History of Civilization in England, Vol. 2 of 3

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

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

In the eleventh century there arose the celebrated institution of chivalry,[325 - ‘Dès la fin du onzième siècle, à l'époque même où commencèrent les croisades, on trouve la chevalerie établie.’ Koch, Tab. des Révolutions, vol. i. p. 143; see also Sainte-Palaye, Mém. sur la Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 42, 68. M. Guizot (Civilis. en France, vol. iii. pp. 349–354) has attempted to trace it back to an earlier period; but he appears to have failed, though of course its germs may be easily found. According to some writers it originated in northern Europe; according to others in Arabia! Mallet's Northern Antiquities, p. 202; Journal of Asiat. Soc. vol. ii. p. 11.] which was to manners what feudalism was to politics. This connexion is clear, not only from the testimony of contemporaries, but also from two general considerations. In the first place, chivalry was so highly aristocratic, that no one could even receive knighthood unless he were of noble birth;[326 - ‘L'ordre de chevalerie n'étoit accordé qu'aux hommes d'un sang noble.’ Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. iv. p. 204. Compare Daniel, Hist. de la Milice, vol. i. p. 97, and Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 20.] and the preliminary education which was held to be necessary was carried on either in schools appointed by the nobles, or else in their own baronial castles.[327 - ‘In some places there were schools appointed by the nobles of the country, but most frequently their own castles served.’ Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 31; and see Sainte-Palaye, Mém. sur l'Anc. Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 30, 56, 57, on this education.] In the second place, it was essentially a protective, and not at all a reforming institution. It was contrived with a view to remedy certain oppressions as they successively arose; opposed in this respect to the reforming spirit, which, being remedial rather than palliative, strikes at the root of an evil by humbling the class from which the evil proceeds, passing over individual cases in order to direct its attention to general causes. But chivalry, so far from doing this, was in fact a fusion of the aristocratic and the ecclesiastical forms of the protective spirit.[328 - This combination of knighthood and religious rites is often ascribed to the crusades; but there is good evidence that it took place a little earlier, and must be referred to the latter half of the eleventh century. Compare Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. pp. 10, 11; Daniel, Hist. de la Milice, vol. i. pp. 101, 102, 108; Boulainvilliers, Ancien Gouv. vol. i. p. 326. Sainte-Palaye (Mém. sur la Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 119–123), who has collected some illustrations of the relation between chivalry and the church, says, p. 119, ‘enfin la chevalerie étoit regardée comme une ordination, un sacerdoce.’ The superior clergy possessed the right of conferring knighthood, and William Rufus was actually knighted by Archbishop Lanfranc: ‘Archiepiscopus Lanfrancus, eo quòd eum nutrierat, et militem fecerat.’ Will. Malmes. lib. iv., in Scriptores post Bedam, p. 67. Compare Fosbroke's British Monachism, 1843, p. 101, on knighting by abbots.] For, by introducing among the nobles the principle of knighthood, which, being personal, could never be bequeathed, it presented a point at which the ecclesiastical doctrine of celibacy could coalesce with the aristocratic doctrine of hereditary descent.[329 - The influence of this on the nobles is rather exaggerated by Mr. Mills; who, on the other hand, has not noticed how the unhereditary element was favourable to the ecclesiastical spirit. Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. pp. 15, 389, vol. ii. p. 169; a work interesting as an assemblage of facts, but almost useless as a philosophic estimate.] Out of this coalition sprung results of great moment. It is to this that Europe owes those orders, half aristocratic half religious,[330 - ‘In their origin all the military orders, and most of the religious ones, were entirely aristocratic.’ Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. p. 336.] the Knights Templars, the Knights of St. James, the Knights of St. John, the Knights of St. Michael: establishments which inflicted the greatest evils on society; and whose members, combining analogous vices, enlivened the superstition of monks with the debauchery of soldiers. As a natural consequence, an immense number of noble knights were solemnly pledged to ‘defend the church;’ an ominous expression, the meaning of which is too well known to the readers of ecclesiastical history.[331 - Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. i. pp. 148, 338. About the year 1127, St. Bernard wrote a discourse in favour of the Knights Templars, in which ‘he extols this order as a combination of monasticism and knighthood… He describes the design of it as being to give the military order and knighthood a serious Christian direction, and to convert war into something that God might approve.’ Neander's Hist. of the Church, vol. vii. p. 358. To this may be added, that, early in the thirteenth century, a chivalric association was formed, and afterwards merged in the Dominican order, called the Militia of Christ: ‘un nouvel ordre de chevalerie destiné à poursuivre les hérétiques, sur le modèle de celui des Templiers, et sous le nom de Milice de Christ.’ Llorente, Hist. de l'Inquisition, vol. i. pp. 52, 133, 203.] Thus it was that chivalry, uniting the hostile principles of celibacy and noble birth, became the incarnation of the spirit of the two classes to which those principles belonged. Whatever benefit, therefore, this institution may have conferred upon manners,[332 - Several writers ascribe to chivalry the merit of softening manners, and of increasing the influence of women. Sainte-Palaye, Mém. sur la Chevalerie, vol. i. pp. 220–223, 282, 284, vol. iii. pp. vi. vii. 159–161; Helvétius de l'Esprit, vol. ii. pp. 50, 51; Schlegel's Lectures, vol. i. p. 209. That there was such a tendency is, I think, indisputable; but it has been greatly exaggerated; and an author of considerable reading on these subjects says, ‘The rigid treatment shown to prisoners of war in ancient times strongly marks the ferocity and uncultivated manners of our ancestors, and that even to ladies of high rank; notwithstanding the homage said to have been paid to the fair sex in those days of chivalry.’ Grose's Military Antiquities, vol. ii. p. 114. Compare Manning on the Law of Nations, 1839, pp. 145, 146.] there can be no doubt that it actively contributed to keep men in a state of pupilage, and stopped the march of society by prolonging the term of its infancy.[333 - Mr. Hallam (Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 464) says, ‘A third reproach may be made to the character of knighthood, that it widened the separation between the different classes of society, and confirmed that aristocratical spirit of high birth, by which the large mass of mankind were kept in unjust degradation.’]

On this account, it is evident that, whether we look at the immediate or at the remote tendency of chivalry, its strength and duration become a measure of the predominance of the protective spirit. If, with this view, we compare France and England, we shall find fresh proof of the early divergence of those countries. Tournaments, the first open expression of chivalry, are of French origin.[334 - Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. iv. pp. 370, 371, 377; Turner's Hist. of England, vol. iv. p. 478; Foncemagne, De l'Origine des Armoiries, in Mém. de l'Académie des Inscriptions, vol. xx. p. 580. Koch also says (Tableau des Révolutions, vol. i. p. 139), ‘c'est de la France que l'usage des tournois se répandit chez les autres nations de l'Europe.’ They were first introduced into England in the reign of Stephen. Lingard's England, vol. ii. p. 27.] The greatest and, indeed, the only two great describers of chivalry are Joinville and Froissart, both of whom were Frenchmen. Bayard, that famous chevalier, who is always considered as the last representative of chivalry, was a Frenchman, and was killed when fighting for Francis I. Nor was it until nearly forty years after his death that tournaments were finally abolished in France, the last one having been held in 1560.[335 - Mr. Hallam (Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 470) says they were ‘entirely discontinued in France’ in consequence of the death of Henry II.; but according to Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. ii. p. 226, they lasted the next year; when another fatal accident occurred, and ‘tournaments ceased for ever.’ Compare Sainte-Palaye sur la Chevalerie, vol. ii. pp. 39, 40.]

But in England, the protective spirit being much less active than in France, we should expect to find that chivalry, as its offspring, had less influence. And such was really the case. The honours that were paid to knights, and the social distinctions by which they were separated from the other classes, were never so great in our country as in France.[336 - Mr. Hallam (Middle Ages, vol. ii. p. 467) observes, that the knight, as compared with other classes, ‘was addressed by titles of more respect. There was not, however, so much distinction in England as in France.’ The great honour paid to knights in France is noticed by Daniel (Milice Française, vol. i. pp. 128, 129) and Herder (Ideen zur Geschichte, vol. iv. pp. 226, 267) says, that in France chivalry flourished more than in any other country. The same remark is made by Sismondi (Hist. des Français, vol. iv. p. 198).] As men became more free, the little respect they had for such matters still further diminished. In the thirteenth century, and indeed in the very reign in which burgesses were first returned to parliament, the leading symbol of chivalry fell into such disrepute, that a law was passed obliging certain persons to accept that rank of knighthood which in other nations was one of the highest objects of ambition.[337 - The Statutum de Militibus, in 1307, was perhaps the first recognition of this. Compare Blackstone's Comment. vol. ii. p. 69; Barrington on the Statutes, pp. 192, 193. But we have positive evidence that compulsory knighthood existed in the reign of Henry III.; or at least that those who refused it were obliged to pay a fine. See Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 421, and Lyttleton's Hist. of Henry II. vol. ii. pp. 238, 239, 2nd edit. 4to. 1767. Lord Lyttleton, evidently puzzled, says, ‘Indeed it seems a deviation from the original principle of this institution. For one cannot but think it a very great inconsistency, that a dignity, which was deemed an accession of honour to kings themselves, should be forced upon any.’] In the fourteenth century, this was followed by another blow, which deprived knighthood of its exclusively military character; the custom having grown up in the reign of Edward III. of conferring it on the judges in the courts of law, thus turning a warlike title into a civil honour.[338 - In Mills' Hist. of Chivalry, vol. ii. p. 154, it is said, that ‘the judges of the courts of law’ were first knighted in the reign of Edward III.] Finally, before the end of the fifteenth century, the spirit of chivalry, in France still at its height, was in our country extinct, and this mischievous institution had become a subject for ridicule even among the people themselves.[339 - Mr. Mills (Hist. of Chivalry, vol. ii. pp. 99, 100) has printed a curious extract from a lamentation over the destruction of chivalry, written in the reign of Edward IV.; but he has overlooked a still more singular instance. This is a popular ballad, written in the middle of the fifteenth century, and called the Turnament of Tottenham, in which the follies of chivalry are admirably ridiculed. See Warton's Hist. of English Poetry, edit. 1840, vol. iii. pp. 98–101; and Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry, edit. 1845, pp. 92–95. According to Turner (Hist. of England, vol. vi. p. 363), ‘the ancient books of chivalry were laid aside’ about the reign of Henry VI.] To these circumstances we may add two others, which seem worthy of observation. The first is, that the French, notwithstanding their many admirable qualities, have always been more remarkable for personal vanity than the English;[340 - This is not a mere popular opinion, but rests upon a large amount of evidence, supplied by competent and impartial observers. Addison, who was a lenient as well as an able judge, and who had lived much among the French, calls them ‘the vainest nation in the world.’ Letter to Bishop Hough, in Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 90. Napoleon says, ‘vanity is the ruling principle of the French.’ Alison's Hist. of Europe, vol. vi. p. 25. Dumont (Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 111) declares, that ‘le trait le plus dominant dans le caractère français, c'est l'amour propre;’ and Ségur (Souvenirs, vol. i. pp. 73, 74), ‘car en France l'amour propre, ou, si on le veut, la vanité, est de toutes les passions la plus irritable.’ It is moreover stated, that phrenological observations prove that the French are vainer than the English. Combe's Elements of Phrenology, 6th edit. Edinb. 1845, p. 90; and a partial recognition of the same fact in Broussais, Cours de Phrénologie, p. 297. For other instances of writers who have noticed the vanity of the French, see Tocqueville, l'Ancien Régime, p. 148; Barante, Lit. Franç. au XVIIIe. Siècle, p. 80; Mém. de Brissot, vol. i. p. 272; Mézéray, Hist. de France, vol. ii. p. 933; Lemontey, Etablissement Monarchique, p. 418; Voltaire, Lettres inédites, vol. ii. p. 282; Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 358; De Staël sur la Révolution, vol. i. p. 260, vol. ii. p. 258.] a peculiarity partly referable to those chivalric traditions which even their occasional republics have been unable to destroy, and which makes them attach undue importance to external distinctions, by which I mean, not only dress and manners, but also medals, ribbons, stars, crosses, and the like, which we, a prouder people, have never held in such high estimation. The other circumstance is, that duelling has from the beginning been more popular in France than in England; and as this is a custom which we owe to chivalry, the difference in this respect between the two countries supplies another link in that long chain of evidence by which we must estimate their national tendencies.[341 - The relation between chivalry and duelling has been noticed by several writers; and in France, where the chivalric spirit was not completely destroyed until the Revolution, we find occasional traces of this connexion even in the reign of Louis XVI. See, for instance, in Mém. de Lafayette, vol. i. p. 86, a curious letter in regard to chivalry and duelling in 1778. In England there is, I believe, no evidence of even a single private duel being fought earlier than the sixteenth century, and there were not many till the latter half of Elizabeth's reign; but in France the custom arose early in the fifteenth century, and in the sixteenth it became usual for the seconds to fight as well as the principals. Compare Montlosier, Monarc. Franç. vol. ii. p. 436, with Monteil, Hist. des divers Etats, vol. vi. p. 48. From that time the love of the French for duelling became quite a passion until the end of the eighteenth century, when the Revolution, or rather the circumstances which led to the Revolution, caused its comparative cessation. Some idea may be formed of the enormous extent of this practice formerly in France, by comparing the following passages, which I have the more pleasure in bringing together, as no one has written even a tolerable history of duelling, notwithstanding the great part it once played in European society. De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. ix. pp. 592, 593, vol. xv. p. 57; Daniel, Milice Française, vol. ii. p. 582; Sully, Œconomies, vol. i. p. 301, vol. iii. p. 406, vol. vi. p. 122, vol. viii. p. 41, vol. ix. p. 408; Carew's State of France under Henry IV., in Birch's Historical Negotiations, p. 467; Ben Jonson's Works, edit. Gifford, vol. vi. p. 69; Dulaure, Hist. de Paris (1825 3rd edit.), vol. iv. p. 567, vol. v. pp. 300, 301; Le Clerc, Bibliothèque Univ. vol. xx. p. 242; Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 536; Capefigue, Hist. de la Réforme, vol. viii. p. 98; Capefigue's Richelieu, vol. i. p. 63; Des Réaux, Historiettes, vol. x. p. 13; Mém. de Genlis, vol. ii. p. 191, vol. vii. p. 215, vol. ix. p. 351; Mem. of the Baroness d'Oberkirch, vol. i. p. 71, edit. Lond. 1852; Lettres inédites d'Aguesseau, vol. i. p. 211; Lettres de Dudeffand à Walpole, vol. iii. p. 249, vol. iv. pp. 27, 28, 152; Boullier, Maison Militaire des Rois de France, pp. 87, 88; Biog. Univ. vol. v. pp. 402, 403, vol. xxiii. p. 411, vol. xliv. pp. 127, 401, vol. xlviii. p. 522, vol. xlix. p. 130.]

