +finely-spun web at a blow. England was the tool of the French Emperor, +but the French Emperor was the tool of a still more astute and potent +personage. “When the Czar began to encroach upon the Sultan, there was +nothing that could so completely meet Lord Palmerston’s every wish as an +alliance between the two Western Powers, which should toss France +headlong into the English policy of upholding the Ottoman Empire.... As +he (Lord Palmerston) from the first had willed it, so moved the two +great nations of the West.” The elaborated structure of French intrigue +falls, and our gay perennial Premier is discovered smiling amid the +ruins. Thus Punch murders his wife and infant, hangs the executioner, +and shines as the dexterous and successful villain, till, at the close +of the piece, Mr Codlin, the real wire-puller, draws aside the curtain +and appears at the bottom of the show, while the great criminal and his +victims revert to their proper condition of sawdust and tinsel. + +The terms of the alliance between France and England are surely not +difficult to understand. The policy of upholding the Ottoman Empire was, +as Mr Kinglake says, “an English policy.” The object for which the +Governments of France and England were actively united was an English +object. Naturally we inquire what inducement the Emperor had then to +form the alliance? Mr Kinglake furnishes us with the correct response. +It seemed, he says, to the Emperor “that, by offering to thrust France +into an English policy, he might purchase for himself an alliance with +the Queen, and win for his new throne a sanction of more lasting worth +than Morny’s well-warranted return of his eight millions of approving +Frenchmen. Above all, if he could be united with England, he might be +able to enter upon that conspicuous action in Europe which was needful +for his safety at home, and might do this without bringing upon himself +any war of a dangerous kind.” The advantages of the alliance were to be +reciprocal. The Emperor was to gain in position and reputation, in +return for aiding with his fleets and armies the attainment of an +English object. Mutual interest and mutual compromise were the basis of +this, as of most alliances. We had not to accuse the Emperor of any +breach of faith in executing his part of the compact. Being already, as +Lord Clarendon said, committed to the defence of Turkey, it made a vast +difference to us whether we should enter on a war with Russia alone, or +should be aided by the immense power of France. And it was only fair +that the Emperor should be allowed to occupy, in the transactions which +ensued, that position, the attainment of which was his grand object in +seeking the alliance. Yet Mr Kinglake blames this necessitous potentate +because he did not sacrifice his position and himself to our +interests—because he did not chivalrously place his army and navy at our +service for the promotion of English policy, and remain quietly in the +background, with his generous feelings for his reward; and he blames our +own Government for making those compromises which alone could render the +alliance possible. + +And here, we rejoice to say, our serious differences with Mr Kinglake +end. After so much entertainment and instruction as we have derived from +his book, it seems almost ungrateful to make to it so many exceptions. +But if we have occupied much of our space thus, he must remember that it +takes longer to argue than to acquiesce. Moreover, it is partly owing to +his own excellences that we have been able to find matter for dispute. +Many a writer would have so muddled his facts and his prejudices that we +should have found it hard to do more than suspect the presence of error +in the cloudy medium. But his style is so clear, so precise, that the +reasoning everywhere shines through, and a fallacy or an inconsistency +has no more chance of escaping detection than a gold fish in a crystal +aquarium. And besides, Mr Kinglake himself most honestly and liberally +furnishes us with the facts, and even the inferences, necessary to +rectify his theory. Thus the effect, in his history, of his hostility to +the Emperor is not that of a false proportion in a rule of three, which +extends and vitiates the whole process. It is only like a series of +erroneous items introduced in a sum in addition, which may be separated +and deducted, leaving the total right. + +The course of the transactions that led to the war may then be traced as +clearly as diplomacy, dealing with many great interests and many unseen +motives, generally permits. The squabble about the Holy Places was not +the origin but only the pretext of the dispute with Turkey. The +conversations with Sir Hamilton Seymour and the mission of Mentschikoff +prove that the Czar was already seeking to dislocate the fabric of the +Turkish Empire, and only took that lever because it lay readiest to his +hand. “A crowd of monks,” says Mr Kinglake, in his picturesque way, +“with bare foreheads, stood quarrelling for a key at the sunny gates of +a church in Palestine, but beyond and above, towering high in the misty +North, men saw the ambition of the Czars.” But the real design could not +long be hidden by the pretext. And the execution of that design would be +subversive of that balance which it was the duty and interest of the +other Powers to maintain. It was for the Czar, then, to choose a time +for his project when he might find each of the other Powers restrained +by some counteracting motive from opposing his ambition. Looking over +Europe, he thought that he perceived the favourable moment. Austria, the +Power most interested from her contiguity, and from the importance to +her of free use of the great waterway of Southern Germany, if she had +much reason to resist, had also much reason to acquiesce. She still felt +too keenly, financially and politically, the effects of the heavy blows +dealt her in 1848–9 to be ready or willing for war. She was under a huge +debt of gratitude to Nicholas, who, in the hour of her direst necessity, +had advanced to save her, without condition and without reward. He +possessed, too, a great personal ascendancy over the young Emperor of +Austria. And, lastly, at this time Austria had a hostile altercation +with Turkey, which would render it more than ever difficult for her to +take part with the Sultan. + +It might be calculated that Prussia would follow the lead of Austria. +Her interests were the same in kind, but far less in degree. Once +satisfied that full guarantees for the freedom of the Danube would be +given, she would no longer have special interest in the subject. + +As to France, there seemed to be no special reason why she should +interfere. And if she should interfere, the Czar’s sentiments towards +the new Empire were such as would rather lead him to disdainful defiance +than conciliation. + +At first he anticipated no difficulty in persuading the English +Government to join in his designs. Finding, however, by the rejection of +his overtures, that he could not hope for the support of England, he +probably postponed the extreme measures of aggression. But, for the +reasons we have stated in a former paragraph, he was unwilling to let +the opportunity pass totally unimproved; and hence the demands of +Mentschikoff for granting the protectorate of the Greek Church in Turkey +to the Czar. + +It was Lord Stratford’s share in the diplomatic contest that ensued, +which first gave England prominence in the dispute. And whether the part +he took was in accordance with instructions from his Government, or was +due to the influence of his personal character, the result was to assure +England that the predominance of her Ambassador in the councils of the +Porte, whatever advantage it might confer, carried with it grave +responsibility. When Mentschikoff withdrew in anger from the scene, +England was, in the opinion of her own Ministers, committed to the +defence of Turkey. + +We have seen that the Czar’s original design was made dependent on the +concurrence of England. When he found that this was unattainable, the +design was modified. He now found that even in this modified form +England would not only not concur, but would oppose it. Why then did he +persist? It was because he did not believe that the opposition of +England would go the length of war. + +Lord Aberdeen, the English Premier, besides being the personal friend of +Nicholas, and therefore disposed to view Russian policy with comparative +indulgence, was the open and professed friend of peace at any price. He +had that horror of war which in a statesman is an unpardonable and fatal +weakness. And in this particular he was believed only to represent the +feeling of the English people. The Czar, in common with most of the +world, was convinced that they were entirely absorbed in the pursuit of +commerce. He took the Exhibition of 1851 for the national confession of +faith. He believed that England had no god but gold, and that Mr Cobden +was her prophet. + +This fallacy Mr Kinglake exposes in his happiest style:— + + + “All England had been brought to the opinion that it was a wickedness + to incur war without necessity or justice; but when the leading + spirits of the Peace Party had the happiness of beholding this + wholesome result, they were far from stopping short. They went on to + make light of the very principles by which peace is best maintained, + and although they were conscientious men, meaning to say and do what + was right, yet, being unacquainted with the causes which bring about + the fall of empires, they deliberately inculcated that habit of + setting comfort against honour which historians call ‘corruption.’ + They made it plain, as they imagined, that no war which was not + engaged in for the actual defence of the country could ever be right; + but even there they took no rest, for they went on and on, and still + on, until their foremost thinker reached the conclusion that, in the + event of an attack upon our shores, the invaders ought to be received + with such an effusion of hospitality and brotherly love as could not + fail to disarm them of their enmity, and convert the once dangerous + Zouave into the valued friend of the family. Then, with great + merriment, the whole English people turned round, and although they + might still be willing to go to the brink of other precipices, they + refused to go further towards that one. The doctrine had struck no + root. It was ill suited to the race to whom it was addressed. The male + cheered it, and forgot it until there came a time for testing it, and + then discarded it; and the woman, from the very first, with her true + and simple instinct, was quick to understand its value. She would + subscribe, if her husband required it, to have the doctrine taught to + charity children, but she would not suffer it to be taught to her own + boy. So it proved barren.” + + +Caustic as this is, it is only too indulgent to the Peace Party. Not +that it is of special importance now to crush what is already so +depressed and abased as to have lost its power of mischief. The course +of the leaders of the party has been such that they could not continue +to enjoy any large measure of popularity, except upon the anomalous +condition that a great number of Englishmen should join in hating +England. For years past no petulant despotism, no drunken republic, +could shake its coarse fist in the face of this country, without finding +its warmest supporters in those men of the olive branch, who were never +weary of urging us to offer both cheeks to the smiter. Their mode of +interference in a quarrel is like that of the affectionate friends, who, +if a man were attacked, would cling round him and hamper him, reviling +him for his pugnacity, while his adversary ran him through the body. +Long fallen from their position as oracles, they lie at the base of +their tall pedestals, and “none so poor as do them reverence.” But, in +granting them honesty of purpose, Mr Kinglake falls, we think, into the +now common error of pushing candour to excess. A man’s mistakes are +honest when he is led into them by motives irrespective of his +interests. The fanatic who sacrifices his own advantage along with that +of other people cannot be accused of baseness. But these men had a +direct interest in preaching the doctrine of the necessity of national +poltroonery. The substitution of a purely commercial policy for that +which the nation had hitherto followed, was intimately blended with +their own personal advantage. The motive, therefore, that inspired the +error renders it inexcusable. + +Blind, then, to consequences, the Czar continued his course of +aggression. He marched his troops into the Principalities. Thereupon, no +longer opposed only by England, he finds himself met by the concerted +action of the four great Powers. And the question of interest at this +particular stage is, Whether the primary object of defending Turkey was +to be best attained by the action of the four Powers, or by the +increased decision in action of England and France. Now it is to be +observed, that the Czar knew long before he occupied the Principalities +that Austria would resist the step. Yet the united remonstrance of the +four Powers had failed to induce him to abandon it. And it also failed +afterwards to induce him to retract it. Through remonstrance, +opposition, and the earlier stages of the war, he continued to hold the +provinces. It becomes then a question, when we are considering the +statement that the peaceful pressure of the four Powers would have +attained our object in the most desirable way, whether a course of +action so slow was consistent with our engagement to defend Turkey. It +is a matter at least open to doubt. + +But granting that either the slow action of Austria, or the more +decisive policy of France, would have equally availed, if adopted by +common consent, was that unanimity possible? Austria had many reasons +for limiting her interference to diplomatic pressure. Moreover, her +ground of complaint against Russia was the occupation of the +Principalities, not the threatening of Turkey. Should Russia adopt some +other method of coercing Turkey, such as sending her fleet into the +Bosphorus, and withdrawing her troops from the provinces, the interest +of Austria in the dispute would almost vanish, while that of the Western +Powers would increase. And how would it suit France to adopt the course +of Austria, and to aim at a settlement by united action? The French +Emperor’s great inducement in joining in the dispute at all was the +prospect of increased reputation. And when the figure representing the +credit to be gained by joint diplomatic coercion came to be divided by +four, would the quotient satisfy his expectations? It is not too much to +say that England was compelled to choose between France and Austria, +since it was unlikely they would long continue in a common course. And +as the action of England in a war with Russia must be principally +through her fleet, it became of immense importance that the French