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

Among the obvious circumstances connected with the Great English Rebellion, the most remarkable is, that it was a war of classes as well as of factions. From the beginning of the contest, the yeomanry and traders adhered to the parliament;[352] the nobles and the clergy rallied round the throne.[353] And the name given to the two parties, of Roundheads[354] and Cavaliers,[355] proves that the true nature of this opposition was generally known. It proves that men were aware that a question was at issue, upon which England was divided, not so much by the particular interests of individuals, as by the general interests of the classes to which those individuals belonged.

But in the history of the French rebellion, there is no trace of so large a division. The objects of the war were in both countries precisely the same: the machinery by which those objects were attained was very different. The Fronde was like our Rebellion, insomuch that it was a struggle of the parliament against the crown; an attempt to secure liberty, and raise up a barrier against the despotism of government.[356] So far, and so long, as we merely take a view of political objects, the parallel is complete. But the social and intellectual antecedents of the French being very different from those of the English, it necessarily followed that the shape which the rebellion took should likewise be different, even though the motives were the same. If we examine this divergence a little nearer, we shall find that it is connected with the circumstance I have already noticed—namely, that in England a war for liberty was accompanied by a war of classes, while in France there was no war of classes at all. From this it resulted, that in France the rebellion, being merely political, and not, as with us, also social, took less hold of the public mind: it was unaccompanied by those feelings of insubordination, in the absence of which freedom has always been impossible; and, striking no root into the national character, it could not save the country from that servile state into which, a few years later, it, under the government of Louis XIV. rapidly fell.

That our Great Rebellion was, in its external form, a war of classes, is one of those palpable facts which lie on the surface of history. At first, the parliament[357] did indeed attempt to draw over to their side some of the nobles; and in this they for a time succeeded. But as the struggle advanced, the futility of this policy became evident. In the natural order of the great movement, the nobles grew more loyal;[358] the parliament grew more democratic.[359] And when it was clearly seen that both parties were determined either to conquer or to die, this antagonism of classes was too clearly marked to be misunderstood; the perception which each had of its own interests being sharpened by the magnitude of the stake for which they contended.

For, without burdening this Introduction with what may be read in our common histories, it will be sufficient to remind the reader of a few of the conspicuous events of that time. Just before the war began, the Earl of Essex was appointed general of the parliamentary forces, with the Earl of Bedford as his lieutenant. A commission to raise troops was likewise given to the Earl of Manchester,[360] the only man of high rank against whom Charles had displayed open enmity.[361] Notwithstanding these marks of confidence, the nobles, in whom parliament was at first disposed to trust, could not avoid showing the old leaven of their order.[362] The Earl of Essex so conducted himself, as to inspire the popular party with the greatest apprehensions of his treachery;[363] and when the defence of London was intrusted to Waller, he so obstinately refused to enter the name of that able officer in the commission, that the Commons were obliged to insert it by virtue of their own authority, and in spite of their own general.[364] The Earl of Bedford, though he had received a military command, did not hesitate to abandon those who conferred it. This apostate noble fled from Westminster to Oxford: but finding that the king, who never forgave his enemies, did not receive him with the favour he expected, he returned to London; where, though he was allowed to remain in safety, it could not be supposed that he should again experience the confidence of parliament.[365]

Such examples as these were not likely to lessen the distrust which both parties felt for each other. It soon became evident that a war of classes was unavoidable, and that the rebellion of the parliament against the king must be reinforced by a rebellion of the people against the nobles.[366] To this the popular party, whatever may have been their first intention, now willingly agreed. In 1645 they enacted a law, by which not only the Earl of Essex and the Earl of Manchester lost their command, but all members of either house were made incapable of military service.[367] And, only a week after the execution of the king, they formally took away the legislative power of the peers; putting at the same time on record their memorable opinion, that the House of Lords is ‘useless, dangerous, and ought to be abolished.’[368]

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

The truth is, that the rebellion was an outbreak of the democratic spirit. It was the political form of a movement, of which the Reformation was the religious form. As the Reformation was aided, not by men in high ecclesiastical offices, not by great cardinals or wealthy bishops, but by men filling the lowest and most subordinate posts, just so was the English rebellion a movement from below, an uprising from the foundations, or as some will have it, the dregs of society. The few persons of high rank who adhered to the popular cause were quickly discarded, and the ease and rapidity with which they fell off was a clear indication of the turn that things were taking. Directly the army was freed from its noble leaders, and supplied with officers drawn from the lower classes, the fortune of war changed, the royalists were every where defeated, and the king made prisoner by his own subjects. Between his capture and execution, the two most important political events were his abduction by Joyce, and the forcible expulsion from the House of Commons of those members who were thought likely to interfere in his favour. Both these decisive steps were taken, and indeed only could have been taken, by men of great personal influence, and of a bold and resolute spirit. Joyce, who carried off the king, and who was highly respected in the army, had, however, been recently a common working tailor;[369] while Colonel Pride, whose name is preserved in history as having purged the House of Commons of the malignants, was about on a level with Joyce, since his original occupation was that of a drayman.[370] The tailor and the drayman were, in that age, strong enough to direct the course of public affairs, and to win for themselves a conspicuous position in the state. After the execution of Charles, the same tendency was displayed, the old monarchy being destroyed, that small but active party known as the fifth-monarchy men increased in importance, and for a time exercised considerable influence. Their three principal and most distinguished members were Venner, Tuffnel, and Okey. Venner, who was the leader, was a wine-cooper;[371] Tuffnel, who was second in command, was a carpenter;[372] and Okey, though he became a colonel, had filled the menial office of stoker in an Islington brewery.[373]

