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´╗┐Title: Lectures on Modern history
Author: Acton, John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, Baron, 1834-1902
Language: English
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LECTURES ON MODERN HISTORY

by

LORD ACTON (JOHN EMERICH EDWARD DALBERG-ACTON)



INAUGURAL LECTURE

ON THE STUDY OF HISTORY

Delivered at Cambridge, June 1895

FELLOW STUDENTS--I look back today to a time before the middle of
the century, when I was reading at Edinburgh and fervently
wishing to come to this University.  At three colleges I applied
for admission, and, as things then were, I was refused by all.
Here, from the first, I vainly fixed my hopes, and here, in
a happier hour, after five-and-forty years, they are at last
fulfilled.

 I desire, first, to speak to you of that which I may reasonably
call the Unity of Modern History, as an easy approach to questions
necessary to be met on the threshold by any one occupying this
place, which my predecessor has made so formidable to me by the
reflected lustre of his name.

You have often heard it said that Modern History is a subject to
which neither beginning nor end can be assigned.  No beginning,
because the dense web of the fortunes of man is woven without a
void; because, in society as in nature, the structure is
continuous, and we can trace things back uninterruptedly, until
we dimly descry the Declaration of Independence in the forests of
Germany.  No end, because, on the same principle, history made
and history making are scientifically inseparable and separately
unmeaning.

"Politics," said Sir John Seeley, "are vulgar when they are not
liberalised by history, and history fades into mere literature
when it loses sight of its relation to practical politics."
Everybody perceives the sense in which this is true.  For the
science of politics is the one science that is deposited by the
stream of history, like grains of gold in the sand of a river;
and the knowledge of the past, the record of truths revealed by
experience, is eminently practical, as an instrument of action
and a power that goes to the making of the future #1.  In France,
such is the weight attached to the study of our own time, that
there is an appointed course of contemporary history, with
appropriate text-books #2.  That is a chair which, in the progressive
division of labour by which both science and government prosper #3,
may some day be founded in this country.  Meantime, we do well to
acknowledge the points at which the two epochs diverge.  For the
contemporary differs from the modern in this, that many of its
facts cannot by us be definitely ascertained.  The living do not
give up their secrets with the candour of the dead; one key is
always excepted, and a generation passes before we can ensure
accuracy.  Common report and outward seeming are bad copies of the
reality, as the initiated know it.  Even of a thing so memorable
as the war of 1870, the true cause is still obscure; much that we
believed has been scattered to the winds in the last six months,
and further revelations by important witnesses are about to
appear.  The use of history turns far more on certainty than on
abundance of acquired information.

Beyond the question of certainty is the question of detachment.
The process by which principles are discovered and appropriated
is other than that by which, in practice, they are applied; and
our most sacred and disinterested convictions ought to take shape
in the tranquil regions of the air, above the tumult and the
tempest of active life #4.  For a man is justly despised who has one
opinion in history and another in politics, one for abroad and
another at home, one for opposition and another for office.
History compels us to fasten on abiding issues, and rescues us
from the temporary and transient.  Politics and history are
interwoven, but are not commensurate.  Ours is a domain that
reaches farther than affairs of state, and is not subject to the
jurisdiction of governments.  It is our function to keep in view
and to command the movement of ideas, which are not the effect
but the cause of public events #5; and even to allow some priority
to ecclesiastical history over civil, since, by reason of the
graver issues concerned, and the vital consequences of error, it
opened the way in research, and was the first to be treated by
close reasoners and scholars of the higher rank #6.

In the same manner, there is wisdom and depth in the philosophy which
always considers the origin and the germ, and glories in history as
one consistent epic #7.  Yet every student ought to know that mastery
is acquired by resolved limitation.  And confusion ensues from the
theory of Montesquieu and of his school, who, adapting the same term
to things unlike, insist that freedom is the primitive condition of
the race from which we are sprung #8.  If we are to account mind not
matter, ideas not force, the spiritual property that gives dignity and
grace and intellectual value to history, and its action on the
ascending life of man, then we shall not be prone to explain the
universal by the national, and civilisation by custom #9.  A speech of
Antigone, a single sentence of Socrates, a few lines that were
inscribed on an Indian rock before the Second Punic War, the footsteps
of a silent yet prophetic people who dwelt by the Dead Sea, and
perished in the fall of Jerusalem, come nearer to our lives than the
ancestral wisdom of barbarians who fed their swine on the Hercynian
acorns.

For our present purpose, then, I describe as Modern History that which
begins four hundred years ago, which is marked off by an evident and
intelligible line from the time immediately preceding, and displays in
its course specific and distinctive characteristics of its own #10.
The modern age did not proceed from the medieval by normal succession,
with outward tokens of legitimate descent.  Unheralded, it founded a
new order of things, under a law of innovation, sapping the ancient
reign of continuity.  In those days Columbus subverted the notions of
the world, and reversed the conditions of production, wealth, and
power; in those days Machiavelli released government from the
restraint of law; Erasmus diverted the current of ancient learning
from profane into Christian channels; Luther broke the chain of
authority and tradition at the strongest link; and Copernicus erected
an invincible power that set for ever the mark of progress upon the
time that was to come.  There is the same unbound originality and
disregard for inherited sanctions in the rare philosophers as in the
discovery of Divine Right, and the intruding Imperialism of Rome.  The
like effects are visible everywhere, and one generation beheld them
all.  It was an awakening of new life; the world revolved in a
different orbit, determined by influences unknown before.  After many
ages persuaded of the headlong decline and impending dissolution of
society #11, and governed by usage and the will of masters who were in
their graves, the sixteenth century went forth armed for untried
experience, and ready to watch with hopefulness a prospect of
incalculable change.

That forward movement divides it broadly from the older world;
and the unity of the new is manifest in the universal spirit of
investigation and discovery which did not cease to operate, and
withstood the recurring efforts of reaction, until, by the advent
of the reign of general ideas which we call the Revolution, it at
length prevailed #12.  This successive deliverance and gradual
passage, for good and evil, from subordination to independence is
a phenomenon of primary import to us, because historical science
has been one of its instruments #13.  If the Past has been an obstacle
and a burden, knowledge of the Past is the safest and the surest
emancipation.  And the earnest search for it is one of the signs
that distinguish the four centuries of which I speak from those
that went before.  The Middle Ages, which possessed good writers
of contemporary narrative, were careless and impatient of older
fact.  They became content to be deceived, to live in a twilight
of fiction, under clouds of false witness, inventing according to
convenience, and glad to welcome the forger and the cheat #14.  As
time went on, the atmosphere of accredited mendacity thickened,
until, in the Renaissance, the art of exposing falsehood dawned
upon keen Italian minds.  It was then that History as we
understand it began to be understood, and the illustrious dynasty
of scholars arose to whom we still look both for method and
material.  Unlike the dreaming prehistoric world, ours knows the
need and the duty to make itself master of the earlier times, and
to forfeit nothing of their wisdom or their warnings #15, and has
devoted its best energy and treasure to the sovereign purpose of
detecting error and vindicating entrusted truth #16.

In this epoch of full-grown history men have not acquiesced in
the given conditions of their lives.  Taking little for granted
they have sought to know the ground they stand on, and the road
they travel, and the reason why.  Over them, therefore, the
historian has obtained an increasing ascendancy #17.  The law of
stability was overcome by the power of ideas, constantly varied
and rapidly renewed #18; ideas that give life and motion, that take
wing and traverse seas and frontiers, making it futile to pursue
the consecutive order of events in the seclusion of a separate
nationality #19.  They compel us to share the existence of societies
wider than our own, to be familiar with distant and exotic types,
to hold our march upon the loftier summits, along the central
range, to live in the company of heroes, and saints, and men of
genius, that no single country could produce.  We cannot afford
wantonly to lose sight of great men and memorable lives, and are
bound to store up objects for admiration as far as may be #20; for
the effect of implacable research is constantly to reduce their
number.  No intellectual exercise, for instance, can be more
invigorating than to watch the working of the mind of Napoleon,
the most entirely known as well as the ablest of historic men.
In another sphere, it is the vision of a higher world to be
intimate with the character of Fenelon, the cherished model of
politicians, ecclesiastics, and men of letters, the witness
against one century and precursor of another, the advocate of the
poor against oppression, of liberty in an age of arbitrary power,
of tolerance in an age of persecution, of the humane virtues
among men accustomed to sacrifice them to authority, the man of
whom one enemy says that his cleverness was enough to strike
terror, and another, that genius poured in torrents from his
eyes.  For the minds that are greatest and best alone furnish the
instructive examples.  A man of ordinary proportion or inferior
metal knows not how to think out the rounded circle of his
thought, how to divest his will of its surroundings and to rise
above the pressure of time and race and circumstance #21, to choose
the star that guides his course, to correct, and test, and assay
his convictions by the light within #22, and, with a resolute
conscience and ideal courage, to remodel and reconstitute the
character which birth and education gave him #23.

For ourselves, if it were not the quest of the higher level and
the extended horizon, international history would be imposed by
the exclusive and insular reason that parliamentary reporting is
younger than parliaments.  The foreigner has no mystic fabric in
his government, and no arcanum imperii.  For him the foundations
have been laid bare; every motive and function of the mechanism
is accounted for as distinctly as the works of a watch.  But with
our indigenous constitution, not made with hands or written upon
paper, but claiming to develop by a law of organic growth; with
our disbelief in the virtue of definitions and general principles
and our reliance on relative truths, we can have nothing
equivalent to the vivid and prolonged debates in which other
communities have displayed the inmost secrets of political
science to every man who can read.  And the discussions of
constituent assemblies, at Philadelphia, Versailles and Paris, at
Cadiz and Brussels, at Geneva, Frankfort and Berlin, above nearly
all, those of the most enlightened States in the American Union,
when they have recast their institutions, are paramount in the
literature of politics, and proffer treasures which at home we
have never enjoyed.

To historians the later part of their enormous subject is
precious because it is inexhaustible.  It is the best to know
because it is the best known and the most explicit.  Earlier
scenes stand out from a background of obscurity.  We soon reach
the sphere of hopeless ignorance and unprofitable doubt.  But
hundreds and even thousands of the moderns have borne testimony
against themselves, and may be studied in their private
correspondence and sentenced on their own confession.  Their
deeds are done in the daylight.  Every country opens its archives
and invites us to penetrate the mysteries of State.  When Hallam
wrote his chapter on James II, France was the only Power whose
reports were available.  Rome followed, and The Hague; and then
came the stores of the Italian States, and at last the Prussian
and the Austrian papers, and partly those of Spain.  Where Hallam
and Lingard were dependent on Barillon, their successors consult
the diplomacy of ten governments.  The topics indeed are few on
which the resources have been so employed that we can be content
with the work done for us and never wish it to be done over
again.  Part of the lives of Luther and Frederic, a little of the
Thirty Years' War, much of the American Revolution and the French
Restoration, the early years of Richelieu and Mazarin, and a few
volumes of Mr. Gardiner, show here and there like Pacific islands
in the ocean.  I should not even venture to claim for Ranke, the
real originator of the heroic study of records, and the most
prompt and fortunate of European pathfinders, that there is one
of his seventy volumes that has not been overtaken and in part
surpassed.  It is through his accelerating influence mainly that
our branch of study has become progressive, so that the best
master is quickly distanced by the better pupil #24.  The Vatican
archives alone, now made accessible to the world, filled 3239
cases when they were sent to France; and they are not the
richest.  We are still at the beginning of the documentary age,
which will tend to make history independent of historians, to
develop learning at the expense of writing, and to accomplish a
revolution in other sciences as well.

To men in general I would justify the stress I am laying on
Modern History, neither by urging its varied wealth, nor the
rupture with precedent, nor the perpetuity of change and increase
of pace, nor the growing predominance of opinion over belief, and
of knowledge over opinion, but by the argument that it is a
narrative told of ourselves, the record of a life which is our
own, of efforts not yet abandoned to repose, of problems that
still entangle the feet and vex the hearts of men.  Every part of
it is weighty with inestimable lessons that we must learn by
experience and at a great price, if we know not how to profit by
the example and teaching of those who have gone before us, in a
society largely resembling the one we live in #25.  Its study fulfils
its purpose even if it only makes us wiser, without producing
books, and gives us the gift of historical thinking, which is
better than historical learning #27.  It is a most powerful
ingredient in the formation of character and the training of
talent, and our historical judgments have as much to do with
hopes of heaven as public or private conduct.  Convictions that
have been strained through the instances and the comparisons of
modern times differ immeasurably in solidity and force from those
which every new fact perturbs, and which are often little better
than illusions or unsifted prejudice #28.

The first of human concerns is religion, and it is the salient
feature of the modern centuries.  They are signalised as the
scene of Protestant developments.  Starting from a time of
extreme indifference, ignorance, and decline, they were at once
occupied with that conflict which was to rage so long, and of
which no man could imagine the infinite consequences.  Dogmatic
conviction--for I shun to speak of faith in connection with many
characters of those days--dogmatic conviction rose to be the
centre of universal interest, and remained down to Cromwell the
supreme influence and motive of public policy.  A time came when
the intensity of prolonged conflict, when even the energy of
antagonistic assurance abated somewhat, and the controversial
spirit began to make room for the scientific; and as the storm
subsided, and the area of settled questions emerged, much of the
dispute was abandoned to the serene and soothing touch of
historians, invested as they are with the prerogative of
redeeming the cause of religion from many unjust reproaches, and
from the graver evils of reproaches that are just.  Ranke used to
say that Church interests prevailed in politics until the Seven
Years' War, and marked a phase of society that ended when the
hosts of Brandenburg went into action at Leuthen, chaunting their
Lutheran hymns #29.  That bold proposition would be disputed even if
applied to the present age.  After Sir Robert Peel had broken up
his party, the leaders who followed him declared that no popery
was the only basis on which it could be reconstructed #30.  On the
other side may be urged that, in July 1870, at the outbreak of
the French war, the only government that insisted on the
abolition of the temporal power was Austria; and since then we
have witnessed the fall of Castelar, because he attempted to
reconcile Spain with Rome.

Soon after 1850 several of the most intelligent men in France,
struck by the arrested increase of their own population and by
the telling statistics from Further Britain, foretold the coming
preponderance of the English race.  They did not foretell, what
none could then foresee, the still more sudden growth of Prussia,
or that the three most important countries of the globe would, by
the end of the century, be those that chiefly belonged to the
conquests of the Reformation.  So that in Religion, as in so many
things, the product of these centuries has favoured the new
elements; and the centre of gravity, moving from the Mediterranean
nations to the Oceanic, from the Latin to the Teuton, has also
passed from the Catholic to the Protestant #31.

Out of these controversies proceeded political as well as
historical science.  It was in the Puritan phase, before the
restoration of the Stuarts, that theology, blending with
politics, effected a fundamental change.  The essentially English
reformation of the seventeenth century was less a struggle
between churches than between sects, often subdivided by
questions of discipline and self-regulation rather than by dogma.
The sectaries cherished no purpose or prospect of prevailing over
the nations; and they were concerned with the individual more
than with the congregation, with conventicles, not with State
churches.  Their view was narrowed, but their sight was
sharpened.  It appeared to them that governments and institutions
are made to pass away, like things of earth, whilst souls are
immortal; that there is no more proportion between liberty and
power than between eternity and time; that, therefore, the sphere
of enforced command ought to be restricted within fixed limits,
and that which had been done by authority, and outward discipline,
and organised violence, should be attempted by division of power,
and committed to the intellect and the conscience of free men #32.
Thus was exchanged the dominion of will over will for the dominion
of reason over reason.  The true apostles of toleration are not
those who sought protection for their own beliefs, or who had none
to protect; but men to whom, irrespective of their cause, it was
a political, a moral, and a theological dogma, a question of
conscience involving both religion and policy #33.  Such a man was
Socinus; and others arose in the smaller sects--the Independent
founder of the colony of Rhode Island, and the Quaker patriarch
of Pennsylvania.  Much of the energy and zeal which had laboured
for authority of doctrine was employed for liberty of prophesying.
The air was filled with the enthusiasm of a new cry; but the cause
was still the same.  It became a boast that religion was the
mother of freedom, that freedom was the lawful offspring of religion;
and this transmutation, this subversion of established forms of
political life by the development of religious thought, brings us
to the heart of my subject, to the significant and central feature of
the historic cycles before us.  Beginning with the strongest
religious movement and the most refined despotism ever known, it
has led to the superiority of politics over divinity in the life
of nations, and terminates in the equal claim of every man to be
unhindered by man in the fulfilment of duty to God #34--a doctrine
laden with storm and havoc, which is the secret essence of the
Rights of Man, and the indestructible soul of Revolution.

When we consider what the adverse forces were, their sustained
resistance, their frequent recovery, the critical moments when
the struggle seemed for ever desperate, in 1685, in 1772, in
1808, it is no hyperbole to say that the progress of the world
towards self-government would have been arrested but for the
strength afforded by the religious motive in the seventeenth
century.  And this constancy of progress, of progress in the
direction of organised and assured freedom, is the characteristic
fact of Modern History, and its tribute to the theory of
Providence #35.  Many persons, I am well assured, would detect that
this is a very old story, and a trivial commonplace, and would
challenge proof that the world is making progress in aught but
intellect, that it is gaining in freedom, or that increase in
freedom is either a progress or a gain.  Ranke, who was my own
master, rejected the view that I have stated #36; Comte, the master
of better men, believed that we drag a lengthening chain under
the gathered weight of the dead hand #37; and many of our recent
classics--Carlyle, Newman, Froude--were persuaded that there is
no progress justifying the ways of God to man, and that the mere
consolidation of liberty is like the motion of creatures whose
advance is in the direction of their tails.  They deem that
anxious precaution against bad government is an obstruction to
good, and degrades morality and mind by placing the capable at
the mercy of the incapable, dethroning enlightened virtue for the
benefit of the average man.  They hold that great and salutary
things are done for mankind by power concentrated, not by power
balanced and cancelled and dispersed, and that the whig theory,
sprung from decomposing sects, the theory that authority is
legitimate only by virtue of its checks, and that the sovereign
is dependent on the subject, is rebellion against the divine will
manifested all down the stream of time.

I state the objection not that we may plunge into the crucial
controversy of a science that is not identical with ours, but in order
to make my drift clear by the defining aid of express contradiction.
No political dogma is as serviceable to my purpose here as the
historian's maxim to do the best he can for the other side, and to
avoid pertinacity or emphasis on his own.  Like the economic precept
laissez faire #38, which the eighteenth century derived from Colbert,
it has been an important, if not a final step in the making of method.
The strongest and most impressive personalities, it is true, like
Macaulay, Thiers, and the two greatest of living writers, Mommsen and
Treitschke, project their own broad shadow upon their pages.  This is
a practice proper to great men, and a great man may be worth several
immaculate historians.  Otherwise there is virtue in the saying that a
historian is seen at his best when he does not appear #39.  Better for
us is the example of the Bishop of Oxford, who never lets us know what
he thinks of anything but the matter before him; and of his
illustrious French rival, Fustel de Coulanges, who said to an excited
audience: "Do not imagine you are listening to me; it is history
itself that speaks." #40  We can found no philosophy on the observation
of four hundred years, excluding three thousand.  It would be an
imperfect and a fallacious induction.  But I hope that even this
narrow and dis-edifying section of history will aid you to see that
the action of Christ who is risen on mankind whom he redeemed fails
not, but increases #41; that the wisdom of divine rule appears not in
the perfection but in the improvement of the world #42; and that
achieved liberty is the one ethical result that rests on the
converging and combined conditions of advancing civilisation #43.  Then
you will understand what a famous philosopher said, that History is
the true demonstration of Religion #44.

But what do people mean who proclaim that liberty is the palm,
and the prize, and the crown, seeing that it is an idea of which
there are two hundred definitions, and that this wealth of
interpretation has caused more bloodshed than anything, except
theology?  Is it Democracy as in France, or Federalism as in
America, or the national independence which bounds the Italian
view, or the reign of the fittest, which is the ideal of Germans #45?
I know not whether it will ever fall within my sphere of duty to
trace the slow progress of that idea through the chequered scenes
of our history, and to describe how subtle speculations touching
the nature of conscience promoted a nobler and more spiritual
conception of the liberty that protects it #46, until the guardian of
rights developed into the guardian of duties which are the cause
of rights #47, and that which had been prized as the material
safeguard for treasures of earth became sacred as security for
things that are divine.  All that we require is a workday key to
history, and our present need can be supplied without pausing to
satisfy philosophers.  Without inquiring how far Sarasa or
Butler, Kant or Vinet, is right as to the infallible voice of God
in man, we may easily agree in this, that where absolutism
reigned, by irresistible arms, concentrated possessions,
auxiliary churches, and inhuman laws, it reigns no more; that
commerce having risen against land, labour against wealth, the
State against the forces dominant in society #48, the division of
power against the State, the thought of individuals against the
practice of ages, neither authorities, nor minorities, nor
majorities can command implicit obedience; and, where there has
been long and arduous experience, a rampart of tried conviction
and accumulated knowledge, where there is a fair level of general
morality, education, courage, and self-restraint, there, if there
only, a society may be found that exhibits the condition of life
towards which, by elimination of failures, the world has been
moving through the allotted space #50.  You will know it by outward
signs: Representation, the extinction of slavery, the reign of
opinion, and the like; better still by less apparent evidences:
the security of the weaker groups #51 and the liberty of conscience,
which, effectually secured, secures the rest.

Here we reach a point at which my argument threatens to abut on a
contradiction.  If the supreme conquests of society are won more often
by violence than by lenient arts, if the trend and drift of things is
towards convulsions and catastrophes #52, if the world owes religious
liberty to the Dutch Revolution, constitutional government to the
English, federal republicanism to the American, political equality to
the French and its successors #53, what is to become of us, docile and
attentive students of the absorbing Past? The triumph of the
Revolutionist annuls the historian #54.  By its authentic exponents,
Jefferson and Sieyes, the Revolution of the last century repudiates
history.  Their followers renounced acquaintance with it, and were
ready to destroy its records and to abolish its inoffensive
professors.  But the unexpected truth, stranger than fiction, is that
this was not the ruin but the renovation of history.  Directly and
indirectly, by process of development and by process of reaction, an
impulse was given which made it infinitely more effectual as a factor
of civilisation than ever before, and a movement began in the world of
minds which was deeper and more serious than the revival of ancient
learning #55.  The dispensation under which we live and labour consists
first in the recoil from the negative spirit that rejected the law of
growth, and partly in the endeavour to classify and adjust the
Revolution, and to account for it by the natural working of historic
causes.  The Conservative line of writers, under the name of the
Romantic or Historical School, had its seat in Germany, looked upon
the Revolution as an alien episode, the error of an age, a disease to
be treated by the investigation of its origin, and strove to unite the
broken threads and to restore the normal conditions of organic
evolution.  The Liberal School, whose home was France, explained and
justified the Revolution as a true development, and the ripened fruit
of all history #56.  These are the two main arguments of the generation to
which we owe the notion and the scientific methods that make history
so unlike what it was to the survivors of the last century.
Severally, the innovators were not superior to the men of old.
Muratori was as widely read, Tillemont as accurate, Liebnitz as able,
Freret as acute, Gibbon as masterly in the craft of composite
construction.  Nevertheless, in the second quarter of this century, a
new era began for historians.

I would point to three things in particular, out of many, which
constitute the amended order.  Of the incessant deluge of new and
unsuspected matter I need say little.  For some years, the secret
archives of the papacy were accessible at Paris; but the time was
not ripe, and almost the only man whom they availed was the
archivist himself #57.  Towards 1830 the documentary studies began on
a large scale, Austria leading the way.  Michelet, who claims,
towards 1836, to have been the pioneer #58, was preceded by such
rivals as Mackintosh, Bucholtz, and Mignet.  A new and more
productive period began thirty years later, when the war of 1859
laid open the spoils of Italy.  Every country in succession has
now been allowed the exploration of its records, and there is
more fear of drowning than of drought.  The result has been that
a lifetime spent in the largest collection of printed books would
not suffice to train a real master of modern history.  After he
had turned from literature to sources, from Burner to Pocock,
from Macaulay to Madame Campana, from Thiers to the interminable
correspondence of the Bonapartes, he would still feel instant
need of inquiry at Venice or Naples, in the Ossuna library or at
the Hermitage #59.

These matters do not now concern us.  For our purpose, the main thing
to learn is not the art of accumulating material, but the sublimer art
of investigating it, of discerning truth from falsehood and certainty
from doubt.  It is by solidity of criticism more than by the plenitude
of erudition, that the study of history strengthens, and straightens,
and extends the mind #60.  And the accession of the critic in the place
of the indefatigable compiler, of the artist in coloured narrative,
the skilled limner of character, the persuasive advocate of good, or
other, causes, amounts to a transfer of government, to a change of
dynasty, in the historic realm.  For the critic is one who, when he
lights on an interesting statement, begins by suspecting it.  He
remains in suspense until he has subjected his authority to three
operations.  First, he asks whether he has read the passage as the
author wrote it.  For the transcriber, and the editor, and the
official or officious censor on the top of the editor, have played
strange tricks, and have much to answer for.  And if they are not to
blame, it may turn out that the author wrote his book twice over, that
you can discover the first jet, the progressive variations, things
added, and things struck out.  Next is the question where the writer
got his information.  If from a previous writer, it can be
ascertained, and the inquiry has to be repeated.  If from unpublished
papers, they must be traced, and when the fountain-head is reached, or
the track disappears, the question of veracity arises.  The
responsible writer's character, his position, antecedents, and
probable motives have to be examined into; and this is what, in a
different and adapted sense of the word, may be called the higher
criticism, in comparison with the servile and often mechanical work of
pursuing statements to their root.  For a historian has to be treated
as a witness, and not believed unless his sincerity is established #61.
The maxim that a man must be presumed to be innocent until his guilt
is proved, was not made for him.

For us, then, the estimate of authorities, the weighing of
testimony, is more meritorious than the potential discovery of
new matter #62.  And modern history, which is the widest field of
application, is not the best to learn our business in; for it is
too wide, and the harvest has not been winnowed as in antiquity,
and further on to the Crusades.  It is better to examine what has
been done for questions that are compact and circumscribed, such
as the sources of Plutarch's Pericles, the two tracts on Athenian
government, the origin of the epistle to Diognetus, the date of
the life of St. Antony; and to learn from Schwegler how this
analytical work began.  More satisfying because more decisive has
been the critical treatment of the medieval writers, parallel
with the new editions, on which incredible labour has been
lavished, and of which we have no better examples than the
prefaces of Bishop Stubbs.  An important event in this series was
the attack on Dino Compagni, which, for the sake of Dante, roused
the best Italian scholars to a not unequal contest.  When we are
told that England is behind the Continent in critical faculty, we
must admit that this is true as to quantity, not as to quality of
work.  As they are no longer living, I will say of two Cambridge
professors, Lightfoot and Hort, that they were critical scholars
whom neither Frenchman nor German has surpassed.

The third distinctive note of the generation of writers who dug
so deep a trench between history as known to our grandfathers and
as it appears to us, is their dogma of impartiality.  To an
ordinary man the word means no more than justice.  He considers
that he may proclaim the merits of his own religion, of his
prosperous and enlightened country, of his political persuasion,
whether democracy, or liberal monarchy, or historic conservatism,
without transgression or offence, so long as he is fair to the
relative, though inferior, merits of others, and never treats men
as saints or as rogues for the side they take.  There is no
impartiality, he would say, like that of a hanging judge.  The
men, who, with the compass of criticism in their hands, sailed
the uncharted sea of original research proposed a different view.
History, to be above evasion or dispute, must stand on documents,
not on opinions.  They had their own notion of truthfulness,
based on the exceeding difficulty of finding truth, and the still
greater difficulty of impressing it when found.  They thought it
possible to write, with so much scruple, and simplicity, and
insight, as to carry along with them every man of good will, and,
whatever his feelings, to compel its assent.  Ideas which, in
religion and in politics, are truths, in history are forces.  They
must be respected; they must not be affirmed.  By dint of a
supreme reserve, by much self-control, by a timely and discreet
indifference, by secrecy in the matter of the black cap, history
might be lifted above contention, and made an accepted tribunal,
and the same for all #63.  If men were truly sincere, and delivered
judgment by no canons but those of evident morality, then Julian
would be described in the same terms by Christian and pagan,
Luther by Catholic and Protestant, Washington by Whig and Tory,
Napoleon by patriotic Frenchman and patriotic German #64.

I speak of this school with reverence, for the good it has done, by
the assertion of historic truth and of its legitimate authority over
the minds of men.  It provides a discipline which every one of us does
well to undergo, and perhaps also well to relinquish.  For it is not
the whole truth.  Lanfrey's essay on Carnot, Chuquet's wars of the
Revolution, Ropes's military histories, Roget's Geneva in the time of
Calvin, will supply you with examples of a more robust impartiality
than I have described.  Renan calls it the luxury of an opulent and
aristocratic society, doomed to vanish in an age of fierce and sordid
striving.  In our universities it has a magnificent and appointed
refuge; and to serve its cause, which is sacred, because it is the
cause of truth and honour, we may import a profitable lesson from the
highly unscientific region of public life.  There a man does not take
long to find out that he is opposed by some who are abler and better
than himself.  And, in order to understand the cosmic force and the
true connection of ideas, it is a source of power, and an excellent
school of principle, not to rest until, by excluding the fallacies,
the prejudices, the exaggerations which perpetual contention and the
consequent precautions breed, we have made out for our opponents a
stronger and more impressive case than they present themselves #65.
Excepting one to which we are coming before I release you, there is
no precept less faithfully observed by historians.

Ranke is the representative of the age which instituted the
modern study of History.  He taught it to be critical, to be
colourless, and to be new.  We meet him at every step, and he
has done more for us than any other man.  There are stronger
books than any one of his, and some may have surpassed him in
political, religious, philosophic insight, in vividness of the
creative imagination, in originality, elevation, and depth of
thought; but by the extent of important work well executed, by
his influence on able men, and by the amount of knowledge which
mankind receives and employs with the stamp of his mind upon it,
he stands without a rival.  I saw him last in 1877, when he was
feeble, sunken, and almost blind, and scarcely able to read or
write.  He uttered his farewell with kindly emotion, and I feared
that the next I should hear of him would be the news of his
death.  Two years later he began a Universal History, which is
not without traces of weakness, but which, composed after the age
of 83, and carried, in seventeen volumes, far into the Middle
Ages, brings to a close the most astonishing career in literature.

His course had been determined, in early life, by Quentin
Durward.  The shock of the discovery that Scott's Lewis the
Eleventh was inconsistent with the original in Commynes made him
resolve that his object thenceforth should be above all things to
follow, without swerving, and in stern subordination and
surrender, the lead of his authorities.  He decided effectually
to repress the poet, the patriot, the religious or political
partisan, to sustain no cause, to banish himself from his books,
and to write nothing that would gratify his own feelings or
disclose his private convictions #66.  When a strenuous divine, who,
like him, had written on the Reformation, hailed him as a
comrade, Ranke repelled his advances. "You," he said, "are in the
first place a Christian: I am in the first place a historian.
There is a gulf between us." #67  He was the first eminent writer who
exhibited what Michelet calls _le desinteressement des morts_.  It
was a moral triumph for him when he could refrain from judging,
show that much might be said on both sides, and leave the rest to
Providence #68.  He would have felt sympathy with the two famous
London physicians of our day, of whom it is told that they could
not make up their minds on a case and reported dubiously.  The
head of the family insisted on a positive opinion.  They answered
that they were unable to give one, but he might easily find fifty
doctors who could.

Niebuhr had pointed out that chroniclers who wrote before the
invention of printing generally copied one predecessor at a time,
and knew little about sifting or combining authorities.  The
suggestion became luminous in Ranke's hands, and with his light
and dexterous touch he scrutinised and dissected the principal
historians, from Machiavelli to the _Memoires d'un Homme d'Etat_,
with a rigour never before applied to moderns.  But whilst
Niebuhr dismissed the traditional story, replacing it with a
construction of his own, it was Ranke's mission to preserve, not
to undermine, and to set up masters whom, in their proper sphere,
he could obey.  The many excellent dissertations in which he
displayed this art, though his successors in the next generation
matched his skill and did still more thorough work, are the best
introduction from which we can learn the technical process by
which within living memory the study of modern history has been
renewed.  Ranke's contemporaries, weary of his neutrality and
suspense, and of the useful but subordinate work that was done by
beginners who borrowed his wand, thought that too much was made
of these obscure preliminaries which a man may accomplish for
himself, in the silence of his chamber, with less demand on the
attention of the public #69.  That may be reasonable in men who are
practised in these fundamental technicalities.  We, who have to
learn them, must immerse ourselves in the study of the great
examples.

Apart from what is technical, method is only the reduplication of
common sense, and is best acquired by observing its use by the
ablest men in every variety of intellectual employment #70.  Bentham
acknowledged that he learned less from his own profession than
from writers like Linnaeus and Cullen; and Brougham advised the
student of Law to begin with Dante.  Liebig described his Organic
Chemistry as an application of ideas found in Mill's Logic, and a
distinguished physician, not to be named lest he should overhear
me, read three books to enlarge his medical mind; and they were
Gibbon, Grote, and Mill.  He goes on to say, "An educated man
cannot become so on one study alone, but must be brought under
the influence of natural, civil, and moral modes of thought." #71
I quote my colleague's golden words in order to reciprocate them.
If men of science owe anything to us, we may learn much from them
that is essential #72.  For they can show how to test proof, how to
secure fulness and soundness in induction, how to restrain and to
employ with safety hypothesis and analogy.  It is they who hold
the secret of the mysterious property of the mind by which error
ministers to truth, and truth slowly but irrevocably prevails #73.
Theirs is the logic of discovery #74, the demonstration of the
advance of knowledge and the development of ideas, which as the
earthly wants and passions of men remain almost unchanged, are
the charter of progress and the vital spark in history.  And they
often give us invaluable counsel when they attend to their own
subjects and address their own people.  Remember Darwin taking
note only of those passages that raised difficulties in his way;
the French philosopher complaining that his work stood still,
because he found no more contradicting facts; Baer, who thinks
error treated thoroughly nearly as remunerative as truth, by the
discovery of new objections; for, as Sir Robert Ball warns us, it
is by considering objections that we often learn #75.  Faraday
declares that "in knowledge, that man only is to be condemned and
despised who is not in a state of transition."  And John Hunter
spoke for all of us when he said: "Never ask me what I have said
or what I have written; but if you will ask me what my present
opinions are, I will tell you."

From the first years of the century we have been quickened and
enriched by contributors from every quarter.  The jurists brought
us that law of continuous growth which has transformed history
from a chronicle of casual occurrences into the likeness of
something organic #76.  Towards 1820 divines began to recast their
doctrines on the lines of development, of which Newman said, long
after, that evolution had come to confirm it #77.  Even the
Economists, who were practical men, dissolved their science into
liquid history, affirming that it is not an auxiliary, but the
actual subject-matter of their inquiry #78.  Philosophers claim that,
as early as 1804, they began to bow the metaphysical neck beneath
the historical yoke.  They taught that philosophy is only the
amended sum of all philosophies, that systems pass with the age
whose impress they bear #79, that the problem is to focus the rays of
wandering but extant truth, and that history is the source of
philosophy, if not quite a substitute for it #80.  Comte begins a
volume with the words that the preponderance of history over
philosophy was the characteristic of the time he lived in.  Since
Cuvier first recognised the conjunction between the course of
inductive discovery and the course of civilisation #82, science had
its share in saturating the age with historic ways of thought,
and subjecting all things to that influence for which the
depressing names historicism and historical-mindedness have been
devised.

There are certain faults which are corrigible mental defects on
which I ought to say a few denouncing words, because they are
common to us all.  First: the want of an energetic understanding
of the sequence and real significance of events, which would be
fatal to a practical politician, is ruin to a student of history,
who is the politician with his face turned backwards #83.  It is
playing at study, to see nothing but the unmeaning and unsuggestive
surface, as we generally do.  Then we have a curious proclivity
to neglect, and by degrees to forget, what has been certainly known.
An instance or two will explain my idea.  The most popular English
writer relates how it happened in his presence that the title of
Tory was conferred upon the Conservative party.  For it was an
opprobrious name at the time, applied to men for whom the Irish
Government offered head-money; so that if I have made too sure
of progress, I may at least complacently point to this instance
of our mended manners.  One day, Titus Oates lost his temper
with the men who refused to believe him, and, after looking
about for a scorching imprecation, he began to call them Tories
#84.  The name remained; but its origin, attested by Defoe,
dropped out of common memory, as if one party were ashamed of
their godfather, and the other did not care to be identified
with his cause and character.  You all know, I am sure,
the story of the news of Trafalgar, and how, two days after it
had arrived, Mr. Pitt, drawn by an enthusiastic crowd, went
to dine in the city.  When they drank the health of the minister
who had saved his country, he declined the praise. "England,"
he said, "has saved herself by her own energy; and I hope that
after having saved herself by her energy, she will save Europe
by her example."  In 1814, when this hope had been realised,
the last speech of the great orator was remembered, and a medal
was struck upon which the whole sentence was engraved, in four
words of compressed Latin: _Seipsam virtute, Europam exemplo_.
Now it was just at the time of his last appearance in public that
Mr. Pitt heard of the overwhelming success of the French in
Germany, and of the Austrian surrender at Ulm.  His friends
concluded that the contest on land was hopeless, and that it was
time to abandon the Continent to the conqueror, and to fall back
upon our new empire of the sea.  Pitt did not agree with them.
He said that Napoleon would meet with a check whenever he
encountered a national resistance; and he declared that Spain was
the place for it, and that then England would intervene #85.  General
Wellesley, fresh from India, was present.  Ten years later, when
he had accomplished that which Pitt had seen in the lucid
prescience of his last days, he related at Paris what I scarcely
hesitate to call the most astounding and profound prediction in
all political history, where such things have not been rare.


I shall never again enjoy the opportunity of speaking my thoughts
to such an audience as this, and on so privileged an occasion a
lecturer may well be tempted to bethink himself whether he knows
of any neglected truth, any cardinal proposition, that might
serve as his selected epigraph, as a last signal, perhaps even as
a target.  I am not thinking of those shining precepts which are
the registered property of every school; that is to say--Learn as
much by writing as by reading; be not content with the best book;
seek sidelights from the others; have no favourites; keep men and
things apart; guard against the prestige of great names #86; see that
your judgments are your own, and do not shrink from disagreement;
no trusting without testing; be more severe to ideas than to
actions #87; do not overlook the strength of the bad cause or the
weakness of the good #88; never be surprised by the crumbling of an
idol or the disclosure of a skeleton; judge talent at its best
and character at its worst; suspect power more than vice #89, and
study problems in preference to periods; for instance: the
derivation of Luther, the scientific influence of Bacon, the
predecessors of Adam Smith, the medieval masters of Rousseau, the
consistency of Burke, the identity of the first Whig.  Most of
this, I suppose, is undisputed, and calls for no enlargement.
But the weight of opinion is against me when I exhort you never
to debase the moral currency or to lower the standard of
rectitude, but to try others by the final maxim that governs your
own lives, and to suffer no man and no cause to escape the
undying penalty which history has the power to inflict on wrong #90.
The plea in extenuation of guilt and mitigation of punishment is
perpetual.  At every step we are met by arguments which go to
excuse, to palliate, to confound right and wrong, and reduce the
just man to the level of the reprobate.  The men who plot to
baffle and resist us are, first of all, those who made history
what it has become.  They set up the principle that only a
foolish Conservative judges the present time with the ideas of
the past; that only a foolish Liberal judges the past with the
ideas of the present #91.

The mission of that school was to make distant times, and
especially the Middle Ages, then most distant of all, intelligible
and acceptable to a society issuing from the eighteenth century.
There were difficulties in the way; and among others this, that,
in the first fervour of the Crusades, the men who took the Cross,
after receiving communion, heartily devoted the day to the
extermination of Jews.  To judge them by a fixed standard, to call
them sacrilegious fanatics or furious hypocrites, was to yield
a gratuitous victory to Voltaire.  It became a rule of policy
to praise the spirit when you could not defend the deed.  So that
we have no common code; our moral notions are always fluid;
and you must consider the times, the class from which men sprang,
the surrounding influences, the masters in their schools,
the preachers in their pulpits, the movement they obscurely obeyed,
and so on, until responsibility is merged in numbers, and not
a culprit is left for execution #92.  A murderer was no criminal
if he followed local custom, if neighbours approved, if he was
encouraged by official advisers or prompted by just authority,
if he acted for the reason of state or the pure love of religion,
or if he sheltered himself behind the complicity of the Law.
The depression of morality was flagrant; but the motives were
those which have enabled us to contemplate with distressing
complacency the secret of unhallowed lives.  The code that is
greatly modified by time and place, will vary according to the
cause.  The amnesty is an artifice that enables us to make
exceptions, to tamper with weights and measures, to deal unequal
justice to friends and enemies.

It is associated with that philosophy which Cato attributes to
the gods.  For we have a theory which justifies Providence by the
event, and holds nothing so deserving as success, to which there
can be no victory in a bad cause; prescription and duration
legitimate #93; and whatever exists is right and reasonable; and as
God manifests His will by that which He tolerates, we must
conform to the divine decree by living to shape the future after
the ratified image of the past #94.  Another theory, less confidently
urged, regards History as our guide, as much by showing errors to
evade as examples to pursue.  It is suspicious of illusions in
success, and, though there may be hope of ultimate triumph for
what is true, if not by its own attraction, by the gradual
exhaustion of error, it admits no corresponding promise for what
is ethically right.  It deems the canonisation of the historic
past more perilous than ignorance or denial, because it would
perpetuate the reign of sin and acknowledge the sovereignty of
wrong, and conceives it the part of real greatness to know how to
stand and fall alone, stemming, for a lifetime, the contemporary
flood #95.

Ranke relates, without adornment, that William III ordered the
extirpation of a Catholic clan, and scouts the faltering excuse
of his defenders.  But when he comes to the death and character
of the international deliverer, Glencoe is forgotten, the
imputation of murder drops, like a thing unworthy of notice #96.
Johannes Mueller, a great Swiss celebrity, writes that the
British Constitution occurred to somebody, perhaps to Halifax.
This artless statement might not be approved by rigid lawyers as
a faithful and felicitous indication of the manner of that
mysterious growth of ages, from occult beginnings, that was never
profaned by the invading wit of man #97; but it is less grotesque
than it appears.  Lord Halifax was the most original writer of
political tracts in the pamphleteering crowd between Harrington
and Bolingbroke; and in the Exclusion struggle he produced a
scheme of limitations which, in substance, if not in form,
foreshadowed the position of the monarchy in the later Hanoverian
reigns.  Although Halifax did not believe in the plot #98, he
insisted that innocent victims should be sacrificed to content
the multitude.  Sir William Temple writes: "We only disagreed in
one point, which was the leaving some priests to the law upon the
accusation of being priests only, as the House of Commons had
desired; which I thought wholly unjust.  Upon this point Lord
Halifax and I had so sharp a debate at Lord Sunderland's
lodgings, that he told me, if I would not concur in points which
were so necessary for the people's satisfaction, he would tell
everybody I was a Papist.  And upon his affirming that the plot
must be handled as if it were true, whether it were so or no, in
those points that were so generally believed."  In spite of this
accusing passage, Macaulay, who prefers Halifax to all the
statesmen of his age, praises him for his mercy: "His dislike of
extremes, and a forgiving and compassionate temper which seems to
have been natural to him, preserved him from all participation in
the worst crimes of his time."

If, in our uncertainty, we must often err, it may be sometimes
better to risk excess in rigour than in indulgence, for then at
least we do no injury by loss of principle.  As Bayle has said,
it is more probable that the secret motives of an indifferent
action are bad than good #99; and this discouraging conclusion does
not depend upon theology, for James Mozley supports the sceptic
from the other flank, with all the artillery of the Tractarian
Oxford.  "A Christian," he says, "is bound by his very creed to
suspect evil, and cannot release himself....  He sees it where
others do not; his instinct is divinely strengthened; his eye is
supernaturally keen; he has a spiritual insight, and senses
exercised to discern....  He owns the doctrine of original sin;
that doctrine puts him necessarily on his guard against
appearances, sustains his apprehension under perplexity, and
prepares him for recognising anywhere what he knows to be
everywhere." #100  There is a popular saying of Madame de Stael, that
we forgive whatever we really understand.  The paradox has been
judiciously pruned by her descendant, the Duke de Broglie, in the
words: "Beware of too much explaining, lest we end by too much
excusing." #101  History, says Froude, does teach that right and wrong
are real distinctions.  Opinions alter, manners change, creeds
rise and fall, but the moral law is written on the tablets of
eternity #102.  And if there are moments when we may resist the
teaching of Froude, we have seldom the chance of resisting when
he is supported by Mr. Goldwin Smith: "A sound historical
morality will sanction strong measures in evil times; selfish
ambition, treachery, murder, perjury, it will never sanction in
the worst of times, for these are the things that make times
evil--Justice has been justice, mercy has been mercy, honour has
been honour, good faith has been good faith, truthfulness has
been truthfulness from the beginning."  The doctrine that, as Sir
Thomas Browne says, morality is not ambulatory #103, is expressed as
follows by Burke, who, when true to himself, is the most
intelligent of our instructors: "My principles enable me to form
my judgment upon men and actions in history, just as they do in
common life; and not formed out of events and characters, either
present or past.  History is a preceptor of prudence, not of
principles.  The principles of true politics are those of
morality enlarged; and I neither now do, nor ever will admit of
any other." #104

Whatever a man's notions of these later centuries are, such, in
the main, the man himself will be.  Under the name of History,
they cover the articles of his philosophic, his religious, and
his political creed #105.  They give his measure; they denote his
character: and, as praise is the shipwreck of historians, his
preferences betray him more than his aversions.  Modern History
touches us so nearly, it is so deep a question of life and death,
that we are bound to find our own way through it, and to owe our
insight to ourselves.  The historians of former ages, unapproachable
for us in knowledge and in talent, cannot be our limit.  We have
the power to be more rigidly impersonal, disinterested and just
than they; and to learn from undisguised and genuine records to
look with remorse upon the past, and to the future with assured
hope of better things; bearing this in mind, that if we lower
our standard in History, we cannot uphold it in Church or State.


NOTES TO THE INAUGURAL LECTURE ON THE STUDY OF HISTORY

#1 No political conclusions of any value for practice can be arrived at
by direct experience.  All true political science is, in one sense of
the phrase, a priori, being deduced from the tendencies of things,
tendencies known either through our general experience of human
nature, or as the result of an analysis of the course of history,
considered as a progressive evolution.--MILL, Inaugural Address, 51.

#2 Contemporary history is, in Dr. Arnold's opinion, more important
than either ancient or modern; and in fact superior to it by all the
superiority of the end to the means.--SEELEY, Lectures and Essays,
306.

#3 The law of all progress is one and the same, the evolution of the
simple into the complex by successive differentiations.--Edinburgh
Review, clvii. 428.  Die Entwickelung der Volker vollzieht sich nach
zwei Gesetzen.  Des erste Gesetz ist das der Differenzierung.  Die
primitiven Einrichtungen sind einfach and einheitlich, die der
Civilisation zusammengesetzt and geteilt, und die Arbeitsteilung
nimmt bestandig zu.--SICKEL, Goettingen Gelehrte Anzeigen, 1890, 563.

#4 Nous risquons toujours d'etre influences par les prejuges de notre
epoque; mais nous sommes libres des prejuges particuliers aux
epoques anterieures.--E. NAVILLE, Christianisme de Fenelon, 9.

#5 La nature n'est qu'un echo de l'esprit.  L'idee est la mere du
fait, elle faconne graduellement le monde a son image.--
FEUCHTERSLEBEN, in CARO, Nouvelles Etudes Morales, 132.
Il n'est pas d'etude morale qui vaille l'histoire d'une idee.--
LABOULAYE, Liberte Religieuse, 25.

#6 Il y a des savants qui raillent le sentiment religieux. Ils ne
savent pas que c'est a ce sentiment, et par son moyen, que la science
historique doit d'avoir pu sortir de l'enfence. . . .  Depuis des
siecles les ames independantes discutaient les textes et les
traditions de l'eglise, quand les lettres n'avaient pas encore eu
l'idee de porter un regard critique sur les textes de l'antiquite
mondaine.--La France Protestante, ii. 17.

#7 In our own history, above all, every step in advance has been at
the same time a step backwards.  It has often been shown how our
latest constitution is, amidst all external differences, essentially
the same as our earliest, how every struggle for right and freedom,
from the thirteenth century onwards, has simply been a struggle for
recovering something old.--FREEMAN, Historical Essays, iv., 253.
Nothing but a thorough knowledge of the social system, based upon a
regular study of its growth, can give us the power we require to
affect it.--HARRISON, Meaning of History, 19. Eine Sache wird nur
vollig auf dem Wege verstanden, wie sie selbst entsteht.--In dem
genetischen Verfahren sind the Grunde der Sache, auch die Grunde des
Erkennens.--TRENDELENBURG, Logische Untersuchungen, ii. 395, 388.

#8 Une telle liberte . . . n'a rien de commun avec le savant systeme
de garanties qui fait libres les peuples modernes.--BOUTMY, Annales
des Sciences Politiques, i. 157.  Les trois grandes reformes qui ont
renouvele l'Angleterre, la liberte religieuse, la reforme
parlementaire; et la liberte economique, ont ete obtenues sous la
pression des organisations extra-constitutionnelles.-OSTROGORSKI,
Revue Historique, lii. 272.

#9 The question which is at the bottom of all constitutional
struggles, the question between the national will and the national
law.--GARDINER, Documents, xviii.  Religion, considered simply as the
principle which balances the power of human opinion, which takes man
out of the grasp of custom and fashion, and teaches him to refer
himself to a higher tribunal, is an infinite aid to moral strength and
elevation.--CHANNING, Works, iv. 83. Je tiens que le passe ne suffit
jamais au present.  Personne n'est plus dispose que moi a profiter de
ses lecons; mais en meme temps, je le demande, le present ne
fournit-il pas toujours les indications qui lui sont propres?--MOLE,
in FALLOUX, Etudes et Souvenirs, 130.  Admirons la sagesse de nos
peres, et tachons de l'imiter, en faisant ce qui convient a notre
siecle.-GALIANI, Dialogues, 40

#10 Ceterum in legendis Historiis malim te ductum animi, quam anxias
leges sequi.  Nullae stint, quae non magnas habeant utilitates; et
melius haerent, quae libenter legimus.  In universum tamen, non
incipere ab antiquissimis, sod ab his, quae nostris temporibus
nostraeque notitiae propius cohaerent, ac paulatim deinde in remotiora
eniti, magis e re arbitror.-GROTIUS, Epistolae, 18.

#11 The older idea of a law of degeneracy, of a "fatal drift towards
the worse," is as obsolete as astrology or the belief in witchcraft.
The human race has become hopeful, sanguine--SEELEY, Rede Lecture,
1887.  Fortnightly Review, July 1887, 124.

#12 Formuler des idees generales, c'est changer le salpetre en
poudre.--A. DE MUSSET, Confessions d'un Enfant du Siecle, 15.  Les
revolutions c'est l'avenement des idees liberales.  C'est presque
toujours par les revolutions qu'elles prevalent et se fondent, et
quand les idees liberales en sont veritablement le principe et le but,
quand elles leur ont donne naissance, et quand elles les couronnent a
leur dernier jour, alors ces revolutions sont legitimes--REMUSAT, 1839,
in Revue des Deux Mondes 1875, vi. 335.  Il y a meme des personnes de
piete qui prouvent par raison qu'il faut renoncer a la raison; que ce
n'est point la lumiere, mais la foi seule qui doit nous conduire, et
que l'obeissance aveugle est la principale vertu des chretiens.  La
paresse des inferieurs et leur esprit flatteur s'accommode souvent de
cette vertu pretendue, et l'orgueil de ceux qui commandent en est
toujours tres content.  De sorte qu'il se trouvera peut-etre des gens
qui seront scandalises que je fasse cet honneur a la raison, de
l'elever au-dessus de toutes les puissances, et qui s'imagineront que
je me revolte contre les autorites legitimes a cause que je prends son
parti et que je soutiens que c'est a elle a decider et a
regner.--MALEBRANCHE, Morale, i. 2, 13.  That great statesman (Mr.
Pitt) distinctly avowed that the application of philosophy to politics
was at that time an innovation, and that it was an innovation worthy
to be adopted. He was ready to make the same avowal in the present day
which Mr. Pitt had made in 1792.--CANNING, 1st June 1827.
Parliamentary Review, 1828, 71.  American history knows but one avenue
of success in American legislation, freedom from ancient prejudice.
The best lawgivers in our colonies first became as little
children.--BANCROFT, History of the United State, i. 494.  Every
American, from Jefferson and Gallatin down to the poorest squatter,
seemed to nourish an idea that he was doing what he could to overthrow
the tyranny which the past had fastened on the human mind.--ADAMS,
History of the United States, i. 175.

#13 The greatest changes of which we have had experience as yet are
due to our increasing knowledge of history and nature.  They have been
produced by a few minds appearing in three or four favoured nations,
in comparatively a short period of time.  May we be allowed to imagine
the minds of men everywhere working together during many ages for the
completion of our knowledge?  May not the increase of knowledge
transfigure the world?--JOWETT, Plato, i. 414.  Nothing, I believe, is
so likely to beget in us a spirit of enlightened liberality, of
Christian forbearance, of large-hearted moderation, as the careful
study of the history of doctrine and the history of interpretation.--
PEROWNE, Psalms, i. p. xxxi.

#14 Ce n'est guere avant la seconde moitie du XVIIe siecle qu'il
devint impossible de soutenir l'authenticite des fausses decretales,
des Constitutions apostoliques, des Recognitions Clementines, du faux
Ignace, du pseudo-Dionys, et de l'immense fatras d'oeuvres anonymes ou
pseudonymes qui grossissait souvent du tiers ou de la moitie
l'heritage litteraire des auteurs les plus considerables.--DUCHESNE,
Temoins anteniciens de la Trinite, 1883, 36.

#15 A man who does not know what has been thought by those who have
gone before him is sure to set an undue value upon his own ideas.--
M. PATTISON, Memoirs, 78.

#16 Travailler a discerner, dans cette discipline, le solide d'avec le
frivole, le vrai d'avec le vraisemblable, la science d'avec l'opinion,
ce qui forme le jugement d'avec ce qui ne fait que charger memoire.--
LAMY, Connoissance de soi-meme, v. 459

#17 All our hopes of the future depend on a sound understanding of the
past--HARRISON, The Meaning of History, 6.

#18 The real history of mankind is that of the slow advance of
resolved deed following laboriously just thought; and all the greatest
men live in their purpose and effort more than it is possible for them
to live in reality.--The things that actually happened were of small
consequence--the thoughts that were developed are of infinite
consequence.--RUSKIN.  Facts are the mere dross of history.  It is
from the abstract truth which interpenetrates them, and lies latent
among them like gold in the ore, that the mass derives its
value.--MACAULAY, Works, v. 131.

#19 Die Gesetze der Geschichte sind eben die Gesetze der ganzen
Menschheit, gehen nicht in die Geschicke eines Volkes, einer
Generation oder gar eines Einzelnen auf.  Individuen and Geschlechter,
Staaten and Nationen, konnen zerstauben, die Menschheit bleibt--
A. SCHMIDT, Zuricher Monatsschrift, i. 45.

#20 Le grand peril des ages democratiques, soyez-en sur, c'est la
destruction ou l'affaiblissement excessif des parties du corps social
en presence du tout.  Tout ce qui releve de nos jours l'idee de
l'individu est sain.--TOCQUEVILLE, 3rd January 1840, OEuvres, vii. 97.
En France, il n'y a plus d'hommes.  On a systematiquement tue l'homme
au profit du people, des masses, comme disent nos legislateurs
ecerveles.  Puis un beau jour, on s'est apercu que ce people n'avait
jamais existe qu'en projet, que ces masses etaient un troupeau
mi-partie de moutons et de tigres.  C'est une triste histoire.  Nous
avons a relever l'ame humaine contre l'aveugle et brutale tyrannie des
multitudes.--LANFREY, 23rd March 1855.  M. Du CAMP, Souvenirs
Litteraires, ii. 273.  C'est le propre de la vertu d'etre invisible,
meme dans l'histoire, a tout autre oeil que celui de la conscience.
--VACHEROT, Comptes Rendus de l'Institut, lxix. 319.  Dans l'histoire
ou la bonte est la perle rare, qui a ete bon passe presque avant qui a
ete grand.--V. HUGO, Les Miserables, vii. 46.  Grosser Maenner Leben
und Tod der Wahrheit gemaess mit Liebe zu schildern, ist zu allen
Zeiten herzerhebend; am meisten aber dann wenn im Kreislauf der
irdischen Dinge die Sterne wieder aehnlich stehen wie damals als sie
unter uns lebten.--LASAULX, Sokrate, 3.  Instead of saying that the
history of mankind is the history of the masses, it would be much more
true to say that the history of mankind is the history of its great
men.--KINGSLEY, Lectures, 329.

#21 Le genie n'est que la plus complete emancipation de toutes les
influences de temps, de moeurs et de pays.--NISARD, Souvenirs, ii. 43.

#22 Meine kritische Richtung zieht mich in der Wissenschaft durchaus
zur Kritik meiner eigenen Gedanken hin, nicht zu der der Gedanken
Anderer.--ROTHE, Ethik, i p. 11.

#23 When you are in young years the whole mind is, as it were, fluid,
and is capable of forming itself into any shape that the owner of the
mind pleases to order it to form itself into.--CARLYLE, On the Choice
of Books, 131.  Nach allem erscheint es somit unzweifelhaft als eine
der psychologischen Voraussetzungen des Strafrechts, ohne welche der
Zurechnungsbegriff nicht haltbar ware, dass der Mensch fur seinen
Charakter verantwortlich ist and ihn muss abandern konnen.--RUMELIN,
Reden and Aufsatse, ii.. 60. An der tiefen and verborgenen Quelle,
woraus der Wille entspringt, an diesem Punkt, nur hier steht die
Freiheit, and fuhrt das Steuer and lenkt den Willen.  Wer nicht bis zu
dieser Tiefe in sich einkehren and seinen naturlichen Charakter von
hier aus bemetsten kann, der hat nicht den Gebrauch Seiner Freiheit,
der ist nicht frei, sondern unterworfen dem Triebwerk seiner
Interessen, und dadurch in der Gewalt des Weltlaufs, worin jede
Begebenheit und jede Handlung eine nothwendige Folge ist aller
vorhergehenden.--FISCHER, Problem der Freiheit, 27.

#24 I must regard the main duty of a Professor to consist, not simply
in communicating information, but in doing this in such a manner, and
with such an accompaniment of subsidiary means, that the information
he conveys may be the occasion of awakening his pupils to a vigorous
and varied exertion of their faculties.--SIR W. HAMILTON, Lectures,
i. 14. No great man really does his work by imposing his maxims on his
disciples, he evokes their life.  The pupil may become much wiser than
his instructor, he may not accept his conclusions, but he will own,
"You awakened me to be myself; for that I thank you."--MAURICE, The
Conscience, 7, 8,

#25 Ich sehe die Zeit kommen, wo wir die neuere Geschichte nicht mehr
auf die Berichte selbst nicht der gleichzeitigen Historiker, ausser in
so weit ihnen neue originale Kenntniss beiwohnte, geschweige denn auf
die weiter abgeleiteten Bearbeitungen zu grunden haben, sondern aus
den Relationen der Augenzeugen and der achten and unmittelbarsten
Urkunden aufbauen werden.--RANKE, Reformation, Preface, 1838, Ce qu'on
a trouve et mis an oeuvre est considerable en soi: c'est peu de chose
au prix de ce qui reste a trouver et a mettre en oeuvre.--AULARD,
Etudes sur la Revolution, 21.

#26 N'attendez donc pas les lecons de l'experience; elles coutent trop
cher aux nations.--O. BARROT, Memoires, ii. 435.  Il y a des lecons
dans tous les temps, pour tous les temps; et celles qu'on emprunte a
des ennemis ne sont pas les moins precieuses.--LANFREY, Napoleon,
v. p. ii.  Old facts may always be fresh, and may give out a fresh
meaning for each generation.--MAURICE, Lectures, 62.  The object is to
lead the student to attend to them; to make him take interest in
history not as a mere narrative, but as a chain of causes and effects
still unwinding itself before our eyes, and full of momentous
consequences to himself and his descendants--an unremitting conflict
between good and evil powers, of which every act done by any one of
us, insignificant as we are, forms one of the incidents; a conflict in
which even the smallest of us cannot escape from taking part, in which
whoever does not help the right side is helping the wrong.--MILL,
Inaugural Address, 59.

#27 I hold that the degree in which Poets dwell in sympathy with the
Past, marks exactly the degree of their poetical faculty.--WORDSWORTH,
in C. Fox, Memoirs, June 1842.  In all political, all social, all
human questions whatever, history is the main resource of the
inquirer.--HARRISON, Meaning of History, 15.  There are no truths which
more readily gain the assent of mankind, or are more firmly retained
by them, than those of an historical nature, depending upon the
testimony of others.--PRIESTLEY, Letters to French Philosophers, 9.
Improvement consists in bringing our opinions into nearer agreement
with facts; and we shall not be likely to do this while we look at
facts only through glasses coloured by those very opinions.--MILL,
Inaugural Address, 25.

#28 He who has learnt to understand the true character and tendency of
many succeeding ages is not likely to go very far wrong in estimating
his own.--LECKY, Value of History, 21.  C'est a l'histoire qu'il faut
se prendre, c'est le fait que nous devons interroger, quand l'idee
vacille et fait a nos yeux.--MICHELET, Disc. d'Ouverture, 263.  C'est
la loi des faits telle qu'elle se manifeste dans leur succession.
C'est la regle de conduite donnee par la nature humaine et indiquee
par l'histoire.  C'est la logique, mais cette logique qui ne fait
qu'un avec enchainement des choses.  C'est l'enseignement de
l'experience.--SCHERER, Melanges, 558.  Wer seine Vergangenheit nicht
als seine Geschichte hat and weiss wird and ist characterlos Wem ein
Ereigniss sein Sonst plotzlich abreisst, von seinem Jetzt wird leicht
wurzellos.--KLIEFOTH, Rheinwalds Repertorium, xliv. 20.  La politique
est une des meilleures ecoles pour l'esprit.  Elle force a chercher la
raison de toutes choses, et ne permet pas cependant de la chercher
hors des faits.--REMUSAT, Le Temps Passe, i. 31.  It is an unsafe
partition that divides opinions without principle from unprincipled
opinions.--COLERIDGE, Lay Sermons, 373.

Wer nicht von drei tausend Jahren sich weiss Rechenschaft zu geben,
Bleib' im Dunkeln unerfahren, mag von Tag zu tage leben!
                                                       Goethe

What can be rationally required of the student of philosophy is not a
preliminary and absolute, but a gradual and progressive, abrogation of
prejudices.--SIR W. HAMILTON, Lectures, iv. 92.

#29 Die Schlacht bei Leuthen ist wohl die letzte, in welcher diese
religiosen Gegensatze entscheidend eingewirkt haben.--RANKE,
Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie, vii. 70.

#30 The only real cry in the country is the proper and just old No
Popery cry.--Major Beresford, July 1847. Unfortunately the strongest
bond of union amongst them is an apprehension of Popery.--Stanley, 12th
September 1847.  The great Protectionist party having degenerated into
a No Popery, No Jew Party, I am still more unfit now than I was in
1846 to lead it.--G.  Bentinck, 26th December 1847; Croker's Memoirs,
iii. 116, 132, 157

#31 In the case of Protestantism, this constitutional instability is
now a simple matter of fact, which has become too plain to be denied.
The system is not fixed, but in motion; and the motion is for the time
in the direction of complete self-dissolution.--We take it for a
transitory scheme, whose breaking up is to make room in due time for
another and far more perfect state of the Church.  The new order in
which Protestantism is to become thus complete cannot be reached
without the co-operation and help of Romanism.--NEVIN, Mercersburg
Review, iv. 48.

#32.  Diese Heiligen waren es, die aus dem unmittelbaren Glaubensleben
and den Grundgedanken der christlichen Freiheit zuerst die Idee
allgemeiner Menschenrechte abgeleitet and rein von Selbstsucht
vertheidigt haben.--WEINGARTEN, Revolutionskirchen, 447.  Wie selbst
die Idee allgemeiner Menschenrechte, die in dem gemeinsamen Character
der Ebenbildlichkeit Gottes gegrundet sind, erst durch das
Christenthum zum Bewusstsein gebracht werden, wahrend jeder andere
Eifer fur politische Freiheit als ein mehr oder weniger
selbstsuchtiger and beschrankter sich erwiesen hat.--NEANDER,
Pref. to Uhden's Wilberforce, p. v.  The rights of individuals and the
justice due to them are as dear and precious as those of states;
indeed the latter are founded on the former, and the great end and
object of them must be to secure and support the rights of
individuals, or else vain is government.--CUSHING, in CONWAY, Life of
Paine, i. 217.  As it is owned the whole scheme of Scripture is not
yet understood; so, if it ever comes to be understood, before the
restitution of all things, and without miraculous interpositions, it
must be in the same way as natural knowledge is come at--by the
continuance and progress of learning and liberty.--BUTLER, Analogy,
ii. 3

#33 Comme les lois elles-memes sont faillibles, et qu'il peut y avoir
une autre justice que la justice ecrite, les societes modernes ont
voulu garantir les droits de la conscience a la poursuite d'une
justice meilleure que celle qui existe; et la est le fondement de ce
qu'on appelle liberte de conscience, liberte d'ecrire, liberte de
pensee.--JANET, Philosophie Contemporaine, 308.  Si la force
materielle a toujours fini par ceder a l'opinion, combien plus ne
sera-t-elle pas contrainte de ceder a la conscience?   Car la
conscience, c'est l'opinion renforcee par le sentiment de
l'obligation.--VINET, Liberte Religieuse, 3

#34 Apres la volonte d'un homme, la raison d'etat; apres la raison
d'etat, la religion, apres la religion, la liberte.  Voila toute la
philosophie de l'histoire.--FLOTTES, La Souverainete du Peuple, 1851,
192.  La repartition plus egale des biens et des droits dans ce monde
est le plus grand objet que doivent se proposer ceux qui menent les
affaires humaines.  Je veux seulement que l'egalite en politique
consiste a etre egalement libre.--TOCQUEVILLE, 10th September 1856.
Mme. Swetchine, i. 455.  On peut concevoir une legislation tres
simple, lorsqu'on voudra en ecarter tout ce qui est arbitraire, ne
consulter que les deux premiere lois de la liberte et de la propriete,
et ne point admettre de lois positives qui ne tirent leur raison de
ces deux lois souveraines de la justice essentielle et absolue.
LETROSNE, Vues sur la Justice Criminelle, 16.  Summa enim libertas
est, ad optimum recta ratione cogi.--Nemo optat sibi hanc libertatem,
volendi quae velit, sed potius volendi optima.--LEIBNIZ, De Fato.
TRENDELENBURG, Beitrage sur Philosophie, ii. 190.

#35 All the world is, by the very law of its creation, in eternal
progress; and the cause of all the evils of the world may be traced to
that natural, but most deadly error of human indolence and corruption,
that our business is to preserve and not to improve.--ARNOLD, Life, i.
259.  In whatever state of knowledge we may conceive man to be placed,
his progress towards a yet higher state need never fear a check, but
must continue till the last existence of society.--HERSCHEL, Prel.
Dis. 360.  It is in the development of thought as in every other
development; the present suffers from the past, and the future
struggles hard in escaping from the present.--MAX MULLER, Science of
Thought, 617.  Most of the great positive evils of the world are in
themselves removable, and will, if human affairs continue to improve,
be in the end reduced within narrow limits.  Poverty in any sense
implying suffering may be completely extinguished by the wisdom of
society combined with the good sense and providence of individuals.--
All the grand sources, in short, of human suffering are in a great
degree, many of them almost entirely, conquerable by human care and
effort.  J. S. MILL, Utilitarianism, 21, 22.  The ultimate standard of
worth is personal worth, and the only progress that is worth striving
after, the only acquisition that is truly good and enduring, is the
growth of the soul--BIXBY, Crisis of Morals, 210.  La science, et
l'industrie qu'elle produit, ont, parmi tous les autres enfants du
genie de l'homme, ce privilege particulier, que leur vol non-seulement
ne peut pas s'interrompre, mais qu'il s'accelere sans cesse.--CUVIER,
Discours sur la Marche des Sciences, 24 Avril 1816.  Aucune idee parmi
celles qui se referent a l'ordre des faits naturels, ne tient de plus
pres a la famille des idees religieuses que l'idee du progres, et n'est
plus propre a devenir le principe d'une sorte de foi religieuse pour
ceux qui n'en ont pas d'autres.  Elle a, comme la foi religieuse, la
vertu de relever les ames et les caracteres.--COURNOT, Marche des
Idees, ii. 425.  Dans le spectacle de l'humanite errante, souffrante
et travaillant toujours a mieux voir, a mieux penser, a mieux agir, a
diminuer l'infirmite de l'etre human, a apaiser l'inquietude de son
coeur, la science decouvre une direction et un progres.--A. SOREL,
Discours de Reception, 14.  Le jeune homme qui commence son education
quinze ans apres son pere, a une epoque ou celui-ci, engage dans une
profession speciale et active, ne peut que suivre les anciens
principes, acquiert une superiorite theorique dont on doit tenir
compte dans la hierarchie sociale.  Le plus souvent le pere n'est-il
pas penetre de l'esprit de routine, tandis que le fils represente et
defend la science progressive?  En diminuant l'ecart qui existait
entre l'influence des jeunes generations et celle de la vieillesse ou
de l'age mur, les peuples modernes n'auraient donc fait que reproduire
dans leur ordre social un changement de rapports qui s'etait deja
accompli dans la nature intime des choses.--BOUTMY, Revue Nationale,
xxi. 393.  Il y a dans l'homme individuel des principes de progres
viager; il y a, en toute societe, des causes constantes qui
transforment ce progres viager en progres hereditaire.  Une societe
quelconque tend a progresser tant que les circonstances ne touchent
pas aux causes de progres que nous avons reconnues, l'imitation des
devanciers par les successeurs, des etrangers par les indigenes.--
LACOMBE, L'Histoire comme Science, 292.  Veram creatae mentis
beatitudinem consistere in non impedito progressu ad bona majora.
--LEIBNIZ to WOLF, 21st February 1705. In cumulum etiam pulchritudinis
perfectionisque universalis operum divinorum progresses quidam
perpetuus liberrimusque totius universi est agnoscendus, ita ut ad
majorem semper cultum procedat.--LEIBNIZ ed. Erdmann, 150a.  Der
Creaturen and also auch unsere Vollkommenheit bestehen in einem
ungehinderten starken Forttrieb zu neuen and neuen Vollkommenheiten.
--LEIBNIZ, Deutsche Schriften, ii. 36.  Hegel, welcher annahm, der
Fortschritt der Neuzeit gegen das Mittelalter sei dieser, dass die
Principien der Tugend and den Christenthums, welche im Mittelalter
sich allein im Privatleben and der Kirche zur Geltung gebracht hatten,
nun auch anfingen, das politische Leben zu durchdringen.--FORTLAGE,
Allg.  Monatsschrift, 1853, 7.  Wir Slawen wissen, das die Geister
einzelner Menschen and ganzer Volker sich nur durch die Stufe ihrer
Entwicklung unterscheiden.--MICKIEWICZ, Slawische Literatur,
ii. 436. Le progres ne disparait jamais, mais il se deplace souvent.
Il va den gouvernants aux gouvernes.  La tendance des revolutions est
de le ramener toujours parmi les gouvernants.  Lorsqu'il est a la tete
den societes, il marche hardiment, car il conduit.  Lorsqu'il est dans
la masse, il marche a pas lents, car il lutte.--NAPOLEON III., Des
Idees Napoleoniennes.  La loi du progres avait jadis l'inexorable
rigueur du destin; elle prend maintenant de jour en jour la douce
puissance de la Providence.  C'est l'erreur, c'est l'iniquite, c'est
le vice, que la civilisation tend a emporter dans sa marche
irresistible; mais la vie des individus et des peuples est devenue
pour elle une chose sacree.  Elle transforme plutot qu'elle ne detruit
les choses qui s'opposent a son developpement; elle procede par
absorption graduelle plutot que par brusque execution; elle aime a
conquerir par l'influence den idees plutot que par la force des armes,
un peuple, une classe, une institution qui resiste an progres.--
VACHEROT, Essais de Philosophie Critique, 443.  Peu a peu l'homme
intellectuel finit par effacer l'homme physique.--QUETELET, De l'Homme,
ii. 285, In dem Fortschritt der ethischen Anschauungen liegt daher der
Kern den geschichtlichen Fortschritts uberhaupt.--SCHAFER,
Arbeitsgebiet der Geschichte, 24.  Si l'homme a plus de devoirs a
mesure qu'il avance en age, ce qui est melancolique, mais ce qui est
vrai, de meme aussi l'humanite est tenue d'avoir une morale plus
severe a mesure qu'elle prend plus de siecles.--FAGUET, Revue des Deux
Mondes, 1894, iii. 871.  Si donc il y a une loi de progres, elle se
confond avec la loi morale, et la condition fondamentale du progres,
c'est la pratique de cette loi.--CARRAU, Ib. 1875, v. 585.  L'idee du
progres, du developpement, me parait etre l'idee fondamentale continue
sous le mot de civilisation.--GUIZOT, Cours d'Histoire, 1828, 15.  Le
progres n'est sous un autre nom, que la liberte en action.--BROGLIE,
Journal den Debats, 28th January 1869.  Le progres social est continu.
Il a ses periodes de fievre ou d'atonie, de surexcitation ou de
lethargie; il a ses soubresauts et ses haltes, mais il avance
toujours.--DE DECKER, La Providence, 174.  Ce n'est pas au bonheur
seul, c'est au perfectionnement que notre destin nous appelle; et la
liberte politique est le plus puissant, le plus energique moyen de
perfectionnement que le ciel nous ait donne.--B. CONSTANT, Cours de
Politique, ii. 559.  To explode error, on whichever side it lies, is
certainly to secure progress.--MARTINEAU, Essays, i. 114.  Die
sammtlichen Freiheitsrechte, welche der heutigen Menschheit so theuer
sind, sind im Grunde nur Anwendungen den Rechts der Entwickelung.
--BLUNTSCHLI, Kleine Schriften, i. 51.  Geistiges Leben ist auf
Freiheit beruhende Entwicklung, mit Freiheit vollzogene That
and geschichtlicher Fortschritt.--Munchner Gel. Azeigen, 1849, ii.
83.  Wie das Denken erst nach and nach reift, so wird auch der freie
Wille nicht fertig geboren, sondern in der Entwickelung erworben.--
TRENDELENBURG, Logische Untersuchungen, ii. 94.  Das Liberum Arbitrium
im vollen Sinne (die vollstandig aktuelle Macht der Selbstbestimmung)
lasst sich seinem Begriff zufolge schlechterdings nicht unmittelbar
geben; es kann nur erworben werden durch das Subjekt selbst, in sich
moralisch hervorgebracht werden kraft seiner eigenen Entwickelung.--
ROTHE, Ethik, I. 360.  So gewaltig sei der Andrang der Erfindungen and
Entdeckungen, dass "Entwicklungsperioden, die in fruheren Zeiten
erst in Jahrhunderten durchlaufen warden, die im Beginn unserer
Zeitperiode noch der Jahrzehnte bedurften, sich heute in Jahren
vollenden, haufig schon in voller Ausbildung ins Dasein
treten."--PHILIPPOVICH, Fortschritt and Kulturentwicklung, 1892, i.,
quoting SIEMENS, 1886.  Wir erkennen dass dem Menschen die schwere
korperliche Arbeit, von der er in seinem Kampfe um's Dasein stets
schwer niedergedruckt war and grossenteils noch ist, mehr and mehr
deurch die wachsende Benutzung der Naturkrafte zur mechanischen
Arbeitsleistung abgenommen wird, dass die ihm zufallende Arbeit immer
mehr eine intellektuelle wird.--SIEMENS, 1886, Ib. 6.

#36 Once, however, he wrote:--Darin konnte man den idealen Kern der
Geschichte des menschlichen Geschlechtes uberhaupt sehen, dass in den
Kampfen, die sich in den gegenseitigen Interessen der Staaten und
Volker vollziehen, doch immer hohere Potenzen emporkommen, die das
Allgemeine demgemass umgestalten and ihm wieder einen anderen
Charakter verleihen.--RANKE, Weltgeschichte, iii. 1, 6.

#37 Toujours et partout, les hommes furent de plus en plus domines par
l'ensemble de leurs predecesseurs, dont ils purent seulement modifier
l'empire necessaire.--COMTE, Politique Positive, iii. 621.

#38 La liberte est l'ame du commerce--Il faut laisser faire les hommes
qui s'appliquent sans peine a ce qui convient le mieux; c'est ce qui
apporte le plus d'avantage.--COLBERT, in Comptes Rendus de l'Institut,
xxxix. 93.

#39 Il n'y a que les chosen humaines exposees dans leur verite,
c'est-a-dire avec leur grandeur, leur variete, leur inepuisable
fecondite, qui aient le droit de retenir le lecteur et qui le
retiennent en effet.  Si l'ecrivain parait une fois, il ennuie ou fait
sourire de pitie les lecteurs serieux.--THIERS to STE. BEUVE, Lundis,
iii. 195.  Comme l'a dit Taine, la disparition du style, c'est la
perfection du style.--FAGUET, Revue Politique, lii. 67.

#40 Ne m'applaudissez pas; ce n'est pas moi qui vous parle; c'est
l'histoire qui parle par ma bouche.--Revue Historique, xli. 278.

