The consideration of these great changes in the English mind, has led me into a digression, which, so far from being foreign to the design of this Introduction, is absolutely necessary for a right understanding of it. In this, as in many other respects, there is a marked analogy between investigations concerning the structure of society and investigations concerning the human body. Thus, it has been found, that the best way of arriving at a theory of disease is by beginning with the theory of health; and that the foundation of all sound pathology must be first sought in an observation, not of the abnormal, but of the normal functions of life. Just in the same way, it will, I believe, be found, that the best method of arriving at great social truths, is by first investigating those cases in which society has developed itself according to its own laws, and in which the governing powers have least opposed themselves to the spirit of their times.[1] It is on this account that, in order to understand the position of France, I have begun by examining the position of England. In order to understand the way in which the diseases of the first country were aggravated by the quackery of ignorant rulers, it was necessary to understand the way in which the health of the second country was preserved by being subjected to smaller interference, and allowed with greater liberty to continue its natural march. With the light, therefore, which we have acquired by a study of the normal condition of the English mind, we can, with the greater ease, now apply our principles to that abnormal condition of French society, by the operations of which, at the close of the eighteenth century, some of the dearest interests of civilization were imperilled.

In France, a long train of events, which I shall hereafter relate, had, from an early period, given to the clergy a share of power larger than that which they possessed in England. The results of this were for a time decidedly beneficial, inasmuch as the church restrained the lawlessness of a barbarous age, and secured a refuge for the weak and oppressed. But as the French advanced in knowledge, the spiritual authority, which had done so much to curb their passions, began to press heavily upon their genius, and impede its movements. That same ecclesiastical power, which to an ignorant age is an unmixed benefit, is to a more enlightened age a serious evil. The proof of this was soon apparent. For when the Reformation broke out, the church had in England been so weakened, that it fell almost at the first assault; its revenues were seized by the crown,[2] and its offices, after being greatly diminished both in authority and in wealth, were bestowed upon new men, who, from the uncertainty of their tenure, and the novelty of their doctrines, lacked that long-established prescription by which the claims of the profession are mainly supported. This, as we have already seen, was the beginning of an uninterrupted progress, in which, at every successive step, the ecclesiastical spirit lost some of its influence. In France, on the other hand, the clergy were so powerful, that they were able to withstand the Reformation, and thus preserve for themselves those exclusive privileges which their English brethren vainly attempted to retain.

This was the beginning of that second marked divergence between French and English civilization,[3] which had its origin, indeed, at a much earlier period, but which now first produced conspicuous results. Both countries had, in their infancy, been greatly benefited by the church, which always showed itself ready to protect the people against the oppressions of the crown and the nobles.[4] But in both countries, as society advanced, there arose a capacity for self-protection; and early in the sixteenth, or probably even in the fifteenth century, it became urgently necessary to diminish that spiritual authority, which, by prejudging the opinions of men, has impeded the march of their knowledge.[5] It is on this account that Protestantism, so far from being, as its enemies have called it, an aberration arising from accidental causes, was essentially a normal movement, and was the legitimate expression of the wants of the European intellect. Indeed, the Reformation owed its success, not to a desire of purifying the church, but to a desire of lightening its pressure; and it may be broadly stated, that it was adopted in every civilized country, except in those where preceding events had increased the influence of the ecclesiastical order, either among the people or among their rulers. This was, unhappily, the case with France, where the clergy not only triumphed over the Protestants, but appeared, for a time, to have gained fresh authority by the defeat of such dangerous enemies.[6]

The consequence of all this was, that in France, every thing assumed a more theological aspect than in England. In our country, the ecclesiastical spirit had, by the middle of the sixteenth century, become so feeble, that even intelligent foreigners were struck by the peculiarity.[7] The same nation, which, during the Crusades, had sacrificed innumerable lives in the hope of planting the Christian standard in the heart of Asia,[8] was now almost indifferent to the religion even of its own sovereign. Henry VIII., by his sole will, regulated the national creed, and fixed the formularies of the church, which, if the people had been in earnest, he could not possibly have done; for he had no means of compelling submission; he had no standing army; and even his personal guards were so scanty, that at any moment they could have been destroyed by a rising of the warlike apprentices of London.[9] After his death, there came Edward, who, as a Protestant king, undid the work of his father; and, a few years later, there came Mary, who, as a Popish queen, undid the work of her brother; while she, in her turn, was succeeded by Elizabeth, under whom another great alteration was effected in the established faith.[10] Such was the indifference of the people, that these vast changes were accompanied without any serious risk.[11] In France, on the other hand, at the mere name of religion, thousands of men were ready for the field. In England, our civil wars have all been secular; they have been waged, either for a change of dynasty, or for an increase of liberty. But those far more horrible wars, by which, in the sixteenth century, France was desolated, were conducted in the name of Christianity, and even the political struggles of the great families were merged in a deadly contest between Catholics and Protestants.[12]

The effect this difference produced on the intellect of the two countries is very obvious. The English, concentrating their abilities upon great secular matters, had, by the close of the sixteenth century, produced a literature which never can perish. But the French, down to that period, had not put forth a single work, the destruction of which would now be a loss to Europe. What makes this contrast the more remarkable is, that in France the civilization, such as it was, had a longer standing; the material resources of the country had been earlier developed; its geographical position made it the centre of European thought;[13] and it had possessed a literature at a time when our ancestors were a mere tribe of wild and ignorant barbarians.

The simple fact is, that this is one of those innumerable instances which teach us that no country can rise to eminence so long as the ecclesiastical power possesses much authority. For, the predominance of the spiritual classes is necessarily accompanied by a corresponding predominance of the topics in which those classes delight. Whenever the ecclesiastical profession is very influential, ecclesiastical literature will be very abundant, and what is called profane literature will be very scanty. Hence it occurred, that the minds of the French, being almost entirely occupied with religious disputes, had no leisure for those great inquiries into which we in England were beginning to enter;[14] and there was, as we shall presently see, an interval of a whole generation between the progress of the French and English intellects, simply because there was about the same interval between the progress of their scepticism. The theological literature, indeed, rapidly increased;[15] but it was not until the seventeenth century that France produced that great secular literature, the counterpart of which was to be found in England before the sixteenth century had come to a close.

Such was, in France, the natural consequence of the power of the church being prolonged beyond the period which the exigencies of society required. But while this was the intellectual result, the moral and physical results were still more serious. While the minds of men were thus heated by religious strife, it would have been idle to expect any of those maxims of charity to which theological faction is always a stranger. While the Protestants were murdering the Catholics,[16] and the Catholics murdering the Protestants, it was hardly likely that either sect should feel tolerance for the opinions of its enemy.[17] During the sixteenth century, treaties were occasionally made between the two parties; but they were only made to be immediately broken;[18] and, with the single exception of l'HÔpital, the bare idea of toleration does not seem to have entered the head of any statesman of the age. It was recommended by him;[19] but neither his splendid abilities, nor his unblemished integrity, could make head against the prevailing prejudices, and he eventually retired into private life without effecting any of his noble schemes.[20]

Indeed, in the leading events of this period of French history, the predominance of the theological spirit was painfully shown. It was shown in the universal determination to subordinate political acts to religious opinions.[21] It was shown in the conspiracy of Amboise, and in the conference of Poissy; and still more was it shown in those revolting crimes so natural to superstition, the massacres of Vassy and of St. Bartholomew, the murder of Guise by Poltrot, and of Henry III. by Clement. These were the legitimate results of the spirit of religious bigotry. They were the results of that accursed spirit, which, whenever it has had the power, has punished even to the death those who dared to differ from it; and which, now that the power has passed away, still continues to dogmatize on the most mysterious subjects, tamper with the most sacred principles of the human heart, and darken with its miserable superstitions those sublime questions that no one should rudely touch, because they are for each according to the measure of his own soul, because they lie in that unknown tract which separates the Finite from the Infinite, and because they are as a secret and individual covenant between Man and his God.

How long these sad days[22] would, in the ordinary course of affairs, have been prolonged in France, is a question which we now perhaps have no means of answering; though there is no doubt that the progress even of empirical knowledge must, according to the process already pointed out, have eventually sufficed to rescue so great a country from her degraded position. Fortunately, however, there now took place what we must be content to call an accident, but which was the beginning of a most important change. In the year 1589, Henry IV. ascended the throne of France. This great prince, who was far superior to any of the French sovereigns of the sixteenth century,[23] made small account of those theological disputes which his predecessors had thought to be of paramount importance. Before him, the kings of France, animated by the piety natural to the guardians of the church, had exerted all their authority to uphold the interests of the sacred profession. Francis I. said, that if his right hand were a heretic, he would cut it off.[24] Henry II., whose zeal was still greater,[25] ordered the judges to proceed against the Protestants, and publicly declared that he would ‘make the extirpation of the heretics his principal business.’[26] Charles IX., on the celebrated day of St. Bartholomew, attempted to relieve the church by destroying them at a single blow. Henry III. promised to ‘oppose heresy even at the risk of his life;’ for he said, ‘he could not find a prouder grave than amidst the ruins of heresy.’[27]

These were the opinions expressed, in the sixteenth century, by the heads of the oldest monarchy in Europe.[28] But with such feelings, the powerful intellect of Henry IV. had not the slightest sympathy. To suit the shifting politics of his age, he had already changed his religion twice; and he did not hesitate to change it a third time,[29] when he found that by doing so he could ensure tranquillity to his country. As he had displayed such indifference about his own creed, he could not with decency show much bigotry about the creed of his subjects.[30] We find, accordingly, that he was the author of the first public act of toleration which any government promulgated in France since Christianity had been the religion of the country. Only five years after he had solemnly abjured Protestantism, he published the celebrated Edict of Nantes,[31] by which, for the first time, a Catholic government granted to heretics a fair share of civil and religious rights. This was, unquestionably, the most important event that had yet occurred in the history of French civilization.[32] If it is considered by itself, it is merely an evidence of the enlightened principles of the king; but when we look at its general success, and at the cessation of religious war which followed it, we cannot fail to perceive that it was part of a vast movement, in which the people themselves participated. Those who recognize the truth of the principles I have laboured to establish, will expect that this great step towards religious liberty was accompanied by that spirit of scepticism, in the absence of which toleration has always been unknown. And that this was actually the case, may be easily proved by an examination of the transitionary state which France began to enter towards the end of the sixteenth century.

The writings of Rabelais are often considered to afford the first instance of religious scepticism in the French language.[33] But, after a tolerably intimate acquaintance with the works of this remarkable man, I have found nothing to justify such an opinion. He certainly treats the clergy with great disrespect, and takes every opportunity of covering them with ridicule.[34] His attacks, however, are always made upon their personal vices, and not upon that narrow and intolerant spirit to which those vices were chiefly to be ascribed. In not a single instance does he show any thing like consistent scepticism;[35] nor does he appear to be aware that the disgraceful lives of the French clergy were but the inevitable consequence of a system, which, corrupt as it was, still possessed every appearance of strength and vitality. Indeed, the immense popularity which he enjoyed is, almost of itself, a decisive consideration; since no one, who is well informed as to the condition of the French early in the sixteenth century, will believe it possible that a people, so sunk in superstition, should delight in a writer by whom superstition is constantly attacked.

But the extension of experience, and the consequent increase of knowledge, were preparing the way for a great change in the French intellect. The process, which had just taken place in England, was now beginning to take place in France; and in both countries the order of events was precisely the same. The spirit of doubt, hitherto confined to an occasional solitary thinker, gradually assumed a bolder form: first it found a vent in the national literature, and then it influenced the conduct of practical statesmen. That there was, in France, an intimate connexion between scepticism and toleration, is proved, not only by those general arguments which make us infer that such connexion must always exist, but also by the circumstance, that only a few years before the promulgation of the Edict of Nantes, there appeared the first systematic sceptic who wrote in the French language. The Essays of Montaigne were published in 1588,[36] and form an epoch, not only in the literature, but also in the civilization, of France. Putting aside personal peculiarities, which have less weight than is commonly supposed, it will be found that the difference between Rabelais and Montaigne is a measure of the difference between 1545[37] and 1588, and that it, in some degree, corresponds with the relation I have indicated between Jewel and Hooker, and between Hooker and Chillingworth. For, the law which governs all these relations is the law of a progressive scepticism. What Rabelais was to the supporters of theology, that was Montaigne to the theology itself. The writings of Rabelais were only directed against the clergy; but the writings of Montaigne were directed against the system of which the clergy were the offspring.[38] Under the guise of a mere man of the world, expressing natural thoughts in common language, Montaigne concealed a spirit of lofty and audacious inquiry.[39] Although he lacked that comprehensiveness which is the highest form of genius, he possessed other qualities essential to a great mind. He was very cautious, and yet he was very bold. He was cautious, since he would not believe strange things because they had been handed down by his forefathers; and he was bold, since he was undaunted by the reproaches with which the ignorant, who love to dogmatize, always cover those whose knowledge makes them ready to doubt.[40] These peculiarities would, in any age, have made Montaigne a useful man: in the sixteenth century they made him an important one. At the same time, his easy and amusing style[41] increased the circulation of his works, and thus contributed to popularize those opinions which he ventured to recommend for general adoption.