Nor are these to be regarded as exceptional cases. In that period, promotion depended solely on merit; and if a man had ability he was sure to rise, no matter what his birth or former avocations might have been. Cromwell himself was a brewer;[374] and Colonel Jones, his brother-in-law, had been servant to a private gentleman.[375] Deane was the servant of a tradesman; but he became an admiral, and was made one of the commissioners of the navy.[376] Colonel Goffe had been apprentice to a drysalter;[377] Major-general Whalley had been apprentice to a draper.[378] Skippon, a common soldier who had received no education,[379] was appointed commander of the London militia; he was raised to the office of sergeant-major-general of the army; he was declared commander-in-chief in Ireland; and he became one of the fourteen members of Cromwell's council.[380] Two of the lieutenants of the Tower were Berkstead and Tichborne. Berkstead was a pedlar, or at all events a hawker of small wares;[381] and Tichborne, who was a linendraper, not only received the lieutenancy of the Tower, but became a colonel, and a member of the committee of state in 1655, and of the council of state in 1659.[382] Other trades were equally successful; the highest prizes being open to all men, provided they displayed the requisite capacity. Colonel Harvey was a silk-mercer;[383] so was Colonel Rowe;[384] so also was Colonel Venn.[385] Salway had been apprentice to a grocer, but, being an able man, he rose to the rank of major in the army; he received the king's remembrancer's office; and in 1659 he was appointed by parliament a member of the council of state.[386] Around that council-board were also gathered Bond the draper,[387] and Cawley the brewer;[388] while by their side we find John Berners, who is said to have been a private servant,[389] and Cornelius Holland, who is known to have been a servant, and who was, indeed, formerly a link-boy.[390] Among others who were now favoured and promoted to offices of trust, were Packe the woollen-draper,[391] Pury the weaver,[392] and Pemble the tailor.[393] The parliament which was summoned in 1653 is still remembered as Barebone's parliament, being so called after one of its most active members, whose name was Barebone, and who was a leather-seller in Fleet Street.[394] Thus too, Downing, though a poor charity-boy,[395] became teller of the exchequer, and representative of England at the Hague.[396] To these we may add, that Colonel Horton had been a gentleman's servant;[397] Colonel Berry had been a woodmonger;[398] Colonel Cooper a haberdasher;[399] Major Rolfe a shoemaker;[400] Colonel Fox a tinker;[401] and Colonel Hewson a cobbler.[402]

Such were the leaders of the English rebellion, or to speak more properly, such were the instruments by which the rebellion was consummated.[403] If we now turn to France, we shall clearly see the difference between the feelings and temper of the two nations. In that country, the old protective spirit still retained its activity; and the people, being kept in a state of pupilage, had not acquired those habits of self-command and self-reliance, by which alone great things can be effected. They had been so long accustomed to look with timid reverence to the upper classes, that, even when they rose in arms, they could not throw off the ideas of submission which were quickly discarded by our ancestors. The influence of the higher ranks was, in England, constantly diminishing; in France, it was scarcely impaired. Hence it happened that, although the English and French rebellions were contemporary, and, in their origin, aimed at precisely the same objects, they were distinguished by one most important difference. This was, that the English rebels were headed by popular leaders; the French rebels by noble leaders. The bold and sturdy habits which had long been cultivated in England, enabled the middle and lower classes to supply their own chiefs out of their own ranks. In France such chiefs were not to be found; simply because, owing to the protective spirit, such habits had not been cultivated. While, therefore, in our island, the functions of civil government, and of war, were conducted with conspicuous ability, and complete success, by butchers, by bakers, by brewers, by cobblers, and by tinkers, the struggle which, at the same moment, was going on in France, presented an appearance totally different. In that country, the rebellion was headed by men of a far higher standing; men, indeed, of the longest and most illustrious lineage. There, to be sure, was a display of unexampled splendour; a galaxy of rank, a noble assemblage of aristocratic insurgents and titled demagogues. There was the Prince de CondÉ, the Prince de Conti, the Prince de Marsillac, the Duke de Bouillon, the Duke de Beaufort, the Duke de Longueville, the Duke de Chevreuse, the Duke de Nemours, the Duke de Luynes, the Duke de Brissac, the Duke d'Elboeuf, the Duke de Candale, the Duke de la Tremouille, the Marquis de la Boulaye, the Marquis de Laigues, the Marquis de Noirmoutier, the Marquis de Vitry, the Marquis de Fosseuse, the Marquis de Sillery, the Marquis d'Estissac, the Marquis d'Hocquincourt, the Count de Rantzau, the Count de Montresor.