#41  Das Evangelium trat als Geschichte in die Welt, nicht als
Dogma--wurde als Geschichte in der christlichen Kirche deponirt.--ROTHE,
Kirchengeschichte, ii. p. x.  Das Christenthum ist nicht der Herr
Christus, sondern dieser macht es.  Es ist sein Werk, undzwar ein
Werk, das er stets unter der Arbeit hat.--Er selbst, Christus der
Herr, bleibt, der er ist in alle Zukunft, dagegen liegt es
ausdruchlich im Begriffe seines Werks, den Christenthums, dass es
nicht so bleibt, wie es anhebt.--ROTHE, Allgemeine kirchliche
Zeitschrift, 1864, 299.  Diess Werk, weil es dem Wesen der Geschichte
zufolge eine Entwickelung ist, muss uber Stufen hinweggehen, die
einander ablosen, und von denen jede folgende neue immer nur unter der
Zertrummerung der ihr vorangehenden Platz greifen kann.--ROTHE,
Ib. 19th April 1865.  Je grosser ein geschichtliches Princip ist, desto
langsamer and uber mehr Stufen hinweg entfaltet es seinen Gehalt;
desto langlebiger ist es aber ebendeshalb auch in diesen seinen
unaufhorlichen Abwandelungen.--ROTHE, Stille Stunden, 301.  Der
christliche Glaube geht nicht von der Anerkennung abstracter
Lehrwahrheiten aus, sondern von der Anerkennung einer Reihe von
Thatsachen, die in der Erscheinung Jesu ihren Mittelpunkt
haben.--NITZSCH, Dogmengeschichte, i. 17.  Der Gedankengang der
evangelischen Erzahlung gibt datum auch eine vollstandige Darstellung
der christlichen Lehre in ihren wesentlichen Grundzugen; aber er
gibt sie im allseitigen lebendigen Zusammenhange mit der Geschichte
der christlichen Offenbarung, und nicht in einer theoretisch
zusammenhangenden Folgenreihe von ethischen und dogmatischen
Lehrsatzen.--DEUTINGER, Reich Gottes, i. p. v.

#42 L'Univers ne doit pas estre considere seulement dans ce qu'il est;
pour le bien connoitre, il faut le voir aussi dans ce qu'il doit
estre.  C'est cet avenir surtout qui a ete le grand objet de Dieu dans
la creation, et c'est pour cet avenir seul que le present existe.--
D'HOUTEVILLE, Essai sur la Providence, 273.  La Providence emploie les
siecles a elever toujours un plus grand nombre de familles et
d'individus a ces biens de la liberte et de l'egalite legitimes que,
dans l'enfance des societes, la force avait rendus le privilege de
quelques-uns.--GUIZOT, Gouvernement de la France, 1820, 9.  La marche
de la Providence n'est pas assujettie a d'etroites limites; elle ne
s'inquiete pas de tirer aujourd'hui la consequence du principe qu'elle
a pose hier; elle la tirera dans des siecles, quand l'heure sera
venue; et pour raisonner lentement selon nous, sa logique n'est pas
moins sure.--GUIZOT, Histoire de la Civilisation, 20.  Der Keim
fortschreitender Entwicklung ist, auch auf gottlichem Geheisse, der
Menschheit eingepflanzt.  Die Weltgeschichte ist der blosse Ausdruck
einer vorbestimmten Entwicklung.--A. HUMBOLET, 2nd January 1842, Im
Neuen Reich, 1872, i. 197.  Das historisch grosse ist religios gross;
es ist die Gottheit selbst, die sich offenbart.--RAUMER.  April 1807,
Erinnerungen, i. 85

#43: Je suis arrive a l'age ou je suis, a travers bien den evenements
differents, mais avec une seule cause, celle de la liberte reguliere.
--TOCQUEVILLE, 1st May 1852, OEuvres Inedites, ii. 185.  Me trouvant
dans un pays ou la religion et le liberalisme sont d'accord, j'avais
respire.--J'exprimais ce sentiment, il y a plus de vingt ans, dans
l'avant-propos de la Democratie.  Je l'eprouve aujourd'hui aussi
vivement que si j'etais encore jeune, et je ne sais s'il y a une seule
pensee qui ait ete plus constamment presente a mon esprit.--5th August
1857, OEuvres, vi. 395.  Il n'y a que la liberte (j'entends la moderee
et la reguliere) et la religion, qui, par un effort combine, puissent
soulever les hommes au-dessus du bourbier ou l'egalite democratique
les plonge naturellement.--1st December 1852, OEuvres, vii. 295.  L'un
de mes reves, le principal en entrant dans la vie politique, etait de
travailler a concilier l'esprit liberal et l'esprit de religion, la
societe nouvelle et l'eglise.--15th November 1843, OEuvres Inedites,
ii. 121.  La veritable grandeur de l'homme n'est que dans l'accord du
sentiment liberal et du sentiment religieux.--17th September 1853,
OEuvres Inedites, ii. 228. Qui cherche dans la liberte autre chose
qu'elle-meme est fait pour servir.--Ancien Regime, 248.  Je regarde,
ainsi que je l'ai toujours fait, la liberte comme le premier des
biens; je vois toujours en elle l'une den sources les plus fecondes
den vertus males et des actions grandes.  Il n'y a pas de tranquillite
ni de bien-etre qui puisse me tenir lieu d'elle.--7th January 1856,
Mme. Swetchine, i. 452.  La liberte a un faux air d'aristocratie; en
donnant pleine carriere aux facultes humaines, en encourageant le
travail et l'economie, elle fait ressortir les superiorites naturelles
on acquises.--LABOULAYE, L'Etat et ses Limites, 154.  Dire que la
liberte n'est point par elle-meme, qu'elle depend d'une situation,
d'une opportunite, c'est lui assigner one valeur negative.  La liberte
n'est pas des qu'on la subordonne.  Elle n'est pas un principe
purement negatif, un simple element de controle et de critique.  Elle
est le principe actif, createur organisateur par excellence.  Elle est
le moteur et la regle, la source de toute vie, et le principe de
l'ordre.  Elle est, en un mot, le nom que prend la conscience
souveraine, lorsque, se posant en face du monde social et politique,
elle emerge du moi pour modeler les societes sur les donnees de la
raison.--BRISSON, Revue Nationale, xxiii. 214.  Le droit, dans
l'histoire, est le developpement progressif de la liberte, sous la loi
de la raison.--LERMINIER, Philosophie du droit, i. 211.  En prouvant
par les lecons de l'histoire que la liberte fait vivre les peoples et
que le despotisme les tue, en montrant que l'expiation suit la faute
et que la fortune finit d'ordinaire par se ranger du cote de la vertu,
Montesquieu n'est ni moins moral ni moins religieux que Bossuet.--
LABOULAYE, OEuvres de Montesquieu, ii. 109.  Je ne comprendrais pas
qu'une nation ne placat pas les libertes politiques au premier rang,
parce que c'est des libertes politiques que doivent decouler toutes
les autres.--THIERS, Discours, x. 8, 28th March 1865.  Nous sommes
arrives a une epoque our la liberte est le but serieux de tous, ou le
rester n'est plus qu'une question de moyens.--J. LEBEAU, Observations
sur le Pouvoir Royal: Liege, 1830, p. 10.  Le liberalisme, ayant la
pretention de se fonder uniquement sur les principes de la raison,
croit d'ordinaire n'avoir pas besoin de tradition.  La est son erreur.
L'erreur de l'ecole liberale est d'avoir trop cru qu'il est facile de
creer la liberte par la reflexion, et de n'avoir pas vu qu'un
etablissement n'est solide que quand il a des racines historiques.
--RENAN, 1858, Nouvelle Revue, lxxix. 596.  Le respect des individus
et den droits existants est autant au-dessus du bonheur de tous, qu'un
interet moral surpasse un interet purement temporel.--RENAN, 1858,
Ib. lxxix. 597.  Die Rechte gelten nichts, wo es sich handelt um das
Recht, und das Recht der Freiheit kann nie verjahren, weil es die
Quelle alles Rechtes selbst ist.--C. FRANTZ, Ueber die Freiheit, 110.
Wir erfahren hienieden nie die ganze Wahrheit: wir geniessen nie die
ganze Freiheit.--REUSS, Reden, 56.  Le gouvernement constitutionnel,
comme tout gouvernement libre; presente et doit presenter un etat de
lutte permanent. La liberte est la perpetuite de la lutte.--DE SERRE.
BROGLIE, Nouvelles Etudes, 243.  The experiment of free government is
not one which can be tried once for all.  Every generation must try it
for itself.  As each new generation starts up to the responsibilities
of manhood, there is, as it were, a new launch of Liberty, and its
voyage of experiment begins afresh.--WINTHROP, Addresses, 163.
L'histoire perd son veritable caractere du moment que la liberte en a
disparu; elle devient une sorte de physique socials.  C'est l'element
personnel de l'histoire qui en fait la realite.--VACHEROT, Revue des
Deux Mondes, 1869, iv. 215.  Demander la liberte pour soi et la
refuser aux autres, c'est la definition du despotisme.--LABOULAYE, 4th
December 1874.  Les causes justes profitent de tout, den bonnes
intentions comme des mauvaises, des calculs personnels comme den
devouemens courageux, de la demence, enfin, comme de la
raison.--B. CONSTANT, Les Cent Jours, ii. 29.  Sie ist die Kunst, das
Gute der schon weit gediehenen Civilisation zu sichern.--BALTISCH,
Politische Freiheit, 9.  In einem Volke, welches sich zur burgerlichen
Gesellschaft, uberhaupt zum Bewusstseyn der Unendlichkeit des
Freien--entwickelt hat, ist nur die constitutionelle Monarchie
moglich.--HEGEL's Philosophie des Rechts, #137, Hegel und Preussen,
1841, 31. Freiheit ist das hochste Gut.  Alles andere ist nur das
Mittel dazu: gut falls es ein Mittel dazu ist, ubel falls es dieselbe
hemmt.--FICHTE, Werke, iv. 403.  You are not to inquire how your trade
may be increased, nor how you are to become a great and powerful
people, but how your liberties can be secured. For liberty ought to be
the direct end of your government.--PATRICK HENRY, 1788; WIRT, Life of
Henry, 272.

#44 Historiae ipsius praeter delectationem utilitas nulla est, quam ut
religionis Christianae veritas demonstretur, quod aliter quam per
historian fieri non potest.--LEIBNIZ, Opera, ed. Dutens, vi. 297.  The
study of Modern History is, next to Theology itself, and only next in
so far as Theology rests on a divine revelation, the most thoroughly
religious training that the mind can receive.  It is no paradox to say
that Modern History, including Medieval History in the term, is
coextensive in its field of view, in its habits of criticism, in the
persons of its most famous students, with Ecclesiastical History.--
STUBBS, Lectures, 9.  Je regarde donc l'etude de l'histoire comme
l'etude de la providence.  L'histoire est vraiment une seconde
philosophy.--Si Dieu ne parle pas toujours, il agit toujours en Dieu.
--D'AGUESSEAU, OEuvres, xv. 34, 31, 35.  Fur diejenigen, welche das
Wesen der menschlichen Freiheit erkannt haben, bildet die denkende
Betrachtung der Weltgeschichte, besonders den christlichen Weltalters,
die hochste, und umfassendste Theodicee.--VATKE, Die Menschliche
Freiheit, 1841, 516.  La theologie, que l'on regarde volontiers comme
la plus etroite et la plus sterile den sciences, en est, au contraire,
la plus etendue et la plus feconde.  Elle confine a toutes les etudes
et touche a toutes les questions.  Elle renferme tous les elements
d'une instruction liberale.--SCHERER, Melanges, 522.  The belief that
the course of events and the agency of man are subject to the laws of
a divine order, which it is alike impossible for any one either fully
to comprehend or effectually to resist--this belief is the ground of
all our hope for the future destinies of mankind.--THIRLWALL, Remains,
iii. 282.  A true religion must consist of ideas and facts both; not
of ideas alone without facts, for then it would be mere philosophy;
nor of facts alone without ideas, of which those facts are the
symbols, or out of which they are grounded; for then it would be mere
history.--COLERIDGE, Table Talk, 144.  It certainly appears strange
that the men most conversant with the order of the visible universe
should soonest suspect it empty of directing mind; and, on the other
hand, that humanistic, moral and historical studies--which first open
the terrible problems of suffering and grief, and contain all the
reputed provocatives of denial and despair--should confirm, and
enlarge rather than disturb, the prepossessions of natural
piety.--MARTINEAU, Essays, i. 122.  Die Religion hat nur dann eine
Bedeutung fur den Menschen, wenn er in der Geschichte einen Punkt
findet, den er sich vollig unbedingt hingeben kann.--STEFFENS,
Christliche Religionsphilosophie, 440, 1839.  Wir erkennen darin nur
eine Thatigkeit den zu seinem achten und wahren Leben, zu seinem
verlornen, objectiven Selbstverstandnisse sich zurecksehnenden
christlichen Geistes unserer Zeit, einen Ausdruck fur das Bedurfniss
desselben, sich aus den unwahren und unachten Verkleidungen, womit ihn
der moderne, subjective Geschmack der letzten Entwicklungsphase des
theologischen Bewusstseyns umhullt hat, zu seines historischen allein
wahren und ursprunglichen Gestalt wiederzugebaren, zu diejenigen
Bedeutung zuruckzukehren, die ihm in den Bewusstseyn der Geschichte
allein zukommt und deren Verstandniss in den wogenden luxuriosen Leben
der modernen Theologie langst untergegangen ist.--GEORGII. Zeitschrift
fur Hist. Theologie, ix. 5, 1839.

#45 Liberty, in fact, means just so far as it is realised, the right
man in the right place.--EELEY, Lectures and Essays, 109.

#46 In diesem Sinne ist Freiheit und sich entwickelnde moralische
Vernunft und Gewissen gleichbedeutene.  In diesen Sinne ist der Mensch
frei, sobald sich das Gewissen in ihm entwickelt.--SCHEIDLER, Ersch
und Gruber, xlix. 20.  Aus der unendlichen und ewigen Geltung der
menschlichen Personlichkeit vor Gott, aus der Vorstellung von der in
Gott freien Personlichkeit, folgt auch der Anspruch auf das Recht
derselben in der weltlichen Sphere, auf burgerliche und politische
Freiheit, auf Gewissen und Religionsfreiheit, auf freie
wissenschaftliche Forschung u.s.w., und namentlich die Forderung, dass
niemand lediglich zum Mittel fur andere diene.--MARTENSEN, Christliche
Ethik, i. 50.

#47 Es giebt angeborne Menschenrechte, weil es angeborne Menschenpflichten
giebt.--WOLFFE, Naturrecht, LOEPER, Einleitung zu Faust, lvii.

#48 La constitution de l'etat reste jusqu'a un certain point a notre
discretion.  La constitution de la societe ne depend pas de nous;
elle est donnee par la force des choses, et si l'on veut elever le
langage, elle est l'oeuvre de la Providence.--REMUSAT, Revue des Deux
Mondes, 1861, v. 795.

#49 Die Freiheit ist bekanntlich kein Geschenk der Gotter, sondern
ein, Gut das jedes Volk sich selbst verdankt und das nur bei den
erforderlichen Mass moralischer Kraft und Wurdigkeit gedeiht.--
IHERING, Geist den Romischen Rechts, ii. 290.  Liberty, in the very
nature of it, absolutely requires, und even supposes, that people be
able to govern themselves in those respects in which they are free;
otherwise their wickedness will be in proportion to their liberty, and
this greatest of blessings will become a curse.--BUTLER, Sermons, 331.
In each degree and each variety of public development there are
corresponding institutions, best answering the public needs; and what
is meat to one is poison to another.  Freedom is for those who are fit
for it.--PARKMAN, Canada, 396.  Die Freiheit ist die Wurzel einer
neuen Schopfung in der Schopfung.--SEDERHOLM, Die ewigen Thatsachen,
86.

#50 La liberte politique, qui n'est qu'une complexite plus grande, de
plus en plus grande, dans le gouvernement d'un peuple, a mesure que le
peuple lui-meme contient un plus grand nombre de forces diverses ayant
droit et de vivre et de participer a la chose publique, est un fait de
civilisation qui s'impose lentement a une societe organisee, mais qui
n'apparalt point comme un principe a une societe qui s'organise.--
FAGURT, Revue des Deux Mondes, 1889, ii. 942.

#51 Il y a bien un droit du plus sage, mais non pas un droit du plus
fort.--La justice est le droit du plus faible.--JOUBERT, Pensees,
i. 355, 358.

#52 Nicht durch ein pflanzenahnliches Wachsthum, nicht aus den dunklen
Grunden der Volksempfindung, sondem durch den mannlichen Willen, durch
die Ueberzeugung, durch die That, durch den Kampf entsteht, behauptet,
entwickelt sich das Recht.  Sein historisches Werden ist ein
bewusstes, im hellen Mittagslicht der Erkenntniss und der
Gesetzgebung.--Rundschau. November 1893, 13.  Nicht das Normale,
Zahme, sondern das Abnorme, Wilde, bildet uberall die Grundlage und
den Anfang einer neuen Ordnung.--LASAULX, Philosophie der Geschichte,
143.

#53 Um den Sieg zu vervollstandigen, erubrigte des zweite Stadium oder
die Aufgabe: die Berechtigung der Mehrheit nach allen Seiten hin zur
gleichen Berechtigung aller zu erweitern, d.h. bis zur Gleichstellung
aller Bekenntnisse im Kirchenrecht, aller Volker im Volkerrecht, aller
Staatsburger im Staatsrecht und aller socialen Interessen im
Gesellschaftsrecht fortzufuhren.--A. SCHMIDT, Zuricher Monatschrift,
i. 68.

#54 Notre histoire ne nous enseignait nullement la liberte.  Le jour ou
la France voulut etre libre, elle eut tout a creer, tout a inventer
dans cet ordee de faits.--Cependant il faut marcher, l'avenir appelle
les peuples.  Quand on n'a point pour cela l'impulsion du passe, il
faut bien se confier a la raison.--DUPONT WHITE, Revue des Deux
Mondes, 1861, vi. 191.  Le peuple francais a peu de gout pour le
developpement graduel des institutions.  Il ignore son histoire, il ne
s'y reconnait pas, elle n'a pas laisse de trace dans sa conscience.
--SCHERER, Etudes Critiques, i. 100.  Durch die Revolution befreiten
sich die Franzosen von ihrer Geschichte.--ROSENKRANZ, Aus einem
Tagebuch, 199.

#55 The discovery of the comparative method in philology, in
mythology--let me add in politics and history und the whole range of
human thought--marks a stage in the progress of the human mind at
least as great and memorable as the revival of Greek and Latin
learning.--FREEMAN, Historical Essays, iv. 301.  The diffusion of a
critical spirit in history and literature is affecting the criticism
of the Bible in our own day in a manner not unlike the burst of
intellectual life in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.--JOWETT,
Essays and Reviews, 346. As the revival of literature in the sixteenth
century produced the Reformation, so the growth of the critical
spirit, and the change that has come over mental science, and the
mere increase of knowledge of all kinds, threaten now a revolution
less external but not less profound.--HADDAN, Replies, 348

#56 In his just contempt and detestation of the crimes and follies of
the Revolutionists, he suffers himself to forget that the revolution
itself is a process of the Divine Providence, and that as the folly of
men is the wisdom of God, so are their iniquities instruments of His
goodness.--COLERIDGE, Biographia Literaria, ii. 240.  In other parts
of the world, the idea of revolutions in government is, by a mournful
and indissoluble association, connected with the idea of wars, and all
the calamities attendant on wars.  But happy experience teaches us to
view such revolutions in a very different light--to consider them only
as progressive steps in improving the knowledge of government, and
increasing the happiness of society and mankind.--J. WILSON, 26th
November 1787, Works, iii. 293.  La Revolution, c'est-a-dire l'oeuvre
des siecles, ou, si vous voulez, le renouvellement progressif de la
societe, on encore, sa nouvelle constitution.-REMUSAT, Correspondance,
11th October 1818.  A ses yeux loin d'avoir rompu le tours naturel des
evenements, ni la Revolution d'Angleterre, ni la notre, n'ont rien
dit, rien fait, qui n'eut ete dit, souhaite, fait, on tente cent fois
avant leur explosion.  "Il faut en ceci," dit-il, "tout accorder a
leurs adversaires, les surpasser meme en severite, ne regarder a leurs
accusations que pour y ajouter, s'ils en oublient; et puis les sommer
de dresser, a leur tour, le compte des erreurs, des crimes, et des
maux de ces temps et de ces pouvoirs qu'ils ont pris sous leur
garde."--Revue de Paris, xvi. 303, on Guizot.  Quant aux nouveautes
mises en oeuvre par la Revolution Francaise on les retrouve une a une,
en remontant d'age en age, chez les philosopher du XVIII/e siecle,
chez les grands penseurs du XVI/e, chez certains Peres d'Eglise et
jusque dans la Republique de Platon.--En presence de cette belle
continuite de l'histoire, qui ne fait pas plus de sauts que la nature,
devant cette solidarite necessaire des revolutions avec le passe
qu'elles brisent.--KRANTZ, Revue Politique, xxxiii. 264.  L'esprit du
XIX/e siecle est de comprendre et de juger les choses du passe.  Notre
oeuvre est d'expliquer ce que le XVIII/e siecle avait mission de
nier.--VACHEROT, De la Democratie, pref., 28.

#57 La commission recherchera, dans toutes les parties des archives
pontificales, les pieces relatives a l'abus que les papes ont fait de
leur ministere spirituel contre l'autorite des souveraines et la
tranquillite des peuples.--DAUNOU, Instructions, 3rd January
1811. LABORDE, Inventaires, p. cxii.

#58 Aucun des historiens remarquables de cette epoque n'avait senti
encore le besoin de chercher les faits hors des livres imprimes, aux
sources primitives, la plupart inedites alors, aux manuscrits de nos
bibliotheques, aux documents de nos archives.--MICHELET, Histoire de
France, 1869, i. 2.

#59 Doch besteht eine Grenze, wo die Geschichte aufhort und das Archiv
anfangt, und die von der Geschichtschreibung nicht uberschritten
werden sollte.--Unsere Zeit, 1866, ii. 635.  Il faut avertir nos
jeunes historiens a la fois de la necessite ineluctable du document
et, d'autre part, du danger qu'il presente.--M. HANOTAUX.

#60 This process consists in determining with documentary proofs, and
by minute investigations duly set forth, the literal, precise, and
positive inferences to be drawn at the present day from every
authentic statement, without regard to commonly received notions, to
sweeping generalities, or to possible consequences.--HARRISSE,
Discovery of America, 1893, p. vi.  Perhaps the time has not yet come
for synthetic labours in the sphere of History.  It may be that the
student of the Past must still content himself with critical
inquiries--Ib. p. v.  Few scholars are critics, few critics are
philosophers, and few philosophers look with equal care on both sides
of a question.--W. S. LANDOR in HOLYOAKE'S Agitator's Life, ii. 315.
Introduire dans l'histoire, et sans tenir compte des passions
politiques et religieuses, le doute methodique que Descartes, le
premier, appliqua a l'etude de la philosophie, n'est-ce pas la une
excellente methode? n'est-ce pas meme la meilleure?--CHANTELAUZE,
Correspondant, 1883, i. 129.  La critique historique ne sera jamais
populaire.  Comme elle est de toutes les sciences la plus delicate, la
plus deliee, elle n'a de credit qu'aupres des esprits cultives.--
CHERBULIEZ, Revue des Deux Mondes, xcvii. 517.  Nun liefert aber die
Kritik, wenn sie rechter Art ist, immer nur einzelne Data, gleichsam
die Atome des Thatbestandes, und jede Kombination, jede
Zusammenfassung und Schlussfolgerung, ohne die es doch einmal nicht
abgeht, ist ein subjektiver Akt des Forschers.  Demnach blieb Waitz,
bei des eigenen Arbeit wie bei jener des anderen, immer hochst
mistrauisch gegen jedes Resume, jede Definition, jedes abschliessende
Wort.--SYBEL, Historische Zeitschrift, lvi. 484.  Mit blosser Kritik
wird darin nichts ausgerichtet, denn die ist nur eine Vorarbeit,
welche da aufhort, wo die echte historische Kunst anfangt.--LASAULX,
Philosophie der Kunste, 212.

#61 The only case in which such extraneous matters can be fairly called
in is when facts are stated resting on testimony; then it is not only
just, but it is necessary for the sake of truth, to inquire into the
habits of mind of him by whom they are adduced.--BABBAGE, Bridgewater
Treatise, p. xiv.

#62 There is no part of our knowledge which it is more useful to obtain
at first hand--to go to the fountain-head for--than our knowledge of
History.--J. S. MILL, Inaugural Address, 34.  The only sound
intellects are those which, in the first instance, set their standard
of proof high.--J. S. MILL, Examination of Hamilton's Philosophy,
525.

#63 There are so few men mentally capable of seeing both sides of a
question; so few with consciences sensitively alive to the obligation
of seeing both sides; so few placed under conditions either of
circumstance or temper, which admit of their seeing both sides.--GREG,
Political Problems, 1870, 173.  Il n'y a que les Allemands qui sachent
etre aussi completement objectifs.  Ils se dedoublent, pour ainsi
dire, en deux hommes, l'un qui a des principes tres arretes et des
passions tres vives, l'autre qui sait voir et observer comme s'il n'en
avait point.--LAVELEYE, Revue des Deux Mondes, 1868, i. 431.
L'ecrivain qui penche trop dans le sens ou il incline, et qui ne se
defie pas de ses qualites presque autant que ses defauts, cet ecrivain
tourne a la maniere.--SCHERER, Melanges, 484.  Il faut faire
volteface, et vivement, franchement, tourner le dos an moyen age, a ce
passe morbide, qui, meme quand il n'agit pas, influe terriblement par
la contagion de la mort.  Il ne faut ni combattre, ni critiquer, mais
oublier.  Oublions et marchons!--MICHELET, La Bible de l'Humanite,
483.  It has excited surprise that Thucydides should speak of
Antiphon, the traitor to the democracy, and the employer of assassins,
as "a man inferior in virtue to none of his contemporaries."  But
neither here nor elsewhere does Thucydides pass moral judgments.--
JOWETT, Thucydides, ii. 501.

#64 Non theologi provinciam suscepimus; scimus enim quantum hoc
ingenii nostri tenuitatem superet: ideo sufficit nobis to hoti [Gk]
fideliter ex antiquis auctoribus retulisse.--MORINUS, De Poenitentia,
ix. 10.  Il faut avouer que la religion chretienne a quelque chose
d'etonnant!  C'est parce que vous y etes ne, dira-t-on.  Tant s'en
faut, je me roidis contre par cette raison-la meme, de peur que cette
prevention ne me suborne.--PASCAL, Pensees, xvi. 7.  I was fond of
Fleury for a reason which I express in the advertisement; because it
presented a sort of photograph of ecclesiastical history without any
comment upon it.  In the event, that simple representation of the
early centuries had a good deal to do with unsettling me.--NEWMAN,
Apologia, 152.--Nur was sich vor dem Richterstuhl einer achten,
unbefangenen, nicht durch die Brille einer philosophischen oder
dogmatischen Schule stehenden Wissenschaft als wahr bewahrt, kann zur
Erbauung, Belehrung und Warnung tuchtig seyn.--NEANDER,
Kirchengeschichte, i. p. vii.  Wie weit bei katholischen Publicisten
bei der Annahme der Ansicht von der Staatsanstalt apologetische
Gesichtspunkte massgebend gewesen sind, mag dahingestellt bleiben.
Der Historiker darf sich jedoch nie durch apologetische Zwecke leiten
lassen; sein einziges Ziel soll die Ergrundung der Wahrheit
sein.--PASTOR, Geschichte der Pabste, ii. 545.  Church history falsely
written is a school of vainglory, hatred, and uncharitableness; truly
written, it is a discipline of humility, of charity, of mutual
love.--SIR W. HAMILTON, Discussions, 506.  The more trophies and
crowns of honour the Church of former ages can be shown to have won in
the service of her adorable head, the more tokens her history can be
brought to furnish of his powerful presence in her midst, the more
will we be pleased and rejoice, Protestant though we be.--NEVIN,
Mercersburg Review, 1851, 168.  S'il est une chose a laquelle j'ai
donne tous mes soins, c'est a ne pas laisser influencer mes jugements
par les opinions politiques on religieuses; que si j'ai quelquefois
peche par quelque exces, c'est par la bienveillance pour les oeuvres
de ceux qui pensent autrement que moi.--MONOD, R. Hist. xvi. 184.
Nous n'avons nul interet a faire parler l'histoire en faveur de nos
propres opinions.  C'est son droit imprescriptible que le narrateur
reproduise tous les faits sans aucune reticence et range toutes les
evolutions dans leur ordre naturel.  Notre recit restera completement
en dehors des preoccupations de la dogmatique et des declamations de
la polemique.  Plus les questions auxquelles nous aurons a toucher
agitent et passionnent de nos jours les esprits, plus il est du devoir
de l'historien de s'effacer devant les faits qu'il veut faire
connaitre.--REUSS, Nouvelle Revue de Theologie, vi. 193, 1860.  To
love truth for truth's sake is the principal part of human perfection
in this world, and the seed-plot of all other virtues.--LOCKE, Letter
to Collins.  Il n'est plus possible aujourd'hui a l'historien d'etre
national dans le sons etroit du mot.  Son patriotisme a lui c'est
l'amour de la verite.  Il n'est pas l'homme d'une race on d'un pays,
il est l'homme de tous les pays, il parle au nom de la civilisation
generale.--LANFREY, Hist. de Nap. iii. 2, 1870.  Juger avec les
parties de soi-meme qui sont le moins des formes du temperament, et le
plus des facultes penetrees et modelees par l'experience, par l'etude,
par l'investigation, par le non-moi.--FAGUET, R. de Paris, i. 151.
Aucun critique n'est aussi impersonne que lui, aussi libre de partis
pris et d'opinions preconcues, aussi objectif--Il ne mele ou parait
meler a ses appreciations ni inclinations personnelles de gout on
d'humeur, on theories d'aucune sorte.--G. MONOD, of Faguet, Revue
Historique, xlii. 417.  On dirait qu'il a peur, et generalisant ses
observations, en systematisant ses connaissances, de meler de lui-meme
aux choses.--Je lis tout un volume de M. Faguet, sans penser une fois
a M. Faguet: je ne vois que les originaux qu'il montre.--J'envisage
toujours une realite objective, jamais l'idee de M. Faguet, jamais la
doctrine de M. Faguet.--LANSON, Revue Politique, 1894, i. 98

#65 It should teach us to disentangle principles first from parties,
and again from one another; first of all as showing how imperfectly
all parties represent their own principles, and then how the
principles themselves are a mingled tissue.--ARNOLD, Modern History,
184.  I find it a good rule, when I am contemplating a person from
whom I want to learn, always to look out for his strength, being
confident that the weakness will discover itself.--MAURICE, Essays,
305.  We may seek for agreement somewhere with our neighbours, using
that as a point of departure for the sake of argument.  It is this
latter course that I wish here to explain and defend.  The method is
simple enough, though not yet very familiar.  It aims at conciliation;
it proceeds by making the best of our opponent's case, instead of
taking him at his worst.  The most interesting part of every disputed
question only begins to appear when the rival ideals admit each
other's right to exist.--A. SIDGWICK, Distinction and the Criticism of
Beliefs, 1892, 211.  That cruel reticence in the breasts of wise men
which makes them always hide their deeper thought.--RUSKIN, Sesame and
Lilies, i. 16.  Je offener wir die einzelnen Wahrheiten des Sozialismus
anerkennen, desto erfolgreicher konnen wir seine fundamentalen
Unwahrheiten widerlegen.--ROSCHER, Deutsche Vierteljahrschrift, 1849,
i. 177.

#66 Dann habe ihn die Wahrnehmung, dass manche Angaben in den
historischen Romanen Walter Scott's, mit den gleichzeitigen Quellen im
Widerspruch standen, "mit Erstaunen" erfullt, und ihn zu dem
Entschlusse gebracht, auf das Gewissenhafteste an der Ueberlieferung
der Quellen festzuhalten.--SYBEL, Gedachtnissrede auf Ranke.  Akad. der
Wissenschaften, 1887, p. 6.  Sich frei zu halten von allem Widerschein
der Gegenwart, sogar, soweit das menschenmoglich, von dem der eignen
subjectiven Meinung in den Dingen des Staates, der Kirche und der
Gesellschaft.--A. DOVE, Im Neuen Reich, 1875, ii. 967.  Wir sind
durchaus nicht fur die leblose und schemenartige Darstellungsweise der
Ranke'schen Schule eingenommen; es wird uns immer kuhl bis ans Herz
heran, wenn wir derartige Schilderungen der Reformation und der
Revolution lesen, welche so ganz im kuhlen Element des Pragmatismus
sich bewegen und dabei so ganz Undinenhaft sind und keine Seele
haben.--Wir lassen es uns lieber gefallen, dass die Manner der
Geschichte hier und dort gehofmeistert werden, als dass sie uns mit
Glasaugen ansehen, so meisterhaft immer die Kunst sein mag, die sie
ihnen eingesetzt hat.--GOTTSCHALL, Unsere Zeit, 1866, ii. 636,
637.  A vivre avec des diplomates, il leur a pris des qualites qui sont
un defaut chez un historien.  L'historien n'est pas un temoin, c'est un
juge; c'est a lui d'accuser et de condamner au nom du passe opprime
et dans l'interet de l'avenir.--LABOULAYE on RANKE; Debats, 12th
January 1852.

#67 Un theologien qui a compose une eloquente histoire de la
Reformation, rencontrant a Berlin un illustre historien qui, lui
aussi, a raconte Luther et le XVIe siecle, l'embrassa avec effusion en
le traitant de confrere.  "Ah! permettez," lui repondit l'autre en
se degageant, "il y a une grande difference entre nous: vous etes
avant tout chretien, et je suis avant tout historien."--CHERBULIEZ,
Revue des Deux Mondes, 1872, i. 537

#68 Nackte Wahrheit ohne allen Schmuck; grundliche Erforschung des
Einzelnen; das Uebrige, Gott befohlen.--Werke, xxxiv. 24.  Ce ne sont
pas les theories qui doivent nous servir de base dans la recherche des
faits, mais ce sont les faits qui doivent nous servir de base pour la
composition des theories.--VINCENT, Nouvelle Revue de Thoologie, 1859,
ii. 252.

#69 Die zwanglose Anordnungs--die leichte und leise Andeutungskunst des
grossen Historikers voll zu wurdigen, hinderte ihn in fruherer Zeit
sein Bedurfniss nach scharfer begrifflicher Ordnung und Ausfuhrung,
spater, und in immer zunehmenden Grade, sein Sinn fur strenge
Sachlichkeit, und genaue Erforschung der ursichlichen Zusammenhange,
noch mehr aber regte sich seine geradherzige Offenheit seine mannliche
Ehrlichkeit, wenn er hinter den fein verstrichenen Farben der
Rankeschen Erzahlungsbilder die gedeckte Haltung des klugen Diplomaten
zu entdecken glaubte.--HAYM, Duncker's Leben, 437.  The ground of
criticism is indeed, in my opinion, nothing else but distinct
attention, which every reader should endeavour to be master of.--HARE,
December 1736; Warburton's Works, xiv. 98.  Wenn die Quellenkritik so
verstanden wird, als sei sie der Nachweis, wie ein Autor den andern
benutzt hat, so ist das nur ein gelgentliches Mitte--eins unter
anderen--ihr Aufgabe, den Nachweis der Richtigkeit zu losen oder
vorzubereiten.--EROYSEN, Historik, 18.

#70 L'esprit scientifique n'est autre en soi que l'instinct du travail
et de la patience, le sentiment de l'ordre, de la realite et de la
mesure.--PAPILLON, R. des Deux Mondes, 1873, v. 704.  Non seulement
les sciences, mais toutes les institutions humaines s'organisent de
meme, et sous l'empire des memes idees regulatrices.--COURNOT, Idees
Fondamentales, i. 4.  There is no branch of human work whose constant
laws have not close analogy with those which govern every other mode
of man's exertion.  But more than this, exactly as we reduce to
greater simplicity and surety any one group of these practical laws,
we shall find them passing the mere condition of connection or
analogy, and becoming the actual expression of some ultimate nerve or
fibre of the mighty laws which govern the moral world.--RUSKIN, Seven
Lamps, 4. The sum total of all intellectual excellence is good sense
and method.  When these have passed into the instinctive readiness of
habit, when the wheel revolves so rapidly that we cannot see it
revolve at all, then we call the combination genius.  But in all modes
alike, and in all professions, the two sole component parts, even of
genius, are good sense and method.--COLERIDGE, June 1814, Mem. of
Coleorton, ii. 172.  Si l'exercice d'un art nous empeche d'en
apprendre un autre, il n'en est pas ainsi dans les sciences: la
connoissance d'une verite nous aide a en decouvrir une autre.--Toutes
les sciences sont tellement liees ensemble qu'il est bien plus facile
de les apprendre toutes a la fois que d'en apprendre une seule en la
detachant des autres.--Il ne doit songer qu'a augmenter les lumieres
naturelles de sa raison, non pour resoudre telle ou telle difficulte
de l'ecole, mais pour que dans chaque circonstance de la vie son
intelligence montre d'avance a sa volonte le parti qu'elle doit
prendre.--DESCARTES, OEuvres Choisies, 300, 301.  Regles pour la
Direction de l'Esprit.  La connaissance de la methode qui a guide
l'homme de genie n'est pas moins utile an progres de la science et
meme a sa propre gloire, que ses decouvertes.--LAPLACE. Systeme du
Monde, ii. 371.  On ne fait rien sans idees preconcues, il faut avoir
seulement la sagesse de ne croire a leurs deductions qu'autant que
l'experience les confirme.  Les idees preconcues, soumises au controle
severe de l'experimentation, sont la flamme vivante des sciences
d'observation; les idees fixes en sont le danger.--PASTEUR, in
Histoire d'un Savant, 284.  Douter des verites humaines, c'est ouvrir
la porte aux decouvertes; en faire des articles de foi, c'est la
fermer.--Dumas, Discours, i. 123.

#71 We should not only become familiar with the laws of phenomena
within our own pursuit, but also with the modes of thought of men
engaged in other discussions and researches, and even with the laws of
knowledge itself, that highest philosophy.--Above all things, know
that we call you not here to run your minds into our moulds.  We call
you here on an excursion, on an adventure, on a voyage of discovery
into space as yet uncharted.--ALLBUTT, Introductory Address at St.
George's, October 1889.  Consistency in regard to opinions is the slow
poison of intellectual life.--DAVY, Memoirs, 68.

#72 Ce sont vous autres physiologistes des corps vivants, qui avez
appris a nous autres physiologistes de la societe (qui est aussi un
corps vivant) la maniere de observer et de tirer des consequences de
nos observations.--J. B. SAY to DE CANDOLLE, 1st June 1827; DE
CANDOLLE, Memoires, 567.

#73 Success is certain to the pure and true: success to falsehood and
corruption, tyranny and aggression, is only the prelude to a greater
and an irremediable fall.--STUBBS, Seventeen Lectures, 20.  The
Carlylean faith, that the cause we fight for, so far as it is true, is
sure of victory, is the necessary basis of all effective activity for
good.--CAIRD, Evolution of Religion, ii. 43.  It is the property of
truth to be fearless, and to prove victorious over every adversary.
Sound reasoning and truth, when adequately communicated, must always
be victorious over error.--GODWIN, Political Justice (Conclusion).
Vice was obliged to retire and give place to virtue.  This will always
be the consequence when truth has fair play.  Falsehood only dreads
the attack, and cries out for auxiliaries.  Truth never fears the
encounter; she scorns the aid of the secular arm, and triumphs by her
natural strength.--FRANKLIN, Works, ii. 292.  It is a condition of our
race that we must ever wade through error in our advance towards
truth: and it may even be said that in many cases we exhaust almost
every variety of error before we attain the desired goal.--BABBAGE,
Bridgewater Treatise, 27.  Les hommes ne peuvent, en quelque genre que
ce soit, arriver a quelque chose de raisonnable qu'apres avoir, en ce
meme genre, epuise toutes les sottises imaginables.  Que de sottises
ne dirions-nous pas maintenant, si les anciens ne les avaient pas deja
dites avant nous, et ne nous les avaient, pour ainsi dire, enlevees!--
FONTENELLE.  Without premature generalisations the true generalisation
would never be arrived at.--H. SPENCER, Essays, ii. 57.  The more
important the subject of difference, the greater, not the less, will
be the indulgence of him who has learned to trace the sources of human
error,--of error, that has its origin not in our weakness and
imperfection merely, but often in the most virtuous affections of the
heart.--BROWN, Philosophy of the Human Mind, i. 48, 1824.  Parmi les
chatiments du crime qui ne lui manquent jamais, a cote de celui que
lui inflige la conscience, l'histoire lui en inflige un autre encore,
eclatant et manifeste, l'impuissance.--COUSIN, Phil. Mod ii. 24.
L'avenir de la science est garanti; car dans le grand livre
scientifique tout s'ajoute et rien ne se perd.  L'erreur ne fonde pas;
aucune erreur ne dure tres longtemps.--RENAN, Feuilles Detachees,
xiii.  Toutes les fois que deux hommes sont d'un avis contraire sur la
meme chose, a coup sur, l'un on l'autre se trompe; bien plus, aucun ne
semble posseder la verite; car si les raisons de l'un etoient
certaines et evidentes, il pourroit les exposer a l'autre de telle
maniere qu'il finiroit par le convaincre egalement.--DESCARTES,
Regles; OEuvres Choisies, 302.  Le premier principe de la critique est
qu'une doctrine ne captive ses adherents que par ce qu'elle a de
legitime.--RENAN, Essais de Morale, 184.  Was dem Wahn solche Macht
giebt ist wirklich nicht er selbst, sondern die ihm zu Grunde liegende
und darin nur verzerrte Wahrheit.--FRANTZ, Schelling's Philosophie,
i. 62.  Quand les hommes ont vu une fois la verite dans son eclat, ils
 ne peuvent plus l'oublier.  Elle reste debout, et tot ou tard elle
triomphe, parce qu'elle est la pensee de Dieu et le besoin du
modee.--MIGNET, Portraits, ii. 295.  C'est toujours le sens commun
inapercu qui fait la fortune des hypotheses auxquelles il se
mele.--COUSIN, Fragments Phil. i. 51. Preface of 1826.  Wer da sieht,
wie der Irrthum selbst ein Trager mannigfaltigen und bleibenden
Fortschritts wird, der wird such nicht so leicht aus dem
thatsachlichen Fortschritt der Gegenwart auf Unumstosslichkeit unserer
Hypothesen schliessen.--Das richtigste Resultat der geschichtlichen
Betrachtung ist die akademische Ruhe, mit welcher unsere Hypothesen
und Theorieen ohne Feindschaft und ohne Glauben als das betrachtet
werden, was sie sind; als Stufen in jener unendlichen Annaherung an
die Wahrheit, welche die Bestimmung unserer intellectuellen
Entwickelung zu sein scheint.--LANGE, Geschichte des Materialismus,
502, 503.  Hominum errores divina providentia reguntur, ita ut saepe
male jacta bene cadant.--LEIBNIZ, ed. Klopp, i. p. lii.  Sainte-Beuve
n'etait meme pas de la race des liberaux, c'est-a-dire de ceux qui
croient que, tout compte fait, et dans un etat de civilisation donne,
le bien triomphe du mal a armes egales, et la verite de l'erreur.--
D'HAUSSONVILLE, Revue des Deux Mondes, 1875, i. 567.  In the progress
of the human mind, a period of controversy amongst the cultivators of
any branch of science must necessarily precede the period of
unanimity.--TORRENS, Essay on the Production of Wealth, 1821, p. xiii.
Even the spread of an error is part of the wide-world process by which
we stumble into mere approximations to truth.--L. STEPHEN, Apology of
an Agnostic, 81.  Errors, to be dangerous, must have a great deal of
truth mingled with them; it is only from this alliance that they can
ever obtain an extensive circulation.--S. SMITH, Moral Philosophy, 7.
The admission of the few errors of Newton himself is at least of as
much importance to his followers in science as the history of the
progress of his real discoveries.--YOUNG, Works, iii. 621.  Error is
almost always partial truth, and so consists in the exaggeration or
distortion of one verity by the suppression of another, which
qualifies and modifies the former.--MIVART, Genesis of Species, 3.
The attainment of scientific truth has been effected, to a great
extent, by the help of scientific errors.--HUXLEY: WARD, Reign of
Victoria, ii. 337.  Jede neue tief eingreifende Wahrheit hat meiner
Ansicht mach erst das Stadium der Einseitigkeit durchzumachen.--
IHERING, Geist des R. Rechts, ii. 22.  The more readily we admit the
possibility of our own cherished convictions being mixed with error,
the more vital and helpful whatever is right in them will
become.--RUSKIN, Ethics of the Dust, 225.  They barely grasp the plain
truth unless they examine the error which it cancels.--CORY, Modern
English History, 1880, i. 109.  Nur durch irrthum kommen wir, der eine
kruzeren und glucklicheren Schrittes, als der andere, zur Wahrheit;
und die Geschichte darf nirgends diese Verirrungen ubergehen, wenn
sie Lehrerin und Warnerin fur die nachfolgenden Geschlechter werden
will.--Munchen Gel. Anseigen, 1840, i. 737.

#74 Wie die Weltgeschichte das Weltgericht ist, so kann in noch
allgemeinerem Sinne gesagt werden, dass das gerechte Gericht,
d. h. die wahre Kritik einer Sache, nur in ihrer Geschichte liegen
kann.  Insbesondere in der Hinsicht lehrt die Geschichte denjenigen,
der ihr folgt, ihre eigene Methode, dass ihr Fortschritt niemals ein
reines Vernichten, sondern nur ein Aufheben im philosophischen Sinne
ist.--STRAUSS, Hallische Jahrbucher, 1839, 120.

#75 Dans tous les livres qu'il lit, et il en devore des quantites,
Darwin ne note que les passages qui contrarient ses idees
systematiques.--Il collectionne les difficultes, les cas epineux, les
critiques possibles.--VERNIER, Le Temps, 6th Decembre 188.  Je
demandais a un savant celebre ou il en etait de ses researches.  "Cela
ne marche plus," me dit-il, "je ne trouve plus de faits
contradictoires."  Ainsi le savant cherche a se contredire lui-meme
pour faire avancer sa pensee.--JANET, Journal des Savants, 1892, 20.
Ein Umstand, der uns die Selbstandigkeit des Ganges der Wissenschaft
anschaulich machen kann, ist auch der: dass der Irrthum, wenn er nur
grundlich behandelt wird, fast ebenso fordernd ist als das Findern der
Wahrheit, denn er erzeugt fortgesetzten Widerspruch.--BAER, Blicke auf
die Entwicklung der Wissenschaft, 120.  It is only by virtue of the
opposition which it has surmounted that any truth can stand in the
human mind.--ARCHBISHOP TEMPLE; KINGLAKE, Crimea, Winter Troubles,
app. 104.  I have for many years found it expedient to lay down a rule
for my own practice, to confine my reading mainly to those journals
the general line of opinions in which is adverse to my own.--HARE,
Means of Unity, i. 19.  Kant had a harder struggle with himself than
he could possibly have had with any critic or opponent of his
philosophy.--CAIRD, Philosophy of Kant, 1889, i. p. ix.

#76 The social body is no more liable to arbitrary changes than the
individual body.--A full perception of the truth that society is not a
mere aggregate, but an organic growth, that it forms a whole, the laws
of whose growth can be studied apart from those of the individual
atom, supplies the most characteristic postulate of modern
speculation.--L. STEPHEN, Science of Ethics, 31.  Wie in dem Leben der
einzelnen Menschen kein Augenblick eines vollkommenen Stillstandes
wahrgenommen wird, sondern stete organische Entwicklung, so verhalt es
sich such in dem Leben der Volker, und in jedem einzelnen Element,
woraus dieses Gesammtleben besteht.  So finden wir in der Sprache stete
Fortbildung und Entwicklung, und auf gleiche Weise in dem Recht.  Und
auch diese Fortbildung steht unter demselben Gesetz der Erzeugung aus
innerer Kraft und Nothwendigkeit, unabhangig von Zufall und
individueller Willkur, wie die ursprungliche Entstehung.--SAVIGNY,
System, i. 16, 17.  Seine eigene Entdeckung, dass auch die geistige
Produktion, bis in einem gewissen Punkte wenigstens, unter dem Gesetze
der Kausalitat steht, dass jedeiner nor geben kann, was er hat, nur
hat, was er irgenewoher bekommen, muss such fur ihn selber
gelten.--BEKKER, Das Recht des Besitzes bei den Romern, 3, 1880.  Die
geschichtliche Wandlung der Rechts, in welcher vergangene Jahrhunderte
halb ein Spiel der Zufalls und halb ein Werk vernunftelnder Willkur
sahen, als gesetzmassige Entwickelung zu begreifen, war das
unsterbliche Verdienst der von Mannern wie Savigny, Eichhorn und Jacob
Grimm gefuhrten historischen Rechtsschule.--GIERKE, Rundschau,
xviii. 205.

#77 The only effective way of studying what is called the philosophy
of religion, or the philosophical criticism of religion, is to study
the history of religion.  The true science of war is the history of
war, the true science of religion is, I believe, the history of
religion.--M. MULLER, Theosophy, 3, 4.  La theologie ne doit plus etre
que l'histoire des efforts spontanes tentes pour resoudre le probleme
divin.  L'histoire, en effet, est la forme necessaire de la science de
tout ce qui est soumis aux lois de la vie changeante et successive.
La science de l'esprit humain, c'est de meme, l'histoire de l'esprit
humain.--RENAN, Averroes, Pref. vi.

#78 Political economy is not a science, in any strict sense, but a
body of systematic knowledge gathered from the study of common
processes, which have been practised all down the history of the human
race in the production and distribution of wealth.--BONAMY PRICE,
Social Science Congress, 1878.  Such a study is in harmony with the
best intellectual tendencies of our age, which is, more than anything
else, characterised by the universal supremacy of the historical
spirit.  To such a degree has this spirit permeated all our modes of
thinking, that with respect to every branch of knowledge, no less than
with respect to every institution and every form of human activity, we
almost instinctively ask, not merely what is its existing condition,
but what were its earliest discoverable germs, and what has been the
course of its development.--INGRAM, History of Political Economy, 2.
Wir dagegen stehen keinen Augenblick an, die Nationalekonomie fur eine
reine Erfahrungswissenschaft zu erklaren, und die Geschichte ist uns
daher nicht Hulfsmittel, sondern Gegenstand selber.--ROSCHER,
Deutsche Vierte Jahrschrift, 1849, i. 182.  Der bei weitem grosste
Theil menschlicher Irrthumer beruhet darauf, lass man zeitlich und
Ortlich Wahres oder Heilsames fur absolut wahr oder heilsam ausgiebt.
Fur jede Stufe der Volksentwickelung passt eine besondere
Staatsverfassung, die mit allen ubrigen Verhaltnissen der Volks als
Ursache und Wirkung auf's Innigste verbunden ist; so passt such fur
jede Entwickelungsstufe eine besondere Landwirthschaftsverfassung.
--ROSCHER, Archiv f. p. Oek. viii. 2 Heft 1845.  Seitdem vor allen
Roscher, Hildebrand und Knies den Werth, die Berechtigung und die
Nothwendigkeit derselben unwiderleglich dargethan, hat sich immer
allgemeiner der Gedanke Bahn gebrochen, dass diese Wissenschaft, die
bis dahin nur auf die Gegenwart, auf die Erkenntniss der bestehenden
Verhaltnisse und die in ihnen sichtbaren Gesetze den Blick gerichtet
hatte, auch in die Vergangenheit, in die Erforschung der bereits
hinter uns liegenden wirthschaftlichen Entwicklung der Volker sich
vertiefen musse.--SCHONBERG, Jahrbucher f. Nationaloekonomie und
Statistik, Neue Folge, 1867, i. 1.  Schmoller, moins dogmatique et
mettant comme une sorte de coquetterie a etre incertain, demontre, par
les faits, la faussete on l'arbitraire de tous ces postulats, et
laisse l'economie politique se dissoudre dans l'histoire.--BRETON.
R. de Paris, ix. 67.  Wer die politische Oekonomie Feuerlands unter
dieselben Gesetze bringen wollte mit der des heutigen Englands,
wurde damit augenscheinlich nichts zu Tage fordern als den
allerbanalsten Gemeinplatz.  Die politische Oekonomie ist somit
wesentlich eine historische Wissenschaft.  Sie behandelt einen
geschichtlichen, das heisst einen stets wechselnden Stoff.  Sie
untersucht zunachst die besondern Gesetze jeder einzelnen
Entwicklungsstufe der Produktion und der Austausches, und wird erst am
Schluss dieser Untersuchung die wenigen, fur Produktion und Austausch
uberhaupt geltenden, ganz allgemeinen Gesetze aufstellen
konnen.--ENGELS, Duhrings Umwalzung der Wissenschaft, 1878, 121.

#79 History preserves the student from being led astray by a too
servile adherence to any system.--WOLOWSKI.  No system can be
anything more than a history, not in the order of impression, but in
the order of arrangement by analogy.--DAVY, Memoirs, 68.  Avec der
materiaux si nombreux et si importants, il fallait bien du courage
pour resister a la tentation de faire un systeme.  De Saussure eut ce
courage, et nous en ferons le dernier trait et le trait principal de
son eloge.--CUVIER, Eloge de Saussure, 1810..

#80 C'etait, en 1804, une idee heureuse et nouvelle, d'appeler
l'histoire au secours de la science, d'interroger les deux grandes
ecoles rivales au profit de la verite.--COUSIN, Fragments Litteraires,
1843, 95, on Degerando.  No branch of philosophical doctrine, indeed,
can be fairly investigated or apprehended apart from its history.  All
our systems of politics, morals, and metaphysics would be different if
we knew exactly how they grew up, and what transformations they have
undergone; if we knew, in short, the true history of human ideas.--
CLIFFE LESLIE, Essays in Political and Moral Philosophy, 1879, 149.
The history of philosophy must be rational and philosophic. It must be
philosophy itself, with all its elements, in all their relations, and
under all their laws represented in striking characters by the hands
of time and of history, in the manifested progress of the human
mind.--SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, Edin.  Rev. l. 200, 1829.  Il n'est point
d'etude plus instructive, plus utile que l'etude de l'histoire de la
philosophie; car on y apprend a se desabuser des philosophes, et l'on
y desapprend la fausse science de leurs systemes.--ROYER
COLLARD, OEuvres de Reid, iv. 426.  On ne peut guere echapper a la
conviction que toutes les solutions des questions philosophiques
n'aient ete developpes on indiquees avant le commencement du
dix-neuvieme siecle, et que par consequent il ne soit les difficile,
pour ne pas dire impossible, de tomber, en pareille matiere, sur une
idee neuve de quelque importance.  Or si cette conviction est fondee,
il s'ensuit que la science est faite.--JOUFFROY, in DAMIRON,
Philosophie du XIXe Siecle, 363.  Le but dernier de tous mes efforts,
l'ame de mes ecrits et de tout mon enseignement, c'est l'identite de
la philosophie et de son histoire.--COUSIN, Cours de 1829.  Ma route
est historique, il est vrai, mais mon but est dogmatique; je tends
a une theorie, et cette theorie je la demande a l'histoire.--COUSIN,
Ph. du XVIIIe Siecle, 15.  L'histoire de la philosophie est contrainte
d'emprunter d'abord a la philosophie la lumiere qu'elle doit lui
rendre un jour avec usure.--COUSIN, Du Vrai, 1855, 14.  M. Cousin,
durant tout son professorat de 1816 a 1829, a pense que l'histoire de
la philosophie etait la source de la philosophie meme.  Nous ne
croyons pas exagerer en lui pretant cette opinion.--B. ST. HILAIRE,
Victor Cousin, i. 302.  Il se hata de convertir le fait en loi, et
proclama que la philosophie, etant identique a son histoire, ne
pouvait avoir une loi differante, et etait vouee a jamais a
l'evolution fatale der quatre systemes, se contredisant toujours, mais
se limitant, et se moderant, par cela meme de maniere a maintenir
l'equilibre, sinon l'harmonie de la pensee humaine.--VACHEROT, Revue
der Deux Mondes, 1868, iii. 957.  Er hat uberhaupt das unvergangliche
Verdienst, zuerst in Frankreich zu der Erkenntniss gelangt zu sein,
dass die menschliche Vernunft nur durch das Studium der Gesetzes ihrer
Entwickelungen begriffen werden kann.--LAUSER, Unsere Zeit, 1868, i.
459.  Le philosophe en quete du vrai en soi, n'est plus reduit a ses
conceptions individuelles; il est riche du tresor amasse par
l'humanite.--BOUTROUX, Revue Politique, xxxvii. 802.  L'histoire, je
veux dire l'histoire de l'esprit humain, est en ce sens la vraie
philosophie de notre temps.--RENAN, Etudes de Morale, 83.  Die
Philosophie wurde eine hochst bedeutende Hulfswissenschaft der
Geschichte, sie hat ihre Richtung auf das Allgemeine gefordert, ihren
Blick fur dasselbe gescharft, und sie, wenigstens durch ihre
Vermittlung, mit Gesichtspuncten, Ideen, bereichert, die sie aus ihrem
eigenen Schoosse sobald noch nicht erzeugt haben wurde.  Weit die
fruchtbarste darunter war die aus der Naturwissenschaft geschopfte
Idee der organischen Lebens, dieselbe auf der die neueste Philosophie
selbst beruht.  Die seit zwei bis drei Jahrzehnten in der Behandlung
der Geschichte eingetretene durchgreifende Veranderung, wie die
vollige Umgestaltung so mancher anderen Wissenschaft . . . ist der
Hauptsache nach ihr Werk.--HAUG, Allgemeine Geschichte, 1841, i. 22.
Eine Geschichte der Philosophie in eigentlichen Sinne wurde erst
moglich, als man an die Stelle der Philosopher deren Systeme setzte,
den inneren Zusammenhang zwischen diesen feststellte und--wie Dilthey
sagt--mitten in Wechsel der Philosophien ein siegreiches Fortschreiten
zur Wahrheit nachwies.  Die Gesammtheit der Philosophie stellt sich
also dar als eine geschichtliche Einheit--SAUL, Rundschau, February
1894,307.  Warum die Philosophie eine Geschichte habe und haben musse,
blieb unerortert, ja ungeahnt, dass die Philosophie am meisten von
allen Wissenschaften historisch sei, denn man hatte in der Geschichte
den Begriff der Entwicklung nicht entdeckt--MARBACH, Griechische
Philosophie, 15.  Was bei oberflachlicher Betrachtung nur ein Gewirre
einzelner Personen und Meinungen zu rein schien, zeigt sich bei
genauerer und grundlicherer Untersuchung als eine geschichtliche
Entwicklung, in der alles, bald naher, bald entfernter, mit allem
anderen zusammenhangt.--ZELLER, Rundschau, February 1894, 307.  Nur
die Philosophie, die an die geschichtliche Entwickelung anknupft kann
auf bleibenden Erfolg auch fur die Zukunft rechnen und fortschreiten
zu dem, was in der bisherigen philosophischen Entwickelung nur erst
unvollkommen erreicht oder angestrebt worden ist Kann sich doch die
Philosophie uberhaupt und insbesondere die Metaphysik ihrer eigenen
geschichtlichen Entwickelung nicht entschlagen, sondern hat eine
Geschichte der Philosophie als eigene und zwar zugleich historische
und spekulative Disziplin, in deren geschichtlichen Entwickelungsphasen
und geschichtlich aufeinanderfolgenden Systemen der Philosophen die
neuere Spekulation seit Schelling und Hegel zugleich die Philosophie
selbst als ein die verschiedenen geschichtlichen Systeme umfassendes
ganzes in seiner dialektischen Gliederung erkannt hat--GLOATZ,
Spekulative Theologie, i. 23.  Die heutige Philosophie fuhrt uns auf
einen Standpunkt von dem aus die philosophische Idee als das innere
Wesen der Geschichte selbst erscheint.  So trat an die Stelle einer
abstrakt philosophischen Richtung, welche das Geschichtliche verneinte,
eine abstrakt geschichtliche Richtung, welche das Philosophische
verlaugnete.  Beide Richtungen sine als uberschrittene und besiegte
zu betrachten.--BERNER, Strafrecht, 75.  Die Geschichte der Philosophie
hat uns fast schon die Wissenschaft der Philosophie selbst ersetzt.
--HERMANN, Phil. Monatshefte, ii. 198, 1889.

#81 La siecle actuel sera principalement caracterise par l'irrevocable
preponderance de l'histoire, en philosophie, en politique, et meme en
poesie.--COMTE, Politique Positive, iii. 1.

#82 The historical or comparative method has revolutionised not only
the sciences of law, mythology, and language, of anthropology and
sociology, but it has forced its way even into the domain of
philosophy and natural science.  For what is the theory of evolution
itself, with all its far-reaching consequences, but the achievement of
the historical method?--PROTHERO, Inaugural; National Review, December
1894, 461.  To facilitate the advancement of all the branches of
useful science, two things seem to be principally requisite.  The
first is, an historical account of their rise, progress, and present
state.  Without the former of these helps, a person every way
qualified for extending the bounds of science labours under great
disadvantages; wanting the lights which have been struck out by
others, and perpetually running the risk of losing his labour, and
finding himself anticipated.--PRIESTLEY, History of Vision, 1772, i.,
Pref. i. Cuvier se proposait de montrer l'enchainement scientifique
der decouvertes, leurs relations avec les grands evenements
historiques, et leur influence sur les progres et le developpement de
la civilisation.--DARESTE, Biographie Generale, xii. 685.  Dans ses
eloquentes lecons, l'histoire des sciences est devenue l'histoire meme
de l'esprit humain; car, remontant aux causes de leurs progres et de
leurs erreurs, c'est toujours dans les bonnes ou mauvaises routes
suivies par l'esprit humain, qu'il trouve ces causes.--FLOURENS, Eloge
de Cuvier, xxxi.  Wie keine fortlaufende Entwickelungsreihe von nur
Einem Punkte aus vollkommen aufzufassen ist, so wird auch keine
lebendige Wissenschaft nur aus der Gegenwart begriffen werden
konnen.--Deswegen ist aber eine solche Darstellung doch noch nicht
der gesammten Wissenschaft adaquat, und sie birgt, wenn sie damit
verwechselt wird, starke Gefahren der Einseitigkeit, des Dogmatismus
und damit der Stagnation in sich.  Diesen Gefahren kann wirksam nur
begegnet werden durch die verstandige Betrachtung des Geschichte der
Wissenschaften, welche diese selbst in stetem Flusse zeigt und die
Tendenz ihres Fortschreitens in offenbarer und sicherer Weise
klarlegt.--ROSENBERGER, Geschichte der Physik, iii. p. vi.  Die
Continuitat in der Ausbildung aller Auffassungen tritt um so
deutlicher hervor, je vollstendiger man sich damit wie sie zu
verschiedenen Zeiten waren, vertraut macht-KOPP, Entwickelung der
Chemie, 814.

#83 Die Geschichte und die Politik sind Ein und derselbe Janus mit dem
Doppelgesicht, das in der Geschichte in die Vergangenheit, in der
Politik in die Zukunft hinschaut--GUGLER'S Leben, ii. 59.

84 The papers inclosed, which give an account of the killing of two
men in the county of Londonderry; if they prove to be Tories, 'tis
very well they are gone.--I think it will not only be necessary to
grant those a pardon who killed them, but also that they have some
reward for their own and others' encouragement.--ESSEX, Letters, 10,
10th January 1675.  The author of this happened to be present.  There
was a meeting of some honest people in the city, upon the occasion of
the discovery of some attempt to stifle the evidence of the
witnesses.--Bedloe said he had letters from Ireland, that there were
some Tories to be brought over hither, who were privately to murder
Dr. Oates and the said Bedloe.  The doctor, whose zeal was very hot,
could never after this hear any man talk against the plot, or against
the witnesses, but he thought he was one of these Tories, and called
almost every man a Tory that opposed him in discourse; till at last
the word Tory became popular.--DEFOE, Edinburgh Review, l. 403

#85 La Espana sera el primer pueblo en donde se encendera esta guerra
patriotica que solo puede libertar a Europa.--Hemos oido esto en
Inglaterra a varios de los que estaban alli presentes.  Muchas veces
ha oido lo mismo al duque de Wellington el general Don Miguel de
Alava, y dicho duque refirio el suceso en una comida diplomatica que
dio en Paris el duque de Richelieu en 1816.--TORENO, Historia del
Levantamiento de Espana, 1838, i.508.

#86 Nunquam propter auctoritatem illorum, quamvis magni sint nominis
(supponimus scilicet semper nos cum eo agere qui scientiam historicam
vult consequi), sententias quas secuti sunt ipse tamquam certas
admittet, sed solummodo ob vim testimoniorum et argumentorum quibus
eas confirmarunt.--DE SMEDT, Introductio ad historiam critice
tractandam, 1866, i. 5.

#87 Hundert schwere Verbrechen wiegen nieht so schwer in der Schale der
Unsittlichkeit, als ein unsittliches Princip.--Hallische Jahrbucher,
1839, 308.  Il faut fletrir les crimes; mais il faut aussi, et
surtout, fletrir les doctrines et les systemes qui tendent a les
justifier.--MORTIMER TERNAUX, Histoire de la Terreur.

#88 We see how good and evil mingle in the best of men and in the best
of causes; we learn to see with patience the men whom we like best
often in the wrong, and the repulsive men often in the right; we learn
to bear with patience the knowledge that the cause which we love best
has suffered, from the awkwardness of its defenders, so great
disparagement, as in strict equity to justify the men who were
assaulting it.--STUBBS, Seventeen Lectures, 97.

#89 Caeteris paribus, on trouvera tousjours que ceux qui ont plus de
puissance sont sujets a pecher davantage; et il n'y a point de
theoreme de geometrie qui soit plus asseure que cette proposition.
--LEIBNIZ, 1688, ed. Rommel, ii. 197.  Il y a toujours eu de la
malignite dans la grandeur, et de l'opposition a l'esprit de
l'Evangile; mais maintenant il y en a plus que jamais, et il semble
que comme le monde va a sa fin, celui qui est dans l'elevation fait
tous ses efforts pour dominer avec plus de tyrannie, et pour etouffer
les maximes du Christianisme et le regne de Jesus-Christ, voiant qu'il
s'approche.--GOIDEAU, Lettres, 423, 27th March 1667.  There is, in fact,
an unconquerable tendency in all power, save that of knowledge, acting
by and through knowledge, to injure the mind of him by whom that power
is exercised.--WORDSWORTH, 22nd June 1817; Letters of Lake Poets, 369.

#90 I cieli han messo sulla terra due giudici delle umane azioni, la
coscienza e la storia--COLLETTA.  Wenn gerade die edelsten Manner um
den Nachruhmes willen gearbeitet haben, so soll die Geschichte ihre
Belohnung sein, sie auch die Strafe fur die Schlechten.--LASAULX,
Philosophie der Kunste, 211.  Pour juger ce qui est bon et juste dans
la vie actuelle ou passe il faut posseder un criterium, qui ne soit
pas tire du passe ou du present, mais de la nature humaine.--AHRENS.
Cours de Droit Naturel, i. 67.

#91 L'homme de notre temps!  La conscience moderne!  Voila encore de
ces termes qui nous ramenent la pretendue philosophie de l'histoire et
la doctrine du progres, quand il s'agit de la justice, c'est-a-dire de
la conscience pure et de l'homme rationnel, que d'autres siecles encore
que le notre ont connu.--RENOUVIER, Crit. Phil. 1873, ii. 55.

#92 Il faut pardonner aux grands hommes le marchepied de leur
grandeur.--COUSIN, in J. SIMON, Nos Hommes d'Etat, 1887, 55.  L'esprit
du XVIIIe siecle n'a pas besoin d'apologie: l'apologie d'un siecle est
dans son existence.--COUSIN, Fragments, iii. 1826.  Suspendus aux
levres eloquentes de M. Cousin, nous l'entendimes s'ecrier que la
meilleure cause l'emportait toujours, que c'etait la loi de
l'histoire, le rhythme immuable du progres.--GASPARIN, La Liberte
Morale, ii. 63.  Cousin verurtheilen heisst darum nichts Anderes als
jenen Geist historischer Betrachtung verdammen, durch welchen das
19. Jahrbunhert die revolutionare Kritik den 18. Jahrhunderts erganzt,
durch welchen insbesondere Deutschland die geistigen Wohlthaten
vergolten hat, welche es im Zeitalter der Aufklarung von seinen
westlichen Nachbarn empfangen.--IODL, Gesch. der Ethik, ii. 295.  Der
Gang der Weltgeschichte steht ausserhalb der Tugene, den Lasters, und
der Gerechtigkeit.--HEGEL, Werke, viii. 425.  Die Vermischung den
Zufalligen im Individuum mit dem an ihm Historischen fuhrt zu
unzahligen falschen Ansichten und Urtheilen.  Hierzu gehort namentlich
alles Absprechen uber die moralische Tuchtigkeit der Individuen, und
die Verwunderung, welche bis zur Verzweiflung an gottlicher
Gerechtigkeit sich steigert, dass historisch grosse Individuen
moralisch nichtswudig erscheinen kennen.  Die moralische Tuchtigkeit
besteht in der Unterordnung alles dessen, was zuuellig am Einzelnen
unter das an ihm dem Allgemeinen Angehorige.--MARBACH, Geschichte der
Griechischen Philosophie, 7.  Das Sittliche der Neuseelander, der
Mexikaner ist vielmehr ebenso sittlich, wie das der Griechen, der
Romer; und das Sittliche der Christen den Mittelalters ist ebenso
sittlich, wie das der Gegenwart.--KIRCHMANN, Grundbegriffe des Richts,
194.  Die Geschichtswissenschaft als solche kennt nor ein zeitliches
und mithin auch nor ein relatives Maass der Dinge.  Alle
Werthbeurtheilung der Geschichte kann daher nur relativ und aus
zeitlichen Momenten fliessen, und wer sich nicht selbst tauschen und
den Dingen nicht Gewalt anthun will, muss ein fur allemal in dieser
Wissenschaft auf absolute Werthe verzichten.--LORENZ, Schlosser, 80.
Only according to his faith is each man judged.  Committed as this
deed has been by a pure-minded, pious youth, it is a beautiful sign of
the time.--DE WETTE to SAND'S Mother; CHEYNE, Founders of Criticism,
44.  The men of each age must be judged by the ideal of their own age
and country, and not by the ideal of ours.--LECKY, Value of History,
50.

#93 La duree ici-bas, c'est le droit, c'est la sanction de Dieu.--
GUIRAUD, Philosophie Catholique de l'Histoire.

#94 Ceux qui ne sont pas contens de l'ordere des choses ne scauroient
se vanter d'aimer Dieu comme il faut--Il faut toujours estre content
de l'ordre du passe, parce qu'il est conforme a la volonte de Dieu
absolue, qu'on connoit par l'evenement.  Il faut tacher de rendre
l'avenir, autant qu'il depene de nous, conforme a la volonte de Dieu
presomptive.--LEIBNIZ, Werke, ed. Gerhardt, ii. 136.  Ich habe damals
bekannt and bekenne jetzt, dass die politische Wahrheit aus denselben
Quellen zu schopfen ist, wie alle anderen, aus dem gottlichen Willen
und dessen Kundgebung in der Geschichte den Menschengeschlechts.--
RADOWITZ, Neue Gesprache, 65.

#95 a man is great as he contends best with the circumstances of his
age.--FROUDE, Short Studies, i. 388.  La persuasion que l'homme est
avant tout une personne morale et libre, et qu'ayant concu seul, dans
sa conscience et devant Dieu, la regle de sa conduite, il doit
s'employer tout entier a l'appliquer en lui, hors de lui, absolument,
obstinement, inflexiblement, par une resistance perpetuelle opposee
aux autres; et par une contrainte perpetuelle exercee sur soi,
voila la grande idee anglaise.--TAINE; SOREL, Discours de Reception,
24.  In jeder Zeit des Christenthums hat es einzelne Manner gegeben,
die uber ihrer Zeit Standen und von ihren Gegensatzen nicht beruhrt
wurden.--BACHMANN. Hengstenberg, i. 160.  Eorum enim qui de iisdem
rebus mecum aliquid ediderunt, aut solus insanio ego, aut solos non
insanio; tertium enim non est, nisi (quod dicet forte aliquis)
insaniamus omnes.--HOBBES, quoted by DE MORGAN, 3rd June 1858: Life
of Sir W. R. Hamilton, iii. 552.

#96 I have now to exhibit a rare combination of good qualities, and a
steady perseverance in good conduct, which raised an individual to be
an object of admiration and love to all his contemporaries, and have
made him to be regarded by succeeding generations as a model of public
and private virtue.--The evidence shows that upon this occasion he was
not only under the influence of the most vulgar credulity, but that he
violated the plainest rules of justice, and that he really was the
murderer of two innocent women.--Hale's motives were most
laudable.--CAMPBELL'S Lives of the Chief Justices, i. 512, 561, 566.
It was not to be expected of the colonists of New England that they
should be the first to see through a delusion which befooled the whole
civilised world, and the gravest and most knowing persons in it.--The
people of New England believed what the wisest men of the world
believed at the end of the seventeenth century.--PALFREY, New England,
iv. 127, 129 (also speaking of witchcraft).  Il est donc bien etrange
que sa severite tardive s'exerce aujourd'hui sur un homme auquel elle
n'a d'autre reproche a faire que d'avoir trop bien servi l'etat par des
mesures politiques, injustes peut-etre, violentes, mais qui, en aucune
maniere, n'avaient l'interet personnel du coupable pour objet.--M.
Hastings peut sans doute paraitre reprehensible aux yeux des
etrangers, des particuliers meme, mais il est assez extraordinaire
qu'une nation usurpatrice d'une partie de l'Indostan veuille meler les
regles de la morale a celles d'une administration forcee, injuste et
violente par essence, et a laquelle il faudrait renoncer a jamais pour
etre consequent.--MALLET DU PAN, Memoires, ed. Sayous, i. 102.

#97 On parle volontiers de la stabilite de la constitution anglaise.
La verite est que cette constitution est toujours en mouvement et en
oscillation et qu'elle se prete merveilleusement au jeu de ses
differentes parties.  Sa solidite vient de sa souplesse; elle plie et
ne rompt pas.--BOUTMY, Nouvelle Revue, 1878, 49.

#98 This is not an age for a man to follow the strict morality of
better times, yet sure mankind is not yet so debased but that there
will ever be found some few men who will scorn to join concert with
the public voice when it is not well grounded.--Savile Correspondence,
173;

#99 Cette proposition: L'homme est incomparablement plus porte au mat
qu'au bien, et il se fait dans le monde incomparablement plus de
mauvaises actions que de bonnes--est aussi certaine qu'aucun principe
de metaphysique.  Il est donc incomparablement plus probable qu'une
action faite par un homme, est mauvaise, qu'il n'est probable qu'elle
soit bonne.  Il est incomparablement plus probable que ces secrets
ressorts qui font produite sont corrompus, qu'il n'est probable qu'ils
soient honnetes.  Je vous avertis que je parle d'une action qui n'est
point mauvaise exterieurement.--BAYLE, OEuvres, ii. 248.

#100 A Christian is bound by his very creed to suspect evil, and
cannot release himself:--His religion has brought evil to light in a
way in which it never was before; it has shown its depth, subtlety,
ubiquity; and a revelation, full of mercy on the one hand, is terrible
in its exposure of the world's real state on the other.  The Gospel
fastens the sense of evil upon the mind; a Christian is enlightened,
hardened, sharpened, as to evil; he sees it where others do
not.--MOZLEY, Essays, i. 308.  All satirists, of course, work in the
direction of Christian doctrine, by the support they give to the
doctrine of original sin, making a sort of meanness and badness a law
of society.--MOZLEY, Letters, 333.  Les critiques, meme malveillants,
sont plus pres de la verite derniere que les admirateurs.--NISARE,
Lit. fr., Conclusion.  Les hommes superieurs doivent necessairement
passer pour mechants. Ou les autres ne voient ni un defaut, ni un
ridicule, ni un vice, leur implacable oeil l'apercoit.-BARBEY
D'AUREVILLY Figaro; 31st March 1888.

#101 Prenons garde de ne pas trop expliquer, pour ne pas fournir des
arguments a ceux qui veulent tout excuser.--BROGLIE. Reception de
Sorel, 46.

#102 The eternal truths and rights of things exist, fortunately,
independent of our thoughts or wishes, fixed as mathematics, inherent
in the nature of man and the world.  They are no more to be trifled
with than gravitation.--FROUDE, Inaugural Lecture at St. Andrews,
1869, 4.  What have men to do with interests?  There is a right way
and a wrong way.  That is all we need think about.--CARLYLE to FROUDE,
Longman's Magazine, December 1892, 151.  As to History, it is full of
indirect but very effective moral teaching.  It is not only, as
Bolingbroke called it, "Philosophy teaching by examples," but it is
morality teaching by examples.--It is essentially the study which best
helps the student to conceive large thoughts.--It is impossible to
overvalue the moral teaching of History.--FITCH, Lectures on Teaching,
432.  Judging from the past history of our race, in ninety-nine cases
out of a hundred, war is a folly and a crime.  Where it is so, it is
the saddest and the wildest of all follies, and the most heinous of
all crimes.--GREG, Essays on Political and Social Science, 1853,
i. 562.  La volonte de tout un peuple ne peut rendre juste ce qui est
injuste: les representants d'une nation n'ont pas le droit de faire
ce que la nation n'a pas le droit de faire elle-meme.--B. CONSTANT,
Principes de Politique, i. 15.