The old associations, of which these facts are but the external expression, now continued to act with increasing vigour. In France, the protective spirit, carried into religion, was strong enough to resist the Reformation, and preserve to the clergy the forms, at least, of their ancient supremacy. In England, the pride of men, and their habits of self-reliance, enabled them to mature into a system what is called the right of private judgment, by which some of the most cherished traditions were eradicated; and this, as we have already seen, being quickly succeeded, first by scepticism, and then by toleration, prepared the way for that subordination of the church to the state, for which we are pre-eminent, and without a rival, among the nations of Europe. The very same tendency, acting in politics, displayed analogous results. Our ancestors found no difficulty in humbling the nobles, and reducing them to comparative insignificance. The wars of the Roses, by breaking up the leading families into two hostile factions, aided this movement;[342 - On the effect of the wars of the Roses upon the nobles, compare Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 10; Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. iii. p. 340; Eccleston's English Antiq. pp. 224, 320: and on their immense pecuniary, or rather territorial, losses, Sinclair's Hist. of the Revenue, vol. i. p. 155.] and, after the reign of Edward IV., there is no instance of any Englishman, even of the highest rank, venturing to carry on those private wars, by which, in other countries, the great lords still disturbed the peace of society.[343 - ‘The last instance of a pitched battle between two powerful noblemen in England occurs in the reign of Edward IV.’ Allen on the Prerogative, p. 123.] When the civil contests subsided, the same spirit displayed itself in the policy of Henry VII. and Henry VIII. For, those princes, despots as they were, mainly oppressed the highest classes; and even Henry VIII., notwithstanding his barbarous cruelties, was loved by the people, to whom his reign was, on the whole, decidedly beneficial. Then there came the Reformation; which, being an uprising of the human mind, was essentially a rebellious movement, and thus increasing the insubordination of men, sowed, in the sixteenth century, the seeds of those great political revolutions which, in the seventeenth century, broke out in nearly every part of Europe. The connexion between these two revolutionary epochs is a subject full of interest; but, for the purpose of the present chapter, it will be sufficient to notice such events, during the latter half of the sixteenth century, as explain the sympathy between the ecclesiastical and aristocratic classes, and prove how the same circumstances that were fatal to the one, also prepared the way for the downfall of the other.

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

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

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

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

This was a simple alternative; which might, indeed, be kept out of sight, but could not be refined away, and most assuredly has never been forgotten. The memory of the great truth it conveys was preserved by the writings and teachings of the Puritans, and by those habits of thought natural to an inquisitive age. And when the fulness of time had come, it did not fail to bear its fruit. It continued slowly to fructify; and before the middle of the seventeenth century, its seed had quickened into a life, the energy of which nothing could withstand. That same right of private judgment which the early Reformers had loudly proclaimed, was now pushed to an extent fatal to those who opposed it. This it was which, carried into politics, overturned the government, and, carried into religion, upset the church.[344 - Clarendon (Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 80), in a very angry spirit, but with perfect truth, notices (under the year 1640) the connexion between ‘a proud and venomous dislike against the discipline of the church of England, and so by degrees (as the progress is very natural) an equal irreverence to the government of the state too.’ The Spanish government, perhaps more than any other in Europe, has understood this relation; and even so late as 1789, an edict of Charles IV. declared, ‘qu'il y a crime d'hérésie dans tout ce qui tend, ou contribue, à propager les idées révolutionnaires.’ Llorente, Hist. de l'Inquisition, vol. ii. p. 130.] For, rebellion and heresy are but different forms of the same disregard of tradition, the same bold and independent spirit. Both are of the nature of a protest made by modern ideas against old associations. They are as a struggle between the feelings of the present and the memory of the past. Without the exercise of private judgment, such a contest could never take place; the mere conception of it could not enter the minds of men, nor would they even dream of controlling, by their individual energy, those abuses to which all great societies are liable. It is, therefore, in the highest degree natural that the exercise of this judgment should be opposed by those two powerful classes who, from their position, their interests, and the habits of their mind, are more prone than any other to cherish antiquity, cleave to superannuated customs, and uphold institutions which, to use their favourite language, have been consecrated by the wisdom of their fathers.

From this point of view we are able to see with great clearness the intimate connexion which, at the accession of Elizabeth, existed between the English nobles and the Catholic clergy. Notwithstanding many exceptions, an immense majority of both classes opposed the Reformation, because it was based on that right of private judgment of which they, as the protectors of old opinions, were the natural antagonists. All this can excite no surprise; it was in the order of things, and strictly accordant with the spirit of those two great sections of society. Fortunately, however, for our country, the throne was now occupied by a sovereign who was equal to the emergency, and who, instead of yielding to the two classes, availed herself of the temper of the age to humble them. The manner in which this was effected by Elizabeth, in respect, first to the Catholic clergy, and afterwards to the Protestant clergy,[345 - The general character of her policy towards the Protestant English bishops is summed up very fairly by Collier; though he, as a professional writer, is naturally displeased with her disregard for the heads of the church. Collier's Eccles. Hist. of Great Britain, vol. vii. pp. 257, 258, edit. Barham, 1840.] forms one of the most interesting parts of our history; and in an account of the reign of the great queen, I hope to examine it at considerable length. At present, it will be sufficient to glance at her policy towards the nobles – that other class with which the priesthood, by their interests, opinions, and associations, have always much in common.

Elizabeth, at her accession to the throne, finding that the ancient families adhered to the ancient religion, naturally called to her councils advisers who were more likely to uphold the novelties on which the age was bent. She selected men who, being little burdened by past associations, were more inclined to favour present interests. The two Bacons, the two Cecils, Knollys, Sadler, Smith, Throgmorton, Walsingham, were the most eminent statesmen and diplomatists in her reign; but all of them were commoners; only one did she raise to the peerage; and they were certainly nowise remarkable, either for the rank of their immediate connexions, or for the celebrity of their remote ancestors. They, however, were recommended to Elizabeth by their great abilities, and by their determination to uphold a religion which the ancient aristocracy naturally opposed. And it is observable that, among the accusations which the Catholics brought against the queen, they taunted her, not only with forsaking the old religion, but also with neglecting the old nobility.[346 - One of the charges which, in 1588, Sixtus V. publicly brought against Elizabeth, was, that ‘she hath rejected and excluded the ancient nobility, and promoted to honour obscure people.’ Butler's Mem. of the Catholics, vol. ii. p. 4. Persons also reproaches her with her low-born ministers, and says that she was influenced ‘by five persons in particular – all of them sprung from the earth – Bacon, Cecil, Dudley, Hatton, and Walsingham.’ Butler, vol. ii. p. 31. Cardinal Allen taunted her with ‘disgracing the ancient nobility, erecting base and unworthy persons to all the civil and ecclesiastical dignities.’ Dodd's Church History, edit. Tierney, 1840, vol. iii. appendix no. xii. p. xlvi. The same influential writer, in his Admonition, said that she had injured England, ‘by great contempt and abasing of the ancient nobility, repelling them from due government, offices, and places of honour.’ Allen's Admonition to the Nobility and People of England and Ireland, 1588 (reprinted London, 1842), p. xv. Compare the account of the Bull of 1588, in De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. x. p. 175: ‘On accusoit Elisabeth d'avoir au préjudice de la noblesse angloise élevé aux dignités, tant civiles qu'ecclésiastiques, des hommes nouveaux, sans naissance, et indignes de les posséder.’]

Nor does it require much acquaintance with the history of the time to see the justice of this charge. Whatever explanation we may choose to give of the fact, it cannot be denied that, during the reign of Elizabeth, there was an open and constant opposition between the nobles and the executive government. The rebellion of 1569 was essentially an aristocratic movement; it was a rising of the great families of the north against what they considered the upstart and plebeian administration of the queen.[347 - To the philosophic historian this rebellion, though not sufficiently appreciated by ordinary writers, is a very important study, because it is the last attempt ever made by the great English families to establish their authority by force of arms. Mr. Wright says, that probably all those who took a leading part in it ‘were allied by blood or intermarriage with the two families of the Percies and Neviles.’ Wright's Elizabeth, 1838, vol. i. p. xxxiv.; a valuable work. See also, in Parl. Hist. vol. i. p. 730, a list of some of those who, in 1571, were attainted on account of this rebellion, and who are said to be ‘all of the best families in the north of England.’But the most complete evidence we have respecting this struggle, consists of the collection of original documents published in 1840 by Sir C. Sharpe, under the title of Memorials of the Rebellion of 1569. They show very clearly the real nature of the outbreak. On 17th November 1569, Sir George Bowes writes, that the complaint of the insurgents was that ‘there was certaine counsellors cropen’ (i. e. crept) ‘in aboute the prince, which had excluded the nobility from the prince,’ &c., Memorials, p. 42; and the editor's note says that this is one of the charges made in all the proclamations by the earls. Perhaps the most curious proof of how notorious the policy of Elizabeth had become, is contained in a friendly letter from Sussex to Cecil, dated 5th January 1569 (Memorials, p. 137), one paragraph of which begins, ‘Of late years few young noblemen have been employed in service.’] The bitterest enemy of Elizabeth was certainly Mary of Scotland; and the interests of Mary were publicly defended by the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Northumberland, the Earl of Westmoreland, and the Earl of Arundel; while there is reason to believe that her cause was secretly favoured by the Marquis of Northampton, the Earl of Pembroke, the Earl of Derby, the Earl of Cumberland, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and the Earl of Sussex.[348 - Hallam, i. p. 130; Lingard, v. pp. 97, 102; Turner, xii. pp. 245, 247.]

The existence of this antagonism of interests could not escape the sagacity of the English government. Cecil, who was the most powerful of the ministers of Elizabeth, and who was at the head of affairs for forty years, made it part of his business to study the genealogies and material resources of the great families; and this he did, not out of idle curiosity, but in order to increase his control over them, or, as a great historian says, to let them know ‘that his eye was upon them.’[349 - Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 241; an interesting passage. Turner (Hist. of England, vol. xii. p. 237) says, that Cecil ‘knew the tendency of the great lords to combine against the crown, that they might reinstate the peerage in the power from which the house of Tudor had depressed it.’] The queen herself, though too fond of power, was by no means of a cruel disposition; but she seemed to delight in humbling the nobles. On them her hand fell heavily; and there is hardly to be found a single instance of her pardoning their offences, while she punished several of them for acts which would now be considered no offences at all. She was always unwilling to admit them to authority; and it is unquestionably true that, taking them as a class, they were, during her long and prosperous reign, treated with unusual disrespect. Indeed, so clearly marked was her policy, that when the ducal order became extinct, she refused to renew it; and a whole generation passed away to whom the name of duke was a mere matter of history, a point to be mooted by antiquaries, but with which the business of practical life had no concern.[350 - In 1572 the order of dukes became extinct; and was not revived till fifty years afterwards, when James I. made the miserable Villiers, duke of Buckingham. Blackstone's Commentaries, vol. i. p. 397. This evidently attracted attention; for Ben Jonson, in one of his comedies in 1616, mentions ‘the received heresy that England bears no dukes.’ Jonson's Works, edit. Gifford, 1816, vol. v. p. 47, where Gifford, not being aware of the extinction in 1572, has made an unsatisfactory note.] Whatever may be her other faults, she was on this subject always consistent. Although she evinced the greatest anxiety to surround the throne with men of ability, she cared little for those conventional distinctions by which the minds of ordinary sovereigns are greatly moved. She made no account of dignity of rank; she did not even care for purity of blood. She valued men neither for the splendour of their ancestry, nor for the length of their pedigrees, nor for the grandeur of their titles. Such questions she left for her degenerate successors, to the size of whose understandings they were admirably fitted. Our great queen regulated her conduct by another standard. Her large and powerful intellect, cultivated to its highest point by reflection and study, taught her the true measure of affairs, and enabled her to see, that to make a government flourish, its councillors must be men of ability and of virtue; but that if these two conditions are fulfilled, the nobles may be left to repose in the enjoyment of their leisure, unoppressed by those cares of the state for which, with a few brilliant exceptions, they are naturally disqualified by the number of their prejudices and by the frivolity of their pursuits.

After the death of Elizabeth, an attempt was made, first by James, and then by Charles, to revive the power of the two great protective classes, the nobles and the clergy. But so admirably had the policy of Elizabeth been supported by the general temper of the age, that it was found impossible for the Stuarts to execute their mischievous plans. The exercise of private judgment, both in religion and in politics, had become so habitual, that these princes were unable to subjugate it to their will. And as Charles I., with inconceivable blindness, and with an obstinacy even greater than that of his father, persisted in adopting in their worst forms the superannuated theories of protection, and attempted to enforce a scheme of government which men from their increasing independence were determined to reject, there inevitably arose that memorable collision which is well termed The Great Rebellion of England.[351 - Clarendon (Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 216) truly calls it ‘the most prodigious and the boldest rebellion, that any age or country ever brought forth.’ See also some striking remarks in Warwick's Memoirs, p. 207.] The analogy between this and the Protestant Reformation, I have already noticed; but what we have now to consider, and what, in the next chapter, I will endeavour to trace, is the nature of the difference between our Rebellion, and those contemporary wars of the Fronde, to which it was in some respects very similar.