navy +should act with us rather than be neutral or hostile. In such +circumstances, then, it is by no means clear that we did wrong in +holding with France. + +From this period, then, it becomes apparent that, if Russia should +persist in aggression, war was inevitable. And Russia did persist in +aggression. And if it be considered as established that the Czar was led +so to persist by a conviction that England would not resort to war—which +is the general and probably correct opinion—we do not see how it can be +denied that a course of action which must undeceive him would be the +most likely to cause him to desist; and that the naval movements that +ensued were only such as would convince him of our intention without +driving him to extremity. It is plain that the two theories—one of which +is that the pacific disposition of our Government allowed us to drift +into war, and the other that our menacing action irritated the Czar +beyond control, and therefore caused the war—are incompatible. + +The fleets then moved to the entrance of the Dardanelles; and, while the +Czar was recovering from the anger produced by that step, the +representatives of the four Powers in conference at Vienna produced +their Note, a mediatory document which would, it was hoped, settle all +difficulties. It was readily accepted by Russia, the reason for which +became apparent when it was offered to Turkey; for the Turkish +Government at once rejected it, on the ground that it might be so +interpreted as to secure to the Czar the protectorate he aimed at. They +proposed alterations, with the concurrence of the mediatory Powers, +which the Czar in his turn rejected; and the Sultan thereupon declared +that, if the provinces were not evacuated in fifteen days, Turkey would +be at war with Russia. The fleets moved through the Dardanelles. The +next step was the attack on the Turkish squadron at Sinope by the +Russian admiral. The English people were now thoroughly roused. They +were indignant, not so much at the breach of faith imputed to the Czar +in making the attack, as at the ruthless destruction and slaughter of +the Turkish force by its far more powerful enemy. The attack, too, had +taken place almost under the guns of the combined fleets, and it was +evident that, if their presence at Constantinople meant anything, and if +we really were engaged to defend Turkey, the repetition of such a +disaster to our ally must be prevented. A measure to this effect, but by +no means strong enough to express the feeling of England, was adopted; +the combined fleets were ordered by their respective governments to keep +the peace by force, if necessary, in the Euxine. But as there had been +as yet no actual collision between their forces and those of the Czar, a +door to peace was still left open. Of this he did not choose to avail +himself, but declared war against France and England on the 11th April +1854. + +Such is an outline of the successive events preceding the war which, +unpromising as such a record of futile diplomacy may seem, Mr Kinglake +has wrought into one of the most brilliant of historical pictures. +‘Eothen’ itself is not more entertaining, more rich in colour, more +happy in quaint and humorous turns of expression; while, from the false +effects that are sometimes seen in the earlier work, the present +narrative is entirely free. The style is indeed a model of ease, +strength, clearness, and simplicity. Nor has labour been spared; and the +reader who has so often been expected by historians to be already +familiar with political and diplomatic lore, and has been left to repair +his deficiencies as he may, will be grateful to Mr Kinglake for some of +the elementary instruction which he has conveyed in such a delightful +form, as, for instance, the chapter on “the usage which forms the +safeguard of Europe.” And remembering what animation and vigour personal +feeling, even when so strongly biased, cannot fail to infuse, and seeing +that, in the present case, it has not prevented the writer from fully +stating the facts and deductions which most contradict his favourite +theories, we cease to lament the absence of that judicial calmness which +would have deprived his history of half its charm. + +The first glowing scenes now shift to one still more splendid. Diplomacy +has played out its part; its subtlest essays seem but mere babble to the +ear that is listening for the impending clang of arms. Statesmen and +ambassadors gather up their futile documents, and retire to the side +scenes, to make way for the sterner disputants who throng the stage. + +If Mr Kinglake was unsparing in his denunciations of French intrigue, he +is no less bold and outspoken in criticising the military merits of our +allies. But we no longer find the same reasons for dissenting from his +conclusions. Many, no doubt, will say that it would have been politic to +suppress some of those revelations which will jar most on the sensitive +ears of our neighbours. But, if history is to be written at all, it must +be written with all the truth attainable. History, which conceals and +glosses, is but historical romance. Moreover, a plain English statement +was wanting to redress the balance between us and the French. It must +not be forgotten that the example of writing a narrative apportioning to +both parties in the alliance the sum of glory gained was set in France, +and that a share, ridiculously small, was awarded to the English. We +remonstrated at the time, in these pages, against the unfairness and +impolicy of allowing such a book as De Bazancourt’s to go forth to the +world with the seeming sanction of the Emperor, at a time when the war +was yet unfinished. A man of no reputation or ability to justify the +selection had been accredited to the French generals in the Crimea. +Furnished thus with information, which might be presumed to be reliable, +he produced a narrative in which the entire credit for the planning and +execution of the successful operations of the war was assigned to the +French with impudent mendacity. As might naturally be expected from a +nation that believes in Thiers, his account was accepted by the French +as veritable history. In England it was but little read. Contemptible as +a composition, its representations of facts were not such as to give it +a claim to which nothing else entitled it. But, so far as it was read +here, it gave just offence. That the Emperor did not disapprove is shown +by the fact that the same valuable chronicler was taken to Italy as +historiographer of the war in 1859, when another compound of bombastic +glorification and misrepresentation was given to the world under +imperial auspices. No Englishman or candid Frenchman who reads the +account of the Crimean Campaign by the Baron De Bazancourt will deny +that it was incumbent on us to tell our own tale; and we rejoice that it +is told by one who, with such remarkable faculty for charming an +audience and imparting to it his own impressions, trusts, nevertheless, +to facts and proofs derived from the documents intrusted to him, for +supporting his claim for justice. + +The long European peace had left the armies of the Great Powers with +little except a traditional knowledge of civilised war. It is true that +part of the English army had seen service in India; a large portion of +the French troops had made campaigns in Algeria; and the Russians had +for years carried on a desultory warfare in Circassia. But none of these +theatres of operations had been of a kind to serve as schools of +training for encounters with a disciplined foe. Nor had they developed +amidst the officers that high talent for superior commands to which +either country could turn with confidence. Accordingly, the English fell +back upon their traditions of the old wars of Wellington, as embodied in +his friend Lord Raglan. Whether he was likely to make a great general or +not, it was impossible for anybody to say, for his career had not been +such as to offer any field for the display of the talents requisite in a +commander. Sixty-six is not perhaps the most favourable age for a first +essay in any walk in life. But it was known that he was accustomed to +military business; that his conciliatory and courteous manners would be +of great service in an allied army, and that his rank and dignity would +ensure the respect necessary for the maintenance of our proper position +in the alliance; while, if he had not commanded armies himself, he had +been intimate with him whom we regarded as the commander without a peer. +The French had no available relics of the wars of the First Empire; and +if any such had existed, there were other claimants to be considered, +namely, those soldiers of fortune to whom the Emperor was under +obligations for their share in the _coup d’état_. The claims of St +Arnaud surpassed all others. He was a frothy, vainglorious, gallant man, +who had never shown capacity for any operation more considerable than a +raid against the Arabs. His published letters breathe a high ambition +and spirit of enterprise, but do not reveal any rare military quality. +Lord Russell himself could not be more ready to take the lead in any +description of onerous undertaking. But his self-confidence seems to +have had no deeper root than vanity; for, whereas his letters to his +relations are full of the great part he is playing, or means to play, +neither his acts, nor the official records of his doings as Commander of +the French army, corroborate the views of his own pre-eminence which he +imparted to his family. Mr Kinglake drily accounts for the selection of +this commander by saying that he was ambitious of leading the +enterprise, and that “the French Emperor took him at his word, +consenting, as was very natural, that his dangerous, insatiate friend, +should have a command which would take him into the country of the Lower +Danube.” If it is by this intended we should infer that the wily +potentate expected the climate to disagree with him, the anticipation +was fulfilled; for a frame already weakened by long disease broke up +entirely under the assault of the fever of Varna. The Russians possessed +a fine old remnant of antiquity in Prince Paskiewitch, which was +furbished up, and did very well till, meeting with a mischance before +Silistria, at the outset of the war, he vanished, and the effort to +supply his place with a creditable general was not successful. As +regards military talent, then, it would not seem that either belligerent +possessed an advantage which would preclude Fortune from exercising her +proverbial function of favouring the brave. + +While the English and French troops were on the way to Turkey, the +Russians had opened an offensive campaign. The method of doing this was +prescribed to them by the features of the theatre of war. The Danube, +flowing round Wallachia, turns northward and meets the Pruth, so as to +include between the two rivers and the sea a narrow strip; the part of +which, north of the Danube, is a Russian province, Bessarabia, and that +south of the Danube a Turkish province, the Dobrudja. Should the +Russians seek to pass into Turkey through Wallachia, they would lend a +flank to an attack from Austria, if she were to carry her hostility to +the point of war, and their troops would be very critically placed +between Austrian and Turkish foes. But by advancing along the strip the +Russians passed at once from Russian to Turkish territory; while the +Danube covered their right flank from Austria. Still, in order to +proceed beyond the Dobrudja in the direction of the Balkan, and thence +towards Constantinople, as they had done with such signal success in +1829, it was indispensable that they should begin by taking +Silistria—and more than ever indispensable now that the Allies had +command of the Euxine. Accordingly, the opening of the campaign was +marked by the siege of Silistria by the Russians. + +Although it soon appeared that Silistria was bravely defended, it was +not expected that the fortress could hold out long. And therefore, in +anticipation of such decisive movements as those of 1829, the first +intention of the Allies was to fortify Gallipoli, thus securing the +Dardanelles as a channel of supply, and the Chersonese peninsula as a +secure base from whence to operate in Turkey. But it soon appeared that +Russia was stumbling at the first obstacle. Gallipoli, therefore, ceased +to be of present importance; and the next idea was to transport the +armies to that point from whence they could most speedily meet the +enemy. And that point was evidently Varna. + +Mr Kinglake chronicles two facts relating to this period, not hitherto +published, and the knowledge of both of which he probably derived +(certainly of one) from Lord Raglan’s papers. The first is the project +of St Arnaud to obtain command of the Turkish forces. How this was +defeated is recorded in one of Mr Kinglake’s most characteristic +passages, where the lively, pushing, aspiring Marshal finds his +confidence in his own scheme suddenly evaporating before the grave +dignified courtesy of Lord Stratford, and the mildly implied disapproval +of Lord Raglan. The other is, that, after the embarkation was agreed on, +St Arnaud suddenly announced, that he should move his army by land to +the south of the Balkan; and that, according to his plan, the English +should take the left of the proposed strategical line, and therefore be +farthest from their supplies coming from sea. This scheme, also, he +relinquished; but the fact is notable, first, as showing the propensity +to take what advantage he could at the expense of his ally; and +secondly, as correcting the view of his own predominance and superior +earnestness for action, conveyed in his private correspondence and in De +Bazancourt’s narrative. + +The armies landed at Varna, and a campaign in Bulgaria was expected. “My +plan is,” quoth St Arnaud, “to save the fortress, and to push the +Russians into the Danube.” He tells his brother in Paris, that the +operation of moving to aid Silistria will be hazardous, for the Russians +may come down on his right and rear, seize the road of Varna and +Pravadi, and cut him off from the sea. “But, be easy,” he says +consolingly, “I have taken my precautions against the manœuvre, and I +will defeat it.” Not difficult to defeat, one might think, since the +enemy who should attempt it must be commanded by a lunatic. However, +while the Allies were still waiting in vain for the means of transport +to take the field, their difficulties and projects were ended by an +unlooked for incident. The Russians, finding the outermost barrier of +Turkey impregnable, raised the siege, and withdrew across the Danube. +The immense amount of military reputation which they thereby lost was +placed with interest to the credit of the Turks. But the position in +which the Allied Generals found themselves, thus hurrying to save a +fortress which saved itself, and left without an enemy, was extremely +bewildering. St Arnaud seems characteristically to have imagined that +the Russians were