#103 Think not that morality is ambulatory; that vices in one age are
not vices in another, or that virtues, which are under the everlasting
seal of right reason, may be stamped by opinion.--SIR THOMAS BROWNE,
Works, iv. 64.

#104 Osons croire qu'il seroit plus a propos de mettre de cote ces
traditions, ces usages, et ces coutumes souvent si imparfaites, si
contradictoires, si incoherentes, ou de ne les consulter que pour
saisir les inconveniens et les eviter; et qu'il faudroit chercher
non-seulement les elements d'une nouvelle legislation, mais meme ses
derniers details dans une etude approfondie de la morale.--LETROSNE,
Reflexions sur la Legislation Criminelle, 137.  M. Renan appartient a
cette famille d'esprits qui ne croient pas en realite la raison, la
conscience, le droit applicables a la direction des societes humaines,
et qui demandent a l'histoire, a la tradition, non a la morale, les
regles de la politique.  Ces esprits sont atteints de la maladie du
siecle, le scepticisme moral.--PILLON, Critique Philosophique, i. 49.

#105 The subject of modern History is of all others, to my mind, the
most interesting, inasmuch as it includes all questions of the deepest
interest relating not to human things only, but to divine.--ARNOLD,
Modern History, 311.


I

BEGINNING OF THE MODERN STATE


MODERN HISTORY tells how the last four hundred years have
modified the medieval conditions of life and thought.  In
comparison with them, the Middle Ages were the domain of
stability, and continuity, and instinctive evolution, seldom
interrupted by such originators as Gregory VII or St. Francis
of Assisi.  Ignorant of History, they allowed themselves to be
governed by the unknown Past; ignorant of Science, they never
believed in hidden forces working onwards to a happier future.
The sense of decay was upon them; and each generation seemed
so inferior to the last, in ancient wisdom and ancestral virtue,
that they found comfort in the assurance that the end of the
world was at hand.

Yet the most profound and penetrating of the causes that have
transformed society is a medieval inheritance.  It was late in
the thirteenth century that the psychology of Conscience was
closely studied for the first time, and men began to speak of it
as the audible voice of God, that never misleads or fails, and
that ought to be obeyed always, whether enlightened or darkened,
right or wrong.  The notion was restrained, on its appearance, by
the practice of regarding opposition to Church power as
equivalent to specific heresy, which depressed the secret monitor
below the public and visible authority.  With the decline of
coercion the claim of Conscience rose, and the ground abandoned
by the inquisitor was gained by the individual.  There was less
reason then for men to be cast of the same type; there was a more
vigorous growth of independent character, and a conscious control
over its formation.  The knowledge of good and evil was not an
exclusive and sublime prerogative assigned to states, or nations,
or majorities.  When it had been defined and recognised as
something divine in human nature, its action was to limit power
by causing the sovereign voice within to be heard above the
expressed will and settled custom of surrounding men.  By that
hypothesis, the soul became more sacred than the state, because
it receives light from above, as well as because its concerns are
eternal, and out of all proportion with the common interests of
government.  That is the root from which liberty of Conscience
was developed, and all other liberty needed to confine the
sphere of power, in order that it may not challenge the supremacy
of that which is highest and best in man.

The securities by which this purpose has been attempted compose
the problem of all later history, and centuries were spent in
ascertaining and constructing them.  If in the main the direction
has been upward, the movement has been tardy, the conflict
intense, the balance often uncertain.  The passion for power over
others can never cease to threaten mankind, and is always sure of
finding new and unforeseen allies in continuing its martyrology.
Therefore, the method of modern progress was revolution.  By a
series of violent shocks the nations in succession have struggled
to shake off the Past, to reverse the action of Time and the
verdict of success, and to rescue the world from the reign of the
dead.  They have been due less to provocation by actual wrong
than to the attraction of ideal right, and the claims that
inspired them were universal and detached.  Progress has imposed
increasing sacrifices on society, on behalf of those who can make
no return, from whose welfare it derives no equivalent benefit,
whose existence is a burden, an evil, eventually a peril to the
community.  The mean duration of life, the compendious test of
improvement, is prolonged by all the chief agents of civilisation,
moral and material, religious and scientific, working together,
and depends on preserving, at infinite cost, which is infinite
loss, the crippled child and the victim of accident, the idiot
and the madman, the pauper and the culprit, the old and infirm,
curable and incurable.  This growing dominion of disinterested
motive, this liberality towards the weak, in social life,
corresponds to that respect for the minority, in political life,
which is the essence of freedom.  It is an application of the
same principle of self-denial, and of the higher law.

Taking long periods, we perceive the advance of moral over
material influence, the triumph of general ideas, the gradual
amendment.  The line of march will prove, on the whole, to have
been from force and cruelty to consent and association, to
humanity, rational persuasion, and the persistent appeal to
common, simple, and evident maxims.  We have dethroned necessity,
in the shape both of hunger and of fear, by extending the scene
from Western Europe to the whole world, so that all shall
contribute to the treasure of civilisation, and by taking into
partnership in the enjoyment of its rewards those who are far off
as well as those who are below.  We shall give our attention to
much that has failed and passed away, as well as to the phenomena
of progress, which help to build up the world in which we live.
For History must be our deliverer not only from the undue
influence of other times, but from the undue influence of our
own, from the tyranny of environment and the pressure of the air
we breathe.  It requires all historic forces to produce their
record and submit to judgment, and it promotes the faculty of
resistance to contemporary surroundings by familiarity with other
ages and other orbits of thought.

In these latter days the sum of differences in international
character has been appreciably bound down by the constant process
of adaptation and adjustment, and by exposure to like influences.
The people of various countries are swayed by identical
interests, they are absorbed in the same problems, and thrill
with the same emotions; their classics are interchangeable,
authorities in science are nearly alike for all, and they readily
combine to make experiments and researches in common.  Towards
1500, European nations, having been fashioned and composed out of
simple elements during the thousand years between the fall of the
Roman Empire and that of its successor is the East, had reached
full measure of differentiation.  They were estranged from each
other, and were inclined to treat the foreigner as the foe.
Ancient links were loosened, the Pope was no longer an accepted
peacemaker; and the idea of an international code, overriding the
will of nations and the authority of sovereigns, had not dawned
upon philosophy.  Between the old order that was changing and the
new that was unborn, Europe had an inorganic interval to go
through.

Modern History begins under stress of the Ottoman Conquest.
Constantinople fell, after an attempt to negotiate for help, by
the union of the Greek and Latin Churches.  The agreement come to
at Florence was not ratified at home; the attempt was resented,
and led to an explosion of feeling that made even subjugation by
the Turk seem for the moment less intolerable, and that hastened
the catastrophe by making Western Christians slow to sacrifice
themselves for their implacable brethren in the East.  Offers of
help were made, conditional on acceptance of the Florentine
decree, and were rejected with patriotic and theological disdain.
A small force of papal and Genoese mercenaries shared the fate of
the defenders, and the end could not have been long averted, even
by the restoration of religious unity.  The Powers that held back
were not restrained by dogmatic arguments only.  The dread of Latin
intolerance was the most favourable circumstance encountered by the
Turks in the Eastern Empire, and they at once offered protection
and immunities to the patriarch and his prelates.  The conquest
of the entire peninsula, with the islands, occupied a generation,
and it was good policy meanwhile to do nothing that would diminish
the advantage or awaken alarm of persecution.  Their system required
the increase rather than the conversion of Christian subjects,
for the tribute of gold as well as the tribute of blood.  The
Janissaries were selected among the sons of Christian parents,
who became renegades, and who, having neither home nor family,
no life but in camp, no employment but arms, became not only the
best  professional soldiers in the world, but a force constantly
active to undo the work of pacific statesmen and to find fresh
occasion for war.  There were occasional outbreaks of blind ferocity,
and at all times there was the incapacity of an uncivilised race to
understand the character and the interest of alien subjects more
cultivated than themselves.  But there was not at first the sense
of unmitigated tyranny that arose later; and there was not so
great a contrast with life as it was under Italian despots as to
make Christians under the Sultan passionately long for deliverance.

From the perjury of Varna, in 1444, when the Christians broke the
treaty just concluded at Szegedin, it was understood that they
could never be trusted to keep engagements entered into with
people of another religion.  It seemed a weak-minded exaggeration
of hypocrisy to abstain from preying on men so furiously divided,
so full of hatred, so incapable of combining in defence of their
altars and their homes, so eager in soliciting aid and intervention
from the infidel in their own disputes.  The several principalities
of the circumference, Servia, Bosnia, Wallachia, the Morea, and the
islands, varying in nationality and in religion, were attacked
separately, and made no joint defence.  In Epirus, Scanderberg,
once a renegade, then in communion with Rome, drawing his supplies
from the opposite coast of Apulia, which his sentinels on Cape
Linguetta could see at sunrise, maintained himself for many years
victoriously, knowing that his country would perish with him.
John Hunyadi had defended Christendom on the Hungarian frontier
so well that the monarchy of his son stemmed the tide of invasion
for seventy years.  While the Turkish outposts kept watch on the
Danube, Mahomet seized Otranto, and all the way upwards to the Alps
there was no force capable of resisting him.  Just then, he died,
Otranto was lost, and the enterprise was not renewed.  His people
were a nation of soldiers, not a nation of sailors.  For operations
beyond sea they relied on the seamen of the AEgean, generally
Christians, as they had required the help of Genoese ships to ferry
them over the Hellespont.

Under Bajazet, the successor, there was some rest for Europe.
His brother, who was a dangerous competitor, as the crown went to
the one who survived, fled for safety to the Christians, and was
detained as a hostage, beyond the possibility of ransom, by the
Knights of St. John, and then by the Pope.  The Sultan paid,
that he might be kept quiet.

For years the Turks were busy in the East.  Selim conquered Syria
and part of Persia.  He conquered Arabia, and was acknowledged by
the Sheriff of Mecca caliph and protector of the holy shrine.  He
conquered Egypt and assumed the prerogative of the Imaum, which
had been a shadow at Cairo, but became, at Constantinople, the
supreme authority in Islam.  Gathering up the concentrated
resources of the Levant, Solyman the Magnificent turned, at last,
against the enemy who guarded the gates of civilised Europe.
Having taken Belgrade, he undertook, in 1526, the crowning
campaign of Turkish history.  At the battle of Mohacs Hungary
lost her independence.  The Turks found a Transylvanian magnate
who was willing to receive the crown from them; and the broad
valley of the Danube continued to be their battlefield until the
days of Sobieski and Eugene.  But the legitimate heir of King
Ladislas, who fell at Mohacs, was Ferdinand, only brother of
Charles V; and Hungary, with the vast region then belonging to
the Bohemian crown, passing to the same hands as the ancient
inheritance of the Habsburgs, constituted the great Austrian
monarchy which extended from the Adriatic to the far Sarmatian
plain, and Solyman's victory brought him face to face with the
first Power able to arrest his progress.  The Turks were repulsed
at Vienna in 1529, at Malta in 1564.  This was their limit in
Western Europe; and after Lepanto, in 1571, their only expansion
was at the expense of Poland and Muscovy.  They still wielded
almost boundless resources; the entire seaboard from Cattaro all
round by the Euxine to the Atlantic was Mahomedan, and all but
one-fourth of the Mediterranean was a Turkish lake.  It was long
before they knew that it was not their destiny to be masters of
the Western as well as of the Eastern world.

While this heavy cloud overhung the Adriatic and the Danube, and
the countries within reach of the Turk were in peril of
extinction, the nations farther west were consolidating rapidly
into unity and power.  By the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella,
by their conquest of Granada and the rise of a new hemisphere at
their command, Spain for the first time became a great Power;
while France, having expelled the English, having instituted a
permanent army, acquired vast frontier provinces, and crushed the
centrifugal forces of feudalism, was more directly formidable and
more easily aggressive.  These newly created Powers portended
danger in one direction.  Their increase was not so much in
comparison with England or with Portugal, as in contrast with
Italy.  England, through the Tudors, had achieved internal
tranquillity; and Portugal was already at the head of Europe in
making the ocean tributary to trade.  But Italy was divided,
unwarlike, poor in the civic virtues that made Switzerland
impregnable, rich in the tempting luxuries of civilisation, an
inexhaustible treasure-house of much that the neighbours greatly
needed and could never find elsewhere.  The best writers and
scholars and teachers, the most consummate artists, the ablest
commanders by land and sea, the deepest explorers of the mystery
of State that have been known before or since, all the splendours
of the Renaissance, and the fruits of a whole century of progress
were there, ready to be appropriated and employed for its own
benefit by a paramount Power.

It was obvious that the countries newly strengthened, the
countries growing in unity and concentration and superfluous
forces, would encroach upon those that were demoralised and
weakened.  By strict reason of State, this was not the policy of
France; for the French frontiers were assigned by nature
everywhere but in the north-east.  There the country was open,
the enemy's territory approached the capital; and the true line
of expansion was towards Antwerp, or Liege, or Strasburg.  But
the French were invited into Italy with promise of welcome,
because the Angevin claim to Naples, defeated in 1462, had passed
to the King of France.  The Aragonese, who had been successful in
resisting it, was not legitimate, and had been compelled again to
struggle for existence by the Rising of the Barons.  The rising was
suppressed; the discontented Neapolitans went into exile; and they
were now in France, prophesying easy triumphs if Charles VIII
would extend his hand to take the greatness that belonged to the
heir of the house of Anjou.  They were followed by the most
important of the Italian Cardinals, Della Rovere, nephew of a
former Pope, himself afterwards the most famous pontiff who had
appeared for centuries.  Armed with the secrets of the Conclave,
the Cardinal insisted that Alexander VI should be deposed, on the
ground that he had paid for the papacy in ascertainable sums of
money and money's worth; whereas spiritual office obtained in
that way was ipso facto void.

The advent of the French, heralded by the passionate eloquence of
Savonarola, was also hailed by Florence and its dependencies, in
their impatience of the Medicean rule, now that it had dropped
from the hands of the illustrious Lorenzo into those of his less
competent son.  Lodovico Sforza, the Regent of Milan, was also
among those who called in the French, as he had a family
quarrel with Naples.  His father, Francesco, the most successful
of the Condottieri, who acquired the Milanese by marriage with a
Visconti, is known by that significant saying: "May God defend me
from my friends.  From my enemies I can defend myself."  As the
Duke of Orleans also descended from the Visconti, Lodovico wished
to divert the French to the more alluring prospect of Naples.

In September 1494 Charles VIII invaded Italy by the Mont Genevre,
with an army equal to his immediate purpose.  His horsemen still
displayed the medieval armour, wrought by the artistic craftsmen
of the Renaissance.  They were followed by artillery, the newer
arm which, in another generation, swept the steel-clad knight
away.  French infantry was not thought so well of.  But the Swiss
had become, in their wars with Burgundy, the most renowned of all
foot-soldiers.  They were unskilled in manoeuvres; but their
pikemen, charging in dense masses, proved irresistible on many
Italian fields; until it was discovered that they would serve for
money on either side, and that when opposed to their countrymen
they refused to fight.  At Pavia they were cut down by the
Spaniards and their fame began to wane.  They were Germans,
hating Austria, and their fidelity to the golden lilies is one of
the constant facts of French history, until the Swiss guard and
the white flag vanished together, in July 1830.

Charles reached Naples early in 1495, having had no resistance to
overcome, but having accomplished nothing, and having manifested
no distinct purpose on his way, when he found himself, for a
moment, master of Florence and of Rome.  The deliverance of
Constantinople was an idea that occurred inevitably to a man of
enterprise who was in possession of Southern Italy.  It was the
advanced post of Europe against the East, of Christendom against
Islam; the proper rendezvous of Crusaders; the source of
supplies; the refuge of squadrons needing to refit.  The Sultan
was not an overwhelming warrior, like his father; he had not,
like Selim, his successor, control of the entire East, and he was
held in check by the existence of his brother, whom Charles took
with him, on leaving Rome, with a view to ulterior service, but
whom he lost soon after.

Charles VIII was not a man ripened by experience of great
affairs, and he had assumed the title of King of Jerusalem, as a
sign of his crusading purpose.  But he also called himself King
of Sicily, as representing the Anjous, and this was not a disused
and neglected derelict.  For the island belonged to the King of
Aragon, the most politic and capable of European monarchs.
Before starting for Italy, Charles had made terms with him, and
Ferdinand, in consideration of a rectified frontier, had engaged,
by the Treaty of Barcelona, to take no unfriendly advantage of
his neighbour's absence.  The basis of this agreement was
shattered by the immediate unexpected and overwhelming success of
the French arms.  From his stronghold in the South it would be
easy for Charles to make himself master of Rome, of Florence, of
all Italy, until he came in sight of the lion of St. Mark.  So
vast and sudden a superiority was a serious danger.  A latent
jealousy of Spain underlay the whole expedition.  The realm of
the Catholic kings was expanding, and an indistinct empire,
larger, in reality, than that of Rome, was rising out of the
Atlantic.  By a very simple calculation of approaching contingencies,
Ferdinand might be suspected of designs upon Naples.  Now that
the helplessness of the Neapolitans had been revealed, it was
apparent that he had made a false reckoning when he allowed the
French to occupy what he might have taken more easily himself,
by crossing the Straits of Messina.  Ferdinand joined the Italians
of the North in declaring against the invader, and his envoy
Fonseca tore up the Treaty of Barcelona before the face of the
French king.

Having been crowned in the Cathedral, and having garrisoned his
fortresses, Charles set out for France, at the head of a small
army.  As he came over the Apennines into Lombardy, at Fornovo he
was met by a larger force, chiefly provided by Venice, and had to
fight his way through.  A fortnight after his departure, the
Spaniards, under Gonsalvo of Cordova, landed in Calabria, as
auxiliaries of the dethroned king.  The throne was once more
occupied by the fallen family, and Charles retained nothing of
his easy and inglorious conquests when he died in 1498.

His successor, Lewis XII, was the Duke of Orleans, who descended
from the Visconti, and he at once prepared to enforce his claim
on Milan.  He allied himself against his rival, Sforza, with Venice,
and with Pope Alexander.  That he might marry the widowed queen,
and preserve her duchy of Brittany for the Crown, he required
that his own childless marriage should be annulled.  Upon the
Legate who brought the necessary documents the grateful king
bestowed a principality, a bride of almost royal rank, and an
army wherewith to reconquer the lost possessions of the Church in
Central Italy.  For the Legate was the Cardinal of Valencia, who
became thenceforward Duke of Valentinois, and is better known as
Caesar Borgia.  The rich Lombard plain, the garden of Italy, was
conquered as easily as Naples had been in the first expedition.
Sforza said to the Venetians: "I have been the dinner; you will
be the supper"; and went up into the Alps to look for Swiss
levies.  At Novara, in 1500, his mercenaries betrayed him and he
ended his days in a French prison.  On their way home from the
scene of their treachery, the Swiss crowned their evil repute by
seizing Bellinzona and the valley of the Ticino, which has
remained one of their cantons.

Lewis, undisputed master of Milan and Genoa, assured of the Roman
and the Venetian alliance, was in a better position than his
predecessor to renew the claim on the throne of Naples.  But now,
behind Frederic of Naples, there was Ferdinand of Aragon and
Sicily, who was not likely to allow the king for whom he had
fought to be deposed without resistance.  Therefore it was a
welcome suggestion when Ferdinand proposed that they should
combine to expel Frederic and to divide his kingdom.  As it was
Ferdinand who had just reinstated him, this was an adaptation to
the affairs of Christendom of the methods which passed for
justice in the treatment of unbelievers, and were applied without
scruple by the foremost men of the age, Albuquerque and Cortez.
Frederic turned for aid to the Sultan, and this felonious act was
put forward as the justification of his aggressors.  The Pope
sanctioned the Treaty of Partition, and as the Crown of Naples
was technically in his gift, he deprived the king on the ground
stated by the allies.  The exquisite significance of the plea was
that the Pope himself had invited Turkish intervention in Italy,
and now declared it a cause of forfeiture.  In 1501 French and
Spaniards occupied their allotted portions, and then quarrelled
over the distribution of the spoil.  For a time Gonsalvo, "the
great Captain," was driven to bay at Barletta on the Adriatic;
but at the end of 1503 he won a decisive victory, and the
defeated French, under Bayard, withdrew from the Garigliano to
the Po.  Naples remained a dependency of Spain, for all purposes,
in modern history.

In the midst of foreign armies, and of new combinations disturbing the
established balance of Italian Powers, the lesser potentates were
exposed to destruction; and there were forces about sufficient, under
capable guidance, to remodel the chaotic centre of Italy, where no
strong government had ever been constituted.  Caesar Borgia recognised
the opportunity as soon as the French were at Milan; the Pope was
growing old and was clay in his terrible hands.  His sister just then
became Duchess of Ferrara, on the border of the defenceless region
which he coveted; and the dominions of the King of France, his patron
and ally, extended to the Adda and the Po.  Never had such advantages
been united in such a man.  For Caesar's talents were of the imperial
kind.  He was fearless of difficulties, of dangers, and of
consequences; and having no preference for right or wrong, he weighed
with an equal and dispassionate mind whether it was better to spare a
man or to cut his throat.  As he did not attempt more than he could
perform, his rapid success awakened aspirations for a possible future.
He was odious to Venice, but a Venetian, who watched his meteoric
course, wonders, in his secret diary, whether this unerring schemer
was to be the appointed deliverer.  He was a terror to Florence, yet
the Florentine secretary, to whom he confided his thoughts in certain
critical hours, wrote of him as men have written of Napoleon, and
erected a monument to his memory that has secretly fascinated half the
politicians in the world.

With his double equipment as a lieutenant of the French king and as a
condottiere of the Pope, he began by reviving the dormant authority of
Rome, where nominal feudatories held vicarious sway.  In the place of
many despots struggling not for objects of policy, but for their own
existence, there appeared a single state, reaching from sea to sea,
from the Campagna to the salt-marshes by the delta of the Po, under a
papal prince and gonfaloniere, invested with rights and prerogatives
to protect the Holy See, and with power to control it.  Rome would
have become a dependency of the reigning house of Borgia, as it had
been of less capable vassals, and the system might have lasted as long
as the brain that devised it.  Lorenzo de' Medici once said that his
buildings were the only works that would outlast him; and it is common
in the secular characters of that epoch, unlike the priesthood, not to
believe in those things that are abiding, and not to regard
organisations that are humble and obscure at first and bloom by slow
degrees for the use of another age.

Caesar's enterprise was not determined or limited by the claims of the
Vatican.  He served both Pope and king, and his French alliance
carried farther than the recovery of the Romagna.  Florence became
tributary by taking him into pay.  Bologna bought him off with a heavy
ransom.  Venice inscribed his name in the illustrious record of its
nobility.  None could tell where his ambition or his resources would
end, how his inventive genius would employ the rivalry of the
invaders, what uses he would devise for the Emperor and the Turk.  The
era of petty tyranny was closed by the apparition of one superior
national tyrant, who could be no worse than twenty, for though his
crimes would be as theirs, they would not be useless to the nation,
but were thoughtfully designed and executed for the sake of power, the
accepted object of politics in a country where the right was known by
the result.  Caesar was not an unpopular master, and his subjects were
true to him in his falling fortunes.  The death of Alexander and the
decline of the French cause in the South cut short his work in the
autumn of 1503.  Della Rovere, Cardinal Vincula, whose title came from
the Church of St. Peter in Chains, the inflexible enemy of the
Borgias, was now Julius II; and after a brief interval he was strong
enough to drive Caesar out of the country; while the Venetians,
entering the Romagna under ill omens for the Republic, occupied the
remnant of his many conquests.

Julius had resisted Alexander, as a man unfit for his function, and it
soon appeared that this was not a private feud, but a total reversal
of ideas and policy.  The change was not felt in religious reform or
in patronage of learning, but first in the notion of territorial
politics.  Caesar had rebuilt the duchy of Romagna in the service of
the papacy; and it was the essence of the schemes of Julius that it
should be secured for the Holy See, together with all else that could
be claimed by right, or acquired by policy and war.  The Borgias had
prevailed by arms, and Julius would not consent to be their inferior
and to condemn his whole career.  He must draw the sword; but, unlike
them, he would draw it in the direct interest of the Church.  He had
overthrown the conqueror, not that the conquests might be dissolved,
or might go to Venice, but in order that he himself and his successors
might have power in Italy, and through Italians, over the world.  Upon
this foundation he instituted the temporal power, as it subsisted for
three centuries.  The jealous municipal spirit of the Middle Ages had
dissolved society into units, and nothing but force could reverse the
tradition and weld the fragments into great communities.  Borgia had
shown that this could be done; but also that no victorious
condottiere, were he even his own son, could be trusted by a Pope.
Julius undertook to command his army himself, and to fight at the head
of his troops.  Letting his white beard grow, putting on armour, and
proudly riding his war-horse under fire, he exhibited the most
picturesque and romantic figure of his time.

The Venetians, commanding the seaboard with their galleys, were not
easy to dislodge from the towns they occupied.  Essentially a maritime
and commercial Power, their centre of gravity lay so far east that it
was once proposed to move the capital from the Lagoons to the
Bosphorus.  When the advancing Turk damaged their trade and threatened
their Colonial empire, they took advantage of Italian disintegration
to become a continental state, and the general insecurity and
oppression of miniature potentates made it a happy fate to be subject
to the serene and politic government, whose 3000 ships still held the
sea, flying the Christian flag.  Renouncing non-intervention on the
mainland, they set power above prosperity, and the interest of the
State above the welfare and safety of a thousand patrician houses.
Wherever there were troubled waters, the fisher was Venice.  All down
the Eastern coast, and along the Alpine slopes to the passes which
were the trade route to Northern Europe, and still farther, at the
expense of Milan and Naples, the patriarch of Aquileia and the Duke of
Ferrara, the Emperor and the Pope, the Queen of the Adriatic extended
her intelligent sway.  It was under the long administration of the
Doge Foscari, Byron's hero, that it dawned upon the Venetians that it
might be their mission to supersede the frail and helpless governments
of the Peninsula; and their famous politician and historian, Paruta,
believed that it was in their power to do what Rome had done.  Their
ambition was evident to their neighbours, and those whom they had
despoiled, under every plausible pretext, awaited the opportunity of
retribution.

Julius, taking counsel with Machiavelli, found it easy to form a
league composed of their enemies.  As it was not the interest of the
empire, France and Spain, to spite Venice by strengthening each other,
the Venetians imagined they could safely hold their ground, leaving
the dependent cities to make their own terms with the enemy.  Padua
held out victoriously against Maximilian, but the battle of Agnadello
was lost against the French in the same year 1509, in which, fighting
under the Crescent in the Indian Ocean, the Venetians were defeated by
the Portuguese, and lost their Eastern trade.  They soon obtained
their revenge.  Having gained his ends by employing France against
Venice in the League of Cambray, Julius now allied himself with the
Venetians to expel the French from Milan.  He had recovered the papal
possessions, he had broken the Venetian power, and in this his third
effort to reconstitute Italy, he still succeeded, because he had the
support of the Venetians and the Swiss.  The French gave battle to the
Spaniards at Ravenna and to the Swiss at Novara, and then they
evacuated the Milanese.

Lewis XII swore that he would wreak vengeance on the papacy, and, in
conjunction with the Emperor, opened a Council at Pisa, which was
attended by a minority of cardinals.  Julius met the attack by calling
a general Council to meet at the Lateran, which was the first since
the great reforming Council, and was still sitting when Julius died in
1513.  Like the Council at Pisa, it was regarded at Rome as a move in
the great game of Politics, and it made no serious attempt to heal the
longstanding and acknowledged wounds of the Church.  Its action spread
the belief that the reigning diseases were known, but that the remedy
was refused, and that reforms that might help religion were not to be
expected from Church or State.  Julius II died without having expelled
the barbarians, as he had promised.  The French were gone, but the
Spaniards remained unshaken, and were still the pivot of the
operations of the Holy See.  The investiture of Naples was granted to
Ferdinand of Aragon, and the fairest region in Europe bound Spain
irrevocably to the Popes.

Although the Italian scheme of Julius was left half-way, his Roman
scheme was completed; the intermittent suzerainty of the Middle Ages
was straightened out into effective sovereignty over the half of
Central Italy, where anarchy used to reign, and the temporal power was
fixed on foundations solid enough to bear the coming diminution of
spiritual power.  The added splendours of modern royalty, round which
cardinals of reigning houses--Medici, Este, Famese, Gonzaga--displayed
the pomp and ceremony of semi-regal state, in palaces built by
Bramante and Michael Angelo, with the ambassadors and protectors of
the Powers, and the heads of princely families that had worn the
tiara, made Rome the magnetic pole of aristocratic society.  As the
capital of an absolute monarchy, as others were, it became associated
with principles which, in the Middle Ages, it resisted with spiritual
and secular weapons; and the magnitude of the change was apparent when
Leo X, by the Concordat of Bologna, conceded to Francis I the choice
of bishops and the higher patronage of the Church of France.  For
Francis on his accession sent an army into Italy, the last work of
Julius II was overthrown at Marignano, and France again was master of
the Milanese.

The final struggle was to come at the vacancy of the Imperial throne.
Ferdinand of Aragon was dead, and Naples passed to the King of
undivided Spain.  It was the unswerving policy of Rome that it should
not be united with the Empire, and against that fixed axiom the
strongest dynasty of emperors went to pieces.  The Reformation had
just begun in Germany, and Leo wished one of the Northern Electors to
be chosen as Maximilian's successor.  In conformity with the political
situation, he would have preferred Frederic of Saxony, the protector
of Luther.  The election of Charles, in 1519, was a defiance of the
Balance of Power, a thing not to the taste of the Middle Ages, but
becoming familiar in those days.  France, unable formerly to keep
Naples against Spain, had now to defend Lombardy against Spain,
supported by Germany, Naples, and the Netherlands.  Francis maintained
the unequal struggle for four years, although his most powerful
vassal, Bourbon, brought the enemy to the gates of Marseilles.  The
decisive action of the long Italian war was fought at Pavia in June
1525, where Francis was taken prisoner, and was compelled to purchase
his release by cruel sacrifices.

The years that followed are only a phase in the permanent subjugation
of Italy, but they are memorable in another connection.  For the
triumph of Pavia brought the suppression of the Lutherans within the
range of practical politics.  The Peasants' War had damaged their
position; the Emperor was able now to execute the Imperial decree of
Worms, and there were some in Germany who desired it.  He made it a
condition of his prisoner's deliverance that he should assist in
destroying them; and Francis readily offered to do it by coming in
person, and bearing half the charge.  Charles proposed to take him at
his word, when he learnt that the Pope was at the head of a great
alliance against him.  Pope Clement was advised by the best
ecclesiastic in his court, the Datario Giberti, to try one more
struggle before the chains were riveted, and before he became, as they
said, a Spanish chaplain.  It is a war, said Giberti, not for power or
dominion, but for the redemption of Italy from perpetual bondage; and
he placed his master, for the moment, at the head of the nation.
Clement concluded a treaty with the Emperor's enemies at Cognac,
released Francis from his oath to observe the Treaty of Madrid, and
endeavoured to make Pescara, the victor of Pavia, turn traitor by the
prospect of the throne of Naples.

In this way Charles was compelled to turn his arms against Rome.  He
protested that he would risk all his crowns for the sake of revenge,
and appealed to Germany, with its Lutherans, for support.  Tell them,
he wrote, that they are wanted against the Turk.  They will know what
Turk we mean.  They knew it so well that the landsknechts came
provided with silken nooses for the necks of cardinals, besides a
gold-thread one for the Pope.  He issued a detailed manifesto against
him, the work of Valdes, one of the rare Lutherans of Spain; and those
who were in the secret expected that the shrift would be short.
Francis had intended from the first moment to break his word, and to
execute no conditions injurious to France, but he came too late.  A
large body of Germans poured over the Alps and joined the Spaniards in
Lombardy.  It was observed afterwards that the Spaniards were the most
vindictive, but it was the Germans who made the push for Rome; and
Bourbon, on the plea of economy, as he could not pay them, led them
through the passes of the Apennines, overthrowing the Medici at
Florence on the way.  Rome was taken almost without resistance, and
Clement shut himself up in St. Angelo, while the city was given over
to unmerciful pillage, the prelates were held to ransom, and all the
secret treasure was got at by torture.  That month of May 1527, with
its awful experience, was an end to the pride and the hope and the
gladness of the pagan revival; a severe and penitential spirit came
over society, preparing to meet the Reformation by reform, and to
avert change in doctrine by a change in morality.  The sack of Rome,
said Cardinal Cajetan, was a just judgment on the sufferers.  The city
was now the Emperor's, by right of conquest, to bestow as he chose,
and the Romans were not unwilling that it should be his capital.  Some
said that the abolition of the temporal power would secure peace among
the Powers, whilst others thought that the consequence would be a
patriarch in France, if not in England as well.  The last effort of
the French being spent, and Doria having gone over to the Emperor,
taking with him Genoa, the key of French influence, the chain of
transactions which began with the Neapolitan expedition of 1494,
concluded in 1530 with the siege of Florence.  Charles made peace with
France at Cambray, and with the Pope at Barcelona, and received the
imperial crown at Bologna.

This was the consummation of the Italian wars, by which the main
conditions of modern politics were determined.  The conflicts which
had lasted for a generation, and the disorder and violence which were
older still, were at an end; Italy obtained repose from her master,
and spent for centuries her intellect in his service.  Pescara,
Ferrante, Gonzaga, Philibert Emanuel, Spinola, were the men who made
Spain the first of military powers.  And Parma's invincible legions,
which created Belgium, wrested Antwerp from the Dutch, delivered Paris
from Henry IV, and watched the signals of the Armada that they might
subdue England, were thronged with Italian infantry.  Excepting
Venice, strong in her navy and her unapproachable lagoon, Spain
dominated thenceforward over Italy, and became, by her ascendency in
both Sicilies, a bulwark against the Turks.

Italy passed out of general politics, and was a force in Europe only
through Rome.  The Conclave, and the creation of cardinals to compose
the Conclave, made it a constant school of negotiation and intrigue
for the best diplomacy in the world.  By favour of the Habsburgs, the
papacy obtained a fixed dominion, secure against all comers, requiring
no military defence, no wasting and profitless expenditure, nothing to
dissolve the mirage of an ideal government, under spiritual and
converted men.  The pontificates became steadily longer, averaging six
years in the sixteenth century, eight in the seventeenth, twelve in
the eighteenth, sixteen in the nineteenth, and by the original and
characteristic institution which is technically known as nepotism, the
selection of a Prime Minister, not from the College of the
ecclesiastical aristocracy, but from the family of the reigning
sovereign, the tonsured statesmen introduced a dynastic infusion into
the fluctuations of elective monarchy.

The triumph and coronation of the Emperor Charles V, when he was
superior to all that Europe had beheld since Charlemagne, revived the
ancient belief in a supreme authority elevated on alliance with the
priesthood, at the expense of the independence and the equipoise of
nations.  The exploits of Magellan and Cortez, upsetting all habits of
perspective, called up vain dreams of the coming immensity of Spain,
and roused the phantom of universal empire.  The motive of domination
became a reigning force in Europe; for it was an idea which monarchy
would not willingly let fall after it had received a religious and an
international consecration.  For centuries it was constantly asserted
as a claim of necessity and of right.  It was the supreme
manifestation of the modern state according to the image which
Machiavelli had set up, the state that suffers neither limit nor
equality, and is bound by no duty to nations or to men, that thrives
on destruction, and sanctifies whatever things contributed to increase
of power.

This law of the modern world, that power tends to expand indefinitely,
and will transcend all barriers, abroad and at home, until met by
superior forces, produces the rhythmic movement of History.  Neither
race, nor religion, nor political theory has been in the same degree
an incentive to the perpetuation of universal enmity and national
strife.  The threatened interests were compelled to unite for the
self-government of nations, the toleration of religions, and the
rights of men.  And it is by the combined efforts of the weak, made
under compulsion, to resist the reign of force and constant wrong,
that, in the rapid change but slow progress of four hundred years,
liberty has been preserved, and secured, and extended, and finally
understood.


II

THE NEW WORLD


GREATER CHANGES than those which were wrought by governments or armies
on the battlefield of Italy were accomplished at the same time,
thousands of miles away, by solitary adventurers, with the future of
the world in their hands.  The Portuguese were the first Europeans to
understand that the ocean is not a limit, but the universal waterway
that unites mankind.  Shut in by Spain, they could not extend on land,
and had no opening but the Atlantic.  Their arid soil gave little scope
to the territorial magnate, who was excluded from politics by the
growing absolutism of the dynasty, and the government found it well to
employ at a distance forces that might be turbulent at home.

The great national work of exploration did not proceed from the
State.  The Infante Henry had served in the African wars, and his
thoughts were drawn towards distant lands.  He was not a navigator
himself; but from his home at Sagres, on the Sacred Promontory, he
watched the ships that passed between the great maritime centre at the
mouth of the Tagus and the regions that were to compose the Portuguese
empire.  As Grandmaster of the Order of Christ he had the means to
equip them, and he rapidly occupied the groups of islands that lie
between Africa and mid Atlantic, and that were a welcome accession to
the narrow territory of Portugal.  Then he sent his mariners to explore
the coast of the unknown and dreaded continent.  When they reached the
Senegal and the Gambia, still more, when the coast of Guinea trended
to the East, they remembered Prester John, and dreamed of finding a
way to his fictitious realm which would afford convenient leverage for
Christendom, at the back of the dark world that faced the
Mediterranean.

As the trade of the country did not cover the outlay, Henry began in
1442 to capture negroes, who were imported as slaves, or sold with
advantage to local chiefs.  In five years, 927 blacks from Senegambia
reached the Lisbon market; and, later on, the Guinea coast supplied
about a thousand every year.  That domestic institution was fast
disappearing from Europe when it was thus revived; and there was some
feeling against the Infante, and some temporary sympathy for his
victims.  On the other side, there were eminent divines who thought
that the people of hot countries may properly be enslaved.  Henry the
Navigator applied to Rome, and Nicholas V issued Bulls authorising him
and his Portuguese to make war on Moors and pagans, seize their
possessions, and reduce them to perpetual slavery, and prohibiting all
Christian nations, under eternal penalties, from trespassing on the
privilege.  He applauded the trade in negroes, and hoped that it would
end in their conversion.  Negro slavery struck no deep root in Europe.
But the delusion, says Las Casas, lasted to his own time, when, half a
century after the death of its founder, it began to control the
destinies of America.

Henry's brother, the Regent Dom Pedro, had visited the courts of
Europe, and brought Marco Polo's glowing narrative of his travels in
the Far East, still, in Yule's edition, one of the most fascinating
books that can be found.  Emmanuel the Great, in the Charter rewarding
Vasco da Gama, affirms that, from 1433, the Infante pursued his
operations with a view to India.  After his death, in 1460, they were
carried on by the State, and became a secondary purpose, dependent on
public affairs.  Africa was farmed out for some years, on condition
that a hundred leagues of coast were traced annually.  There was a
moment of depression, when the Guinea coast, having run eastward for a
thousand miles and more, turned south, apparently without end.
Toscanelli of Florence was a recognised authority on the geography of
those days, and he was asked what he thought of the situation.  No
oracle ever said anything so wise as the answer of the Tuscan sage.
For he told them that India was to be found not in the East, but in
the West; and we shall see what came of it twenty years later, when
his letter fell into predestined hands.  The Portuguese were not
diverted from their aim.  They knew quite well that Africa does not
stretch away for ever, and that it needed only a few intrepid men to
see the end of it, and to reach an open route to Eastern Asia.  They
went on, marking their advance beyond the Congo, and erected crosses
along the coast to signify their claim; but making no settlements, for
Africa was only an obstruction on the way to the Indies.

Each successive voyage was made under a different commander, until
1486, when the squadron of Bartholomew Diaz was blown offshore, out
into the Atlantic.  When the storm fell he sailed east until he had
passed the expected meridian of Africa, and then, turning northward,
struck land far beyond Cape Agulhas.  He had solved the problem, and
India was within his reach.  His men soon after refused to go farther,
and he was forced to renounce the prize.  On his way back he doubled
the Cape, which, from his former experience, he called the Cape
Tempestuous, until the king, showing that he understood, gave it a
name of better omen.  Nevertheless, Portugal did no more for ten
years, the years that were made memorable by Spain.  Then, under a new
king, Emmanuel the Fortunate, Vasco da Gama went out to complete the
unfinished work of Diaz, lest Columbus, fulfilling the prophecy of
Toscanelli, should reach Cathay by a shorter route, and rob them of
their reward.  The right man had been found.  It was all plain
sailing; and he plucked the ripe fruit.  Vasco da Gama's voyage to the
Cape was the longest ever made till then.  At Malindi, on the
equatorial east coast of Africa, he found a pilot, and, striking
across the Indian Ocean by the feeble monsoon of 1497, sighted the
Ghats in May.  The first cargo from India covered the expenses many
times over.  The splendour of the achievement was recognised at once,
and men were persuaded that Emmanuel would soon be the wealthiest of
European monarchs.  So vast a promise of revenue required to be made
secure by arms, and a force was sent out under Cabral.

The work thus attempted in the East seemed to many too much for so
small a kingdom.  They objected that the country would break its back
in straining so far; that the soil ought first to be cultivated at
home; that it would be better to import labour from Germany than to
export it to India.  Cabral had not been many weeks at sea when these
murmurs received a memorable confirmation.  Following the advice of Da
Gama to avoid the calms of the Gulf of Guinea, he took a westerly
course, made the coast of South America, and added, incidentally and
without knowing it, a region not much smaller than Europe to the
dominions of his sovereign.

The Portuguese came to India as traders, not as conquerors, and
desired, not territory, but portable and exchangeable commodities.
But the situation they found out there compelled them to wage war in
unknown seas, divided from supports, and magazines, and docks by
nearly half the globe.  They made no attempt on the interior, for the
Malabar coast was shut off by a range of lofty mountains.  Their main
object was the trade of the Far East, which was concentrated at
Calicut, and was then carried by the Persian Gulf to Scanderoon and
Constantinople, or by Jeddah to Suez and Alexandria.  There the
Venetians shipped the products of Asia to the markets of Europe.
But on the other side of the isthmus the carrying trade, all the
way to the Pacific, was in the hands of Moors from Arabia and Egypt.
The Chinese had disappeared before them from Indian waters, and the
Hindoos were no mariners.  They possessed the monopoly of that which
the Portuguese had come to take, and they were enemies of the
Christian name.  The Portuguese required not their share in the trade,
but the monopoly itself.  A deadly conflict could not be avoided.  By
the natives, they were received at first as friends; and Vasco da
Gama, who took the figures of the Hindoo Pantheon for saints of the
Catholic Calendar, reported that the people of India were
Christians.  When this illusion was dispelled, it was a consolation to
find the Nestorians settled at Cochin, which thus became a Portuguese
stronghold, which their best soldier, Duarte Pacheco, held against a
multitude.  Calicut, where they began operations, has disappeared like
Earl Godwin's estate.  Forbes, who was there in 1772, writes: "At very
low water I have occasionally seen the waves breaking over the tops of
the highest temples and minarets."  It was an international city, where
1500 vessels cleared in a season, where trade was open and property
secure, and where the propagation of foreign religion was not
resented.

The Zamorin, as they called the Rajah of Calicut, ended by taking part
with the old friends from the Arabian Seas, who supplied his country
with grain, against the visitors who came in questionable shape.  The
Portuguese lacked the diplomatic graces, and disregarded the art of
making friends and acquiring ascendency by the virtues of humanity and
good faith.  When it came to blows, they acquitted themselves like men
conscious that they were the pioneers of History, that their footsteps
were in the van of the onward march, that they were moulding the
future, and making the world subservient to civilisation.  They were
Crusaders, coming the other way, and robbing the Moslem of their
resources.  The shipbuilding of the Moors depended on the teak forests
of Calicut; the Eastern trade enriched both Turk and Mameluke, and the
Sultan of Egypt levied duty amounting to L290,000 a year.  Therefore
he combined with the Venetians to expel the common enemy from Indian
waters.  In 1509 their fleet was defeated by the Viceroy Almeida near
Diu, off the coast of Kattywar, where the Arabian seaman comes in
sight of India.  It was his last action before he surrendered power to
his rival, the great Albuquerque.  Almeida sought the greatness of his
country not in conquest but in commerce.  He discouraged expeditions
to Africa and to the Moluccas; for he believed that the control of
Indian traffic could be maintained by sea power, and that land
settlements would drain the resources of the nation.  Once the Moslem
traders excluded, Portugal would possess all it wanted, on land and
sea.

Almeida's successor, who had the eye of Alexander the Great for
strategic points and commercial centres, was convinced that sea-power,
at six months from home, rests on the occupation of seaports, and he
carried the forward policy so far that Portugal possessed fifty-two
establishments, commanding 15,000 miles of coast, and held them,
nominally, with 20,000 men.  Almeida's victory had broken the power of
the Moors.  Albuquerque resolved to prevent their reappearance by
closing the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea.  With Aden, Ormuz, and
Malacca, he said, the Portuguese are masters of the world.  He failed
in the Red Sea.  When Socotra proved insufficient, he attacked Aden,
and was repulsed.  There was a disconcerting rumour that no Christian
vessel could live in the Red Sea, as there was a loadstone that
extracted the nails.  Albuquerque succeeded in the Persian Gulf, and
erected a fortress at Ormuz, and at the other end of the Indian world
he seized Malacca, and became master of the narrow seas, and of all
the produce from the vast islands under the equator.  He made Goa the
impregnable capital of his prodigious empire, and the work that he did
was solid.  He never perceived the value of Bombay, which is the best
harbour in Asia, and did not see that the key of India is the Cape of
Good Hope.  His language was sometimes visionary.  He beheld a cross
shining in the heavens, over the kingdom of Prester John, and was
eager for an alliance with him.  He wished to drain the Nile into the
Red Sea.  He would attack Mecca and Medina, carry off the bones of the
prophet, and exchange them for the Holy Sepulchre.  The dependency was
too distant and too vast.  The dread proconsul in his palace at Goa,
who was the mightiest potentate between Mozambique and China, was too
great a servant for the least of European kings.  Emmanuel was
suspicious.  He recalled the victorious Almeida, who perished on the
way home; and Albuquerque was in disgrace, when he died on his
quarter-deck, in sight of the Christian city which he had made the
capital of the East.

The secret of Portuguese prosperity was the small bulk and the
enormous market value of the particular products in which they dealt.
In those days men had to do without tea, or coffee, or chocolate, or
tobacco, or quinine, or coca, or vanilla, and sugar was very rare.
But there were the pepper and the ginger of Malabar, cardamoms in the
damp district of Tellicherry; cinnamon and pearls in Ceylon.  Beyond
the Bay of Bengal, near the equator, there was opium, the only
conqueror of pain then known; there were frankincense and indigo;
camphor in Borneo; nutmeg and mace in Amboyna; and in two small
islands, only a few miles square, Ternate and Tidor, there was the
clove tree, surpassing all plants in value.  These were the real spice
islands, the enchanted region which was the object of such passionate
desire; and their produce was so cheap on the spot, so dear in the
markets of Antwerp and London, as to constitute the most lucrative
trade in the world.  From these exotics, grown on volcanic soil, in
the most generous of the tropical climates, the profit was such that
they could be paid for in precious metals.  When Drake was at Ternate
in 1579, he found the Sultan hung with chains of bullion, and clad in
a robe of gold brocade rich enough to stand upright.  The Moluccas
were of greater benefit to the Crown than to the Portuguese workman.
About twenty ships, of 100 to 550 tons, sailed for Lisbon in the year.
A voyage sometimes lasted two years out and home, and cost, including
the ship, over L4000.  But the freight might amount to L150,000.
Between 1497 and 1612 the number of vessels engaged in the India trade
was 806.  Of these, ninety-six were lost.  After the annexation by
Philip II, Lisbon was closed to countries at war with Spain.  Dutch
and English had to make their own bargains in the East, and treated
Portugal as an enemy.  Their empire declined rapidly, and the Dutch
acquired the islands long before the English succeeded on the mainland
of India.

The Portuguese acknowledged no obligations of international law
towards Asiatics.  Even now, many people know of no law of nations but
that which consists in contracts and conventions; and with the people
of the East there were none.  They were regarded as outlaws and
outcasts, nearly as Bacon regarded the Spaniards and Edmund Burke the
Turks.  Solemn instruments had declared it lawful to expropriate and
enslave Saracens and other enemies of Christ.  What was right in
Africa could not be wrong in Asia.  Cabral had orders to treat with
fire and sword any town that refused to admit either missionary or
merchant.  Barros, the classic historian of Portuguese Asia, says that
Christians have no duties towards pagans; and their best writers
affirm to this day that such calculated barbarities as they inflicted
on women and children were justified by the necessity of striking
terror.  In the Commentaries of the great Albuquerque, his son relates
with complacency how his father caused the Zamorin to be poisoned.
These theories demoralised the entire government.  S. Francis Xavier,
who came out in 1542, found an organised system of dishonesty and
plunder, and wrote home that no official in India could save his soul.
By him and his brethren many converts were made, and as intermarriages
were frequent, the estrangement grew less between the races.  Just
then, the Inquisition was introduced into Portugal, and sent a branch
to Goa.  One of the governors afterwards reported that it had helped
to alienate the natives, whose temples were closed.  But the solid
structure of Almeida and Albuquerque was strong enough to defeat a
second expedition from Egypt, after Egypt had become a province of
Turkey, and an Indian war and insurrection.  It declined with the
decline of Portugal under Sebastian, in the latter part of the
sixteenth century, but it perished through its association with Spain,
at the hands of enemies not its own, and not from internal causes.


While the Asiatic empire was built up by the sustained and patient
effort of a nation, during seventy years, the discovery of the West
was due to one eager and original intellect, propelled by medieval
dreams.  Columbus had sailed both North and South; but the idea which
changed the axis of the globe came to him from books.  He failed to
draw an inference favourable to his design from the driftwood which a
tropical current carries to Iceland, and proceeded on the assurance of
Pierre d'Ailly and of Toscanelli, that Asia reaches so far east as to
leave but a moderate interval between Portugal and Japan.  Although he
rested his case on arguments from the classics and the prophets, his
main authority was Toscanelli; but it is uncertain whether, as he
affirmed, they had been in direct correspondence, or whether Columbus
obtained the letter and the Chart of 1474 by means which were the
cause of his disgrace.

Rejected by Portugal, he made his way into Spain.  He was found,
starving, at the gate of a Franciscan convent; and the place where he
sank down is marked by a monument, because it is there that our modern
world began.  The friar who took him in and listened to his story soon
perceived that this ragged mendicant was the most extraordinary person
he had known, and he found him patrons at the court of Castile.  The
argument which Columbus now laid before the learned men of Spain was
this: The eastern route, even if the Portuguese succeed in finding it,
would be of no use to them, as the voyage to Cipango, to Cathay, even
to the spice islands, would be too long for profit.  It was better to
sail out into the West, for that route would be scarcely 3000 miles to
the extremity of Asia; the other would be 15,000, apart from the
tremendous circuit of Africa, the extent of which was ascertained by
Diaz while Columbus was pursuing his uphill struggle.  The basis of
the entire calculation was that the circumference of the earth is
18,000 miles at the equator, and that Asia begins, as is shown in
Toscanelli's chart, somewhere about California.  Misled by his belief
in cosmographers, he blotted out the Pacific, and estimated the extent
of water to be traversed at one-third of the reality.  The Spaniards,
who were consulted, pointed out the flaw, for the true dimensions were
known; but they were unable to demonstrate the truths against the
great authorities cited on the other side.  The sophisms of Columbus
were worth more than all the science of Salamanca.  The objectors who
called him a visionary were in the right, and he was obstinately
wrong.  To his auspicious persistency in error Americans owe, among
other things, their existence.

 A majority reported favourably--a majority composed, it would appear,
of ignorant men.  Years were spent in these preliminaries, and then
the war with Granada absorbed the resources and the energies of the
Crown.  Columbus was present when the last Moorish king kissed the
hand of Isabella, and he saw the cross raised over the Alhambra.  This
victory of Christendom was immediately followed by the expulsion of
the Jews, and then the Catholic queen gave audience to the Genoese
projector.  His scheme belonged to the same order of ideas, and he was
eloquent on its religious aspect.  He would make so many slaves as to
cover all expenses, and would have them baptized.  He would bring home
gold enough in three years to reconquer Palestine.  He had one
impressive argument which was not suggested by the situation at Court.
Toscanelli had been at Rome when envoys came from the Grand Khan,
petitioning for missionaries to instruct his people in the doctrines
of Christianity.  Two such embassies were sent, but their prayer was
not attended to.  Here were suppliants calling out of the darkness:
Come over and help us.  It was suitable that the nation which
conquered the Moslem and banished the Jews should go on to convert the
heathen.  The Spaniards would appear in the East, knowing that their
presence was desired.  In reality they would come in answer to an
invitation, and might look for a welcome.  Making up by their zeal for
the deficient enterprise of Rome, they might rescue the teeming
millions of Farthest Asia, and thus fulfil prophecy, as there were only
a hundred and fifty-five years to the end of the world.  The
conversion of Tartary would be the crowning glory of Catholic Spain.

All this was somewhat hypothetical and vague; but nothing could be
more definite than the reward which he demanded.  For it appeared that
what this forlorn adventurer required for himself was to be admiral of
the Atlantic, ranking with the constable of Castile, Viceroy with
power of life and death, in the regions to be occupied, and a large
proportion of the intended spoil.  And he would accept no less.  None
divined what he himself knew not, that the thing he offered in return
was dominion over half the world.  Therefore, when he found that this
would not do, Columbus saddled his mule and took the road to France.
In that superb moment he showed what man he was, and the action was
more convincing than his words had been.  An Aragonese official,
Santangel, found the money, the L1500 required for the expedition, and
the traveller was overtaken by an alguazil a couple of leagues away,
and recalled to Granada.  Santangel was, by descent, a Jew.  Several
of his kindred suffered under the Inquisition, before and after, and
he fortified himself against the peril of the hour when he financed
the first voyage of Columbus.  Granada fell on the 2nd of January
1492.  The Jews were expelled on the 10th of March.  On the 17th of
April the contract with Columbus was signed at Santa Fe.  The same
crusading spirit, the same motive of militant propagandism, appears in
each of the three transactions.  And the explorer, at this early
stage, was generally backed by the clergy.  Juan Perez, the hospitable
Franciscan, was his friend; and Mendoza, the great cardinal of Toledo,
and Deza, afterwards Archbishop of Seville.  Talavera, the Archbishop
of Granada, found him too fanciful to be trusted.

Sailing due west from the Canaries he crossed the Atlantic in its
widest part.  The navigation was prosperous and uneventful until,
changing their course to follow the flight of birds, they missed the
continent and came upon the islands.  It was the longest voyage that
had ever been attempted in the open sea; but the passage itself, and
the shoals and currents of the West Indies, were mastered with the aid
of nautical instruments from Nuremberg, and of the Ephemerides of
Regiomontanus.  These were recent achievements of the Renaissance, and
without them the undertaking was impossible.  Even with the new
appliances, Columbus was habitually wrong in his measurements.  He put
Cuba 18 degrees too far to the west; he thought San Domingo as large
as Spain; and he saw mountains 50,000 feet high in Yucatan.  Indeed,
he protested that his success was not due to science, but to the study
of the prophet Isaiah.  Above all things, he insisted that Cuba was
part of the Asiatic continent, and obliged his companions to testify
to the same belief, although there is evidence that he did not share
it.

He had promised Cathay.  If he produced an unknown continent instead,
a continent many thousands of miles long, prohibiting approach to
Cathay, he would undo his own work; the peasants who had exposed his
fallacies would triumph in his failure, and the competing Portuguese
would appropriate all that he had undertaken to add to the crown of
Castile.  Without civilisation and gold his discoveries would be
valueless; and there was so little gold at first that he at once
proposed to make up for it in slaves.  His constant endeavour was not
to be mistaken for the man who discovered the new world.  Somewhere in
the near background he still beheld the city with the hundred bridges,
the crowded bazaar, the long train of caparisoned elephants, the
palace with the pavement of solid gold.  Naked savages skulking in the
forest, marked down by voracious cannibals along the causeway of the
Lesser Antilles, were no distraction from the quest of the Grand Khan.
The facts before him were uninteresting and provisional, and were
overshadowed by the phantoms that crowded his mind.  The contrast
between the gorgeous and entrancing vision and the dismal and
desperate reality made the position a false one.  He went on seeking
gold when it was needful to govern, and proved an incapable
administrator.  Long before his final voyage he had fallen into
discredit, and he died in obscurity.

Many miserable years passed after his death before America began,
through Cortez, to weigh perceptibly in the scales of Europe.  Landing
at Lisbon from his first expedition, Columbus, in all his glory, had
an audience of the king.  It was six years since Diaz proved that the
sea route to India was perfectly open, but no European had since set
eyes on the place where Table Mountain looks down on the tormented
Cape.  Portugal apparently had renounced the fruits of his discovery.
It was now reported that a Spanish crew had found in the West what the
Portuguese had been seeking in the East, and that the Papal privilege
had been infringed.  The king informed Columbus that the regions he
had visited belonged to Portugal.  It was evident that some limit must
be drawn separating the respective spheres.  Rome had forbidden Spain
from interfering with the expeditions of Portugal, and the Spaniards
accordingly demanded a like protection.  On the surface, there was no
real difficulty.  Three Bulls were issued in 1493, two in May and one
in September, admonishing Portuguese mariners to keep to the east of a
line drawn about 35 degrees west of Greenwich.  That line of demarcation
was suggested by Columbus, as corresponding with a point he had reached
on 13th September, 100 leagues beyond the Azores.  On that day the
needle, which had pointed east of the Pole, shifted suddenly to the
west.  There, he reckoned, was the line of No Variation.  At that
moment, the climate changed.  There was a smooth sea and a balmy air;
there was a new heaven and a new earth.  The fantastic argument did
not prevail, and in the following year Spain and Portugal agreed, by
the treaty of Tordesillas, to move the dividing meridian farther west,
about midway between the most westerly island of the Old World and the
most easterly island of the New.  By this agreement, superseding the
Papal award, Portugal obtained Brazil.  When the lines of demarcation
were drawn in 1493 and 1494, nobody knew where they would cut the
equator on the other side of the globe.  There also was matter for
later negotiation.

After the fall of Malacca, Albuquerque sent a squadron to examine the
region of islands farther east.  One of his officers, Serrano,
remained out there, and after as many adventures as Robinson Crusoe,
he found his way to the very heart of the Moluccas, to Ternate, the
home of the clove.  In describing his travels to a friend, he made the
most of the distance traversed in his eastward course.  Magellan, to
whom the letter was addressed, was out of favour with his commander
Albuquerque, and on his return home found that he was out of favour
with King Emmanuel.  For the country which had repelled Columbus
repelled the only navigator who was superior to Columbus.  Magellan
remembered Serrano's letter, and saw what could be made of it.  He
told the Spaniards that the spice islands were so far east that they
were in the Spanish hemisphere, and he undertook to occupy them for
Spain.  He would sail, not east, but west, in the direction which was
legally Spanish.  For he knew a course that no man knew, and America,
hitherto the limit of Spanish enterprise, would be no obstacle to him.

It seemed an apparition of Columbus, more definite and rational,
without enthusiasm or idealism, or quotations from Roger Bacon, and
Seneca, and the greater prophets.  Cardinal Adrian, the Regent,
refused to listen, but Fonseca, the President of the Board of
Control, became his protector.  Magellan wanted a good deal of
protection; for his adventure was injurious to his countrymen, and was
regarded by them as the intrigue of a traitor.  Vasconcellos, Bishop
of Lamego, afterwards Archbishop of Lisbon, advised that he should be
murdered; and at night he was guarded in the streets of Valladolid by
Fonseca's men.  Magellan was not the first to believe that America
comes to an end somewhere.  Vespucci had guessed it; the extremity is
marked on a globe of 1515; and a mercantile house that advanced funds
is supposed to have been on the track.

Without a chart Magellan made his way through the perilous straits
that perpetuate his name in twelve days' sailing.  Drake, who came
next, in 1577, took seventeen days, and Wallis, one hundred and
sixteen.  And then, at Cape Deseado, the unbroken highway to the
fabled East, which had been closed against Columbus, opened before
him.  The Spaniards discovered Cape Horn five years later, but it was
doubled for the first time in 1616 by the Dutchman who gave his name
to it.  From the coast of Chili, Magellan sailed north-west for three
months, missing all the Pacific Islands until he came to the Ladrones.
He was killed while annexing the Philippines to the Crown of Spain,
and his lieutenant Delcano, the first circumnavigator, brought the
remnant of his crew home by the Cape.  On 9th September, 1522,
thirteen wasted pilgrims passed barefoot in procession through the
streets of Seville, not so much in thanksgiving for that which had not
been given to man since the Creation, as in penance for having
mysteriously lost a day, and kept their feasts and fasts all wrong.
Magellan's acquisition of the Philippines lasted to the present year
(1899), but his design on the Moluccas was given up.  Nobody knew,
until the voyage of Dampier, to whom, by the accepted boundary, they
belonged; and in 1529 Spain abandoned its claim for 350,000 ducats.
The Portuguese paid that price for what was by right their own; for
Magellan was entirely wrong both as to the meridian and as to the
South American route, which was much the longest, and was not followed
by sailors.

For more than twenty years Spain struggled vainly with the West Indian
problem.  Four large islands and forty small ones, peopled by
barbarians, were beyond the range of Spanish experience in the art of
government.  Grants of land were made, with the condition that the
holder should exercise a paternal rule over the thriftless
inhabitants.  It was thought to pay better to keep them underground,
digging for gold, than to employ them on the surface.  The mortality
was overwhelming; but the victims awakened little sympathy.  Some
belonged to that Arcadian race that was the first revealed by the
landfall of Columbus, and they were considered incurably indolent and
vicious.  The remainder came from the mainland and the region of the
Orinoco, and had made their way by the Windward Islands as far as San
Domingo, devouring the people they found there.  Neither the stronger
nor the weaker race withstood the exhausting labour to which they were
put by taskmasters eager for gold.  Entire villages committed suicide
together; and the Spaniards favoured a mode of correction which
consisted in burning Indians alive by a slow fire.  Las Casas, who
makes these statements, and who may be trusted for facts and not for
figures, affirms that fifty millions perished in his time, and fifteen
millions were put to death.

Without a fresh labour supply, the colony would be ruined.  It was the
office of the clergy to prove that this treatment of the natives was
short-sighted and criminal, and their cause was taken up by the
Dominican missionaries.  In 1510 the preacher Montesino, taking for
his text the words, "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness,"
denounced the practice.  Their mouthpiece with the Home Government,
their immortal mouthpiece with posterity, is Las Casas, whose
narrative is our authority.  The government was anxious to preserve
conquests that began to yield some profit.  They appointed Commissions
to advise, and followed sometimes one report, sometimes the other,
taking generally the line of least resistance.  The most important
Commission of all, in which Las Casas asserted the duties of
Christians and the rights of savages, against Sepulveda, who denied
them, never came to a decision.

Failing the native supply, the Spaniards substituted negroes.  The
slaves forwarded by Columbus had been sent back with tokens of the
queen's displeasure, and Ximenes would not permit the importation of
Africans.  But the traffic went on, and the Indies were saved.  Under
Charles V 1000 slaves were allotted to each of the four islands.
It did not seem an intolerable wrong to rescue men from the
devil-worshippers who mangled their victims on the Niger or the Congo.
Las Casas himself was one of those who advised that the negro should be
brought to the relief of the Carib, and he would have allotted twelve
slaves to each settler.  He survived half a century, lived to lament
his error, and declared his repentance to the world.  He repented from
motives of humanity rather than from principle; his feelings were more
sensitive than his conscience, and he resembled the imperious
Parliaments of George III which upheld the slave trade until
imaginations were steeped in the horrors of the middle passage.

The supreme moment in the conquest of America is the landing of Cortez
at Vera Cruz in 1521.  He was an insubordinate officer acting in
defiance of orders, and the governor of Cuba, in just indignation,
despatched a force under Narvaez to bring him back.  Cortez came down
from the interior to the coast, deprived Narvaez of his command, and
took possession of his men.  With this unexpected reinforcement he was
able to conquer Mexico, the capital of an illimitable empire.  There
was plenty of hard fighting, for the dominant race about the king was
warlike.  They were invaders, who reigned by force, and as they
worshipped beings of the nether world who were propitiated with human
sacrifice, they took their victims from the subject people, and their
tyranny was the most hateful upon earth.  The Spaniards, coming as
deliverers, easily found auxiliaries against the government that
practised unholy rites in the royal city.  When Mexico fell Cortez
sent a report to Charles V, with the first-fruits of his victory.
Then, that no protesting narrative might follow and weaken his own,
that his men might have no hope except in his success, he took the
most daring resolution of his life, and scuttled his ships.  Fonseca
had signed the order for his arrest, when the most marvellous tale in
that sequence of marvels reached his hands, and the disgraced mutineer
was found to have added to the Emperor's dominions a region many times
vaster and wealthier than all he possessed in Europe.  In 1522 the
accumulated treasure which had been extracted from Mexican mines since
the beginning of ages came pouring into the imperial exchequer, and
the desire of so many explorers during thirty unprofitable years was
fulfilled at last.

 Cortez was not only the most heroic of the Conquistadors, for there
was no lack of good soldiers, but he was an educated man, careful to
import the plants and quadrupeds needed for civilisation, and a
statesman capable of ruling mixed races without help from home.  From
the moment of his appearance the New World ceased to be a perplexing
burden to Spain, and began to foreshadow danger and temptation to
other nations.  And a man immeasurably inferior to him, a man who
could not write his name, whose career, in its glory and its shame,
was a servile imitation, almost a parody, of his own, succeeded
thereby in establishing a South American empire equal to that of
Cortez in the North.  One of the ships sailing from the islands to the
isthmus carried a stowaway hidden in a cask, whose name was Balboa,
and who discovered the Pacific.

The third name is Francisco Pizarro.  He stood by and listened while a
native described a mighty potentate, many days to the south, who
reigned over the mountains and the sea, who was rich in gold, and who
possessed a four-footed beast of burden, the only one yet encountered,
which was taken at first for a camel.  He waited many years for his
opportunity.  Then, with 168 armed men, and with aid from an associate
who risked his money in the business, he started for the Andes and the
civilised and prosperous monarchy in the clouds, which he had heard of
when he was the lieutenant of Balboa.  The example of Cortez, the
fundamental fact of American history, had shown what could be done by
getting hold of the king, and by taking advantage of internal
dissension.  How much could be accomplished by treachery and
unflinching vigour Pizarro knew without a teacher.  Whilst he
established his power in the highlands under the equator, Almagro
occupied the coast in the temperate zone, 1000 miles farther.
Together they had conquered the Pacific.  Then, as no man had the
ascendency of Cortez, the time that succeeded the occupation was
disturbed by internal conflict, in which both the conquerors perished.
They had done even more for the Spanish empire than their greater
rival.  There were 4,600,000 ducats in the treasury of the Inca, and
he filled his prison with gold as high as he could reach for the
ransom which did not save his life.  The mines were soon in working
order; and, as the expanse of fertile soil was 3000 miles long, it was
clear that Peru, added to Mexico, constituted an important factor in
European finance.

As time carried away the tumult of conquest, and the evil generation
that achieved it, Spanish America became the seat of such abundance
and profusion as was not found in any European capital; and the
natives, instructed and regulated by the missionaries, were the object
of an elaborate protective legislation, which gave reason for
attachment to the mother country.  The prodigality of nature was too
much for tropical society, and it accomplished nothing of its own for
the mind of man.  It influenced the position of classes in Europe by
making property obtained from afar, in portable shape, predominate
over property at home.  Released from the retarding pressure of
accumulated years, it developed towards revolution; and all the
colonies founded by the Conquistadors on the continent of America
became Republics.  These events shifted the centre of political
gravity from land to sea.  The resources of the ocean world extended
the physical basis of modern History; and increase of wealth,
involving increase of power, depended thenceforward on the control
of distant regions.  Vasco da Gama created a broad channel for the
pursuit of Empire, and Columbus remodelled the future of the world.
For History is often made by energetic men, steadfastly following
ideas, mostly wrong, that determine events.


III

THE RENAISSANCE


NEXT TO the discovery of the New World, the recovery of the ancient
world is the second landmark that divides us from the Middle Ages and
marks the transition to modern life.  The Renaissance signifies the
renewed study of Greek, and the consequences that ensued from it,
during the century and a half between Petrarca and Erasmus.  It had
survived, as a living language, among Venetian colonists and
Calabrian monks, but exercised no influence on literature.

The movement was preceded by a Roman revival, which originated with
Rienzi.  Rome had been abandoned by the Papacy, which had moved from
the Tiber to the Rhone, where it was governed by Frenchmen from
Cahors, and had fallen, like any servile country, into feudal hands.
Rienzi restored the Republic, revived the self-government of the city,
the memories attached to the Capitol, the inscriptions, the monuments
of the men who had ruled the world.  The people, no longer great
through the Church, fell back on the greatness which they inherited
from ancient times.  The spell by which the Tribune directed their
palm was archaeology.  In front of the Capitoline temple, near the
Tapeian rock and the She Wolf's cave, he proclaimed their rights
over the empire and the nations; and he invited the people of Italy
to a national parliament for the restoration of Italian unity and of
the ancient glory and power of Rome.  Patriotism, national
independence, popular liberty, all were founded on antiquarian studies
and the rhetorical interpretation of the fragments of the Lex Regia.

Thee political scheme of Rienzi failed, but it started a movement in
the world of thought deeper and more enduring than State transactions.
For his ideas were adopted by the greatest writer then living, and
were expounded by him in the most eloquent and gracious prose that had
been heard for a thousand years.  Petrarca called the appearance of
the patriotic tribune and rhetorician the dawn of a new world and a
golden age.  Like him, he desired to purge the soil of Italy from the
barbaric taint.  It became the constant theme of the Humanists to
protest against the foreign intruder, that is, against the feudal
noble the essential type of the medieval policy.  It is the link
between Rienzi, the dreamer of dreams, and the followers of Petrarca.
Bocaccio had already spoken of the acceptable blood of tyrants.

But the political influence of antiquity, visible at first, made way
for a purely literary influence.  The desire for good Latin became
injurious to Italian, and Petrarca censured Dante for his error in
composing the Divine Comedy in the vulgar tongue.  He even regretted
that the Decamerone was not written in Latin, and refused to read what
his friend had written for the level of uneducated men.  The classics
became, in the first place, the model and the measure of style; and
the root of the Renaissance was the persuasion that a man who could
write like Cicero had an important advantage over a man who wrote like
Bartolus or William of Ockham; and that ideas radiant with beauty must
conquer ideas clouded over with dialectics.  In this, there was an
immediate success.  Petrarca and his imitators learnt to write
excellent Latin.  Few of them had merit as original thinkers, and what
they did for erudition was done all over again, and incomparably
better, by the scholars who appeared after the tempest of the
Reformation had gone down.  But they were excellent letter writers.
In hundreds of volumes, from Petrarca to Sadolet and Pole, we can
trace every idea and mark every throb.  It was the first time that the
characters of men were exposed with analytic distinctness; the first
time indeed that character could be examined with accuracy and
certitude.

A new type of men began with Petrarca, men accustomed to
introspection, who selected their own ideals, and moulded their minds
to them.  The medieval system could prepare him for death; but, seeing
the vicissitudes of fortune and the difficulties of life, he depended
on the intellectual treasures of the ancient world, on the whole mass
of accessible wisdom, to develop him all round.  To men ignorant
of Greek, like the first generation of the Renaissance, the
fourteenth-century men, much in ancient philosophy was obscure.  But
one system, that of the Stoics, they studied deeply, and understood,
for they had the works of Seneca.  For men craving for self-help and
the complete training of the faculties, eager to escape from the fixed
types of medieval manhood, minted by authority, and taught to distrust
conscience, when it was their own, and to trust it only in others,
Seneca was an oracle.  For he is the classic of mental discipline,
vigilant self-study, and the examination of conscience.  It is under
these influences that the modern type of individual man took shape.
The action of religion, by reason of the divided Church, and the
hierarchy in partibus, was at a low point; and no age has been so
corrupt, so barbarous in the midst of culture.  The finished
individual of the Renaissance, ready for emergencies equal to either
fortune, relying on nothing inherited, but on his own energy and
resource, began badly, little recking rights of others, little caring
for the sanctity of life.

Very early in the first or Latin phase of the revival, people
suspected that familiarity with the classics would lead to admiration
for paganism.  Coluccio Salutato, who had been Florentine Secretary
from the time of Petrarca, and is a classical writer of Latin letters,
had to defend the new learning against the rising reproach of
irreligion; and the statue of Virgil was ignominiously removed from
the market-place of the town which his birth has made illustrious, as
a scandal to good men.  Petrarca never became a Greek scholar.  He
felt the defect.  To write beautiful Latin was nothing, unless there
was more to say than men already knew.  But the Latin classics were no
new discovery.  The material increase of knowledge was quite
insufficient to complete the type of an accomplished man.  The great
reservoir of ideas, of forgotten sciences, of neglected truth,
remained behind.  Without that, men would continue to work at a
disadvantage, to fight in the dark, and could never fulfil the
possibilities of existence.  What was impatiently felt as the medieval
eclipse came not from the loss of elegant Latin, but from the loss of
Greek.  All that was implied in the intended resurrection of antiquity
depended on the revival of Greek studies.  Because Petrarca possessed
the culture of his time beyond all men, he was before them all in
feeling what it needed most.  Knowledge of truth, not casual and
partial, but as complete and certain as the remaining civilisation
admitted, would have to be abandoned, if Latin was still to be the
instrument and the limit.  Then the new learning would not be strong
enough to break down the reliance on approved authors, the tyranny of
great names, the exclusiveness of schools.  Neither rhetoric nor
poetry could deprive Aristotle and Peter Lombard, St. Augustine and
St. Thomas, of their supremacy, give them their position in the
incessant stream of thought, or reduce them beneath the law of
progress in the realm of knowledge.

The movement which Petrarca initiated implied the revival of a buried
world, the enrichment of society by the mass of things which the
western nations had allowed to drop, and of which medieval
civilisation was deprived.  It meant the preference for Grecian
models, the supremacy of the schools of Athens, the inclusion of
science in literature, the elevation of Hippocrates and Archimedes to
a level with Terence and Quintilian, the reproduction of that Hellenic
culture which fought the giant fight of the fourth and fifth century
with the Councils and Fathers of the Church.  That is why the Latin
restoration, which was the direct result of Petrarca's example, was
overwhelmed by the mightier change that followed, when a more perfect
instrument reached the hands of men passionately curious and yearning
for new things.

At first there was no way of acquiring the unknown tongue.  But the
second generation of Humanists sat at the feet of Byzantine masters.
The first was Chrysoloras, who was sent to Italy on a political
mission and settled in 1397 as a teacher of his own language at
Florence.  When he died, at the council of Constance, there were
Italian scholars who could read Greek MSS.  As teachers were scarce,
adventurous men, such as Scarparia, Guarino, Aurispa, pursued their
studies at Constantinople.  Filelfo remained there for seven years,
working in great libraries not yet profaned by the Turk.  Before the
middle of the fifteenth century Italy was peopled with migratory
scholars, generally poor, and without fixed appointments, but able to
rouse enthusiasm when they offered Plato for Henry of Ghent, and
Thucydides for Vincent of Beauvais.  By that time the superiority of
the new learning, even in its very fragmentary condition, was
irresistible.

Just then three events occurred which determined the triumph of the
Renaissance.  The Emperor came over to the Council of Florence with a
number of bishops and divines.  In the discussions that followed,
Greek scholars were in demand; and one Eastern prelate, Bessarion,
remained in Italy, became a cardinal, and did much for the study of
Plato and the termination of the long Aristotelian reign.  His fine
collection of manuscripts was at the service of scholars, and is still
at their service, in St. Mark's library at Venice.  The fall of
Constantinople drove several fugitives to seek a refuge in Italy, and
some brought their books with them, which were more scarce and more
needful than men.  For by that time Greek studies were well
established, and suffered only from the extreme scarcity of
manuscripts.  The third important event was the election of
Parentucelli, who became Pope Nicholas V.  On that day the new
learning took possession of the Holy See, and Rome began to be
considered the capital of the Renaissance.

It was not in the nature of things that this should be.  For the new
men, with their new instrument of intellectual power, invaded
territory which was occupied by the clergy.  In the Middle Ages the
Church, that is to say, first the cloister, then the universities
founded under the protectorate of the Church, had the civilising of
society, and, apart from law, the monopoly of literature.  That came
to an end when the clergy lost the superiority of knowledge, and had
to share their influence with profane laymen, trained in the classics,
and more familiar with pagan than with Christian writers.  There was a
common presumption in favour of the new point of view, the larger
horizon, of opinions that were founded on classical as well as on
Christian material.  The Humanists had an independent judgment and
could contemplate the world they lived in from outside, without
quitting it, standing apart from the customary ways.  As Pater said:
"The human mind wins for itself a new kingdom of feeling and sensation
and thought, not opposed to, but only beyond and independent of the
spiritual system then actually realised."

This is one of many causes operating at the time to weaken the notion
of ecclesiastical control.  It was the triumphant return of an exile,
with an uproarious popularity and a claim to compensation for arrears.
The enthusiasm of those who were the first to read Homer, and
Sophocles, and Plato grew into complaint against those by whose neglect
such treasures had been lost.  Centuries of ignorance and barbarism
had been the consequence.  There was not only a world of new ideas,
but of ideas that were not Christian, which the Christianity of the
West had discarded.  They began to recover the lost power, and the
ages in which they had been unknown became the ages of darkness.  As
they were also ages in which the Church had exerted supreme authority,
antagonism was not to be averted.  The endeavour was not only to make
the range of men's thought more comprehensive, but to enrich it with
the rejected wisdom of paganism.  Religion occupied a narrower space
in the new views of life than in those of Dante and the preceding
time.  The sense of sinfulness was weaker among the Humanists, the
standard of virtue was lower; and this was common to the most
brilliant of the Italian prelates, such as Aeneas Sylvius, with the
king of the Renaissance, Erasmus himself.