CHAPTER III

THE ENERGY OF THE PROTECTIVE SPIRIT IN FRANCE EXPLAINS THE FAILURE OF THE FRONDE. COMPARISON BETWEEN THE FRONDE AND THE CONTEMPORARY ENGLISH REBELLION

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

Among the obvious circumstances connected with the Great English Rebellion, the most remarkable is, that it was a war of classes as well as of factions. From the beginning of the contest, the yeomanry and traders adhered to the parliament;[352 - ‘From the beginning it may be said that the yeomanry and trading classes of towns were generally hostile to the king's side, even in those counties which were in his military occupation; except in a few, such as Cornwall, Worcester, Salop, and most of Wales, where the prevailing sentiment was chiefly royalist.’ Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 578. See also Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. vi. p. 304; and Alison's Hist. of Europe, vol. i. p. 49.] the nobles and the clergy rallied round the throne.[353 - On this division of classes, which, notwithstanding a few exceptions, is undoubtedly true as a general fact, compare Memoirs of Sir P. Warwick, p. 217; Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. iii. p. 347; Clarendon's Hist. of the Rebellion, pp. 294, 297, 345, 346, 401, 476; May's Hist. of the Long Parliament, book i. pp. 22, 64, book ii. p. 63, book iii. p. 78; Hutchinson's Memoirs, p. 100; Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 104, vol. iii. p. 258; Bulstrode's Memoirs, p. 86.] And the name given to the two parties, of Roundheads[354 - Lord Clarendon says, in his grand style, ‘the rabble contemned and despised under the name of roundheads.’ Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 136. This was in 1641, when the title appears to have been first bestowed. See Fairfax Corresp. vol. ii. pp. 185, 320.] and Cavaliers,[355 - Just before the battle of Edgehill, in 1642, Charles said to his troops, ‘You are called cavaliers in a reproachful signification.’ See the king's speech, in Somers Tracts, vol. iv. p. 478. Directly after the battle, he accused his opponents of ‘rendering all persons of honour odious to the common people, under the style of cavaliers.’ May's Hist. of the Long Parliament, book iii. p. 25.] proves that the true nature of this opposition was generally known. It proves that men were aware that a question was at issue, upon which England was divided, not so much by the particular interests of individuals, as by the general interests of the classes to which those individuals belonged.

But in the history of the French rebellion, there is no trace of so large a division. The objects of the war were in both countries precisely the same: the machinery by which those objects were attained was very different. The Fronde was like our Rebellion, insomuch that it was a struggle of the parliament against the crown; an attempt to secure liberty, and raise up a barrier against the despotism of government.[356 - M. Saint-Aulaire (Hist. de la Fronde, vol. i. p. v.) says, that the object of the Frondeurs was, ‘limiter l'autorité royale, consacrer les principes de la liberté civile et en confier la garde aux compagnies souveraines;’ and at p. vi. he calls the declaration of 1648, ‘une véritable charte constitutionnelle.’ See also, at vol. i. p. 128, the concluding paragraph of the speech of Omer Talon. Joly, who was much displeased at this tendency, complains that in 1648, ‘le peuple tomboit imperceptiblement dans le sentiment dangereux, qu'il est naturel et permis de se défendre et de s'armer contre la violence des supérieurs.’ Mém. de Joly, p. 15. Of the immediate objects proposed by the Fronde, one was to diminish the taille, and another was to obtain a law that no one should be kept in prison more than twenty-four hours, ‘sans être remis entre les mains du parlement pour lui faire son procès s'il se trouvoit criminel ou l'élargir s'il étoit innocent.’ Mém. de Montglat, vol. ii. p. 135; Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 398; Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 265; Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. pp. 224, 225, 240, 328.] So far, and so long, as we merely take a view of political objects, the parallel is complete. But the social and intellectual antecedents of the French being very different from those of the English, it necessarily followed that the shape which the rebellion took should likewise be different, even though the motives were the same. If we examine this divergence a little nearer, we shall find that it is connected with the circumstance I have already noticed – namely, that in England a war for liberty was accompanied by a war of classes, while in France there was no war of classes at all. From this it resulted, that in France the rebellion, being merely political, and not, as with us, also social, took less hold of the public mind: it was unaccompanied by those feelings of insubordination, in the absence of which freedom has always been impossible; and, striking no root into the national character, it could not save the country from that servile state into which, a few years later, it, under the government of Louis XIV. rapidly fell.

That our Great Rebellion was, in its external form, a war of classes, is one of those palpable facts which lie on the surface of history. At first, the parliament[357 - I use the word ‘parliament’ in the sense given to it by writers of that time, and not in the legal sense.] did indeed attempt to draw over to their side some of the nobles; and in this they for a time succeeded. But as the struggle advanced, the futility of this policy became evident. In the natural order of the great movement, the nobles grew more loyal;[358 - In May 1642, there remained at Westminster forty-two peers, Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 559; but they gradually abandoned the popular cause; and, according to Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1282, so dwindled, that eventually ‘seldom more than five or six’ were present.] the parliament grew more democratic.[359 - These increasing democratic tendencies are most clearly indicated in Walker's curious work, The History of Independency. See among other passages, book i. p. 59. And Clarendon, under the year 1644, says (Hist. of the Rebellion, p. 514): ‘That violent party, which had at first cozened the rest into the war, and afterwards obstructed all the approaches towards peace, found now that they had finished as much of their work as the tools which they had wrought with could be applied to, and what remained to be done must be despatched by new workmen.’ What these new workmen were, he afterwards explains, p. 641, to be ‘the most inferior people preferred to all places of trust and profit.’ Book xi. under the year 1648. Compare some good remarks by Mr. Bell, in Fairfax Correspond. vol. iii. pp. 115, 116.] And when it was clearly seen that both parties were determined either to conquer or to die, this antagonism of classes was too clearly marked to be misunderstood; the perception which each had of its own interests being sharpened by the magnitude of the stake for which they contended.

For, without burdening this Introduction with what may be read in our common histories, it will be sufficient to remind the reader of a few of the conspicuous events of that time. Just before the war began, the Earl of Essex was appointed general of the parliamentary forces, with the Earl of Bedford as his lieutenant. A commission to raise troops was likewise given to the Earl of Manchester,[360 - This was after the appointments of Essex and Bedford, and was in 1643. Ludlow's Mem. vol. i. p. 58; Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 189.] the only man of high rank against whom Charles had displayed open enmity.[361 - ‘When the king attempted to arrest the five members, Manchester, at that time Lord Kymbolton, was the only peer whom he impeached. This circumstance endeared Kymbolton to the party; his own safety bound him more closely to its interests.’ Lingard's England, vol. vi. p. 337. Compare Clarendon, p. 375; Ludlow, vol. i. p. 20. It is also said that Lord Essex joined the popular party from personal pique against the king. Fairfax Corresp. vol. iii. p. 37.] Notwithstanding these marks of confidence, the nobles, in whom parliament was at first disposed to trust, could not avoid showing the old leaven of their order.[362 - Mr. Carlyle has made some very characteristic, but very just, observations on the ‘high Essexes and Manchesters of limited notions and large estates.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 215.] The Earl of Essex so conducted himself, as to inspire the popular party with the greatest apprehensions of his treachery;[363 - Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. iii. p. 110; Hutchinson's Memoirs, pp. 230, 231; Harris's Lives of the Stuarts, vol. iii. p. 106; Bulstrode's Memoirs, pp. 112, 113, 119; Clarendon's Rebellion, pp. 486, 514; or, as Lord North puts it, ‘for General Essex began now to appear to the private cabalists somewhat wresty.’ North's Narrative of Passages relating to the Long Parliament, published in 1670, in Somers Tracts, vol. vi. p. 578. At p. 584, the same elegant writer says of Essex, ‘being the first person and last of the nobility employed by the parliament in military affairs, which soon brought him to the period of his life. And may he be an example to all future ages, to deter all persons of like dignity from being instrumental in setting up a democratical power, whose interest it is to keep down all persons of his condition.’ The ‘Letter of Admonition’ addressed to him by parliament in 1644, is printed in Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 274.] and when the defence of London was intrusted to Waller, he so obstinately refused to enter the name of that able officer in the commission, that the Commons were obliged to insert it by virtue of their own authority, and in spite of their own general.[364 - Lingard's Hist. of England, vol. vi. p. 318. See also, on the hostility between Essex and Waller, Walker's Hist. of Independency, part i. pp. 28, 29; and Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 177. Sir Philip Warwick (Memoirs, p. 254) contemptuously calls Waller ‘favourite-general of the city of London.’] The Earl of Bedford, though he had received a military command, did not hesitate to abandon those who conferred it. This apostate noble fled from Westminster to Oxford: but finding that the king, who never forgave his enemies, did not receive him with the favour he expected, he returned to London; where, though he was allowed to remain in safety, it could not be supposed that he should again experience the confidence of parliament.[365 - Compare Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. pp. 569, 570, with Bulstrode's Memoirs, p. 96, and Lord Bedford's letter, in Parl. Hist. vol. iii. pp. 189, 190. This shuffling letter confirms the unfavourable account of the writer, which is given in Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 422.]

Such examples as these were not likely to lessen the distrust which both parties felt for each other. It soon became evident that a war of classes was unavoidable, and that the rebellion of the parliament against the king must be reinforced by a rebellion of the people against the nobles.[366 - Dr. Bates, who had been physician to Cromwell, intimates that this was foreseen from the beginning. He says, that the popular party offered command to some of the nobles, ‘not that they had any respect for the lords, whom shortly they intended to turn out and to level with the commoners, but that they might poison them with their own venom, and rise to greater authority by drawing more over to their side.’ Bates's Account of the late Troubles in England, part i. p. 76. Lord North too supposes, that almost immediately after the war began, it was determined to dissolve the House of Lords. See Somers Tracts, vol. vi. p. 582. Beyond this, I am not aware of any direct early evidence; except that, in 1644, Cromwell is alleged to have stated that ‘there would never be a good time in England till we had done with lords.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. i. p. 217; and, what is evidently the same circumstance, in Holles's Memoirs, p. 18.] To this the popular party, whatever may have been their first intention, now willingly agreed. In 1645 they enacted a law, by which not only the Earl of Essex and the Earl of Manchester lost their command, but all members of either house were made incapable of military service.[367 - This was the ‘Self-denying Ordinance,’ which was introduced in December, 1644; but, owing to the resistance of the peers, was not carried until the subsequent April. Parl. Hist. vol. iii. pp. 326–337, 340–343, 354, 355. See also Mem. of Lord Holles, p. 30; Mem. of Sir P. Warwick, p. 283.] And, only a week after the execution of the king, they formally took away the legislative power of the peers; putting at the same time on record their memorable opinion, that the House of Lords is ‘useless, dangerous, and ought to be abolished.’[368 - On this great Epoch in the history of England, see Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1284; Hallam's Const. Hist. vol. i. p. 643; Campbell's Chief-Justices, vol. i. p. 424; Ludlow's Mem. vol. i. p. 246; Warwick's Mem. pp. 182, 336, 352.]

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

The truth is, that the rebellion was an outbreak of the democratic spirit. It was the political form of a movement, of which the Reformation was the religious form. As the Reformation was aided, not by men in high ecclesiastical offices, not by great cardinals or wealthy bishops, but by men filling the lowest and most subordinate posts, just so was the English rebellion a movement from below, an uprising from the foundations, or as some will have it, the dregs of society. The few persons of high rank who adhered to the popular cause were quickly discarded, and the ease and rapidity with which they fell off was a clear indication of the turn that things were taking. Directly the army was freed from its noble leaders, and supplied with officers drawn from the lower classes, the fortune of war changed, the royalists were every where defeated, and the king made prisoner by his own subjects. Between his capture and execution, the two most important political events were his abduction by Joyce, and the forcible expulsion from the House of Commons of those members who were thought likely to interfere in his favour. Both these decisive steps were taken, and indeed only could have been taken, by men of great personal influence, and of a bold and resolute spirit. Joyce, who carried off the king, and who was highly respected in the army, had, however, been recently a common working tailor;[369 - ‘Cornet Joyce, who was one of the agitators in the army, a tailor, a fellow who had two or three years before served in a very inferior employment in Mr. Hollis's house.’ Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 612. ‘A shrewd tailor-man.’ D'Israeli's Commentaries on the Reign of Charles I., 1851, vol. ii. p. 466.] while Colonel Pride, whose name is preserved in history as having purged the House of Commons of the malignants, was about on a level with Joyce, since his original occupation was that of a drayman.[370 - Ludlow (Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 139); Noble (Memoirs of the House of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 470); and Winstanley (Loyal Martyrology, edit. 1665, p. 108), mention that Pride had been a drayman. It is said that Cromwell, in ridicule of the old distinctions, conferred knighthood on him ‘with a faggot.’ Orme's Life of Owen, p. 164; Harris's Lives of the Stuarts, vol. iii. p. 478.] The tailor and the drayman were, in that age, strong enough to direct the course of public affairs, and to win for themselves a conspicuous position in the state. After the execution of Charles, the same tendency was displayed, the old monarchy being destroyed, that small but active party known as the fifth-monarchy men increased in importance, and for a time exercised considerable influence. Their three principal and most distinguished members were Venner, Tuffnel, and Okey. Venner, who was the leader, was a wine-cooper;[371 - ‘The fifth-monarchy, headed mainly by one Venner, a wine-cooper.’ Carlyle's Cromwell, vol. iii. p. 282. ‘Venner, a wine-cooper.’ Lister's Life and Corresp. of Clarendon, vol. ii. p. 62.] Tuffnel, who was second in command, was a carpenter;[372 - ‘The second to Venner was one Tuffnel a carpenter living in Gray's Inn Lane.’ Winstanley's Martyrology, p. 163.] and Okey, though he became a colonel, had filled the menial office of stoker in an Islington brewery.[373 - ‘He was stoaker in a brewhouse at Islington, and next a most poor chandler near Lion-Key, in Thames Street.’ Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1605. See also Winstanley's Martyrology, p. 122.]