This, then, is the first open declaration of that scepticism, which, towards the end of the sixteenth century, publicly appeared in France.[42] During nearly three generations, it continued its course with a constantly increasing activity, and developed itself in a manner similar to that which took place in England. It will not be necessary to follow all the steps of this great process; but I will endeavour to trace those which, by their prominence, seem to be the most important.

A few years after the appearance of the Essays of Montaigne, there was published in France a work, which though now little read, possessed in the seventeenth century a reputation of the highest order. This was the celebrated Treatise on Wisdom, by Charron, in which we find, for the first time, an attempt made in a modern language to construct a system of morals without the aid of theology.[43] What rendered this book, in some respects, even more formidable than Montaigne's, was the air of gravity with which it was written. Charron was evidently deeply impressed with the importance of the task he had undertaken, and he is honourably distinguished from his contemporaries, by a remarkable purity both of language and of sentiment. His work is almost the only one of that age in which nothing can be found to offend the chastest ears. Although he borrowed from Montaigne innumerable illustrations,[44] he has carefully omitted those indecencies into which that otherwise charming writer was often betrayed. Besides this, there is about the work of Charron a systematic completeness which never fails to attract attention. In originality, he was, in some respects, inferior to Montaigne; but he had the advantage of coming after him, and there can be no doubt that he rose to an elevation which, to Montaigne, would have been inaccessible. Taking his stand, as it were, on the summit of knowledge, he boldly attempts to enumerate the elements of wisdom, and the conditions under which those elements will work. In the scheme which he thus constructs, he entirely omits theological dogmas;[45] and he treats with undissembled scorn many of those conclusions which the people had hitherto universally received. He reminds his countrymen that their religion is the accidental result of their birth and education, and that if they had been born in a Mohammedan country, they would have been as firm believers in Mohammedanism as they then were in Christianity.[46] From this consideration, he insists on the absurdity of their troubling themselves about the variety of creeds, seeing that such variety is the result of circumstances over which they have no control. Also it is to be observed, that each of these different religions declares itself to be the true one;[47] and all of them are equally based upon supernatural pretensions, such as mysteries, miracles, prophets, and the like.[48] It is because men forget these things, that they are the slaves of that confidence which is the great obstacle to all real knowledge, and which can only be removed by taking such a large and comprehensive view, as will show us how all nations cling with equal zeal to the tenets in which they have been educated.[49] And, says Charron, if we look a little deeper, we shall see that each of the great religions is built upon that which preceded it. Thus, the religion of the Jews is founded upon that of the Egyptians; Christianity is the result of Judaism; and, from these two last, there has naturally sprung Mohammedanism.[50] We, therefore, adds this great writer, should rise above the pretensions of hostile sects, and, without being terrified by the fear of future punishment, or allured by the hope of future happiness, we should be content with such practical religion as consists in performing the duties of life; and, uncontrolled by the dogmas of any particular creed, we should strive to make the soul retire inward upon itself, and by the efforts of its own contemplation, admire the ineffable grandeur of the Being of beings, the supreme cause of all created things.[51]

Such were the sentiments which, in the year 1601, were for the first time laid before the French people in their own mother-tongue.[52] The sceptical and secular spirit, of which they were the representatives, continued to increase; and, as the seventeenth century advanced, the decline of fanaticism, so far from being confined to a few isolated thinkers, gradually became common, even among ordinary politicians.[53] The clergy, sensible of the danger, wished the government to check the progress of inquiry;[54] and the pope himself, in a formal remonstrance with Henry, urged him to remedy the evil, by prosecuting the heretics, from whom he thought all the mischief had originally proceeded.[55] But this the king steadily refused. He saw the immense advantages that would arise, if he could weaken the ecclesiastical power by balancing the two sects against each other;[56] and therefore, though he was a Catholic, his policy rather leaned in favour of the Protestants, as being the weaker party.[57] He granted sums of money towards the support of their ministers and the repair of their churches;[58] he banished the Jesuits, who were their most dangerous enemies;[59] and he always had with him two representatives of the reformed church, whose business it was to inform him of any infraction of those edicts which he had issued in favour of their religion.[60]

Thus it was, that in France, as well as in England, toleration was preceded by scepticism; and thus it was, that out of this scepticism there arose the humane and enlightened measures of Henry IV. The great prince, by whom these things were effected, unhappily fell a victim to that fanatical spirit which he had done much to curb;[61] but the circumstances which occurred after his death, showed how great an impetus had been given to the age.

On the murder of Henry IV., in 1610, the government fell into the hands of the queen, who administered it during the minority of her son, Louis XIII. And it is a remarkable evidence of the direction which the mind was now taking, that she, though a weak and bigoted woman,[62] refrained from those persecutions which, only one generation before, had been considered a necessary proof of religious sincerity. That, indeed, must have been a movement of no common energy, which could force toleration, early in the seventeenth century, upon a princess of the house of Medici, an ignorant and superstitious Catholic, who had been educated in the midst of her priests, and had been accustomed to look for their applause as the highest object of earthly ambition.

Yet this was what actually occurred. The queen continued the ministers of Henry IV., and announced, that in every thing she would follow his example.[63] Her first public act was, a declaration, that the Edict of Nantes should be inviolably preserved; for, she says, ‘experience has taught our predecessors, that violence, so far from inducing men to return to the Catholic church, prevents them from doing so.’[64] Indeed, so anxious was she upon this point, that when Louis, in 1614, attained his nominal majority, the first act of his government was another confirmation of the Edict of Nantes.[65] And, in 1615, she caused the king, who still remained under her tutelage,[66] to issue a declaration, by which all preceding measures in favour of the Protestants were publicly confirmed.[67] In the same spirit, she, in 1611, wished to raise to the presidency of parliament the celebrated De Thou; and it was only by making a formal announcement of his heresy, that the pope succeeded in frustrating what he considered an impious design.[68]

The turn which things were now taking, caused no little alarm to the friends of the hierarchy. The most zealous churchmen loudly censured the policy of the queen; and a great historian has observed that when, during the reign of Louis XIII., such alarm was caused in Europe by the active encroachments of the ecclesiastical power, France was the first country that ventured to oppose them.[69] The nuncio openly complained to the queen of her conduct in favouring heretics; and he anxiously desired that those Protestant works should be suppressed, by which the consciences of true believers were greatly scandalized.[70] But these, and similar representations, were no longer listened to with the respect they would formerly have received; and the affairs of the country continued to be administered with those purely temporal views, on which the measures of Henry IV. had been avowedly based.[71]

Such was now the policy of the government of France; a government which, not many years before, had considered it the great duty of a sovereign to punish heretics and extirpate heresy. That this continued improvement was merely the result of the general intellectual development, is evident, not only from its success, but also from the character of the queen-regent and the king. No one who has read the contemporary memoirs, can deny that Mary de Medici and Louis XIII. were as superstitious as any of their predecessors; and it is, therefore, evident, that this disregard of theological prejudices was due, not to their own personal merits, but to the advancing knowledge of the country, and to the pressure of an age which, in the rapidity of its progress, hurried along those who believed themselves to be its rulers.

But these considerations, weighty as they are, will only slightly diminish the merit of that remarkable man, who now appeared on the stage of public affairs. During the last eighteen years of the reign of Louis XIII., France was entirely governed by Richelieu,[72] one of that extremely small class of statesmen to whom it is given to impress their own character on the destiny of their country. This great ruler has, in his knowledge of the political art, probably never been surpassed, except by that prodigy of genius who, in our time, troubled the fortunes of Europe. But, in one important view, Richelieu was superior to Napoleon. The life of Napoleon was a constant effort to oppress the liberties of mankind; and his unrivalled capacity exhausted its resources in struggling against the tendencies of a great age. Richelieu, too, was a despot; but his despotism took a nobler turn. He displayed, what Napoleon never possessed, a just appreciation of the spirit of his own time. In one great point, indeed, he failed. His attempts to destroy the power of the French nobility were altogether futile;[73] for, owing to a long course of events, the authority of that insolent class was so deeply rooted in the popular mind, that the labours of another century were required to efface its ancient influence. But, though Richelieu could not diminish the social and moral weight of the French nobles, he curtailed their political privileges; and he chastised their crimes with a severity which, for a time at least, repressed their former license.[74] So little, however, can even the ablest statesman effect, unless he is seconded by the general temper of the age in which he lives, that these checks, rude as they were, produced no permanent result. After his death, the French nobles, as we shall presently see, quickly rallied; and, in the wars of the Fronde, debased that great struggle into a mere contest of rival families. Nor was it until the close of the eighteenth century, that France was finally relieved from the overweening influence of that powerful class, whose selfishness had long retarded the progress of civilization, by retaining the people in a thraldom, from the remote effects of which they have not yet fully recovered.

Although in this respect Richelieu failed in achieving his designs, he in other matters met with signal success. This was owing to the fact, that his large and comprehensive views harmonized with that sceptical tendency, of which I have just given some account. For this remarkable man, though he was a bishop and a cardinal, never for a moment allowed the claims of his profession to make him forego the superior claims of his country. He knew, what is too often forgotten, that the governor of a people should measure affairs solely by a political standard, and should pay no regard to the pretensions of any sect, or the propagation of any opinions, except in reference to the present and practical welfare of men. The consequence was, that, during his administration, there was seen the marvellous spectacle of supreme authority wielded by a priest, who took no pains to increase the power of the spiritual classes. Indeed, so far from this, he often treated them with what was then considered unexampled rigour. The royal confessors, on account of the importance of their functions, had always been regarded with a certain veneration; they were supposed to be men of unspotted piety; they had hitherto possessed immense influence, and even the most powerful statesmen had thought it advisable to show them the deference due to their exalted position.[75] Richelieu, however, was too familiar with the arts of his profession, to feel much respect for these keepers of the consciences of kings. Caussin, the confessor of Louis XIII., had, it seems, followed the example of his predecessors, and endeavoured to instill his own views of policy into the mind of the royal penitent.[76] But Richelieu, so soon as he heard of this, dismissed him from office, and sent him into exile; for, he contemptuously says, ‘the little father Caussin’ should not interfere in matters of government, since he is one of those ‘who have always been brought up in the innocence of a religious life.’[77] Caussin was succeeded by the celebrated Sirmond; but Richelieu would not allow the new confessor to begin his duties, until he had solemnly promised never to interfere in state affairs.[78]

On another occasion of much more importance, Richelieu displayed a similar spirit. The French clergy were then possessed of enormous wealth; and, as they enjoyed the privilege of taxing themselves, they were careful not to make what they considered unnecessary contributions towards defraying the expenses of the state. They had cheerfully advanced money to carry on war against the Protestants, because they believed it to be their duty to assist in the extirpation of heresy.[79] But they saw no reason why their revenues should be wasted in effecting mere temporal benefits; they considered themselves as the guardians of funds set apart for spiritual purposes, and they thought it impious that wealth consecrated by the piety of their ancestors should fall into the profane hands of secular statesmen. Richelieu, who looked on these scruples as the artifices of interested men, had taken a very different view of the relation which the clergy bore to the country.[80] So far from thinking that the interests of the church were superior to those of the state, he laid it down as a maxim of policy, that ‘the reputation of the state was the first consideration.’[81] With such fearlessness did he carry out this principle, that having convoked at Nantes a great assembly of the clergy, he compelled them to aid the government by an extraordinary supply of 6,000,000 francs; and finding that some of the highest dignitaries had expressed their discontent at so unusual a step, he laid hands on them also, and to the amazement of the church, sent into exile not only four of the bishops, but likewise the two archbishops of Toulouse and of Sens.[82]

If these things had been done fifty years earlier, they would most assuredly have proved fatal to the minister who dared to attempt them. But Richelieu, in these and similar measures, was aided by the spirit of an age which was beginning to despise its ancient masters. For this general tendency was now becoming apparent, not only in literature and in politics, but even in the proceedings of the ordinary tribunals. The nuncio indignantly complained of the hostility displayed against ecclesiastics by the French judges; and he said that, among other shameful things, some clergymen had been hung, without being first deprived of their spiritual character.[83] On other occasions, the increasing contempt showed itself in a way well suited to the coarseness of the prevailing manners. Sourdis, the archbishop of Bourdeaux, was twice ignominiously beaten; once by the Duke d'Epernon, and afterwards by the MarÉchal de Vitry.[84] Nor did Richelieu, who usually treated the nobles with such severity, seem anxious to punish this gross outrage. Indeed, the archbishop not only received no sympathy, but, a few years later, was peremptorily ordered by Richelieu to retire to his own diocese; such, however, was his alarm at the state of affairs, that he fled to Carpentras, and put himself under the protection of the pope.[85] This happened in 1641 and nine years earlier, the church had incurred a still greater scandal. For in 1632, serious disturbances having arisen in Languedoc, Richelieu did not fear to meet the difficulty by depriving some of the bishops, and seizing the temporalities of the others.[86]