These were the leaders of the Fronde;[404] and the mere announcement of their names indicate the difference between the French and English rebellions. And, in consequence of this difference, there followed some results, which are well worth the attention of those writers who, in their ignorance of the progress of human affairs, seek to uphold that aristocratic power, which, fortunately for the interests of mankind, has long been waning; and which, during the last seventy years has, in the most civilized countries, received such severe and repeated shocks, that its ultimate fate is hardly a matter respecting which much doubt can now be entertained.

The English rebellion was headed by men, whose tastes, habits, and associations, being altogether popular, formed a bond of sympathy between them and the people, and preserved the union of the whole party. In France the sympathy was very weak, and therefore, the union was very precarious. What sort of sympathy could there be between the mechanic and the peasant, toiling for their daily bread, and the rich and dissolute noble, whose life was passed in those idle and frivolous pursuits which debased his mind, and made his order a byword and a reproach among the nations? To talk of sympathy existing between the two classes is a manifest absurdity, and most assuredly would have been deemed an insult by those high-born men, who treated their inferiors with habitual and insolent contempt. It is true, that, from causes which have been already stated, the people did, unhappily for themselves, look up to those above them with the greatest veneration;[405] but every page of French history proves how unworthily this feeling was reciprocated, and in how complete a thraldom the lower classes were kept. While, therefore, the French, from their long-established habits of dependence, were become incapable of conducting their own rebellion, and, on that account, were obliged to place themselves under the command of their nobles, this very necessity confirmed the servility which caused it; and thus stunting the growth of freedom, prevented the nation from effecting, by their civil wars, those great things which we, in England, were able to bring about by ours.

Indeed, it is only necessary to read the French literature of the seventeenth century, to see the incompatibility of the two classes, and the utter hopelessness of fusing into one party the popular and aristocratic spirit. While the object of the people was to free themselves from the yoke, the object of the nobles was merely to find new sources of excitement,[406] and minister to that personal vanity for which, as a body, they have always been notorious. As this is a department of history that has been little studied, it will be interesting to collect a few instances, which will illustrate the temper of the French aristocracy, and will show what sort of honours, and what manner of distinctions, those were which this powerful class was most anxious to obtain.

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

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

Of all the questions on which the French nobles were divided, the most important was that touching the right of sitting in the royal presence. This was considered to be a matter of such gravity, that, in comparison with it, a mere struggle for liberty faded into insignificance. And what made it still more exciting to the minds of the nobles was, the extreme difficulty with which this great social problem was beset. According to the ancient etiquette of the French court, if a man were a duke, his wife might sit in the presence of the queen; but if his rank were inferior, even if he were a marquis, no such liberty could be allowed.[407] So far, the rule was very simple, and, to the duchesses themselves, highly agreeable. But the marquises, the counts, and the other illustrious nobles, were uneasy at this invidious distinction, and exerted all their energies to procure for their own wives the same honour. This the dukes strenuously resisted; but, owing to circumstances which unfortunately are not fully understood, an innovation was made in the reign of Louis XIII., and the privilege of sitting in the same room with the queen was conceded to the female members of the Bouillon family.[408] In consequence of this evil precedent, the question became seriously complicated, since other members of the aristocracy considered that the purity of their descent gave them claims nowise inferior to those of the house of Bouillon, whose antiquity, they said, had been grossly exaggerated. The contest which ensued, had the effect of breaking up the nobles into two hostile parties, one of which sought to preserve that exclusive privilege in which the other wished to participate. To reconcile these rival pretensions, various expedients were suggested; but all were in vain, and the court, during the administration of Mazarin, being pressed by the fear of a rebellion, showed symptoms of giving way, and of yielding to the inferior nobles the point they so ardently desired. In 1648 and 1649, the queen-regent, acting under the advice of her council, formally conceded the right of sitting in the royal presence to the three most distinguished members of the lower aristocracy, namely, the Countess de Fleix, Madame de Pons, and the Princess de Marsillac.[409] Scarcely had this decision been promulgated, when the princes of the blood and the peers of the realm were thrown into the greatest agitation.[410] They immediately summoned to the capital those members of their own order who were interested in repelling this daring aggression, and, forming themselves into an assembly, they at once adopted measures to vindicate their ancient rights.[411] On the other hand, the inferior nobles, flushed by their recent success, insisted that the concession just made should be raised into a precedent; and that, as the honour of being seated in the presence of majesty had been conceded to the house of Foix, in the person of the Countess de Fleix, it should likewise be granted to all those who could prove that their ancestry was equally illustrious.[412] The greatest confusion now arose; and both sides urgently insisting on their own claims, there was, for many months, imminent danger lest the question should be decided by an appeal to the sword.[413] But as the higher nobles, though less numerous than their opponents, were more powerful, the dispute was finally settled in their favour. The queen sent to their assembly a formal message, which was conveyed by four of the marshals of France, and in which she promised to revoke those privileges, the concession of which had given such offence to the most illustrious members of the French aristocracy. At the same time, the marshals not only pledged themselves as responsible for the promise of the queen, but undertook to sign an agreement that they would personally superintend its execution.[414] The nobles, however, who felt that they had been aggrieved in their most tender point, were not yet satisfied, and, to appease them, it was necessary that the atonement should be as public as the injury. It was found necessary, before they would peaceably disperse, that government should issue a document, signed by the queen-regent, and by the four secretaries of state,[415] in which the favours granted to the unprivileged nobility were withdrawn, and the much-cherished honour of sitting in the royal presence was taken away from the Princess de Marsillac, from Madame de Pons, and from the Countess de Fleix.[416]