Lorenzo Valla, the strongest of the Italian Humanists, is also the one
who best exhibits the magnitude of the change that was going on in the
minds of men.  He had learnt to be a critic, and, what was more rare,
a historical critic.  He wrote against the belief in the writings of
Dionysius the Areopagite, which was one of the fixed positions of
theology, then and long after.  When the Greeks at the Council of
Florence declared themselves unacquainted with the Apostles' Creed,
Valla warned the Latins not to speak of it as an apostolic
composition.  During a war between Rome and Naples, Valla, in the
Neapolitan service, attacked the Donation of Constantine as the basis
of the temporal power, and exhorted Pope Eugenius to abandon what was
a usurpation, and a usurpation founded on fraud.  Formidable in all
the armour of the new learning, he did more than any other man to
spread the conviction that the favourite arguments of the clergy were
destined to go down before the better opinion of profane scholars.
Valla is also the link between Italy and Germany.  His critical essay
on the New Testament in the Vulgate influenced Erasmus, who published
it in 1505.  His tract against the Donation, as the title-deed of the
temporal sovereignty, was printed by Ulrich von Hutten, and spread
that belief that the Pope was an antichrist, which was afterwards an
important article of the Huguenot Church.  He was also a forerunner of
the Reformation by his tract on the Freedom of the Will.  This man,
who displayed so conspicuously the resentful and iconoclastic spirit,
the religious scepticism, the moral indifference, the aversion for the
papal sovereignty, the contempt for the laws and politics of
feudalism, the hope and expectation of a mighty change, was an
official in the Pope's household.

After the discussion with the Greeks at Florence it was clear to all
men that there was a deeper issue than the revival of classical
learning, that there was a Christian as well as a pagan antiquity, and
that the knowledge of the early Church depended on Greek writings, and
was as essential a part of the Renaissance as the study of Homer or of
Pindar.  The inference was drawn by Nicholas V, the first Renaissance
pontiff.  He recognised the fact that a divine in full possession of
Hellenic literature would be a more competent defender of tradition, a
better writer, a stronger disputant, than the long line of scholastic
teachers.  He saw that it would be the means of renovating theology
and disclosing the authentic and necessary evidences of historical
religion.  The most enlightened ecclesiastics of that age understood
but vaguely that there was not only benefit and enrichment in a policy
that favoured the new learning, but the only possible escape from a
serious danger.

Religious knowledge in those days suffered not only from ignorance and
the defect of testimony, but from an excess of fiction and
falsification.  Whenever a school was lacking in proofs for its
opinions, it straightway forged them, and was sure not to be found
out.  A vast mass of literature arose, which no man, with medieval
implements, could detect, and effectually baffled and deceived the
student of tradition.  At every point he was confronted by imaginary
canons and constitutions of the apostles, acts of Councils, decretals
of early Popes, writings of the Fathers from St. Clement to St. Cyril,
all of them composed for the purpose of deceiving.

The example of Lorenzo Valla made it certain that all this was about
to be exposed.  The process that began with him lasted for two
centuries, to the patriarchs of authentic erudition, Ussher and
Pearson, Blondel and Launoy, the Bollandists of Antwerp and the
Benedictines of Saint-Maur.  It became apparent that the divines of
many ages had been remarkable for their incapacity to find out
falsehood, and for their dexterity in propagating it, and it made no
little difference whether this tremendous exposure should be made by
enemies, and should constitute one series of disasters for religion.
This was prevented by the resolve of Pope Nicholas, that the Holy See
should sanction and encourage the movement with its influence, its
immense patronage, and all its opportunities.  Therefore Valla, who
had narrowly escaped alive from the Inquisition, became a functionary
at the Vatican, and received 500 ducats from the Pope to translate
Thucydides.  Scholars were attracted by the papal collection of 5000
manuscripts, which were the foundation of the Vatican library, the
first in the world after the fall of Constantinople.

The alliance between renovated Hellenism and the Papacy was ratified a
few years later, when the most intelligent of the Italian Humanists,
Aeneas Sylvius Piccolomini of Siena, was raised to the throne under
the name of Pius II, and became the most modern of medieval Popes.  He
was one of those Churchmen in whom the classical spirit of the time
predominated over the ecclesiastical.  Twice there was a breach, and a
momentary reaction; but on the whole the contract was observed, and
the ancient pagans made their way under the shadow of St. Peter's
better than the early Christians.  Humanists of the type of Valla were
domesticated by the prizes held out to them, from the pen of the
secretary to the tiara of the pontiff.  The apprehended explosion
never came; the good and evil that was in the new scholars penetrated
the court and modified its tone.  Bibbiena's comedies were applauded
at the Belvedere; The Prince was published by the Pope's printer, with
the Pope's permission; a cardinal shrank from reading St. Paul, for
fear of spoiling his style; and the scandals in the family of Borgia
did not prevent bishops from calling him a god.  Calixtus III said
that he feared nothing from any hostile Powers, for he had 3000 men of
letters to rely on.  His successor, Aeneas Sylvius, considered that
the decline of the empire was due to the fact that scholarship had
gone over to the Papacy.  The main fact in the Italian Renaissance is
that an open conflict was averted at the cost of admitting into the
hierarchy something of the profane spirit of the new men, who were
innovators but not reformers.  Ficino declares that there was no place
where liberty prevailed as it did at Rome.  Poggio, the mocking
adversary of the clergy, was for half a century in the service of the
Popes.  Filelfo was handsomely rewarded by Nicholas for satires which
would now be considered scarcely fit for publication.  Aeneas Sylvius
laughed at the Donation of Constantine, and wrote an account of his
own Conclave in the tone of a fin de siecle journalist.  He is indeed
the founder of freedom of speech in History.  When his History of his
own time was published, a great number of passages injurious to his
countrymen and to his ecclesiastical brethren had to be suppressed.
They have been printed lately, and contain, in fifty pages, the
concentrated essence of the wickedness of Italy.  Platina wrote an
angry and vindictive History of the Popes, and presented it to Sixtus
IV, who made him librarian of the Vatican.  Erasmus, who had a sort of
clerical bias, warmly extols the light and liberty which he found at
Rome in 1515, at the very eve of the Reformation.

There were branches of classical philology in which the Renaissance
was backward.  The general purpose was to set up Plato in the place of
Aristotle, discredited as as accomplice of the obscurest schoolmen.
Under the Medici, a Platonic academy flourished at Florence, with
Ficino and Politian at its head.  But there was a tendency to merge
Plato in Neoplatonism, and to bridge over what separated him from
Christianity.  Neither the knowledge of Plato, nor the knowledge of
the Gospel, profited by the endeavour.  The only branch of literature
in which the Renaissance gave birth to real classics, equal to the
ancients, was politics.  The medieval theory of politics restrained
the State in the interest of the moral law of the Church, and of the
individual.  Laws are made for the public good, and, for the public
good, they may be suspended.  The public good is not to be considered,
if it is purchased at the expense of an individual.  Authorities are
legitimate if they govern well.  Whether they do govern well those
whom they govern must decide.  The unwritten laws reigns supreme over
the municipal law.  Modern sentiments such as these could not be
sustained in the presence of indifference to religion, uncertainty as
to another world, impatience of the past, and familiarity with
Hellenistic thought.  As the Church declined the ancient State
appeared, a State which knew no Church, and was the greatest force on
earth, bound by no code, a law to itself.  As there is no such thing
as right, politics are an affair of might, a mere struggle for power.
Such was the doctrine which Venice practised, in the interest of a
glorious and beneficent government, and which two illustrious writers,
Machiavelli and Guicciardini, made the law of modern societies.

The one thing common to the whole Italian Renaissance was the worship
of beauty.  It was the aesthetic against the ascetic.  In this
exclusive study, that is, in art, the Italians speedily attained the
highest perfection that has been reached by man.  And it was reached
almost simultaneously in many parts of Italy, Rome, Florence, Milan,
and Venice.  First, it was the triumph of classical over medieval
models, and the suppression of Gothic.  Then it was the outbreak of
modern painting, beyond all models, medieval or ancient, in a
generation of men remarkable for originality.  Rome, which had adopted
the new learning under the impulse of Nicholas V, went over also to
the new art and became its metropolis.  It was the ripest and most
brilliant work of the time, and it was employed to give expression to
religious ideas, and to decorate and exalt the dignity of the Papacy,
with its headquarters at the Vatican.  The man who conceived how much
might be done by renascent art to give splendour to the Church at the
moment when its terrestrial limits were immeasurably extended, and its
political power newly established, was Julius II.  In 1505 Emmanuel of
Portugal, inspired by the prodigies of that epoch of discovery, and by
the language of recent canonists, addressed him in these terms
"Receive, at last, the entire globe, thou who art our god."

Julius, who, by the energy of his will and his passion for posthumous
fame, was the true son of the Renaissance, asked Michael Angelo to
construct a monument worthy of a pontiff who should surpass all his
predecessors in glory.  When the design proved too gigantic for any
existing Church, he commanded Bramante to pull down the Basilica of
Constantine, which for a thousand years had witnessed the dramatic
scenes of ecclesiastical history, the coronation of Charlemagne, the
enthronement of the dead Formosus, the arrest of Paschal, and to erect
in its place a new and glorified St. Peter's, far exceeding all the
churches of the universe in its dimensions, in beauty, in power over
the imagination of men.  The ruthless destruction indicates the tone
of the new era.  Old St. Peter's was not only a monument of history,
but a sepulchre of saints.

Julius was not inspired by the Middle Ages.  Under him the Papacy was
preparing for a new career, less spiritual than what once had been,
more politic and secular and splendid, under new stars.  He had
Bramante, Michael Angelo, Rafael, San Gallo, Peruzzi, a concentration
of artistic genius such as had never been, not produced by Rome
itself, but attracted from every quarter by the master of Rome.  What
had been, one hundred years before, a neglected provincial town,
became the centre of European civilisation by the action of the Popes,
and principally of one ambitious Pope.  The Vatican paintings were
largely political, commemorating the sovereign more than the priest,
until St. Peter's was designed to exhibit the sublime grandeur and
unity of the universal Church, and the authority of its head upon
earth.  It was the crowning triumph of the Renaissance.  When he was
dying, Julius said that the masses are impressed not by what they
know, but by what they see.  He transmitted to his successors the
conception of a Church to be the radiant centre of religion and of art
for mankind; and we shall see that this was, after all, a disastrous
legacy.

The Renaissance, which was at its height in Italy after the middle of
the fifteenth century, was checked by the wars of Charles V, the siege
of Rome, and the Spanish domination.  Toward 1540 Paolo Giovio says
that scholarship had migrated from the Italians to the Germans; and
the most learned Italian of the next generation, Baronius, knew no
Greek.  Before its decline in Italy it had found new homes beyond the
Alps, especially in Germany.  The Germans adopted the new learning
much later, near a century later than the Italians, when an occasional
student, such as Agricola and Reuchlin, visited Bologna or Rome.  It
spread slowly.  Of the seventeen universities, some, such as at
Vienna, Heidelberg, Erfurt, admitted the new studies; others, like
Cologne, resisted.  There was not the patriotic  sentiment, the
national enthusiasm.  It was the importation of a foreign element, the
setting up of an old enemy, the restoration of a world the Germans,
under Alaric and Theodoric, had overthrown.  They began with the
invention of printing, which exactly coincided with the fall of
Constantinople, as the earliest specimens of print are indulgences for
the Turkish war.  This gave assurance that the work of the Renaissance
would last, that what was written would be accessible to all, that
such an occultation of knowledge and ideas as had depressed the Middle
Ages would never recur, that not an idea would be lost.  They got
their classics generally from Italy; but after Aldus had published his
series of ancient writers, still treasured by those whom Greek
contractions do not repel, the New Testament and the Fathers, edited
by Erasmus, were printed at Bale by Froben and Amerbach.

The pagan spirit, the impatience of Christianity, appears only in one
or two Germans, such as Mutianus Rufus, who kept his convictions to
himself.  There were no great theologians, but there was the greatest
religious writer that ever lived, the author of the Imitation, and he
was not a solitary thinker, but a member of a congregation which kept
religion alive, especially in North Germany.  The opposition which
arose was stronger and more defined than anything in Italy, but it was
against Catholicism, not against Christianity.

The only matter in which German philology surpassed Italian was
science.  The man who turned the course of the new learning into those
channels was Johannes Muller of Konigsberg, near Coburg, therefore
known as Monteregio; as Regiomontanus Bessarion gave him a MS. of
Ptolemy, and he designed a scheme to print the whole body of Greek
mathematicians.  His Ephemerides are the origin of the Nautical
Almanack, and enabled Columbus and Vasco and Vespucci to sail the high
seas; and Nuremberg, where he lived, became the chief seat of the
manufacture of nautical instruments.  He was made a bishop, and
summoned to Rome to reform the calendar.  There was one Italian who
possessed the scientific spirit, without help from books, by the
prerogative of genius; that was Leonardo da Vinci.  But he confided
his thoughts to diaries and remained unknown and useless in his time.

The conflict between the new learning and the old, which was repressed
in Italy by the policy of Rome, broke out in Germany, where it was
provoked by the study of Hebrew, not of Greek.  At Rome in 1482 a
German student translated a passage of Thucydides so well that the
lecturer complained that Greece was settling beyond the Alps.  It was
the first time that the rivalry appeared.  That student was Reuchlin.
His classical accomplishments alone would not have made his name one
of the most conspicuous in literary history; but in 1490 Pico della
Mirandola expounded to him the wonders of oriental learning, and
Reuchlin, having found a Rabbi at Linz, began to study Hebrew in 1492.
His path was beset with difficulties, for there were no books in that
language to be found in all Germany.  Reuchlin drew his supply from
Italy, and was the first German who read the Cabbala.  He shared many
popular prejudices against the Jews, and read their books to help him
with the Old Testament, as he read Greek to help him with the New.  He
had none of the grace, the dexterity, the passion, of the Humanists,
and very little of their enthusiasm for the classics.  He preferred
Gregory Nazianzen to Homer.  Savonarola shocked him by his opposition
to Alexander VI.  His writings had little scientific value, but he was
a pioneer, and he prized the new learning for the sake of religion.
Therefore, when he was summoned to give an opinion on the suppression
of Jewish books, he opposed it, and insisted on the biblical knowledge
and the religious ideas to be found in them.  Divines, he said, would
not have made so many mistakes if they had attended to the Jewish
commentators.

At that time persecution was raging against the Jews in the Peninsula.
They had always had enemies in the German towns, and in July 1510,
thirty-eight Jews were executed at Berlin.  This intolerant spirit
began, in 1507, to be directed against their books.  None were printed
in Germany until 1516; but from 1480 they had Hebrew presses in Italy,
at Naples, Mantua, Soncino, and at Constantinople.  If their study was
encouraged while the printing was permitted, the Jews would become a
power such as they never were before printing began, and when none but
a few divines could read Hebrew.  The movement in favour of destroying
them had its home at Cologne, with Hochstraten, the Inquisitor;
Gratius, a good scholar, whose work, known as Brown's Fasciculus, is
in the hands of every medieval student; and Pfefferkorn, who had the
zeal of a recently converted Jew.  In his anxiety to bring over his
former brethren he desired to deprive them of their books.  He would
allow them to retain only the Old Testament, without their
commentaries.  He would compel them to hear Christian sermons.  By
degrees he urged that they should be expelled, and at last that they
should be exterminated.

Maximilian, the emperor, turned with every wind.  Reuchlin, the
defender of toleration, was attacked by Pfefferkorn, as a sceptic and
a traitor, and was accused before the ecclesiastical court.  In 1514
the Bishop of Spires, acting for the Pope, acquitted Reuchlin; the
sentence was confirmed at Rome in 1516, and the Dominicans, who were
plaintiffs, agreed to pay the costs.  Nevertheless they appealed, and
in 1520 Rome reversed the previous judgment and condemned Reuchlin.
In the midst of greater things the sentence escaped attention, and was
only brought to light by a scholar who is still living.  But in the
meantime the Humanists had taken up the cause of Reuchlin, and the
result had been disastrous for the Dominicans.  They had not directly
assailed the new learning, but their attack on the study of Hebrew had
been the most crass exhibition of retrograde spirit.  If Jews were not
allowed to read Jewish books, such as Maimonides, to whom St. Thomas
owes so much, how could Christians be allowed to read pagan classics,
with their highly immoral gods and goddesses?

The golden opportunity of making intolerance ridiculous could not be
neglected.  In the summer of 1515 a volume appeared purporting to
contain letters to Ortwin Gratius; and it was followed two years later
by another.  With some good satire and some amusing caricature, they
also contained much personal insult and calumny.  The wit is not
enough to carry on the joke through 108 letters, carefully composed in
Teutonic dog Latin by the best Latinists north of the Brenner.
Erasmus, who was diverted at first, afterwards turned away with
disgust, and Luther called the authors buffoons.  The main writer of
the first volume was Crotus Rubianus, and of the other, Hutten.
Reuchlin himself disapproved.  But he shared in the victory, which was
so brilliant that his condemnation by Rome passed without notice, and
it was not till our day that the success of the despised Pfefferkorn
became known to the world.  It was the first effective appeal to
opinion against constituted authority, and the most decisive
demonstration of the power of the press.  And it gave the Humanists
occasion so to define the issue that all could understand, in spite of
the reserve of Erasmus and of Reuchlin himself.

Erasmus Rogers, the greatest figure in the Renaissance, was born at
Rotterdam and brought up in extreme poverty, and he was a
valetudinarian and an invalid in consequence of early privation.  He
lived in France and Belgium, in England and Italy, in Switzerland and
Germany, so that each country contributed to his development, and none
set its stamp upon him. He was eminently an international character;
and was the first European who lived in intimacy with other ages
besides his own, and could appreciate the gradual ripening and
enlargement of ideas.  He devoted himself on equal terms to classical
and to Christian antiquity, and drew from both alike the same lessons
of morality and wisdom; for he valued doctrine chiefly for the sake of
a good life and a happy death, and was impatient of subtle dialectics
and speculative disputations.  With so much of Renaissance studies as
did not serve the good estate of souls he showed little sympathy, and
was indifferent to art, to metaphysics, to antiquarian pedantry.  He
endeavoured to make men familiar with the wisdom of the ancients by a
collection of 1451 adages selected from their works.  His Colloquies,
the most popular book of his age, sold in 24,000 copies.  At first he
was more a scholar than a divine; and though he learnt Greek late, and
was never a first-rate Hellenist, published editions of the classics.
In later life the affairs of religion absorbed him, and he lived for
the idea that reform of the Church depended on a better knowledge of
early Christianity, in other words, on better self-knowledge, which
could only result from a slow and prolonged literary process.  He
started from the beginning by his edition of the Greek Testament,
begun here, at Queens' in 1512, published at Bale by Froben in 1516.
It had already been printed from better MSS. by Cardinal Ximenes in
the fifth volume of the Complutensian Polyglot, which did not appear
until 1522.  Therefore Erasmus's edition is the first ever
published.  It was produced at last, in a hurry, to secure the
priority, and was not greatly improved afterwards.  Part of the
Apocalypse was wanting in all his MSS.  He restored it by translating
it into Greek from the Vulgate, and in six verses made thirty
mistakes.  His second edition had a letter of approbation from Leo X,
and it was the edition which Luther used for his translation.  It is a
sign of the want of religious interest in the Renaissance, especially
in Italy, that printing had been going on for sixty years, and 24,000
works issued from the press, some of them more than a hundred times,
before anybody thought of the Greek Testament.

Erasmus occupied his later years with the works of the Fathers, also
printed by Froben, the Greeks in Latin translations.  "Letters," he
said, "had remained Pagan in Italy, until he taught them to speak of
Christ."  Just as he was entirely destitute of the national fibre, so
too he stood apart from the schools or currents of his time.  His
striving was to replace the scholastics by the Fathers, systematic
theology by spiritual religion; and those Doctors of the Church who
inclined to system, such as St. Augustine, repelled him.  It may be
said that he was not attracted by St. Paul, and preferred the Gospels
to the Epistles.  He esteemed Seneca more highly than many Christian
divines.  Although he chose to employ the weapon of irony, and
abstained from the high horse and the big word, he was earnest in his
desire for the reform of abuses in the Church.  He disliked
contention, and desired to avoid offence; but he made enemies in all
parts of Europe, and was vehemently denounced by the theologians of
Paris and Louvain, by the Spanish friars, by Archbishop Lee, by
Zuniga, the Count of Carpi, and especially by the very learned
Steuchus of Gubbio.  In later days he was one of the first writers put
on the Index.  But throughout his career as a divine, that is, for the
last quarter of a century that he lived, he was consistently
protected, defended, consulted by Popes, until Paul III offered him a
Cardinal's hat and desired that he would settle at Rome. He told Leo X
that he thought it a mistake to censure Luther, with whom he agreed as
to many of the matters calling for reform. But whilst Luther
attributed the prevailing demoralisation to false dogmas and a faulty
constitution, Erasmus sought the cause in ignorance and
misgovernment.  What came from this division of opinion pertains to the
next lecture.  Erasmus belonged, intellectually, to a later and more
scientific or rational age.  The work which he had initiated, and which
was interrupted by the Reformation troubles, was resumed at a more
acceptable time by the scholarship of the seventeenth century.


IV

LUTHER


DURING THE latter part of the Middle Ages, the desire for reform
of the Church was constant.  It was strongest and most apparent among
laymen, for a famous monastic writer of the fourteenth century
testified that the laity led better lives than the clergy.  To the
bulk of ordinary Christians reform meant morality in the priesthood.
It became intolerable to them to see the Sacrament administered
habitually by sacrilegious hands, or to let their daughters go to
confession to an unclean priest.  The discontent was deepest where men
were best.  They felt that the organisation provided for the salvation
of souls was serving for their destruction, and that the more people
sought the means of grace in the manner provided, the greater risk
they incurred of imbibing corruption.  In the days when celibacy was
imposed under Gregory VII, it was argued that the validity of orders
depended on conduct; and that idea of forfeiture by sin, essentially
fatal to the whole hierarchical system, was not yet extinct.  People
learnt to think of virtue apart from the institutions of the Church,
and the way was paved for a change which should reduce the part of the
clergy in men's lives, and give them families of their own.  The hope
that a stricter discipline would be enforced by authority from within
died away.  When Eugenius IV directed Cesarini to dissolve the Council
of Basle, the Cardinal replied that if he obeyed they would be thought
to be mocking God and men, and to have abandoned the notion of reform,
and the laity would have some reason to believe that it was a good
deed to destroy, or at least to plunder, the clergy.

The religious influence of the Church was brought low by its record of
failure.  The scheme for governing the world by the hierarchy, pursued
for three centuries, had terminated in disaster.  For a whole
generation no man knew whether the Papacy was in Italy or in France.
The attempt to effect improvement through the Councils had been
abandoned after many experiments, and the failure to reconcile the
Greeks had established the Ottoman Empire in Europe.  With the decline
of the Church the State rose in power and prerogative, and exercised
rights which for centuries had been claimed by the hierarchy.  All
this did not suggest Lutheranism to Luther, but it prepared the world
for it.

Amidst the abuses and excesses of that epoch of lax discipline and
indistinct theology, the point of breaking was supplied by a practice
of very recent growth.  Indulgences had long existed, and after a time
they were applied to souls in purgatory.  When, at last, plenary
indulgences, that is, total remissions of penalty, were transferred to
the dead, it meant that they were straightway released from purgatory
and received into heaven.  Five churches in Rome enjoyed the privilege
that a soul was released as often as mass was said at one of the
altars, technically known as privileged altars, or as often as certain
prayers were said by persons visiting them.  There were privileged
altars at St. Peter's, at St. Prassede, at Santa Pudentiana, at the
Scala Santa.  At one, five masses were required; at another, thirty.
In the crypt of St. Sebastian one visit was enough.  A particular
prayer repeated during forty days remitted one-seventh of the
punishment, and on the fortieth day the dead man would appear to his
benefactor, to thank him.  All the benefits available to a pilgrim
visiting Rome could be enjoyed at a distance by the purchase of an
indulgence from the friars sent round to sell them.  Such an
indulgence, published by Julius II for the construction of St.
Peter's, was revived by Leo X in 1517, half the proceeds to go to the
Archbishop of Mentz, that he might pay back a loan to Fugger of
Augsburg.  The banker's agent went round with the appointed preacher
and kept the strong box.  Tetzel, a Dominican, preached the indulgence
in Saxony, though not in the territory of the elector, and he employed
to the utmost the arguments authorised by the custom of the day.
Speaking of him and of his colleagues, Benedict XIV said that they
were the cause of all the trouble that followed.

Many people thought the indulgences, as then practised, a mischief,
because people took them as equivalent to absolution; and the general
of the Augustinians spoke of them as an encouragement to sin.  But the
extreme point was the theory that payment of a few pence would rescue
a soul from purgatory.  Therefore, when Luther raised a protest
against such propositions, he said no more than what many other people
were saying, and less than some.  And he had no idea that he was not
speaking in thorough harmony with the entire Church, or that the
ground he occupied was new.  The Dominicans stood by Tetzel and made
his cause their own.  They were able to say of him that he had only
uttered current doctrine, though it had not the sanction of former
ages.  Three hundred of them were present when he received a degree at
Frankfort on the Oder, and the Dominicans at Rome defended even the
most extreme and grotesque of the sayings attributed to him.

Leo committed the whole business to Silvester Prierias, Master of the
Sacred Palace and official theologian of the Holy See.  Prierias was
not a reputable defender of any religious cause.  In one of his books
he advises a judge that he may obtain a confession by a promise of
mercy, meaning mercy to the community, and charges the notary to put
down in what sense the words were spoken.  Accordingly he made the
worst possible defence.  St. Thomas, discussing indulgences as they
were in his time, urges that they may be accepted as they are given by
authority.  Prierias, an ardent Thomist, regards this as a valid
argument for the practices that were now contested.  The problem of
right is settled by the evidence of fact.  The questors, as they were
called, acted as legitimate agents of the Holy See.  To deny what
authority tacitly approves, is to deny authority; and to appeal from
the Pope to the Bible, is to appeal from a higher authority to a
lower.  This was to ignore the difficulty and to make reforms
impossible.  The reason for this compendious evasion was that Leo,
prior to his election, had taken an oath to revoke the indulgence of
Julius II, and to supply otherwise the money required for St. Peters.
The capitulation was in March 1513.  The breach of the capitulation,
in March 1515.  It was not desirable to raise a controversy as to the
broken oath, or to let Luther appear as the supporter of the Cardinals
against the Pope, or of the Pope expecting the tiara against the Pope
in possession of it.  The effect was to deprive Luther of the hope
that he was at issue with a too eager subordinate in Saxony, and to
transfer his attack to Rome.  It was now officially declared that
whatever is is right, and that no improvement or reform is wanted in
high places.

A graver personage came upon the scene when it was agreed that Luther
should appear before the Legate at Augsburg.  Cardinal Cajetan was the
weightiest divine of the Court of Rome, and a man of original mind,
who was denounced in his order as a dangerous innovator, and whose
writings could not be reprinted without large omissions.  He is
commemorated, in political literature, among the advocates of
tyrannicide.  He was more dexterous than Prierias, although he also
refused a revision of current practices.  By putting forward a decree
of Clement VI, he drove Luther to declare that no papal decree was a
sufficient security for him.  So that, having assailed authority in
that which it tolerated or ignored, he assailed it now in that which
it directly affirmed, and was no longer a mere intruder, proffering
unwelcome advice, but a barbarian thundering at the gates of Rome.
Cajetan dismissed him ungraciously; and having been warned that a
Dominican cardinal might be perilous company in the circumstances, he
went off secretly and made his way home.  He was already a popular
figure in Germany, and the Diet of Augsburg had complained that the
drain caused by indulgences left no supplies for the Turkish war.

When Luther returned to Wittenberg he was aware that his ideas
extended much farther than he had supposed.  Since the refusal to
listen to his remonstrance, he knew that he was involved in a conflict
in which Rome would be against him.  He knew also that many of his
countrymen would be on his side.  The same discovery was unexpectedly
made by the next papal emissary, Miltitz, a Saxon layman, who was sent
to convey the Golden Rose to Luther's patron, the elector Frederic.
It was well understood at Rome that Cajetan, in pushing Luther one
step beyond his original Thesis, by transferring the question from the
discretion of Tetzel to the authority under which he acted, had
mismanaged the affair.  Uncompromising rigour having failed, the
opposite treatment was now applied.  Miltitz, finding the majority of
Germans favourable to Luther, deposited the Golden Rose at Nuremberg,
and came into his own country with a resolution to be conciliatory.
The friends whom he saw on his way informed Luther, and urged him to
meet his countryman in the same spirit.  Miltitz saw Tetzel and
silenced him; and the inauspicious preacher did not long survive his
disgrace.  Having given this proof that he entertained no adverse
prejudice, that on the immediate problem they were in sympathy,
Miltitz had a conference with Luther at Altenburg.

Luther followed the advice of his friends at Nuremberg.  The specific
evil he had denounced was now admitted by the authorised
representative of the Holy See.  He obtained, through him, a
reassuring glimpse of Roman opinion, and the certainty that there were
men on the spot, unlike Prierias and Cajetan, whose convictions in
regard to unreformed abuses were as clear as his own, and whose
opportunities were better.  They came to an understanding.  Luther was
to publish an explanation and then the subject was to drop.  It did
not mean that he was approved; but dubious points were not pressed,
for the sake of those on which the force of his case was felt.  He
wrote to a friend that he would suppress much rather than offend, and
the whole thing would die out of itself.  The contrast between Miltitz
and Cajetan was such that he had reason to be satisfied.  Miltitz also
considered that he had done well, and had extinguished a conflagration
that might have become serious.  He advised the Elector not to send
the Wittenberg professor out of the country.  More eager spirits were
impatient of so tame a conclusion; for there were some to whom plenary
indulgences for the living or the dead were a drop of water in an
ocean of controversy, whilst others thought that authority had been
outraged on one side and surrendered on the other.  Before the dispute
was reopened Luther wrote a letter to Leo X, saying the ecclesiastical
authority must be upheld to the utmost.  This saying, of little
account in his theology, is significant in his entire system of
thought.  What he meant was that the papal supremacy in the
government of the Church had endured so long that the divine sanction
was upon it.  He did not trace it much farther back than the twelfth
century.  But that, he considered, constituted a legitimate claim.

Luther, who was a profound conservative and a reluctant innovator, and
who felt the fascination that belongs to lapse of time, employed on
behalf of the Papacy an argument by which Dante had defended the
Empire.  Machiavelli derived right from success, and Luther from
duration.  In reality he held both doctrines, for he thought Zwingli's
death in battle an evident judgment on his low sacramental theory.
Promoted at the same time by the two most powerful writers in the
world, the idea that heaven is responsible for results acquired
immense prestige, and long influenced European thinking.  The argument
by which he justified the Papacy amounted, in fact, to a negation of
its claim to divine institution; and at the time when he produced it,
early in 1519, he had come to reject not only the excesses of Tetzel,
but the entire scheme of indulgences.  Although he held to the Papacy
only by an ingenious sophism, beyond the Pope there was the Council;
and he might still deem himself a Catholic after the manner of Gerson
and the Gallican divines of Constance, who depreciated Rome.  That was
possible, if nothing in the sequence of his views came into collision
with any decree of a General Council.

This was now the question of the day, the question for the summer of
1519.  The man who brought it to an issue was John Eck, a theologian
of Ingolstadt University, who came to Leipzig to dispute with Luther's
colleague Carlstadt, and ended by a disputation with Luther himself.
He imagined that Luther did not perceive the consequences.  Because he
defied the Popes, it did not follow that he would defy the Councils,
especially a Council held in Germany, under the protection of a German
Emperor, a Council zealous for reform and honoured by Germans, as
their avenger on the national enemy John Hus.  Luther had no special
preference for an assembly which burnt an obnoxious professor of
theology, and no great interest in reforms which he deemed external,
and not making for inward change.  He said that there were points on
which Hus was right, and the sentence that condemned him was wrong.
He admitted, in the end, that Councils as well as Popes might be
against him, and that the authority by which he stood was the divine
revelation.  That is how "the Bible, and the Bible only," became the
religion of Protestants.

Having succeeded in forcing Luther from his original positions, Eck
carried the matter to Rome.  A theory so uncertain in its method, so
imperfectly tested by the regulated comparison of authorities, might
crumble to pieces if all its consequences were made manifest.  It was
conceivable that a man who had raised such a storm without looking up
his books, without weighing the language of Councils or thinking out
his thoughts, upon whom the very obvious objections of Cajetan and Eck
came as a surprise, who at every step abandoned some previous
proposition, might not feel absolutely and finally sure that he was
right, or might even recognise the force of the saying that it is well
to die for the truth, but not for every truth.  Eck joined with
Cajetan in urging the strongest measures of repression.  A different
line of policy suggested itself, in the spirit of Erasmus.  It was to
hail Luther as an auxiliary, as the most powerful leader in the work
of eradicating evils which were a familiar scandal to all religious
men, and the constant theme of ineffective Cardinals on every solemn
occasion.  Then they might have confronted whatever was to follow with
cleaner hands and a better conscience.

In June 1520, after a year's deliberation, Luther was condemned as the
teacher of forty-one heresies; and in January, after he had made a
bonfire of the Papal Bull and of the Canon Law, he was excommunicated.
According to imperial constitutions three centuries old, the next step
was that the civil magistrate, as the favourite phrase was, would send
the culprit through the transitory flames of this world to the
everlasting flames of the next.  If that was not done, it might come
to pass that the zeal of Prierias, Cajetan, and Eck would serve to
inform the world that the medieval reign was over, and that the pen of
an angry, rude, and not very learned monk was stronger than the Papacy
and the Empire.  It was known from the first that the Elector of
Saxony would defend Luther, without being a Lutheran.  Indeed, he
shocked him by his zeal for indulgences and his collection of 19,000
relics.  But he protected Luther as the most famous teacher of his
university.  They never met, and when the Elector on his deathbed sent
for him, Luther was away.  Since the Disputation of Leipzig he was the
most conspicuously popular man in Germany.  What he had said about the
use and abuse of indulgences had not inflamed the nation.  But the
appeal to Scripture was definite and clear, and it met many objections
and many causes of opposition.

When Luther was discussing the value of indulgences here and in the
other world he meant no more and saw no farther.  But now he saw the
chasm, and possessed a principle on which to found his theology, his
ethics, his politics, his theory of Church and State, and he proceeded
to expound his ideas thoroughly in three celebrated works, known as
his Reformation Tracts, which appeared in 1520.  Luther's fundamental
doctrine had come to him in early life, not from books, but from a
friend.  When all the efforts and resources of monastic criticism had
led him only to despair, one of the brethren told him that his own
works could not bring relief from the sense of unforgiven sin, but
only faith in the merits of Christ.  He found such comfort in this
idea, which became the doctrine of imputation, and he grasped it with
such energy that it has transformed the world.  Predestination seemed
to follow logically, and the rejection of free-will; and, as the
office of the ordained priest became superfluous, the universal
priesthood, with the denial of Prelacy.  All this was fully worked out
in the writings of 1520.

Luther was unconscious at first of the tremendous revolution he was
preparing, because he found satisfaction in the strong language of St.
Bernard.  Under the shadow of the greatest doctor of the medieval
church he felt assured of safety.  And when he spoke of the Bible
only, that was not textually more than had been said by Scotus and
others, such as Erasmus, and quite lately the Bishop of Isernia at the
Lateran Council.  He did not start with a system or an apostolate; but
now that his prodigious power as a writer of German had been revealed,
he rejoiced in the conflict.  He obtained his opportunity at the Diet
of Worms.  The young Emperor had come over from Spain to receive the
crown, and he had accepted the Bull of Leo against Luther.  At that
moment he was on friendly terms with Rome, but his chancellor,
Gattinara, warned him that the people throughout Germany favoured the
reformer; and Tunstall wrote to Wolsey that 100,000 men would give
their lives rather than let him be sacrificed to the Papacy.  Even at
Mentz, an episcopal city, the Nuncio Aleander was in danger of being
stoned. "The conflicts of Church and State in the Middle Ages," he
wrote, "were child's play to this."  Therefore, although Luther had
been condemned and excommunicated for forty heresies, although he had
publicly thrown the Pope's Bull into the fire, and was worthy of death
by ecclesiastical and municipal law, the Emperor gave him a free pass
to the Diet and back, and sent a herald to arrange the journey.

At Erfurt, on his way, he learnt for the first time how the country
was with him.  When within sight of the towers and spires of Worms, he
was warned by the Saxon minister Spalatin that his life would not be
safe; and he returned the famous answer that he would go on if every
tile in the city was a devil.  At Oppenheim, almost the last stage,
Bucer was waiting his arrival with a strange and unexpected message.
A French Franciscan, Glapion, was the Emperor's confessor, and he was
staying at Sickingen's castle, a few miles off, in company with
Sickingen himself, the dreaded free-lance, with Ulrich von Hutten and
with the unfrocked Dominican Bucer, who was to prove the ablest of the
German reformers next to Luther.  He sent Bucer, with an escort of
Sickingen's troopers, to invite Luther to visit him there before he
proceeded to Worms.  It was clear that the Diet would end with a
repulse for authority.  The very presence there of a man who had
written with such violence, and had been so solemnly condemned, was a
defiance.  Glapion was a reforming Catholic, and desired the
assistance of Luther.  He was clever enough to find ground in common
with Erasmus, Ulrich von Hutten, and Bucer, and he was ready with
far-reaching concessions to secure Luther.  Then, he thought, his
Emperor would be enabled to purify the Church.  Bucer was of opinion
that there was nothing to prevent agreement if Luther would interpret
his contested writings as Bucer had explained them to Glapion.
Gattinara was urgent for a reforming Council; the union of so many
forces would be enough to invigorate the Italian cardinals, and they
could carry Rome with them.  It was the party of Reform attempting to
conciliate the party of Reformation, that they might co-operate in
saving the work of the Renaissance and renewing the Church from
within.  By renouncing "The Babylonish Captivity" alone of his
numerous writings, Luther, who had already revoked so many utterances,
might obtain acceptance for his main dogma, and bind the united
Humanists and the Imperial government to his cause.  Those were the
terms of the proposed alliance.  They were at once rejected.

Luther owed much to Erasmus, but they could never combine.  He looked
upon the purpose of the other as essentially rationalistic, Pelagian,
and pagan.  He foresaw that the coming struggle would be not with the
old school, but with the new; that the obstacle to the Reformation was
the Renaissance, and the enemy's name Erasmus.  The Franciscan's
profound and dazzling scheme miscarried, and Luther appeared before
the Diet.  Prompted by Glapion, the Imperial spokesman took no notice
of Luther's own specific views, or of the Papal Bull against them.
But he invited him to dissociate himself from Wyclif and John Hus on
those matters which had been censured at Constance.  That Council was
the venerated safeguard of Catholic and Imperial reformers, and the
strongest weapon of opposition to Rome.  A Council which compelled the
Emperor to burn a divine alive, after giving him a safe-conduct, was in
no good odour just then with Luther, standing by the waves of the
Rhine, which swept the ashes of John Hus away into oblivion.  They
then represented to Luther that the Diet was on his side, against
Roman encroachments and the theory of penance; they praised his
writings generally, and proposed that unsettled matters should be left
to the decision of a future Council.  To this he was willing to agree.
But he stipulated that there should be no judgment except by the
standard of Scripture.  They replied that it stood to reason, and
could not be made the object of a special condition.  They meant
different things, and the discussion came to naught.  But important
concessions had been made, and many opportunities had been offered,
for the Diet was drawing up "the grievances of the German nation," and
for that policy he was a desirable ally.  Luther declined to concede
anything, and a month later the Emperor signed the sentence of
outlawry.  In his Spanish dominions he was a jealous upholder of the
Inquisition, even against the Pope, and of all the princes at Worms,
secular or ecclesiastical, he was the most hostile and the most
impatient.

Meanwhile Luther had gone back to Saxony, had preached on his way to
the Benedictines of Hersfeld, and then disappeared in the Thuringian
Forest.  It was reported that he was dead; that his body had been
found with a sword through it.  When Charles V was dying, a baffled
and disappointed man, he is said to have lamented that he kept his
word to the turbulent friar who had triumphantly defied him.  But Leo
X sent orders that the passport should be respected and that the
traveller should depart in peace.

Luther at Worms is the most pregnant and momentous fact in our
history, and the problem is to know why he so rigidly repelled the
advances of the confessor, of the Chancellor of Baden, and the Elector
of Treves.  Was it simply the compelling logic of Protestantism, or
was there some private saltpetre of his own, a programme drawn from
his personality and habits of mind?  There was no question at issue
which had not either been pronounced by him insufficient for
separation, or which was not abandoned afterwards, or modified in a
Catholic sense by the moderating hand of Melanchthon.  That happened
to every leading doctrine at Augsburg, at Ratisbon, or at Leipzig.
Predestination was dropped.  The necessity of good works, the freedom
of the will, the hierarchical constitution, the authority of
tradition, the seven sacraments, the Latin mass, were admitted.
Melanchthon confessed that he held all Roman doctrine, and that there
was no difference except as to the celibacy of the clergy and
communion under both kinds; the rest was the work of agitators; and he
bitterly resented Luther's tyrannical treatment.  As Melanchthon had
the making of the official statements of doctrine, it would almost
appear as if Luther never became a Lutheran.  And the truth is that he
held one doctrine which he never succeeded in imposing, and which
forbade all approach and all endeavours to explain.  For he believed
that the Pope was anti-Christ.  The idea came to him from Lorenzo
Valla, whose tract on the Donation was published in 1518 by Hutten.
He became convinced almost immediately after writing to Leo that
deferential letter which he had agreed upon with Miltitz.  It obliged
him to force on a breach at Worms.  His main objection to the
Confession of Augsburg was that this article was excluded from it.

Under the malediction of Church and State, Luther was lost sight of
for some months.  He was hidden in the Wartburg, the castle of his
Elector, above Eisenach, disguised as a country gentleman.  He wore a
moustache, dined joyously, carried a sword, and shot a buck.  Although
his abode was unknown, he did not allow things to drift.  The
Archbishop of Mentz had been a heavy loser by the arrest of his
indulgence, and he took advantage of the aggressor's disappearance to
issue a new one.  He was friendly to Luther, and repressed preaching
against him; and the Elector of Saxony ordered that the controversy
should not be revived.  Luther replied that he would destroy the
Elector rather than obey him; the Thesis had been posted in vain, and
the spirit of Tetzel was abroad once more; he gave the Archbishop a
fortnight, after which he would let the world see the difference
between a bishop and a wolf.  The prelate gave way, and having
arrested one of his priests, who had married, he consented, at the
reformer's request, to release him.

The most important result of the stay at the Wartburg was the
translation of the New Testament, which was begun towards the end of
the year, and was completed in about three months.  There were already
eighteen German Bibles, and he knew some of them, for a particular
blunder is copied from an edition of 1466.  All those that I have
seen, and I have seen nearly all in Dr. Ginsburg's collection, are
unwieldy folios.  Luther's translation was published at a florin and a
half, and may now be had for sixty guineas.  It was reprinted
eighty-five times in eleven years.  The text as we know it was revised
by his friends twenty years later.  It was his appeal to the masses,
and removed the controversy from the Church and the school to the
market-place.  The language had to be modified for the people of the
South, and almost rewritten for the North; but it ended by impressing
central German as the normal type for the whole country.  It was the
first translation from the Greek, and it was the work of the greatest
master of German.

During the eclipse at the Wartburg Leo X was succeeded by Adrian of
Utrecht, the Regent of Spain, a man of learning and devout life, who
proceeded to reverse his predecessor's policy.  He addressed a Brief
to the Diet at Nuremberg, saying that of all those in authority at
Rome none were without reproach, and the evils from which the Church
was suffering had been caused and propagated by the papal court.  To
this memorable exhibition of integrity his envoy added that Luther
deserved to be idolised if he had been content with the exposure of
abuses, and that the real offender was Leo X.  This change of front
removed the charge from the outer branch to the centre.  Luther had
been hitting the wrong man.  It was now avowed that the transgressor
was not an obscure itinerant, but the sovereign pontiff himself, and
that Luther's adversaries were in the wrong.  Adrian had been Grand
Inquisitor in four kingdoms, and he moderated expectation by inviting
the Germans to be worthy of the illustrious example set by their
ancestors, who burnt John Hus and Jerome of Prague.  Therefore
Erasmus, when summoned to Rome to advise with him, declined to
come.  "If they were going to shed blood," he said, "he would not be
wanted."

When, at the end of a year, Luther came out of his retirement, he
found that the world had changed.  The seed that he had scattered was
coming up with variations.  His own Saxon neighbours, led by
Carlstadt, were disposed to ride favourite opinions to death, with the
exaggeration and exclusiveness of enthusiasts.  In Switzerland,
Zwingli held doctrines differing widely from his own, with a
republican and aggressive spirit that was hateful to him.  The
Anabaptists started from his impulse, but in their earnest striving
after holiness adopted principles which involved a distinct reaction
towards medieval religion, and carried the multitude away.  Near the
Swiss frontier, Zurich encouraged an agitation among the country
people, that was fomented by Lutheran and Anabaptist teachers, and
broke out soon after into anticipations of 1789.  Luther turned from
the foe beyond the mountains to the foe within the gates, and employed
himself thenceforward in repressing misconceptions of his system to
men who were in some sense his disciples.  Against Rome the tide was
manifestly rising.  The danger was on his own side.  This is variously
called the reversal of original principle, the great surrender, the
breach between Reformation and Revolution.  Luther was acquiring
caution and restraint.  The creative period of the Reformation was
over.  All the ideas by which he so deeply moved the world had been
produced in the first five years.  Beyond the elementary notions that
govern life, he lost interest in the further pursuit of theology.
"Abraham," he said, "had faith; therefore Abraham was a good
Christian."  What else there might be in Christianity mattered less;
and nearly all metaphysical inquiry, even on the Trinity, was
neglected by the German reformers.

It is the extremity of his Conservatism that has put him wrong, even
with those who regard politics as quite distinct from ethics.  He
defended Passive Obedience; he claimed to be the inventor of Divine
Right; and the constitution of the Lutheran Churches contributed even
more than the revival of the Civil Law to establish the absolute
sovereignty of States.  He proclaimed religious liberty, believing
that Rome had never persecuted; then he denounced Jews and
Anabaptists, and required that there should never be two religions in
the same place.  He denounced the ruling classes in his country with
extreme violence; but when the peasants rose, with their just and
reasonable demands, and threatened Saxony, he issued a tract insisting
that they should be cut to pieces.  He valued the royal prerogative so
highly that he made it include polygamy.  He advised Henry VIII that
the right way out of his perplexity was to marry a second wife without
repudiating the first.  And when the Landgrave Philip asked for leave
to do the same thing, Luther gave it on condition that it was denied.
He insisted on what he called a downright lie.  The great fact which
we have to recognise is that with all the intensity of his passion for
authority he did more than any single man to make modern History the
development of revolution.

The Humanists had generally supported Luther almost from the
beginning, and Melanchthon, the young Professor of Greek, proved his
most useful coadjutor.  They applauded his attack on abuses, and on
the treatment of Germany by Rome; and it was believed that the
Renaissance prepared the Reformation, that Luther had only hatched the
Erasmian egg.  When the salient points of his system appeared, they
began to fall away from him.  Nearly all the older men among the
leaders died in the Roman communion--Reuchlin, Wimpheling, Mutianus
Rufus, Pirkheimer, Zasius, the best jurist in Germany, and Crotus, who
wrote the Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum.  They were urging the mind of
man along all the paths of light open to its effort, and they found
the exclusiveness of the new interests an impediment to letters.
Younger men remained true to the movement; but when Erasmus defended,
as he had always done, the doctrine of free-will, even Melanchthon was
convinced, and imputed to his friend and master the fatalism of the
Stoics.  Like Fisher and More in England, many of Luther's German
opponents, such as Eck and Cochlaeus, were men of the Renaissance.  The
breach with Erasmus, the quarrel with Zwingli and his friends in the
south-west, the irruption of the Anabaptists, the dispute with
Carlstadt, the sacrifice of Luther's popularity among the masses, by
his attack on the peasants, produced a recoil.  Many of the regular
clergy went over, and many towns; but the princes and the common
people were uncertain.  Therefore the Catholic party gained ground at
the Diet of Spires in 1529.  They carried measures to prevent any
further progress of the Lutherans, and it was against this restriction
that certain princes and fourteen towns made the protest from which
Protestantism has its name.

In the following year Melanchthon drew up the Confession of Faith for
the Diet of Augsburg, while Luther remained behind at the castle of
Coburg; his purpose was to explain the essential meaning of
Lutheranism, the consecutive order and connection of ideas, so as to
exclude the Zwinglians and the Anabaptists, and to reconcile the
Catholics.  He came to an understanding with the Emperor's secretary,
and Stadion, the Bishop of Augsburg, judged that his proposals were
acceptable, and thought his own people blind not to coalesce with him.
"We are agreed," said the Provost of Coire, "on all the articles of
faith."  But the divines, interested in the recovery of Church
property, would not yield, and their violence had to be restrained by
the Emperor.  He was a very different personage from the one who had
presided at Worms, for he was master now of one-half of Europe, with
faculties ripened by a unique experience of affairs.  When the Legate
Campeggio, the Campeggio of Shakespeare and Blackfriars, exhorted him
to punish the heretics with scourges of iron, he replied, "Not iron,
but fire."  Afterwards he said that they had been represented as worse
than devils; but his confessor had told him to see whether they
contradicted the Apostles' Creed, and he found that they were no
devils at all, and did not dispute any article of faith.  This
confessor was Cardinal Loaysa, Archbishop of Seville.  We possess the
letters which he wrote from Rome at the time, entreating Charles to
come to terms with the Protestants, and leave them to their religion,
provided they were faithful to him.  Loaysa even had an auxiliary in
Pope Clement, who recommended ways of gentleness, and wished Charles
to appear in Germany without an army.  The conclusion was a truce
until a Council was held--a temporary success for the Protestants, with
a prospect of renewed peril, but no concession of principle.

With the Diet of Augsburg the divines ceased to be the leaders of the
nation.  They had played their part when they produced an accepted
statement of their doctrine in its substance, apart from persons and
policy.  They had displayed energy and moderation, but had shown no
power of governing the churches they had founded.  They fell into the
background, and made way for lay politicians.  Questions of
fundamental principle disappeared, and questions of management
prevailed.  Things became less spontaneous and less tumultuous as
action was guided by statesmen; and, in defiance of Luther, the
governments assumed the direction of affairs, and formed the League of
Schmalkalden for the defence of Protestant interests.  They were
preparing for civil war, and now by degrees most of the German princes
went over.


V

THE COUNTER-REFORMATION


THE REFORMATION was extended and established without arousing any
strong reaction among Catholics, or inspiring them with a policy.
Under the influence of secular interests, profane literature and art,
it was a time of slackness in spiritual life.  Religious men, like
the Cardinals Egidius, Carvajal, and Campeggio, knew, and
acknowledged, and deplored, as sincerely as Adrian VI, the growing
defects of the ill-governed Church; and at each Conclave the whole of
the Sacred College bound itself by capitulations under oath to put an
effective check on the excesses of the court of Rome.  But at the
Lateran Council the same men who had imposed on Leo the obligation to
revoke the indulgences suffered them to be renewed; and those who held
the language of Erasmus were confronted by a resisting body of
officials for whom reform was ruin.  Rome flourished on money obtained
from the nations in return for ecclesiastical treasures, for promotion
and patronage, for indulgences and dispensations.  With the loss of
Germany the sources of revenue that remained became more necessary;
and it was certain that they would be damaged by reform.  Chieregato,
the bishop who carried to the Diet of Nuremberg that message from
Adrian VI of which I spoke in the last lecture, related in his Memoirs
that there was a disposition at one moment to take Luther very
seriously, and to avert peril by making the changes he suggested, but
that it was decided to repel the attack.  There is no other authority
for the story, and we only know of it through Father Paul, whom
Macaulay admired as the best modern historian.  There is a book
attributed to Father Paul in which the use of poison is recommended to
the Venetian government.  We cannot take our history out of Newgate,
and until his authorship is disproved his solitary testimony is
insufficient.

While Clement VII lived, of whom Sadolet said that he did not renounce
his good intention of reforming society, but only postponed it, the
idealists who aspired after a regenerated Catholicism never found
their opportunity.  In 1534 he was succeeded by Paul III, Farnese, a
stronger if not a better man, and the change was quickly felt.  The
new pontiff offered a red hat to Erasmus, to Reginald Pole, who was
admired by the Italians, and was supposed to have a future before him
in England, being sprung from a royal stock; to Sadolet and Cortese,
and to Contarini, the finest character of them all.  He appointed a
Commission, chiefly consisting of these men, to advise as to things
that wanted mending; and besides their report, he received from
Contarini himself private communications on the same engrossing topic.
In 1541 Paul sent Contarini as his Legate to Ratisbon, where he held
the famous Peace Conference with Melanchthon.  The reformers of the
Renaissance seemed about to prevail, and to possess the ear of the
Pontiff.  Their common policy was reduction of prerogative, concession
in discipline, conciliation in doctrine; and it involved the reversal
of an established system.  As they became powerful, and their purpose
clear, another group detached itself from them, under the flag of No
Surrender, and the division of opinion which had been already apparent
between Cajetan and Miltitz, between the friends of Erasmus and
Reuchlin, and their detractors, burst into open conflict.  To men
trained in the thought of the Middle Ages, with the clergy above the
laity and the Pope above the king, the party that aimed at internal
improvement by means the exact opposite of those which had preserved
the Church in the past, were feckless enthusiasts.  They reverted to
the old tradition of indefeasible authority wielding irresistible
force; and in the person of Caraffa, Bishop of Chieti, afterwards
Archbishop of Naples, cardinal, and Pope, under the name of Paul IV,
they now came to the front.  It was reported from Ratisbon that the
Catholic negotiation, with the Legate Contarini at their head, had
accepted the Lutheran doctrine of justification.  Pole wrote, in his
enthusiasm, that it was a truth long suppressed by the Church, now at
length brought to light by his friend.  Another friend of Pole,
Flaminio, helped to write a book in its defence, which appeared in
1542, and of which 60,000 copies were sold immediately--indicating a
popularity which no work of Luther or Erasmus had ever attained.  This
was the famous volume on the Benefit of the Death of Christ, which was
supposed to have perished, said Macaulay, as hopelessly as the Second
Decade of Livy, until it was discovered in a Cambridge library, and
republished in my recollection.

Now it was these men, Pole, Contarini, and their friends Cortese and
Sadolet, who dominated in the Sacred College, occupied high places,
and helped to govern the policy of Rome.  There were nests of
Lutherans at Modena, Naples, and elsewhere; but nobody in those days
knew the force of multitudes; a few cardinals caused greater alarm
than all the readers of the Benefizio, and it soon appeared that the
general of the Capuchins, the Bishop of Capo d'Istria, the Bishop of
Modena and Nuncio in Germany, inclined the same way as the suspected
cardinals.  The most eminent men of the Italian clergy were steering
for Wittenberg, and taking Rome with them.  An uncle of the Duke of
Alva, the cardinal of Sant Iago, thereupon suggested to Caraffa that
the best way to save the Church was to introduce the Spanish
Inquisition; and he was seconded by another Spaniard, a Basque of
great note in history, of whom there will be more to tell.  Caraffa,
who had been Nuncio in Spain, took up the idea, urged it upon the
Pope, and succeeded.  What he obtained was nothing new; it belonged to
the thirteenth century, and it had been the result of two forces
powerful at the time, the Crusades and the belief in witchcraft.

When the first warlike pilgrims started for Palestine at the end of
the eleventh century, it occurred to some of them that without toiling
so far they could find enemies of Christ, as bad as the Saracens,
close at hand.  So they fell upon the Jews in the north of France,
along the Rhine and the Danube, and murdered them as they passed.
This was done at a moment of religious fervour.  And when it became
known, in the same region, that there were heretics, the same cause
produced the same effects, and the clergy were not always able to save
them from the wrath of the populace.  The many sects known by the name
of Albigenses were Gnostics; but they were better known as Manichees,
for the Roman law was severe on Manichees, who were dualists, and by a
dualist they meant a worshipper of the devil.  Sorcery had not become
epidemic and sectarian, but it was suspected occasionally in the
twelfth century.  We know at the present day to what horrible and
loathsome rites Madame de Montespan submitted for the sake of love and
hatred.  That was done in the most refined and enlightened court in
Europe, in the best days of the French intellect, in the home of
Bossuet and Racine.  It is not difficult to imagine what was believed
and what was attempted in ignorant and criminal classes five centuries
earlier.  Now a witch was, by the hypothesis, a worshipper of the
devil, and the dualists fell under the same suspicion of propitiation
by sin.  It was impossible to exterminate them too quickly, or to
devise torments worse than they deserved.

That was the situation towards the middle of the twelfth century.
There was a practice which the clergy desired to restrain, and which
they attempted to organise.  We see by their writings that they
believed in many horrible imputations.  As time went on, it appeared
that much of this was fable.  But it also became known that it was not
all fabulous, and that the Albigensian creed culminated in what was
known as the Endura, which was in reality suicide.  It was the object
of the Inquisition that such people should not indeed be spared, but
should not perish without a trial and without opportunity of
resipiscence, so that they might save their souls if not their lives.
Its founders could claim to act from motives both of mercy and of
justice against members of a satanic association.  And it was not
against error or noncomformity simply, but against criminal error
erected into a system, that the Inquisitors forged their terrific
armoury.  In the latter half of the fifteenth century their work was
done and their occupation gone.  The dread tribunal lapsed into
obscurity.  Therefore, when the Spaniards demanded to have it for the
coercion of the Jews, they asked for what was dormant, but not
abolished.  It was a revival rather than a creation.  And it was for a
specifically Spanish purpose.  At Rome there were no Moors, and they
did not oppress the Jews.  Even those who, having passed for
Christians, went back to their own faith, were permitted to do so by
Clement VII.  Against such backsliding the Council of Toledo, under
the Gothic kings, had decreed the severest penalties, anticipating
Ferdinand and Isabella, or rather Torquemada and Ximenes, by eight
hundred years.  Founded on the ancient lines, the Spanish Inquisition
was modified in the interest of the Crown, and became an important
attribute of absolutism.

When the Holy Office for the universal Church was set up in Rome in
1542, it was in many respects distinct both from the first medieval
type and from the later Spanish type.  In the Middle Ages the
headquarters were in the south of France, and the legislation was
carried out by Councils at Toulouse, Narbonne, and Beziers.  The
Popes controlled them through their legates, and issued their own
orders to the Dominicans.  But it was not one of the institutions of
the Court of Rome, and did not always act in harmony with it.  It now
became part of the Roman machinery and an element of centralisation.
A supreme body of cardinals governed it with the Pope at their head.
The medieval theory was that the Church condemned, and the State
executed, priests having nothing to do with punishment, and requesting
that it might not be excessive.  This distinction fell away, and the
clergy had to conquer their horror of bloodshed.  The delinquent was
tried by the Pope as ruler of the Church, and burnt by the Pope as
ruler of the State.  Consequently, this is the genuine and official
Inquisition, not that of the Middle Ages, which was only partly in the
hands of Rome; not that of Spain, which was founded but not governed
by Rome, and for the developments of which the Papacy is not directly
responsible.

Originally the business of the Inquisitor was to exterminate.  The
Albigenses delighted in death, and they were disappointed when it was
put off.  But now it was directed against opinions not very clearly
understood or firmly held, that often resembled a reformed Catholicism
more than Protestantism.  The number of victims was smaller.  At
Venice, where the Holy Office had a branch, there were 1562 trials in
the sixteenth century, 1469 in the seventeenth, 541 in the eighteenth.
But executions were frequent only in Rome.  There, in many recorded
cases, the victim was strangled before burning.  It is doubtful
whether death by fire was adopted as the most cruel; for boiling had
been tried at Utrecht, and the sight was so awful that the bishop who
was present stopped the proceedings.  Roman experts regard it as a
distinctive mark of the new tribunal that it allowed culprits who
could not be caught and punished in the proper way, to be killed
without ceremony by anybody who met them.  This practice was not
unprecedented, but it had fallen into disuse with the rest during the
profane Renaissance, and its revival was a portentous event, for it
prompted the frequent murders and massacres which stain the story of
the Counter-Reformation with crimes committed for the love of God.  The
laws have not been repealed, but the system continued in its force for
no more than a century; and before the death of Urban VIII the fires
of Rome were quenched.  At that time persecution unto death was not
extinct in England; the last instance in France was in 1762, and in
Spain still later.  The immediate objects were obtained in the first
thirty years.  The Reformation in Italy had by that time come to an
end, and the Popes had been supplied with an instrument that enabled
them to control the Council of Trent.  Its action did not extend to
other countries.

Next to the Inquisition, the second of the several measures by which
central organs were created for the Counter-Reformation is the
establishment of new orders.  The old ones were manifestly
ineffective.  The Augustinians produced Luther.  The Dominicans had
done still worse, for they produced the adversaries of Luther.  The
learning of the Benedictines was useless for the purpose of the day,
and they were not organised for combat.  A rich and varied growth of
new religious orders was the consequence.  The first were the
Theatines, then the Capuchins, who were remodelled Franciscans,
adapted to the need of the time; then the Barnabites, the Oratorians,
and others.  Caraffa was the most influential of the Theatines, though
not their founder; and he gave them their name, for he was Bishop of
Chieti, in Latin Theate.  He did more for another institution than for
his own, for it was he who brought forward the extraordinary man in
whom the spirit of the Catholic reaction is incorporated.  At Venice
he found a group of young men, most of them Spaniards, all of them
seekers after perfection, united otherwise in a somewhat vague design
of visiting the Holy Land.  Their leader, Ignatius Loyola, at that
time an enthusiast, later on a calculator and organiser of the first
class, was the same man who helped to transplant to Rome the
Inquisition of his own country.  As they waited in vain for a passage,
Carana advised them that their true destination was Rome, where they
would be more useful with Protestants than with the heathen; and thus,
by his intervention, the Society was founded which eclipsed his own.

Here at last the Catholics acquired a leader who was a man of original
genius, and who grasped the whole, or nearly the whole, situation.
The Papacy had let things go to ruin; he undertook to save the Church
through the Papacy.  The ship, tossed in a hurricane, could only be
rescued by absolute obedience to the word of command.  He called his
order the Company of Jesus, making it the perpetual militia of the
Holy See for the restoration of authority; and he governed it not only
with military discipline, but with a system of supervision and
counter-checks which are his chief discovery.  The worst crime of the
Jesuits, says Helvetius, was the excellence of their government.
Nothing had done more to aid the Reformation than the decline and
insufficiency of the secular clergy.  By raising up a body of
virtuous, educated, and active priests, the Jesuits met that argument.
The theological difference remained, and they dealt with it through
the best controversialists.  And when their polemics failed, they
strove, as pamphleteers, and as the confessors of the great, to resist
the Protestants with the arm of the flesh.  For the multitudes that
had never heard the Catholic case stated, they trained the most
eloquent school of modern preachers.  For security in the coming
generation, they established successful colleges, chiefly for the
study of good silver Latin, and they frequented the towns more than
the country, and the rich more than the poor.  Thus, while they
pursued their original purpose as missionaries to the heathen, almost
civilising South America, and almost converting China, they kept their
forces gathered for the repulse of Protestantism.  They so identified
their order and the Church itself with the struggle for existence in
Europe, that they were full of the same spirit long after the
Counter-Reformation was spent and the permanent line of frontier laid
down in the Thirty Years' War, and were busy with the same policy down
to the Revocation and the suppression of Port Royal in France, and
longer still in Poland.

St. Ignatius directed his disciples according to the maxim that more
prudence and less piety is better than more piety and less prudence.
His main desire was that they should always act together, presenting a
united front, without a rift or a variation.  He suppressed
independence of mind, discouraged original thinking and unrestrained
research, recommended commonly accepted opinions, and required all to
hold without question the theology of St. Thomas.  The training he
imposed made ordinary men very much alike.  And this is the mistake we
have to guard against in considering the Jesuits.  The intended unity
never was enforced when the order became numerous and was joined by
many able men.  There arose so great a wealth of talent that it was
followed by variety in ideas among them, such as the founder never
contemplated.  Their general, Aquaviva, forbade every opinion that
contradicts St. Thomas.  There could be no question whether it was
true or false, and no other test of truth than conformity with his
teaching.  Yet Molina taught, in regard to grace, a doctrine very
different from Thomism, and was followed by the bulk of his order.
They were expected to think well of their rule and their rulers; but
the most perspicacious exposure of what he called the infirmities of
the company was composed by Mariana.  Jesuits were by profession
advocates of submission to authority; but the Jesuit Sarasa preceded
Butler in proclaiming the infallibility of conscience.  No other
Society was so remarkable for internal discipline; but there were
glaring exceptions.  Caussin, confessor to Lewis XIII, opposed the
policy of his superiors, and was dismissed by them.  And when the
general required works on theology to be revised at Rome, before
publication, he was told that Father Gretser of Ingolstadt would never
consent.  They were all absorbed in the conflict with the Protestants;
but when the idea of reunion arose, late in the seventeenth century,
there were Jesuits, such as Masenius, one of those who anticipated
Paradise Lost, who wrote in favour of it.

As trials for witchcraft were promoted by Rome, the Jesuits,
especially Del Rio, defended them.  But it was another Jesuit, Spec,
who broke the back of the custom, though he had to publish his book
anonymously and in a Protestant town.  They were, of necessity,
friends of persecution, though one of them, Faure, said that he knew
of 6000 heretics put to death, and doubted if one of them had
renounced his belief.  Belief in system, and in an accepted system,
was an essential laid down in their constitutions.  But it was Father
Petavius who first described the evolution of dogma, and cast every
system into the melting-pot of History.  Under the name of
probabilism, the majority adopted a theory of morals that made
salvation easy, partly as confessors of the great, that they might
retain their penitents; partly as subject to superiors, that they
might not scruple to obey in dubious cases; and partly as defenders of
the irrevocable past, that they might be lenient judges.
Nevertheless, the opposition was never silenced, and one general of
the order wrote against its most conspicuous and characteristic
doctrine.

The order was, from the first, ultramontane, in the old meaning of the
term.  But its members in France consented to sign their names to
Gallican propositions as the custom of the country, not as truth.
They were ultramontanes in the other sense of the word, as
conservatives, advocates of authority and submission, opponents of
insubordination and resistance.  Accordingly, they became the habitual
confessors of absolute monarchs, in Austria, and in France under the
Bourbons, and were intimately associated with great conservative
forces of society.  At the same time they were required to be
disciples of St. Thomas Aquinas, and St. Thomas had a very large
element of political liberalism.  He believed in the Higher Law, in
conditional allegiance, in the illegitimacy of all governments that do
not act in the interest of the commonwealth.  This was convenient
doctrine in the endeavour to repress the forces of Protestantism, and
for a time the Jesuits were revolutionists.  The ideas of 1688, of
1776, of 1789 prevail among them from the wars of religion to about
1620.  In some of the medieval writers revolution included
tyrannicide.  It began to be taught in the twelfth century, and became
popular in the sixteenth.  The Jesuits adopted the doctrine at one
time, and in such numbers that one of them, Keller, in 1611, says he
knows hardly three who were opposed to it.  A hundred years later this
was deplored as a melancholy deviation by D'Avrigny and other fathers
of the Society.

The Society of Jesus is the second in the enumeration of the forces
that produced and directed the great historic movement that we call
the Counter-Reformation.  The third is the Council of Trent.  The idea
arose very early that the only way to find a remedy for those things
of which Protestants complained was to hold a general Council, and it
was very earnestly desired by the Emperor.  Fifteenth-century divines
believed that all things would go well if Councils were constantly
held.  But the Popes were against it from the first, and at the last
the Protestants also.  It was to be an assembly from which they were
excluded, and their interests were to be debated and decided by men
whose function it now avowedly was to take their lives.  The Duke of
Wurtemberg marvelled at the unhindered presence of Cardinal Farnese in
Germany, as a man of blood.  The original purpose, therefore, was lost
beforehand.  The Council did not tend to reconcile, but to confirm,
separation.  It met in 1545, and ended in 1563, having been
interrupted by two long intervals.  Questions of doctrine were
considered at the beginning, questions of reform chiefly at the end.
Pole, who was one of the presiding legates, proposed that they should
open the proceedings with a full confession of failings and of
repentance on the part of Rome.  Then the others would follow.  The
policy of his colleagues, on the contrary, was to postpone all inquiry
into internal defects, and to repel the Protestant aggression.
Therefore, the doctrines at issue were defined.  Many things were
settled which had remained open, and no attempt was made to meet the
Protestant demand.  Pole, who had hailed the compromise of Ratisbon,
spoke with the grace and moderation that were in his character.  At
the next Conclave he was so near obtaining a majority of votes that
the cardinals bowed to him as they passed before his place, and Pole,
ignorant of the force at work against him, put on paper what he meant
to say by way of thanks.  But Caraffa reminded them that he had spoken
as a Lutheran during the Council, and he replied that he had put the
argument for the sake of discussion only, that Protestants might not
say that they had been condemned undefended.  The feud continued, and
when Pole was legate in England, Caraffa, who was then Pope, recalled
him in disgrace, appointing Peto as his successor; and he sent his
friend, Cardinal Morone, to the prison of the Inquisition.  The effect
of these rigours was that Pole, whose friends in Italy were men
afterwards burnt by the Holy Office, sent poor people to the flames at
Canterbury when he knew that the reign of Mary was nearing its end;
and Morone, the colleague of Contarini at Ratisbon, and an admirer of
the "Benefizio," having been rescued from prison by the mob, who tore
it down at the death of Caraffa, wound up the Council, obedient to
orders from Rome, under his successor.

A more persuasive means of expressing opposition was money.  When a
divine appeared at Trent, the legates, or Visconti, the agent of the
Cardinal nephew, decided whether he was to receive payment for his
prospective services.  Even the Cardinal of Lorraine, the head of the
Gallican party, and one of the first men in Europe, gave way for a
considerable sum.  Father Paul, in a very famous work, describes the
Council as a scene of intrigue in which the good intentions of
virtuous prelates were thwarted by the artifices of Rome.  If the bulk
of virtuous prelates resembled Pole and Lorraine, we cannot say much
for the strength of their good intentions.  Some remedies were,
however, applied, and the state of the clergy was improved.  On the
whole, the reforms were regarded by the government as a disappointing
result of so much promise and so much effort.

The Council instituted the index of prohibited books, which is the
fourth article in the machinery of resistance.  At first, the new
power of the press was treated with large indulgence.  This was
changed by the Reformation, and far more by the organised reaction
against it.  Books were suppressed by the State, by the clergy, and by
the universities.  In 1531 the Bishop of London prohibited thirty
books at St. Paul's Cross, as well as all other suspect works
existing, and to be hereafter written.  Vienna, Paris, Venice,
followed the example.  In 1551, certain books enumerated by the
university of Louvain were forbidden by Charles V under pain of death.
A German divine warned the Pope that if the fathers of Trent were
allowed to read Lutheran books they would become Lutherans themselves,
and such writings were accordingly forbidden even to cardinals and
archbishops.  The idea of drawing up a comprehensive list of all that
no man should read commended itself to the zeal of Caraffa, having
been suggested to him by Della Casa, who had published such a list at
Venice.  He issued the first Roman index, which, under his successor,
who was not his friend, was denounced at the Council of Trent as a bad
piece of work, and became so rare that I have never seen a copy.  It
was proposed that a revised edition should be prepared, and in spite
of protests from those who had assisted the late Pontiff, and of the
Spaniards, who saw the province of their Inquisition invaded, the
thing was done, and what was called the Tridentine Index appeared at
Rome in 1564.  It alludes only in one place to the work which it
superseded.  A congregation was appointed to examine new publications,
to issue decrees against them as required, and to make out catalogues
from time to time of works so condemned.  Besides this, censures were
also pronounced by the Pope himself, the Inquisition, the Master of
the Sacred Palace, and the Secretary of the Index, separately.  In
this way an attempt was made to control what people read, committing
to oblivion works of Protestant scholars, and of such men as
Machiavelli, and correcting offensive texts, especially historians.
Several such corrected editions were published at the time, and many
things were reprinted with large omissions.  But no Index
Expurgatorius, no notification of what called for modification, was
ever published by Rome, officially; and when we use the term, we are
thinking of Spain, where it grew into a custom.  The best way to
suppress a book is to burn it, and there were, accordingly, frequent
bonfires of peccant literature.  One man, Konias, is said to have thus
destroyed 60,000 books, principally Bohemian.  Freedom of speech and
sincerity of history were abolished for many years.

In connection with this repressive policy, and as its counterpart, a
scheme ripened to place Rome, with its libraries, its archives, its
incomparable opportunities of gathering contributory aid from every
quarter of the Church, at the head of ecclesiastical literature.  The
Calendar was reformed.  The text of the Canon Law was corrected.  The
Latin Vulgate was revised by Pope Sixtus himself, and every further
attempt to improve it was energetically put down.  Collections of
councils and editions of Fathers were projected, and Baronius, of the
Oratory, began the greatest history of the Church ever written, and
carried it down to the eleventh folio volume.

In this manner the foundations were laid of that later scholarship,
that matured and completed Renaissance, by which the Catholics
recovered much of the intellectual influence that had passed to other
hands, and learning assisted policy in undoing the work of the
reformers.

The natural and inevitable centre of the movement which is known as
the Catholic Reformation, but which, for reasons already indicated, is
better called the Counter-Reformation, was Rome.  It was an enterprise
requiring consistency in the objects aimed at, variety in the means,
combination with the Powers and avoidance of rivalry, an authority
superior to national obstacles and political limitations.  At first
the initiative did not reside with the Papacy.  Farnese, in whose
pontificate the transition occurred from the religion of Erasmus to
the religion of Loyola, allowed men to act for him whose spirit
differed from his own.  He long put off the Portuguese demand for a
tribunal like the Inquisition of Castile, on the ground that it was a
mere scheme of spoliation.  With the elevation of Cervini in 1555,
reforming or Tridentine Catholicism ascended the papal throne; but he
died before his virtues or his talents could avail.  Caraffa himself
followed.  He let the Council drop, saying that no such thing was
needed, if governments did their duty.  By his lack of control, he
pushed things to a breach with the moderate party at home, and with
the Habsburgs abroad, and the Roman people threw his statue into the
Tiber, in their rejoicings when he died, and released seventy
prisoners that he kept in the Inquisition.  His nephews, who
compromised him and had incurred disgrace in his lifetime, were put to
death by his successor.  They were the last papal nephews of the old
type, angling for principalities and using the Papacy for their own
ends.  Pius IV, when he closed the Council, strove to do its work by
reforms at home.  Three modern saints dominated in his time, and
effected a conspicuous change in the aspect of Rome.  His nephew was
Charles Borromeo.  St. Philip Neri was the best-known and the
best-loved figure in the streets of the city, and Alexandrino governed
the Inquisition as an almost independent power.  He succeeded, as Pius
V, and then the Counter-Reformation was master.  Pius was the most
austere, the most ardent, the most vehement of men.  He incited France
to civil war, applauded the methods of Alva, deposed Elizabeth, and by
incessant executions strove to maintain public decency and orthodox
religion.  Protestantism disappeared from Italy in his day, as it had
already done in Spain.  The Counter-Reformation touched high-water
mark with the massacre of St. Bartholomew, a few months after his
death.

The quarter of a century from 1564 to the death of Sixtus V in 1590 is
the active period of the movement.  It begins when the Council, having
determined doctrine, dispersed; and it declines when, by the death of
Mary Stuart and the flight of the Armada, the Protestant succession
was secured in England and Scotland, and the churches acquired their
permanent limit.

It may be doubted whether Italian Protestants ever gave promise of
vitality.  The leaders who escaped were men of original and eccentric
thought, who did not combine well with others; and it was they who
established the Socinian church in Poland, in defiance of both
Lutheran and Calvinist.  The Italian movement was crushed by violence.
The scene of the authentic Counter-Reformation was central Europe, and
especially those countries which were the scene of the Reformation
itself, Germany and Austria.  There the tide, which with little
interruption had flowed for fifty years, was effectually turned back,
and regions which were Protestant became Catholic again.  There too
the means employed were not those prevailing under the crown of Spain.
They were weapons supplied and suggested by the Peace of Religion,
harmoniously forged by the Lutherans themselves at the Diet of 1555.
There was to be no mutual persecution, taking persecution to imply the
penalty of death, and a persecutor to mean homicide, in the sense to
which Europe was accustomed.  No subject, on either side, could be
deprived of life or property, could be tortured or imprisoned, or even
banished, if there were numbers, for that would be ruinous to the
State.  Governments were forced to oppress him wisely, depriving him
of Church and school, of preacher and schoolmaster; and by those
nameless arts with which the rich used to coerce the poor in the good
old days, and which, under the name of influence, were not considered
altogether infamous by Englishmen in the last generation.  When the
people had been deprived of their pastors, the children were sent to
Catholic schools.  Fervent preachers came among them, Jesuits, or it
might be Capuchins, widely different in morality, earnestness,
education, and eloquence from the parish clergy, whose deficiencies
gave such succour to Luther.  Most of those who, having no turn for
controversy, had been repelled by scandals were easily reconciled.
Others, who were conscious of disagreement with the theology of the
last thousand years, and were uninfluenced by the secondary and
auxiliary motives, had now to face disputants of a more serious type
than the adversaries of Luther, and to face them unsupported by
experts of their own.  Where there had been indifference, ignorance,
disorder, in the easy-going days of the Renaissance, there were now
the closest concentration of efforts, strict discipline and regularity
of life, a better though narrower education, and the most strenuous
and effective oratory.  Therefore it was by honest conviction as well
as by calculated but not illegal coercion that the Reformation was
driven back, and Protestants who had been almost the nation became no
more than a bare majority.  The original spring ran dry, and the
expansive force had departed from Lutheranism.