The indignation of the clergy may be easily imagined. Such repeated injuries, even if they had proceeded from a layman, would have been hard to endure; but they were rendered doubly bitter by being the work of one of themselves—one who had been nurtured in the profession against which he turned. This it was which aggravated the offence, because it seemed to be adding treachery to insult. It was not a war from without, but it was a treason from within. It was a bishop who humbled the episcopacy, and a cardinal who affronted the church.[87] Such, however, was the general temper of men, that the clergy did not venture to strike an open blow; but, by means of their partisans, they scattered the most odious libels against the great minister. They said that he was unchaste, that he was guilty of open debauchery, and that he held incestuous commerce with his own niece.[88] They declared that he had no religion; that he was only a Catholic in name; that he was the pontiff of the Huguenots; that he was the patriarch of atheists;[89] and what was worse than all, they even accused him of wishing to establish a schism in the French church.[90] Happily the time was now passing away in which the national mind could be moved by such artifices as these. Still the charges are worth recording, because they illustrate the tendency of public affairs, and the bitterness with which the spiritual classes saw the reins of power falling from their hands. Indeed, all this was so manifest, that in the last civil war raised against Richelieu, only two years before his death, the insurgents stated in their proclamation, that one of their objects was to revive the respect with which the clergy and nobles had formerly been treated.[91]

The more we study the career of Richelieu, the more prominent does this antagonism become. Every thing proves that he was conscious of a great struggle going on between the old ecclesiastical scheme of government and the new secular scheme; and that he was determined to put down the old plan, and uphold the new one. For, not only in his domestic administration, but also in his foreign policy, do we find the same unprecedented disregard of theological interests. The House of Austria, particularly its Spanish branch, had long been respected by all pious men as the faithful ally of the church; it was looked upon as the scourge of heresy; and its proceedings against the heretics had won for it a great name in ecclesiastical history.[92] When, therefore, the French government, in the reign of Charles IX., made a deliberate attempt to destroy the Protestants, France naturally established an intimate connexion with Spain as well as with Rome;[93] and these three great powers were firmly united, not by a community of temporal interests, but by the force of a religious compact. This theological confederacy was afterwards broken up by the personal character of Henry IV.,[94] and by the growing indifference of the age; but during the minority of Louis XIII., the queen-regent had in some degree renewed it, and had attempted to revive the superstitious prejudices upon which it was based.[95] In all her feelings, she was a zealous Catholic; she was warmly attached to Spain; and she succeeded in marrying her son, the young king, to a Spanish princess, and her daughter to a Spanish prince.[96]

It might have been expected that when Richelieu, a great dignitary of the Romish church, was placed at the head of affairs, he would have reËstablished a connexion so eagerly desired by the profession to which he belonged.[97] But his conduct was not regulated by such views as these. His object was, not to favour the opinions of a sect, but to promote the interests of a nation. His treaties, his diplomacy, and the schemes of his foreign alliances, were all directed, not against the enemies of the church, but against the enemies of France. By erecting this new standard of action, Richelieu took a great step towards secularizing the whole system of European politics. For he thus made the theoretical interests of men subordinate to their practical interests. Before his time, the rulers of France, in order to punish their Protestant subjects, had not hesitated to demand the aid of the Catholic troops of Spain; and in so doing, they merely acted upon the old opinion, that it was the chief duty of a government to suppress heresy. This pernicious doctrine was first openly repudiated by Richelieu. As early as 1617, and before he had established his power, he, in an instruction to one of the foreign ministers which is still extant, laid it down as a principle, that, in matters of state, no Catholic ought to prefer a Spaniard to a French Protestant.[98] To us, indeed, in the progress of society, such preference of the claims of our country to those of our creed, has become a matter of course; but in those days it was a startling novelty.[99] Richelieu, however, did not fear to push the paradox even to its remotest consequences. The Catholic church justly considered that its interests were bound up with those of the House of Austria;[100] but Richelieu, directly he was called to the council, determined to humble that house in both its branches.[101] To effect this, he openly supported the bitterest enemies of his own religion. He aided the Lutherans against the Emperor of Germany; he aided the Calvinists against the king of Spain. During the eighteen years he was supreme, he steadily pursued the same undeviating policy.[102] When Philip attempted to repress the Dutch Protestants, Richelieu made common cause with them; at first, advancing them large sums of money, and afterwards inducing the French king to sign a treaty of intimate alliance with those who, in the opinion of the church, he ought rather to have chastized as rebellious heretics.[103] In the same way, when that great war broke out, in which the emperor attempted to subjugate to the true faith the consciences of German Protestants, Richelieu stood forward as their protector; he endeavoured from the beginning to save their leader the Palatine;[104] and, failing in that, he concluded in their favour an alliance with Gustavus Adolphus,[105] the ablest military commander the Reformers had then produced. Nor did he stop there. After the death of Gustavus, he, seeing that the Protestants were thus deprived of their great leader, made still more vigorous efforts in their favour.[106] He intrigued for them in foreign courts; he opened negotiations in their behalf; and eventually he organized for their protection a public confederacy, in which all ecclesiastical considerations were set at defiance. This league, which formed an important precedent in the international polity of Europe, was not only contracted by Richelieu with the two most powerful enemies of his own church, but it was, from its tenor, what Sismondi emphatically calls a ‘Protestant confederation’—a Protestant confederation, he says, between France, England, and Holland.[107]

These things alone would have made the administration of Richelieu a great epoch in the history of European civilization. For his government affords the first example of an eminent Catholic statesman systematically disregarding ecclesiastical interests, and showing that disregard in the whole scheme of his foreign, as well as of his domestic, policy. Some instances, indeed, approaching to this, may be found, at an earlier period, among the petty rulers of Italian states; but, even there, such attempts have never been successful; they had never been continued for any length of time, nor had they been carried out on a scale large enough to raise them to the dignity of international precedents. The peculiar glory of Richelieu is, that his foreign policy was, not occasionally, but invariably, governed by temporal considerations; nor do I believe that, during the long tenure of his power, there is to be found the least proof of his regard for those theological interests, the promotion of which had long been looked upon as a matter of paramount importance. By thus steadily subordinating the church to the state; by enforcing the principle of this subordination, on a large scale, with great ability, and with unvarying success, he laid the foundation of that purely secular polity, the consolidation of which has, since his death, been the aim of all the best European diplomatists. The result was a most salutary change, which had been for some time preparing, but which, under him, was first completed. For, by the introduction of this system, an end was put to religious wars; and the chances of peace were increased, by thus removing one of the causes to which the interruption of peace had often been owing.[108] At the same time, there was prepared the way for that final separation of theology from politics, which it will be the business of future generations fully to achieve. How great a step had been taken in this direction, appears from the facility with which the operations of Richelieu were continued by men every way his inferiors. Less than two years after his death, there was assembled the Congress of Westphalia;[109] the members of which concluded that celebrated peace, which is remarkable, as being the first comprehensive attempt to adjust the conflicting interests of the leading European countries.[110] In this important treaty, ecclesiastical interests were altogether disregarded;[111] and the contracting parties, instead of, as heretofore, depriving each other of their possessions, took the bolder course of indemnifying themselves at the expense of the church, and did not hesitate to seize her revenues, and secularize several of her bishoprics.[112] From this grievous insult, which became a precedent in the public law of Europe, the spiritual power has never recovered; and it is remarked by a very competent authority that, since that period, diplomatists have, in their official acts, neglected religious interests, and have preferred the advocacy of matters relating to the commerce and colonies of their respective countries.[113] The truth of this observation is confirmed by the interesting fact, that the Thirty Years' War, to which this same treaty put an end, is the last great religious war which has ever been waged;[114] no civilized people, during two centuries, having thought it worth while to peril their own safety in order to disturb the belief of their neighbours. This, indeed, is but a part of that vast secular movement, by which superstition has been weakened, and the civilization of Europe secured. Without, however, discussing that subject, I will now endeavour to show how the policy of Richelieu, in regard to the French Protestant church, corresponded with his policy in regard to the French Catholic church; so, that, in both departments, this great statesman, aided by that progress of knowledge for which his age was remarkable, was able to struggle with prejudices from which men, slowly and with infinite difficulty, were attempting to emerge.

The treatment of the French Protestants by Richelieu is, undoubtedly, one of the most honourable parts of his system; and in it, as in other liberal measures, he was assisted by the course of preceding events. His administration, taken in connexion with that of Henry IV. and the queen-regent, presents the noble spectacle of a toleration far more complete than any which had then been seen in Catholic Europe. While in other Christian countries, men were being incessantly persecuted, simply because they held opinions different from those professed by the established clergy, France refused to follow the general example, and protected those heretics whom the church was eager to punish. Indeed, not only were they protected, but, when they possessed abilities, they were openly rewarded. In addition to their appointments to civil offices, many of them were advanced to high military posts; and Europe beheld, with astonishment, the armies of the king of France led by heretical generals. Rohan, LesdiguiÈres, Chatillon, La Force, Bernard de Weimar, were among the most celebrated of the military leaders employed by Louis XIII.; and all of them were Protestants, as also were some younger, but distinguished officers, such as Gassion, Rantzau, Schomberg, and Turenne. For now, nothing was beyond the reach of men who, half a century earlier, would, on account of their heresies, have been persecuted to the death. Shortly before the accession of Louis XIII., LesdiguiÈres, the ablest general among the French Protestants, was made marshal of France.[115] Fourteen years later, the same high dignity was conferred upon two other Protestants, Chatillon and La Force; the former of whom is said to have been the most influential of the schismatics.[116] Both these appointments were in 1622;[117] and, in 1634, still greater scandal was caused by the elevation of Sully, who, notwithstanding his notorious heresy, also received the staff of marshal of France.[118] This was the work of Richelieu, and it gave serious offence to the friends of the church; but the great statesman paid so little attention to their clamour, that, after the civil war was concluded, he took another step equally obnoxious. The Duke de Rohan was the most active of all the enemies of the established church, and was looked up to by the Protestants as the main support of their party. He had taken up arms in their favour, and, declining to abandon his religion, had, by the fate of war, been driven from France. But Richelieu, who was acquainted with his ability, cared little about his opinions. He, therefore, recalled him from exile, employed him in a negotiation with Switzerland, and sent him on foreign service, as commander of one of the armies of the king of France.[119]

Such were the tendencies which characterized this new state of things. It is hardly necessary to observe how beneficial this great change must have been; since by it men were encouraged to look to their country as the first consideration, and, discarding their old disputes, Catholic soldiers were taught to obey heretical generals, and follow their standards to victory. In addition to this, the mere social amalgamation, arising from the professors of different creeds mixing in the same camp, and fighting under the same banner, must have still further aided to disarm the mind, partly by merging theological feuds in a common, and yet a temporal, object, and partly by showing to each sect, that their religious opponents were not entirely bereft of human virtue; that they still retained some of the qualities of men; and that it was even possible to combine the errors of heresy with all the capabilities of a good and competent citizen.[120]

But, while the hateful animosities by which France had long been distracted, were, under the policy of Richelieu, gradually subsiding, it is singular to observe that, though the prejudices of the Catholics obviously diminished, those of the Protestants seemed, for a time, to retain all their activity. It is, indeed, a striking proof of the perversity and pertinacity of such feelings, that it was precisely in the country, and at the period, when the Protestants were best treated, that they displayed most turbulence. And in this, as in all such cases, the cause principally at work was the influence of that class to which circumstances, I will now explain, had secured a temporary ascendency.

For, the diminution of the theological spirit had effected in the Protestants a remarkable but a very natural result. The increasing toleration of the French government had laid open to their leaders prizes which before they could never have obtained. As long as all offices were refused to the Protestant nobles, it was natural that they should cling with the greater zeal to their own party, by whom alone their virtues were acknowledged. But, when the principle was once recognised, that the state would reward men for their abilities, without regard to their religion, there was introduced into every sect a new element of discord. The leaders of the Reformers could not fail to feel some gratitude, or, at all events, some interest for the government which employed them; and the influence of temporal considerations being thus strengthened, the influence of religious ties must have been weakened. It is impossible that opposite feelings should be paramount, at the same moment, in the same mind. The further men extend their view, the less they care for each of the details of which the view is composed. Patriotism is a corrective of superstition; and the more we feel for our country, the less we feel for our sect. Thus it is, that in the progress of civilization, the scope of the intellect is widened; its horizon is enlarged; its sympathies are multiplied; and, as the range of its excursions is increased, the tenacity of its grasp is slackened, until, at length, it begins to perceive that the infinite variety of circumstances necessarily causes an infinite variety of opinions; that a creed, which is good and natural for one man, may be bad and unnatural for another; and that, so far from interfering with the march of religious convictions, we should be content to look into ourselves, search our own hearts, purge our own souls, soften the evil of our own passions, and extirpate that insolent and intolerant spirit, which is at once the cause and the effect of all theological controversy.