These were the subjects which occupied the minds and wasted the energies, of the French nobles, while their country was distracted by civil war, and while questions were at issue of the greatest importance—questions concerning the liberty of the nation, and the reconstruction of the government.[417] It is hardly necessary to point out how unfit such men must have been to head the people in their arduous struggle, and how immense was the difference between them and the leaders of the great English Rebellion. The causes of the failure of the Fronde are, indeed, obvious, when we consider that its chiefs were drawn from that very class respecting whose tastes and feelings some evidence has just been given.[418] How that evidence might be almost indefinitely extended, is well known to readers of the French memoirs of the seventeenth century—a class of works which, being mostly written either by the nobles or their adherents, supplies the best materials from which an opinion may be formed. In looking into these authorities, where such matters are related with a becoming sense of their importance, we find the greatest difficulties and disputes arising as to who was to have an arm-chair at court;[419] who was to be invited to the royal dinners, and who was to be excluded from them;[420] who was to be kissed by the queen, and who was not to be kissed by her;[421] who should have the first seat in church;[422] what the proper proportion was between the rank of different persons, and the length of the cloth on which they were allowed to stand;[423] what was the dignity a noble must have attained, in order to justify his entering the Louvre in a coach;[424] who was to have precedence at coronations;[425] whether all dukes were equal, or whether, as some thought, the Duke de Bouillon, having once possessed the sovereignty of Sedan, was superior to the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, who had never possessed any sovereignty at all;[426] whether the Duke de Beaufort ought or ought not to enter the council-chamber before the Duke de Nemours, and whether, being there, he ought to sit above him.[427] These were the great questions of the day: while, as if to exhaust every form of absurdity, the most serious misunderstandings arose as to who should have the honour of giving the king his napkin as he ate his meals[428] and who was to enjoy the inestimable privilege of helping on the queen with her shift.[429]

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

It is hardly necessary to trace at greater length the way in which France and England diverged from each other, or to point out what I hope will henceforth be considered the obvious difference between the civil wars in the two countries. It is evident that the low-born and plebeian leaders of our rebellion could have no sympathy with those matters which perplexed the understanding of the great French nobles. Men like Cromwell and his co-adjutors were not much versed in the mysteries of genealogy, or in the subtleties of heraldic lore. They had paid small attention to the etiquette of courts; they had not even studied the rules of precedence. All this was foreign to their design. On the other hand, what they did was done thoroughly. They knew that they had a great work to perform; and they performed it well.[432] They had risen in arms against a corrupt and despotic government, and they would not stay their hands until they had pulled down those who were in high places; until they had not only removed the evil, but had likewise chastised those bad men by whom the evil was committed. And although in this, their glorious undertaking, they did undoubtedly display some of the infirmities to which even the highest minds are subject; we, at least, ought never to speak of them but with that unfeigned respect which is due to those who taught the first great lesson to the kings of Europe, and who, in language not to be mistaken, proclaimed to them that the impunity which they had long enjoyed was now come to an end, and that against their transgressions the people possessed a remedy, sharper, and more decisive, than any they had hitherto ventured to use.

Footnotes:

vol. ii. p. 186. In 1648, ‘effusa est contemptio super principes.’ MÉm. d'Omer Talon, vol. ii. p. 271.]