Nor are these to be regarded as exceptional cases. In that period, promotion depended solely on merit; and if a man had ability he was sure to rise, no matter what his birth or former avocations might have been. Cromwell himself was a brewer;[374 - Some of the clumsy eulogists of Cromwell wish to suppress the fact of his being a brewer; but that he really practised that useful trade is attested by a variety of evidence, and is distinctly stated by his own physician, Dr. Bates. Bates's Troubles in England, vol. ii. p. 238. See also Walker's History of Independency, part i. p. 32, part ii. p. 25, part iii. p. 37; Noble's House of Cromwell, vol. i. pp. 328–331. Other passages, which I cannot now call to mind, will occur to those who have studied the literature of the time.] and Colonel Jones, his brother-in-law, had been servant to a private gentleman.[375 - ‘John Jones, at first a serving-man, then a colonel of the Long Parliament, … married the Protector's sister.’ Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1600. ‘A serving-man; … in process of time married one of Cromwell's sisters.’ Winstanley's Martyrology, p. 125.] Deane was the servant of a tradesman; but he became an admiral, and was made one of the commissioners of the navy.[376 - ‘Richard Deane, Esq., is said to have been a servant to one Button, a toyman in Ipswich, and to have himself been the son of a person in the same employment; … was appointed one of the commissioners of the navy with Popham and Blake, and in April (1649) he became an admiral and general at sea.’ Noble's Lives of the Regicides, vol. i. pp. 172, 173. Winstanley (Martyrol. p. 121) also says that Deane was ‘servant in Ipswich.’] Colonel Goffe had been apprentice to a drysalter;[377 - ‘Apprentice to one Vaughan a dry-salter.’ Noble's House of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 507: and see his Regicides, vol. i. p. 255.] Major-general Whalley had been apprentice to a draper.[378 - ‘Bound apprentice to a woollen-draper.’ Winstanley's Martyr. p. 108. He afterwards set up in the same trade for himself; but with little success, for Dr. Bates (Troubles in England, vol. ii. p. 222) calls him ‘a broken clothier.’] Skippon, a common soldier who had received no education,[379 - ‘Altogether illiterate.’ Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 152. Two extraordinary speeches by him are preserved in Burton's Diary, vol. i. pp. 24, 25, 48–50.] was appointed commander of the London militia; he was raised to the office of sergeant-major-general of the army; he was declared commander-in-chief in Ireland; and he became one of the fourteen members of Cromwell's council.[380 - Holles's Mem. p. 82; Ludlow's Mem. vol. ii. p. 39; and a letter from Fairfax in Cary's Memorials of the Civil War, 1842, vol. i. p. 413.] Two of the lieutenants of the Tower were Berkstead and Tichborne. Berkstead was a pedlar, or at all events a hawker of small wares;[381 - ‘Berkstead, who heretofore sold needles, bodkins, and thimbles, and would have run on an errand any where for a little money; but who now by Cromwell was preferred to the honourable charge of lieutenant of the Tower of London.’ Bates's Account of the Troubles, part ii. p. 222.] and Tichborne, who was a linendraper, not only received the lieutenancy of the Tower, but became a colonel, and a member of the committee of state in 1655, and of the council of state in 1659.[382 - Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. pp. 272, 273. Lord Holles (Memoirs, p. 174) also mentions that he was ‘a linen-draper.’] Other trades were equally successful; the highest prizes being open to all men, provided they displayed the requisite capacity. Colonel Harvey was a silk-mercer;[383 - ‘Edward Harvy, late a poor silk-man, now colonel, and hath got the Bishop of London's house and manor of Fulham.’ Walker's Independency, part i. p. 170. ‘One Harvey, a decayed silk-man,’ Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 418.] so was Colonel Rowe;[384 - Owen Rowe, ‘put to the trade of a silk-mercer, … went into the parliament army, and became a colonel.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. p. 150.] so also was Colonel Venn.[385 - ‘A silkman in London; … went into the army, and rose to the rank of colonel.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. p. 283. ‘A broken silk-man in Cheapside.’ Winstanley's Martyrol. p. 130.] Salway had been apprentice to a grocer, but, being an able man, he rose to the rank of major in the army; he received the king's remembrancer's office; and in 1659 he was appointed by parliament a member of the council of state.[386 - Walker's Independency, part i. p. 143; Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1608; Ludlow's Mem. vol. ii. pp. 241, 259; Noble's Regicides, vol. ii. pp. 158, 162.] Around that council-board were also gathered Bond the draper,[387 - He was ‘a woollen-draper at Dorchester,’ and was ‘one of the council of state in 1649 and 1651.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 99: see also Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1594.] and Cawley the brewer;[388 - ‘A brewer in Chichester; … in 1650–1 he was appointed one of the council of state.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 136. ‘William Cawley, a brewer of Chichester.’ Winstanley's Martyrol. p. 138.] while by their side we find John Berners, who is said to have been a private servant,[389 - John Berners, ‘supposed to have been originally a serving-man,’ was ‘one of the council of state in 1659,’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 90.] and Cornelius Holland, who is known to have been a servant, and who was, indeed, formerly a link-boy.[390 - ‘Holland the link-boy,’ Walker's Independency, part iii. p. 37. ‘He was originally nothing more than a servant to Sir Henry Vane; … upon the establishment of the Commonwealth, he was made one of the council of state in 1649, and again in 1650.’ Noble's Regicides, vol. i. pp. 357, 358.] Among others who were now favoured and promoted to offices of trust, were Packe the woollen-draper,[391 - Noble's Mem. of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 502.] Pury the weaver,[392 - Walker's Hist. of Independency, part i. p. 167.] and Pemble the tailor.[393 - Ellis's Original Letters illustrative of English History, third series, vol. iv. p. 219, Lond. 1846.] The parliament which was summoned in 1653 is still remembered as Barebone's parliament, being so called after one of its most active members, whose name was Barebone, and who was a leather-seller in Fleet Street.[394 - Parl. Hist. vol. iii. p. 1407; Rose's Biog. Dict. vol. iii. p. 172; Clarendon's Rebellion, p. 794.] Thus too, Downing, though a poor charity-boy,[395 - ‘A poor child bred upon charity.’ Harris's Stuarts, vol. v. p. 281. ‘A man of an obscure birth, and more obscure education.’ Clarendon's Life of Himself, p. 1116.] became teller of the exchequer, and representative of England at the Hague.[396 - See Vaughan's Cromwell, vol. i. pp. 227, 228, vol. ii. pp. 299, 302, 433; Lister's Life and Corresp. of Clarendon, vol. ii. p. 231, vol. iii. p. 134. The common opinion is, that he was the son of a clergyman at Hackney; but if so, he was probably illegitimate, considering the way he was brought up. However, his Hackney origin is very doubtful, and no one appears to know who his father was. See Notes and Queries, vol. iii. pp. 69, 213.] To these we may add, that Colonel Horton had been a gentleman's servant;[397 - Noble's Regicides, vol. i. p. 362. Cromwell had a great regard for this remarkable man, who not only distinguished himself as a soldier, but, judging from a letter of his recently published, appears to have repaired the deficiencies of his early education. See Fairfax Correspond. vol. iv. pp. 22–25, 108. There never has been a period in the history of England in which so many men of natural ability were employed in the public service as during the Commonwealth.] Colonel Berry had been a woodmonger;[398 - Noble's House of Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 507.] Colonel Cooper a haberdasher;[399 - Noble's Cromwell, vol. ii. p. 518; Bates's Troubles, vol. ii. p. 222.] Major Rolfe a shoemaker;[400 - Bates's Late Troubles, vol. i. p. 87; Ludlow's Mem. vol. i. p. 220.] Colonel Fox a tinker;[401 - Walker's Hist. of Independency, part ii. p. 87.] and Colonel Hewson a cobbler.[402 - Ludlow who was well acquainted with Colonel Hewson, says that he ‘had been a shoemaker.’ Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. ii. p. 139. But this is the amiable partiality of a friend; and there is no doubt that the gallant colonel was neither more nor less than a cobbler. See Walker's Independency, part ii. p. 39; Winstanley's Martyrol. p. 123; Bates's Late Troubles, vol. ii. p. 222; Noble's Cromwell, vol. ii. pp. 251, 345, 470.]

Such were the leaders of the English rebellion, or to speak more properly, such were the instruments by which the rebellion was consummated.[403 - Walker, who relates what he himself witnessed, says, that, about 1649, the army was commanded by ‘colonels and superior officers, who lord it in their gilt coaches, rich apparel, costly feastings; though some of them led dray-horses, wore leather-pelts, and were never able to name their own fathers or mothers.’ Hist. of Independ. part ii. p. 244. The Mercurius Rusticus, 1647, says, ‘Chelmsford was governed by a tinker, two cobblers, two tailors, two pedlars.’ Southey's Commonplace Book, third series, 1850, p. 430. And, at p. 434, another work, in 1647, makes a similar statement in regard to Cambridge; while Lord Holles assures us, that ‘most of the colonels and officers (were) mean tradesmen, brewers, taylors, goldsmiths, shoe-makers, and the like.’ Holles's Memoirs, p. 149. When Whitelocke was in Sweden in 1653, the prætor of one of the towns abused the parliament, saying, ‘that they killed their king, and were a company of taylors and cobblers.’ Whitelocke's Swedish Embassy, vol. i. p. 205. See also note in Carwithen's Hist. of the Church of England, vol. ii. p. 156.] If we now turn to France, we shall clearly see the difference between the feelings and temper of the two nations. In that country, the old protective spirit still retained its activity; and the people, being kept in a state of pupilage, had not acquired those habits of self-command and self-reliance, by which alone great things can be effected. They had been so long accustomed to look with timid reverence to the upper classes, that, even when they rose in arms, they could not throw off the ideas of submission which were quickly discarded by our ancestors. The influence of the higher ranks was, in England, constantly diminishing; in France, it was scarcely impaired. Hence it happened that, although the English and French rebellions were contemporary, and, in their origin, aimed at precisely the same objects, they were distinguished by one most important difference. This was, that the English rebels were headed by popular leaders; the French rebels by noble leaders. The bold and sturdy habits which had long been cultivated in England, enabled the middle and lower classes to supply their own chiefs out of their own ranks. In France such chiefs were not to be found; simply because, owing to the protective spirit, such habits had not been cultivated. While, therefore, in our island, the functions of civil government, and of war, were conducted with conspicuous ability, and complete success, by butchers, by bakers, by brewers, by cobblers, and by tinkers, the struggle which, at the same moment, was going on in France, presented an appearance totally different. In that country, the rebellion was headed by men of a far higher standing; men, indeed, of the longest and most illustrious lineage. There, to be sure, was a display of unexampled splendour; a galaxy of rank, a noble assemblage of aristocratic insurgents and titled demagogues. There was the Prince de Condé, the Prince de Conti, the Prince de Marsillac, the Duke de Bouillon, the Duke de Beaufort, the Duke de Longueville, the Duke de Chevreuse, the Duke de Nemours, the Duke de Luynes, the Duke de Brissac, the Duke d'Elbœuf, the Duke de Candale, the Duke de la Tremouille, the Marquis de la Boulaye, the Marquis de Laigues, the Marquis de Noirmoutier, the Marquis de Vitry, the Marquis de Fosseuse, the Marquis de Sillery, the Marquis d'Estissac, the Marquis d'Hocquincourt, the Count de Rantzau, the Count de Montresor.

These were the leaders of the Fronde;[404 - Even De Retz, who vainly attempted to organise a popular party, found that it was impossible to take any step without the nobles; and, notwithstanding his democratic tendencies, he, in 1648, thought it advisable ‘tâcher d'engager dans les intérêts publics les personnes de qualité.’ Mém. de Joly, p. 31.] and the mere announcement of their names indicate the difference between the French and English rebellions. And, in consequence of this difference, there followed some results, which are well worth the attention of those writers who, in their ignorance of the progress of human affairs, seek to uphold that aristocratic power, which, fortunately for the interests of mankind, has long been waning; and which, during the last seventy years has, in the most civilized countries, received such severe and repeated shocks, that its ultimate fate is hardly a matter respecting which much doubt can now be entertained.

The English rebellion was headed by men, whose tastes, habits, and associations, being altogether popular, formed a bond of sympathy between them and the people, and preserved the union of the whole party. In France the sympathy was very weak, and therefore, the union was very precarious. What sort of sympathy could there be between the mechanic and the peasant, toiling for their daily bread, and the rich and dissolute noble, whose life was passed in those idle and frivolous pursuits which debased his mind, and made his order a byword and a reproach among the nations? To talk of sympathy existing between the two classes is a manifest absurdity, and most assuredly would have been deemed an insult by those high-born men, who treated their inferiors with habitual and insolent contempt. It is true, that, from causes which have been already stated, the people did, unhappily for themselves, look up to those above them with the greatest veneration;[405 - Mably (Observations sur l'Hist. de France, vol. i. p. 357) frankly says, ‘L'exemple d'un grand a toujours été plus contagieux chez les Français que partout ailleurs.’ See also vol. ii. p. 267: ‘Jamais l'exemple des grands n'a été aussi contagieux ailleurs qu'en France; on dirait qu'ils ont le malheureux privilège de tout justifier.’ Rivarol, though his opinions on other points were entirely opposed to those of Mably, says, that, in France, ‘la noblesse est aux yeux du peuple une espèce de religion, dont les gentilshommes sont les prêtres.’ Mém. de Rivarol, p. 94. Happily, the French Revolution, or rather the circumstances which caused the French Revolution, have utterly destroyed this ignominious homage.] but every page of French history proves how unworthily this feeling was reciprocated, and in how complete a thraldom the lower classes were kept. While, therefore, the French, from their long-established habits of dependence, were become incapable of conducting their own rebellion, and, on that account, were obliged to place themselves under the command of their nobles, this very necessity confirmed the servility which caused it; and thus stunting the growth of freedom, prevented the nation from effecting, by their civil wars, those great things which we, in England, were able to bring about by ours.

Indeed, it is only necessary to read the French literature of the seventeenth century, to see the incompatibility of the two classes, and the utter hopelessness of fusing into one party the popular and aristocratic spirit. While the object of the people was to free themselves from the yoke, the object of the nobles was merely to find new sources of excitement,[406 - The Duke de la Rochefoucauld candidly admits that, in 1649, the nobles raised a civil war, ‘avec d'autant plus de haleur que c'était une nouveauté.’ Mém. de Rochefoucauld, vol. i. p. 406. Thus too Lemontey (Etablissement de Louis XIV, p. 368): ‘La vieille noblesse, qui ne savait que combattre, faisait la guerre par goût, par besoin, par vanité, par ennui.’ Compare, in Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. pp. 467, 468, a summary of the reasons which, in 1649, induced the nobles to go to war; and on the way in which their frivolity debased the Fronde, see Lavallée, Hist. des Français, vol. iii. pp. 169, 170.] and minister to that personal vanity for which, as a body, they have always been notorious. As this is a department of history that has been little studied, it will be interesting to collect a few instances, which will illustrate the temper of the French aristocracy, and will show what sort of honours, and what manner of distinctions, those were which this powerful class was most anxious to obtain.