It was in this direction, that a prodigious step was taken by the French in the first half of the seventeenth century. Unfortunately, however, the advantages which arose were accompanied by serious drawbacks. From the introduction of temporal considerations among the Protestant leaders, there occurred two results of considerable importance. The first result was, that many of the Protestants changed their religion. Before the Edict of Nantes, they had been constantly persecuted, and had, as constantly, increased.[121] But, under the tolerant policy of Henry IV. and Louis XIII., they continued to diminish.[122] Indeed, this was the natural consequence of the growth of that secular spirit which, in every country, has assuaged religious animosities. For, by the action of that spirit, the influence of social and political views began to outweigh those theological views to which the minds of men had long been confined. As these temporal ties increased in strength, there was, of course, generated among the rival factions an increased tendency to assimilate; while, as the Catholics were not only much more numerous, but in every respect, more influential, than their opponents, they reaped the benefit of this movement, and gradually drew over to their side many of their former enemies. That this absorption of the smaller sect into the larger, is due to the cause I have mentioned, is rendered still more evident by the interesting fact, that the change began among the heads of the party; and that it was not the inferior Protestants who first abandoned their leaders, but it was rather the leaders who deserted their followers. This was because the leaders, being more educated than the great body of the people, were more susceptible to the sceptical movement, and therefore set the example of an indifference to disputes which still engrossed the popular mind. As soon as this indifference had reached a certain point, the attractions offered by the conciliating policy of Louis XIII. became irresistible; and the Protestant nobles, in particular, being most exposed to political temptations, began to alienate themselves from their own party, in order to form an alliance with a court which showed itself ready to reward their merits.

It is, of course, impossible to fix the exact period at which this important change took place.[123] But we may say with certainty, that very early in the reign of Louis XIII. many of the Protestant nobles cared nothing for their religion, while the remainder of them ceased to feel that interest in it which they had formerly expressed. Indeed, some of the most eminent of them openly abandoned their creed, and joined that very church which they had been taught to abhor as the man of sin, and the whore of Babylon. The Duke de LesdiguiÈres, the greatest of all the Protestant generals,[124] became a Catholic, and, as a reward for his conversion, was made constable of France.[125] The Duke de la Tremouille adopted the same course;[126] as also did the Duke de la Meilleraye,[127] the Duke de Bouillon,[128] and a few years later the Marquis de Montausier.[129] These illustrious nobles were among the most powerful of the members of the Reformed communion; but they quitted it without compunction, sacrificing their old associations in favour of the opinions professed by the state. Among the other men of high rank, who still remained nominally connected with the French Protestants, we find a similar spirit. We find them lukewarm respecting matters, for which, if they had been born fifty years earlier, they would have laid down their lives. The MarÉchal de Bouillon, who professed himself to be a Protestant, was unwilling to change his religion; but he so comported himself as to show that he considered its interests as subordinate to political considerations.[130] A similar remark has been made by the French historians concerning the Duke de Sully and the Marquis de Chatillon, both of whom, though they were members of the Reformed church, displayed a marked indifference to those theological interests which had formerly been objects of supreme importance.[131] The result was, that when, in 1621, the Protestants began their civil war against the government, it was found that of all their great leaders, two only, Rohan and his brother Soubise, were prepared to risk their lives in support of their religion.[132]

Thus it was, that the first great consequence of the tolerating policy of the French government was to deprive the Protestants of the support of their former leaders, and, in several instances, even to turn their sympathies on the side of the Catholic church. But the other consequence, to which I have alluded, was one of far greater moment. The growing indifference of the higher classes of Protestants threw the management of their party into the hands of the clergy. The post, which was deserted by the secular leaders, was naturally seized by the spiritual leaders. And as, in every sect, the clergy, as a body, have always been remarkable for their intolerance of opinions different to their own, it followed, that this change infused into the now mutilated ranks of the Protestants an acrimony not inferior to that of the worst times of the sixteenth century.[133] Hence it was, that by a singular, but perfectly natural combination, the Protestants, who professed to take their stand on the right of private judgment, became, early in the seventeenth century, more intolerant than the Catholics, who based their religion on the dictates of an infallible church.

This is one of the many instances which show how superficial is the opinion of those speculative writers, who believe that the Protestant religion is necessarily more liberal than the Catholic. If those who adopt this view had taken the pains to study the history of Europe in its original sources, they would have learned, that the liberality of every sect depends, not at all on its avowed tenets, but on the circumstances in which it is placed, and on the amount of authority possessed by its priesthood. The Protestant religion is, for the most part, more tolerant than the Catholic, simply because the events which have given rise to Protestantism have at the same time increased the play of the intellect, and therefore lessened the power of the clergy. But whoever has read the works of the great Calvinist divines, and above all, whoever has studied their history, must know, that in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the desire of persecuting their opponents burnt as hotly among them, as it did among any of the Catholics even in the worst days of the papal dominion. This is a mere matter of fact, of which any one may satisfy himself, by consulting the original documents of those times. And even now, there is more superstition, more bigotry, and less of the charity of real religion, among the lower order of Scotch Protestants, than there is among the lower order of French Catholics. Yet for one intolerant passage in Protestant theology, it would be easy to point out twenty in Catholic theology. The truth, however, is, that the actions of men are governed, not by dogmas, and text-books, and rubrics, but by the opinions and habits of their contemporaries, by the general spirit of their age, and by the character of those classes who are in the ascendant. This seems to be the origin of that difference between religious theory and religious practice, of which theologians greatly complain as a stumbling-block and an evil. For, religious theories being preserved in books, in a doctrinal and dogmatic form, remain a perpetual witness, and, therefore cannot be changed without incurring the obvious charge of inconsistency, or of heresy. But the practical part of every religion, its moral, political, and social workings, embrace such an immense variety of interests, and have to do with such complicated and shifting agencies, that it is hopeless to fix them by formularies: they, even in the most rigid systems, are left, in a great measure, to private discretion; and, being almost entirely unwritten, they lack those precautions by which the permanence of dogmas is effectually secured.[134] Hence it is, that while the religious doctrines professed by a people in their national creed are no criterion of their civilization, their religious practice is, on the other hand, so pliant and so capable of adaptation to social wants, that it forms one of the best standards by which the spirit of any age can be measured.

It is on account of these things, that we ought not to be surprised that, during many years, the French Protestants, who affected to appeal to the right of private judgment, were more intolerant of the exercise of that judgment by their adversaries than were the Catholics; although the Catholics, by recognising an infallible church, ought, in consistency, to be superstitious, and may be said to inherit intolerance as their natural birthright.[135] Thus, while the Catholics were theoretically more bigoted than the Protestants, the Protestants became practically more bigoted than the Catholics. The Protestants continued to insist upon that right of private judgment in religion, which the Catholics continued to deny. Yet, such was the force of circumstances, that each sect, in its practice, contradicted its own dogma, and acted as if it had embraced the dogma of its opponents. The cause of this change was very simple. Among the French, the theological spirit, as we have already seen, was decaying; and the decline of the influence of the clergy was, as invariably happens, accompanied by an increase of toleration. But, among the French Protestants, this partial diminution of the theological spirit had produced different consequences; because it had brought about a change of leaders, which threw the command into the hands of the clergy, and, by increasing their power, provoked a reaction, and revived those very feelings to the decay of which the reaction owed its origin. This seems to explain how it is, that a religion, which is not protected by the government, usually displays greater energy and greater vitality than one which is so protected. In the progress of society, the theological spirit first declines among the most educated classes; and then it is that the government can step in, as it does in England, and, controlling the clergy, make the church a creature of the state; thus weakening the ecclesiastical element by tempering it with secular considerations. But, when the state refuses to do this, the reins of power, as they fall from the hands of the upper classes, are seized by the clergy, and there arises a state of things of which the French Protestants in the seventeenth century, and the Irish Catholics in our own time, form the best illustration. In such cases, it will always happen, that the religion which is tolerated by the government, though not fully recognised by it, will the longest retain its vitality; because its priesthood, neglected by the state, must cling closer to the people, in whom alone is the source of their power.[136] On the other hand, in a religion which is favoured and richly endowed by the state, the union between the priesthood and inferior laity will be less intimate; the clergy will look to the government as well as to the people; and the interference of political views, of considerations of temporal expediency, and, if it may be added without irreverence, the hopes of promotion will secularize the ecclesiastical spirit,[137] and, according to the process I have already traced, will thus hasten the march of toleration.

These generalizations, which account for a great part of the present superstition of the Irish Catholics, will also account for the former superstition of the French Protestants. In both cases, the government disdaining the supervision of an heretical religion, allowed supreme authority to fall into the hands of the priesthood, who stimulated the bigotry of men, and encouraged them in a hatred of their opponents. What the results of this are in Ireland, is best known to those of our statesmen, who, with unusual candour, have declared Ireland to be their greatest difficulty. What the results were in France, we will now endeavour to ascertain.

The conciliating spirit of the French government having drawn over to its side some of the most eminent of the French Protestants, and having disarmed the hostility of others, the leadership of the party fell, as we have already seen, into the hands of those inferior men, who displayed in their new position the intolerance characteristic of their order. Without pretending to write a history of the odious feuds that now arose, I will lay before the reader some evidence of their increasing bitterness; and I will point out a few of the steps by which the angry feelings of religious controversy became so inflamed, that at length they kindled a civil war, which nothing but the improved temper of the Catholics prevented from being as sanguinary as were the horrible struggles of the sixteenth century. For, when the French Protestants became governed by men whose professional habits made them consider heresy to be the greatest of crimes, there naturally sprung up a missionary and proselytizing spirit, which induced them to interfere with the religion of the Catholics, and, under the old pretence of turning them from the error of their ways, revived those animosities which the progress of knowledge tended to appease. And as, under such guidance, these feelings quickly increased, the Protestants soon learned to despise that great Edict of Nantes, by which their liberties were secured; and they embarked in a dangerous contest, in which their object was, not to protect their own religion, but to weaken the religion of that very party to whom they owed a toleration, which had been reluctantly conceded by the prejudices of the age.

It was stipulated, in the Edict of Nantes, that the Protestants should enjoy the full exercise of their religion; and this right they continued to possess until the reign of Louis XIV. To this there were added several other privileges, such as no Catholic Government, except that of France, would then have granted to its heretical subjects. But these things did not satisfy the desires of the Protestant clergy. They were not content to exercise their own religion, unless they could also trouble the religion of others. Their first step was, to call upon the government to limit the performance of those rites which the French Catholics had long revered as emblems of the national faith. For this purpose, directly after the death of Henry IV. they held a great assembly at Saumur, in which they formally demanded that no Catholic processions should be allowed in any town, place, or castle occupied by the Protestants.[138] As the government did not seem inclined to countenance this monstrous pretension, these intolerant sectaries took the law into their own hands. They not only attacked the Catholic processions wherever they met them, but they subjected the priests to personal insults, and even endeavoured to prevent them from administering the sacrament to the sick. If a Catholic clergyman was engaged in burying the dead, the Protestants were sure to be present, interrupting the funeral, turning the ceremonies into ridicule, and attempting, by their clamour, to deaden the voice of the minister, so that the service performed in the church should not be heard.[139] Nor did they always confine themselves even to such demonstrations as these. For, certain towns having been, perhaps imprudently, placed under their control, they exercised their authority in them with the most wanton insolence. At La Rochelle, which for importance was the second city in the kingdom, they would not permit the Catholics to have even a single church in which to celebrate what for centuries had been the sole religion of France, and was still the religion of an enormous majority of Frenchmen.[140] This, however, only formed part of a system, by which the Protestant clergy hoped to trample on the rights of their fellow-subjects. In 1619, they ordered in their general assembly at Loudun, that in none of the Protestant towns should there be a sermon preached by a Jesuit, or indeed by any ecclesiastical person commissioned by a bishop.[141] In another assembly, they forbade any Protestant even to be present at a baptism, or at a marriage, or at a funeral, if the ceremony was performed by a Catholic priest.[142] And, as if to cut off all hope of reconciliation, they not only vehemently opposed those intermarriages between the two parties, by which, in every Christian country, religious animosities have been softened, but they publicly declared, that they would withhold the sacrament from any parents whose children were married into a Catholic family.[143] Not, however, to accumulate unnecessary evidence, there is one other circumstance worth relating, as a proof of the spirit with which these and similar regulations were enforced. When Louis XIII., in 1620, visited Pau, he was not only treated with indignity, as being an heretical prince, but he found that the Protestants had not left him a single church, not one place, in which the king of France, in his own territory, could perform those devotions which he believed necessary for his future salvation.[144]