In Austria conditions were of another kind.  The country was largely
Protestant, and the Emperor, Maximilian II, was not only a friend to
toleration, but to Lutheran ideas.  Under his auspices a conciliatory,
neutral, and unconventional Catholicism came into existence, accepting
the doctrinal compromise which had been tendered more than once,
discouraging pilgrimages, relics, indulgences, celibacy, and much that
had been the occasion of scoffing, an approach to Erasmus, if not to
Luther.  The outward sign was the restoration of the cup.  When his
restraining hand was removed, the process of reaction which had done
well on the Rhine was extended to the Danube and the Illyrian Alps,
with like success.  And it was the steady pursuit of this policy in
Austria that provoked the Thirty Years' War.  In Poland, too, where
toleration had been conceded in the avowed expectation that the sects
would devour each other, it was exchanged for acts like those I have
described.  The result of the struggle was that the boundary receded,
that a time came of recovery for the Catholics and of decline for the
Lutherans in central Europe, and that the distribution has remained
practically unchanged.  The only example of a country becoming
Protestant since then occurred when the principles of the
Counter-Reformation, applied by Alva, drove the Netherlands into
revolt, and changed the Reformation into revolution.  The great and
rapid victories of the sixteenth century were gained over the
unreformed and disorganised Catholicism of the Renaissance, not over
the Church which had been renovated at Trent.  Rome, with a contested
authority and a contracted sphere, developed greater energy, resource,
and power than when it exercised undivided sway over Christendom in
the West.  The recovery was accomplished by violence, and was due to
the advent of men who did not shrink from blood in place of the
gracious idealists for whom Luther and Calvin were too strong.


VI

CALVIN AND HENRY VIII

FOR NEARLY thirty years Charles V suffered the Reformation to run its
course in Germany, against his will, and without admitting the
principle of toleration.  He did not resign the hope that unity would
be restored by a Council which should effectually reform the Church
and reconcile Protestants; and there was no prospect of such a
consummation unless by the necessity which they created.  Therefore,
without ceasing to be intolerant in his other dominions, he was
content to wait.  At length, in 1545, the Council assembled at Trent
and dealt with the chief dogmas at issue.  Then, when the decrees did
not satisfy the Lutherans, the Emperor combined with the Pope to
coerce them.  A large contingent of papal troops crossed the Alps in
1547, and were met by the Lutheran forces on the Danube.  The
Protestant League was divided; some of its members, true to the
doctrine of non-resistance, remained away; and one of the Saxon
princes, Maurice, invaded Saxony, on a promise that he should succeed
to the electorate.  The Elector hurried back to his own country, the
muster on the Danube was broken up, and the Italians gained a decisive
victory over the Germans at Muhlberg on the Elbe.  Maurice obtained
the reward, and being then, by virtue of his new dignity, the chief of
the Protestants, turned against the law by which the Emperor, after
his victory, attempted to regulate the affairs of religion.  He
secured the help of France by the surrender of a part of Lorraine,
which Moltke did not entirely recover, and, attacking the Emperor when
he was not prepared, brought him to terms.

At Augsburg, in 1555, peace was concluded between the religions, and
continued until the Thirty Years' War.  It abolished the faggot and
the stake.  The Catholics gained nothing by this, for no Lutherans had
thought that it could be lawful to put people of the old religion to
death.  The Lutherans obtained security that they should not be
persecuted.  On the other hand, it was agreed that if any territorial
prelate seceded, he should forfeit the temporal power which he enjoyed
by right of his ecclesiastical dignity.  So that the ecclesiastical
territories, which composed a large part of Germany, from Salzburg to
the Black Forest, and then all down the valley of the Rhine to Liege
and Munster, were to be preserved intact.  No security whatever was
obtained for Protestants outside the Confession of Augsburg.  The
Lutherans negotiated only for themselves.  And no real security was
given to the subject.  He was not to be punished for his
nonconformity, but he might be banished and compelled to pass to the
nearest territory of his own persuasion.  As these were very near,
generally, the suffering was less than it would have been in other
countries.  Under that condition, the civil power could, if it chose,
enforce the unity of religion.

These enactments were an immense advance, practically, but they did
not involve the liberty of conscience.  The absolute right of the
State to determine the religion it professed was not disputed, but it
was tempered by the right of emigration.  No man could be compelled to
change, but he might be compelled to go.  State absolutism was
unlimited over all who chose to keep their home within the precincts.
There was no progress in point of principle.  The Christian might have
to depart, while the Jew remained.  No Protestant could complain if he
was expelled from Cologne; no Catholic if he could not have his
domicile at Leipzig.  The intolerance and fierceness of the Germans
found relief in the wholesale burning of witches.

Charles V would have nothing to do with these innovations.  He left it
all to his brother Ferdinand, King of Bohemia and Hungary, who was
more elastic and pliable than himself.  With the Turk over the border,
he could not exist without the goodwill of both parties; and he
desired the vote of Lutheran electors to make him emperor.  He had no
Inquisition in one part of his dominions contradicting and condemning
toleration in the rest.  He was an earnest promoter of reform in the
shape of concession.  The embers of Hussitism were not extinct in the
region of which Bohemia was the centre.  Ferdinand had that as well as
Lutheranism to contend with, and he desired to avert peril by allowing
priests to marry and laymen to receive the cup.  That is to say, he
desired to surrender the two points for which the Church had struggled
successfully against the State in the eleventh century, against the
Bohemians in the fifteenth.  His conciliatory policy was assisted by
the moderation of the Archbishop of Mentz.  At Rome they said that the
empire was divided between Christ and the devil.  But the Pope,
advised by Jesuits, made no protest.

Ferdinand had so regulated things in his brother's interest, that the
measure did not include the Netherlands.  The laws which afterwards
produced the revolt were not invalid by the Peace of Religion, and the
victims of Alva had no right to appeal to it.  Charles V did not
choose to surrender that which alone gave unity to his complicated
empire.  The German princes were allowed to have subjects of one
religion only.  That prerogative was denied to the Emperor.  The
imperial dignity, in its ideal character as the appointed defender and
advocate of the universal Church, existed no longer.  A monarch
reigning over Catholic and Protestant alike was an inferior
representative of unity and authority, and a poor copy of Charlemagne.
There was no obvious reason for his existence.  It was an intolerable
hypocrisy to be the friend of Protestants where they were too strong,
and to burn them where they were weak.  The work of his life was
undone.  In more than thirty years of effort he had neither reconciled
the Protestants nor reformed the Church.  The settlement of the
Reformation was an acknowledgment of defeat, and the result of his
career was that religious division had become the law of his empire.
Therefore, when the Peace of Religion was concluded, Charles V laid
down the sceptre.  The new empire, based on religious equality, he
gave to his brother.  It was only by detaching it from his hereditary
dominions that he could reconstruct what had crumbled to pieces in his
hands.  Then he rebuilt the great conservative and Catholic monarchy
for his son, assigning to him Spain, Naples, Milan, the Netherlands,
the Indies, England, and the supreme protectorate of Rome.  The mixed
possessions went to Ferdinand.  The boundless empire, based on the
principle of unity, and the championship of the Catholic Church all
the world over, was for Philip II.  All that was his, to keep or to
resign.  All that he chose to resign.  For with his prodigious good
fortune, his inheritance of greatness, his unexampled experience of
complex affairs, his opportunities for having at his elbow the best
talent in the world, his admirably prudent and moderate temper,
Charles V broke down over the problem of the Reformation, as we shall
see that the Counter-Reformation was fatal to his son.  And it was in
this way that Philip found the lines of his policy laid down for him,
before he assumed the crown of Spain, by the conditions under which
his father abdicated.  The ancient function of the empire passed to
him, and the purpose of his vast dominion, the intelligible reason of
its apparition among the nations, was to accomplish that in which,
under his more gifted father, imperial Germany had failed.

At the date we have reached, soon after the middle of the century,
Luther was dead, and the churches of the Confession of Augsburg had
reached their full measure of expansion.  They predominated in
Germany, and still more in Scandinavia; but Luther had not endowed
them with institutions, or imparted to them the gift of
self-government.  In religious ideas, he was inexhaustible; but he was
deficient in constructive capacity.  The local governments, which were
effective, had defended the Reformation and assured its success
against the hostility of the central government, which was
intermittent and inoperative, and as they afforded the necessary
protection, they assumed the uncontested control.  Lutheranism is
governed not by the spiritual, but by the temporal power, in agreement
with the high conception of the State which Luther derived from the
long conflict of the Middle Ages.  It is the most conservative form of
religion, and less liable than any other to collision with the civil
authority on which it rests.  By its lack of independence and
flexibility it was unfitted to succeed where governments were hostile,
or to make its way by voluntary effort through the world.  Moreover,
Luther's vigorous personality has so much in it of the character of
his nation, that they are attracted even by his defects--a thing which
you can hardly expect to occur elsewhere.  Therefore it was in other
forms, and under other names, that the Protestant religion spread over
Europe.  They differed from the original less in their theology, which
Luther had completed, than in questions of Church government, which he
abandoned to others.

Apart from the sects, which are of the first importance, but whose
story belongs to the Puritan Revolution and to the following century,
two other systems arose at the time, one in Switzerland, the other in
England.  The general result of what happened when the Reformation,
ceasing to be national, became European, was that it prevailed in the
north, that it miscarried in the south, that it divided and agitated
the centre.  Switzerland was divided, the towns becoming Protestant on
the Zwinglian type, the country people remaining Catholic, especially
in the central cantons.  The chief towns, Berne and Bale, imitated the
example of Zurich, where Zwingli committed the government of the
Church to the authorities that governed the State, differing from the
Lutherans in this, that Zwinglianism was republican and revolutionary.
In Germany, where the organisation was defective, there was little
discipline or control.  In Switzerland there was a more perfect order,
at the price of subjection to the secular authority.  Those were the
rocks ahead; that was the condition of the Protestant churches, when a
man arose amongst them with a genius for organisation, a strong sense
of social discipline, and a profound belief in ecclesiastical
authority.

At the time when persecution suddenly began to rage in France John
Calvin escaped to Strasburg, and there composed his Institute, the
finest work of Reformation literature.  He wrote with a view to show
that there was nothing in the Protestant religion to alarm the
government, and that the change it demanded was in the Church, not in
the State.  He dealt more largely with theology than with practical
religion, and did not disclose those ideas on the government of
religious society that have made him the equal of Luther in History.
Geneva, when he came there in 1536, was a small walled town of less
than 20,000 inhabitants, with so narrow a territory that France was
within cannon range on one side and Savoy on the other.  It was secure
in the alliance and protection of Berne, which came almost to the
gates; for what is now the canton of Vaud was, until the French
Revolution, a Bernese dependency.  It had been an episcopal city, but
the bishop had retired to Annecy, and the Genevese Reformation had
been at the same time a Genevese Revolution.  Power over Church and
State passed to the commonwealth, to the municipality.  The new
masters, rejoicing in their independence, did not at once settle down;
the place was disturbed by factions, and was not a scene of
edification.

Calvin set to work to reform the community, to introduce public order
and domestic virtue.  He was a foreigner by birth, and not
conciliatory in disposition; and after a brief experiment, the
offended Genevese cast him out.  He was not yet thirty.  He returned
to Strasburg and rewrote his Institute, expounding his theocratic
theory of the government of the Church by the Church, and of the State
by the union of Church and State.  He was present at the Diet of
Ratisbon, and saw the Lutherans in a yielding mood, when Melanchthon
and Contarini, with the urgent mediator Gropper of Cologne, were very
near understanding each other.  That event, as everybody knows, did
not come off; but everybody does not know the consequences, for we
shall see that the Counter-Reformation sprang from those conferences
at Ratisbon.  Calvin had no part in Irenics.  He was persuaded that
the work before them was to create not a new church, but a new world,
to remodel not doctrine only, but society; that the chasm could never
be bridged, but must grow wider with time.  That conviction was not
yet strongly held by the German Lutherans, and they do not all hold it
at the present day.  During his absence Cardinal Sadolet wrote to the
Genevese, intreating them not to break up the unity of Latin
Christendom; for Geneva was the first town beyond the Teutonic
range that went over.  Sadolet was not only reputed the finest
Latinist of the age, but he was the most gracious of the Roman
prelates, a friend of Erasmus, an admirer of Contarini, and the author
of a commentary on St. Paul in which Lutheran justification was
suspected.  The Genevese were not then so rich in literature as they
afterwards became, and they were not prepared to answer the challenge,
when Calvin did it for them.  In 1541, after a change of government,
he was recalled.  He came back on condition that his plans for the
Church were accepted, and his position remained unshaken until his
death.

The Strasburg clergy, in losing him, wrote that he was unsurpassed
among men, and the Genevese felt his superiority and put him on the
commission which revised the Constitution.  It was not changed in any
important way, and the influence of the Geneva Constitution upon
Calvin was greater than his influence on the government of Geneva.
The city was governed by a Lesser or Inner Council of twenty-five,
composed of the four syndics, the four of last year, and as many more
as made up the twenty-five.  These belonged to the ruling families,
and were seldom renewed.  Whilst the Lesser Council administered,
through the syndics, the Great Council of two hundred was the
legislature.  Its members were appointed, not by popular election, but
by the Lesser Council.  Between the twenty-five and the two hundred
were the sixty, who only appeared when the Lesser Council wanted to
prepare a majority in the Greater Council.  Its function was to
mediate between the executive and the legislature.  It was a system of
concentric circles; for the twenty-five became the sixty by adding the
necessary number of thirty-five, and the sixty became the two hundred
by the addition of one hundred and forty members.  Beyond this was the
assembly of citizens, who only met twice a year to elect the syndics
and the judge, from names presented by the Lesser Council.  The
popular element was excluded.  Beyond the citizens were the burghers,
who did not enjoy the franchise.  Between the two there was material
for friction and a constitutional struggle, the struggle from which
Rousseau proceeded, and which had some share in preparing the French
Revolution.

Upon this background Calvin designed his scheme of Church government
and discipline.  His purpose was to reform society as well as
doctrine.  He did not desire orthodoxy apart from virtue, but would
have the faith of the community manifested in its moral condition.
And as the mere repression of scandals would promote hypocrisy, it was
necessary that private life should be investigated by the same
authority that was obeyed in public.  Teaching and preaching belong to
the clergy alone.  But jurisdiction is exercised by the pastors in
conjunction with the elders.  And the elders were the choice of the
civil power, two representing the Lesser Council, four the sixty, and
six the two hundred.  That was all that he could obtain.  His success
was incomplete, because the government worked with him.  A hostile
government would be more adapted to his purpose, for then the elders
would be elected, not by the State, but by the congregation.  With a
weak clergy the civil magistrate would predominate over the Church,
having a majority in the consistory.  While Calvin lived no such thing
was likely to happen.  The Church co-operated with the State to put
down sin, the one with spiritual weapons, the other with the material
sword.  The moral force assisted the State, the physical force
assisted the Church.  A scheme substantially the same was introduced
by Capito at Frankfort in 1535.

But the secret of Calvin's later influence is that, he claimed for the
Church more independence than he obtained.  The surging theory of
State omnipotence did not affect his belief in the principle of
self-government.  Through him an idea of mutual check was introduced
which became effective at a later time, though nothing more unlike
liberty could be found than the state of Geneva when he was the most
important man there.  Every ascertainable breach of divine law was
punished with rigour.  Political error was visited with the sword, and
religious error with the stake.  In this spirit Calvin carried out his
scheme of a Christian society and crushed opposition.  Already, before
he came, the Council had punished vice with imprisonment and exile,
and the idea was traceable back to the Middle Ages.  It had never
found so energetic an advocate.

The crown was set upon the system by the trial and execution of
Servetus.  The Germans, in their aversion for metaphysics, had avoided
the discussion of questions regarding the Trinity which in the south
of Europe excited more attention.  As early as 1531, long before the
rise of the Socinians, the Spaniard Servetus taught anti-Trinitarianism,
and continued to do it for more than twenty years.  He remained
isolated, and it was not until after his death that his opinions
attracted followers.  Calvin, who thought him dangerous, both by
his doctrines and his talent, declared that if ever he came to
Geneva he would never leave it alive.  He caused him to be denounced
to the Inquisition, and he was imprisoned at Vienne on the Rhone,
tried, and condemned to be burnt at a slow fire, on evidence supplied
by Calvin in seventeen letters.  Servetus escaped, and on his way to
Italy stopped at Geneva, under a false name, for he knew who it was
that had set the machinery of the Holy Office in motion against him,
and who had said that he deserved to be burnt wherever he could be
found.  He was recognised, and Calvin caused him to be arrested and
tried without a defender.  The authorities at Vienne demanded his
extradition, and the Governor of Dauphiny requested that any money
Servetus had about him might be sent back to him, as he was to have
had it if the execution had occurred in his territory.  Calvin
disputed with his prisoner, convicted him of heresy, and claimed to
have convicted him of Pantheism, and he threatened to leave Geneva if
Servetus was not condemned.  The Council did not think that the errors
of a Spanish scholar who was on his way to Italy were any business of
theirs, and they consulted the Swiss churches, hoping to be relieved
of a very unpleasant responsibility.  The Swiss divines pronounced
against Servetus, and he was sentenced to die by fire, although Calvin
wished to mitigate the penalty, but refused, at a last interview, the
Spaniard's appeal for mercy.  The volume which cost Servetus his life
was burnt with him, but falling from his neck into the flames, it was
snatched from the burning, and may still be seen in its singed
condition, a ghastly memorial of Reformation ethics, in the National
Library at Paris.

The event at Geneva received the sanction of many leading divines,
both of Switzerland and Germany; and things had moved so far since
Luther was condemned for his toleration, that Melanchthon could not
imagine the possibility of a doubt.  Hundreds of humble Anabaptists
had suffered a like fate and nobody minded.  But the story of the
execution at Champel left an indelible and unforgotten scar.  For
those who consistently admired persecution, it left the estimate of
Calvin unchanged.  Not so with others, when they learnt how Calvin had
denounced Servetus long before to the Catholic Inquisitors in France;
how he had done so under the disguise of an intermediary, in a
prolonged correspondence; how he had then denied the fact, and had
done a man to death who was guilty of no wrong to Geneva, and over
whom he had no jurisdiction.  It weakened the right of Protestants to
complain when they were in the hands of the executioner, and it
deprived the terrors of the Inquisition of their validity as an
argument in the controversy with Rome.  Therefore, with the posting of
the Thesis at Wittenberg; with Worms, and Augsburg, and Ratisbon; with
the flight of Charles V before Maurice, and with the Peace of
Religion, it marks one of the great days in the Church history of the
century.  But it obtained still greater significance in the times that
were to come.  On the whole, though not without exceptions, the
patriarchs approved.  Their conclusions were challenged by younger and
obscurer men, and a controversy began which has not ceased to cause
the widest diversion among men.

The party of Liberty--Castellio, Socinus, Coornhert in the sixteenth
century, like Williams and Penn, Locke and Bayle in the
seventeenth--were not Protestants on the original foundation.  They
were Sectaries; and the charge of human freedom was transferred from
the churches to the sects, from the men in authority to the men in
opposition, to Socinians and Arminians and Independents, and the
Society of Friends.  By the thoroughness and definiteness of system,
and its practical adaptability, Calvinism was the form in which
Protestant religion could be best transplanted; and it struck root and
flourished in awkward places where Lutheranism could obtain no
foothold, in the absence of a sufficient prop.  Calvanism spread not
only abroad but at home, and robbed Luther of part of Germany, of the
Palatinate, of Anhalt, of the House of Brandenburg, and in great part
of Hungary.  This internal division was a fact of importance later on.
It assisted the work of the Counter-Reformation, and became the key to
the Thirty Years' War.  The same thing that strengthened the
Protestant cause abroad weakened it on its own soil.  Apart, then,
from points of doctrine, the distinctive marks of Calvin's influence
are that it promoted expansion, and that it checked the reigning idea
that nothing limits the power of the State.

Exactly the reverse of this distinguishes the movement which took
place at the same time in England, proceeding from the government
before the wave of Reformation struck the shores.  Here there were
local reminiscences of Lollardry, and a tradition, as old as the
Conquest, of resistance to the medieval claims of Rome; but the first
impulse did not arise on the domain of religion.  From the beginning
there was a body of opinion hostile to the king's marriage.  The
practice was new, it was discountenanced by earlier authorities, and
it belonged to the same series of innovations as the recent system of
indulgences which roused the resistance of Germany.  Precedents were
hard to find.  Alexander VI had granted the same dispensation to
Emmanuel of Portugal, but with misgivings; and had refused it until
the king undertook to make war in person against the Moors of Africa.
Julius II, coming immediately after, had exacted no such condition
from Henry VII, so that he had done what was never done before him.
Sixtus V afterwards declared that Clement had deserved the calamities
that befell him, because he had not dissolved so unholy a union.
Others thought so at the time.  No protest could well be heard before
1523, when Adrian censured his predecessors for exceeding their
powers.  After that it could be no offence to say that Julius was one
of those whose conduct was condemned by his next successor but one.
But it was still a dangerous point to raise, because any action taken
upon it implied a breach with the queen's nephew Charles V, and the
loss of the old alliance with the House of Burgundy.

After the triumph of Pavia, the captivity of Francis I, and his
defiance of the treaty by which he obtained his deliverance, Wolsey
accepted a pension of 10,000 ducats from France, England renounced
friendship with the Habsburgs, and the breach was already
accomplished.  The position of Catharine became intolerable, and she
led the opposition to Wolsey, the author of the change.  Therefore,
from 1526, both the religious and the political motive for silence
ceased to operate, and there were, just then, evident motives for
speech.  There was no hope that Catharine would have a son, and the
secret that a queen may reign by her own right, that the nation may be
ruled by the distaff, had not been divulged in England.  In foreign
policy and in home policy alike, there were interests which favoured a
new marriage, if its legitimacy could be assured.

Wolsey had an additional inducement to promote what we call the
divorce, though it was nothing of the kind, in the fact that the queen
was his enemy.  He had reasons to hope for success.  The armies of
Charles had invaded Italy and threatened Rome, and the papal minister,
Giberti, enchanted with the zeal of the great English cardinal, wished
that he had him at the Vatican in the place of the tremulous and
inconstant Clement.  Spain was the enemy; England was the ally.  It
was probable that the Pope would do what he could in the interest of
England, to keep up its enmity with Spain.  The case was a difficult
one, not to be decided on evidence.  Something would remain uncertain,
and some allowance must be made for good or ill will at Rome.  If the
invading Imperialists were defeated, the prospects would be good.  If
they held their ground and made the Pope their dependent, it would be
all over with the divorce.  Wolsey admitted afterwards that he
prompted the attempt, and persuaded the king that he could carry it
through.  But at first he shifted the responsibility on to the French
envoy, Grammont, afterwards a cardinal, who came over to arrange a
marriage with Mary Tudor.  He said that when he raised some
preliminary objection, Grammont lost his temper, and told him that
they might be glad of such an offer for a princess who was not
legitimate.  Another story put into circulation was that Henry had
married under protest, and by compulsion, having been warned that if
he refused he would be dethroned.  Erasmus, who admired Henry, took
care to explain that a king of England who lost his throne was likely
to lose his life.  Wolsey intended to cement the French alliance by a
marriage with Renee, daughter of Lewis XII, not believing that Anne
Boleyn would be an obstacle.  But the friends of Anne, the cluster of
English nobles who were weary of being excluded from affairs by the
son of the butcher of Ipswich, soon made it clear that she was only to
be won by the promise of a crown.

From that moment Wolsey, with all his astuteness, was digging his own
pit.  If he succeeded, he would fall to make way for the Boleyn
faction.  If he failed, he involved the Catholic cause in his
downfall.  The first step in the business was the demand for
permission to marry a lady not named, notwithstanding any impediment
arising from an intrigue with her sister.  With that the secret was
out, and they knew at Rome what the king's scruples were worth.  This
was done behind the cardinal's back.  When he took the matter in hand,
he asked that the Pope should dissolve the first marriage, on the
ground that Julius II had issued a dispensation in terms which could
not be justified.  That this might not be taken as denying the
plenitude of the prerogative, he further asked for a dispensation to
marry a second wife without repudiating the first.  And he desired
that the cause might be judged in this country and not at Rome.

When these negotiations commenced, in the spring and summer of 1527,
Rome had been sacked by the Imperialists, and Clement was a prisoner
in St. Angelo, or a fugitive at Orvieto, with the strongest motive
for resentment against the author of his humiliation.  By the summer
of 1528, when Lautrec was in Italy at the head of a French army,
Clement had conceded virtually the whole of the English demands.  He
removed every impediment to the marriage with Anne other than the fact
that Henry was married already.  He authorised the trial of the case
in England by Wolsey and Warham; or again, by Wolsey and Campeggio,
Archbishop of Bologna, the best jurist of the sacred college.  He
pronounced on the question of law, leaving questions of fact to the
legates, and he pronounced against the terms of the dispensation,
intimating that Julius had done what no Pope has a right to do.  He
promised that judgment as given in England would be final, and that he
would not remove the cause to Rome.  He was willing that Richmond, the
king's son, should marry the king's daughter, Mary Tudor.  He did not
turn a deaf ear even to the proposal of bigamy.  For several years he
continued to suggest that Henry should marry Anne Boleyn and renounce
the quest of a divorce.  In 1530, somebody informed him that this
would not do, and that brought him to the last of his resources.  He
proposed to the Imperialists, in order to prevent a schism, that Henry
should live with Anne without marriage and without divorce.  That he
might not be hopelessly wrong with the Emperor, he required that the
most compromising of these documents should be kept secret.  His
friendliness rose with the French advance and fell with the French
disasters.  If Lautrec would approach the vicinity of Rome, he said,
he would do more, because the Emperor would excuse him on the ground
of compulsion.  When Campeggio reached England, Lautrec was dead and
his army defeated.  The papal secretary wrote, "Decide nothing, for
the Emperor is victorious, and we cannot afford to provoke him." There
was nothing more to be done.

While the Court was sitting in London, the Pope made his peace with
Charles; Catharine appealed to him from his legates in England, and he
was obliged to call the case before him.  The queen's friends demanded
the strongest measures, and Aleander wrote that if you resisted Henry
VIII he became as gentle as a lamb.  Such persuasions did not
influence the Pope, who put off action as long as he could, knowing
that a breach would inevitably follow.  The French Chancellor warned
him that he would be known to be acting under pressure of the Emperor,
that the censure of Henry would be resented as the victory of Charles.
The French defeat in Italy was the ruin of Wolsey, who had caused the
breach with Spain without any advantage.  A year later, when Campeggio
prorogued the Legatine Court, and the divorce had to be given up, he
was dismissed.

One further step had to be taken before settling the matter in
England.  By advice of a Cambridge Don the universities were
consulted.  They gave various replies, but those that helped the king
were not convincing, for they cost him more than L100,000 and he
obliged the clergy to give him that sum.  As it was obvious for what
purpose Henry was arming himself with these opinions, Charles V
conceived serious scruples, and thought for a moment that to give way
might be the lesser evil.  At the same time he sent 450,000 ducats to
Rome to facilitate matters; for the divorce was the one pending
question which delayed the conclusion of that treaty of Barcelona
which laid Italy for centuries at the feet of Spain.  The uncertainty
in the policy of Rome as the power of the Emperor rose and fell, the
open avowal that so much depended on political considerations, besides
the strange proposal in respect of two wives, led to a belief in
England that the cause was lost by the pressure of interest and fear,
not by principle.  Therefore, the establishment of the Spanish
dominion over Italy was quickly followed by the rejection of papal
supremacy in favour of the English state.  The bishops themselves were
impressed with the danger of allowing the spiritual power to be
influenced through the temporal power by an enemy of this country, so
that they made no resistance.  England broke with the Papacy on these,
and not on strictly religious grounds.

Tunstall, coming up to attend Parliament, suffered himself to be
stopped by a letter from the king, dispensing with his presence.
Fisher alone offered opposition.  He caused the royal supremacy to be
accepted with the proviso, "so far as the divine law permits."  And as
this proved only a stepping-stone to the unconditional headship of the
Church, he regarded it as his own fault.  He refused submission, and
put himself in communication with the Imperialists with a view to
effective intervention.  Sir Thomas More, the most modern and original
mind among the men of his time, showed greater caution.  He admitted
the right of Parliament to determine the succession, and made no
struggle for Mary Tudor, as he had made none for her mother.  He did
not openly contest the royal supremacy until after sentence.  Besides
these two, a large number of monks were executed during Cromwell's
ministry.

Having given up the Pope, the government had no ground for keeping the
religious orders.  They did not belong to the primitive Church, and
some of them, Grey Friars and Black Friars, were an essential part of
the medieval system which was rejected with the papal authority.  When
Rome was taken in 1527, and Clement a prisoner, Wolsey, with some
other cardinals, proposed that he should act as his vicar during
captivity, so that the Church should not be receiving orders from the
Emperor through the Pope.  This proposal is a first glimpse of what
was now introduced.  The idea of a middle course, between Rome and
Wittemberg, occurred easily to every constant reader of Erasmus; and
many divines of the fifteenth century suggested something similar.
What then prevailed was not a theological view, but a political view.
The sovereignty of the Modern State, uncontrolled by the opinions of
men, commanded the minds both of Cromwell and of Gardiner, rivals
though they were.  Cromwell is the first public man known to have been
a student of Machiavelli's writings; and the first to denounce them
was his enemy, Reginald Pole.  It is the advent of a new polity.
Gardiner believed in it, thinking that nothing else could save
Catholicism after the mismanagement of the Church in Germany.  And it
is the dominant note of the following years, whichever party was
prevailing.

That is the broad distinction between the continental Reformation and
the contemporary event in England.  The one was the strongest
religious movement in the history of Christendom; the other was borne
onward on the crest of a wave not less overwhelming, the state that
admits no division of power.  Therefore, when the spirit of foreign
Protestantism caught the English people they moved on lines distinct
from those fixed by the Tudors; and the reply of the seventeenth
century to the sixteenth was not a development, but a reaction.
Whereas Henry could exclude, or impose, or change religion at will
with various aid from the gibbet, the block, or the stake, there were
some among the Puritans who enforced, though they did not discover,
the contrary principle, that a man's conscience is his castle, with
kings and parliaments at a respectful distance.


VII

PHILIP II, MARY STUART, AND ELIZABETH

THE MONARCHY of Philip II was held by no binding idea, but religious
unity.  The dynasty was new, and the king was not personally imposing or
attractive.  The people of Palermo, Milan, Antwerp, had no motive to
make sacrifices, except the fact that their king was the one upholder
of religion in Europe.  Catholics in every country were his natural
allies.

Charles V, who accepted inevitable divisions in Germany, had
established the Inquisition in the Netherlands.  Under Philip that
policy was consistent, and promised, in the flood of the
Counter-Reformation, to be a source of power.  He would not fall behind
his father.  He drove the Netherlands into rebellion; but his
intention was intelligible.  In the sixteenth century the pride of
state does as much for oppression and intolerance as religious
passion.  If he succeeded in repressing heresy, he would have a very
real political advantage over other powers.  In October 1565 he wrote:
"As to the Inquisition, my will is that it be enforced by the
Inquisitors as of old, and as is required by all law, human and
divine.  This lies very near my heart, and I require you to carry out
my orders.  Let all prisoners be put to death, and suffer them no
longer to escape through the neglect, weakness, and bad faith of the
judges.  If any are too timid to execute the edicts, I will replace
them by men who have more heart and zeal."

By this scheme of violence Philip II turned the Reformation into
revolution.  He saw that generally nothing was more striking than the
ease with which people changed religious profession; and he believed
that what was done with success in Germany and Austria and England,
could be done in the seven provinces of the Burgundian crown.  The
leaders of the popular movement were men of rank, like Egmont and
William of Orange, men not likely to go to extremes.  And it was an
axiom that the masses are always led by few, and cannot act of
themselves.  But in the Netherlands more than elsewhere the forms, if
not the reality, of freedom were preserved, and the sovereign was not
absolute.  Moreover, he governed from a distance, and, in addition to
his constitutional caution and procrastination, correspondence was
very slow.

The endeavour of Philip to substitute his will for self-government
provoked a Catholic and aristocratic opposition, followed by a
democratic and Protestant movement, which proved more difficult to
deal with.  The nobles were overcome by the strong measures of Alva.
The Gueux were defeated by Don Juan and Farnese, after the recall of
Alva.  And it seemed, for many years, that the movement would fail.
It is to the statesmanship of William the Silent, who was neither a
great soldier nor a strong churchman, that they owed their success.
He failed, indeed, to keep Protestants and Catholics together on a
wide basis of toleration.  In 1579 the southern provinces returned to
Spain, and the northern provinces cast off their allegiance.  But, by
the union of Utrecht, they founded that confederacy which became one
of the foremost powers in the world, and the first of revolutionary
origin.  The southern provinces remained Catholic.  The northern were,
in great measure, Protestant, but with a large Catholic population.
William, the Stadtholder, was killed by an assassin in 1584, before
his work was done.  He had brought in Alencon, Elizabeth's suitor,
that he might secure the help of France.  But Alencon proved a
traitor; and during the proconsulate of Farnese, Duke of Parma, the
Spaniards gained much ground.

Philip II stood at the height of his power in the middle of the
eighties.  He had annexed Portugal, with its immense colonial empire.
By the death of Alencon, the King of Navarre, who was a Huguenot,
became the heir to the crown of France, and the Catholic party looked
to Spain for their salvation.  Now, after many patient years, he
prepared for war with England.  For Drake was ravaging Spanish
territory; and an English army under Leicester, having occupied the
Netherlands after the death of William, though they accomplished
little, gave just cause for an open quarrel.  Whenever, in the course
of the Counter-Reformation, it came to a duel between Spain and
England, the fate of Protestantism would be staked on the issue.  That
conflict was finally brought about, not by the revolt of the
Netherlands, but by the most tragic of all histories, that begins at
Holyrood with the murder of Riccio and ends twenty-one years later at
Fotheringay.

When Mary Stuart came to Scotland the country had just become
Protestant.  She did not interfere with the settlement, but refused to
permit the suppression of Catholicism, and became, in opposition to
the most violent of the reformers, a champion of religious
toleration.  John Knox differed from all the Protestant founders in his
desire that the Catholics should be exterminated, root and branch,
either by the ministry of State, or by the self-help of all Christian
men.  Calvin, in his letter to Somerset, went very far in the same
direction, but not so far as this.  The nobles, or rather the heads of
clans, in whom the power of society resided, having secured the Church
lands, were not so zealous as their preachers, and the queen succeeded
in detaching them.  Mary was religious without ferocity, and did not
share the passions of her time.  She would have been willing to marry
Leicester, and to make herself dependent on English policy, but
Elizabeth refused to acknowledge her right of succession, and drove
her to seek connection with the Catholic Powers.  She wished at one
time to marry Don Carlos, that, having been Queen of France, she might
become Queen of Spain.  This was impossible; and so she became the wife
of Darnley, who united the blood of the Tudors and the Stuarts.  She
belonged, on her mother's side, to the house of Guise, whose princes
were leaders of the militant Counter-Reformation.  The duke, who had
slaughtered the Huguenots at Vassy, was now dead.  But his brother, the
Cardinal, who afterwards claimed the merit of a more signal massacre,
was still an important personage in Church and State.  Mary, appearing
on this background of sanguinary uncles, was believed to be an
adherent of their policy, and to take part in all extremes of the
Catholic reaction.

Riccio, the Piedmontese secretary, through whom she corresponded with
foreign princes, was hated accordingly; and Darnley, who attributed to
the Italian's influence his own exclusion from power, consented that
he should be made away with.  The accomplices who wrought the deed
took care that Mary should know that they acted with his approval;
and when she found herself the wife of an assassin and a coward, the
breach ensued which was sometimes dissembled but never repaired.
Three months later their son was born, but Darnley was not present at
the christening.  His enemies advised the Queen to obtain a divorce,
but she objected that it would injure the prospects of her son.
Maitland then hinted that there might be other ways of getting rid of
him.  Mary did not yield consent; but the idea once started was
followed up, and the king was doomed to death by what was called the
Bond of Craigmillar.

At the end of 1566 he fell seriously ill at his father's house at
Glasgow.  Mary came, spent three days with him, and an explanation
took place, amounting apparently to a reconciliation.  Darnley was
taken to Edinburgh, and lodged about a mile from Holyrood, at
Kirk-o'-Field, where he was repeatedly visited by the queen.  On the
night of 9th February she went away to attend a ball, and three hours
after she had left him his house was blown up, and he was found in the
garden, strangled.  Nobody doubted at the time, or has ever doubted
since, that the crime was committed by the Earl of Bothwell, a rough
and resolute soldier, whose ambition taught him to seek fortune as a
supporter of the throne.  He filled Edinburgh with his troops, stood
his trial, and was at once acquitted.  Thereupon his friends, and some
who were not his friends, acting under pressure, resolved that he
should marry the queen.  As a widow, she was helpless.  Bothwell
possessed the energy which Darnley wanted, and, as he was a
Protestant, the queen would be less isolated.  He had killed her
husband; but then her husband was himself a murderer, who deserved his
fate.  Bothwell, encouraged by many of the Lords, had only executed
justice on a contemptible criminal.  There was a debt of gratitude
owing to him for what he had done.

Public decorum forbade that the queen should ostensibly accept the
offer of a man who made her a widow ten weeks before.  Therefore
Bothwell waylaid the queen at the Brig of Almond, some miles from
Edinburgh, dispersed her attendants, and carried her off to Dunbar.
There was a difficulty about the marriage, because he was married
already.  He now procured a divorce, and, ten days after the outrage
at Almond Brig, they reappeared at Edinburgh.  The queen publicly
forgave Bothwell for what he had done, made him a duke, and, on 15th
May, three months after the explosion at Kirk-o'-Field, married him
according to the Presbyterian rite.  The significant sequence of these
events gave an irresistible advantage to her enemies.  It was an
obvious inference that she had been a party to the murder of the king,
when she was so eager to marry the man that slew him.  The only answer
would be by discarding him.  Nobody could think the son safe in the
hands of his father's murderer.

Either the Lords must get the queen into their power, or they must
dethrone her and govern Scotland during the long minority of her son.
The forces met at Carberry Hill.  There was no fight.  Mary hoped, by
a temporary parting from her third husband, to save her crown.  She
passed into captivity, was shut up at Loch Leven, and compelled to
abdicate.  The Protestant interest was at last supreme.

Mary escaped from her island prison, gathered an army, gave battle at
Langside, and lost it, and then, losing courage before her cause was
helpless, fled to England, in the belief that Elizabeth would save
her.

From the death of Darnley, still more after her Protestant marriage,
she had ceased to be the champion of her own Church.  That was again
her position when she came to England.  There, she was heir to the
throne, and the centre of all the hopes and efforts to preserve or to
restore Catholicism.

The story of Mary Stuart cannot be told without an understanding in
regard to the Casket Letters.  They are still the object of an
incessant controversy, and the problem, although it has made progress
of late, and the interest increases with the increase of daylight,
remains unsolved.  The view to be taken of the events depends
essentially on the question of authenticity.  If the letters are what
they seem to be, the letters of the queen to Bothwell, then she is
implicated in the murder of her husband.  If they are not authentic,
then there is no evidence of her guilt.  Everybody must satisfy
himself on this point before he can understand the ruin of the
Catholic cause in Scotland and in England, and the consequent arrest of
the Counter-Reformation in Europe.

At the same time the issue does not seriously affect the judgment of
History on the character of the queen herself.  She repeatedly
expressed her delight in murder, and her gratitude to those who
executed or attempted it, and stands on the same level of morality
with the queen her mother-in-law, or with the queen her rival.  But the
general estimate does not throw light on the particular action, and
supplies no help in a hanging matter.

The opinion of historians inclines, on the whole, in her favour.
About fifty writers have considered the original evidences
sufficiently to form something like an independent conclusion.
Eighteen of these condemn Mary, thirty pronounce her not guilty; two
cannot make up their minds.  Most of the Catholics absolve, and among
Protestants there is an equal number for and against.  The greater
names are on the hostile side.  They do not carry weight with us,
because they decided upon evidence less complete than that which we
possess.  Four of the greatest, Robertson, Ranke, Burton, Froude, were
all misled by the same damaging mistake.  The equal division of the
Protestants shows how little any religious bias has had to do with the
inquiry; so that the overwhelming majority on the Catholic side
requires explanation.

There have been two reasons for it.  Many found it difficult to
understand how a woman who died so edifying a death could have been a
murderess.  It would be easy to find many instances of men in that age
who led holy lives and died with sincerity, but who, in the matter of
homicide, had much in common with the Roman triumvirs, or the heroes
of the French Revolution.  But persons disposed to admit that
difficulty would naturally be impressed by an argument of much greater
force.  The man who produced the famous letters, the Chancellor
Morton, was a notorious villain.  He had kept guard at Holyrood while
his friends slew Riccio.  Further, many have admitted, many more are
now ready to admit, that some portion of the letters is forged.  In
that case, how can we accept evidence which the forgers have supplied?
How can we send Mary to the scaffold on the testimony of perjured
witnesses?  Either we must say that the proofs are genuine throughout,
and that Morton did not suffer them to be tampered with, or we must
absolve Mary.  Nobody, I think, at the present day, will deny that the
letters, as we have them, were tampered with.  Therefore we must hold
Mary to be not guilty.  Everybody can see the force of this argument,
and the likelihood that it would impress those who expect to find
consistency in the lives and characters of men, or even of women.

On 20th June, 1567 Morton captured Dalgleish, one of Bothwell's men,
who had helped to kill Darnley.  In order to escape torture--he did not
escape capital punishment--Dalgleish delivered up a silver gilt casket
which had belonged to the queen's first husband, and which now
contained papers, the property of her third husband.  Among them were
eight letters, not directed, or dated, or signed, but which were
recognised by those who saw them to be in the handwriting of the
queen.

Towards the end of July it began to be whispered, by Moray in London,
by Throckmorton at Edinburgh, that they proved her complicity in the
death of Darnley, and justified the Lords in deposing her.  In the
following year, when Mary had sought a refuge in England, these papers
were produced, and they furnished the argument by which Elizabeth
justified the detention of the Scottish queen.  The decisive piece is a
long document, known as the Glasgow letter, which alludes distinctly
to the intended crime.  As it contains a conversation with Darnley,
which he repeated to Crawford, one of his officers, the confirmation
thus supplied caused it to be widely accepted at the time, and by the
four writers I named just now.

That is what puts them out of court; for the letter was evidently
concocted by men who had Crawford's report before them.  The letter is
spurious, and it is the only one that connects the queen with the
death of Darnley.  It does not follow that the others are spurious,
for they add nothing to the case.  The forgers, having constructed the
damning piece, would not be likely to do more.  Every additional
forgery would increase the risk of detection, without any purpose.
What purported to be the originals do not exist.  They can be traced
down to 1584, and no farther.  The handwriting can no longer be
tested.  Until lately, the French text of the letters was not known,
and they could be studied only in translations.

Since 1872, when the Hatfield letters were discovered, and were
printed at Brussels, we possess four in their original shape.  These
cannot be seriously impeached.  The comparison of the style and
language with that of Mary's undisputed writings shows that they
correspond; and they do not resemble in the same degree those of her
contemporaries.  The ablest of Mary's advocates accept these letters as
genuine.  But they deny that they were written to Bothwell.  The writer
speaks of a secret marriage, which she would like to disclose.  There
certainly was no secret marriage with Bothwell; but it is a possible
hypothesis that she may have married Darnley in secret before the
ceremonial wedding.  Therefore this letter, which is a love letter, is
quite legitimate, and is meant for the right address.  But the word
which the queen uses, marriage, is employed in the sense of a wedding
ring, as they say alliance or union, to this day, in the same
meaning.  She is regretting that she must wear the ring round her neck,
and cannot produce it in public, because of Darnley.

Besides the one which is spurious and the four which are genuine,
there are three other letters which we do not know in the original
French.  They cannot be tested in the same manner as those I have just
spoken of, and cannot be accepted with the same confidence.  If, then,
we divide the letters in this way: one evidently forged, four
evidently genuine, and three that are best left aside, the result is
that there is no evidence of murderous intent.  But it would appear
that Mary wished to be carried off by Bothwell, and that she meant to
marry him.  How she proposed to dispose of her living husband, whether
by death or by his consent to divorce, we cannot tell.  The case is
highly suspicious and compromising; but more than that is required for
a verdict of guilty in a matter of life and death.

What is known as the Penal Laws begins with Mary's captivity in
England.  There was the northern rising; the Pope issued a Bull
deposing Elizabeth, and Philip undertook to make away with her; for
the Queen of Scots, once Queen of France, now fixed her hopes on Spain
and the forces of the Counter-Reformation.  The era of persecution
began which threw England back for generations, while France, Germany,
Austria, the Netherlands were striving for religious freedom.  It was
proposed to extirpate the Catholics.  Negotiations were opened with
the Scots to give them back their queen, on condition that they would
at once put her to death.  And when she had been condemned for
plotting treason, Elizabeth asked her gaoler to murder her in her
prison.  The execution at Fotheringay gave Elizabeth that security at
home which she could never have enjoyed while Mary lived.  But it was
the signal of danger from abroad.  Philip II was already preparing for
war with England when Mary bequeathed her rights to him.  The legal
force of the instrument was not great, but it gave him a claim to
fight for, constituting the greatest enterprise of the Reformation
struggle.  Sixtus V, the ablest of the modern Popes, encouraged him.
Personally, he much preferred Elizabeth to Philip, and he offered her
favourable terms.  But he gave his benediction, and even his money, to
the Spaniards when there was a chance that they would succeed.  And
their chances, in the summer of 1588, seemed very good.  The Armada
was stronger, though not much stronger, than the English fleet; but
the army that was to be landed at the mouth of the Thames was
immeasurably superior to the English.  This was so evident that Philip
was dazzled and listened to no advice.  They might have sailed for
Cork and made Ireland a Spanish stronghold.  They might have supplied
Farnese with the land force that he required to complete the conquest
of the revolted provinces, putting off to the following year the
invasion of England.  When they came in sight of Plymouth, Recalde,
one of the victors of Lepanto, and Oquendo, whose name lasted as long
as the Spanish navy, for the ship of the line that bore it was sunk in
Cervera's action, demanded to fight.  But the orders were peremptory
to sail for Dunkirk and to transport Farnese to Margate.  The Armada
made the best of its way to Gravelines, where they were attacked
before Farnese could embark, and the expedition failed.

An American writer, meditating upon our history at Battle, on the spot
where Harold fell, once expressed his thought in these words, "Well,
well, it is a small island, and has been often conquered."  It was not
conquered in August 1588, because Drake held the narrow seas.  The
credit was not shared by the army.  And it may be a happy fortune that
the belated levies of Tilbury, commanded by Leicester, never saw the
flash of Farnese's guns.  For the superiority of Spain was not by sea,
nor the greatness of England on land.  But England thenceforth was
safe, and had Scotland in tow.  Elizabeth occupied a position for
which her timorous and penurious policy, during so many years, had not
prepared the world.  She proposed terms to Philip.  She would
interfere no more in the Low Countries, if he would grant toleration.
Farnese entered into the scheme, but Philip refused.  The lesson of
the Armada was wasted upon him.  He did not perceive that he had lost
Holland as well as England.

The revolt of the Netherlands created a great maritime power; for it
was by water, by the dexterous use of harbours, estuaries, and dykes,
that they obtained independence.  By their sea power they acquired the
trade of the Far East, and conquered the Portuguese possessions.  They
made their universities the seat of original learning and original
thinking, and their towns were the centre of the European press.  The
later Renaissance, which achieved by monuments of solid work what
dilettantism had begun and interrupted in the Medicean age, was due to
them and to the refuge they provided for persecuted scholars.  Their
government, imperfect and awkward in its forms, became the most
intelligent of the European governments.  It gave the right of
citizenship to revolutionary principles, and handed on the torch when
the turn of England came.  There the sects were reared which made this
country free; and there the expedition was fitted out, and the king
provided, by which the Whigs acquired their predominance.  England,
America, France have been the most powerful agents of political
progress; but they were preceded by the Dutch.  For it was by them
that the great transition was made, that religious change became
political change, that the Revolution was evolved from the
Reformation.


VIII

THE HUGUENOTS AND THE LEAGUE

WHEN THE religious frontiers were fixed in the rest of Europe, in
France, the most important state of all, they were still unsettled.
There the struggle was obstinate and sanguinary, and lasted more than
thirty years, ending, towards the close of the century, with the
triumph of the Crown over the nation, and the State over the Church.

Although the French had had at least one reformer before the
Reformation, and were prepared by the Gallican system for much
divergence from prevailing forms of medieval Catholicism; they
received the new ideas as an importation from Germany.  In that shape,
as Lutheranism, they never became an important force in the country,
though there was, a time of comparative toleration, followed, after
1535, by the severities which at that time became usual in Europe.
The number of victims in the last years of Francis I is supposed to
have been eighty-five or a little more.  Luther, in his life and
thought, presented so many characteristics of the exclusively German
type as to repel the French, who, during many years of that
generation, were at war with Germany.  After his death, the first man
among the reformers was a Frenchman, and the system as he recast it
was more congenial.  Calvinism possessed the important faculty of
self-government, whilst Lutheranism required to be sustained by the
civil power.  For these reasons the Calvinistic doctrines obtained a
far more favourable hearing, and it is in that shape only that the
Reformation struck root in France.

King Henry II, who had been educated in Spain, where he was detained
as a hostage, was resolutely intolerant, and when the general peace
was concluded he turned his thoughts to the state of religion.  He
made an attempt to introduce the Inquisition, but was killed in a
tourney before he had achieved his purpose.  The Protestants at that
time were estimated by Calvin at about 300,000, and in certain
districts they were increasing rapidly.  They had two translations of
the Bible, and a celebrated book of hymns; and they now began to
combine and organise.  They were strongest in Dauphiny, which was near
Geneva, and at Lyons, which was a centre of trade.  Then they spread
to Normandy, and in the west, and as time went by it became difficult
to say which part of the country or which class of the population was
most deeply influenced by their doctrine.  No province ever became
Protestant, and hardly any town.  There never was any prospect that
the Reformation would prevail; but at first, in the tide of early
expansion, this was not quite evident, and they dreamt, not of liberty
only, but of predominance.  They did not profess the liberal
principle, and never repudiated the maxim of their chief at Geneva
regarding the repression of other sects.  They thought it a life and
death struggle, persuaded that the Catholics were irreconcilable, and
impossible fellow-subjects and neighbours.  By image-breaking,
assaults on processions, and general violence, they made the part of
tolerant Catholics difficult to play.  As a religious body, guided by
the counsels of Calvin, they should have professed passive obedience.
But they were associated with vast political interests, and with men
less eager about points of doctrine than about affairs of state, who
brought them into action against the government.  As there were
princes of the blood among them, and even crowned heads, resistance to
the authority of the day was not felt to be seditious.  In this way it
came to pass that while Calvin at Geneva was preaching non-resistance,
Calvinists in France formed an armed opposition and became involved in
plots.

As the new king was too young to govern, Queen Catharine, his mother,
became nominal regent; but as he was married to Mary Stuart, her
uncles governed the kingdom.  One of them was the Duke of Guise, the
conqueror of Calais, and the most popular soldier in France.  His
brother, the Cardinal of Lorraine, one of the most conspicuous
ecclesiastics of the age, was a Gallican prelate, obnoxious to Rome,
and willing to concede much in favour of the Confession of Augsburg as
an arm against Geneva, maintaining his power by every means, and an
avowed and unshrinking advocate of assassination.  Against the
administration of these men, princes and Protestants combined.  Their
plans were detected; many accomplices were put to death at Amboise,
and the Prince of Conde was arrested, tried, and in imminent danger of
execution, when Francis II died, and the reign of the Guises was at an
end.

Catharine, whose effective regency now began in the name of Charles
IX, her second son, rested on the moderates.  There was so little
passion in her religion that people doubted whether there was much
conviction.  When Pius V proffered advice as to the king's marriage,
she replied that he was old enough to act for himself, without foreign
interference.  She assured Elizabeth that she would have no objection
if she treated her Catholics as Protestants were treated in France on
St. Bartholomew's day.  Once, on the report of a Protestant victory,
she declared that she was quite ready to say her prayers in French.
In Italy, her want of zeal made people suppose that she was at heart a
Huguenot.  She encouraged the liberal and conciliatory legislation of
L'Hopital; for the most striking feature of the time is the sudden
outbreak of tolerant opinion.

To arrest this surrender of Counter-Reformation policy, and the ruin
which it portended to the Church in France, Guise fell upon a
congregation of Protestants, and mingled their blood with their
sacrifices.  This is the massacre of Vassy, which provoked the wars of
religion.  They lasted, with intervals, sometimes of several years,
for a whole generation, and effaced the country as a European Power.
This long obliteration protracted the struggle in the Netherlands, led
to the fall of Mary Stuart, and assisted the triumphant rise and
growth of England in the middle years of Elizabeth.  During the
sixties Coligny advanced steadily to the highest place in his party
and in the State, and he repeatedly secured terms which satisfied the
Protestant leaders, though at the expense of their followers.

The third war of religion, the war of 1569, in which the Huguenots
were defeated in the historic battles of Jarnac and Moncontour, had
been so devastating that the government lost the disposition to go on
fighting, and counsels of moderation prevailed.  Coligny, summoned to
advise, was listened to with attention, and a marriage was decided on
between the king's sister, Margaret of Valois, and Henry of Bourbon,
the young King of Navarre, whose birthright made him the head of
the Protestant interest.  Before the wedding was celebrated a change
occurred in the European situation which profoundly affected the
policy of France.  The revolt broke out in the Netherlands, the real
revolt, which was not the work of Belgian nobles, but of the Water
Beggars, who took advantage of the maritime configuration, and
accomplished the deliverance of the northern provinces.

This was Coligny's opportunity.  It was the manifest policy of France
to intervene, now that the conflict was a serious one, and to rectify
the frontier along the line of peril, by which the capital was exposed
to attack.  What could not have been attempted while Alva held the
provinces in subjection, was possible now that his power was shaken to
its foundation.  England was an obstacle, because England preferred
Spanish masters in the Low Countries to French; but it was possible to
negotiate compensation with Elizabeth; and Charles IX, under pressure
from Coligny, concluded a treaty with her.  He also decided that a
Protestant force should join the Flemish insurgents in their
operations against the Duke of Alva.  If they succeeded, their success
was to be followed up, and the merit of the expected conquest would be
theirs.  Conciliation and peace at home would be purchased by
victories over the Spaniard.  If they failed, they would be disavowed.
Accordingly, in July 1572, an expedition under Genlis went to the
relief of Mons, and was betrayed and defeated.  The Huguenots had had
their opportunity and had made nothing of it.  The perfidy of the
French government was detected, and the king, in his embarrassment,
denounced the invaders, and urged Alva to make short work with
prisoners.  At the same time, he did not give up the scheme that had
begun so badly, the scheme for the conquest of Flanders by a forlorn
hope of Huguenots.

Coligny was to have another chance of securing liberty by the
splendour of his services to the country, and the wedding of the
Princess Margaret of Valois with Navarre, in defiance of the Pope's
refusal of the requisite dispensation, proclaimed that the court had
gone over to the Protestants.  France was on the brink of a war with
Spain, in which the admiral would have the command of her armies.  It
was to be a war for Protestant dominance, with France at the head of
the Protestant interest in Europe, and Protestants in high offices at
home.  Queen Catharine was resolved not to submit to their ascendency,
and she knew a short way out of it.  There was a blood-feud of nine
years' standing between the House of Guise and the admiral who had
never succeeded in vindicating himself from the suspicion that he was
cognisant of the murder of the former Duke of Guise at the siege of
Orleans.  They were glad to obtain their revenge; and one of their
bravos, after two days' watching, shot Coligny, wounding him severely
but not mortally.  His friends, who were collected at Paris in large
numbers, insisted on satisfaction.  Catharine then informed her son
that there could be no punishment and no inquiry, that the real
culprit was herself, and that if anything was done, by way of justice,
Guise would cast upon her all the ignominy of the attempt, all
the ignominy of its failure.  Nothing could save her but the immediate
destruction of Coligny and his chief adherents, all conveniently
within reach.  The king hesitated.  Not from any scruple; for when the
Parliament had offered a reward for the capture of the admiral, he had
obliged them to add the words--alive or dead.  But he hesitated to
surrender the hope of annexing Flanders, the constant and necessary
object of national policy.

Late in the day after that on which Coligny received his wound, the
civic authorities were warned to hold their men in readiness, when the
bell of the church near the Louvre, St. Germain of Auxerre, rang the
tocsin.  This was the beginning of that alliance between the rural
aristocracy of Catholic France and the furious democracy of the
capital which laid the inauspicious foundation of the League.  Their
objects were not entirely the same.  The Parisian populace were
indiscriminately murderous and cruel, killing every Huguenot they
knew.  The Spanish envoy wrote: "not a child has been spared.  Blessed
be God!"  Guise had his thoughts fixed on political enemies.  Some
Protestant officers who lived beyond the Seine, hearing the tumult,
took horse and made off before it reached them, and were pursued by
Guise for many hours along the north road.  When Guise gave up the
chase and returned to Paris, his house became a refuge for many
obscure persons from whom he had nothing to fear.  In his absence, the
king had laid the blame upon him, and described the massacre as a
result of the old quarrel between Guise and Chatillon.  This was not
to be borne, and another explanation was speedily devised.  It was now
stated that a Protestant conspiracy had been discovered, and happily
crushed in time by a prompt effort in self-defence.  This was
suggested by the threatening attitude assumed by Coligny's friends in
order to compel punishment for the attempt on his life.  Both theories
were adopted in dealing with England and the German princes.  Whilst
orders went forth to the local authorities all over France to imitate
the example of the capital, every effort was made to avert a breach
with the Protestant Powers.

These efforts were so successful that Elizabeth stood godmother to the
daughter of Charles IX, while his brother, Henry of Anjou, was elected
King of Poland by a union of parties, although his share in the
slaughter was notorious.  This idea soon became preponderant; and when
provincial governors neglected or refused to obey the sanguinary
commands, nothing was done to enforce them.  The actual massacre was a
momentary resolve: it was not a change of front.

The premeditation of St. Bartholomew has been a favourite controversy,
like the Casket Letters; but the problem is entirely solved, although
French writers, such as Guizot and Bordier, believe in it; and the
Germans, especially Baumgarten and Philippson, deny it.  It is
perfectly certain that it was not a thing long and carefully prepared,
as was believed in Rome, and those who deny premeditation in the
common sense of the word are in the right.  But for ten years the
court had regarded a wholesale massacre as the last resource of
monarchy.  Catharine herself said that it had been in contemplation,
if opportunity offered, from the year 1562.  Initiated observers
expected it from that time; and after the conference with Alva at
Bayonne, in 1565, it was universally considered probable that some of
the leaders, at least, would be betrayed and killed.  Two cardinals,
Santa Croce and Alessandrina, announced it at Rome, and were not
believed.  In 1569 Catharine admitted that she had offered 50,000
crowns for the head of Coligny, and corresponding sums for others.
The Archbishop of Nazareth reported to the Pope in the autumn of 1570
that the Treaty of St. Germain had been concluded with the intention
of slaughtering the Protestants when they were beguiled by the
favourable conditions granted them, but that the agents disobeyed.  He
hoped that the Peace of St. Germain had the same legitimate motive
and excuse, and advised that a list of proscription should be drawn
up.  In short, the idea had been long entertained, and had been more
than once near execution.  At last, the murder of Coligny was provoked
by the imminent war with Spain, and the general slaughter followed.
The clergy applauded, but it did not proceed from them.  Excepting
Sorbin at Orleans and the Jesuit Auger in the south, few of them were
actual accomplices before the fact.  After the energetic approval
given by the court of Rome, it was not quite easy for a priest to
express dissent.

One dauntless ecclesiastic warned the Pope to prohibit demonstrations
which revealed the secret of the priesthood.  The man who thus
disturbed the unanimity of exultant cardinals was Montalto, afterwards
Sixtus V, and he deserves to be recorded, because he outweighs many
names.  He thought so ill of his predecessor, Gregory XIII, that he
was tempted to revoke the best act of his pontificate, the reformation
of the Calendar; and he was quite perspicacious enough to understand
that the massacre was the height of folly as well as the worst of
crimes.

We have no reliable statistics of the slain.  The fugitives who
escaped to England spoke of one hundred thousand.  At Rome they put
the figure for Paris alone at sixty thousand.  For the capital a basis
of calculation is supplied by the number of bodies found in the river.
The result would be something over two thousand.  In the provinces
there are reports from about forty towns.  The Protestant martyrology
assigns two thousand to Orleans alone.  But Toussaint, one of the
ministers, who was there, and had the good fortune to escape, knew
only of seven hundred, and that is still the belief in the town
itself.  It was said that two hundred perished at Toulouse.  But the
president, Durand, who lost some of his own friends, and whose Memoirs
were not written for the public, speaks of thirty-six.  In five towns
the victims amounted to between one hundred and seven hundred.  In all
the rest they were fewer.  Taking the more authentic figures, and in
cases where we cannot decide between statements that conflict,
preferring the lower figure, because of the tendency to exaggerate
where there is passion or excitement, we arrive at rather more than
five thousand for the whole of France.  The editor of Queen
Catharine's correspondence, La Ferriere, urged me to make some
allowance for persons who lost their lives on the byways in attempting
to escape.  That is a probable conjecture, but no evidence takes us as
high as eight thousand.  I reached that conclusion many years ago, and
it is confirmed by what has since appeared, especially by the new
Histoire Generale, which accepts the limit I have mentioned.  The
higher estimates commonly given are not based on a critical
investigation.  The character of the event, and of its authors and
admirers, is not affected by numbers.  For the massacres of September
and the revolutionary tribunal wrought less bloodshed in twenty-three
months than the French Catholics had done in about as many days.  At a
time when papal agents estimated the Huguenots at one-fifth of the
entire population, the loss of five thousand, or even of eight
thousand, would not seriously weaken them.  It checked their increase,
and injured mainly the royalist element among them, for Coligny was
the leader of the party that desired to support the monarchy.

Lord Clarendon has said that it was a massacre that all pious
Catholics, in the time in which it was committed, decried, abominated,
and detested.  There were, of course, many in France who thought it
possible to be a good Christian without being a professional murderer,
and who sincerely desired toleration.  For such men it was impossible
to continue associated with the Catholics of the League, and they were
in far closer sympathy with the Protestants.  In this way a new party
arose, which was called the Politiques, and consisted of those whose
solicitude for dogma did not entirely silence the moral sense and the
voice of conscience, and who did not wish religious unity or
ascendency to be preserved by crime.  It was on an ethical issue that
the separation took place, but it necessarily involved political
consequences of a definite kind.

The Politiques became promoters of the regal authority against the
aggression of the clergy, the aristocracy, and the democracy.  They
had their strength among the jurists and the scholars in an age when
France was at the head of all scholarship and jurisprudence.  The very
reason of their existence was the desire to resist the influence and
the spirit of Rome, and to govern France on contrary principles to
those professed by ecclesiastical authority and enforced by
ecclesiastical law.  Therefore they strove to reduce the action of the
Papacy within very strictly defined limits, to abolish ultramontanism,
and to develop the Gallican theory of Church and State which French
divines had produced at the reforming councils of the fifteenth
century.  As the clergy were subject to a Power which had encouraged
extermination, they aimed at the supremacy of the secular order, of
the lawyer over the priest, and of the State over the Church.  They
were the most intelligent advocates of the modern state in relation to
society.  For them, the representative of the State was the crown, and
they did their utmost to raise it above the restraining forces.  For
the purpose that animated them the sole resource was the monarchy; and
it is they who terminated the wars of religion, the League, and the
Revolution, and prepared the great period of the Bourbon kings.  Their
ideas survive, and are familiar to the later world in the classic
History of Thuanus.

The survivors closed their ranks and rapidly established a system of
self-government, which sought safety in its own organisation, not in
the protection of the crown.  The intense conservatism of the early
Protestants was already giving way in the Netherlands, and it now made
way in France for the theory of resistance.  A number of books
appeared, asserting the inalienable right of men to control the
authority by which they are governed, and more especially the right of
Frenchmen, just as, in the following century, Puritan writers claimed
a special prerogative in favour of Englishmen, as something distinct
from the rest of mankind.  The most famous is the Vindiciae contra
Tyrannos, by Junius Brutus, generally attributed to Hubert Languet,
but written, as I believe, by Duplessis Mornay, a man eminent as a
party leader, who lost ground by entering on religious controversy.
As an adherent and even a friend of Henry of Navarre, he was moderate
in his language.  This is the beginning of the literature of
revolution.  But the Huguenots quickly restrained themselves, for the
same reason which, as we shall see, drove the Catholics of the League
to the extremity of violence and tyrannicide.  The cause of these
dissimilar consequences was the problem of succession to the crown.
Henry III had no children, and the future of the Valois dynasty rested
on his only brother, the duke of Anjou, formerly of Alencon, the
favoured and apparent suitor of Elizabeth, who by his perfidy and
incompetence lost the government of the Netherlands.

In 1584 Anjou died, and nobody remained between the king and Henry of
Navarre, the head of the Bourbons.  Therefore, if the king died, the
next heir would be the chief of the Protestants, a relapsed heretic,
whom the Pope had excommunicated.  It would be the ruin of the
Catholics as a political party, and the renunciation of Catholicism as
a system of law and authority, for a relapsed heretic was a culprit to
whom the Church could show no mercy.  To make him king was to defy the
ecclesiastical code, and to abandon the practice of Rome and Spain for
that of Germany under the Peace of Religion.  The example of Denmark,
of Sweden, and of England showed that a Protestant king would impose
his religion on the people.  They preferred to fight for the principle
that a people should impose its religion on the king.  This
consideration was the origin of the League, as a great confederation
distinct from earlier and less important associations.  It was
constituted out of three distinct elements: first, Guise and his
partisans, who had carried on the civil wars, and were the Catholic
portion of the aristocracy; then the Parisian democracy, who had acted
with the others against Coligny and the Huguenots, who cherished a
strong municipal spirit, and eventually created a supreme commune,
such as had existed in the fourteenth century, and was seen again in
1792 and in 1871; lastly, Philip II of Spain, who gave a million
crowns.

Gregory XIII bestowed a qualified sanction, which was not enough to
allay the scruples of some men.  Beyond the suppression of
Protestantism and the restored ascendency of the Church, on which all
were agreed, there was a design to develop local self-government and
provincial institutions.  All the liberties, they said, that had come
down from Clovis, and more if possible.  The League was a movement
directed against the crown, even if it surrendered to them.  There was
an idea, vague at first, afterwards more distinct, that Guise
descended from Charlemagne, and had a valid claim to the throne; and
this was a rift in his alliance with the King of Spain.  For Philip
hoped to secure the crown of France for his own daughter Isabella, who
became the ruler, and the successful ruler, of Belgium.  At the time
when the League was formed, in January 1585, Philip had reached the
highest point in his career.  He had annexed Portugal and its immense
dominion.  William of Orange was dead, and Farnese had already
recovered an important part of the insurgent region.  He had
succeeded, for a quarter of a century, in avoiding a breach with
Elizabeth, in spite of the expulsion of his ambassador and of Drake's
victorious piracies.  If he had pursued the same cautious policy, and
had employed, under Farnese against the Dutch, the resources he wasted
against England, he might have ended his reign in triumph.  The
prudence for which he was renowned deserted him when he joined the
League, and then made it subservient to the purposes of the Armada.
His object was that France should continue to be divided against
itself, and that neither Henry III nor his own confederate Guise
should prevail.  While those disorders continued, and made the French
powerless abroad, the expedition of the Armada was carried out,
without interference, and failed by mismanagement.

Meantime, Henry III was supported in a half-hearted way by Protestants
and Politiques, who did not trust him, and Guise, at the head of the
population, made himself master of Paris.  Henry retired to Blois.
After that outrage, refusing to acknowledge that the breach was
irremediable, the duke followed, and trusted himself, undefended, in
his enemy's hands.  Then followed the only thing by which Henry III
could retain his power.  He took six days to make up his mind that it
was right, and then ordered Guise to be dispatched.  His brother, the
cardinal, met with the same fate.  Catharine of Medici, who was in the
castle of Blois when this happened, and also had thirty years'
experience in such things, died immediately, after giving her son
warning that the merit is not in the way you cut the thread, but in
the way you sew it.  He thought that he was safe at last, and the
applause of Europe followed him on his march against the capital.  He
had shown so much weakness of will, such want of clearness and
resource, that nobody believed he had it in him.  In the eyes of
Parisians he was guilty of the unpardonable sin, for he had killed the
popular leader and the champion of orthodoxy.  As he was also an ally
of heretics and an accomplice of Navarre, a young Dominican came into
his camp and stabbed him.  His name was Jacques Clement, and he became
a popular hero and martyr, and his example is cited by Mariana as the
true type of tyrannicide.  The action of the crazy friar produced
effects that were not intended, for it made Henry of Navarre King of
France.  A long struggle awaited him before he prevailed against the
League, the armed citizens of Paris, the Pope, and the King of Spain.
He succeeded by the support of the Royalists and Legitimists, who
detached themselves from the theological conflict, and built up an
independent ideal of political right.


IX

HENRY THE FOURTH AND RICHELIEU

THE ARGUMENT of the following half century, from the civil wars to the
death of Richeleau, as in the English parallel from the Armada to the
Long Parliament, was the rise of political absolutism.  Henry IV, the
prince who made it acceptable and national, and even popular in
France, was fitted to disarm resistance, not only by brilliant
qualities as a soldier and a statesman, but also by a charm and
gladness of character in which he has hardly a rival among crowned
heads.  He succeeded in appeasing a feud which had cost oceans of
blood, and in knitting together elements which had been in conflict
for thirty years.  The longing for rest and safety grew strong, and
the general instinct awarded him all the power that was requisite to
restore public order and dominate surging factions.

The Catholics held out till 1594 at Paris, and still longer in Rome.
But the League began to go to pieces when its invincible protector,
Farnese, died in 1592.  Then Mayenne, the general of the League, who
was a Guise, and his brothers successor as leader of the Catholic
nobility, came to a breach with the fierce democracy of Paris.  The
siege, by intensifying antagonism and passions, had produced new
combinations in politics and a wider horizon.  The Parisians who,
twenty years earlier, had adopted massacre as a judicious expedient,
now adopted revolution.  The agitators and preachers who managed
opinion, taught the right of armed resistance, the supremacy of the
masses, the duty of cashiering kings, the lawfulness of tyrannicide.
The blending of inquisition with revolution was a novelty.

Since the popes had become temporal sovereigns, like the of the
Gentiles, the tendency of the Church was towards conservatism and
sympathy with authority.  But the Parisian clergy, when opposing
monarchy associated 'with Protestantism, endeavoured to employ the
utmost violence of popular feeling.  And they had the support of Rome.
A papal legate was shut up in the capital, encouraging it to resist.
He belonged to the ancient and illustrious house of Caetani.  The last
head of that family, the father of the Duke of Sermoneta, lately
minister of foreign affairs, once showed me an inscription, in
monumental Latin, setting forth how he had at last paid off the
immense debt incurred by the legate in the defence of Paris.  With
Caetani was Bellarmin, the most famous controversialist of the
sixteenth century, who there imbibed the doctrines which made him one
of the masters of revolutionary Catholicism, and a forerunner of
Algernon Sidney.  There, too, Mariana had witnessed the scenes of
1572, and learnt the mingled lesson of conditional authority, revolt,
and murder, which he taught publicly, and without incurring censure at
Madrid or Rome.  For thirty years these views prevailed over a wider
circle, and were enforced in many volumes too ponderous to survive.

In France the revival of these sanguinary sentiments served to
increase reaction and to strengthen the party of the throne.  In
preference to such defenders of religion and the public good, people
turned to the austere Royalists and Gallicans.  The change was not
final or complete, and did not carry all men with it.  Imitators of
Jacques Clement arose among the clergy, and Henry fell at last by the
hand of a fanatic.  When Mayenne sent the leaders of the populace to
the scaffold, the defence became hopeless.  Henry foiled his enemies
by becoming a Catholic.  He was not capable of taking dogmatic issues
much to heart, and never ceased to hope for reunion, believing that
the breach could be repaired, and that men who took pains to
understand each other would find that there was no insurmountable
obstacle to reconciliation.  Many profited by the change who doubted
his sincerity.  But Henry was in the hands of Duperron, one of the
most expert divines of modern times, who proved more than a match for
Duplessis Mornay, and whom Casaubon, a better scholar than Duplessis
Mornay, described as a thunderbolt of a man.  Nobody supposed that he
would have conformed if it had involved the sacrifice of the crown.
It is not clear that it did actually involve the sacrifice of his
conviction.  The Pope, under Spanish influence, hesitated long to
acknowledge him.  It was a defeat and a humiliation to accept as
eldest son of the Church an excommunicated heretic, who, by the law of
the Supreme Tribunal, deserved to die, and to submit to him because he
was victorious over Catholics of France and Spain.  His elevation was
a boon to the French, because he restored the prosperity of their
Church; but it was none to Rome, because his belief was a compromise
between Roman doctrine and ethics the reverse of Roman.  The delicate
negotiation was carried to a satisfactory end by Cardinal D'Ossat,
whose despatches were long received, and perhaps still are, as the
best in the language, and the model of all diplomacy.  Spain followed
Rome, and a conference was held under the presidency of the Pope,
which concluded peace in the Treaty of Vervins.  Then Philip II died,
a defeated and disappointed man, whose schemes were wrecked by an
inflexible intolerance; but with his military power undiminished,
still the master of incomparable legions, still the ruler of the
greatest empire in History.

Henry IV closed the era of religious wars by granting liberty to
Protestants on terms intended to ensure permanence.  All offices,
civil and military, were thrown open; they retained their cities of
refuge, and acquired the machinery of equal justice, by the expedient
of mixed tribunals.  The Catholics gained even more; for whereas
Protestant churches were excluded from Paris, and from certain towns
which had capitulated on that condition, the mass was restored
everywhere, and particularly in two hundred and fifty towns from which
the Huguenots, who predominated in the west and south, had banished
it.

The Edict of Nantes forms an epoch in the progress of toleration,
that is, in the history of liberty, which is the marrow of all modern
History.  It is a more liberal scheme than the Peace of Religion,
which satisfied the previous generation of Germans.  It pacified
France and afforded to the minority sufficient strength and safety,
not on the basis of religious equality, but in the shape of
circumscribed and definite privilege.  Some of the Acts of
Pacification which failed had been more ample.  Socinians went much
deeper in the sixteenth century, and Independents in the seventeenth.
The edict involved no declaration of new principles, and no surrender
of ancient claims.  The government made concessions of a purely
practical kind, which might be revoked thereafter, if the Huguenots
became less formidable and the crown more powerful.  There was no
recognition that they were concessions of the moral order, which it
would be usurpation to refuse, or to which the subject had a right
under a higher law.  The action of the crown was restricted, without
detriment to its authority.  No other religious body was admitted but
that which had made its power felt by arms in eight outbreaks of civil
war.  Beyond them, persecution was still legitimate.  The power of the
Protestants was acknowledged, not the prerogative of conscience.  The
Edict of Nantes was not one of those philosophical instruments which
breed unending consequences, growing from age to age, and modifying
the future more and more.  It was a settlement, not a development.
This was the method chosen in order to evade resentment on the part of
Catholics and the weakening of the crown.  To speak in general or
abstract terms of the sovereign conscience was to urge the contrast
between the Roman Inquisition and the spirit of early Christianity,
and to promote a breach with the Catholicism of Southern Europe.  To
proclaim that the civil magistrate has no right to regulate belief was
to limit monarchy and to repel the Politiques, who were the
legislators of the day, and who attributed all power on earth to the
State, admitting a wise restraint, but no renunciation of right.

The plan adopted achieved the desired result.  The Protestants enjoyed
the faculty of self-government, and their great writers and scholars
were free to influence opinion by their writings.  While the stubborn
fixity of German Lutherans and Swiss Calvinists lifted them out of the
stream of actual history, French Protestantism, like English, was full
of growth and originality.  The law of the new government was to raise
the Crown above parties, and the State above the nation.  It was part
of the doctrine which Machiavelli revealed to the men of the
Renaissance.  The Middle Ages had practised class government.  The
interests dominant in society dominated the State, and employed it for
their own advantage.  The territorial aristocracy, or the clergy,
legislated for themselves and controlled taxation.  Venice, which was
a republic not of landowners but of shipowners, was the first to
revert to the ancient notion of the State acting for its own purposes,
bound to no interest, following the opinion of no majority.  Venice
turned from the sea to the land, and became an Italian Power, in
obedience to no class, on public grounds only, regardless of other
influences.  The French monarchy, as Henry restored it, was of
necessity raised above the contending parties, and was the organ of no
inspiration but its own.  He dropped the states-general, which had
been turbulent and hostile, and carried out his measures in defiance
of the parliaments.  That of Rouen refused for ten years to register
the Edict of Nantes.  Feeling safe with the Protestants and with the
Politiques, who were the real basis of his administration, he devoted
himself to the task of winning over their Catholic opponents.  The
Jesuits represented Rome, the Counter-Reformation, and the League, and
were banished for tyrannicide.  Henry recalled them, and made one of
them, a divine whose life has been written in four volumes, the keeper
of his conscience.  He was solicitous of the friendship of Rome, and
of influence in the College of Cardinals, where his moderating hand
was soon felt.