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

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

Of all the questions on which the French nobles were divided, the most important was that touching the right of sitting in the royal presence. This was considered to be a matter of such gravity, that, in comparison with it, a mere struggle for liberty faded into insignificance. And what made it still more exciting to the minds of the nobles was, the extreme difficulty with which this great social problem was beset. According to the ancient etiquette of the French court, if a man were a duke, his wife might sit in the presence of the queen; but if his rank were inferior, even if he were a marquis, no such liberty could be allowed.[407 - Hence the duchesses were called ‘femmes assises;’ those of lower rank ‘non assises.’ Mém. de Fontenay Mareuil, vol. i. p. 111. The Count de Ségur tells us that ‘les duchesses jouissaient de la prérogative d'être assises sur un tabouret chez la reine.’ Mém. de Ségur, vol. i. p. 79. The importance attached to this is amusingly illustrated in Mém. de Saint-Simon, vol. iii. pp. 215–218, Paris, 1842; which should be compared with De Tocqueville, Règne de Louis XV, vol. ii. p. 116, and Mém. de Genlis, vol. x. p. 383.] So far, the rule was very simple, and, to the duchesses themselves, highly agreeable. But the marquises, the counts, and the other illustrious nobles, were uneasy at this invidious distinction, and exerted all their energies to procure for their own wives the same honour. This the dukes strenuously resisted; but, owing to circumstances which unfortunately are not fully understood, an innovation was made in the reign of Louis XIII., and the privilege of sitting in the same room with the queen was conceded to the female members of the Bouillon family.[408 - ‘Survint incontinent une autre difficulté à la cour sur le sujet des tabourets, que doivent avoir les dames dans la chambre de la reine; car encore que cela ne s'accorde régulièrement qu'aux duchesses, néanmoins le feu roi Louis XIII l'avoit accordé aux filles de la maison de Bouillon,’ &c. Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 5. See also, on this encroachment on the rights of the duchesses under Louis XIII., the case of Séguier, in Duclos, Mémoires Secrets, vol. i. pp. 360, 361. The consequences of the innovation were very serious; and Tallemant des Réaux (Historiettes, vol. iii. pp. 223, 224) mentions a distinguished lady, of whom he says, ‘Pour satisfaire son ambition, il lui falloit un tabouret: elle cabale pour épouser le vieux Bouillon La Marck veuf pour la seconde fois.’ In this she failed; but, determined not to be baffled, ‘elle ne se rebute point, et voulant à toute force avoir un tabouret, elle épouse le fils aîné du duc de Villars: c'est un ridicule de corps et d'esprit, car il est bossu et quasi imbécile, et gueux par-dessus cela.’ This melancholy event happened in 1649.] In consequence of this evil precedent, the question became seriously complicated, since other members of the aristocracy considered that the purity of their descent gave them claims nowise inferior to those of the house of Bouillon, whose antiquity, they said, had been grossly exaggerated. The contest which ensued, had the effect of breaking up the nobles into two hostile parties, one of which sought to preserve that exclusive privilege in which the other wished to participate. To reconcile these rival pretensions, various expedients were suggested; but all were in vain, and the court, during the administration of Mazarin, being pressed by the fear of a rebellion, showed symptoms of giving way, and of yielding to the inferior nobles the point they so ardently desired. In 1648 and 1649, the queen-regent, acting under the advice of her council, formally conceded the right of sitting in the royal presence to the three most distinguished members of the lower aristocracy, namely, the Countess de Fleix, Madame de Pons, and the Princess de Marsillac.[409 - As to the Countess de Fleix and Madame de Pons, see Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 116, 369. According to the same high authority (vol. iii. p. 367), the inferiority of the Princess de Marsillac consisted in the painful fact, that her husband was merely the son of a duke, and the duke himself was still alive ‘il n'étoit que gentilhomme, et son père le duc de la Rochefoucauld n'étoit pas mort.’] Scarcely had this decision been promulgated, when the princes of the blood and the peers of the realm were thrown into the greatest agitation.[410 - The long account of these proceedings in Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 367–393, shows the importance attached to them by contemporary opinion.] They immediately summoned to the capital those members of their own order who were interested in repelling this daring aggression, and, forming themselves into an assembly, they at once adopted measures to vindicate their ancient rights.[411 - In October 1649, ‘la noblesse s'assembla à Paris sur le fait des tabourets,’ Mém. de Lenet, vol. i. p. 184.] On the other hand, the inferior nobles, flushed by their recent success, insisted that the concession just made should be raised into a precedent; and that, as the honour of being seated in the presence of majesty had been conceded to the house of Foix, in the person of the Countess de Fleix, it should likewise be granted to all those who could prove that their ancestry was equally illustrious.[412 - ‘Tous ceux donc qui par leurs aïeux avoient dans leurs maisons de la grandeur, par des alliances des femmes descendues de ceux qui étoient autrefois maîtres et souverains des provinces de France, demandèrent la même prérogative que celle qui venoit d'être accordée au sang de Foix.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 117. Another contemporary says: ‘Cette prétention émut toutes les maisons de la cour sur cette différence et inégalité.’ Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 6; and vol. ii. p. 437: ‘le marquis de Noirmoutier et celui de Vitry demandoient le tabouret pour leurs femmes.’] The greatest confusion now arose; and both sides urgently insisting on their own claims, there was, for many months, imminent danger lest the question should be decided by an appeal to the sword.[413 - Indeed, at one moment, it was determined that a counter-demonstration should be made on the part of the inferior nobles; a proceeding which, if adopted, must have caused civil war: ‘Nous résolûmes une contre-assemblée de noblesse pour soutenir le tabouret de la maison de Rohan.’ De Retz, Mémoires, vol. i. p. 284.] But as the higher nobles, though less numerous than their opponents, were more powerful, the dispute was finally settled in their favour. The queen sent to their assembly a formal message, which was conveyed by four of the marshals of France, and in which she promised to revoke those privileges, the concession of which had given such offence to the most illustrious members of the French aristocracy. At the same time, the marshals not only pledged themselves as responsible for the promise of the queen, but undertook to sign an agreement that they would personally superintend its execution.[414 - Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 389.] The nobles, however, who felt that they had been aggrieved in their most tender point, were not yet satisfied, and, to appease them, it was necessary that the atonement should be as public as the injury. It was found necessary, before they would peaceably disperse, that government should issue a document, signed by the queen-regent, and by the four secretaries of state,[415 - ‘Signé d'elle et des quatre secrétaires d'état.’ Ibid. vol. iii. p. 391.] in which the favours granted to the unprivileged nobility were withdrawn, and the much-cherished honour of sitting in the royal presence was taken away from the Princess de Marsillac, from Madame de Pons, and from the Countess de Fleix.[416 - The best accounts of this great struggle will be found in the Memoirs of Madame de Motteville, and in those of Omer Talon; two writers of very different minds, but both of them deeply impressed with the magnitude of the contest.]

These were the subjects which occupied the minds and wasted the energies, of the French nobles, while their country was distracted by civil war, and while questions were at issue of the greatest importance – questions concerning the liberty of the nation, and the reconstruction of the government.[417 - Saint-Aulaire (Hist. de la Fronde, vol. i. p. 317) says, that in this same year (1649), ‘l'esprit de discussion fermentait dans toutes les têtes, et chacun à cette époque soumettait les actes de l'autorité à un examen raisonné.’ Thus, too, in Mém. de Montglat, under 1649, ‘on ne parlait publiquement dans Paris que de république et de liberté,‘**RSQUvol. ii. p. 186. In 1648, ‘effusa est contemptio super principes.’ Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. p. 271.]] It is hardly necessary to point out how unfit such men must have been to head the people in their arduous struggle, and how immense was the difference between them and the leaders of the great English Rebellion. The causes of the failure of the Fronde are, indeed, obvious, when we consider that its chiefs were drawn from that very class respecting whose tastes and feelings some evidence has just been given.[418 - That the failure of the Fronde is not to be ascribed to the inconstancy of the people, is admitted by De Retz, by far the ablest observer of his time: ‘Vous vous étonnerez peut-être de ce que je dis plus sûr, à cause de l'instabilité du peuple: mais il faut avouer que celui de Paris se fixe plus aisément qu'aucun autre; et M. de Villeroi, qui a été le plus habile homme de son siècle, et qui en a parfaitement connu le naturel dans tout le cours de la ligue, où il le gouverna sous M. du Maine, a été de ce sentiment. Ce que j'en éprouvois moi-même me le persuadoit.’ Mém. de Retz, vol. i. p. 348; a remarkable passage, and forming a striking contrast to the declamation of those ignorant writers who are always reproaching the people with their fickleness.] How that evidence might be almost indefinitely extended, is well known to readers of the French memoirs of the seventeenth century – a class of works which, being mostly written either by the nobles or their adherents, supplies the best materials from which an opinion may be formed. In looking into these authorities, where such matters are related with a becoming sense of their importance, we find the greatest difficulties and disputes arising as to who was to have an arm-chair at court;[419 - This knotty point was decided in favour of the Duke of York, to whom, in 1649, ‘la reine fit de grands honneurs, et lui donna une chaise à bras.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 275. In the chamber of the king, the matter seems to have been differently arranged; for Omer Talon (Mém. vol. ii. p. 332) tells us that ‘le duc d'Orléans n'avoit point de fauteuil, mais un simple siège pliant, à cause que nous étions dans la chambre du roi.’ In the subsequent year, the scene not being in the king's room, the same writer describes ‘M. le duc d'Orléans assis dans un fauteuil.’ Ibid. vol. iii. p. 95. Compare Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. viii. p. 310. Voltaire (Dict. Philos. art. Cérémonies) says: ‘Le fauteuil à bras, la chaise à dos, le tabouret, la main droite et la main gauche, ont été pendant plusieurs siècles d'importants objets de politique, et d'illustres sujets de querelles.’ Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xxxvii. p. 486. The etiquette of the ‘fauteuil’ and ‘chaise’ is explained in Mém. de Genlis, vol. x. p. 287.] who was to be invited to the royal dinners, and who was to be excluded from them;[420 - See Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 309, 310.] who was to be kissed by the queen, and who was not to be kissed by her;[421 - See a list of those it was proper for the queen to kiss, in Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. p. 318.] who should have the first seat in church;[422 - Mém. de Omer Talon, vol. i. pp. 217–219. The Prince de Condé hotly asserted, that at a Te Deum ‘il ne pouvait être assis en autre place que dans la première chaire.’ This was in 1642.] what the proper proportion was between the rank of different persons, and the length of the cloth on which they were allowed to stand;[423 - For a quarrel respecting the ‘drap de pied,’ see Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. p. 249.] what was the dignity a noble must have attained, in order to justify his entering the Louvre in a coach;[424 - A very serious dispute was caused by the claim of the Prince de Marsillac, for ‘permission d'entrer dans le Louvre en carrosse.’ Mém. de Motteville, vol. iii. pp. 367–389.] who was to have precedence at coronations;[425 - Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. i. pp. 422, 423, at the coronation of Louis XIII. Other instances of difficulties caused by questions of precedence, will be found in Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. pp. 23, 24, 437; and even in the grave work of Sully, Œconomies Royales, vol. vii. p. 126, vol. viii. p. 395; which should be compared with De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. ix. pp. 86, 87.] whether all dukes were equal, or whether, as some thought, the Duke de Bouillon, having once possessed the sovereignty of Sedan, was superior to the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, who had never possessed any sovereignty at all;[426 - Mém. de Lenet, vol. i. pp. 378, 379. Lenet, who was a great admirer of the nobles, relates all this without the faintest perception of its absurdity. I ought not to omit a terrible dispute, in 1652, respecting the recognition of the claims of the Duke de Rohan (Mém. de Conrart, pp. 151, 152); nor another dispute, in the reign of Henry IV., as to whether a duke ought to sign his name before a marshal, or whether a marshal should sign first. De Thou, Hist. Univ. vol. xi. p. 11.] whether the Duke de Beaufort ought or ought not to enter the council-chamber before the Duke de Nemours, and whether, being there, he ought to sit above him.[427 - This difficulty, in 1652, caused a violent quarrel between the two dukes, and ended in a duel in which the Duke de Nemours was killed, as is mentioned by most of the contemporary writers. See Mém. de Montglat, vol. ii. p. 357; Mém. de la Rochefoucauld, vol. ii. p. 172; Mém. de Conrart, pp. 172–175; Mém. de Retz, vol. ii. p. 203; Mém. d'Omer Talon, vol. iii. p. 437.] These were the great questions of the day: while, as if to exhaust every form of absurdity, the most serious misunderstandings arose as to who should have the honour of giving the king his napkin as he ate his meals[428 - Pontchartrain, one of the ministers of state, writes, under the year 1620: ‘En ce même temps s'étoit mû un très-grand différend entre M. le prince de Condé et M. le comte de Soissons, sur le sujet de la serviette que chacun d'eux prétendoit devoir présenter au roi quand ils se rencontreroient tous deux près sa majesté.’ Mém. de Pontchartrain, vol. ii. p. 295. Le Vassor, who gives a fuller account (Règne de Louis XIII, vol. iii. pp. 536, 537), says, ‘Chacun des deux princes du sang, fort échauffez à qui feroit une fonction de maître d'hôtel, tiroit la serviette de son côté, et la contestation augmentoit d'une manière dont les suites pouvoient devenir fâcheuses.’ But the king interposing, ‘ils furent donc obligez de céder: mais ce ne fut pas sans se dire l'un à l'autre des paroles hautes et menaçantes.’] and who was to enjoy the inestimable privilege of helping on the queen with her shift.[429 - According to some authorities, a man ought to be a duke before his wife could be allowed to meddle with the queen's shift; according to other authorities, the lady-in-waiting, whoever she might be, had the right, unless a princess happened to be present. On these alternatives, and on the difficulties caused by them, compare Mém. de Saint-Simon, 1842, vol. vii. p. 125, with Mém. de Motteville, vol. ii. pp. 28, 276, 277.]