This was the way in which the French Protestants, influenced by their new leaders, treated the first Catholic government which abstained from persecuting them; the first which not only allowed them the free exercise of their religion, but even advanced many of them to offices of trust and of honour.[145] All this, however, was only of a piece with the rest of their conduct. They, who in numbers and in intellect formed a miserable minority of the French nation, claimed a power which the majority had abandoned, and refused to concede to others the toleration they themselves enjoyed. Several persons, who had joined their party, now quitted it, and returned to the Catholic church; but for exercising this undoubted right, they were insulted by the Protestant clergy in the grossest manner, with every term of opprobrium and abuse.[146] For those who resisted their authority, no treatment was considered too severe. In 1612, Ferrier, a man of some reputation in his own day, having disobeyed their injunctions, was ordered to appear before one of their synods. The gist of his offence was, that he had spoken contemptuously of ecclesiastical assemblies; and to this there were, of course, added those accusations against his moral conduct, with which theologians often attempt to blacken the character of their opponents.[147] Readers of ecclesiastical history are too familiar with such charges to attach any importance to them; but as, in this case, the accused was tried by men who were at once his prosecutors, his enemies, and his judges, the result was easy to anticipate. In 1613 Ferrier was excommunicated, and the excommunication was publicly proclaimed in the church of NÎmes. In this sentence, which is still extant, he is declared by the clergy to be ‘a scandalous man, a person incorrigible, impenitent and ungovernable.’ We, therefore, they add, ‘in the name and power of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the conduct of the Holy Ghost, and with authority from the church, have cast, and do now cast and throw him out of the society of the faithful, that he may be delivered up unto Satan.’[148]

That he may be delivered up unto Satan! This was the penalty which a handful of clergymen, in a corner of France, thought they could inflict on a man who dared to despise their authority. In our time such an anathema would only excite derision;[149] but, early in the seventeenth century, the open promulgation of it was enough to ruin any private person against whom it might be directed. And they whose studies have enabled them to take the measure of the ecclesiastical spirit will easily believe that, in that age, the threat did not remain a dead letter. The people, inflamed by their clergy, rose against Ferrier, attacked his family, destroyed his property, sacked and gutted his houses, and demanded with loud cries, that the ‘traitor Judas’ should be given up to them. The unhappy man, with the greatest difficulty, effected his escape; but though he saved his life by flying in the dead of the night, he was obliged to abandon for ever his native town, as he dared not return to a place where he had provoked so active and so implacable a party.[150]

Into other matters, and even into those connected with the ordinary functions of government, the Protestants carried the same spirit. Although they formed so small a section of the people, they attempted to control the administration of the crown, and, by the use of threats, turn all its acts to their own favour. They would not allow the state to determine what ecclesiastical councils it should recognize; they would not even permit the king to choose his own wife. In 1615, without the least pretence of complaint, they assembled in large numbers at Grenoble and at NÎmes.[151] The deputies of Grenoble insisted that government should refuse to acknowledge the Council of Trent;[152] and both assemblies ordered that the Protestants should prevent the marriage of Louis XIII. with a Spanish princess.[153] They laid similar claims to interfere with the disposal of civil and military offices. Shortly after the death of Henry IV., they, in an assembly at Saumur, insisted that Sully should be restored to some posts from which, in their opinion, he had been unjustly removed.[154] In 1619, another of their assemblies at London declared, that as one of the Protestant councillors of the Parliament of Paris had become a Catholic, he must be dismissed; and they demanded that, for the same reason, the government of Lectoure should be taken from Fontrailles, he also having adopted the not infrequent example of abandoning his sect in order to adopt a creed sanctioned by the state.[155]

By way of aiding all this, and with the view of exasperating still further religious animosities, the principal Protestant clergy put forth a series of works, which, for bitterness of feeling, have hardly ever been equalled, and which it would certainly be impossible to surpass. The intense hatred with which they regarded their Catholic countrymen can only be fully estimated by those who have looked into the pamphlets written by the French Protestants during the first half of the seventeenth century, or who have read the laboured and formal treatises of such men as Chamier, Drelincourt, Moulin, Thomson, and Vignier. Without, however, pausing on these, it will perhaps be thought sufficient if, for the sake of brevity, I follow the mere outline of political events. Great numbers of the Protestants had joined in the rebellion which, in 1615, was raised by CondÉ;[156] and, although they were then easily defeated, they seemed bent on trying the issue of a fresh struggle. In BÉarn, where they were unusually numerous,[157] they, even during the reign of Henry IV., had refused to tolerate the Catholic religion; ‘their fanatical clergy,’ says the historian of France, ‘declaring that it would be a crime to permit the idolatry of the mass.’[158] This charitable maxim they for many years actively enforced, seizing the property of the Catholic clergy, and employing it in support of their own churches;[159] so that, while in one part of the dominions of the king of France the Protestants were allowed to exercise their religion, they, in another part of his dominions, prevented the Catholics from exercising theirs. It was hardly to be expected that any government would suffer such an anomaly as this; and, in 1618, it was ordered that the Protestants should restore the plunder, and reinstate the Catholics in their former possessions. But the reformed clergy, alarmed at so sacrilegious a proposal, appointed a public fast, and inspiriting the people to resistance, forced the royal commissioner to fly from Pau, where he had arrived in the hope of effecting a peaceful adjustment of the claims of the rival parties.[160]

The rebellion thus raised by the zeal of the Protestants, was soon put down; but, according to the confession of Rohan, one of the ablest of their leaders, it was the beginning of all their misfortunes.[161] The sword had now been drawn; and the only question to be decided was, whether France should be governed according to the principles of toleration recently established, or according to the maxims of a despotic sect, which, while professing to advocate the right of private judgment, was acting in a way that rendered all private judgment impossible.

Scarcely was the war in BÉarn brought to an end, when the Protestants determined on making a great effort in the west of France.[162] The seat of this new struggle was Rochelle, which was one of the strongest fortresses in Europe, and was entirely in the hands of the Protestants,[163] who had grown wealthy, partly by their own industry and partly by following the occupation of public pirates.[164] In this city, which they believed to be impregnable,[165] they, in December, 1620, held a Great Assembly, to which their spiritual chiefs flocked from all parts of France. It was soon evident that their party was now governed by men who were bent on the most violent measures. Their great secular leaders were, as we have already seen, gradually falling off; and, by this time, there only remained two of much ability, Rohan and Mornay, both of whom saw the inexpediency of their proceedings, and desired that the assembly should peaceably separate.[166] But the authority of the clergy was irresistible; and, by their prayers and exhortations, they easily gained over the ordinary citizens, who were then a gross and uneducated body.[167] Under their influence, the Assembly adopted a course which rendered civil war inevitable. Their first act was an edict, by which they at once confiscated all the property belonging to Catholic churches.[168] They then caused a great seal to be struck; under the authority of which they ordered that the people should be armed, and taxes collected from them for the purpose of defending their religion.[169] Finally, they drew up the regulations, and organized the establishment of what they called the Reformed Churches of France and of BÉarn; and, with a view to facilitate the exercise of their spiritual jurisdiction, they parcelled out France into eight circles, to each of which there was allotted a separate general, who, however, was to be accompanied by a clergyman, since the administration, in all its parts, was held responsible to that ecclesiastical assembly which called it into existence.[170]

Such were the forms and pomp of authority assumed by the spiritual leaders of the French Protestants; men by nature destined to obscurity, and whose abilities were so despicable, that, notwithstanding their temporary importance, they have left no name in history. These insignificant priests, who, at the best, were only fit to mount the pulpit of a country village, now arrogated to themselves the right of ordering the affairs of France, imposing taxes upon Frenchmen, confiscating property, raising troops, levying war; and all this for the sake of propagating a creed, which was scouted by the country at large as a foul and mischievous heresy.

In the face of these inordinate pretensions, it was evident that the French government had no choice, except to abdicate its functions, or else take arms in its own defence.[171] Whatever may be the popular notion respecting the necessary intolerance of the Catholics, it is an indisputable fact, that, early in the seventeenth century, they displayed in France a spirit of forbearance, and a Christian charity, to which the Protestants could make no pretence. During the twenty-two years which elapsed between the Edict of Nantes and the Assembly of Rochelle, the government, notwithstanding repeated provocations, never attacked the Protestants;[172] nor did they make any attempt to destroy the privileges of a sect, which they were bound to consider heretical, and the extirpation of which had been deemed by their fathers to be one of the first duties of a Christian statesman.

The war that now broke out lasted seven years, and was uninterrupted, except by the short peace, first of Montpelier, and afterwards of Rochelle; neither of which, however, was very strictly preserved. But the difference in the views and intentions of the two parties corresponded to the difference between the classes which governed them. The Protestants, being influenced mainly by the clergy, made their object religious domination. The Catholics being led by statesmen, aimed at temporal advantages. Thus it was, that circumstances had in France so completely obliterated the original tendency of these two great sects, that, by a singular metamorphosis, the secular principle was now represented by the Catholics, and the theological principle by the Protestants. The authority of the clergy, and therefore the interests of superstition, were upheld by that very party which owed its origin to the diminution of both; they were, on the other hand, attacked by a party whose success had hitherto depended on the increase of both. If the Catholics triumphed, the ecclesiastical power would be weakened; if the Protestants triumphed, it would be strengthened. Of this fact, so far as the Protestants are concerned, I have just given ample proof, collected from their proceedings, and from the language of their own synods. And that the opposite, or secular principle, predominated among the Catholics, is evident, not only from their undeviating policy in the reigns of Henry IV. and Louis XIII., but also from another circumstance worthy of note. For, their motives were so obvious, and gave such scandal to the church, that the pope, as the great protector of religion, thought himself bound to reprehend that disregard of theological interests which they displayed, and which he considered to be a crying and unpardonable offence. In 1622, only one year after the struggle between the Protestants and Catholics had begun, he strongly remonstrated with the French government upon the notorious indecency of which they were guilty, in carrying on war against heretics, not for the purpose of suppressing the heresy, but merely with a view of procuring for the state those temporal advantages which, in the opinion of all pious men, ought to be regarded as of subordinate importance.[173]

If, at this juncture, the Protestants had carried the day, the loss to France would have been immense, perhaps irreparable. For no one, who is acquainted with the temper and character of the French Calvinists, can doubt, that if they had obtained possession of the government, they would have revived those religious persecutions which, so far as their power extended, they had already attempted to enforce. Not only in their writings, but even in the edicts of their assemblies, we find ample proof of that meddling and intolerant spirit which, in every age, has characterized ecclesiastical legislation. Indeed, such a spirit is the legitimate consequence of the fundamental assumption from which theological lawgivers usually start. The clergy are taught to consider that their paramount duty is to preserve the purity of the faith, and guard it against the invasions of heresy. Whenever, therefore, they rise to power, it almost invariably happens, that they carry into politics the habits they have contracted in their profession; and having long been accustomed to consider religious error as criminal, they now naturally attempt to make it penal. And as all the European countries have, in the period of their ignorance, been once ruled by the clergy, just so do we find in the law-books of every land those traces of their power which the progress of knowledge is gradually effacing. We find the professors of the dominant creed enacting laws against the professors of other creeds: laws sometimes to burn them, sometimes to exile them, sometimes to take away their civil rights, sometimes only to take away their political rights. These are the different gradations through which persecution passes; and by observing which, we may measure, in any country, the energy of the ecclesiastical spirit. At the same time, the theory by which such measures are supported generally gives rise to other measures of a somewhat different, though of an analogous character. For, by extending the authority of law to opinions as well as to acts, the basis of legislation becomes dangerously enlarged; the individuality and independence of each man are invaded; and encouragement is given to the enactment of intrusive and vexatious regulations, which are supposed to perform for morals the service that the other class of laws performs for religion. Under pretence of favouring the practice of virtue, and maintaining the purity of society, men are troubled in their most ordinary pursuits, in the commonest occurrences of life, in their amusements, nay, even in the very dress they may be inclined to wear. That this is what has actually been done, must be known to whoever has looked into the writings of the fathers, into the canons of Christian councils, into the different systems of ecclesiastical law, or into the sermons of the earlier clergy. Indeed, all this is so natural, that regulations, conceived in the same spirit, were drawn up for the government of Geneva by the Calvinist clergy, and for the government of England by Archbishop Cranmer and his coadjutors; while a tendency, precisely identical, may be observed in the legislation of the Puritans, and to give a still later instance, in that of the Methodists. It is, therefore, not surprising that, in France, the Protestant clergy, having great power among their own party, should enforce a similar discipline. Thus, to mention only a few examples, they forbade any one to go to a theatre, or even to witness the performance of private theatricals.[174] They looked upon dancing as an ungodly amusement, and, therefore, they not only strictly prohibited it, but they ordered that all dancing-masters should be admonished by the spiritual power, and desired to abandon so unchristian a profession. If, however, the admonition failed in effecting its purpose, the dancing-masters, thus remaining obdurate, were to be excommunicated.[175] With the same pious care did the clergy superintend other matters equally important. In one of their synods, they ordered that all persons should abstain from wearing gay apparel, and should arrange their hair with becoming modesty.[176] In another synod, they forbade women to paint; and they declared that if, after this injunction, any woman persisted in painting, she should not be allowed to receive the sacrament.[177] To their own clergy, as the instructors and shepherds of the flock, there was paid an attention still more scrupulous. The ministers of the Word were permitted to teach Hebrew, because Hebrew is a sacred dialect, uncontaminated by profane writers. But the Greek language, which contains all the philosophy and nearly all the wisdom of antiquity, was to be discouraged, its study laid aside, its professorship suppressed.[178] And, in order that the mind might not be distracted from spiritual things, the study of chemistry was likewise forbidden; such a mere earthly pursuit being incompatible with the habits of the sacred profession.[179] Lest, however, in spite of these precautions, knowledge should still creep in among the Protestants, other measures were taken to prevent even its earliest approach. The clergy, entirely forgetting that right of private judgment upon which their sect was founded, became so anxious to protect the unwary from error, that they forbade any person to print or publish a work without the sanction of the church; in other words, without the sanction of the clergy themselves.[180] When, by these means, they had destroyed the possibility of free inquiry, and, so far as they were able, had put a stop to the acquisition of all real knowledge, they proceeded to guard against another circumstance to which their measures had given rise. For, several of the Protestants, seeing that under such a system, it was impossible to educate their families with advantage, sent their children to some of those celebrated Catholic colleges, where alone a sound education could then be obtained. But the clergy, so soon as they heard of this practice, put an end to it, by excommunicating the offending parents;[181] and to this there was added an order forbidding them to admit into their own private houses any tutor who professed the Catholic religion.[182] Such was the way in which the French Protestants were watched over and protected by their spiritual masters. Even the minutest matters were not beneath the notice of these great legislators. They ordered that no person should go to a ball or masquerade;[183] nor ought any Christian to look at the tricks of conjurors, or at the famous game of goblets, or at the puppet-show; neither was he to be present at morris-dances; for all such amusements should be suppressed by the magistrates, because they excite curiosity, cause expense, waste time.[184] Another thing to be attended to, is the names that are bestowed in baptism. A child may have two christian names, though one is preferable.[185] Great care, however, is to be observed in their selection. They ought to be taken from the Bible, but they ought not to be Baptist or Angel; neither should any infant receive a name which has been formerly used by the Pagans.[186] When the children are grown up, there are other regulations to which they must be subject. The clergy declared that the faithful must by no means let their hair grow long, lest by so doing they indulge in the luxury of ‘lascivious curls.’[187] They are to make their garments in such a manner as to avoid ‘the new-fangled fashions of the world:’ they are to have no tassels to their dress: their gloves must be without silk and ribbons: they are to abstain from fardingales: they are to beware of wide sleeves.[188]