frightened by his reputation into retreat. “They fly +me,” he says, while lamenting the loss of a triumph for himself and his +army, which he had contemplated as certain. Not only the Generals but +their Governments were embarrassed and mortified at being thus baulked. +The Emperor’s object could not be attained by mere success without +glory. The British people, already impatient of delays, the causes of +which, though inevitable, they could not understand, were clamorous for +action. Nor did they content themselves with insisting that something +should be done. They indicated the line of action. Urged, as Mr Kinglake +contends, by the press, they shouted with one voice for an attack on +Sebastopol, and this measure the Government enjoined Lord Raglan to +execute. The French Government did not urge St Arnaud to propose the +step; but, if the English were willing for it, he was not at liberty to +withhold his consent. Two questions occur here: was the Government right +in thus ordering the commander of the army to take a step to which his +own judgment might be opposed? and was the step thus indicated a wise +one? + +Now, Mr Kinglake seems to think, that if the Government was justified in +controlling its General, it was only because its army was acting in +concert with that of another power, and was dependent on the aid of the +fleets. + + + “In common circumstances, and especially where the whole of the troops + to be engaged are under one commander, it cannot be right for any + Sovereign or any Minister to address such instructions as these to a + General on a distant shore; for the General who is to be intrusted + with the sole command of a great expedition must be, of all mankind, + the best able to judge of its military prudence, and to give him + orders thus cogent is to dispense with his counsel.” + + +We, on the other hand, think that the selection of the territory which +is to be the scene of operations, should always rest with the +Government, and for this reason, that the selection must depend even +more on political than on military considerations. Suppose, for +instance, that the Allied generals had desired to follow the enemy over +the Danube, it is evident that it would be of vast importance in the +campaign that would follow, whether Austria should be friendly, or +neutral, or hostile. But which she would be was a matter of which the +Generals could only be informed through their Governments, who must +possess the best information attainable on the subject. And again, the +effect of the invasion of the Crimea on Austrian counsels, on Russian +designs, and on English and French interests, were all political +considerations, to be decided by the Governments, and not by the +Generals. But, the territory fixed on, the manner of operating therein +should be left to the Commander—and this the British Government did. + +With regard to the other question, Mr Kinglake appears to think that, +after the Russians had evacuated the Principalities (as they did +immediately on re-crossing the Danube), there was no further ground for +continuing the war, and that a naval blockade would have forced her to +conclude peace. But to have forced her to make peace, returning to the +_statu quo_, would by no means have answered our ends, for it would have +left her to repeat the aggression on a more favourable opportunity, with +the advantage of better understanding the conditions of success. That +she would have consented at that time to give any pledge for the +security of Turkey, is incredible, if we consider the course taken by +her diplomatists at the conferences in the following year, when she had +suffered so severely. But to capture Sebastopol and its fleet, would +give us the security we wanted, and the pressure of the blockade might +then be depended on for ending the war. The question then, in our +judgment, resolves itself into this: Was there a reasonable hope of at +once succeeding in the object of the invasion; and was common foresight +exercised in providing for the possibility of failure? + +Events have answered the last question. Due provision was not made for +the possibility of a first failure. The country was aghast at the +position in which the army found itself; and we think that, in making +the statement we are about to quote, Mr Kinglake is recording a state of +opinion, which, though perfectly just, and always maintained to be just +in these pages, both during and after the war, had no existence at the +time he speaks of. + + + “Those who thought more warily than the multitude foresaw that the + enterprise might take time; but they also perceived that even this + result would not be one of unmixed evil; for if Russia should commit + herself to a lengthened conflict in the neighbourhood of Sebastopol, + she would be put to a great trial, and would see her wealth and + strength ruinously consumed by the mere stress of the distance between + the military centre of the empire and the south-westernmost angle of + the Crimea.” + + +All this is true; so true that Russia would have done well to leave +Sebastopol to its fate, rather than make those efforts to maintain it +which were so ruinous. Moreover the Crimea is, from its geographical +circumstances, always the most favourable point of Russian territory for +the operations of an enemy who commands the sea. Its form of an extended +peninsula renders it vulnerable at many points; it does not afford the +means of supplying the force necessary for its defence; and the supplies +and reinforcements, having to pass through a region that is always a +desert and sometimes a swamp, must be despatched with vast expense and +loss. The conditions of the theatre of operations selected were then all +in our favour; it only remained to provide adequately for the chances of +war, to render the enterprise judicious. + +But there was no thought except of speedy success. Beyond a triumphant +landing, battle, and assault, no man looked. It was a piece of national +gambling where an army was staked upon the turn of the cards; +inexcusable, therefore, even had the chances been still more in our +favour. + +Still the chances in our favour were great. The Russian force in the +Crimea was inferior in numbers. Sebastopol might have been captured with +the co-operation of the fleets. That co-operation was a main element of +success. We were deprived of it by Mentschikoff’s stroke of sinking his +ships, so as to block the harbour and exclude the fleets. Was this a +step, the possibility of which the Government of a great maritime nation +ought to have omitted from its calculations? It was not difficult—it was +even obvious—to anticipate that a fleet otherwise useless might thus be +turned to account. + +That the invasion was politically a fortunate step, we have no doubt. +All the sufferings, all the losses, all the expense, and all the +discontent at home, could not prevent the course of affairs from turning +ultimately to our advantage, because the distresses of the enemy were +far greater. Russia at the end of the war was absolutely prostrate, +while England was only beginning to handle her vast and increasing +resources. But this, as it was never contemplated, is beside the purpose +of estimating the wisdom of the people and the Government who committed +the armies to the enterprise. The Government is obnoxious to the charge +of not providing for a contingency that ought to have been foreseen, by +furnishing the means for sustained operations. And the Government might, +in great measure, exonerate itself at the expense of the nation. For +years before, no Member of Parliament could have proposed an increase on +the estimates in order to render the army an efficient engine of war, +without being covered with obloquy. At that time, what troops we had +were barely tolerated by the people. Considering all things, we cannot +think the step wise. But we are very strongly of opinion that, as a +means of coercing Russia, it was fortunate. + +Many conferences between the Allied Generals took place at Varna, and on +the voyage. No pictures can differ more widely than those of the +attitude of St Arnaud on these occasions, as drawn on the one hand by +himself and De Bazancourt, on the other by Mr Kinglake. In his own +letters, and in the veracious French Chronicle, he is the moving spirit +of the enterprise—he “dominates the discussion”—he infuses life into +everybody—nothing checks him except the slowness of the English. He is +feared by the Russians, admired by the British, adored by the French. Mr +Kinglake, on the contrary, represents him as being in council without +decision and without weight; glad to solve his own difficulties by +deferring to Lord Raglan; forming plans merely to abandon them; and +painfully conscious that he has not the hold on the respect of his own +army necessary to enforce his authority. He had become strongly +impressed with the idea that a landing would be best effected at the +mouth of the Katcha. It would be nearer Sebastopol. The position on the +Alma would thus be avoided; and the march over plains, where it might be +difficult to find water, would be unnecessary. On the other hand a +reconnoissance made by Lord Raglan and Sir John Burgoyne, with the +French Generals, showed that the mouth of the valley was narrow, that +the troops as they landed would be exposed to a flanking fire from guns +which would be, by their position, secure from the counter-fire of the +ships, and that the enterprise might be opposed by the whole Russian +army. These objections seemed to Lord Raglan so strong that he decided +on landing at Old Fort. The result showed the correctness of the +decision, for the landing was unopposed, and the single action of the +Alma cleared the way to Sebastopol. Nevertheless, St Arnaud, writing to +his brother after the landing, contends that he was right. “Observe, +brother,” he says, “I have a military instinct which never deceives me, +and the English have not made war since 1815.” + +Mr Kinglake’s account of the disembarkation which he witnessed, of the +delay caused by the mysterious shifting, by the French, of the buoy that +was to mark the spot for the operation—of the different modes of +treating the villagers practised by the English and by the French +troops, and of the march towards the Alma, are described with the +particularity and vivacity which might be expected from so keen an +observer, and so skilful a narrator. He rightly describes the movement +as being of the nature of that proper to movable columns. It was, in +fact, like the march of a convoy, where the escort was vast, and the +conditions favourable. The conditions were favourable, because the open +nature of the country permitted the waggons, instead of straggling along +a great extent of road, on any part of which they might be attacked, to +move in compact order near the entire army. But we quite agree with him +in thinking that the Russian leader showed great incapacity and culpable +want of enterprise in suffering the march to proceed unmolested. The +country was particularly favourable to cavalry, in which arm he was +greatly superior. By incessantly threatening the left flank he would +have compelled us to show front in that direction, and the whole army +would have been obliged to halt, under penalty of witnessing the defeat +of a separated portion. We could not have closed with the force thus +menacing us, because the effort to do so would have withdrawn us from +our proper direction, and from the sea, and because, also, the enemy +could always retire under cover of his cavalry, to a new position on our +flank. If Mentschikoff could have felt secure of being able to file into +position behind the Alma, in time to oppose us there, he might have +employed his whole army in this menacing movement. He made only one +effort of the kind, that on the Bulganak, where a skirmish took place; +but the demonstration was feeble, not supported, and of no avail as a +check, because the army had always designed to halt there for the night. +Nevertheless, the precautions taken by Lord Raglan, in throwing back the +left flank, before bivouacking, to meet a possible attack of the kind, +and the consequent delay in resuming the march next morning, show how +much was to be apprehended from such a mode of harassing us as was open +to a skilful leader. + +The ground on which the battle of the Alma was fought is not difficult +to understand. The plain over which the Allies advanced slopes gently +downward for a mile. At the bottom of the slope is a bank, and below the +bank a flat valley, three or four hundred yards wide, in which flows the +Alma. If, then, a person turning his back to the sea, at the mouth of +the river, moves up the Allies’ bank, he has on his right, across the +valley, for the first mile, a steep cliff, as if part of the coast-line +had turned back along the course of the river. The cliff then begins to +resolve itself into broken heights, still steep, but not impracticable. +These continue for nearly two more miles, when, the heights receding +still farther, the slope to the river becomes more gentle, and undulates +in knolls, the general character of the ground, however, being an upper +and lower line of heights, with an intermediate plateau. The ground +continues of this nature far up the stream. Everywhere the last summits +formed the edge of a plain which could not be seen from the Allies’ side +of the stream. + +The Russian cavalry prevented reconnoissances which would have given +some assurance of the manner in which Mentschikoff occupied the +position. In the absence of these, maps and plans, and a distant view, +coupled with a rough estimate of the enemy’s force, were all that could +be relied on. With such data as these afforded, Marshal St Arnaud came +to confer with Lord Raglan the night before the battle; and we must say +that we think Mr Kinglake is rather hard upon the Marshal in his +description of the interview. He seems to think there was something +presumptuous in the fact of his coming with a prepared plan, bringing +with him, too, a rough sketch of it drawn on paper. Now, that such a +conference was highly necessary between two commanders about to fight a +battle in concert, nobody will deny. And it is a very good thing, on +such occasions, to have a plan constructed on the probabilities, because +it serves as a basis for discussion. The Marshal’s plan was founded on +the conjecture, that, as the plain at the top of the cliff could be +swept by the guns of the ships, a space would be left near the sea +unoccupied by the Russians. Into that space he proposed to push two +divisions (Bosquet and the Turks), by two roads that led to it up the +cliff. The remaining divisions were to advance against the Russian +front; and he calculated that they would occupy so much of that front +that the movement of the British, forming the left of the Allies, would +be against the right flank of the enemy. + +Such was the plan that the Marshal brought to discuss with Lord Raglan. +But it seems that if he came with the hope of getting any