It may, perhaps, be thought that I owe some apology to the reader for obtruding upon his notice these miserable disputes respecting matters which, however despicable they now appear, were once valued by men not wholly devoid of understanding. But, it should be remembered that their occurrence, and above all, the importance formerly attached to them, is part of the history of the French mind; and they are therefore to be estimated, not according to their intrinsic dignity, but according to the information they supply respecting a state of things which has now passed away. Events of this sort, though neglected by ordinary historians, are among the staff and staple of history. Not only do they assist in bringing before our minds the age to which they refer, but in a philosophic point of view they are highly important. They are part of the materials from which we may generalize the laws of that great protective spirit, which in different periods assumes different shapes; but which, whatever its form may be, always owes its power to the feeling of veneration as opposed to the feeling of independence. How natural this power is, in certain stages of society, becomes evident if we examine the basis on which veneration is itself supported. The origin of veneration is wonder and fear. These two passions, either alone or combined, are the ordinary source of veneration; and the way in which they arise is obvious. We wonder because we are ignorant, and we fear because we are weak. It is therefore natural, that in former times, when men were more ignorant and more weak than they now are, they should likewise have been more given to veneration, more inclined to those habits of reverence, which if carried into religion, cause superstition, and if carried into politics, cause despotism. In the ordinary march of society, those evils are remedied by that progress of knowledge, which at once lessens our ignorance and increases our resources: in other words, which diminishes our proneness to wonder and to fear, and thus weakening our feelings of veneration, strengthens, in the same proportion, our feelings of independence. But in France, this natural tendency was, as we have already seen, counteracted by an opposite tendency; so that while, on the one hand, the protective spirit was enfeebled by the advance of knowledge, it was, on the other hand, invigorated by those social and political circumstances which I have attempted to trace; and by virtue of which, each class exercising great power over the one below it, the subordination and subserviency of the whole were completely maintained. Hence the mind became accustomed to look upwards, and to rely, not on its own resources, but on the resources of others. Hence that pliant and submissive disposition, for which the French, until the eighteenth century, were always remarkable. Hence, too, that inordinate respect for the opinions of others, on which vanity, as one of their national characteristics, is founded.[430 - Also connected with the institution of chivalry, both being cognate symptoms of the same spirit.] For, the feelings of vanity and of veneration have evidently this in common, that they induce each man to measure his actions by a standard external to himself; while the opposite feelings of pride and of independence would make him prefer that internal standard which his own mind alone can supply. The result of all this was, that when, in the middle of the seventeenth century, the intellectual movement stimulated the French to rebellion, its effect was neutralized by that social tendency which, even in the midst of the struggle, kept alive the habits of their old subservience. Thus it was that, while the war went on, there still remained a constant inclination on the part of the people to look up to the nobles, on the part of the nobles to look up to the crown. Both classes relied upon what they saw immediately above them. The people believed that without the nobles there was no safety; the nobles believed that without the crown there was no honour. In the case of the nobles, this opinion can hardly be blamed; for as their distinctions proceed from the crown, they have a direct interest in upholding the ancient notion that the sovereign is the fountain of honour. They have a direct interest in that preposterous doctrine, according to which, the true source of honour being overlooked, our attention is directed to an imaginary source, by whose operation it is believed, that in a moment, and at the mere will of a prince, the highest honours may be conferred upon the meanest men. This, indeed, is but part of the old scheme to create distinctions for which nature has given no warrant; to substitute a superiority which is conventional for that which is real; and thus try to raise little minds above the level of great ones. The utter failure, and, as society advances, the eventual cessation of all such attempts, is certain; but it is evident, that as long as the attempts are made, they who profit by them must be inclined to value those from whom they proceed. Unless counteracting circumstances interpose, there must be between the two parties that sympathy which is caused by the memory of past favours, and the hope of future ones. In France, this natural feeling being strengthened by that protective spirit which induced men to cling to those above them, it is not strange that the nobles, even in the midst of their turbulence, should seek the slightest favours of the crown with an eagerness of which some examples have just been given. They had been so long accustomed to look up to the sovereign as the source of their own dignity, that they believed there was some hidden dignity even in his commonest actions; so that, to their minds, it was a matter of the greatest importance which of them should hand him his napkin, which of them should hold his basin, and which of them should put on his shirt.[431 - Even just before the French Revolution, these feelings still existed. See, for instance the extraordinary details in Campan, Mém. sur Marie-Antoinette, vol. i. pp. 98, 99; which should be compared with an extract from Prudhomme's Mirror de Paris, in Southey's Commonplace Book, third series, 1850, p. 251, no. 165.] It is not, however, for the sake of casting ridicule upon these idle and frivolous men, that I have collected evidence respecting the disputes with which they were engrossed. So far from this, they are rather to be pitied than blamed: they acted according to their instincts; they even exerted such slender abilities as nature had given to them. But we may well feel for that great country whose interests depended on their care. And it is solely in reference to the fate of the French people that the historian need trouble himself with the history of the French nobles. At the same time, evidence of this sort, by disclosing the tendencies of the old nobility, displays in one of its most active forms that protective and aristocratic spirit, of which they know little who only know it in its present reduced and waning condition. Such facts are to be regarded as the symptoms of a cruel disease, by which Europe is indeed still afflicted, but which we now see only in a very mitigated form, and of whose native virulence no one can have an idea, unless he has studied it in those early stages, when, raging uncontrolled, it obtained such a mastery as to check the growth of liberty, stop the progress of nations, and dwarf the energies of the human mind.

It is hardly necessary to trace at greater length the way in which France and England diverged from each other, or to point out what I hope will henceforth be considered the obvious difference between the civil wars in the two countries. It is evident that the low-born and plebeian leaders of our rebellion could have no sympathy with those matters which perplexed the understanding of the great French nobles. Men like Cromwell and his co-adjutors were not much versed in the mysteries of genealogy, or in the subtleties of heraldic lore. They had paid small attention to the etiquette of courts; they had not even studied the rules of precedence. All this was foreign to their design. On the other hand, what they did was done thoroughly. They knew that they had a great work to perform; and they performed it well.[432 - Ludlow thus expresses the sentiments which induced him to make war upon the crown: ‘The question in dispute between the king's party and us being, as I apprehend, whether the king should govern as a god by his will, and the nation be governed by force like beasts? or whether the people should be governed by laws made by themselves, and live under a government derived from their own consent? being fully persuaded, that an accommodation with the king was unsafe to the people of England, and unjust and wicked in the nature of it.’ Ludlow's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 230. Compare Whitelocke's spirited speech to Christina, in Journal of the Swedish Embassy, vol. i. p. 238; and see pp. 390, 391.] They had risen in arms against a corrupt and despotic government, and they would not stay their hands until they had pulled down those who were in high places; until they had not only removed the evil, but had likewise chastised those bad men by whom the evil was committed. And although in this, their glorious undertaking, they did undoubtedly display some of the infirmities to which even the highest minds are subject; we, at least, ought never to speak of them but with that unfeigned respect which is due to those who taught the first great lesson to the kings of Europe, and who, in language not to be mistaken, proclaimed to them that the impunity which they had long enjoyed was now come to an end, and that against their transgressions the people possessed a remedy, sharper, and more decisive, than any they had hitherto ventured to use.

CHAPTER IV

THE PROTECTIVE SPIRIT CARRIED BY LOUIS XIV. INTO LITERATURE. EXAMINATION OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THIS ALLIANCE BETWEEN THE INTELLECTUAL CLASSES AND THE GOVERNING CLASSES

The reader will now be able to understand how it was that the protective system, and the notions of subordination connected with it, gained in France a strength unknown in England, and caused an essential divergence between the two countries. To complete the comparison, it seems necessary to examine how this same spirit influenced the purely intellectual history of France as well as its social and political history. For the ideas of dependence upon which the protective scheme is based, encouraged a belief that the subordination which existed in politics and in society ought also to exist in literature; and that the paternal, inquisitive, and centralizing system which regulated the material interests of the country, should likewise regulate the interests of its knowledge. When, therefore, the Fronde was finally overthrown, everything was prepared for that singular intellectual polity which, during fifty years characterised the reign of Louis XIV., and which was to French literature what feudalism was to French politics. In both cases, homage was paid by one party, and protection and favour accorded by the other. Every man of letters became a vassal of the French crown. Every book was written with a view to the royal favour; and to obtain the patronage of the king was considered the most decisive proof of intellectual eminence. The effects produced by this system will be examined in the present chapter. The apparent cause of the system was the personal character of Louis XIV.; but the real and overruling causes were those circumstances which I have already pointed out, and which established in the French mind associations that remained undisturbed until the eighteenth century. To invigorate those associations, and to carry them into every department of life, was the great aim of Louis XIV.; and in that he was completely successful. It is on this account that the history of his reign becomes highly instructive, because we see in it the most remarkable instance of despotism which has ever occurred; a despotism of the largest and most comprehensive kind; a despotism of fifty years over one of the most civilized people in Europe, who not only bore the yoke without repining, but submitted with cheerfulness, and even with gratitude, to him by whom it was imposed.[433 - On the disgraceful subserviency of the most eminent men of letters, see Capefigue's Louis XIV., vol. i. pp. 41, 42, 116; and on the feeling of the people, Le Vassor, who wrote late in the reign of Louis XIV., bitterly says, ‘mais les Français, accoutumés à l'esclavage, ne sentent plus la pesanteur de leurs chaînes.’ Le Vassor, Hist. de Louis XIII, vol. vi. p. 670. Foreigners were equally amazed at the general, and still more, at the willing servility. Lord Shaftesbury, in a letter dated February 1704–5, passes a glowing eulogy upon liberty; but he adds, that in France ‘you will hardly find this argument understood; for whatever flashes may now and then appear, I never yet knew one single Frenchman a free man.’ Forster's Original Letters of Locke, Sidney, and Shaftesbury, 1830, p. 205. In the same year, De Foe makes a similar remark in regard to the French nobles, Wilson's Life of De Foe, vol. ii. p. 209; and, in 1699, Addison writes from Blois a letter which strikingly illustrates the degradation of the French. Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 80. Compare Burnet's Own Time, vol. iv. p. 365, on ‘the gross excess of flattery to which the French have run, beyond the examples of former ages, in honour of their king.’]