Those readers who have not studied the history of ecclesiastical legislation, will perhaps be surprised to find, that men of gravity, men who had reached the years of discretion, and were assembled together in solemn council, should evince such a prying and puerile spirit; that they should display such miserable and childish imbecility. But, whoever will take a wider survey of human affairs, will be inclined to blame, not so much the legislators, as the system of which the legislators formed a part. For as to the men themselves, they merely acted after their kind. They only followed the traditions in which they were bred. By virtue of their profession, they had been accustomed to hold certain views, and, when they rose to power, it was natural that they should carry those views into effect; thus transplanting into the law-book the maxims they had already preached in the pulpit. Whenever, therefore, we read of meddling, inquisitive, and vexatious regulations imposed by ecclesiastical authority, we should remember, that they are but the legitimate result of the ecclesiastical spirit; and that the way to remedy such grievances, or to prevent their occurrence, is not by vainly labouring to change the tendencies of that class from whence they proceed, but rather by confining the class within its proper limits, by jealously guarding against its earliest encroachments, by taking every opportunity of lessening its influence, and finally, when the progress of society will justify so great a step, by depriving it of that political and legislative power which, though gradually falling from its hands, it is, even in the most civilized countries, still allowed in some degree to retain.

But, setting aside these general considerations, it will, at all events, be admitted, that I have collected sufficient evidence to indicate what would have happened to France, if the Protestants had obtained the upper hand. After the facts which I have brought forward, no one can possibly doubt, that if such a misfortune had occurred, the liberal, and, considering the age, the enlightened policy of Henry IV. and Louis XIII. would have been destroyed, in order to make way for that gloomy and austere system, which, in every age and in every country, has been found to be the natural fruit of ecclesiastical power. To put, therefore, the question in its proper form, instead of saying that there was a war between hostile creeds, we should rather say that there was a war between rival classes. It was a contest, not so much between the Catholic religion and the Protestant religion, as between Catholic laymen and Protestant clergy. It was a struggle between temporal interests and theological interests,—between the spirit of the present and the spirit of the past. And the point now at issue was, whether France should be governed by the civil power or by the spiritual power,—whether she should be ruled according to the large views of secular statesmen, or according to the narrow notions of a factious and intolerant priesthood.

The Protestants having the great advantage of being the aggressive party, and being, moreover, inflamed by a religious zeal unknown to their opponents, might, under ordinary circumstances, have succeeded in their hazardous attempt; or, at all events, they might have protracted the struggle for an indefinite period. But, fortunately for France, in 1624, only three years after the war began, Richelieu assumed the direction of the government. He had for some years been the secret adviser of the queen-mother, into whose mind he had always inculcated the necessity of complete toleration.[189] When placed at the head of affairs, he pursued the same policy, and attempted in every way to conciliate the Protestants. The clergy of his own party were constantly urging him to exterminate the heretics, whose presence they thought polluted France.[190] But Richelieu, having only secular objects, refused to embitter the contest by turning it into a religious war. He was determined to chastise the rebellion, but he would not punish the heresy. Even while the war was raging, he would not revoke those edicts of toleration by which the full liberty of religious worship was granted to the Protestants. And when they, in 1626, showed signs of compunction, or at all events of fear, he publicly confirmed the Edict of Nantes,[191] and he granted them peace; although, as he says, he knew that by doing so he should fall under the suspicion of those ‘who so greatly affected the name of zealous Catholics.’[192] A few months afterwards, war again broke out; and then it was that Richelieu determined on that celebrated siege of Rochelle, which, if brought to a successful issue, was sure to be a decisive blow against the French Protestants. That he was moved to this hazardous undertaking solely by secular considerations is evident, not only from the general spirit of his preceding policy, but also from his subsequent conduct. With the details of this famous siege history is not concerned, as such matters have no value except to military readers. It is enough to say that, in 1628, Rochelle was taken; and the Protestants, who had been induced by their clergy[193] to continue to resist long after relief was hopeless, and who, in consequence, had suffered the most dreadful hardships, were obliged to surrender at discretion.[194] The privileges of the town were revoked, and its magistrates removed; but the great minister by whom these things were effected, still abstained from that religious persecution to which he was urged.[195] He granted to the Protestants the toleration which he had offered at an earlier period, and he formally conceded the free exercise of their public worship.[196] But, such was their infatuation, that because he likewise restored the exercise of the Catholic religion, and thus gave to the conquerors the same liberty that he had granted to the conquered, the Protestants murmured at the indulgence; they could not bear the idea that their eyes should be offended by the performance of Popish rites.[197] And their indignation waxed so high, that in the next year they, in another part of France, again rose in arms. As, however, they were now stripped of their principal resources, they were easily defeated; and, their existence as a political faction being destroyed, they were, in reference to their religion, treated by Richelieu in the same manner as before.[198] To the Protestants generally, he confirmed the privilege of preaching and of performing the other ceremonies of their creed.[199] To their leader, Rohan, he granted an amnesty, and, a few years afterwards, employed him in important public services. After this, the hopes of the party were destroyed; they never again rose in arms, nor do we find any mention of them until a much later period, when they were barbarously persecuted by Louis XIV.[200] But from all such intolerance Richelieu sedulously abstained; and having now cleared the land from rebellion, he embarked in that vast scheme of foreign policy, of which I have already given some account, and in which he clearly showed that his proceedings against the Protestants had not been caused by hatred of their religious tenets. For, the same party which he attacked at home, he supported abroad. He put down the French Protestants, because they were a turbulent faction that troubled the state, and wished to suppress the exercise of all opinions unfavourable to themselves. But so far from carrying on a crusade against their religion, he, as I have already observed, encouraged it in other countries; and, though a bishop of the Catholic church, he did not hesitate, by treaties, by money, and by force of arms, to support the Protestants against the House of Austria, maintain the Lutherans against the Emperor of Germany, and uphold the Calvinists against the King of Spain.

I have thus endeavoured to draw a slight, though, I trust, a clear outline, of the events which took place in France during the reign of Louis XIII., and particularly during that part of it which included the administration of Richelieu. But such occurrences, important as they are, only formed a single phase of that larger development which was now displaying itself in nearly every branch of the national intellect. They were the mere political expression of that bold and sceptical spirit which cried havoc to the prejudices and superstitions of men. For, the government of Richelieu was successful, as well as progressive; and no government can unite these two qualities, unless its measures harmonize with the feelings and temper of the age. Such an administration, though it facilitates progress, is not the cause of it, but is rather its measure and symptom. The cause of the progress lies far deeper, and is governed by the general tendency of the time. And as the different tendencies observable in successive generations depend on the difference in their knowledge, it is evident, that we can only understand the working of the tendencies, by taking a wide view of the amount and character of the knowledge. To comprehend, therefore, the real nature of the great advance made during the reign of Louis XIII., it becomes necessary that I should lay before the reader some evidence respecting those higher and more important facts, which historians are apt to neglect, but without which the study of the past is an idle and trivial pursuit, and history itself a barren field, which, bearing no fruit, is unworthy of the labour that is wasted on the cultivation of so ungrateful a soil.

It is, indeed, a very observable fact, that while Richelieu, with such extraordinary boldness, was secularizing the whole system of French politics, and by his disregard of ancient interests, was setting at naught the most ancient traditions, a course precisely similar was being pursued, in a still higher department, by a man greater than he; by one, who, if I may express my own opinion, is the most profound among the many eminent thinkers France has produced. I speak of RÉnÉ Descartes, of whom the least that can be said is, that he effected a revolution more decisive than has ever been brought about by any other single mind. With his mere physical discoveries we are not now concerned, because in this Introduction I do not pretend to trace the progress of science, except in those epochs which indicate a new turn in the habits of national thought. But I may remind the reader, that he was the first who successfully applied algebra to geometry;[201] that he pointed out the important law of the sines;[202] that in an age in which optical instruments were extremely imperfect, he discovered the changes to which light is subjected in the eye by the crystalline lens;[203] that he directed attention to the consequences resulting from the weight of the atmosphere;[204] and that he, moreover, detected the causes of the rainbow,[205] that singular phenomenon, with which, in the eyes of the vulgar, some theological superstitions are still connected.[206] At the same time, and as if to combine the most varied forms of excellence, he is not only allowed to be the first geometrician of the age,[207] but by the clearness and admirable precision of his style, he became one of the founders of French prose.[208] And although he was constantly engaged in those lofty inquiries into the nature of the human mind, which can never be studied without wonder, I had almost said can never be read without awe, he combined with them a long course of laborious experiment upon the animal frame, which raised him to the highest rank among the anatomists of his time.[209] The great discovery made by Harvey of the circulation of the blood, was neglected by most of his contemporaries;[210] but it was at once recognized by Descartes, who made it the basis of the physiological part of his work on Man.[211] He likewise adopted the discovery of the lacteals by Aselli,[212] which, like every great truth yet laid before the world, was, at its first appearance, not only disbelieved, but covered with ridicule.[213]

These things might have been sufficient to rescue even the physical labours of Descartes from the attacks constantly made on them by men who either have not studied his works, or else, having studied them, are unable to understand their merit. But the glory of Descartes, and the influence he exercised over his age, do not depend even on such claims as these. Putting them aside, he is the author of what is emphatically called Modern Philosophy.[214] He is the originator of that great system and method of metaphysics, which, notwithstanding its errors, has the undoubted merit of having given a wonderful impulse to the European mind, and communicated to it an activity which has been made available for other purposes of a different character. Besides this, and superior to it, there is another obligation which we are under to the memory of Descartes. He deserves the gratitude of posterity, not so much on account of what he built up, as on account of what he pulled down. His life was one great and successful warfare against the prejudices and traditions of men. He was great as a creator, but he was far greater as a destroyer. In this respect he was the true successor of Luther, to whose labours his own were the fitting supplement. He completed what the great German reformer had left undone.[215] He bore to the old systems of philosophy precisely the same relation that Luther bore to the old systems of religion. He was the great reformer and liberator of the European intellect. To prefer, therefore, even the most successful discoverers of physical laws to this great innovator and disturber of tradition, is just as if we should prefer knowledge to freedom, and believe that science is better than liberty. We must, indeed, always be grateful to those eminent thinkers, to whose labours we are indebted for that vast body of physical truths which we now possess. But, let us reserve the full measure of our homage for those far greater men, who have not hesitated to attack and destroy the most inveterate prejudices: men who, by removing the pressure of tradition, have purified the very source and fountain of our knowledge, and secured its future progress, by casting off obstacles in the presence of which progress was impossible.[216]

It will not be expected, perhaps it will hardly be desired, that I should enter into a complete detail of the philosophy of Descartes: a philosophy which, in England at least, is rarely studied, and therefore, is often attacked. But it will be necessary to give such an account of it as will show its analogy with the anti-theological policy of Richelieu, and will thus enable us to see the full extent of that vast movement which took place in France before the accession of Louis XIV. By this means, we shall be able to understand how the daring innovations of the great minister were so successful, since they were accompanied and reinforced by corresponding innovations in the national intellect; thus affording an additional instance of the way in which the political history of every country is to be explained by the history of its intellectual progress.