suggestions or +ideas in exchange, he was disappointed. “Without either combating or +accepting the suggestion addressed to him, he simply assured the Marshal +that he might rely upon the vigorous co-operation of the British army. +The French plan seems to have made little impression on Lord Raglan’s +mind. He foresaw, perhaps, that the ingenuity of the evening would be +brought to nothingness by the teachings of the morrow.” And when they +came next day into presence of the enemy, Mr Kinglake says: “If Lord +Raglan had not already rejected the French plan of a flank attack by our +forces, it would now have fallen to the ground. It had never made any +impression on his mind.” In a note he says: “It became a plan simply +preposterous as soon as it was apparent that St Arnaud would not +confront any part of the Russian army except their left wing; for to +make two flank movements, one against the enemy’s left, and the other +against his right, and to do this without having any force wherewith to +confront the enemy’s centre, would have been a plan requiring no comment +to show its absurdity.” + +Now Lord Raglan’s part in the interview is meant, as recorded, to show +to his advantage. Yet we cannot think that this way of conducting +conferences can be considered as displaying talent. Anybody can appear +to conceal an opinion—even if he hasn’t got one. The Marshal might, +according to this account, justly feel himself aggrieved—first, for +having no notice taken of his plan; and, secondly, for having no grounds +afforded for acting in concert with his ally in the coming battle. Nor +do we think the plan absurd in principle, though it was erroneous in +details. If to turn one flank of an enemy is an advantage, to turn both +flanks will, in general, increase the advantage: whether it is +practicable depends on the relative length of the opposing lines. Now +the Russians had 39,000 men; the Allies had 63,000. And the English +order of battle enables our line to cover more ground than equal numbers +of the enemy. Therefore, after forming on an equal front, there would +still be at least 12,000 men disposable for the turning of each flank; +and 12,000 men on your flank is a serious matter. We say then that the +plan, which was, of course, a suggestion, to be modified according to +circumstances, was not in itself absurd in principle. + +The Marshal, therefore, with Lord Raglan’s concurrence, as the French +say—but, according to Mr Kinglake, with such expectations as he might +have derived from the foregoing not very explicit interview—proceeded to +execute his part of the plan by making his right column pass close to +the sea. This was an error, for it was founded on a false assumption; he +supposed the Russian left to be nearer the sea than it really was. He +could not ascertain the truth, because, as is not uncommon in battles, +he could not make a close reconnoissance, and the plain behind the +cliff, being invisible from below, might contain an unknown number of +Russians. A computation of the forces visible would not give certain +means of judging of this point, because troops had been joining +Mentschikoff from various parts—a large detachment had come in that +morning. + +The consequence, then, of this error was that more of the French line +than had been expected overlapped the Russians—so much so that those on +the extreme right never joined in the action. Moreover, they were on a +narrower front than their numbers warranted; for though three divisions +were in front, and two following them, yet the three in front formed two +lines. If the two in rear are to be considered as a reserve, it was +twice as large as is common. Thus the English only completed the front +necessary to correspond with the Russian front without overlapping it, +and their attack, therefore, was almost entirely a direct attack. The +right French column was thrown away. The next to it only engaged in a +distant artillery fire: even the third and fourth found themselves +opposed to a force inadequate to their numbers. As Mr Kinglake well +observes, if all the army had been of one nation, the direct attack +would not have been made till that on the flank had already shaken the +enemy’s line. But circumstances rendered it difficult to hold back the +English divisions. The French did nothing to be proud of in the battle. +We perfectly agree with Mr Kinglake that the official accounts and that +of De Bazancourt are mere bombastic inventions. We know that they were +opposed by numbers small in proportion to their own. That some of their +divisions showed but little _elan_ and made small progress, was evident +during the battle. And with regard to their losses, which St Arnaud +places at 1200, we do not deny that they may have lost that number of +men that day; but if they did, the cholera must have been unusually +severe on the 20th September, for there were no signs of such mortality +on the battle-field. + +The English then advanced, because the French demanded support, and +because it might not have been judicious to remain longer inactive when +our allies were engaged. Our divisions therefore advanced across the +river. In doing so their order was broken by several causes. First, the +vineyards and enclosures between the troops and the river; then the +river itself; and lastly, the fact that the divisions in deploying had, +by mistaking distance, considerably overlapped. It is evident that if an +inferior army about to be attacked in position could choose how the +attack should be made, it would desire that a great part of the enemy’s +force should be directed where it would be useless, and that the +remainder should make a direct advance. This was what the Allies did. +But though there was no great generalship, the soldiership of the +English was admirable. The divisional, brigade, and regimental officers +took advantage of a sheltering rim of ground on the opposite bank to +restore some degree of order in the broken ranks, and then led them +straight up the slope in the teeth of the Russian guns. Torn by +cannon-shot at close range, and by a hail of musketry from the numerous +infantry—for here Mentschikoff had placed his heaviest masses—they +nevertheless went on in a line which, if irregular, was still +irresistible, drove the Russians back, and captured a gun. Then, being +without support, having lost heavily, and being assailed by fresh +reserves, the front line gave way and retreated down the hill. But by +this time the Duke of Cambridge’s division was across the stream and +moving up. The broken masses passed through the ranks, which closed and +advanced solidly, with the same success as the first line, and the +success was more enduring. English guns, hitherto opposed to the Russian +artillery, were now brought across the stream—they were set free to do +so partly by the progress of the French on the flank, partly by the +action of two guns that Lord Raglan had brought across the stream in the +space between the armies, and which, taking the Russian line in reverse, +caused it to fall back. The English divisions thus maintained +themselves—the heavy columns that advanced against them were repulsed +partly by artillery, partly by the fire of the line—the Russians fell +back slowly to the top of the heights, and retreated along the plain, +pursued by the fire of our horse-artillery. The English batteries then +advanced. When they reached the plateau the enemy’s masses were already +at some distance, moving towards Sebastopol. The French on the right +were coming up so deliberately that it was evident they had no thought +of molesting the enemy’s retreat, and on a proposition being made to +them to join in a pursuit they declined it. + +Whether it was or was not owing to the cause to which Mr Kinglake +attributes it—namely, to the fact that the French leaders, selected as +they almost all were for their share in the _coup d’état_, were men in +whom the troops had no confidence—it is certain that the reputation of +the French army was not augmented by this action. The report of St +Arnaud paints their valour and skill in the most brilliant colours. He +does not scruple largely to exaggerate the numbers of the enemy. There +were, according to him, 40,000 Russian bayonets, 6000 cavalry, and 180 +guns opposed to the Allies. The true numbers were, according to Mr +Kinglake, 36,000 infantry, 3400 cavalry, and 108 guns. The advantages of +the Russians consisted in their strong position, their superiority in +cavalry, and their 14 heavy guns. The movement of the French was +ineffective, partly from misdirection, partly from their slowness to +close with the enemy. To the English, therefore, fell a task as +difficult as that which would have fallen to them in ordinary cases had +the Russians been equal in strength to the Allies—and the battle of the +Alma is eminently an English victory. + +It is evident that if the general of an inferior army can oppose one +great mass of his enemy with a small number of his troops, and is thus +at liberty to meet the remainder on equal terms, he has gained a great +point in his favour; and this Mentschikoff did. Yet we perfectly agree +with Mr Kinglake that Mentschikoff showed no talent, and did no justice +to his troops. As we have seen, he allowed the march to be unmolested. +He made no use of the time at his disposal to strengthen his position +artificially. Mr Kinglake rightly asserts this in contradiction to +official and other authorities. Fords might have been rendered +impracticable, roads obstructed, field-works thrown up, and the +advancing troops would thus have been detained under the heavy fire of +the defenders, till on closing, if they should succeed in closing, it +would be with numbers too much diminished for success. But there were no +intrenchments nor obstacles worth mentioning on the field. And we regret +to observe that Mr Kinglake, though he explains in a note that he knows +the term to be inapplicable, and that he only follows an established +precedent, talks of the position of the Russian battery as “the Great +Redoubt.” We regret it, because the impression conveyed is false to +those who do not know the truth, and irrelevant to those who do. The +only work was a bank of earth not a yard high, which partially covered +the Russian guns of position, and which was probably intended as much +for preventing them from running down the hill as for anything else. +There were no embrasures, for, as the guns looked over the bank, none +were necessary; it had not even the additional impediment of a ditch in +front, the earth which formed it being taken from spaces dug between the +guns. It was no more like a “Great Redoubt,” than it was like the Great +Wall of China. And this being the case, all such expressions as +“storming” are quite inapplicable. + +It is evident that, if an army superior in numbers wishes to bring its +superiority to bear, it must outflank the enemy on one or both sides. +Which flank, then, would it have been best in the present case to turn? +The French turned the left. There was the natural temptation of +advancing over ground where the turning columns were protected by the +fire of the fleet. But they moved against an imaginary foe, and a large +part of the force might have been as well on board ship for all the +effect it had on the action. Moreover, though the turning movement was +completed, yet it had none of its legitimate effects, for the Russians +left only two guns and no prisoners. It is clear then that none of the +advantages to be expected from a successful attack in flank followed +here. + +Now suppose—as there are but two flanks to an enemy, and no great things +had been done by turning one—that the manœuvre had been effected against +the other. The Allies would have moved away from the sea up the river. +The road next the sea was closed to the Russians by the ships’ +broadsides. Opposite the next road, that by which Bosquet led his second +brigade, the Turks might have been left. The right of the French would +then have been where the right of the English really was, that is, in +the village of Bourliouk. And the English would have stretched so far +beyond the enemy’s right, that at least three divisions would have been +available for turning that flank. To the Russians, seeing this, only +certain alternatives would be possible: either to try to thrust +themselves between us and the sea—in which case the cliff would have +restricted them to the one road guarded by the Turks, and where any part +of their force that made the attempt would be lost if it should fail, as +it certainly would fail; or, secondly, an extension of their already +sufficiently extended line till its length corresponded with that of the +Allies, by which extension it would be fatally weakened; or, thirdly, a +movement of the entire army to the right, which would have uncovered the +Sebastopol road, and was therefore not to be thought of. Therefore the +Russians must have stood to fight on the ground they occupied, throwing +back their right wing to meet the threatened attack on their flank. The +Allied artillery should then have been massed—one portion to oppose the +great battery, one to pour a storm of shot on the right wing, the object +of attack; and the horse-artillery and one or two batteries, after +flanking the advance from their own side of the river, should have been +held ready to follow the flanking columns of attack as soon as they +should be established on the other bank. The advance, instead of being +in echelon from the right, would be in echelon from the left—the Light +Division, followed by the First and Fourth, would make the turning +movement and attack the right wing—the remaining English divisions would +advance upon the centre, and upon the angle formed by the centre and +right; and, as soon as the Russian line fronting the river should be +shaken by the front and flank attack and the reverse fire, the French +divisions advancing would find their share of the task easy. Two results +would have followed, both important—the first, that the position would +have been carried with much less loss of life—secondly, that the losses +of the Russians would have been far greater. For it is to be observed +that, by turning the left of the Russians, and interposing between them +and the sea, they were driven back along their proper line of retreat; +whereas, had the right been turned, the English left wing, pushing +obliquely across the enemy’s rear, would have reached the Sebastopol +road on the top of the plateau, and the result of that would have been +to drive the beaten troops towards the sea, and to enclose all that part +of the Russian left which should be last to retreat between our line and +the cliffs, thus capturing many prisoners. And as the enemy were +superior in cavalry, the English left must have carefully guarded +itself, during its advance, from the Russian horse, first, by our +artillery on our own side of the river, and afterwards by guns following +in support, by battalions on the left echeloned in squares, and by our +own cavalry. Many