What makes this the more strange is, that the reign of Louis XIV. must be utterly condemned if it is tried even by the lowest standard of morals, of honour, or of interest. A coarse and unbridled profligacy, followed by the meanest and most grovelling superstition, characterized his private life, while in his public career he displayed an arrogance and a systematic perfidy which eventually roused the anger of all Europe, and brought upon France sharp and signal retribution. As to his domestic policy, he formed a strict alliance with the church; and although he resisted the authority of the Pope, he willingly left his subjects to be oppressed by the tyranny of the clergy.[434 - The terms of this compact between the crown and the church are fairly stated by M. Ranke: ‘Wir sehen, die beiden Gewalten unterstützten einander. Der König ward von den Einwirkungen der weltlichen, der Clerus von der unbedingten Autorität der geistlichen Gewalt des Papstthums freigesprochen.’ Die Päpste, vol. iii. p. 168.] To them he abandoned everything except the exercise of his own prerogative.[435 - This part of his character is skilfully drawn by Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxv. p. 43.] Led on by them, he, from the moment he assumed the Government, began to encroach upon those religious liberties of which Henry IV. had laid the foundation, and which down to this period had been preserved intact.[436 - Flasson supposes that the first persecuting laws were in 1679: ‘Des l'année 1679 les concessions faites aux protestans avaient été graduellement restreintes.’ Diplomatie Française, vol. iv. p. 92. But the fact is, that these laws began in 1662, the year after the death of Mazarin. See Sismondi, Hist. des Français, vol. xxv. p. 167; Benoist, Edit. de Nantes, vol. iii. pp. 460–462, 481. In 1667, a letter from Thynne to Lord Clarendon (Lister's Life of Clarendon, vol. iii. p. 446) mentions ‘the horrid persecutions the reformed religion undergoes in France;’ and Locke, who travelled in France in 1675 and 1676, states in his Journal (King's Life of Locke, vol. i. p. 110) that the Protestants were losing ‘every day some privilege or other.’] It was at the instigation of the clergy that he revoked the Edict of Nantes, by which the principle of toleration had for nearly a century been incorporated with the law of the land.[437 - An account of the revocation will be found in all the French historians; but I do not remember that any of them have noticed that there was a rumour of it in Paris twenty years before it occurred. In March 1665 Patin writes, ‘On dit que, pour miner les huguenots, le roi veut supprimer les chambres de l'édit, et abolir l'édit de Nantes.’ Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. p. 516.] It was at their instigation that, just before this outrage upon the most sacred rights of his subjects, he, in order to terrify the Protestants into conversion, suddenly let loose upon them whole troops of dissolute soldiers, who were allowed to practise the most revolting cruelties. The frightful barbarities which followed are related by authentic writers;[438 - Compare Burnet's Own Time, vol. iii. pp. 73–76, with Siècle de Louis XIV, in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xx. pp. 377, 378. Voltaire says that the Protestants who persisted in their religion ‘étaient livrés aux soldats, qui eurent toute licence, excepté celle de tuer. Il y eut pourtant plusieurs personnes si cruellement maltraitées qu'elles en moururent.’ And Burnet, who was in France in 1685, says, ‘all men set their thoughts on work to invent new methods of cruelty.’ What some of those methods were, I shall now relate; because the evidence, however painful it may be, is necessary to enable us to understand the reign of Louis XIV. It is necessary that the veil should be rent; and that the squeamish delicacy which would hide such facts, should give way before the obligation which the historian is under of holding up to public opprobrium, and branding with public infamy, the church by which the measures were instigated, the sovereign by whom they were enforced, and the age in which they were permitted.The two original sources for our knowledge of these events are, Quick's Synodicon in Gallia, 1692, folio; and Benoist, Histoire de l'Edit de Nantes, 1695, 4to. From these works I extract the following accounts of what happened in France in 1685. ‘Afterwards they fall upon the persons of the Protestants; and there was no wickedness, though never so horrid, which they did not put in practice, that they might enforce them to change their religion… They bound them as criminals are when they be put to the rack; and in that posture, putting a funnel into their mouths, they poured wine down their throats till its fumes had deprived them of their reason, and they had in that condition made them consent to become Catholics. Some they stripped stark naked, and after they had offered them a thousand indignities, they stuck them with pins from head to foot; they cut them with pen-knives, tear them by the noses with red-hot pincers, and dragged them about the rooms till they promised to become Roman Catholics, or that the doleful outcries of these poor tormented creatures, calling upon God for mercy, constrained them to let them go… In some places they tied fathers and husbands to the bed-posts, and ravished their wives and daughters before their eyes… From others they pluck off the nails of their hands and toes, which must needs cause an intolerable pain. They burnt the feet of others. They blew up men and women with bellows, till they were ready to burst in pieces. If these horrid usages could not prevail upon them to violate their consciences, and abandon their religion, they did then imprison them in close and noisome dungeons, in which they exercised all kinds of inhumanities upon them.’ Quick's Synodicon, vol. i. pp. cxxx. cxxxi. ‘Cependant les troupes exerçoient partout de cruautez inouies. Tout leur étoit permis, pourveu qu'ils ne fissent pas mourir. Ils faisoient danser quelquefois leurs hôtes, jusqu'à ce qu'ils tombassent en défaillance. Ils bernoient les autres jusqu'à ce qu'ils n'en pouvoient plus… Il y en eut quelques-uns à qui on versa de l'eau bouillante dans la bouche… Il y en eut plusieurs à qui on donna des coups de bâton sous les pieds, pour éprouver si ce supplice est aussi cruel que les relations le publient. On arrachoit à d'autres le poil de la barbe… D'autres brûloient à la chandelle le poil des bras et des jambes de leurs hôtes. D'autres faisoient brûler de la poudre, si près du visage de ceux qui leur resistoient, qu'elle leur grilloit toute la peau. Ils mettoient à d'autres des charbons allumez dans les mains, et les contraignoient de les tenir fermées, jusqu'à ce que les charbons fussent éteints… On brûla les pieds à plusieurs, tenant les uns long-tems devant un grand feu; appliquant aux autres une pelle ardente sous les pieds; liant les pieds des autres dans des bottines pleines de graisse, qu'on faisoit fondre et chauffer peu à peu devant un brasier ardent.’ Benoist, Hist. de l'Edit de Nantes, vol. v. pp. 887–889. One of the Protestants, named Ryau, they ‘lièrent fort étroitement; lui sevrèrent les doigts des mains; lui fichèrent des épingles sous les ongles; lui firent brûler de la poudre dans les oreilles; lui percèrent les cuisses en plusieurs lieux, et versèrent du vinaigre et du sel dans ses blessures. Par ce tourment ils épuisèrent sa patience en deux jours; et le forcèrent à changer de religion,’ p. 890. ‘Ses dragons étoient les mêmes en tous lieux. Ils battoient, ils étourdissoient, ils brûloient en Bourgogne comme en Poitou, en Champagne comme en Guyenne, en Normandie comme en Languedoc. Mais ils n'avoient pour les femmes ni plus de respect, ni plus de pitié que pour les hommes. Au contraire, ils abusoient de la tendre pudeur qui est une des propriétez de leur sexe; et ils s'en prevaloient pour leur faire de plus sensibles outrages. On leur levoit quelquefois leurs juppes par dessus la tête, et on leur jetoit des seaux d'eau sur le corps. Il y en eut plusieurs que les soldats mirent en chemise, et qu'ils forcèrent de danser avec eux dans cet état… Deux filles de Calais, nommées le Noble, furent mises toutes nuës sur le pavé, et furent ainsi exposées à la mocquerie et aux outrages des passans… Des dragons ayant lié la dame de Vezençai à la quenouille de son lit, lui crachoient dans la bouche quand elle l'ouvroit pour parler ou pour soupirer.’ pp. 891, 892. At p. 917 are other details, far more horrible, respecting the treatment of women, and which indignation rather than shame prevents me from transcribing. Indeed, the shame can only light on the church and the government under whose united authority such scandalous outrages could be openly perpetrated, merely for the sake of compelling men to change their religious opinions.] and of the effect produced on the material interests of the nation, some idea may be formed from the fact, that these religious persecutions cost France half a million of her most industrious inhabitants, who fled to different parts, taking with them those habits of labour, and that knowledge and experience in their respective trades, which had hitherto been employed in enriching their own country.[439 - M. Blanqui (Hist. de l'Economie Politique, vol. ii. p. 10) says, that the revocation of the Edict of Nantes cost France ‘cinq cent mille de ses enfants les plus industrieux,’ who carried into other countries ‘les habitudes d'ordre et de travail dont ils étaient imbus.’ See also Siècle de Louis XIV, chap. xxxvi., in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xx. pp. 380, 381. Several of them emigrated to North America. Compare Godwin on Population, pp. 388, 389, with Benoist, l'Edit de Nantes, vol. v. pp. 973, 974, and Lyell's Second Visit to the United States, edit. 1849, vol. ii. p. 159. See also, on the effects of the Revocation, Lettres inédites de Voltaire, vol. ii. p. 473.] These things are notorious, they are incontestable, and they lie on the surface of history. Yet, in the face of them there are still found men who hold up for admiration the age of Louis XIV. Although it is well known that in his reign every vestige of liberty was destroyed; that the people were weighed down by an insufferable taxation; that their children were torn from them by tens of thousands to swell the royal armies; that the resources of the country were squandered to an unprecedented extent; that a despotism of the worst kind was firmly established; – although all this is universally admitted, yet there are writers, even in our own day, who are so infatuated with the glories of literature, as to balance them against the most enormous crimes, and who will forgive every injury inflicted by a prince during whose life there were produced the Letters of Pascal, the orations of Bossuet, the Comedies of Molière, and the Tragedies of Racine.

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

From the moment that there was finally abandoned the theological fiction of the divine right of kings, it necessarily followed that the respect felt for them should suffer a corresponding diminution.[440 - On the diminished respect for kings, caused by the abandonment of divine right, see Spencer's Social Statics, pp. 423, 424; and on the influence of the clergy in propagating the old doctrine, see Allen's learned work on the Royal Prerogative, edit. 1849, p. 156. See also some striking remarks by Locke, in King's Life of Locke, vol ii. p. 90.] The superstitious reverence with which they were formerly regarded is extinct, and at the present day we are no longer awed by that divinity with which their persons were once supposed to be hedged.[441 - ‘Qu'est devenu, en effet, le droit divin, cette pensée, autrefois acceptée par les masses, que les rois étaient les représentants de Dieu sur la terre, que la racine de leur pouvoir était dans le ciel? Elle s'est évanouie devant cette autre pensée, qu'aucun nuage, aucun mysticisme n'obscurcit; devant cette pensée si naturelle et brillant d'une clarté si nette et si vive, que la souveraine puissance, sur la terre, appartient au peuple entier, et non à une fraction, et moins encore à un seul homme.’ Rey, Science Sociale, vol. iii. p. 308. Compare Manning on the Law of Nations, p. 101; Laing's Sweden, p. 408; Laing's Denmark, p. 196; Burke's Works, vol. i. p. 391.] The standard, therefore, by which we should measure them is obvious. We should applaud their conduct in proportion as they contribute towards the happiness of the nation over which they are intrusted with power; but we ought to remember that, from the manner in which they are educated, and from the childish homage always paid to them, their information must be very inaccurate, and their prejudices very numerous.[442 - In this, as in all instances, the language of respect long survives the feeling to which the language owed its origin. Lord Brougham (Political Philosophy, vol. i. p. 42, Lond. 1849) observes, that ‘all their titles are derived from a divine original – all refer to them as representing the Deity on earth. They are called “Grace,” “Majesty.” They are termed “The Lord's anointed,” “The Vicegerent of God upon earth;” with many other names which are either nonsensical or blasphemous, but which are outdone in absurdity by the kings of the East.’ True enough: but if Lord Brougham had written thus three centuries ago, he would have had his ears cut off for his pains.] On this account, so far from expecting that they should be judicious patrons of literature, or should in any way head their age, we ought to be satisfied if they do not obstinately oppose the spirit of their time, and if they do not attempt to stop the march of society. For, unless the sovereign, in spite of the intellectual disadvantages of his position, is a man of very enlarged mind, it must usually happen that he will reward, not those who are most able, but those who are most compliant; and that while he refuses his patronage to a profound and independent thinker, he will grant it to an author who cherishes ancient prejudices and defends ancient abuses. In this way, the practice of conferring on men of letters either honorary or pecuniary rewards, is agreeable, no doubt, to those who receive them; but has a manifest tendency to weaken the boldness and energy of their sentiments, and therefore to impair the value of their works. This might be made evident by publishing a list of those literary pensions which have been granted by European princes. If this were done, the mischief produced by these and similar rewards would be clearly seen. After a careful study of the history of literature, I think myself authorised to say, that for one instance in which a sovereign has recompensed a man who is before his age, there are at least twenty instances of his recompensing one who is behind his age. The result is, that in every country where royal patronage has been long and generally bestowed, the spirit of literature, instead of being progressive, has become reactionary. An alliance has been struck up between those who give and those who receive. By a system of bounties, there has been artificially engendered a greedy and necessitous class; who, eager for pensions, and offices, and titles, have made the pursuit of truth subordinate to the desire of gain, and have infused into their writings the prejudices of the court to which they cling. Hence it is, that the marks of favour have become the badge of servitude. Hence it is, that the acquisition of knowledge, by far the noblest of all occupations, an occupation which of all others raises the dignity of man, has been debased to the level of a common profession, where the chances of success are measured by the number of rewards, and where the highest honours are in the gift of whoever happens to be the minister or sovereign of the day.

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

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

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

I. The first circumstance is, that the immense impulse which, during the administrations of Richelieu and of Mazarin, had been given to the highest branches of knowledge, was suddenly stopped. In 1661 Louis XIV. assumed the government;[443 - ‘La première période du gouvernement de Louis XIV commence donc en 1661.’ Capefigue's Louis XIV., vol. i. p. 4.] and from that moment until his death, in 1715, the history of France, so far as great discoveries are concerned, is a blank in the annals of Europe. If, putting aside all preconceived notions respecting the supposed glory of that age, we examine the matter fairly, it will be seen that in every department there was a manifest dearth of original thinkers. There was much that was elegant, much that was attractive. The senses of men were soothed and flattered by the creations of art, by paintings, by palaces, by poems; but scarcely any thing of moment was added to the sum of human knowledge. If we take the mathematics, and those mixed sciences to which they are applicable, it will be universally admitted that their most successful cultivators in France during the seventeenth century were Descartes, Pascal, Fermat, Gassendi, and Mersenne. But, so far from Louis XIV. having any share in the honour due to them, these eminent men were engaged in their investigations while the king was still in his cradle, and completed them before he assumed the government, and therefore before his system of protection came into play. Descartes died in 1650,[444 - Biog. Univ. vol. xi. p. 157.] when the king was twelve years old. Pascal, whose name, like that of Descartes, is commonly associated with the age of Louis XIV., had gained an European reputation while Louis, occupied in the nursery with his toys, was not aware that any such man existed. His treatise on conic sections was written in 1639;[445 - In Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiii. p. 50, he is said to have composed it ‘à l'âge de seize ans;’ and at p. 46, to have been born in 1623.] his decisive experiments on the weight of air were made in 1648;[446 - Leslie's Natural Philosophy, p. 201; Bordas Demoulin, Le Cartésianisme, vol. i. p. 310. Sir John Herschel (Disc. on Nat. Philos. pp. 229, 230) calls this ‘one of the first, if not the very first,’ crucial instance recorded in physics; and he thinks that it ‘tended, more powerfully than any thing which had previously been done in science, to confirm in the minds of men that disposition to experimental verification which had scarcely yet taken full and secure root.’ In this point of view, the addition it actually made to knowledge is the smallest part of its merit.] and his researches on the cycloid, the last great inquiry he ever undertook, were in 1658,[447 - Montucla (Hist. des Mathématiques, vol. ii. p. 61) says, ‘vers 1658;’ and at p. 65, ‘il se mit, vers le commencement de 1658, à considérer plus profondément les propriétés de cette courbe.’] when Louis, still under the tutelage of Mazarin, had no sort of authority. Fermat was one of the most profound thinkers of the seventeenth century, particularly as a geometrician, in which respect he was second only to Descartes.[448 - Montucla (Hist. des Mathémat. vol. ii. p. 136) enthusiastically declares that ‘si Descartes eût manqué à l'esprit humain, Fermat l'eût remplacé en géométrie.’ Simson, the celebrated restorer of Greek geometry, said that Fermat was the only modern who understood porisms. See Trail's Account of Simson, 1812, 4to. pp. 18, 41. On the connexion between his views and the subsequent discovery of the differential calculus, see Brewster's Life of Newton, vol. ii. pp. 7, 8; and compare Comte, Philosophie Positive, vol. i. pp. 228, 229, 726, 727.] The most important steps he took are those concerning the geometry of infinites, applied to the ordinates and tangents of curves; which, however, he completed in or before 1636.[449 - See extracts from two letters written by Fermat to Roberval, in 1636, in Montucla, Hist. des Mathématiques, vol. ii. pp. 136, 137; respecting which there is no notice in the meagre article on Fermat, in Hutton's Mathematical Dictionary, vol. i. p. 510, 4to. 1815. It is a disgrace to English mathematicians that this unsatisfactory work of Hutton's should still remain the best they have produced on the history of their own science. The same disregard of dates is shown in the hasty remarks on Fermat by Playfair. See Playfair's Dissertation on the Progress of Mathematical Science, Encyclop. Brit. vol. i. p. 440, 7th edition.] As to Gassendi and Mersenne, it is enough to say that Gassendi died in 1655,[450 - Hutton's Mathemat. Dict. vol. i. p. 572.] six years before Louis was at the head of affairs; while Mersenne died in 1648,[451 - Ibid. vol. ii. p. 46.] when the great king was ten years old.