The king's conciliatory policy triumphed in a quarrel which broke out
between Rome and Venice.  The Papacy desired to enforce a system of
its own in matters of Church and State, and, in other words, to make
laws for the nations to obey.  The Canon Law did not come down from
heaven, but was enacted from time to time in the past, and was to be
enacted furthermore in the future.  Venice, as a modern state,
self-sufficing and concentrating power, legislated for its clergy as
well as for its laity, resenting interference outside questions of
pure doctrine.  The two pretensions clashed under Paul V, a zealous
and uncompromising pontiff, the founder of the House of Borghese.  He
claimed a jurisdiction in Venice which could not have been asserted
successfully in France or Spain, because a surrender of authority
which may be made to superior force cannot be made voluntarily where
there is no compulsion.  But the court of Rome was the chief seat of
those aspirations after the control of states, which had been so
lately renewed.

Since the failure of the schemes against Elizabeth and the victory of
Gallicans over the League and the medieval ideal, a new heresy, the
political heresy, had been discovered, which Cardinal Baronius, the
foremost of the Roman divines, denounced as the most damnable of all
heresies.  By that was meant the notion of a science of politics
limiting the ecclesiastical domain; an ethical and political system
deriving its principles elsewhere than from the Church, and setting up
a new and rival authority yet to be defined, ascertainable in no book,
and not accepted by the nations.  Those amongst us who deny the
existence of a political science, and believe that ethics cannot be
made to include politics, have ardent supporters in the Roman clergy
of three centuries ago.  The Venetian theorists who could be caught
were burnt at Rome.  One, who did not trust himself in Roman hands,
was badly wounded near his own door.  This was the famous Father Paul,
whose History of the Council of Trent issued from this controversy.
He was a Servite monk and theological adviser to the government, and
the emissaries who flocked from England, France, Geneva, and the
German states, to see how far the Venetians would move away from Rome,
believed that he was at heart a Calvinist.  In reality Sarpi had more
of the eighteenth century than of the sixteenth in his turn of mind,
and stood far aloof from the doctrines over which his contemporaries
contended, and the expectations entertained of his countrymen were
illusory.  The city was placed under an interdict, and the orders that
were faithful to Rome departed across the Lagoon, singing hymns.  The
Pope looked about for means of coercion when Henry mediated.  He owed
much to Venice, which was the first of the Catholic Powers to
recognise him.  In action, he called to his men to watch where his
white plume waved, and to follow wherever they saw it.  In gratitude
to the Republic he presented it with his suit of armour, which is
still conspicuous at the Arsenal, the helmet still displaying the
famous feather, changed to a melancholy yellow.  Henry induced both
parties to yield something of their extreme attitude, and prevented a
collision.  No such conflict has ever since occurred in Europe.

The other great event in his foreign policy was his protectorate of
the Netherlands.  By his influence, pursued through an intricate
negotiation, the twelve years' truce was concluded.  Spain would not
consent to a permanent treaty, and when the Thirty Years' War broke
out, again fought with her ancient enemy.  It was during this truce
that the best-known events of Dutch history occurred--the Synod of
Dort, the suppression of the Republicans and Arminians by Maurice of
Nassau, when he put Olden Barnevelt to death, and compelled the most
illustrious of all Dutchmen, Grotius, to make his escape packed in a
box of books.

After some years of prosperous tranquillity, Henry IV found himself
the first personage in Europe.  He had done much for the army,
something for the finances and the national wealth.  He was watching
for an opportunity to break the power of the Habsburgs, which
surrounded him everywhere, and threatened Amiens, not a hundred miles
from Paris.  He relied on Protestant alliances, and did not despair of
the Pope.  From Sully's Memoirs, and also from other sources, we learn
the lines upon which he schemed to remodel the map of Europe.  The
Memoirs are not written by Sully himself, and have been tampered with.
The Grand Design was never executed, never even attempted, and need
not be discussed.  Henry boasted to the Spanish ambassador that he
would lose no time over Italy; that he would breakfast at Milan, hear
mass at Rome, and dine at Naples.  "Then," said the Spaniard, "you will
be in time for vespers in Sicily."  Before starting for his expedition
Henry had his queen crowned, that she might act as regent in his
absence.  On his way to arrange the ceremony of her entrance into
Paris he met his death.  Rumours of a plot had reached him and made
him nervous.  While the conspirators were watching for him to pass, a
solitary fanatic, Ravaillac, drove a knife between his ribs, and gave
a respite to the House of Austria.

Henry's institutions broke down immediately after his death.  His
widow, Mary of Medici, was unequal to the task of continuing a policy
of independent action, relying on no group of friends and on no
established force of opinion.  The clergy influenced her as they had
never influenced her husband.  The princes of the blood, the great
nobles, the Protestants, became turbulent; and the states-general,
summoned for the last time before Lewis XVI, afforded no assistance:
The queen gave her confidence to Concini, a Florentine like herself,
whom she created a marshal of France.  Her son, Lewis XIII, ordered
him to be killed in the courtyard of the palace; and his wife, the
queen's foster-sister, was put to death by complaisant judges.  The
young king's favourite, Luynes, governed for a time, until the queen
obtained the first post for an adviser of her own, who was the
strongest Frenchman of the old regime.

With Richelieu, as with all great men, we do well to ascertain
low-water mark, that praise and admiration may not be carried too far.
He was not a good administrator, for he considered the general
interest, not that of any number of individual men.  Every Frenchman
had felt the benefit of Henry's appeasing wisdom, and a season of
prosperity had ensued.  But no individual was the better for
Richelieu's eighteen years of supreme office.  He wasted the treasure
of ambitious enterprises, and sacrificed the happiness of the people
to the greatness of the king.  No man was richer in sagacious maxims,
or in experience of mankind; but he was destitute of principle--I mean
of political principles, which are the guide of public life as moral
principles are the guide of our private lives.  To serve his
deliberate purpose, he shrank from no arbitrary or violent excess,
putting innocent men to death without scruple, if he thought them
dangerous.  In such cases, he said, it is better to do too much than
too little.  He retained a superstitious belief in magic, and never
soared above his age with the vision of great truths and prevision of
the things to come.  But he understood and relentlessly pursued the
immediate purpose of his time.

The work of Henry IV had been undone during his son's minority, and
had to be begun over again.  The crown was only one among many rival
forces.  Richelieu decided that they should all be made subject and
subservient, that the government alone should govern, not any men or
any group behind the government, striving for their own ends.  He
meant that there should be no dominant interest but the reason of
State, no authority but the sovereign, no will but his own.  He
pursued this object with perfect distinctness and resolution, and had
succeeded when he died in 1642.

The court was an obstacle.  The queen-mother, who had made his
fortune, went against him, and the king's brother became a pivot of
conspiracy.  For a moment, they triumphed.  Lewis withdrew his
confidence from the too imperious and successful minister, who had
made his master so powerful and so helpless; but in one short
interview the cardinal recovered his position.  The queen retired from
the council, went out of the country, and died, an exile, in the house
of Rubens at Cologne.  When the greatest nobles of France, strong in
their feudal traditions, rose against his new, and illegal, and
oppressive authority, Richelieu repressed every attempt, and cut off
the head of every offender.  For he said that clemency was the bane of
France.

The Huguenots, safe but not satisfied under Henry, had felt that they
were in danger after his death, and sought to transform the
self-government ceded to them at Nantes into a defensive association
against the sovereign.  The spectre of federalism threatened the
hard-won unity of France, and challenged the very essence of
Richelieu's policy.  The decisive struggle took place at La Rochelle.
Richelieu directed the siege himself, carrying out works as enormous
as those of the siege of Tyre, and infusing his spirit into men who
did not see that the political issue was superior to the military.
The English fleet outside was helpless to assist, and the starving
town yielded to the clerical warrior.  Many thousands had perished,
fighting, as they averred, for toleration, in reality for
predominance.

The fall of Rochelle was the end of political Protestantism in France
as it issued from the civil war; of the attempt to imitate that which
the League had done, and to build up a confederation too strong for
the State.  But the strictly religious privileges conceded thirty
years earlier were immediately renewed, and they were faithfully
observed.  What Richelieu resisted implacably was disintegration, not
Calvinism.  He had no difficulty in tolerating religious dissent.  He
would not tolerate political opposition.  Richelieu was a bishop, a
cardinal, a practised writer of theological controversy, a
passionately resolved defender of the national unity, and of the
French patriotism, which the religious struggle had imperilled, but he
was not intolerant.  Under him, and under his successor, the Sicilian
Cardinal Mazarin, the religion which had been thought so dangerous was
allowed to prosper, and the highest offices were crowded with
Huguenots.  The rapid expansion of French power was largely due to
this policy.  It was then that the French proved superior to the
Spaniards in war, and the long supremacy of Spain came to an end on
land half a century after it had terminated at sea.  Several of the
marshals were Protestants, including Turenne, the most illustrious of
them all.  The tolerant spirit of the ecclesiastical statesmen caused
the rise of France, and its decline followed the intolerance of Lewis
XIV.

Richelieu, if not deeply religious, was thoroughly a Churchman; but
his attitude towards Protestants separated him, on most fundamental
points, from the Spanish and Roman persecutors, and he differed
considerably from the great divines of the preceding generation.
He had just come to power when a book was published at Rome by
Sanctarelli renewing the theories of Bellarmin and Suarez, which had
excited the indignant resentment of the university and the Parliament.
Richelieu required the Paris Jesuits to renounce the doctrines which
their brethren proclaimed essential to orthodoxy.  And they did what
he required of them, accepting, in France, the sentiments of France,
and protesting, at Rome, that they retained the sentiments of Rome.
They became the friends of their very arbitrary protector.  When
Father Caussin, the king's confessor, warned him against the
cardinal's wars, and his Protestant alliances, his superiors agreed
to remove him.

Richelieu refused allegiance to system or party, and opposed the
Jansenist and the Gallican as he did the Jesuit extreme.  He desired
to be aided, not hampered, by the Church and cultivated as much
independence as allowed friendship with Rome.  Towards the end of his
life it was his object to become patriarch of France.  The Pope who
reigned in his time had been in France when Cardinal Barberini.  He
was a pontiff of a modern type, when compared with many of his recent
predecessors; and it was in his pontificate that the Roman Inquisition
put out its fires.  He did not escape the influence of the Frenchman's
more vigorous personality.  He shared his dread of the Habsburgs and
his interest in Gustavus, but they came to a breach at last.

It was in Richelieu's time, and under his auspices, that the great
division occurs between the modern Papacy and the medieval, which the
Counter-Reformation had revived.  The striking contrast between France
under Richelieu and France under Lewis XIV is the tolerance of the one
and the intolerance of the other.  But no spirit of independence could
be safe under the absolutism which the cardinal inaugurated, and which
was a glaring inconsistency as long as consciences were free.  The
change, which was sure to come, came when, under very peculiar
constellations, Lewis XIV desired to show that he was a better
Catholic than the Pope.

The cardinal never abandoned the hope of healing the division of
churches, which was a calamity in his eyes, both as a statesman and a
divine.  He provided for Huguenot ministers who were reconciled, and
he made serious plans to prepare for reunion, plans which Bossuet
resumed, but which had to be given up when the king resorted to
violence.  The deepest part of the scheme to exalt the throne was the
endeavour to raise France above the nations.  The opportunity was
afforded by the Thirty Years' War.  All Europe was involved, the
Protestant Powers uniting against the House of Habsburg, which, by
tradition, by pretension, and by its actual position and power, was
the one constant obstacle to the desired supremacy of the French king.
Richelieu assisted them, and ended by openly joining them.  Once he
said, "I will prove to the world that the age of Spain is passing away
and the age of France has come."

It was the contrast of two different epochs of civilisation, of two
worlds succeeding each other, rather than a conflict of rival Powers.
Spain was inseparably united with the Church and a declared enemy to
the rest of Christendom.  France lived at peace with Protestants, and
based her policy on their support, having political but not religious
enemies to combat, gaining all that Spain lost by exclusiveness.  It
was the adoption of a new doctrine.  The interest of the State above
the interest of the Church, of the whole above the aggregate of parts,
determined the foreign as well as the domestic policy of the
statesmanlike prelate.  The formidable increase of State power, in the
form of monarchy, was an event of European proportion and
significance.  General History naturally depends on the action of
forces that are not national, but proceed from wider causes.  The rise
of modern kingship in France is part of a similar movement in England.
Bourbon's and Stuarts obeyed the same law, though with a different
result.


X

THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR

THE LAST and most important product of the Counter-Reformation was the
Thirty Years' War.  In Germany the rights of the churches had been
defined by the Peace of Religion, and the principles of the
settlement were not seriously contested.

When, the Archbishop of Cologne married and became a Protestant, he
endeavoured to retain his political position as one of the electors;
but the Catholics were strong enough to prevent it, as a thing
foreseen and clearly provided against by law.  There had been a
constant propaganda on both sides, each gaining ground in some
direction, the Lutherans losing much by the extension of Calvinism at
their expense.  By operation of the accepted maxim that the civil
power shall determine which religion may be practised within its
territory, Lutheran governments becoming Calvinist carried their
subjects with them, weakening the Protestant cause, and presenting a
divided front to opponents.  In this matter there was one significant
exception.  The House of Brandenburg became Calvinist, the country
remained Lutheran, while the minister, Schwarzenberg, was a Catholic.
To this timely divergence from the ideas and customs of the sixteenth
century, to this fundamentally different view of the function and uses
of the State, the Hohenzollerns owe no small portion of their
greatness in history.  The Protestants were in the majority, but the
Imperial government was still in Catholic hands.

In the hereditary dominions of the House of Habsburg the situation was
different.  Under Maximilian II Austria had been the least intolerant
of European governments.  Equal toleration prevailed at that time in
Poland, and led to the growth and prosperity of the Socinians; but the
Austrian policy aimed at a compromise between the churches, and at a
system of concessions which made them much alike.

Under Maximilian's inefficient son, the country went asunder.  One
branch of the family carried out the Counter-Reformation in Styria;
while, north of the Danube, the majority of the inhabitants was
either Lutheran or Utraquist, that is, attached to Communion under
both kinds, which had been the germ of Hussitism, and was the residue
that remained after the fervour of the Hussite movement had burnt
itself out.  In 1609 Bohemia and Silesia obtained entire freedom of
religious belief; while in the several provinces of Alpine Austria
unity was as vigorously enforced as the law permitted--that is, by the
use of patronage, expulsion of ministers, suppression of schools;
confiscation of books, and, generally, by administrative repression,
short of violence.

It was not stipulated in the Majestatsbrief, as the instrument of 1609
was called, which was the charter of toleration under the Bohemian
crown, that Protestants might build churches on the domains of the
Catholic clergy; but this they claimed to do, inasmuch as the right
was conceded to them on the crown lands, and in Bohemia these were
technically considered to include Church lands.  Accordingly, one was
built at Braunau, and was stopped by authority; another at
Klostergrab, and was pulled down.  At the same time, the intention to
reverse legislation and repress Protestant religion on both sides of
the tube alike was openly confessed.

The Styrian archduke, the head of the clerical party, became King of
Bohemia and Emperor-elect, the kinsmen who were nearer the succession
withdrawing in his favour.  The Habsburgs felt strong enough to carry
forward the Counter-Reformation even in Bohemia and the dependent
lands, where nine-tenths of the people were Protestants, with rights
assured by a recent and solemn instrument.  They had in their favour
the letter of the Peace of Religion, by which no prince could be
required to rule over subjects differing from him in religion, and the
more probable reading of the rule as to the building of places of
worship.  Against them was the unquestioned text of the
Majestatsbrief, not yet nine years old.  The new emperor did not
meditate a breach of faith.  Real violence was unavailing where the
opponents were in a large majority.  The Counter-Reformation had
produced in Central Europe a scheme of persecution, which stopped
short of tragedy, and laboured to accomplish, by infinite art and
trouble, what the readier methods of the Holy Office and the Penal Law
were expected to do.  Ferdinand II was a slow, laborious, friendly
man, with a sense of duty and a certain strictness of private life,
but without initiative or imagination.

The Bohemian leaders saw the danger of submitting to a man who,
without being a persecutor like Henry VIII and Philip II, would know
how to oppress them wisely.  Their crown had once been elective; and
the ceremony of election had been revived ten years before when the
last king ascended the throne.  They resolved to resist Ferdinand, and
to call another in his place.  War would inevitably follow; and in
order that the country might be committed to their quarrel, as there
was no strong popular movement at first, and no national or political
issue, they judged that they must begin by giving proof of their
deadly meaning.  The conspirators, with Count Thurn at their head,
made their way into the Hradschin, the gloomy palace that overlooks
Prague, and deliberately threw two hostile members of the government,
Slavata and Martinitz, out of the window.  It seems that there is a
contagious charm about that sort of exercise which is not evident to
those who have not practised it.  For seeing an inoffensive secretary,
Fabricius, who was trying to make himself as small as possible in the
crowd, they threw him after the others.  The victims had a fall of
fifty feet.  None of the three was much the worse for it, or for the
shots that were fired at them; and it is difficult to account for
their escape.

Ferdinand, who possessed no army, and was not safe in his palace at
Vienna from the insurgents who sympathised with Prague, had no means
of coping with the insurrection.  He turned for aid to his friends in
Germany.  There, defensive confederacies had been formed both by
Protestants and Catholics.  The Catholics, consisting chiefly of
ecclesiastical princes with the Duke of Bavaria at their head,
composed what was known as the League, to protect their interests
against more aggressive adversaries.  And the aggressive adversaries,
chiefly Calvinists, for Lutherans combined more easily with Catholics,
constituted what was called the Union.  For some time they had
expected hostilities, and were preparing recruits.  There was no lack
of fighting material; but the nation was poor in organisation, and ill
supplied with money, and was therefore insufficiently armed.  They
looked abroad for auxiliaries--the Union, to Savoy and Venice, Holland
and England; the League, to Spain.  Henry IV had been on the point of
seizing the occasion of this open rivalry, and of a disputed
succession, to invade the Empire in the summer of 1610.  After his
death France dropped for a time out of European complications, and
thereby helped to postpone the outbreak of expected war.  After the
insane and stupid outrage at Prague it became an immediate certainty,
and Maximilian of Bavaria, the ablest prince who ever reigned in that
country, came to the aid of his cousin the emperor, with his own
statesmanship, the forces of the League, and an ever-victorious
general.  The Bohemians had the support of the Union; and the chief of
the Union, the elector Palatine, was elected to be their king.  As his
wife was the Princess Elizabeth, King James's only daughter, there was
hope of English aid.  Without waiting to verify that expectation, the
elector quitted his castle at Heidelberg, and assumed the proffered
crown.  But the coalition between Rhenish Calvinists and the Lutherans
of Prague did not work.  The new subjects exhibited none of the
warlike vigour which, under Ziska, had made the Empire tremble; and
the Scottish father-in-law was too good a conservative and professor
of kingcraft to abet revolution.

When the army of the League, under Tilly, appeared before Prague, on
the slopes of what is called the White Mountain, there was no real
resistance, and the new king became a fugitive and an exile, dependent
on friends.  As he spent but one winter in his capital, he is
remembered as the Winter King.  For us, he is the father of Rupert and
of the Electress Sophia, from whom the king has his crown.  Bohemia
was treated as a conquered country.  The Protestant religion was
gradually suppressed, and the insurgents punished by immense
confiscations.  The country, which had been civilised and prosperous,
was the first portion of the empire ruined by the outbreak of
hostilities.  Ferdinand made the most of the Catholic triumph.  Tilly
led his victorious army across Germany, from the Moldau to the Rhine.
The Palatinate was conquered.  Frederic was outlawed, and Maximilian
of Bavaria became an Elector in his stead, so that the Catholic
Electors, who had been four to three, were now five to two.  The
Heidelberg Library was removed from the castle, then the finest in
Germany, and was sent as a present to the Pope.

Tilly was a Belgian, born in the town of that name, near Waterloo, to
which Blucher retreated after Ligny.  He had learnt war under Farnese,
and served with the League at Ivry.  He fought against the Turks on
the Danube, and became a marshal in 1605.  He was a soldier of the
Spanish school, rigid and severe; but he was no criminal, like Alva
and Farnese, and was the best and most trustworthy servant of the
Catholic cause in Germany.  For ten years, from the White Mountain, he
carried all before him.  The Union was dissolved.  But German princes
and adventurers took arms one after the other, and dashed themselves
to pieces against him.  When he was master of the valley of the Rhine,
foreign Powers, alarmed at his progress, began to intervene.  France,
England, Holland, advanced funds, and Christian IV of Denmark led an
army into Northern Germany.  Tilly defeated him, as he had defeated
every other enemy.  His incessant success strengthened the Catholics,
the League, the Duke of Bavaria, more than the emperor.

Ferdinand's allies served him so well that they threw him into the
shade.  The losses of the Protestants were not directly his gains.
For that, in order that he might reap the full harvest which others
had sown, he needed a great army commanded by a general of his own.
In due time he acquired both one and the other.  He commissioned
Wallenstein to raise an Imperial force, independent of the League,
and to complete the conquest of Germany.

Wallenstein was a Bohemian noble, a convert and pupil of the Jesuits,
better known for his success in finance than in war.  When the
confiscations were going on, he speculated in land.  Having thriven
greatly, he lent large sums to the emperor.  He gave valuable
assistance in debasing the coinage, and became by far the richest man
in the country.  Watching the moment, he was able to offer Ferdinand
an army of 24,000 men, to be raised by himself, paid by himself,
commanded by himself, and by officers appointed by him.  The object of
the armament was not to save the empire from the foe, for the foe was
being perpetually defeated; but to save the emperor from the League,
and the oppressive superiority of Bavaria.

It was the beginning of the Austrian army.  The regiments that
followed Wallenstein to the sea still subsist, and are the same that
fought under Eugene and the archduke Charles.  They were quickly
victorious; they overran Silesia, and at the bridge of Dessau they
gained a victory over Mansfeld.

Mansfeld was one of the mere adventurers who disgrace the war.  But he
was a born soldier.  Repulsed on the Elbe, he made his way through the
hereditary provinces, intending to embark at Venice for England.  In a
Bosnian village his strength gave out.  His death was nobler than his
life, and is a legendary reminiscence in Germany.  For he buckled on
his armour, made his companions hold him upright, and met death
standing, with his drawn sword.

Wallenstein was rewarded by being made Duke of Mecklenburg and admiral
of the Baltic.  He governed his principality well; but his fleet and
his docks were destroyed by the Danes, and he was forced to raise the
siege of Stralsund.  He was unable to act in combination with Tilly
and the League.  They wished to make their religion dominate, without
detriment to their position in the empire.  Wallenstein meant that the
emperor should dominate, at the expense of the princes, whether
Catholic or Protestant, between whom he made no distinction.  The very
existence of the force under his command implied that the purpose and
policy of the Habsburgs were not those of their allies, and that,
after profiting by their services, he meant to rob them of their
results.  His imperialism was so dazzling, his success so unbroken,
that Ferdinand would not check him, but strove to appease the League
with fair assurances, and to induce its efficient leader Maximilian to
trust the commander-in-chief.

Ferdinand had now reached a degree of power that Charles V never
enjoyed.  He had crushed the revolution at home, the opposition in
Germany, and Lutheran loyalty was still unshaken.  In his desire to
conciliate the League, while he made their conquests serve his power,
in March 1629 he published an edict restoring to the clergy all the
Church property in Protestant hands.  The Lutherans would have to give
back two archbishoprics, twelve bishoprics, innumerable abbeys; while
the Calvinists were to lose the benefit of the Peace of Religion.  The
Edict of Restitution gave up the immediate purposes of the empire for
those of the Church, and drove all Protestant forces to unite in
resistance to it.  And it extended the rights of conquest over princes
who had taken no part in the war.  It was the repudiation of
Wallenstein's policy, and of his schemes for regenerating the Empire,
and he caused it to be known that he would not execute the new orders.
Ferdinand had to choose between Wallenstein and the League.  By the
advice of France, represented by a Capuchin, who was the ablest
diplomatist then living, he dismissed his generalissimo, and accepted
the dictation of the Catholic League.  He had to face the consequences
of his Edict of Restitution at the moment when he disarmed.

Just then, when all the Protestants were roused to anger and alarm,
and when Wallenstein had laid down his sword, Gustavus landed in
Rugen.  He had been fighting in Poland for the Baltic coast, and
there he had encountered an imperial force.  Richelieu aided him in
making peace with the Poles, and he went forth with a trained army,
assured that he would unite all the Protestants of Germany against the
Habsburgs.  He spent many months in securing his base of operations,
by onerous alliances imposed on Pomerania, and on his reluctant
brother-in-law, the elector of Brandenburg.

When at length the way through Silesia to the heart of Austria lay
open before him, Tilly arrested his march by laying siege to
Magdeburg, which commanded the Elbe, and was a Protestant stronghold
in the North.  The King of Sweden made no attempt to relieve the
besieged city; and in May 1631 Pappenheim, the hardest hitter among
the German commanders, took the place by storm.  The defenders
deprived him of the fruits of victory by setting fire to Magdeburg,
and burning it to the ground.  Tilly, with difficulty, saved the
Cathedral, and handed it over to the Catholics.  He then took Leipzig
without resistance, hoping to coerce Saxony; but the Elector, in this
extremity, abandoned the neutrality he had maintained throughout the
war, and went over to the Swedes.  At Breitenfeld, a few miles out of
Leipzig, Gustavus, feebly aided by the Saxons, defeated the
Imperialists in the greatest battle of the war.  It was a victory of
the musket over the pike, and the beginning of the long struggle
between line and column.  Tilly's ranks were ten deep, and the Swedes
only three, so that every musketeer fired.  The world now perceived
that the tardy, patient soldier, who had seemed too cautious about his
retreat to prepare his advance, was a mighty conqueror, full of
invention and resource and untold design.

He struck at once for the heart of the empire, made himself master of
Wurzburg, and overran the ecclesiastical principalities of the Rhine,
which were the basis of Catholic power.  At Mentz Gustavus held his
court, treating the princes as his inferiors, endeavouring to
conciliate the population.  He did not live to declare his schemes of
policy; but all men knew that he meant to be the head of a great
Protestant Confederation, and to disarm their adversaries by
secularising the dominions of the clergy.  He had made no settlement
for the future when he marched against Bavaria, the other stronghold
of the League.  Below Augsburg Gustavus forced the passage of the
Lech, which Tilly disputed, and where the latter received the wound
of which he died soon after, in the impregnable fortress of
Ingolstadt.  For more than two centuries his remains were so perfectly
preserved that I have looked on his austere features.  Down to the
last months of his life he had been victorious over every foe, and was
the most dangerous enemy of the Protestant cause.  Legend took
possession of him, and down to the last generation he was accused of
being the destroyer of Magdeburg, and of having, from mere fanaticism,
deprived himself of his prize.  All that he had achieved in incessant
triumph fell to pieces at his first defeat; and the armies of the
League no longer stood between Gustavus, now at the head of 100,000
men, and the Austrian capital.  But his career of success ended with
the fall of his great rival.

When Tilly was defeated, the despairing emperor appealed once more to
Wallenstein, who was living in great splendour, aloof from affairs,
and showing as much capacity in the administration of his domains as
he had shown in war.  It was not two years since he had been deposed
in disgrace, at the instance of the German princes.  Therefore when,
in their extremity, they turned to him for protection, they placed
themselves in the power of an enemy on whom they had inflicted a
mortal injury.  He had felt it so deeply that he was in actual treaty,
at the time, with Gustavus, for an expedition against Vienna.  As Duke
of Mecklenburg he was an independent potentate, and he regarded
himself as released from the allegiance of a subject.  Before breaking
off his negotiation with the Swede, he beheld his enemies at his feet.
Wallenstein was able to dictate his terms, and to make himself secure
against a second dismissal.  His army was his own.  He meant to obey
while obedience suited his purpose, and to act for himself when it did
not.  Unlike Tilly, the aims of his life were political, not
ecclesiastical.  With so many reasons for distrust on one side and
resentment on the other, a catastrophe could hardly be averted.  With
Saxony and the Saxon general Arnim, who had been one of his colonels,
he kept up an understanding; and they evacuated Bohemia, which they
had occupied after Breitenfeld.

Wallenstein's new battalions came into line, and he took up a strong
fortified position near Nuremberg, with 60,000 men; while Gustavus
stood at the foot of the Alps, and his adherents wondered whether he
meant to cross them, and to attack Catholicism in its centre.  When
the king knew that the imperial army had risen again, and threatened
his communications on the road through Franconia, he hurried to
measure swords with Wallenstein.  He was heavily repulsed, and moved
once more towards the Danube, expecting to be followed.  He was still
the dominating force in Germany, supported, if not trusted, by
Lutheran and Calvinist alike.  At that moment Gustavus committed a
fatal mistake.  If, as Oxenstiern advised, he had descended the valley
of the Danube into the hereditary provinces, the Imperialists must
have pursued him at a disadvantage, and could not have reached Vienna
before him.  But Gustavus turned westward, towards Suabia, and
Wallenstein disregarded his movements.  Gathering his forces, he threw
them upon Saxony, which had refused to give up the Swedish alliance.
The King of Sweden hastened to the rescue, while the Saxon army
stood apart, waiting the event.  Pappenheim had been detached, and
the Swedes, in superior force, found a great opportunity before
them.  But Wallenstein sent an order in good time to his famous
Lieutenant-divisionnaire, telling him to give up everything and
join at once. That paper, which saved the empire, one of the most
memorable autographs in the world, can still be seen, darkened with
Pappenheim's blood, in the Museum of the Austrian army.  He rode into
battle at Lutzen with eight regiments of horse, seeking Gustavus.
They never met, for they were both killed, and as the king's charger
flew in terror along the line, the empty saddle told his soldiers of
their loss.  It was an indecisive day, leaving the balance of forces
nearly as they remained, until Moltke, in one pitched battle,
succeeding where Gustavus, Turenne, Frederic, and even Napoleon
failed, overthrew for ever the military power of Austria.

Neither the Duke of Weimar nor Oxenstiern enjoyed the personal
ascendency of Gustavus Adolphus.  The minister could not deal as he
did with German princes, nor the German prince with German territory.
The Swedish cause was very seriously weakened, and as the emperor gave
up the idea of restitution, which was hopeless, and which had done so
much to intensify animosities, and as Wallenstein commanded and Tilly
was dead, it became possible to discuss terms of peace with the
Saxons, who dreaded the moderated emperor less than the formidable
Swedes.  That situation gives the basis of the tragedy that followed.
Wallenstein enjoyed undivided command.  If the enemy accepted his
proposals, he thought himself strong enough to compel their acceptance
at Vienna.  He opened two negotiations, one with the Saxons, to get
rid of the Swedes, the other with the Swedes themselves.  The latter
was promoted by his friends, the Bohemian exiles; but Oxenstiern was
reluctant, and required that Wallenstein should declare against his
master.  If he would do that, he should have the crown of Bohemia.
Wallenstein refused, and the matter was allowed to drop.

The scheme which he proposed to the Saxons and Brandenburgers was the
restoration of peace on the principles of religious liberty; the
control of belief by Government abolished; everything rescinded which
had been done since 1618 in contradiction with this principle; the
departure of the Swedes to be purchased by an indemnity.  These are
the main ideas.  They were reasonable conditions of a lasting peace,
and would have saved many years of useless war, and prevented the ruin
of Germany.  Wallenstein designed that the emperor should be compelled
to submit, if necessary, by a display of force.  What Ferdinand wished
for beyond this, what he had striven for all along, the Catholic
domination, was hopeless.  And if not hopeless, it was a thing not to
be desired, and not worthy of the cruel sacrifice of continued
warfare.  It was the interest of Spaniard, Bavarian, and clergy to
frustrate Wallenstein's scheme.  They represented that he was a
traitor, that he was plotting with the enemies of the empire, that he
crowded his camp with Protestants, that he wanted to be king, and
compassed the death of his master.  Some of it was plausibly near the
truth; and their suspicions were confirmed when the Duke of Weimar
took Ratisbon.  The Elector of Bavaria had sent full warning; the
Aulic Council had sent positive orders.  But Wallenstein refused to
move.

Fearing that he might be deposed before he could execute what he had
long meditated, he summoned his colonels to Pilsen, and threatened to
resign.  They pledged themselves to stand by him.  The clause, saving
their duty to the emperor, was struck out of the declaration by him.
He still hoped to succeed.  But Ferdinand issued orders that he should
be no longer obeyed; and these orders, proclaimed at Prague to sound
of drum, were accepted by the army.  A successor was appointed;
Piccolomini, the real victor at Lutzen, was made field-marshal; and
the officers were drawn away by the prospect of the impending
confiscations.  They amounted, eventually, to fourteen millions of
florins.  The Spanish envoy, Onate, at last sent word in Ferdinand's
name that Wallenstein should be mastered, alive or dead.  Wallenstein
understood that he was in danger, and begged Weimar to come to his
assistance with cavalry.

He started from Pilsen, with the remnant of his troops, to meet Weimar
at Eger, where two Scotch Presbyterians were in command, who inspired
confidence.  But on the way he met the Irish regiment of dragoons,
with their colonel, Butler, and required them to accompany him.  They
were going to Prague, to join his enemies, and were the authors of his
death.  Butler persuaded the two Scotsmen, Lesley and Gordon, and the
few officers, known to be Wallenstein's immediate friends, were
invited to a banquet in the castle of Eger, and there cut down.  When
the Countess Kinsky, who was the wife of one of them, learnt of her
husband's death, she had the presence of mind instantly to destroy his
papers, and the secret of Wallenstein's treason was lost in that
conflagration.  Devereux, one of Butlers captains, went with a handful
of men to the general's quarters and despatched him.  The deed was
approved by the emperor, and the murderers were rewarded.  This is the
dramatic end of the struggle, so far as it was caused by genuine
problems of Church and State.

A war of aggression and desolation ensued, and lasted many years,
without higher significance.  When the Imperialists had gained another
victory at Nordlingen, Lutheran Saxony made its peace, at Prague, in
1635.

Then Richelieu took up the conflict, to carry on his feud with both
branches of the House of Habsburg, and the empire sank lower and
lower, German princes and generals betraying their country to the
national enemy.  In 1643, when Richelieu was dead, a chance of peace
began.  Five years later it was concluded for Germany, at Munster and
Osnabruck, not for Spain.  The Empire lost much in population and
territory, which were taken by France; still more in authority, which
fell from the emperors hands into the hands of the several princes,
now virtually sovereign and subject to no control.  The peace of
Westphalia gave no accession to the Protestant interest.

In extension, the Protestants lost by the Thirty Years' War.  They
lost one-half of the Palatinate, incorporated in Bavaria; and they
submitted to exclusion from the Austrian dominions, all but Silesia.
Calvinists were now admitted to equal rights with the rest.
Protestants and Catholics recovered what they had possessed in 1624.
Therefore the cause of the insurgent Bohemians was abandoned, and the
men who were thrown out of the window triumphed in the end.
Concerning liberty of conscience, not a word was said.  The power of
the interfering State was not shorn, but the idea that the division of
Christendom might be healed by force passed away from the minds of
men.  It had taken thirty years of incessant bloodshed to extinguish
the Counter-Reformation.


XI

THE PURITAN REVOLUTION

AT THE death of Elizabeth, England separated from the Continent
in politics, and moved thenceforth in a different direction.  Long
before, political observers like Commynes and Fortescue recognised the
distinctive character and the superiority of the insular institutions;
but these were not strong enough to withstand the Tudors, and the work
had to be begun over again.  It was begun, upon the ancient ways, with
tradition and precedent; and when that was found to be not quite
convincing, it was pursued by means of new, general, and revolutionary
principles.  The combination, or alteration, of these methods of
policy is the peculiar note of the times before us.

When King James of Scotland became King James of England, the country
obtained the benefit of being an island, protected by the sea.  There
was no longer a hostile and warlike neighbour, compelling military
preparation and the concentration of power, which made foreign
governments absolute.  An English officer once congratulated Moltke on
the splendid army which he had created and led.  The marshal shook his
head, and replied that the German army was a terrible burden on the
country, but that the long Russian frontier made it a necessity.

James, who had been helpless at home against the nobles and the Kirk,
conceived high notions of authority, high ideals of what a monarch may
legitimately do for his country, acting by his own lights, his own
will, his own conscience, not as flotsam on the changing and uncertain
wave of opinion.  And he came to England expecting that its wealth and
civilisation, and its intellectual culture, which reached just then
its culminating point, would afford a more favourable field for
advanced theories of State.  The Stuarts owed something to each of the
two strongest and most obvious currents of political thought in their
time.  From Machiavelli they took the idea of the State ruling itself,
for its own ends, through experts, not depending on the forces of
society or the wishes of men uninformed upon complex problems of
international policy, military administration, economy and law.  And
they adopted from Luther his new and admired dogma of the divine right
of kings.  They consistently rejected an opposite theory, well known
to James from his teacher Buchanan, derived from Knox and his medieval
masters, and wrongly imputed to Calvin--the theory of revolution.
They had the judges with them, that is, the laws of England.  They had
the Established Church, the keepers of conscience and consecrated
expounders of the divine will.  They had the successful example of the
Tudors, showing that a government may be absolute and at the same time
popular, and that liberty was not the supreme desire of English
hearts.  And they had the general drift and concurrence of Europe, as
well as of the intellectual world at home, of Hooker, of Shakespeare,
and of Bacon.  The best philosophers, the most learned divines, many
even of the most consummate jurists in the universe sustained their
cause.  They were not bound to believe that idle squires or provincial
busybodies understood the national interest and the reason of State
better than trained administrators, and claimed to be trusted in the
executive as they were in the judiciary.  Their strength was in the
clergy, and the Anglican clergy professed legitimacy and passive
obedience, in indignant opposition to the Jesuits and their votaries.
The king could not be less monarchical than the divines; he could not
renounce their support; and the bond between them was therefore a
close one.  Starting from the position that the sovereign will shall
control and not be controlled, there was no certain evidence that the
opposition to it would be deep, or formidable, or sincere.  The quick
increase of the middle class, which was the seat of sectarianism,
could not well be discovered from the returns of taxation.  The
Stuarts might fairly be persuaded that they were not only wiser than
their opponents, but more liberal than they, for the Puritans
repeatedly demanded that the wages of heresy should be death.  The
distinction in point of liberality between King and parliament is
manifest in the Catholic question.

James I wished to avoid persecution.  In discussion with two superior
men, Andrewes and Casaubon, he developed conciliatory views pointing
to eventual reunion.  His mother had been the champion and martyr of
Catholic monarchy.  His wife was a convert of the Jesuits.  He
regarded the Penal Laws as defensible on the ground of political
danger only, not on the ground of religion.  He desired to obtain a
working arrangement with Rome, which should ensure the loyalty of the
Catholics, in return for the inestimable benefit of toleration.  Pope
Clement VIII, Aldobrandini, was not satisfied, and sent instructions
that James should not be acknowledged unless he pledged himself to
much larger concessions.  He feared, he said, to go too far in favour
of a heretic.  His briefs were not made public, but they came to the
knowledge of Catesby, to whom they were very welcome.  A king who
might not be acknowledged was a king who might be deposed.  When his
advances were rejected, James issued a proclamation against the
priests, which was the determining provocation of the plot.  The
violence with which Elizabeth defended her life against a multitude of
conspirators was easily understood.  But her successor was under no
sentence of deprivation, and the legitimacy of his claim was untouched
by arguments forged against the daughter of Anne Boleyn.  The
Catholics had reasonably hoped that the better treatment which they
received at the beginning of the new reign, of the new dynasty, would
be continued.

Under the shock of disappointment some deemed themselves absolved from
allegiance, and left to their own means of self-defence.  They
regarded James as their aggressor.  We cannot tell how much they knew
of the odious filthiness of his private life and conversation, which
foreign envoys described in language which nobody has ever had the
courage to print.  In any group there might be desperate and
passionate men capable of devising crimes which they disguised under
the gilding of a higher purpose.  We have seen some of them at the
murder of Riccio and the defenestration of Prague.  But here there
were deeper waters.  Some of the accomplices, such as Digby, were men
otherwise of blameless and honourable character, who could not be
accused of hypocrisy.  Then certain leading Jesuits were implicated.
They were so far from encouraging the scheme that they procured from
Rome a formal prohibition of violent designs.  But they gave no hint
of danger, and their silence was defended on the ground that although
a general warning might have been given to save a Catholic prince, the
seal of confession was absolute as against a Protestant.

A belief arose that these people were incorrigible.  The precedent of
1572 established the right of murder.  The doctrinaires of the League
and their contemporaries added to it the right of revolution, applying
to princes the rule followed against less exalted Protestants.  How
theorists were divided, or by what subtle exceptions the theory was
qualified, nobody rightly knew.  The generation that had beheld Guy
Fawkes remained implacable.  Not so King James.  He resolved to
perpetuate a broad division between the men of blood and their
adversaries, and he founded thereon the oath of allegiance, which did
no good.  The Stuarts could honestly believe that the motives of
persecuting parliaments were not inspired by a genuine sense of public
duty, and that they themselves were defending the sacred cause against
furious oppressors.  The issues are not as plain, the edge is not as
sharp as we suppose when we look back on the result.  The question to
be fought out between king and parliament was not monarchy or
republic, democracy or aristocracy, freedom or the proteus that
resists or betrays freedom.  At many points the Stuart cause resembles
that of constitutional monarchy on the Continent, as it was in France
under Lewis XVIII, and in Prussia under the Emperor William.  If
Bismarck had been there he would have been the strength of the
Royalists, and Cromwell might have met his match.

On almost every occasion, under James I, opposition made itself felt,
and it became practically important, and anticipated the future in
1621.  Then the Commons, guided by the most famous English lawyer,
Coke, struck down Bacon, and deprived the Stuarts of the ablest
counsellor they ever had.  Impeachment and responsibility of ministers
remained.

James's reign is also the beginning of colonial empire.  Virginia was
a cavalier settlement, proceeding from the epoch of exploration and
the search for gold; and New England was a plebeian and sectarian
establishment, planted by men who fled from oppression.  They did not
carry with them very clear notions of human right; but these ripened
under their oppressive rule among those whom they persecuted.  There
were local self-government and federation in Connecticut, and spiritual
self-government and toleration in Rhode Island; and from there the two
institutions spread to the United States, and when the time came, the
cavaliers of Virginia, who went out under James I, surpassed the
fugitives of the Mayflower.  They produced the Declaration of
Independence, and bequeathed to America religious liberty and the
political function of the Supreme Court.  Of the first five
presidents, four were Virginians.  And in our own history, the ablest
of the men who resisted Cromwell had studied practical politics in
Massachusetts Bay.

The third political event by which the reign of the first Stuart
profoundly influenced the modern world is the rise of those whom we
call Congregationalists when we think of them as a Church, and
Independents when we mean a party.  It is on their account that this
epoch is more fitly called the Puritan Reformation than the Puritan
Revolution.  For it is by the sects, including the Independents, that
the English added to what was done by Luther and Calvin, and advanced
beyond the sixteenth-century ideas.  Continental Protestantism reacted
on the Anglican settlement, and our exiled sectaries, before crossing
the Atlantic, came into touch, in Holland, with the most original and
spiritual remnant of the German Reformation.  There Robinson completed
the system of Robert Browne, a secondary and uninspiring figure, of
whom we read: "Old father Browne, being reproved for beating his old
wife, distinguished that he did not beat her as his wife, but as a
curst old woman."

The power of Independency was not in relation to theology, but to
Church government.  They did not admit the finality of doctrinal
formulas, but awaited the development of truth to come.  Each
congregation governed itself independently, and every member of the
Church participated in its administration.  There was consociation, but
not subordination.  The Church was governed, not by the State or by
bishops or by the presbytery, but by the multitude of which it was
composed.  It was the ideal of local self-government and of
democracy.  Institutions which are the work of History were abolished
in favour of popular control; and an Established Church, a Church
connected with the State, was the supreme abomination, and went by the
name of Babylon.

The political consequences reached far.  The supremacy of the people,
being accepted in Church government, could not be repudiated in the
State.  There was a strong prejudice in its favour.  "We are not over
one another," said Robinson, "but one with another."  They inclined
not only to liberty, but to equality, and rejected the authority of
the past and the control of the living by the dead.  The sovereignty
of the yellow parchment fell before the light of reason.  As there
was no State Church, there could be no right of coercion over
consciences.  Persecution was declared to be spiritual murder.  The
age of Luther and the Reformation was an age of darkness.  All sects
alike were to be free, and Catholics, Jews, and Turks as well.  The
Independents fought, as they expressed it, not for their religion, but
for liberty of conscience, which is the birthright of man.  There was
no place in their creed for a special prerogative of Englishmen over
other nations, or of Independents over other churches.  All this was
in the stringent logic of the system, the immediate consequence of
their dogmas on the constitution of the Church, and this gave to their
liberalism the invaluable foundation of religion.  Not every one of
them saw equally far, or applied principles with equal courage.  In
the matter of tolerance they were supported by the Baptists, and,
after the appearance of Penn, by the Quakers, though their historian
deplores it as an unheard-of dogma.  In 1641 there was only one
congregation in London, and it consisted of sixty or seventy members.
Ten years earlier Lord Brooke writes that there were not above two
hundred Nonconformists in all England.  It is clear that the rapid
growth of numbers baffled all calculation.  The Independents did not
bring on the Civil War, but they were strong enough to bring it to a
conclusion; and when all the direct effects of their victory passed
away, their ideas survived.

Charles, a better man but a worse king than his father, had none of
his insight.  When, after the Petition of Right, he governed without a
parliament, the problem is whether he did it for the sake of power or
for the sake of religion.  It resembles the problem of the American
Civil War, whether the confederates were fighting for State rights or
for slavery.  We call him the martyr of Anglicanism.  But there is one
moment in his career when, at the price of unparliamentary monarchy,
he could have saved Episcopacy.  He was in the hands of Strafford and
of Laud, and they were strong men.  When Charles had to think and act
for himself, it may be that his thoughts were not always clear.  He
was attached to the English Church, but the religious controversy
puzzled him.  There was a very able man among the queen's chaplains
who held that the Thirty-nine Articles might be interpreted favourably
to Rome.  "The religion of Rome and ours," said Laud, "is all one."  It
is not strange, perhaps, that he should have been suspected, when so
many of the king's ministers--Windebanke, Cottington, Weston--became
Catholics, and the same thing was whispered of others.  After
Worcester, when the Earl of Derby was being taken to Newark to be
executed, a strange horseman joined the cavalcade, and rode for a time
by the prisoners side.  It was said that this was a priest, who
received him, and absolved him, in the hour of death.  Although the
Roman emissaries who negotiated with the archbishop, and offered him
the red hat of a cardinal, never quite understood him, and could not
explain why he who was so near was yet so far, they had no hopes of
bringing him over.  There was even a time when they reported more
promising things of Ussher.

But for the religious question, the political opposition could not
have carried the country with it.  The Roman agents and nuncios were
part of the religious question, and it is not prelacy alone that was
at stake.  In considering the old charge of a design to carry over
England to Rome, we must remember this, that the art of understanding
adversaries is an innovation of the present century, characteristic of
the historic age.  Formerly, a man was exhausted by the effort of
making out his own meaning, with the help of his friends.  The
definition and comparison of systems which occupy so much of our
recent literature, were unknown, and everybody who was wrong was
supposed to be very wrong indeed.

We cannot avoid the question whether the three great victims
--Strafford, Laud, and Charles--deserved their fate.  It is certain
that they were put to death illegally, and therefore unjustly.  At the
same time, the superior enlightenment and wisdom were not always on
the side of parliament.  But we have no thread through the enormous
intricacy and complexity of modern politics except the idea of
progress towards more perfect and assured freedom, and the divine
right of free men.  Judged by that test, the three culprits must be
condemned.  That is a principle which cuts very deep, and reaches
far, and we must be prepared to see how it applies in thousands of
other instances, in other countries, and in other times, especially
the times in which we live.

When war broke out, the country was divided, not unequally.  North and
west were for the king; but north and west were backward in comparison
with the south-east, which possessed London and the longer purse.  The
familiar line from South Devon to the Humber simplifies too much.  For
Charles held Oxford and Nottingham, while the parliament had the
seaports, though not all the intervening region, from Plymouth to
Hull, and reached the Severn at Gloucester, and the Irish Sea about
the Mersey.  Parties were not moved to their depths on either side, as
men are by the question of existence, and the contending armies were
generally small.  Therefore, the struggle was slack and slow, and the
Presbyterian sects became masters of the situation, and decided for
the parliament.  At first, through want of energy, great opportunities
were lost.  In Montrose Scotland produced a soldier of genius; but in
England the Ironsides prevailed by their organisation and
discipline.  German writers on military history declare Cromwell to
have been the best leader of cavalry in modern war, the master and
superior of their own Frederic, whose fame is due largely to his skill
in that arm.  The end was an overwhelming victory and a crushing
defeat.  But as the chief cause was the genius of one extraordinary
man, and the sudden growth and spreading of the religious party to
which he belonged, the effect lasted no longer than his life.  The
fabric he had reared was overthrown without an effort, offering no
resistance to the destroyer.  The soldier, therefore, was greater than
the statesman.  Opinion, of late years, has become very favourable to
Cromwell, thanks chiefly to Mr. Gardiner.  But until the Lives by
Mr. Firth and Mr. Morley are completed, the last word, for our time,
will not be spoken.

Those to whom the great Noncomformist is an object of admiration, have
certain conspicuous flaws to contemplate.  Cromwell, by his approval
of Pride's Purge, was an accomplice after the fact.  Colonel Pride
expelled the majority, in order that the minority might be able to
take the life of the king.  It was an act of illegality and violence,
a flagrant breach of the law, committed with homicidal intent.  In
ordinary circumstances such a thing would have to bear a very ugly
name.  Nor was it an act of far-sighted policy, for the outraged
Presbyterians restored Charles II without making terms.  Then, the
Protector professed to see the hand of God, a special intervention,
when he succeeded, and things went well.  It was not the arm of the
flesh that had done these things.  They were remarkable Providences,
and the like.  There is not a more perilous or immoral habit of mind
than the sanctifying of success.  Thirdly, he was the constant enemy
of free institutions.  Scarcely any Englishman has so bad a record in
modern history.  Having allowed all this, we cannot easily say too much
of his capacity in all things where practical success is concerned,
and not foresight or institutions.  In that respect, and within those
limits, he was never surpassed by any man of our race, here or in
America.

As political thinkers both Vane and Harrington are more profound.
Harrington is the author of what Americans have called the greatest
discovery since the printing-press.  For he has given the reason why
the great Rebellion failed, and was followed by the reaction under
Charles II.  He says that it failed because it omitted to redistribute
the property of the kingdom.  The large estates constituted an
aristocratic society, on which it was impossible to construct a
democratic state.  If the great estates had been broken up into small
ones, on a definite plan, the nation would have been committed to the
new order of things, and would have accepted the law of equality.
Poverty would have been diminished on one side, and nobles would have
been abolished on the other.  A timorous conservatism and legal
scruples made this impossible, and government, by a law of nature,
took its shape from the forms and forces of society.  It is needless
to go quite so deep as this to see that the Cromwellian system, which
was the work of a minority, led by a man of pre-eminent services and
talents, crumbled when the necessary leader was gone.

The Commonwealth is the second stage on the road of revolution, which
started from the Netherlands, and went on to America and France, and
is the centre of the history of the modern world.  Seen from a
distance the value of that epoch is not in that which it created, for
it left not creations but ruins, but in the prodigious wealth of ideas
which it sent into the world.  It supplied the English Revolution, the
one that succeeded, the American, the French, with its material.  And
its ideas became efficacious and masterful by denying their origin.
For at first they were religious, not political theories.  When they
renounced their theological parentage, and were translated into the
scientific terms of politics, they conquered and spread over the
nations, as general truths, not as British exports.  For a long time
to come we meet with little that goes beyond the conservatism of
Hobbes, or the liberalism of Vane, and Harrington, and Milton, and of
Lilburne in his saner moments.  That is our inheritance from the Long
Parliament, the Civil War, and the Commonwealth.

We have to deal with events which belong essentially to Constitutional
History, and must treat them with a light touch, that we may not
trespass on appropriated ground.  Our topic is, how absolute monarchy,
which just then succeeded so brilliantly over the Channel, was
attempted in England, under conditions of no apparent danger, failed
and failed at a great cost.  And how, in the course of the struggle,
ideas were developed which proved ultimately strong enough, as well
as sufficiently lasting, to carry out an entirely new structure of
constitutional government.  It is the point where the history of
nations turned into its modern bed.  It is the point also where the
Englishman became the leader of the world.


XII.

THE RISE OF THE WHIGS

THE LIBERAL ideas bred in sectarian circles, here And in America, did
not become the common property of mankind until they were detached
from their theological root, and became the creed of a party.  That is
the transition which occupies the reign of Charles II.  It is the era
in which parties took the place of churches as a political force.

A gentleman has written to remind me that the Independents did not
jointly or corporately renounce the connection between Church and
State, or assert religious liberty as a principle of government.  They
did individually that which they never did collectively, and such
individuals were acting conformably to the logic of the system.  In
the Petition of 1616 they say, "We deny also a national, a provincial,
and diocesan church under the Gospel to be a true, visible, political
church."  John Robinson writes: "It is the Church of England, or State
Ecclesiastical, which we account Babylon, and from which we withdraw
in spiritual communion."  In 1644 we are told: "Godwin is a bitter
enemy to presbytery, and is openly for a full liberty of conscience,
to all sects, even Turks, Jews, Papists."  The author of the tract,
"What the Independents would have", writes that he thinks it a sin
either to follow an erring conscience or to go against it; but to
oppose it the greater sin, for he that will do the least sin against
conscience is prepared in disposition to do the greatest.  Therefore
he reckons liberty of conscience to be England's chiefest good.

When I said that the English exiles in Holland came in contact with
the most spiritual remnant of the Reformers, I meant the German
Anabaptists.  The English Baptists and the Quakers were as much
opposed to the principle of persecution as the Independents I have
quoted.

Only two conditions were imposed on Charles II before he came over.
One of these was liberty of conscience.  Cromwell had died without
leaving behind him an established Constitution, and his lieutenants
succeeded no better than his son.  The army refused to obey a
parliament of their own creating, the remnant which remained when
Pride expelled the majority.  It was a parliament founded not on law
but on violence, on the act of men thirsting for the king's blood.  The
simplest solution was to restore the Long Parliament, to give power to
the Presbyterian majority, which had been excluded, and was not
responsible for the miscarriages and the constitutional instability of
the last eleven years.  The idea was so obvious that it occurred to
everybody--to Monk in Scotland, to Fairfax at York, and to the army
which Lambert collected to meet Monk at Newcastle, and which dispersed
without fighting for its own imperial supremacy.

It is worth while to study, in the second volume of Guizot's "Richard
Cromwell", the consummate policy with which Monk prepared the desired
result.  For the recall of the excluded members was the restoration to
power of men who had persisted in negotiating with Charles I, of men
who had been Royalists in season and out of season.  They were no
friends of arbitrary government; but it was certain that they would
restore the monarchy.  A premature rising of incautious Royalists was
put down; and the object of Monk was to gain time, until the blindest
could perceive what was inevitable.  His hand was forced by Fairfax,
who was ill with gout, but had himself lifted into the saddle, and
raised Yorkshire for a free parliament.  Under that flag Monk crossed
the Tweed at Coldstream on New Year's Day.  He was already the master
of England, and met with no resistance on the way to Westminster.  The
Republicans, in their extremity, offered him the crown, which Monk
refused.  He likewise refused the offers of the king, who would have
made him chancellor and grand constable, besides making lavish grants
of money, which the general was believed to like.  He knew that he was
sure of his reward when the time came.  It came quickly.  The Long
Parliament made way for a Convention Parliament, which renewed the
fundamental laws, and finally abolished the feudal rights of the
crown.  Whilst these bills were being voted, Charles issued the
Declaration of Breda, proposed by Monk, and resumed the crown without
a struggle.

The nation was glad to escape from the misgovernment of the Republic,
which had weighed heavily on numerous classes, and believed that the
crown had received a lesson which could not be forgotten.  The new
government was not imposed by a victorious monarchy.  It was an
expression of the national wish.  Parliament retained control, and
there was no political reaction.

The changes now introduced went to strengthen not the prerogative, but
the gentry, who were the governing class.  They were relieved from the
payment of feudal dues, by means of a tax which fell on other classes;
members were taken from the towns and added to the country districts;
and the militia, which was to protect society from the parliamentary
army, was placed in the hands of the gentry.  The new order of things
was the work not of a party, but of a class.  The dominant cavaliers
were willing to refuse a share in their power to the old Puritan
enemy, and passed every measure for inflicting disabilities on the
Nonconformists.  They were excluded from all offices, in the Church and
in the State, even in the municipalities.  In this way, by a religious
test, the class that consisted mainly of Churchmen secured all
political authority for themselves.  They, however, added a political
test.  They imposed an oath in favour of non-resistance.  Nobody could
hold office who was not what was afterwards known as a Tory.  This was
Anglican doctrine; and the clergy set to work to rule the country in
conjunction with the conservative country gentlemen, on a basis of
principles laid down by Hobbes, the philosopher of the day, who denied
the right, and even the existence of conscience.

Clarendon was minister; and it was an ingenious and politic thing in
his eyes to suppress the Roundhead by suppressing the Presbyterian.
He had reflected more deeply than any man then living on the problem
of Church and State; and he did not believe in the sacred fixity of
divisions founded on schemes of Church government only.  Archbishop
Ussher had made great concessions to the Presbyterians.  Baxter had
made concessions to Prelacy.  The see of Hereford was offered to him,
and it was thought he might accept it.  Leighton, who was as much the
greatest Puritan divine in Scotland as Baxter in England, did accept
the offer of a mitre, and became Archbishop of Glasgow.  The restored
government was intolerant, because, by intolerance, it could exercise
political repression.  This did not apply to the Catholics.  Clarendon
had pledged himself that they should profit by the indulgence which
was afterwards promised at Breda.  When he adopted the policy of
coercion against the Puritans, he was unable to keep his promise.  The
unnatural situation could not last after his fall.  The Puritans had
made war upon the throne, and the Catholics had defended it.  When it
was restored, they proclaimed their principles in a series of
voluntary declarations which dealt with the customary suspicions and
reproaches, and fully satisfied the purpose aimed at by the oath of
allegiance.  No people could be more remote from the type of Allen and
Parsons than the English Benedictines and the Irish Franciscans who
hailed the revived monarchy.  Against such men the old argument of
Elizabethan persecutors was vain.

After the fall of Clarendon a different policy was attempted.  The
rigid exclusiveness of the Puritans had bequeathed one sinister vice
to the English people.  They were complacent in their insularity, and
had a prejudice against the foreigner.  It had been directed against
Spain, for the sake of Plate fleets to seize and coasts to pillage;
and now it was strongest against the Dutch, who were dangerous rivals
by sea, both in peace and war.  It was least, at that time, against
France, whose great statesman, Mazarin, had made terms with the
Republic, and retained the friendship of the restored king.  A trivial
dispute on the Guinea Coast was fanned into a quarrel by the Duke of
York, who was a sailor, and who hoped to strengthen his position at
home by his professional skill, in which he only partially
succeeded.  This is the war that terminated in the memorable change of
front of the Triple Alliance, uniting the Dutch, the English, and the
Swedes against France.  It was a popular but totally ineffective
measure; and in 1669 England abandoned her allies and went over to
France.  Lewis XIV accomplished this important diplomatic success by
the Treaty of Dover, the first in the process of events that overthrew
the Stuart monarchy, and brought in the modern type of Constitution.

Soon after his return to England, Charles opened negotiations with
Rome, which were carried on through one of his sons, born before
Monmouth, who became a Jesuit; and he vainly endeavoured to obtain
supplies from Alexander VII.  Later on, he sought them in France. It
was impossible, he said, to restore the royal authority unless it was
done through the restoration of Catholicism.  That could be secured, if
Lewis would make him independent of the House of Commons.  The scheme
was prepared in January 1669, Arlington consenting, for a bribe of
L12,000.  It was decided to restore the Catholic Church in England by
such a display of force as should be sufficient to raise the crown
above the restraints of parliament.  In execution of the design Lewis
advanced L80,000, and undertook, in case of resistance, to furnish a
force of 6000 men, to be a French garrison in England, for the
repression of Protestants. The sum was much less than Charles
demanded, for the object of the French king was not to strengthen, but
to weaken him.  The second point in the Treaty was that England engaged
to support France in any claims she might have upon Spain.  Lastly,
England was to help her ally against Holland, in return for further
payments and the annexation of Walcheren.  But it was agreed to
postpone the Dutch war until the year 1672.  That is the solid
substance of the phantom which is called the Popish Plot.

 It was, in reality, a plot, under cover of Catholicism, to introduce
absolute monarchy, and to make England a dependency of France, not
only by the acceptance of French money, but by submission to a French
army.  Charles I and his ministers had gone to the block for less than
this.

If the thing should become known, nobody could foretell the
consequences.  Turenne was told, because he would be wanted if it came
to blows; and Turenne told a lady of his acquaintance, who proved
indiscreet.  The king, in a fury, asked him how he could be such a
fool.  The marshal, not unaccustomed to the experience of being under
fire, replied that he was not the only man who had been made a fool of
by a woman, and King Lewis XIV did not see his way to pursue the
conversation.  His political object was secured, even if nothing
should be done in England to fulfil the agreement.  He had Charles
completely in his power.  The secret text only needed to be divulged,
in order to raise the country against him.  He never again could be
formidable.  If all other devices for dividing him from his people
were insufficient, this one could not fail.  Many years later Lewis
caused a book to be printed, by an Italian adventurer, in which the
secret was revealed.  The book was suppressed and the author
imprisoned, for the sake of appearances.  But 155 copies were in
circulation, and the culprit was released after six days.  It became
dangerous for Charles to meet parliament.  The facts became known to
Shaftesbury long before, and determined his course from the time of
his dismissal from office, in November 1673.  The scheme laid down in
the Dover Treaty was a dangerous one, and after the beginning of the
Dutch war there were no French troops to spare.

Charles tried another way to gain his purpose.  Both he and his
brother desired to establish Catholicism for its own sake.  They were
not converts, but they intended to be before they died.  The
difference was that James was ready to make some sacrifice for his
religion, Charles was not.  They both regarded it as the only means of
putting the crown above the law.  This could be done more safely by
claiming the right to dispense from penalties and disabilities imposed
by parliament.  The idea, entertained as early as 1662, ripened ten
years later, when the Penal Laws, as well as the intolerant
legislation of Clarendon against the Puritans, which had been
considered the safeguard of monarchy, were declared inoperative.  The
ministers, including Shaftesbury, expected to obtain the support of
Nonconformists.  This calculation proved delusive.  The Dissenters, on
an assurance that they would be relieved by parliament if they
resisted the offers of the king, refused to accept them.  The object
of his declaration was too apparent, and was indeed too openly avowed.
Just then the Duke of York became a Catholic, and although the fact
was not made public, it was suspected.  Ministers advised Charles to
maintain his offer of indulgence and his claim to the dispensing
power.  Charles gave way and accepted his defeat.  He gave way because
Lewis advised it, and promised him more French regiments than had been
stipulated for, as soon as he was again at peace with the Dutch.

The House of Commons followed up its victory by passing the Test Act,
excluding Catholics from office. The Duke of York resigned his post as
Lord High Admiral.  It was, he said, the beginning of the scheme for
depriving him of the succession to the throne.  In November 1673
Shaftesbury, who had promoted the Declaration of Indulgence, was
dismissed from office and went into opposition, for the purposes of
which Lewis sent him L10,000.  He learnt from Arlington the main
particulars of the Treaty of Dover, and in the following month of
January the secret was substantially made public in a pamphlet, which
is reprinted in the State Tracts.  From that moment he devoted himself
to the exclusion of James.

In 1676 the Duke of York made it known that he had become a Catholic.
This was so gratuitous that people took it to mean that he was strong
in the support which the French king gave him.  He was still true to
the policy of the Dover Treaty, which his brother had abandoned, and
still watched his opportunity to employ force for the restoration of
his Church.  All this was fully understood, and his enemy, Shaftesbury,
was implacable.

When he had been five years out of office, in September 1678, Titus
Oates appeared.  Who the people were who brought him forward, with the
auxiliary witnesses, Bedloe, Dangerfield, and Turberville, the one who
received L600 for his evidence against Stafford, is still unknown.
Shaftesbury was not the originator.  He would not have waited so many
years.  His part in the affair was to employ the public alarm for the
destruction of the Duke of York.  Therefore, from the summer of 1678
there was a second plot.  The first, consisting in the Treaty of
Dover, drawn up by the Catholic advisers, Arundel, Bellasis, the
historian Belling, and Leighton, the great archbishop's brother.  The
second was the Protestant plot against the Catholics, especially the
Duke of York.  The indignation against the real plot, that of Dover,
was essentially political.

In February 1675 the opposition proposed to James to restore his
offices if he would abandon Lewis.  When the imperial ambassador, in
July 1677, complained of the No Popery cry, they replied that there
was no question of religion, but of liberty.  In the case of Oates and
his comrades, the political motive faded into insignificance beside
the religious.  At first the evidence was unsubstantial.  Oates was an
ignorant man, and he obtained credit only by the excitement and
distrust caused by the discovery of the premeditated coup d'etat.
Godfrey, the magistrate who conducted the inquiry, warned James that
the secretary of the Duchess of York, was implicated.  His name was
Coleman, and he had time to destroy his papers.  Some of them were
seized.  They spoke of a great blow which was being prepared against
the Protestants.  It appeared also that he was in the pay of Lewis,
and had solicited his confessor, Pere La Chaise, for a sum of
L300,000 in order to get rid of parliament.  It was argued that if
such things were found in the papers he had not burnt, there must have
been worse still in those which had perished.  It showed that the
scheme of Dover was still pursued, was still a danger.  At that moment
the magistrate who sent the warning disappeared.  After some days his
dead body was found at the foot of Green Berry Hill, now Primrose
Hill; and one of the most extraordinary coincidences, so interesting
in the study of historical criticism, is the fact that the men hanged
for the murder were named Green, Berry, and Hill.  It was of course
suspected that Godfrey had perished because he knew too much.

For some time the excitement rose very high.  On the day when two
Jesuits were executed, one of the Catholic envoys writes that nothing
else could have saved the lives of all the Catholics in London.  Taking
advantage of the state of public feeling, Shaftesbury proposed that
James should be excluded from the succession for his religion.  The
crown was to go to the next heir, the Princess of Orange.  This was
thrown out by the Lords.  Meantime the second Test Act expelled the
Catholic peers from the House of Lords.  James withdrew from the
council, from the palace, and at last from the kingdom.

The second Exclusion Bill was founded, not on his religion, but on his
politics, that is, his treasonable connection with the King of France.
The opponents of exclusion proposed limitation of the royal power, in
a manner such as that which has since prevailed.  Charles preferred
this amendment to the Constitution rather than an Act which enabled
parliament to regulate the succession.  William of Orange vigorously
opposed it, as the same restraints might be retained when his wife
came to the throne.  Halifax, who defeated the Exclusion Bill and
defended the Limitation Bill, assured the prince that it would never
be applied, as James had no chance whatever of succeeding his brother.
His only purpose in proposing his Bill was to preserve the succession,
according to law, from parliamentary control.

In order to obtain evidence that should ruin James's prospects, it was
resolved now to put the Catholic peers on their trial.  Stafford came
first.  He had not been in the secret of the fatal Treaty.  But the
plans this time were cleverly laid.  Although Lord Stafford was
entirely innocent, Count Thun, the Austrian envoy, was profoundly
impressed by the weight of the case against him and the weakness of
the defence.  He was beheaded amid shrieks of execration and
exultation.  Arundel was to come next; and Arundel did know enough to
compromise the duke.  But the plan had failed.  Nothing had been
discovered in Stafford's trial that could help the exclusion; and a
revulsion of popular feeling followed.  Monmouth was now put
forward.  If James could not be excluded he must make way for Monmouth,
if Monmouth was legitimate.  The king was pressed to acknowledge him.  A
black box was said to contain the necessary evidence of his mother's
marriage.  A bishop was spoken of who knew all about it.  Monmouth
himself accepted the idea.  When the Duke of Plymouth died he refused
to wear mourning.  He would not mourn, he said, for a brother who was
illegitimate.  After the Test Act, the Exclusion Bill, the succession
of Monmouth, the indefatigable Shaftesbury had still one resource.  He
tried an insurrection.  When he found it impossible to draw the line
between insurrection and murder, he thought the position dangerous,
and went abroad.  Russell and Sidney were put to death.  Charles was
victorious over his enemies.  He owed his victory to the French king,
who gave him L700,000, and enabled him to exist without a parliament
for three years.

It was during this struggle against the overshadowing suspicion of the
Dover Treaty that the Habeas Corpus Act was passed, and that Party
took shape in England.  In general, the old cavalier families, led by
the clergy and the lawyers, acquiesced in the royal prerogative, the
doctrine of passive obedience, the absolute and irresistible authority
of that which Hobbes called Leviathan, meaning the abstract notion of
the State.  They had a passion for order, not for oppression; good
government was as dear to them as to their opponents, and they
believed that it would not be secured if the supreme authority was
called in question.  That was the Court Party, known as Tories.  As
time went on, after the Revolution, they underwent many developments.
But at first they were simply defenders of royal authority against
aggression, without any original ideas.

The Country Party was the party of reform.  They were the people
excluded from the public service by the oath in favour of
non-resistance.  They believed in the rightfulness of the war which the
Long Parliament waged against the king, and were prepared, eventually,
to make war against Charles II.  That was the essential distinction
between them and the Tories.  They dreaded revolution, but, in an
extreme case, they thought it justifiable.  "Acts of tyranny," said
Burnet, "will not justify the resistance of subjects, yet a total
subversion of their constitution will."  When Burnet and Tillotson
urged this doctrine on Lord Russell, he replied that he did not see a
difference between a legal and a Turkish Constitution, upon this
hypothesis.

Whig history exhibits a gradual renunciation of Burnet's mitigated
doctrine, that resistance is only justified by extreme provocation,
and a gradual approach to the doctrine of Russell, on which the
American Revolution proceeded.  The final purpose of the Whigs was not
distinct from that of their fathers in the Long Parliament.  They
desired security against injustice and oppression.  The victors in the
Civil War sought this security in a Republic, and in this they
conspicuously failed.  It was obvious that they made a mistake in
abolishing the monarchy, the Established Church, and the House of
Lords.  For all these things came back, and were restored as it were by
the force of Nature, not by the force of man.

The Whigs took this lesson of recent experience to heart.  They
thought it unscientific to destroy a real political force.  Monarchy,
Aristocracy, Prelacy, were things that could be made innocuous, that
could be adjusted, limited and preserved.  The very essence of the new
Party was compromise.  They saw that it is an error to ride a
principle to death, to push things to an extreme, to have an eye for
one thing only, to prefer abstraction to realities, to disregard
practical conditions.  They were a little disappointing, a little too
fond of the half-way house.  Their philosophy, or rather their
philosopher, John Locke, is always reasonable and sensible, but
diluted and pedestrian and poor.  They became associated with great
interests in English society, with trade, and banking, and the city,
with elements that were progressive, but exclusive, and devoted to
private, not to national ends.  So far as they went, they were in the
right, ethically as well as politically.  But they proceeded slowly
beyond the bare need of the moment.  They were a combination of men
rather than a doctrine, and the idea of fidelity to comrades was often
stronger among them than the idea of fidelity to truths.  General
principles were so little apparent in the system that excellent
writers suppose that the Whigs were essentially English,
Nonconformists, associated with limited monarchy, unfit for
exportation over the world.  They took long to outgrow the narrow
limits of the society in which they arose.  A hundred years passed
before Whiggism assumed the universal and scientific character.  In
the American speeches of Chatham and Camden, in Burke's writings from
1778 to 1783, in the Wealth of Nations, and the tracts of Sir William
Jones, there is an immense development.  The national bounds are
overcome.  The principles are sacred, irrespective of interests.  The
charter of Rhode Island is worth more than the British Constitution,
and Whig statesmen toast General Washington, rejoice that America has
resisted, and insist on the acknowledgment of independence.  The
progress is entirely consistent; and Burke's address to the colonists
is the logical outcome of the principles of liberty and the notion of
a higher law above municipal codes and constitutions, with which
Whiggism began.

It is the supreme achievement of Englishmen, and their bequest to the
nations; but the patriarchs of the doctrine were the most infamous of
men.  They set up the monument to perpetuate the belief that the
Catholics set fire to London.  They invented the Black Box and the
marriage of Lucy Waters.  They prompted, encouraged, and rewarded the
murderer Oates.  They proclaimed that the Prince of Wales came in the
warming pan.  They were associated with the Rye House assassins; that
conspiracy was their ruin.  Charles triumphed, and did not spare his
enemies.  When he died, in spite of the Dover Treaty, of his paid
subserviency to France, of the deliberate scheme to subvert the
liberties of England, James, the chief culprit, succeeded, with
undiminished power.  The prostrate Whigs were at the mercy of
Jeffreys.

But forty years of agitation had produced the leaven that has leavened
the world.  The revolutionary system was saved, because the king threw
away his advantage.  The Whig party became supreme in the State by a
series of events which are the most significant in English History.


XIII

THE ENGLISH REVOLUTION

THREE-QUARTERS of a century of struggling and experiment, from the
fall of Bacon to the death of Charles II, had ended in failure, and
the government of England had been brought into line with continental
monarchy when James ascended the throne.

The House of Commons refused to listen to Seymour s warning speech,
and voted, nemine discrepante, a revenue which, by the growth of
trade, soon rose to near two millions.  It was in the king's power to
retain that loyal and submissive parliament as long as he chose, and
he was not obliged to meet it annually.  He had the control of the
constituencies.  The press was not free, and the proceedings of the
legislature were withdrawn from public knowledge.  Judges could be
dismissed at will, until the bench was filled with prerogative
lawyers.  There was an army kept in foreign pay that could be recalled
when it was wanted.  Passive obedience was taught as a precept by the
universities, and as a religious dogma by the Church.

It was no secret that James was resolved to be master, and to abolish
the restraints and safeguards of the constitution.  Penn, reporting his
intentions to William of Orange, declared that he would have all or
nothing.  He had repeatedly avowed that he meant to do it by a standing
army and by claiming the right to dispense with laws.  Monmouth's
rebellion gave him the standing army.  Although it was unsupported
either by the exclusionists or the limitationists, and although it was
contemptibly managed, there had been a moment of serious danger.  It
was the general opinion that the night attack at Sedgemoor would have
succeeded, and that the royal army would have been destroyed, if the
rebels, instead of betraying their approach with musketry, had come to
close quarters with axe and scythe.  The king took advantage of what
had happened, and he had the means of paying a force which amounted to
14,000 men.

Charles had been in perpetual want of money through the expensive
scandals of his court.  There were half a dozen ducal titles needing
to be provided with ducal incomes, and obliging the king to become a
dependent pensionary of the liberal paymaster in France.  At his death
all this was changed, and Catharine Sedley disappeared from Whitehall.
It is true that her absence was not prolonged, and that she had
obscurer rivals.  But a decorous economy was observed in a branch of
expenditure which had been profuse.  Nevertheless Lewis XIV hastened
to make offers of pecuniary aid to the frugal James as to the
extravagant Charles.  He sent over a sum of L60,000 or L70,000,
consisting partly of arrears already due.  This was to be paid only if
James found himself in difficulties after having proclaimed liberty of
conscience.  If there was no disturbance, there was to be no payment.
And when the session ended without any measure of the kind, Lewis gave
orders that the money should be returned to him.  In the autumn of
1685 James proceeded to adopt his advice.  He had been victorious.
His birthday, in October, was celebrated more heartily than his
brother's had ever been, and the atrocities of the Western Assize did
not affect opinion to his disadvantage.

He made known his plans.  Besides the standing army and the recall of
the Habeas Corpus, he demanded the dispensing power.  Nobody supposed
that the head of the executive was to persecute his own religion.  To
admit his right of succession was to admit that the Elizabethan Code
was to be practically dormant.  The Catholic desired no more.  It was
enough that they ceased to suffer oppression.  Halifax, the ablest
though not the strongest of James's ministers, agreed to that, and did
not object to a moderate number of Catholic officers.  The Prince of
Orange was of the same opinion.  Toleration was therefore assured, and
the era of persecution had passed away.  That was of no use to Lewis
XIV, who in that month of October suppressed the Protestant religion
in France.  And it was of little use to James himself, as it added
nothing to his power.  He insisted on introducing toleration by
dispensing with the laws, by right of his prerogative, and on
abolishing the Test Act.  But the Test Act was a security against
arbitrary power, by depriving him of the assistance of Catholics in
office.  His desire for arbitrary power was notorious, and the country
did not believe that his zeal for the liberty of conscience was
sincere.  They believed, and they believed rightly, that he demanded
more than that which would satisfy the just and obvious necessities of
his Church in order to strengthen his prerogative, and that he was
tolerant in order that he might be absolute.  He professed openly the
maxim that toleration was the necessary condition of absolutism.  He
urged Lewis, secretly, to pursue the work of the revocation, and was
reluctant to allow collections to be made for the Huguenot fugitives.