In 1637, when Richelieu was at the height of his power, Descartes published that great work which he had long been meditating, and which was the first open announcement of the new tendencies of the French mind. To this work he gave the name of a ‘Method;’ and, assuredly, the method is the most alien to what is commonly called theology that can possibly be conceived. Indeed, so far from being theological, it is essentially and exclusively psychological. The theological method rests on ancient records, on tradition, on the voice of antiquity. The method of Descartes rests solely on the consciousness each man has of the operations of his own mind, and lest anyone should mistake the meaning of this, he, in subsequent works, developed it at great length, and with unrivalled clearness. For his main object was to popularize the views which he put forward. Therefore, says Descartes, ‘I write in French rather than in Latin, because I trust that they who only employ their simple and native reason will estimate my opinions more fairly than they who only believe in ancient books.’[217] So strongly does he insist upon this, that, almost at the beginning of his first work, he cautions his readers against the common error of looking to antiquity for knowledge; and he reminds them that ‘when men are too curious to know the practices of past ages, they generally remain very ignorant of their own.’[218]

Indeed, so far from following the old plan of searching for truths in the records of the past, the great essential of this new philosophy is to wean ourselves from all such associations, and, beginning the acquisition of knowledge by the work of destruction, first pull down, in order that afterwards we may build up.[219] When I, says Descartes, set forth in the pursuit of truth, I found that the best way was to reject every thing I had hitherto received, and pluck out all my old opinions, in order that I might lay the foundation of them afresh: believing that, by this means, I should more easily accomplish the great scheme of life, than by building on an old basis, and supporting myself by principles which I had learned in my youth, without examining if they were really true.[220] ‘I, therefore, will occupy myself freely and earnestly in effecting a general destruction of all my old opinions.’[221] For, if we would know all the truths that can be known, we must, in the first place, free ourselves from our prejudices, and make a point of rejecting those things which we have received, until we have subjected them to a new examination.[222] We, therefore, must derive our opinions, not from tradition, but from ourselves. We must not pass judgment upon any subject which we do not clearly and distinctly understand; for, even if such a judgment is correct, it can only be so by accident, not having solid ground on which to support itself.[223] But, so far are we from this state of indifference, that our memory is full of prejudices:[224] we pay attention to words rather than to things;[225] and being thus slaves to form, there are too many of us ‘who believe themselves religious, when, in fact, they are bigoted and superstitious; who think themselves perfect because they go much to church, because they often repeat prayers, because they wear short hair, because they fast, because they give alms. These are the men who imagine themselves such friends of God, that nothing they do displeases Him; men who, under pretence of zeal, gratify their passions by committing the greatest crimes, such as betraying towns, killing princes, exterminating nations: and all this they do to those who will not change their opinions.’[226]

These were the words of wisdom which this great teacher addressed to his countrymen only a few years after they had brought to a close the last religious war that has ever been waged in France. The similarity of those views to those which, about the same time, were put forth by Chillingworth, must strike every reader, but ought not to excite surprise; for they were but the natural products of a state of society in which the right of private judgment, and the independence of the human reason, were first solidly established. If we examine this matter a little closer, we shall find still further proof of the analogy between France and England. So identical are the steps of the progress, that the relation which Montaigne bears to Descartes is just the same as that which Hooker bears to Chillingworth; the same in reference to the difference of time, and also in reference to the difference of opinions. The mind of Hooker was essentially sceptical; but his genius was so restrained by the prejudices of his age, that, unable to discern the supreme authority of private judgment, he hampered it by appeals to councils and to the general voice of ecclesiastical antiquity: impediments which Chillingworth, thirty years later, effectually removed. In precisely the same way, Montaigne, like Hooker, was sceptical; but, like him, he lived at a period when the spirit of doubt was yet young, and when the mind still trembled before the authority of the Church. It is, therefore, no wonder that even Montaigne, who did so much for his age, should have hesitated respecting the capacity of men to work out for themselves great truths; and that, pausing in the course that lay before him, his scepticism should often have assumed the form of a distrust of the human faculties.[227] Such shortcomings, and such imperfections, are merely an evidence of the slow growth of society, and of the impossibility for even the greatest thinkers to outstrip their contemporaries beyond a certain point. But, with the advance of knowledge, this deficiency was at length supplied; and, as the generation after Hooker brought forth Chillingworth, just so did the generation after Montaigne bring forth Descartes. Both Chillingworth and Descartes were eminently sceptical; but their scepticism was directed, not against the human intellect, but against those appeals to authority and tradition without which it had hitherto been supposed that the intellect could not safely proceed. That this was the case with Chillingworth, we have already seen. That it was likewise the case with Descartes, is, if possible, still more apparent; for that profound thinker believed, not only that the mind, by its own efforts, could root out its most ancient opinions, but that it could, without fresh aid, build up a new and solid system in place of the one which it had thrown down.[228]

It is this extraordinary confidence in the power of the human intellect, which eminently characterizes Descartes, and has given to his philosophy that peculiar sublimity which distinguishes it from all other systems. So far from thinking that a knowledge of the external world is essential to the discovery of truth, he laid it down as a fundamental principle, that we must begin by ignoring such knowledge;[229] that the first step is to separate ourselves from the delusions of nature, and reject the evidence presented to our senses.[230] For, says Descartes, nothing is certain but thought; nor are there any truths except those which necessarily follow from the operation of our own consciousness. We have no knowledge of our soul except as a thinking substance:[231] and it were easier for us to believe that the soul should cease to exist, than that it should cease to think.[232] And, as to man himself, what is he but the incarnation of thought? For that which constitutes the man, is not his bones, nor his flesh, nor his blood. These are the accidents, the incumbrances, the impediments of his nature. But the man himself is the thought. The invisible me, the ultimate fact of existence, the mystery of life, is this: ‘I am a thing that thinks.’ This, therefore, is the beginning and the basis of our knowledge. The thought of each man is the last element to which analysis can carry us; it is the supreme judge of every doubt; it is the starting-point for all wisdom.[233]

Taking our stand on this ground, we rise, says Descartes, to the perception of the existence of the Deity. For, our belief in His existence is an irrefragable proof that He exists. Otherwise, whence does the belief arise? Since nothing can come out of nothing, and since no effect can be without a cause, it follows that the idea we have of God must have an origin; and this origin, whatever name we give it, is no other than God.[234] Thus, the ultimate proof of His existence is our idea of it. Instead, therefore, of saying that we know ourselves because we believe in God, we should rather say that we believe in God because we know ourselves.[235] This is the order and precedence of things. The thought of each man is sufficient to prove His existence, and it is the only proof we can ever possess. Such, therefore, is the dignity and supremacy of the human intellect, that even this, the highest of all matters, flows from it, as from its sole source.[236] Hence, our religion should not be acquired by the teaching of others, but should be worked out by ourselves: it is not to be borrowed from antiquity, but it is to be discovered by each man's mind; it is not traditional, but personal. It is because this great truth has been neglected, that impiety has arisen. If each man were to content himself with that idea of God which is suggested by his own mind, he would attain to a true knowledge of the Divine Nature. But when, instead of confining himself to this, he mixes up with it the notions of others, his ideas become perplexed; they contradict themselves; and the composition being thus confused, he often ends by denying the existence, not, indeed, of God, but of such a God as that in whom he has been taught to believe.[237]

The mischief which these principles must have done to the old theology is very obvious.[238] Not only were they fatal, in the minds of those who received them, to many of the common dogmas—such, for instance, as that of transubstantiation,[239]—but they were likewise directly opposed to other opinions, equally indefensible, and far more dangerous. For Descartes, by founding a philosophy which rejected all authority except that of the human reason,[240] was, of course, led to abandon the study of final causes,[241]—an old and natural superstition, by which, as we shall hereafter see, the German philosophers were long impeded, and which still hangs, though somewhat loosely, about the minds of men.[242] At the same time, by superseding the geometry of the ancients, he aided in weakening that inordinate respect with which antiquity was then regarded. In another matter, still more important, he displayed the same spirit, and met with the same success. With such energy did he attack the influence, or rather the tyranny of Aristotle, that although the opinions of that philosopher were intimately interwoven with the Christian theology,[243] his authority was entirely overthrown by Descartes; and with it there perished those scholastic prejudices, for which Aristotle, indeed, was not responsible, but which, under the shelter of his mighty name, had, during several centuries, perplexed the understandings of men, and retarded the progress of their knowledge.[244]

These were the principal services rendered to civilization by one of the greatest men Europe has ever produced. The analogy between him and Richelieu is very striking, and is as complete as their relative positions would allow. The same disregard of ancient notions, the same contempt for theological interests, the same indifference to tradition, the same determination to prefer the present to the past: in a word, the same essentially modern spirit, is seen alike in the writings of Descartes, and in the actions of Richelieu. What the first was to philosophy, that was the other to politics. But, while acknowledging the merits of these eminent men, it behoves us to remember that their success was the result, not only of their own abilities, but likewise of the general temper of their time. The nature of their labours depended on themselves; the way in which their labours were received, depended on their contemporaries. Had they lived in a more superstitious age, their views would have been disregarded, or, if noticed, would have been execrated as impious novelties. In the fifteenth, or early in the sixteenth century, the genius of Descartes and of Richelieu would have lacked the materials necessary to their work; their comprehensive minds would, in that state of society, have found no play; they would have awakened no sympathies; their bread would have been cast upon those waters which return it not again. And it would have been well for them if, in such a case, indifference were the only penalty with which they would be visited. It would have been well if they had not paid the forfeit incurred by many of those illustrious thinkers who have vainly attempted to stem the torrent of human credulity. It would have been well if the church had not risen in her wrath—if Richelieu had not been executed as a traitor, and Descartes burned as a heretic.

Indeed, the mere fact that two such men, occupying so conspicuous a place before the public eye, and enforcing views so obnoxious to the interests of superstition, should have lived without serious danger, and then have died peaceably in their beds—the mere fact that this should have happened, is a decisive proof of the progress which, during fifty years, had been made by the French nation. With such rapidity were the prejudices of that great people dying away, that opinions utterly subversive of theological traditions, and fatal to the whole scheme of ecclesiastical power, were with impunity advocated by Descartes, and put in practice by Richelieu. It was now clearly seen, that the two foremost men of their time could, with little or no risk, openly propagate ideas which, half a century before, it would have been accounted dangerous even for the most obscure man to whisper in the privacy of his own chamber.

Nor are the causes of this impunity difficult to understand. They are to be found in the diffusion of that sceptical spirit, by which, in France as well as in England, toleration was preceded. For, without entering into details which would be too long for the limits of this Introduction, it is enough to say, that French literature generally was, at this period, distinguished by a freedom and a boldness of inquiry, of which, England alone excepted, no example had then been seen in Europe. The generation which had listened to the teachings of Montaigne and of Charron, was now succeeded by another generation, the disciples, indeed, of those eminent men, but disciples who far outstripped their masters. The result was, that, during the thirty or forty years which preceded the power of Louis XIV.,[245] there was not to be found a single Frenchman of note who did not share in the general feeling—not one who did not attack some ancient dogma, or sap the foundation of some old opinion. This fearless temper was the characteristic of the ablest writers of that time;[246] but what is still more observable is, that the movement spread with such rapidity as to include in its action even those parts of society which are invariably the last to be affected by it. That spirit of doubt, which is the necessary precursor of all inquiry, and therefore of all solid improvement, owes its origin to the most thinking and intellectual parts of society, and is naturally opposed by the other parts: opposed by the nobles, because it is dangerous to their interests; opposed by the uneducated, because it attacks their prejudices. This is one of the reasons why neither the highest nor the lowest ranks are fit to conduct the government of a civilized country; since both of them, notwithstanding individual exceptions, are, in the aggregate, averse to those reforms which the exigencies of an advancing nation constantly require. But, in France, before the middle of the seventeenth century, even these classes began to participate in the great progress; so that, not only among thoughtful men, but likewise among the ignorant and the frivolous, there was seen that inquisitive and incredulous disposition, which, whatever may be said against it, has at least this peculiarity, that, in its absence, there is no instance to be found of the establishment of those principles of toleration and of liberty, which have only been recognized with infinite difficulty, and after many a hard-fought battle against prejudices whose inveterate tenacity might almost cause them to be deemed a part of the original constitution of the human mind.[247]

It is no wonder if, under these circumstances, the speculations of Descartes and the actions of Richelieu should have met with great success. The system of Descartes exercised immense influence, and soon pervaded nearly every branch of knowledge.[248] The policy of Richelieu was so firmly established, that it was continued without the slightest difficulty by his immediate successor: nor was any attempt made to reverse it until that forcible and artificial reaction which, under Louis XIV., was fatal, for a time, to every sort of civil and religious liberty. The history of that reaction, and the way in which, by a counter-reaction, the French Revolution was prepared, will be related in the subsequent chapters of this volume; at present we will resume the thread of those events which took place in France before Louis XIV. assumed the government.