These were the men who flourished in France just before the system of Louis XIV. came into operation. Shortly after their death the patronage of the king began to tell upon the national intellect; and during the next fifty years no addition of importance was made to either branch of the mathematics, or, with the single exception of acoustics,[452 - Of which Sauveur may be considered the creator. Compare Eloge de Sauveur, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. v. p. 435, with Whewell's Hist. of the Induc. Sciences, vol. ii. p. 334; Comte, Philos. Pos. vol. ii. pp. 627, 628.] to any of the sciences to which the mathematics are applied.[453 - In the report presented to Napoleon by the French Institute, it is said of the reign of Louis XIV., ‘les sciences exactes et les sciences physiques peu cultivées en France dans un siècle qui paroissoit ne trouver de charmes que dans la littérature.’ Dacier, Rapport Historique, p. 24. Or, as Lacretelle expresses it (Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 10), ‘La France, après avoir fourni Descartes et Pascal, eut pendant quelque temps à envier aux nations étrangères la gloire de produire des génies créateurs dans les sciences.’] The further the seventeenth century advanced, the more evident did the decline become, and the more clearly can we trace the connexion between the waning powers of the French, and that protective spirit which enfeebled the energies it wished to strengthen. Louis had heard that astronomy is a noble study; he was therefore anxious, by encouraging its cultivation in France, to add to the glories of his own name.[454 - A writer late in the seventeenth century says, with some simplicity, ‘the present king of France is reputed an encourager of choice and able men, in all faculties, who can attribute to his greatness.’ Aubrey's Letters, vol. ii. p. 624.] With this view, he rewarded its professors with unexampled profusion; he built the splendid Observatory of Paris; he invited to his court the most eminent foreign astronomers, Cassini from Italy, Römer from Denmark, Huygens from Holland. But, as to native ability, France did not produce a single man who made even one of those various discoveries which mark the epochs of astronomical science. In other countries vast progress was made; and Newton in particular, by his immense generalizations, reformed nearly every branch of physics, and remodelled astronomy by carrying the laws of gravitation to the extremity of the solar system. On the other hand, France had fallen into such a torpor, that these wonderful discoveries, which changed the face of knowledge, were entirely neglected, there being no instance of any French astronomer adopting them until 1732, that is, forty-five years after they had been published by their immortal author.[455 - The Principia of Newton appeared in 1687; and Maupertuis, in 1732, ‘was the first astronomer of France who undertook a critical defence of the theory of gravitation.’ Grant's Hist. of Physical Astronomy, pp. 31, 43. In 1738, Voltaire writes, ‘La France est jusqu'à présent le seul pays où les théories de Newton en physique, et de Boerhaave en médecine, soient combattues. Nous n'avons pas encore de bons éléments de physique; nous avons pour toute astronomie le livre de Bion, qui n'est qu'un ramas informe de quelques mémoires de l'académie.’ Correspond. in Œuvres de Voltaire, vol. xlvii. p. 340. On the tardy reception of Newton's discoveries in France, compare Eloge de Lacaille, in Œuvres de Bailly, Paris, 1790, vol. i. pp. 175, 176. All this is the more remarkable, because several of the conclusions at which Newton had arrived were divulged before they were embodied in the Principia; and it appears from Brewster's Life of Newton (vol. i. pp. 25, 26, 290), that his speculations concerning gravity began in 1666, or perhaps in the autumn of 1665.] Even in matters of detail, the most valuable improvement made by French astronomers during the power of Louis XIV. was not original. They laid claim to the invention of the micrometer; an admirable resource, which, as they supposed, was first contrived by Picard and Auzout.[456 - ‘L'abbé Picard fut en société avec Auzout, l'inventeur du micromètre.’ Biog. Univ. vol. xxxiv. p. 253. See also Préface de l'Hist. de l'Acad. des Sciences, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. x. p. 20.] The truth, however, is, that here again they were anticipated by the activity of a freer and less protected people; since the micrometer was invented by Gascoigne in or just before 1639, when the English monarch, so far from having leisure to patronize science, was about to embark in that struggle which, ten years later, cost him his crown and his life.[457 - The best account I have seen of the invention of the micrometer, is in Mr. Grant's recent work, History of Physical Astronomy, pp. 428, 450–453, where it is proved that Gascoigne invented it in 1639, or possibly a year or two earlier. Compare Humboldt's Cosmos, vol. iii. p. 52; who also ascribes it to Gascoigne, but erroneously dates it in 1640. Montucla (Hist. des Mathémat. vol. ii. pp. 570, 571) admits the priority of Gascoigne; but underrates his merit, being apparently unacquainted with the evidence which Mr. Grant subsequently adduced.]

The absence in France, during this period, not only of great discoveries, but also of mere practical ingenuity, is certainly very striking. In investigations requiring minute accuracy, the necessary tools, if at all complicated, were made by foreigners, the native workmen being too unskilled to construct them; and Dr. Lister, who was a very competent judge,[458 - For a short account of this able man, see Lankester's Mem. of Ray, p. 17.] and who was in Paris at the end of the seventeenth century, supplies evidence that the best mathematical instruments sold in that city were made, not by a Frenchman, but by Butterfield, an Englishman residing there.[459 - Notwithstanding the strong prejudice then existing against Englishmen, Butterfield was employed by ‘the king and all the princes.’ Lister's Account of Paris at the close of the Seventeenth Century, edited by Dr. Henning, p. 85. Fontenelle mentions ‘M. Hubin,’ as one of the most celebrated makers in Paris in 1687 (Eloge d'Amoltons, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, Paris, 1766, vol. v. p. 113); but has forgotten to state that he too was an Englishman. ‘Lutetiæ sedem posuerat ante aliquod tempus Anglus quidam nomine Hubinus, vir ingeniosus, atque hujusmodi machinationum peritus opifex et industrius. Hominem adii,’ &c. Huetii Commentarius de Rebus ad eum pertinentibus, p. 346. Thus, again, in regard to time-keepers, the vast superiority of the English makers, late in the reign of Louis XIV., was equally incontestable. Compare Biog. Univ. vol. xxiv. pp. 242, 243, with Brewster's Life of Newton, vol. ii. p. 262; and as to the middle of the reign of Louis XIV., see Eloge de Sebastien, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, vol. vi. pp. 332, 333.] Nor did they succeed better in matters of immediate and obvious utility. The improvements effected in manufactures were few and insignificant, and were calculated, not for the comfort of the people, but for the luxury of the idle classes.[460 - ‘Les manufactures étaient plutôt dirigées vers le brillant que vers l'utile. On s'efforça, par un arrêt du mois de mars 1700, d'extirper, ou du moins de réduire beaucoup les fabriques de bas au métier. Malgré cette fausse direction, les objets d'un luxe très-recherché faisaient des progrès bien lents. En 1687, après la mort de Colbert, la cour soldait encore l'industrie des barbares, et faisait fabriquer et broder ses plus beaux habits à Constantinople.’ Lemontey, Etablissement de Louis XIV, p. 364. Lacretelle (Dix-huitième Siècle, vol. ii. p. 5) says, that during the last thirty years of the reign of Louis XIV. ‘les manufactures tombaient.’] What was really valuable was neglected; no great invention was made; and by the end of the reign of Louis XIV. scarcely anything had been done in machinery, or in those other contrivances which, by economising national labour, increase national wealth.[461 - Cuvier (Biog. Univ. vol. xxxvii. p. 199) thus describes the condition of France only seven years after the death of Louis XIV.: ‘Nos forges étaient alors presque dans l'enfance; et nous ne faisions point d'acier: tout celui qu'exigeaient les différents métiers nous venait de l'étranger… Nous ne faisions point non plus alors de fer-blanc, et il ne nous venait que de l'Allemagne.’]

While such was the state, not only of mathematical and astronomical science, but also of mechanical and inventive arts, corresponding symptoms of declining power were seen in other departments. In physiology, in anatomy and in medicine, we look in vain for any men equal to those by whom France had once been honoured. The greatest discovery of this kind ever made by a Frenchman, was that of the receptacle of the chyle; a discovery which, in the opinion of a high authority, is not inferior to that of the circulation of the blood by Harvey.[462 - ‘Certainement la découverte de Pecquet ne brille pas moins dans l'histoire de notre art que la vérité démontrée pour la première fois par Harvey.’ Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. p. 208.] This important step in our knowledge is constantly assigned to the age of Louis XIV., as if it were one of the results of his gracious bounty; but it would be difficult to tell what Louis had to do with it, since the discovery was made by Pecquet in 1647,[463 - Henle (Anatomie Générale, vol. ii. p. 106) says, that the discovery was made in 1649; but the historians of medicine assign it to 1647. Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iv. pp. 207, 405; Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 173.] when the great king was nine years old. After Pecquet, the most eminent of the French anatomists in the seventeenth century was Riolan; and his name we also find among the illustrious men who adorned the reign of Louis XIV. But the principal works of Riolan were written before Louis XIV. was born; his last work was published in 1652; and he himself died in 1657.[464 - Biog. Univ. vol. xxxviii. pp. 123, 124.] Then there came a pause, and, during three generations, the French did nothing for these great subjects: they wrote no work upon them which is now read, they made no discoveries, and they seemed to have lost all heart, until that revival of knowledge, which, as we shall presently see, took place in France about the middle of the eighteenth century. In the practical parts of medicine, in its speculative parts, and in the arts connected with surgery, the same law prevails. The French, in these, as in other matters, had formerly produced men of great eminence, who had won for themselves an European reputation, and whose works are still remembered. Thus, only to mention two or three instances, they had a long line of illustrious physicians, among whom Fernel and Joubert were the earliest;[465 - Some of the great steps taken by Joubert are concisely stated in Broussais, Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. i. pp. 293, 294, vol. iii. p. 361. Compare Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iii. p. 210. Fernel, though enthusiastically praised by Patin, was probably hardly equal to Joubert. Lettres de Patin, vol. iii. pp. 59, 199, 648. At p. 106, Patin calls Fernel ‘le premier médecin de son temps, et peut-être le plus grand qui sera jamais.’] they had, in surgery, Ambroise Paré, who not only introduced important practical improvements,[466 - See a summary of them in Sprengel, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. iii. pp. 405, 406, vol. vii. pp. 14, 15. Sir Benjamin Brodie (Lectures on Surgery, p. 21) says, ‘Few greater benefits have been conferred on mankind than that for which we are indebted to Ambrose Parey – the application of a ligature to a bleeding artery.’] but who has the still rarer merit of being one of the founders of comparative osteology;[467 - ‘C'était là une vue très-ingénieuse et très-juste qu'Ambroise Paré donnait pour la première fois. C'était un commencement d'ostéologie comparée.’ Cuvier, Hist. des Sciences, part. ii. p. 42. To this I may add, that he is the first French writer on medical jurisprudence. See Paris and Fonblanque's Medical Jurisprudence, 1823, vol. i. p. xviii.] and they had Baillou, who late in the sixteenth and early in the seventeenth century, advanced pathology, by connecting it with the study of morbid anatomy.[468 - ‘L'un des premiers auteurs à qui l'on doit des observations cadavériques sur les maladies, est le fameux Baillou.’ Broussais, Examen des Doctrines Médicales, vol. ii. p. 218. See also vol. iii. p. 362; and Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 89. The value of his services is recognized in a recent able work, Phillips on Scrofula, 1846, p. 16.] Under Louis XIV. all this was changed. Under him, surgery was neglected, though in other countries its progress was rapid.[469 - ‘The most celebrated surgeon of the sixteenth century was Ambroise Paré… From the time of Paré until the commencement of the eighteenth century, surgery was but little cultivated in France. Mauriceau, Saviard, and Belloste, were the only French surgeons of note who could be contrasted with so many eminent men of other nations. During the eighteenth century, France produced two surgeons of extraordinary genius; these are Petit and Desault.’ Bowman's Surgery, in Encyclop. of Medical Sciences, 1847, 4to. pp. 829, 830.] The English, by the middle of the seventeenth century, had taken considerable steps in medicine: its therapeutical branch being reformed chiefly by Sydenham, its physiological branch by Glisson.[470 - It is unnecessary to adduce evidence respecting the services rendered by Sydenham, as they are universally admitted; but what, perhaps, is less generally known, is, that Glisson anticipated those important views concerning irritability, which were afterwards developed by Haller and Gorter. Compare Renouard, Hist. de le Médecine, vol. ii. p. 192; Elliotson's Human Physiol. p. 471; Bordas Demoulin, Cartésianisme, vol. i. p. 170; In Wagner's Physiol. 1841, p. 655, the theory is too exclusively ascribed to Haller.] But the age of Louis XIV. cannot boast of a single medical writer who can be compared to these; not even one whose name is now known as having made any specific addition to our knowledge. In Paris, the practice of medicine was notoriously inferior to that in the capitals of Germany, Italy, and England; while in the French provinces, the ignorance, even of the best physicians, was scandalous.[471 - Of this we have numerous complaints from foreigners who visited France. I will quote the testimony of one celebrated man. In 1699, Addison writes from Blois: ‘I made use of one of the physicians of this place, who are as cheap as our English farriers, and generally as ignorant.’ Aikin's Life of Addison, vol. i. p. 74.] Indeed, it is no exaggeration to say that, during the whole of this long period, the French in these matters effected comparatively nothing; they made no contributions to clinical literature,[472 - Indeed, France was the last great country in Europe in which a chair of clinical medicine was established. See Renouard, Hist. de la Médecine, vol. ii. p. 312; and Bouillaud, Philos. Médicale, p. 114.] and scarcely any to therapeutics, to pathology, to physiology, or to anatomy.[473 - M. Bouillaud, in his account of the state of medicine in the seventeenth century, does not mention a single Frenchman during this period. See Bouillaud, Philosophie Médicale, pp. 13 seq. During many years of the power of Louis XIV., the French Academy only possessed one anatomist; and of him, few students of physiology have ever heard: ‘M. du Verney fut assez long-temps le seul anatomiste de l'académie, et ce ne fut qu'en 1684 qu'on lui joignit M. Mery.’ Eloge de Du Verney, in Œuvres de Fontenelle, vol. vi. p. 392.]