Later, when he was himself an exile, and nothing could be more
inopportune than the profession of tolerant sympathies at the French
court, he seriously and consistently proclaimed them.  And it is very
possible that he was then sincere, and that a change had taken
place.  Another change took place when he became acquainted with the
famous Rance, who had made the abbey of La Trappe the most edifying
seat of religion in France, and a favourite retreat for men like
Bossuet and St. Simon.  James also visited him and corresponded with
him, and sixty of their letters are extant.  At Versailles people did
not understand how so much devotion could be combined with so much
tolerance in religion.  The letters to Rance show that the religion of
James, when he was on the throne, was very near the surface.  Whether
it was different afterwards, as they believed in France, is not quite
certain.  And in this connection it will be convenient to mention the
assassination plot.

There was an Irish divine, Martin of Connemara, who suggested that, in
time of war, it would be well that a chosen band should devote
themselves to the task of falling upon the Prince of Orange and
putting him to death.  It would, he said, be a legitimate act of
warfare.  Lewis XIV required no such arguments, and sent a miscreant
named Grandval to rid him of the obnoxious prince.  Berwick preferred
the advice of the theologian, and, at the battle of Landen, he led a
troop of 200 horsemen to the place where his kinsman stood, crying out
to them to kill him.  Three years later, in 1696, he was in London,
communicating with the managers of the plot, who thought that it would
be no murder to shoot the king on the road to Hampton Court, when
surrounded by his guards.  A beacon fire on Shakespeare's Cliff was to
send the news across the sea, and at that signal James was to come
over, in French ships.  When the plot thickened, Berwick made his
escape, and met his father changing horses at Clermont.  Having learnt
how matters stood, James pursued his way to Calais, and there, while
he watched the northern horizon for the desired signal, he wrote
edifying letters to the Abbe de Rance.  When the plot was betrayed he
showed the deepest sympathy with the assassins, and never lamented
their crime.

The series of measures by which he lost the crown form a drama in
three acts.  First, he tried to obtain the co-operation of the
Established Church.  When that failed, he turned against the Church
and worked through the Dissenters.  And then he brought on that
quarrel with the clergy which proved fatal to him.  James did not
believe in the reality of Protestant religion.  Sunderland assured him
that in two years not a Protestant would be left in England, if
compulsion ceased, and his mind was bewildered by two very remarkable
facts.  One of these was the theology of recent Caroline divines.
Archbishop Bramhall could hardly be distinguished from a Gallican.
Archbishop Leighton was in close touch with Jansenists.  One Roman
doctrine was adopted by Montagu, another by Thomdike, a third by Isaac
Barrow.  Bull received the thanks of the French clergy for his
vindication of the early fathers against the most learned of the
Jesuits.  To an ignorant and narrow-minded man all these things
pointed to one conclusion, the instability and want of solidity in the
Anglican system.  Then there was the astounding collapse of the French
Huguenots.  Lewis boasted that, in a few months, without real
violence, he had effected 800,000 conversions.  And James was eager to
believe it.  He asked himself, says Barillon, why he could not do as
much in England.  He desired the Roman congregations to examine the
question, whether the English bishops might retain their sees.  Some
said they would be better than the Catholic clergy, who were accused
of Jansenism.  One thing he considered absolutely certain.  The Church
would never resist his authority.  The Bishop of Winchester entreated
him not to rely on the passive obedience of Churchmen.  James replied
that the bishop had lost his nerve.

Having decided to risk a quarrel with loyal Anglicans, he assumed the
dispensing power.  The judges approved.  There was a precedent in his
favour.  He had support not only in the past but in the future, for
William III followed his example.  He could claim that he was acting
for the reason of State against shameful prejudice and sordid passion.
The greatest historic figure of the age, William Penn, was on his
side, and went over to explain the principle of his policy to the
Prince of Orange.  Lewis XIV urged him on.  And although the body of
English Catholics were much opposed, his immediate advisers, who were
men in the French interest, or survivors of the Dover Treaty, Arundel,
Bellasis, Dover, Tyrconnel, encouraged his fixed design.  A few men in
high office, he said, would do more for Catholicism than many hearing
mass without impediment.

We must imagine not a sinister tyrant brooding schemes of oppression,
but an unintelligent absolutist, in the hands of men, some of whom
were able and some sincere, plying him with plausible arguments.
Therefore, when the primate and six bishops protested against the
Declaration of Indulgence, James sent them to the Tower.  Sunderland
advised caution.  The time for extreme measures, he said, had not
come.  The violent members of the council thought that they had their
enemies at their mercy and they prevailed.

James thought that he was triumphing, for just then the Prince of
Wales was born.  The future of his policy was assured.  The crown was
not to pass to the head of the Protestant interest in Europe.  James's
enemies, says the imperial envoy, gave up their cause for lost.  In
their despair they at once invented the lie about the warming pan.
James's opportunity had come.  He could declare an amnesty for the
event which had so profoundly changed his fortunes.  The seven bishops
could be released without a trial, and the impending catastrophe could
be averted.  The king, disagreeing with his advisers, with Sunderland,
with the nuncio, even with Jeffreys, determined to go on.  He intended
that the bishops should be tried, condemned, and pardoned.  With that,
his victory would be complete.  Instead of which, the bishops were
acquitted, and the king's attack on the Church ended in defeat.

On that day Admiral Herbert, disguised as a blue-jacket, left with the
invitation to the Prince of Orange to come over.  It was written by
Algernon Sidney's brother, and bore the signatures of seven
considerable men, who were prepared to risk their lives.  Several
others acquiesced, and it was not the act of one party.  The thing had
become inevitable when the prince was born.  It was delayed until the
issue was decided between the crown and the Church.  The associates
assured William that the Prince of Wales was an imposture, and that he
must come, in order to secure his own birthright, as well as the
liberties of England.  William of Orange had not intrigued that the
crown should pass to his wife before the time, and had given his uncle
much good advice.  For him it was everything that England should not
be against him in the struggle with Lewis XIV.  For that, he had the
Habsburgs on his side, and it was essential that they should still be
with him if he obeyed the call of his friends.  He had been preparing
for it ever since he sent Dykvelt over in 1687, and had asked the
States of Holland to hold twenty-five men-of-war and 9000 sailors in
readiness, to meet the danger which threatened from France.

James took alarm, and warned William that the succession was not
absolutely safe.  Lewis, who much dreaded the prospect of having his
ablest and most formidable enemy at Whitehall, wished the Princess
Anne to precede her elder sister.  To strengthen her claim with her
father he proposed that she should become a Catholic, and sent over
books of controversy for that purpose.  James, on the other hand, told
William that there would be no crown to inherit, but a commonwealth in
England, if he did not succeed in his endeavour to make himself
master.  Dykvelt had conducted the secret negotiation which ended in
the invitation of 30th June.

A still more delicate negotiation was pursued on the Continent.
William could not allow it to appear that his expedition implied a war
of religion.  He would forfeit the alliance of the Emperor, which was
the very pivot of his policy.  Leopold was a devout and scrupulous
man, and it was uncertain how he would regard an enterprise which was
to substitute a Protestant dynasty for a Catholic dynasty in England.
There was only one way of ensuring his assistance.  In order to have
the support of the Empire it was requisite to obtain the support of
the Papacy.  In a religious question Leopold would follow the pope.
William sent one of his generals, the Prince de Vaudemont, to Rome;
and, through Count Dohna, he opened a correspondence with the Vatican.
He represented that the Catholics would obtain from him the toleration
which they could never be sure of under James.  There would be not
only a serious political advantage gained by the detachment of England
from the French interest, but also a positive and measurable benefit
for the Church of Rome.  The pope understood and assented, and took
the Habsburgs with him into the camp of the Great Deliverer.  This is
the touch of mystery in the Revolution of 1688.  James, the champion
of the Church, had alienated Rome.

The pope, Innocent XI, Odescalchi, is a rare and original figure, and
James said truly that no man like him had sat on the see of Rome for
centuries.  He began the reform of the court, which consisted in the
abolition of nepotism.  All through the century his predecessors had
founded great princely families--Borghese, Ludovisi, Barberini,
Pamphili, Chigi, Rospigliosi, Altieri.  These great houses grew wealthy
out of the spoils of the Church, and, as their founders died without
making restitution, opponents of nepotism affirmed that they died
unrepentant, and might be found in those regions of the other world
where Dante delighted to exhibit the pontiffs of his time.  In his zeal
for a strict morality Innocent tried to rectify the teaching of the
Casuists, and was involved in trouble with the Jesuits.  In France he
was spoken of as a Jansenist, and in England Oldmixon called him a
Protestant pope.  He endeavoured, as nobody had done since the
Reformation, to find a remedy for the divisions of Western
Christendom.  The movement had not ceased since Richelieu was minister
and Grotius ambassador at Paris, and it became active on both
sides.  Innocent sanctioned a scheme of concessions which was deemed
satisfactory in the universities of Protestant Germany.

When Lewis revoked the Edict of Toleration the pope did not conceal
his displeasure.  He was compelled at last to allow Te Deums and
illuminations; but he made no secret of his disbelief in the armed
apostolate of missionaries in jackboots.  He was bitterly opposed to
the Gallican system, out of which the persecution proceeded.  James II
was odious to him for many reasons.  First as a promoter of French
tendencies, both in politics and in religion.  For James, like Lewis,
was a Gallican in Church questions.  When an Englishman defended
ultramontane propositions in a disputation at Louvain, he expressed
his indignation that such an attack should have been permitted in his
presence on the plenary authority of kings.  He offended the pope by
sending as his ambassador Lord Castlemaine, who was ridiculous not
only as the Duchess of Cleveland's husband, but as the author of a
book in which he pleaded for toleration on the ground that Catholics
should be as well treated in England as Protestants in France.  With
great reluctance the pope consented that his agent, D'Adda, should be
appointed a nuncio; but when James made the Jesuit Petre a privy
councillor, giving him his own apartment at Whitehall, and represented
that he would be fitter for such a position if he was made a bishop or
a cardinal, Innocent refused.

Petre laid the blame on the nuncio, and the Jesuits asked that he
should be sent out of the country.  He would be forced, said the king,
to do without the Court of Rome.  D'Adda gave the same advice as the
Prince of Orange, that the Penal Laws should not be executed, but the
Test Acts retained; and he was one of those who, when the crisis came,
maintained that there was nothing to fear from William.  After
Innocent's death in 1689 there was a change, but Rome declared in
favour of taking the oath to William III.  Perth wrote from Rome in
1695: "The Prince of Orange has more friends here than either in
England or Holland, and the king is universally hated.  It's scandalous
to hear what is said every day, publicly, when they make comparisons
betwixt an heretical, unnatural, usurping tyrant and His Majesty."

On this state of feeling, far stronger in 1688 than in 1695, William
built his plan.  It was in the power of Lewis at any moment to prevent
the expedition.  He had an army ready for war, and could have held
William fast by sending it against the Netherlands.  He preferred to
attack the empire on the Upper Rhine.  For twenty years it had been
his desire to neutralise England by internal broils, and he was glad
to have the Dutch out of the way while he dealt a blow at Leopold.  It
was impossible that the conflict between James and William should not
yield him an opportunity.  For the beginning he stood carefully aside,
letting things take their course.  There was no resistance, by land or
sea, and it proved almost as easy to dethrone the Stuarts as it had
been to restore them.  The balance of parties, the lack of energetic
conviction in England, had allowed things to settle down, when the
real struggle began, in Ireland, in Scotland, and in the Channel.  The
Scots rising did not postpone the issue, but it is valuable to us for
the sake of one transaction.

The deed that was done in Glencoe is familiar to us all, by a patch
of Tyrian purple in the most splendid of our histories.  It affords
a basis for judging the character of William and of his government.
They desired that some of the Highlanders should stand out, that an
example might be made; and they hoped that it might be the one
Catholic clan, as they were likely to be the most dangerous
Jacobites.  "Who knows," wrote Stair, "but, by God's providence, they
are permitted to fall into this delusion that they may only be
extirpat."  Four days later another writes: "The king does not care
that some do it, that he may make examples of them."  Accordingly, by
his orders, one branch of the Macdonalds was destroyed by Campbell of
Glenlyon.  There is no doubt about the order.  But it is not certain
that William knew that the chieftain had taken the oath.  The people
concerned were rewarded in due proportion.  One became a colonel,
another a knight, a third a peer, and a fourth an earl.  It was a way
King William had.  When the murder of De Witt made him supreme, he
kept away from The Hague, but then saw that the murderers were
recompensed.  Eighty years later a deserter from one of our regiments
was under sentence to be shot.  The officer commanding the firing
party, another Captain Campbell of Glenlyon, had received a reprieve,
with secret orders not to produce it until the culprit stood facing
the levelled muskets.  At that moment, as he drew the reprieve from
his pocket, his handkerchief, coming with it, fell to the ground.  The
soldiers took it for their signal and fired.  Glenlyon exclaimed, "It
is the curse of Glencoe!" and at once left the service.

When James escaped to France, he at once went over to Ireland, with a
French army, while a French fleet covered the expedition and swept the
Channel.  James had long intended to make Ireland independent of
England, that, under his Protestant successors, it might be an
impregnable refuge for persecuted Catholics.  He estimated that it
would take five years of preparation.  Tyrconnel also contemplated
separation, and arranged for a French invasion, if James died.  When
James came over Tyrconnel thought him hopelessly incompetent, and
offered his country to Lewis XIV.  Sarsfield detested his treachery,
and invited Berwick to undertake the government.  Of James's French
counsellors, one was Lauzun, who commanded the auxiliary army, and
proposed to burn Dublin to the ground and ravage the open country.
The other was the ambassador D'Avaux, who wished him to make short
work of all the Protestants in the island.

James rejected the advice with indignation.  Lewis also rejected it,
but without the indignation you would expect in a most Christian king,
and without thinking the adviser unworthy of his service.  D'Avaux
relates it all, without reserve, in his despatches, which are among
the curiosities of History.  They were printed at the Foreign Office,
and never published.  The only copy I ever saw was uncut when it came
into my hands.

In spite of these discordant counsels, the Jacobite prospects in
Ireland brightened when a fleet of seventy-eight ships sailed from
Brest.  "If they were only commanded by De Ruyter," said Louvois,
whose control stopped with the shore, "there would be something to
hope for."  Instead of De Ruyter, Tourville defeated the combined
Dutch and English at Beachy Head.  The allies lost sixteen ships out
of fifty-eight; the French not one.  Tourville was master of the
Channel.  Torrington left the Dutch to do the fighting, and kept as
far as he could from the scene of danger.  He had to lament the death
of his favourite dog.  They said that the dog died the death of an
admiral, and the admiral lived the life of a dog.  That 30th of June
is the most disgraceful date in our naval annals.

On the following day the battle of the Boyne was won not in the
legendary manner, by William, with his sword in his left hand, or
Schomberg, plunging into the river to meet a soldiers death, but by
the younger Schomberg, who crossed higher up and outflanked the
French.  Tourville's victory, after that, was entirely useless.
William offered an amnesty, which was frustrated by the English hunger
for Irish estates; and the capitulation of Limerick, rejected by the
Irish parliament, gave it the name of the City of the Broken Treaty.

The reign of James came to an end when he fled from the Boyne to St.
Germains.  He became the king of the Nonjurors.  In 1693, when the
French had been victorious at Steenkerk and Landen, he issued a
Declaration, with the doubting approval of French divines, which the
nonjuring bishops repudiated.  Such concessions, they affirmed, would
ruin the monarchy.  Kerr was of the same opinion; but he went on to
say that when the Declaration had served its purpose and restored the
king, he would not be bound to observe it.  The war was unprofitable
to the allies on land; but after the victory of La Hogue the three
kingdoms were safe from invasion.  This is the war to which we owe the
National Debt, the Bank of England, the growth of the moneyed
interest.

But the agrarian interest still largely predominated, and the
landlords, as the ruling class, required a reward for their share in
the elevation of William.  Nineteen years earlier the Corn Laws had
been invented for their benefit.  Protection against foreign
importation did much; but in 1689 a premium on the exportation of
English-grown corn was added, and it is this which caused the immense
prosperity of English agriculture in the eighteenth century, enriching
the landlord with capital at the expense of the yeoman without it.

Two of our greatest writers, to speak truly, our two greatest writers,
Burke and Macaulay, have taken pains to show that the Revolution of
1688 was not revolutionary but conservative, that it was little more
than a rectification of recent error, and a return to ancient
principles.  It was essentially monarchical.  The king was
acknowledged to be a necessity in the then state of England.  The idea
of a Commonwealth did not appear.  The Revolution was mainly the work
of Conservatives, that is, of Churchmen who, where Church interests
were not threatened, strictly upheld authority, and reverted to their
original doctrine when the crisis was over.  No change took place in
the governing class.  The gentry who managed the affairs of the county
managed the affairs of the country after 1688 as they had done before.
There was no transfer of force from the aristocratic element of
society to the democratic.  The essentials of free government,
religious liberty, national education, emancipation of slaves, freedom
of trade, relief of poverty, freedom of the press, solidarity of
ministers, publicity of debates, were not mentioned in the resolutions
of the Convention or in the Bill of Rights.  Nothing was done to
determine whether the future belonged to the Tory or the Whig.

And yet it is the greatest thing done by the English nation.  It
established the State upon a contract, and set up the doctrine that a
breach of contract forfeited the crown--the former, in the English
convention; the latter, in the Scottish.  Parliament gave the crown,
and gave it under conditions.  Parliament became supreme in
administration as well as in legislation.  The king became its servant
on good behaviour, liable to dismissal for himself or his
ministers.  All this was not restitution, but inversion.  Passive
obedience had been the law of England.  Conditional obedience and the
right of resistance became the law.  Authority was limited and
regulated and controlled.  The Whig theory of government was
substituted for the Tory theory on the fundamental points of political
science.  The great achievement is that this was done without
bloodshed, without vengeance, without exclusion of entire parties,
with so little definiteness in point of doctrine that it could be
accepted, and the consequences could be left to work themselves
out.  The Act itself was narrow, spiritless, confused, tame, and
unsatisfactory.  It was perfectly compatible with the oppression of
class by class, and of the country by the State, as the agent of a
class.  It was strangely imperfect.

The consequences ripened slowly, and a time came, under George III,
when it seemed that they were exhausted.  It was then that another and
a more glorious Revolution, infinitely more definite and clear-cut,
with a stronger grasp of principle, and depending less on conciliation
and compromise, began to influence England and Europe.


XIV

LEWIS THE FOURTEENTH

WHILST ENGLAND was traversing the revolutionary period on its arduous
course towards free government, France completed, with universal
applause, the structure of absolute monarchy.  Neither Henry IV nor
Richelieu had done enough to secure the country against conspiracy,
disorder, and invasion.  There was a relapse into civil war during
each minority, under Lewis XIII and Lewis XIV; the nobles and the
magistrates turned against the crown, and a prince of the blood,
Conde, commanded the Spaniards in a campaign on French soil against
the royal army.  With the aid of Turenne, Mazarin triumphed over every
danger, and the young king was anointed in the Cathedral of Rheims.

In 1659, by the Peace of the Pyrenees, the cardinal terminated
victoriously the long war with Spain, which began in the middle of the
Thirty Years' War, and outlasted it, and established the supremacy of
France over the Continent.  The one desire of France was the
concentration of power, that there might be safety abroad and order at
home.  To ensure this, more was required than the genius of even the
most vigorous and astute ministers in the world.  Neither Richelieu,
who was a bishop, nor Mazarin, who was a foreigner, could be
identified with the State.  What was wanted had been wanting in France
for half a century--the personality of the king, monarchy personified,
with as much splendour, as much authority, as much ascendency, as
would fill the national imagination and satisfy national pride.  The
history of Charles I, the restoration of Charles II, the outbreak of
loyal sentiment, which was stronger than religion, which was itself a
religion, showed that there was something in royalty higher than the
policy of statesmen, and more fitted to inspire the enthusiasm of
sacrifice.

At the death of Mazarin there was no man capable of being his
successor.  Le Tellier, Colbert, Lionne were men of very great
ability, but they were departmental ministers.  The young Monarch gave
orders that, as they had reported to the cardinal, they should now
report to himself.  He added that they were to assist him with their
advice whenever he asked for it; and he did not make it appear that he
would trouble them often.  The initiative of government passed into
his hands.  He did not say, "L'etat, c'est moi."  Those words, I
believe, were invented by Voltaire, but they are profoundly true.  It
was the thing which occasion demanded, and he was the man suited to
the occasion.

Lewis XIV was by far the ablest man who was born in modern times on
the steps of a throne.  He was laborious, and devoted nine hours a
day to public business.  He had an excellent memory and immense
fertility of resource.  Few men knew how to pursue such complex
political calculations, or to see so many moves ahead.  He was patient
and constant and unwearied, and there is a persistent unity in his
policy, founded, not on likes and dislikes, but on the unvarying facts
in the political stage of Europe: Every European state was included in
his system, and had its part in the game.  His management of each was
so dexterous that diplomacy often made war superfluous, and made it
successful.  Lewis was not a born soldier like Swedish Charles and the
great Frederic.  He never exercised an actual command.  He would
appear at sieges when the psychological moment came, and ride
ceremoniously under fire, with his Jesuit confessor close at hand.  His
fame was so large a part of the political capital of France, that a
pretence was made of believing in his generalship, and the king took
it quite seriously. He told his son to go to the wars and prove his
warlike quality, that the change, when his father died, might not be
too deeply felt.  In many places he was accepted as a benefactor and a
That was generally the case in Switzerland, in Portugal, in Denmark
and Sweden, in Poland and Hungary, in parts of Germany, and in parts
of Italy.  For in small countries public men poor and easily consented
to accept his gifts.  In this way he strove to prevent coalitions and
to isolate his enemies. The enemies were Austria and the Netherlands.

Two facts governed the European situation.  One was the break-up of
the imperial power in Germany, after the Thirty Years' War.  The
effect of it was that France was fringed by a series of small
territories which were too feeble to defend themselves, and which
Germany was too feeble and too divided to protect.  There were
Belgium, Liege, Luxemburg, Lorraine, Alsace, and Franche Comte.  The
other overshadowing fact was the evident decay of Spain, of the royal
family as well as of the nation.  Belgium, Luxemburg, and Franche
Comte were Spanish, and were therefore helpless.  The acquisition
of these provinces was an inevitable element of his policy.  That was
part of a far larger scheme.  Philip IV had no son.  His daughter,
Maria Theresa, was heir to his boundless dominions.  As early as 1646
Mazarin resolved that his master should marry the Infanta, and that
Spain and the Indies, Naples and the Milanese, and the remnant of the
possessions of Charles the Bold, should be attached to the crown of
France.  When the time came, and reluctant Spain consented, at the
treaty of the Pyrenees, Lewis was discovered to be in love with
another lady.  Her name was Marie Mancini, the youngest of three
sisters, and she was the cardinal's own niece.

Mazarin, the ablest and most successful of ministers, had one damning
vice.  He was shamefully avaricious.  He amassed, in the service of the
State, therefore dishonestly, an income larger than that of the King
of England or the King of Spain.  The necklace of pearls which he gave
to one of his nieces, and which is at Rome, is said to be still the
finest in existence.  But Mazarin, though he was sordid and mean, was a
statesman of the highest rank.  He sent his niece away, in spite of the
tears of Lewis, and the Spanish princess became Queen of France.  The
independence of Spain, the unity of the Spanish empire, were too grand
a thing to be an item in the dowry of a bride.  She was compelled to
renounce her rights, which were transferred to her sister.  The
renunciation was conditional.  It was to depend on the payment, in due
time, of the Infanta's fortune.  As the payment was not made, the
French regarded the surrender as null and void, and the interest at
stake, the most splendid inheritance on earth, was one that could not
be given up without a conflict.  From the moment of the marriage the
main object of French policy was to make the succession secure, by
negotiation or force, and to take every advantage otherwise of Spanish
weakness.

All these plans were doomed to a terrible disappointment.  In 1665
Philip of Spain died; but he had married again, and left a son, who
became king, in his cradle, under the name of Charles II.  The new
king was sickly and backward, and it was expected that he would die
young, unmarried, and childless.  Meantime, the fulfilment of French
hopes was postponed for a generation, and the Spanish succession was
opened, not at the beginning of Lewis's reign, but at the end.  He
recovered from the blow by a device to acquire part of the Spanish
empire, no longer having a hope of the whole.  The device was
suggested by Turenne.  His experience in the Fronde taught him the
danger of having the Spaniards so near, in the valley of the
Somme.  "Whenever there is trouble in France," he said, "the enemy can
be at Paris in four days."  In self-defence, for security rather than
aggrandisement, the frontier must be pushed back.  He caused his
secretary to compose a treatise, showing that, by the custom of
Brabant, that province devolved on the queen, Maria Theresa.  It was
the custom there that the children of a first marriage should suffer
no loss if their father married again.  What would have been their
estate, remained their estate.  The fee simple passed to them.  The
father enjoyed a life-interest only, without the power of disposal.
The French government argued that, by the analogy of the Salic Law,
the principle which applied to property applied to sovereignty, and
that what was good for a manor was good for a crown.  And they assumed
that the custom of Brabant was the law of Belgium.

This is the right of Devolution, with which the king's aggressive
career began, and his first war was the war of Devolution, or, as
they say in France, the war for the rights of the queen.  Those rights
consisted of consolation claims set up after the wreck of the dream of
universal empire.  They presented abundant matter for dispute, but
they were worth disputing, even by the last argument of kings.

The Power most concerned was not Spain, but the Netherlands.  For
Spain, the Belgic provinces were in outlying dependency, involving
international complications.  For Holland, they were a rampart.  The
government of the States was in the hands of John de Witt and the
Republicans.  They were held in check by the partisans of the House of
Orange, which, in the last generation, had put the republican leader,
the real predecessor of De Witt, to death.  The feud was there,
faction was not appeased, and De Witt dreaded the day when the Orange
party should recover power.  The Prince of Orange was only 17.  When
war came in sight, the Perpetual Edict excluded him from the position
which his family had occupied, by forbidding the Stadtholder from
being at the same time Commander of the Forces.  De Witt was not
afraid of a naval war.  His brother was the admiral, and it was he who
sailed up the Thames.  But war on land would bring the young William
forward.  De Witt made every possible concession, hoping to prevent
it.  Rather than fight the French, he was willing to agree to a
partition of the Belgic provinces.  Already, he was at war with
England, and the sea-fights had been indecisive.  Resistance to France
on land was out of the question, except by means of a Coalition, and
as no Coalition could be hoped for, Holland stood aside, while Turenne
overran Flanders.  The Austrian Habsburgs did not interfere to protect
the Spanish branch, although they were its heirs.  In case his son
should die, Philip IV had left his entire monarchy to his second
daughter, who was married to the Emperor Leopold.  It would remain in
the family; whereas, if the French queen had not renounced, it would
be swallowed up in the dominions of a stranger--that was the point of
view of a Spaniard.  The Austrian viewed things differently.  He knew
perfectly well that France would not be bound by an act which belonged
not to the world of real politics, but to the waste-paper basket.
Therefore, when France proposed an eventual partition, it seemed
important to obtain a more serious and more binding contract than the
queen's renunciation.  The conditions were not unfavourable to the
imperial interest.  As there were several other partition treaties,
none of which were carried out, the terms of this, the first, need not
occupy us.  The treaty was not meant to govern the future, but the
present.  It helped to keep the Emperor tranquil during the spoliation
of his Spanish kinsman.

Within a week of the first treaty of partition, Sir William Temple
concluded the Triple Alliance.  Deserted by Austria, De Witt turned to
England.  He sent his fleet to destroy the British men-of-war in the
Medway, and this catastrophe, coming so soon after the plague and the
fire of London, was too much for the feeble spirit of Charles and his
ministers.  They made peace, allied themselves with Holland and with
Sweden, and the progress of the French was arrested.  The Triple
Alliance was the earliest of that series of coalitions which ended by
getting the better of the power of Lewis XIV, and is therefore a
landmark in History.  But there was nothing lasting in it; the rivalry
of the two commercial countries was not to be reconciled by
politicians.  England was on the side of the Prince of Orange, and
desired that he should become sovereign.  William had resolved, during
the very negotiations that prepared the alliance, that the way to ruin
De Witt was to exhibit him to Lewis in the light of a friend of the
English.  After having been conciliatory to the edge of weakness, he
had turned suddenly into an enemy.  Lewis could not continue the war
because of the maritime superiority of his united opponents.  He made
peace, restoring Franche Comte, which Conde had occupied, and
contenting himself with an extended frontier in Flanders.  Lille,
which had been taken by Vauban, in an otherwise inglorious campaign,
was converted into a great French stronghold.  That was the result.

These events exhibit Lewis in his prime, while Colbert and Lionne were
living, and were able to balance the sinister influence of Louvois.
It was a war of ambition, undertaken after the shock of the loss of
Spain and of all that belonged to it.  It was not begun from a sense
of right and duty.  But the advantage was not pushed to the bitter
end; the terms agreed upon were reasonable; part of the conquests were
restored.  Lewis proved himself capable of moderation, of
self-command, even of generosity.  The outrageous violence and tyranny
of later years were not immediately apparent.  He withdrew from the
fray, preparing for another spring.  Then he would avenge himself on
John de Witt, and conquer Belgium in Holland.  De Witt was the most
enlightened statesman in Europe, but he was not a war minister.
England was easily detached from him in the hope that the Prince of
Orange might be supreme; and Lewis agreed to whatever was necessary,
that the English fleet might be on his side.  Thus the Triple Alliance
was dissolved, and the Dover Treaty took its place.  The help afforded
by the English fleet in the Dutch war fell short of expectation, but
the effect of the agreement was to blot out England for many years.

De Witt, unable to face the storm, offered advantageous terms, which
were rejected, and then resigned office.  The Prince of Orange took
the command of the army; but, at the approach of the French, eighty-
three Dutch fortresses opened their gates.  At The Hague De Witt and
his brother were torn to pieces by an Orange mob, and Holland saved
itself by letting in the ocean.

William of Orange, never a very successful general, was a good
negotiator, and, excepting his own uncle Charles II, he soon had
Europe on his side.  The French were driven over the Vosges by the
Imperialists.  Turenne, in his last campaign, reconquered Alsace,
crossed the Rhine, and gave battle to Montecucculi.  He fell, and his
army retired.  Lewis XIV, to mark the greatness of the loss, at once
named six new marshals of France.  Montecucculi resigned his
command.  Having had the honour, he said, of fighting Turenne, and
having even defeated him, he would not risk his reputation against men
who were the small change for the great man who was dead.  Lewis XIV
had 220,000 men under arms.  Conde defeated William at Senef.  As often
as Vauban defended a fortress, he held it; as often as he besieged a
fortress, it fell.  The balance of victory inclined to France.  England
gave no assistance, and the Prince of Orange came over, married the
eldest of the princesses, immensely strengthening his own position,
and hastening the conclusion of peace.

The peace of Nimeguen gave to Lewis XIV that predominant authority
over Europe which he retained undiminished, and even increased, during
at least ten years.  He acquired a further portion of Belgium,
strengthening his frontier on the threatened line; he annexed Franche
Comte and he recovered Alsace.  He had shown himself to be aggressive
and unscrupulous, but his military power was equal to his pretensions;
he was true to his humbler allies; his diplomatic foresight, and the
art of his combinations, were a revelation to his contemporaries.
They also knew that they would never be safe from renewed attack, as
the larger half of the coveted region, in the Low Countries,
Luxemburg, and Lorraine, was still unabsorbed.  His interest was
clearly recognised.  His policy had been openly declared.  With so
much ambition, capacity, and power, the future was easy to foretell.
In the position he had acquired, and with the qualities he had shown,
he would be as dangerous in peace as in war.  Coalitions alone could
resist him, and a coalition could only be a work of time and patience.
When the alliance which had opposed him with unequal fortune was
dissolved, a season of peril would ensue, for which no defensive
provision could be made.

The keystone of the situation was the assured inaction of England.
Whilst that lasted, at least while Charles II lived, Lewis would defy
the rest of Europe.  He had nothing to fear except the Stadtholder.
Whilst De Witt governed, the French attack was irresistible.  But the
Perpetual Edict was repealed, and William of Orange was captain-general
for life.  He had saved his country, driven out the French, raised
Europe against them.  The merchants of Amsterdam, who, in 1672,
were preparing to sail for Batavia, as the Puritans sailed for New
England, were now the second Power in Europe politically, and
commercially by far the first.  William of Orange, to whose
international genius the change was due, stood very near the
succession to the English throne.  In the course of nature it would be
his some day, by right of his wife, or by his own.  And there was hope
for European independence and the existence of free communities, if
the resources of England passed to William earlier than the resources
of Spain fell into the hands of Lewis.  After the peace, that was the
problem of general politics.

The treaties of Nimeguen were far from satisfying the aspirations of
Lewis.  He dismissed his foreign minister.  Pomponne was the most
honourable man in his service, and had conducted with eminent
dexterity and success the negotiations for the numerous treaties with
every country.  Lewis says that he was deficient in the energy and the
greatness requisite in executing the orders of a king of France who
had not been without good fortune.  Pomponne came into office in 1671
and left it in 1679, so that he was not compromised by the derisive
claim of devolution, or by the yet more hollow sophistry of reunion,
by which Lewis now proceeded to push his advantage.  His dismissal
announced to the nations what they had to look for.  It meant that the
profit of Nimeguen was not enough, that the greatness of the French
monarch exacted further sacrifices.

After the peace Lewis kept up his army.  There were 112,000 men under
arms, and there were cadres for twice as many more.  With that force
in hand, he proceeded to raise new claims, consequential, he said, on
the late favourable treaties.  He said that the territories ceded to
France ought to be ceded with their dependencies, with such portions
as had formerly belonged to them, and had been detached in the course
of ages.  And the parliaments of Lorraine, Alsace, and Franche Comte
were directed to ascertain what places there were, what fragments
under feudal tenure, to which that retrospective principle applied.
They were called chambers, or courts, of reunion, and they enumerated
certain small districts, which the French troops accordingly occupied.
All this was futile skirmishing.  The real object was Strasburg.
Alsace was French, but Strasburg, the capital, that is, the capital of
Lower Alsace, was imperial.  It was the most important place on the
road between Paris and Vienna, for it commanded the passage of the
only river which crossed and barred the way.  Situated on the left
bank, it was the gate of France; and twice in the late war it had
admitted the Imperialists, and opened the way to Paris.  The bishop,
Furstenberg, belonged to a great German family that was devoted to
the French interest; but the town was Protestant.

Up to that moment, 1681, religious antagonism had not added much to
the acerbity of the conflict.  Spain and Austria were the enemies of
Lewis; Sweden and Denmark were his allies.  Brandenburg accepted his
gifts, in money, in jewels, in arras.  England was his humble friend.
But a change was approaching; and it began when Furstenberg first said
mass in Strasburg minster, and preached from the text "Nunc Dimittis."
Vauban at once arrived, and erected an impregnable barrier, and a
medal was struck bearing the inscription: "Clausa Germanis Gallia."
On the same day as Strasburg, the French occupied Casale.  This was a
fortress closing the road between the duchy of Savoy and the duchy of
Milan, and commanding the line of the Po.  It belonged to Montferrat,
which was a dependency of Mantua; but the duke had his price, and he
sold the right of occupation to the French.  The agreement had been
concluded three years before, but it had been betrayed by the duke's
minister, and it had become necessary to await a more convenient
occasion.  The French government did not scruple to have an
obstructive adversary put out of the way.  Louvois gave orders that
Lisola, the Austrian statesman who exposed the scheme of devolution,
should be seized, and added that it would be no harm if he was killed.
His son commissioned Grandval to murder William III.

The traitor of Casale met with a more terrible fate than a pistol shot
or the stroke of a dagger.  He suddenly disappeared, and no man ever
looked upon his face again.  His existence was forgotten, and when he
died, long after, nobody knew who he was.  In the dismal register of
the dead who died in the Bastille he is entered under the name of
Marchiali.  Fifty years later he began to fix the attention of the
world, and became a fascinating enigma.  For Marchiali means Mattioli,
who was the man in the Iron Mask.  That is, of course, there was no man
in the Iron Mask; the material was more merciful than that; and the
name which has become so famous is as false as the one in which the
victim of tyranny was buried.

Whilst Lewis pursued his career of annexation, the empire was disabled
by war with the Turks and by troubles in Hungary.  In 1683 the grand
vizier besieged Vienna, and would have taken it but for the imperial
allies, the Elector of Saxony, the Duke of Lorraine, and the King of
Poland.  After the relief of the capital they carried the war down the
Danube, and Leopold was once more the head of a powerful military
empire.  It was too late to interfere with French conquests.
Luxemburg was added to the series in 1684, and an armistice of twenty
years practically, though not finally, sanctioned what had been done
since Nimeguen.  When the four great fortresses had become
French--Lille, Besancon, Strasburg, and Luxemburg--and when the empire
succumbed, recognising all these acts of entirely unprovoked
aggression, Lewis attained the highest level of his reign.  He owed it
to his army, but also to his diplomacy, which was pre-eminent.  He
owed it, too, to the intellectual superiority of France at the time,
and to the perfection which the language reached just then.  The
thinking of Europe was done for it by Frenchmen, and French
literature, penetrating and predominant everywhere, was a serious
element of influence.

In all the work of these brilliant years there was increase of power
and territorial agglomeration; there was no internal growth or
political development.  The one thing wanted was that the king should
be great and the country powerful.  The object of interest was the
State, not the nation, and prosperity did not keep pace with
power.  The people were oppressed and impoverished for the greater
glory of France.  Colbert trebled the public revenue, but he did not
make it depend on the growth of private incomes or the execution of
useful public works.  In 1683 Colbert died, and Louvois, the son of Le
Tellier, became supreme minister.

The queen's death, about the same time, caused a greater change.  The
king married Madame de Maintenon.  He had been unfaithful to his first
wife, but now he was a model husband.  The second wife, who never
became a queen, and was never acknowledged, ruled over his later
years.  She was the most cultivated, thoughtful, and observant of
women.  She had been a Protestant, and retained, for a long time, the
zeal of a convert.  She was strongly opposed to the Jansenists, and
was much in the confidence of the best men among the clergy.  It was
universally believed that she promoted persecution, and urged the king
to revoke the Edict of Nantes.  Her letters are produced in evidence.
But her letters have been tampered with by an editor, who was a forger
and a falsifier.

The Revocation required no such specific agency, but proceeded by
consistent logic, from the tenor of the reign.  The theory of
government, which is that which Bossuet borrowed from Hobbes, and
clothed in the language of Scripture, does not admit that a subject
should have a will, a conviction, a conscience of his own, but expects
that the spiritual side of him shall be sacrificed to the sovereign,
like his blood and treasure.  Protestant liberties, respected by
Richelieu and still more entirely by Mazarin, who acknowledged the
loyalty of Huguenots in the Fronde, became an exotic, an anachronism,
a contradiction, and a reproach, as absolute monarchy rose to the
zenith.  The self-government of the Gallican Church, the administration
of the clergy by the clergy, was reduced to the narrowest limits, and
the division of power between Church and State was repressed in favour
of the State.  It could not be borne, in the long-run, that
Protestants should govern themselves, while Catholics could not.

The clergy, zealous for the extinction of Jansenism, naturally
extended their zeal against those who were more hostile to their
Church than Jansenists.  Everything else was required to give way to
the governing will, and to do honour to the sovereign.  The
Protestants, under their protecting immunity, were a belated and
contumelious remnant of quite another epoch.  Exceptions which were
tolerable under the undeveloped monarchy were revolting when it had
grown to its radiant perfection.  The one thing wanting was the
Revocation, to abolish the memory of an age in which a king whose
throne was insecure conceded to turbulent and disloyal subjects that
which the sovereign of a loyal and submissive people would do well to
revoke.  To fulfil the ideal of royalty, the monument of the weakness
of royalty and the strength of revolution must be ingeniously hidden
away.  The ardour of rising absolutism is the true cause of the
Revocation.

William III explained it in another way.  He said that the purpose was
to sow suspicion and dissension between Protestant and Catholic
Powers, by showing that the Catholics at heart, desired to extinguish
the Protestant religion.  Such a suspicion, properly fanned, would
make alliances and coalitions impossible between them.  The Waldenses
then survived in one or two valleys of Piedmont, much assimilated to
the Swiss Calvinists.  Lewis required that they should be put down by
force, and, when the Duke of Savoy hesitated, offered to supply the
necessary troops.  This extraordinary zeal, indicating that the spirit
of persecution was common to all, and was not stimulated by causes
peculiar to France, supplies the only evidence we have to sustain
William's interpretation.

It is well to be rational when we can, and never, without compulsion,
to attribute motives of passion, or prejudice, or ignorance as a
factor in politics.  But it is necessary to remember that the Plot was
only six years old.  The French government knew all about it, and was
in the secret of the papers destroyed by Coleman.  To them it must
have appeared that the English were turned into ferocious assassins by
the mere force of their religious belief.  There was no visible reason
why such things should be in England and not in France, why a majority
should be more easily carried away than a minority, or why High Church
Anglicans should be more prone to murder a priest or a friar than
extreme Calvinists, with whom it was a dogmatic certainty that
Catholics were governed by Antichrist.

The Gallican clergy were divided.  Several bishops condemned the
action of the government, then or afterwards.  The great majority
promoted or encouraged it, not all by a revival of the persecuting
spirit, but partly in the belief that the barriers were falling, and
that the Churches were no longer irreconcilable.  They were impressed
by the fact that Protestantism had outgrown and discarded Luther, that
Arminians in Holland, the Lutherans of the University of Helmstedt,
the French schools of Sedan and Saumur, the Caroline divines in
England, and even Puritans like Leighton and Baxter, were as much
opposed as themselves to the doctrine of justification, which was the
origin of the Protestant movement.  At the same time, the abuses which
roused Luther's opposition had disappeared, if not everywhere, at
least in France.  Between Protestants in that later variation and
Gallicans, the difference was not that which subsisted with
Ultramontanes.  Bossuet and two Englishmen, Holden and Cocker, drew up
statements of what they acknowledged to be essentials in religion,
which were very unlike the red-hot teaching of Salamanca and Coimbra.
As the Protestants were no longer the Protestants who had seceded, the
Catholics were no longer the Catholics who had cast them out.  The
best men of the Sorbonne were as unlike Tetzel and Prierias as Leibniz
was unlike John Knox.  It was unscientific, it was insincere, to
regard the present controversy as a continuation of the old.

These sentiments were very heartily reciprocated among the Lutherans,
and people spoke much of a misunderstanding, and represented the
Reformation as the result of the unfinished theology, the defective
knowledge of Church history, in the sixteenth century.  Thus it was
that nobody went further than Bossuet at one time in the direction of
union, and nobody was more strongly in favour of the harsh measures of
Louvois.  If the policy of the Revocation had been to divide the
European Powers, it proved a failure; for it helped to make them
coalesce.

In the following year, 1686, a league was concluded at Augsburg
between the emperor, part of the empire, Spain, Sweden, and the
Netherlands.  This was the old story.  Against nearly the same
combination of discordant forces Lewis had held his own in the Dutch
war and the negotiations of Nimeguen.  England was wanting.  William
attempted to bring over his father-in-law, and, having failed by
friendly arts, undertook to compel him.  The Revolution threw the
weight of England into the scales, and the war that ensued became the
war of the Grand Alliance.

This was the turn in the fortunes of Lewis.  He ravaged twenty miles
of the Palatinate for the sake of a claim on the part of the Duchess
of Orleans, who was a Princess Palatine.  His armies were victorious,
as usual, at Steenkerk and at Landen.  The English were driven to the
north-eastern extremity of Ireland; and Trouville had better reason
than Van Tromp to fix a broom at his masthead.  And then Ireland was
lost.  The French fleet was destroyed, by very superior numbers, at La
Hogue, and the Grand Alliance, aided at last by the ships, and the
men, and the money of England, bore down the resistance of exhausted
France.  William was acknowledged King of England at the close of a
struggle which had begun twenty-five years before.  Lewis, having
formally offered to support James's election to the throne of Poland,
when Sobieski died, gave him up.  Vauban complained that the war had
been too prosperous on the Continent to justify so disastrous a
termination.

From the peace of Ryswick the lengthening shadow of the Spanish
succession falls upon the scene, and occupies the last years alike of
William, of Leopold, and of Lewis.  It was known that the King of
Spain could not live long; and as the prize came near, Europe, for
four years, was hushed in expectation.


XV

THE WAR OF THE SPANISH SUCCESSION

WE COME now to the last and greatest transaction in Lewis XIV's
reign--the acquisition of the Spanish crown.

The idea of a predominant Power in Europe was part of absolutism.  It
proceeded from the same love of authority, the same pride of
greatness, the same disregard for the equal rights of men, the same
pretensions to superiority and prerogative, international as well as
national.  The position of the king in Europe was security for his
position in France itself.  Subjects were more willing to submit to
one to whom foreigners submitted.  In three successive wars Lewis had
striven for this advantage, and had made himself felt as the public
enemy and the vigilant disturber of the peace of Europe.  If he added
Spain to his dominions by legal and pacific means, by negotiated
treaty or testamentary bequest, it would be more legitimate than his
former attempts at mastery.  His mother was a Spanish princess.  His
wife was a Spanish princess.  The emperor was in the same position,
but in each case the Queen of France was the elder sister.  Both of
the French queens had resigned their claims; but Lewis had not
confirmed his wife's renunciation, as her dowry was left unpaid; and
it was not confirmed by the national authorities in Spain.

In 1668, in spite of the will of Philip IV giving the succession to
Austria, Leopold, who at that time had no children, had been ready for
an equitable partition.  But in 1689, when the Maritime Powers, that
is, when William III had urgent need of Austria in the coalition
against France, they promised the undivided monarchy of Spain to
Leopold's second son.  That agreement was superseded by the peace of
Ryswick.  And in the interval a new claimant was born, with evidently
better right than the young archduke.  For the archduke was the son of
a second marriage.  The emperor had only a daughter by his Spanish
wife, who married the elector Max Emmanuel of Bavaria, and gave birth
to a son in 1692.  Under the will of Philip IV, the late King of
Spain, that prince was the lawful heir.  He was not the imperial
candidate; for Leopold had required his own daughter to surrender her
claim, that his crowns might not pass from Habsburg to Wittelsbachs.

For the very reason that he was neither a Habsburg nor a Bourbon, the
electoral Prince of Bavaria became the candidate of William, and he
agreed with Lewis that he should inherit Spain and the Indies, Italy
and the Low Countries to be divided.  By this, which is known as the
First Partition Treaty, though in reality it was the second, England
obtained nothing, except the prospect of peace through a friendly
understanding with France, and it alienated the emperor and outraged
Spain.  That foreigners should dispose at their own convenience of the
empire which had been built up by Spanish hands was an intolerable
offence to Spaniards.  They refused to be dismembered without even
having been consulted.  With all her dominions, with the united crowns
of twenty-two kingdoms, Spain was unprosperous and insecure.  Her
vitality was kept up by her foreign possessions.  Brabant, the
Milanese, Campania, Apulia, were the richest portions of Europe, and
neither France, nor the empire, nor England possessed the like.
Deprived of these, the monarchy would decline quickly; for with all
her pride, and her fame, and her unsetting sun, Spain was visibly
going down.  It was their policy and their resolution that the crown,
though it must pass away to strangers, should pass undiminished.  That
it was about to pass away, all men knew.

On 19th September, three weeks before Lewis and William concluded
their treaty, the primate assured the French ambassador that they must
proceed as if the king was a dead man.  The king himself knew his
danger.  His wife was a sister of the empress, and they were in the
Austrian interest.  So much so, that having made a will in favour of
the Bavarian prince, Charles revoked it; the ambassador Harrach, the
Prince of Hesse, who commanded in Catalonia, the queen, when her
confidant was not bribed on the other side, were active for the
archduke.  But when the Partition Treaty became known, in November
1698, the king made another will, and publicly announced that his heir
was the young prince of Bavaria.  He thus took the candidate of France
and England, assigning to him the whole, not a part.  It was an
attempt to preserve unity and avert partition by adopting the chosen
claimant of the partitioning Powers.  The English parliament, intent
on peace, and suspicious of William's foreign policy, which was
directed by him personally, with Dutch advisers, to the exclusion of
ministers, reduced the army to 7000 men.  William carried his distrust
of Englishmen so far that he requested the imperial ambassador
Wratislaw, an important man in his own country, to consult nobody but
the Dutchman Albemarle.  The public men of this country, he said,
revealed every secret to their friends.

Six months later, both the will and the treaty were void and annulled
by the death of the Bavarian prince, by small-pox, at Brussels, where
his father was governor.  The work had to be begun over again.  The
feeling of all Spanish statesmen in favour of maintaining the
integrity of the monarchy was unchanged.  That could be done only by
choosing a Bourbon or a Habsburg.  No other person could compete.  The
court was divided simply into an Austrian and a French party.  The
king's choice reverted to his nephew, the archduke.  But those who had
preferred the electoral prince were opposed to the Austrian, and
became the partisans of France.  They were a majority, and
preponderant.  If it could be made her interest to keep up the Spanish
empire France was better able to do it than Austria.  Especially now
that England was detached from her ally the emperor.  For William
concluded with Lewis a second Treaty of Partition, giving Spain, the
Indies, and the Netherlands to the archduke, the Italian possessions
to France.  Austria was no party to this agreement, and openly
preferred Italy to all the rest.  In England it was received with
extreme coldness, and in Spain with indignation.  In the summer of the
year 1700 the king's illness became alarming.  The skill of his
physicians being exhausted, spiritual remedies were sought, and he was
exorcised.  The devil declared that the king was possessed.
Subsequently he admitted that this was a falsehood, which surprised
nobody.

The great question, whether the Spanish monarchy should remain united
or should go to pieces, reached a preliminary conclusion on 3rd
October, 1700.  Charles appeared to be sinking, when he signed the
last will which Portocarrero and the friends of the French had drawn
up, with some marks of haste.  He lived on four weeks longer, but
never had the strength to revoke the act which disinherited his
family.  He left Spain, with all dependencies, to the Duke of Anjou,
second son of the Dauphin, and if Anjou ever came to the throne in
France, then he should be succeeded in Spain by his younger brother,
so that the two crowns could never be united.  Failing the French
line, the succession was to pass to the archduke; and if the archduke
came to the throne of Austria, then to the Duke of Savoy.  There also
the union of the crowns was provided against.  The policy of all this
was obvious.  The artifice consisted in the omission of the House of
Orleans.  For the Duke of Orleans, descending from Anne of Austria,
was nearer than the archduke Charles.  At the same time he was farther
removed from the throne of France than the Duke of Anjou, less likely,
therefore, to alarm the Powers.  It might be hoped that he would be
near enough to Lewis to secure the preservation of the Spanish empire,
and not near enough to threaten European independence.  A time came
when the allies thought of him as a possible substitute, and offered
him a principality between France and Spain.  That is, he suggested
himself as a better alternative to Anjou, and they thought of giving
him Navarre and Languedoc.  Put forward at a time when the Maritime
Powers were not committed to the archduke, he might have been
accepted.  But he was not the candidate of Lewis.  The object of the
Spaniards was to make sure that Lewis would break his engagement with
William III, that he would give up the partition and accept the
succession, preferring the risk of war for so great a prize to the
chance of a pacific division of the spoil.  This they ensured by the
provision that Spain, if it did not belong to the French line, should
pass to the Austrian; that, failing Anjou and his brother, the
Austrian should take his place.

The will of Charles II shows a distinct animosity against the Maritime
and Protestant Powers; and a rumour spread that it had been written
under the influence of the pope, who dreaded the presence of Dutch and
English sailors and factors in South America.  A letter was produced
purporting to contain the advice of Innocent XII in the matter; and
the following pontiff, Clement XI, was obliged to disavow it.

Before the death of Charles II the nature of the will he had made was
known at Versailles.  Tallard, who had negotiated the Partition Treaty,
was beside himself with anger.  He convinced Torcy, he convinced Lewis
himself, that they must not accept the succession.  On 4th November the
king sent word to William that he remained true to the scheme of
Partition to which he had pledged himself.  "I shall fulfil my
engagements," he said, "in spite of any offers that may be made to
me."  He assured Leopold that he would never accept the whole
succession.  It was safer to be content with a share, under the
auspicious sanction of the Maritime Powers.  But Torcy having shaken
off the too eager Marshal Tallard, changed his mind.  He urged that
neither the whole succession nor a part of it could be had without
fighting, as Austria was as much opposed to the partition, as to the
acceptance of the will by France.  Torcy was not yet the great man he
became during his long administration.  But his argument carried
conviction, and Lewis argued that his grandson should accept the
proffered throne, and that Bourbons should reign where the Habsburgs
had reigned for a century and a half.  He was not bound by any
engagement to the emperor, who was no party to the Partition
Treaty.  He was bound by that treaty to King William; but it was
uncertain whether William had the support of his two nations.  The
funds rose at Amsterdam; and in England the king observed that
everybody preferred the will to the treaty.  For the Partition Treaty
had stipulated nothing for English interests, nothing, therefore,
worth fighting for.  And England had no territorial advantage to claim.

The commercial, economical, and pacific spirit was evident, both in
England and Holland.  On the other side, there was the strong will and
infinite dexterity of William.  In the last Partition Treaty he had
betrayed this weakness of his position, and had given way to the
skilled diplomacy of France.  Lewis did not believe that he would
prevail over the public opinion of his country.  And if he did
prevail, his position would be less formidable than before.  Lewis now
had Spain on his side, and all the dependencies of Spain.  He also had
Bavaria and Savoy.  In the last war he had been unsuccessful at sea,
and in the Irish expedition, which was carried on beyond the sea by
his naval, not his military administration.  In the coming war he
would trust less to his fleet than to his troops, which had never been
unsuccessful in a general action.  He resolved to defy the Dutch and
the English, and to seize every attainable advantage.  The Spanish
ambassador had exclaimed, "The Pyrenees have melted away."  Lewis now
announced that his grandson was not to renounce his right to the
throne of France.  In the Barrier Fortresses the Dutch held garrisons.
Lewis sent them home and occupied the places himself.  "Dutchmen were
not wanted," he said, "to protect one Bourbon against the other."  In
August 1701 he obtained for French traders the asiento, the profitable
and coveted monopoly in negro slaves.  In September he prohibited
English imports.  Then, on the 16th, he did one thing more, one thing
too much even for a nation of economists and calculators.

The acceptance of the Spanish succession by France was the frustration
of William's efforts during thirty years.  He had striven and made war
for peace and civilisation against wilful attack and the reign of
force.  That good cause was defeated now, and the security of national
rights and international conventions was at an end.  The craving for
empire and the hegemony of Europe had prevailed.  The temper of England
compelled him, in April 1701, to acknowledge Philip of Anjou.  The
country, he said, could not understand the refusal to acknowledge a
king welcomed by the whole of Spain.  He advised the Emperor to have
the German princes with him, and to begin the attack.  He himself would
arm meanwhile, and his own people, before long, would drive him into
war.  He relied on the arrogance of the French, and this calculation,
the measures by which he brought public opinion on to his side, are
the greatest achievement of his career.

As it became apparent that England was to lose, not, like Austria, a
visionary prospect, but its commercial existence, during the summer of
1701 the spirit of parliament began to be roused.  William, watching
the flow of the patriotic tide, concluded with Austria and Holland the
treaty of The Hague, which divided Europe, for the first time, into a
Latin and a German half.  Austria was to obtain that which it desired
above all things, dominion over Italy.  The Maritime Powers were to
retain their commercial privileges in Spain, and everything they could
make their own in America.  France was to be excluded from
transatlantic markets; but nothing was said as to Spain.  Implicitly,
Philip V was acknowledged.  The Maritime Powers aimed much more at
prosperity than at power.  Their objects were not territorial, but
commercial.  The date of this treaty, which was to cost so much blood,
was 7th September.

William was moving more rapidly than public opinion, but public
opinion was not far behind.  The country was committed to war with
France at the very beginning of that fatal September.  The treaty had
been signed nine days, when James II died at St. Germains.  Lewis
acknowledged the son as he had acknowledged the father--the one as the
other, a king in partibus.  It was a platonic engagement, involving no
necessary political consequences.  Since the treaty of Ryswick, Lewis
treated William as king, though there was a James II.  He did not
cease so to treat him because there was a James III.  To a prince who,
the week before, had contrived a warlike coalition against him, a
coalition which soon proved more formidable than all those which had
preceded it, he owed no more than the letter of their agreements.  The
decisive step towards open hostilities was taken by the King of
England, not by the King of France.  Parliament had just passed the
Act of Succession.  Lewis's declaration in favour of the Stuarts
appeared to be in defiance of the law in favour of the Guelphs.
England had not dared to question the right of the Spaniards to
regulate the succession.  England could not permit interference with
her own.

This declaration of Lewis XIV, imprudent but not unprovoked, gave to
William what he wanted.  It supplied a strong current of national
feeling.  The nation was ardent on his side.  He had succeeded at
last.  The war with France, for the partition of the Spanish monarchy,
would be carried on with determination under the coming reign.  For
William knew that Anne would soon be queen.  It was also known at
Paris, for William had consulted the French king's physician, and
there were no illusions.  The strange impolicy of Lewis's action may
be explained by the belief that another than William of Orange would
appear at the head of the allied armies in the next campaign.  That
the change of commander would be the greatest calamity that had
befallen France since Agincourt was not foreseen.

In November 1701 Parliament was dissolved, and a majority was returned
prepared for war, prepared to support the policy of the Grand
Alliance.  What made it formidable was that the Tories themselves were
warlike.  The Whigs were warlike because it was their nature, since
France had declared itself for the Stuarts; also because they and
their friends were interested in pushing trade with the oceanic world,
which was mainly Spanish.  But it was not, at first, a Whig war.  On
9th March, 1702 they obtained the majority.  They were 235 to 221.

William III was dying.  He had borne the accident well by which he
broke his collar-bone.  He sat at dinner that evening, and was
expected to recover in a few weeks.  But he fell asleep one day near
an open window.  Nobody had the courage to shut it, and he caught a
chill, of which, in five days, he died.  His prestige was lost to the
cause of the allies.  At the same time, William was a Dutch king,
working with Dutchmen only, Heinsius, Bentinck, Keppel, for Dutch as
much as for English objects.  While he lived there was no danger that
the interests of his own countrymen would be made subordinate to those
of England.  There was no sign of Holland taking the second place, of
Holland being sacrificed to England.  That security was now over.  The
leadership passed to England.  In the field, the Dutch were far ahead.
The understanding was that the English were to be 40,000, the
Austrians 90,000, and the Dutch 102,000.  But whereas the Dutch
ultimately put 160,000 men into line, the English, in the greatest
battle of the war, at Malplaquet, were under 8000, or less than
one-twelfth of the whole force engaged.

What gave to this country the advantage in the war of the Spanish
Succession was the genius and the overwhelming personal ascendency of
Marlborough.  One of the Dutch deputies, who did not love him, who was
not even quite convinced as to his qualities as a soldier, describes
him as perfectly irresistible, not so much by energy and visible
power, as by his dexterity and charm.  And this in spite of defects
that were notorious and grotesque.  Everybody knows, and perhaps
nobody believes, the story of his blowing out the candle when he found
that his visitor had no papers to read.  Many years later the story
was told, when an officer present stated that he was the visitor whom
the duke had treated so parsimoniously.  It is due to him that England
became one of the great Powers of the world, and, next to France, the
first of the Powers.  And it was not his doing, but the doing of his
rivals, that the allies were sacrificed.  The Dutch had no such
splendid personality, and though they had their full share in the war,
they lost by the result.  The character of the struggle changed by the
death of William and the substitution of Marlborough, who depended,
more and more, on the support of the Whigs.  In one of his last
conversations William had said: "We seek nothing but the security
which comes from the balance of power."  Our policy was not maintained
throughout on that exalted level.

The War of Succession began in Italy, by the attempt of Eugene to
recover Milan, which reverted to the empire on the death of Charles
II.  It was, as it were, a private affair, involving no declaration of
war, no formal breach with France.  But the French were in Lombardy,
and, with the support of the Duke of Savoy, they were able to check
the Austrian advance.  Eugene went home to Vienna to organise and
direct and urge the exertions of his government.  On his return, after
a very memorable absence, Victor Amadeus had deserted his French
alliance, and had attached himself to the Austrians.  A French army
laid siege to Turin, and Eugene, coming up the right bank of the Po to
his rescue, defeated the French, raised the siege, and established for
the first time the domination of Austria over Italy.  He was repulsed
in his attempt on Toulon; but the Italian war was at an end, and the
emperor triumphant.  In Germany the valley of the Danube, which is the
road to Vienna, was open to the French, because the elector of Bavaria
was their ally against his father-in-law, the emperor.  The
Imperialists were in danger, and the Dutch, more solicitous of the
Belgian frontier before them than of what went on hundreds of miles
away, on the long line from Strasburg to the distant centre of
Austria, refused to let Marlborough take their troops away to another
seat of war in Southern Germany.

Marlborough, sheltered by the complicity of Heinsius, politely
disregarded their orders and started on his famous march, by
Ehrenbreitstein and Heilbronn, meeting Eugene on his way.  Eugene, at
that moment, was the most renowned commander in Europe.  Marlborough
was better known as a corrupt intriguer, who owed his elevation to the
influence of his wife at court, who would disgrace himself for money,
who had sought favour at St. Germains by betraying the expedition to
Brest.  Blenheim altered the relative position of the two men in the
eyes of the world.  It was known that the day had been won, not by the
persistent slaughter of brave soldiers, but by an inspiration of
genius executed under heavy fire with all the perfection of art.  In
the midst of the struggle Marlborough had suddenly changed his order
of battle, gathered his squadrons on a new line, and sent them against
the French centre, with infantry supports.  He did what Napoleon was
vainly entreated to do in his last engagement.  That is what suggested
the simile of the angel, and what Addison meant by the words:--

Rides on the whirlwind and directs the storm.

The great Eugene had done well, as he always did.  The Englishman had
risen in a single day to the foremost rank of generals.  And England
rose with him.  There had not been such a defeat for sixty years,
since Conde, at Rocroy, established the military reputation of France.
The French retreated to the Rhine, and on that side Austria was safe.

In Spain the issue was very different.  Philip was thoroughly safe
during three years of reign, and the archduke would have been glad to
content himself with what could be secured in Italy.  But the English
felt that their trade interests would be safer in Spain and the Indies
under a Habsburg than under a Bourbon.  They brought the archduke to
Lisbon in 1703, having concluded with the Portuguese that treaty which
made them commercial dependants on England, and which has been the
cause of much port wine and so much gout.  It was a disastrous change
of policy.  The English destroyed the French fleet at Vigo, with many
tons of American silver.  They took Gibraltar and Minorca, without
understanding their importance.  They failed to defend the one; and
they six times offered the other for an exchange.  But on land they
were utterly defeated, at Almanza and Brihuega, and the archduke never
actually reigned over much more than Catalonia.  There, having
restored the Aragonese Constitution, he succeeded in inspiring a
sentiment of loyalty, and repulsed his rival.  He was never able to
maintain himself at Madrid.  On that seat of war the French had much
the best of it.  They lost Germany at Blenheim in 1704, and Italy at
Turin in 1706.

The deciding campaigns were in Belgium, where there were many
fortresses, and progress was necessarily slow.  After Marlborough's
victory at Ramillies in 1706 the French lost ground, and when the
princes, as they were called, took the field together, no French
marshal had a chance.  For Marlborough was now a prince of the empire;
and Eugene, having driven the enemy out of Germany and Italy, was
again by his side, thirsting for something to do.  At Oudenarde, where
he was present, with no troops of his own, at a critical moment he led
a successful charge.  Together they conquered Lille; and together they
defeated Villars at Malplaquet.  There, in the summer of 1709, the
five years of constant victory which began at Blenheim came to an end.

After Turin and Ramillies Lewis had been willing to treat.  He was
profoundly discouraged; and when Torcy came to The Hague in 1709 to
meet the Triumvirate, Heinsius, Eugene, and Marlborough, he gave up
almost every point.  He even agreed that France should furnish men and
money to drive Philip V out of Spain, where he felt quite safe and
refused every summons.  Lewis, in return, asked for Naples, and Naples
only, without Sicily.  The allies could have everything else, and
could have compelled him to restore all the ill-gotten acquisitions of
his reign.  They were unwilling to be at the trouble of one more
campaign in the Peninsula, where they had met with so much misfortune.
They required that Lewis should undo his own offending deed, and
himself compel his grandson to resign the Spanish throne.
Marlborough, holding a position such as no Englishman had ever
enjoyed, was preponderant in their councils.  He aspired to be
captain-general for life, and rejected an enormous sum with which
France offered to repay his advocacy of peace.  The attempt to prolong
war for his own private advantage is the deadliest of his crimes.
Lewis, in despair, made an appeal to his people, and a thrill of
genuine indignation ran through the unhappy country.  The tide began
to turn.  At Malplaquet, the greatest battle fought in modern Europe
before Napoleon, the allies lost 23,000 out of less than 100,000; and
the French not half so many.

A much graver change was coming over the spirit of the English
nation.  As the Whigs offered nothing better than the continuation of
war, Toryism gained ground; and with Toryism, the Church.  The
Duchess of Marlborough was supplanted in the queen's favour; the Whigs
went out of office; and the new ministers dismissed Marlborough and
appointed Ormonde to command in his stead.  With the aid of an obscure
French priest, who acted as chaplain to the Imperial ambassador, they
began a secret negotiation with Torcy.  They stipulated that the Dutch
should be kept out of it, and should not be listened to, if they made
proposals of their own; also that their conditions should be
understood to come from the initiative of France.  Torcy responded
heartily.  His first letter is dated five days after the death of the
Emperor Joseph.  By that event, the Archduke Charles succeeded to his
throne.  Joseph died 17th April.  Four months earlier, 23rd December,
Harley, by his intermediary, Gautier, informed Torcy that England
would give up Spain and the Indies to the Bourbon king, and would
desert the allies as soon as trade interests were provided for.  The
surrender of that which the English had claimed from 1703 to 1710, the
return, in spite of success and glory, to the moderate policy laid
down by William in 1701, was not caused by the prospect of the union
of the crowns on the head of Charles.  Harley was afraid that the
archduke would make those terms himself.  For it was known that the
Austrians regarded Spain and its colonies as more burdensome than
profitable.  When Harley was stabbed by Guiscard, and was laid up with
his wound, the secret of the negotiations passed into St. John's
hands.  His treatment of the allies was perfidious; but they obtained
almost as much as they really wanted.

Eugene, deserted by the English forces under Ormonde, was beaten by
Villars at Denain, and afterwards, by no fault of the English, at
Friedlingen.  Then the emperor made his own peace at Rastadt.  At
Utrecht, the Dutch secured a favourable tariff, the right of garrison
in a line of fortified towns, from Ghent to Namur, and the daring
Torcy had so thoroughly penetrated the weakness of England, in
consequence of party divisions, that he concluded a disastrous war by
negotiation.  France retained her own territory, practically
undiminished, recovering Lille, and acquiring, for the younger branch
of the royal house, Spain and the Spanish colonies.  It gained
infinitely more than either Holland or England.  Marshal La Feuillade
asked Bolingbroke why he had let them off so easily.  The answer was:
Because we were no longer afraid of you.  Philip V retained all that
was legitimately Spanish, in Europe and America, excepting the two
fortresses conquered by England, Gibraltar and Port Mahon.  He refused
to give up Corunna.  But he renounced his claim in the succession to
his grandfathers crown.  Bolingbroke betrayed the allies, and he
disgraced his country by the monopoly of the slave trade; but the
distribution was not unfair to the contracting parties, and the share
of England was not excessive.  We acquired Newfoundland, Nova Scotia,
and the Hudson Bay territory, and, in addition to the asiento, the
right of trading in the possessions of the House of Bourbon--in fact,
the commerce of the world.  And our revolutionary system, the
permanent exclusion of the Stuarts, received the sanction of Europe.
It was the condemnation of the principle of non-resistance, which had
carried the Tories to power, and the perpetuation of Whiggism.

Bolingbroke did not intend that the great achievement of his life
should serve the purpose of his enemies, and he gravitated towards the
Stuarts, the true representatives of the cause to which Sacheverell
had given renewed vitality.  Harley had opened, through Berwick,
negotiations with St. Germains, and had thereby secured the help of
the Jacobite organisation.  Bolingbroke went further.  He believed
that the Elector of Hanover could not be prevented from coming in, but
that he would soon be driven out again.  He said that he was too
unintelligent to understand and manage parties, too much accustomed to
have his own way to submit to govern under constitutional control.  He
promised that King James would be restored.  And the French concluded
peace at Utrecht in the belief that they were dealing with a Jacobite,
that their concession in regard to the crown of England amounted to
nothing, that, by yielding now, they would secure hereafter the
elevation of a dependent dynasty.  Under that illusion they combined
with Bolingbroke to overreach themselves and to institute party
government, under the supremacy of the Whigs.


XVI

THE HANOVERIAN SETTLEMENT

THE FIRST thing is to consider by what steps a government came into
existence entirely different from that of England in the seventeenth
century, and unlike anything that had previously been known in Europe.

The old order terminates with the Bill of Rights and the Act of
Settlement.  What followed is not a development of that Act, but in
contradiction to it.  With the new dynasty there is a new departure.
And the change was not effected by statute, but by that force which
makes the law, and is above the law, the logic of facts and the
opinion of the nation.  The essential innovations, the cabinet, the
premier, and government by party, are still without legislative
sanction.  The Act of Settlement was speedily unsettled.  It separated
the administration from the legislature by excluding placemen from the
House of Commons; and it prohibited the king from visiting his foreign
dominions without leave.  And it required the king to be advised by
the Privy Council, thereby rejecting a united cabinet, the exclusive
organ of a party.  Both William and, at that time, Marlborough
preferred that all the leading men should be united in the
administration.  Before the Act of Settlement, came into operation,
during the reign of Anne, the idea of a united cabinet taken from the
same party had prevailed, and at last even Harley could not be
tolerated by the Jacobites.  If Bolingbroke had not made it impossible
for George I to trust the loyalty of the Tories, the rising of 1715
would have been fatal to them.  The new dynasty governed by the Whigs,
that is, by one party, and by a cabinet, not by the council.  As the
king understood neither English nor English affairs, he very rarely
presided.  The cabinet decided in his absence, and then reported.

It is necessary to see what manner of man he was.  A branch of the
ancient Guelphic House reigned at Hanover, and had succeeded by
politic and constant effort in consolidating half a dozen territories
into one important principality.  It was the most rising and
prosperous of the German Houses.  It acquired the ninth electorate in
1692; and it was manifestly appropriate when it was designated for
the English succession, because the first elector, who had
accomplished the greatness of his family, had married the youngest
daughter of Elizabeth Stuart, the Princess Palatine, who in an evil
hour was Queen of Bohemia.  The Electress Sophia was a Calvinist.  Her
husband was a Lutheran.  His predecessor, who died in 1678, had been a
convert to Catholicism.  Hanover had been the centre of reunion, and
there were Lutheran divines there who, under the commanding influence
of Leibnitz, went further than Tract No. 90 in the direction of Rome.
With their easy comprehension and impartial appreciation of religious
systems, the Guelphs of Hanover were not representative Protestants.
Some misgivings arose in the mind of William III, and it was thought
that he looked with suspicious favour on the young Frederic William,
the man who afterwards drilled the battalions which Frederic the Great
led to victory.  A Hanoverian statesman wrote, in alarm, that William
seemed to prefer the Prussian prince, because he was a Protestant, to
the Hanoverian, who was a Lutheran.  The implication is that the
Lutherans offered less resistance to Catholicism.  But the fact also
was that Sophia was a Stuart by the mother's side, and did not wish
too loudly to proclaim that she was not a legitimist.  There was a
little ostensible hesitation; and the electress so managed that the
crown should seem to be forced upon her.  It was part of this decorous
comedy that her son never learnt English--a circumstance of the utmost
value, afterwards, to England.  The Electress Sophia was not perhaps a
very estimable, though a very intelligent princess.  But she was
eighty-four when the crown came within reach, and she died of rage at
an unfriendly letter from Queen Anne, betraying her Jacobite
propensity.

The elector, who ascended the throne of England two months after his
mother's death, was neither a tyrant, nor a coward, nor a fool; he was
only unintellectual and brutally selfish.  There were ladies in his
company who received English titles, and offended one part of the
public by their morals and the remainder by their ugliness.  One was
created Duchess of Kendal, and Walpole said of her that she was Queen
of England if ever there was one.  But she sold her influence for
money, amounting sometimes to L10,000, and Walpole at last complained
to his master.  The king laughed in his face, and replied, in his
dog-Latin, that no doubt his minister also was paid by the people whom
he recommended.  There was a deeper taint on his reputation.  He had
married the only daughter of his neighbour and kinsman, the duke of
Celle, thereby securing the succession to his dominions.  Her mother
was not of royal birth, and she was treated so cruelly by her husband
and by the Electress Sophia that she resolved to escape from her
misery by flight.  In her despair she accepted the assistance of Count
Konigsmarck, whom the envoy Stepney described as a profligate
adventurer.  The secret was betrayed; the princess was divorced, and
spent the long remainder of her life at Ahlden, a remote country house
which had belonged to her father.  This was no more than had happened
in many great families tried by the temptation of irresponsible
monarchy, but there was a superadded tragedy; for Count Konigsmarck
disappeared and was never seen again.  As part of the scheme to run
away with the princess, he had transferred his services to Saxony,
where he was made a general.  For that reason, and still more for the
persuasive supplications of his sister, the beautiful Aurora von
Konigsmarck, the Elector Augustus the Strong caused some inquiry to be
made.  It led to no result.  But Aurora became the mother of the
Marshal of Saxony, who defeated the English at Fontenoy, and conquered
the Austrian Netherlands for the French.  From the marshal was
descended George Sand, the most famous Frenchwoman of the last
generation.  The Hanoverian government issued a lying report, but
attempted no defence.  Nobody doubted that Konigsmarck had been made
away with, and that the author of the crime was the King of England,
whose proper destination therefore should have been not St. James's
but Newgate, and indeed not Newgate but Tyburn.  Such was the
character that preceded the founder of our reigning line of kings,
and such were the weapons in the hands of his dynastic foes.

His most dangerous enemy was the Prince of Wales; not the Stuart who
held his court in Lorraine, but his own eldest son.  For George II
believed in the prisoner of Ahlden; believed that his mother had been
cruelly treated, wrongfully accused, and unjustly divorced, and was
therefore able to see his father by an exceedingly clear light.  Thence
arose a bitter enmity between them, and that tendency to opposition in
the princes of Wales which became a family tradition and a salutary
factor in the Constitution.

George I found that, as long as he respected English institutions,
things went very well with him, and he made no attempt to overturn
them.  The fear that a sovereign who was nominally absolute in one
place could never govern under a constitution in another proved to be
unnecessary.  His interests, and those of his continental advisers,
were mainly continental.  In political science he had long had the
ablest counsellor in Europe at his elbow, Leibnitz, the friend of the
electress.  And although that great man did not enjoy unbroken favour,
it was not easy to be blind to the flood of light which he poured on
every subject.  Leibnitz had been instrumental in securing the
succession, and he abounded in expositions of constitutional policy.
He professed himself so good a Whig that he attributed to that cause
his unpopularity with many people in England, especially at Cambridge,
and most of all at Trinity.  He seems not to have known that his
rival, Newton, was as good a Whig as himself, and indeed a much better
one.  It was characteristic of his mind ever to impute the broad
divisions of opinion among men to ignorance or incapacity to
understand each other.  With a more scientific method, he thought that
many disputes could be settled, and many adversaries reconciled.  For
many years it was his favourite occupation to show that there was no
real cause for a breach at the Reformation, and that people called
themselves Protestants not knowing what was really meant by Catholic.
He assured the Catholics that the Confession of Augsburg, rightly
understood, was sound Catholicism; and he assured the Lutherans that
there was nothing in the Council of Trent with which they were forced,
in consistency, to quarrel.  With the same maxim, that men are
generally right in what they affirm, and wrong in what they deny, he
taught that Whig and Tory are alike necessary portions of truth, that
they complete each other, that they need each other, that a true
philosophy of politics includes the two.  He also said that the past
is a law for the future, and that the will of Providence consecrates
those things which are permitted to succeed and to endure.  This is
pure conservatism.  The Whig seeks that which ought to be elsewhere
than in that which is.  His standing purpose is to effect change, for
the past is essentially Tory.

The influence of the most enlightened German on the new German dynasty
was not favourable to party government, and would have combined better
with the system of William III.  They consulted an enlightened
Englishman, and Lord Cowper drew up an important political paper,
showing that the king ought to depend on the Whigs.  Moreover,
Bolingbroke, at the last moment, by his Stuart intrigue, compelled
George I to come in as the nominee of a party.  To Bolingbroke's
intrigues the House of Hanover owed that which it most needed, the
prestige of victory.  He had found comfort in the reflection that,
although it might be impossible to prevent the heralds from
proclaiming the new monarchy, the new monarch would soon make himself
odious, and would be more easy to expel than to exclude.  The mass of
the people was Tory, and the majority of Tories were Jacobites.  There
was the assured co-operation of the sects discontented with the Union,
and a part of the very small army would be held fast by the sullen
anger of the Irish.

Lewis XIV, weary and inert, would not risk another war; but if he saw
his opportunity to interfere, he was not likely to neglect it.  The
Pretender would be advised by his brother, Berwick, the victor of
Almanza.  The insurgent forces would be led by the Duke of Ormonde,
who had succeeded Marlborough as commander-in-chief.  Marlborough
himself had advanced money for the Jacobite rising, and was so much
suspected by the ministers that they would not let him take the
command.