reasons, then, induce us to consider the French attack +a mistake. And the more complete turning movement which Mr Kinglake +seems, as if by authority, to ascribe to Marshal Pelissier, as what _he_ +would have done—namely, “to avoid all encounter with the enemy on his +chosen stronghold by taking ample ground to their left, and boldly +marching round him”—would have been objectionable, inasmuch as it would +have left no option of retreating on Eupatoria, in case the attack +should prove unsuccessful; and no plan can be sound that does not +provide for the contingency of defeat. + +Mr Kinglake modestly declines to give an opinion on the question of what +plan might have been better. But he need not have scrupled to do so, as +he deals extremely well with the technicalities of military art. His +account of the manœuvres preceding and during the battle is remarkably +clear. His discussion as to the respective merits of lines and columns +shows that he thoroughly appreciates the philosophy of the subject. But +it is not so much to the credit of his estimate of what constitutes +generalship, that he implies so great approval of Lord Raglan’s solitary +ride beyond the enemy’s front, and of his continued occupation of the +knoll there throughout the stress of the battle. Of course it would be a +great advantage to a general in every action to be able to see exactly +what was passing in rear of the enemy’s line. But it would be an +advantage only as it would give him the means of directing his own +troops with greater certainty. To see the enemy’s rear, at the expense +of losing the control of his own army, would be quite the reverse of an +advantage. And imagine the state of things if two opposing generals in a +battle should be absorbed in their efforts to pass, like two pawns at +chess, behind the opposing lines. If it had appeared to the general that +an opportunity existed for wedging a part of his force within a weak +spot of the enemy’s line, staff officers might have been sent to +ascertain the fact, while the guns and their escort required to effect +the manœuvre might have been brought from the reserve, or the nearest +available division, and posted in readiness to advance. We know that +during this excursion of Lord Raglan the English divisions were confused +for want of a controlling power to direct them. The action of the +English artillery was without unity, at a time when a concentrated fire +against the hill on which the attack was to be made would have had a +most important influence on the result. Mr Kinglake tells us that Lord +Raglan from his knoll witnessed the first advance of the troops of our +first line, and saw that they would not be able to hold their ground +because they were not supported; but adds, that he did not attempt to +apply a remedy, because no order sent by him could possibly arrive in +time to be of service. Surely this of itself might have convinced Mr +Kinglake that the general’s place was elsewhere. And we will add, that, +at the close of the struggle, our successful troops did not receive that +impulsion which none but the supreme directing authority can give, and +which was necessary to push the victory home. + +But though we do not think the occasions for praising Lord Raglan are +always judiciously chosen, we thoroughly agree in Mr Kinglake’s estimate +of the character of that kind excellent gentleman and gallant soldier. +His tact, temper, and bearing were all of a kind calculated to be of +eminent service in an allied command, and secured to him at once the +attachment of his own army and the respect of the French. + +Mr Kinglake has scarcely accomplished half of that task which is so +weighty, but which his qualities as a narrator have made to seem so +light. And it is because so many events yet remain to receive his +impress, that we would venture to remind him how the French army in the +Crimea, though it did not by its first achievements enhance its +reputation, yet performed many great and gallant actions. The aid which +Bosquet brought us at Inkermann, though long in coming, was effectual. +The part of the French in that battle, infantry and artillery, was +highly honourable. They often maintained terrible conflicts in the +trenches, where both sides fought well, but where the French were +victors. Their arrangements for receiving the attack on the Tchernaya +were such that the assailant never had a chance of penetrating their +lines. And their terrible losses in the final assault prove the +magnitude of the obstacles they encountered, and the ardour with which +they overcame them. But while we do not forget this, neither can we +regret that thus far Mr Kinglake has sought to redress the balance of +history, by awarding to our army its share of credit. Reputation is the +breath of its nostrils, and our allies have appeared but too desirous to +monopolise what was gained in this war. + +And we also venture to observe that Mr Kinglake’s enemies—and he has +scattered in these volumes dragon’s teeth enough to produce a plentiful +crop—may find occasion to say that in praising his friends he is equally +uncompromising as in censuring his foes. Small traits of character +receive undue prominence, small merits, undue laudation; as, for +instance, when the way in which the Highland Brigade was made to drink +at the Bulganak is praised as if it were a stroke of military genius, +and where a paragraph is devoted to describing how its commander +pronounced the not very remarkable words, “Forward, 42d!” and when it is +further added, “‘As a steed that knows his rider,’ the great heart of +the battalion bounded proudly to his touch,” Mr Kinglake lets himself +slip into a style much beneath his own. But what no enemy can deny is +the extraordinary animation, clearness, sustained interest, and dramatic +as well as descriptive excellence of the work. A vast field for these +qualities yet remains—the flank march, the commencement of the siege, +the hurricane, the action of Balaklava (fine soil for dragon’s teeth), +the battle of Inkermann, the long calamities and glories of the +trenches, the death of the Czar, and of the English commander, the final +assault, and the destruction of the stronghold—into all these scenes we +shall follow Mr Kinglake, confident of seeing them treated by a great +artist. + +As a concluding remark, we will say that we think no history of this war +can be complete which does not devote a chapter to the discussion of the +causes which made the British army of 1854 so different, in all except +fighting power, from the British army of 1814, as a machine of war. The +long peace, the growth of the commercial spirit, the Peace Party, the +administration of the army by the Duke of Wellington, and the influence +of the long-continued public demand for economy, must all be taken into +account before the breaking down of that machine, as to be recorded +hereafter, can be fairly and fully accounted for, and a true comparison +drawn between our military system and that of the French. + + + + + THE OPENING OF THE SESSION. + + +The Session has commenced under circumstances so unfavourable to the +Ministry that even their most sanguine friends are dejected. The omens +are unmistakably against them, and the auspices are corroborated by the +more palpable evidence of hard facts. The Session was barely a week old +when the first division took place, and left the Ministry in a minority. +It was a Government question, but the Opposition motion, brought forward +by Mr Peacocke, was carried by the large majority of 113 to 73. This was +a bad beginning; and, unenlightened by the result, the Ministry have +since then exposed themselves to, and undergone, two similar defeats. +The events of the same week out-of-doors brought them a worse and less +avoidable disaster. Two elections went against them. We certainly do not +claim the Cambridge election as any great triumph of Conservative +principles, but it was a blow to the Ministry. Lord Palmerston’s +reputation is deservedly great, and in not a few elections the +Ministerial candidate has escaped defeat by proclaiming himself simply a +Palmerstonian, and asserting that the Premier was as good a Conservative +as any member of the Opposition. The ex-member for Cambridge, Mr +Steuart, although returned as a Conservative, subsequently became a +“Palmerstonian;” but no sooner did his constituents obtain an +opportunity of showing their sentiments by their votes, than they +declared in favour of a Conservative who avowed himself an opponent of +Lord Palmerston. This, we say, may be called a trifle, but it is a straw +which shows which way the wind is blowing. The other electoral +contest—at Devonport—was a very different affair. In former elections +for that borough the Liberals had won the day. Moreover, owing to the +large Government dockyards, the constituency of Devonport is peculiarly +amenable to Ministerial influence. In spite of all this, the Ministerial +candidate, although strenuously backed by the whole influence of the +Admiralty, and himself a Grey to boot, has been defeated, and one of the +most stanch of Conservatives, and a thorough party-man, Mr Ferrand, has +been elected by a majority of thirty. This is a triumph for the +Opposition too remarkable to be explained away. The Government has been +defeated in its own dockyard. Driven to candour by the very magnitude of +the disaster, a Ministerial journal[11] says:—“It is a surprising +innovation. Constituencies like Devonport, where the Government is a +great employer of labourers having votes, have hitherto been considered +almost as nomination boroughs.” Even the Whigs have got sick of +“innovations” now, finding they will no longer go down with the public; +but such an innovation as that accomplished by the constituency of +Devonport must cut them to the heart. If they can no longer get their +candidates returned even in Government pocket boroughs, what are they to +do? In Ireland a Government appointment went a-begging for a year, +because no Whig member would risk the new election that must follow his +acceptance of it. It would seem that the Government are now in the same +sad predicament on both sides of the Irish Channel. + +Obviously the “Conservative reaction” has entered upon a new phase. The +country is resolved to have not only a Conservative policy, but a +Conservative Ministry. At first, when it was seen that the Whig Ministry +abandoned its mischievous attempts to degrade the franchise, many +constituencies contented themselves with electing men of Conservative +tendencies, even though they gave a general support to the Government. +But this feeling is dying away; neutrality is being abandoned for active +opposition. The change is doubtless due to more causes than one. But the +chief influence in producing the change is a love of fair-play. This is +peculiarly the case in regard to the English constituencies, where +public opinion is more calm and better balanced on political questions +than it is in the sister kingdoms. There is a striking difference, we +may remark, in the modes of political feeling and action which +characterise the three great sections of the United Kingdom. +Party-spirit and religious zeal (which, though generally, are not always +coincident forces) predominate in Ireland. In Scotland, although the +ecclesiastical spirit is very strong, the peculiar characteristic of the +people in politics is their attachment to ideas pure and simple: they +are the great theorists and innovators, and will go all lengths in the +logical application of their principles. Fortunately the English +constituencies are admirable ballast, and keep straight the vessel of +the State. They care little for “ideas,” but a great deal for good and +safe government: they are businesslike and matter-of-fact, and, above +all things, are lovers of fair-play. In many an English constituency the +representation, by mutual agreement, is divided between the rival +parties. A Whig and a Tory are returned together, or two Tories and a +Whig, or one Tory and two Whigs; and in some boroughs, where there is a +great landed proprietor who owns nearly the whole area of the borough, +the duke or other magnate is allowed to name one member and the majority +of the constituency the other. This is a businesslike compromise which +aptly illustrates English character. Every one knows that property must +have a great influence, whether wielded by a territorial magnate or by a +millowner; but in assigning one seat to the magnate, the constituency +is, by a well-understood agreement, left free to choose its own man for +the other, without any interference on the part of the magnate’s +influence. In the other case (which generally occurs in counties), where +the representation is divided, equally or unequally, between the rival +political parties, the same spirit of compromise is apparent. It saves +many contested elections, and it is likewise a virtual adoption of the +principle of the representation of minorities. Scotchmen would do none +of these things: a divided representation would seem to them as good as +none. As long as any party in a Scotch constituency has a majority, +however small, it will insist upon carrying its own men. The spirit of +compromise which distinguishes English constituencies arises partly from +their love of fair-play, partly from the fact that they are not such +fervid politicians as the Scotch, and deal with politics not as an +affair of immutable principles or scientific deduction, but as an +ordinary business matter, which they decide by striking a balance of the +miscellaneous considerations which affect them. Now, that balance is +turning every day more strongly against the Liberals. The Scotch may +think it best to have Liberals in office even though they carry out a +Conservative policy. But Englishmen don’t like this. In the first place, +it is not fair. Each side should have its innings, and the Whigs have +confessedly played out their game. Office has its sweets, and John Bull +thinks that it is more than time that the Tories should get their turn +of the good things. A man cannot live upon politics any more than upon +love; and although to the leading statesmen on both sides the emoluments +of office are as nothing, the tenure of political power by one party or +the other makes a material difference to each. John Bull understands +this. Moreover, if the retention of office by the Liberals is not fair, +it is also not manly or honest. John Bull, like old George III., does +not like “Scotch metaphysics.” He does not appreciate the casuistical +reasoning by which it may be shown that a Ministry which took office to +do one thing, may stay in office to do the opposite. Since the Whigs +have given up their principles, he thinks they should also give up their +places. Doubtless too, if he takes any interest in the morals of +Whiggery (which we greatly doubt, seeing they are so purely +speculative), he must come to the conclusion that the principles of the +party are rotting so fast on the Treasury seats that it is high time to +give them an