A few months after the death of Richelieu, Louis XIII. also died, and the crown was inherited by Louis XIV., who was then a child, and who for many years had no influence in public affairs. During his minority, the government was administered, avowedly by his mother, but in reality by Mazarin: a man who, though in every point inferior to Richelieu, had imbibed something of his spirit, and who, so far as he was able, adopted the policy of that great statesman, to whom he owed his promotion.[249] He, influenced partly by the example of his predecessor, partly by his own character, and partly by the spirit of his age, showed no desire to persecute the Protestants, or to disturb them in any of the rights they then exercised.[250] His first act was to confirm the Edict of Nantes;[251] and, towards the close of his life, he even allowed the Protestants again to hold those synods which their own violence had been the means of interrupting.[252] Between the death of Richelieu and the accession to power of Louis XIV., there elapsed a period of nearly twenty years, during which Mazarin, with the exception of a few intervals, was at the head of the state; and in the whole of that time, I have found no instance of any Frenchman being punished for his religion. Indeed, the new government, so far from protecting the church by repressing heresy, displayed that indifference to ecclesiastical interests which was now becoming a settled maxim of French policy. Richelieu, as we have already seen, had taken the bold step of placing Protestants at the head of the royal armies; and this he had done upon the simple principle, that one of the first duties of a statesman is to employ for the benefit of the country the ablest men he can find, without regard to their theological opinions, with which, as he well knew, no government has any concern. But Louis XIII., whose personal feelings were always opposed to the enlightened measures of his great minister, was offended by this magnanimous disregard of ancient prejudices; his piety was shocked at the idea of Catholic soldiers being commanded by heretics; and, as we are assured by a well-informed contemporary, he determined to put an end to this scandal to the church, and, for the future, allow no Protestant to receive the staff of marshal of France.[253] Whether the king, if he had lived, would have carried his point, is doubtful;[254] but what is certain is, that, only four months after his death, this appointment of marshal was bestowed upon Turenne, the most able of all the Protestant generals.[255] And in the very next year, Gassion, another Protestant, was raised to the same dignity; thus affording the strange spectacle of the highest military power in a great Catholic country wielded by two men against whose religion the church was never weary of directing her anathemas.[256] In a similar spirit, Mazarin, on mere grounds of political expediency, concluded an intimate alliance with Cromwell; an usurper who, in the opinion of the theologians, was doomed to perdition, since he was soiled by the triple crime of rebellion, of heresy, and of regicide.[257] Finally, one of the last acts of this pupil of Richelieu's[258] was to sign the celebrated treaty of the Pyrenees, by which ecclesiastical interests were seriously weakened, and great injury inflicted on him who was still considered to be the head of the church.[259]

But, the circumstance for which the administration of Mazarin is most remarkable, is the breaking out of that great civil war called the Fronde, in which the people attempted to carry into politics the insubordinate spirit which had already displayed itself in literature and in religion. Here we cannot fail to note the similarity between this struggle and that which, at the same time, was taking place in England. It would, indeed, be far from accurate to say that the two events were the counterpart of each other; but there can be no doubt that the analogy between them is very striking. In both countries, the civil war was the first popular expression of what had hitherto been rather a speculative, and, so to say, a literary scepticism. In both countries, incredulity was followed by rebellion, and the abasement of the clergy preceded the humiliation of the crown; for Richelieu was to the French church what Elizabeth had been to the English church. In both countries there now first arose that great product of civilization, a free press, which showed its liberty by pouring forth those fearless and innumerable works which mark the activity of the age.[260] In both countries, the struggle was between retrogression and progress; between those who clung to tradition, and those who longed for innovation; while, in both, the contest assumed the external form of a war between king and parliament, the king being the organ of the past, the parliament the representative of the present. And, not to mention inferior similarities, there was one other point of vast importance in which these two great events coincide. This is, that both of them were eminently secular, and arose from the desire, not of propagating religious opinions, but of securing civil liberty. The temporal character of the English rebellion I have already noticed, and, indeed, it must be obvious to whoever has studied the evidence in its original sources. In France, not only do we find the same result, but we can even mark the stages of the progress. In the middle of the sixteenth century, and immediately after the death of Henry III., the French civil wars were caused by religious disputes, and were carried on with the fervour of a crusade. Early in the seventeenth century, hostilities again broke out; but though the efforts of the government were directed against the Protestants, this was not because they were heretics, but because they were rebels: the object being, not to punish an opinion, but to control a faction. This was the first great stage in the history of toleration; and it was accomplished, as we have already seen, during the reign of Louis XIII. That generation passing away, there arose, in the next age, the wars of the Fronde; and in this, which may be called the second stage of the French intellect, the alteration was still more remarkable. For, in the mean time, the principles of the great sceptical thinkers, from Montaigne to Descartes, had produced their natural fruit, and, becoming diffused among the educated classes, had influenced, as they always will do, not only those by whom they were received, but also those by whom they were rejected. Indeed, a mere knowledge of the fact, that the most eminent men have thrown doubt on the popular opinions of an age, can never fail, in some degree, to disturb the convictions even of those by whom the doubts are ridiculed.[261] In such cases, none are entirely safe: the firmest belief is apt to become slightly unsettled; those who outwardly preserve the appearance of orthodoxy, often unconsciously waver; they cannot entirely resist the influence of superior minds, nor can they always avoid an unwelcome suspicion, that when ability is on one side, and ignorance on the other, it is barely possible that the ability may be right, and the ignorance may be wrong.

Thus it fell out in France. In that country, as in every other, when theological convictions diminished, theological animosities subsided. Formerly religion had been the cause of war, and had also been the pretext under which it was conducted. Then there came a time when it ceased to be the cause: but so slow is the progress of society, that it was still found necessary to set it up as the pretext.[262] Finally, there came the great days of the Fronde, in which it was neither cause nor pretext,[263] and in which there was seen, for the first time in France, an arduous struggle by human beings avowedly for human purposes: a war waged by men who sought, not to enforce their opinions, but to increase their liberty. And, as if to make this change still more striking, the most eminent leader of the insurgents was the Cardinal de Retz; a man of vast ability, but whose contempt for his profession was notorious,[264] and of whom a great historian has said, ‘he is the first bishop in France who carried on a civil war without making religion the pretence.’[265]

We have thus seen that, during the seventy years which succeeded the accession of Henry IV., the French intellect developed itself in a manner remarkably similar to that which took place in England. We have seen that, in both countries, the mind, according to the natural conditions of its growth, first doubted what it had long believed, and then tolerated what it had long hated. That this was by no means an accidental or capricious combination, is evident, not only from general arguments, and from the analogy of the two countries, but also from another circumstance of great interest. This is, that the order of events, and as it were their relative proportions, were the same, not only in reference to the increase of toleration, but also in reference to the increase of literature and science. In both countries, the progress of knowledge bore the same ratio to the decline of ecclesiastical influence, although they manifested that ratio at different periods. We had begun to throw off our superstitions somewhat earlier than the French were able to do; and thus, being the first in the field, we anticipated that great people in producing a secular literature. Whoever will take the pains to compare the growth of the French and English minds, will see that, in all the most important departments, we were the first, I do not say in merit, but in the order of time. In prose, in poetry, and in every branch of intellectual excellence, it will be found, on comparison, that we were before the French nearly a whole generation; and that, chronologically, the same proportion was preserved as that between Bacon and Descartes, Hooker and Pascal,[266] Shakespeare and Corneille, Massinger and Racine, Ben Jonson and MoliÈre, Harvey and Pecquet. These eminent men were all justly celebrated in their respective countries; and it would perhaps be invidious to institute a comparison between them. But what we have here to observe is, that among those who cultivated the same department, the greatest Englishman, in every instance, preceded the greatest Frenchman by many years. The difference, running as it does, through all the leading topics, is far too regular to be considered accidental. And as few Englishmen of the present day will be so presumptuous as to suppose that we possess any native and inherent superiority over the French, it is evident that there must be some marked peculiarity in which the two countries differed, and which has produced this difference, not in their knowledge, but in the time at which their knowledge appeared. Nor does the discovery of this peculiarity require much penetration. For, notwithstanding that the French were more tardy than the English, still, when the development had fairly begun, the antecedents of its success were among both people precisely the same. It is, therefore, clear, according to the commonest principles of inductive reasoning, that the lateness of the development must be owing to the lateness of the antecedent. It is clear that the French knew less because they believed more.[267] It is clear that their progress was checked by the prevalence of those feelings which are fatal to all knowledge, because, looking on antiquity as the sole receptacle of wisdom, they degrade the present in order that they may exaggerate the past: feelings which destroy the prospects of man, stifle his hopes, damp his curiosity, chill his energies, impair his judgment, and, under pretence of humbling the pride of his reason, seek to throw him back into that more than midnight darkness from which his reason alone has enabled him to emerge.

The analogy thus existing between France and England, is, indeed, very striking, and, so far as we have yet considered it, seems complete in all its parts. To sum up the similarities in a few words, it may be said, that both countries followed the same order of development in their scepticism, in their knowledge, in their literature, and in their toleration. In both countries, there broke out a civil war at the same time, for the same object, and, in many respects, under the same circumstances. In both, the insurgents, at first triumphant, were afterwards defeated; and the rebellion being put down, the governments of the two nations were fully restored almost at the same moment: in 1660 by Charles II.; in 1661, by Louis XIV.[268] But there the similarity stopped. At this point there began a marked divergence between the two countries;[269] which continued to increase for more than a century, until it ended in England by the consolidation of the national prosperity, in France by a revolution more sanguinary, more complete, and more destructive, than any the world has ever seen. This difference between the fortunes of such great and civilized nations is so remarkable, that a knowledge of its causes becomes essential to a right understanding of European history, and will be found to throw considerable light on other events not immediately connected with it. Besides this, such an inquiry, independently of its scientific interest, will have a high practical value. It will show, what men seem only recently to have begun to understand, that, in politics, no certain principles having yet been discovered, the first conditions of success are compromise, barter, expediency, and concession. It will show the utter helplessness even of the ablest rulers, when they try to meet new emergencies by old maxims. It will show the intimate connexion between knowledge and liberty; between an increasing civilization and an advancing democracy. It will show that, for a progressive nation, there is required a progressive polity; that within certain limits, innovation is the sole ground of security; that no institution can withstand the flux and movements of society, unless it not only repairs its structure, but also widens its entrance; and that, even in a material point of view, no country can long remain either prosperous or safe, in which the people are not gradually extending their power, enlarging their privileges, and, so to say, incorporating themselves with the functions of the state.

The tranquillity of England, and her freedom from civil war, are to be ascribed to the recognition of these great truths;[270] while the neglect of them has entailed upon other countries the most woful calamities. On this account, therefore, if on no other, it becomes interesting to ascertain how it was that the two nations we have been comparing should, in regard to these truths, have adopted views diametrically opposite, although, in other matters, their opinions, as we have already seen, were very similar. Or, to state the question in other words, we have to inquire how it was that the French, after pursuing precisely the same course as the English, in their knowledge, in their scepticism, and in their toleration, should have stopped short in their politics; how it was that their minds, which had effected such great things, should, nevertheless, have been so unprepared for liberty, that, in spite of the heroic efforts of the Fronde, they not only fell under the despotism of Louis XIV., but never cared to resist it; and, at length, becoming slaves in their souls as well as in their bodies, they grew proud of a condition which the meanest Englishman would have spurned as an intolerable bondage.

The cause of this difference is to be sought in the existence of that spirit of protection which is so dangerous and yet so plausible, that it forms the most serious obstacle with which advancing civilization has to contend. This, which may truly be called an evil spirit, has always been far stronger in France than in England. Indeed, among the French, it continues, even to the present day, to produce the most mischievous results. It is, as I shall hereafter point out, intimately connected with that love of centralization which appears in the machinery of their government, and in the spirit of their literature. It is this which induces them to retain restrictions by which their trade has long been troubled, and to preserve monopolies which, in our country, a freer system has effectually destroyed. It is this which causes them to interfere with the natural relation between producers and consumers; to force into existence manufactures which otherwise would never arise, and which, for that very reason, are not required; to disturb the ordinary march of industry, and, under pretence of protecting their native labourers, diminish the produce of labour by diverting it from those profitable channels into which its own instincts always compel it to flow.

When the protective principle is carried into trade, these are its inevitable results. When it is carried into politics, there is formed what is called a paternal government, in which supreme power is vested in the sovereign, or in a few privileged classes. When it is carried into theology, it produces a powerful church, and a numerous clergy, who are supposed to be the necessary guardians of religion, and every opposition to whom is resented as an insult to the public morals. These are the marks by which protection may be recognized; and from a very early period they have displayed themselves in France much more clearly than in England. Without pretending to discover their precise origin, I will, in the next chapter, endeavour to trace them back to a time sufficiently remote to explain some of the discrepancies which, in this respect existed between the two countries.

Note to p. 93.Descartes died in Sweden on a visit to Christina; so that, strictly speaking, there is an error in the text. But this does not affect the argument; because the works of Descartes, being eagerly read in France, and not being prohibited, we must suppose that his person would have been safe, had he remained in his own country. To burn a heretic is a more decisive step than to suppress a book; and as the French clergy were not strong enough to effect the latter, it is hardly likely that they could have accomplished the former.

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