The hopefulness of the situation darkened somewhat before the time for
action arrived.  Lewis XIV died, and the Regent, having Philip of
Spain for a rival, required the good-will of England.  Two miscreants,
to whom James had offered L20,000 if they would shoot the king and the
Prince of Wales, failed to earn their reward.  The arrest of a leading
Jacobite, Sir William Wyndham, so scared his partisans, that Ormonde,
having sailed into Torbay, returned to St. Malo without landing.  The
Highlanders rose, but there was no Dundee and no Montrose to make them
superior to regular troops.  They fought with doubtful fortune at
Sheriffmuir, while the Borderers, finding no support in Lancashire,
surrendered at Preston.  When James Stuart landed in Aberdeenshire,
the struggle was over.  Cadogan was approaching at the head of the
Dutch auxiliaries, and the Pretender escaped by a back door from his
own men, and made his way to Gravelines.  He had proved unequal to the
occasion, and was not gifted with political understanding.  But he had
been instructed by Fenelon, and had learnt from him the doctrine of
toleration.

The strongest part of the case against the new order in England was
the treatment of the Irish Catholics; and James saw the whole thing in
the light of a religious conflict.  Bolingbroke, who had been an
oppressor of Nonconformists, and had no sympathy with the prince's
motives, fell into disgrace.  He was made responsible for the failure,
and was suspected of having told secrets to the ambassador, Stair, in
order to make his peace at home.  He was allowed to return, and did
far more harm to the House of Hanover as a loyal subject than he had
done as a manager of insurrection.

Seven peers had been taken with arms in their hands; and, in order to
avoid questions which might have injured their friends, they pleaded
guilty, and threw themselves on the mercy of the king.  As they were
more guilty than the followers whom they had led to their destruction,
they could not be pardoned.  Some, amid universal applause, made their
escape from the Tower, and only two were sent to the scaffold.  At the
last moment, when repentance did not avail, Derwentwater retracted the
declarations of loyalty he had made at his trial, and died protesting
his unswerving fidelity to the House of Stuart.  The Tories were
effectually ruined.  The militant part of them had been crushed.  The
remainder had proved helplessly weak, and the last dying speech of
their honoured champion was taken as a proof that they were traitors
at heart, and that their professions of loyalty were interested and
insincere.  Parliament displayed an enthusiastic attachment to the
dynasty and its ministers; they were ready for any expenditure, for
any armaments, and a force of 16,000 men was raised, for the better
security of the Whigs.

On this state of feeling the government introduced septennial
parliaments.  Under the Triennial Act a general election would have
fallen due in 1717, too soon for safety after the Jacobite rising.
Opinion in the country had not been impressed by recent events, by the
utter weakness of the rebels, the overwhelming success of the
government, the significant menace of the dying leader, so deeply as
the House of Commons.  The new establishment would be in peril with
the constituencies, but safe with their representatives.  This was so
certain that the philosophic arguments, for legislative independence
and for popular control, were superfluous.  The victors secured their
victory and perpetuated their power by extending their mandate from
three years to seven.  The measure strengthened the House of Commons,
and prepared the long reign of the Whigs.  The funds rose, and the
king took advantage of the improved situation to spend some months in
Hanover.  There he had greater scope to devote himself to foreign
affairs, and to bring the Englishmen who attended him under the
influence of experienced foreigners.  Thus, while the Tories were
prostrate and the Whigs supreme, a schism arose between the ministers
at Hanover and the ministers at home.  Walpole and Townshend went out
of office; Stanhope and Sunderland formed a new administration, which
the South Sea Bubble overthrew.  A great question of constitutional
principle opened between them and their former colleagues.  The enmity
between the king and the Prince of Wales made it probable that the
ministers who had the confidence of the father would be dismissed on
his son's accession.  George II, to carry out his purpose, would be
obliged to swamp the House of Lords with new peers.  To prevent this,
it was proposed to limit the power of creation and to fix a maximum
number.  As the Septennial Act had increased the power of the commons,
the Peerage Bill would, in their turn, have increased the power of the
peers, against the crown on one hand, against the commons on the
other.  The Whigs were not prepared to diminish the House of Commons,
and not yet afraid that it would become too powerful, exposed as it
was to corruption, and elected, on a narrow franchise, by an
uneducated constituency.  Burnet, the typical Whig, had protested
against such limitations as should quite change the form of our
government, and render the crown titular and precarious.

Walpole defeated the Bill.  It deprived government of one great means
of influence, by abolishing the hope of a peerage.  He was not
prepared to sacrifice a legitimate species of patronage.  He came
back, thereupon, to office, but not to a principal office; and he was
not a member of the Cabinet when the South Sea Company undertook to
reduce the National Debt.  They offered only eight and a half years'
purchase; but the spirit of speculation was strong, and these bad
terms were widely accepted.  The shares of the Company rose from 130
to 1000.  As there was so much capital seeking investment, rival
enterprises were started, and were opposed by the South Sea Company.
Their ruin destroyed its credit; and after large sums had been won,
large sums were lost.  Some had been impoverished, others enriched.
The country had not suffered, but the ministry fell.  Walpole
inherited their power.  The ground was cleared for his long
administration.  It lasted so long that he did more than any other man
to establish the new system of government.  He was more zealous to
retain his power than to make heroic use of it, and was a good
administrator but an indifferent legislator.  In his time those things
were best which were done outside of parliament.  Walpole made it his
business to yield to public opinion, and did it consistently in the
three critical moments of his career--in Wood's Halfpence, in the
Excise, and in the Spanish war.  The same problem presented itself to
a greater man in the present century, and was decided on the opposite
principle.  Guizot was himself persuaded that a measure of
parliamentary reform was inevitable, since the opinion of the country
was in its favour.  But the opinion of parliament was against it, and
he preferred to fall, together with the monarchy, in obedience to
parliament, rather than to triumph by public opinion.

Walpole gave way in the affair of the Halfpence, that he might not
alienate those through whom he governed Ireland.  The coins were good.
They were to contain twice the value of metal with which we are
satisfied, and it was never shown that they did not.  The gains of the
contractor were exhorbitant.  He was able to pay a heavy fee to the
Duchess of Kendal; and when the contract was revoked, he obtained an
excessive compensation.  His Halfpence are historic because Swift, in
raising a tempest over the Irish grievance, employed the language of
revolution and national patriotism, as it had never been heard.
Again, the Excise Bill would have saved many hundreds of thousands of
pounds to the State, when a hundred thousand was more than a million
is now; but Walpole, in spite of his majority, yielded to the clamour
outside.  And he did the same thing in regard to the Spanish war, the
last great crisis he encountered.

Walpole's main idea on taking the highest office, that which he
proclaimed in his first king's speech, was to divert the country from
frantic speculation to the legitimate profits of industry and trade.
The two great openings for trade were with the Mediterranean and with
Spanish America.  That with the Mediterranean was somewhat neglected,
as the government relied more on the friendship of the piratical
Algerines than on the solid possession of Gibraltar and Minorca.
George I had written a letter to Philip V, dated 1st June, 1721, in
which he distinctly assured him of his "readiness to satisfy with
regard to your demand relating to the restitution of Gibraltar,
promising you to make use of the first favourable opportunity to
regulate this article with consent of my parliament."  The English
ministry were not convinced of the importance of retaining Gibraltar,
and fully expected to be in a position to give it up to Spain for an
equivalent.  Indeed, in January 1721, Stanhope had said to the French
envoy that in a year, when the financial position of England was
better and the temper of parliament improved, they would certainly
give up Gibraltar, for the merest shadow of an equivalent, as the
place was only a burden to them.  But they had not counted on the
determination of the English people to hold it at all costs.  Philip,
however, not perhaps without some reason, always regarded the
engagement as precise, and treated the continued retention as an act
of bad faith.  In all that I have just said about Gibraltar, I have
been quoting a recent writer in the Historical Review.

The South American trade presented infinite possibilities.  It was
pursued with difficulty against the resistance of the Spaniards, who
had the law on their side.  It was considered worth a war, and the
strength of public feeling overcame the feeble scruples of the
minister.  The war ended disastrously, but before the end Walpole had
been driven from office.  It had been no part of his policy to promote
prosperity by arms, but it was part of his policy, and the deciding
part of it, to let the nation, in the last instance, regulate its own
affairs.  Peace was a good thing; but profit was also a good thing;
and Walpole had no principle that made one a question of duty and the
other a question of interest.

The constant lesson of the Revolution was that England preferred
monarchy.  But after the fall of Walpole it was observed that there was
a new growth of republican sentiment, and that the country felt itself
superior to the government.  This was the natural result of the time
known as the Robinocracy; not because he devised liberal measures, but
because he was careful to be neither wiser nor more liberal than the
public.  He was quite content to preserve the government of the country
by the rich, in the interest of their own class.  Unlike Stanhope, his
predecessor, he was unmoved by the intolerance of the laws in England,
and especially in Ireland.  He was a friend to Free Trade; but he
suffered Ireland to be elaborately impoverished, for the benefit of
English landlords.  Slavery and the slave trade, which Bolingbroke had
promoted, were not remedied or checked by this powerful Whig.  The
criminal Code, in his time, grew annually more severe; and I need
enter into no details as to the treatment of the prisoners and of the
poor.  Walpole was so powerful, and was powerful so long, that much of
the responsibility for all these things is at his door.  On this
account, and not because he governed by patronage and pensions and
ribbons and bribes, he was a false Whig.

Government by Party was established in 1714, by Party acting through
the Cabinet.  Walpole added to this the prime minister, the accepted
head of the Party and of the Cabinet.  As the king did not preside,
the minister who did preside discharged many functions of the king.
The power of governing the country was practically transferred.  It
was shared, not between the minister and the king, but between the
head of the ministry and the head of the opposition.  For Party
implies the existence of a party which is out as well as a party that
is in.  There is a potential ministry ready for office whenever the
majority is shifted.  As Walpole remained twenty-one years in office,
he ignored this part of the constitutional system.  He never became a
leader of opposition, and when he resigned, no such thing had been
provided.  "All the talents" were opposed to him, but they were not an
organised opposition.  They were discontented and offended Whigs,
assailing ministers on no ground of principle.  This form of
opposition was instituted by Pulteney, when he quarrelled with
Walpole.  Pulteney founded the Craftsman, in which there was much good
political writing.  For Bolingbroke had returned to England, and as he
was not allowed to resume his seat in the Lords, he could make his
power felt only through his pen.  As he was thoroughly cured of his
Jacobite sympathies, the doctrine he proclaimed was a Toryism stripped
of the reactionary element.  He proposed to make the State dominate
over all the interests--land, Church, trade, and the like.  That this
might be done, and the government by a class for a class abolished, he
appealed to the crown.  The elevation of the State over the dominant
classes had been the part of intelligent Monarchy in every age.  And
it is the spell by which Bolingbroke transformed Toryism and
introduced the party called the King's Friends, which became a power
in the middle of the century, and was put an end to by Mr. Pitt,
after losing America, and setting up an English rival to England.
After the final fall of the Stuarts in 1746, this was the moving force
of Toryism, and the illiberal spirit was seriously curbed.  Macaulay
goes so far as to say that the Tories became more liberal than the
Whigs.  But it was an academic and Platonic liberality that did not
strengthen the constitution.

The Whigs, having added the unwritten clauses, exclusive government by
party, cabinet instead of council, and premier instead of king, did
nothing to discover defects to be reformed and principles to be
developed.  They became Conservatives, satisfied with defending the
new dynasty and the institutions that accompanied it.  One supreme
change was absolutely essential to complete their system.  For its
essence was that the object of the law, which was liberty, should
prevail over the letter of the law, which was restraint.  It required
that public opinion should control legislation.  That could not be
done without the liberty of the press; and the press was not free
while it was forbidden to publish and to discuss the debates of
parliament.  That prohibition was strictly maintained.  For near
thirty years we know the debates, and even the divisions, chiefly
through the reports of Bonnet the Brandenburg resident, and of
Hoffmann the Austrian resident, who tell us much that is sought vainly
in the meagre pages of Hansard.  Then came the epoch of Dr. Johnson
and his colleagues in Grub Street.  But when the Whig reign ended, at
the resignation of the great Commoner in 1761, the Whigs had not
admitted the nation to the parliamentary debates.

The debates were made public in 1774.  The unreported parliament of
1768, as it is called, is the first that was properly reported.  The
speeches were taken down by one of the members, Cavendish, the
ancestor of the Waterparks.  A portion has been printed and forgotten.
The remainder is preserved in manuscript, and contains, in all, about
two hundred and fifty speeches of Edmund Burke.  It is of no little
value to political students, inasmuch as Burke at his best is England
at its best.  Through him and through American influence upon him, the
sordid policy of the Walpolean Whigs became a philosophy, and a
combination of expedients was changed into a system of general
principles.


XVII

PETER THE GREAT AND THE RISE OF PRUSSIA

WHILST THE English people, with the example and assistance of the
Dutch, were carrying forward the theory of constitutional government,
a still more important movement in the opposite direction was
proceeding in the North, and new forces were brought into the widening
circle of general history.

The Muscovite empire extended from the frontiers of Poland to the
farthest extremity of China.  In numbers and in extent it was the
first of Christian Powers.  But it played no part in the concert or
the conflict of Europe, and its existence was almost unnoticed and
unfelt.  The people were too backward in the scale of wealth or
knowledge or civilisation to obtain influence even on their
neighbours.  Potentially the most formidable force on earth,
practically they were forgotten and unknown.  In a single reign, by
the action of one man, Russia passed from lethargy and obscurity to a
dominant position among the nations.

The first need was intercourse with the world--intercourse of trade
for its material progress, intercourse of ideas for its civilisation.
The problem was too obvious to escape the earlier Romanoffs.  They
were a clerical dynasty, closely associated with the Church, and
allowing to the Patriarch a position very near the throne.  In
politics they were inefficient and unsuccessful; but their Church
policy was charged with far-reaching consequences.  In that, they were
superior to the people about them, and they introduced certain
moderate reforms, literary rather than dogmatic, in the externals of
ritual, and in the liturgical books.  An illiterate clergy had allowed
abuses to take root, and were excessively intolerant of change.  A
schism arose between the established church with its rectified texts
and improved ceremonial, and the large minority who rejected them.
Everybody knows Newman's story of the ancient priest who fell into the
habit, at mass, of saying, "quod ore mumpsimus" instead of "quod ore
sumpsimus," and, when admonished of his error, refused to exchange old
"mumpsimus" for new "sumpsimus."  Although "mumpsimus" is the very
motto for the Russian schismatics, and although ignorance and
superstition were the root of the matter, they combined with a dread
of arbitrary change by an arbitrary power, and supplied a basis for
resistance to Erastianism and the fusion of Church and State.  This
was the heart of the opposition to the later reforms, to which the
Church in general yielded reluctantly, and the sectaries not at all,
choosing death, and even suicide by fire, to compromise.  The
reforming government was driven into persecution by the fanaticism of
these men.

The new spirit began to reign when the young Tsar Peter triumphed over
family intrigues that were supported by the party of reaction.  He was
uneducated, unmannerly, uncivilised; but he had a clear notion of that
which his people required, and the energy and force of character to
achieve it.  As there were no roads in Russia, and not much material
for making them, the waterway was the easy and natural line to follow.
The Russian rivers flowed to the Caspian and the Euxine, and invited
to the conquest of Persia and Central Asia, or to the deliverance of
the Slavonic and Greek brethren from the Turk.  Peter was not carried
away by either prospect.  He did indeed send a fleet down the Volga,
and another down the Don.  He conquered the Persian coast of the
Caspian, but resisted the temptation of pushing his arms to the Indian
Ocean.  He was repeatedly at war with the Turk; but he contented
himself with a humble measure of success.

Poland, for reasons of race and religion, was the national enemy; and
from the death of Sobieski in 1696 there were symptoms that it was
likely to break up.  The next king, Augustus of Saxony, in 1702,
proposed the partition of the Polish dominions.  His agent, Patkul,
renewed the idea at Berlin in 1704, and Austria did the same in 1712.
At the height of his military success, in 1710, Peter entertained the
idea, only to dismiss it.  He preferred to wait.  Poland would be
convenient as a helpless neighbour, covering his frontier on a
dangerous side; and its constitution prevented it from becoming
formidable.  He was content to make sure that the feeble government
should never undergo reform.  He resolutely fixed his thoughts in
another direction, and chose, not the easiest, but the most difficult
line of attack.

Tartars, or Persians, or Zaporogue Cossacks supplied no new element
that could be of service to his people.  The Russians had issued from
the long subjection to the Golden Horde, indigent, ignorant,
prejudiced, dishonest and false.  A mighty future lay before them, but
they were unfit for such a destiny.  The civilising influences they
required could come only from contact with superior races.  From them
they must import the goods, they must import the men, that were needed
to raise them, in the arts of peace and war, to a level with others.
The route for both species of commerce was by sea.  But Russia touched
the sea only in the North, where it is closed by ice.  The way to the
countries that were most advanced, intellectually and socially, to
France and England, especially to Holland and the empire behind it,
was by the Baltic.

There the Swedes stopped the way.  Gustavus had conquered the Baltic
provinces, and all the way from Poland to Finland the coast was
inaccessible to the interior of Russia.  Sweden was still esteemed a
great Power; and although it was not yet discovered, the new king was,
what Peter never became, a capable and ambitious commander.  The main
argument of Peter's reign was the struggle for supremacy with Charles
XII.

Before it broke out, he undertook a journey to make acquaintance with
the foreign countries by which he intended to accomplish the elevation
of his own.  That was the time of those grotesque studies in
shipbuilding, tooth-drawing, and useful arts in which he acquired a
sort of technical mastery; and it was then that he learned to think so
highly of the Dutch as a practical people, worthy of imitation.  This
preference was not exclusive, and he was eager to borrow what he could
from others--military organisation from Austria, manners from France,
clothes from England, methods of administration from Germany.
Together with the foreign customs he undertook to introduce experts
who were to teach them, until the disciples became equal to their
masters.  The Scotsman Gordon and the Genevese Lefort were at the head
of his army and navy.  Germans, such as Munnich and Ostermann,
followed; and then there came a vast army of engineers, miners, metal
founders, artificers of almost all kinds, for the roads and bridges,
the ships and palaces, the schools and hospitals that he called into
existence.  These things were the sine qua non of civilisation.  It
would be long before his own people understood the use of them.  They
could only be obtained by importation.  To stimulate the demand for
them at home it would be necessary to rely on the progress of
intelligence.  That could not be done in a nation consisting mainly of
serfs.  The educational part of the enterprise was the one which had
least success, and which he understood least.  For such imponderables
he had no scales, and he cared more for the kind of knowledge that was
practically useful than for the interior improvement of the mind,
which constitutes what we call a gentleman.  No such exotic could
flourish at his court.  He required that those whom he honoured with
his confidence should get as drunk as himself; that they should be
servile and cringing, without moral courage or self-respect, happy to
be insulted, kicked, and spat upon.  They might be men of resource,
brave soldiers, clever administrators, but they seldom developed those
elements of character which prevent a man from being corrupt.  For
those qualities he had no comprehension.  Civilisation, as he
understood it, was material, not moral.  He could not imagine
management of men by the nobler motives.  He raised the condition of
the country with great rapidity; he did not raise it above his own
level.

While he was on his travels exploring Europe an insurrection broke
out, and the old Russian militia, the Strelitz, mutinied, and plotted
to exterminate the Germans and all the abettors of foreign innovation.
The movement was crushed by Gordon, and Peter on his return was
undisputed master.  He then plunged into war with Sweden for the
Baltic provinces--that is, for access to the sea, which was the highway
to all the world.  Beaten at first, but not discouraged, he organised
a new army, while Charles XII overran Poland and dictated terms of
peace in the heart of Germany.

It then appeared that the Russians, like most nations when they are
ably commanded, were the raw material of good soldiers.  Charles came
back to Russia from his Saxon campaign laden with glory, and marched
on Moscow by Minsk, Mohilev, the Beresina--very much the route which
Napoleon followed.  At the instigation of Mazeppa he turned aside to
the Ukraine, in the hope of raising the Cossacks against the Tsar.
At Pultawa, near the Dnieper, he was defeated, and fled for refuge
to Turkey.  The work of Gustavus, who had made Sweden so great, was
undone, and Russia succeeded to the vacant place among the Powers.

The supreme object of Peter's policy was attained.  He was in
possession of the Baltic coast north of the Dwina.  Finland was
restored, but he retained Livonia, Esthonia, Ingria, from Riga to
Viborg.  On the Neva, where the Gulf of Finland penetrates farthest
inland, he fixed his capital.  The place was a swamp, that swallowed
the tallest trunks of trees, and the workmen perished by fever.  But
an island in the mouth of the river made it impregnable by sea.  It
was free from traditions and reactionary memories, looking only to the
future and the new things that the commerce with the world would
bring; a gate for the inflow of the forces by which its founder would
transform the nation.  As part of the same transformation the Tsar of
Muscovy became Emperor of Russia.  It was a claim to the Byzantine
inheritance, and a menace to the Austrian successor of the Western
Empire.  This was faint and distant; and Peter remained on friendly
terms with Vienna.  But the title was coldly received by Europe, and
was not finally recognised until forty years after his death.

The persuasions by which Peter bent Russia to his will were base and
atrocious; for, although one of the greatest men that have influenced
the course of Christian history, he is undoubtedly the worst of them;
but he was not working for himself; at Pultawa he told his troops that
they were fighting for Russia, not for him.  His motive was
impersonal.  He had grasped a great ideal, and he served it with
devotion, sacrificing everything to it, and not sparing himself.  The
absolute State was the ideal, or rather the idol, for which he toiled,
the State as it had been devised by Machiavelli and Hobbes.  To raise
the country by the employment of its own internal forces was an
unpromising and unprofitable enterprise.  He, who was himself a
barbarian, could only accomplish his purpose by means of aid from
outside, by the instrumentality of those who had experience of a more
advanced order of things.  The borrowed forces could only be applied
by the powers of a despot.  That power, moreover, was already
provided.  Muscovy had never been governed otherwise than by
irresponsible and irresistible authority.  That authority had been
inactive and not deeply felt.  Now the same authority interfered to
alter almost everything, except the subjection of the serf to the
landowner.

To enforce the supremacy of the State over society, and of will over
custom, Peter introduced his most characteristic institution.  He made
precedence depend on public service, and regulated it according to
rank in the army in fourteen degrees, from the ensign to the marshal.
A new aristocracy superseded the old, and the ancient nobles were
forced to serve, in order to be somebody, when away from the ancestral
home.  They were important, not by their possessions or their descent,
but by the position in which they stood towards the emperor.  Peter
had imbibed too much of the rationalism of the West to be a
persecutor.  He was severe with the schismatics, who existed only as
opponents of change and enemies of civilisation; and as there were no
Jews in Russia, he decreed that in future there should be none.  But
he built churches for the foreigners whom he brought into the country,
and did not attempt to sustain the domination of the Muscovite clergy,
who, like the English, professed passive obedience, but obeyed without
approval.  When the last patriarch was dying he expressed the wish
that all men of other faith--Catholic, Protestant, and Mahomedan--
should be burnt, and their places of worship levelled with the ground.

Peter's schemes of change were so tremendous that most Russians
recoiled and wished them no success.  His own family opposed him, and
became a centre of plotting opposition.  He repudiated his wife, and
sent her to the seclusion of a convent.  His second empress was a
peasant woman, whose name was Martha, but was called, in Russia,
Catharine.  It was uncertain whether her husband was dead.  It was
certain that Peter's first wife was living.  Nobody minded.  But
Alexis, the son of the earlier marriage, took the conservative side,
and became, from 1711, the hope of those who rejected Peter's
anti-national, cosmopolitan, chiefly Dutch and German system of
reform.  He longed for the Asiatic twilight of the past, and the
discontented longed for him to succeed.  Peter, seeing that he was a
poor creature, wished him to resign his claim.  Alexis fled, and
placed himself under the protection of the emperor Charles VI.  He was
discovered in the castle of St. Elmo at Naples, and brought back to
Russia, where he was condemned to death, and died of torture.  The
plan had been to return to the ancient ways, and to give Petersburg
back to the Swedes, with the command of the coast.  The clergy were
mixed up in it, and Peter now secured himself against the Church.  He
had left the patriarchate vacant.  He now abolished it, and divided
its powers.

A kindred spirit had arisen, capable of carrying out reform in the
Church.  Procopovitch had become a united Greek, in order to be
admitted to foreign universities.  He studied in Rome, and in Germany
he became familiar with Lutheran theology.  He came back with much of
the religious culture of the West, and Peter appointed him to one of
the sees.  The bishops protested.  They said that he was a heretic
seventeen times over.  And they proposed, if they were not believed,
that the matter should be decided by the three eastern patriarchs.  It
was a scheme to disconnect the Church from the State, to merge it in
the Eastern Church.  Procopovitch defeated his enemies, and drew up
the plan by which the Church was brought under the civil power, much
on the lines of Henry VIII.  It was governed, thenceforward, by the
Holy Synod, which was controlled by a great official who represented
the emperor.  The clergy ceased to be an obstacle.  The government of
the Church by the Synod was part of a plan of government by boards,
which had been suggested by Leibnitz.  The empire was governed by a
Senate of eight, of ten, at one time of twenty members.  Under the
Senate, which made laws, were ten ministerial departments, or boards,
like our Treasury or Admiralty, which executed them.  And there were
eleven governors of provinces, each larger than a European monarchy.
Men fit for such a responsibility could not be found in Russia, and
the empire was badly governed.  But it was there.  The transformation
was accomplished.  And the gigantic force was centred in the hand of a
tyrant.

The concentration was such, the destruction of resisting forces was so
complete, that the machine worked well in the hands of women.  For
almost the whole of the seventy years after Peter's death, Russia was
governed by empresses.  The last of them, Catharine II, was one of the
ablest and most successful rulers in modern times.  For the machine
which Peter created was strong enough to endure.  It still exists as
he made it, an amalgam of power and servility, never leading, but
often supplying the deciding force in the history of the world.  It
was the empire of Peter the Great that destroyed the empire of
Napoleon.

Such a Power, limited by feeble neighbours, would have been a danger
to the whole of Europe, but that another great Power, founded in the
same generation, became a bulwark against a menacing expansion.  The
rise of Prussia preserved the Continent from being submerged.  This
new phase of northern monarchy was very unlike that which we have just
considered.  Prussia, like Russia, was a military Power, living on the
hope of expansion.  But it was infinitely inferior, as to extent and
population.  It was not a giant but an athlete; and its future
depended, not on the intrusion of foreign elements, but on its own
development and practical organisation.  Nature had done nothing to
promise greatness.  The country was open and arid, and the inhabitants
were hard, unimaginative, and poor.  Religion had less power over them
than over any other part of Germany.  To this day the sky-line of
Berlin is more unbroken by church towers than that of almost any other
city.  Neither their situation on the map of Europe nor hereditary
endowment fitted the Prussians for empire.  It was the work of the
dynasty that a country which was less than Scotland, and was protected
by no barrier of land or water, became greater than France.

The Prussian people, by which I mean the people of Brandenburg and its
vicinity, were conscious that Nature had not favoured them
excessively, and that they could prosper only by the action of their
government.  No people were more submissive, or more ready to suffer,
for the sake of the State.  And none have gone farther in asserting
its omnipotence, or in abdicating in its hands.  They had no silver
streak, no natural barriers.  As a consequence of the Reformation the
dominions of the Teutonic knights were joined in personal union under
the same Hohenzollerns who reigned on the Oder and the Elbe.  One was
part of the empire, the other was enclosed in Poland, and they were
separated by Polish territory.  They did not help each other, and each
was a source of danger for the other.  They could only hope to exist
by becoming stronger.  That has been, for two centuries and a half, a
fixed tradition at Berlin with the rulers and the people.  They could
not help being aggressive, and they worshipped the authority that
could make them successful aggressors.

The dynasty entered into the spirit of the problem from 1640.
One-half of the electors and kings since then have struggled intensely
for the increase of their power.  And they built up their state in
spite of the other half, who had no enterprise or masterful energy.
But before the accession of the great elector, in 1640, Brandenburg
had taken a line of its own in the question of religion which was
eminently favourable to territorial increase.  It was more tolerant
than other portions of the empire.  The elector was one of the last of
the German princes to join the Reformation.  And Saxony retained the
pre-eminence among the Protestants.  Early in the seventeenth century
the reigning family became Calvinists.  The country was Lutheran.  The
position was unfavourable to the exercise of what was called the right
of Reformation, the right of enforcing conformity under pain of exile;
and, between the Calvinist at the head and the Lutherans in every
other office, the Catholics were able to exist.  In some provinces,
though not in all, they were definitely tolerated.  The great elector
made every effort to attract the fugitive Huguenots.  Agents were sent
out to show them the way, and to help them with funds.  Whole
districts were peopled by them, and about twenty thousand of them
settled in Berlin and other towns.  Like Peter the Great, the great
elector derived his notion of better things from Holland, and he
encouraged Dutch artisans to settle.  His dominions were scattered and
unlike.  He introduced a system of government that was the same for
all, and was above local or social influences.  The estates lost their
ancient authority, and one supreme will governed everything, through a
body of trained administrators such as up to that time existed nowhere
else.

The next elector obtained the royal crown.  Prince Eugene said that
the emperor's ministers, who had advised the grant, deserved to be
hanged.  But in fact they were not less prescient than he, for they
warned Leopold that Prussia would deprive his family of the empire.
The King of Prussia became the head of the Protestant interest in
Germany.  That prerogative had been forfeited by the Elector of Saxony
when he received the crown of Poland and became a Catholic.  Rome
alone protested against the Protestant king, and spoke only of a
margrave of Brandenburg until after the death of Frederic II.  All the
Catholic Powers acknowledged the new title and disregarded the
protest.  For the first time there was a kingdom within the empire, a
kingdom, moreover, which was Protestant.  It was a step towards the
break-up of that irrational body.

The second king succeeded in 1713 and died in 1740.  He is the Peter
the Great of Prussia.  For him, the whole secret of government is the
increase of power at home.  His idea was that monarchy cannot be too
absolute.  It requires to be wisely administered; but it does not
require to be limited.  Concentration cannot be too intense.  No enemy
outside is so dangerous as public opinion within.  He announced that
he would establish his power on a rock--"un rocher de bronze."  He meant
that the power of the State must be independent of the changing
motives of the hour, that it must be directed by a will superior alike
to majority and minority, to interests and classes.  He spent his
reign in very deliberately contriving such a machine.  The king, he
said, must do his work himself, and not shrink from trouble.  He was
perpetually in harness.  He was like a madman in his vehemence and his
crudity of speech.  But there was method in his fury, and calculating
design and even practical wisdom.  He gave an impetus as powerful as
that of the Tsar Peter; but he was superior to him in knowledge of
detail as well as in point of character.  He was a hard taskmaster,
but he knew what he was about; and it does not appear that his
subjects desired to be governed in another way or that they would have
been satisfied with a monarch who did not strain their strength to the
uttermost.

The object in which they agreed with him--the supremacy of the
Prussians in Germany--was not to be obtained if they would not go into
training.  There was no shrinking.  He said, in 1713: "when my son
comes to the throne he must find the vaults crowded with gold," and
the son, in 1740, found eight million thalers.  He found, moreover, a
well-equipped army of eighty-three thousand men.  This was the special
creation of the energetic king.  He was, indeed, a peaceful ruler, and
did not thirst for military glory.  Among European Powers he was of
little account, and kept all his violence for home use.  When he laid
up treasure, and organised an army that was not so large as that of
France, of Austria, or of Russia, but more concentrated and better
drilled, his people understood that he would some day provide
territory and population to match--an army so excessive, an army six
times as large, in proportion to those of other Powers, was meant to
be employed.  The burden was not felt.  Of the expense, one-half was
borne by the domain.  Of the men, a large portion was recruited abroad,
and relieved the natives of Prussia.  After some years, it was felt
that the platoons of giants, which had cost twelve million thalers,
were a wasteful toy, and that the money might have been spent to
advantage among the people.  The king attempted to supply their place
by a levy among the the agrarian population, which is reputed the
remote origin of universal service.  His economy was so rigid that,
with an income of seven million thalers, he spent five millions on his
armaments.  He thus created the force which began what Napoleon
completed, the dissolution of the Holy Roman Empire.  For that which
the father stored, the son expended; and I hope in the next lecture to
tell you how he did it.

He so eclipsed Frederic William that the latter became an obscure
memory, and was spoken of with contempt and disgust by his own people.
Carlyle discovered in him his own ideal, the strong man, and set him
on his legs.  And when the army which he created, which had been
remodelled by Frederic, Scharnhorst, Roon, and Moltke, became the
greatest of all armies, Germany remembered its founder and was
grateful for his militarism.

They have made their choice, as we must do.  Those who remember with
honour men like Hampden and Washington, regard with a corresponding
aversion Peter the Great and Frederic William I.  But without the
first Europe might be French, and without the other it might be
Russian.  That which arose in Northern Europe about the time of our
revolution settlement was a new form of practical absolutism.
Theological monarchy had done its time, and was now followed by
military monarchy.  Church and State had oppressed mankind together;
henceforth the State oppressed for its own sake.  And this was the
genuine idea which came in with the Renaissance, according to which
the State alone governs, and all other things obey.  Reformation and
Counter-Reformation had pushed religion to the front: but after two
centuries the original theory, that government must be undivided and
uncontrolled, began to prevail.  It is a new type, not to be
confounded with that of Henry VIII, Philip II, or Lewis XIV, and
better adapted to a more rational and economic age.  Government so
understood is the intellectual guide of the nation, the promoter of
wealth, the teacher of knowledge, the guardian of morality, the
mainspring of the ascending movement of man.  That is the tremendous
power, supported by millions of bayonets, which grew up in the days of
which I have been speaking at Petersburg, and was developed, by much
abler minds, chiefly at Berlin; and it is the greatest danger that
remains to be encountered by the Anglo-Saxon race.


XVIII

FREDBRIC THE GREAT

THE PEACE of Utrecht was followed by a period of languor and
depression.  Spain and Sweden asserted themselves unsuccessfully;
whilst England under Walpole, France under Fleury, Austria under the
ceremonious majesty of Charles VI, were inactive and pacific; The
generation lacked initiative, and was not rich in eminent men.

In Prussia, there was no repose, no leisure, but simply the tension of
a tiger crouching for a spring.  The king, who had devoted his life to
creating the greatest army in Europe, never attempted to employ it,
and left it a thunderbolt in the hands of his son.  The crown prince
was a musician and a versifier, with a taste for clever men, but also
for cleverish men, an epicurean student, with much loose knowledge,
literary rather than scientific, and an inaccurate acquaintance with
French and Latin.  To Bayle, Locke, Voltaire in his first manner, he
owed an abundance of borrowed ideas, conventionally rational; but to
the rising literature; of his own country, which ruled the world
before he died, he did not attend.  Hardened by his father's
heartless severity he learnt to live without sympathy, to despise
mankind, to rely on himself.  He was the author of a commonplace
treatise against Machiavelli, partly founded on Montesquieu's Grandeur
et Decadence.  This unamiable youth, with the aspirations and the
vanity of a minor poet, was the most consummate practical genius that,
in modern times, has inherited a throne.

In the same year, 1740, in which Frederic II succeeded his father, the
Emperor Charles VI died, leaving his hereditary dominions to his
daughter Maria Theresa, wife of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, of the
House of Lorraine.  By an instrument called the Pragmatic Sanction,
which was the subject of protracted negotiations, the Powers had
agreed to acknowledge her right.  She was & sensible and reasonable
woman, much the best that had ever reigned; but she was without
culture or superior talent, and he husband was not able to supply the
deficiency.  Frederic at once made himself master of Silesia.  There
were certain territorial claims.  The succession was about to be
disputed, and a scramble might be expected.  The death of the Russian
empress, Anne, made it improbable that Austria would be protected on
that side.  Frederic was ambitious, and he was strong enough to
gratify his ambition.  No accepted code regulated the relations
between States.  It could not be exactly the same as that between men;
and in what respect it differed was not determined.  States were
absolute, and acknowledged no law over them.  Grave and disinterested
men would have admitted that that may be done for the State which
could not be done for the individual; that robbery was not robbery,
that murder was not murder, if it was committed in the public
interest.  There might be a want of generosity, a want of delicacy
about it; but if conquest by unprovoked attack was a crime, in the
same sense or the same degree as poisoning a man to obtain his
property, history must undergo a fundamental revision, and all respect
for sovereign authority must be banished from the world.  How far that
revision has been accomplished or that respect has departed, at the
present day, may be hard to say.  At that time, Frederic was much more
widely applauded for his prompt success than detested or despised for
his crime.

At Molwitz, his first battle, the Austrian cavalry carried all before
them, and Schwerin got the king to quit the field before the solid
infantry of Brandenburg won the day.  Voltaire, who hated him behind a
mask of flattery, said that he had never known what it was to be
grateful, except to the horse that carried him out of fire at Molwitz.
That humiliation taught Frederk to remodel and increase his cavalry,
and he afterwards owed to it much of his success.  Nobody again
advised him to ride out of the way of danger.  He was soon known to an
invariable victor, and Maria Theresa ended the war by surrendering the
contested province.  Frederic concluded a treaty of alliance with
France, which was to last fifteen years, and did last until, in 1756,
Kaunitz effected the great change in the attitude of European Powers.
On the extinction of the Habsburg dynasty of emperors, the Bavarian
House of Wittelsbach claimed the succession; and the French, supported
by Frederic, traversed Germany and invaded Bohemia.  Maria Theresa was
loyally defended by Hungary in both the Silesian wars, and maintained
her right, without recovering the country she had lost.  She was
ineffectively supported by England against the superiority of French
arms in the Netherlands.  That good understanding now came to an end.

The Seven Years' War, otherwise called the Third Silesian War, because
it finally settled the question whether Silesia should be Austrian or
Prussian, though it involved almost every European Power, was an
episode in a far larger controversy.  French and English were at peace
in the old world, but a feud had broken out in the backwoods of the
new, where their strife was for the grandest prize ever disputed by
man, dominion over America from the Atlantic ultimately to the Golden
Gates of the Pacific, and for the future of the world.  The French
were masters of the lake region and the St. Lawrence, and also of the
Mississippi basin.  They claimed the intervening country by right of
discovery, and they began, in 1748, to establish an effective
occupation of the valley of the Ohio.  The English might retain the
Atlantic fringe; the French would possess the hinterland from
Louisbourg to New Orleans.  They planted a chain of posts, choosing
the place for them with superb intuition.  One is now Detroit, another
Chicago.  And under the inland slope of the Alleghanies, where the
waters fall towards the Gulf of Mexico, at the confluence of the
Monongahela with the Ohio, a French officer, Duquesne, built a fort,
the most important of all, which closed the interior to our colonies,
but which has undergone a significant change of name, for Fort
Duquesne is called after Pitt, and is the Birmingham of America.

This annexation of debatable land was an act of aggression to which
the colonists were not bound to submit.  The first to understand that
it was a question of existence was the man on whose head the destinies
of the country rested.  Washington twice led expeditions against
Duquesne, the second time with Regulars under Braddock, and was each
time defeated.  The question of the possession of the interior was
left to be decided on the Heights of Abraham.  It was worth more to
the English people than any continental issue.  The quarrel spread to
the ocean, and we made no scruple to assail French ships wherever the
conditions were favourable.

Kaunitz, the minister of Maria Theresa, saw his opportunity for a
grand stroke of policy.  By transplanting the struggle from the New
World to the Old, and from sea to land, he would obtain a French
alliance against Prussia.  Ostensibly his purpose was the recovery of
the lost province; but the circumstances seemed promising, and he
spoke of reducing Frederic to the position of a margrave of
Brandenburg.  He asked, at first, for no assistance in the field.  If
France would set up an army of observation on the frontier, the house
of Hanover would be disabled from joining Prussia.  France was glad,
in a quiet way, to check the House of Hanover.  By degrees a complete
understanding was achieved, and Lewis XV undertook to help Austria
with an army in the field and a vast sum of money.  Belgium was to be
the price of it, partly for France, partly for the Bourbon, who was
Duke of Parma, in exchange for his Italian dominions.  This change of
front was much facilitated by the civilities of Kaunitz to the person
whom the Austrian envoy described as the French Prime Minister, Madame
de Pompadour.

He was equally successful with Russia.  There the government had come
to the conclusion that the danger to the empire was not from Austria,
which was expanding towards the Mediterranean, and had just lost its
northern province, but from Prussia, which was aspiring and
aggressive, and on the watch for opportunities.  Therefore the
Russians were only too eager for the attack to begin, and had to be
restrained by the Austrians, who could only bring France into line by
a negotiation in several stages.  The Russian government agreed,
reluctantly, to wait for the spring of 1757.  But the hereditary
grand-duke was an admirer of Frederic; the chancellor, Bernstorff, was
secured by the English; and the action of the Russians was half-hearted
throughout.

The first half of 1756 was spent by the three great military Powers in
preparing the attack for next year.  Nobody could blame the Austrians
for plotting to reconquer what had belonged to them, and it is at
Vienna that their initiative has been demonstrated.  At Berlin, the
discovery has been received with some resistance.  They were proud of
the great Frederic as a warrior and a conqueror; they were not ready
to admire him as a quaker, and the victim of designing foes.  He had
been quite willing to commence a new war when the occasion should
warrant it.  He hoped, some day, to conquer Bohemia as he had
conquered Silesia, and to exchange it for Saxony.  But the conditions
needed for such an enterprise did not exist, and he was in no hurry.
He concluded a very harmless Convention at Westminster, in January
1756; but he was not arming at a time when the scheme of Kaunitz was
about completed.  It was midsummer before he knew the danger that
threatened him.  Certain despatches which were opened as they passed
through the Prussian Post Office, others which were stolen, revealed
the whole plot.  Without an ally, except the House of Hanover, and
such confederates from North-western Germany as English gold might
induce to join, he had to defend himself against Austria, Russia,
France, great part of Germany, and eventually Sweden and Spain.  The
help of England was assured, for, in May, war had been declared
between England and France.  But the English had not been preparing
for a very formidable effort.  They at once lost Minorca, the advanced
post in the Mediterranean, from which they watched the Gulf of Lyons
and the naval arsenal of Toulon, and felt the loss so acutely that
they shot the admiral who had failed to relieve the place.  Calcutta
too was taken, and the English perished in the Black Hole.  In the
Lake region the French, at first, had the best of it.

Frederic underrated the value of the alliance, and mismanaged it
badly.  He knew that there was a Whig dogma against letting England be
taken in tow by Hanover.  The great propounder of the doctrine was
William Pitt, who now rose to power.  Frederic did not know that this
turgid declaimer was as able, as powerful, as ambitious as himself,
and did not divine that he would make the German quarrel and the
compulsory defence of Hanover the means of occupying the military
forces of France until the contest for' oceanic empire was decided in
favour of England.  Pitt declared that he would conquer America in
Germany.  He armed one hundred and forty-eight ships of the line and
fifty frigates, with which he swept the Atlantic, and Montcalm, for
many months, received neither instructions nor supplies.  But Frederic
required that the army in English pay, which was to defend Hanover,
and thus to cover his right flank, should be commanded by the Duke of
Cumberland.  Upon this Pitt went out of office.  The duke did not
justify the king's choice of him.  He was beaten by d'Estrees, and
agreed to dissolve his force.  But Pitt, who had soon returned to
power, rejected the Convention, gave Frederic a subsidy of L670,000 a
year, and maintained a force against the French, under Ferdinand of
Brunswick, who did his work well.  There was more of English gold
in his camp than of English steel.  One of our commanders was
court-martialled.  When the Marquis of Granby did better, at Warburg,
the joy was great, and he became a popular hero.  His hat and wig
were blown off as he led the charge, and his portrait, bareheaded,
in a high wind, is at Trinity, and was on the sign of many an inn,
especially of a well-known one at Dorking, in Mr. Pickwick's time.

On 21st July, 1756, when Frederic II discovered the whole of the peril
that confronted him, although it was far more than he had dreamt of,
he lost neither hope nor courage.  His army of 145,000 men was not the
largest, but was much the best.  Three or four of his generals, his
brother Henry, the Prince of Brunswick, Schwerin, who had served under
Eugene at Blenheim, and had followed Charles XII into Turkey, above
all, Seydlitz, were superior to the men on the other side, so far as
these were known.  There were three millions in ready money, which was
enough for two campaigns in those economical days.  The Russians had a
long march before them, in order to come within range; the French
might be left to the army of English mercenaries.  The king might
hope, by energy and rapidity, to crush the Austrians in the valley of
the Elbe, which is Bohemia, or the valley of the Oder, which is
Silesia, before their friends came to aid them.  Nearer still than
Austria were the Saxons, whose elector was King of Poland, and whose
minister, Bruhl, like Beust in 1866, was the centre of anti-Prussian
politics.

Frederic began by seizing Dresden, and carrying off the secret papers
of his enemies.  The Saxon army held out for some weeks, and was then
forced to serve in the ranks of their conqueror, who thus altered the
proportion of numbers, by moving 20,000 men from one side to the
other.  The Saxon officers remonstrated when called on to take the
oath of allegiance to their enemy.  They said that such a thing was
unexampled.  He replied that he was not afraid of being original.
Their resistance had compelled him to withdraw from Bohemia, after an
indecisive action.  In 1757 he won a great battle at Prague, where he
sacrificed 18,000 men and Schwerin was killed.  The main Austrian army
was shut up in the city, and Frederic expected them to surrender; but
a relieving force, under Daun, defeated him at Kollin, and he withdrew
to his own country, that is, he withdrew into Saxony, which he had
made his home, Dresden being then the most civilised and luxurious
place in Germany.  For six years he did not see Berlin, which was
twice occupied by the enemy.  Up to that midsummer of 1757 his success
in war, like that of Marlborough, had been unbroken.  Kollin was the
first of three great battles which he lost.  In the following year he
was again defeated by Daun, in a night attack at Hochkirch, with the
loss of 100 guns.  And in 1759, which is the turning of the tide, the
Russians beat him at Kunersdorf.  And yet it is to this chequered year
1757, not to the preceding career of incessant victory, that Frederic
the Great owes the immensity of his military fame.

The French had triumphed on the western side of the seat of war, and
had driven Cumberland before them, when Frederic attacked them with a
much smaller force, at Rossbach, in Saxony.  With hardly any
resistance and hardly any loss, he gained a complete victory over them
and their Imperialist allies.  Then he hurried to Silesia, where the
Austrians were masters.  He defeated them at Leuthen, a month after
Rossbach, recovered Breslau, and made 38,000 prisoners.  Nothing like
it had been seen in war.  The defeat of the French made him a national
hero.  Previously, his enemies were Germans, and the French were his
allies.  That was forgotten and rectified.  That Germany had so much
to suffer at his hands was forgiven.  And the victory was so complete,
so artistic, that he was not less admired in France, where they
laughed at their unsuccessful marshals.  Not long before he was spoken
of in Paris as one who had just missed being a great man.  Such
language was never used again.  And the tremendous reduction of
Austrian forces at Leuthen and Breslau was a still greater surprise.
A man who could do that might do anything, and was out of proportion
with the ordinary race of men.

There is an undefinable quantity in military genius which makes the
event uncertain.  At the beginning the emperor had written that
Frederic's secret had been discovered, and consisted in what was
called the oblique order--that is, to make one wing much stronger than
the other, to refuse with the weak wing, and to attack with
overwhelming force with the strong.  That method did not originate
with him, but he repeatedly employed it.  Then there was his
innovation in the use of cavalry.  He had learnt its value, against
the musket of those days, by experience; and he believed that
Seydlitz, in the open, at the head of seventy squadrons, was a thing
which no infantry could resist.  Then there was the impetus his troops
derived from the extraordinary renown of their king, that there was
nothing to counterbalance on the other side.  This was evident, was
matter of common knowledge.  But even in his own army, on his own
staff, in the royal family, there were two opinions.  There was a
school which taught that actual fighting must not be resorted to until
the use of brains has been exhausted, that the battle comes in when
the manoeuvre has failed, that the seizure of a strategic position, or
a scientific retreat, like that of Wellington into Portugal, of
Barclay in 1812 before Napoleon, of Johnston before Sherman, is the
first defence of armies, so that a force which is tactically inferior
may be strategically superior.  Frederic was, I believe, the first
great soldier to reject this doctrine, and to act on the principle
that nothing can destroy the enemy except a pitched battle, and that
the destruction of the enemy, not the weakening of the enemy, is the
right object of war.  His battles were very numerous and very
sanguinary, and not always decisive.  Napoleon followed in his
footsteps, manoeuvring less, as he grew older, and fighting more.  It
is the adopted teaching of the Prussian school, since Clausewitz and
Moltke.

During the French campaign of 1814 Napoleon said to Marmont: "We are
still 100,000."  "No!" said the marshal; "only 60,000."  "Exactly,"
Napoleon replied; "60,000 and myself, that is 100,000."  Something of
this kind must be allowed in the person of the great king; and it kept
up his hopes after his enemies began to prevail in 1759.  In 1760 he
was still successful at Liegnitz and at Torgau.  But his country was
exhausted; his ranks were thinned by the wasteful expenditure of life;
there was nothing to look forward to, unless the Turk effected a
diversion on the Danube; and Frederic was repeatedly on the point of
taking poison.  In 1755 he had written that war must always be
aggressive.  Even a successful defence weakens the victor.

The zeal of his only ally was beginning to cool.  Pitt had
accomplished more than he intended when he offered his subsidies to
Prussia.  Our fleet commanded the ocean.  The Mediterranean squadron
had been defeated at Lagos, the Atlantic squadron at Quiberon; Canada
had been conquered, and with Canada, the interior of North America,
with its population of savages and its inexhaustible resources.
Bengal was English, and the rivalry of the French in India had ceased
to be formidable.  In four years England had grown into a boundless
empire, offering, what no other war had done, compensation for
expenditure and increase of debt.  Trade had learnt to follow the
flag, and Pitt's profusion was not waste.  Much of this success was
due to the Prussian Alliance.  The vicissitudes of the French army had
hampered the French navy.  Frederic, who was several times very near
destruction, had been saved by his ally.  He had retained his disputed
province, while England annexed dominions as vast as Europe.  His
genius and his power had been made so manifest that he was not again
attacked during the remainder of his reign.  England possessed that
which, if it had been duly husbanded and developed, would make her
mistress of the world.  The object of each, in concluding their
alliance, had been gained, but there was no proportion between them.
In 1760 Pitt rejected peace with France when it would have damaged his
treaty with Prussia.  But when there was no prospect of a final
triumph, and Frederic was only thinking of the terms on which he might
obtain peace, Pitt advised him to negotiate.  Then, in the autumn of
1761, under a new king, he was expelled from office.  The subsidy
came to an end, and Bute opened negotiations.

Frederic had resolved that he would not wear a diminished crown; that
he would disappear from the scene if he could not preserve by treaty
of peace the full integrity of the monarchy which he no longer hoped
to preserve by war.  But he stood alone.  The change of reign, the
fall of Pitt, the termination of the subsidy, the pacific disposition
of Bute, somewhat exaggerated by those through whom he heard of it,
weakened him so seriously that he allowed the struggle to languish
while he sounded the courts, and especially sounded the Turk, as to
his feelings towards his Austrian neighbour.  Then, in an instant, the
scene was entirely transformed.  Elizabeth, the last of the children
of Peter the Great, died in January 1762.  She had been his bitter
enemy throughout, personally as well as on grounds of pure policy, by
which he was held to be the menacing obstruction to the expansion of
Russia in Europe.  Her heir was a German prince, married to a German
princess, the famous Catharine, and they at once offered terms of
peace.

Meanwhile Spain went to war with England, and the government began to
treat apart from Frederic.  Newcastle would have renewed the subsidy,
but Bute refused, and Newcastle thereupon resigned, while Bute
concluded peace.  Frederic, quite unable to continue active
operations, retained Silesia, but gave up his conquest, Saxony.
Therefore, at the price of immense suffering to his people, he emerged
from the unequal contest victorious and successful.

William III, Lewis XIV, Peter of Russia, had been great and able
sovereigns; but none had left on the world such an impression of his
genius.  When Frederic appeared at the Te Deum at Charlottenburg in
all his glory, he broke down utterly and burst into tears.  He had
been the victor, but it was England that carried away the prize.  He
had acquired in his campaigns immeasurable authority and renown, but
his people had been decimated and impoverished, and he had gained no
accession of territory.

In the first years of peace that followed, it appeared that there was
a neighbouring country in which that deficiency might be repaired, and
the disappointing issue of the war might be made good by the art of
the statesman.  The republic of Poland covered an enormous territory,
but was the most backward of the civilised nations.  It was governed,
socially and politically, by the aristocratic class, and it was their
prerogative that any minority, or even a single noble, might exert the
right of veto on the proceedings of the Diet.  The political
conditions were those of the eleventh century.  The government was the
weakest in Europe.  The Poles had been the earliest people to
establish religious toleration; but they had succumbed to the
Counter-Reformation, and they still refused liberty of conscience to
the Dissidents, mainly of the Greek Church.  It was the plain policy
of Russia to maintain the grievance and the occasion for intervention,
and to frustrate every attempt of intelligent Poles to reform their
constitution and create a regular government.

In the reign of Catharine in Russia, and of her admirer Stanislas
Poniatowski in Poland, the republic became a Russian dependency.  The
empress desired that this convenient situation should continue, and
esteemed that a partition would be injurious to her interests.  From
the same point of view it appeared desirable to Austria and Prussia.
Poland, undivided as it was, was useless to anybody but Catharine.
Poland divided among friends would strengthen each of them at the
expense of Catharine.  What they succeeded in appropriating would be
so much taken from the sphere of Russian power.  The Russian empress
endeavoured to turn their thoughts elsewhere.  She pointed to Turkey,
which was a dreadful blot on the map of Christendom, and proposed that
Austria should rectify its frontier on that side.  But Turkey could
defend itself, and could not be subjected to spoliation without a
struggle, which Austria would have to carry on.  That was a wretched
bargain compared with Poland, which must yield if the three Powers
showed their teeth.  And Turkey could be of no use to Frederic the
Great.  Therefore Kaunitz proposed that he should give back Silesia,
and compensate himself richly out of Polish territory, where Austria
also had some local claims to enforce.

Frederic was ready to annex part of Poland, but he saw no reason for
giving up anything that he possessed.  If Austria wished to enlarge
her boundaries, Poland was extensive enough to satisfy her demands as
well as his own.  There would be no difficulty, no obstacle on the
spot, no resistance of European opinion.  England had already proposed
the Polish solution of territorial controversy.  In France there would
be some genuine or affected displeasure.  But Poland was a Catholic
country, much influenced by prelates.  The men who guided French
thought would be easily consoled for its disappearance from the
political stage.  It was not modern enough to interest them, and its
treatment of the Dissidents was a glaring offence.  Therefore,
although Catharine annexed as much as both the others together, the
partition was accomplished in opposition to her real policy.  About
one-third of Poland was thus taken.  The reckoning proved correct.
Europe remained unmoved.  By a series of treaties it had condoned the
seizure of Silesia.  It was too late to complain of the dismemberment
of Poland.  The work was completed, under very different conditions,
twenty years later.  It was overthrown by Napoleon; but, as he was
without a Polish policy, and was disgusted by the obtrusive Liberalism
of the Poles in his time, it was revived and sanctioned by the wisdom
of united Europe at the Congress of Vienna.

The years which followed the Seven Years' War were a time of peace for
a great part of the Continent, in the course of which a memorable
change took place in European polity.  It was the age of what may be
called the Repentance of Monarchy.  That which had been selfish,
oppressive, and cruel became impersonal, philanthropic, and
beneficent.  The strong current of eighteenth-century opinion left the
State omnipotent, but obliged it to take account of public, as
distinct from dynastic, interests.  It was employed more or less
intelligently, for the good of the people.  Humanity contended for the
mastery with ambition.  It was still a despotism, but an enlightened
despotism.  The competent expert more than ever was supreme, but he
was influenced by great writers--Locke, Montesquieu, Turgot, Beccaria,
Adam Smith.  There was a serious tendency to increase popular
education, to relieve poverty, to multiply hospitals, to promote
wealth by the operations of the engineer, to emancipate the serf, to
abolish torture, to encourage academies, observatories, and the like.
Prisons had never been so bad--attempts were made to reform them.  The
slave trade had never been so prosperous; people began to doubt
whether it was moral.  Laws were codified, and though the codes were
surprisingly bad, the laws were improved by them.  The movement was
almost universal, from Spain to Denmark and Russia.  Piedmont dealt
successfully with the feudal and social question, which baffled the
National Assembly in France.  The rich plain of the Milanese was
administered by a proconsul of Maria Theresa, in a manner which made
it the example of Europe.  A strenuous disciple of the economists
governed Baden.  Wuerzburg and Bamberg, under the last Prince Bishop,
were considered the happiest region in the empire.  Turgot,
Bernstorff, Firmian, were admired and imitated as Lewis XIV had been
in a former phase of absolute monarchy.  Society was enjoyable, apart
from politics, and was studied like a fine art in the homes of
luxury--Paris, Brussels, Rome, and Venice.  Things went very well in
those days with any man who was not a Whig, and had no views as to
what makes governments legitimate and averts revolution.

In that age of the enlightenment of despotism the most enlightened
despot was Frederic II.  Of all rulers and reformers he was the most
laborious and incessant.  "A king," said he, "is the first servant of
the State."  He did more work and had fewer pleasures than any of them.
The dominant influence was philosophy, not religion, emancipation of
the State from the Church.  That corresponded well with Frederic's
temper.  He was tolerant, and on the whole consistently tolerant.  In
those days the Jesuits were suppressed, first by the secular power in
Bourbon countries, then by the Papacy.  The Jesuits peculiarly
represented the old order that was changing, and the authority of the
ecclesiastical law that was being restrained.  When they ceased to
exist in Catholic countries, they sought a refuge in England, and at
Petersburg; but their best and most determined protector was Frederic
the Great.  The only one of all the princes of that generation who saw
farther, and understood that the time of absolute monarchy,
enlightened or unenlightened, was very near its end, was Leopold of
Tuscany, ancestor of the Austrian dynasty.  That was a thing which
Frederic never perceived.  The great change that came over Europe in
his time did not make for political freedom.  We shall see how that
greater change was to come from beyond the Atlantic.


XIX

THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

THE RATIONAL and humanitarian enlightenment of the eighteenth century
did much for the welfare of mankind, but little to promote the
securities of freedom.  Power was better employed than formerly, but
it did not abdicate.

In England, politically, the most advanced country, the impetus which
the Revolution gave to progress was exhausted, and people began to
say, now that the Jacobite peril was over, that no issue remained
between parties which made it worth while for men to cut each others'
throats.  The development of the Whig philosophy was checked by the
practical tendency to compromise.  Compromise distinguished the Whig
from the Roundhead, the man who succeeded from the man who failed, the
man who was the teacher of politics to the civilised world from the
man who left his head on Temple Bar.

The Seven Years' War renewed the interrupted march by involving
America in the concerns of Europe, and causing the colonies to react
on the parent state.  That was a consequence which followed the
Conquest of Canada and the accession of George III.  The two events,
occurring in quick succession, raised the American question.  A
traveller who visited America some years earlier reports that there
was much discontent, and that separation was expected before very
long.  That discontent was inoperative whilst a great military power
held Canada.  Two considerations reconciled the colonists to the
disadvantages attending the connection with England.  The English
fleet guarded the sea against pirates; the English army guarded the
land against the French.  The former was desirable; the latter was
essential to their existence.  When the danger on the French side
disappeared, it might become very uncertain whether the patrol of the
Atlantic was worth the price that America had to pay for it.
Therefore Montcalm foretold that the English, if they conquered the
French colonies, would lose their own.  Many Frenchmen saw this, with
satisfaction; and the probability was so manifest that Englishmen saw
it too.  It was their interest to strengthen their position with new
securities, in the place of that one supreme security which they had
lost by their victory at Quebec.  That victory, with the vast
acquisition of territory that followed, would be no increase of
imperial power if it loosened the hold on Atlantic colonies.
Therefore, the policy of the hour was to enforce the existing claims
and to obtain unequivocal recognition of English sovereignty.  The
most profitable method of doing it was in the shape of heavier
taxation; but taxes were a small matter in comparison with the
establishment of undisputed authority and unquestioning submission.
The tax might be nominal, if the principle was safe.  Ways and means
would not be wanting in an empire which extended from Hudson's Bay to
the Gulf of Mexico.  For the moment the need was not money but
allegiance.  The problem was new, for the age of expansion had come
suddenly, in East and West, by the action of Pitt; and Pitt was no
longer in office, to find the solution.

Among the Whigs, who were a failing and discredited party, there were
men who already knew the policy by which since then the empire has
been reared--Adam Smith, Dean Tucker, Edmund Burke.  But the great mass
went with the times, and held that the object of politics is power,
and that the more dominion is extended, the more it must be retained
by force.  The reason why free trade is better than dominion was a
secret obscurely buried in the breast of economists.

Whilst the expulsion of the French from their Transatlantic empire
governed the situation, the immediate difficulty was brought on by the
new reign.  The right of searching houses and ships for contraband was
conveyed by certain warrants called Writs of Assistance, which
required no specified designation, no oath or evidence, and enabled
the surprise visit to be paid by day or night.  They were introduced
under Charles II, and had to be renewed within six months of the
demise of the crown.  The last renewal had been at the death of George
II; and it was now intended that they should be efficacious, and
should protect the revenue from smugglers.  Between 1727 and 1761 many
things had changed, and the colonies had grown to be richer, more
confident, more self-respecting.  They claimed to extend to the
Mississippi, and had no French or Spaniards on their borders.
Practically, there was no neighbour but England, and they had a
patrimony such as no Englishman had dreamt of.  The letter of the law,
the practice of the last generation, were no argument with the heirs
of unbounded wealth and power, and did not convince them that they
ought to lose by the aid which they had given against France.  The
American jurists argued that this was good by English law, but could
not justly be applied to America, where the same constitutional
safeguards did not exist--where the cases would be tried by judges
without a jury, by judges who could be dismissed at pleasure, by
judges who were paid by fees which increased with the amount of the
property confiscated, and were interested in deciding against the
American importer, and in favour of the revenue.  That was a technical
and pedestrian argument which every lawyer could understand, without
passing the limits of accustomed thought.

Then James Otis spoke, and lifted the question to a different level,
in one of the memorable speeches in political history.  Assuming, but
not admitting, that the Boston custom-house officers were acting
legally, and within the statute, then, he said, the statute was wrong.
Their action might be authorised by parliament; but if so, parliament
had exceeded its authority, like Charles with his shipmoney, and James
with the dispensing power.  There are principles which override
precedents.  The laws of England may be a very good thing, but there
is such a thing as a higher law.

The court decided in favour of the validity of the writs; and John
Adams, who heard the judgment, wrote long after that in that hour the
child Independence was born.  The English view triumphed for the time,
and the governor wrote home that the murmurs soon ceased.  The States,
and ultimately the United States, rejected general warrants; and since
1817 they are in agreement with the law of England.  On that point,
therefore, the colonies were in the right.

Then came the larger question of taxation.  Regulation of external
traffic was admitted.  England patrolled the sea and protected America
from the smuggler and the pirate.  Some remuneration might be
reasonably claimed; but it ought to be obtained in such a way as not
to hamper and prohibit the increase of wealth.  The restrictions on
industry and trade were, however, contrived for the benefit of England
and to the injury of her colonies.  They demanded that the arrangement
should be made for their mutual advantage.  They did not go so far as
to affirm that it ought to be to their advantage only, irrespective of
ours, which is our policy with our colonies at the present time.  The
claim was not originally excessive.  It is the basis of the imputation
that the dispute, on both sides, was an affair of sordid interest.  We
shall find it more just to say that the motive was empire on one side
and self-government on the other.  It was a question between liberty
and authority, government by consent and government by force, the
control of the subject by the State, and the control of the State by
the subject.  The issue had never been so definitely raised.  In
England it had long been settled.  It had been settled that the
legislature could, without breach of any ethical or constitutional
law, without forfeiting its authority or exposing itself to just
revolt, make laws injurious to the subject for the benefit of English
religion or English trade.  If that principle was abandoned in America
it could not well be maintained in Ireland, and the green flag might
fly on Dublin Castle.

This was no survival of the dark ages.  Both the oppression of Ireland
and the oppression of America were the work of the modern school, of
men who executed one king and expelled another.  It was the work of
parliament, of the parliaments of Cromwell and of William III.  And
the parliament would not consent to renounce its own specific policy,
its right of imposing taxes.  The crown, the clergy, the aristocracy,
were hostile to the Americans; but the real enemy was the House of
Commons.  The old European securities for good government were found
insufficient protection against parliamentary oppression.  The nation
itself, acting by its representatives, had to be subjected to control.
The political problem raised by the New World was more complicated
than the simple issues dealt with hitherto in the Old.  It had become
necessary to turn back the current of the development of politics, to
bind and limit and confine the State, which it was the pride of the
moderns to exalt.  It was a new phase of political history.  The
American Revolution innovated upon the English Revolution, as the
English Revolution innovated on the politics of Bacon or of Hobbes.
There was no tyranny to be resented.  The colonists were in many ways
more completely their own masters than Englishmen at home.  They were
not roused by the sense of intolerable wrong.  The point at issue was
a very subtle and refined one, and it required a great deal of
mismanagement to make the quarrel irreconcilable.

Successive English governments shifted their ground.  They tried the
Stamp Act; then the duty on tea and several other articles; then the
tea duty alone; and at last something even less than the tea duty.  In
one thing they were consistent: they never abandoned the right of
raising taxes.  When the colonists, instigated by Patrick Henry,
resisted the use of stamps, and Pitt rejoiced that they had resisted,
parliament gave way on that particular measure, declaring that it
retained the disputed right.  Townshend carried a series of taxes on
imports, which produced about three hundred pounds, and were dropped
by Lord North.  Then an ingenious plan was devised, which would
enforce the right of taxation, but which would not be felt by American
pockets, and would, indeed, put money into them, in the shape of a
bribe.  East Indiamen were allowed to carry tea to American ports
without paying toll in England.  The Navigation Laws were suspended,
that people in New England might drink cheap tea, without smuggling.
The duty in England was a shilling a pound.  The duty in America was
threepence a pound.  The shilling was remitted, so that the colonies
had only a duty of threepence to pay instead of a duty of
fifteen-pence.  The tea-drinker at Boston got his tea cheaper than the
tea-drinker at Bristol.  The revenue made a sacrifice, it incurred a
loss, in order to gratify the discontented colonials.  If it was a
grievance to pay more for a commodity, how could it be a grievance to
pay less for the same commodity? To gild the pill still further, it
was proposed that the threepence should be levied at the British
ports, so that the Americans should perceive nothing but the gift,
nothing but the welcome fact that their tea was cheaper, and should be
spared entirely the taste of the bitterness within.  That would have
upset the entire scheme.  The government would not hear of it.
America was to have cheap tea, but was to admit the tax.  The sordid
purpose was surrendered on our side, and only the constitutional
motive was retained, in the belief that the sordid element alone
prevailed in the colonies.

That threepence broke up the British empire.  Twelve years of renewed
contention, ever coming up in altered shape under different ministers,
made it clear that the mind of the great parent State was made up, and
that all variations of party were illusory.  The Americans grew more
and more obstinate as they purged the sordid question of interest with
which they had begun.  At first they had consented to the restrictions
imposed under the Navigation Laws.  They now rejected them.  One of
the tea ships in Boston harbour was boarded at night, and the tea
chests were flung into the Atlantic.  That was the mild beginning of
the greatest Revolution that had ever broken out among civilised men.
The dispute had been reduced to its simplest expression, and had
become a mere question of principle.  The argument from the Charters,
the argument from the Constitution, was discarded.  The case was
fought out on the ground of the Law of Nature, more properly speaking,
of Divine Right.  On that evening of 16th December, 1773, it became,
for the first time, the reigning force in History.  By the rules of
right, which had been obeyed till then, England had the better cause.
By the principle which was then inaugurated, England was in the wrong,
and the future belonged to the colonies.

The revolutionary spirit had been handed down from the
seventeenth-century sects, through the colonial charters.  As early as
1638 a Connecticut preacher said: "The choice of public magistrates
belongs unto the people, by God's own allowance.  They who have the
power to appoint officers and magistrates, it is in their power, also,
to set the bounds and limitations of the power and place unto which
they call them."  In Rhode Island, where the Royal Charter was so
liberal that it lasted until 1842, all power reverted annually to the
people, and the authorities had to undergo re-election.  Connecticut
possessed so finished a system of self-government in the towns, that
it served as a model for the federal Constitution.  The Quakers of
Pennsylvania managed their affairs without privilege, or intolerance,
or slavery, or oppression.  It was not to imitate England that they
went into the desert.  Several colonies were in various ways far
ahead of the mother country; and the most advanced statesman of the
Commonwealth, Vane, had his training in New England.

After the outrage on board the Dartmouth in Boston harbour the
government resolved to coerce Massachusetts, and a continental
Congress met to devise means for its protection.  The king's troops
were sent to destroy military stores that had been collected at
Concord; and at Lexington, on the outward march, as well as all the
way back, they were assailed by militia.  The affair at Lexington,
19th April, 1775, was the beginning of the War of Independence, which
opened with the siege of Boston.  Two months later the first action
was fought at Bried's Hill, or Bunker Hill, which are low heights
overlooking the town, and the colonials were repulsed with very little
loss.

The war that followed, and lasted six years, is not illustrious in
military annals, and interests us chiefly by the result.  After the
first battle the colonies declared themselves independent.  Virginia,
acting for herself only, led the way.  Then the great revolutionist,
who was the Virginian leader, Jefferson, drew up the Declaration of
Independence, which was adopted by the remaining states.  It was too
rhetorical to be scientific; but it recited the series of ideas which
the controversy had carried to the front.

Thirty thousand German soldiers, most of them from Hesse Cassel, were
sent out, and were at first partially successful; for they were
supported by the fleet, which the estuaries carried far inland.  Where
the European army had not that advantage things went badly.  The
Americans attacked Canada, expecting to be welcomed by the French
inhabitants who had been so recently turned into British subjects.
The attack failed dramatically by the death of General Montgomery,
under the walls of Quebec, and the French colonists remained loyal.
But an expedition sent from Canada against New York, under Burgoyne,
miscarried.  Burgoyne had scarcely reached the Hudson when he was
forced to surrender at Saratoga.  The Congress of the States, which
feebly directed operations, wished that the terms of surrender should
not be observed, and that the 5000 English and German prisoners,
instead of being sent home, should be detained until they could be
exchanged.  Washington and his officers made known that if this was
done they would resign.

The British defeat at Saratoga is the event which determined the issue
of the conflict.  It put an end to the vacillation of France.  The
French government had to recover the position it had lost in the last
war, and watched the course of events for evidence that American
resistance was not about to collapse.  At the end of 1777 the victory
of Saratoga supplied the requisite proof.  Volunteers had been allowed
to go over, and much war material was furnished through the agency of
a comic poet.  Now a treaty of alliance was concluded, a small army
was sent to sea, and in March 1778 England was informed that France
was at war with her.  France was followed by Spain, afterwards by
Holland.

It was evident from the first that the combination was more than
England could hope to meet.  Lord North at once gave way.  He offered
to satisfy the American demands, and he asked that Chatham should take
office.  From the moment that his old enemy, France, appeared on the
scene, Chatham was passionately warlike.  The king agreed that he
should be asked to join the ministry, but refused to see him.  America
declined the English overtures, in fulfilment of her treaty with
France.  The negotiation with Chatham became impossible.  That was no
misfortune, for he died a few weeks later, denouncing the government
and the opposition.

Then came that phase of war during which the navy of France, under
d'Orvilliers in the Channel, under Suffren in the east, under
d'Estaing and de Grasse in the west, proved itself equal to the navy
of England.  It was by the fleet, not by the land forces, that
American independence was gained.  But it was by the army officers
that American ideas, sufficient to subvert every European state, were
transplanted into France.  When de Grasse drove the English fleet away
from Virginian waters, Cornwallis surrendered the army of the south at
Yorktown, as Burgoyne had surrendered with the northern army at
Saratoga.

The Whigs came in and recognised the independence of the colonies, as
North would have done four years earlier, when France intervened.
Terms of peace with European Powers were made more favourable by the
final success of Rodney at Dominica and of Elliot at Gibraltar; but
the warlike repute of England fell lower than at any time since the
Revolution.

The Americans proceeded to give themselves a Constitution which should
hold them together more effectively than the Congress which carried
them through the war, and they held a Convention for the purpose at
Philadelphia during the summer of 1787.  The difficulty was to find
terms of union between the three great states--Virginia, Pennsylvania,
Massachusetts--and the smaller ones, which included New York.  The great
states would not allow equal power to the others; the small ones would
not allow themselves to be swamped by mere numbers.  Therefore one
chamber was given to population, and the other, the Senate, to the
states on equal terms.  Every citizen was made subject to the federal
government as well as to that of his own state.  The powers of the
states were limited.  The powers of the federal government were
actually enumerated, and thus the states and the union were a check on
each other.  That principle of division was the most efficacious
restraint on democracy that has been devised; for the temper of the
Constitutional Convention was as conservative as the Declaration of
Independence was revolutionary.

The Federal Constitution did not deal with the question of religious
liberty.  The rules for the election of the president and for that of
the vice-president proved a failure.  Slavery was deplored, was
denounced, and was retained.  The absence of a definition of State
Rights led to the most sanguinary civil war of modern times.  Weighed
in the scales of Liberalism the instrument, as it stood, was a
monstrous fraud.  And yet, by the development of the principle of
Federalism, it has produced a community more powerful, more
prosperous, more intelligent, and more free than any other which the
world has seen.


APPENDIX

APPENDIX I

THE following letter was sent out to the contributors to the Cambridge
History.  It will interest many, as giving characteristic expression
to Acton's ideals as a historian.

The paragraphs are left as in the original.


[From the Editor of the Cambridge Modern History.]

1.  Our purpose is to obtain the best history of modern times
that the published or unpublished sources of information admit.

The production of material has so far exceeded the use of it in
literature that very much more is known to students than can be
found in historians, and no compilation at second hand from
the best works would meet the scientific demand for completeness
and certainty.

In our own time, within the last few years, most of the official
collections in Europe have been made public, and nearly all the
evidence that will ever appear is accessible now.

As archives are meant to be explored, and are not meant to be
printed, we approach the final stage in the conditions of
historical learning.

The long conspiracy against the knowledge of truth has been
practically abandoned, and competing scholars all over the
civilised world are taking advantage of the change.

By dividing our matter among more than one hundred writers we
hope to make the enlarged opportunities of research avail for
the main range of modern history.

Froude spoke of 100,000 papers consulted by him in manuscript,
abroad and at home; and that is still the price to be paid for
mastery, beyond the narrow area of effective occupation.

We will endeavour to procure transcripts of any specified
documents which contributors require from places out of reach.

2.  It is intended that the narrative shall be such as will serve
all readers, that it shall be without notes, and without quotations
in foreign languages.

In order to authenticate the text and to assist further research,
it is proposed that a selected list of original and auxiliary
authorities shall be supplied in each volume, for every chapter
or group of chapters dealing with one subject.

Such a bibliography of modern history might be of the utmost
utility to students, and would serve as a substitute for the
excluded references.

We shall be glad if each contributor will send us, as early as he
finds it convenient, a preliminary catalogue of the works on
which he would rely; and we enclose a specimen, to explain our
plan, and to show how we conceive that books and documents might
be classified.

3.  Our scheme requires that nothing shall reveal the country,
the religion, or the party to which the writers belong.

It is essential not only on the ground that impartiality is the
character of legitimate history, but because the work is carried
on by men acting together for no other object than the increase
of accurate knowledge.

The disclosure of personal views would lead to such confusion
that all unity of design would disappear.

4.  Some extracts from the editor's Report to the Syndics will
show the principles on which the Cambridge History has been
undertaken.

"The entire bulk of new matter which the last forty years have
supplied amounts to many thousands of volumes.  The honest
student finds himself continually deserted, retarded, misled by
the classics of historical literature, and has to hew his own way
through multitudinous transactions, periodicals, and official
publications, where it is difficult to sweep the horizon or to
keep abreast.  By the judicious division of labour we should be
able to do it, and to bring home to every man the last document,
and the ripest conclusions of international research. . . .

"All this does not apply to our own time, and the last volumes
will be concerned with secrets that cannot be learned from books,
but from men. . . .

"The recent Past contains the key to the present time.  All forms
of thought that influence it come before us in their turn, and we
have to describe the ruling currents, to interpret the sovereign
forces, that still govern and divide he world. . . .

"By Universal History I understand that which is distinct from
the combined history of all countries, which is not a rope of
sand, but a continuous development, and is not a burden on the
memory, but an illumination of the soul.  It moves in a succession
to which the nations are subsidiary.  Their story will be told,
not for their own sake, but in reference and subordination to a
higher series, according to the time and the degree in which they
contribute to the common fortunes of mankind. . . .

"If we treat History as a progressive science, and lean specially
on that side of it, the question will arise, how we justify our
departure from ancient ways, and how we satisfy the world that
there is reason and method in our innovations. . . .

"To meet this difficulty we must provide a copious, accurate, and
well-digested catalogue of authorities. . . . "

"Our principle would be to supply help to students, not material
to historians.  But in critical places we must indicate minutely
the sources we follow, and must refer not only to the important
books, but to articles in periodical works, and even to original
documents, and to transcripts in libraries.  The result would
amount to an ordinary volume, presenting a conspectus of
historical literature, and enumerating all the better books, the
newly acquired sources, and the last discoveries.  It would
exhibit in the clearest light the vast difference between
history, original and authentic, and history, antiquated and
lower than high-water mark of present learning. . . .

"We shall avoid the needless utterance of opinion, and the
service of a cause.

"Contributors will understand that we are established, not under
the Meridian of Greenwich, but in Long. 30 degrees W.; that our
Waterloo must be one that satisfies French and English, Germans
and Dutch alike; that nobody can tell, without examining the list
of authors, where the Bishop of Oxford laid down the pen, and
whether Fairbairn or Gasquet, Liebermann or Harrison took it up."

CAMBRIDGE,
March 12, 1898





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