airing in the bracing atmosphere of the Opposition benches. + +The country now sees that, if it had known the truth four years ago, the +present Ministry would never have been in existence. The Whigs and +Radicals overthrew the Conservative Government in 1859 by means of false +statements and false professions. It took some time before the real +state of the case could be demonstrated, but gradually it was made plain +by the conduct of the Liberals themselves. Slowly but steadily the truth +has dawned upon the constituencies: they feel that they were duped by +the present occupants of office, and they are now conscious also that +they did injustice to the Conservatives. The Whig chiefs who, before +they got into office, deemed Parliamentary Reform a matter of such +urgency that they promised to hold a special session in November in +order to pass a Reform Bill, first delayed to fulfil their promise, and +then threw up the matter altogether. The excuse which they plead is, +that they found Parliament unfavourable to any further tampering with +the constitution. But if Parliament was right, they themselves were +condemned; if it were wrong, why did they not dissolve, and appeal to +the country? Had they been in earnest, they would have dissolved: but +they knew that a dissolution would have been followed by the election of +a Parliament still more hostile to them and to their measure. And +therefore they chose rather to remain self-condemned, and to be pointed +at with the finger of scorn, by the one party as recreants, by the other +as impostors, rather than save their honour at least by the sacrifice of +office. This tells against them now. The revulsion of public feeling was +not, and could not be, immediate—for the duplicity and insincerity of +the Ministry only revealed itself by degrees; but it was certain from +the first, and has now become overwhelming. The Ministry have come to be +regarded with contempt, and every new election is taken advantage of by +the constituencies to give expression to their censure. But this is not +the whole of the change which the last four years have wrought on the +public mind. Alongside of the consciousness of the sins and demerits of +the present Ministry, there has arisen the conviction that the +principles of the Conservative party are the right ones for the country. +The constituencies now feel not only that the present Ministry is a bad +one, but that its predecessor was a good one. They have become sensible +that, if any Reform Bill were needed at all, the Bill brought forward by +Mr Disraeli was the one that best deserved to be adopted. They are now +conscious that if any change at all were requisite in the matter of +Church-rates, Mr Walpole’s Bill was well deserving of support, and that +the measure of total abolition to which the present Ministry have +pledged themselves is wholly out of the question. Finally, and for a +good while past, the country has come to see that, led away by the +misrepresentations of the Whigs, it did gross injustice to the foreign +policy of the Conservative Government. We do not know by what fatality +it was that Lord Malmesbury’s despatches on the Italian question were +not published until too late to affect the division on the vote of want +of confidence in June 1859. Had they been published earlier, we believe +the issue of that division would have been different. Every one may +remember (or may see for himself by referring to the file) the effect +which the publication of those despatches produced on the ‘Times,’ and +how the leading journal, thus enlightened as to the facts, frankly, and +without any reservation, admitted that Lord Malmesbury had been right +throughout. And certainly no one can forget how Lord John Russell, when +taking farewell of the House of Commons, took occasion—or rather made +occasion—to say that he approved of the policy of his predecessor, and +that (which is more than his colleagues could say) he had been of that +opinion from the beginning. The impression, originated and studiously +fostered by Lord Palmerston and his followers, that the Conservatives +are unfriendly to the cause of freedom and independence in Italy, is +totally unfounded. They have certainly mistrusted the disinterestedness +of the policy of the French Emperor, and have cautioned the Italian +Government against seeking to reach the height of its ambition by +machinations which would only redound to its own disadvantage: and on +both of these points the Italians themselves must now be convinced that +the warnings and advices of the Conservative statesmen were wellfounded. +At all events, taught by a bitter experience, the Italian Government is +now following the very course which the Conservatives recommended. We +may add a word on our own part. The Magazine will certainly be admitted +to be as sound an exponent of Conservatism as is to be found either in +or out of Parliament, and we can refer to our own pages to demonstrate +how heartily we have sympathised with the Italian cause, wherever it was +not marred by such secret traffickings with the French Government, as +the Italians themselves now regret and condemn; or by violations of law +which, though natural to times of revolution, may be condoned, but +cannot be approved. + +The Ministerial programme for the present Session contains another +confession of errors on the part of the Government, and a fresh proof of +the wisdom of the opinions of the Conservative party. Destitute, as +usual, of the capacity to originate measures of useful legislation, the +Budget is to be brought forward early, to cover the prospective +barrenness of the Session. And what is the feature of this year’s +Budget, upon which the Ministry rely to cover their flagrant incapacity +in other matters of administration? It is a reduction of the naval and +military estimates! It is the adoption of the very course so earnestly +advocated last year by the Opposition, and so strenuously resisted by +the Government. Hardly eight months have elapsed since Lord Palmerston +and his colleagues confidently and haughtily maintained that no +reduction could be made upon the large sums voted for the support of the +national armaments, without destroying the influence and safety of the +country. Mr Disraeli, during last Session, argued strongly in favour of +making such a reduction, on the ground that so heavy an expenditure was +uncalled for, and was in reality damaging to our military power, by +trenching so deeply upon the financial resources of the State. Again and +again he pressed these views upon the Government—it was his constant +theme all through last Session; but the Government refused to accept the +warnings, and resolutely maintained that no reduction could be made. +What, then, are we to think of them now? In what respect is the attitude +of the times more favourable for a reduction now than it was eight +months ago? In so far as there has been any change, the change has been +clearly for the worse. There has been a revolution in Greece, of the +issues of which as yet we have hardly seen the beginning. Servia has +been arming, by the secret assistance of Russia; and the Danubian +Principalities, and northern provinces of Turkey generally, are in a +more unquiet state than they have been for years. And now we have a +revolution in Poland, which is throwing all Central Europe into +agitation, and furnishing fresh opportunities for the intrigues or +intervention of other Powers. So far, then, as there has been any change +in the situation since last summer, the change, we repeat, has been for +the worse. Nothing could demonstrate more strikingly than this the +consciousness of the Government that they were wrong last Session, and +that the Conservatives were right. It is a new triumph for the +Conservative party—a fresh condemnation of themselves by the Ministry. +The trump card with which the Ministry are to lead off this Session has +been stolen from the hands of the Opposition. + +It is high time, indeed, that the Chancellor of the Exchequer were +retrenching his expenditure; for, weak as the Administration has been in +other respects, the management of the finances has been peculiarly +disastrous. Although the present Ministry took office with a surplus, +which they owed to their predecessors, in the two succeeding years +(1860–2) in which Mr Gladstone had the exclusive direction of the +finances, his mismanagement accumulated a deficit of four millions +sterling. Nor is this all. For in the same period Mr Gladstone +anticipated the revenue of the country to the extent of +£3,200,000,—namely, £2,000,000 anticipated upon the income-tax, and +upwards of £1,200,000 upon the malt-credit. This enormous deficit—_seven +and a half millions sterling_—was, moreover, accumulated during a period +when the national Exchequer enjoyed windfalls such as very rarely come +to the aid of a Minister of Finance. The falling-in of the terminable +annuities has reduced the charges on the National Debt to the extent of +£2,000,000; and there was also the unexpected repayment of a portion of +the Spanish loan. Mr Gladstone, therefore, has enough to do with the +surplus which he will obtain by the proposed reduction of the +expenditure. He has first to restore the Exchequer balances to their +proper amount, by repaying the £2,684,000 which he abstracted from them +to meet his exigencies between March 1860 and March 1862. He has +likewise to get rid of the addition to the National Debt which he +created, to the extent of £461,000. And, finally, he has to cease his +forestalments of the revenue. When he has done these things, where will +be his surplus? Mr Gladstone, in former times, used to denounce the +slightest forestalment of the yearly revenue as a flagrant “violation of +political morality;” and there is no question that such a procedure can +only be excused under exceptional circumstances and to a very small +amount. The House of Commons, therefore, as watchful guardians of the +public revenue, will surely call upon the Chancellor of the Exchequer to +restore matters to their normal condition before he does anything else. +The same must be done in regard to the Exchequer balances. And if it be +not an equally pressing necessity to pay off the £461,000 of new debt, +surely Mr Gladstone, who aspires to the reputation of a great Finance +Minister, will be ashamed to leave unpaid off a portion of the national +obligations which will hereafter be known as “Gladstone’s Debt.” +Unfortunately, when we think of 1853–4, we must allow that this is not +the only portion of the National Debt which may be thus designated. + +Most financiers, and all sound ones, in such circumstances, would devote +the surplus of revenue which might accrue to redressing the adverse +balance of former years. But Mr Gladstone belongs to a new school. He +leaves the balances to come right as they may, or bequeaths them as an +embarrassment to his successor; while he goes on in his seemingly +endless process of devising financial alterations, which always leave +him deeper in the mire. He loves to carry every inch of canvass—he +crowds all sail as he drives his financial pinnace through strange +waters; but he has shipped so many seas that the Exchequer has become +waterlogged. He had better bale out the water before he goes any +further. But this is precisely what he will not do. He must have a +“sensation” budget. He must reduce some branches of the revenue and +experiment with more. Already he lifts up a corner of the curtain to +give us a glimpse of the grand tableau of jugglery which he has in store +for us; and in due time the House will be wheedled and overwhelmed by +the suave rhetoric of the great financial juggler. Possibly, however, +the country will think that it has had too much of this already. It +thinks of the cheap paper and cheap wines, and cannot see anything in +these changes to atone for a deficit of seven millions and a half. Mr +Gladstone’s abolition of the paper-duties was done not only at a wrong +time, but in a wrong way. He not only landed himself in a deficit, but +he landed the papermakers in a dilemma. He struck off the excise-duty on +the one hand and the import-duty on paper on the other, and called it +“free trade;” but while making free trade in the manufactured article, +he ought to have taken care that there should be free trade likewise in +the raw material. Several Continental countries send their paper, +untaxed, to compete in the English markets with the produce of our own +paper-mills, while at the same time they place a prohibitory duty on the +export to our shores of rags. Our papermakers do not object to fair +competition, but they object to be subjected by legislative enactment to +so serious a disadvantage. If the crop of cotton in America were to fall +off in extent (as it has done during this civil war), and the Americans, +when peace is restored, were to place (as they have talked of doing) a +prohibitory duty upon the export of cotton, while we did not retaliate +by placing an import-duty on the manufactured article from their ports, +what would our manufacturers think of this sort of “free trade?” Why, +such a state of matters would produce a calamity in our manufacturing +districts equal to that under which we are now suffering, and ruin the +cotton industry in this country permanently. Yet this is the condition +of affairs which Mr Gladstone voluntarily chooses to impose upon our +paper manufacture, in deference to the clamour and exhortations of his +Radical friends. What has become of the touching picture which the +eloquent financier portrayed of paper-mills springing up all over the +country,—when every hamlet was to have its little factory, engaging the +surplus labour of the lads and lasses; and every glen that had a +streamlet was to be made musical with the noise of a paper-mill? We have +not heard of any such results—we have not heard of any extension at all +of the manufacture; and as for Mr Gladstone’s arcadian dreams of +paper-making, while foreign Governments act towards us in the way they +do, he surely cannot possibly hope for their realisation—unless, indeed, +he expects the whole country to go to rags under his financial +mismanagement. + +The other basis upon which Mr Gladstone founds his reputation as a great +financier, and as an ample compensation for his past annual deficits, is +his reduction of the duties upon French wines. We readily admit that +these wines have been poured into this country in greatly increased +quantities during the last eighteen months; but will this continue? And +what is the advantage we derive from the change? “Gladstone’s wines” has +become a current name for these beverages, but it is certainly not a +“household word.” Any one who confesses, with rueful face, that he has +made acquaintance with these wines, never fails to explain that it was +at another man’s table, or at some villanous restaurant’s,—never at his +own. No decanter will circulate if its contents are known to have been +favoured by the legislation of Mr Gladstone. People have become wary and +suspicious at dinner-parties now; and a Paterfamilias may be heard +giving the caution which old Squire Hazeldean gave to his son when about +to dine with Dr Riccabocca, “Whatever you take, Frank, don’t touch his +wines!” Those “cheap wines” have been tried—or, at least, if tried, have +been condemned and discarded at every respectable dinner-table. They +don’t suit the middle classes; that is an incontrovertible fact. We are +not less sure they are equally ill suited to the tastes and requirements +of the working-classes. They have hitherto been tried largely as a +novelty; but they do not improve on acquaintance, even if we could +forget the much better use which Mr Gladstone could have made of his +opportunities. Depend upon it, Nature knows better than any Chancellor +of the Exchequer how to provide for our bodily wants, and supplies the +essential wants of each people from the products of their own country. +Let our working-classes get good beer at its natural price, and it will +be infinitely better for their health, and more to their taste, than +giving them cheap foreign wines, whose thinness and acidity are not +suited for our climate, and which cannot compete with beer as nourishers +and supporters of the bodily strength. When we remember, on the one +hand, that seven and a half millions sterling have been lost to the +country in Mr Gladstone’s financial experiments; and, on the other, how +much better would have been a reduction on the duties of tea, sugar, and +beer, it will be admitted that he could hardly have wasted so much money +with less benefit to the community. Abundance of acid wines and plenty +of paper—it is a curious prescription for Mr Gladstone to found his +reputation upon. + +But Mr Gladstone is resolved to proceed in his eccentric course. His +crotchet this year is to cheapen tobacco. Three and a half years ago (in +November 1859) Mr Bright delivered two orations at public meetings in +favour of the abolition of the duties on tea, sugar, and tobacco, and +the substitution therefor of an enormous income-tax. But Mr Bright +thought that the tea and sugar duties were more deserving of reduction +than the duty on tobacco, whereas Mr Gladstone gives a preference to +tobacco. How is this to be accounted for? On the surface it appears a +new piece of financial eccentricity; and in every view of the matter the +Chancellor of the Exchequer, we should think, will find no small +difficulty in obtaining the consent of Parliament to his proposal. There +can be no question that tea, sugar, and beer have each and all prior +claims upon the favour of Parliament, if the wellbeing of the community +is to be consulted. But Mr Gladstone, in the speech which he made when +introducing his proposal, propounded the extraordinary doctrine that a +Chancellor of the Exchequer (and of course the Government which must +approve his acts) has nothing to do with the wellbeing of the community. +His only duty, says Mr Gladstone, is to get as much money as possible +out of the taxed commodities. Judged by this rule, Mr Gladstone has +certainly been a most unsuccessful Minister. We cannot, indeed, accept +this view of a Minister’s obligations to the country; but, even if it +were accepted, it would not furnish any justification of Mr Gladstone’s +proposal. He says that the present duty upon tobacco is so high that +smuggling is carried on to a large extent, and cannot be prevented by +the Custom-house officers. This would be a good argument for abolishing +the duty or reducing it to a trifling amount, but it is totally +inapplicable to the case when he proposes to leave a tax of five +shillings a-pound on manufactured tobacco, which is more than equal to +the price of the best manufactured tobacco, freight included. The +smuggler would still make a profit of more than a hundred per cent on +the value of the commodity; and does any one believe that smuggling +would cease, or even be sensibly diminished, when the premium upon +smuggling is so great, and when (as Mr Gladstone states) the facilities +of evasion are so plentiful? If Mr Gladstone were honest in the plea +upon which he rests his proposal for this reduction of customs-duty, he +would be labouring under a great delusion. But we take another view of +the matter. It seems to us that his real object is secretly to carry out +Mr Bright’s scheme of finance, and with great craft he begins with the +duties on tobacco, where his operations are least likely to excite +suspicion, but which, if accomplished, will render the subsequent steps +of the scheme not only easy but inevitable. There may be little to find +fault with in the present proposal considered by itself; but what is its +bearing in regard to our financial system? Reduce the duty on tobacco, +and what other customs-duty can be maintained? Mr Gladstone was never +more eloquent and plausible than when proposing to reduce the duty on +foreign wines; now he is playing the same artful game in regard to +tobacco. Can Parliament be any longer blind to the course to which he is +committing it? Honest financiers, who could afford to make a reduction +of taxation, would begin with tea, sugar, and beer, as the duties on +these can be remitted with the greatest advantage to the community; +while those on luxuries, such as foreign wines and tobacco, could be +maintained without inconvenience or complaint. But just for this very +reason Mr Gladstone, who aims at accomplishing Mr Bright’s scheme of +taxation, begins at the other end—knowing well that if he can reduce the +taxes on tobacco as well as on foreign wines, the _abolition_ of the +other customs-duties will follow as a natural consequence. A reduction +to the extent of one-half the duties on luxuries cannot be balanced save +by totally abolishing the duties on the necessaries of life. We have a +strong conviction that this is his game; for the good reason that upon +no other supposition is his conduct intelligible. Mr Gladstone is not a +fool; he must have an adequate motive for this seemingly crotchety +course; and we believe we have named it. Let the House of Commons look +to it, before they are led too far into the toils to be able to recede. + +Plausible in the extreme, and ever seeking to conciliate or overreach +his audience by all the arts of rhetoric and casuistry, Mr Gladstone +changes his arguments and mode of dealing with the House almost every +year, as may best suit his plans. Financial principles he has none—save +the great one which he conceals. All arguments are fair, he thinks—all +professions of opinion justifiable, in order that he may carry his +point, and lead the House step by step unwittingly towards his goal. We +need not allude to the rhetorical craft by which, in 1860, when he +wished to gain the assent of the House to an increase of the income-tax, +he maintained that there was a deficit of twelve millions; whereas, in +the following year, when the balance was worse by 2½ millions, but when +he eagerly desired to obtain the abolition of the paper-duties, he +boldly represented that there was a surplus. At one time he represents +that the proper way to proceed with a Budget is by a multiplicity of +separate bills; at another time (when it suits his purpose better) in +the form of a single bill. But his disregard of financial principles, or +rather his alternate adoption and repudiation of principles the most +opposite, is a still more glaring offence. In the case of the French +Treaty, he was wholly in favour of Reciprocity; in the case of the +Paper-duties, he represented that it was right for us to abolish them +without any attempt at obtaining reciprocity, and although some +countries actually prohibited the export of the raw material of the +manufacture! He reduced the duty on French wines on the ground that the +reduction would benefit the morals of the working-classes, by enabling +them to drink light wines instead of strong spirits; he now justifies +his proposed reduction of the duty on tobacco on the very opposite +principle—to wit, that a Chancellor of the Exchequer has nothing +whatever to do with the morals or wellbeing of the people. His dogma for +the hour is, that his only duty is to make the taxes as profitable as +possible. We have shown that it is very doubtful if his present proposal +will have that effect; but, in any case, how would his new dogma accord +with his policy in the last two years in wholly abolishing the duties on +paper and other commodities? He is the most dangerous Minister that has +ever been intrusted with the management of the British finances. He has +not only involved the country in an accumulation of deficits, but he has +had the art to persuade Parliament to do this with its eyes open; while +at the same time he leads it onward, with its eyes carefully bandaged, +towards the goal of democratic finance—which of late years has become +the cynosure of his policy, and which he knows would at once become +unattainable if his real purpose were avowed. + +Now that we are to have a surplus—in consequence of the Ministry at +length adopting the views of the Opposition—the first duty which +devolves upon the House of Commons is to retrieve the financial mistakes +of the past, and to rid us of its burdens. What the Conservative leaders +advocated last session was not reduction of taxation, but retrenchment +of expenditure. The Government had incurred a deficit of £7,500,000 in +two years, and the first thing to be thought of was, to reduce the +expenditure, in order that the deficit might be cleared off. Let Mr +Gladstone do this—let him clear off the serious deficits in his previous +years of office; and then—but not till then—ought he to propound new +reductions of the revenue. But such a businesslike proceeding would not +make a sensation budget; it would not surround the Ministry with that +bright gleam of popularity which is to retrieve their position, and +carry them through another session of barrenness and humiliation. In all +probability Mr Gladstone’s proposal is to ignore the past deficits, and +devote the whole of his prospective surplus to the reduction of +taxation. By a reduction of taxes the country is to be bribed into +forgetfulness of the past, and rendered placable to the appeal for +respite on the part of a falling Ministry. It is not to be expected that +Mr Gladstone will confine his favours to tobacco: he must support his +great remission of duty on this luxury by minor reductions on articles +of more usefulness. While striking four shillings a-pound off tobacco, +he will strike a few pence or farthings off the price of tea and sugar. +In fact, he will probably, in his usual way, give a trifling sop all +round, in order that he may be allowed to carry his great point in the +reduction of the duties on tobacco. The House will do much better to +abolish, or greatly reduce, the duties on hops and beer. Surely it is +intolerable that foreign luxuries, like tobacco and French wines, should +receive the favours of the Legislature, while the produce of our own +soil and industry, constituting a healthy element of the national food, +should be subjected to heavy taxation. This is a matter which affects +urban constituencies as well as the agricultural interest. Put it to the +vote in any town or county in the land, whether they will have five +shillings a-pound struck off the duty on tobacco, or get the fiscal +burdens removed from beer, and there cannot be a doubt that the whole +suffrages would be given in favour of beer, and against tobacco. +Therefore if Mr Gladstone—as is most likely—be resolved once more to +play an _ad captandum_ game, we trust the House of Commons will be on +the alert to see that any possible reductions of taxation are effected +on articles which enter largely into the food of the people, and not +wasted—with what ulterior object, we need not repeat—upon an enormous +remission on the duties on tobacco and cigars. But it still more behoves +the House to see that Mr Gladstone’s previous deficits are cleared off. +Mr Gladstone must put the finances in the condition in which they were +when he took office. We do not presume he will venture to continue his +practice of forestalling the revenue payments; but he has to refund the +two millions which he abstracted from the balances in the Exchequer in +the two years subsequent to March 1860, and he has also to pay off about +half a million sterling which has been added to the National Debt during +his present term of office. Let him do these things first; and then we +will see how much he has to spare for promoting the introduction of +cigars for the million! Let us clear off our past deficits, before, +under the leadership of this financial sophist, we plunge into others +that we know not of. + +The past month has furnished a most singular proof of the want of +sagacity which has characterised the commercial policy of the Whigs +since 1847. On coming into office at that time, their only thought was, +how to rival Sir R. Peel in his highly popular reforms of the tariff. +Unable to equal him in administrative sagacity, they simply travestied +his policy by carrying it to excess. They abolished or reduced +customs-duties, and totally relinquished the Navigation Laws, without a +thought of how the country would fare in its future commercial relations +with other countries. Again and again they were warned that they were +rashly and foolishly relinquishing a valuable vantage-ground without +even attempting to obtain those advantages for our commerce which other +countries would be willing to cede in return. What has been the +consequence? The ‘Magazine’ has so often in former years predicted what +would be the result, that we need not now go over the old ground. +Fortunately the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs has told the tale of +Ministerial failure so well, that his speech on Feb. 17, in answer to Mr +Fitzgerald, completely substantiates the correctness of our old +predictions. We print it here as furnishing ample matter for reflection +to politicians on both sides of the House:— + + + “When the hon. member for Rochdale went to Paris to negotiate the + French treaty, the first thing he was asked was, What had he to offer? + If he had gone to Paris with his hands empty, it was not probable that + he would have succeeded in obtaining the concessions which the French + Government made to him. Fortunately, however, the hon. gentleman had + much to offer. There were heavy duties on wine and other articles of + French produce and manufactures, and in consideration of a reduction + in those duties the French Government consented to various changes in + their tariff which had proved very beneficial not only to this country + but to France. It was necessary to bear in mind that in our domestic + legislation we differed from France. We at once gave the whole world + the benefit of the concessions which had been made to our ally. + France, on the other hand, withheld from others the privileges she had + conceded to us, and thus retained in her hands the means of bargaining + with other Powers for mutual commercial concessions. When one nation + sought any favour from another nation, there were various grounds on + which the request might be based. An appeal might be made to the + generosity of the other Power, but it was doubtful whether that would + have much effect; or an appeal might be made to a treaty which gave + the applicant the privileges of the most favoured nation, and a claim + advanced for certain privileges which had been granted to another + State. Therefore it was, above all things, desirable that when one had + no concessions to offer in return for the advantages sought, some + other Power, which possessed the means of bargaining, should commence + the negotiations. That was the reason why France had been allowed to + precede us in the present instance, and every concession which was + made to her gave us a right to claim the same. If we had taken the + initiative, the Italian Government would very naturally have said, + ‘You have nothing to give us in exchange for what we give you, and if + we freely concede your demands we shall be placed in a bad position in + making terms with France.’ So far from Her Majesty’s Government not + having endeavoured to make treaties of commerce with other nations, + the fact was that there was scarcely a Power in Europe with whom + negotiations had not been opened during the last year or two. The + Belgian Government were asked to make a treaty of commerce with us, as + they had done with France; and it was pointed out to them that it + would be an unfriendly act, having entered into a treaty with France, + to refuse to negotiate one with England. They replied by asking what + we could give to them in return, and they suggested that if they gave + to us what they had given to France, we [having nothing of our own to + offer them] should consent to capitalise the Scheldt dues. Now, the + capitalisation of the Scheldt dues had nothing whatever to do with a + treaty of commerce, and our Government [_nota bene_, having nothing to + bargain with!] at once refused to admit the principle of purchasing a + treaty. [And yet, in the very year previous, they had “purchased” the + treaty with France!]... The House was aware that last year the French + Government were negotiating a treaty with Prussia and the Zollverein. + As soon as that fact became known, our Government applied to Prussia + and the Zollverein to make with us a similar treaty of commerce. The + reply was precisely the same we received from Belgium—that + negotiations could not be entered into with us until those in progress + with France were concluded. France, it was said in effect, can give us + an equivalent. You can give us none.” + + +During the present month the conflict of parties in the Legislature will +be suspended as far as the business of the country will allow. The +nation and its representatives will have little taste for polemical +discussion during the month that is to witness the joyous event of the +marriage of the heir-apparent to the throne. The country will be in +jubilee, and London will be absorbed in the fêtes and royal ceremonial +attendant upon the nuptials. The good wishes of all flow out to the +young Prince and his Danish bride. The hopes of the nation centre in +him. The hearty greetings of the people await him on this happy +occasion. He has proved himself worthy of the esteem which he so fully +enjoys. Since the days of the Black Prince, no heir to the throne has +given so many happy auguries of his future. Unlike the peerless son of +Edward III., we trust that he will be spared “long to reign over us,” +after the evil hour for us when his royal mother shall exchange her +earthly crown for a better one. Before the royal pageantries and popular +illuminations begin, and the acclamations of the first nation in the +world arise to greet him and his beautiful bride, we tender them our +sympathies, our congratulations, and our best wishes for their +happiness. The union promises to be a happy one for the royal pair. It +is a present happiness, and we trust it will be a lasting comfort, to +our beloved Queen. It is the first gleam of returning sunshine to her +heart after the darkness of sorrow and bereavement which so suddenly +settled down upon her fifteen months ago. We know no drawback upon the +general joy. Even in a political point of view this alliance is +fortunate, and desirable above any other that could be formed. The +country is thrice happy to know that this is a union of hearts as well +as of hands, and that the bride-elect possesses in an eminent degree +those advantages of person, charms of manner, and piety and amiability +of character, which captivate affection and secure domestic happiness. +While as a good princess and queen she will win our hearts, it is an +additional pleasure to feel that, as a Scandinavian Princess, she will +rivet an old and national alliance, and draw into closer bonds the +kindred races of the North. + +Though there will be a temporary truce, we fear the conduct of the +Government, whether as represented by Mr Gladstone or by Lord Russell, +will not be such as the Conservative Opposition can approve. Even apart +from its acts, the position of the Ministry is so unnatural, and its +reputation so tarnished and discredited, that it cannot possibly hope +for a much longer respite. Every week its position is becoming more +untenable. In vain do its friends endeavour to frame apologies for its +defeats and pleas for its existence. In vain does the leading journal at +one time claim as a merit for the Premier that he has “no principles;” +in vain does it, at another, seek to intimidate electors by declaring +that “unprincipled constituencies make unscrupulous Governments.” We +should have thought that “unprincipled constituencies” were the very +ones to support a Premier with no “principles.” However, as the +subsequent election at Totnes showed, the threat was no idle word: and +Government influence and the most tyrannical pressure were employed to +coerce the free action of that constituency. But this course also has +failed. At Totnes the Government simply escaped defeat: Liberals were +returned as Liberals had been before. But at Devonport, another pocket +borough of the Ministry, the Government was defeated, and for the first +time for several elections a Conservative headed the poll. Ministerial +tyranny had been carried too far. It succeeded in the first instance, +but would not be brooked in the second. The “unscrupulous Government” +has received a check in the corrupt exercise of its powers which it can +never forget. It was at once a triumph for Conservatism and for the +principle of freedom of election. We do not wonder that Mr Ferrand, when +he took his seat in the House, should be received with hearty +acclamations from the Conservatives, who crowded the Opposition benches +to do him honour. The Conservative party is now stronger by eleven +votes—counting twenty-two on a division—since June 1859, when the united +Whigs and Radicals succeeded in overthrowing Lord Derby’s Government by +a majority of only thirteen. + +It is amusing to see the subterfuges by which the Whigs seek to conceal +their discomfiture. Feeling themselves going downhill very fast, +disintegrating, expiring, they cry out that “there are no parties +nowadays.” Some of them even go the length of saying that there are “no +principles;” the correctness of which statement we shall not dispute as +regards themselves. They should know best; and, indeed, as all their old +principles are dead and gone, dismissed into the limbo of vanities, we +do not see how they can have any left. It is certainly suspicious that +the Whigs should have innocently discovered that the age of party is +past, at the very time that the Tory party has regained its old +ascendancy in the Legislature. Plain people will not be at a loss to +assign a reason. The Whigs as a party are extinct, and, like +Chesterfield and Tyrawley, “they don’t wish it to be known.” The only +thing that can keep the Whigs alive in the imagination of the public, is +to show that party is dead. Happily the country has only to look at the +Opposition side of the House to see that the Tory party is alive, and +exuberant in strength and hope. It is fortunate for the interests of the +State that they are so. The main attack upon the bulwarks of the +Constitution has been decisively repulsed—the legions of “Reform” have +been scattered in such hopeless rout that their leaders have thrown away +their standards and disavow their cause. But the fight still goes on +against another front of the Constitution, which, until lately, was but +ill defended. This combat, so interesting and important, is itself a +test of party; and seldom have the organisation and discipline of party +been more strikingly displayed than in this keen warfare. Party dead! +No, truly. “An opinion has been industriously promulgated of late,” +justly observes a contemporary,[12] “that party distinctions have ceased +in public life, and that there are no contested principles between the +two great political connections of the State. Yet simultaneous with the +propagation of this doctrine has been the most systematic and successful +assault in Parliament upon the Church of England that it has encountered +since 1640.” Repulsed from the political front of the Constitution, the +waves of combat still dash furiously against our religious institutions. +It is time that the Conservatives should overthrow the enemies of the +Constitution in this quarter also by a decisive victory. It will be +their crowning triumph. In truth there is no other beyond it. When they +have terminated this combat, the Conservative triumph is complete in the +Legislature, as it already is in the country. The Church is part and +parcel of the British Constitution; and very heartily do we approve of +our ecclesiastical contemporary’s exhortations to Churchmen to look +after their special interests. The Church is a party question, like any +other; and in the intense competition of a constitutional country, the +Church must organise its press, like the other institutions of the land. + +There is a good time coming sure enough, and the cause of its coming is +easily understood. The Conservative party are superior alike in +sincerity and in statesmanlike ability to the party which has so long +prided itself in the advocacy of organic changes. Moreover, they +represent the normal feeling of Englishmen. Conservatism is the +distinguishing feature of the British character. The public of this +country has no love for those theoretic ideals of government, those +paper-constitutions, which have so often fascinated and brought misery +upon other nations. The reign of Innovation is ever short-lived with us; +and the supremacy of the party who represent that principle must be +equally transitory. The Whig party, who became champions of innovation +in order to regain the power which they had lost, now find that their +old vantage-ground has slipped from under them. They have had their day +as rough-hewers of the Constitution, and now give place again to the +more masterly artists who know how to chisel the marble while preserving +the lineaments of the noble design. This natural decline of the Reform +party has been rendered more inevitable by the very efforts they have +made to maintain themselves in power. Everything portends the speedy +ascendancy of the Conservative party in Parliament; and the leaders of +the party are the very men to lend to such a cause the lustre of +personal renown. Derby, Malmesbury, Disraeli, Bulwer Lytton, Pakington, +Walpole, Stanley, Cairns, Whiteside, are names of which any party and +any cause might be proud. They have the advantage of years, too, on +their side; for, compared with their rivals, they are all in the vigour +of life, and in the prime of states-manhood. The tide of public opinion +has long been rising in their favour, and they have not long to wait. +They are strong, and therefore are calm; they are patriotic, and will +not imitate the factious tactics of their rivals. But their final +success is at hand; and their triumph will be all the more glorious, +inasmuch as it promises to partake less of the character of a +party-victory, than of an ovation offered to them by the whole +enlightened classes of the community. + + + _Printed by William Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh._ + +----- + +Footnote 1: + + ‘La Vie de Village en Angleterre; ou, Souvenirs d’un Exile.’ Paris: + Didier. 1862. + +Footnote 2: + + ‘Vie Moderne en Angleterre.’ Par Hector Malot. + +Footnote 3: + + ‘Studies in Roman Law; with Comparative Views of the Laws of France, + England, and Scotland.’ By Lord Mackenzie, one of the Judges of the + Court of Session in Scotland. W. Blackwood & Sons. 1862. + +Footnote 4: + + I should add that, since writing the above, one day my eye was + attracted by the unusual number of people (there were nine) reading + one of the royal decrees just promulgated and placarded on the wall: + it concerned the uniform of subordinate officials. + +Footnote 5: + + The ‘Chiacchiera’ of 3d January. + +Footnote 6: + + ‘Relations Politiques de la France et de l’Espagne avec l’Ecosse au + xvi^e Siècle—Papiers d’état, Pièces, et Documents inedits ou peu + connus, tirés des Bibliothêques et des Archives de France. Publiés par + Alexandre Teulet, Archiviste aux Archives de l’Empire.’ Nouvelle + edition, 5 vols. Paris: Renouard. Edinburgh: Williams & Norgate. + + ‘Les Ecossais en France—Les Français en Ecosse.’ Par Francisque + Michel, Correspondant de l’Institut de France, &c. &c. 2 vols. London: + Trübner & Co. + +Footnote 7: + + See the cessation of church-building in Scotland brought out in a + well-known article in the ‘Quarterly Review’ for July 1849, on the + Churches and Abbeys of Scotland, understood to be from the pen of Mr + Joseph Robertson. + +Footnote 8: + + See the article on ‘Baronial and Ecclesiastical Antiquities of + Scotland,’ in the Magazine for August 1850. + +Footnote 9: + + Article, ‘The French on Queen Mary,’ Magazine for November 1859. + +Footnote 10: + + ‘The Invasion of the Crimea: Its Origin, and an Account of its + Progress down to the Death of Lord Raglan.’ By Alexander William + Kinglake. 2d Edition. William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh and + London. + +Footnote 11: + + The ‘Daily News.’ + +Footnote 12: + + ‘Church and State Review,’ art. ‘Practical Politics.’ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + Page Changed from Changed to + + 279 were not long absent. Whey they were not long absent. When they + + 320 a _cause celèbre_ now depending. a _cause célèbre_ now depending. + We We + + 372 the _coup d’êtat_. The claims of the _coup d’état_. The claims of + St St + + ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last + chapter. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + ● The caret (^) serves as a superscript indicator, applicable to + individual characters (like 2^d). + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75167 *** |